Once I ran to you. Now I run from you.

Well, readers, the other weekend I did my first race. Yes: I am now a runner. I trot round the streets behind our house for 30 minutes very, very slowly three times a week (my colleague said ‘well, if you’re running in Arbury, at least you’ll learn to run fast’ but I do not listen because actually Arbury is not as bad as people think it is, and the streets behind our house are very nice. The street with our house on isn’t nice, but you can’t have everything.) When I say I run slowly, I am not exaggerating. Today I was overtaken by a woman in a pink anorak with bags of shopping, and often cats wander past me and look at me thoughtfully. Anyway, as I often have more enthusiasm and chutzpah than sense and experience (remind me to tell you about Dan’s and my projected trip to Warsaw!!!) I felt that running along a flat street for 30 mins slower than a woman carrying shopping bags was excellent preparation for fell running. Indeed: I felt that in being able to run for 30 minutes I had so far exceeded my own personal expectations that I might as well enter the Olympics or jump off the University Library and fly to John Lewis, as anything seemed possible.

It was not.

I am going to try to extract a moral from this, readers. I did the race (5 miles with a 600 foot hill) with my brother Dan and his friend J, and our first clue that all might not be well was when we got to the beginning. I was expecting children. I was expecting people dressed as chickens. I was expecting, ooh, I don’t know, a hot dog stand, at least 5 octogenarians, someone with a Labrador wearing a themed jerkin, but no. What we got was a gaggle of sinewy men in lycra and women in team vests stretching their thighs out and running backwards and forwards just for fun. The only person who looked remotely less fit than me was the St John’s Ambulance man. Everybody set off twice as fast as I was used to, and when I came to my first hill I made like a Dalek and kind of gave up. I considered taking a short cut and going to wait for Dan and J in the pub but then I thought, no! I am not a quitter!!! (This is where I always go wrong). So I pushed on and I came last. I mean, I didn’t come last by a tiny bit. I came last by a decent margin (apart from all the people who did not finish or indeed, did not even start).

 

A hill in Derbyshire. The thing to do is to make sure you don't run up it

So I said to Dan we would do the same race next year but this time I would train and would do something called Fartleks which apparently are nothing like they sound, much like Burpees aren’t and I don’t know why you can’t call exercises something sensible. So Dan said, we could do that. Or, alternatively, we could do this killer half marathon and it would be lots of fun. So now I am doing a really hard half marathon this time next year, I have suckered in my friend too, and Partner is practically considering getting power of attorney to stop me making independent decisions as it is certain that no good can come of any of this. So here is my dilemma. Obviously I should be ashamed that I came last. I should be humiliated. I should give up. But I kind of… am not ashamed. I kind of.. forget about the coming last part and think, I did a 5 mile fell run! Very slowly!! I finished it! I didn’t die! I am a runner! I am amazing! I am going to buy new trainers and a proper sports bra so I don’t have to strap myself down with layers of lycra! I am proud of myself! Even though I have absolutely nothing to be proud of. I even bought myself a reward for finishing my first race. Admire the practicality!

 

Czech crystal. I am so bad at buying practical things to wear that there are no words. I buy this and then I wear pants with holes in them and have one work cardigan. One!

One more thing (in terms of over-ambitious physical stuff). You may remember, I am competing in the UK Amateur Pole Performer heats this summer (only at beginner level. It will be ok). I am working on my routine, and I have got my song: Marilyn Manson’s cover of Tainted Love. This was my idea for a costume: tell me what you think. I thought I could do a kind of deconstructed punk-burlesque look. So I was thinking a corset like this which is very cheap:

some kind of either short tutu or frilly bloomers:

(I have to have very short bottoms so I have lots of leg flesh exposed to stick to the pole. You see, it’s glamorous), possibly additional feathers around the cleavage, some kind of feathered headband and a great deal of dramatic eye makeup, or, a venetian-type mask if I could see enough to dance:

All deconstructed a bit (bits of ratty lace added? Dyed? Not sure yet).

How does that sound? I’m slightly concerned about my capacity for dancing in a corset: I thought perhaps I could buy it in advance and try it in the comfort of my own home which will finish off the window cleaner if he appears with his Squeegee at the wrong moment but tant pis. And in any case if I collapse through asphyxiation or bang my head on the pole and knock myself out because I can't see in that bit where he goes ‘once I raaaaaan to you. Now I RUUUUUN FROM YOU!!!’ it couldn’t possibly be more embarrassing than the fell run. Except, there might be a YouTube video, though. Wait… O_O

Everything you ever wanted to know about running but were afraid to ask

When I was at school we sometimes used to do cross country running. This involved waiting until it was the most inappropriate and miserable weather, either freezing cold and raining and everywhere covered with mud or boiling hot, and then everyone getting dressed up in our navy knickers to stumble round the bottom of the sports field, fending off flashers. I used to manage to run a hundred metres with the gym teacher hollering at me (from the relative comfort of the sports block I might add) before I gave up and walked. I cannot think, looking back, of anything that would put you off running more effectively. I mean, I suppose the flashers made us speed up a bit, but, generally it didn’t work as a programme. I wonder why they wanted to put us off exercise? I don’t remember anyone trying to teach me maths by, for example, hitting me on the head with a hammer. Then a while ago in the Guardian I read an article by a man who had apparently gone from nothing to being able to run 5K in a fortnight. I suspect that man also tells people his penis is 12” long because this is complete nonsense and there is no wonder those of us who are not athletic are put off, what with navy knickers, flashers, mud, and unreasonable expectations. So as I am now following Couch to 5K and am thus an athlete and an expert, I have decided to tell you The Truth about running and exercise for those of us who are not 18 and were never sporty to start with. Yes, readers: this is everything you wanted to know about running but were afraid to ask (although if it isn’t, ask away).

1/ Couch to 5K works. However. If you are unfit like me, the weeks will take you longer than a week. Frankly they may take you months. You might even need to practice to get good enough to do week 1 (I did). Don’t feel bad about it and don’t do more than you can do. I mean, try to do it regularly and push yourself a bit, but you’re not supposed to be on the point of collapsing because then you would give up and be depressed. Remember: sustained effort, not one-off huge unrepeatable efforts (and that is a summary of everything I have ever done wrong in my life).

2/ If you ever go anywhere near a running magazine, website or other publication, they will impress on you the importance of correct shoes and equipment. Now, if you have existing joint problems then yes, fair enough, but, if you are just averagely unfit like me, let me break it to you: when you first start running, there is absolutely no chance of you running far enough to do your knees any harm at all. Frankly you could drag a pair of flip flops out of the back of your cupboard and do it in those (don’t because you might trip. I fell over today (not wearing flip flops) and it hurt, also I had to be rescued by two ginger dogs and I looked ridiculous). If I were you I would wear whatever trainers you have got lying about until you know if you like it or not because if you spend a fortune on flashy new ones that will guarantee that your first run will be your last.

Bruise developing on knee from falling over. Splat! Just like a starfish!

3/ Nor do you need leggings which wick sweat away, posh shiny vests or anything of that ilk unless it makes you feel more confident. I am sorry to say this, but, when you have first started running, you will look daft. You will look as if you are about to expire when you have been running for twenty seconds. You will stumble. You will have a constipated expression on your face. If you have posh sweat-wicking leggings and big shiny trainers you will look like a new runner who has spent money on clothes: you will not look as if you can run any better.

4/ When I first considered running I was very preoccupied by how daft I would look. I felt it was something I could not do in public. I felt the embarrassment would crucify me. After I had been running for 10 seconds I stopped caring and I have never cared since. And I am generally quite self-conscious. So do not let self-consciousness put you off because there will always be someone who looks worse than you (me) and really, no-one is looking at you. If they do look at you, give them the finger, no I am joking, or at least do not do that until you are confident you can run away fast enough. For me that will be some time in Autumn 2012.

5/ There is one item of equipment that is vital and that is a sports bra. I sometimes think you can tell who was likely to have benefited most from PE at school if you know what bra size they were when they were 13. I was 36C and let me tell you, there were additional issues for me when we had to do trampolining (I kid you not) that were not a problem for my AA friends. Get a good, supportive bra (it will look revolting) and I also then wear a tight lycra vest (from Treehouse28 on etsy) to strap myself down further so I can be comfortable, and not be recreating Baywatch Circa 1991 any more than I have to.

5/ Dogs love runners. I run through the local park and the hairier and larger the dog, the more it wants to be friends and run with me. It is a bit disheartening to be continually overtaken by the Dulux Dog, yes it is, but just remember that dogs have no sense of irony and they mean well. (Unless they bite you! They won’t).

6/ Buy a stop watch. Again, you do not need one that measures your blood pressure, heart rate and the condition of your soul, just a very cheap one from Argos. This will mean you can measure your progress and it is encouraging, also you cannot do Couch to 5K without one.

Pro Fitness. Ha

7/ Think back to the days of navy knickers. Did you try to get out of PE by saying you had your period? And did your PE teacher tell you that exercise was actually excellent for period pains so get moving, Fatso? Well, you were right and she was wrong. I suspect this is one of the things that is different for everyone, but, if I time my run wrong (either as my period starts or during ovulation) I can bring on cramps. You may be different but just be aware because who wants pain if they can avoid it. And while we are way down the TMI road I will tell you that although I do not have personal experience with this, I believe running can bring on leaking if you have stress incontinence, although I have also read it can make it better. You see, running is hardcore and all your insides get jiggled about. Why should I do this terrible thing you cry, well…

8/ What they really don’t tell you is that exercise makes you feel much better. Much better! It is like drinking wine without the hangover. It is the endorphins. They are strangely addictive and also it is better than drugs because you don’t have to be hanging about on street corners, you just have to embarrass yourself failing to overtake dogs and occasionally falling over.

I am thinking of swimming next, but the thought of the swimsuit is putting me off. Perhaps I could have one like Nigella? I would be the talk of Cambridge.

Minor miracles

Well, I feel a bit odd asserting some cheerful things this week amongst all the horror, but...

This week, readers, two miracles have occurred. As things always come in threes when they are bad things, I do not see why the same rule would not apply to good things too, therefore I am confidently expecting Miracle Number Three. What might it be? Will elves come and deal with the garden while I am sleeping? Will someone push an anonymous donation of a £50 John Lewis voucher and a slender Alice Starmore volume through the letterbox? Will Vogue ring and beg me to do a regular column for huge remuneration which just involves criticising things? I am quite agog. These are the existing miracles.

Holes that line up miraculously

You have to understand how much I hate knitting lace. Oh, God, I hate it, I hate the yarnovers, I hate the way when you cock it up you have to undo it because it gets all confusing, I hate the whole miserable tortured experience. Well, I have started the City Stole with, shall we say, some trepidation, because my yarn budget is now spent up until 2015 and I cannot see anything else I would conceivably want to knit with the yarn I have bought for it. So this pig has got to work. And guess what: it does. I can understand the (12) charts, I can read what I am doing, I have managed to correct mistakes without undoing it all and starting again, I sit crossing lines off with my biro, I am a happy bunny and am confident I may be able to finish it at some point in the next 6 years. City Stole designer, I love you and your comprehensible charts but I am not changing my allegiance and after this scary interlude will be scooting back to colourwork gratefully.

You have to understand how bad I am at running. I am so bad, when I was at infant school, I was once so long finishing the egg and spoon race that they couldn’t wait any longer and they had to start the next race behind me. And I didn’t even win that one. However, rather tragically, I would like to be a good runner. I see myself, slicing silently through urban environments like an elegant blade in my Primark tracky bottoms. Therefore I have been chugging away at Couch to 5k for longer than I am going to admit, and yesterday, I had a breakthrough and I ran for 10 minutes. 10 minutes! This is 20 times as long as I could run when I started! This is a proper distance, where you can run round the corner before the dog walkers you have passed see you collapse! This is unprecedented, and I almost feel like doing a version of Father Ted’s Twats and Liars speech: ‘well, Mrs X who said I would never be an athlete after the egg and spoon debacle, very much has egg on her face now that at the age of 36 I have managed to run for 10 minutes! Consecutively!’.

What will happen next? The rules are being entirely rewritten.