I started running because I looked round and noticed that, by and large, that was what the thin, sorted people were doing. Ipso facto gazebo, really. It’s amazing how much you can learn just by sitting in the park for two hours, perving people doing leg-stretches up against a tree.
In addition to this, I liked how quick and cheap it was. Having seemingly spent most of the past two years in the changing rooms at Virgin Active in Crouch End — blow-drying my hair in a mounting panic at how long I’d already been away from the baby; then applying body lotion in such a manner that didn’t look like I was attempting to titillate anyone at a nearby locker — the idea of doing something a) free and b) that started the minute I left the front door, seemed blindly brilliant.
On my first run, I was aiming for Zola Budd. In the event, it was more kind of Elmer Fudd. I managed a whole 15 minutes — something I was frankly astonished by — but at the cost of collapsing on to the hall floor, truly unsure as to whether I was going to vomit first, or just go ahead and die. The kids gathered round me, like deer around a fallen comrade.
“Your face is . . . bad,” one of them said, wonderingly.
But you know what? That was it. That was the end of the bad times. Ever since then — two years ago in May — running has been solely and only a fun thing in my life. Just bolting out of the door and running away from things is such an exciting thing to do, that I can feel my heart-rate increasing, just thinking about it. I slam the front-door going, “HAR HAR — YOU’LL NEVER CATCH ME, COPPER!” to a battalion of imaginary, pursuing policemen, and I peg it.
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I love how sleek and extreme it is — in terms of simplicity and time efficiency, running is the Martini of exercise. If you want to, you can push yourself with it to such an extent that — up hill, in rain, wind peeling your eyeballs — you feel like you’re punching into the face of God.
On other days, there’s such fun in it, it’s like throwing an incongruous one-woman party at 9am, on a pavement. Especially when you find the right music. I went running in the first snowfall to Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush, and OH MY GOD. It turns out a mad wig-haired woman in a nightie knocks spots off the theme-tune to Rocky, as motivational music goes. Aside from shaving four minutes off my usual time, I also discovered that you really can incorporate wheeling arm-movements and a couple of pli?s into a 400-yard final sprint. The people on the W5 bus at the junction of Ridge Road and Mayfield Road loved it. They could see that, really, running is just like dancing, but in a straight line.
Well, I say that. But that is still, to be fair, just in my head. In reality, I look — as I did two years ago — very much like a Womble being chased off someone’s front lawn while looking for buns. But with a slightly smaller arse than before.
Running facts
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Runners burn 12 per cent more calories on a winter’s day as the body works harder to stay warm
Trainers should be thrown away after 300-500 miles as the cushioning wears out
Replacing mileage with sprint runs can reduce a runner’s 10km time
A cup of black coffee before a run can boost the fat-burning effects of the activity, studies have found
An hour’s running burns on average 400 calories
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A runner’s stitch is often caused by weak abdominal muscles
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