I am not a natural runner. Short-legged, big boobed (they just get in the way) and asthmatic with a highly curved spine which causes all sorts of unexpected complications, evolution clearly never intended for me to run. Indeed, I never wanted to be a runner. Had you told red-faced, wheezing, Physical Education loathing, teenage me that she would ever CHOOSE to undergo the pain and humiliation of running in the future, she would no doubt have burst into tears and marched off to buy some chocolate. Not much has changed in the intervening years; I still hate all sports (watching and participating), still prefer my pudding to my main course and still consider people who go to the gym to be several marbles short of a set, yet for some bizarre and unexplainable reason, I at some point started to enjoy running.
I started running during my second year at University. This running consisted of a route from my lodgings to the local park. GoogleEarth informed me this route was exactly 1 mile, which suited me perfectly. On my 1 mile run I stopped exactly five times, aiming for the next tree or a fence post before folding in on myself and gulping down hasty breaths to prepare for the next landmark. But soon five breaks became four, then three and then none, until I was lapping my mile run once, twice, and then finding new fields to extend my jog.
Fast forward to a University summer spent cleaning toilets, and washing pans at my uncle and aunt’s youth hostel in the Lake District. Here everyone seemed to run. To be exact they fell ran. Soon, I too was taking to the trails, though admittedly I walked up the hills and ran down them (why would you do it any other way). Still, it was fantastically fun bounding over rocks, splashing through puddles and startling hikers as I failed by. occasionally I was joined by those who were much faster, and much better than me, but who kindly kept to my pace and told me I was doing ‘very well’ as I stopped for a rest after mile two.
Since these humble beginnings I have been injured, starting again from scratch, I’ve completed my first half marathon, crawled through my first tough mudder, and even taken part in a 17mile trail race. I’m not the fastest, I’m certainly not the best and I’m still not a natural runner, but I do run, and more importantly I enjoy it.
Somehow a marathon has become the pinnacle of every hobby runners career. When I was still in my early teens and running seemed a strange and alien thing to me, my dad ran the London Marathon. This is the moment when the seed of an idea was planted in my head that I too should undergo this right of passage. Strange when I had no intention of ever doing any running. But still here I am, with my training plan pasted on my wall and my place booked. I blame my dad.
The story of the marathon starts in ancient Greece when, the legend goes, a soldier ran from the battle of Marathon to declare victory over Persia to the waiting crowds in Athens. Taking a route around the mountains he travelled 25miles in one long jog. Stumbling into the assembly hall the unhappy soldier spoke the word ‘Victory!’ and promptly died. The thing to take away from this story is a) people can wait for news and b) the first person to run a marathon died because of it. Not encouraging.
The marathon next reappears at the start of the modern Olympics in 1896. Brought in to boost popularity and create a link to ancient Greece, 25 people entered this first race and only 9 finished. Still not encouraging. Interestingly the length of the marathon fluctuated during its first few decades in the limelight. No one seemed to think it was particularly important to keep them at an exact length as long as they were approximately 25miles. It wasn’t until the first London marathon that the current 26.219miles was settled on and became the official marathon distance. If you’re wondering what the 0.219miles is about it’s because the original race finished at 26miles but was extended for 0.219miles so it could pass the Royal box. I can therefore legitimately blame the queen when I’m dying on that final quarter of a mile.
On a side note women used to be excluded from marathon running, presumably for the same reason they were excluded from most things; because people love excluding other people from things for ridiculous reasons. Perhaps they thought their ovaries would explode. Many amazing women did what most amazing people do and completely ignored those telling them they couldn’t join the game. Eventually, probably sick of women running marathons despite their disapproving scowls and wagging fingers, people stopped being kill joys and let the women race. Interestingly when looking up some of these inspirational women I came across someone I share a surname with; Violet Piercy, who in 1926 set the first official world record time for a female marathon running. Impressive woman indeed, I hope she belongs in my family album somewhere.
Today marathons are increasingly popular, with over 800 taking place across the globe every year. Their diversity is inspiring and a keen runner can now choose from looping through the streets of New York, following the historic trail of the great wall or scorching their toes in the Sahara. For myself I chose to go for something a little bit different and a little bit familiar, heading to my childhood home of Germany for the Drei länder Marathon, or three country marathon. This race starts on Lake Constance in Germany and winds its way through the countryside to Switzerland and Austria. The fact that all these countries are famed for their chocolate and cake production is entirely unrelated.
So here I am, apparently training for a marathon. I’m four weeks into my training plan and still excited for October 8th, though who knows how I’ll feel in a month’s time. My four runs a week are relatively painless so far and I’ve had the pleasure of exploring the fields, country parks and forests near my house. I’ve been started by a number of birds, particularly inexperienced fledglings and most recently a rather confused goose. I’ve got bramble scratches and nettle stings a plenty. I have acquired, and treated, runner’s knee. And I’ve watched an over excited cow race along beside me before emergency breaking and comically skidding to a halt. I’ve swallowed flies, been dive bombed by bees, tripped over rocks, logs and occasionally my own feet. I have run in the pouring rain and the baking heat, felt sick and tired and achy. It’s true I’m still a long way off ready, but I’m certainly ready to get ready, which is good enough for me. Only another 12 weeks to go before my very first marathon.
p.s. I’m raising money for a very special charity called the Borneo Nature Foundation, who help to protect, restore and research the peatland rainforest which harbour some of the last of the wild orangutans. If you would like to support them (and me) please follow the link below.
A year of firsts 