I want to be a blasé runner, but it looks like it takes effort

Some runners develop very serious issues, and I seem to be one of them. My problem? I’m a blasé runner.

If that leads you to believe that I’m a good runner, you’re wrong. If it makes you think that I’m an arrogant runner, you’re wrong again. In fact, I am a very bad runner. I don’t get that endorphin high from a run. I don’t skip out of the door at the thought of clearing my head with a jog along the river. I don’t love running (in fact I’m certain I hate it a bit). I don’t run fast, and I don’t run far. But I do run blasé.

What is a blasé runner then? Well, apart from being me, it’s a person who has run a significant distance in the past, and now thinks that any challenge in life, by comparison, will be easy. I don’t want to belittle anyone’s achievements, but it’s a naïve assumption.

I’d heard about these people who travel the world, eating great food, seeing historical sites and slotting a quick half marathon into their city break. I liked the sound of that. I liked the thought of staying up late in Rome, Paris or Berlin, indulging in multi-course meals, sipping wine, glugging beer and then being able to sightsee on a 13-mile run the next day. I wanted to be one of these fit, cultured people. How hard could it be?

Back in the summer, I decided that the Run Hackney half marathon in London would be my trial run. The night before the “race” I went out for a meal – a chicken burger. (Didn’t Usain Bolt say he feasts on chicken nuggets the night before a race?). I ate my delicious burger and then I went to a party. I drank some beers. And some gin. And I stayed up late. I went to bed, and three hours later my alarm rang out, and I dragged myself to Hackney. I was still confident in my abilities. It’s mind over matter, I kept telling myself.

On a surprisingly baking hot day in June I stood at the start line of the Run Hackney half marathon. It was 10 weeks after I’d finished the London marathon, and I’d completed a total of three runs in the time since (running for the bus, running to the shop, running for last orders at the pub). I stood at the start line of that morning and I – oh, I regret it now – inside I smirked a little at all the other runners around me. “This is going to be so easy after the marathon,” I assured myself.

I should have known better. I’d realised during my marathon training that running, at least for me, does not get easier. Some days a four miler along the river would feel like the easiest sprint, and other days it was a jarring, sweary stagger. It was at mile two of Run Hackney that doubt started to creep in. It started with my trainers rubbing, and it quickly crept up my heavy legs all the way to my squinty eyes and groggy head. I’d like to blame the heat, and I suspect it was partly that, but really I know the real reason I was struggling: it’s not always mind over matter. Running requires fitness. And all of my fitness had gone.

The following 11 miles were … well, they were shit. I lumbered from water station to water station, lethargic, hot and bothered. And bored. I tried to go faster, but I really couldn’t make myself. At mile eight I really wanted to give up, divert somewhere with a nice brunch menu. By mile 12 I had decided that I would never run again. It occurred to me, again, that I hate running. So what was I doing?

“You do like your food Hannah. You’d be in trouble if you didn’t run occasionally.” An irritating remark from a supportive friend. Sadly it’s true. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that my arse would be even bigger if I didn’t move it once in a while. So running it is.

If you are one of those people who can travel from city to city churning out half marathons in the middle of an epic weekend of eating and sightseeing, I applaud you. Resentfully, of course. But I do applaud you. But what I really want to know is this: how can I do that, too? How can I be a successful blasé runner? Do I aim for one long weekend run – and how far do I have to go? Or will three short midweek jaunts be enough to keep me ticking along? How far and how often do I need to be running to pack my bags and slip a half marathon into a weekend away, without faff, anxiety or too much distress?

The wide world beckons. I want to see it one half marathon at a time.

Hannah writes Burgers and Bruce, a food and travel blog with a side serving of burgers and Bruce Springsteen. On Twitter @BurgersAndBruce

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