I’ve never been a runner. A swimmer, sure. I’ve done a lot of swimming. I swam a couple of miles for charity and I used to be quite good. I did a bit of judo, even won a couple of medals at club level, so you could say I was okay at that once too.
I’ve never been a runner though. I did that 5k thing once, but I wasn’t really running on account of the woollen Santa costume and a beer barrel brim-filled with small change. Six guys were going to walk it around the track. One dropped out. I was asked to step in on the day.
You could say as a runner I suck. Every jelly-legged step I take sucks. My ability to run up hill, and it’s pretty rolling here, sucks. My heaving, four-months-off-a-23-year-smoking-habit-lungs can just about suck.
Opting for less than the full 10k would have sucked. I could have managed a 5k run with minimal training, and the 2.5 would have sucked so hard staying in bed would have been a less sucky option.
So I suck at running. There’s only one answer. When I feel like hammering out a couple more words to avoid the trails, suck it up and pull my shoes on. When my ribs are tied tight with stitch, suck in another lungful of air and throw out another stride. When I go for longer than my training plan requires, even if it’s just by one minute, suck up that glory and keep it tight in my chest for inspiration on the next run.
Yeah, I suck at running. Everything sucks at the beginning. I’m damned sure I’m going to suck it up and deal with it.