You’ll probably be expecting another post about how far I walked in my attempt to get back to running and raise money for the British Heart Foundation. It hasn’t been an easy month. I’ve been quite seriously unwell, and I had a broken foot that I let my doctor friend assess (before leaving it to try and heal by itself – FYI, this isn’t a good idea, don’t do it). But this isn’t going to be a post about how far I walked. I did hit this month’s milestone, and there will be more about that another time… But I also ran.
I woke up with the sun on the 18th of October, and I stepped out into Mile End Park, where I ran for a FEEBLE 10-20 seconds, and then walked for 2 minutes (aiming to repeat this 10 times). This is a pathetic feat for a healthy human, but it was a big deal for my body, seeing as it was in no fit state to run.
It was easier than I thought it was going to be. My foot hurt and the cold nipped at my fingers, but the smile on my face outweighed it all. I thought through things I hadn’t been able to face. I ran away all the stresses that had been weighing me down and it felt so, so good… Right up until the seventh little jog, when my heart decided to remind me why running was not a good idea, and I went out like a light. I was messed up for the rest of the day. I kept passing out, I couldn’t see properly, I was disorientated and my foot throbbed… But I was suddenly able to face a reality that had been breaking me. And I wanted more.
Two days later, having been told how stupid I was and knowing it was all going to go a little wrong, I left for the park before the sun was up (because I was embarrassed to be seen) having stayed up all night losing my mind over the stress of university and my health issues… And I did it again. 30 seconds of jogging this time, followed by a two minute walk. There was hardly anybody around. It was dark and freezing cold and I loved every second. It had a more significant impact on my mind than any therapist ever has. The coping mechanism that got me through my early teenage years was back again, and it felt like magic. Words can’t do that feeling justice, but I promise you it’s incredible. My vision went after the first run. I was disorientated and light-headed for the rest, and there was an inevitable meeting with the floor as my body forgot how to human; but this time I only passed out once or twice, and I went through the rest of the day feeling significantly worse off for my efforts, but like I could take on anything.
A few days later, I spent a rather long period of time unconscious on my bedroom floor, and had a very close encounter with the grim reaper. Just four days afterwards, and 40 miles away from Mile End, I ran again. This time on streets that I used to run on. I pushed myself to jog for a minute at a time and then walk for two. The first minute killed me. It induced chest pain as my heart freaked a little, but I ran through it until I adjusted to its presence. I felt the familiar burn of cold night air in my lungs, and it reminded me of football training when I was 12. I started to wheeze and felt a rattle in my chest but I ran on through that too. It was the foot that got me. Without realising, it was stopping me putting my foot flat when I ran, and my lower leg got very annoyed with this. My gastrocnemius (calf muscle) cramped up, and I ran two steps on it as it tightened. I felt a small pop in my calf and enough pain to make me realise that I’d torn the muscle a little where the achilles and the gastrocnemius meet each other.
I wanted to run again, so I actually dealt with an injury for once. But it’s painful. In fact, the muscle tear hurts more than the broken foot did. My gastrocnemius and my achilles grumble whenever I flex or extend my ankle, and the word “rest” is not one my brain is familiar with.
I have yet to go for a run without ending up in an unconscious heap either during or after my attempt at exercise. It embarrasses me, so I try to go running at times (or places) where I know there won’t be many people to watch such an embarrassing event. It’s just a normal part of my running routine – unfocussed vision and drunken dizziness until the world goes black, and then a disoriented zig-zag of a walk home that I never remember. My heart stays unimpressed and racing for a good few hours. I feel generally awful. I pay for every “run” (if they can even be called that yet). But it’s so, so worth it.
I never thought I’d get to write a post like this. The idea of running again was just a crazy dream. Until I did it.
I ran.
Now that’s a milestone.
A Milestone A Month 