Back on the Trail

I recently made the decision to return to running after a 17yr absence. I dug out some old running shoes, donned my best black and green Lycra ensemble and power-walked to the start of a local disused railway line, away from the prying eyes of local wolf whistlers and wise crackers. I did a few token toe-touches and thigh stretches before setting off along the track like a getaway driver, minus the car. At first things felt OK. My legs seemed to be working in unison. I discovered my piston-like arms performing a sort of high speed milking action. I’d spoken too soon. The ground suddenly felt like iron under my garish red trainers and I started to feel twinges of pain in knees, ankles and hips. Above the waist, my breathing became laboured and noisy. It was as though my lungs had OCD and were spring-cleaning themselves to oblivion. Then, I had the urge to simultaneously spit and blow my nose, which no dog-walker or innocent passer-by should have to witness at nine am on a Monday morning, especially when the source of the explosions also attempts a hearty “Good morning, nice day?”

As I spat, snorted, wheezed and hobbled forwards I glanced at my watch and noticed only five minutes had elapsed. The tree-lined track closed around me like a cruel winter mirage and I felt death was following close behind, scything the cold air with each leaden footfall. With all these alarm bells going off in my brain you’d think I’d have stopped and walked home, but no, something inside me refused to give up. Thirty years fell away and I was back in the army, running with the RAMC cross country team across the infamous ‘three hills’ of Ash Vale Ranges. While one side of my brain enjoyed this latent memory, the other shouted at me to ‘just give up!’ Before I could make a decision something amazing and magical began to happen. My heart, which had been trying to exit my chest like a mini jack-hammer, started to slow down as did my rapid gasps. The throbbing pain inside my head also dulled and the hot needles in both legs cooled a little. This forced me to check the time and I discovered another ten minutes had gone. I wondered if there were any other born-again joggers out there who’d hit the five minute wall and survived.

Up ahead, I could see the end of the trail. The miniature railway sounded its high-pitched whistle and a small group of ramblers were preparing to walk towards me. Like a seasoned pro, I slowed to a crawl and stopped, leaning nonchalantly against the metal barriers, as 30 or so elderly walkers nodded and smiled. I’d done it. My first run in 17 years. Now, all I had to do was come back tomorrow morning and see if this wasn’t a fluke. Somebody once told me “The human body has no memory for pain”. For my sake, let’s hope so…..