I’ve been running on and off since my twenties, but it’s really only over
the last year I’ve really felt that I can call myself a runner. I ran the
Sheffield 10 k in 2016 with my friend Sue. After that, she challenged me to
Run a mile Every Day in December. I did it, notching up 72 kilometres or
44.7 miles over the month, and even running on Christmas Day. She wasn’t
able to complete the challenge, but when I ran back home on December 31st,
she had arranged a group of my friends to cheer me in, complete with a
handcrafted medal and a small bottle of prosecco. It made my year.
RED December led to my challenge to myself for 2017 – to run twelve 10k
races over the year to raise money for Cancer Research UK. I’m up to nine so
far, and have raised over a thousand pounds for a charity very close to my
heart. Both my parents had cancer in their later years, and my brother’s
prostate cancer is in remission, and I run with their names, and the names
of seven friends, on my back. I carry them every step of every race, and if
I feel my feet flagging, whispering their names keeps me going.
I’m still not fast. I was overtaken in the Wigan 10k by two men in
inflatable Tyrannosaurus rex outfits, who still beat me despite having to
stop to reinflate their suits, and women with children in buggies cruise
past me on a Parkrun. But I have seen my times go down over the last year,
sometimes just by seconds, sometimes by hard won minutes, and felt muscles
where I didn’t even know I had places.
I now understand what people mean by the runner’s high. And I know that
there is nothing quite like that feeling as the klaxon goes at the beginning
of the race, or as the crowds clap when you cross the line whether you are
first, last, or somewhere in the anonymous middle.
I do get a bit obsessed by the statistics. So far in 2017 – 63 hours
running, 534 kilometres, 54 personal records, nine 10k races. Longest run
11.8 k. Previous pair of shoes discarded after 455 kilometres, and current
pair at 58.7 kilometres.
Running makes me feel good. It gets me away from my desk and makes me emerge
blinking into fresh air and daylight. It helps me fight the black dog that I
have lived with since my teens. Sometimes running is a breeze. The miles go
by and I’m in my own world, or the world of the stories, dramas and
documentaries that stream into my ears. But sometimes I feel every single
step, and it’s just the lure of the hot shower and the coffee, and the
knowledge that I don’t have any bus fare in my pocket, that keeps my feet
pounding.
And there’s still my biggest challenge to come – a half marathon in
November. Which does leave me with a nagging doubt about my sanity, but a
knowledge that once I lace up my shoes, pin my race number on my front, and
put the names on my back, the buzz will be there again and I will be off.
www.justgiving.com/fundraising/suzwriter
Suzanne Elvidge