I went for a run along the river this morning. It was all sunshine, ducks nestled in narcissus, water rippling like ribbons tied to a fan, fish wagging their heads to fight the current.
Breath taking as they were, it was not the pleasing ambience that most caught my attention; it was a brief exchange with an old lady out for a walk. And by brief, I mean no more than a greeting and a smile.
If you’re a regular reader, you’ll know I’ve recently finished the NHS Couch to 5K plan (if you’d like a nose, check it out here) and I got a little despondent last week when it was clear that I was a) had not lost weight and b) was unlikely to be running 5K any time soon. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve become so darn addicted to running (non-run days occasionally drive me to twitching in a cupboard) I would have packed it in by now but after some research I found some very reassuring information online.
Firstly, that increased blood volume, muscle growth and water retention can contribute to gaining weight in the first few weeks of taking up a high impact exercise regime. In my case, I guess the hot cross buns with butter that my husband brings to me as a sofa snack offering at around 10pm every night don’t help but I had hoped to see some shift on the scales to accompany the happily re-emerging cheekbones and waist.
Secondly, many people don’t complete the 5K in nine weeks. Some say that it should be called the ‘Couch to 30 minutes’ running plan but I guess it doesn’t have quite the same ring, even if it is perhaps a little closer to the truth.
So the running brings the good vibes, the improved body image, better cardiovascular and mental health and cheekbones but after my encounter this morning I decided there’s one overriding reason why I run. One reason to top them all.
And that’s because I can.
But perhaps it’s even more than that.
Because the eighty-something lady I met, albeit briefly, this morning taught me something. The river path is stony and uneven, muddy in places but the water, birds and sunshine this morning felt like spring in a bottle and along the path she came, stick in each hand, shuffling forwards, painful step by painful step. She wore a vibrant raspberry coloured coat, fastened to the chin and a rather dapper looking chequered cap in blue and white placed carefully upon a gently coiffured perm.
She smiled as I approached, a big, toothy grin. We exchanged pleasantries and as I ran past, her head turned a little as she watched me go on by.
There was something in her smile: perhaps a memory of when she could run? I thought of the days before her sticks: maybe she’d chased her children through this meadow or thrown sticks from the bridge with some long ago lover – her mouth and arms open wide with life, air and happiness.
So I run not just because I can but also for those who cannot: for example, my half marathon running friend who fought his own disabilities to raise money for other charities, only to get struck down by a debilitating disease. I run on behalf of my Dad, who’s health now allows him as far as the beach with the dog; my Mum, a breast cancer survivor (I wear something pink every day); and people like the lady I met this morning. These legs are strong, my heart is healthy and although most doctors find my bmi offensive, this is a good body and I’m so very grateful that it works well.
But that’s not all. I’m also running to make a tangible difference. The charity I write for, The Silent Bleed, supports suffers of the rare neurological condition Superficial Siderosis along with their families, carers and physicians. But they need money in order to do this – which is why I’ll be running 5K in October to help bring in the needed funds.
Beating the odds, doing the unexpected, finding new challenges – that’s what keeps us going and moving forward. What do you do just because you can?
