"Where mummy going?" asks Z.
"I'm going running" I reply.
And the look on his face is the absolute reason that I run (or jog). His two-year-old brain cannot believe that "going running" is actually a thing. He loves to run everywhere and can't comprehend that it's yet another grown-up pastime he's excluded from. Like eating biscuits and staying up late.
I'd wish I thought running was as much fun as eating biscuits and staying up late.
My relationship with running is complex. I want to be a positive role model for my children. I'm a bit lazy and I love food so exercise is basically obesity prevention. I hate the afternoon before a scheduled long run. I love to clear my head at the end of the day and running has got me through some stressful times. I'm a miserable runner and I certainly don't like to chat. I love knowing I accomplished something. I hate spending money on running gear. I love reading running magazines...
I've never been sporty, I did my first 10k (in fact, ran my first mile) when I was 28. And in the 5 years inbetween I've travelled the world and had two pregnancies. I don't think that my story is any different from most runners. It tends to be a bit of a love/hate relationship, perhaps founded on times of glory/ stress/ injury and often includes major set-backs, minor victories and lots of internal and external motivators.
I'm running a half marathon in 3 weeks and I'm well behind on my training. It's going to be slow and painful. But I'm aiming to get round and raise some money for Dementia UK in memory of my Grandad who passed away in January.
I did my first half marathon in 2010 and in an okay time. I ran my last 10k race when I was 3 months pregnant with Z. I'm going to complete a half marathon before my twins are 1. So I'm also hoping to start taking myself a bit more seriously as a runner. I bought some sports socks at the weekend so I think that's a step in the right direction.
So this is the last push - 3 weeks of taking it seriously, drinking less wine, training every other day, wearing my new socks, doing what I can to make it slightly less painful.
And I'll think about how I'll feel once it's done. And the fact my daughter will grow up with a biscuit loving runner as a role model to help her on her way to being fit not thin. And I'll wonder what Grandad Jim might think of my determination.
And I'll imagine Z's face as I cross the finish line. And then I might do a couple of fist pumps.
Watch this space......
