I haven't posted for a couple of weeks and there's good reason for it: I'm injured.
It was bound to happen. At some point.
But for me, the searing foot pain as I minced my way around the North Inch on the last walk/run was just a little bit too much to bear.
The days that followed weren't too great either.
However it was my "day job" that provided all the answers. Curating content for Run4It's social media campaigns meant a quick flick through their own blog archive where I came across an article on something called plantar fasciitis.
Bing!
The foot pain mystery was solved. Sort of.
"There!" I exclaimed to my husband, pointing at the diagram of the foot with the inflamed bit coloured in with red. "That's where my foot is sore! I must have plantar fasciitis."
"Don't be silly" said he. "That's a running injury and well, er, you haven't exactly been running...... for long......"
Hmmmmph. He had a point.
Actually, I've had this foot pain for that last seven years and thought.... now wait for it...... that it was caused by dehydration. Yes, plain old dehydration. A diagnosis that was sparked by a momentary conversation and inspection of said foot with a reflexologist at a conference in Glasgow some years ago:
"That's your kidneys, hen. Drink some water." she said.
And so I did.
My life is now vaguely reminiscent of that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding where the Father is insistent that Windex cures everything.
How equally absurd that I thought that water would sort the foot out.
So, after a trip to a podiatrist, it turns out it's not my kidneys, it's my plantar. And not a very happy one at that. Some specialist insoles, a raft of stretching exercises and a medical excuse to make my husband massage my feet every night (I liked that bit best) and I'll hopefully be on the mend, so to speak.
My attempted running "career" is on hold for now, pending the return of as fully functional foot and instep.
The experts think it may all be over (in which case, cycling beckons) but I'm optimistic.
The second run is worse that the first.
Mentally it's like preparing for root canal treatment. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing and I now knew how hard it would be.
So, following a false start on Wednesday (I forgot my headphones), I made it to the inch after work on Thursday with my boobs safely strapped to my body, bum still roaming free, and sporting a brand new pair of running trousers complete with snazzy bright pink waistband to draw the eye to exactly where I didn't want it.
After ferreting around in the spandex for the "secret" place to stash my iphone, Constance and I set off. This time with music.
No grappling with dogs to distract me, I found myself terrified by "other people", subtly waiting on them to pass before I broke into my jog - just in case they saw me start. Heaven forbid.
At one stage it occurred to me that the couple in front may actually be sauntering faster than I was able to run. Which brings me to the really curious thing I discovered today: I run funny.
No. It's true.
I've always been a confident walker - long strides, fast pace. Have never given it much thought that my running "style" would be so distinctly out of character.
A cross between bouncing and mincing, I discover my running pace is only 30% faster than my walking pace. And, for some reason, it just doesn't feel like me.
It feels timid. If it were a fashion style, it would be closer to Asda than Dolce & Gabbana. Suitable for getting from A to B, but probably not going to win any awards.
Not entirely sure how I feel about this. Yet.
Stunned by my running performance one small boy stopped his bike to watch, apparently mesmerised. One look at his Dolce & Gabbana clad mother (probably not, but you'll get the image) told me why he was staring. Clearly in his world one does not bounce round the park in running shoes, spandex and wobbly bits. One wears a pencil skirt, heels and dark glasses.
I could match her with the dark glasses, but mine were mainly there to avoid being recognised. You just can't take chances when your wobbly bits are trussed up in neon spandex.
Yet, despite attempting anonymity, I caught the eye of a woman who was running properly (unlike me) and she said hello.
Maybe she mistook me for a fellow runner?
Knew the spandex would make all the difference.
Nothing more petrifying than starting.
Don't believe all the hype about how easy it is. The physical bit is fairly simple, the mental stuff is the challenge.
So I did what any self respecting novice would do: I downloaded an App.
From Couch to 5k safely installed on my iPhone, I strapped on my brand new Asics running shoes (properly fitted - apparently I have flat feet, who knew?), bundled the dogs into the car (you really didn't think I was going to do this alone, did you?) and headed down to the North Inch in Perth.
1.5km of circular pathway on which to fail.
And it all started fairly well.
I switched on the app, cranked up the music and started the 5 minute walking warm up which was punctuated only by the dogs both needing to relieve themselves. Fair enough, my warm up now included some unplanned waiting and bending. But the main thing was, I was no longer on the couch.
But wait! Something was wrong!
Constance, my new training companion, had deserted me in favour of Kylie Minogue. There were no more training commands coming my way! So the next 5 minutes were spent attempting to get the app to talk to me. Forwarding, pausing, and eventually giving up on Kylie altogether.
With Constance safely back in the game we re-started the jog/walk/jog proceedings.
At first the dogs were not so sure what Mummy was running away from. This caused some concerned looks, checking behind them frequently to see what the threat to my very existence could be, eventually concluding I might actually be doing this because it was raining and deciding to run along beside me.
Mummy, however, was now feeling that the running bra might actually have been a good purchase after all....and, possibly more alarming, wondering if there is such a thing as a bum bra? Boy, those cheeks can bounce.
Trying not to be distracted by dogs wanting to pee everywhere on this new high speed adventure around the North Inch, and parts of my anatomy clearly wanting to go on their own outing (I was well covered up, do not fear), I started to get into a sort of a rhythm. Only to quickly arrive back at the car. Turns out if you run, you get there faster.
Constance, however, was a wee bit behind.
So, thinking nothing of it, I skipped the warm down and drove home.
If only I'd switched the app off first.
Pulling up at the house just in time to hear Constance say "Well Done" the clever GPS thingy on my phone had tracked my whole journey and concluded that me, novice runner, had just completed an amazing 4.02km. Even better I can do a kilometer in just under 10 minutes. Look at me go!
Even I was impressed.
However what was clear, from the wee line on the map, was that Constance had not been with me for the whole journey, but only half of it. Most inconsiderate. And that most of my first running journey had been, inadvertently I might add, by car.
So, having (sort of) completed my first "Get off the Couch" attempt, I'm now off to firmly sit on it and figure out the technology side of this running malarkey before I head out next.
The bum bra will just have to wait.
Well, this is it folks. I've gone and done it. Actually, that should read: I've gone and run it.
Please try not to fall over in surprise.
I am not a runner. In fact I am the opposite of a runner (if there is such a thing). Last dabbling in thrusting my legs quickly at school, I haven't run in years.
I have the body of an apple. Quite a few apples, really. OK. A barrel of apples. And I have the fitness levels of a slug. A slow one. So the concept of me taking up running is, quite simply, preposterous.
It's impossible. No way, Jose.
So what was I thinking when I headed down to Run 4 It in Bridge of Allan yesterday to buy running shoes?
Well, inspired, mainly. For around 6 months now I've had the privilege of running (no pun) the social media for Run 4 It and interacting with thousands of normal, every day runners on a daily basis. They made me believe that it was possible.
Not the Olympics. Not the Commonwealth Games. Not my PE teacher at school. Certainly not my PE teacher at school. But several thousand normal folk who are passionate about the sport. And, what's more, many many of them used to be like me: a variation on the barrel of apples.
And so here I am, back from my first "run" - fairly proud, luckily not dead, and facing down the fact that I have just done something I thought was impossible.
So join me on this journey. I'm going to run. If today was anything to go by it's going to be fun (sort of) and probably stacked full of belly laughs, particularly for those who see me trying.
So let's get started....
