It felt weird telling people I had done a “learn to run” course. For several reasons, I told very few people when I signed up, but once I came out of my shell about it, it still felt weird. I was, after all, 30, and most people said, “did you not as a child?!”. Because they knew me well enough to realise immediately that this wasn’t some advanced technical course, but the very beginning of my fitness journey.
The course was free, which was important to me at the time, as I was on a low income. It also mattered because I had a rough history with exercise, having only ever enjoyed horse riding and actively hated everything else I’d tried – the usual school regime of hockey, netball, rugby, football, tennis, athletics, gymnastics, basketball and dance. Yup, all of it. For I am uncoordinated and don’t relish being cold and breathless. So I wanted something with utterly minimal investment.
It was a 10-week course funded by my local Council, and designed to loosely take us through Couch to 5km, with a celebratory Parkrun at the end (which I had to miss due to work). I enjoyed meeting new people, and gaining the confidence to exercise in my own way. And just to get started – I was in the camp of assuming that coaches didn’t want to deal with total fitnessphobes.
But I never got the running bug. Then “Mind Over Marathon” aired and, in addition to identifying with several of the participants’ mental health issues, something one of the coaches said stuck with me: “if you squat well, you’ll run well”.
“Ah,” I thought. “Maybe I have to be strong to get better and enjoy this.”
With much trepidation, I found a gym that I could afford. And, knowing that I had no idea what I was doing, I hired a PT on the very minimum of sessions (still the money, though I knew this investment would pay off. It had to).
And then something strange happened. I squatted. I lunged. I lay on my back curling a Swiss ball towards my bum. I did many other things I couldn’t have conceived of, never mind named. And I saw progress. I got stronger. I felt better. I gained confidence. I even (whisper) enjoyed it.
I re-injured an ankle running, and took that as the unnecessary sign that it wasn’t for me, making the full switch to strength training. Then got diagnosed with a sarcoma. And rehabbed myself. Then realised I was truly onto something.
Try. Try past failure. Try until you reach enjoyment. When five years feels like five minutes, you’ve found the one.