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My teenage son Joel properly caught the running bug a couple of years ago. Until then, he’d dabbled with jogging and the odd parkrun. He enjoyed the sense of achievement, and showed an unnatural ability to pace himself even at a young age, but running itself never really stuck. After busting my ankle in 2016, Joel joined me as I slowly rebuilt my fitness with a walk/run programme. And this time, something clicked.
It seems that telling me my speed and distance isn’t enough for you anymore. Now you want to rate my run. It’s a bit of a mystery how you come up with this score. Some sort of algorithm thingy, based on how hard you think the run is, and how hard you think I’m working. Or something.
Which is fine. But I can do the same route, feel the same effort, run the same pace. And one is ‘productive’, while the other is ‘unproductive’. Or even worse, I’m ‘detraining’. Yikes.
I’ll be the first to admit it: I’m a timid trail runner.
There’s so much to love about being on the trails: the sense of space; the ever-changing scenery and running surface; the fact that it’s acceptable – nay, expected – to stop, eat cake, and enjoy the view. Such a difference from the monotony of tarmac and concrete. And yet, they still scare me.
Many of us would find the thought of running a single marathon a daunting challenge. How about running the same marathon 10 times over, in 10 days? When the Brathay 10in10 first started in 2007, Matt Whitehead was still at school. His first reaction to the event was, why on earth would anyone want to […]
Another weekend, another 10K.
Jumping back into racing after an 18-month break, with two events in less than two weeks, definitely wasn’t the plan. But my 16-year old son was keen to try a 10K and the race I’d been aiming for, in Wells at the end of May, was already full. So we shifted our sights to the Glastonbury Round the Tor on the May Bank Holiday weekend.
Can you still call yourself a runner when you haven’t run for nearly half a year?
Things looked a little bleak in January when my retina came loose yet again, but third eye op and third time lucky. Everything finally stayed where it was supposed to, and I adjusted to life being a little fuzzy and distorted.
The bad news? An eyeball full of oil meant a further three months with no running, no jumping, no anything that could be described as ‘high impact’.
