Cross Country Running? Make That Furious Country Running.

I have always had a real thing about running. My dad used to tell me that I left the womb running, but my only responses to that were to first think “ugh, gross”, and then to comment on the biological impossibility of such a thing. I’m not really that literal, but once you hear the same joke for the 250^th time you start to vary your responses just to make it funny again. Anyway, the fact remains that I’ve been into running in a big way since I can remember. Apparently I even crawled faster than the kids in my age group when we were toddlers. Setting off earlier never crossed my mind for some reason, I guess.

Anyway, we have a pretty good local amateur athletics club, and my dad enrolled me there as soon as I was old enough to join. I never really took to the hundred metres, I have to say. Partly because I never really won races over that distance and partly because it ends just as you’re beginning to enjoy yourself. The coaches at the club clocked pretty soon that I was always going to be more of a distance runner – something about my build, as I remember. I was slightly offended at the time, but they were right. They must have been, I’ve run ten marathons since then and I’ve won a few, and wouldn’t consider stopping. I had to work up to the distance, but the longer the races the more I enjoy myself.

Interestingly (or maybe not), some of my most punishing runs have actually been in my training sessions in the weeks leading up to a race. I tend to add on a bit a day, depending on how the previous day’s run went. And because there are no course markings and officials with handy cups of water, I have to carry a rucksack. Obviously if I had a full rucksack I’d probably collapse after a couple of miles, so all that is in there is some rudimentary first aid equipment and a hydration pack. The hydration thing is something that was drummed into me by the coaches and reinforced by a training run I had when I unaccountably forgot I had the bottle and I ran for about a mile feeling decidedly weak.

When I finally twigged that I was beginning to dehydrate, I stopped and reached into my bag for the water. I have never drunk so quickly in my life. I had to stop for a quarter of an hour while I regained my equilibrium, and while there I refilled. I’m telling you now, I have not forgotten to take a water break since then. I felt so rough. I know people who take the most basic of water breaks and push themselves on, but those people always tend to finish behind me in races. Make of that what you will. Since that day I have kept a really big focus on preparing right and racing sensibly. To do otherwise would be daft.