I run because...

I started this blog in 2019 when I was training for a 126-mile ultra marathon. It was an attempt to answer the question 'Why?' That question ('Why run?') hasn't completely gone away so I'm continuing to write things here as and when new answers come...

Well, a lot has changed since my last post: COVID-19, social distancing and lockdown. These words have come to dominate our lives over recent weeks in ways unthinkable a few months ago. But alongside all this upheaval, some things have not changed. And for me one of the constants, I'm grateful to say, has been running. As lots of people before me have already pointed out, running seems to be a human impulse. As the title of one famous running book puts it, it seems we are 'Born to run'. But yesterday I spotted something about this that I'd not noticed before. I realised that running is part of the Easter story. In John's account of the resurrection, the first runner to be mentioned is Mary Magdalene. We're told that when she went to the tomb and saw that the stone has been removed from the entrance, she "came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple (John 20:2). And then Peter and the other disciple get in on the act and start running as well. ...

Its been nine months since my last post and six months since my Great North Ultra . And I've not run a huge amount since then. Having now completed the big challenge for which I spent a significant amount of last year training, I've found myself feeling somewhat directionless with my running. After running 126 miles, what do you do next? This year, life's been full with other things and I've not felt able to prioritise another stupidly long running challenge. I've not particularly fancied racing over shorter distances either, because I'm now a lot slower than I was two years ago (one of downsides of concentrating on ultras). But I'm a goal-oriented person. And without a clear goal, I've been running a lot less.  I've even found myself wondering 'why bother with running at all?' The answer, or at least part of the answer, came to me earlier this week. I woke up early on Wednesday morning with a lot on my mind and somehow knew that I nee...

"Are you insane?" Ever since I started telling people that I'm training for a 126 mile run, I've been frequently asked this question. Sometimes people try to put it a bit more diplomatically than that. But from the bewildered looks on their faces, I can tell its what they're thinking. I've never quite known how to respond (not least because I think we need to be careful about the language we use when talking about mental health). But when someone asked me the "Are you insane?" question the other day, I heard what sounded like a vaguely coherent answer coming out of my mouth: "Maybe its running that helps keep me sane". I'm not sure where that answer came from but it felt like a good one. There has been a huge amount written over recent years about the positive effect of physical activity on mental health, and this certainly resonates with my own experience. Though I did a bit of running back in 2007 (around the time of turning 30...

I'm not the most spatially aware of human beings. I don't have a good sense of direction and I'm not a great map reader. But over the past few years, running has helped me to become better acquainted with my surroundings in a way that feels deeply satisfying. It's helped me discover new parts of my neighbourhood, city and surrounding countryside. And as I've begun to run longer distances, it's also helped me to join up the dots between different places I know and love. Last Saturday was a great example. I'd arranged to go for a walk in the Peak District with friends, starting at Alport Bridge (pictured),  some 13 miles from Sheffield. So of course I decided to run there, and not by the most direct route. The route I chose  involved running out of Sheffield through the neighborhoods of Crookesmoor, Crosspool and Lodge Moor, gradually climbing all the way up to Redmires reservoir and then beyond it Stanage Pole. There I turned right and continued...

I guess its the kind of perspective that comes with middle-age. Life has been good to me thus far and, at 42, I'm still young enough, fit enough, and lucky enough to enjoy pushing myself physically with no apparent ill effect. And I love the feeling of care-free abandonment that (sometimes) comes to me when I run - especially when (to quote the title of a poem and book by Ian Adams) I'm 'running over rocks'. It's an incredible feeling, a privilege, a gift. Over the past couple of years, I've become increasingly conscious that being able to run is a relatively short-lived, temporary, gift. Given that life is so unpredictable and fragile, I've no idea how much longer I'll be able to keep running for. (Though I love the thought of being able to continue into old age like the guy in the picture on my wardrobe door, I've no idea if that will happen). And so I run while I still can, "laughing" (as Ian Adams puts it) "at the bri...

(I originally wrote this in my journal on 13 April, then sat on it for 10 days before eventually publishing it here) This isn't what I wanted to write on the eve of my 42nd birthday. I wanted to be able to launch my new blog and fundraising page tomorrow with a good number of posts about how much I enjoy running and how good it is for me. But whilst reading the book 'Present Over Perfect' these past few days,  the inconvenient thought has struck that I'm running to get away from something. And I think that 'something' might be stillness. I run because I don't always want to be still. It's strange because running sometimes helps me reach a place of mental stillness and contentment that I don't always get when I'm physically still. When I'm still, I often get stuck. But yet, there is also a sense in which my running is (at least sometimes) blatant escapism - a running away from inconvenient 'home truths', a running away from ...