Skip this post if you aren't interested in self indulgence. Its very dull.
Up until I was 16 I played netball and hockey and tennis and swam and basically did any sport that didn't involve running. I really couldn't run. I could walk for miles courtesy of a stint in the cadets, but I just couldn't run. That I did any sport was a bit of a miracle as my parents weren't sporty, but they were always encouraging and wondefully open to new ideas. Having been a chubby child, I developed a bit of an eating disorder and dropped to about 7 stone. Not life threatening, but not unnoticeable on my frame. I was unable to carry on sport at school. So I decided to go for a run.
I'd like to say it was love at first run but I would be lying.
See I have this theory that running isn't fun until you can comfortably do 5k. And having never run, I did what most people did and went out as fast as I could, and rapidly started hating it. I was running across the farmers fields at the back of my parents village. Fortunately, I had a dog to walk so managed to hide my failure with that. And for a lack of anything else to do whilst I took my GCSEs and couldn't drive, I had a few more goes. It got a bit better. I could get around the wood (maybe two miles) and feel a bit wild as I jumped tree roots and parried branches.
At 17 my mum signed my sister and I up to Marlow 5, a road race in a town not that far from where we lived. Notably, she didn't run it. It was hard. I don't think I had run nearly that far before, I had never paced myself, I had never done a running event. I finished, not fast but not last, my then boyfriend was extremely proud of me, Mum was sort of impressed and my sister came somewhere in the top 10..... I was pleased, until one of the girls at school said something smarmy about my time, and I decided to maybe stick to the school's small gym.
Fast forward a few year to university and I got in to regular running due to the fact I couldn't afford a gym and my weight was ballooning. I was much fatter and slower than the other girls at college so I nearly always went alone. But I did get better. In my second year of university I would go running on Port Meadow and along the canal, never that far, but using it to offset the continual stress of my studies and I remember running to Iffley lock on my 21st birthday feeling jubilant and excited. I discovered parts of the city other students didn't know about and the green spaces of Oxford are marvellous. I ran my next running race sometime around this time too- Highclere 10K. It was better than Marlow if only for the beautiful setting and the fact my friend was also running the race, but I have no idea what time I did.
At 22 I had my first running injury (IT band) and a break up. I stopped running and put on weight. A year later I met my present partner, moved in with him, went to the gym less and my weight ballooned. By the time I sat my medical finals in the January of my 6th year, I was really unhappy with my body.
On elective, I took up running again. Ill equipped, on the otherside of the world and with daytime temperatures of 40 degrees celsius, it wasn't the most promising start. But it was a habit that stuck. When I got home, I ran the Blenheim 7km (very cold after the trip back from Australia) and the Town and Gown 10k. The first town and gown took my around 1 hour 1 minute. I came in just behind my boyfriend who thought he was going to go sub50. I wasn't fast. I always ended up walking in races. But I was running. And I could get better.
Over my first yeat as a house officer (foundation year one for the pedants) I aimed to run a 10km race every month to get better. And I ran my first sub hour 10k at Charlbury (I think) and eventually ran a 54 minute 10k. Some were road races, some were on trails and paths. At the time I had no concept of trail running vs road running. I just ran. I also discovered parkrun. Oh what a fantastic concept! To this day, I consider parkrun a magical idea, and am very grateful for those who continue it. I ran the Royal Parks Half Marathon at the end of my second foundation year, entirely unprepared, struggling like mad with the pacing and hobbling across the line to burst in to tears. But I had done a half marathon! My sister and Martin helped me walk to the tube station.
After this, my running sort of stagnated. I was still able to run 10k but I wasn't training for anything. I wasn't good enough to join a club or so I thought. Headington Road Runners seemed to be way to elite for the likes of me. Plus we had decided to move to Manchester (I'd visited it once, seemed a nice city so why not) to continue training, so what was the point. I googled running clubs in Manchester, and found Chorlton runners. Somehow, even before I moved, a love affair was born. I was going to join Chorlton runners and be a 'proper runner'.
Running in Manchester didn't start to auspiciously. Martin and I went up to look at the city with my parents, and I was going to run the Great Run Manchester 10k. I developed tummy craps that morning and ended up pottering around in just over an hour. A few weeks after we moved in I ran the Salford Quays 10k and turned out a 58 minute or so time, and was happy.
And in that September I made it down to my first Sunday Social Run at Chorlton Runners. Over the next year I was regularly turning up at Chorlton Waterpark for a slowish paced run along the Mersey. I loved the open space and the birds on the water. I actually got a lot slower that year, because I was discovering a different side of running; a social side of running. Apart from at work, I didn't know anyone but suddenly there were people to talk to about random stuff one a Sunday as we pottered around. Speed didn't matter to me as much. I got full membership once I had a car to make a few more sessions and my poor partner Martin has seen a lot less of me since! I loved, and still love, running in a Chorlton vest. Suddently you aren't annoymous, and wherever you go someone seems to know the club and cheers you on. I ran a few more half marathons and got in to a bit of pattern with my running, a few times a week.
I had heard whispering of a subgroup within the Chorlton Runners. A group that went out running on the hills. Why on earth would they want to do that? Fell running must be for nutters! But then again I missed walking and the countryside, but having not grown up with trips to the Peaks, I had no idea where to go. Someone offered me a place on a ten mile trail race in the Peak District andnervously I took it and discovered Ladybower reservoir. And I realised I wanted to do more this! The water was sparkling, the air was fresher and you could always walk up the harder bits. The footpaths were undulating and running down hill after a hard uphill was like being a small child again.
I looked for more trail races. There weren't as many then. But a friends brother set up a company to get people in to trail and fell running, and she brought me along. I owe the McCarron family a big thanks in my journey in running. I know four of the seven siblings and each of them have been part of my running journey. Bernard's running events gave me the confidence I needed to go do a bit more. I still didn't feel ready for fell races but I wanted to get out of running the roads of Manchester all the time, as much as I had enjoyed it.
Then I sort of staggered upon the Blacksheep at Chorlton Runners. I actually don't know what the first event I did with them was but I think it might have been a run and roast. Like it says on the tin- we run and then we go to the pub for a roast dinner. Then there were Monday trips I could do on my post weekend days off. And Wednesday night headtorch runs which are also followed by the pub incidently. Suddenly I met a load of people with a huge host of experience in the hills who were willing to share it and take me new places, especially if I was driving.
Then someone talked me in to Harrock Hill fellrace. It will be fine they said, its just like a trail race they said. And as far as introductions to fellracing go, its very doable. Standing at the back of the start line with all the skinny people in their vests and shorts, I felt very out of place. There were a couple of hundred of us at a guess. And everyone seemed to know each other. I was going to be near the back, if not dead last. I was overtaken by people twice my age (this happens a lot in fell running, just take it on the chin). I struggled up the uphills but I had a sort of mad fearlessness that made the down hills crazy fun. People chatted to each other in the queue for the style and held gates open. I came back gasping for breath but also smiling in the fading evening light. Also, it was so cheap! It was £4 rather than the double figure a lot of races charge (up to £40 for a big city 10k), and you just rocked up on the day so I didn't have to worry about getting away from work in time. Oh and there was a pub. Magic!
I am not a seasoned fell racer. A few years of intermittent interest at best. I like running in the hills but I still have to do a lot of my training on the roads because I still live in the suburbs and getting out of Manchester at rush hour is a nightmare even if I finish at a reasonable time. I have had some DNFs, bitten off more than I can chew but I have had some minor personal victories. I run cross country in winter against my better judgement and tell myself it will be worth it when the Wednesday night evening season comes along. I do hill reps. I ran my first road marathon last year and was going to do another this year before Covid 19 caught up. I'll never be a snob who doesn't wear road shoes and thinks of themselves above all that. But when I train for the long road stuff, I miss the freedom of running in the hills and fells. And the pubs.
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