Running is like Marmite: you either love it or you hate it. When I got studied and measured for a new pair of trainers in which to perform my new hobby, I paid £90 which shocked me and I knew I HAD to make sure and love it and get my money’s worth.
It wasn’t easy in the early days. In fact, it was hellish and sore. I’m not a natural athlete by any stretch of the imagination and could barely run 400 metres without stopping. My sofa and I loved each other and were loath to be parted to, god forbid, exercise or run! However, anyone I spoke to who did run spoke so glowingly about it and were so encouraging that I was determined to get past that pain, get fitter and lose a bit of weight.
Step one: ‘run a minute, walk a minute’. It’s hard to believe now but those teeny tiny sixty second bursts of running seemed to go on forever. I was proved to be disgracefully, disgustingly unfit. I persevered to stage ‘run 2 minutes, walk 2 minutes’. . . . . and so on and on – you get the idea.
I have a brother who by comparison was (is) fit. He runs, swims, hikes, gyms and offered to run with me one day. What a difference it made to have someone encouraging and pep-talking as we ran out The Sandside road. All of a sudden running a reasonable distance for more than one minute seemed possible and I wasn’t as rubbish as I thought. I got better as weeks progressed and my clothes felt looser – result!
Somehow, and this part is foggy, an 11k run was mentioned. Oh, and joy, Kirkcudbright does indeed host such an event in May. Is it conceivable that Plodder here could run that far without stopping and with half of the town watching? I convinced myself that 11k is only 6 miles and 6 miles is only 1 mile further than round The Buckland. I suspect that 11k is actually closer to 7 miles. Ignorance is most definitely bliss though.
I kept my idea of doing this run to myself until I was quite sure I could do it. Once I said to other people, other humans with ears, with memories that I was going to do it there would be no going back. Commitment made! So I kept practicing and eventually could go round The Buckland (4.7 miles)without stopping. Talk about a major landmark moment! Happy, happy!
Big brother pointed out that it would be an idea to try the actual 11k route soon so that there would be no nasty surprises or major disheartenment on the day of the run. I was still buoyed from the success of the (almost) 5mile Buckland run and heartily agreed.
Ooooooooft!
My poor heart raced, buckled and plummeted all at the same time. I still do wonder if, so used to The Buckland Run that, a change of route made it seem so much harder. I mean, the familiarity was gone. Big Brother refused to let me be beat. He insisted we do it again and then again. He ignored all petulance and scowls, credit to him.
And eventually the day came a week before the actual run when I,WE, got all the way round and did not stop once! Not even up that sodding hill towards Twynholm. Not even when I realised that once on to The Beeches stretch that it actually continues to slope uphill. Not even at Tongland Bridge when you are lulled into thinking you are very close to home – (do not be fooled!) –you are still 2 miles from the finish line! There are no words to describe how good that felt. I used to be the person saying ‘running, ugh. No way. You must be mad’ and now I was the person listening to other people say that. Score.
The day of the run dawns dull and grey. Good, I dislike running in the heat! The run doesn’t start until 1pm and I wished it started earlier – I just want to be ready, steady, go ! 1pm came and o-f-f we went. Everyone surges away from the line and we keep up. Actually no. Too fast. Too quick away. I realise this and slow down on the bridge towards Twynholm aware that the hill is looming. A lot of people stream past and my heart trembles a little once again – I would never be first, I know that, but really don’t want to be last!
On and on and on until the welcome stretch at Cumstoun beckons. My favourite part, ie downhill. My niece and nephew beam and clap as we go past not quite understanding why Auntie Joanna is running and giggling happily. Them. Not me. I’m definitely not giggling. Over Tongland Bridge and nearly home. . .no, don’t forget!. . . 2 miles to go, don’t be fooled, concentrate. Along that l-o-n-g straight and into town. If I can get to the Town Hall. That’s my target and then the rest is easy. Got there. Feel fine. Past it and down towards Castledykes Road. Turn in towards the schools. So close now.
Left into the school car park and at that point the winner of the ½ marathon glides past. The same man has won it for four years now. Go Ben! Well done! Hearty clapping is still ringing out for him as we head down the grass towards the finish. Over the line, I can hear the compere shouting my name, happy, happy!
Everyone has been brilliant and thank you. All you people who encouraged. All you people who sponsored and waved us along. Thank you. £585 has been raised towards buying a defibrillator to keep on the hotel premises.
I’m delighted and feel like we’ve achieved something brilliant. ...... Until I think I hear something. Again, this is a foggy moment and I think I must have misheard. Until I see the same words on Facebook. A whisper, something about a half marathon next year.
Not 11kk, Half Marathon. Now, . . .see that cloud of Joanna shaped dust? That was me, legging it and running away faster than ever before!
Note from the Editor - Well done Joanna from all the team
