COLUMN
Champions! This is going to feel a little different. There are no horrific portaloo stories, no neardeath experiences at 30km, and not even a proper attack on those silly soft flask thingies that bounce around like a you-know-what when we run. I’ ll never understand those things! For some reason this week, I’ ve just been feeling grateful.
And I think it hit me on one of those( very rare!) runs where everything just works. The legs find a rhythm, the breathing behaves, and your brain finally quiets down long enough to let a thought land properly. Somewhere during kilometre number nine, it clicked: this thing we do is actually a privilege.
Quite simply, we don’ t have to run. We get to run. And I think somewhere along the way, between chasing PBs, fighting for our lives on long uphills, stressing about our Strava and constantly checking the weather, we sometimes forget this.
We say things like:“ I have to get my long run in this weekend,” as if it’ s a task sitting on a to-do list. But the truth is, there are people out there who would give anything to be able to do what we do. To put on a pair of running shoes, step outside and just move.
Meanwhile, we’ re standing at the door going:“ UGH! It’ s a bit humid today!”
I caught myself doing exactly that this week- it was dark and cold. So I sat on the couch with my coffee and quietly complained, looking for an excuse. And then I laughed at myself because my body is out here doing something incredible( OK, my running is average at best, but you get it!) and I’ m treating it like an inconvenience.
Champions, how lucky are we that running comes with these built-in communities of fellow champions who all choose to do this slightly ridiculous thing together? Where else do you get to see the same group of people almost every day without needing to make plans? You just pitch, and there they are.
The ones who will wait for you if you’ re late, slow down when you’ re struggling, or suddenly forget all about you the moment you say:“ Let’ s keep this one easy.” The ones you can message at any time with:“ Are we running tomorrow?” and the answer is almost always yes.
We’ ve got these like-minded crazy people we can lean on, whether it’ s for advice, motivation or just someone to complain to about how our toenails are slowly planning their exit strategy. That’ s not normal. That’ s something really special.
And then there are the things we don’ t even think about anymore. The fact that most of us can afford proper running shoes when we need them. Not just shoes, but the fancy ones that make you feel like you’ ve got a small advantage over your past self.
We’ ve got watches tracking everything, routes to choose from, races to enter, safe places to run and coffee shops that open early enough to reward our questionable decisions. That post-run coffee alone has probably saved a few running careers.
But even that is part of it. The ritual. The sitdown after. The run recap that somehow takes longer than the actual run.
And then we sign up for marathons, and the language changes again.“ I have to run 42km this weekend.” No, you don’ t. You get to. You get to stand on a start line with thousands of other people who have chosen the same challenge. You get to test yourself, to see what happens when your legs start giving in and your brain has to step in and say:“ We’ re not done yet.”
Yes, it’ s hard. Yes, it hurts. And yes, at 30km your legs will once again submit formal resignation letters. But that’ s also the point. It means you’ re in it. You’ re doing the thing.
So maybe this week we try something different. We wake up at stupid o’ clock and say out loud:“ I’ m so fortunate to go running in the cold and dark or the hot and humid or the pouring rain.” OK, I even laughed at myself for that last one: if it’ s pouring with rain, I’ m postponing! But, I’ ll still do it with gratitude.
And one day, there will come a time when we can’ t do this anymore. And I promise you, on that day, we won’ t be thinking about the early alarms or the weather or the long runs we complained about. We’ ll be thinking about how much we wish we could just go for one more run. So, my beautiful Champions, grab your running shoes and sunblock! Send the message. Show up. And somewhere along the way, just take a second to appreciate it. Because this thing we do? It’ s a gift. Even at 39km when you’ re hating yourself!
I love you. 2-nils. www. modernathlete. co. za 23