Motor cycle crash victim to Marathon runner

And chatting while running

Tuesday evening this week was very emotional. Some ten years ago I was introduced to a running group in my town. I’d had a year of physiotherapy following a bad motor bike smash and had progressed to jogging on a treadmill.

I went onto the group website. It seemed to be heavily biassed towards women runners – not that such bias bothered me, but I wondered how welcome I’d be. Would I put others off joining..?

I needn’t have worried. The woman who started it more than ten years before had recognised a significant gap in the amateur running ‘market’. Her target audience was a middle-aged woman, probably with a couple of children, who had sacrificed proper sleep, food and exercise to look after the kids. But now the children were bigger, she realised that she needed to take more care of herself. Ideally, an exercise regime would be part of that.

But the very last thing the woman would do is to buy ‘spray-on’ Lycra and go to a gym, where everyone seems to be strong, flexible, aged no more than 25 and with 7% body fat.

Even if she lit on running as a good activity, all the running groups around here, anyway, have ‘Harrier’ in their name – the runners gather at the appointed spot, check the route, zero their Garmin watches and hare off into the distance. Not helpful for the beginner.

So Sarah (for that is her name) began a group which had a couple of very important internal rules. The main one is that we always, always run together. And we chat as we run. Attendees would be split into several distance groups, each with a qualified Coach and running Buddy. Nobody would be left behind. The coaches were trained to encourage people to walk if they were struggling and return to a little jogging once they’d got their breath back.

The whole spirit of the group was one of encouragement and support.

I was very proud to be entered for her external Coach training programme and be allowed to take my own group on one of the official routes. I may not have been great at following exactly where we were supposed to go, but that’s another story. [Ahem].

I helped Nicky, one of the members, train for the South Downs Marathon – it’s about 95% trail running and is very hilly – up and down. At the time, I had absolutely no desire to run a marathon. But one of the others put it to me, fairly forcefully, that I’d done the training myself, so I was capable, plus, more importantly, I ought to support Nicky around the route to make sure she completed the course.

So we ran together and had a brilliant time

.

My journey, therefore, has been from Motor cycle crash victim to marathon runner.

It’s pretty emotional for me, just writing this down.

But Sarah decided that after twenty-something years of administration, organisation, mothering, cajoling and encouraging to run the Group, she couldn’t maintain her own levels of energy to do a full-time job and occasional ultra-marathons as well.

So Tuesday night was our final organised run as Sarah’s Runners.

The other coaches and buddies all clubbed together and I bought a young tree for her complete with engraved brass plaque. It reads, “For Sarah, who inspires so many to mellow miles of greatness.”

I should say that we never talk about times or Personal Bests or running fast or slow – our pace might be ‘lively’ or more ‘mellow’ – just as long as we can chat as we run. It’s actually a great test of aerobic fitness.

Poor Sarah was quite overcome at the display of love. It may have been discovering that some of the pizzas she brought had pineapple on top, but I think she just had no idea of the high regard and genuine affection we have for her. She was fine until I nudged her towards an open area where everyone had gathered in readiness. Then she blubbed without ending. She even wondered out loud about carrying on. But we gently dissuaded her – it’s time to hand the reins to someone else.

Now, those of us with a ‘Y’ chromosome aren’t supposed to cry. But it wasn’t just my eyes brimming over – the others were too. I managed to read out an appalling short poem instead of making a cringe-worthy speech

Someone said, “Just because it’s sad, doesn’t mean it’s the wrong thing to do.”

Do Dogs cry? I’m trying hard to Be More Dog.

Hold that thought…

Back to the slugs…