It starts innocently enough. You cross the finish line of some damp autumn marathon, legs gone, dignity mostly intact, and someone at the club mentions you were “close to Good…
It’s Wednesday evening. You had a vague plan to do some strength work after your easy 5K. Instead, you made a cup of tea, stared at the foam roller for…
It happened at parkrun. Of course it did. You crossed the finish line, hands on knees, breathing like a distressed accordion, and someone cheerfully announced their time was 22 minutes….
It started, as most moderately poor decisions do, at parkrun. Someone mentioned they’d entered a half marathon. “It’s only 13.1 miles,” they said, cheerfully. You nodded. You went home, opened…
Picture the scene. You’ve decided to take up running. You walk into a running shop full of hope, wearing your ancient Primark trainers. A very enthusiastic 22-year-old puts you on…
You did it. Nine weeks of dragging yourself out the door in October drizzle, of Laura’s voice telling you to “keep going, you’re doing brilliantly” while your lungs staged a…
It started, as most terrible ideas do, at parkrun. Someone mentioned a local trail race. “It’s only 10K,” they said. “Lovely views,” they said. Nobody mentioned the ankle-deep bog at…
Picture the scene. It’s 6:15am. You’re standing on a rain-soaked towpath in a club vest that wasn’t quite warm enough, trying to remember whether tonight’s session is supposed to be…
It’s mile 18. You were absolutely flying at mile 8. You high-fived a stranger. You mentally rewrote your Strava caption. Then somewhere around the half-way timing mat, your legs filed…
It’s 5:30am on race morning. The alarm has gone off. It’s doing that thing where it’s not quite raining but the sky is doing its best impression of a wet…
It’s 6:47am. It’s raining. Not dramatically raining. Just that thin, grey, relentless British drizzle that gets into your soul faster than it gets into your waterproof. Your alarm went off…
You’ve downloaded the app. You’ve told three people you’re “doing Couch to 5K now.” Your trainers are suspiciously white. Week one, day one – you head out the door feeling…