Middle Aged Moans and Creaking Bones.

It’s been a bit of a difficult start to the year in terms of health and fitness. It started with me catching some kind of bug just after New Year, which pretty much knocked me for six. It felt flu-like (I promise it wasn’t just the mythical ‘man flu’) and really didn’t help in preparing for the term ahead at work, as well as the new year in general. And it’s been largely downhill ever since…

A few Sundays ago, I was meant to be running the Pontefract 10k, easily one of my favourite races of the year. Training hadn’t been going well though and the most I’d ran in over a month had been 4.5 miles, which was a long way short of what I needed to complete for a 10k (6.2 miles). Still, despite the lack of miles in the legs I’d resolved to run and just give it everything I had in order to get over that finish line in a half decent time. And then the Saturday before happened.

On the Saturday before the race, I woke up feeling fine. I’d had a decent sleep and was up and showered early and ready to go. The usual Saturday plan is to head to a local country park in order to volunteer for ParkRun or just get some washing in and then head to the supermarket to do the weekly shop. With my son busy revising, it meant that we wouldn’t be volunteering, so once the washing was in I headed to the supermarket where, up to a point, everything was going swimmingly.

Suddenly though, as I headed to the checkout, I felt violently sick and my stomach was turning more than my washing machine. I dumped my trolley and ran to the toilets, just in case – can you imagine the eternal shame of throwing up in your local supermarket? Nothing happened though and so when I felt a little better I rescued my shopping and went and paid for it.

It happened again though, almost the minute that I walked in through my front door. To cut a long, repetitive story short, I ended up in bed, sleeping like a baby for the next couple of hours. On waking up, I realised pretty quickly that I wouldn’t be making the trip to Pontefract the next day.

This was the second race in two months that I’ve had to pull out of. The first one, in April, was just because I felt extremely tired. I didn’t even really want to race, having done the same one last year and hated every second of it! It was only bloody mindedness that made me enter again!

And so, that Pontefract Sunday was spent trying to pick myself up from feeling low and working out how to put things right. I had four weeks until my next race – the Leeds 10k, which is always fantastic. I decided just to take a slightly different approach and resolved to think less about times and distances and just make sure that I get out and run. No excuses, no pondering and deliberating and talking myself out of things…just get out with a minimum distance in mind and run. Hopefully fitness would come and as the race approached I would be able to start preparing properly and getting some longer distances in.

As I write on 2nd June, it’s been going well. I dragged myself out and did a post work 5k on the Monday evening after having missed out on Pontefract and I’ve been keeping going since then with 4 runs in total as well as several long walks and some yoga. My latest run was a Friday morning 10k which was nowhere near as tough as I’d expected and although I was slightly irritated with my time (just over 56 minutes) I’ve told myself that it doesn’t matter and that if I can run under 55 minutes for the Leeds 10k, then that will represent a bit of a triumph.

Hopefully, by the middle of June I’m approaching some sort of fitness. In an ideal world I won’t be struck down by another bout of mystery illness and so be able to just slowly build my strength back up. It’s been good just to give myself a kick up the backside and adopt a ‘no excuses’ attitude.

Roll on Sunday 15th June and the Leeds 10k! Fingers tightly crossed until the actual day though!