I’d never any intention of becoming a runner when I joined my local gym all those years ago (even though then that was when I’d already passed the age of 40). I was purely interested in getting fitter, having had to stop playing hockey as I couldn’t keep up with the pace of the game any more and was staring to fall out of love with it. I just knew I needed to keep moving.
I’d heard people talking about how great this class called “Spin” was, and that it was unlike anything else. I decided to sign up for a class and give it a go. I think it’s fair to say I was hooked from the first track.
Soon enough I fell into a routine of going to two or three spin classes a week and, sure enough (as we all do) found that I stuck with the same bike every time. I loved the loud music, dark room, pulsing lights, and intense nature of those sessions. Invariably I’d end up totally drained and with a pool of sweat below me that suggested the mains had burst.
Taking the same bike each session meant that I was always next to the same people every class and, sure enough, I became quite competitive with the lady next to me. We spurred each other on to greater speeds in the sprints, higher resistance in the climbs, and greater levels of exhaustion than I’d ever known. I was most definitely getting fitter! I was also forging a new and, although I didn’t know it at the time, life-changing friendship.
After a few months, I was also venturing out into the main gym, and mixing up my workouts a bit – spin is all about the legs really! I’d not really talk to anyone, just getting on with my own thing, which suited me fine.
It was during one of my solo gym sessions that my “spin buddy” sidled up to me and whispered those few fateful words into my right ear:
I bet you’ve got a marathon in those legs
And walked off.
I looked up, but she was already a way away, walking a walk that can only be described as giving away that she was rather pleased with herself.
I, however, was sitting there, stunned. Where had that come from? Why had she said it? Did she know I wasn’t a runner? I’d always looked at runners and considered them rather odd. After all, what was the point? My running had always been after a ball, for a team, and never just “for the sake of it”.
Nevertheless, the seed had been planted, and I could never unhear it.
I had to come up with a reason why I could NOT run, let alone run a marathon. So I started to rack my brain. With each and every thought I came up with I realised that it couldn’t actually stop me running. I was able bodied, had both legs, had the time, it wasn’t expensive (it’s virtually free – well, it was at the time), I was getting fitter. I was still young, I had determination. As each and every possible reason (excuse) crumbled away, it dawned on me that I would have to admit defeat, and that running a marathon was an inevitable consequence of that whisper.
That was the point, and Emily had known that all along. I was defenceless, and running a marathon was a foregone conclusion.
It was then just a matter of working out when and where, from a standing start. At this point, I’d never even heard of “Parkrun”.