10 Reasons to Start Running You Never Considered ... Zombie Attacks & Moving Picnics ...

1. Zombie Apocalypse.
When the zombie apocalypse comes you’ll be glad you dragged your arse out for all those runs. You may not have any toenails, but you’re not going to be a snack for the groaning undead. Cardio, cardio, cardio. Oh and double-tap. Remember to practise your intervals though. They’ll eat the slow ones first.

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2. Party Preparation.
Should there be a last minute 80s party, you’ve already got all the lycra and neon you’ll ever need. And we know you listen to the Fame soundtrack while you’re running. Don’t deny it.

3. Concentration.
Running makes you really, really focused. Nothing focuses the mind more than the thought of a really cold pint at the end of a really hot marathon.

4. It hurts less when you stub your toe.
There are less toenails to actually knock off and quite frankly your toes have lost all sensitivity by the time you actually get around to kicking the doorframe. Likewise standing on Lego will never hurt quite the same again.

5. Stat Attack
You know how boring spreadsheets are? Well when they show your run in great details including cadence, heart rates and teeny tiny hills you won’t be able to get enough information. Trust me. AND you’ll be able to prove it was all the fault of that energy gel you had at 8.67 miles that you started feeling nauseous and had to stop running. And definitely not the bottle of wine the night before. Cough.

6. Open Season at Buffet Bar
People won’t judge when you go back for 4ths and 5ths at the buffet. They’ll just assume you ran a marathon the day before.

7. Recovery, Recovery
You can pass off drinking gallons of chocolate milkshake as ‘recovery fuel’.

8. Moving Picnic.
Ultra marathons have CAKE stops. And no-one judges you for eating an entire pizza en-route. And you walk up the hills. Basically they’re a massive buffet with a bit of jogging thrown in.

9. Maths Mastermind
Your maths becomes amazing. You know exactly what pace you have to do to hit that personal best and be able to calculate kilometres per hour into minute miles in seconds. It’s like being an idiot savant. Unable to add up the groceries in the trolley but with the ability to tell anyone your 5k pace when asked.

10. MI5? Pah ...
You can talk a whole new language with other runners. Negative splits? Yasso 800s? Kenyan Hills? It’s like being a secret agent. But one dressed entirely in neon lycra.
 

Go Push a Cyclist in the Hedge

You know those people who say in a cocky tone; “You never forget how to ride a bike”? Can you go and push them off their bikes for me, please? Preferably into a spiky hedge. With bees in it.

My helmet is strapped firmly to my head, my bell is within reach on the handlebars - or it would be if I dared take a hand off the handlebars – and I am wearing lycra. I heard a saying recently that was used to describe someone on a bike. It was “All of the gear ... no idea”. That pretty much sums me up.

Or maybe the slightly longer but possibly more accurate; “What the hell am I doing on a bike I can’t ride one of these.”

I’m lucky, my hometown of Rugby has a brilliant cycle network which meant I could try out my cycling skills – or lack thereof – with very little riding on the roads. I’d be able to pedal along safely on the specially designated path sharing it with pedestrians (lucky, lucky them) but without having to compete with the cars and lorries for my much-needed wobble space. Luckily there weren’t many pedestrians around (maybe they saw me coming) and the small amount of road cycling went smoothly and was incident - and mainly wobble -free.

I’d chosen Cycle Route 41 - which was familiar to me as a marathon training route - and while I enjoy running through mud, cycling through mud was a revelation. I’d forgotten the ‘whizzzz’ noise of tyres through puddles and the joy of trying to keep up speed through extremely sticky mud without putting a foot down in the muck. I’d forgotten the fun of cycling the trails, of ducking low branches and of the breeze that you don’t get when you run. I’d even forgotten the Cyclist’s Badge – the stripe of mud up your arse which identifies you immediately as being a cyclist – and worse - one unable to resist a muddy puddle.

I’d promised to be back within an hour, but the temptation was too much and after finding myself a little further away from home than expected, I decided to make my way home along the Oxford Canal Path where I could admire the pretty narrowboats while pedalling along.

It was lucky I did really. (If I completely ignore the fact that the puncture happened BECAUSE I was on the canal path and passing newly clipped hedges.) If I hadn’t been on the canal path, what were the chances of getting a puncture RIGHT OUTSIDE THE PUB?

Pretty low, right? See – a stroke of luck. It happening outside a convenient pub, I mean. Not the puncture. Terrible how these things happen. Tut tut. Must have a cider to steady my nerves.

Nope. Definitely NOT at the pub. 

Luckily I was far enough away from home and it took my husband quite a while to shepherd the 5 year old into her car seat. Long enough for me to finish my pint and resume my position complete with stricken look and helpless posture next to my bike with the conveniently flat tyre. And hide the pointy stick.

You Lookin' at ME?

Not really. I’m not the desperate for a pint. Cough.

Trying to get a bike into the back of a Ford Fiesta while keeping one of the back seats up for a child seat was like those strange metal puzzles you get in Christmas crackers. You know there’s a way to do it, but there aren’t any instructions and you have to resist the urge to resort to brute force. There was also the ‘big box of crap’ which seems to reside in the boot of every car to navigate around.

Finally after a lot of (muffled) swearing, a lot of shoving and clanking and giggles we got a pushbike, a child seat, a 5 year old, 2 adults and a cardboard box of crap into a small family car.

It was like oily, muddy magic. But in a Fiesta.  

Leamington Parkrun: Lessons from a 4 Year old

Leamington parkrun on the 21^st December was to be the Christmas parkrun. This meant an excuse to bring out my red and white outfit and run around the 3 mile course dressed as Santa Claus. However, this year my 4 year old wanted to join in. Dressed in her finest Miss Christmas outfit, she was determined to teach us something about running.

Here is what I learned from running with a 4 year old:

• Corners are more fun if you aeroplane around them. Arms out and “Mrowwwww” noises are compulsory.
• Fartleks are started by shouting “Run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm a gingerbread man!”
• If you don't stop dead at the end of each interval, causing taller people to have to leapfrog you, you're doing running wrong.
• Mud on trainers is a necessity as is mud on clothes. You should stop to inspect this at regular intervals. If you can keep up a running commentary in it so much the better. Adults LOVE this.
• As soon as your legs feel a bit wibbly from all the running, insist on being carried. 
• Leaves are interesting. Don't forget to stop and inspect the green ones. Especially if your parkrun is on trails. LOTS of leaves to stop and inspect.
• Puddles are damp pools of enjoyment and should be stared into before tiptoeing through the dead centre.

AND finally and most importantly ...

• Coming dead last is an honourable position and as added bonus there are all the more people to cheer you across the finish line!

Picture taken by Amar Chehal