So… Late March,/ early April
can get in the fecking bin.
I was ill, not in a dramatic, “I fought off a rare jungle disease” kind of way. More in the deeply unimpressive, slow-burn, energy-sapping, “why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus that’s reversing just to be sure” kind of way.
You know the type.
Not ill enough to justify lying on the sofa watching Netflix all day…
But absolutely ill enough to make putting trainers on feel like preparing for an expedition to Everest.
The Month Running Forgot Me
There’s a special kind of guilt that comes with not running.
You sit there thinking:
“I could go out…”
…but also:
“Or I could stay here and not cough my lungs onto the pavement .”
Guess which one won.
For weeks, my running shoes just sat there. Judging me.
Like:
“Remember when you said sub-30 Parkrun this year?”
Yeah… good times.
Fitness: Gone. Vanished. Call the Police.
The thing about a few weeks off is you convince yourself it’s fine.
“It’ll come back quickly.”
“Muscle memory.”
“I’ve still got it.”
Reader, I did not still have it.
Walking up the stairs had me reconsidering life choices.
Putting socks on required a tactical pause halfway through.
At one point, I genuinely considered counting a brisk walk to make a brew as cross-training.
Today: The Return of the King (Well… a Slightly Broken Prince)
Fast forward to today.
First Parkrun in weeks ( it should be noted that this wasnt just ‘cos of illness, drinking too much also played its part) .
Standing at the start line thinking:
- “This is it.”
- “We’re back.”
- “Don’t go off too fast.”
- “Why is everyone else so… alive?”
- “Look at that lovely whippet”
And then we’re off.
Km 1:
“Not bad this!”
“Still got it!”
Even though I consciously set off slowly, as I lost sight of Evie further up the road, I had, in fact, gone off too fast.
Classic.
Km 2–3:
Lungs: absolutely not mate
Legs: who even are you
That illness came back like:
“Miss me?”
Km 4: Negotiations
At this point it’s less running, more…
aggressive forward movement with complaints
Internal dialogue:
- “You can slow down.”
- “No one will judge you.”
- “Actually everyone will judge you.”
- “Keep going.” ( big up to the bloke wearing the Pershore top for encourging me up the hill to the woods)
Km 5: Survival Mode Activated
No style.
No grace.
Just vibes and mild suffering.
But here’s the thing…
I finished.
Not a PB.
Not even close.
But guess what?
That didn’t matter.
The Bit That Actually Matters
Because today wasn’t about pace.
It wasn’t about time.
It was about showing up again.
After weeks of feeling rough, flat, and about as athletic as a damp sponge…
I got back on the start line.
And that’s the win.
The Haphazard Truth
Progress isn’t this smooth, Instagram-worthy upward line.
It’s:
- illness
- missed runs
- bad runs
- “why am I like this” runs
- comeback runs
And somewhere in all that chaos…
you keep going.
What Now?
We rebuild.
Slowly.
Awkwardly.
Haphazardly.
That sub-30 Parkrun?
Still on.
Just… maybe not next week 😅
Take the risk. Make the mess. Turn up anyway.
And remember…
Stay Haphazard.
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