Now that I can officially call myself an ultramarathon runner, I think it’s about time that I come clean about what this gloriously graceful sport has done to me over the past few months…
Thus, I will use this space on my wall, my friends, to confess some of my deepest, darkest running secrets (in no particular order):
- Members of my inner posse take great joy in belittling the fact that I wear dresses, skirts and shorts only in combination with boots. My well-rehearsed response to this is to merrily claim that the cowgirl look is a deliberate attempt to honour the years of my life that I spent living in the Wild West. But deep inside, I know that the world is just not ready to be exposed to the carnage that is my toenails.
- Whenever I happen to run an 8 minute mile, I consider my weekly sprint workout completed.
- My speedwork consists almost exclusively of people-leking these days. You know, I go out for a run, but instead of running intervals or even doing a fartlek session, I just run a little faster whenever there’s someone around who can actually see me.
- After I run, I usually devour volumes of food that would probably leave a beast emerging from hibernation feel somewhat queasy. What I really mean to say is that I pretty much always eat anything that isn’t nailed down somehow. As far as nutritional strategies go, that one’s a winner.
- In order to run, I bribe myself with chocolate. A lot. Need to get up that hill? Have chocolate at the top! Feeling tired after 25km? No problem! I just tell myself that I can have a Snickers when I reach 30 km… It works every time. However, I have no idea how I’ll ever race a marathon again (that doesn’t involve a chocolate orgy and associated bribery).
- At the end of a long run, I find nothing more comforting than immediately getting out of my sweaty running clothes and into something warm, dry and comfy. That’s precisely how I came to stand in the buff in full view of a group of hardcore bikers in a parking lot the other day. I’m not even ashamed.
- While I’m on the topic of cozy clothes: because my pyjamas happen to be the most comfy clothes that I own, it’s only logical that I should change into them after a long run, right? Then I drive home. I pity the fool who thinks that this attire would somehow deter me from walking into a petrol station and buying a Cornetto for the road.
- Toilet paper is the single most important piece of kit I carry. It’s never on any mandatory kit list and nobody ever dares talk about it (as though it’s against some secret code… hang on, is there a secret code?!?). However, it’s hands down the biggest life saver out there, ever.
- Hills are to me now what a bell was to Pavlov’s dog… The association between inclines and food has become so robust in my head that my stomach actually grumbled the other day when I was driving up a multi-storey carpark ramp. It defies the laws of my nature to attempt a hill workout in the absence of a Snickers bar. Yes, that includes hill sprints night at my local running club. I don’t care about the funny looks I get, it takes either a lot of chocolate or a violent temper tantrum to get me up those hills.
- And finally, I’m beginning to think that I may be committing an act of fraud by calling myself a runner. In reality, I do a lot of plodding around. Downhill sections see my technique and form change to something that might best be described as “controlled falling”. And whenever I’m faced with any hill that might actually be a worthy opponent, it automatically triggers a “fuel break” response, which forces me to walk while stuffing something calorific in my face all the way up. At best, I think it’s fair to say that the notion of me being a runner has a tenuous relationship with the truth.
(A rare sight: a fledgling ultramarathon runner caught in the act of running)
“Enjoying your runs will be the make or break of whether you stick with it or not. Quite simply, if we don’t enjoy something, we don’t do it!”
– Sara Kirkham