I’ve never considered myself the Bruce Springsteen of running – I wasn’t Born to Run.
In fact, the first time Wouna and I gave in to a nagging runner friend and joined her for a 5km fun run I was already past 30. And little kids of between 3 and 5 ran the shit out of me.
Maybe it was the shock of realising we weren’t able to run continuously for more than 2km, or the fact that kids that scarcely reached my knees easily ran away from us, but from that day we did our best to get better at the running game. Running together, we persevered, eventually managing our first 10km race, then a 21, then a 32, and then the wheels came off – the classic story of injury from over-use. We rested, cut back, tried again, this time getting all the way to completing a marathon at a pretty decent 6min/km pace. The sky was the limit, so we did more marathons, and quickly progressed to our first ultra – the scenic Two Oceans marathon in Cape Town. After this came injury again, followed by cut-back and rest, slow build up, eventually another marathon, and so forth, until now, about 10 years later, I would contend that we’ve spent enough of the past decade on the road (or on the trail) to be able to refer to ourselves as runners. Continue reading