1. The First Step

    There was absolutely no glory in the first run. I started it around 6 pm and it took me about 45 minutes. However, the preparations began a few days earlier. And so did my anxiety :)

    I didn't have any special equipment for running but, at the second glance, what do you really need? Shoes - check, I took the tennis ones. Some breathable clothes - check, again from tennis. Music - very important - plenty on the phone, and my music bandwidth is limited anyway, so - check!

    Running plan - well, there were a few options, but in principle it was run one minute and walk another one, for as long as you can.

    My wife behaved admirably by smiling and encouraging me every single time I mentioned the race. And she was not short on such occasions, for I was going on endlessly in the morning, at lunch, and with several other occasions when we had a break from work and a coffee together. In the end, she did what she does best in such situations: be the voice of reason:

    "Flo, you'll be fine, just take it easy. Run, walk and enjoy. One minute run, one walk. Don't overdo it, don't be a hero, just relish the moment. You’ll have plenty of time to grow from it. And, if you’re down and can’t move anymore, call me and I'll come to pick you up. Now, shut up and go! :)"

    I know that best things happen to me when I strictly follow the advice Wesley gave to Woody in White men can't jump: Listen to the woman!

    So, off I go...

    One thing became clear, if it hadn't been already: I would forget about the 1 minute run and 1 minute walk routine the moment I take the first step. If you want to achieve something, you’ll have to do it the hard way. So much for listening to the woman!

    The corollary of it was that shortly I realised that I didn't know how to run. I was running like kids, trying to swallow the whole distance at once. And don’t think I took a short one, no way. Three-four km is not a real distance for a man. Let’s make it seven-eight. And make sure it’s not around home, so you can’t just quit and return. My reasoning was clear: if I go 4 km away from home, I’ll have to come back somehow, by hook or by crook. Or, call my wife to pick me up, as I always listen … ;)

    Balancing running and walking would follow a scientific algorithm, I decided. Run until I can’t anymore. Then walk a bit. Run again. Super brainy, indeed.

    Music on, and get lost in the park. Hmmm, not that bad, I’ve had worse. Pick up some pace, yaaaay, I am running. One step, then another, copy pasting them, it’s working. Sure, the wise man I am today would tell that young boy that Metallica is not the most inspiring choice of music for a beginner (geee, their drums are truly rolling and the legs have a tendency to follow!) but it was thrilling. Almost 2 km gone, the park was quite welcoming…

    Then a sniper shot me, right in my lungs, leaving me gasping for air. That was the first bullet. The next ones hit my legs, in the calves and the thighs. I slowed down, began to walk. The wounds were healing as I was walking, so back on running I went. The sniper kept following me and shot at me with surgical precision whenever he thought fit. I would recover every time, although it would take me longer and longer. By the time I reached the half of my journey I felt that my home was farther and farther from me. The effort was so big, I did not have any energy in me to be able to see the people around, nor did I know where I really was. OK, the last part is more due to my proverbial poor orientation skills, but stil! It seemed that I was totally detached from the landscape. The only thought I had was how to gather all my strength to come home.

    But...

    No matter how hard it was, I didn’t even think of calling for a lift, although I was in bad need for one. Just to gracefully fail on every single point of the "listen to the woman" part :). Instead, I kept dragging myself, running and walking, dreaming of a chair to crash on in my garden.

My first route

 

That happened after about three quarters from my departure. To me, the ordeal felt like 2 days. At least. But I made it. And now I am sinking dead on a chair in my garden.
    “How did it go?”, asked my wife with a wide grin?

    “I haaaate running. Just hate it. I couldn’t imagine it would be sooooo hard. I won’t go again. My sins are not that big for this punishment. I’ll find something else”

    “Come on, let me get you some water. Wooow, you’re soaking wet. Feel free to not go in the house like this. And don't forget stretching :)”

    My thirst is slaked and my senses are being restored. The mist on my brain is finally lifted and I get to think straight again:

    “Damn, I should have gone for the Porsche”