7. Prophet in Your Own Land

    With Luxembourg's experience came the great hope that maybe, just maybe, running might not be that too far a bridge. However, the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Besides, I don’t know how others operate, but for me it’s like this: it only counts if I manage to run the very same route on which I spat my lungs two months ago. It’s not only the number of km, it has to be the same terrain as well.

    Back to the Netherlands, the sport agenda went on normally during the week: tennis, biking and, because the summer was in bloom, beer. Generally after exercising, just to keep the calories balance in place. When the weekend came, I was ready to try. Shoes on, music on and off I went, back on the trail that I had abandoned two months ago.

    I noticed that biking had improved my legs. Good, one less thing to worry about, I thought. Or would it be one fewer thing to worry about? With this small dilemma in mind and the pragmatic explanation that life beats grammar, I covered a couple of kilometres already. And, after a couple, another couple.

    After almost four kilometres, my body began to remind me that I was not the universal soldier I might have thought I’d become from riding a bike for 2 months. I started to feel the pain: legs, lungs, arms (don’t underestimate the effort required to keep them flexed), head (that had nothing to do with running, I admit). The good news: no sniper, though. Still, when I reached four and a half kilometres (when the fatigue kicks in you start measuring in hundreds of metres, then in tens :D) I really felt that my energy was draining and the legs shifted slowly from running to shuffling. I was happy to not have a mirror to reflect my struggle, but somehow I managed to go through. Slowed down, but going, until I almost reached the “fuck it!” point. Then I knew the time had come…

    I’d have to take a major decision, one that doesn’t come along every day. The last one of such magnitude occurred in February 2004, when I quit smoking and I applied a disarmingly simple technique: don’t fucking light another cigarette! Now it was exactly the same (only the opposite of stopping but still the same 😊): whatever happens, make sure to preserve that moment when both feet are in the air at the same time (It has to be a bit nerdy as well, sorry for that).

    I did it. It was very simple actually. Painful as hell, but simple. In the end it’s just running, all basic moves. Nothing from the intricacies of tennis, nor from the curiosities of curling. Not much danger, like skiing. No team work either like in football (well, that would have helped maybe, there’s always someone to do part of your job in a team). It’s just a copy-paste of some moves you learned very early in your life, as a toddler.

    The very good news was that the peak of the pain was gone in about a minute or two and it was actually easier to run continuously than with walking interruptions, especially for a Diesel person like me. Walking in between would cause me a nice resting feeling and breaking that inertia would take a lot of energy.

    That was THE moment, actually, an inflexion point in my running activities. From then on, I would just keep on going, without any walking breaks, save for some moments when the beauty of nature invited me to take a picture (to this day I haven’t managed to take a decent one running).

    It also felt like a big achievement. Beating the trail that had tormented me before was a sweet victory. It was the first time in my life when I ran eight kilometres, a lot even to count them, let alone running them. When I arrived home and crashed on a chair in the garden, sweat pouring down on me (apologies for the unpleasant picture and the shivers of disgust), I knew that running and I were into something more than a mere flirt. It wouldn’t dare to call it anything yet, but certainly I moved away from hate.

    For a while, I kept enjoying my new hobby, although I didn’t make much room for it in my sports activities. Once a week was all it got. The best part was that you see quite some improvements in the beginning and very often you break your records. Feels like a spa day for your ego 😊.

    The milestones set were of “one baby step at a time” type: make sure the first full run was not a coincidence, to start with. Then, on a sunny Saturday, I pushed myself on 10k. What a joy that was. After 10k, I decided that the distance suits me, but let’s try “just a little bit” longer. And gain some speed as well. However, the best achievement was, by far, the pleasure and the increased sense of easiness. Still didn’t know how to run - I felt like a toddler who just managed his first steps - but I knew I’d learn soon. There was no way back. 

 

The prize after the run 😃