Taking those first steps: my journey

I was never an endurance athlete, yet I yearned to join those happy parents off on their group runs, smiling and full of energy. This is how I started my running journey.

Seven years ago, I watched with envy a group of parents from my children’s school set off for a run after dropping their kids off at martial arts. They looked so happy, so full of energy and enthusiasm. Why wasn’t I with them? Oh, yeah. My bum knee, I told myself. Years ago, a doctor took some fuzzy ultrasound pictures and decided I had a meniscus tear that would need surgery if I wanted to run. I wasn’t going to do that—the surgery or run. Or was I? I think that day the seed was planted. Those parents I envied are fully to blame.

I just wanted to run

My youngest was two at that time, and I wanted to get back in shape. I cycled a bit, but had never developed a passion for it. At least, not like my husband, who can do a six-hour bike race over five alpine mountain passes and finish top 50 out of 6,000. The same guy who did three marathons last year in under 3:20hrs, (two of them on back-to-back weekends)—just to see if he could—and then says “I’m not a runner” and shrugs it off.

Let’s just say I was born with not a single slow twitch muscle fibre in my body. I could sprint the 100m pretty well as a kid, but even 200m was pushing it, let alone a lap around the 400m track. The one time I went to a high school track and field try out, the coach asked me to do a lap. Well, let’s just say I never went back. I probably should have, mind you.

But yet, I yearned to run. I wanted the runner’s high, the freedom, a reason to get outside. Later, as an older mom, I wanted to delay the vicious cycle of decline that aging was sure to bring and have the best possible quality of life with my kids. I didn’t want to be one of those parents who, after feeding, cleaning, reading and wrestling their kids to bed, were too exhausted to get up off the couch. Or the ones who couldn't keep their eyes open at 7pm, falling asleep next to their little one only to wake up at midnight with insomnia.

So, I wanted to run. First thing first, I had to check my knee. Luckily I got an MRI fairly quickly back then, which revealed that there was nothing wrong with my meniscus. Hmm… either a fraudulent Austrian knee surgeon misdiagnosed it or my knee healed itself with a little bit of luck, or magic. Whatever it was, I was happy and ready.

How I started running

I knew I needed to start slow and easy. So I began with a walk-run of about three kilometres. Not too bad. No pain, except maybe a little muscle soreness in my thighs. I kept that up for a few weeks, stretching out the running parts little by little, and before I knew it, I could maintain an easy jog for 30 minutes. And yes, I was already addicted to that runners high. About a year later, I decided I needed to reach the 5k mark. I extended my runs a little bit each week until I reached that mark.

I was now jogging about 40 minutes, however. My next goal was to narrow that down to 30 minutes, and I did this with the same approach as when I started to run. Once or twice a week, I pushed myself a bit harder every half a kilometre, dropping back to a slower jogging in between. Little did I know, I was doing that fancy-sounding training technique called intervals. You know what? It works. By the following year, I was running 5k in close to 30 minutes. Fast-twitch muscle fibres be damned.

Running into old age, I hope

It’s been seven years since I started running. I’ve now run four 10k races and several 5k’s. My biggest hope is that I’ll be running into my 70’s or even 80’s like some of the inspirational women I’ve seen on courses. There are always a few faster than me who are at least a couple of decades older. They are my heroes.