Running to Live
How many of you woke at 6am on Sunday, drove to a hill so high, it sat on top of another hill and watched the sun rise above the clouds?
I did.
Suffocating wind assaulted every crevice of my running vest and threatened to bash the car door into my legs.
I could barely muster the willpower to lock the car. My key glimpsed sunlight before being put out of mind, and out of sight into a little bag that contained nothing more than a phone, wine gums and some loose change.
The thought struck me as I began my descent down the stony, muddy terrain that running is like life. I’d originally planned to run from Tegg’s Nose to Disley along the Gritstone Trail, but when it became evident that the closest thing to a footpath was a narrow road 10 miles long through sketchy mist, my plans changed. Some risks are worth taking. Not that one.
Spotting a lake in the distance which looked appealing, I continued down slope after slope, aiming for that serene quietness one only gets at 7am in the middle of the British countryside.
Plans change, but the compromise was worth it.
From there, I ran into Macclesfield, onto the main streets, picking my way around the faces of people I didn’t know. Seeing other runners, dressed in similar garish colours, I waved a friendly weekend hello. Some smiled, and some didn’t.
As the roads curved and leaned from side to side, soon I arrived at a place I remembered very well – Macclesfield Hospital. I remembered the time when my daughter had been admitted there for a week several years ago and the thought – the reminiscing – ruined my rhythm. The memory infiltrated my mind and wouldn’t go away.
I stopped waving at the other runners and smiling at shoppers. I selfishly escaped to my own dark world.
Stopping for water, I sipped it angrily, knowing that despite all the miles along the pavements of Macclesfield, all the memories left behind, I could not change them. At the end of everything, I, everyone, has to deal with the past, and move on.
My ending sat on top of that hill. Tegg’s Nose. A hill on top of another hill.
I procrastinated. I delayed the start. I tried every tactic to avoid going to the bottom of that hill. But everyone has to start somewhere. And the longer I procrastinated, the harder it would be.
Part of me wanted to get it over and done with. A big part of me wanted to get a taxi.
Funnily enough, it wasn’t as bad I expected. It never is.
The song ‘O Verona’ kicked in on my mp3. If you don’t know it, it’s the song from the movie Romeo and Juliet starring Leonardo Di Caprio. If you don’t know the movie, I’ve heard (!) it’s also a song used in the X Factor. A little bit of drama in running and life is never a bad thing.
As the concrete rose above me, I grew stronger. I had seen a documentary about Pantani, the cyclist, only the previous day, and took his strength, his inspiration, his courage, to get up that hill. I wanted people to watch me tackling that hill and be inspired by it, just as I have been inspired by watching runners in the final stages of marathons.
My reward at the end? One whole litre of diluted Vimto in the front passenger seat of my car. I had to have it. It called to me. Who knew that diluted sugary kids juice could have so much appeal?
But you know what? It’s never EVER about the end. It’s about how you get there.
To get to Tegg’s Nose off Buxton Road, you have to turn right. But I had something to prove. That it wasn’t as bad as I envisioned. I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran. Past the turn off for Tegg’s Nose. And all the way up Buxton New Road.
Then I stopped. And looked back. In the distance, I could make out the faint outline of buildings, hospitals and imagined all the people I had seen. And from my viewpoint, it felt like I had conquered the world. Back then it had been hard. But look at me now.
But the challenge wasn’t over. Why should I be content with just that? Running back down Buxton New Road, to the turn off to Tegg’s Nose, even steeper hills awaited. Part of me wondered if I could make it. Part of me said, just bloody try.
As I inched upwards, wondering if crawling was allowed, my running watch charting my progress decided at that very moment to abandon ship. The screen froze, refusing to continue along with me. That’s fine, I thought. It’s not ideal, but I can go on without it.
I’d envisioned a Rocky style jump at the top of the hill, or a shout of something adrenaline-fuelled, but everything hurt so much. All I wanted was my Vimto.
I’d like to say that my run stopped just there, but I had a goal I wanted to reach before returning home and even though most people would think I was crazy, I continued running around Tegg’s Nose for another hour. I ran past dog walkers, munching a sugary nutty snack bar, willing my body and my mind to just keep going. The final stages of my run saw me lapping the car park several times over, anything to avoid the unforgiving rocky steep terrain. I stopped after four hours.
What did I achieve? There’s a question. Truth is, I don’t know. I run because I like it. I live because I like it. I’m lucky that I can do both.
Check me out on Twitter @JWilbyPalmer
I did.
Suffocating wind assaulted every crevice of my running vest and threatened to bash the car door into my legs.
I could barely muster the willpower to lock the car. My key glimpsed sunlight before being put out of mind, and out of sight into a little bag that contained nothing more than a phone, wine gums and some loose change.
The thought struck me as I began my descent down the stony, muddy terrain that running is like life. I’d originally planned to run from Tegg’s Nose to Disley along the Gritstone Trail, but when it became evident that the closest thing to a footpath was a narrow road 10 miles long through sketchy mist, my plans changed. Some risks are worth taking. Not that one.
Spotting a lake in the distance which looked appealing, I continued down slope after slope, aiming for that serene quietness one only gets at 7am in the middle of the British countryside.
Plans change, but the compromise was worth it.
From there, I ran into Macclesfield, onto the main streets, picking my way around the faces of people I didn’t know. Seeing other runners, dressed in similar garish colours, I waved a friendly weekend hello. Some smiled, and some didn’t.
As the roads curved and leaned from side to side, soon I arrived at a place I remembered very well – Macclesfield Hospital. I remembered the time when my daughter had been admitted there for a week several years ago and the thought – the reminiscing – ruined my rhythm. The memory infiltrated my mind and wouldn’t go away.
I stopped waving at the other runners and smiling at shoppers. I selfishly escaped to my own dark world.
Stopping for water, I sipped it angrily, knowing that despite all the miles along the pavements of Macclesfield, all the memories left behind, I could not change them. At the end of everything, I, everyone, has to deal with the past, and move on.
My ending sat on top of that hill. Tegg’s Nose. A hill on top of another hill.
I procrastinated. I delayed the start. I tried every tactic to avoid going to the bottom of that hill. But everyone has to start somewhere. And the longer I procrastinated, the harder it would be.
Part of me wanted to get it over and done with. A big part of me wanted to get a taxi.
Funnily enough, it wasn’t as bad I expected. It never is.
The song ‘O Verona’ kicked in on my mp3. If you don’t know it, it’s the song from the movie Romeo and Juliet starring Leonardo Di Caprio. If you don’t know the movie, I’ve heard (!) it’s also a song used in the X Factor. A little bit of drama in running and life is never a bad thing.
As the concrete rose above me, I grew stronger. I had seen a documentary about Pantani, the cyclist, only the previous day, and took his strength, his inspiration, his courage, to get up that hill. I wanted people to watch me tackling that hill and be inspired by it, just as I have been inspired by watching runners in the final stages of marathons.
My reward at the end? One whole litre of diluted Vimto in the front passenger seat of my car. I had to have it. It called to me. Who knew that diluted sugary kids juice could have so much appeal?
But you know what? It’s never EVER about the end. It’s about how you get there.
To get to Tegg’s Nose off Buxton Road, you have to turn right. But I had something to prove. That it wasn’t as bad as I envisioned. I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran. Past the turn off for Tegg’s Nose. And all the way up Buxton New Road.
Then I stopped. And looked back. In the distance, I could make out the faint outline of buildings, hospitals and imagined all the people I had seen. And from my viewpoint, it felt like I had conquered the world. Back then it had been hard. But look at me now.
But the challenge wasn’t over. Why should I be content with just that? Running back down Buxton New Road, to the turn off to Tegg’s Nose, even steeper hills awaited. Part of me wondered if I could make it. Part of me said, just bloody try.
As I inched upwards, wondering if crawling was allowed, my running watch charting my progress decided at that very moment to abandon ship. The screen froze, refusing to continue along with me. That’s fine, I thought. It’s not ideal, but I can go on without it.
I’d envisioned a Rocky style jump at the top of the hill, or a shout of something adrenaline-fuelled, but everything hurt so much. All I wanted was my Vimto.
I’d like to say that my run stopped just there, but I had a goal I wanted to reach before returning home and even though most people would think I was crazy, I continued running around Tegg’s Nose for another hour. I ran past dog walkers, munching a sugary nutty snack bar, willing my body and my mind to just keep going. The final stages of my run saw me lapping the car park several times over, anything to avoid the unforgiving rocky steep terrain. I stopped after four hours.
What did I achieve? There’s a question. Truth is, I don’t know. I run because I like it. I live because I like it. I’m lucky that I can do both.
Check me out on Twitter @JWilbyPalmer
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