As coronavirus became a reality in England way back in March and staying at home became a possibility I started to worry about my fitness levels. They weren’t bad, but I had the nagging feeling that having a good level of cardiovascular fitness may help me if I were to catch coronavirus. On Monday 23rd March I decided I ought to definitely go for a run, and go for a run every day until either I caught the virus or someone in the family did and we would all have to isolate. Thankfully none of us have caught the virus – yet.
And so I am still running every day. (Except Sundays, on Sundays we go for a long walk to make a Sunday feel different). I am still nowhere near being an actual proper runner. I run a short distance, slowly. And that lack of “proper” running has been the key. I run for about 20 minutes, on days when that feels too hard, I run less. I stop if I find someone to chat to, so it’s rarely 20 consecutive minutes. I am sure I could do better and more, but I do not want to. It’s a low bar and so is achievable, even after one glass of wine too many, a sleepless night, when it’s too cold, or too wet, or as in the run ahead of me today – too warm.
And so this week saw me reach three months of running every day. Me. Not a runner. The girls who got out of every PE lesson she could. Who did not start running until her 40s. I run every day and am about to buy more trainers because I am wearing these ones out. This week I am feeling a bit amazed, but proud.