So the UK is in the grip of a storm frenzy, although as I sit here in the warmth of my flat I can’t see much of a storm happening outside my window, it looks a little damp but there is a glimpse of sunshine still.
The storm apparently kicked off yesterday and there have already been a number of deaths and lots of damage. The news reporters are likening it to the great storm of 1987 which I remember clearly despite being only 9, in the aftermath of that storm my dad though it would be a good time to drive to the coast for the weekend. We spent 12 hours in the car, for what should have been a 3 hour journey as emergency services removed fallen trees from roads.
As I headed out for my #onebigfatrun yesterday I wondered if I was as stupid as my dad.
I would have liked to have run first thing in the morning, but I has my 5 year old nephew over for the night and the idea of taking two small children out into the cold seemed a little selfish. We were going to my cousins christening at 2pm so the day was pretty much taken up with getting ready for that, then enjoying the family celebrations, so it was like 5pm time we got home.
First thing I did was put my running clothes on because I knew I wouldn’t go otherwise. My Garmin was dead so I had no way of knowing my distance, I couldn’t run my normal #onebigfatrun route because it was already dark… I was not in the best of moods heading out.
I ran though. I ran up to the Bow roundabout which was like an obstacle course, as Boris is digging up the roads to put in a cycle super highway along that stretch of road, turning 3 lanes of traffic into 2…the Sunday evening traffic was chocablock on both sides of the carriageway…great, just what I needed an audience.
There was a real eerie atmosphere going on, the storm was approaching…you could tell by the leaves being whipped up into a frenzy. The breeze was helping me on the way there but not so much on my return. There was a constant whirl of sirens too. Not sure if this had anything to do with the approaching storm…or just another crime ridden day in East London.
Half way back and about 15 minutes into my run I came upon a crossroads, a physical and metaphorical one. I had a choice, finish off my “pretty, shitty, city” route knowing that it’s only about 3k, or do a left and run along the new road to Westfields adding at least another 3k to my journey.
Sod it I thought.
I’ve spent the last week or so stressing over my painful knee, but the run so far was not causing me any trouble so I pushed on, push being a very apt word. By now the wind was really picking up, hitting me square on. I had to tackle a very long gradual hill up to the lights of the shopping centre, with a procession of static vehicles filled with exhausted shoppers who were probably wondering what the hell I was doing.
I finished off the route with one final hill taking me back past Stratford tube towards home.
I got back 43 minutes after leaving out, and upon checking my route online I found out I actually ran 5.17km, and when you take into consideration the hills and the headwind, then I am pretty chuffed.
There were 101 excuses I could have used to get out of doing my run today…but I made it happen. So did about 100 or so other overweight men and women around the world as part of my #onebigfatrun initiative.
The next time you come up with a reason not to run ask yourself…”is this an excuse?” if it is then get off your arse and go out for your run. If its not…ask yourself the same question again until you find the right answer and get out for your run.
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