Literally running in circles

This is a good thing, FYI.

I gave myself a treat and ran a long way in circles. I did laps of the green by my flat instead of another there-and-back excursion to a park in southwest London I’ve not visited before. Running laps reduced the risk of being caught in one of this weekend’s sudden downpours. But that’s not why it was a treat. It was a treat because it took me back to the days when I couldn’t run.

I’m talking pre-history: 2017. Back then, I owned running gear, and in surreal, brief moments of desiring self-improvement, I’d put it on and try to run. That happened twice. Both times I managed two laps of about 550 metres each, and both times, I felt a pain in my chest that I remember vividly despite having never felt it again in 1,000 miles of running. It was a treat to run 17 laps like it was nothing.

But it’s a shame for progress to feel like it’s nothing. When I properly took up running in 2020, I did Couch to 5k, walking a lot, running a bit, then gradually running more and walking less over nine weeks. By the end, I was too ecstatic that I could run to reflect on the fact I’d slowly gotten much better at it. Instead, I thought about where running could take me. It was the start of my quest to visit every greenspace in southwest London by running there and back. Running became a way of exploring nondescript suburbia. When I joined a running club, it became a way of socialising. When I did races, it became content for Instagram.

Progress has stalled lately. Yes, I ran three 10K PBs in a row from November to February, unexpectedly running the last in 47.16. But the months after were dogged by admin, colds, and the fear I didn’t have in me to get much better.

London at the weekend had the worst running rain. I can deal with constant and light, but this was biblical and intermittent. You never knew how long a break would last. Eventually, I put my kit on — always a good prompt to actually go running — and decided I’d do laps of the green. If I describe it, it sounds like most other urban parks. This one is actually blue — psych! — it’s green. It’s the size of a couple of rugby pitches. It’s lined by trees. It has a playground for children and a table tennis table for everyone. In the small-world days of lockdown, I’d navigate its perimeter while dodging the footloose toddlers whose parents were enjoying the sun in the only place they were legally allowed to go.

At the weekend, there was just a guy on a bench, deep in thought. I tried not to disturb him as I circled him every 2 minutes. I have run in five countries, by the Avon, the Clyde, and the Hudson — but running those circles took me back to when I could only run a kilometre before collapsing. I used to jog two laps, give up, and not run again for literal years. But this time, I ran about 15 laps at a fair lick and didn’t even feel it. Doing that wasn’t flashy. It wasn't that noteworthy after four years, two half-marathons, and a dozen other races. But it reminded me how far I’ve come — and it was just for me.