I often feel a bit awkward when I start these articles.
Partly because it’s the social media equivalent of knocking on somebody’s front
door to sell them something, persuade them to join a cult, sacrifice a virgin,
etc.
But I started running again recently. Okay, so it took
nearly a week of bashing the ‘snooze’ button at 7am, before taking one look at
the grey clouds and frosty pavement and immediately rolling back over. But then
along came a bright, sunny morning and off I went. It was great fun, even
though my joggers were falling down on the way back and something possessed me
to attempt a sprint finish, despite the fact I live at the top of the
westcountry equivalent of Mount Everest.
Yep, as the old saying goes: how do you know someone is a
runner/vegan/whatever the trend is at the time? They tell you.
But in reality, I’m here to talk about how running helped me
to overcome depression. I started at the age of 17, in my oh-so-distant youth,
and a lot of the credit goes to my Dad for observing that a bit of exercise
might actually do my mind some good. And he was right.
And I enjoyed it, at times, although I’d be lying to you if
I was just going to bang on about how great running is, how there are never any
bad times and it levitates you into becoming some kind of spiritual being. Not
quite. It’s bloody difficult when you first start. I’m sure Dad still wakes up
dripping with sweat at the memory of the first time he encouraged me into
trying a longer distance – it was a five miler, and for the entirety of the
final mile I responded to his gentle, verbal encouragement by showering him
with expletives.
But I had always been able to rely on running to clear my
head after a bad day. It’s like the movement enables fresh air to enter my
mind, and logic to infiltrate itself in my thought process. The increased
serotonin levels also encourage me to be more productive and get stuff done
during the day. I feel significantly more energised and motivated throughout
the rest of the day if I’m fresh from a morning run.
After a series of 10ks, I entered my first half-marathon,
which took place in my birth-town of Bath in 2012. It was an incredibly scary
prospect, and so in the months leading up to the race, I did all the right
things in terms of cutting out booze and getting plenty of sleep before
training. This was all well and good until I went for a quiet drink with a
couple of mates, and as the evening went on, one of them responded to my tame
choice of beverage, which came in the form of J20, by placing a jager bomb in
front of me. I wasn’t overly impressed, but as it was still three months until
race day, I gracefully downed it in one.
I entered one more 10k the following year, and a few months
later I found myself permanently attached to the treatment table. I’m a skinny
rake and have horrendously poor muscle tone, hence I’m injury prone, but this
appeared to be the last straw. I gave up completely and it remained that way
for the next two years – which meant a wonderful period of time where I’d have
to readapt to being out of breath after every flight of stairs.
It turned out I have a chronic injury, which limits me to
short distances if I’m going to run at all. And also completely rules out
contact sports, which diminishes my dream of ever being stretchered off the
pitch, thirty seconds into my Spurs debut.
Although it’s hard work, being physically fit is one of the
most undervalued things in life. I know that’s easy for me to say, and I
completely acknowledge that I have it a lot easier than most people when it
comes to exercise. I put my hand up and admit that I’m that annoying person who
seems to eat for England, yet if I stepped on a set of scales they would
probably tell me to piss off.
But it’s worth it. Running gets you out in the fresh air,
gives you a routine as well as things to aim for. I was a bit of a drinker as a
teen (weren’t we all?), but exercise has provided more benefit to my mental wellbeing
than booze ever did.
My upbringing primarily took place in a sleepy town in Devon
– for those who aren’t native, imagine a small village with more tractors than
shops. As much as I complain about the limitations it brought to my adolescence,
the countryside surrounding it made exercise a joy to experience. There really
was nothing better than a walk or a jog out into the sticks, with the light
breeze in your face and a view of miles on end of rural landscape.
