I got three runs in last week, finishing with six miles last Saturday, which I was delighted with, as I haven’t run that far since the marathon. I intend to do longer runs on Saturdays, to keep myself ready for longer distances when the time comes.
I hadn’t intended it to be, but that six mile run turned out to be the last run of my forties – I turn fifty tomorrow. It snowed this morning and that killed my plans to get out today; therefore I’m celebrating that last run in retrospect.
When I turned forty, I had all the angst of getting older, and while I sometimes find it hard to believe I’m the age I am, I no longer complain about my age. Life is a gift, a privilege, and I can think of so many people who are dead that I know would love to be alive, so I’m celebrating this milestone and all the good things I have in my life. The lockdown means I can’t have the kind of celebration I would have liked, but that can keep.
I was reminded that I really only started running properly in my forties, back in 2014, and I have never looked back. I’m so glad I started running: it gave me enthusiasm for life at a time when I was totally burnt-out, and helped me deal with numerous stresses along the way. I’ve run in various places around the world, met some great people, and showed myself and everyone else what can be achieved if you really want to do something, and you prepare for it.
Just for the record, I’m posting some photos of my running highlights over the years. None of us know what’s to come, but I’m certain that running will be in my future. And pink champagne.
