No One Run is the Same

Why some don't matter and some are important

Oct 21, 2022

Disclaimer: For the sake of this blog, the word “Arthur” means “Half Marathon”. It’s easier for me this way. Don’t ask.

Running is Stupid

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Running is dumb. Of all modes of transport, it’s probably the worst. It’s slower and harder than driving. It’s harder and less comfortable than walking. It fuckin’ hurts. Toenails, toes, feet, ankles, knees, hips, lower backs. It makes us all sweaty and gross. We get chafe, that mongrel mix of sun cream and sweat gets in your eyes and stings like a bitch. It’s fucking dumb. You are sore the next day. stretching, foam rolling, eating energy gels, using a massage gun, it all sucks. If you were to write a list of pros and cons of running the list of cons would far outweigh the pros. On paper at least…

Running fucking sucks. It’s agonising at times. It takes a lot of time and effort in an age where we are more time-poor than ever before. Believe it or not, it can be expensive too. Events are expensive to enter. Oftentimes you’ll need to travel to get to them and pay for accommodation just to do what you could have done somewhere near home with way less fucking people in your way. The gear is expensive. A good pair of running shoes, which you need, can cost up to $350, that’s the same as a ba… never mind. You’re only supposed to run 500k in most shoes and then get new ones. The controversial Nike Alphafly will set you back $370 and is recommended that you do no more than 300k in them. They’re not versatile either. If you want to run both trail and road, you’ll need a pair of shoes for each. That might sound fucking absurd if you’re not a runner, but most runners will tell you the two are very different. Then there’s all the other gear. Some hydration vests are $300. You can spend hundreds on compression gear. The same goes for “running headphones”. Personally, I try not to get caught up in too much bullshit. I do buy good shoes, but my Camelbak was $40. I buy cheap tights off the internet. I have a friend who works for a big sports retailer who helps me from time to time but I never take the piss. I only ever get stuff when I need it. I hate having excess fucking junk taking up room in my cupboard. Some people though feel like they need all the flash shit, and good on ‘em. There are worse hobbies to blow your coin on. The point again though is, running is fucking dumb.

So why the fuck do we do it?

For me, there is something special about running. The only thing that comes close to the euphoria I once got from drugs and alcohol is the feeling I get after a good, long run. It’s difficult to describe, but you just feel… good. Everything that happens in the hours after a long run feels better. The shower feels nicer. The trackies and jumper you put on are more comfortable and warm than ever before. Water tastes amazing. Fucking, water! You sink into the lounge and it feels like someone has snuck into your house and upgraded the pillows on your lounge. Your doona feels fluffier.

Sure, there’s lots of science behind running and the release of endorphins, etc, and if you’re really interested click here to read about it. But sometimes I like to get a little bit woo-woo and believe some hippie shit. Makes me feel nice and spiritual? Or some shit. There’s something about being active outside, in nature, usually by myself, that is just special. It clears my racing head. I can actually process my thoughts while I’m running. I can process events of the past. There’s no distraction. No one to bug me. Somewhat hypocritically though, in recent years I’ve discovered my love of running with others. For years I thought running with others would be weird and awkward, and it was! But only for the first few times and only because I made it awkward. It’s fucking stupid, why would you feel awkward doing something with a friend you both mutually enjoy? I don’t know, but I found a way! Once that dissipated and I became comfortable within a community of runners, I found I was surrounded by a whole bunch of weirdos, just like me. It was perfect. A stampede of oddballs. Nowadays, I fuckin’ love it and since moving away from Canberra I fuckin’ miss running with the R4R Crew.

In a way, since sobriety, I have kind of swapped out my group of mates that I would drink and party with for a group of people who like to run in a group. The more I think about it, the more I realise the similarities between the two groups. Both are just a bunch of fuckin’ weirdos who like doing dumb shit. I fit in well with both.

Change Your Metrics, Enjoy Running More

I ran all of my PBs in the back half of last year and early this year. I’m not a good runner. I’m not fast. I’m not built to run. I’m 172cm and at the absolute peak of my running fitness, I weighed around 82 kg. According to the bullshit Mass Index (BMI), I was 9kg overweight when I ran these PBs. I'm happy enough with these for a “fat” prick.

I honestly don’t think I could have lost much more weight. After one bender I hadn’t eaten for a few days and was really dehydrated and got down to 77kg. I looked more unwell than healthy that day.

After 7 months at the gym and 6 months, sober I am sitting around 96kg. Now that bastard Bullshit Mass Index reckons I’m obese! I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. Working my way back to my best running fitness. The point of this is not to let scale weight dictate how you feel about yourself, frisbee the fuckers over ya fence and through ya neighbor’s window. Fuck that guy, he keeps parking on your lawn anyway.

In the modern age of smartwatches, there are so many better metrics to go off. Resting heart rate, heart rate vs output ratio, sleep hygiene, VO2 Max, PBs over distances, elevation gain, whatever the fuck. If you are doing work and eating right you will be improving. You just need to know where to look for them.

Last year I got so caught up with metrics that I pushed myself too hard and ran a bunch of garbage k’s for no other reason than to hit targets. Don’t get me wrong, I did some cool shit, but at the end of it, I didn’t want to run anymore. Something I loved so much no longer appealed to me. I’d love to live in a world where we replace the term “weight loss” with “health gain”. We have all the technology at our disposal to do that now. We just need to shift our mental approach. I’m not an expert, I’m still learning. I’m self-conscious, I’ve had weight issues in the past, it’s ingrained in my brain from growing up when I did that scale weight was a direct reflection of your health. I’m working on it though and I can see a gradual but constant shift in mindset. I recommend everyone else does the same because it is so much better.

I think it’s important that we take time to revisit our why. We run for health benefits. Mental and physical. My obsession with metrics last year pushed me away from something I love. Run slow enough to enjoy it. If it’s too hard, you’re less likely to keep doing it. Run for benefit of having a community. Share the thing you enjoy with others who enjoy the same. I’m massive on learning from others’ mistakes. I am hoping to help others learn from mine. It has to be enjoyable and align with your original why, first. Worry about irrelevant metrics later.

Why Some Runs Mean More Than Others

I am/was the king of running garbage k’s. I know all too well about running for the sake of running and not working towards anything or applying any thought or science to it. Last July I ran my biggest-ever month. It was cool to run over 500k in a month, sure, but not necessary. I ran seven Arthur’s in seven days from the 19th to the 25th. Last December I set out to run 30ish k’s on an oddly cold Monday afternoon and felt good so thought fuck it, and ran my first 50k. During a lockdown when we were only allowed outside of the house for 2 hours a day, I left home at 10 pm so I could use the two hours from that day and two hours from the next and ran my fastest-ever marathon. The above are all pretty cool achievements for me, but when I reflect on them, that’s about all they feel like. Pretty cool. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been pretty apathetic toward my achievements, even on reflection. It’s an odd thing when you set out a plan, work towards something, and achieve it, only to be underwhelmed when you do so.

There are runs that I am proud of though. I was hopeful of running a PB at this year’s Canberra Marathon. I was running well and thought I was a real chance of achieving it. Six weeks before race day I tested positive for COVID. It knocked me about a little, but no worse than anyone else. As the end of my isolation period ended I felt like I was going to be fine. When Isolation did end, I tried to run and was blown away by how much fitness I had lost. Twice I had to get my dad to pick me up from the side of the road, sitting there like a lump of shit. I stunk too. I don’t know what the fuck it was, but the smell seeping from my pores was something I’d never smelt before. I just had no energy. I felt fine doing day-to-day tasks, but running just wouldn’t work for me. Five weeks out from what I wanted to be my PB, I couldn’t run. I decided to rest for a couple of weeks and see what happened. I tried running again, similar result.

It wasn’t until a week before race day I finally felt comfortable running, had a reasonable heart rate, and started to believe I might actually be able to finish it. I ran 30k before the marathon that week. Nearly 73k for the week. That’s way too much.

I went into the run thinking, it doesn’t matter if I finish this or not. The time certainly doesn’t matter. Just start slow, get comfortable, and run by feel. Usually, I’m a stickler for running to my heart rate, but that day I told myself to ignore it. It had been higher than normal since COVID and I’d removed all expectations of myself to finish it.

I remember when I hit roughly 22k and I’d noticed that the last few k’s had been pretty quick. I ran past the man with possibly the most R4R starts, “Simmo”. We had a brief chat. I told him I was feeling oddly good, but I was a little worried that maybe I was getting overexcited and could die in the ass at the back end. I remember Simmo telling me to be careful. I considered his advice for a second then thought, Nah, fuck it. I decided then that I was going to do my best to maintain that pace and just see what happened. Die by the gun kinda shit. I managed to get somewhere around 37k before I started to hit any sort of wall.

Sometimes when you run you hit what Courtney Dauwalter calls the pain cave. My interpretation of it is that your body goes almost into autopilot. You’re in a lot of pain, fuckin’ heaps of the shit, but your body kind of just looks after you. There’s a certain bliss in there. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s an incredible feeling when you get it. From the 37k mark, I knew I was going to finish. I knew I was going to finish strong too. It’s an amazing feeling knowing that despite the agony, your brain is going to overpower your body and force it to do what it can do, but thinks it can’t. I think somewhere along the way I had some kind of moment where I decided I wasn’t going to let COVID stop me from stretching this bitch’s ears.

Not only did I finish, but I ran my third fastest marathon (out of nine) ever. Six weeks after COVID, with almost no preparation.

I think for me, it’s the runs that suck the most that mean the most to you. Any runner can go out when they feel good, in perfect conditions, and run a little better than last time. While that shit is cool, like in life, I think it’s getting through the shitty situations, where the odds are against you somewhat, that makes you more proud than anything else.

So yes, None of my fastest runs mean much to me. My longest run doesn’t mean much to me. A 500k month and seven Arthurs in seven days means fuck all to me. I actually forgot I did that until yesterday.

The 2022 Canberra Marathon will most likely be my favorite run and the run that fills me with the most pride, for the rest of my life.

Why “Run With the Wind” is so Important to Me

I love doing these smaller, community-based runs. Above is a photo of me all fat and sweaty at The Kowen Trail Run earlier this year. An event where all proceeds go to the Wamboin Rural Fire Service. It’s an amazing trail and an amazing cause.

This Sunday I will be doing the Run With The Wind Arthur at Woodlawn Wind Farm Just outside of Tarago, NSW. When I saw the opportunity to run at Woodlawn I jumped at it. The Woodlawn site is an old Zinc and Copper mine that was shut down in 1998 and later reopened a. Eco Precinct. Essentially, trains full of rubbish come down from Sydney and they use it as a rubbish tip, and obviously a wind farm.

There’s nothing significant about this run for me, although I was pleasantly surprised to see that this run, should I complete it, will be the 97th time I have run farther than 21.1k. So there’s that.

The reason this run means so much to me is my Pop.

My Pop lived in Goulburn, not far from Woodlawn. He was a mechanic by trade and a great cricketer. He and Mum fucking adored each other. She was his firstborn. Daddy’s little girl. Pop always wanted to work on big machinery once it was financially viable to leave his trade. So as his kids grew into adulthood and left home, Pop got his dream job of operating heavy machinery.

When mum was pregnant with my older brother, Pop’s firstborn grandchild, Pop was by far the most excited member of mum’s family. He bought everything Mum and Dad needed and more. He couldn’t wait to meet his first grandchild.

On the 15th of July, 1985, Pop was killed in a workplace accident at Woodlawn Mine.

Mum was four months pregnant at the time. Pop wouldn’t get to meet his first grandchild that he was so excited to meet. You can’t find any information online about the accident. Not a single thing. I know what happened, but out of respect for my family, I’ll spare you guys the detail.

I don’t think Mum ever fully got over her dad’s passing. I’ve seen her erupt into tears when we would ask about him. Usually, she’d be fine, but now and then, she would crack. It was and is fucking horrible to see. I know she still thinks about him every single day. She misses him terribly. She was so excited for him to be a Pop and for him to watch her become the incredible mother that she is.

I never met Pop. But as I sit here, I struggle to write without getting upset. I think to a degree I grieve on my mum’s behalf. I so clearly remember her crying inconsolably even 25 years after Pop passed away. You know when you can see someone in real, genuine pain and you are powerless to do anything about it? Almost as though they must experience that pain to move forward. You can understand the psychology of grief and pain all you like, but when you see someone who has been a pillar of strength all your life, break down and be in such pain, it’s fucking hard. So hard.

I remember as a kid being sad that I didn’t get to meet Pop. Not because I wanted for much, but because mum just spoke about him so glowingly. Dad did too. Not many of us speak glowingly about our in-laws.

I’m nervous and anxious about Sunday. Returning to a site where a family member was unexpectedly killed is not an experience that is presented very often. But something inside of me is telling me that it is something I have to do. I have no idea how I feel. I don’t know what to expect. I’m only at the start of learning now through my psychologist and journaling etc, how to feel my emotions and sit in them instead of doing whatever I can to avoid feeling them. The only thing I know is as soon as I saw the opportunity to run at Woodlawn, I had to do it. Something was telling me that it is important that I do it. I don’t know if it’s for mum, me or whatever. I don’t know if I’m going to be excited or sad. I do know it won’t be like any other run or event I’ve ever been to before.

A massive part of my sobriety and growth over the last six months has been about forcing myself out of my comfort zone because that’s where the good shit is. I know this run will mean so much more to me than probably any other run I have been a part of in my life. I don’t know why, I just know that I have to do it. Hopefully, I don’t run along crying the whole way, but if I do, it means I have to, and so fuckin’ be it.

Wish me luck.