It’s not a Competition

It has been mentioned (once or twice) in the past that I have a slight tendency towards competitiveness. Sadly this is not matched by a similar level of self-belief or natural talent.

I am only competing against myself, but I am a rival who never retires. I’m not just talking about achieving new personal best race times. Even on days when I don’t run, I make sure I am there to remind myself of past glories and serve up an extra helping of guilt, just in case I am not feeling lazy enough already.

I only ran twice last week. This was partly due to feeling faint, but mainly to going away for a hen weekend where running wasn’t an option, but staying up until 3am eating chips and dancing to Meat Loaf was.

Whenever I left the house or office last week runners swished by, trailing shame and envy in their wake. Every morning Mr Notajogger bounded in from his run, dripping the sweat of the righteous, as I groped blearily for the kettle. In York for the hen weekend I watched a runner run the length of the river bank in the time it took my hungover brain to work out how to get the coffee out of my takeaway cup.

Last night I joined the ranks of the runners again and my guilt was silenced. I ran 6 miles around Regent’s Park from the office and it was a lovely run. Slow, very slow, but steady. Compared to last week’s effort, this week is already winning. Not that it is a competition.