A perfect ten

Ten miles is the perfect long run. Throughout a year of being injured, it has floated in my mind, a persistent goal. Over this year I’ve let go of caring about being fast, or entering races. But I haven’t let go of this dream: a ten mile weekend run.

In ten miles you can achieve something. You can get out of your local area, and maybe even back again. You can get tired, and pull through it. You can get seriously high on endorphins. It’s a long run you don’t need to plan for – if you forget to take food or water you can refuel at the end and still feel ok for the day. But it’s also far enough to make you properly hungry and thirsty. To remind you you’re alive.

I have run a couple of ten mile races and, as a race, it’s a treat as well. A ten mile race is a half marathon that takes you gently by the shoulders and says “hey, it’s ok, just for today we don’t need to run the last 5k”.

The last time I ran that far was back in November 2023, splashing along a grassy path that unexpected became a freezing stream, in the fields west of Stamford. Back then I thought my running was on the up, so I’m nervous to write this. But I don’t need my running to be on the up any more.

Today I ran ten miles. It was only half of my friend Laura’s 20 mile run, but I didn’t feel I was missing out. I felt only joy to be running 10, and an equal joy that I didn’t have to go any further.

It’s marathon season now, with Brighton tomorrow kicking off the big UK spring marathons. I gave up my place at the (new) Norfolk marathon back in January but I don’t feel envy for anyone running one this month.

I am truly happy with where I am. Today’s run was a ten.