6 hours ago
3
It was desperate times that forced me to turn to run clubs. As a naturally unathletic person, joining a run club is about as radical a move as I could make – but I had to do something.
In July, I had an episode of atrial fibrillation, a medical issue where your heart beats to the wrong rhythm for an extended period. I was in hospital for three days while my heart raced at more than double the normal heart rate, the odd glow of the monitor haunting me.
To get it back into a normal rhythm, I required an electric shock. The chipper emergency doctors at Canterbury hospital reassured me it was a normal treatment – despite feeding me a cocktail of drugs and standing over my head “in case my heart stopped”.
Thankfully it worked, but it was cumulatively a nightmare, the kind of experience that is supposed to change me. My cardiologist, very casually, said the best I can do to prevent another episode was to get fit, ignoring my despair.
As someone who hates the gym, I needed something more; something that I hoped would motivate me, something I could perhaps enjoy. And suddenly finding myself on a healthy diet, no longer able to smoke or drink endless cups of coffee, a runner’s high sounded intriguing.
That’s what brought me to the unusual position of standing among the hundreds of weekly runners on a Saturday morning, in shorts and trainers, stretching and wondering how long 5km really was.
It was too long.
Week 1
My first impression of Cooks River parkrun was shock at the sheer number of people who turn up. Nearly 200 people were there the first week I ran, a truly astounding number of people willing to run in circles at 8am on Saturday.
Parkrun, a deeply organised event put together by a surprisingly high number of volunteers, involves running four laps along a prescribed section of pathway along the Cooks River from St Mary Mackillop Reserve.
Each lap is 1.25km. I know this because I counted every inch of it the first time I ran it. It was a truly horrendous experience, one that made me question the glee with which my editors agreed to this piece.
Everything hurt within two minutes of starting. My legs were burning, my chest heaving, my head spinning. So I would slow down – but the outrage that people felt comfortable enough to pass me would stir me into speeding up again.
By the first lap, I was hands-on-hips done. “Who does this?” I asked myself, watching people lap me in disbelief. Where was my high? Where was the breakthrough? I dragged myself through the second lap and threw in the towel, cursing every runner ahead of me as I trudged off.
Week 2
In the second week, I arrived early enough to know I should be stretching. Perhaps, I believed, this was how I could maintain a good rhythm and get past the pain.
After moving past the awkward few minutes where I Googled “how to stretch before run”, and then searched it again on TikTok (what if I was doing it wrong? I had to see it in motion), I began stretching as prescribed.
Surely this would all be worth it. We lined up, we started running, and I began with a nice, consistent jog. This had to be it, I thought. This had to be how I enjoy this. For four minutes, life was blissful, the sun shone and I was a runner, so soon after starting as well!
I barely made it past the 250m mark. Puffed out and barely able to walk, I somehow felt more defeated than the first week. Admiration for the runners began to seep into my seething resentment as I trudged the rest of the way.
Week 3
Recognising that the main problem here was my lack of fitness, and driven by my need to beat some of those runners, I had begun attending the gym. Is this what changing your life looks like?
This time, I went in with no expectations. I knew I couldn’t keep up, and my goal was just to go for longer than the first two weeks. I would alternate jogging and walking as a means to try to keep going. At some point, my thoughts began to melt away.
All I could think about was my breathing, the pain in my legs and the sweat dripping on to my glasses. By the second lap, I was depleted – but for the first time in a very long time, also thoughtless.
Week 4
Rain. Joyful, gorgeous rain. I stood on my balcony and basked in the dreary weather. With zero guilt, I returned to bed. Can’t run in the rain, right? Much too dangerous.
Week 5
This time, the pain set in quicker than I could remember. Was it my skipped week? Was it my newfound apprehension, rooted in being humbled by skinny runners in oversized singlets and short-shorts? Or the guys who run while pushing a stroller? Or the older participants who move so much faster than they look? Or the kids who zip past me like their little lives depended on it?
I had all the time in the world to think about it, once again walking most of the track, wondering why I don’t just quit and say running isn’t for me.
Week 6
Rain again. Sydney’s insane weather had once again saved me.
This time, there was guilt. What if I returned next week in even worse shape? What if I can actually run in the rain? I stayed up instead of returning to bed, maybe as a self-inflicted punishment.
Week 7
It was at this point, where my running and fitness had still not brought me to a painless, euphoric state, that I questioned whether I would ever get there. What if I was cursed to forever watch runners pass me, to forever walk with my hands on hips, breathing in clutches, head throbbing?
But there was a point, again, where my thoughts ebbed away, and all I could focus on was my movement. I found myself forgetting about the runners, this article, or anything really.
And as I once again dragged myself to my car when we finished, I wondered if these thoughtless moments were the point; if euphoria was actually just an escape from the overwhelming, screeching chaos of living every day? And what if I actually want to go back now?
Week 8
This week, I thought about my mother, and her heart condition.
I thought about the ways intergenerational trauma can pass through our bodies, how the generations of pain in Lebanese diasporas can manifest in mysterious heart conditions.
How perhaps my running heart was rooted in an anxiety handed to me by generations of increasingly anxious people, who faced unimaginable circumstances. How I might never understand that anxiety, but must learn to live with and treat it. How perhaps the mindless, thoughtless running was drawing me in through the relief it provided my rushing brain.
Data from the 2021 census showed Lebanese migrants had the fourth-highest rates of heart disease compared with other migrant groups. It was also higher than the wider Australian average.
Perhaps my enthusiasm for euphoria was more an enthusiasm for an escape, and how enjoyable it had become to know where my pain was and who had caused it. I trudged more this week.
Week 9
In my final week I found myself rooting for some of the runners. Their fitness was so impressive, they had won me over. I can’t say the experience has changed my opinion of running, or even my fitness.
The end
After my 66 days I spoke to an expert for advice – which probably would have helped earlier, to be honest. Warren Williams, the owner and head coach of the Run Squad, a running training group, said I needed to be more patient and less competitive.
The “runner’s high” only comes after the half-hour mark, he tells me, and that it takes months to get there. I coughed away my surprise, realising I’d called it quits at the 40 minute mark most times I ran, and that any euphoria would take months to get to.
“Consistency is the key. If you come for a week or two, and then you don’t turn up for the next two, you’re going to be starting back at scratch, particularly if you’re a beginner,” he said.
“The worst thing you can possibly do is push yourself too hard to begin with. You shouldn’t be trying to keep up with the fastest guys.
“Ego can get in the way sometimes, but you’ve got to stay within your boundaries before you overreach.”
Williams saluted my efforts, saying running was the “hardest form of exercise,” and insisted I return with lower expectations. His warm encouragement and confidence that anyone could run and get fit felt so distant from my actual experience of running, and yet he offered so many tips that made me want to return, like picking proper shoes, or doing a walk-jog program to get started.
I haven’t yet decided if I will, but the experience certainly made me think about my body, my sense of self and what drives me. I’m certainly tempted – perhaps just for that moment of painful relief.
