Running shoes

I bought a new pair of running shoes recently, the full works of gait analysis, little videos of my running action and a pressure analysis of how my feet bear weight standing. It was really interesting. The after effects of a broken foot are still evident, but I was stupidly smug after years of yoga to have ‘neutral’ feet! Despite my shyness and desire to get in and out of this specialist shop as soon as possible before anyone noticed I wasn’t actually a runner, I ended up having not one but four staff members looking after me! The reason? I’d gone in asking for vegan running shoes and they were keen to check that I got what I wanted! We ended up have quite a long conversation about local eateries, the ingredients of glue, the complementarity of yoga and running… Both sides agreed we’d learned a lot!

And now that I have new shoes, I have to run, right? I mean these trainers are really comfy, and they support my healing foot really nicely, but they are made for running. Maybe I am made for running too? So I’m easing myself into a little running habit. I’m hovering at around 3km once or twice a week. The emphasis is on enjoyment, not any numbers. I love the feeling of strength and freedom these little runs give me. I feel very modestly wild in this activity.

Hubby asked if he could join me last week. I couldn’t say no, though I wanted to. It’s harder to feel wild and free with a chaperone! He hasn’t run in years, though he’s supposed to have been working on a ball-striking gait to aid with some physical pains, following advice from an osteopath. So I agreed, but with conditions: I wasn’t going to alter my pace to keep up with him, he could stick with me or not, it was up to him.

In the event I needn’t have worried that he’d pressure me into running faster than I wanted to. He didn’t keep pace with me; he was too far behind. Now I know he’s trying to run differently, unnaturally, and this was his first outing, but I’ll admit my ego did enjoy just a little how things turned out. We started out with him keeping a gentlemanly step behind me, allowing me to set the pace. I mostly tend to hold back as I run, keeping everything modest, a little tightly held. It’s my habit, and not just in running. But there’s a point in the circuit when I let the throttle out, I let my legs run at a more natural speed with a longer gait. It feels somewhere between wonderfully natural and frighteningly fast. So at this point, I upped the pace and Hubby was left behind.

He was good humoured about it, knowing that it’s important for me to find my own way in this new activity. But I know his male pride was a little injured. I commented later that day that I’ve given up worrying that people might stare at me as I jog along in my little Lycra shorts and fancy running shoes, my activity level barely justifying the quality of the gear, and my age arguably not meriting such a skimpy outfit. But the feeling of joy and freedom outweighs any self-consciousness. He told me not to worry and that any staring was directed only at him — as he was outrun by a girl! πŸ™‚

Now days later his DOMS is just about faded away, I wonder if he’ll want to come along again?

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