Mel: Some thoughts on running

Since 2019, I’ve become more consistent with my running. Before this it was very sporadic – a few weeks here or there, definitely more often in summer (I was what’s affectionately known as a ‘fair-weather runner’), and I could only ever manage runs in the single digits. I always needed music to accompany me – or the guided runs on the free Nike run club app as I couldn’t bear to be alone with my thoughts which usually leant to ‘ugh this is hard, ‘this hurts’, ‘I need to stop’.

But over time I saw that with continued effort and a mere willingness to show up and try, I was actually improving and that was usually what kept me going. I was able to run a little bit further or for a bit longer, I could move a little bit faster and lo and behold, I was feeling okay sometimes, even good! There’s a reason they call it a ‘runner’s high’ – that release of endorphins which puts you in a euphoric state. It’s quite a feeling, I must admit. When it all comes together and you feel like you’re a gazelle, moving effortlessly, feeling strong, powerful, and capable. Even if only for a short time. I’d always imagine I was like a piston, rotating over and over, powering the engine and pushing forward. That’s when I came to love running and why I continued to run during my cancer treatment. I didn’t want to lose that feeling, I didn’t want to lose the gains I’d made in feeling ‘strong’ and ‘capable’. And that’s not to say that if I wasn’t running, that I wasn’t either of these things. But for me, I felt that if I could keep moving, for however long I could and at whatever intensity I could manage at the time, then I was showing cancer it wasn’t taking this too. That this part of me wasn’t getting squashed, diminished, or eradicated. I saw it as a way of me having agency over my body and some semblance of control.

And mind you, running was always hard. But it did eventually get a bit easier. And sometimes now the wins for me aren’t necessarily looking at quantifiable metrics – not pace, duration, or distance. But the fact that now I can run without music and listen to my body; hear my feet, my breath and let my mind wander. That I can go out for a jog or run in the rain and as long as I’m dressed appropriately, it’s not that big a deal. That even if it’s short, slower, or easy, it’s still a run. You actually start to feel a little more badass and empowered when you take back that control – of not letting something like running, or the fear of not being able to “run”, whatever that means to you, have agency over you.