What I think about when I'm running

With love and apologies to Haruki Murakami

Because I run fairly regularly, I tend to often find myself on the same streets or trails, and that triggers fragments of memory from previous runs – what I was thinking about then, or listening to, or worrying about, or looking forward to.

It’s like I’ve left mental Post-Its stuck to local houses and landmarks as I passed them. This was where I was dreading that presentation, this is where I was angry about that conversation; this was where I had that great idea or heard that wonderful song or podcast. Just as every song comes loaded with memories, so does every turn, sprint and gasp on a run.

I probably spend about five hours a week actually running, so it’s quite a modest investment – I certainly spend more time than that eating (which is not unrelated to the running) and far more than that ploughing through emails, and I know which I’d rather be doing.

I have a lot of ideas when I run. Actually, even more so when I walk, but running works well too. These are not necessarily huge business ideas or blockbuster movie pitches – it’s more different ways to approach a problem, or a different perspective on something I’ve been struggling with, or a reminder of something I was supposed to do. Moving, being outside and changing my surroundings really helps to reset my brain, or at least rotate it slightly.

Sometimes I’ll get ideas for things I’d like to write about (these very words being one such example), or a new angle on something I’ve written about before. Sometimes I’ll remember I was supposed to put the bins out.

Just as often, my mind will empty itself completely – this is probably the nearest I get to meditation, as meditation itself is not something I do consciously (although I continue to tell myself I should, and probably will one day). I can drift along, and arrive back home after a while not really remembering where I’ve been. This can often feel far more rewarding that tracking how far I went or how long it took.

Sometimes I listen to something, sometimes I don’t. I started listening to podcasts during the pandemic and that’s my usual go-to; generally something about running, science or self-improvement.

I like that I can achieve two things at once by listening to a podcast or audiobook while getting some exercise, but sometimes it’s just too many inputs and I need to use that run to declutter my mind, to reset, to get a fresh perspective on whatever trivia I was blowing out of proportion before I set off.

I’ve heard several podcasts that advocate not listening to anything while you run, because you miss out on the sights and sounds of nature, the details and vignettes of life. I get that, and particularly on early runs it is great to completely absorb everything that’s going on around you, to let all of your senses come to life and get the full experience of the run.

Actually though, if I’m out on a three-hour grind, it’s cold and raining and I’m tired from the day before, I need all the distraction I can get. I don’t want to mindfully appreciate the cold water running down my back, the wind stinging my face or the miles I still have to complete before I can unlock the ‘tea and cake’ level.

Either way, I always come back happier and more relaxed than I started, even if the run itself was slower, rainier or more difficult than I would have hoped. And that in itself makes it far easier to get out the door next time – I might not have enjoyed every run I’ve done, but I’ve never regretted it.

I used to hate running. This is partly my school’s fault, who always presented cross-country as a punishment. Running was the thing we did when the weather was too cold for rugby and it was always super-competitive. As a chubby child that liked being indoors, this was hell.

As I got generally fitter during my teens and particularly in my twenties, I still hated running but it served a purpose – it was something to do to stay fit if I couldn’t get to the gym, a means to an end. But it was never something I would choose to do for its own sake, and I couldn’t understand why those weird, scrawny people got so excited about running. I just assumed it was because they were all naturally great at it.

In the first few months of 1996 I worked in the Swiss Alps. It was a fairly grim and menial job in a large hotel, with a terrible boss, and I had no money (and Switzerland is really no place to have no money). But it was in the mountains, and that was all that mattered to me at the time.

So I started running while I was there – initially this was just breaking into a jog sometimes while out on a walk between shifts, but I started going further along the valley and soon discovered I could cover quite a few miles without problems (even though I was running in Converse, a thought that horrifies my Achilles even now).

It was freezing, the snow-covered valley was deserted, I was moving – it was glorious. I think this was the first time that I ever actually enjoyed a run.

Then life and work intervened, I stayed fit but retreated into gyms, not emerging until my late thirties when I started getting terrible back trouble from spending all day sitting down. I realised that my work, and most of my hobbies, involved a computer and with a toddler in the house as well I just wasn’t moving.

So I started running regularly and have kept it going for over a decade since.

I much prefer running at this time of year (winter in the UK). Cold and dark is fine, I just don’t like getting over-hot. When you’ve been in a hot house or office all day, there’s nothing better to clear the cobwebs than a cold run.

Running also gives me a chance to miss the people I spend much of my life with. This is particularly the case on longer runs (which can be more of a journey, both physically and mentally) – I get things in perspective, realise when I’ve been petty, grumpy, unreasonable or short-sighted and can try and do better when I get back.

Of course, the others in the house have not been on such a journey and may not appreciate why I’m apparently a completely different person from the one that left just a short time ago.

Running makes me glad for my legs, my lungs and all the other components that work in wonderful synchronicity to propel me along the streets and trails at a modest pace. I know there will be a time when I don’t get to do this (although I fully intend for that time to be decades away yet, and I’m inspired every day by people in their 70s and 80s that are still running, racing and enjoying training and racing on their own terms).

And I’m sure I would never have imagined that when I was gasping my way round the local park in my early teens, harangued by the sports teacher, temples throbbing and wishing for it all to just stop.

Running has to be done your way, on your terms. But you only get to find out what those terms are by getting out and doing it. Maybe you’ll like city runs, or trails. Maybe you’ll join a club, or always run on your own. There’s no right or wrong and if you run, you’re a runner. So what’s your way?