On running, and a change of heart

I loathe running. I think it's possibly a mild form of PTSD after being forced to run cross-country laps in the rain for three years at high school*, but I literally can't think of a worse past-time. Running leaves me sweaty, uncomfortable and miserable. One of my main life mottos is that one should only run when one is late for something or being chased, and the fabulous Ann Perkins pretty much sums up my attitude to recreational running.

I admit, my the fervency of my anti-running agenda sometimes causes me to have quite extreme reactions to public displays of running. I'd occasionally scoff at triumphant tales of distances covered, dismissing them as smug and ridiculous, thinking that, as people obviously can't actually enjoy running, their only reason for doing so must be to make me feel bad about myself. I'm well aware how ridiculous my reaction actually is, but for so long I just thought the culture was one of lycra-clad smugness and needless self-inflicted misery.

Then came this week, where someone possessed the malice and audacity to attack the finish line of the Boston marathon. I was, of course, aghast at the needless lives lost and ruined, and spectated in horror as the manhunts ensued.

I also read about the incident. Several articles have been written by members of the running community, picking apart the particular foulness of attacking an event like the Boston Marathon - something I hadn't really thought about before.

Firstly, I read Richard Askwith's piece in the i, choice quotes from which are posted below:

"It's an easy story to forget, if you're a non-runner, and your vision of marathon-running involves skeletal obsessives flogging themselves joylessly to the brink of collapse in pursuit of an arbitrary, solipsistic goal ...  

I remember travelling to the start of my first marathon, in London, stomach churning with apprehension, fretting about what pace I should aim for and whether or not I was wearing the right shoes - and realising, minutes from the off, that I'd missed the point. This wasn't a race, it was a party. There were more than 30,000 of us, shuffling through the first miles at little more than a walk, chatting, joking, laughing at the runners in fancy dress - and wondering at the sheer diversity of it. There were people of every age, colour, accent and body shape; every possible charity was being supported. Best of all, every inch of the way was lined with spectators, cheering as though we were proper athletes... 

Big-city marathon running is about embracing humanity. It's about enhancing life: your own and other people's, discovering how much you have to give, giving strength to those you cheer on, raising money for charities you believe in, and resolving to come back and do better next year. And here's the thing: there are millions of us, and until the bombers kill every last one of us we will keep running and cheering and urging one another on."

It was after this that the particular venom in targeting a marathon started to sink in. An event where thousands of people put one foot in front of another for the joy of it, for charity, for the experience – that's something quite special. Coupled with Bostonian reports of record blood donations, incredible acts of help and bravery in dealing with the injured, and the city's residents opening their homes and hearts to anybody in need, the whole thing seemed to take the form of a metaphorical marathon: a wall of human spirit driving back any attempt at attack.

Then, today, I read Marina Hyde's Guardian piece; talking of her own previously-held cynicism, it closed thusly:

"Consider it a human Grand National on which we can all have a flutter. And it is the ultimate flutter, if you think about it, because you never know when you or yours might need to collect on the communal winnings their charitable efforts produce. Maybe some of the medical equipment that saved those injured in the Boston blasts was, by some circuitous route, funded by Bostonians running in previous marathons. Maybe the work of the medical staff who battled to save the bombing suspect was in part made possible by past donations from ordinary people doing this extraordinary, mad, 26-mile thing. If it was, I can't think of an irony more sublimely illustrative of who's on the side of humanity and right."

I was so wrong. I never doubted that completing a marathon was a feat of human endeavour, but I'd completely misjudged the attitudes behind it. I thought them individualist and torturous, when they are, of course, based on community spirit, enthusiasm and pursuing a bonkers goal. A marathon looks a bit like the perfect encapsulation of the ferocity of the human spirit.

I'm writing this on a six-hour coach from Bristol to Leeds, clawing through my smartphone for any coverage of the London Marathon I can get my eyes on, honestly quite gutted that I can't watch the footage anywhere (though I'm not sure how well I'd cope - I'm choked up just writing this). Who am I, and what have I done with the jogging-averse grumpus I once was? Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to take up jogging on Monday morning, because I still hate the physical act with the burning fire of a thousand suns. But runners? Consider me admonished and converted. I'm sorry I judged you without thinking. What you do is mad and ridiculous and brave and incredible - well done, you magnificent weirdos.

*I wasn't forced to run for three years without stopping, just to clarify.