I am turning fifty later this year.
I was thirty-ish when I started running.
Twenty years later I can knock out a ten klick run with barely forethought, which is quite a distance fitness-wise from where I started. But none of that happened without a lot of big numbers and hard work.
In fact sat down to look at my actual data and according to Strava (for which my records only go back about two-thirds of my running career) I have logged over sixteen thousand kilometres, climbed over ninety-two kilometres of elevation whist running, and spent over eighteen hundred hours logging distance, footstep after footstep, with a GPS watch attached to my wrist.
Churning through some quick math, well… that’s a lot.
In fact, that last stat in particular catches my eye as I write this: eighteen hundred hours logged, all time on feet plodding forward, well that is about two and a half months… solid.
Reading that I have spent two and a half months of the last twenty-ish years of my life plodding down asphalt paths and narrow trails (and sometimes frustratingly round the indoor track at the gym) reminds me that this sport has consumed a huge chunk of my life.
So, in what I hope is the last of my introduction posts, I will simply reiterate: I have a lot of stories that weave through, around, and sometimes trip over this running thing and I hope I can find the motivation to both keep adding to those numbers, and now to fill some posts with tales of the same.
Let’s get started.
