Whisper this quietly. It’s not something I ever thought I’d write in a running magazine – but I rather enjoyed my enforced rest from running this year. I didn’t lace up my trainers for months after the London Marathon. pull out just six miles from the finish Advertisement - Continue Reading Below with what was later diagnosed as a stress fracture in my ankle. I have been injured before. But this time was different. ‘No exercise,’ said the foot and ankle consultant. ‘Nothing at all.’
This concept was quite mind-bending to start with. Since I began marathon running in 2011, I’ve lived by a training plan, fed to me online by a coach. There’s been order to my days and weeks. A distance to achieve, a pace to reach, a goal at the end of it that I have more often than not ticked off. Running has propelled me forwards with purpose and increased strength, both physical and mental. Then suddenly it was all swept away from beneath my feet.
How to run twice a day and why you should try it cycling or open-water swimming, instead. When my achilles flared up 10 years ago, I bought a racing bike and made my running mate, Susie Chan, sign up with me to do the 100-mile Ride London race up and over Box Hill in Surrey. But this time, the only speed I managed was on a knee scooter. Four wheels (all terrain). One brake (much needed). And a padded seat for my left knee. I cried the day I was told pull out just six miles from the finish go on crutches. I stood dumbfounded by the kettle, trying to work out how to get the cup of tea I’d just made from the sideboard to the table without putting my injured foot on the ground. It was impossible. I called my BBC News colleague, Fiona Bruce. She spent four months non-weight-bearing several years ago. ‘You have to get a knee scooter,’ she said. ‘And I’m sending you a video right now to show you how to get upstairs on crutches.’ Within 24 hours, I was whizzing around my kitchen with ease, cup of tea in hand. I harnessed up my dog Luna in her canicross kit, ignored the warning on my scooter to go no faster than walking pace, and taught her to pull me to the park as I laughed and shouted, ‘Mush! Mush!’ along the way.
My running training plan may have ground to an abrupt halt, but my daily challenge became getting around. There were small triumphs every day. Getting on the Tube for the first time with a little help from a kind fellow passenger who carried my scooter up three flights of stairs while I hopped. Going back to work and whizzing around the newsroom, much to the amusement of my colleagues.
The pressure to fit all my training in around work and kids and life vanished. I tried the gym (upper body only) a few times but then got ‘papped’ by some Daily Mail photographer
who must have been waiting for me outside, which put me off struggling through one-footed weight sessions for a while. So, finally, I gave into the no-exercise, non-weight-bearing life.
Hopefully, by the time you read this, I’ll be back running again. The enforced break has made me realise I don’t need to keep pounding the tarmac, chasing the clock in an attempt to hold back the years. I love running for the freedom it brings, the deserted countryside trails, my running friends. And the next time I get injured, I won’t panic. Instead, I’ll give in to the rest, knowing that I will almost certainly come back stronger in the end.
