Nothing to fear except fear itself. Well fear and some other stuff.

So I reached the point of wanting to make changes, I made lots of positive decisions and then hid under a rock for a fortnight, paralysed with fear. For me (and I suspect many other people), fear and procrastination go merrily hand in hand. They skip around together, sticking out their tongues and blowing raspberries at me while I put things off for another day. I realised that getting back to running is terrifying me and procrastinated some more by writing a list of what’s worrying me.

1. I am scared of my pelvic floor.
Not in itself, I love my pelvic floor and can honestly say that I blindly took it for granted for 34 years. Rather, I am afraid that once I start running again all my internal organs will come crashing through my pelvic floor like the chandelier in Only Fools and Horses.

2. I am scared of not being able to run.
When I first started running, I knew that I couldn’t run and it was a ridiculous folly to even try, but what the hell. I was pleasantly surprised that I could lumber along for a reasonable distance and sometimes people would give me a medal for doing so. Now I know that I used to be able to run, I am scared that I won’t be able to do it as well as I used to.

3. I am scared of my extra weight.
Well not scared exactly, but I know what it’s like when I run with a few extra pounds and it’s not very nice. Having an extra stone to deal with means a lot of unpleasantly jiggly back fat.

4. I am scared of needing to pee
Again, not quite scared, but my bladder is less trustworthy than it was and I don’t want to add diving into bushes to the stress that I’m alreading putting myself under.

5. I am scared of running outside
I think this is a combination of 2 and 3 in that I have convinced myself that the village youths will mock the red-faced, jiggling woman as she wheezes along. Ginge cheerfully suggested that I run through the fields, but I know that this will inevitably result in me being murdered*.

So after sitting in a pile on the kitchen table for the last fortnight, my running kit finally had an outing to the gym on Wednesday (after going for an M&S bra fitting – there’s nothing like being left topless with changing room mirrors to sharpen the mind and the motivation). I did run/walk intervals on the treadmill and if you didn’t look too hard, it almost looked like I was running again. I have been back today and lived to tell the tale. I may go back again, but I really need to pluck up the courage to get outside because ultimately I do hate the treadmill.

*Googling the name of our village and ‘murder’ reveals that the last one was 20 years ago. I will concede that I might be being slightly irrational with that one