AS RUNNERS, we need to lie. Because if the unglamorous truth were ever to surface, it would stop us climbing the ladder of running success.
Among the secrets you’ll take to the grave are: none of your toenails are real – they’re just painted on; and in your last marathon, you didn’t make it to the loo in time.
The biggest fib of all? It’s that you have time to do it all: nine-to-five, family, and the training schedule of an Olympian. You’re a superhero, revered for your self-discipline and organisational skills.
But what if, for one day, you couldn’t lie?
DROPPING THE BALL
Carving out time in your daily schedule to fit in a run is easy, provided you don’t drop one of the other proverbial balls you’re juggling. On the day I realised I couldn’t lie, I was thrown one such (curve)ball. My husband told me he had to get to work early; and he needed me to give him a lift into town, instead of me heading straight to my usual running route.
There would be no traffic, he said.
As it turned out, a sea of cars crawled agonisingly through the city centre. Hooters hooted angrily. Hubby cheerfully said goodbye and got out of the car, while I looked down at my watch.
I was Ten. Minutes. Late.
Which meant I had an hour and a half to thrash out my training, drive to the gym, make myself presentable, and then make it to my first meeting.