What I've always loved about running is the ease of it. No, not the actual run itself, but that you can just pull on your trainers and off you go. No fee to pay, no monthly bill to sting you! In the past I've paid for gym memberships that I've never used... or paid for and then sat in the steam room after a five minute walk on the treadmill! Up until the point my husband had to leave his nicely paid job, I'd been enjoying the luxury of a Virgin Active Membership. Oh, how life has changed! Walking into that Virgin Active with copies of our bank statements and proof of our impending homelessness to get out of the pricey contract has got to be up there in my top three most humiliating moments...
But with my discovery of the joy of running came the discovery of an affordable sport, non reliant on my bank balance.
Running in a recent race, I found myself tuning into conversations around me... "Oh, I was a mortgage advisor for some time..." "We got back from Paris last week." "Yep, it's a garmin, got it last week but I'm thinking of switching brands."
Suddenly I felt a little out of place. I'd entered this race using money I probably should have used on a haircut for myself... I haven't had one since before we lost our home. It seems a luxury at the moment to pamper myself with one. And that's the kind of choice I make each time I enter a run. I learn to go without something for myself to 'feed my habit'.
The costs of running quickly add up. Trainers to suit your gait, kit to suit all weathers, race entry, technical accessories, sports nutrition....
And then there's the dream. I would love to attempt the Six World Majors... but the 'how' seems impossible...And as I type this blog from our temporary accommodation whilst we await housing through the council, it seems laughable that I even hold onto this dream... And if I was able to one day scrape together the costs to do even one of the five of the marathons abroad, how could I justify spending that money on myself, for my hobby, when my children have never stepped foot on a plane.
Running provides me with a therapy that money just can't buy. The sense of pride as I cross finish lines restores just some of the dignity that was lost when I was sat with a bag of belongings in my local council's office, begging for help for my family. Should I feel guilty for pursuing a new found passion when I'm living in a home that isn't even mine?
I'm not looking for sympathy or even trying to be all 'doom and gloom'. I'm actually quite a positive person, but at times, usually fuelled by instagram and twitter images of runners living their dreams in far off places, I feel that as a 'poor runner', I simply don't belong. I guess the best thing to do when those doubts creep in, is pull on the trainers and run!
But with my discovery of the joy of running came the discovery of an affordable sport, non reliant on my bank balance.
Running in a recent race, I found myself tuning into conversations around me... "Oh, I was a mortgage advisor for some time..." "We got back from Paris last week." "Yep, it's a garmin, got it last week but I'm thinking of switching brands."
Suddenly I felt a little out of place. I'd entered this race using money I probably should have used on a haircut for myself... I haven't had one since before we lost our home. It seems a luxury at the moment to pamper myself with one. And that's the kind of choice I make each time I enter a run. I learn to go without something for myself to 'feed my habit'.
The costs of running quickly add up. Trainers to suit your gait, kit to suit all weathers, race entry, technical accessories, sports nutrition....
And then there's the dream. I would love to attempt the Six World Majors... but the 'how' seems impossible...And as I type this blog from our temporary accommodation whilst we await housing through the council, it seems laughable that I even hold onto this dream... And if I was able to one day scrape together the costs to do even one of the five of the marathons abroad, how could I justify spending that money on myself, for my hobby, when my children have never stepped foot on a plane.
Running provides me with a therapy that money just can't buy. The sense of pride as I cross finish lines restores just some of the dignity that was lost when I was sat with a bag of belongings in my local council's office, begging for help for my family. Should I feel guilty for pursuing a new found passion when I'm living in a home that isn't even mine?
I'm not looking for sympathy or even trying to be all 'doom and gloom'. I'm actually quite a positive person, but at times, usually fuelled by instagram and twitter images of runners living their dreams in far off places, I feel that as a 'poor runner', I simply don't belong. I guess the best thing to do when those doubts creep in, is pull on the trainers and run!
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