When the running bug bit me

I was 62 and going strong. I was physically reasonably active but went out for morning walks only on and off. One fine day the 'running bug' bit me.

It is funny if we look at 'running' as an activity and its connotations. Humans are 'Born to run' says Christopher McDougall. Our fore fathers-'the hunter gatherers' had to run to feed themselves and their families. There were perhaps no exceptions- every one had to run. Their coronary arteries must have been 'whistle clean'.  In the present day a significant percentage of population do not move much (couch potatoes or perhaps couch yams!) or are moved by mechanical devices (scooters/cars). When we hear of 40-50 yr olds having stents placed in their coronary arteries, it is no surprise that at 62, I started to wonder whether I am living on borrowed time and the clock is clicking away (you know what clock I am referring to).  All of a sudden, I became conscious of a certain bulge in the middle which refuses to get tucked into the pants.  Attempts at  squeezing it down by tightening the belt only created two mounds instead of one. I also found that I am running out of 'comfortable pants' barring the most recently purchased ones. I was worried that if I permit the unbridled growth of this bulge, it may block my view of the lower part of my body. I was constantly reminded of a notice in a men's public toilet in Singapore- 'Aim correctly and keep the floor clean'.  I don't have to elaborate further on the difficulty in keeping the floor clean if one cannot see the lower part of the body.

So it is that I decided to do something about it. I went to a dietician for advice. She gave me a list of things I should eat. I did not know why, but she got very upset when I asked her a genuine question- 'whether these should be eaten before or after my usual meal'. This may sound incredulous, but looking at the dietician (XXXL), I had a genuine doubt that she labelled me as 'underweight'. 

Now that I started to count the calories, I kept looking at the watch to see when it is time for next snack or meal. To feel less guilty, I looked for items where information on calorie content is not specified. One day looking at my pleading expression, my wife commented that I look like a well fed dog in a famine country. 

It was then that Covid hit the world. Singapore was one of the first few countries affected. During the lock down, we were permitted to go out for exercise. However we had to wear a mask unless we are doing a strenuous exercise. So I started to run or is it jog? I liked to be called a 'runner' rather than 'jogger'. Searching the internet, I found that most people call it running only if one crosses a pace of 6 miles (9.69kms) per hour. I definitely fell short of this unofficial limit but continued to call myself a 'runner'. It satisfied my ego and permitted me to shamelessly hobnob with people who routinely run marathons. It is strange but the psychology of a 'beginner runner' is to find the earliest opportunity to bring up the subject of 'running' into discussion- especially when many others in the group are not runners. Fortunately for me, my wife places a mirror (figurative) in front of me conveyed through a stern look and I quickly steer away from 'running'. 

Due to the Covid pandemic, I was of course carrying the ubiquitous N 95 mask around my neck so that I can quickly pull it on my face if I stopped running. I chose a brown mask that matches with my skin and can be dirty but not obvious. This worked well for some time till I increased my running time. I was so out of breath immediately after I stopped running that I was afraid of sucking the whole mask into my lungs and needed to recuperate before placing the mask on my face. I was wondering how the public would react to a 'mask less face' (remember it is peak of Covid pandemic). I had mixed experience - dirty looks, threatening gestures and sheer fright.

I decided to keep running as long as I am in public space. So I started to run the moment I was out of my apartment and did not stop till I returned. I had to of course carefully split the distance into half so that I can return to my apartment without stopping in between. One day I miscalculated. I was so severely out of breath, but with no mask around my neck, I continued running. One can only picturize a macabre face with a pouting mouth forcing air out (pooooh) followed by indrawn cheeks and pinched nose while trying to suck in large volumes of air (with a whooosh). Passers by might have seen a semblance to Lord Voldemort of Harry Potter fame. No wonder mothers hid their babies when I ran past them.

Finding the right shoes:

Once I upgraded myself from 'walker' to 'runner', I wanted to present myself with a costly pair of 'running shoes'. I sauntered into a 'Running lab'. The young salesgirl looked at me and my grey hair, made a mental estimate of my age (+20) and asked me sweetly, 'Grandpa, what would you like to have for your gentle evening walk'.  My face changed many colours in a short period (mostly camouflaged by my brown skin). With a squeaky voice (chagrin makes my voice squeaky) I told her firmly (if one can be firm with a squeaky voice) that I came for 'running shoes'. She refused to budge from her judgement and asked me why I want to spend more. I had to show her testimonials from my Strava app of the last 10 runs (fortunately I registered for Strava only 2 months before) before she agreed to sell me 'running shoes'. Then she made me run on a treadmill with bare feet and exclaimed, 'Grandpa, you are a pronator!!).  I thought I was only a procrastinator, but it turns out I am also an over pronator of feet. I quickly tried to under pronate my feet and in the process fell off the treadmill. All is well that ends well. I ultimately was the proud owner of 'proper running shoes'- corrected apparently for my over pronation. 

I am not sure about how you feel , but since my childhood I had great hesitation to walk in new shoes. I was afraid the shoes will get spoiled- sole dirtied, creases appearing on surface and heel getting worn on one side (remember I am an over pronator). Hence the new shoes stayed in the box, while I continued to run in the old worn out 'walking shoes' that were masquerading as 'running shoes' till one day the sole came off. Now with my new shoes on, I had my initial few days of mental agony- trying to find the best path for the new shoes- avoiding dog poop, sharp gravel, dusty trail etc. Sub consciously I tried to run gently as if I can take my weight off the shoes and not subject them to the torment of getting crushed between me and the rough road.  As soon as I returned, I cleaned them thoroughly and fondly put them to sleep in the box. All it needed was one week of running, two dog poops and one mud puddle in the way to convert my 'shy new shoes' into an 'extrovert seasoned campaigner'. --To be continued---