There is an unusually blue sky on the morning of August 20, 2010, when my wife Roisin and I arrive at the Peace Link in Clones, County Monaghan. We’re thirty minutes early for the Clones 5k. We nervously pay our entrance fee and collect our race numbers before heading back to the car to get ready. Maybe it is because it was our first race ever, but my hands are shaking with anxiety and possibly some tiny shred of excitement. I’ve only ever seen people running in a race, I’ve never had to pin a number to my own shirt before. It shouldn’t feel this awkward, but I fumble with the safety pins. With about five minutes to go, we see the general horde of people with their own numbers, pinned on much straighter than ours, heading in the same direction, so we join in the mass migration.

On the start line I take a good look at the other runners. There are all kinds of people of every age, shape and size. We are just two more, although we feel like fish out of water. Me, with my white cotton Fruit of the Loom t-shirt, baggy cotton shorts and white socks more suited for a 1980’s tennis player than a modern runner. The athletes near the front are all doing stretches or running up and down the road, apparently getting loose for what is about to happen in just minutes. All of those doing these extra exercises look like actual runners. They have obviously done this before as they make their way back behind the start line and share a few laughs with each other. I’m not even considering smiling. I’m more or less just trying hard to not have an accident in my shorts in front of all these people.

The organisers go over the course and the places we all need to keep an eye out for potential hazards. They advise us on traffic and explain that we shouldn’t be wearing headphones, blah, blah, blah… I can’t honestly say I am aware of what they are saying. Scanning the field, it is glaringly obvious that some of these people are going to be lightning fast. Especially those wearing the vests sporting the name of their running club and wearing fancy trainers of outlandish colours.

The time has come. Three, two, one. The starter blows his whistle loudly and we are off. The race starts on a slight downhill before it flattens out and hits a more undulating section of the course. Roisin and I started somewhere in the middle of the pack and she, having been training a little longer than I had, got out in front of me and found some space on the narrow road.

I know I can run the distance because I had managed it leading up to this point, so I go as hard as I can manage. However, there is a big difference between running and racing. I had been running as a means to lose girth around my middle, not to become a faster runner. There is a young girl just in front of me, maybe thirteen years old or so. As a forty-two year old, I’m not doing so bad keeping up with a thirteen year old, right? But this is gruelling. At the 1k sign I’m already feeling awful and I still have 80% more to do!

I remember from my training that by slowing down my pace, I can cover longer distances, so when the route turns left onto a flat section I settle into a slightly more agreeable pace, but only just slightly. I still want to puke my guts out. My lungs are still burning and my legs haven’t experienced a workout like this in years. I hit 2k and my brain is telling me there is 3k to go, that’s just over half the course ahead of me. I can do this. I can see Roisin still a little ahead and looking a lot better than I feel. “I really hate this,” I think to myself. I am starting to seriously question my life choices.

I pass the 3k point before I turn left once again and look up at what appears to be a mountain in front of me. That is an exaggeration, but it is such an intimidating sight. Roisin is well in front of me now, but I’ve managed to get in front of my teenage competitor. “Just put one foot in front of the other. Just keep going. Don’t stop! Do not walk! Keep running! Holy sweet mother of Peter, what the f*@k was I thinking!” all played on an agitated loop through my mind. My legs and my lungs weren’t meant for this. The human body hasn’t been required to move like this since we roamed the African plains and were being chased by hungry predators. The crest of the hill is in view as is the 4k signpost. If I can just get to the top, there is a glorious downhill and I’ll only have 1k to go. A beautiful, lovely, long-awaited downhill, oh wherefore art thou, downhill?

It seems like it is two miles to the top and is taking three days to reach the 4k mark, but I’m there and now I only have a little further until this torture session is over. This is the worst thing I’ve ever decided to do. Why would anyone pay money to do this? I hate every single, tiny, little thing to do with this experience. I feel worse than I’ve ever felt in my life and I’ve been to insurance conferences. I not only feel sick but also disappointed in my own stupidity in thinking this might be a good idea. I’m smarter than this and when this is over, I will need to seriously rethink my future if I was capable of making such a bad decision.

On the downhill now, my quads are taking a pounding and my lungs feel like they can’t get enough air. If only I could take in oxygen through my ears. Oh, and I still want to lose my breakfast. The brain is working overtime with thoughts like, “What would it look like if I fell? Can I die from running downhill?”

Down, down, down and then I turn right into the Peace Link Parking lot. I see the finish line. I can actually see the finish line. I find a small burst of energy from somewhere and pick up the pace, just a tiny bit, but I did speed up, didn’t I? I cross over the finish line and start to walk. I’m handed a medal. Someone else hands me a bottle of water. Another volunteer points me in the direction of banana boxes and asks me to keep moving. Just walk or crawl, but get out of the finish area. All I want to do is sit my ass down and let my legs recover, but I get out of the way and move to the side where all the other finishers are having their water and bananas and smiling, laughing like this was fun. I finished in a respectable time for a first timer at just over 29 minutes.

Roisin finished 10 seconds ahead of me. She greets me with a hug and we congratulate each other for completing this ridiculous thing. We hold each other up, preventing a collapse. We did it! We ran our first 5k race and survived. After sitting down for just two short minutes we start to see a different perspective on things. Smiles adorn our faces and that rush of endorphins hits our brains. I lean over to Roisin and say, “Wow, we are pretty awesome. I can’t believe we did this without stopping. This is amazing and we need to do it again, like soon. Where is the next one?”

This was my first experience of running a 5k. I really hadn’t a clue what I was doing. I started running to lose weight. My waist size was increasing at a crazy rate, I had a wardrobe full of clothes that I was bursting out of. I had gone from a 28” waist to a 38” waist in 10 years. It wasn’t until I saw a photo of myself after a family holiday that I realised I needed to change. I was 42 years old at this point and far from a ‘healthy specimen’. My back hurt, my knees hurt.

Running was never on my radar, I played sports as a kid and golf as an adult but that was it. The only running I ever did was as a punishment if I arrived late to training or if our coach thought we were messing about which we most likely were.

So, I know all the excuses and have used them all multiple times. But now I know different! For me running has had an amazing impact on my life….