it’s marathon season, and as i sit here watching the london marathon on television, looking at the thousands of exhausted and exhilarated runners, there’s no denying it – i’ve got the bug again.

there’s a saying amongst marathon runners that you will spend the rest of your life chasing the feeling of that first one, and there’s nothing truer. the emotional intensity of testing yourself against one of the oldest feats of endurance known to man is completely overwhelming. feeling as if you can’t possibly push yourself any further, cannot possibly take even one more step – yet continuing on anyway. forcing yourself onward when every cell of your body is crying out in rebellion, and doing it over and over again, putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again – the ultimate exertion of mind over matter. convincing your muscles to carry on in spite of every nerve ending screaming “stop!”

and when you finally come into sight of the finish line – when all the months of logging endless miles, hours eaten up by asphalt on weekends and in the dark, all the aches and stomach cramps and innumerable blisters, the boredom and slog and sweat, culminating in the most challenging four hours of mental perseverence of your life – to see that finish line is nothing less than perfect exalted triumph. a high unlike anything else i’ve ever experienced.

and it only leaves you wanting more, again. again.

in the course of my 20 year tortured love affair with running, i have trained for four marathons, completed two and a half, and long since sworn off any more distance races. my knees simply shouldn’t do any more grinding. right now i’m running about 7 miles three times a week, and surprisingly, my knees have been okay with that. which is dangerously tempting – at the end of each run, i find myself toying with the idea of seeing if i can go just a little bit further. because when it feels good, it feels so good. the sense of accomplishment in pushing though your limits, doing more than you thought you could, is what’s so damnably addictive.

watching the runners on television only feeds that addiction. i want it again. i’m craving that incredible concotion of bone weariness, salty lycra, growling stomach and intoxicating, heady success.

and so, in spite of all my better judgement, i have set my sights on the clarendon marathon – 30th september. it’s pure folly, i’m sure, but i’m so excited – for now.

i may be singing a different tune in a few months time

dinosaur jr – feel the pain

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