Why not running is harder than running

I'm now two weeks into my eight-week injury-enforced layoff, and I'm struggling. Not lacing up my trainers, locking on to a GPS signal and heading out on to the trails - especially on a Sunday - is proving far harder than I imagined. If this is cold turkey, then I'm the running-equivalent of Renton from Trainspotting, in desperate need of a hit and looking everywhere I can for an alternative high. 

The problem I have, however, is that there is no real alternative. The physio has told me not to overly stretch my Achilles while it mends, so that rules out most leg-based cardio; lane swimming during coronavirus times feels like sharing a Covid bath with strangers and my mountain bike is busying itself rusting in the garage. That leaves our indoor bike, an eBay-procured machine that has been used more often as a clothes horse than it has as a cycling aid.

But this is all I have and over the past fortnight, I have dusted it down, taken the saddle and attempted to pedal my way to a sweat. 

It has not gone well. The bike and I are not friends. For starters, my bum was not made with cycling in mind. Mother Nature's decision not to bless me with any padding of note to my rear has left me with saddle sore nether regions with every bike I have ever owned, and the indoor one is no different. 

The result has been several highly uncomfortable and, quite frankly, boring rides in my dining room. I have taken to watching TV as I pedal, but even this doesn't seem to make time go any faster on the bum-torturing device. Cycling indoors just doesn't give you the same feeling of effort and exhaustion that a good threshold run or hill session would. Staring at the wall or watching repeats of Top Gear also doesn't compare to blasting your way along a muddy trail or taking in a hard earned view from the top of your favourite hill.

Of course, the other issue with being injured is that wherever you go, you inevitably come across perfectly fit runners - with their wholly intact Achilles tendons - bouncing along the pavements or paths with a broad smile and a cheery 'good morning.' Like taking a dieting chocoholic on a tour of the Cadbury factory, forcing a reciprocal smile takes a Herculean effort.

So I have found myself being far grumpier than usual over the past two weeks. My wife will testify to this, as I have taken to moaning more than usual and have been eating peanut M&Ms by the kilo. Being forced to abstain from running for two months feels so unfair and it is only when you have it taken away from you in this manner, that you realise just how much you rely on it for your general wellbeing.

Without wanting to sound like Sting, running grounds me. It is the only thing that works to relieve the stresses and strains of life, literally allowing me to run off the physical manifestations of stress (the headaches and tight shoulders), as well as the psychological affects (the worries, the 'what ifs' and the 'I should haves' of life).

As Joni Mitchell once said: "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."  

And as for the bike...anyone ever tried cycling with a cushion down your trousers?

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