So when I woke up at 7.10am and rolled back over to snooze, the thought of jumping in a bucket of cold water was a distant dream. 

After a 10 minute snooze, the memory grew larger and despite my body wanting the warmth of my body, something in my head felt wise enough to tell me that I’d benefit from submerging my body in cold water to start the day. Something in my heart urged me to get my swimmers on. 

I trudged downstairs, top off, swim shorts and flip flops on, in my head a bit - worried less about the cold of the water that I’m getting used to, more worried about the cold of the air on my body and if Jim next door will see me and think I’m mad.

My towel gets thrown on the floor in the kitchen by the mat and I’m nipping outside now. I’m not slow, present or mindful. I’m in a rush to get in the cold water, and get out feeling good. 

My flip flop won’t come off. 

It’s cold. I’m cold. Why am I getting into a bucket of cold water at 7.30am?

I feel it with my fingers, bad idea, my fears are confirmed - it’s definitely cold. 

Ok, no time for thinking, or breathing, two hands on the sides and I’m lowering myself in. 

My heart rate rises, breath is taken away, I take two inhales in quick succession. Too short, too sharp. 

Now I have to focus so that I can settle in, or else this isn’t going to be very enjoyable. 

I take a big deep breath. Then a long one out. Same again. Long in, long out. I soften my muscles, let go. Let go of the tension. Don’t resist. 

Don’t resist the cold, it’s cold and that’s ok. I can handle it. My body is strong, my body is capable. I’ve done this before, I’m going to be ok. 

I’m there now. I’ve dropped in. I can see the rain bouncing off the water like a drum. I can see the dew on the grass in the garden. I can hear birds. I see a solitary bird fly over head. 

My body starts to turn on. Skin tightens and goosebumps appear. Heat starts to generate in my chest. This is what I came here for, this is the feeling I love. 

I feel cold. 

I feel powerful. 

My body takes over from my anxious mind, “it’s ok, we’ve got this” I just keep breathing, but not too intentionally now. My heart rate has dropped. 

I feel still. 

The world slows down, I slow down. I’m not rushing any longer. I can’t stay here forever, I don’t want to, but a minute feels longer than it did before.

I push myself out and rush back inside too quickly. I wish I’d have savoured that feeling in my body for a bit longer, instead I’m rubbing it with a towel. You can’t get it right every time. 

Still, in the warmth inside my house I feel grateful, I feel alive. My body feels big, strong and I can feel parts of my body that I only recently knew had sensations - I’d never really felt the sides of my hips before. 

I am alive. I am human. I have a body. I am outdoors. I am in the cold. I am in the water. 

I am here. 

That’s why I do this. 

I joke that going to Park Run is like going to Church. It’s a ritual. The run is like singing a hymn, or prayer. I’m just still not sure who or what the God is? Nature, maybe. 

I was at this one alone. Which meant it was a good opportunity for me to put my foot down a bit. 

I’ve been nervous to do that. I got into running with a very meditative approach, almost Buddhist. Enjoy the journey, don’t worry about the destination. 

Enjoy the run, don’t worry about the time or finish line. 

That’s what I needed to hear when I was just starting out, but now my body feels a bit stronger and i’m less insecure. I’m a bit worried about ruining the experience for myself by trying. Yet also, I’m now beginning to be curious about what it’s like to try in a controlled way. 

How can I reach for a goal and not let the fear of failure discourage me? How can I work towards “performance” and still enjoy the run. These questions feel like bigger metaphors for my life, which is why I’m at the starting line on my own and I’m standing a lot closer to the front than I normally would. 

1 mile 7/10

1 mile 7/10

1 mile 9/10

That’s my plan, go out of the blocks faster than I normally would, hold it and then press “full send” on the final stretch. 

It feels good to open my legs up a bit, and the only thing that pre-occupies me is that this might be over quicker than usual. I love Trentham Gardens, I love this Lake, the trees, the way the light reflects off the water. 

I notice waves of comparison as a young lad wearing an oversized hoody (how the hell is he running in that) and a cap on backwards burns past me and a bunch of others. 

I’m thinking a bit about who I might overtake or who I might run behind for a bit. 

Mostly though, I can keep bringing myself back to my breath, the trees and the feeling of my feet hitting the floor. 

These are all my gateways, back to me, back to the run. I don’t want to be anywhere else. 

I feel fine. I can see my heart rate is at around 150 which is comfortable and I’m starting to believe that maybe my 7/10 is more like a 6, maybe there is more in me than I thought. 

The little climbs slow me down and get my heart thumping, but I kind of love it, especially the chance to breeze down hill and let gravity take me. 

I try and go as fast as I can for the last bit, yet I’m actually still quite controlled. Am I really letting go? 

I notice I’m still running with some fear. Fear of getting really tired, fear of having to stop, fear of burning out. I’m protecting myself. It feels like the right way to do it, but again if running is my current metaphor for life - then there’s something to notice. 

I arrive back in the walled gardens and don’t feel too sad that I didn’t take in the views as much as I normally do, I’m enjoying feeling my body pumped and when I pause my watch it’s the quickest park run I’ve done since I was about 23. 

I feel good and know there’s more in me. 

There are no clouds, it’s a still, misty afternoon. 

When we took the space here the lady said we’d notice it’s a little colder by a degree or two because it’s higher up. I can feel that on my legs. 

I’m a bit nervous because I’m doing my first run that includes some “efforts” in it. As usual, I’m doing exactly what George tells me to do - inspired by his energy. 

I noticed that as soon as we talked about pacing, time and a 5km “goal” I feel my gut clench. Now I’m not looking forward to a beautiful run as much, I’m worried that I won’t be very good and I’m comparing myself to the 5km time of a mutual friend we just referenced. 

Saying it out loud helped and I lightened the load by reminding myself I’d never done a running session like this before. I’m just used to running 2/10 and running very slowly. 

• 1 mile slow jog/warm

• 1km at a 2/10 pace (10-10.30 min/miles)

• 1km at a 8/10 pace (8 - 8.30 min/miles)

• Repeat 4x

• Total 8km

I loved running fast, feeling the wind whip my body, feeling free and also feeling surprised at how much I had to give. 

In the end I ran my last two laps at 7.30 min/miles which felt quick for me. 

My feet started getting pins and needles, yet I felt controlled, the recovery kilometre felt great, it was actually hard to slow down. 

Seeing George pelt it around ahead was an inspiration, not feeling alone.... 

I realised both during and after that I’m discovering my edge, finding what it feels like to run with my heart pounding, noticing my breath, feeling how long I can hold a pace or a sensation for. 

Many people run too fast when they run and they suffer throughout it, I feel like I’m a little different where actually I really hold myself back and sometimes don’t actually try that hard. 

It’s because I’m afraid of failing. I’m scared if I try, try and run fast, try and hit a time or a goal and miss it, I feel like shit. I stay very controlled, very safe yet I often come away feeling like I had more inside me that I didn’t explore. 

The moon is big and so nearly full, it’s bright, luminous in the sky. At one point I see it emerge through the trees and accidentally shout “fuck” aloud because it looks so majestic. I’m running towards it, it’s my mirror, my guide - I look for it in the sky always. 

The session is over, George is finished and shouts me in. The endorphins are surging and my body feels alive and flush. Sitting down inside the little cabin on The Chase and nibbling on a snickers and drinking some water my legs and feet are pulsing, I can feel the blood moving in me and the sweat starting to stick. 

I am alive. 

We jog back in. It’s 6.30pm and getting dark. My first “track” session complete. 

Still I have that feeling that there’s more to discover and I’m discovering myself through this process.

It’s less about time and performance, more about discovering who I am and what I’m capable of - that’s what keeps me coming back.

James x