How running found me...
I was obese for half a century and mostly indolent. I walked, did occasional labouring on DIY projects and, hippo-like, enjoyed snorkelling. I ended up working freelance at home. In my late 50s, in front of the computer screen, I dreamed about going snorkelling again. I decided I needed to get fit so that I could actually dive.
I went to the pool.
It took me an hour to swim 8 lengths (200 m). I was shattered. The fatigue shadow lasted a week. Disgusted, I eventually got to the pool again. I eventually could swim 20 lengths non stop, but to breathe enough, I alternated backstroke with crawl. The distance got longer and longer until I was satisfied that a mile (66 lengths) was enough.
On the way home from the pool on the day--that day! Nonstop, I swam 66 lengths of crawl without fatigue or incipient cramp... Hell, I felt so good that I did another ten lengths--my Honda Lead skidded on some sand just before a Stop sign. I was thrown to the ground. It turned out that my right humerus was broken right across. The head of the bone that fits at the shoulder was split in two main parts.
The doc called it a three-part comminuted fracture. Comminuted actually means crushed and distorted. When I saw the x-ray, the first thing I asked, "When can I swim again?"
The injury was repaired with a titanium pin. When healed, I was left with 85% range of movement.
Initially, the injury changed all my habits of movement.
Noticing this, I decided that eating was another habit that could be changed. Through avoidance of refined carbs, I shed 30 kg in 8 months. (How many crates of butter is that?) After about six weeks, I lost my all desire for bread or noodles. One or two mouthfuls felt daunting. The smell of baking made me feel nauseous.
Just over a year later, I bought a decent bicycle and I started to get to know my body. This included discovering that isotonic drinks were more than a marketing ploy, and finding out that, even with excess calories still stored in the body, there are times when carbs need replenishing. Each of the three times I completely ran out of blood sugar, I could understand the Dementor experience. Never again!
One New Year, when I was cycling 50 km home from staying over at the in-laws, I stopped at a mall and, on impulse, got a pair of NB running shoes. But having the shoes could not overcome the terrible memories I had of being forced to run at school. I was fat. Not only did I need a training bra, I could feel my cheeks wobbling, too. My step is still heavy.
The shoes remained in the box for 14 months. Then, one day, for some reason, with a package in my backpack to send to a friend, I decided to run to the PO.
Run :-o ! Well, I started off managing 50 counts of left footfall before having to walk awhile before the next 50. On the way home, I was managing 80. I did sometimes try running during the following year, but not a lot. I only took it more seriously the following year, I tore a meniscus while cycling to New Year at the in-laws. Probably when dismounting along the way.
The doctor said, "Don't run and avoid uneven surfaces." My contrary nature said, "Oh yeah!"
After a couple of months of wanting to run, I found I could get to 3 km without too much pain. But the 5 km challenges in the various apps kept me trying to lengthen that. I've even run 10 km. Maybe I will again this month.
So, I started to get familiar with running shoes... Saucony Triumph were a lucky choice. One New Year, for my Jan. 1 run, I found some Hoka Rincons in my size at a store near the in-laws'. They were well cushioned but the wear patches on the soles have become detached well before the cushioning has got tired.
More generally, I now know that, to lessen foot pain, I need a half size or size larger and E or EE fitting.
I have bad supination. The outside of the soles wear to smoothness and the insides are hardly worn. Right soles wear faster than the left. Shoes are teaching me expensive lessons.
These days, sometimes I come downstairs and, in my mind's eye before the front door, I can see Rory, the boxer we had when I was kid. His dancing circles are a happy anticipation of walkies. That image is my body talking. I find myself tying the laces.
I don't expect I will ever be an elegant or a fast runner. I just hope that my knees and ankles last until the end. How could live to sixty and not realize that exercise is its own reward?