The tortoise and the hare.

I am a tortoise. A fairly nippy tortoise with somewhere to be, perhaps, but I am a tortoise nonetheless.

I did my tempo run today. I try to do one of these a week and, gradually, this is having an impact on my pace. But I hate them.

I would much rather slog out a two hour half marathon at 08.40 pace than a 3 mile tempo run at 8.00 mile pace, without a doubt. I know so many people who would disagree, and I understand the logic but I suffer from guilt if I run less than 5 miles at a time!

My knee injury did something to combat that. As I recovered, I could only run two miles at a time and then four. For a while, this was my limit as the muscles and ligaments strengthened; I was proud of my restraint here, of how I listened to my body and only did what it told me it was comfortable doing. A happy side effect of limiting my mileage was increased pace. Since then, I've introduced these more rigidly in to my routine and have smashed my PB for 5km no less than five times, my PB for 10km twice, and I'm heading for a sub 2 hour half marathon when I next race.

Today, we powered in to a headwind and managed a negative split run with each mile slightly faster than the one before. The problem with these runs, I think, is that we often run straight from work and do a simple out and back through a less-than-interesting industrial estate. Going straight from work means you still feel weighed down by whatever email you were last writing, or essay you were lat marking, but at least it allows some distance to be placed between you and work. Valuable head space.

It's the route I struggle with. I've always run better outdoors, and I've found that an interesting and engaging route can make any run far less onerous. The winter is particularly tough, as the surroundings are almost always shrouded in impenetrable darkness and screened by rain or the sting brought to your eyes from the cold and the wind. As the lighter evenings have started to return, I've found that I get home to tell Ed about what I saw while running; places I didn't know existed or that had changed from last time I did. This replaces the winter debrief that ends up being about how long it took for me to be able to feel my feet and how long it was before I subsequently lost the feeling in my fingers.

Thus, a tempo through an industrial estate is a slog:

A) I'm running too fast (!) and breathing too hard to really notice anything and,
B) it's all just grey buildings and car parks anyway.

And yet, I still put myself through it. Maybe it's that buzz I get from, just for a moment, feeling like a 'proper' runner. I get to use words like 'tempo' and my average pace starts with a 7 (just...)

It's a very different way of running and, whilst I feel good at having powered through at lightening speed...ish, and all in less than half an hour, I think I'm much happier in tortoise mode.

Why I am.

Blogging is something I've tried before and never really got on with. It would be nice to say that this time is different and this time I will gently nudge my way out of blogging obscurity and become a full convert. The reality is, I don't really know if I'll get on with it this time, leaving the question why am I even bothering to try?

The answer is, it's not about whether I'm 'a blogger' or not, it's about the fact that last time I tried this, it was borne out of affectation. It was a way of projecting and image of what I wanted to be (such is the nature of most people in their early twenties, probably), rather than who I really was.

I've turned 30 recently and that was a psychological milestone for me. Finally, I felt like I could stop trying to fit a mould that felt wrong: uncomfortable, restrictive, like shoes that don't fit or the label in the back of a shirt that makes wearing it a constant nag. Now I feel liberated, like my age finally permits me to be who I really am. Ridiculous, I know,  but true.

But why the blog? Yes, I feel like I'm me now, in a way I never have been, but that's not really enough to sustain more than one, somewhat self indulgent, blog post.

Honest answer? I want to talk about me. I want to talk about who I am and what I love and I want to start by talking about running. In particular, I want to start by talking about why I run.

Often, I am made to feel bad about talking about my running. Be it via social media or face to face, it's like my running is a dirty secret that shouldn't be shared. It's as if cat memes and banal comments about Donald Trump have more place than my hobby does. Maybe an understanding of why I run my help. If it doesn't, then I don't really care (I'm 30 now, remember, I don't care what people think), but it it's worth a try.

To understand what running means, you have to understand what it has replaced. For years, I battled with who I was. I don't want to make it sound like I was depressed, or like I had any sort of serious mental health problem, because I didn't.  To claim I did would be to undermine the severity of the situations so many others fight against every day. But I did really struggle, particularly with food.

When I started university, things got a bit beyond me. My control over what I ate became extreme, and so did my exercise. I struggled with binge eating, extreme deprivation and over exercise. I counted calories in and out, I missed social occasions because I wanted to avoid eating too much; I walked 45 minutes to the gym and the same back again to maximise my calorie burn. Looking back, I wasted a lot of that precious time on my anxieties with food and exercise.

I ran on and off throughout all this, but I never really committed and it's when I did (about the time I moved to London to do my teacher training) that my world changed. It's a cliche to say that running changed my life, but it's true.

I still hate it a lot of the time; it hurts, it's hard, my legs ache and my lungs burn but it makes me feel free, and sometimes there are runs where I feel so alive it's like I'm flying. Suddenly, I am in control of my body. I train and I get fitter; I practise and I get better and the sense of achievement I get is enormous.

Now, when I run, I am reminded of everything that I can do. I can feel every part of my body working and I feel strong. When I stop, I feel like I've conquered the world. When I push up a hill I realise that I am powerful, when I run 12 miles I realise that I am dedicated and focused and capable. I am at my best when I run.

To a non-runner it sounds like bullshit. It's the stuff they put in the adverts for over-priced running gear to make you spend £40 on a shirt in the hope it will make you Mo Farah. To those that run, though, I hope I'm making some sort of sense. You know how it feels because you are part of that club.

Running has made me feel at one with myself. It has allowed me to focus on what I can do rather that what I can't and it reminds me every week that I am strong. It has also transformed my relationship with food.

When you commit to running, even just as a hobby, you start looking at food differently. It's your friend, not your enemy. Food is what allows me to run further and nutrition makes me better at what I do. I love cooking and I love food, and learning how I can fuel my body to make me a better runner is so much nicer that planning how I can cut more calories from my daily intake.

Becoming a runner had a direct correlation with a sense of self that saved me from a spiral that could have seen me in a much darker place. Those one or two times where, following a binge, my fingers found their way down my throat, could have been so many more had I not laced up those trainers and run. If I hadn't run, I wouldn't have found my fiancé, I wouldn't have passed my NQT year, I wouldn't have the job I have now.

So, the likelihood is that I will blog, Instagram, Facebook, talk, read and dream about running. The likelihood is that people will continue to roll their eyes, think I'm arrogant, or (somewhat arrogantly) think that I am trying to make them feel inferior. The truth is, though, that running is not just part of who I am, it is why I am.