With 2011 almost over and my last race of the year finished, I’ve been reflecting on my love of running. Just why do I love it so much? Enough to make me buy a headtorch and run on cold winter’s nights. Enough to get myself back up again after falling flat on my face and finish that run. Enough to get up early, drive to a race and run til I’ve got nothing left to give and then some. Coping with bad weather, sore toes and cold noses is just part of the runners winter skill set. I’ve pulled muscles, am about to lose a toe nail and grazed myself in places you can’t even imagine with a fall. Yet I still love it – why?

This year started off with a promise. I promised myself that I would see a running coach to try to work out why I was so slow. In February I drove up the motorway and met up with Ian for the first time. I was nervous and excited. What would I do if he thought I was rubbish? What if I couldn’t change? Running with him was a revelation. A revelation in what I could achieve. With him I ran 8 minute something miles (I was more of an 11/12 minute miler at this point) off road in the beautiful Peak District.
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