The start line

Runners in compression socks talk stride rate, cadence and VO2 max profiles. Athletic, elite, ready to go. I can’t do this! What am I doing here? Adjust bra, pull up pants, visit loo . . . again. Four hundred and twenty-seven  Milton Keynes men, women, children, dogs and prams. One lap. Five K.

3-2-1-Go!

We’re off. I’ve forgotten how to run. Right foot, left foot, that’s it. Gulliver’s fantasy dragon snorts: don’t forget to breathe. In, out, in, out. Rhythm is steady. Poplars form a guard of honour, their leaves rustling: go girl, you’ve got this. This is good, feeling great. I think I’ll get a PB.

1km

Calves tight, breath short, feet drag. I should’ve stayed in bed. What was I thinking? A flash of turquoise and bronze darts between canalside bullrushes, and I’m soothed by romantic thoughts of living on a boat. The whiff of weed brings me back. Inhale right, exhale left. Up and over Brickhill Street then zig and zag, zig and zag. Puff, pant, lungs burn, legs like lead. I think I’m going to die. A robin whistles in the silver birch: great effort, looking strong.

2km

Sharp left, downhill. I pick up pace with a jaunty spring in my step. Maybe I won’t die after all. Breathe pranayama past the Peace Pagoda where smiling lions guard the golden Buddha. With right-hand fingers pointing skyward, he reminds me: the path to enlightenment involves suffering. Push on, past The Circle of Hearts Medicine Wheel. Its message of peace for the wounded world doesn’t quite reach the H5 underpass, where savage scrawling decorates the concrete. Shut yer face Sonya!

3km

To the lake and turn left. The big wheel finish is in sight, where all calories lost will be regained in cinnamon rolls. Wearing full camo, twitchers and fishermen alike sit heron-still on the banks of Willen lake, facing ducks, swans and wobbly paddleboarders. Hop left, dodge right, avoiding goose poo that adorns the redway in spiral sausage swirls. Every 25 metres a wooden bench invites me please sit, take a rest. But the blackthorn, hawthorn, rosehip and hazel all whisper: keep going, you’re doing great.

4km

Turn right on the home straight, hot cheeked and sweating like the gladiator men doing pull ups on the playground monkey bars. My heart pounds as children leap fearless as squirrels across the suspension bridge on the treetop ropes course. Not far now, you’re amazing, the crows caw from their high roost. Onwards past the Health Club promising gym–swim–relax, and if that doesn’t work there’s always fish and chips at the pub next door. A pied wagtail dashes in front of me, bobbing its tail up and down: look, here’s the finish.

5km

The stopwatch stops, a finish token is taken, and my barcode is scanned. Joints, tendons and muscles scream in unison: oh joy of joys, we’re done. I’m flying high as the winged goddess Nike. I did it. I ran 5k. I’m sure I could run a marathon . . . if I wanted.