I started writing this rambling 'poem' at the start of lockdown, when all that swirled around my head during runs was the uncertainty of it all and the longing for that precious old normal. It never felt quite right to post but after reading the news of the London Marathon not taking place until October 2021, rather than its usual April slot, the painful longing for a time gone by crawled back into my subconscious so it felt right posting it now.
With the days blurring into weeks and now months in this unending lockdown I, like everyone else, have been trying to fill the vacant days. One thing I have been enjoying is trawling through my old notebooks. Thoughts scribbled down in scattered ink, plans whispered in lost words and meeting notes never revisited; a time capsule of another life, bound in leather.
It has been almost seven weeks since the shutters were pulled down upon normality and the dust began to settle upon our neatly laid plans. In an instant our lives were changed forever and we now live in a world coloured differently, shaded in a hue I no longer recognise...
Last Sunday morning (March 22nd) I should have been on the start line of the Twin Lakes 20-mile race, surrounded by countless other runners and friends alike, bathed in the glorious Spring sunshine. It was to be my final race in the build-up to Brighton Marathon, my big PB attempt. These races, like everything else, fell victim to Covid-19 and with it any semblance of normality. Instead, as the world ground to an eerie and fearful halt my partner and I ventured out our front door into a world I don’t really recognise anymore.
When I started running I believed that I was running from something; from my grief, from my depression and from the helplessness I felt crushed under. It wasn't until June 9th 2016 that I realised I hadn't been running from something all this time. I was in fact running towards something; I was running towards her.
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