Going for a Lille Run
My first steps: but only for a minute
My name is Andrew Gibney.
In 2021 I will turn 40 years old and I have been running since November 2013. By then, I would like to run my first marathon.
I was inspired by the podcast from the guys at Run Things to somehow document where I’ve come from in my running journey. See if anything I have experienced can help someone else, or just let newbies know others have come before them.
I’ll be honest, I don’t know why I haven’t already attempted 26 miles. I’ve walked the distance. Hey, in April 2013, with some friends, I walked 100 miles over five days, from Sheffield to Hull, then boarded a ferry to Brugge, to then finish our journey in Lille, France.
Little did I know that’s where my running story would begin, but literally there was a long way to go before I would pick up the pace.
We walked 20 miles on consecutive days. There were blisters, one of us had to drop up somewhere near Doncaster and we hobbled, moaned, despaired, but we made it — raising £3000 for the MS Society in the process.
So far I have completed one Half Marathon, the 2018 Manchester event. Put in a respectable time of 2:22:57 — and more importantly, well for me anyway, I did it without walking.
Which is mad, cause I’ve still not completed a 10K race without a walk break. No idea what’s going on there. Something you will learn quickly, running as is much mental as it is physical.
On Friday I ran 15 kilometres. Building my stamina up I managed 10k without walking. Since the end of February, when we could still come within six feet of someone without a sense of panic, I began to get back on the running horse and began my own modified version of Couch 2 5K.
Three months later and I can run for over an hour without walking and seem to have a bit more stamina in my legs. You can be damn sure it wasn’t always this way.
Coming into 2020, the plan was to run a HM around September. Build up for both a Half and a Marathon in 2021. With Covid-19 going on and the restrictions on crowds ultimately being the last thing to go, who knows what races look like over the next 18 months.
You never forgot your first, and running is the same, and if I told myself what I achieved this week, I wouldn’t have believed the words. Obviously some kind of witchcraft, possibly voodoo. Done a Homer, but rather than sell my soul for a doughnut, I’d have a sub-60 10K.
In May 2013, my first marriage broke down, and I made a decision to move to Lille, France. Partly because of a football team, and because it was always a fresh start.
Walking was still my thing, and looking back, I was fast. Once I knocked out 12k in just over 90 minutes. 7.47/km if you are keeping score. But that was the problem I thought, to go anywhere, to get a sweat on, I had to charge around for over an hour.
A seed was planted that day.
One big reason to run was my health, and more importantly, mental health. Safe to say I was a big guy. A love for food, which has never died, took me above 20 stone in the 2000s. I didn’t even lose a pound on my 100-mile walk.
My biggest motivation was looking back at a particular photo from 2011. I played in a charity football match and didn’t realise I was as unfit and as big as I was. Size doesn’t equal happiness, but I wasn’t happy, going through that day in front of friends confirmed that.
We did the pre-game warm-up and I was fucked. Thank christ I was shite at football so I would be on the bench to start the game. Do the subs have subs?
That’s me. The big lad in the background being optimistic about closing anyone down.
The hope was the running would spark something and get it under control. Truth is, I had already lost weight just being in France. Still eating rubbish, but less of it. Looking back, it was as simple as the number of calories I was putting in had gone down and I was trying to move more — while still destroying huge big bags of crisps.
I have no way of knowing what I weighed in 2013. There were no scales. France doesn’t have a shop like Boots so you can spend 50 cents to get yourself weighed.
In November 2013, after a cracking weekend in Brussells with my friends my mental health properly dipped and I felt like crap. It took an amazing conversation from my friend Stephane to get me back on track and a new attitude adopted.
So on the 26th of November, following a ‘beginners guide’ to running that I think I found on Instagram and wearing a pair of random Adidas trainers, out I went.
I still remember my first attempt like it was yesterday. The plan was one minute running, one minute walking. I made my first mistake by not reading the guide properly, it was meant to be just 10 minutes total, but after a walk to warm up I went at it for 20 minutes, ten sections of each.
Strava says, including my walk, I covered 4km in 30 minutes. Solid.
I had to get the tram back two stops to my flat. Sweaty, panting for breath, I felt like I was going to die. But… I was proud and I wasn’t thinking of the bad stuff.
10 minutes running under my belt. This was my baseline.
I didn’t know any other runners. No one to ask advice, no one to get tips from, but I had gone out and made a start.
Over the next week, I ran five times, completing a 5k in 39 minutes, but due to the App I was using I had no idea of distances and splits or even my pace. God, that feels like a long time ago. Running for the sake of running and just trying to be healthy.
Regardless of times, distances, whatever I was doing, I was a runner. I had the bug. Quickly moved up from 1 min to 2 and 3mins running, completing 12 runs in Lille before going to Glasgow for New Year.
I had no idea where this could go, would I even get better? I don’t think I even knew about races, but that would change very quickly.
It doesn’t matter how or when you start, the most important thing is getting out there and trying, and giving it a real shot.
Running is such a weird sport. I’ve played and coached basketball. Played football for years in teams, but even when you do a race, the only person I’m competing against when I run is myself. Pace, distance, PBs all that stuff spurs me on now and it doesn’t matter when anyone else is doing.
My god I absolutely hate it sometimes while I’m out, but you don’t stop, cause you know that feeling is coming. The one where you finish and you’ve done it and you are all smug with yourself.
That never goes away. Even on bad runs. You still did it.
Until next time…
