“I’ve met my hero, and he is me.” So said running savant Dr George Sheehan, in one of his many memorable quotes about the art of putting one foot in front of the other.
Well, lucky old George, I say. How wonderful to delve deep and discover yourself a hidden Hercules. What price to always run when you’d rather walk.
Alas, most people’s running careers don’t pan out that way. I’ve met my wimp, and he is me. He lurks on hills, armed with a megaphone and a long list of excuses as to why now would be a perfect time to quit. At the recent Ennerdale Horseshoe, he was out in force.
Rick (left) and his pal, George, were forced to confront their inner wimps at the Ennerdale Horseshoe fell race
Oh, I’ve met my inner hero, too. He made a welcome appearance in the latter part of this year’s London Marathon. But his visits are fleeting and unreliable, turning up only at the most important of events.
Now, the wimp? I can call on him anytime I want. So while I’d love to pretend that running has made me realise how brave and brilliant I am, it’s also made me realise how cowardly and pathetic I can be.
Through running, in other words, I have met myself: part hero, part wimp. I’ll settle for that.
