I have now “returned to running” enough times that I’ve stopped announcing it.
There was a period — probably around the second comeback — where I told people. Posted about it. Made a whole thing of it. “I’m back. New year, new me. This time it’s different.”
It wasn’t different. I did three weeks, got a minor calf thing, ate biscuits for a month, and quietly never mentioned it again.
So this time I just went for a run. Didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t set a goal. Didn’t download a new training plan or buy new shoes or research optimal cadence. Just put on the old ones, went out at 7am on a Tuesday, and ran until it stopped feeling awful, which was approximately 1.8 kilometres into a 3km loop.
That’s the return to running. Not the triumphant montage. The quiet Tuesday with the old shoes.
Why running stops
I’ve been injured twice. Once it was a proper injury — the kind a physio has a name for and a face about. Once it was what I describe as an injury to avoid saying “I just stopped and didn’t start again.”
Both are valid. Both end the same way: a gap that turns from weeks to months, a pair of trainers that move from the hall to under the stairs, and a creeping guilt you push down by telling yourself you’ll start properly in spring.
Spring comes. You don’t start.
And then one Tuesday — and it’s always a Tuesday, somehow — you just go.
What the first run back actually feels like
People will tell you the first run back feels amazing. Fresh air, endorphins, that overwhelming sense of physical and spiritual renewal.
This is true for some people. Those people are not me.
My first run back feels like my lungs have been slightly surprised by events and are lodging a formal complaint. My legs have opinions. My brain is largely occupied with wondering why I’m doing this and whether there’s still time to turn around and get back into bed.
None of this is a reason not to do it. But I think it’s worth saying that it doesn’t feel brilliant, because if you’re about to do your own return-to-running, I don’t want you to think you’re doing it wrong when the first kilometre is unpleasant.
It’s supposed to be unpleasant. You’re supposed to keep going anyway.
What I’m actually aiming for
Not a marathon. Not a PB. Not a six-week transformation.
I’m aiming to be the kind of person who runs regularly, feels roughly okay, and doesn’t have to start the comeback again. That’s the whole goal. Medium-paced, medium-distance, sustainable.
The bar is deliberately achievable. I’ve learned that from the previous three attempts.
If you’re at the starting line of your own return: go on a Tuesday. Tell no one. Wear the old shoes.
It’s enough.