I usually don’t. Because real runners run further or faster or more frequently. They run even when they don’t want to, when they are injured, after it starts to hurt. They run in the rain, in the snow, in the baking hot sun. And I, frankly, don’t. I run comfortably when the mood takes me. I run parkruns (because they’re wonderful) and go to club (because it’s fun) and run to work (because it’s convenient). Of an evening, the sofa still calls to me far more loudly than my running shoes, and a day when I don’t run is no better or worse than a day when I do.
So I usually don’t feel like a real runner. But today. Today. Today I did. Because as I ran to work, the pavement put out its hands, grabbed my foot and sent me tumbling to the ground. And as I hit the deck, my first thought was “Garmin. Stop the Garmin”.
Today, I felt like a real runner.