I first noticed it on some midweek runs: they routinely felt mysteriously sluggish. With a sleuth-like sharpness that Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t have envied, I spied a pattern after several weeks. Those wheezy, enfeebled efforts were always the day after a workout. It was
a bombshell. When I push hard in training, my body doesn’t recover as quickly as it used to. I’m 47. And, it turns out, I’m not getting any younger. That’s a seriously crap phrase. No one, unless they’re an oddly wrinkle-free Hollywood actor, is getting younger. And no one, unless you’re Gary Lineker, is staying the same age.
Since detecting a recovery lag, I’ve also noticed – and this is hard to type– I’m not as fast as I was. My top speed has started to go the same way as my hairline. It might be hard for non-runners to know when they’re past their physical peak, but we runners are lucky because all doubt is removed. We have daily data, the cruel exposing truth of GPS sports watch stats. The workouts I used to upload to Strava with a buzz of pride now gently mock me. You probably couldn’t tell they’re me trying to run fast, to chase my yoot.
essential rainy day running tips 5K pace, 10K pace or marathon pace, they’re all now aspirational ideas and, frankly, they’re all the same. What was once my marathon pace has become my 5K pace. I haven’t done parkrun for yonks. I don’t need a weekly reminder that I’m regressing. I was in denial about my decline for a while. Maybe it was the wind? I’m sure there was a slight uphill? I’m probably a bit tired from all the gardening and trimming errant grey hairs from my chin – and my ears. But now I’ve accepted that my running PBs are officially in the rear-view mirror.
Tipping into the old-git age category was rewarding, initially. I was suddenly coming home from local races with extra trophies and cake I pretended not to care about. Now, in my late forties, I care about them because I no longer get them.
This all sounds a bit gloomy, but here’s the thing: I prefer the longer stuff, where top speed is almost irrelevant, because, in truth, we don’t run fast at all and there are so many other variables. Fuelling is critical in ultras and there’s no advantageous age bracket for being able to constantly stuff your cakehole. Or from knowing that just because fluid is explosively leaving your body from more than one orifice, it doesn’t mean things will always get worse. If those key assets are correlated to age, they probably favour the mature athlete, anyway.
Looking ahead, V50 athletes have done astonishing things. The 5000m world record for a male V50 is 14:52;10,000m is 30:48; marathon is 2:19. So I’ve no excuses (except I couldn’t hit those speeds in my thirties). If I were a footballer (the original plan), I’d be past it by 32 and washed up by 35. But as I’m a runner, I represented GB aged 40 and had probably my best result (at UTMB) at 42.
Running is brilliant like that. It’s not your real age that counts, but your running age. And I’m only 11. I’ve accepted and even feel empowered by the fact I’ll never be a better runner than I am today.
