Running: play for pensioners

The reason

Running up the hill

Early morning art

Trails galore

Homeward Bound

The pavements were glazed, the trails were white, the buzzards were circling, the last of the oak leaves were rustling in the breeze and the sky was devoid of grey. It was my last run before I become a fully fledged pensioner. Tomorrow I hope to be in the mountains and then I'll be running out of time not running to get a time.

It had started as a typical morning run but the sheer beauty of the day made me reflective. Thirty years ago I had started running seriously. A two mile fast loop around Queen's Park in Glasgow, usually after 9pm after the children were in bed and the tea had been digested. Every run was an attempt to get a personal best. By June, I had completed my first half marathon and by September a marathon as well. Thirty years, 25,000 miles, 120 races and 45 pairs of running shoes later (15 of which still loiter in the depths of a wardrobe) I am still going and still largely injury free.

I am no longer training for anything and often wonder why I am still pushing myself in the morning. It is a habit and addictive, and unlike so many other things that we do, there is really no need to bother. But it is a form of adult playing, you make up the rules as you go along and finish when you like. Breakfast is more enjoyable, I have communed with the wildlife, passed the time of day with dog walkers and cyclists and bought the newspaper. The day has been launched, my senses are stimulated and if I fall asleep later I have an excuse.