From vodka sweats to breaking records: Susie Chan's running adventures


What the hell am I doing here? I asked myself. A half-marathon? Now? Today? Right now?
Everyone looked like they knew what they were doing and they looked relaxed. Some had belts with little pouches of what looked like energy drinks, some carried water bottles, others were applying Deep Heat to legs and limbering up. Others had a very casual demeanour, just standing around and chatting. I looked down at my feet. I had not had the opportunity, money or common sense to buy actual running shoes. These were the same ones I wore for anything vaguely sporting, white and clumpy. I was wearing an underwired bra because the cheap Nike one, purchased in a sale, had turned out not to be at all supportive and more for show. I wore the Nike one over the top of the underwired one, as I did not want people to spot my inexperience. My outfit was finished with a tennis skirt and cheap top from H&M – both sale purchases – and I thought it looked quite natty at the time, but the ensemble felt very conspicuous in this crowd. They all seemed to be wearing thin fabric vests and shorts, and instinctively knew what to do with themselves in these minutes before the race. Many had race tops with names on them like ‘Blackwater Valley’ and ‘Farnham Runners’.
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Hide AdMy brother had Sellotaped his number to his top. We both stood in the field, taking it all in.
Perhaps sensing my unease, someone came over to me and said in a jolly voice, ‘I hope you like trail running!’
That was the first time in my life I had heard the phrase trail running.‘What’s trail running?’
He laughed. ‘Hills, mud, stiles – this race has it all!’
Oh, Jesus Christ.
‘Just take it easy at the start! You’ll be OK,’ he tried to reassure me.
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Hide AdMy brother encouraged me to the start and, before there was time for any more doubt or fear, we had started running.
We were in a field running straight towards what appeared to be a solid hedge. This was not what I expected at all. Within minutes there was a slight grassy hill.
My brother and I had set off towards the back of the pack and, even so, people started passing us up the hill. We did not stop to walk, though; instead we focused on running steadily rather than racing. We had both agreed not to push too hard at the start. Immediately I broke out into a vodka sweat.
Next we were in what felt like forest: tall pine trees reached up skywards, forming a canopy above us blocking out a fair amount of sunlight. I noticed scents that were musty and fresh at the same time. The floor was littered with small, spiky, pine cones. The tree trunks had roots like knuckles reaching out wide, poking out of the sandy forest floor.
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Hide AdTrying not to trip up became my next focus as I did my best to navigate my way through the woods at a run. It became engrossing, just staring at my feet, picking them up and over roots, deciding where to place them, looking at the feet and ankles of my brother in front of me doing the same.
We kept a steady rhythm for a while and then suddenly it felt like someone had opened the curtains on to a bright day. We were now somewhere totally different, a wide open field, rows and rows of crops growing in hundreds of neat, tidy lines down and away from our narrow, puddled path.
Beyond the field stretched more fields, which in turn stretched into hills into the distance. We could see for what looked like miles. The ground was now more stable underfoot, so I took in the view as I ran. I was only minutes from my own house and had no idea these views and paths existed.
It continued like this for some time, the terrain varied and interesting. Sandy stony climbs where I had to watch my step, heathland with purple heather decorating either side of our route, more woods and fields.
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Hide AdSometimes runners ahead bunched up and stopped. What could this be? Stiles dividing up the path and taking us over fences. People queued and then clambered over the wooden steps to start running again straight away on the other side. This did not happen on my route to the big Tesco.
Occasionally we came out of the countryside and on to a road. In contrast to the soft trails, the familiar tarmac felt hard and solid underneath my feet. Here, spectators were gathered, clapping and cheering. Some waved home-made banners, looking for partners, family, friends. I forgot about my hangover and focused on two simple things: not stopping and not falling over.
The next thing I knew I had passed a yellow sign that read ‘Mile 9’.Mile nine!! No way?!? This was further than I had ever run in my entire life, and right now, unbelievably, I was still enjoying it. My legs were aching like hell, the muscles felt fatigued, I had lower backache, and the sweat in my eyes was stinging, but hell, I was still running!
Spurred by the sudden realisation that I could actually do this, I could actually finish a whole half-marathon, I pushed on.
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Hide AdMy spirits lifted, knowing that all I needed to do was put one foot in front of the other, over and over. It really was that simple: one foot in front of the other and I would finish.
The very thought of reaching the finish line gave me a mysterious new energy that I felt in my stomach and chest, and made my legs feel a little lighter again. I smiled and waved at a group of people clapping. ‘Great running!’ one yelled.
Me? They’re clapping me?
More sandy paths, trees, hills and stiles. I had no idea where I was at all, but after a while it felt like the finish line was close. I was back on a road again and runners with medals around their necks were walking away from the direction I was headed in. Some cheered, some yelled words of encouragement. The narrow country lane was lined with a small clapping crowd. Everyone was just so happy.
Then I could see it, the finish line. With every fibre of my being, I pushed forward into the fastest run I could muster and with a triumphant smile crossed the finish line.
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Hide AdI had never ever in my life felt as accomplished as I did in that moment.
It seemed unbelievable that I could run that far. Thirteen miles! A medal was placed around my neck. I was utterly elated. My legs hurt like hell, but I had done it, a whole half-marathon. This was a happiness that was so pure, so proud – and all of it was mine.
The next day I brought my medal into work and showed it to anyone who asked how my weekend was. Even the ones who were only asking to be polite and were not actually interested in how my weekend was. ‘I ran a half-marathon!’ I had to hold on to lamp posts to step down kerbs, take the lift down single flights of stairs for days after, but I had run a half marathon. I was a runner.
For nights after I thought about that race and how running let me forget about my life, forget who I was as I focused on trying not to fall over, forget about my worries as I took in the views. I thought about how a race made life as simple as running along just trying to get to the next mile. I thought about how free it made me feel, about how it made me feel proud of what I had done, not ashamed of being hungover again. I thought about how it had brought me joy.
I looked for another race to enter.
Trails and Tribulations: The Running Adventures of Susie Chan is published by Bloomsbury, £16.99 hardback