Week 5

Unable to run, deflated by injury, I go to buy shoes. A pair of running shoes is generally said to be good for 500 miles, so it follows I will need two, possibly three pairs in the year building up to my half-marathon. Five hundred miles sounds like a long way when you string it out (the length of a Proclaimers song, which is a daunting thought), but once you start piling on the miles and running 40, perhaps 50 in a week, you soon eat into that total.
Anyway, I like going into running shops. I've bought from chain stores in the past and been let down in more ways than one. For a start, just pulling a box off a shelf and handing it over to a counter is about as inspiring as a late-night kebab. A shoe shop, like a hairdresser, is a place where you should expect to be pampered a bit. I secretly long for the assistant to say something like: "so what kind of time do you run?" and then stand about reminiscing over great races of the past. But of course, they don't: they have jobs to do, same as me, and they restrict themselves to sage advice about over-pronation and wearing in the shoes.
There's something faintly sensual about trying on running shoes. The few plodding steps you take across the acrylic carpet tell you very little about how well the shoes will protect your joints on the open road, yet it's still a joy to roll the feet around luxuriantly inside the shoe, feeling for weak spots and savouring the snugness of a really well-fitting shoe. Bright new running shoes exude promise: the promise of the miles not yet covered, of the times not yet run, of the moments when I reach the top of a hill, take a few deep breaths and hurtle down the opposite side. Shoes bought in autumn will - should - see me through until roughly the onset of summer, which in a country like Scotland is a thought to cherish.
I usually learn something, too, from a visit to the shoe shop. Last time I had my running style filmed from behind, which taught me too things: that running in a suit and trainers looks ridiculous, and that I had an odd tendency to run on the tips of my toes, which might explain my tender achilles tendons. I adjusted my running style in the wake of that analysis and enjoyed an injury-free summer. This time I discovered that I've been wearing my shoes too big. Sounds obvious, but when you've been buying size 11 shoes for more than a decade, it becomes such an ingrained habit that it never occurs to you to question it. My specific problem is that my right foot is half a size larger, so I'm forever caught between sizes. This time the assistant recommended I came down half a size, so I did. The shoes gripped my feet more firmly, there was none of the usual chafing at the back, and I felt like I'd taken a small step forward. But of course, the real test will come on that cherished day when I can run again.