It started, last year, almost as a lark. Running, that is. I’ve already cursed the good doctor Rob as loud as I can, but I have to admit: I’m not hating every minute of it. The Central Valley Greenway is actually quite pleasant (when it’s not so flooded that ducks take to its surface, that is), and I’ve found the few times I’ve taken to circuitous routes (short city routes or even 400-metre tracks under lighting) much more calming for the repetition than I had predicted.

So here’s the public presentation of my goal. It ain’t much in the grand scheme of things; some people do ultras, and others travel the world entering multiple marathons and raising outrageous amounts of money for charity. Me, I’ve just challenged myself to run 1,000 km during the 2014 calendar year.

As of March 17, according to my trusty iPhone and its devil spawn app RunKeeper, I’ve completed precisely 228.1km of that goal. Some quick math tells me I’m about 20km ahead of schedule so far.

Along the way I’ll take part in the Sun Run with one Kennedy Goodkey — another 40-something creative type revisiting his old athletic proclivities for the first time in a decade — as well as the BMO Vancouver Half-Marathon in May. Now don’t ask me why I did this, but I’ve also signed up for Seek the Peak, a freakshow of demented self-haters paying to run 16km uphill from sea level (Ambleside Park) to the very top of Grouse Mountain.

That’s more than 1,200 metres elevation gain. 

WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING?

Okay, breathe, Kurylo. That’s still 88 days away. That’s a long time, right?

For now, I’m focused on the half-marathon training. Four runs a week, including a long sustained run on Sundays. I’ve run in cold, snow, sleet and rain, with distances varying between 4km and 13km so far, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised with my recovery as the klicks add up. A lot of huzzahs followed my late-January acquisition of some excellent compression calf sleeves — the benefits of compression was nothing short of a revelation, one that I’ll write about at length later on. The bottom line? There was a lot more cramping and soreness expected, to be honest.

I realize that this post almost guarantees an injury in my near future. A new runner proclaiming “I expected it to be harder” is probably about as smart as an actor shouting “Macbeth” just before opening night.  But, well, there it is.

I expected it to be harder.

Bring it on, baby. 771.9km to go.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
— King Lear, Act III, Scene II