C25k week one: ugly shoes and a radish-red face

So, I've finished week one of couch to five k.

After getting through the door, and for about an hour afterwards, my face was this colour:

Radishes. Picture courtesy of La Grande Farmer's Market on Flickr

The trainers are still ugly. When combined with iphones in special arm holster things and funny water bottles you can hold while you're running, bleach and paint-stained jogging bottoms and a hoody nicked off the husband, the look gets even better. And when you add a face that's the colour of a radish - and I'm not exaggerating, that's exactly the shade I go - the overall effect is not glamorous.

In terms of actual progress with the program - well, I'm getting there. You may have noticed that it's taken me more like two weeks to complete week one. That's partly because of a schedule that made a missed workout in the first week inevitable, and partly because I was ill on Monday of this week and for a couple of days walking to the bus wasn't going to happen, let alone attempting to run.

The very first time we did the workout, it was just so much harder than I was expecting. After all, I wasn't strictly on the couch - I was fitter than I had been for a while after a couple of months of working out obsessively (for me) on the Wii - and getting properly sweaty and horrible, not just fannying around. But I ran the first minute much too fast - not fast at all, but not slow enough. After that I'd knackered myself so much that I could only run for 40 seconds of the next minute. And the next, and so on. I ran for the full minute twice, and for forty seconds six times.

And you know what? I was still incredibly proud of myself. I didn't stop - either ran, or walked, but never stopped.

The second time was easier - I walked the last part of the third minute, and the final minute - I got a stitch.

Going out again this week, a week after I'd last run? Actually easier than I was expecting - I gave up during the third minute, and when confronted with  a steep unpaved slope in the last minute, but also suddenly realised that I was stopping for purely psychological reasons, and that I could actually have kept going.

We realised that the gaps, and the fact I still wasn't running the full distance, meant we'd have to repeat at least some of the week, and so re-did the last session for our last session.

This was the hardest one at all. We were running in warmer weather, at a different time of day, into strong winds. For whatever reason, both the husband and I found it harder than usual.

BUT I DID IT. There were a couple of seconds where I stopped running and walked for a second or two - once when I dropped my ipod, once because I didn't have my iphone with me to see I only had five seconds left and force myself on - mine was in the shop so the husband was using his app and telling me when to run and walk. But I'm still happy with that. Happy enough to start trying week two next week. And slightly scared!

But I've learnt a lot this week. First, to run incredibly slowly. As someone who only ran to catch a bus, I didn't really know anything about pacing myself, and although I'd read enough advice saying run slowly, I didn't know what it means. I do now. I run at a pace that feels barely faster than walking, although actually it is.

Secondly, that I can always go further than I think I can, and that it's my brain giving up when I stop, not my legs or lungs. I find it incredibly helpful to glance at how many seconds I have left when I think I'm about to give up, because I can then say "Surely you can do 10 more seconds? Just try" and manage it. I realised I always started walking during the third minute because I think "God, I'm exhausted and I'm not even nearly halfway through yet" and give up, thinking it's all impossible. Now I know this, I can carry on. The minutes after that one I always find easier. I've also started urging myself on to the next street lamp, the next bus stop, after a tip from my boss. "Come on, you can make it to there, that's no distance." Bizarrely, it helps.

Thirdly, that no-one looks twice at a fat girl in bad sportswear with a radish-red face trying to run. Certainly no-one points, or shouts. It sounds ridiculous that I was scared of this - but I was. And they didn't. No-one cares. This is brilliant, and liberating. (I've also thought of what I'd shout back, though, just in case.)

And finally, although I've always worked out best on my own, doing it for no-one but me, I'm really enjoying doing this with the husband. Although he annoyingly finds it far easier than me - even though he was less fit than me to start with, he weighs so much less and is so much taller, he has a massive advantage over me. I tell myself that he wouldn't do nearly so well carrying a suitcase (roughly the difference in our weights), and that satisfies the competitive part of me. But heading out together, urging each other on, listening to the same playlist so we both laugh when Dolly Parton comes on - it all helps. And it's great that we're making progress together, and when we come back, exhausted, smelly, but so very proud of ourselves - that's a wonderful feeling to share.

So onwards and upwards. For the first time in my life I'm running - even just for a minute - because I want to, not because I have to. And I'm starting to enjoy it. Who knew?