Commuter running is something that, until last week, I’d have defined as running for the bus/train to work. But on Wednesday I became part of the club made up of people that run home from work.

It’s 10 miles between swiping my ID card to get out of my office and putting the key in my front door, but on Wednesday 29 July, I ran every one of them.

When I got up that morning it wasn’t my plan to run home from work. I had a 7-mile speed session scheduled (which I was dredding) but the weatherman said it was going to chuck it down at about 6pm – the same time that I head out the door for an evening run. I shoved my kit in a bag and took it to work with me thinking that I could do my training after work before heading home and thus avoiding the downpour.

As the day went on the idea began to take route that I could run 7 miles of the route home then jump on the bus the rest of the way – but I’d be smelly and sweaty and dressed in running shorts. So I decided to run the whole way and use the bus as a back-up plan – if I felt that bad that I had to stop I wouldn’t care what I looked or smelt like as I staggered onto a bus.

My route took me from near Waterloo, along the pasth of the northern line to South Wimbledon before turning off for the last cople of miles to home. The first two miles were horrible and I thought I was going to have to give up and get the tube. My calves were tight and ached with every step.

Suddenly I was at Stockwell station though and things were feeling better – my calves didn’t ache and i was getting into my stride. Then I hit Clapham and the pavements got a whole lot busier as people pored out of the tube but I ticked off the three Clapham stations in quick sucession.

As I came into Tooting I started to see the bus which would deliver me to within staggering distance of my front door. It sat on my shoulder in slow-moving traffic, taunting me and daring me to give in. But I was feeling ok and after another mile I could see the horrible eyesore of a building that towers over Colliers Wood and I knew I wasn’t that far from home.

As I came into Wimbledon and realised I could make it I was so excited that for the last couple of miles I forgot I had legs and I even managed to answer the phone and hold a short conversation.

In summery – if you couldn’t tell from the tone of this post – I’m feeling pretty chuffed with myself. Go me!