Not fit enough to start? Start anyway
Fitness is what you get. It's not what you need.
If you're reading this thinking "I'm too unfit for this", pull up a chair. You're in very good company.
My first run, back in 2007, was about a mile. It took me just under 20 minutes and it nearly killed me. I wasn't fit. I was overweight, I'd hated running at school (it was usually used as a punishment), and I had no idea what I was doing. If I'd waited until I was fit enough to start, I'd still be waiting.
And my progress was no where near linear. For the best part of 16 years I got fit, got fat, got fit, got fat again. Some years I barely ran at all. A year before my first marathon, I was properly unfit again and desperately trying to get back into it. So I did something slightly mad. I started a YouTube channel, purely to hold myself accountable. My thinking was simple: if I fail, I fail publicly.
I've now been consistent for over 250 weeks. So whether you've never been fit, or you used to be and it's all gone a bit south, I've been where you are. Probably more than once.
Why being unfit feels like a barrier
Here's the thing. Being unfit isn't really what stops people. It's what being unfit makes you feel. Usually it's one of these:
"I'll get fit first, then I'll join." It sounds sensible. It's a trap. Getting fit on your own is the hard bit, and it's exactly the bit a club is there to help with. It's like tidying the house before the cleaner comes.
"Everyone will be fitter than me." Some will. Most won't care. Everyone in a good club remembers being the slowest, the most out of breath, the one at the back.
"I'll embarrass myself." You might go red, puff a bit and need a sit down. Welcome to exercise. That's not failing, that's how it feels for everyone at the start.
If you used to be fit, there's an extra one: you're dragging your old self around with you. You remember the pace you used to run, the weights you used to lift, the jeans you used to fit into, and every session becomes a reminder of how far you've slipped. Comparison is the thief of joy. And comparing yourself to you, five years ago, is somehow worse than comparing yourself to someone on Strava.
The reality is, the only fitness level you need to start is the one you've got today.
The mistakes I made, so you don't have to
Between starting for the first time and starting again about ten more times, I've made all of these. Some of them more than once. Most of them every January.
Going too big, too soon. New trainers, new plan, five sessions a week from a standing start. By week three I was knackered, sore and fed up. Trying to go from nothing to every day is a path to failure. I promise you.
Trying to beat the last session, every session. When I first started, I tried to run every run faster than the one before. Guess what? I was constantly injured.
Picking up where I left off (for the returners). Your fitness drops off faster than your memory of it. Trying to run your old pace, or lift your old weights, is how you end up hurt or miserable. Usually both.
Coming back from injury too fast. I've done this more than once, and it has never ended well. Feeling fine for a day is not the same as being ready.
Waiting for motivation. I used to think I just needed to feel more motivated. Here's the thing, some days I've got none at all. Motivation turns up after you've started, not before.
Keeping it to myself. If nobody knows you’ve started, nobody notices when you stop. I’m the living case study for this!
AN EASY START: lower the bar
The goal of your first two weeks isn't to get fit. It's to prove to yourself that you can turn up. That's it. Fitness comes later.
Two or three sessions a week. No more. You'll want to do more. Don't. Leave yourself wanting more, not dreading the next one.
Keep them short. 20 to 30 minutes. A brisk walk, a run-walk, or ten minutes of bodyweight strength work on the living room floor.
Go embarrassingly easy. If you're running, you should be able to hold a conversation. My test is "can I still sing?" If not, slow down or walk. Walking isn't failing, it’s actually incredibly smart!
Forget the numbers. No pace targets, no comparing with anyone else, or with what you used to do. If you need to, turn the watch face round so you can't see it.
Write down every session. Even the rubbish ones. Especially the rubbish ones. At the end of two weeks you want a list that proves you showed up.
Not every session has to be amazing. Some of them will feel awful. Sometimes you just buy a one-way ticket on the struggle bus, get it done and go home. That still counts.
Weeks three to eight: building it back
Once you've got two weeks under your belt, you can start nudging things up. Nudging, not shoving.
Add one thing at a time. One extra session, or ten more minutes on one session. Not both. Give each change a couple of weeks before the next.
Make most of it easy. The overwhelming majority of my running is slow, and it's what got me from 10-minute kilometres to a 2:45 marathon. The boring stuff works. Slow down to go fast.
Keep the strength work in. Squats, lunges, planks, calf raises. Ten to twenty minutes, twice a week. I avoided the gym for years, and strength work has made a significant difference to my running and overall health.
Expect a wobble. Somewhere around week four or five, life will get in the way. A busy week, a cold, the kids. That's not the end of it. Rest, then pick up where the plan is, not where you think you should be.
Don't make up for missed sessions. Missing one is normal. Cramming two into one day to catch up is how the injuries start. Just do the next one.
The reality is, by week eight you won't feel transformed. You'll feel like someone who exercises a few times a week. Which, after years off, is a massive win.
Don't do it on your own
If I could go back and tell my 2010-something self one thing, it wouldn't be about training plans. It would be this: get some people around you.
I’ve tried every plan going, and willpower has never once got me out of bed on a cold, wet January morning. What finally made it stick was people. Knowing someone would ask how it went, or where I’d been, was enough to get me out of the door.
That's exactly what the PKS Training Club is for. It's a community of ordinary people, some starting for the first time, lots starting again, all working on the same thing. Every Monday you make a promise small enough to keep. Every day you log what you did, and a walk counts. On Saturday we share the highs and the lows. And if you go quiet, someone will notice.
I'm opening 15 founding places at £20 a month, yours for as long as you stay a member. Get on the list and you'll be the first to hear when the doors open.
It's never too late to start. Whether this is your first go or your tenth.
Have a great week, folks.
Paul
The information in this post is general guidance. If you have pain, an injury or a medical concern, speak to your GP or a physio before starting something new.
