The Impact Of Running.

lady exposing her breasts while out running on a fire track with a beautiful view of the sea beyond.
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Strolling into 2024 it seems a good time to continue my story, having last shared a tale about the start of 2019 back in August. I will apologise in advance, my timeline becomes a little jumbled as stories criss-cross and, due to being out of contact with S, I don’t have the emails to guide my way. However, that doesn’t diminish the importance of the year. In fact, 2019 had many significant threads – loose ends to tie up as well as new reels to unravel. This post is about running, and the impact one of the parting tasks from S had – not only for my self-confidence but the friendships formed and the surprise “skills” that happened as a result.

Do you recall his parting tasks?

He tasked me to complete my first marathon in the February of 2019. When he left in the July I knew I would try my best though there was always the niggling self-doubt. I knew I would achieve it for him, but I assumed something would go drastically wrong due to an error on my part. As it turned out, something DID go drastically wrong, but not down to my actions…

I worked backwards, shortly after he left I found a local event. Challenging, beautiful, wintery Dartmoor would provide the backdrop to my marathon debut. With the date set I could plan my training, in as much as any of my training is planned. Then, knowing I didn’t have him cheering me on, I immersed myself in an online running community. One that I am still a member of, to this day. Here I met some incredibly kind and supportive runners. A couple stand out. Runner J, who you’ve met before. A local-ish runner with whom I shared a passion for coffee and cake, and managed to meet for both before the race date. And then there’s Yummy Jan, who is only being briefly introduced here. We will return to him properly at a later date, but his long-distance friendship helped me immensely.

I gradually increased my distance through the second half of 2018.

My own tenacity, coupled with a desire to work hard for S, meant that motivation was not lacking. The running also helped counter the impact of vanilla-world problems that would have previously derailed me.

As I began my taper, RunnerJ and I went to a local Parkrun, then on for breakfast where I shared my angst over the niggles that I was certain would prevent my efforts at the main event. If any of you have run a marathon, you’ll understand the phantom aches and pains of the taper, if not have a read of this article. Fortunately he was able to relate and reassure. Then there was YummyJan. He was able to distract with his late night trail adventures, flirting and food porn.

No sooner had I come to terms with my niggles being perfectly normal, a natural phenomenon, than the clouds rolled in and sprinkled snow on Devon. Dartmoor was, as usual, coated in a thick blanket while my town only had a light dusting. The event company emailed, informing of the impact of snow on the farm we’d be using to park, they couldn’t set up route markers, let alone let us go running.

While they would reschedule, they couldn’t tell us when a new date would be straight away.

This left me with something of a dilemma. My task had been to run the marathon before the end of February. I’d prepared, worked hard, got myself up to the level required for running the distance and yet… Something beyond my control meant I couldn’t achieve my goal. His goal for me.

Gahhhh. How disappointing!

The post-ponement had a greater reaching impact than just disappointment at not running the marathon. This submissive felt she had let down her dominant, and that isn’t a feeling I enjoy at all. I returned to the running forums, hunted for a race I could enter. Nothing. Did you know, marathon listings for February are sparse! Add in that I’d built to marathon distance, tapered. My body was ready for the distance and I didn’t have the knowledge of how to keep it in that state.

With my mum due to look after the boys, I plotted a route – I would at least achieve the distance. And then at YummyJan’s suggestion I looked for a May event. That would give my body the time to rest, rebuild and taper again. I paid attention to his immense experience. Found an event that was located somewhere useful and interesting, signed up on the Saturday evening.

Sunday morning I boarded the train, travelled to a station which would mean a twenty-seven mile run home. I was giving the distance (and the task) every opportunity to be completed within my timeframe. However, it wasn’t quite meant to be. My training had focussed on hills, my preference and an important factor in choosing a Dartmoor marathon. However, the route home from the train station was mostly flat. Certainly for the first sixteen miles. My knee started grumbling before getting hot and truly argumentative. I stopped at the next train station, waited and rode home.

Do you ever get the feeling that something just isn’t meant to be?

Harrumph, I had done my best and was proud of my efforts. In some way I was also pleased to have another three months to work on this task for S. To maintain a connection in spite of the disconnect. It also gave me time to cement friendships with both men. YummyJan and I would talk about food, fasting (his, not mine – I get hangry!) and fun times. RunnerJ and I would get out for some miles at semi-regular intervals. We often found ourselves at the same running events, which lessened the impact of large crowds of strangers when we were both natural introverts.

As winter gave way to spring, we also managed to get up to the Moor. And get up to mischief on the Moor. Possibly my hottest fuck, documented in the post V Is For View. (This was in part erotica, having him cum inside me, because I’m something of a safety bore. Here is your semi regular reminder to stock up on condoms.)

But spring didn’t just bring orgasms through sex.

I had long since understood that the impact on my body through running was one that kept my masochistic needs sated. This meant that I was only out chasing miles, rather than chasing unhealthy sadomasochistic connections.

I had a half marathon to run in my build up, the two lap route took us up and over some big hills and back down the other side following chonky-chalk tracks. Well, goodness gracious me… The first lap wasn’t anything to write home about, but come the second I was in my little running bubble, similar to (the same as?) the endorphin high from impact play. Aware only of putting my feet safely in front of me, and the passing miles, I didn’t noticed the rocks were kneading my souls as I ran.

The thudding impact of my feet as I ran along the knobbly, rocky track got under my skin.

And I mean it really-really got under my skin. The first I knew of my orgasm was when my body was alive with sensation, my laboured breathing getting heavier, and my cheeks, rosy from running, glowed claret at the bottom of my field of vision.

What better way to embed a love of running! Once my task for S was complete, I knew I’d be chasing that spontaneous orgasm response. (It has shown up a couple of times since, but it isn’t a reliable form of release. So pleased I have my Doxy to maintain the balance.)

April turned to May, the month had arrived. With my body behaving as hoped, and the sun shining, I made my way to the start line. And ultimately crossed the line, received my medal and cried over the fact I couldn’t share my success with S. There was also an unreasonable amount of cake consumed, and hugs from SWL and Bliss. I have previously written about this day, so I’d encourage you to go and read the emotional rollercoaster that was my first marathon. Since that post I’ve been able to tell S all about the big day, and my achieving his task.

But the lasting impact of completing his request wasn’t an end to my running.

Quite the opposite in fact. Not only does the sport help me manage my masochistic needs, keep me safe and satisfied, it had sparked something in me. I now had the confidence in myself to achieve things I never believed possible. Things he had complete faith in my ability to achieve. Such as ultra marathons and multi-lap endurance races, dare I say it, even a triathlon… (Spoiler) I have a genuine and enduring love of exploring the wilds, my friends in that community were ace, and as I’d later learn there are lots of kinky folks into running far. Are we all masochists? Even the sadistic runners seem to have a maso- side to them when it comes to endurance. 2019 saw many running adventures, with more planned for 2020. But we all know what happened that year! So following my own covid-battering and then a not insignificant injury (unrelated to running, instead a future share for the blog) I have had to significantly reduce my mileage. It’s still there though, the love. I am just (finally) listening to my body.


This is the latest chapter in the story behind the blog. If you’ve not read any before you can dip in and out of the posts or start at the beginning. The next post will be coming soon. Please do subscribe (in the sidebar) if you want to stay up-to-date.

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