Going backwards

Well not really.  It's just that I did a half-marathon last weekend and I'll do a 10k this weekend so it seems that I'm halving my distances since the marathon. But as all mathematicians know, that means at that rate I'm never going to get to zero so that's OK. At this point some uber-geek is going to interrupt to prove me wrong.  Please don't bother otherwise you will be treated to a hard stare and a clean pair of heels.

I've been having a mixed time of it lately.  Over a week ago I was merrily scampering along with a couple of friends when all of a sudden a pain started up down my right knee. Strange? I thought.  I must say that I have been blessed with good fortune over the two and a half years I have been running.  I haven't had any problems re knees at all.  Or much else to complain about really.  Unlike the poor souls kinesthetic-taped up to the eyeballs, legs like beribboned maypoles. Mind you I wouldn't mind taping the sides of my jaws to my temples to create a cheap facelift effect, might have a beneficial effect on the race photos. Anyway there was a definite pain there.  Naturally I ignored it and went out running with the beginners at the club that night.  So the pain started up again 3 miles in. Not good.  That weekend the club had a weekend in Norfolk which was so good that I couldn't possibly go into it here, it would take AGES! Anyway on the Saturday we ran along the gorgeous Norfolk coast and guess what?  Yes the knee started moaning again at about 5 miles in. I had an appointment with The Marmaliser the following Friday and a half marathon on the Sunday so it seemed to best just to stay off the running completely. I was a bit concerned about the half marathon because I wasn't sure how that would feel anyway and now with a possible injury...  yikes it didn't bear thinking about.  So I spent the week rolling around the floor and attempting stretches and screaming away on the foam roller. I also attempted to plank which is nowhere near as successful as back in January when I was attempting The Plank Challenge.  This is where, over a month, you progress from 20 seconds planking to 5 mins.  No I didn't do it.  I got up to 1 min 30 over a couple of weeks  but I just couldn't do it for any longer and then I hate to confess I gave up.  Even my previous motivational tool was no use.  That was where, when I was trying to plank for a minute, I decided to do it over the sleeping cat knowing that there was no way I was going to collapse on top of the unfortunate creature no matter how much it hurt.  So much to my boys' horror I was balanced over the snoozing mog and as the seconds ticked by I was starting to sweat and my arms were starting to shake.  It definitely helped me achieve my goal.  I heartily recommend it.  And let me reassure you no cats were harmed in this exercise.

http://uberding.net/2011/10/10/uberall-liegen-menschen-muss-das-sein/planking-cats1/

www.little-runner-girl.com

Je ne regrette rien...

Here it is at last the definitive report on my marathon.  Best thing I have ever done.   So far of course.  Never say never and all that.

Wow what can I say?  Words fail me.  Though not for long of course, I have got a blog to write after all.  As you know the marathon training was long and torturous.  It involved many long runs of just me and my iPod (many thanks to Radio 4 at this point – Woman’s Hour and many comedies just about kept me distracted) and several circuits of the local villages including multiple passes of the nice but bemused man in the signalbox.  It involved monthly muscular pounding by Mick the Marmaliser and his ever helpful exercise suggestions.  Also many thanks to Mr Shotblok and Mr Powerade,  my two staples. And of course the help, support and camaraderie of Caistor Running Club who are the very reason I was even able to contemplate doing a marathon in the first place. 

I must say that the final week before a marathon is a very strange place to be.  Strange aches and pains start up where none used to be. You find yourself getting paranoid about illness or the possibility of tripping up and injuring yourself.  The thought of being unable to take part in something which has been such a focus for so many weeks is intolerable.  So of course I suddenly develop a painful back.  I’ve never had problems with my back so why on earth should this be so? Unbelievable.  Still, I reasoned, there were still a few days to go so plenty of chance for it to improve.  Just to be on the safe side I bought a tube of Ibuleve and packed a load of Ibuprofen.  Let’s hear it for 2-(4-isobutylphenyl) propanoic acid! 

Anyway, so to Paris…

We arrive on the Saturday and head off to the Expo to pick up my bib number.  You have to provide your passport, your convocation (a downloaded document that states your name, date of birth, bib no. etc.)  and most importantly your medical certificate. In France you are not allowed to run in a race without a certificate stating there is no reason you should not run. This has to be signed by a doctor and stamped by the medical practice and dated no more than 12 months before the date of the race.  No medical certificate no race – simples.  So imagine my horror when the lady at the Expo desk pointed out that it was dated 2013 instead of 14.  I nearly fainted clean away on the spot.  The doctor's handwriting was so bad I hadn't spotted it, nor my husband nor my daughter who photocopied it for me two days before.  It was done in February and I know how important it is so I still cannot believe it happened. I needed a stiff drink after that scare I can tell you. Thank goodness she took pity on me; goodness knows what my face looked like. Probably if you looked it up on a paint chart it would be somewhere between ‘Foolscap White’ and ‘Filing Cabinet Grey’.

That evening we met L and A from the running club at a pasta chain called Pasta Papa.  Talk about eat your own weight in pasta.  The servings were phenomenal.  You choose the type of pasta you want and then you choose the sauce you want to go with it. Naturally I didn’t choose the seafood sauce – a scoopful of dodgy mussels would soon put paid to three months of training!  Brilliant.  Well and truly carbloaded we opted for an early night.  The marathon was due to start at 8.45am.  Having lost an hour when the clocks changed the previous week we then lost another hour by crossing into France so I was not overly happy at the lack of sleep situation. I retired to bed well and truly basted in Ibuleve because, yes you’ve guessed it the back had not eased after all. I’d also like to point out that it’s a well known fact that you should rest and stay off your legs as much as possible the day before a marathon.  Maybe tanking all around Paris from the airport to the hotel to the Expo and back via the Metro was not such a good idea.  Unavoidable, but all the same my feet felt completely flat and I hadn’t even done the marathon!

The morning of the marathon.   
How early?!! About 5.30am I think.  I was relatively calm which is not like me at all.  I had a pot of porridge I had brought from the UK.  Not quite the same as my usual but what’s a girl to do? Plus I had also brought my squeezy bottle of golden syrup!  And I also had a luxury M&S hot cross bun plus a fruit smoothie.  Oh yes I had been paying great attention to Runners’ World on pre-marathon fuelling.  For once my children had realised the enormity of what lay ahead for me and were being uncharacteristically reasonable about getting up early and out of the hotel by 7.15am.  Yes I said 7.15am.  Madness.  And so off on the Metro to the Arc de Triomphe.  The train was full of runners everyone looking a little nervous.  Then as we exited the Metro at Charles de Gaulle Etoile – whoa! It was incredible.  The amount of people!
Being in the Pink Pen (that’s Pink not Pig) I was at the back and we were all penned in down the Champs Elysees.  I couldn’t even see the start line and the sea of bodies seemed to extend for miles.  There was loud music blaring from the speakers and copious announcements which were incomprehensible.  Partly because they were through a PA system but mainly because they were in French! On our bibs were printed our name and also our nationality so that was quite interesting.  Of course my Union Jack leggings and buff spoke volumes and seemed to be attracting quite a lot of attention so I listened out for mutterings of ‘Le Rosbif!’ but didn’t hear any.  At this point I ran into L and A and also La which was quite miraculous considering the amount of people there.  So we had a little Caistor Running Club moment and a few photos at which point A left us to go to the Yellow pen.  I doubt whether there were any fun runners up there. 

The race started at 8.45am but I didn’t even realise it had started.  We just moved down the road en masse like a massive buffet queue.  I was with L so we chatted away and agreed that we could hardly believe where we were.  The atmosphere was electric.  Of course you had to be very careful where you were putting your feet.  Discarded bottle, clothing, bin liners and other things far too unmentionable but if I were to say to you 2 portaloos per pen and each pen probably had a few thousand in it… And off we went under the green arch and we were on our way.  It was amazing.  Running along with loads of spectators cheering you on and everyone around you just running down the Champs Elysees – what a feeling! Someone called my name and we wondered who they were until I remembered that I had my name on my Stroke Association top.  Of course that meant I was due to run 26.2 miles round Paris with Stroke Katy across my chest so maybe it was a good job they speak another language! Actually, having people shout out your name is very encouraging and motivating as I was soon to find out.  So there we were trotting along pointing out buildings and generally marvelling at how wonderful it all was.  Then I noticed a whole load of red caps on the floor.  They looked like counters.  It turned out that they were bottle tops but all the water had gone and the water station was being packed away!  There were still a couple of tables a bit further on though so all was well. It was great, we spotted my husband and children waving the Lincolnshire flag frantically and shouting for us.  Then we came out into a large square which was pretty impressive.  There were bands and entertainers almost nonstop along the route.  As soon as you had run out of earshot of one thing you could hear the strains of the next thing in the distance.  Percussion bands, rock and roll, jazz, folk music, cheerleaders you name it, it was on the route.  I can’t possibly describe it all but we headed off into the Bois de Vincennes which was very lovely and had a wonderful palace and also a zoo.  At some point I went past the 10k mark so that was good.  Then the next milestone was the half marathon point which was marked with a huge inflatable arch and plenty of celebration.  Then the route headed down along the Seine which was very scenic with pleasure boats heading down river and everyone waving at us crazy runners.  At this point the route went down under several underpasses under the bridges.  As we entered the longest tunnel (1 km of tunnel in fact) I could hear disco music.  Appropriately enough - ‘Le Freak’.  There were disco lights and strobes also disco dancers.  I had a little shoulder shimmy with one lady as I passed.  How bizarre.  The tunnel was pitch black and there were THREE discos in total.  It was like a nightclub down there. I nearly danced round my handbag.  As I exited that tunnel it was 17 miles and my family were there to cheer me on.  I stopped for a few moments; it would seem churlish to go straight past when they were spending all day hanging around for me! My daughter said ‘Mum! What are you smiling for? Nobody is smiling.  You’re doing a marathon for goodness sake’. Hah!

It was a moment of reprieve.  I had spent since the half-marathon moment waiting to get to the 17 mile point because I knew my family would be there. You need these incentives.  After I had left them things started to feel a lot tougher.  My next milestone was the 20 mile point but all of a sudden the miles were starting to drag.  It seems that the tunnels play havoc with your Garmin and so my watch was saying that I had run further than I had.  I thought I was at 18 miles but I wasn’t.  For the first time I started to feel a little bit concerned.  Then the next thing I knew I started to feel a bit sick.  I had been eating Shotbloks every 25 mins or so but I had got confused about when I had taken the last one so it may be that I had been having them a bit more frequently.  That coupled with the Powerade I was sipping all the way suddenly made me feel that I had taken on an awful lot of sweet things and I would still be doing so.  And then I needed the toilet.  Typically the area was very built up at that point and all cafes were shut.  I got increasingly more desperate and then I suddenly spotted a marshal, asked if there were any toilets soon and he pointed out two Portaloos on a neighbouring building site! I had to squeeze through some wire fencing, opened the first door and recoiled in horror.  Put it this way - some poor builder must have turned up to work on Monday morn and got quite a shock.  The second one was OK.  Miraculous.  Anyway it was such a hot day that being in a plastic box with the door shut caused me to boil up.  It occurred to me that I might never be found.  Fortunately I felt a lot better and also slightly smug as I had found a toilet haven of my own. I took the opportunity to adjust my belt bags which kept riding up on to my skin and take off my buff and wrap it round my wrist. When I came out I felt much livelier and merrily joined the throng again.

Did I mention that there were fuel stations at frequent intervals but they had vast quantities of half bananas and quarters of oranges, sugar cubes, raisins and dried banana chips? It was like a huge market stall.  The downside was that there was slippy peel EVERYWHERE.  You had to really watch where you were going and I’m sure there must have been a few casualties.  Talk about Dancing on Ice. 

 Also there were plenty of sponge stations.  Without sponges.  The sponge was in our bags we had picked up at the Expo but we had no idea you were supposed to bring them with you! Had to be satisfied with chucking water over my face and neck.  It was a very warm day. I saw the strangest sights.  A man running in sandals.  Yes flip flops.  A woman bending down to pick a leaf from a bush … then blowing her nose on it and throwing it away! A runner nearly being knocked down by a motorcycle who started threading through the runners in the Bois de Boulogne.  Another runner running into a parked car’s wing mirror. Spongebob Squarepants.  A rhino (who I managed to overtake at the end).  The Macmillan Coffee morning mug who L managed to finish with.  A strange flamingo-thing. 

The scenery along the route was spectacular.  Going along the Seine I could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance.  Then at one point there was a sign saying – Look! It’s the Eiffel Tower! and as you looked to the right there it was in all its magnificence.  It was quite a sobering experience to go though the tunnel of the Pont d’Alma which is where Diana Princess of Wales died. 
All along the route I was getting plenty of support from the crowds.  The Union Jack leggings meant that any English speaking nation’s supporters would roar enthusiastically as I went past.  Even a little French boy shouting ‘Team GB!’  There were plenty of shouts of ‘Allez! Allez!’ too. The last 6 miles were weird and wonderful.  I vacillated (good word) between despair and euphoria and sometimes moments of madness.  At one point I remember thinking 'I think I could be an ultramarathoner'. What the heck?! I think it's because I was feeling alright for most of the race.  I had a really steady start and I really wanted to finish. I couldn't risk anything getting in the way of that so no grand gestures and silly faster pacing that would leave me unable to drag myself the last couple of miles.  During those last 6 miles there were loads of people walking.  Plus a man in tears at the side of the road, wrapped in a gold blanket, draped over his wife.  Lots of people with cramp too.  I ran past a couple and the man was complaining ‘My shoulders are absolutely killing me’.  I found myself running from mile to mile, still enjoying all the bands and drummers. 

As we left the Bois de Boulogne I spotted the gay cheerleaders. I had heard about them so when I saw them I was so pleased that I rushed towards them blowing kisses to which they high-fived me.  The leader in the leopard print leotard grabbed my hand and we highstepped down the road together for a few metres.  Fabulous! If only someone had been there to take a photo.  He was saying ‘Come on, shall we finish this together?’. I wish that had been possible, what a way to cross the finish line with him in his long pink wig, beard and pink stilettos! As it was he wished me ‘Bon courage!’ and let me go.  Not long after that I came across a whole host of clowns representing the Marathon de Medoc (well known for its eating and drinking en route) and they gave me a tot of red wine in a shot glass.  Congratulating me and wishing me well to the finish line.  What a country eh?
And then finally the 26 mile marker was in sight.  Wow what a feeling! Nearly there.  But not quite and oh boy does that 0.2 miles make a difference.  I spotted my husband ‘You’ve done it’ he shouted, ‘it’s just around the corner!  A bit further on, there were my children ‘Go Mum!’ they shrieked and I just felt like bursting into tears.  I could see the Finish and I was running towards it thinking about all that had gone into it. All that was going through my head was “YOU’ll never run a marathon” and I was running to the finish thinking “Is that right?!”

I enjoyed the whole race from beginning to end; I wouldn't have swapped my experience for the world.  Bring on the next one!

And then I joined Caistor Running Club...

and my life changed forever.  Not that I knew it at the time.  Funnily enough there is a swimming connection there too.  After the Race for Life I decided I wanted to continue running.  The problem was, without the incentive of the race I became very uninspired and every time I felt like having a little rest and walking - I did.  So off I would go for a 3 to 4 mile run and during that time I would start walking every time the going got tough, or I got bored, or both. Not good. Fortuitously, that summer I spotted a photograph in our local paper.  A new running club had started in our local town and who should be grinning out of the photo but someone in my swimming class.  I kept the page.   I emailed the contact name and tentatively asked if I could come along.  They were very encouraging and yet I was too afraid to go.  I found excuse after excuse until I realised that I was in danger of talking myself out of it altogether. Why?  Well I thought that they must all be way beyond my standard and I would make a complete fool of myself for even thinking I could be part of it.  I have known runners in the past and they were all, without exception, extremely fit, fast, focused and competitive. Plus had been running for years and years.  Everything I wasn't, in fact.

I decided to give myself a Mitchell brothers - type talking to.  "Oy! Woss goin' on?  Get in there you lightweight!'  And so one Thursday night in October I took one tentative step and plunged into Wonderland. All I can remember is that we ran to Nettleton as far as the street lamps went and then we ran off somewhere else.  They were mainly men, in fact I'm not sure if remember any ladies, and they were very friendly.  They tried to chat with me but I'm afraid that talking and running were not possible at that stage in the game.  The extra effort of doing that nearly finished me off.  I went home the colour of rhubarb and it took three hours for the colour to fade from my face. Strangely enough I recall feeling very motivated and that although the session had been the hardest thing for me, I knew I would go back. The next session was on a Saturday morning. 8.30 am!!! If you know me you know I am very fond of my lie-ins so I can't tell you what a wrench that was.  Still I am very glad I went because that is the day I met T.  What an inspirational lady.  She was in her fifties and was new to running too although she was able to do longer distances than me.  She was just what I needed, great company to run with and full of tales.  We ended up doing 7 miles, the longest I had ever run.  First lesson of Caistor Running Club - whenever anyone tells you the length of a run don't forget to add 20% at least.

The next Thursday another lady, J, turned up.  Once again we were a similar age and level so we ran together very well and I felt really good about being part of the club. I distinctly remember the way we would need to walk up the hills and how one club member had told me that he used to do the same when he started but now he was able to keep going.  I didn't believe that would happen to me of course. I wondered if I would ever stop slightly dreading the club sessions.  'Dreading?' you say, 'why would you go to something if you hated it?' Yes it does seem ridiculous doesn't it? It wasn't that I hated it, it was just that I knew it was going to be hard and I never knew if that was going to be the day that I would decide I just wasn't up to it.  What I did know is that I never ever regretted going and that every time I went made me a better runner.  Not to mention the great company of course.  Everyone was so supportive and so encouraging of what, to some of them, must really have been the most basic of achievements.  Ooh! Well breathed there!
Nobody ever made me feel useless or inconvenient and believe me there was often quite a bit of waiting for me to catch up. Or times when someone would have sacrificed their own run to trot along next to me the silent, staring, huffing, hunched figure. Of course even though I'm singing their praises you have to know that they did try to kill me on Mansgate Hill.  But they did not succeed! Even though I did go home and climb into a sleeping bag on the sofa and sleep for two hours. And they did have me run across a field of cows which decided to chase.  That's one way of getting your speed up but I wouldn't recommend it. Slowly week by week I started to improve...

Race for Life 2011

And so it was that I eventually started to be able to run for 3 miles. Oh boy was that an achievement. Still on grass fields and still alone. I didn't think I could stand anyone witnessing the pure torture that running caused me.  The Race for Life was imminent.  I received the race pack and got all excited about having a race number. I didn't even know how to pin it to my shirt!  I read the race instructions avidly and then the day arrived.  I cannot emphasise what a massive deal it was for me. It was boiling hot! Hmmmmm.  I felt so out of place as we walked into the start area.  It was packed! I've never seen so much pink! Not since I fell in that vat of Gaviscon, Actually I didn't. It was extremely emotional though because everywhere you looked there were stories of ill and lost loved ones. There was a warm up routine going on and I'm partial to a bit of Zumba so I joined in very enthusiastically.  Possibly too enthusiastically, imagine injuring yourself before you even start?  Then when the race was about to start the call came to join either 'Runners', 'Joggers' or 'Walkers'.  A dilemma.  Where to be?  Definitely not a runner but also definitely not a walker.  So I decided to join the back of the runners and the start of the joggers.  And then we were off and I was running the first race of my life and it was on concrete. I found myself overtaking people. Then I noticed some people were starting to walk.  'No way!' I thought.  I was not going to walk, I had come here to run the Race for Life and that was exactly what I was going to do whatever happened.  Then I came around the path around the boating lake and there were my family.  They were amazed to see me so soon.  I kept going and spotted the next km marker.  Then I knew we were heading for the finish and I could hear the tannoy and the crowd.  I gave it my all and as I spotted the clock in the distance I saw it had a 29 on the front and I thought 'If I can just get in before 30 mins...'.  I sprinted like mad and made it.  Then I burst into tears.  And got my medal and bag and a bottle of water.  So I walked off and tried to pull myself together.

It was the most wonderful thing I had achieved and it meant so much as I lost my father to cancer when I was 12 and I have missed him every day of my life. As I walked back to meet my family and we continued along the seafront, we passed a lady walking with a drip and accompanied by two paramedics.  You cannot help but be humbled by the people who take part in this wonderful race.  Nor can you comprehend just how many women have become runners as a result of it.

How it all started...

It occurred to me that anyone reading this blog might not appreciate how my story began.  In fact I started this blog when I began to train for my first half marathon the Great Birmingham Run in 2012.  At that time it was the most incredible challenge and I thought that writing the blog, and attaching it to my fundraising site, would keep me on track. But it wasn't the start of it.  Oh no. let me take you back some 6 or 7 years... (cue wavy lines....)

It didn't start with running.  It started with swimming.  Most of my life I have swum a kind of breaststroke that I made up myself.  I would tell you all about how I didn't learn to swim until I was 9 years old on account of an incident but I haven't time here.  Anyway I merrily swam with a schoolfriend as a teenager and then continued at university as a leisure pursuit. I swam all through my pregnancies like a shiny black bowling ball bobbing along on my back. We have a pool about 10 mins away so that is perfect.  One day I noticed a sign that said 'Adults Improvers Course - improve your stroke or learn a new one'.  Wow! I thought.  I'd always wanted to know how to swim front crawl.  My usual attempt involved thrashing from side to side whilst flailing my arms windmill-style and gasping like a fish. So I signed up for it.  I have to confess to feeling very nervous.  Rightly so because when I turned up I realised that there were only 3 of us that weren't already able to do the front crawl.  By the way they call it freestyle these days! The teacher said  'OK 4 lengths to warm up'. I couldn't even do 1 length let alone warm up with 4.  I think she got the measure of us by the end of that lesson.  Needless to say we then set about a programme of breaking the stroke down. Lengths of kicking only, lengths of single arm reaches and pulls until eventually we could bring it all together.  Even so I found it very difficult and wondered if I would ever be able to swim a whole length. Every week I would return home with a beetroot red face. It say something when your teacher says to you as you reach the end of the pool, gasping and wheezing, 'Are you alright?' - I think she was seconds away from pressing the buzzer.  Anyway weeks passed by and I began to feel really good about myself. One length turned into two then four.  Then another challenge.  We needed to learn to tumble-turn.  Now that means doing a full forward roll UNDER THE WATER.  Yes.  I know.  Madness. In fact, I was too scared to do it.  So I bought myself a noseclip and I took my young sons swimming and asked them to teach me.  My youngest was so sweet. 'Just like this Mum' he said, flipping over and then surfacing with a huge beam on his chops.  How could I not do it?  I had sent them to swimming lessons and encouraged them to get over their fears and do their best.  How could I now not follow that same advice?  So deep breath and  - whoa! I did it and it was OK! I did it a few more times.  And then I got even more brave and tried it without the clip.  A very strange feeling and, if you get it wrong with your breathing, a fairly horrid one. Weeks later and another challenge - diving from the side of the pool.  Once again more fear and more practising with my sons.  So you get the picture, over and over I was doing new things, things I never thought I would ever be able to do, and I was actually doing them.  Me! Remember this point - it's an important one.
So where does the running come in?  Well I realised that the reason I was finding front crawl so hard was because of my breathing.  I hadn't got enough stamina so I wondered whether starting to run might help me get better at the breathing.

Cue the Race for Life.  My sister had done this a couple of years ago and I was so impressed that she had trained and run it as, like me, we are not sporty types.  Not that I was immediately inspired to do it.  Oh no.  I had no desire to run.  Too many bad memories of cross country and sports days.  That was definitely one thing you would never catch ME doing .  No sir!  However, I wanted to get better at swimming and I was secretly jealous of my sister's wonderful achievement and so I thought 'OK. This is a really good cause and I should do this'.  So I went on the Internet and found a plan to start running from scratch.  I seem to recall it was all about getting up to running for 15 mins non stop over about 6 weeks.  By the way when I say I was not a sporty type I did still do stuff like Step Aerobics (way back in the day - shiny blue footless tights/ leotard - the works!) , go to the gym, swimming and walking.  In fact when I was a young woman I looked a heck of a lot sportier than I actually was, people would often ask me if I was and I, of course, looked at them as if they were mad.  In fact I think it is a great shame that many people, and particularly girls, are turned off sport at school.  Poor short sighted, uncoordinated, awkward  me. We were not allowed to wear spectacles during ball games.  Very useful. No wonder I was so useless at netball and volleyball.  Somebody would shriek my name, I'd spin round and by the time the ball came into focus it would be about two inches from my face.  Yes I am that shortsighted.  Contact lenses have played a huge part in my ability to enjoy sport. Unfortunately I didn't have them until I was 20.

So running.  I didn't tell anyone I was doing it and I deliberately chose places where NO-ONE would see me.  Talk about guilty secret.  I would walk along the road to the farm lane so that no cars would see me and then I would start the run/walk programme.  Taking great care to always walk past the two cottages halfway down  in case anyone was looking out the window.  I would stop in front of the cowsheds and do a few stretches. The cows were very intrigued. Especially the mini-me mini- moos. I was quite a sight.  Gasping and wheezing and purple in the face.  And so I would pursue this programme.  Initially I would be running along and darting looks at my watch willing the time to be up so I could walk again.  It would take the full walking time for me to get my breath back at all. I remember those days so clearly.  The first time I ran for 5 minutes nonstop was incredible! The aim was to run 5k.  The Race for Life was in July 2011.  It took me 7 months to get there.

Socks, chocs and Shot BLOKS

It's getting closer by the day and the excitement is mounting.  I feel a bit like a hive of bees, quietly and ominously buzzing.  Suddenly, inconsequential things have taken on massive significance.  Socks for example.  I'm a little afeared of the agony of the uncushioned foot.  Didn't have any problem up till now but then on that last half marathon I suffered the unknown foot pain. Now I am surrounded by three new pairs of different types of sock and no proper time to roadtest! Hah.  Could be the least of my problems.

Last weekend was wonderful.  We hosted the club run.  I had walked it earlier in the week to check that we weren't all going to disappear in the boggy bit by the railway line.  Fortunately despite recent rain everywhere was passable.  Saturday arrived and so did the sun.  The run was very pleasant and two of our ladies, who haven't been able to join us for various reasons for quite a while, were able to come.  It was wonderful to have them both back on board.  Then back to ours for sausage buns, cake and copious tea.  Sitting in the garden for goodness sake! In March! Mr Leggy and The Young did a sterling job of providing and serving up all fodder.  The birthday celebrations just keep going.  I had made three cakes from the oracle that is - Mary Berry.  We're not worthy... we're not worthy.... 'Crunchy Top Lemon Cake' aka lemon drizzle cake aka lemony loaf. Chocolate Victoria Sandwich and - from the 'Healthy Cakes' section' - Carrot Cake'.  Healthy cakes?  Who the heck is interested in a healthy cake?  I have to confess being a tad worried about it because I'd never made it before and I'd grated the carrots without thinking about it.  When I looked in the bowl I realised that maybe I should have grated it finer and that the whole cake mixture was looking worryingly like coleslaw! It all disappeared though so it must have been OK. It was wonderful to spend time in such great company.

So now this week I have been relaxing as best I can.  This means lying around on the sofa and scoffing chocolate.  Not too much.  It's just that I have had a few very tasty treats for my birthday and I'm only human.

Talking of inconsequential things - I also realised that my waist bag was nowhere near big enough to carry all the stuff I want to have with me. Mainly because I want to have my phone and my iPod and I've calculated I'll need at least 3 packs of Shot BLOKS. I haven't got time to try out any new stuff so I've got another small bag and I've going to wear one on each hip like a gunslinger! Draw! I'll have to practise my technique, twizzling the packets round  and slamming them back in the bags.

Getting closer

Gosh a lot has happened since the last post.  Firstly I went out for a nice little run on the Monday after that 10k race.  I meant to do about 3 miles but ended up doing 5 miles and that was a mistake.  I was too tired really so the last two miles was more of a run/walk with the emphasis on walk and basically it served me right. Stick with what you know.  Consequently I didn't run again till Thursday and did 6 miles with my friend and that was very pleasant  as we chatted all the way. However, later that afternoon I noticed my lower calf and Achilles was aching.  Strange.  That evening I decided to go to the club's beginner group as it is very nice to meet all our new starters and join in a gentle trot/walk with them. The next day the leg was still aching.  Oh oh.  I couldn't really pinpoint it but it was certainly making me concerned especially since I had a half marathon on Sunday to look forward to! You may recall I was supposed to do this half marathon 'The Stanford Hall Half Marathon' last March but it was cancelled because of the snow! Pretty different to this year, eh? Being as I was worried about my leg I decided to rest completely and so that was it for me running until Sunday.

On Sunday we all had to get up very early.  Getting my family up and out at the best of times is a little like getting an oil tanker off to sea.  Overcoming the inertia is almost impossible.  This is, of course, very stressful.  Plus the weather looked hideous - cold and windy.  We had a two hour journey ahead and the start was at 10.15am. Somehow I felt very out of sorts.  It seemed like a very long time since I had done a half marathon.  October in fact.  A race is very different to me doing a long run on my own even though I have been doing long distances. What I didn't realise was that this race was very hilly! I certainly realised quite soon into the race though. There's just something about the extra effort of going up inclines when you're tired.  If think bubbles could appear above your head they'd be saying "What the ...?",  "If you think I'm...",  "Why I oughta..." everytime you get to another.  It was a strange kind of a race, quite a small turnout, very few supporters, very widely dispersed marshals.  At the end you were taken back into the grounds where you snaked about, looped back on yourself and basically wanted to shriek "Where the heck's the Finish line!!!!".  But when I did eventually cross the line I found out that my time was 2:16:03 which meant I had bettered my best time by 4 minutes.  Wow that was a good feeling! Plus the leg which had started to pain me at the beginning of the race had once again calmed down.  The medal was pretty good too as was the commemorative buff.  I'm quite partial to a buff these days - keeps my hair under control plus is invaluable for wrapping round your wrist and using to wipe your face as necessary. 

Running in a buff as opposed to running in the buff which would be a totally different matter!