Day of Awesomness

Today has officially been renamed the Day of Awesomeness. Possibly not the catchiest name, certainly not as succinct as "Sunday", but I think it gets the point across that it was a very successful day in VLM training. In fact, this week there seems to have been a shift in my mental and physical ability, because I've worked hard in all of my training sessions, and felt like I've managed them more easily and capably than even a week ago. I've enjoyed all my training this past week; I managed heavier weights in body pump, I had more energy in body attack, my runs were faster and I had a good PT where TT actually said I was making progress, and I too felt like I gave a good representation of my abilities. But the piece de resistance has to be my long run today.

After last Sunday's difficult LR I wasn't viewing today with a huge amount of enthusiasm, the only saving grace being that I had arranged to run with Sarah from NWR. The last time I ran with Sarah was on the MoRun, and I was at the beginning of major physical decline and my body was beginning to protest at the fewer calories I was giving it whilst still trying to run. Sarah was such a soothing and reassuring companion at the MoRun that I knew she'd be perfect for me at this point, and keep me going. Whilst I was waiting for her to arrive I was so nervous that my hands were actually shaking. I think for me it was a case of that if it all went wrong, normally I have no witnesses but what if it went spectacularly wrong and someone was there to see it all? I needn't have worried though, because from the second we broke into a run it felt really good, and it only takes me a few strides to ascertain whether it's going to be a good run, or tougher than combing your hair with your hands tied behind your back.

Spot the deer

Today wasn't a good run. Today was a great run. Fantastic, amazing, wonderful and all those good adjectives. My legs just felt filled with energy, and I felt light as a feather as we worked our way around Wollaton Park. The best bit was, whereas I've recently needed to have frequent walk breaks as I've been unable to maintain a running stride for too long, today I felt like I could keep on going forever. I was so in the zone that when we passed the deer in the picture on the right, I would've run straight past the them had Sarah not pointed them out to me. It was nice to have a companion, because long runs can get lonely, and as we ran and chatted I couldn't help but feel grateful for belonging to such a great running club. It was started a year ago from nothing, but slowly it has developed into a proper club with beginners classes, tops with the club logo on and is almost at the stage where is is affiliated. And the best bit is that the women are just wonderful. I feel like someone always has my back. If I want to run with someone there's always at least one person happy to come along. We're all different ages and abilities, but the camaraderie is second to none and I really needed that feeling of belonging somewhere.

Me and Sarah

After 12k, I took Sarah back to her car and we parted ways. I had to continue the rest of my run alone. This was to be a good test as to whether I could continue to run when already pretty tired, and when left on my own. I grabbed my iPod back at home and cranked up the volume, and set off to continue the remaining distance (TT had prescribed 18k for today). Those first couple of km on my own were tough; I think I had begun to stiffen up whilst saying goodbye to Sarah and refuelling at home, and I really felt it for the next 2km. My breathing felt erratic and my legs were on fire, and that self-doubt started niggling at me, then really began to harass me. But I ignored it, because, as I reasoned with myself, if 30 minutes before I had felt like I was flying, things don't really change that quickly, so I gave myself a stern talking to and got on with the job. What amazed me as I approached 16k was that suddenly, things began to feel easier again. I got back in the zone, I got into a rhythm, and I just ran. I reckoned that if I slowed to a walk, my body might not let me start running again, so on I went. Just to that lamp post, then at the lamp post it was just to that car. And so it went on like that, running from one point to the next, repeating positive affirmations in my head, concentrated on left leg right leg left leg right leg, and even threw in some strides to jazz things up a bit. Then finally I had finished. In the amazing time of 1 hour 59, I ran 20km. 20km!!!!! That's flipping made my year!!! From one Sunday to the next I have gone from feeling like a complete beginner to Paula Radcliffe!

But what really changes in a week? Certainly nothing physically has changed. My food intake is still well below what it should be, I'm still exhausted a lot of the time, partly because of food and partly because lack of food promotes poor sleep. My stress levels are still pretty high although I did receive the exciting news this week that I have an interview to study Graduate Entry Medicine, allowing me to finally complete my medical training. But one thing that has changed is my attitude to myself. After the GSR then my physical deterioration I lost so much confidence in my running, I shied away from social runs feeling like I was going to be the rubbish one and knowing that it would be my fault if that did happen because I couldn't eat properly. But now I feel like I'm a real contender. That I could run VLM and not be caught by the sweeper bus and actually run it in a decent time. Maybe, just maybe, I can not just do this running thing, but actually be quite good at it too. So much of what is covered in my PT sessions is not just to develop me physically, but also to strengthen me mentally, and I think both are beginning to pay dividends.

As a final note I would like to mention something that is effective in post run recovery, but that is also an instrument of torture: the ice bath. I've always been a fan of a nice hot shower after a run to freshen up, then on with a jumper to stave off post run shivers, and on with compression socks to aid recovery of my lower legs. TT has mentioned the benefits of ice baths before, and thinking it was just a quirky fetish he has after a training session I never paid heed to them. Until today, where I ran faster and further than before. So I thought my poor legs might appreciate something to help reduce inflammation and get them back to full working capacity as quickly as possible. So after a cool shower (there is no way I am washing my upper body or hair in ice cold water!), I got into a freezing cold bath. I do believe my response was something along the lines of: *&!£$#%**!!!!!!! The air turned bluer than I thought my toes would in the cold bath. In fact I was actually concerned about frostbite for a minute. But I sat in this icy hell, silently cursing TT's name under my breath and pining for a hot, steaming shower. I got out when my shivering, chattering teeth gave way to full body judders as the coldness crept in and chilled me to my core. But you know what? My legs don't feel half bad now, so maybe there is something in it. Of course I'm fully expecting to groan as my feet touch the floor tomorrow morning, but right now I feel better than I'd expect.

Next weekend is exciting as Saturday is my "runiversary", ie 1 year that I've been a runner, and the day before my birthday And what better way to celebrate that a half marathon with the NWR with a lovely bit of bling c/o Virtual Runner UK?

Sometimes when you think all hope is lost and things seem bleak, there is always a path through, no matter how difficult it is to find. And on that path are people willing to travel with you. You just need to look hard enough.

We're going on a deer hunt

So today was Sunday, which only has one meaning for me: day of the long slow run. This is normally my favourite part of the week. I love the freedom of being able to set out of the front door, immerse myself with music on my iPod, and know that the next few hours are dictated by me and me alone. Larry is really supportive and takes full charge of the children to allow me this precious time to put miles in my legs and peace in my head, a thing which I am really grateful for. I always spend Sunday afternoons with that deliciously achy feeling in my legs and my lungs, usually wearing a thick jumper to counteract the post long run chills I get, and always wearing my RMR compression socks. This has been my life for a while, and this is how I enjoy spending the last day of each weekend.

Today sucked.

For a starter, I had a MAJOR distraction to even get out of the house.

Meet Barney, the newest member of our family. He is an 8 week old Golden Doodle; his mum is a poodle and his dad is a golden retriever. Larry and I picked him up yesterday and he is the cutest little thing I have seen for a long time. As I write this he is snuggled on my lap, occasionally pawing me to remind me he's there. It was tempting to stay in for puppy snuggles this morning, but I don't think my body would appreciate that on April 26th, so reluctantly I left the little guy for a couple of hours.

Another problem I faced is that I've come out with an URTI (upper respiratory tract infection), or as most people would call it, a viral chest infection. Now there is a saying in the running world that if it's below the neck don't train, but if it's above the neck you're good to go. So technically I was in the no training zone, but I didn't have a fever, I wasn't coughing like a lunatic, and I wasn't so ill that I couldn't go about my usual day to day activities. My lungs just had that viral feeling to them and I felt lousy. So me being me, I ignored common parlance and headed on out.

Larry was taking the children to the park, and seeing as the pavements were covered with ice, I decided to change my route and head on over to Wollaton Park, so could walk with them to the little park behind our house. Now I know Larry freely gives me reign to go on my long runs, and he never begrudges me doing so, I have always found it difficult tearing myself away from my family to go off alone. Walking out today, in front of me I saw the boys racing ahead on their scooters, and looking back I saw this picture. Larry helping Jessica on the scooter that she is still far too young for but is desperate to use anyway. And for that moment I felt a pang in my heart, it's hard to describe really but watching my whole family going off in one direction while I separate myself and go in a different direction, sometimes that's really hard. In a macabre kind of way it's like seeing how my family would exist if I was no longer there.

But regardless of sentiment I trotted off to what is fast becoming my favourite running haunt: Wollaton Deer Park. Mentally I was up for it, my legs were calling for me to break into a run and set them free, my lungs said sod off. I struggled on because it's not unusual for breathing to be difficult during the first few km, but every minute I persevered it felt more and more like I was breathing through drinking straws and it HURT.  

Exercise-induced asthma I can handle.

Cold weather exacerbated asthma I can handle.

Infection exacerbated asthma I can handle.

Combination of all 3? No chance.

I tried to take it slower, no improvement. I tried to sprint through it in the hope that my rebellious "I don't care that you're protesting" stance against my lungs would work, but still no improvement. So I walked to a bench, sat on it and had a good cry. I was so frustrated that yet again my body was limiting what I can do, and aware that time was ticking and I wasn't actually getting anywhere, which made me feel even more sorry for myself. And so my pity party for one was in full swing. 

At that point I sent out an SOS text to a friend from NWR club, called Larry and had a good moan to him, and vented at TT with a complaint about my thoughtless body wrecking my lovely Sunday run, ending, I believe, with the words:

"F*ck

This

Sh*t"

(Sorry TT)

Because at that point I really believed that. All over my FB feed I see people regaling their amazing running achievements, and I have the passion and determination to train to be my best, but I'm continually getting held back because my body isn't fuelled enough, or is tired, or is ill.

My running friend, Diane, told me what I needed to hear, that I could do it, that even walk/running it was fine, and to get off my backside and just do it. So I did. And just over an hour later I had finished and clocked up 12k. Sure, they weren't consistent; I can usually run better than that, further and faster, but I didn't give up when I could barely breathe and when all of me just wanted to give up and go home. 

Giving up would be so easy. It's always easier not to bother, to take the easy road, to spend time with my family and save a lot of money from PT expenses and race fees and that running kit I just have to have! But I can't remember a single time in my life when I've taken the easy option. When I was 16 and had severe M.E., was completely bed bound and had to be put on and off a commode by my mum because I couldn't stand, let alone walk to go to the bathroom....it would've been easier resigning myself to that life rather than fighting and fighting to get better. Fast forward 10 years and I had a bleed in my brain caused by my severely anorexic body not holding me up, and falling fractured my skull causing a lot of damage. I had what you call expressive dysphasia, meaning I could understand what was being said to me but I could not make myself understood back. In essence I had to learn to talk again. My mum still has a copy of the first text I sent her after that. I remember sending it. It took ages and ages for what was only about 20 words, and it makes very little sense, but I fought until I got full command of my speech back....and some might say there's no shutting me up now! Then the big one. Turning about a lifetime of anorexia, getting my deathly ill body with a BMI of around 10 to accept food and regain weight and strength, whilst trying to keep my head straight and not lapse back into what was a default for me for decades. And I made it. Just. Having been told that kidney disease, infertility from anorexia and pelvic infections after being attack would render me highly unlikely to ever carry a baby to term, if I conceived one in the first place, Larry and I were blessed with three beautiful children.

So when I look back at the major hurdles I have overcome during my life, it makes me wonder, is a marathon really that big a deal? It's 26.2 miles, about 5 hours of running/walking/hobbling....surely after everything I have fought for to date, surely I can manage to run 26.2 miles? I'm really beginning to appreciate that, for me certainly, this marathon is more about my psychological fitness than my physical fitness. I feel mentally so tired after everything that has been going on recently, and I think this is partly translating itself into my performance. But also, my self esteem is very fragile. I need to hear that I can do it, I need to be buoyed by other people's opinions of me to keep me going. But on 26th April, it will be me and the streets of London. I will be running the London Marathon for myself, and myself alone. I think I'm going to need to make peace with myself before then.

Oh and as for the deer hunt reference in the title, I traversed the whole of Wollaton Park this morning and not once did I see a deer. I have no idea where they are hiding but I'm going to make it a mission to find them the next time I run there!

Bumps in the road

So I'm now into week 2 of my training plan, and training-wise I feel like I'm going strong and making progress. After my fantastic run on Sunday I felt full of enthusiasm and excitement at what lay ahead. I had a PT session yesterday to replace the missed one last week when I was putting my dog to sleep, and it felt good to see an impressed smile on TT's face rather than a look of concern that I would pass out at any minute. Today I did a body pump class followed by a TRX session, and I nailed both. I'm still not up to full par but I'm on the way and pretty close, and things can only get better from here, right?

Wrong.

I forgot how tumultuous "recovery" is. I forgot how as the world applauds your valiant attempts at increasing your food intake, the tangle of your mind just gets more knotted and confused, increasing the desire to retreat back to the so-called haven that is anorexia. I can't go back. I want to go back. But I can't go back. 

So now I'm trying to cope with the physical ramifications of eating more; feeling bloated, fluid retention, feeling sluggish, along with the mental ones; feeling guilty at eating more, conviction that I've ballooned to three times my size and general feelings of blah. I feel ok while I'm training, but the overwhelming hunger I get afterwards scares me, because I'm not sure how much to surrender myself to it. Unfortunately I had a non-amicable parting of the ways last week with my therapist, and the usual people I would confide in are temporarily unavailable, so somehow I need to remain focused and not stray too far from the path while I walk it alone. This is when running is way better than therapy!

But looking at the big picture, I still have the best part of 15 weeks to get marathon ready. I'm back in the game, I'm training hard and beginning to see results. Fund raising is going fairly well and I'm pretty confident that I'm going to make my target. Having said that, my husband did (very reluctantly) agree to have his back and chest waxed for sponsorship if I looked like I would fall short of the target. I'm torn between wanting this to not be necessary, and actually having a masochistic desire to do this! But Larry, I think you're safe...!

Alas, another flurry of snow has been forecast for this week. In the past all I had to worry about was driving in the snow, but this year I need to think about my training plan. However, marathon training isn't interested in it being too snowy or icy outside to run. Time is ticking and I need to put miles in my legs one way or another, so unless I want to face the monotony of the dreadmill, it's slippy slidey time outside!

This could well be me

Fingers crossed for an early spring!!

Mojo

Mojo. It's a funny old thing really. Often you can have it without realising; you are just in the zone, achieving, setting the world alight with your achievements. Then at other times you are mojoless (is that even a word?!!), and lack enthusiasm for your usual passions, and when you do make the effort you find yourself lacking. So far this year I have been completely without mojo for running. Training sessions were met with about as much enthusiasm as a person would show at the prospect of cuddling a starving lion. I went through the motions, but my heart wasn't there. In gym classes I kept an eye on the clock, on runs - which had been demoted to short affairs rather than my previous mini marathons - I could scarcely get past a shuffle. And always at the back of my mind was the question of how easy would it be to defer my place in the London Marathon, or just pull out and give up the dream entirely. Things were pretty grim.

I could prattle along and hypothesise about why I was feeling so apathetic, but really the answer is one word only: anorexia. So tightly caught in it's snare again I had no energy, physical or mental, to expend any on training or even normal daily activities. Every time I ran I rebuked myself at having restricted so badly in the preceding days, as my vision was continually swimming and full of black stars as I felt increasingly dizzy. My body felt like a car might if it was fuelled on coke; spluttering and without any oomph. So every run I'd vow to eat better when I got back home so next time it would be different. But as soon as I was home the gremlin on my shoulder would insist that I didn't really need food, and so nothing ever improved.

Last Sunday night I was discussing the forthcoming training week with my trainer, TT, as Monday marked the first day in my 16 week plan in the lead up to VLM. He said something to me which really got my back up for reasons I still don't really understand, but that had a profound effect on my actions for the rest of the week. He was looking at my food diary, and said how he would expect to see an upward trend as my training became more intense. My anorexic brain went grr, but my healthy brain went, hang on he does have a point here. So I began to increase my calories. Only from 500 to 800 a day, but it was an increase and one I could cope with doing.

Fast forward to today, and I went out for my usual Sunday long run with worries that it'll be a dismal failure and I would end up walking the whole thing. I did 15k! 15!!! It felt AMAZING!!! Although it had only been a relatively small increase in food intake I felt strong, my legs were powerful, bounding over puddles and thundering along paths, and I felt like I was back where I should be.

One of the many lovely paths in Wollaton Park

Last Sunday evening I doubted my ability to ever be able to run again. This Sunday evening my legs are deliciously achy, I'm super tired, but I still have a goofy smile on my face because I ran 15km this morning and you know what? My body has been incredibly forgiving to me as to let me use it like this when I've not been looking after it properly for so long. And my mojo? It's back in triplicate! So my learning point from this week is that, no matter how hard it is and how it makes me feel, I need to keep fuelling my body if I am to continue training and continue on my path to run London. It's never easy, and those closest to me know how much I suffer and struggle every time I eat, but the high from not eating and losing weight is so pale in comparison to the euphoria of a really good run. I just need to remember that at every mealtime every day.

As a final note I would like to remember my beautiful golden retriever Kiwi, whom I had to put down on Thursday. She was more than a pet, she was a faithful companion during years of illness when I was very poorly, and she brought joy to everyone who knew her. Rest in Peace Kiwi dog.

Kiwi