Some thank yous

I've been thinking it's high time that I gave some of the people who have helped and supported me most along my journey to the start line of the London Marathon 2015 some recognition and thanks. I really hope I don't forget anybody, and they are in no particular order;

First of all I want to thank Nicola at www.monkeyfacemurals.co.uk for making me a beautiful medal hanger to house all the medals I have won to date. Anyone who knows me know I am very particular (picky!), and it has taken me many months to find something that's just me. I can highly recommend Nicola, she's so helpful and only too happy to help if she can. Here's the finished item with a hook left free for my VLM medal:

Made by www.monkeyfacemurals.co.uk

Next I'd like to thank Julie Talbot of Junction Hair and Beauty in Witney, Oxfordshire, for her very generous sponsorship. Julie runs a thriving hair and beauty salon with highly skilled technicians, and if you're ever in the area, she's definitely worth looking up. She was responsible for getting my skin in good condition for my wedding, although she'd have her work cut out for her right now as stress and training has made me resemble a teenager in the skin department!

My next thanks goes to Sarah and John Ward, who so generously gave up their time to help me organise a fundraising evening for my charity, Mind. Without that fundraiser I wouldn't have reached my target so easily, and thus been able to concentrate fully on the running side of things. Sarah has always been supportive of me, and I hope she knows how grateful I am to her for that kindness.

Logically then it follows that the next person I want to thank is my mother in law, Sonia Bartlett. It was watching Sonia battle breast cancer in the first place that made me wonder if I could run a Race For Life in her honour, and look where that ended up! Sonia comes up regularly and watches the children for me so I can go training or for a sports massage or whatever I need to do at that time. She has always championed me, and her never ending belief in me is incredible.

I'd also like to thank my parents, Cathy and And Black, who have also helped to look after the children so my husband can accompany me to races without having to have 3 small children in tow. I've always said I want to run VLM because I want to make my mum proud after being such a let down the rest of my life.

Janice Cook has also been lovely to me, providing a lot of the entertainment for my fundraising evening, sponsoring me, and generally just making me feel like she's got my back. Thank you to you too Janice.

My transformation from someone who runs a bit to a serious runner is largely down to my trainer "TT", Tim Taylor. I met Tim over 3 years ago when I was introduced to him through a mutual friend, Sue Woollett, and despite minimal contact with him over the years, I knew he was the right person to take me from recreational runner to marathoner. I was not wrong. I am able to contact him most of the time for emotional or practical support, depending on whether I am struggling to fuel up or just how far I should run that particular day. He has devised me a training plan that has transformed me as a runner. He is endlessly patient (very important when working with me!), knows everything you could want him to know about nutrition and training, and has become a good friend over the weeks. I should probably also thank his wife here too as she's generously allowed me to "borrow" him at weekends when a long run has gone badly and I need to debrief. Thank you Gin.

From one Tim to another, my GP Dr Tim Baker has always believed that I have the ability and tenacity to run a full marathon, and is always on hand to provide support when necessary. He's been my doctor for 13 years now, and has seen me through many darker days, along with my happier moments. He will be providing medical support at the VLM with his St John's Ambulance team, and I will be happy for him to share in my greatest achievement.

I owe a massive thanks to my husband Larry Higgs, with whom I sat down all those months ago and discussed whether he would be happy to support me should I get a place on the Mind team to run VLM. Every Sunday he takes the reins and looks after the children so I can do my long runs. Initially I was out for 2 hours, but these days I can be out for as long as 6 hours and he never begrudges it. He takes me to my races because I don't like driving when I'm exhausted afterwards, and always looks away when the bank statement comes in and there is payment for yet another running related thing on it! He also listens to me prattling on about intervals, fartleks, tempo runs, different fuelling methods and the like, and doesn't moan about the fact I am probably quite boring at times! I hope to be a good example to our children Benjamin, Samuel and Jessica, and want to inspire them that they can do anything if they want to enough.

I must thank the lovely Amanda Taylor and Alexa Hawkins-Bell who took a gamble on me and gave me a place in the VLM 2015 Mind team that made this whole journey possible. I can never thank you enough for enabling me to not only take part in a long-held dream of mine, but also to run for a cause that is so close to my heart.

Finally, my thanks go out to people who have particularly been there for me, especially since I have been struggling with my demons so much recently. These people include, but are not limited to, Jane Robson, Sarah Colburn, Sue Woollett, Caroline Loach, Michelle Freeman, Sue Walker, Jo Baker, Rachel Harber, Sarah-Jane Nutting, Katherine Wilson, the NWR ladies, the RMR girls, Holly Parkin, the Mind team, and if your name isn't mentioned but you're reading this, thank you to you too.  

"She believed she could....so she did!"

Ashby 20: done!

Yesterday was the day I have been dreading since I entered last October: the Ashby 20 mile road race. It scared me because it's a properly "serious" race, more so than any of the other races I've participated in to date, and even more than VLM. It has a reputation as a "thoroughly testing route...described as rural and undulating". They weren't kidding about the undulating bit, although I would've used the word "hilly", or - and this was more applicable during the second lap - "mountainous"!! Things weren't helped by the fact I was runner number 13....I'm not hugely superstitious, but I'd rather have another number! (I later saw a man with the number 666, and suddenly 13 seemed pretty good after all!) Despite a questionable build up to the race itself where I was complete and utterly exhausted, and even contemplated pulling out entirely, I rose to the occasion and surpassed even my wildest dreams, and feel like something has clicked inside me at long last. I nailed it!

Dog tired?!

On Thursday I had my PT session as usual, but it was a majorly big effort. As TT said, my legs were not connected to my brain. My brain said "work harder" and my legs said "f*ck off we're doing our best"! I blacked out, I dragged myself through the rest of the day, I felt like hell. The next day my GP said I was exhausted (no surprises there), so apart from doing body balance which was a beautiful stretch out for my tight hips, I vowed to rest up as much as possible and keep fuelling up. Every hour that passed I felt more and more bloated by the mere fact of eating 3 meals in the day. On Saturday I went shopping for some interview clothes and felt so revoltingly huge I sat on the floor of the changing room and started to cry. I completely understand that every 1g of glycogen carries 1kg of water, but when you're so attuned to minuscule changes in your body size, even 1g of weight gain feels like it may as well be a stone. On Saturday night I texted TT and said forget getting a decent time, I'm not sure I'll even start, let alone finish the race. I was still so so tired, felt bloated from fuelling and as a result of that my mood was in my boots and I just wanted to curl up in bed and feel sorry for myself. Then TT replied with what turned out to be the deciding factor in my decision. He told me if I'm that wiped out to just "sack it off". ie he gave me permission to not race. I have no idea if this was reverse psychology or what, but it bloody well put a rocket up me and I decided there and then I wasn't going to quit, I would do the damn race if it killed me.

Number 13....unlucky for some, a charm for me!

AJ, "Ian" and me

Sunday dawned with clear skies and a crisp temperature which held promise of warming up later. I did my usual pre-race rituals of showering, dressing in race gear, fuelling up then checking my kit bag. As soon as the lovely Helen Waterfall arrived, we headed off to Ashby-de-la-Zouch. On arrival it was not very impressive. We were ushered into a school car park then had to walk through the town centre, we were following the people in front, and they were following the people in front of them, but none of us knew where we were actually going! Then we found a field, and there were lots of runners there and a few portaloos, so we reckoned we were in the right spot. It's always hard trying to decide what to wear during a race; the timing chip doesn't afford you the luxury of pausing time to add or remove layers, and this is something that has time and again proven to be crucial in how well I perform. I feel the cold, but I overheat when running, so getting the right balance is vital for my racing success. We met up with Sarah, whom I had planned to run the whole 20 miles with, and we met AJ who recognised me by my RMR buff and NWR vest. Got to love a bit of branding!! In the walk to the start line we (well I say we, but really I should say I...) got busy flirting with a policeman. Well, in my defence, he was lapping up the attention and anything that distracted me from the 20 miles of road ahead of me was alright in my book. Sadly it was one of those situations which remind you you're getting old because the policeman was much younger than me. We then bumped into Ian, the Ashby gorilla! Did I say Ashby is a serious race? It really is, except for the gorilla who runs each year. The previous gorilla, "Tim" has retired, letting "Ian" take his place.

Anyway so before we even got to the start area we heard the klaxon which signalled the start of the race, and we were just herded up this path. At first it was ok, but the speed of the crowd was moving at less than 9 minute miles which is fine over shorter distances, but TT's advice of pacing so I didn't burn out kept echoing in my head, and I knew this would do me no good. The first mile flew by quite quickly, and we passed through Packington waving at the residents and spectators including my husband Larry. I heard one of the spectators describe us as a "stampede of runners", which seemed really accurate because there was no way to break free of the group or slow down at all. Soon we'd hit mile 2 and here things began to spread out a bit more. It was around here when I had a massive attack of the gremlins, and turned round to Sarah and said I couldn't do it. I think it shocked her a bit but she tried to convince me to keep going, and I trotted on, not sure what would be worse; having to walk the 2 miles back to the start or keep going. I wanted to cry. The exhaustion of the previous week suddenly came up and smothered me, along with fear of, not just would I manage 20 miles or nor, but would I manage it in a time I was happy with or would it be yet another race where I felt like rubbish afterwards. Helen and AJ had gone on ahead, and I had that familiar race feeling of being left behind again.

This internal battle went on for probably a few minutes, but it felt like so much longer. Then suddenly something in me clicked, the stubborn, don't-give-up bit of me, and I decided I would bloody well throw everything at this race, so on we went. After a couple more miles I began to relax into the running, and actually felt ok. The water stations were good. The first time I went past one I grabbed one of the cups on offer, but the subsequent times I asked for a bottle, because that first time told me you either walk with a cup or end up wearing the water! If the stations offered gels along with the water I took one, and that kept me going for a decent length of time. On and on we went like that, not talking much but running in companionable silence, occasionally pointing something out to each other, or commenting on our time. The complete lack of toilets throughout the whole route led me to do a running first: I peed outside! It was amazingly liberating, thank goodness for so many farms and fields! Lots of us were dashing off into fields to relieve the pressure on our bladders, and this is one of the down points of the race, only 2 portaloos were there on the course to serve 1200 runners.

Soon we'd started the second lap and paused for 6 minutes so Sarah could use a portaloo. This was the beginning of my issues. When we started running again I realised my hip flexors had massively tightened up during those 6 minutes, and running was getting increasingly painful. We kept going though and I was thrilled to get to 13.1 miles in 10 minutes faster than I had managed the preceding Sunday at Silverstone. I tried to drink and fuel at every station we passed, as we were both beginning to really fatigue. By mile 16 I think I hit "The Wall". My body felt completely depleted, I decided I'd like to call it a day and finish at that point. I was just so tired and my hips and knees were screaming at me. I can't really remember how we got through the next few miles, except that I do remember that when I needed encouraging along, Sarah got behind me, and when she needed help, I kept her going. I started counting my steps, all the way up to 100 over and over again. I thought about my children, how I wanted to be a good role model to them of conquering something that seems too big for you and succeeding. I thought of Larry who has always supported me in my running, from celebrating my first 1km run all the way to the London Marathon. I thought of TT who has always believed I have what it takes to be a good runner, and has shown endless patience and support when I've wobbled. And then all my friends and family who have never tired of my endless Facebook statuses about my achievements, my fears, my celebrations.

I love this time!

Then suddenly we were at the last 400m. Sarah called for me to go for it, to sprint ahead and finish in my usual style, and my god did I try, but my body had very little left by that point. I ran as quickly as I could to the finish line, then suddenly it was all done. I'd finished Ashby 20 in less than 4 hours, 3 hours 53 mins to be precise.

My legs threatened to go on me at that point so I dropped down to a crouch before I fell, then discovered I couldn't stand up again. My vision was blurring and I was getting that sensation of things being further away from me than they were. A couple of paramedics helped me onto a chair, and one of them gave me another gel to get my sugar levels up. I soon felt a lot better, and eagerly queued up for the famous Ashby hoodie. I have never worked so hard for a hoodie in my life before!

I did it!!!!!

The rest of yesterday was a bit of an anticlimax. It took me a very long time to walk to the car as my legs were murder by then, and after my shower then ice bath I was fit for nothing, and was in bed asleep before my 5 year old son at 7.30pm!

But today was a different matter. I gave myself the day off training and met Helen for a coffee instead, then had TT give my legs a going over in an attempt to revive them a bit. It tickled me to see that both me and Helen were proudly wearing our hoodies; I wonder how many other people wore theirs too! Although my legs felt heavier today, my spirits felt lighter. Twice in 2 weeks I have shown I can perform well in races. Ok not as fast as many, but for someone who has only been running for a year, to run something as hardcore as Ashby 20 in under 4 hours is a massive achievement. I feel like I'm capable of more than I have previously believed, like I'm actually an ok runner, almost decent. Having Sarah with me helped too, as she was strong for me when I couldn't be, and when I needed to be strong for her it bolstered my own strength. 

So, 5 weeks until VLM. I say a few hard weeks where I'll ramp up the training intensity, then VLM? Bring. It. On!

Silverstone half marathon: done!

It's been a very long and emotional day, and I would probably be better served to be sitting with my feet upright now rather than updating my blog, but to be honest it's lonely at home right now with the children in bed and Larry out at work, and my head feels jumbled so blogging is the best option.


So today I ran my first half marathon at Silverstone, the home of British Formula One. I've always had a special place in my heart for SS, back to 1996 when Damon Hill became World Champion. Completely bed bound due to M.E. at that point, I watched a fair bit of TV, and started to watch F1 more and more avidly. By the end of the season I was hooked, and decided that I'd really like to go to Silverstone one day to see what it was like in real life and not through a screen. Today I had that opportunity, and although I wasn't watching F1 cars zooming round, I had something better: I got to run around the track and through the pits.

Queues!

This morning started in usual race style with me up at the break of dawn, trying (and today failing) to get some porridge down me, then putting on my carefully laid out kit, attaching the timing chip to my shoe and getting ready to hit the road. The journey down the M1 was unremarkable, until we popped into services to grab a banana which I had forgotten to bring in my nerves. Everywhere you looked there were runners, and it was really nice because we were all there for the same reason, all with a scared look on our faces, but all friendly to each other. I do love the camaraderie and immediate friendship between runners, it's like belonging to a universal club. On leaving the motorway we hit traffic. There were queues for miles full of cars containing nervous runners, and all we could do was to sit and wait and patiently inch bit by bit forwards until we arrived.

Mark, me and Nicole

On stepping out of the car I was certain of one thing: I'd made the right call to wear a long sleeved top under my vest. It was bitterly cold, not quite "Siberian" as the Daily Express had forecast, but cold enough to make me long for the warmth of the car! The wind had a bite to it too, and it all added to the "what am I doing?" feeling I was getting. The first thing to do was walk a good 30 minutes from the car park to the start line. This both warmed my legs up and chilled me to the core at the same time. Race photographers were milling around trying to take pictures of people as they were waiting around. I was papped in the queue for the toilets; very glamorous! I met up with a few Mind people, and did my usual pre race rituals. Having gone for a pee 3 times in 10 minutes, it was time to get on with the job at hand and make our way to the start line. I was glad to have Mark with me, he promised he wouldn't leave me and I welcomed his chirpy presence next to me to keep me grounded and stop me disappearing into myself and my memories of GSR.

I quite like the start of a race. You're standing around, heart racing with the flood of adrenaline, then suddenly the people in front start moving forwards and you're walking slowly, then walking turns into jogging, then suddenly you're through the start and the race is on. All around you people are jostling for space and cutting you up as they try to fight their way ahead of everyone, only to be overtaken a mile or so up the road as they've burnt themselves out early. The first few miles were easy, and I didn't need to slow down or walk at all. When we hit 4 miles I was beginning to fatigue, and I had that horrible wave of nausea that I seem to get whenever I race (mental note: get some anti-emetics on board next weekend). But lungs were good, legs were holding up, so we pressed on. The only issue I had was that I needed a poo, but I kept trying to forcefully ignore that telling myself I'd taken loperamide before the race so it couldn't be an issue. At mile 5 I wanted to stop and walk, my legs felt a bit jelly-like and I'd already run non-stop way more than I ever had before. But Mark refused to let me break down to a walk so we slowed the pace right down and I kept going. By mile 6 I wasn't having much fun, physically I was holding up but mentally I was a bundle of worry about whether I would make a "decent" time or not. By mile 7 I was tired and all my demons, the PTSD stuff that's been haunting me recently, all of it started to play through my mind and still I trudged through, gratefully hanging on to Mark's support like a lifeline, but my legs threatened to buckle so I knew I needed to slow it right down to a walk so I could refuel and get some fluid on board, and suddenly Mark was gone.

I wanted to chase after him but my legs insisted I walked for a bit longer, and suddenly I realised I was crying. I was so tired, I was alone, I was giving myself a really hard time, and suddenly all I could see were the negatives. I couldn't appreciate the fact that I had run for 8 miles solidly, when only 10 days ago I was thrilled at running 2 miles without a break.I couldn't appreciate the fact that I'd done over half of it and had surpassed myself in every way. The bastard gremlins started harassing me and I was trying - and failing - not to cry. A lovely lovely lady with funky sunglasses and a Mind vest came up behind me and was so kind to me. She gave me some dextrose energy tablets and a big lot of love, then stopped off to use the toilet saying she'd catch me up. She never did, as by that point I'd decided to try and catch up Mark so was back up to 9:30 minute miles. I can't really remember a lot of the next bit to 10 miles, I know I mostly ran, and tried to adopt a Paula Radcliffe strategy and count every step up to 100 then start over again. At some point I called TT very quickly because I needed to hear his calm instructions as to how to keep going and not give up (which was seeming far more attractive by the minute). At 10 miles I saw Larry and ran over for a big hug and a pep talk, then got my head down to do the last 3 miles.

Those 3 miles were a bit start stop, they lacked the consistency of the first chunk of running, but I didn't allow myself to walk for long. At 12 miles I put my iPod in (although scarily my hands lacked the strength to clip it to my bra strap, whether it was because they were massively swollen or cold or what, I couldn't actually use them) and sped up to 9 minute miles. Then finally, in the distance I saw the finish line. 200m from the end I picked up the pace until I was full on sprinting to the end. I was amazed my legs had it in them but I'm guessing those fast twitch fibres wanted a piece of the action. It felt really good to lengthen my stride out as I sped to the end, then suddenly I'd crossed the line and that was it, I was done. I forgot to turn my Garmin off immediately, I just stood for a bit, then as I walked through the finisher's enclosure my legs buckled and a doctor came up on my left and a St John's person on my right. I was dizzy and thought I was going down, but I held my hands up to them and managed to keep walking through to get my bag of goodies and the beautiful medal.

So my first official half marathon, and I did it in 2:30. I should be happy with that, I want to be happy with that. Am I happy? No, not really. And this I why my head is so jumbled tonight. I am such a tough cookie so much of the time. I'm stubborn and determined, I love a good challenge and like to attack it head on. But when it comes to situations which judge just how good I really am, I start to fall apart. I was ok with Mark there, I might've seemed like I was ignoring him a lot but I relished the company and it was nice to listen to someone who didn't expect a huge amount of conversation in return. I am such a loner when I run, so worried about being judged so I run alone, until race day where it kind of confronts me head on. What was weird about Silverstone was how eerily quiet it was in places. The spectators were limited to a couple of areas, and the rest of the time it was just us running, with the occasional guy with a microphone calling out to motivate us onwards and the sound of the wind as it whipped across the track.

What am I taking away from today? It goes back to what it always seems to go back to, and that is fuelling. Bloody food. And the faster and further I run, the more it catches me out. I struggled to eat breakfast this morning and I bonked at mile 8. I need to start increasing my carb intake 5 days before rather than 3 days, as my usual intake is so poor that I'm pretty much starting on zero glycogen each time. Next weekend is Ashby 20, and although I was exhausted after doing 13.1 miles today, I know what I'm doing a bit better now. I know how my body needs me to fuel, I know that I can't cope with any form of fuelling that requires effort to chew, such as sweets or shot bloks, so will rely on gels alone. I know I can run at least 8 miles non stop, which is something I never dreamed I'd be able to do. And most importantly, I know that even if I can't be proud of myself, I have a heck of a lot of people out there rooting for me, and for that I'm very grateful.

I will finish this entry with something my 5 year old son, Ben, said to me before he went to bed tonight. He brought my medal in and told me that he was very proud of me for running my race because I tried ever so hard and brought home a lovely medal. My darling boy has hit the nail straight on the head there: the mere fact that I tried hard in my race is something I should be proud of. I love that child.

Number crunching

This week is all about numbers, or so it seems. Right at this point, there are:

7 days (1 week) until Silverstone half marathon
14 days (2 weeks) until Ashby 20
49 days (7 weeks - OMG!) until the London Marathon

Plus I have virtual races coming out of my ears, 3 for this month and 5 in April.

I have 22 days before my interview for Graduate Entry Medicine, 0 appropriate items of clothing to wear for the interview, with 0% excitement at the prospect of having to go clothes shopping.

So far this year I have run 330km out of my proposed 2015km, which is 16% of the total.

But enough of the numbers for now. It's been a bit of a breakthrough week for me. After last week's disastrous run - and I know my opinion of disastrous will differ greatly than a lot of other people's but it's how I viewed it at the time - I finally turned a corner on Thursday. I'd told TT to be tough with me and not let me drop down into a walk during our run on Thursday, because I've become bad at that recently. Even if my lungs and legs are ok, my head tells me I can't possibly run further so I slow to a walk. I've had enough of this! I knew I was better than that, but it's convincing myself of that during a run when the gremlin begins to whisper. On Thursday I cracked that egg. TT didn't get to do his drill sergeant major routine on me either. I just ran. When I wanted to stop I just told myself half a mile more, then when I got to that I did another half mile. It felt amazing!!! I didn't need to argue with my gremlin, I didn't need Sir Shoutypants to get me going, I did it all myself.

I hope so

So what was so different about Thursday? After feeling so lousy about last Sunday's run, I had sat down with TT and together we devised a plan, so that I'll give it 2 weeks to see if an increased food intake makes a difference to my performance. If I'm no better I can drop back down to lower calories, but if I do significantly better, well, that'll be food for thought (no pun intended). As predicted, I ran a heck of a lot better on Thursday, not just in distance or speed but in continuity, and I was still able to do a short 13.1 miles on Saturday afternoon with my friend Sarah. 

Saturday was tougher than Thursday, for the mere fact that I wasn't adequately recovered or rested from Thursday's efforts, and the DOMS had well and truly kicked in. That said though, I was able to maintain this new continuous style of running, and it was wonderful to be outside running in just a vest top (my new NWR club top in fact) and capris. Things got a little tricky when we arrived at Wollaton Park, because being the middle of the nicest day of the year so far, someone had decided to have a BBQ and it smelt amazing. From that point on I was suddenly starving hungry which doesn't really help focus the mind on a long run! But we managed 13.1 miles, which is weird because for me now, that is a pretty short run, whereas to many people including myself less than a year ago, it is a blimming long way indeed! 

Fresh faced after a 13.1 mile run

But with less than a week to go before my next official race, I'm REALLY bricking it. I've said before how I struggled at the GSR, I didn't have a good time and I felt my self-esteem regarding my running ability break down mile by mile. TT has worked really hard with me to repair that damage, and largely it has helped. But there is always the ghost of those feelings I had back then; the mild panic as I was swept away at the start, amidst a sea of runners all pumped with adrenaline running at speeds that, for most, were not sustainable. Then that moment of shame when I needed to break free of the mob and slow to a walk having just run 2km in a record 8.5 minutes. I know I'm a much better runner now. I know how much effort I've put in, both in training and with psychological stuff. I know how to fuel sufficiently that I can get around without feeling like the Michelin man. And yet. Still I'm scared. And as if Silverstone isn't scary enough, the following week will be Ashby 20, and this is one race I haven't been looking forwards to doing. It's a great race to do because at 20 miles long and 5 weeks before VLM, it's a pretty good dress rehearsal and will highlight to me any potential issues I need to address before London. But it's so strict, with music forbidden due to them not closing roads, and various things you can and can't do. I'm running it with my friend Sarah, as I think we'll both help each other to get around and it will stave off the loneliness that comes during long runs. But for VLM, that'll be just me and 26.2 miles of road, and the thoughts in my head. 

So the plan for this week is to taper down gently, because I want fresh legs for Sunday. I'm hoping TT will give some of the issues in my legs some attention to iron out any potential problems, then I want to put the running stuff on the back burner for a bit and concentrate on my eldest son who turns 5 next Saturday, a Mother's Day afternoon tea the PTA are organising for Friday, and the many tasks that I seem to have to juggle on a daily basis, always busy but never completely free of things to do. But for now, going back to the numbers, I'll celebrate my legs having run over 20 miles in 3 days, and how fortunate I am not only to be able to run such distances, but that through running I have more friends now than I have ever had, and all of them share the same passion as myself.

Me and Sarah, taking it seriously

  

Fighting the fear

And so, another Sunday night is upon us, which means I am now exactly halfway through my 16 week plan til the marathon. This also means I have 2 weeks until the Silverstone Half, and 3 weeks until Ashby 20. Oh. My. God. It's 1st March...where has this year gone?!!! Am I ready? I don't know if I'm ready. It's all getting a bit real and I feel sick with nerves and fear.

2 weeks and counting...

I'm not typically a "fear" sort of person. If something scares me I prefer to tackle it head-on, break it down into manageable pieces then laugh in its face. But this is different, when I think that I'm running Silverstone in 2 weeks I get a chill rush through me and my heart starts to pound a little faster. What am I scared of? 13.1 miles is nothing to me really; I regularly do longer runs competently. I shouldn't be scared. Yet I am.

Today's long run was a case in point; I woke up this morning feeling exhausted, continued to feel exhausted after my porridge breakfast, and felt exhausted as I stepped outside the front door. The first couple of miles were actually ok, I settled nicely into 9 minute miles which appears to have become my new "comfortable pace". Then I hit the wall. At 2 miles. I'm not kidding here. My body just shut down on me. And you know what? It's completely my fault. I barely ate yesterday because I was meeting an old friend and felt too embarrassed eating in front of her, didn't want to appear greedy or fat. I missed breakfast and lunch on Friday, and Thursday wasn't much better. I am so damn stupid. Eating is a basic human function - a human right - as essential as breathing, and yet it's as difficult for me as would be performing open heart surgery on myself without any analgesia and fully conscious. Every day I find a reason to skip a meal or swap it with an apple. My body is so used to this and for the most part it copes relatively well. But it doesn't work with running. I can do most of my training sessions relatively well on very little food at all. They're tough but I can survive on immediate carbohydrate sources such as a piece of fruit before I go in or even some sweets. But the truth is told on my long runs, and the longer they get the more apparent it is becoming that I can't do this for much longer.

Weirfields

So today I set out with a nice 13-15 miler up through Attenborough Nature Reserve planned. I've never been there despite having lived in Nottingham for almost 14 years so it seemed like a good idea. The wind was horrendous, it always seemed to hit me head-on, at times making me almost run on the spot it was so strong, and depleting me of energy in the process. Yet Sod's Law dictated that whenever I turned around and ran in the opposite direction, the wind also changed direction so I very seldom had it behind me, acting as a gentle hand pushing me forwards. Oh I so badly wanted to call it a day and go home to my family and warm house, but I'm too stubborn for that and persevered. I can honestly say that there was very little about today's run that I enjoyed. My body just had nothing to give. Not even gel bloks and a bit of lucozade sport could give me the much-needed energy boost to get into a good rhythm. That's when the gremlin started. No, I don't mean a gremlin like old Spike here:

Spike

My gremlin is very different. Like a little demon on my shoulder it is always there, whispering in my ear, responsible for all the feelings of self-doubt I have, all the anorexic thoughts and pretty much all my negative thoughts. A lot of the time I can drown it out and not pay it much attention. But on my long runs it's just me, it and the road. It makes me doubt myself. Can I really run this far? Why do I even call myself a runner? I can't run I should stop and walk. You get the idea. Today the major theme running through my head was I should've fuelled better, the only person to blame for having such a lousy run is myself. I've wasted a whole week's worth of long run because I cheated at fuelling. The worst thing is I knew it was right. It was my fault. And slowly I started to convince myself that EVERYBODY at Silverstone will be faster than me, have more stamina and make me look like a beginner. What if I can't run for more than a mile before I need to walk? Or even worse, what if it's as difficult as the GSR was and I come out feeling like a complete failure? 

No more.

I am so very lucky to have so much support with my running. My husband is prepared to spend a whole day without me at the weekend so I can complete a long run, and never begrudges me that. TT puts up with me messaging him needing a kick up the bum and never tells me to pull myself together and leave him alone. My friends and family are all rooting for me. For all those people with so much love for me I am so very grateful. But scaffolding will not support a building that is crumbling, so I need to work on myself now and strengthen my own resolve, because at the end of the day it's me, the road, and the damn gremlin. I need to figure out a way to empower myself to kick that gremlin into touch. I need to make peace with the need to fuel, if only for the long runs. 

Music helps me a lot.

Today I had Pink telling me to try, Swedish House Mafia told me not to worry and Matchbox Twenty told me to look how far we've come.

You'd be amazed at how you can relate certain lyrics to a specific occasion, but I do found music incredibly powerful. I do not, however, understand why Eye of the Tiger is supposedly the runners' anthem, but maybe I missed the point there!

So I need to get fuelling savvy. Tonight I ordered a box the the High 5 gels which made me a bit wappy during my 20 miler 2 weeks ago. I'm thinking that, given my generally depleted glycogen stores, I need to refuel a bit more aggressively on long runs, and try to ignore the anorexic voice in my head arguing about the ingestion of pure carbs. I need to set aside Saturdays as a fuelling day as much as I set aside Sundays as long run days. It's going to be tough as it's all too easy to "conveniently forget", but I think if I want to make a success of the coming 8 weeks and 3 races I need to grow a pair and get on with it. It worked for the 20 miler, it'll work again, and I don't know what feels worse; eating a bit more and all the associated feelings with that, or knowing during a run that I am failing because I didn't even try to eat beforehand. I can always cut right back again after VLM, right? Or maybe I won't feel the need to by then.

But my week hasn't been all doom and gloom. It's had some special moments in. The 1k virtual run that I did with the year 6s at my son's school was such a success that I've been given the go ahead to set up a running club at the school! This is super exciting! It was lovely to see so many children genuinely excited to do the run, and some of them were very good at it. I'm keen on making sport accessible to children, and helping them to develop a love for running would be amazing. In addition to this I have been elected as Welfare Officer at my NWR club which is just wonderful. It will allow me to use skills I developed when I studied medicine and trained with ChildLine, in an area I love. Win win.

And finally, as Trevor McDonald would say. 6 years ago when I started running (before damaging my knees having been sold the wrong type of shoes) my big running aim was to enter and run the Robin Hood Half Marathon. I have remembered this dream for all these years, and tonight I actually did it. On September 27th 2015 I will be fulfilling another dream. Time to look forwards.