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.

Time for some truths

Today marked the end of week 7 of the 16 week plan. So in 9 weeks time I'll (hopefully) have just completed the London Marathon, and be the extremely proud owner of something like this picture here. But let's be honest, running VLM is about way more than just a beautiful bit of bling to add to my ever-increasing collection. When I first started my VLM journey in October last year I encountered a lot of doubters, a lot of sniggers where I just knew they were wondering how soon until I would give up, and a lot of people who thought that anyone who has ever had an eating disorder could only be wanting to train for a marathon for one reason, to speed up weight loss and have a legitimate reason to exercise excessively.

To be honest, running a marathon wasn't on my radar. I never considered myself good enough to run 26.2 miles all in one go at one of the world's most prestigious running events. So when one of the events team from Mind suggested I apply for a charity place to run VLM I had to have a really good think. The more I thought about it, about the commitment involved, the heavy training and the race itself, I realised I REALLY wanted to get a place, and although it would've been a lot easier to have got a ballot place and not have the stress of raising a lot of money, I really wanted to fund raise for Mind. It just seems right to me that a monumental physical effort should go hand in hand with a monumental amount of money raised to a charity close to my heart.

So far I have raised over £1900 for Mind to run VLM. That's 110% of my required total, and I'm hoping to get more during the next few weeks. But what does that money actually go on?

£10 could send information booklets out to 30 people... So with £1900, 5700 could receive a booklet about mental health, that just might help them to understand their own illness or that of a family member or a friend.

£15 could enable someone to take part in a group therapy session... So £1900 could fund over 125 group therapy sessions.

You get the idea. This money isn't going to finance fat cats sat in their offices driving expensive cars, it's giving people the chance to seek help, talk to someone and get legal advice when they have lost their jobs or their homes due to mental illness.

Sometimes it's really hard to talk to people you know about intrusive thoughts, fears and how you feel in general. People are judgemental, and with the stigma carried by mental health, it seems that people would much rather band together and kick somebody when they're down than stand up and say they don't understand it but they are there. From personal experience I can say that most people who are in the depths of despair and stood facing the abyss don't want someone to have all the answers or make it better, all they want is that human connection and to know that someone is there. I've lost count of the number of times people have told me they don't know anything about mental health so they don't know how to help, but I always think that is a massive cop out. I have friends who have battled cancer, who struggle with MS and who have brittle asthma resulting in incredibly lengthy hospital stays. I am neither an oncologist, nor a neurologist, nor a respiratory physician, but I don't need to be; all I need is to be compassionate, caring and there when needed. What is it about mental illness that gets people so on edge?

Steam cabinet

The steam cabinet was used circa 1910 as a way of "calming patients down" if they suffered from "nervousness" or "jitters". This was at a time when anyone with any psychiatric malady was treated in an asylum for the insane, and having entered, they rarely left again. This was at a time when lobotomies were becoming increasingly common, and patient abuse depressingly frequent.

One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

Fast forward a few years to the 1960s and the book (then later the film) One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest was released. This is really gritty. The patients have a variety of conditions, some of them genuinely psychiatric in nature such as being delusional and paranoid, but many of them suffering physical illnesses such as epilepsy and stuttering. The head nurse is somewhat sadistic and enjoys humiliating patients and controlling them severely, punishing misbehaviour with courses of ECT.

Is this how people today consider mental illness? Is this what people are afraid of?

Depression

This is a more realistic picture of mental illness. Depression. There's nothing scary about this woman. I look at her and I see myself, the look in her eyes, the darkness and sadness veiling her face. This is why I'm running for Mind. For people like her whose friends probably tell her to pull herself together, keep her chin up, stop being negative, etc. You CAN'T snap out of it. And sometimes you get to a state where the will to live has gone long before the body actually takes the hint. But that doesn't need locking away, or sectioning, or alienating. It needs love, and kindness and the security of having somewhere there for those dark moments where you just need a friend.

So that's why I'm supporting Mind. 

And I tell you what, this marathon lark is bloody hard work. Today I set off out on my long run, completely inadequately fuelled as stresses of the week had meant I'd eaten very little, poorly rested as I'm struggling to sleep at present, alone with only my negative gremlins for company, and out in the perishingly cold weather. I decided to run to Long Eaton and Sawley to deliver some virtual run medals and thus save on postage and fuel. It was FREEZING. Then halfway in the heavens opened and ice cold rain just fell from the sky. I must admit now, I do love my Sunday long runs but today I was miserable. By the time I'd delivered the third medal I was soaked from the inside due to sweat, and soaked from the outside due to the rain. Then the temperature dropped. About 11 miles in and 4 miles from home my lovely husband Larry texted me and offered to pick me up in the car, but despite every fibre of my being saying yes yes yes, I said no thank you. Why did I say this? I'm stubborn and proud, and it felt like it'd be a major sign of failure to accept help. So I kept plodding on and on. On my way through Chilwell the pavement narrowed making me quite close to the vehicles on the road, and I noticed the odd few - usually Ford Transit drivers - seemed to drive closer to the kerb and accelerate as they passed me, attempting to cover me in a wave of rain water. Unbeknown to them I have pretty fast reflexes, and managed to jump over the incoming torrents and somehow didn't get any wetter. The urge to flip them the birdie was quite strong but to be honest I was cold and tired and they weren't worth it. I finally finished after 15.61 miles in the most horrendous conditions, and promptly showered off and joined the rest of my family at soft play. At least if the weather is bad for my forthcoming races I will be well prepared and very experienced!

On a final note, this little guy has served his time and is now allowed out for walks. Give it a few months and we'll be having our first runs together.

Freedom for Barney!

Smoke and mirrors

"Smoke and mirrors" is a metaphor that a friend recently used to describe my blog. She meant it in a non-malicious sense, meaning that when I write on here I use a more positive spin than necessarily is present in real life. And she was right. But in all honesty, I am someone who struggles to wear their heart on their sleeve in the public eye. 

I have depression, and anyone who has suffered from genuine depression (as opposed to just feeling down) knows that it can take you to some very dark lonely places. Depression is basically pathological sadness. Sometimes there is a cause, sometimes there isn't. Sometimes it's there just because. The black dog is a useful metaphor for depression, and if you haven't seen the video on it, the link is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XiCrniLQGYc It's well worth a look.

Black dogs are getting a bad press!

I was about 4 or 5 when I was first diagnosed as depressed. For me, I have an organic depression which basically means my brain doesn't have the right serotonin receptors, so I will probably always be on medication. When life throws curve balls at me I develop a more reactive component to it, which is what most people would call "depression". But I have lived with this for most of my life, so I've learnt to manage it. Alongside the depression I have a co-morbidity of anorexia, and this is the thing I struggle with most of all. Anorexia is like a spider; it lures you into its web by sticking you down bit by bit, ever so carefully and methodically, and when you're stuck it pulls you in and devours you. It is both sanctuary and torturous, and while I thought I had shaken free of its tangled web for several years, part of me was still snared and when I was vulnerable it started to pull me back in again, piece by piece.

Running and anorexia may be able to coexist, but marathon training and anorexia cannot. At the end of last year my intake was 500 calories a day, and at first it wasn't an issue and didn't affect my performance, but bit by bit I began to get more dizzy and weak, and started fainting during sessions. When I began my 16 week training plan in January I was too weak to run just 2km, and it was then that I realised that to live my marathon dream I had to increase my intake. With the support of Larry and TT I increased to 800 calories a day, and hard though it was I began to have more energy to run and started to make progress again. I was told that while I will happily have an apple as breakfast and/or lunch, if I want to keep doing PT sessions I need to eat a "proper" breakfast, along the lines of porridge. And it is this pre-fuelling that has proven the hardest part of my training. If I don't eat, I get very dizzy and/or pass out. If I do eat, I get the emotional implications of having eaten more such as guilt, but then I can run better, faster, further. It's exhausting. I feel alone such a lot of the time, even when in company, but equally I withdraw from society and only show people what they want to see.  

For me, running sets my mind free. With all the inner arguments about eating, all the guilt and worry about the next meal, plus the always-present black fog, I can turn all that off when I run. Running silences all of that and gives me peace for a little while. Sometimes that doesn't work, and my attempts to cheat myself at pre-fuelling catch up with me, resulting in me sitting on a bench in the park sobbing because yet again I let anorexia win and mess up my long run. 

So why am I writing about all this? I have recently faced some of the ignorance and stigma that Mind works hard to stamp out. The unknown causes a great deal of fear to many people, we are often frightened by what we don't understand, that's human. But I am an honest and open person, and if people come to me and ask me how things really are for me, I will do my best to talk to them about it. I cannot abide Chinese whispers, it hurts me when people question my truth and more so when they question my ability to parent my children because of my illness. 

So in April I will run the London Marathon, and I will wear my Mind vest with pride. The marathon isn't just the 26.2 miles I will run on April 26th, it began way back in January with every meal, every day I didn't want to get up out of bed, every day I went out training when I was exhausted and hungry. I am lucky that I have the ability to take a stand and represent people who are in a much worse state than me. But for now I will fly the flag, for myself, for my supporters and for Mind.

Eureka! 20 miles!

This is the post I have imagined writing with an equal sense of anticipation and dread. I was hoping to be able to say "hurrah, I managed 20 miles, yippee" and that kind of thing. I was dreading having to write "tried and failed to run 20 miles". I'm not sure when my head is actually going to come to terms with the fact that, in all truth told, I'm a "proper" runner, and a pretty decent one at that, because I totally nailed yesterday's run. It was the longest run I've ever done. Hell, I've never walked that far, not even as a Girl Guide (and I went to a pretty active Guide company!).

"The Higgs 20"

Sarah C and I set out from my house at 10. Initially we spent a fairly decent amount of time waving at the satellites in the sky to get a Garmin signal, which almost certainly looked crazy to anyone watching but is an essential part of using a GPS device! We pootled off up through Beeston towards Chilwell, having a good chat as we went, and I was surprised to see we were going between a 9 and 9:30 minute mile, which was pretty good going considering we were holding back somewhat. Chilwell was insanely busy for that time on a Sunday morning, and it was annoying having to slow at the big junctions, which seemed to take an age to cross. We got through Toton and hit Long Eaton more or less on schedule. However I hadn't anticipated the sheer amount  of time it would take to find our first pit stop, my lovely friend Sue's house. It really shouldn't have been hard; all we had to do was stick to one main road from Beeston right up to the turn off to Sue's, but I still had the antsy need to keep checking we were on track and hence slowed us down. But soon we were at Sue's, our first stopping point and where we were meeting Sarah A. 5 miles done.

Me, Sarah A and Sarah C

I absolutely love Sue Woollett, she is one of the world's genuinely nice people. Even when she has her own problems she is kind, thoughtful and generous, and she draws people to her. She introduced me to TT incidentally, something I am most grateful for. Sue met us with an open door and a big smile, and ice cold bottles of Lucozade sport. She did also have a chocolate cake cooking in the oven which smelt amazing, and I'm grateful that I wasn't hungry by that point or that would've been exquisite torture! It was incredibly reluctantly I left her lovely house to continue our journey (next time Sue you're coming with us!), but to stop for too long would be to stiffen up and get cold, which would make the remaining 15 miles pretty miserable.

The next town was Breaston. Sarah A turned round to me and Sarah C and said we're doing 5km non-stop. My first thought was "arghhhh I can't do that!" but I got my head down and surprised myself. She then became known as "Drill Sergeant Sarah", and we meekly followed her. I asked if it was ok to keep taking pictures of the town names as we went through and was told "only if you can do it running". To be honest I quite like being bossed around a bit, it makes me confront my own (usually wrong) beliefs about my ability, and I often surprise myself in the process. The next few towns seemed to go past in a blur of the constant pounding of our legs, and interesting sights including the world's most awesome treehouse and the hugest hare I've ever seen. After running that far you'd be amazed about what strikes you as fascinating! We passed through Draycott, Borrowash, Risley and Sandiacre, and that is where we said goodbye to Drill Sergeant Sarah, and Sarah C and I stopped at a newsagents for a bottle of water. 

At that point we had travelled 14 miles and were beginning to go a little wappy. Everything seemed funny and we were a bit silly. Fatigue was beginning to set in, but whereas a couple of weeks ago I was absolutely shattered by this point, I could still keep things going and keep the pace up. At 15 miles we hit Bramcote, and I felt relieved to see familiar ground. I decided to take Sarah around the park through the woods at the back, not just because I though some steep hills and steps would be just what our legs were craving at that point, but also because I thought it would do us some good to have a completely different change of terrain. With a number of squirrels that TT would've been jumping about with joy over, we hit the trails, not bothered if we weren't running much, just trying to allow our legs to recharge. Once out of the park we hit the roads again, this time headed for Wollaton. It was at this point that I pulled out my iPod and let the music give my exhausted legs a second life. And it really did help, I felt partially renewed and able to continue. At 18 miles I decided to try a gel for the first time. I've had dextrose energy tablets before, jelly belly sports bean and gel bloks, but never a gel. I know they can give you nausea, diarrhoea and/or stomach cramps so I wanted to make sure I was close to home before trying one. I opened it up, swallowed it down, the most revolting sweet, gloopy muck I've ever tried, then waited. A few seconds later it was like, PING!! Sugar hit extraordinaire!!! I felt like someone had plugged me into the mains, and suddenly my legs felt powered up. 

Holy sugar hit Batman!!!

Digging as deep as I've ever dug, I managed to get through the final 2 miles until we'd got back to my house, having run 20 miles in 3 hours 55 minutes. There was only one thing to do after a celebratory hug with Sarah, and that was to go home and see my ever-patient husband who had waited all day for me to complete my run, down an ice-cold can of diet coke (this is always my post long run ritual), then enjoy an ice bath to reduce inflammation in my poor hard-worked legs. This time I was so tired I stayed in the ice bath for a lot longer than usual; it took way more effort to get out than it does to stay in it, so I just sat there!

To say I'm proud of my efforts yesterday in an understatement. I am very grateful to the Sarahs, especially Sarah C who stayed with me for the full 20 miles, because the company distracted me from my usual running gremlins who tell me to stop running and head home. I genuinely thought I would need to walk most of the way, so to have run at least 80% of the distance is an amazing achievement. I think a big part of my success was down to fuelling better. I struggled so much on Friday and Saturday to increase my intake, especially the carbohydrates, and I still could've had more than I did. But for me that was a major effort and achievement. I'd like to say I'll be able to maintain an increased intake permanently from now on, but I know that is a bit too optimistic for me at present. However, maybe for long runs such as yesterday's I will be able to confront my demons and pollute my body with food in order to get the best out of it. Maybe.

In all my preparation for yesterday's run, I hadn't anticipated how I would handle the post-run recovery stage. I was absolutely famished when I got back; having missed lunch and burnt off 2000 calories during the run I pretty much inhaled my dinner. With the children away for the week and Larry at work for the evening, I fell asleep in front of the TV and woke up at 9pm dribbling onto the cushion, deciding that an early night was best. 

Completing 20 miles was a major milestone for me. Suddenly completing the London Marathon seems doable, and getting a decent time possible. I am less scared of my forthcoming races the Silverstone half and Ashby 20, and my self-confidence has sky-rocketed. I wish my success wasn't so closely related to eating more food, because that poses a greater dichotomy in my head. But success is success, and right now I'm flying because of it. Thank you to my lovely friend Sue for being so lovely and welcoming to us, and thanks also to the Sarahs who kept me company. Thanks to Jane who always believes in me and whom inspired me to run in the first place.A big thanks to TT who prepped me brilliantly for the run and patiently listened when I worried that I wouldn't be able to do it, then reminded me how far I've already come and got me thinking more positively. But a big thank you to my husband Larry who has to manage without me every Sunday when I do my increasingly-longer runs and never moans, and listens to all my prattle about running and never begrudges me from entering races. With a team like you guys behind me, how can I possibly fail?!

20 miles: done! Time for feet up now...