Recovery

It's been a while since I updated, and for once I feel less in limbo and more like being on a train that is slowly pulling away having been sat at the station for a very long time.
3 weeks ago I was discharged from hospital. It was my 7th admission in 4 months, and I'm hoping it will be my last. While in there I was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism, which has messed with my head somewhat for reasons I'll explain later, but it confirmed to me that I am so utterly sick of hospitals, and having needles stuck in me and IVs pumped through me, and everything that being in hospital entails. And as I lay in bed one night, whilst a dying patient was brought into the side room of my ward so their family could say goodbye in private, I thought, I can't do that to my family. I couldn't bear for Larry and my children to be clustering around me to say goodbye. So enough's enough, it's time to change the record.

Slowly slowly I'm letting go. Although my food intake hasn't really changed, my mindset has. In the past 3 weeks I've restarted personal training, I've made a few pitifully short but amazing runs, and I've started going to some of my old gym classes. In body pump my weights are much much lighter, I need frequent breaks in PT sessions, and I often come home and sleep for the rest of the day from the effort, but it's a start and I'll take that over being moribund any day. I feel hideously fat most of the time despite getting smaller not bigger, but maybe I always will. Maybe I'll always despise myself, maybe one day I'll learn to like myself, but at least I'll be alive to watch my children grow up.

The thyroid issue is one that has rattled me a lot. I refused to take carbimazole at first because my theory was, if I was struggling to lose weight when heavily restricting and my thyroid was working overtime, why the hell should I slow my thyroid down and risk gaining a load of weight in the process. My ED consultant said I'd probably only start taking the meds when not doing so interfered with my running, and boy was he right! My first attempt at running sent my heart rate over 200, from a resting heart rate of 120, and it was at that point I could see the benefits of taking medication! Sometimes being so stubborn is a hindrance rather than a help!

I am so blessed with having so many wonderful friends who are like scaffolding, holding me up until I can manage alone. Sadly, not everyone is nice and kind. I received the following at the beginning of February:

The police dealing with my case called the writer deranged, and clearly someone who doesn't know me or my family at all well. Friends have said they are sick and evil, I'm just glad to see there is someone out there who is WAY more messed up than me! The police are aware of who the sender is, and if there are any more letters like that I will press charges and let the law have them. But it is sad, that someone whom I considered a friend could do something so despicable, yet not even have the courage of their convictions to sign their name. And really, if I'm going to get a poison pen letter, I'm kind of disappointed they didn't bother to cut out letter from newspapers...! I am not ashamed of having mental illness, and I'm certainly not going to hide it away like a dirty secret. I am an advocate of the charity Mind, and that has given me the confidence to speak freely. Besides, pretty much everyone who knows me knows what's going on, unless they're living on a different planet!

But for now, I'm taking it one day at a time. Trying to be patient and allow my mind and body to heal so I can achieve what I want to achieve, rather than trying to get there straight away. Slowly, slowly catchy monkey. It'll be worth it all in the end.

The beginning of the end

So another year draws to a close and all around are people making resolutions to make their lives better in someway. Most commonly they will decide to lose weight, eat cleaner, go to the gym more, give up smoking....most of these will be but distant memories once February begins, as old habits come to the fore again. This is the time when I will start to hibernate a bit, because discussions about dieting and weight loss and how best to cut out as many calories as possible is akin to reading a step-by-step guide on how to kill yourself for me right now. Oh don't get me wrong, I LOVE talking about all things weight related, but then I'm in one hell of a relapse with anorexia right now so dieting is my bread and butter (pun intended).

Hooked back up to the mains

Unfortunately for me, unlike last year where I could write resolutions along the lines of attaining self-contentment and achieving a time in VLM that made me happy, this year my resolution is simple: to stay alive. Yesterday I was discharged from my 5th hospital admission since November, all of them aimed at keeping me alive a little bit longer by increasing my serum potassium level, rehydrating me, and helping me get control over the continual vomiting I now know is part of cyclical vomiting syndrome, exacerbated by hypokalemia. There's always a point during each admission where my potassium reaches such a level that a pale-faced junior doctor comes rushing over ordering infintessimal bags of IV replacement. In the first few admissions they thought that they could shove a bag through overnight and I'd be fine to go home, but the last few admissions they've come to realise quite how depleted my body gets. It does amuse me though when the doctor you'd previously spent ages trying to convince that one bag won't cut it come over all flustered, pale and sweating, ordering what feels like dozens of the things back-to-back "stat" after read your recent blood result. Every time I get discharged I ask Larry "will that be the last time?", and every time he laughs and says no, I'll be back in a few weeks. I even have the staff saying see you in a few weeks when I leave. But I don't want to be a professional revolving door patient. I don't want to be a collapsed out mummy on the sofa on Boxing Day, just waiting for the children to go to their little holiday with grandparents so I can get my hospital admission without them ever knowing.  

Did that really happen?

Apparently the answer is to eat. I don't think people realise how hard that is to do. Ignoring the fact my body struggles with food going in, hence the vomiting, what does stay in I struggle to digest. And then there's the psychological side of it all.....I am so lucky to have friends I can call on, but when I'm in full-scale panic at having eaten something, nobody can really get through to me. Everyone in hospital asks who's "looking after me", who's in control of me. When I say I'm under the ED team they smile, as though responsibility can pass to them and the problem of me is solved. But the ED team consists of a once weekly appointment with a therapist. No medical back up for the physical side, and when I have to miss an appointment due to being in hospital or too ill to attend, I don't even hear from my therapist. No one checks up on me. The one person who is the best at looking after me is my GP. He sees me weekly, he checks my blood, he's always available if I need to run something past him, and he gives a shit. I honestly don't know what things would be like if I didn't have him supporting me. The best thing is he remembers ME. Not the broken, half-dead specimen in front of him but me at my best. Post-VLM, enthusing about how amazing it was to run a marathon. Celebrating my successes, supporting me when my health led to what I perceived as failures. I'm luck to have him.

And I'm lucky to have my informal cheering squad. I can't neglect to mention Larry, who's had to watch his wife disappearing in front of his eyes for the past 8 months, fighting a battle he can only sit by and watch, and still love me even when anorexia changes me physically and emotionally. He knows I might push my body too far this time, but he's still there, as supportive as he can be despite his own mixed feelings. God, I'm a shit wife. Then there are my friends; some of them long-standing, some a bit newer, but all playing a significant role in keeping me going. They are all so different, but I love them all and appreciate everything they do for me. I know my trainer TT will be there waiting when I am able to progress from the wobbly walking I'm currently doing onto bigger and better things. And Laura will always be there with diet coke and a pot to paint.

So if I was to write resolutions for 2016, they would probably be a lot different to what I would've written had I been fully well;
1. I want my friends and loved ones to always feel appreciated and never taken for granted
2. After almost 25 years, I will finally figure out how to kick anorexia out of my life once and for all
3. Everything has to be about my babies, my 3 beautiful children who deserve to have a functioning mum
4. Failing that, a lottery win would be ace!

Happy New Year everyone xxx

What is anorexia?

The media portrays anorexia as an almost glamorous disease, like heroin chic. "Proana" websites are full of "wannarexics" wanting to "catch" anorexia to help them lose weight. The most recent one I saw was "help me get 'ana' so I can fit into my prom dress in 2 weeks". They often get sent off with a flea in their ear, told to try a healthy diet and not a deadly disease, but it always strikes me as terrifying how so many young girls are glorifying what kills up to 20% of sufferers, that it can be considered desirable and almost like a status symbol. So I've decided to outline what anorexia means to me, if nothing else to get something out of my system.

What is anorexia?

It is the rapid loss of weight, granted, and feeling your clothes getting bigger until they start falling off and you need smaller sizes.
But you don't see that. I've lost a third of my body weight in the past 5 months and I still see what I saw then....fat, hideous, revolting.
It's watching the people you care most about exchanging worrying glances and knowing this is killing them too, but feeling totally powerless to change anything.
It's lying in bed all night with hideous abdominal cramps from laxative abuse, which you didn't even need because you'd barely eaten anyway, but you took "just in case".
It's watching everyone else getting on with their lives while you're stuck, or even in reverse, and you would do anything to move forwards but eat.
It's missing out on taking your family to the Goose Fair because standing is a bit of a challenge today and having a bit of egg was too little too late, but oops now I need to burn off the egg.
It's seeing all your running friends racing and improving, while you're grateful to be able to walk a short distance every day.
Sometimes you lash out, and you hurt people you care most about like I did yesterday, and I don't know if I'll be forgiven or not. It's hard for most people to separate you from the ED bit of you.
It's being cold all the time, and nothing really warms you up...except maybe hot food, but that's not an option because you're too tired to work it off.
It's being scared ALL THE TIME that your children will notice and develop the disease when they're older.
It's lying in bed feeling your heart pounding and hoping it calms down but doesn't stop entirely overnight.
It's watching your children playing, and praying you get sorted so you see them grow up.
It's having people you considered friends totally ignore you and your FB posts because they don't understand, so maybe ignoring will make you go away.
It's other friends whom you haven't seen for ages swearing under their breaths at your weight loss and asking you if you're ok, which shocks you because don't forget, you don't look any different in your eyes.
It's begging your therapist for more help only to be told you're lucky to get one hour a week because funding for eating disorders is so scarce, and you're too heavy for inpatient treatment.
And then one day you find a breast lump, and realise that if it is cancer, you'd be too scared to have treatment because the steroids will make you fatter.
Every night you go to sleep and pray for the day when you wake and food is separate from feelings, and you can start accepting social invitations and eating for pleasure.
It's about so much more but I'm getting really tired sitting up to type this and need to lie back down.

Last year my dreaming the impossible was to be able to run the London Marathon 2015. This year my dreaming the impossible is being alive to run the London Marathon 2016 for Mind. I've missed Robin Hood so far this season and will miss Royal Parks and Great South Run over the next few weeks. I'm not missing any more. By hook or by crook, I will start VLM16 and I will also finish it. I just need to figure out some stuff first. Thank you for reading.

Black hole

In astronomy, a black hole is a region in space which has a gravitational field so intense that nothing can escape. It absorbs all the light in the area, and no light can ever escape.

For the past few weeks I feel like I've been in my own personal black hole. It's sucked me in, and now I'm trapped and unable to escape. No sooner do I start to crawl out does it suck me back down deeper.

It's been a really rough few weeks all truth told. I've had a whole load of crap thrown at me, and have hit levels of lowness that I haven't experienced for many, many years, but also I've discovered that I have an incredible amount of support that I had no idea existed. Every cloud and all that....

But first.... I haven't updated this blog for almost 6 weeks now, because the last time I did I offended someone completely unintentionally, and I felt terrible for quite a while. I insinuated that the head of the school I'm on the PTA for didn't give two hoots about the fayre I've been organising, and looking back it gave the impression that she was unsupportive and disinterested, and I apologise to her for that. She has been as supportive as she can, but work demands limit her availability to get involved in additional stuff. On seeing first hand how much work it has taken to organise this fayre, I cannot fathom how someone can run an entire school! With only 2 weeks to go until the fayre though, I am finally feeling a bit more in control of it all. I hate that free-fall sensation where you're aware that time is racing past but you are unable to do anything about it or get anything under control. We have struggled with a lack of helpers, yet still we have somehow managed to get things very nicely under control and will hopefully put on a great day for everyone. I will be so glad once it's done and dusted though, I dread to think how many grey hairs will emerge as a result of the worry and stress!

Most people who know me know my mood has been at rock bottom for a few weeks recently. I'm not sure what triggered it; there have certainly been a lot of potential culprits. Two weeks ago my GP was concerned enough about me that he called the police out to my house to check that I was ok. I had input from the (useless) crisis team, a lot of support from my awesome GP, and Larry took an extended period of time off work to help me look after the children and allow me a much-needed break. What astounded me though was the amount of support I received from my RMR ladies. I never once felt judged or patronised, as a result I've gotten to know some of them much better which has been lovely, but mostly I've just felt cushioned and loved. And my god have I needed that. In being able to show weakness I have been given a whole lot of strength back, and I will never be able to thank them enough for that. Even in the 21st century, mental illness is such a taboo subject. Despite the rapidly increasing prevalence of mental health problems in society, a lot of people still treat is as a dirty subject, much like they would a sexually transmitted infection. It is the underclass of health problems, the thing people don't like to talk about for fear of being judged. Yet is that exact attitude that creates the judgement. I don't want to be ashamed that I have anorexia and depression, but I am. Whenever I have to talk about it I inwardly wince. So often I've thought that it would be easier having cancer, because that's just as much of a killer as, say, anorexia, but its far more socially acceptable. In that your body has been invaded so you are blameless. But in mental illness when it's your thoughts that are to blame, well that's all your fault isn't it?

The biggest effect of my depression being so bad of late is the fact that, for the first time ever, it has affected my ability to run. All the way through VLM training and even before that, I could leave all the crap (including the black dog) at the door and would feel freedom from the turmoil for the duration of my run and for a while afterwards. Recently I drag all the crap out with me; it is just impossible to extricate myself from it and shake the black dog free to be able to run. So many of my runs have resulted in me sat on a bench somewhere sobbing my eyes out because I feel too mentally paralysed to run. And when I can't run, I have no release, no escape. My mojo has been on holiday. I could quite possibly have thrown in the towel with my running; I've told TT countless times I'm going to pull out of all the races I have booked for autumn because I'm completely useless. If it wasn't for my little running club at school I would be at risk of giving up entirely. My self esteem is rock bottom and some days I'm not certain I actually ran VLM at all. But I am stubborn, and I am sticking to my training plan and working hard, only there is currently very little in the tank as my food intake has taken a major nose dive due to recent events. I'm always in such a precarious balance of food intake and mood. Eat too much and it sets off the ED siren which flares my depression. Eat too little and the ED is satisfied and the depression eases, but I can't run as well which exacerbates the depression. I feel like I'm in a no-win situation, and the loudest voice is always the ED one so that's the one that trumps the lot. And while I'm happy that the weight is dropping off again, I'm getting very dizzy again and light-headed when I'm training, and then I think am I really back here again? Back to the end of November when TT would look at me with concern rather than pride, eyes darting as he tries to figure out if I'm about to face plant on the floor or just stagger and hold on to something. I don't want that, but I want the release from depression that starving offers. And then I think of how every day is a psychological struggle for me, and - perhaps petulantly - think "it's not fair". I want to be "normal". I want to feel happy, I want to be able to eat something extra without crucifying myself afterwards, I want to be free from the anguish. But, at 35, it feels like I will never be free, which turns me full circle back to where I was 2 weeks ago when my GP called the police.

So for now I'm dragging myself through the days, trying to do my best at everything I do. I'm working my hardest at making a success of the school summer fayre and running club, I'm trying to be the best mum to my children as I can despite the emotional blunting I have at present, and I'm searching hard for that passion for running that is buried deep within me, and perhaps will be the thing to lift me out of this seemingly endless black hole. But until that happens I will grasp the love and support on offer, and hope that one day it will be enough to start me moving up and out.

 

Reprisals

I had intended to close this blog down for a while after VLM. Afterall, I had only started it to help follow my marathon journey, surely it should finish with the completion of the marathon? But in truth, writing it gives me more than a mere timeline of my training...it allows me to order my thoughts and challenge my initial interpretation of them. So here it is, resurrected and moving in an altogether different direction.

Life since VLM has been, in all honestly, rubbish. I feel like I'm in free fall...directionless and without purpose. It's almost like I'm grieving a bit. Marathon training was about so much more than just getting the mileage up. It was all I lived and slept for over half a year. It had all my childhood dreams tied up in it, hours and hours spent pounding the pavements in all weathers, massive massive fundraising efforts and endless self-promotion (which doesn't come easy) to ask people to support me and give their money to the cause that I believe in in a bid to support me. Then there was the build up, the anticipation, the immense excitement, knowing that I was going to fulfil a dream that I had wanted since being knee high to a grasshopper. On the day people were tracking me, people who only know me through a running group but still so supportive and willing me on to do well. Then the immediate aftermath where I was buzzing and walking on air, and people congratulating me and saying I was inspiring...it was so much more than I could ever have dreamed it would be. And now it's gone.

So on 4th May I entered the ballot for next year's VLM, but let's face it, 250,000 people have entered this year, my chances are very small. I wouldn't mind if it wasn't for the fact that a lot of those people are complete beginners, people who can't even run for a bus, who watched the marathon and think they'd like a bit of that action. And it wouldn't matter if they were committed, I'd say good for you, but the truth is a lot of them will quickly lose their ambition as soon as winter draws in and it's cold and unforgiving, and they have to drag themselves out for a 15 mile run when the rest of their family is inside in the warm. Because that one day of "wow I want to do that" isn't enough to basically sacrifice everything else in your life for a lot of people.

So my only other option is to get a charity place again, which brings with it the challenge of fundraising. As someone recently so (un)helpfully said, why would people want to sponsor me a second time, and that I shouldn't rely on others to "finance [my] hobby". Is this how people really see it? Do people really think that they are contributing to me being able to run rather than to a cause I wholeheartedly believe in? To a cause that a LOT of other people believe in. To a cause that supports a group of illnesses that affect 1 in 4 people. 25% of the population. And I have considered other charities, I've thought about CRUK and CLIC Sargeant and other charities that support illnesses people I know and love have been affected by, but I can genuinely say that, even if by applying to other charities it gives me a greater chance of getting a place for VLM16, I can't imagine running VLM with anything but a Mind vest on. And maybe that's the point here; I need to run a marathon for myself, not someone else. I can't get out there and train when my heart isn't in it, I'm exhausted and it's perishingly cold if it's not for something I feel so strongly because its for something I'm living with everyday. So next week when Mind open for marathon applications, I will be applying to run London all over again, and hope that people get behind me not just to help me reach my fundraising target, but also to carry me through the days my legs just don't want to run.

I knew that it would take a while for my body to get back to normal after the marathon, but I didn't think I would feel like a beginner runner again, so much so that I sometimes wonder if I dreamed the whole thing. Surely I can't lose it all in the space of a month? It's almost as though my body has said yeah you've had your fun now I'm on strike. I am still lucky enough to be working with TT who is doing a brilliant job of rebuilding my body so I'm strong all over and not just in my legs as can happen when you're an endurance runner. I've also started working with Kevin Betts, the crazy guy who thought running 52 marathons in a year was a great plan, even popping one off on his wedding day. He has been advising the Mind team for a while, and is working to help me whittle my half time to under 2 hours, and knock a good hour off my marathon time. I'm still waiting to feel like a super human speedy runner, but I suppose Rome wasn't built in a day as they say. I need to learn patience!

NWR do Pretty Muddy

Last weekend I had my first introduction to "dirty" runs doing the R4L Pretty Muddy with some of the NWR ladies. Let's face it, this was majorly out of my comfort zone as I'm a nice clean road runner. But I wanted to run with my team and be part of something, so I signed up with them. On the day I was surprised I found it all really easy - the hardest bit was figuring out how to stay clean! A far cry from the spluttering wheezing mess from the Mo Run last November (my last run with the club). And strangely I did really enjoy it. Of course I loved feeling like part of a team, I so often feel like part of nothing, just terminal loneliness, but I actually quite liked the freedom of allowing myself to get covered in mud. It was liberating in a strange way. That said, I was sooooo glad to get in a hot shower when I got home! And sadly, the mud did nothing for my complexion, but did make me feel a bit badass which is never a bad thing!

The biggest thing affecting me at present is I'm struggling to keep my mood up. I feel like I have so many balls in the air, so many things to keep on top of that I'm losing the reasons why I started them in the first place. Take, for example, the school PTA summer fayre. Support has been dwindling for a while, then last week out of the blue my most helpful committee member quit with "immediate effect". This was a devastating blow for the PTA as by losing the secretary it makes my job a million times harder, and now I feel the onus of the summer fayre is resting on me alone. The head isn't that interested, we can call it off or go ahead with it, as long as she doesn't need to do anything for it. And I would love to say forget it, save myself hours of work and stress and make life a whole lot easier for myself. But then I think of all the children, how much they'd love it whether it's as spectacular as I'd hoped for or crap as I fear it will be. Once the fayre is done I can resign my position and life will get a lot easier. But how to get there....I don't know. I cry too much at the moment, worry lines etch my forehead where laughter lines should be. I need to be grateful for what I can do, and work with what I've got, and sometimes settle for "good enough" rather than always striving for perfection. I just wish I knew how to start that process.

Last Friday I was attacked in my car by a beardy Scottish man for something to do with how I was driving round a roundabout. It was one of those massive roundabouts where there are several sets of traffic lights and that day every set was red. So I was going from set to set and stopping each time. I became aware that someone was tooting their horn, but ignored it as I wasn't doing anything wrong so couldn't see how it would apply to me. At the last set of lights I notices a man in the car to my right gesturing wildly, I wondered if he'd noticed a problem with my car such as a door open or the like so I opened my window a bit to hear him better. He was going on about me driving round the roundabout at 20mph and using a lot of expletives. I shut my window, and then saw him get out of his car and come over to mine. It was like someone had poured a bucket of ice into my heart at that moment, and I was shocked to see him tugging on my door handle (thank god for auto locking doors) and bashing my car window hard, all the while screaming something about 20mph at me. I was vaguely aware that other cars were hooting him, but no one got out of their car to help me. And suddenly I was back there again, when HE was pushing his way into my room at university, beating me, raping me then leaving me broken. And as the light went green suddenly I could move again, but my biggest concern wasn't to get the hell out of there, but that I didn't run over his foot. What kind of idiot does that make me, worrying about hurting someone who is hurting me?! And yesterday I wanted to stamp it all out into the pavement, all the anger that someone could make me feel vulnerable YET AGAIN in somewhere that should be safe, but instead I felt paralysed, like I was running in slow motion, with all that crap round my neck dragging me down and holding me back. And that fucks me off.

So today I met Sarah and we went out to get those miles I needed to get yesterday into my legs. It wasn't a spectacular run, but it felt better than yesterday, and I saw a glimmer of my former running self slipping back. So I need to take my tearful pathetic self and give it a shake, then look forwards and keep going. I'm not a quitter, I'm not a wimp. I need to remind myself that it was me who ran a marathon a month ago, not a look alike imposter, and I have the chafing scars to prove it! So many people expected me to fail at the London Marathon, people who should've been my biggest supporters never expected me to reach the start line, let alone get to the finish line. I'm not a quitter. I'm stubborn. Even the strongest person has their breaking point, but after running outside in a beautiful place with a good friend today, I no longer feel like I've reached mine.  

Chasing the dream: running VLM15

Last weekend was one of the most incredible weekends of my life, right up there with my wedding day and having my babies. After years of watching it on TV, and months of training, tears, blisters and worries that I wasn't good enough, I finally ran the London Marathon. It was as incredible an experience I'd anticipated, but in ways that I hadn't expected.


Thursday 23rd April: 3 days to go

A few weeks back I'd had a stroke of genius that it'd be a great idea for Larry and I to go to Eden Hall Day Spa before the marathon as I needed a bit of a digital detox - reading everyone's posts about VLM were fuelling my nerves and excitement so I really needed some switch off time. Larry also needed to de-stress. The day was fab; it was great to just put on a dressing gown and slob about from hot tub to pool to lounger, a quick pause for an "intense body massage" which turned out to be a bit of a tickle compared to the sports massages TT has done on me but still nice and relaxing, and then a 3 course meal. We did a quick stint in the gym and I had a blast on the treadmill which reassured me my legs were ready for action. But it was just nice, away from the world and all the stresses, just good switching off time.



Friday 24th April: 2 days to go

Finally Friday came and we started the first leg of the journey to the start line, down to Surrey to my parents' house where Larry and I would stay the night and leave the children for the weekend. It was good to finally be moving, making the dream happen. It took me ages to pack; I was so worried I'd leave my registration documents behind or my ID, or pack everything but my sports bra....those kind of anxieties that are only quelled by checking and rechecking then getting on with it! All over Facebook I could see that other VLMers were getting increasingly anxious and worrying about the marathon, but I was actually feeling pretty calm at that point. I've read something recently that nerves and excitement are caused by exactly the same thing - surges of adrenaline - and it's how you interpret those feelings as to whether you are nervous or excited. Aware of this, whenever I did get those pangs of adrenaline I tried to consider it as excitement to keep a more positive outlook, rather than the more negative feeling of nervousness.

However I felt, one thing I was growing increasingly fed up with was eating. Yes I know, I have a bad relationship with food, but having to deliberately eat 3 carb heavy meals a day with snacks in between was purgatory. I was itching to run it off. I felt like I had a carb baby on my stomach, I felt revolting and fat and greedy. But I was also determined to not let anorexia wreck my marathon journey at the final hurdle. But carbs are just so heavy and bloating. I look at the photos of me taken in the few days of carb loading, and while I don't look as massive as I felt at the time, I still think I look more bloated and fluidy. For me, the running wasn't the hardest bit, it was the fuelling to enable me to run. But I've had plenty of races or long runs that only went wrong because I'd not eaten properly, I couldn't blow the big one. So I ate dinner, I walked my dog to loosen off my legs and I kept telling myself that it would be over soon and I only had to eat for 2 more days.



Saturday 25th April: 1 day to go

The countdown clock

Now THIS was the day I had been looking forward to, the day we would head into London for the expo! I had no idea what to expect from the expo apart from knowing that here I would collect my bib number and timing chip, and there would be a variety of merchandise on sale. I certainly didn't expect Disney Land for runners!!! It was huge, it was busy and there was running-related stuff everywhere! First of all I collected my running bib, and was given the final set of instructions. I then went on to collect my timing chip, after which I went through an "Adidas" tunnel which led me into wonderland! First of all I queued up to get my photo taken next to the countdown clock. It was one of those situations where you could strike up a conversation with anyone, as we all had the same thing in common. Everyone was so excited. After I'd had my photo taken I signed the humongous marathon wall, which was no mean feat as the only blank spaces were right at the bottom or at the top. I didn't put anything earth-shatteringly exciting, but it was nice to put my stamp on the whole thing.

The writing's on the wall

Then there was the shopping. I felt like a small child looking round a sweet factory, wide eyed and mouth gaping. There were shoes, running clothing, running accessories, lucozade, nutrition stands, all different brands with their merchandise out, charity stalls, music and people hustling and bustling amidst the kaleidoscope of colours. The atmosphere was alive with excitement and anticipation; people were there to have fun, meet other people and share in their common love of running. Looking round I saw Susan Wheatcroft from Virtual Runner UK, who had run an award at the Running Awards 2015 the previous evening. It amused me that I should bump into her all the way down in London, when we live minutes away in Nottingham but seldom cross paths. I also saw Gill Watson who is a bit of an exercise ninja working on the nutrition stall, and it was lovely to have a chat with her too.

Edna and me

A little while later I saw I had a message from a lovely Minder, in fact she was Ms Funky Sunglasses from Silverstone. She said she was sat in a spot not far away so I went and found her, and she was with another Mind lady, Carmel. We all shrieked and squeaked to see each other after months of only being FB friends. Soon Jo and her lovely mum came and joined us, and we had the best time talking about absolutely nothing, as only women can! While we were talking, Larry and Manda's partner caught sight of last year's female VLM winner, Edna Kiplagat, standing not far away, so I managed to land a photograph with her. Ok, so if I'm entirely honest, I had absolutely no idea who she was when I had the picture taken, but I knew she'd won and that was good enough. She's like running royalty so I'm very grateful to have met her.

Then soon we all went our separate ways and I bumped into Sarah, my running friend from Derby. The whole thing was just so bizarre; we were both out of our usual environments so to meet up there just added to the whole feeling of craziness. When Sarah went off to find her hotel, I finally
met my lovely friend Holly who has been so sweet and thoughtful to me so many times before. And she is as lovely in real life as she is online or on the phone. We had agreed to run the marathon together, and were chattering away about it all getting increasingly excited. Once Holly had gone on to look at some of the stalls, all that was left to do was to have a photo taken at the #extramile booth, then add my picture and message to all the other thousands that were pegged up for all to see.

Then all that remained to do was for Larry and I to hop back on the DLR and go to our hotel to unpack our stuff and for me to get my running kit completely ready for the next day. Then another tonne of carbs later and some gentle stretching, I had an early night to prepare me as best I could for what lay ahead the next day.

Sunday 26th April: marathon day!!!

As my alarm woke me on Sunday morning, I could hear the sound of rainfall outside. On opening the curtains I could see grey, dingy weather, and it was really cold. Bugger. Still, I'd trained in far worse conditions than that, but I had hoped it would be reasonably nice out so there would be plenty of spectators. After my usual pre-race rituals of shower, porridge, get dressed and do a last minute check that I had everything I needed, we were good to go. We caught the DLR to Poplar, then I travelled from Poplar to Greenwich alone. It was weird being on a train that is stuffed full of runners, some taped up to the max, some in fancy dress, and all of us clutching our red bags. When we got off at Greenwich it was a case of follow everyone else. It was freezing cold and the walk seemed to go on forever. In reality it was probably only a couple of miles, but having never been there before I didn't know what to expect, so it just seemed to keep coming. Eventually we reached Greenwich Park, and were allowed entrance to the red start once we'd shown our running numbers. There were so many lorries parked in a long line with the sides off, and I had to find the right lorry for my number, then my bag was put on the lorry and all I had left was what I had in my running belt. It felt really weird, knowing I'd get my bag back only after I'd finished the marathon. I wondered what I would experience before I saw that bag again.

Me, Helen Graham and Scott Kilburn

Feeling a little bit lost and not sure what to do, I found another Mind lady, Sandhu, who looked as lost as I felt. All of a sudden Rohan glided past, swept me up in a bear hug, wished me well then disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. I wanted to meet the Mind team, but the queues for the toilets were at least 100m long by that point so I thought I'd be better off queuing up then meeting my team. With hind sight I really regret this. The Mind team got on and took a team photo, and I wasn't in it. I'm so upset about this and will never get that opportunity back. I also tried and failed to meet Holly, so realised I wouldn't be running with her which made me sad. But soon the time came to get into the pens, and I went into pre-race autopilot. I lined up with two Minders, Helen with whom I did the virtual run with, and Scott whom I ran with at Silverstone. It was reassuring to see familiar faces, and we had some laughs as we jostled for position in the tightly-packed pens.

Soon the crowds of people started slowly moving forwards, and after what seemed like forever, we were walking through the gates of the park, round the corner then the start line loomed into sight. As we crossed the line, we all fell into an easy jog. I hate it when someone suggests I jog rather than run, but that's the only way I can describe that initial speed. We were just too tightly packed to get any speed up. We pootled down the streets at a frustratingly slow 11:30 minute mile pace (my usual speed is 9:30). After a few miles at this speed I began to wave goodbye to my desired sub 5 hour finish time, as I was losing minutes due to the fact that it was too crowded to get into a proper pace. At mile 3 I saw Larry and Sonia and happily waved at them as I ran past. By mile 4 I started to feel increasingly sick and, despite the seemingly arctic conditions, far too hot. It was at this point the gremlins started to nag at me, and I began to doubt myself and whether I could physically manage the full 26.2 miles. Whereas in the past I would've bought into the whole doubting myself thing and it would've snowballed, I just turned round to those nagging thoughts and told them to just "f*ck off". No more, no less. I was too occupied running a marathon, I had no time to start doubting myself! But I needed to do something about my overheating, so at the next water station I took a good glug of water then dumped the rest of it over my head. I felt instantly better, although I was aware I'd wrecked my hair for the photos, but no bother. I continued to do that at every water station until I no longer felt sick, at around mile 6.

Me at RMR base mile 19

The next few miles up to mile 15 were like a roller coaster. There were times where I felt amazingly strong and swift and in control, there was the time at mile 8.5 where I realised I'd missed seeing Larry (he was on the opposite side of the road) and then proceeded to cry for the next mile. There was the time when, on seeing the ridiculous queues for the toilets, I hopped behind a bush for a speedier peeing alternative. I danced with the bands, I helped a few injured runners, I was overtaken by people I ended up overtaking several miles up the road. I was pushed out of the way by a camel, I pushed a minion out of the way, I saw a man in a big pink dress chase a rhino. It was crazy! Turning the corner and crossing Tower Bridge was a "wow" moment. Not long after that I saw Larry and had a little cry about how tired I was. Then I kicked myself up the bum and began the second half. 15 miles took me into a tunnel where a disco was playing and there was yet another queue for toilets. I stopped temporarily and decided to check my phone. I saw a text from Sarah who had set off from blue start before me, and had been at mile 15 some 40 minutes previously. She said her legs had gone so I decided there and then to catch her up. Forgetting the toilet queue I got a man to block me while I peed in a corner then I pressed on. By mile 18 I was only about 15 minutes behind her, so I kept going. At 18.5 I saw Larry again, at 19 I saw my lovely friend Leanne Ludlow who had brought me some nuts as I knew I'd need salt by then. I had a massive hug from her then a bit up the road I saw the RMR ladies and ran over to them shrieking with glee.

I was beginning to get extremely chafed at this point, and running was getting very painful. I started to feel a bit miserable and tired and lonely. Then I looked up and who did I see but Sarah. That was the best hug ever. It was so good to have finally caught her up and know that we would finish the race together. Sarah is like a sister to me, we'd done all our 20 mile runs together, it was only right that we finished together. So we did. At times when Sarah needed help I was able to keep her moving forwards, and when I ran full pelt into the wall at mile 25, she took my hand and kept me going. So it was only right that we finished the London Marathon together, hand in hand.

   

The aftermath

Immediately after finishing the marathon, the priority was to make sure I was fit and well, which required some help from the St John's team. It needed to rehydrate and refuel, then after a train ride to my parents' house where I had a shower, showed off my beautiful medal and had something to eat, we got in the car and Larry drove us back to Nottingham. It was on that 3 hour journey I had the chance to fully appreciate how many messages I had and how much support had been shown to me. And yes, being exhausted and emotional I shed the odd tear or two. How could I not when people I didn't even realise cared about me had been so absolutely lovely to me? It was touching and humbling, and a load of other things as well.

Physical recovery has been pretty unremarkable. I fully expected to be completely wreck for a week after finishing VLM, but on the Monday I went swimming, and on Tuesday I did a body pump class (with slightly lighter weights than normal). I've also been walking about a lot. My biggest issues have been the horrendous chafing in delicate areas, and the knowledge that I will almost certainly lose my black toenail (it's really quite revolting now). I'm dying to run again but until my skin heals up, this is not remotely possible. I often catch myself wondering if it really happened, did I REALLY run a marathon, and not just any marathon but the London Marathon??

And sometimes I feel the euphoria that I felt immediately afterwards, and the the amazing sense of achievement, then I just feel this great big loss, that something I have worked so hard at for so long is now over. But in 16 months I learned to run, I fought the anorexia demons that plagued me so badly, I trained for and ran a marathon, raised £2700 for Mind, and actually realised I'm a pretty ok person after all. And that is good enough for now.



This blog will continue later in the year when I start training for Robin Hood and Royal Parks half marathons, and the Great South Run. Thank you so much for reading this, your continued support means everything.

Virgin Money London Marathon 2015: done!!!!!!!!!

To be continued...........