It wasn't long ago that both Brighton Half and full Marathons were events that were happening sometime in the future, that I would think about (read: worry) after Christmas. After all, Christmas was aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaages away and so there was no need to think, worry or plan for it too much.
Except Christmas came around and went again very, very quickly. And all of a sudden there is a self-styled marathon training plan blu-tacked to my kitchen cupboard. Now it is looming over me like a large, grey cloud filled with self-doubt and fear.
I went to see The Boss at the end of last week, taking along with me the Bupa training plan I had downloaded off t'internet. I was never that happy with it - I felt that it was too generic and prescriptive for Joe Bloggs. Having only really glanced at it (I was quite happy in denial that this was ever really happening) I hadn't noticed that the Long Sunday Runs (LSRs) weren't really that long at all. He confirmed that it was a bit light, and gave me some homework to research various published plans and to take out the bits I liked to personalise my own plan.
I worked hard on a 15 week plan, incorporating the Half Marathon too and I think I've got it. Even though I have written it myself, it is still as intimidating as picking up Tolstoy's War and Peace for the first time. I tapped into huge sources of running information and then the Run Mummy Run and UKRunChat communities both helped pull it apart and put it back together again. One or two 'armchair critics' were harsh in their comments, but like most things in life they had to be filtered out and the kindness of others focussd on.
There is a huge amount of work involved in not just getting around the two courses, but getting around safely and not too slowly. Time probably shouldn't be too much of a consideration, and my priority is to finish in one piece, however I still have time targets in mind. This has helped customise the plan which incorporates cross training, core strength, hill repeats and various levels of running efforts.
Seeing the commitment I need to do this well is frightening. I will never forget the pride I felt in my friend as she crossed the finish lines of the Half and Marathons last year, but I don't think I fully appreciated how much work she had put into being there. My biggest concern is that I am not going to be able to fulfil the training required; it is so difficult to get out in the weekdays which I must do to build the strength and fitness I need for the LSRs, and ultimately for the 26.2 mile slog in April. I know that I have two options: do it well, or bow out. I am not giving up so I need to (wo)man up and get on with it!
The running buggy is fixed and ready to go. The bike is oiled and ready to go. The treadmill is up and ready for the shorter runs when I haven't been able to run outside. My drawer is stuffed full of running kit. My parents have bought me a subscription to Runner's World for Christmas which is packed full of nutrition, tips, help and advice.
So, this is it. No excuses. Marathon training is here.....hold my hand please - I'm going to need it!
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Monday 29 December 2014
Saturday 27 December 2014
Running on a dreadmill. Treadmill, I mean TREADmill.
The Christmas holidays aren't all about Christmas in our house, they're mostly about birthdays! I am very lucky that my family don't allow my birthday to be lost in all of the festive fun, and I try to ensure that our eldest daughter has a non-Christmassy birthday too.
My mum and dad-in-law are always very generous, and with the money they gave me this year I bought a second hand treadmill. I have never been a gym girl, so have no experience of running on a treadmill and expected little of it. I have struggled to get out for the weekday runs, so I thought this would be the answer to running in the dark, or not running at all.
So, today was the day that the treadmill was fired up for a proper run. That is, a run-run not a ooh-lets-play-with-the-new-toy-run in pyjamas and reindeer slippers. It was certainly easier to get ready for, I slung on a t-shirt and shorts with my trusty Brooks and not the 3 layers I have been accustomed to in recent weeks. Within a couple of minutes I realised that a)this was harder than I thought it would be and b)I was too hot. Luckily for me, the only other person in the room was my 11 year old, who was nominated as drink bottle holder, when I decided to take off my t-shirt. An excellent idea. However, missing in the thought process was to get off the treadmill... with the t-shirt half over my head, I heard my daughter say "Mummy! You're going to...." The words 'fall' and 'off' coincided with my bottom-first exit off the treadmill with a little squeal as I tried desperately hard not to do some kind of backwards roll.... Had this not been the third time in as many weeks that I have fallen over, off or into various household objects it would've been hilarious. I will settle for slightly comical and hope that as many things come in threes, that I have had my lot and I will stay upright from now on!
Back to the treadmill. It was boring as hell. I really missed the distractions of running outside - the Christmas lights, gardens, houses with lights on and curtains open. I found I needed to focus on something very still (in this case the plug socket as there was little else to look at), as the bouncing made me feel like I was on a boat. I now understand why gyms have air con; I was hot. Really, really hot. Running in my dining room was similar to running in the summer when it was airless and stuffy. It was very strange not being able to adjust my pace without pressing a button, and I really noticed how much I vary despite having quite a consistent pace recorded on both my Garmin and RunKeeper. The time I was running for dragged, I think the boredom of looking at a white wall made this worse, compounded with the display ticking away right in font of me. I was continuously changing the display mode so I didn't fixate on the time. At the end of my run I slowed right down to a gentle walk, but this didn't prevent the feeling of still moving once I had stopped. Despite all of this I ran 5km in 24minutes 35seconds, which is my fastest time by over a minute. I'm not going to get too excited by this though, as I'm pretty sure this wouldn't translate onto a road run and I'm not claiming a PB until it does.
The best news is that I didn't cough after the run. Tomorrow I will run outside again and this will give me the answer The Boss needed today - am I well enough to embark on a rigourous sub 2hour Half Marathon training plan over the next 8 weeks?
Keep your fingers crossed....... but don't fall over!
My mum and dad-in-law are always very generous, and with the money they gave me this year I bought a second hand treadmill. I have never been a gym girl, so have no experience of running on a treadmill and expected little of it. I have struggled to get out for the weekday runs, so I thought this would be the answer to running in the dark, or not running at all.
So, today was the day that the treadmill was fired up for a proper run. That is, a run-run not a ooh-lets-play-with-the-new-toy-run in pyjamas and reindeer slippers. It was certainly easier to get ready for, I slung on a t-shirt and shorts with my trusty Brooks and not the 3 layers I have been accustomed to in recent weeks. Within a couple of minutes I realised that a)this was harder than I thought it would be and b)I was too hot. Luckily for me, the only other person in the room was my 11 year old, who was nominated as drink bottle holder, when I decided to take off my t-shirt. An excellent idea. However, missing in the thought process was to get off the treadmill... with the t-shirt half over my head, I heard my daughter say "Mummy! You're going to...." The words 'fall' and 'off' coincided with my bottom-first exit off the treadmill with a little squeal as I tried desperately hard not to do some kind of backwards roll.... Had this not been the third time in as many weeks that I have fallen over, off or into various household objects it would've been hilarious. I will settle for slightly comical and hope that as many things come in threes, that I have had my lot and I will stay upright from now on!
Back to the treadmill. It was boring as hell. I really missed the distractions of running outside - the Christmas lights, gardens, houses with lights on and curtains open. I found I needed to focus on something very still (in this case the plug socket as there was little else to look at), as the bouncing made me feel like I was on a boat. I now understand why gyms have air con; I was hot. Really, really hot. Running in my dining room was similar to running in the summer when it was airless and stuffy. It was very strange not being able to adjust my pace without pressing a button, and I really noticed how much I vary despite having quite a consistent pace recorded on both my Garmin and RunKeeper. The time I was running for dragged, I think the boredom of looking at a white wall made this worse, compounded with the display ticking away right in font of me. I was continuously changing the display mode so I didn't fixate on the time. At the end of my run I slowed right down to a gentle walk, but this didn't prevent the feeling of still moving once I had stopped. Despite all of this I ran 5km in 24minutes 35seconds, which is my fastest time by over a minute. I'm not going to get too excited by this though, as I'm pretty sure this wouldn't translate onto a road run and I'm not claiming a PB until it does.
The best news is that I didn't cough after the run. Tomorrow I will run outside again and this will give me the answer The Boss needed today - am I well enough to embark on a rigourous sub 2hour Half Marathon training plan over the next 8 weeks?
Keep your fingers crossed....... but don't fall over!
Festive runs and all that winter brings
In my last blog post, I shared my random but rather grandiose plan to run on Christmas Day and the fantastic support I had received. Since that post, the support has continued and I am absolutely gobsmacked (but very pleased, obviously!) to say that the fundraising pot has just tipped over a staggering £310! This takes me to 31% of my target £1000; if you are reading this and you have contributed to my fundraising, then I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
The Festive period has been spent with my husband's side of the family. My brother was working, as he always has to at Christmas, but I did spend my birthday with him and his girlfriend, with Paul and the girls. We had a fantastic day together in Brighton, with ice skating for the children and onto a lovely Italian for a meal and Prosecco for me! Father Christmas was kind and generous as always but most importantly I was with the people who mean the most to us. My parents, although in a different country with my Uncle were with us in spirit and in the iPad thanks to FaceTime! We missed them and I'm not sure that they will be allowed out of the country over Christmas ever again.
Now I have warmed the cockles of your heart with festive cheer, allow me to bring you crashing back to reality with.... a chest infection. All together now, pantomime style - "Booooooooooo!" As the last week of the school term came to a close, I could feel the inevitable happening. I have been so lucky so far this year, and have managed to stave off the bugs despite the children bringing home more than one cough, cold or sore throat. After a brief stay in hospital about 4 years ago with a nasty chest infection, I am not ashamed to say they scare the bejeezus out of me and I don't fancy a recurrence of that!
Knowing I had to be careful, but also committed to my training plan I headed back out to test my capability. I had completed my long run and although fine while running, the vice-like tightness in my chest when I got home was not pleasant. I managed a pitiful 2 miles, but sensibly headed home not feeling good. I had to take the advice I would give to someone else - rest. As the days passed, my Christmas Day run looked less and less likely. On Christmas Eve I set out for a 5k easy run, again wanting to test myself and how the cold air affected the cough. Once again I was OK while running, slightly tight in the chest but not too uncomfortable, but as soon as I stopped I felt as though I had the Jolly Green Giant sitting on me. Reaching out to the fountain of knowledge that is Run Mummy Run, I posted asking for advice on how to run the following day with my symptoms, but safely. The overwhelming response was - don't run. I spoke to The Boss, hoping that he would say something different, but again the advice was clear. Get well first.
As we drove to my in-laws on Christmas morning in perfect running weather, I couldn't hide my disappointment. I felt like the old me had crept back in... grand ideas that are never followed through. I felt like a quitter, like I had let every single person who had sponsored me down. The whole point of the run was to honour the children at GOSH who had no choice to be in hospital, who couldn't go celebrate in the warmth and comfort of their own homes. And there was I taking the coward's way out. However, as I looked at the girls in the car I reminded myself that they needed me to be fit and healthy to care for them. The run has been postponed, not cancelled indefinitely.
So, watch this space. The 8 miles will be done, and they will be done soon.
The Festive period has been spent with my husband's side of the family. My brother was working, as he always has to at Christmas, but I did spend my birthday with him and his girlfriend, with Paul and the girls. We had a fantastic day together in Brighton, with ice skating for the children and onto a lovely Italian for a meal and Prosecco for me! Father Christmas was kind and generous as always but most importantly I was with the people who mean the most to us. My parents, although in a different country with my Uncle were with us in spirit and in the iPad thanks to FaceTime! We missed them and I'm not sure that they will be allowed out of the country over Christmas ever again.
Now I have warmed the cockles of your heart with festive cheer, allow me to bring you crashing back to reality with.... a chest infection. All together now, pantomime style - "Booooooooooo!" As the last week of the school term came to a close, I could feel the inevitable happening. I have been so lucky so far this year, and have managed to stave off the bugs despite the children bringing home more than one cough, cold or sore throat. After a brief stay in hospital about 4 years ago with a nasty chest infection, I am not ashamed to say they scare the bejeezus out of me and I don't fancy a recurrence of that!
Knowing I had to be careful, but also committed to my training plan I headed back out to test my capability. I had completed my long run and although fine while running, the vice-like tightness in my chest when I got home was not pleasant. I managed a pitiful 2 miles, but sensibly headed home not feeling good. I had to take the advice I would give to someone else - rest. As the days passed, my Christmas Day run looked less and less likely. On Christmas Eve I set out for a 5k easy run, again wanting to test myself and how the cold air affected the cough. Once again I was OK while running, slightly tight in the chest but not too uncomfortable, but as soon as I stopped I felt as though I had the Jolly Green Giant sitting on me. Reaching out to the fountain of knowledge that is Run Mummy Run, I posted asking for advice on how to run the following day with my symptoms, but safely. The overwhelming response was - don't run. I spoke to The Boss, hoping that he would say something different, but again the advice was clear. Get well first.
As we drove to my in-laws on Christmas morning in perfect running weather, I couldn't hide my disappointment. I felt like the old me had crept back in... grand ideas that are never followed through. I felt like a quitter, like I had let every single person who had sponsored me down. The whole point of the run was to honour the children at GOSH who had no choice to be in hospital, who couldn't go celebrate in the warmth and comfort of their own homes. And there was I taking the coward's way out. However, as I looked at the girls in the car I reminded myself that they needed me to be fit and healthy to care for them. The run has been postponed, not cancelled indefinitely.
So, watch this space. The 8 miles will be done, and they will be done soon.
Sunday 14 December 2014
The kindness of family, friends and strangers. Part 2.
Earlier this year, I wrote about the kindness of strangers. Being sponsored by people who I'd never met before was an overwhelming feeling; recognition of my efforts by someone who has no unconditional reason to do so gave me a huge boost.
I expected it to be a one off. I was wrong.
My running buddy and I ran Crowborough 10k recently, and both of us were given £5 for our charities by a lady we were chatting to on the walk back to the car. I felt incredibly guilty and worried that I had come across as grabby; L was wearing her charity vest and I wasn't so it was this that had spurred the conversation. L had been given the money first and I'm not sure now if I started the next part of the conversation which led to me being given the same. Anyway, I was a bit embarrassed yet hugely grateful.
I was reading a few posts on Great Ormond Street's Facebook page this week, and it reminded me of my days as a Nurse where I did my share of the unsocial hours and holidays at work. Sometimes it felt like more than my fair share. I hated being away from my loved ones at special times of the year. I clearly remember driving to my first night shift after getting married; I cried as I drove because I just didn't want to be anywhere other than at home. My thoughts turned to the children who will be inpatients over Christmas, not just at GOSH but everywhere. The Christmas shifts weren't actually that bad once you were there. The rules relaxed ever so slightly, and while the basics still had to be done, these were the days when you didn't feel as pressured and could sit with the patients a while longer in an effort to make their Christmas slightly more bearable. Hospital is a horrible place to be on any day of the week, but the stereotype of families around a table tucking into turkey and the trimmings makes the draw of home so much stronger.
Sensibly, I talked to my husband before launching myself into another great idea. I needed his full support for this, and as I talked through my plan he barely batted an eyelid. Must be love... My fundraising needed a boost, and there are only so many ways I can ask for money. Aware of the purse-hitting season which is upon us, I didn't want to ask for too much, so we settled on 50p per minute of running on Christmas Day in honour of the NHS Staff and children in hospital with no choice to go home and be with their loved ones. I hoped that a few friends and family wouldn't mind giving me a shiny 50p for the meter (oh, happy memories of running up to my Nana's house to fetch 50p for the meter), but I followed Paul's advice and capped the distance at 8 miles. I thought it was totally unnecessary, but went with it. The Festive Run was launched by a simple Facebook post, which I shared as widely as possible.
I was totally astonished when the donations started coming in within minutes of posting. I needed to go no further than my own page, and the formidable women of the Run Mummy Run online community. What astonished me was that I wasn't being sponsored 50p. Support from family who are afar, and I don't see often enough, was beyond generous. Their messages of encouragement mean more to me than they will ever know. When I left my home town in 1997, I didn't think anyone would notice that I wasn't there anymore. The geographical distance between us can make me feel invisible and removed from the extended family which was the definition of my childhood. These words on a screen somehow draw them closer, they make me feel a part of them.
I checked my emails the next morning, and one after another, JustGiving popped up. Not one or two messages of support with donations to my fundraising for GOSH, but lots. And lots. Some of the names I knew - family and friends. Many names were new to me, and I am glad that these kind people had thought to put keywords into their messages for me to know that they were part of Run Mummy Run, and had read my post on the Facebook group. Not one donation was 50p, they were all pounds. How do I ever communicate to them how grateful I am? How do I ever say thank you? I had got to about £230 so far with the fundraising, which is a fabulous amount to hand over to GOSH, but in three short days these wonderful people have taken the total to over £290. Wow. I am well on my way to my target of £1000.
Having just watched the inspirational Jo Pavey get a respectable third place in the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Award, I know exactly how to say thank you to each and every one of my family, friends, and the Run Mummy Run ladies.
I'll just keep running.
I expected it to be a one off. I was wrong.
My running buddy and I ran Crowborough 10k recently, and both of us were given £5 for our charities by a lady we were chatting to on the walk back to the car. I felt incredibly guilty and worried that I had come across as grabby; L was wearing her charity vest and I wasn't so it was this that had spurred the conversation. L had been given the money first and I'm not sure now if I started the next part of the conversation which led to me being given the same. Anyway, I was a bit embarrassed yet hugely grateful.
I was reading a few posts on Great Ormond Street's Facebook page this week, and it reminded me of my days as a Nurse where I did my share of the unsocial hours and holidays at work. Sometimes it felt like more than my fair share. I hated being away from my loved ones at special times of the year. I clearly remember driving to my first night shift after getting married; I cried as I drove because I just didn't want to be anywhere other than at home. My thoughts turned to the children who will be inpatients over Christmas, not just at GOSH but everywhere. The Christmas shifts weren't actually that bad once you were there. The rules relaxed ever so slightly, and while the basics still had to be done, these were the days when you didn't feel as pressured and could sit with the patients a while longer in an effort to make their Christmas slightly more bearable. Hospital is a horrible place to be on any day of the week, but the stereotype of families around a table tucking into turkey and the trimmings makes the draw of home so much stronger.
Sensibly, I talked to my husband before launching myself into another great idea. I needed his full support for this, and as I talked through my plan he barely batted an eyelid. Must be love... My fundraising needed a boost, and there are only so many ways I can ask for money. Aware of the purse-hitting season which is upon us, I didn't want to ask for too much, so we settled on 50p per minute of running on Christmas Day in honour of the NHS Staff and children in hospital with no choice to go home and be with their loved ones. I hoped that a few friends and family wouldn't mind giving me a shiny 50p for the meter (oh, happy memories of running up to my Nana's house to fetch 50p for the meter), but I followed Paul's advice and capped the distance at 8 miles. I thought it was totally unnecessary, but went with it. The Festive Run was launched by a simple Facebook post, which I shared as widely as possible.
I was totally astonished when the donations started coming in within minutes of posting. I needed to go no further than my own page, and the formidable women of the Run Mummy Run online community. What astonished me was that I wasn't being sponsored 50p. Support from family who are afar, and I don't see often enough, was beyond generous. Their messages of encouragement mean more to me than they will ever know. When I left my home town in 1997, I didn't think anyone would notice that I wasn't there anymore. The geographical distance between us can make me feel invisible and removed from the extended family which was the definition of my childhood. These words on a screen somehow draw them closer, they make me feel a part of them.
I checked my emails the next morning, and one after another, JustGiving popped up. Not one or two messages of support with donations to my fundraising for GOSH, but lots. And lots. Some of the names I knew - family and friends. Many names were new to me, and I am glad that these kind people had thought to put keywords into their messages for me to know that they were part of Run Mummy Run, and had read my post on the Facebook group. Not one donation was 50p, they were all pounds. How do I ever communicate to them how grateful I am? How do I ever say thank you? I had got to about £230 so far with the fundraising, which is a fabulous amount to hand over to GOSH, but in three short days these wonderful people have taken the total to over £290. Wow. I am well on my way to my target of £1000.
Having just watched the inspirational Jo Pavey get a respectable third place in the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Award, I know exactly how to say thank you to each and every one of my family, friends, and the Run Mummy Run ladies.
I'll just keep running.
Body Vs Mind, Mind Vs Body
I have been unwell this week, thanks to my gorgeous girls sharing their bugs. I was really annoyed that I couldn't run; last week I had managed to get out three times against the odds and I was hoping that this week would be the same. I shouldn't be surprised though, after spending 10 days cooped up with poorly children coughing and spluttering!
My Long Sunday Run had to be a sensible, steady run today to account for not being completely well, and still carrying an irritating dry cough. It was while I was running today that it occurred to me that my mind and body really, really disagree with each other.
Here's an example of the arguments they usually have:
Head: It is a bit dark to run
Body: I'd quite like to stretch
Head: But it is very cold
Body: Wrapped up I'm OK
Head: But it is very cold AND very dark
Body: C'mon, let's go!
Head: I can't do this...
Body: Follow me, it'll be fine
Head: Oh, this isn't so bad....
Head: You've started too fast, I can't keep this up
Body: Whhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Head: I. Can't. Do. This.
Body: Hahahahaahahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa keep up slow coach!
Head: This. Hurts.
Body: Shut up and keep up
Head: Seriously. I can't.
Body: Go hard or go home, wuss.
Head: I did it!
This morning was different though, and it was quite refreshing to have a different argument between my toddler-esque personalities.
Head: I need to get out. I need to destress. Let's run.
Body: Cough cough wheeze. No.
Head: It is a beautiful day. I need the sun. Let's go.
Body: Cough. No.
Head: It'll help, you might feel better
Body: This isn't as bad as I thought
Head: You're stronger than you thought.
Body: So are you.
So, today's run was a tough 5 miles. I could have done with my lungs functioning a little better, but I'm so proud of myself for going out there and doing it. The younger, care-free me would have phoned in sick for feeling as I did this morning. Maybe it is maturity, maybe it is the steely determination of pulling myself out of bed each morning to get the girls to school on time, maybe it is just because I am so much fitter... but whatever the reason, I am proud of my mind and body for both being strong enough to run. Not just today, but every day I get out there and hit the pavements.
This determination was never more evident than last week, when I was invited out by my fast-paced friend for an impromptu run. I hesitated on taking her up on the offer, because I knew I was going to be really put through my paces. I knew it would hurt, I knew I would have to focus, put my head down and go for it, and I also knew that the post-run high would be worth every second of it.
We set off fast. It was freezing cold, and despite having warmed up jogging down to her house, the speed still took me by surprise. I was struggling to get my breathing to slow from that awful gasping for air like a fish out of water, to the useful deep, slow useful rhythm for optimal performance. My head was screaming no, I could hear myself saying I can't do this, it is too fast. What I love about my friend is that she believes in me, and doesn't let me get away with it. Like a surly Staff Sergeant, she basically told me to put up or shut up - I chose the latter option and concentrated on keeping up.
We flew around the 10k route she had planned. It felt amazing running that fast, it is almost like being invincible. Once my breathing had settled, the pace didn't feel uncomfortable. Apart from one part of the route where I HAD to slow - the cold had hit me and I just couldn't catch my breath - we had a fairly consistent pace, all under 9 minute miles. At one point, I really had to keep my head up because the repeating pattern of the slabs on the path was making me feel dizzy and I thought I might be sick!
I had started my Garmin when I left home, so I hit 10k slightly sooner than my friend, but there was no way I was stopping before her. Her pace was amazingly fast at the end and I slipped behind very slightly but I was determined to keep going. Hitting stop on the watch was a relief, it was finally done, and 'Fastest 10k' flashed up at me. Goodness knows what anyone who could see us thought - two lycra clad women whooping, cheering and cuddling in the middle of the street must be a strange sight! It wasn't until I got home and synced my watch to the PC that I saw my Fastest 5k and Fastest Mile had also been recorded that day. My goal for the next Brooks 10k next year will definitely be sub-50 minutes... who knows with a decent marathon time and continued hard work through the summer I could be aiming for a time that once was a 5k hope.
So, whatever the argument my mind and body have... they always seem to come together in the end. The next part of my learning journey will be to have the self belief that I am strong.
My Long Sunday Run had to be a sensible, steady run today to account for not being completely well, and still carrying an irritating dry cough. It was while I was running today that it occurred to me that my mind and body really, really disagree with each other.
Here's an example of the arguments they usually have:
Head: It is a bit dark to run
Body: I'd quite like to stretch
Head: But it is very cold
Body: Wrapped up I'm OK
Head: But it is very cold AND very dark
Body: C'mon, let's go!
Head: I can't do this...
Body: Follow me, it'll be fine
Head: Oh, this isn't so bad....
Head: You've started too fast, I can't keep this up
Body: Whhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Head: I. Can't. Do. This.
Body: Hahahahaahahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa keep up slow coach!
Head: This. Hurts.
Body: Shut up and keep up
Head: Seriously. I can't.
Body: Go hard or go home, wuss.
Head: I did it!
This morning was different though, and it was quite refreshing to have a different argument between my toddler-esque personalities.
Head: I need to get out. I need to destress. Let's run.
Body: Cough cough wheeze. No.
Head: It is a beautiful day. I need the sun. Let's go.
Body: Cough. No.
Head: It'll help, you might feel better
Body: This isn't as bad as I thought
Head: You're stronger than you thought.
Body: So are you.
So, today's run was a tough 5 miles. I could have done with my lungs functioning a little better, but I'm so proud of myself for going out there and doing it. The younger, care-free me would have phoned in sick for feeling as I did this morning. Maybe it is maturity, maybe it is the steely determination of pulling myself out of bed each morning to get the girls to school on time, maybe it is just because I am so much fitter... but whatever the reason, I am proud of my mind and body for both being strong enough to run. Not just today, but every day I get out there and hit the pavements.
This determination was never more evident than last week, when I was invited out by my fast-paced friend for an impromptu run. I hesitated on taking her up on the offer, because I knew I was going to be really put through my paces. I knew it would hurt, I knew I would have to focus, put my head down and go for it, and I also knew that the post-run high would be worth every second of it.
We set off fast. It was freezing cold, and despite having warmed up jogging down to her house, the speed still took me by surprise. I was struggling to get my breathing to slow from that awful gasping for air like a fish out of water, to the useful deep, slow useful rhythm for optimal performance. My head was screaming no, I could hear myself saying I can't do this, it is too fast. What I love about my friend is that she believes in me, and doesn't let me get away with it. Like a surly Staff Sergeant, she basically told me to put up or shut up - I chose the latter option and concentrated on keeping up.
We flew around the 10k route she had planned. It felt amazing running that fast, it is almost like being invincible. Once my breathing had settled, the pace didn't feel uncomfortable. Apart from one part of the route where I HAD to slow - the cold had hit me and I just couldn't catch my breath - we had a fairly consistent pace, all under 9 minute miles. At one point, I really had to keep my head up because the repeating pattern of the slabs on the path was making me feel dizzy and I thought I might be sick!
I had started my Garmin when I left home, so I hit 10k slightly sooner than my friend, but there was no way I was stopping before her. Her pace was amazingly fast at the end and I slipped behind very slightly but I was determined to keep going. Hitting stop on the watch was a relief, it was finally done, and 'Fastest 10k' flashed up at me. Goodness knows what anyone who could see us thought - two lycra clad women whooping, cheering and cuddling in the middle of the street must be a strange sight! It wasn't until I got home and synced my watch to the PC that I saw my Fastest 5k and Fastest Mile had also been recorded that day. My goal for the next Brooks 10k next year will definitely be sub-50 minutes... who knows with a decent marathon time and continued hard work through the summer I could be aiming for a time that once was a 5k hope.
So, whatever the argument my mind and body have... they always seem to come together in the end. The next part of my learning journey will be to have the self belief that I am strong.
Saturday 29 November 2014
Everybody Hurts
I haven't blogged since the Great South Run, and to be truthful I haven't run much either. I'm sad and annoyed that the running has taken such a big hit, but life seems to have dealt me with a big hit too.
GSR was a huge achievement. I ran it having lost a couple of weeks of crucial training to the ankle injury, my time wasn't bad for a first time attempt at 10 miles and I completed the whole course without stopping. Why it didn't feel like an achievement, I couldn't say. I really hit the wall at 7 miles and struggled to keep going for the final 3 miles, including what I can only describe as a purse-string of pain in my pelvis and back. Had my running buddy not been beside me, I would've stopped. It really dented my confidence, I've doubted my ability to run any further and in turn I've shied away from my usual love of getting out there.
November brought with it an obvious change of the season. I can run in the cold, I can run in the rain. I do not like running in the dark! Paul's hours have been crazy recently too, and I have used just about every excuse under the sun (and the moon!) to not go out.
On November the 10th, my beloved pet cat of 16 years passed away. I knew that when the time came, I would find it hard to say goodbye to him, but I honestly didn't expect the strength of feelings and grief in the days following. I was very attached to him, and he had comforted me through some really tough times. It felt so wrong, and the house very empty without him. The decision to put him to sleep was utterly heartbreaking, and in the end despite it being the final act of kindness, I felt really guilty. He was a real gentleman, he never hurt me or any of the children; he was a very special member of the family who gave us all so much love and happy memories.
The week before my boy cat passed away, I was driving the car with all four children when a motorbike was hit by another car right in front of us. The motorcyclist went through the air and landed a few feet in front of us. Luckily I was driving slowly and easily stopped my car. I got out and attended to the unconscious man, and stayed with him as he came around. We couldn't leave the scene of the collision for some time while I gave my details to the police and the area was made safe for me to move my car. The girls were absolutely amazing; the older girls looked after and reassured the little ones, and stayed safely in the car. They told me later how proud they were of their Mummy helping the man who had bumped his head, and seemed surprisingly unperturbed about that evening's chaos.
It wasn't until life started to get back to normal that I realised how shocked I was by both of these events. I stood at the kitchen sink crying on the Tuesday lunch time and became aware of a noise that I've never heard before. It took a moment for me to realise that the noise was me, and I wasn't just crying but sobbing hard. If you've ever woken yourself up with your own snoring (not me, of course! Ahem...) it was a moment like that. I had surprised myself and at the same time realised how much I was hurting.
The week got easier as it passed, and somehow that one week has turned into almost three weeks. I am yet to get into bed and fall asleep without staring at the ceiling for at least 2 hours. The emotional and physical exhaustion is a daily battle, and the biggest cause for my running mojo hiding somewhere I can't find.
My fabulous running buddy hasn't let me get away with too much. I joined her on the start line of the Brooks 10km in Brighton feeling very fragile. I hadn't eaten or slept for the preceding six days, and was dubious if I should've even been there. It is a lovely course though, and not only did my husband and children cheer me on, I was also supported by my dearest friend and her two children. Their cheers and high fives moved me to tears; I can't begin to explain how uplifting it was to have them there. L and I stormed around the route, both achieving PBs for 10k. It was a good job she was there at the end, as when my Garmin beeped at me that it was a new record, I crumbled into her arms crying once again. I will go back next year and run it again, hopefully in full fitness and in full health.
We ran together again on a very wet Sunday afternoon, and despite the downpour, it was a really good run. We laughed, I cried a bit, and we laughed some more. We splashed through puddles and screamed as the cold water hit our legs, and I think there may have been aeroplane arms too... If M&S made Long Sunday Runs, this would be one of them!
So, the next challenge I face is the Crowborough 10k tomorrow. The race description says it is 'slightly undulating'. The online reviews say it is the toughest 10k in Sussex, with a stream to run through at the bottom of the course. For the first time in almost three weeks, I feel as though I have something to look forward to. This will be the day where I get back to being a runner.
GSR was a huge achievement. I ran it having lost a couple of weeks of crucial training to the ankle injury, my time wasn't bad for a first time attempt at 10 miles and I completed the whole course without stopping. Why it didn't feel like an achievement, I couldn't say. I really hit the wall at 7 miles and struggled to keep going for the final 3 miles, including what I can only describe as a purse-string of pain in my pelvis and back. Had my running buddy not been beside me, I would've stopped. It really dented my confidence, I've doubted my ability to run any further and in turn I've shied away from my usual love of getting out there.
November brought with it an obvious change of the season. I can run in the cold, I can run in the rain. I do not like running in the dark! Paul's hours have been crazy recently too, and I have used just about every excuse under the sun (and the moon!) to not go out.
On November the 10th, my beloved pet cat of 16 years passed away. I knew that when the time came, I would find it hard to say goodbye to him, but I honestly didn't expect the strength of feelings and grief in the days following. I was very attached to him, and he had comforted me through some really tough times. It felt so wrong, and the house very empty without him. The decision to put him to sleep was utterly heartbreaking, and in the end despite it being the final act of kindness, I felt really guilty. He was a real gentleman, he never hurt me or any of the children; he was a very special member of the family who gave us all so much love and happy memories.
The week before my boy cat passed away, I was driving the car with all four children when a motorbike was hit by another car right in front of us. The motorcyclist went through the air and landed a few feet in front of us. Luckily I was driving slowly and easily stopped my car. I got out and attended to the unconscious man, and stayed with him as he came around. We couldn't leave the scene of the collision for some time while I gave my details to the police and the area was made safe for me to move my car. The girls were absolutely amazing; the older girls looked after and reassured the little ones, and stayed safely in the car. They told me later how proud they were of their Mummy helping the man who had bumped his head, and seemed surprisingly unperturbed about that evening's chaos.
It wasn't until life started to get back to normal that I realised how shocked I was by both of these events. I stood at the kitchen sink crying on the Tuesday lunch time and became aware of a noise that I've never heard before. It took a moment for me to realise that the noise was me, and I wasn't just crying but sobbing hard. If you've ever woken yourself up with your own snoring (not me, of course! Ahem...) it was a moment like that. I had surprised myself and at the same time realised how much I was hurting.
The week got easier as it passed, and somehow that one week has turned into almost three weeks. I am yet to get into bed and fall asleep without staring at the ceiling for at least 2 hours. The emotional and physical exhaustion is a daily battle, and the biggest cause for my running mojo hiding somewhere I can't find.
My fabulous running buddy hasn't let me get away with too much. I joined her on the start line of the Brooks 10km in Brighton feeling very fragile. I hadn't eaten or slept for the preceding six days, and was dubious if I should've even been there. It is a lovely course though, and not only did my husband and children cheer me on, I was also supported by my dearest friend and her two children. Their cheers and high fives moved me to tears; I can't begin to explain how uplifting it was to have them there. L and I stormed around the route, both achieving PBs for 10k. It was a good job she was there at the end, as when my Garmin beeped at me that it was a new record, I crumbled into her arms crying once again. I will go back next year and run it again, hopefully in full fitness and in full health.
We ran together again on a very wet Sunday afternoon, and despite the downpour, it was a really good run. We laughed, I cried a bit, and we laughed some more. We splashed through puddles and screamed as the cold water hit our legs, and I think there may have been aeroplane arms too... If M&S made Long Sunday Runs, this would be one of them!
So, the next challenge I face is the Crowborough 10k tomorrow. The race description says it is 'slightly undulating'. The online reviews say it is the toughest 10k in Sussex, with a stream to run through at the bottom of the course. For the first time in almost three weeks, I feel as though I have something to look forward to. This will be the day where I get back to being a runner.
Wednesday 29 October 2014
Great South Run
With the arrival of my parents on Saturday afternoon, running kit laid out with race number firmly attached, warm clothes and snacks packed, I was ready for Great South Run.
Except I didn't feel prepared at all.
I had spent the whole day feeling very nervous and jittery. Writing my blog had helped, but nothing could take away the niggling doubt of being not ready. The Boss had offered words of both support and comfort; normally he can reassure me that what I've done is enough but it didn't work. My husband's efforts to put my mind at rest couldn't shift the unease, and the girls chanting 'You're not nervous, you're excited' made me smile and so I tried to mask my true feelings as best I could.
I went to bed expecting to lay awake fretting, but I think I must've exhausted myself worrying and pacing. I remembered The Boss' words of not worrying about sleep, but just rest. Not worrying (not a skill I possess!) about getting to sleep was the perfect remedy, and I drifted off into a restful slumber. Our toddler woke at 2:30am, and after settling her I laid awake and reassured myself that just resting was OK. Once again, sleep overcame me and I woke at 5am feeling rested. The clocks had gone back so I wasn't concerned by the early hour.
Husband soon rose after me, and was keen to make sure he was up and ready. All of the preparation paid off and we were all out of the door and in the car by 7am. All of the nervous anxiety had left me and I felt calm. Unprepared but calm. Excitement had replaced the nerves, and I allowed myself to look forward to a big, televised event.
We easily got to Gunwharf Quays and parked the car in a corner spot which would allow me to get changed out of inevitably wet running kit later in the day. I was not the only runner arriving early; several others were milling around, making phonecalls to arrange meeting points and starting the pre-race empty-your-bladder-as-many-times-as-possible ritual. The balance between being well hydrated and quelling the fear of needing to pee while running is a delicate one, and one I am yet to perfect.
We walked from the car park to the area surrounding the start line, with brightly coloured charity tents, big screens and the huge white canopied tent provided by Bupa for free post-race massages. I couldn't help but start to feel nervous again as we stood waiting, and I thought about doing the walk we'd just had after the run. It felt like it was a really long way back...
The Run Mummy Run girls had planned a meet up at the Bupa tent, and some of them easily spotted by the funky RMR compression socks and logo tops. I would never normally plan to meet with a group who were based online, but these ladies have provided a constant source of knowledge, experience and reassurance.The anecdotes and tips shared within the group gave them a sense of community that extends beyond the computer screen. However, it is slightly odd already knowing someone's name, and a familiarity in their face before you've even met them! The chat was easy, and I happily posed for a picture with them. I was overly aware that L and my other friend, A, were not yet there and I felt that unwelcome bubble of worry rising within me. My phone was already beginning to lose battery life, and I wanted to preserve as much of it as possible to record the ten mile route on my RunKeeper app, so I tried to stop myself from pinging off a million texts to check on their whereabouts.
Finally L popped up out of nowhere, and it was time to brave the cold in my minimal running gear, and join our wave of fellow runners to await our call to the start line. This had featured in so many of my anxiety dreams, and yet it was probably one of the easiest parts of the day. My family had gone to their planned points on the route, and we were joined at the rails by L's boys, husband and mum. They were a very welcome distraction from the cold, and very soon we were walking up to the start line, surrounded by thousands of other runners. We were encouraged by a Mr Motivator style guru to participate in an aerobics style warm up. Call me grouchy, but I would've preferred warming up by getting running rather than trying to prance around zumba-style trying to avoid punching my neighbour in the face. I also have a theory that I do not partake in aerobic style exercise on a normal day, and the five minutes before attempting to run for ten miles is not the time to start. I was so glad when that was over, and eventually I crossed the start line with a hand on my Garmin watch, ready to record. L was at my side, and I was glad she was there reminding me to hang back and not start the race attempting to emanate Linford Christie.
I love the start of the race. I learnt at my very first race, Race for Life 5k, not to be cocky and to fly off using all of my energy in the first 100 meters. Instead I like to look around me, to take in the atmosphere and look at all of the people. Every single runner there had a reason for their run, and many were running for a charity. I looked for others in Great Ormond Street vests, but couldn't see another. GOSH were not attending this race, and so there were no post run treats for GOSH runners as there were for others. I felt a little abandoned by them; a similar sense of disappointment I've had before. I can only hope that at the bigger events where they have volunteers as cheer teams along the routes that I begin to feel that my efforts are recognised and rewarded, as selfish as that probably sounds.
The ten mile route passed by in a blur. It was hard, hard work and I was so glad that L was by my side. For the first time ever, in all of the runs we have completed together, L had a shoelace which simply refused to stay done up. The first time I slowed to an almost stop while she retied it, but the second and third time the crowd I was running in carried me forward, and impressively L managed to catch up each time.
Mile seven hit hard, and I had to get my head down and watch my feet moving. I repeated the RMR mantra 'Dream, Believe, Achieve' over and over in my mind, trying to convince myself that my feet were still moving and it was just my mind that had given up, not my body. I realised that the reason I had been so nervous, and felt so unprepared was simply because I wasn't as prepared as I had planned or wanted to be. The time out with an injured ankle had made a big dent in my training plan. The strength and speed that L now had was a tribute to her unrelentless commitment to her training. I didn't have that and I felt guilty, and as though I had let myself down. Emotion overcame me, and it was all I could do to swallow back the tears, and try to focus again. The crowd of supporters along the route were great; plenty of children had extended their hands in the hope of a high-5 from the runners, and they were a welcome distraction from the self doubt and negativity flooding through me.
Having my family dotted around the route gave me a much needed boost. There's nothing quite like the unconditional love they give, and as they shouted at me running past I was reminded of where the inspiration for all of this bonkers running came from. The people standing near the girls were buoyed by their energy and excitement, and joined in the cheering. I could hear my husband's voice louder than anyone else's. It wasn't that he was any louder, but it was a bit like a radio being tuned in and the distorted noise of the crowds disappeared behind his. He believed that I could do this, now I had to believe too.
We had been warned about how hard the last two miles were. GSR last year was marred by horizontal rain and gale force winds, the exposed seafront finish was the nemesis of many runners, including the elite. As we turned the corner onto the seafront, I could hear several people moaning about how bad the wind was again this year. For L and I, it was a welcome relief from the comparatively airless built up town centre, and much more like home turf. I raised my arms into my fun, aeroplane style stance and allowed the cool air to flow over me. As the negative thoughts left me, a new problem occurred. My pelvis and hips suddenly tightened, almost like a drawstring being pulled and I wasn't quite sure how to move my legs. Strangely, this physical pain was easier to overcome than the mental pain and I knew I had to refuse to give up at this point.
Once again, I heard my name being called and could see my family waving at me, telling me that I was amazing and I was nearly there. The noise of the samba band was getting closer which meant that so was the finish line. Keeping an eye on my Garmin, I could see the miles ticking away and now I knew I WAS going to do this. That finish line was mine.
With a few hundred yards to go, I searched for L's hand to hold as we crossed. Her strength and determination showed again as she shouted at me to sprint. I could feel her pulling forward and increasing her pace as she went for it. I have no idea where it came from, but I urged my legs to go as fast as they possibly could and join her in the sprint to the end. I even remembered to stop my Garmin as we went over the finish line, where the matting recorded our time from the chip secured to our shoes.
Despite wanting to stop and keel over, the marshalls shooed us on and away from the finish line, through another line of high-vis vests, ready to remove the chips from our feet. I pulled my phone out of my belt and just managed to stop /save my RunKeeper data before the battery died. As we came through the corridor created by barriers to separate the runners from spectators, I felt uneasy looking at hundreds of people rammed up against them with searching eyes. I spotted my parents with E, and went over to give her a kiss. I finally fell apart as she said "I proud you, Mummy". I kissed her through the gap and whispered to her that it was all for her... but I had to walk away to protect her from seeing Mummy with tears rolling down her face.
I collected my finisher's bag and pulled out my space blanket, too aware of the cold I was already beginning to feel. I had lost L in the crowd, and so sat in the field to stretch and to consider my next move. Without my phone I couldn't contact my family to meet them, and my mind consumed by the spasms in my back and hips I struggled to remember where they had said they would wait.
I sat on the grass alone, waiting for this new state of altered consciousness to pass, aware that I was wet and cold. My drink had gone, and I wasn't quite sure what to do next. I consoled myself by pulling the medal out of my bag, and had a moment of solitary celebration. Looking around me, I realised that the Bupa tent was infront of me but I was on the wrong side of it. Struggling to pull myself up, I hobbled past the tent and was welcomed by the sight of my family standing together, with my eldest daughter aloft on her Daddy's shoulders, eyes searching for her Mummy in the mass of shiny silver coated runners, all trying to reunite with their supporters.
They saw me, and the girls came running into my arms screaming 'You did it Mummy, you did it!!!' As quickly as it had started, it was over and my time of 1 hour 38 minutes 05 seconds was well under my 1 hour 50 minute predicted time.
The girls were right. I did it.
109.96 miles so far
890.04 to go!
Please sponsor me using JustGiving
Or text VSRC78 and amount to 70070
Thank you.
Except I didn't feel prepared at all.
I had spent the whole day feeling very nervous and jittery. Writing my blog had helped, but nothing could take away the niggling doubt of being not ready. The Boss had offered words of both support and comfort; normally he can reassure me that what I've done is enough but it didn't work. My husband's efforts to put my mind at rest couldn't shift the unease, and the girls chanting 'You're not nervous, you're excited' made me smile and so I tried to mask my true feelings as best I could.
I went to bed expecting to lay awake fretting, but I think I must've exhausted myself worrying and pacing. I remembered The Boss' words of not worrying about sleep, but just rest. Not worrying (not a skill I possess!) about getting to sleep was the perfect remedy, and I drifted off into a restful slumber. Our toddler woke at 2:30am, and after settling her I laid awake and reassured myself that just resting was OK. Once again, sleep overcame me and I woke at 5am feeling rested. The clocks had gone back so I wasn't concerned by the early hour.
Husband soon rose after me, and was keen to make sure he was up and ready. All of the preparation paid off and we were all out of the door and in the car by 7am. All of the nervous anxiety had left me and I felt calm. Unprepared but calm. Excitement had replaced the nerves, and I allowed myself to look forward to a big, televised event.
We easily got to Gunwharf Quays and parked the car in a corner spot which would allow me to get changed out of inevitably wet running kit later in the day. I was not the only runner arriving early; several others were milling around, making phonecalls to arrange meeting points and starting the pre-race empty-your-bladder-as-many-times-as-possible ritual. The balance between being well hydrated and quelling the fear of needing to pee while running is a delicate one, and one I am yet to perfect.
We walked from the car park to the area surrounding the start line, with brightly coloured charity tents, big screens and the huge white canopied tent provided by Bupa for free post-race massages. I couldn't help but start to feel nervous again as we stood waiting, and I thought about doing the walk we'd just had after the run. It felt like it was a really long way back...
The Run Mummy Run girls had planned a meet up at the Bupa tent, and some of them easily spotted by the funky RMR compression socks and logo tops. I would never normally plan to meet with a group who were based online, but these ladies have provided a constant source of knowledge, experience and reassurance.The anecdotes and tips shared within the group gave them a sense of community that extends beyond the computer screen. However, it is slightly odd already knowing someone's name, and a familiarity in their face before you've even met them! The chat was easy, and I happily posed for a picture with them. I was overly aware that L and my other friend, A, were not yet there and I felt that unwelcome bubble of worry rising within me. My phone was already beginning to lose battery life, and I wanted to preserve as much of it as possible to record the ten mile route on my RunKeeper app, so I tried to stop myself from pinging off a million texts to check on their whereabouts.
Finally L popped up out of nowhere, and it was time to brave the cold in my minimal running gear, and join our wave of fellow runners to await our call to the start line. This had featured in so many of my anxiety dreams, and yet it was probably one of the easiest parts of the day. My family had gone to their planned points on the route, and we were joined at the rails by L's boys, husband and mum. They were a very welcome distraction from the cold, and very soon we were walking up to the start line, surrounded by thousands of other runners. We were encouraged by a Mr Motivator style guru to participate in an aerobics style warm up. Call me grouchy, but I would've preferred warming up by getting running rather than trying to prance around zumba-style trying to avoid punching my neighbour in the face. I also have a theory that I do not partake in aerobic style exercise on a normal day, and the five minutes before attempting to run for ten miles is not the time to start. I was so glad when that was over, and eventually I crossed the start line with a hand on my Garmin watch, ready to record. L was at my side, and I was glad she was there reminding me to hang back and not start the race attempting to emanate Linford Christie.
I love the start of the race. I learnt at my very first race, Race for Life 5k, not to be cocky and to fly off using all of my energy in the first 100 meters. Instead I like to look around me, to take in the atmosphere and look at all of the people. Every single runner there had a reason for their run, and many were running for a charity. I looked for others in Great Ormond Street vests, but couldn't see another. GOSH were not attending this race, and so there were no post run treats for GOSH runners as there were for others. I felt a little abandoned by them; a similar sense of disappointment I've had before. I can only hope that at the bigger events where they have volunteers as cheer teams along the routes that I begin to feel that my efforts are recognised and rewarded, as selfish as that probably sounds.
The ten mile route passed by in a blur. It was hard, hard work and I was so glad that L was by my side. For the first time ever, in all of the runs we have completed together, L had a shoelace which simply refused to stay done up. The first time I slowed to an almost stop while she retied it, but the second and third time the crowd I was running in carried me forward, and impressively L managed to catch up each time.
Mile seven hit hard, and I had to get my head down and watch my feet moving. I repeated the RMR mantra 'Dream, Believe, Achieve' over and over in my mind, trying to convince myself that my feet were still moving and it was just my mind that had given up, not my body. I realised that the reason I had been so nervous, and felt so unprepared was simply because I wasn't as prepared as I had planned or wanted to be. The time out with an injured ankle had made a big dent in my training plan. The strength and speed that L now had was a tribute to her unrelentless commitment to her training. I didn't have that and I felt guilty, and as though I had let myself down. Emotion overcame me, and it was all I could do to swallow back the tears, and try to focus again. The crowd of supporters along the route were great; plenty of children had extended their hands in the hope of a high-5 from the runners, and they were a welcome distraction from the self doubt and negativity flooding through me.
Having my family dotted around the route gave me a much needed boost. There's nothing quite like the unconditional love they give, and as they shouted at me running past I was reminded of where the inspiration for all of this bonkers running came from. The people standing near the girls were buoyed by their energy and excitement, and joined in the cheering. I could hear my husband's voice louder than anyone else's. It wasn't that he was any louder, but it was a bit like a radio being tuned in and the distorted noise of the crowds disappeared behind his. He believed that I could do this, now I had to believe too.
We had been warned about how hard the last two miles were. GSR last year was marred by horizontal rain and gale force winds, the exposed seafront finish was the nemesis of many runners, including the elite. As we turned the corner onto the seafront, I could hear several people moaning about how bad the wind was again this year. For L and I, it was a welcome relief from the comparatively airless built up town centre, and much more like home turf. I raised my arms into my fun, aeroplane style stance and allowed the cool air to flow over me. As the negative thoughts left me, a new problem occurred. My pelvis and hips suddenly tightened, almost like a drawstring being pulled and I wasn't quite sure how to move my legs. Strangely, this physical pain was easier to overcome than the mental pain and I knew I had to refuse to give up at this point.
Once again, I heard my name being called and could see my family waving at me, telling me that I was amazing and I was nearly there. The noise of the samba band was getting closer which meant that so was the finish line. Keeping an eye on my Garmin, I could see the miles ticking away and now I knew I WAS going to do this. That finish line was mine.
With a few hundred yards to go, I searched for L's hand to hold as we crossed. Her strength and determination showed again as she shouted at me to sprint. I could feel her pulling forward and increasing her pace as she went for it. I have no idea where it came from, but I urged my legs to go as fast as they possibly could and join her in the sprint to the end. I even remembered to stop my Garmin as we went over the finish line, where the matting recorded our time from the chip secured to our shoes.
Despite wanting to stop and keel over, the marshalls shooed us on and away from the finish line, through another line of high-vis vests, ready to remove the chips from our feet. I pulled my phone out of my belt and just managed to stop /save my RunKeeper data before the battery died. As we came through the corridor created by barriers to separate the runners from spectators, I felt uneasy looking at hundreds of people rammed up against them with searching eyes. I spotted my parents with E, and went over to give her a kiss. I finally fell apart as she said "I proud you, Mummy". I kissed her through the gap and whispered to her that it was all for her... but I had to walk away to protect her from seeing Mummy with tears rolling down her face.
I collected my finisher's bag and pulled out my space blanket, too aware of the cold I was already beginning to feel. I had lost L in the crowd, and so sat in the field to stretch and to consider my next move. Without my phone I couldn't contact my family to meet them, and my mind consumed by the spasms in my back and hips I struggled to remember where they had said they would wait.
I sat on the grass alone, waiting for this new state of altered consciousness to pass, aware that I was wet and cold. My drink had gone, and I wasn't quite sure what to do next. I consoled myself by pulling the medal out of my bag, and had a moment of solitary celebration. Looking around me, I realised that the Bupa tent was infront of me but I was on the wrong side of it. Struggling to pull myself up, I hobbled past the tent and was welcomed by the sight of my family standing together, with my eldest daughter aloft on her Daddy's shoulders, eyes searching for her Mummy in the mass of shiny silver coated runners, all trying to reunite with their supporters.
They saw me, and the girls came running into my arms screaming 'You did it Mummy, you did it!!!' As quickly as it had started, it was over and my time of 1 hour 38 minutes 05 seconds was well under my 1 hour 50 minute predicted time.
The girls were right. I did it.
109.96 miles so far
890.04 to go!
Please sponsor me using JustGiving
Or text VSRC78 and amount to 70070
Thank you.
Saturday 25 October 2014
The night before the big GREAT SOUTH RUN!
So, here it is. The night before the BIG ONE!
I have been so, so nervous today and seeking solace in the quiet of The Boss' shop led to an encounter with a guy who looked so normal, and yet he had done something incredible and abnormal! His 94 marathons put my 10 mile run tomorrow into perspective. Listening to him recount just one or two tales from his 94 marathons was amusing and calming at the same time. The advice was simple - relax and enjoy. Race plan? Turn up. Smile. Start steady and wave at the TV cameras.
Preparing for tomorrow has been exhausting, simply because it has been marred by anxiety. I can't quite pinpoint the cause of the nerves. I think it is the lack of control over the sequence of events prior to the start of the run. Portsmouth can be a pain to get into on the best of days, but with an anticipated 25,000 people arriving tomorrow morning, I want to ensure that we are there in good time to find where I need to be, meet up with my friends and the RMR group, make sure my chip timing is on my shoe properly (honestly, this one little piece of card has been the source of many anxiety dreams!!), and try to enjoy the atmosphere of such a massive event.
The best news is that I am over 10% of my overall target for fundraising. My amazing extended family, many of whom are 300+ miles away have dug deep into their pockets and sponsored me. Some of them who I rarely see have told me that they are proud of me. Proud. That brings tears to my eyes... I left my home town 17 years ago this month, and I honestly didn't think that anyone would notice that I wasn't there any more.
One of my husband's colleagues has had an incredible running journey. She started running a year ago, has lost half her body weight and in the process has raised almost £2000 for the Stroke Association. She is a real inspiration - her grit and determination to succeed is evident in her 'new' body and commitment to her training despite injury. It was reassuring that she too had gone to the quiet of The Boss' place the day before the big one. It kind of made it OK that I had done the same.
One of the brilliant things about being part of an online community, the running club Run Mummy Run, is that it is easy to normalise the fears I am experiencing this evening. I couldn't count how many posts there are today about Great South Run, and all of them are reflective of the worries going through my my mind. These are an incredibly supportive group of women; they provide reassurance and solutions without judgement or trivialising genuine concerns. Next weekend there will be another wave of 'Oh my goodness tomorrow is the big one...' posts, and the ladies who have experienced GSR will share their thoughts, what helped and what didn't. Things to do, things to avoid - just as the ladies who ran Birmingham Half Marathon last weekend have helped us. The cycle provides a warm, safe environment without any 'I told you so' or negativity. If any of the RMR ladies are reading this - thank you for the support!
My husband has been the star of the show today. Not only has he cleaned the house from top to bottom so that I don't worry about it, he has taken over all parenting duties and put up with me nervously pacing and making endless lists. I've been totally free to come and go as I please, while he takes the reins of the household including making my parents welcome. They are staying with us and coming to support and assist with the children tomorrow. They probably don't think they are doing anything extraordinary, but lets face it; it takes special people to navigate the awful M25 on a regular basis to be by my side when I need them most.
All that is left to do now is to convince my two year old that yes, you do want to sleep and then try to sleep myself. I am hoping for a few hours of uninterrupted snoozing. Well, I can at least hope!
Wish me luck!
Sponsor me online at JustGiving or text VSRC78 and amount to 70070... thank you!
I have been so, so nervous today and seeking solace in the quiet of The Boss' shop led to an encounter with a guy who looked so normal, and yet he had done something incredible and abnormal! His 94 marathons put my 10 mile run tomorrow into perspective. Listening to him recount just one or two tales from his 94 marathons was amusing and calming at the same time. The advice was simple - relax and enjoy. Race plan? Turn up. Smile. Start steady and wave at the TV cameras.
Preparing for tomorrow has been exhausting, simply because it has been marred by anxiety. I can't quite pinpoint the cause of the nerves. I think it is the lack of control over the sequence of events prior to the start of the run. Portsmouth can be a pain to get into on the best of days, but with an anticipated 25,000 people arriving tomorrow morning, I want to ensure that we are there in good time to find where I need to be, meet up with my friends and the RMR group, make sure my chip timing is on my shoe properly (honestly, this one little piece of card has been the source of many anxiety dreams!!), and try to enjoy the atmosphere of such a massive event.
The best news is that I am over 10% of my overall target for fundraising. My amazing extended family, many of whom are 300+ miles away have dug deep into their pockets and sponsored me. Some of them who I rarely see have told me that they are proud of me. Proud. That brings tears to my eyes... I left my home town 17 years ago this month, and I honestly didn't think that anyone would notice that I wasn't there any more.
One of my husband's colleagues has had an incredible running journey. She started running a year ago, has lost half her body weight and in the process has raised almost £2000 for the Stroke Association. She is a real inspiration - her grit and determination to succeed is evident in her 'new' body and commitment to her training despite injury. It was reassuring that she too had gone to the quiet of The Boss' place the day before the big one. It kind of made it OK that I had done the same.
One of the brilliant things about being part of an online community, the running club Run Mummy Run, is that it is easy to normalise the fears I am experiencing this evening. I couldn't count how many posts there are today about Great South Run, and all of them are reflective of the worries going through my my mind. These are an incredibly supportive group of women; they provide reassurance and solutions without judgement or trivialising genuine concerns. Next weekend there will be another wave of 'Oh my goodness tomorrow is the big one...' posts, and the ladies who have experienced GSR will share their thoughts, what helped and what didn't. Things to do, things to avoid - just as the ladies who ran Birmingham Half Marathon last weekend have helped us. The cycle provides a warm, safe environment without any 'I told you so' or negativity. If any of the RMR ladies are reading this - thank you for the support!
My husband has been the star of the show today. Not only has he cleaned the house from top to bottom so that I don't worry about it, he has taken over all parenting duties and put up with me nervously pacing and making endless lists. I've been totally free to come and go as I please, while he takes the reins of the household including making my parents welcome. They are staying with us and coming to support and assist with the children tomorrow. They probably don't think they are doing anything extraordinary, but lets face it; it takes special people to navigate the awful M25 on a regular basis to be by my side when I need them most.
All that is left to do now is to convince my two year old that yes, you do want to sleep and then try to sleep myself. I am hoping for a few hours of uninterrupted snoozing. Well, I can at least hope!
Wish me luck!
Sponsor me online at JustGiving or text VSRC78 and amount to 70070... thank you!
99.83 Miles so far
900.17 to go
900.17 to go
Thursday 23 October 2014
Invisible disability and value
Just recently, we have had a big decision to make - which High School to chose for our eldest daughter, who will be in Year 7 next year. Visiting several schools, looking at their resources and listening to their sales patter has reminded me about how people 'see' E.
If you walked passed us in the street, or saw E engaged in her education, or saw her playing at home with her younger sister, you would be forgiven for assuming that she was no different to any other 6 year old you have met. Listen to her speaking and your attention would be drawn to a difference. Play with her or try and work with her and you would begin to see her disability.
The different approaches to SEN in High Schools and the language they attach to children (or should they be students after Year 6?) with SENs, or the provisions they have for them intrigue me. Rooms set aside for inclusion mystify me; surely by removing a child from a class gives a wonderful oxymoron: an inclusion room for those excluded from others. A Motivation Unit where the SEN Team is based; I couldn't help but feel I could use a motivation unit in my life! Who doesn't?
Worst of all was the prospectus of a new academy being built in the town. My heart sank and my anger rose as I read the words "no provision for people with SEND". I can't believe that this is even allowed, and I certainly would not be sending any of my daughters (even if we didn't have the personal experience of E within our family) where any one group of people could so openly be excluded. E definitely has trouble with communicating and understanding, but she is still a valuable member of our family. We wouldn't be who we are without her. By excluding this group of people from their school, they are missing out on an opportunity. Open your eyes and heart and you will be enriched by the company of my girl. She has taught me more about compassion, patience and care than I EVER learnt at school or University.
I listened to my friend's 5 year old reading in the library this week. That afternoon, after much gentle coercion I listened to E read. Before you even get a book out, a process, a routine or a ritual must be followed to enable E to engage in a task. This doesn't happen so much in school time, but arguably the institution of education instils routine from a very young age. So we settle onto the sofa, and again another routine has to be followed. I start a sentence, E whispers some of the words until eventually her words dilute mine and I can become the listener, not the reader. Another part of her routine involves certain noises she makes, an unusual laugh or more often tears of frustrating fear. Of course, my friend's daughter followed a process that I have indeed been through with E's elder siblings - you know, the usual argument of asking to listen to you read, no you need to read first, read to me, no pudding after dinner without reading first.. the normal parent / child argument. These battles frustrate us all but oh, how I wish I could have a 'normal' parent / child argument with E.
While it isn't always healthy to draw comparison between children, it certainly isn't something that I can avoid. I listened to E read with a bit of an heavy heart that afternoon. To hear her stumble over the most simple words time and again is not only heartbreaking but also frustrating. These past few weeks haven't been quite as bad. Sometimes we see her lovely sense of humour, like sunshine peeking through the clouds, as she giggles at her mistakes. I wish that teaching E how to love was enough to get her through each day. As we have looked at schools, as we listen at parent's evening in her Year 2 SATs year, and as we chose a Junior School for her, we are made aware once again of the tick box requirements of OFSTED. We are told that she 'did not meet the standard required' in her phonics test and will need to resit it in the summer term. The comparison is already made for us by the powers that be who decide what level her learning should be assessed at by the end of this academic year. Of course, they don't look at the progress she has made, or the starting point, or the dedication shown by the SENCo at her school. Just which box she fits. With a complex, disordered learning disability like E's, she doesn't fit into any one box. That makes teaching her difficult, it makes parenting her challenging.
If the suit who devised these assessments would ever like to cast his shadow onto my doorstep, I can show him the one box E does fit into. It is the one place she can be every part of who she is; scared, frustrated, happy, struggling, progressing, learning... everything. That one place is home; the one place I can guarantee she will be enveloped in love and acceptance.
If you walked passed us in the street, or saw E engaged in her education, or saw her playing at home with her younger sister, you would be forgiven for assuming that she was no different to any other 6 year old you have met. Listen to her speaking and your attention would be drawn to a difference. Play with her or try and work with her and you would begin to see her disability.
The different approaches to SEN in High Schools and the language they attach to children (or should they be students after Year 6?) with SENs, or the provisions they have for them intrigue me. Rooms set aside for inclusion mystify me; surely by removing a child from a class gives a wonderful oxymoron: an inclusion room for those excluded from others. A Motivation Unit where the SEN Team is based; I couldn't help but feel I could use a motivation unit in my life! Who doesn't?
Worst of all was the prospectus of a new academy being built in the town. My heart sank and my anger rose as I read the words "no provision for people with SEND". I can't believe that this is even allowed, and I certainly would not be sending any of my daughters (even if we didn't have the personal experience of E within our family) where any one group of people could so openly be excluded. E definitely has trouble with communicating and understanding, but she is still a valuable member of our family. We wouldn't be who we are without her. By excluding this group of people from their school, they are missing out on an opportunity. Open your eyes and heart and you will be enriched by the company of my girl. She has taught me more about compassion, patience and care than I EVER learnt at school or University.
I listened to my friend's 5 year old reading in the library this week. That afternoon, after much gentle coercion I listened to E read. Before you even get a book out, a process, a routine or a ritual must be followed to enable E to engage in a task. This doesn't happen so much in school time, but arguably the institution of education instils routine from a very young age. So we settle onto the sofa, and again another routine has to be followed. I start a sentence, E whispers some of the words until eventually her words dilute mine and I can become the listener, not the reader. Another part of her routine involves certain noises she makes, an unusual laugh or more often tears of frustrating fear. Of course, my friend's daughter followed a process that I have indeed been through with E's elder siblings - you know, the usual argument of asking to listen to you read, no you need to read first, read to me, no pudding after dinner without reading first.. the normal parent / child argument. These battles frustrate us all but oh, how I wish I could have a 'normal' parent / child argument with E.
While it isn't always healthy to draw comparison between children, it certainly isn't something that I can avoid. I listened to E read with a bit of an heavy heart that afternoon. To hear her stumble over the most simple words time and again is not only heartbreaking but also frustrating. These past few weeks haven't been quite as bad. Sometimes we see her lovely sense of humour, like sunshine peeking through the clouds, as she giggles at her mistakes. I wish that teaching E how to love was enough to get her through each day. As we have looked at schools, as we listen at parent's evening in her Year 2 SATs year, and as we chose a Junior School for her, we are made aware once again of the tick box requirements of OFSTED. We are told that she 'did not meet the standard required' in her phonics test and will need to resit it in the summer term. The comparison is already made for us by the powers that be who decide what level her learning should be assessed at by the end of this academic year. Of course, they don't look at the progress she has made, or the starting point, or the dedication shown by the SENCo at her school. Just which box she fits. With a complex, disordered learning disability like E's, she doesn't fit into any one box. That makes teaching her difficult, it makes parenting her challenging.
If the suit who devised these assessments would ever like to cast his shadow onto my doorstep, I can show him the one box E does fit into. It is the one place she can be every part of who she is; scared, frustrated, happy, struggling, progressing, learning... everything. That one place is home; the one place I can guarantee she will be enveloped in love and acceptance.
Saturday 18 October 2014
How to sponsor me
Just in case you'd like to sponsor my 1000 Mile Running Challenge, here is how...
Just Giving:
Vicki's Just Giving Page
Text:
VSRC78 to 70070 to donate £5
Just Giving:
Vicki's Just Giving Page
Text:
VSRC78 to 70070 to donate £5
THANK YOU!
GSR is approaching... time to plan big!
Great South Run is a mere 8 days away, and despite feeling ready for the big day I don't entirely feel prepared. My last long run of the training plan last weekend, 8.2 miles, was hard work. The difference between getting out four times a week and getting out as and when I can has been a HUGE lesson. I have definitely dropped form, and with this comes big mental blocks of 'I can't do this'. This feeling wasn't so evident while I was with L, she really keeps me going, but I am concerned that the negativity is going to hit me during the race - both in my head and in my legs.
GSR has in previous years, been blighted by bad weather, the wind (not from the runners!) has been a challenge - especially considering the coastal setting. With this in mind, my race plan is simple. To steal Nike's captioning... Just Do It!
After a week or two of gentle recovery running, my intention is to get back on it. My next big run is Brighton Half Marathon in February. I've also registered for the Brooks Brighton 10k in November, but I feel confident with this distance and the Half Marathon training will account for this. There are several training plans available online which I have looked at, but they all seem so impersonal.
I'll have to openly admit to being a bit fickle. I have some brilliant ideas at times (well, I think they are), I fling myself at it 100% but get bored quickly and stop. I made tiaras for a while, got quite a few bridal orders and was attending plenty of wedding fayres and getting to know a few people in the industry. I'm not sure if it was too easy, too hard or what but I quit fairly early on.
Knowing my tendency for flamboyancy, I approached running with caution, and at times I have wondered if it is just going to be another one of 'those' projects. The blog, my Facebook Page, my family & friends' support, along with encouragement from The Boss seem to be preventing that happening. I am absolutely committed to completing the 1000 Miles not only to the best of my abilities, but also safely. I wanted to put that out there, publicly, to make sure I don't quit... a bit like an insurance policy.
Running safely has to be a priority for me. In just a few months, I have already experienced injury and I am keen to stay as injury free as possible. The other 'safely' I need to consider is fuelling my runs. I'm a picky eater, and left to my own devices without children to cook for, I would live on Dairy Milk, crisps and full fat Coca-Cola. Confessing this to The Boss resulted in raised eyebrows! I am one of those 'lucky' people who has never had to give much consideration to what I eat, so I am in unfamiliar territory now thinking about calories and making sure my daily intake is not only enough, but also replaces the calories I am burning on long runs (more dairy milk for me hahaha!).
So, it is here in black and white. I promise I will fuel my running properly, look after myself, and listen to what The Boss is telling me. I can't promise to always do as I am told, but hey. Life would be boring without mischief!
GSR has in previous years, been blighted by bad weather, the wind (not from the runners!) has been a challenge - especially considering the coastal setting. With this in mind, my race plan is simple. To steal Nike's captioning... Just Do It!
After a week or two of gentle recovery running, my intention is to get back on it. My next big run is Brighton Half Marathon in February. I've also registered for the Brooks Brighton 10k in November, but I feel confident with this distance and the Half Marathon training will account for this. There are several training plans available online which I have looked at, but they all seem so impersonal.
I'll have to openly admit to being a bit fickle. I have some brilliant ideas at times (well, I think they are), I fling myself at it 100% but get bored quickly and stop. I made tiaras for a while, got quite a few bridal orders and was attending plenty of wedding fayres and getting to know a few people in the industry. I'm not sure if it was too easy, too hard or what but I quit fairly early on.
Knowing my tendency for flamboyancy, I approached running with caution, and at times I have wondered if it is just going to be another one of 'those' projects. The blog, my Facebook Page, my family & friends' support, along with encouragement from The Boss seem to be preventing that happening. I am absolutely committed to completing the 1000 Miles not only to the best of my abilities, but also safely. I wanted to put that out there, publicly, to make sure I don't quit... a bit like an insurance policy.
Running safely has to be a priority for me. In just a few months, I have already experienced injury and I am keen to stay as injury free as possible. The other 'safely' I need to consider is fuelling my runs. I'm a picky eater, and left to my own devices without children to cook for, I would live on Dairy Milk, crisps and full fat Coca-Cola. Confessing this to The Boss resulted in raised eyebrows! I am one of those 'lucky' people who has never had to give much consideration to what I eat, so I am in unfamiliar territory now thinking about calories and making sure my daily intake is not only enough, but also replaces the calories I am burning on long runs (more dairy milk for me hahaha!).
So, it is here in black and white. I promise I will fuel my running properly, look after myself, and listen to what The Boss is telling me. I can't promise to always do as I am told, but hey. Life would be boring without mischief!
Sunday 12 October 2014
Long Runday Sunday... and the two annoying things were...
... people and their dogs!
Oh. My. Goodness. I can't say that I'm a dog lover, but I don't mind them. By mile four of today's run though I was close to hating every dog and its owner. Actually, that is unfair. There were some cute puppies out there and some nice, responsible dog owners. They were the ones who had their pets either on leads or secure.
The rest of them, well they are lucky that their pampered pooches didn't end up flying through the air as I tripped over them. As for the people who can't be bothered to pick up the poo off the pavements, or hid it under leaves; you are the most disgusting creatures out there.
We ran along the seafront today, a nice wide open space with plenty of room for all to share - walkers, children on their bikes and scooters, adults on skates, skateboards and runners. Our path narrows as it is sandwiched between the beach and the overdeveloped area near the sailing club, but there are still plenty of people out enjoying the fresh air. Everyone has a right to use this public space, but there are some ignorant and selfish individuals out there who don't give a damn if they obstruct the pathway or not. I appreciate that if we come up behind someone that they don't hear us, or don't have time to move, fair enough. But people who are walking four abreast and are watching you run towards them, and still don't drop in behind one another to allow adequate space on the footpath are rude. Just rude.
At one point today, L and I were in a good pace and we could see several people in the middle of the path, not one of them moved to allow us (or anyone else!) through. L had to run on the beach pebbles, I went to the other side of them, on the grass. Stupidly, these people did not keep their dogs secure as we passed and I had to make a sudden stop as a small-breed-pooch suddenly appeared at my feet. I felt my ankle take the full impact of this, and immediately tighten. I was really annoyed!!
Another dog owner thought it was a good idea to throw the dog's ball from behind us to land at L's feet. We are lucky that neither L or the dog were injured as she dodged it.
The ignorant. selfish people are fortunately in the minority. Most people were pleasant, smiley and had the common sense to share the footpath with all of the other people who were using it. However, the rant reflects those who were most memorable, and if my ankle flares up because of one person being careless and selfish then I will not be best pleased. And maybe, just maybe, next time I won't stop....
Miles to date: 90.42
Miles to go: 909.58
Oh. My. Goodness. I can't say that I'm a dog lover, but I don't mind them. By mile four of today's run though I was close to hating every dog and its owner. Actually, that is unfair. There were some cute puppies out there and some nice, responsible dog owners. They were the ones who had their pets either on leads or secure.
The rest of them, well they are lucky that their pampered pooches didn't end up flying through the air as I tripped over them. As for the people who can't be bothered to pick up the poo off the pavements, or hid it under leaves; you are the most disgusting creatures out there.
We ran along the seafront today, a nice wide open space with plenty of room for all to share - walkers, children on their bikes and scooters, adults on skates, skateboards and runners. Our path narrows as it is sandwiched between the beach and the overdeveloped area near the sailing club, but there are still plenty of people out enjoying the fresh air. Everyone has a right to use this public space, but there are some ignorant and selfish individuals out there who don't give a damn if they obstruct the pathway or not. I appreciate that if we come up behind someone that they don't hear us, or don't have time to move, fair enough. But people who are walking four abreast and are watching you run towards them, and still don't drop in behind one another to allow adequate space on the footpath are rude. Just rude.
At one point today, L and I were in a good pace and we could see several people in the middle of the path, not one of them moved to allow us (or anyone else!) through. L had to run on the beach pebbles, I went to the other side of them, on the grass. Stupidly, these people did not keep their dogs secure as we passed and I had to make a sudden stop as a small-breed-pooch suddenly appeared at my feet. I felt my ankle take the full impact of this, and immediately tighten. I was really annoyed!!
Another dog owner thought it was a good idea to throw the dog's ball from behind us to land at L's feet. We are lucky that neither L or the dog were injured as she dodged it.
The ignorant. selfish people are fortunately in the minority. Most people were pleasant, smiley and had the common sense to share the footpath with all of the other people who were using it. However, the rant reflects those who were most memorable, and if my ankle flares up because of one person being careless and selfish then I will not be best pleased. And maybe, just maybe, next time I won't stop....
Miles to date: 90.42
Miles to go: 909.58
A slight change of plan... No, you didn't read the Blog name incorrectly and it isn't a typo!
What's another 900 miles between friends?!
Inspired by a Twitter encounter, I started thinking about how far I am running. 100 miles in registered events is a big commitment, but the biggest commitment is the training runs that I'm doing out in all weathers! It seemed strangely unjust that the training miles aren't included so... here is the challenge... 1000 running miles starting with Great South Run (and training) and this will complete with the next GSR in 2015.
I am slightly sad, however, that my GSR training so far has only amounted to 82.21 miles. Since starting running in March this year, Runkeeper tells me I have already completed 256 miles. This gives me perspective to my new, huge, challenge of 1000 miles.
What I'd really love now is for the challenge to be recognised by Great Ormond Street. I may not fundraise millions for them, but the challenge is massive considering I have only been running a short amount of time and looking back at my history of chronic pain and immobility after having E.
I am so, so pleased that my blog has been viewed so many times - thank you to @Run_Mummy_Run and @UKRunChat for the ReTweets and hello to all of the Tweeps who are reading. I hope I can keep all of my 'audience' (seems a strange choice of word, but I can't think of a better one!) entertained and moved by the account of a rambling mother of 4. I also hope to share some of the new things I am learning about E's learning disability.
I have got a long run planned with my buddy this morning. She was going to leave her boys and husband at a lovely seafront cafe and then run home. I have managed to convince her that it is a much better idea to run to the cafe and then eat our own body weight in bacon butties!
Under managerial instructions to eat and hydrate properly (yes, husband I mean you bossing me about this morning!), I am preparing for an 8 mile run today. Wish us luck!
Inspired by a Twitter encounter, I started thinking about how far I am running. 100 miles in registered events is a big commitment, but the biggest commitment is the training runs that I'm doing out in all weathers! It seemed strangely unjust that the training miles aren't included so... here is the challenge... 1000 running miles starting with Great South Run (and training) and this will complete with the next GSR in 2015.
I am slightly sad, however, that my GSR training so far has only amounted to 82.21 miles. Since starting running in March this year, Runkeeper tells me I have already completed 256 miles. This gives me perspective to my new, huge, challenge of 1000 miles.
What I'd really love now is for the challenge to be recognised by Great Ormond Street. I may not fundraise millions for them, but the challenge is massive considering I have only been running a short amount of time and looking back at my history of chronic pain and immobility after having E.
I am so, so pleased that my blog has been viewed so many times - thank you to @Run_Mummy_Run and @UKRunChat for the ReTweets and hello to all of the Tweeps who are reading. I hope I can keep all of my 'audience' (seems a strange choice of word, but I can't think of a better one!) entertained and moved by the account of a rambling mother of 4. I also hope to share some of the new things I am learning about E's learning disability.
I have got a long run planned with my buddy this morning. She was going to leave her boys and husband at a lovely seafront cafe and then run home. I have managed to convince her that it is a much better idea to run to the cafe and then eat our own body weight in bacon butties!
Under managerial instructions to eat and hydrate properly (yes, husband I mean you bossing me about this morning!), I am preparing for an 8 mile run today. Wish us luck!
Saturday 11 October 2014
Running Fast and Running Far
This weekend has been the test of my newly-diagnosed calcaneofibular ligament injury. It has been taped into a supportive position for a few days, and yesterday was the first day my physio allowed me to run.
I have followed his advice religiously, and have braved a different type of ice bucket challenge! Two minutes in ice and two minutes in hot water for a total of twenty minutes, much to the daughters' amusement as I squeal a little with the iced water! I've found the ice really painful, almost unbearable, and have been watching the time tick down knowing that the warmth will soon follow.
I have also followed regimental resistance exercises, using a large rubber band type thingy and being very careful to control each movement rather than allowing my foot to 'ping' back into a neutral position. That is harder than it sounds!
Friday had a very large, grey cloud of doubt over it. My ankle was really achy, and it was beginning to feel very uncomfortable to walk. I was desperate to get out and run on Saturday, needing to run off the stresses of the week, and there I was sat with my foot aloft and tears flowing.
Saturday came, and after a busy day with the girls I had to run. An amusing text message conversation with The Boss ensued before I went out:
Me: I'm off out for a run, got to get out
Boss: OK, go easy and let me know how the ankle is. What's the plan?
Me; To run! weeeeeeeeeee aeroplane arms!!!
Boss: Really? Do you think that's a good idea?
Me: I think it is a bloody marvellous idea darling!!!
Boss: I think we should talk about this first....
Feeling mischievous, I set off with slim intentions of holding back or taking it easy. My justification is that I have to balance my mental health with my physical health and I needed to go. Despite feeling a drop in my fitness levels, my legs carried me off into a 7.30 minute / mile. Lungs objecting, I held back a bit fearing I wouldn't make a complete 2 mile circuit at that speed. My pace settled into around a 9 minute / mile and with feeling more comfortable, I diverted away from the turning which would take me on the shorter 2 mile route, and found myself in the familiar territory of my normal 5k. I knew I was potentially pushing my luck with running further than planned, and not knowing how the ankle injury was going to hold up but my ever supportive husband was on stand-by to collect me if I needed him to. Spurred on by my Garmin beeping 'Ahead of Pace' at me, I allowed myself to run freely. After all, I was listening to my body, wasn't I?!
Feeling a twinge of discomfort in my ankle, my sensible head took over and instead of completing my 5k route (which involves a steady hill climb at the end) I ran along the flat. My burning lungs only inflamed my anger at my loss of fitness so I pushed as hard as I dare. 23mins 52seconds later, I allowed myself to stop and walked up my hill to warm down. My lovely family were waiting for me, the girls ready with a whoop and a cheer and Husband ready with an ice bucket.... not to tip over my head but to dunk my foot in!
The following morning, my ankle was stiff but not painful. The planned long run of 7 miles felt like a big question mark looming over me. I had a couple of invitations to run with friends, but my legs wanted to go ASAP and I needed to know if I could do this or not. This run would be crucial in my decision to go ahead with Great South Run or not.
Route planned, drink in hand, I set off feeling slightly daunted at the distance I was about to attempt. I was careful not to set off too fast,aware that I needed to save both my ankle and my stamina for 7 miles. Potentially 7 long miles.
I ran down to the seafront, and was surprised at how quickly I was there. Another family favourite place where we've only ever driven to. The morning sun made the water sparkle, and the beautiful view was a welcome distraction. I found myself thinking about how much I liked living by the sea, despite a passionate hatred of swimming and getting wet!
Before I knew it, I had turned the corner to start my homeward bound leg of my journey. I even managed to answer a telephone call from my brother-in-law while running! Feeling like I was on my way home eased the 5k block. My body must be too used to running this distance because it expects me to stop! Keeping going is a bit of a challenge, but it is another mental strength which needs exercising as much as the legs!
5 and 7 miles were worrying from a pain point of view. My ankle was really objecting, but I had really settled into the run and I wasn't ready to go home. The morning air was warming but still fresh, and my mind felt free of stress and worry. I felt like I could go on a lot, lot longer.... Let's just hope I feel like this in 2 weeks time at Great South Run!
Following my new experience of running long distance came another new experience... an ice BATH. I'll leave that one to your imagination!
I have followed his advice religiously, and have braved a different type of ice bucket challenge! Two minutes in ice and two minutes in hot water for a total of twenty minutes, much to the daughters' amusement as I squeal a little with the iced water! I've found the ice really painful, almost unbearable, and have been watching the time tick down knowing that the warmth will soon follow.
I have also followed regimental resistance exercises, using a large rubber band type thingy and being very careful to control each movement rather than allowing my foot to 'ping' back into a neutral position. That is harder than it sounds!
Friday had a very large, grey cloud of doubt over it. My ankle was really achy, and it was beginning to feel very uncomfortable to walk. I was desperate to get out and run on Saturday, needing to run off the stresses of the week, and there I was sat with my foot aloft and tears flowing.
Saturday came, and after a busy day with the girls I had to run. An amusing text message conversation with The Boss ensued before I went out:
Me: I'm off out for a run, got to get out
Boss: OK, go easy and let me know how the ankle is. What's the plan?
Me; To run! weeeeeeeeeee aeroplane arms!!!
Boss: Really? Do you think that's a good idea?
Me: I think it is a bloody marvellous idea darling!!!
Boss: I think we should talk about this first....
Feeling mischievous, I set off with slim intentions of holding back or taking it easy. My justification is that I have to balance my mental health with my physical health and I needed to go. Despite feeling a drop in my fitness levels, my legs carried me off into a 7.30 minute / mile. Lungs objecting, I held back a bit fearing I wouldn't make a complete 2 mile circuit at that speed. My pace settled into around a 9 minute / mile and with feeling more comfortable, I diverted away from the turning which would take me on the shorter 2 mile route, and found myself in the familiar territory of my normal 5k. I knew I was potentially pushing my luck with running further than planned, and not knowing how the ankle injury was going to hold up but my ever supportive husband was on stand-by to collect me if I needed him to. Spurred on by my Garmin beeping 'Ahead of Pace' at me, I allowed myself to run freely. After all, I was listening to my body, wasn't I?!
Feeling a twinge of discomfort in my ankle, my sensible head took over and instead of completing my 5k route (which involves a steady hill climb at the end) I ran along the flat. My burning lungs only inflamed my anger at my loss of fitness so I pushed as hard as I dare. 23mins 52seconds later, I allowed myself to stop and walked up my hill to warm down. My lovely family were waiting for me, the girls ready with a whoop and a cheer and Husband ready with an ice bucket.... not to tip over my head but to dunk my foot in!
The following morning, my ankle was stiff but not painful. The planned long run of 7 miles felt like a big question mark looming over me. I had a couple of invitations to run with friends, but my legs wanted to go ASAP and I needed to know if I could do this or not. This run would be crucial in my decision to go ahead with Great South Run or not.
Route planned, drink in hand, I set off feeling slightly daunted at the distance I was about to attempt. I was careful not to set off too fast,aware that I needed to save both my ankle and my stamina for 7 miles. Potentially 7 long miles.
I ran down to the seafront, and was surprised at how quickly I was there. Another family favourite place where we've only ever driven to. The morning sun made the water sparkle, and the beautiful view was a welcome distraction. I found myself thinking about how much I liked living by the sea, despite a passionate hatred of swimming and getting wet!
Before I knew it, I had turned the corner to start my homeward bound leg of my journey. I even managed to answer a telephone call from my brother-in-law while running! Feeling like I was on my way home eased the 5k block. My body must be too used to running this distance because it expects me to stop! Keeping going is a bit of a challenge, but it is another mental strength which needs exercising as much as the legs!
5 and 7 miles were worrying from a pain point of view. My ankle was really objecting, but I had really settled into the run and I wasn't ready to go home. The morning air was warming but still fresh, and my mind felt free of stress and worry. I felt like I could go on a lot, lot longer.... Let's just hope I feel like this in 2 weeks time at Great South Run!
Following my new experience of running long distance came another new experience... an ice BATH. I'll leave that one to your imagination!
Thursday 2 October 2014
Down but not out
So, it has been a while since I last wrote anything, and it has been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster during that time.
After a disappointment at E's hospital appointment, I was ready to give up and walk away from everything. Including running. Maybe it was a way of throwing out a punishment - I was prepared to run 100 extra miles, why weren't they?
Time brings reflection and perspective to my feelings. Our visit to GOSH actually highlighted to me how desperately they need fundraisers, like me, who are prepared to go the extra mile. Trying to squash highly specialised services into an ancient building cannot be easy. Providing adequate space for wheelchair users in a building dating back to the 1800's is a daunting task for even the most capable architects. Playworkers, able to entertain any children are a gift to any outpatients department, but people with the skills to diversify play for children with complex difficulties, to respond to their needs and allay the fears of the accompanying parents / carers cannot be expected to fulfill their roles without the appropriate training and equipment. Too much of a hospital is not funded by the NHS and so fundraising becomes not just useful, but vital to keep the service running on a day-to-day basis.
Supported by my running buddy, L, I got back out on the road. I owe you one for that Sunday run, L! This lovely lady quite literally ran her legs off to get me back out on the road and stopped me wallowing in self pity. Our run, just short of 5 miles along a cool seafront with the night drawing in, took L to something like 15km that weekend. It was just what I needed though; to be reminded how much strength I have now compared to 7 months ago. This is the strength I need to draw upon to keep myself fighting for the very best for E.
My other strong supporter is The Boss. Still (somehow!) putting up with my incessant worrying, G has been a consistent reminder of where I have come from, and, most importantly, where I am going. He reminded me that running is so much more than fundraising; that the time I am out running has become a key part of who I am, and how I can deal with being a parent and a carer. I am so pleased that he is also back out there, running and feeling stronger. I can understand now that need to pull on a pair of trainers and just to be free, and the sparkle in his eyes when he's telling me that he's running farther and feeling stronger reflects the way I feel, too.
My lovely husband will always be at my side, in so many ways. He allowed me to sob, to shout, to be down and I know that as a team, we will get through everything that is thrown at us.
Of course, the story can't be that simple and tickety-boo. Back on a running high, I focused myself onto training for Great South Run and my self-set official beginning of the 100 Mile Running Challenge. I had a niggling ankle pain while I was training for my first 10k back in July, but it hasn't bothered me since. In the last couple of weeks it has become increasingly uncomfortable. Not so bad when I'm running, but getting towards painful when at rest. Back to bothering G with my worries about what I could have done to it, and turning to my closest friend, who had survived a foot problem while training for her marathon.
Her recommendation was to see the same physio she had. Fearing the worst, I made an appointment and Husband commented that it must be bad for me to get checked out! The news wasn't all bad, though. A fairly straightforward ligament injury which should be healed with specific resistance exercises, heat / ice and rest. He applied ultrasound to break up the granulation I have from the interrupted healing process and sent me away with some very pretty bright pink K-Tape to stabilize the joint. So, now not only do I owe L for running with me, I also owe M for getting me to pull my finger out and have my ankle looked at, rather than hiding in denial. Mojitos, anyone?!
After a disappointment at E's hospital appointment, I was ready to give up and walk away from everything. Including running. Maybe it was a way of throwing out a punishment - I was prepared to run 100 extra miles, why weren't they?
Time brings reflection and perspective to my feelings. Our visit to GOSH actually highlighted to me how desperately they need fundraisers, like me, who are prepared to go the extra mile. Trying to squash highly specialised services into an ancient building cannot be easy. Providing adequate space for wheelchair users in a building dating back to the 1800's is a daunting task for even the most capable architects. Playworkers, able to entertain any children are a gift to any outpatients department, but people with the skills to diversify play for children with complex difficulties, to respond to their needs and allay the fears of the accompanying parents / carers cannot be expected to fulfill their roles without the appropriate training and equipment. Too much of a hospital is not funded by the NHS and so fundraising becomes not just useful, but vital to keep the service running on a day-to-day basis.
Supported by my running buddy, L, I got back out on the road. I owe you one for that Sunday run, L! This lovely lady quite literally ran her legs off to get me back out on the road and stopped me wallowing in self pity. Our run, just short of 5 miles along a cool seafront with the night drawing in, took L to something like 15km that weekend. It was just what I needed though; to be reminded how much strength I have now compared to 7 months ago. This is the strength I need to draw upon to keep myself fighting for the very best for E.
My other strong supporter is The Boss. Still (somehow!) putting up with my incessant worrying, G has been a consistent reminder of where I have come from, and, most importantly, where I am going. He reminded me that running is so much more than fundraising; that the time I am out running has become a key part of who I am, and how I can deal with being a parent and a carer. I am so pleased that he is also back out there, running and feeling stronger. I can understand now that need to pull on a pair of trainers and just to be free, and the sparkle in his eyes when he's telling me that he's running farther and feeling stronger reflects the way I feel, too.
My lovely husband will always be at my side, in so many ways. He allowed me to sob, to shout, to be down and I know that as a team, we will get through everything that is thrown at us.
Of course, the story can't be that simple and tickety-boo. Back on a running high, I focused myself onto training for Great South Run and my self-set official beginning of the 100 Mile Running Challenge. I had a niggling ankle pain while I was training for my first 10k back in July, but it hasn't bothered me since. In the last couple of weeks it has become increasingly uncomfortable. Not so bad when I'm running, but getting towards painful when at rest. Back to bothering G with my worries about what I could have done to it, and turning to my closest friend, who had survived a foot problem while training for her marathon.
Her recommendation was to see the same physio she had. Fearing the worst, I made an appointment and Husband commented that it must be bad for me to get checked out! The news wasn't all bad, though. A fairly straightforward ligament injury which should be healed with specific resistance exercises, heat / ice and rest. He applied ultrasound to break up the granulation I have from the interrupted healing process and sent me away with some very pretty bright pink K-Tape to stabilize the joint. So, now not only do I owe L for running with me, I also owe M for getting me to pull my finger out and have my ankle looked at, rather than hiding in denial. Mojitos, anyone?!
Saturday 20 September 2014
I left my heart in San Fransico, and arranging its return
I really struggled to see the positives in E's appointment at GOSH. Blinded by exhaustion, confused by my feelings about the consultant's plan and having lost hope, I just wanted to give up and run away. I felt totally trapped on the hamster wheel of life with a child with undiagnosed Special Educational Needs.
In the last six months, running has eased the feelings of stress and my own anxiety. I (obviously) haven't left my heart in San Fransico as the title suggests, but I do seem to have left my mojo in London.
The need to run has gone. It is just another chore to add to the 'to do' list. I've had enough of trying, enough of feeling like I am working so hard all of the time and going absolutely nowhere. I can't fight any more. I can't be the person leading E's healthcare; I don't possess the knowledge or resources to do so and I feel like I am failing her. I feel like I have had to fight for five long years and now I want to stop. More time waiting for something to happen is just more time where she is falling further behind her peers, more anxiety builds, and her behaviour at home worsens.
I can't fix this.
Conversations with my closest family and friends verified my disappointment and confusion. They shared their confidence in me, in my ability to carry on and to hold my hand through the toughest times. I don't share their confidence in me.
The Run Mummy Run group has provided me access to other parents who have found themselves in the same situation. I posted there, explaining I'm left feeling like I've either got to give up and accept that our situation is never going to get any better, or fight even harder for her. I feel totally defeated so option one seems the most likely... I'll never give up on my girl, and will always do my best for her, but that isn't being out, running and training for distances. I just need to be her mummy and nothing else. I can't do this any more. The following replies were full of support and kindness once again, and other parents offering their stories to comfort and advise. It makes me realise that our situation could be far worse, and although tough at times I have to be grateful for all of the good health E has, and the incredible strength and perseverance she shows.
I expected more from GOSH than they would ever be able to provide. After all, they are just another NHS Trust facing the daily challenges that every other hospital faces. Budgets, guidelines, waiting lists, boxes to tick... it goes on and on. Each and every child is unique, amazing and precious to those who love them and simply want the best possible for them. The bar set for the consultant yesterday was probably unrealistic.
Trying hard to look for the positives, we set off today to an activity which is the result of another set of hard work. Two weeks ago, the eldest girls started Equine Assisted Learning with Eloise. I spent a lot of time with horses as a child, and hold vivid memories of that time. Whenever I am cuddled into the muzzle of a horse, I feel a lovely sense of calm and warmth and I was keen to share this with the girls. Watching the girls grooming, playing and just being with the ponies gave me chance to stand back and reflect. Watching E's face filled with light and happiness as she connected with her chosen pony showed me her developing confidence and ability to learn. Watching my eldest girls learning, but also modelling confident behaviour for E to thrive from opened my eyes again to be able to see beyond special needs. Just special girls. The lady who leads saw my tiredness, and asked what I needed most for E. The answer is simple really, and I know that if I could remove E's anxiety her life would be better. I watched today to see the stress of the week leaving E as she breathed in time with her pony. The connection between them was visible as they learned to trust one another to be kind and gentle.
Now it is my turn to trust, to calm myself and to settle. The fight may not be the same, it may change, and I will allow myself to be led by my love for E, for all of my girls. And if all else fails, I will just love them some more.
In the last six months, running has eased the feelings of stress and my own anxiety. I (obviously) haven't left my heart in San Fransico as the title suggests, but I do seem to have left my mojo in London.
The need to run has gone. It is just another chore to add to the 'to do' list. I've had enough of trying, enough of feeling like I am working so hard all of the time and going absolutely nowhere. I can't fight any more. I can't be the person leading E's healthcare; I don't possess the knowledge or resources to do so and I feel like I am failing her. I feel like I have had to fight for five long years and now I want to stop. More time waiting for something to happen is just more time where she is falling further behind her peers, more anxiety builds, and her behaviour at home worsens.
I can't fix this.
Conversations with my closest family and friends verified my disappointment and confusion. They shared their confidence in me, in my ability to carry on and to hold my hand through the toughest times. I don't share their confidence in me.
The Run Mummy Run group has provided me access to other parents who have found themselves in the same situation. I posted there, explaining I'm left feeling like I've either got to give up and accept that our situation is never going to get any better, or fight even harder for her. I feel totally defeated so option one seems the most likely... I'll never give up on my girl, and will always do my best for her, but that isn't being out, running and training for distances. I just need to be her mummy and nothing else. I can't do this any more. The following replies were full of support and kindness once again, and other parents offering their stories to comfort and advise. It makes me realise that our situation could be far worse, and although tough at times I have to be grateful for all of the good health E has, and the incredible strength and perseverance she shows.
I expected more from GOSH than they would ever be able to provide. After all, they are just another NHS Trust facing the daily challenges that every other hospital faces. Budgets, guidelines, waiting lists, boxes to tick... it goes on and on. Each and every child is unique, amazing and precious to those who love them and simply want the best possible for them. The bar set for the consultant yesterday was probably unrealistic.
Trying hard to look for the positives, we set off today to an activity which is the result of another set of hard work. Two weeks ago, the eldest girls started Equine Assisted Learning with Eloise. I spent a lot of time with horses as a child, and hold vivid memories of that time. Whenever I am cuddled into the muzzle of a horse, I feel a lovely sense of calm and warmth and I was keen to share this with the girls. Watching the girls grooming, playing and just being with the ponies gave me chance to stand back and reflect. Watching E's face filled with light and happiness as she connected with her chosen pony showed me her developing confidence and ability to learn. Watching my eldest girls learning, but also modelling confident behaviour for E to thrive from opened my eyes again to be able to see beyond special needs. Just special girls. The lady who leads saw my tiredness, and asked what I needed most for E. The answer is simple really, and I know that if I could remove E's anxiety her life would be better. I watched today to see the stress of the week leaving E as she breathed in time with her pony. The connection between them was visible as they learned to trust one another to be kind and gentle.
Now it is my turn to trust, to calm myself and to settle. The fight may not be the same, it may change, and I will allow myself to be led by my love for E, for all of my girls. And if all else fails, I will just love them some more.
GOSH appointment and the crash down to earth
We were in eager anticipation of E's appointment at Great Ormond Street. I had read a lot about the Consultant we were seeing, and his reputation went before him. We tried hard to not raise our expectations too high, but with many factors influencing us it was inevitable that we were hoping for the best, and then some.
Great Ormond Street is tucked away in Central London. It would be fairly easy to get there via underground, but as we had a buggy and a two year old with us, we opted for walking there as neither myself or Paul were daunted by the distance to walk. What the route maps don't show, however, are the incredible volumes of people and traffic that you encounter. Walking from Victoria should have been straight forward, but trying to get past Buckingham Palace at the same time as the Changing of the Guard is near impossible. London changes when you are there for a reason other than sightseeing. Tourists are a nuisance, blocking the path, travelling blinkered-like in huge walking buses, following their leader holding aloft some token umbrella, clipboard or other whack-you-in-the-eye object. Footpaths blocked by maintenance, PCSOs or Soldiers in their normally attention-capturing red uniforms, all mean the London icons lose their novelty and become an obstruction.
By the time we arrived at our destination, we were a bit of a hot, sweaty, stressed couple. Thank goodness for our trusty Phil&Teds double buggy which was strong enough to hold E in the second seat and ensured she had a smooth, effortless journey with her two year old sister.
I'm not sure what I had expected from the main entrance of GOSH, the pictures online misleading my imagination and perhaps expecting something more than it actually is. The waiting area for audiology and several other departments was far from 'Great', although the addition of Playworkers ensured the limited facilities were child focussed and kept orderly. As with any waiting area, the adults were pacing but trying to look like they weren't counting every passing minute beyond their given appointment time, in an increasingly people-filled, hot area.
E was called through for her appointment, but obviously this coincided with her suddenly and desperately needing the toilet, and B needing a dirty nappy changing. Cue much shooing and 'hurry up'-ing of children and their bodily functions!
The first Audiologist we saw was lovely, and my nerves settled with her friendly tone, and her welcome. She performed a hearing test and quickly revealed that E has glue ear and reduced hearing. This didn't come as much of a shock as we are aware of E's intermittent hearing loss, despite locally recorded hearing tests telling us that her hearing is normal. E coped well with the hearing tests, although not quite understanding the button-push system where she is used to putting the little men in their boat.
Next came a Speech Audiogram; a hearing test which requires the listener to repeat a simple word which is spoken over background noise. E's body language was heartbreaking, her eyes pleading with me to help, and her back stiffening in the chair. I could see the anxiety within her, which sent the maternal instinct to rescue her rushing through me and yet I heard my head telling me to keep her there. Holding her hand, stroking her leg and reassuring her in the only way I know - a loving kiss and words that she understands - enabled her to complete the assessment.
We returned to the waiting room, which had somehow filled up even more, to await being called through by the consultant.
We waited.
And we waited.
And we waited some more.
E was kept busy by gluing, pens and one of the playworkers. B was beginning to become restless, already having missed her daytime nap, getting hotter and more grumpy having exhausted the three toy stations provided. It was hard not to draw comparison between our current environment, the Child Development Centre at our local hospital and at The Evelina at St Thomas'. I knew which I preferred, and it wasn't the one I was feeling trapped in! Beginning to think we had been forgotten, we waited for the queue at the reception desk to clear to enquire about our wait. Just as Paul approached the desk, E's name was called.
We moved into the consultant's office. My immediate reaction was to the large, noisy air conditioning unit in the corner of the room. It struck me as ironic that in an audiology department, my hearing was compromised not because of a health problem, but by the environment I was in. The conversation with the consultant was hindered by the noise, and a very unhappy B. We tried hard to give an accurate, chronological history, half expecting him to know at least some of E's history as provided by two consultants locally. Our hearts sank as it became apparent that E's glue ear was going to make any further assessments difficult and that what laid ahead of us was going to be more fighting for cohesive, well planned care. The consultant explained that there was to be no MRI scan and he wanted to carry out full APD (Auditory Processing Disorder) testing with E which would happen in his clinic at GOSH, but that this couldn't happen while E has glue ear, that we needed to liaise with local services to monitor her hearing. I wanted to scream that I have been trying to get our local teams to communicate with me for the last five years and it hadn't really proved successful. That's why I am sat in your clinic now, because no-one will listen. No-one will help. And now it felt like the one person who had been put on a pedestal, the go-to man who will sort everything out was making a total U-turn on the care he had previously planned and I really didn't get why. He left the room to photocopy some of the documents I had with me, and my eyes locked with Paul's seeking reassurance that I was misinterpreting this. Our shared aghast look needed no words. As the consultant returned, Paul asked him to confirm his plan. No MRI, but on the (lengthy) waiting list for APD assessment which can only happen if, by pure luck, E doesn't have glue ear at the time. Correct. We asked about grommets, would these help? Does she need them? It would make no difference as the current NICE Guidelines would prevent her from having this treatment. Can we see a Paediatrican to coordinate this care, to look at all aspects of her development and potential cardiac problems? Yes, but your GP will need to make a referral. There are no general Paeds at GOSH so this can't happen there. You need to liaise with local services, I will write to your Audiology department and see you again if or when E doesn't have glue ear.
We left the appointment exhausted and confused. The MRI, although daunting to have done with a general anaesthetic, had felt like an opportunity to seek physical cause and therefore answers. We know there is a problem in E's brain stem, but not really what or why. If our local hospital had referred her properly, it would be over and done with by now. Would we have put her through that unnecessarily? Had we made the wrong decision to come to GOSH? What lay ahead of us to try and clear glue ear with no intervention? After seeing Eloise's anxiety to a simple speech audiogram, did we really want to put her through the battery of tests needed to diagnose APD?
With heavy hearts, we left GOSH to fight the traffic, congestion and tutting commuters to find our way to the solace of home.
Great Ormond Street is tucked away in Central London. It would be fairly easy to get there via underground, but as we had a buggy and a two year old with us, we opted for walking there as neither myself or Paul were daunted by the distance to walk. What the route maps don't show, however, are the incredible volumes of people and traffic that you encounter. Walking from Victoria should have been straight forward, but trying to get past Buckingham Palace at the same time as the Changing of the Guard is near impossible. London changes when you are there for a reason other than sightseeing. Tourists are a nuisance, blocking the path, travelling blinkered-like in huge walking buses, following their leader holding aloft some token umbrella, clipboard or other whack-you-in-the-eye object. Footpaths blocked by maintenance, PCSOs or Soldiers in their normally attention-capturing red uniforms, all mean the London icons lose their novelty and become an obstruction.
By the time we arrived at our destination, we were a bit of a hot, sweaty, stressed couple. Thank goodness for our trusty Phil&Teds double buggy which was strong enough to hold E in the second seat and ensured she had a smooth, effortless journey with her two year old sister.
I'm not sure what I had expected from the main entrance of GOSH, the pictures online misleading my imagination and perhaps expecting something more than it actually is. The waiting area for audiology and several other departments was far from 'Great', although the addition of Playworkers ensured the limited facilities were child focussed and kept orderly. As with any waiting area, the adults were pacing but trying to look like they weren't counting every passing minute beyond their given appointment time, in an increasingly people-filled, hot area.
E was called through for her appointment, but obviously this coincided with her suddenly and desperately needing the toilet, and B needing a dirty nappy changing. Cue much shooing and 'hurry up'-ing of children and their bodily functions!
The first Audiologist we saw was lovely, and my nerves settled with her friendly tone, and her welcome. She performed a hearing test and quickly revealed that E has glue ear and reduced hearing. This didn't come as much of a shock as we are aware of E's intermittent hearing loss, despite locally recorded hearing tests telling us that her hearing is normal. E coped well with the hearing tests, although not quite understanding the button-push system where she is used to putting the little men in their boat.
Next came a Speech Audiogram; a hearing test which requires the listener to repeat a simple word which is spoken over background noise. E's body language was heartbreaking, her eyes pleading with me to help, and her back stiffening in the chair. I could see the anxiety within her, which sent the maternal instinct to rescue her rushing through me and yet I heard my head telling me to keep her there. Holding her hand, stroking her leg and reassuring her in the only way I know - a loving kiss and words that she understands - enabled her to complete the assessment.
We returned to the waiting room, which had somehow filled up even more, to await being called through by the consultant.
We waited.
And we waited.
And we waited some more.
E was kept busy by gluing, pens and one of the playworkers. B was beginning to become restless, already having missed her daytime nap, getting hotter and more grumpy having exhausted the three toy stations provided. It was hard not to draw comparison between our current environment, the Child Development Centre at our local hospital and at The Evelina at St Thomas'. I knew which I preferred, and it wasn't the one I was feeling trapped in! Beginning to think we had been forgotten, we waited for the queue at the reception desk to clear to enquire about our wait. Just as Paul approached the desk, E's name was called.
We moved into the consultant's office. My immediate reaction was to the large, noisy air conditioning unit in the corner of the room. It struck me as ironic that in an audiology department, my hearing was compromised not because of a health problem, but by the environment I was in. The conversation with the consultant was hindered by the noise, and a very unhappy B. We tried hard to give an accurate, chronological history, half expecting him to know at least some of E's history as provided by two consultants locally. Our hearts sank as it became apparent that E's glue ear was going to make any further assessments difficult and that what laid ahead of us was going to be more fighting for cohesive, well planned care. The consultant explained that there was to be no MRI scan and he wanted to carry out full APD (Auditory Processing Disorder) testing with E which would happen in his clinic at GOSH, but that this couldn't happen while E has glue ear, that we needed to liaise with local services to monitor her hearing. I wanted to scream that I have been trying to get our local teams to communicate with me for the last five years and it hadn't really proved successful. That's why I am sat in your clinic now, because no-one will listen. No-one will help. And now it felt like the one person who had been put on a pedestal, the go-to man who will sort everything out was making a total U-turn on the care he had previously planned and I really didn't get why. He left the room to photocopy some of the documents I had with me, and my eyes locked with Paul's seeking reassurance that I was misinterpreting this. Our shared aghast look needed no words. As the consultant returned, Paul asked him to confirm his plan. No MRI, but on the (lengthy) waiting list for APD assessment which can only happen if, by pure luck, E doesn't have glue ear at the time. Correct. We asked about grommets, would these help? Does she need them? It would make no difference as the current NICE Guidelines would prevent her from having this treatment. Can we see a Paediatrican to coordinate this care, to look at all aspects of her development and potential cardiac problems? Yes, but your GP will need to make a referral. There are no general Paeds at GOSH so this can't happen there. You need to liaise with local services, I will write to your Audiology department and see you again if or when E doesn't have glue ear.
We left the appointment exhausted and confused. The MRI, although daunting to have done with a general anaesthetic, had felt like an opportunity to seek physical cause and therefore answers. We know there is a problem in E's brain stem, but not really what or why. If our local hospital had referred her properly, it would be over and done with by now. Would we have put her through that unnecessarily? Had we made the wrong decision to come to GOSH? What lay ahead of us to try and clear glue ear with no intervention? After seeing Eloise's anxiety to a simple speech audiogram, did we really want to put her through the battery of tests needed to diagnose APD?
With heavy hearts, we left GOSH to fight the traffic, congestion and tutting commuters to find our way to the solace of home.
Sunday 7 September 2014
Chestnut Tree 10k Coastal Run, Littlehampton
When I first started Couch to 5k, I gave myself goals to achieve to ensure I kept running. I registered for the Race for Life 5k and also Chestnut Tree House 10k. The latter would also step up my mileage in preparation for the huge runs.
Last year I watched my closest friend, along with another good friend run the Chestnut Tree House 10k. I enjoyed supporting them, and had fun with my girls cheering and shaking pom-poms, making up silly cheerleader style songs to try and keep those runners going. I watched with pride as they crossed the finish line, but that was all. There was not a hint of envy or wanting to do it myself! I was quite happy being the support crew.
This year was slightly different. Actually, it is hugely different. If someone had told me after their run last year that not only would I be on the start line today, I would be keen and eager to go and hoping for a personal best, or that my PB would be under an hour, I would have just laughed. I wouldn't have believed that I could run 10k in a day, let alone an hour.
I was really nervous this morning, even though I knew I was well prepared, and that I had trained hard. My training at the moment is really for the Great South Run (10 miles / 16 km) but a 10k fits nicely in. We were up and ready early. Husband had to help me clip my race number onto the front of my vest because I was shaking so much! I was so pleased to have my closest friend nearby and a quick hug to say good luck, and to have my running buddy beside me at the start line.
One of the things I love most about L (apart from her filthy laugh and sense of humour!) is that she pushes me to be the best I can be. This morning was no exception. We started the run together, but when I needed to stretch my legs out and increase my pace to go for my PB she was nothing less than supportive and encouraging.
The course was a little harder than I had been expecting. Running on the road was fine, and I felt strong and comfortable with the pace I was running. My family and another good friend were waiting for me, so I had to manage a little sprint across the road to make sure I high-fived each of my cheering daughters. They really spurred me on and lifted my spirits; I was determined not to let negative thoughts get in my way, and looking out to sea at the yachts from the sailing club was a welcome distraction. I passed the point where we stood last year cheering, and had a little smile to myself. It felt good to be the runner and not the spectator.
I am not used to running on grass at all, and I found the park tricky to run in, but I was determined not to lose my pace. I tried hard to keep a good balance of a decent speed but not running past myself too early on. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the 4km distance marker, and thought 'Whoopie! That's nearly half way!', but didn't dare peek at the time on my watch in case I was way off target. I didn't enjoy running through the park much, and I could see other runners being wary of the loose dogs nearby. There were a couple of points where the course narrowed down or passed through small entrances, and I found myself getting boxed in by other runners, some slower, and it made keeping a rhythm to my pace difficult. The biggest challenge was the short run on the pebble beach. L and I have had really short attempts at running on pebbles and I hate it. Her advice worked though, and by keeping my knees high I got across it.
The water stations were plentiful and well manned, and I thought that the little ones who had volunteered were all little stars, doing their bit. However, the water was in cups rather than bottles which made it virtually impossible to drink while running, so I was glad I had my own bottle with me. The water was great for cooling off, and at each station I took a cup to pour down my back. My other brilliant idea of taking a travel size spray bottle with water in worked well, and I misted myself on several occasions which helped with the increasing warmth from the morning sun. I don't seem to sweat very much so having the water over me helped to keep cool.
The next distance marker I saw was 8km, which took me by surprise! I was a bit concerned that I hadn't seen another after 4km, and that just meant I was going very sloooooooow! I still felt strong, and knowing that the end was nearing, I wanted to pick up the pace a bit again. This point was running on a fairly narrow path, and passing other runners was difficult so I had to wait until we were back out on the road again. This loop of the course would've been better in the first half of the course, I thought.
Back on the road I managed to get into some space and speed up. I did allow myself to look at my watch at this point, but somehow misjudged the distance I had left so thought that my chances of a PB had slipped away. This didn't phase me though, and I kept the pace. It was hard work, the sun was getting hotter, and it went through my mind that I had increased the speed to too much, too soon and that I wouldn't be able to maintain it until the finish.
My family were perfectly placed, and as soon as I was doubting myself there they were, shouting and cheering me on. I quickly glanced at my watch - 54 minutes with the finish line just about in sight. I gave them a thumbs up, dug deep into my boots and sped up.
From this point on, it hurt. My lungs were burning, my heart was thudding, and I was aware of a couple of stray tears coming down my cheek. So much of me wanted to stop, but my legs were in a good rhythm and they carried me on - despite the finish line seeming to never come any closer!
The crowds at the finish were great, and were cheering us all on. I pushed, and pushed, and knew I could do no more and there it was. FINISH. I had done it!
My hand was already on my Garmin watch as I crossed the finish line, so I stopped it as soon as my foot went over. 57:04.8 was on the screen, soon follwed by 'Fastest 10k'. I knew when I passed the girls that I was on course for a PB but I had a mixture of emotions seeing the figures on screen. Relief, excitement, pride... and the inability to breathe normally!
I was given my race bling - the all important medal! I found a space on the green to calm down, catch my breath and stretch out my tired legs. Happiness flooded through me, a sense of achievement and pride in myself. My phone buzzed with a text message from Husband to say where he was. I soon found him and the girls, and excitedly threw myself at him with a squeal of '57!!!'. My good friend was waiting with him, and her husband who had also finished in a PB time of 50 minutes. A few photos later, and we were ready to find L and M who were due to finish. I managed a quick text to The Boss, and from his response of 'Wahey! Well done you!' I am guessing he is pleased, too.
Being typically British, we saw a queue and joined it, not quite sure what it was for! It turned out to be for the chip timing, so we waited to see what the official race timing had my finishing time as. My eldest daughter entered my race number and I was so disappointed to see my chip timing was slower than my watch had made me. It was only 40 seconds different, but that is the difference between a PB or not for me! Being a bit of a stats geek, I also had RunKeeper open on my phone which gave me a time of 57 minutes 30 seconds, so I decided to go with my own times. Well, they are better! I have also been using these times for other races, and today's times are better than those so still a PB. That's what I am sticking to, anyway!
Again I have to thank my lovely husband for his support today. He's allowed me an incredibly lazy afternoon, and knew just where I'd need him to be to get me through the run as well as I did. I adore him with every fibre of my body and soul, and I really don't care who knows!
Last year I watched my closest friend, along with another good friend run the Chestnut Tree House 10k. I enjoyed supporting them, and had fun with my girls cheering and shaking pom-poms, making up silly cheerleader style songs to try and keep those runners going. I watched with pride as they crossed the finish line, but that was all. There was not a hint of envy or wanting to do it myself! I was quite happy being the support crew.
This year was slightly different. Actually, it is hugely different. If someone had told me after their run last year that not only would I be on the start line today, I would be keen and eager to go and hoping for a personal best, or that my PB would be under an hour, I would have just laughed. I wouldn't have believed that I could run 10k in a day, let alone an hour.
I was really nervous this morning, even though I knew I was well prepared, and that I had trained hard. My training at the moment is really for the Great South Run (10 miles / 16 km) but a 10k fits nicely in. We were up and ready early. Husband had to help me clip my race number onto the front of my vest because I was shaking so much! I was so pleased to have my closest friend nearby and a quick hug to say good luck, and to have my running buddy beside me at the start line.
One of the things I love most about L (apart from her filthy laugh and sense of humour!) is that she pushes me to be the best I can be. This morning was no exception. We started the run together, but when I needed to stretch my legs out and increase my pace to go for my PB she was nothing less than supportive and encouraging.
The course was a little harder than I had been expecting. Running on the road was fine, and I felt strong and comfortable with the pace I was running. My family and another good friend were waiting for me, so I had to manage a little sprint across the road to make sure I high-fived each of my cheering daughters. They really spurred me on and lifted my spirits; I was determined not to let negative thoughts get in my way, and looking out to sea at the yachts from the sailing club was a welcome distraction. I passed the point where we stood last year cheering, and had a little smile to myself. It felt good to be the runner and not the spectator.
I am not used to running on grass at all, and I found the park tricky to run in, but I was determined not to lose my pace. I tried hard to keep a good balance of a decent speed but not running past myself too early on. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the 4km distance marker, and thought 'Whoopie! That's nearly half way!', but didn't dare peek at the time on my watch in case I was way off target. I didn't enjoy running through the park much, and I could see other runners being wary of the loose dogs nearby. There were a couple of points where the course narrowed down or passed through small entrances, and I found myself getting boxed in by other runners, some slower, and it made keeping a rhythm to my pace difficult. The biggest challenge was the short run on the pebble beach. L and I have had really short attempts at running on pebbles and I hate it. Her advice worked though, and by keeping my knees high I got across it.
The water stations were plentiful and well manned, and I thought that the little ones who had volunteered were all little stars, doing their bit. However, the water was in cups rather than bottles which made it virtually impossible to drink while running, so I was glad I had my own bottle with me. The water was great for cooling off, and at each station I took a cup to pour down my back. My other brilliant idea of taking a travel size spray bottle with water in worked well, and I misted myself on several occasions which helped with the increasing warmth from the morning sun. I don't seem to sweat very much so having the water over me helped to keep cool.
The next distance marker I saw was 8km, which took me by surprise! I was a bit concerned that I hadn't seen another after 4km, and that just meant I was going very sloooooooow! I still felt strong, and knowing that the end was nearing, I wanted to pick up the pace a bit again. This point was running on a fairly narrow path, and passing other runners was difficult so I had to wait until we were back out on the road again. This loop of the course would've been better in the first half of the course, I thought.
Back on the road I managed to get into some space and speed up. I did allow myself to look at my watch at this point, but somehow misjudged the distance I had left so thought that my chances of a PB had slipped away. This didn't phase me though, and I kept the pace. It was hard work, the sun was getting hotter, and it went through my mind that I had increased the speed to too much, too soon and that I wouldn't be able to maintain it until the finish.
My family were perfectly placed, and as soon as I was doubting myself there they were, shouting and cheering me on. I quickly glanced at my watch - 54 minutes with the finish line just about in sight. I gave them a thumbs up, dug deep into my boots and sped up.
From this point on, it hurt. My lungs were burning, my heart was thudding, and I was aware of a couple of stray tears coming down my cheek. So much of me wanted to stop, but my legs were in a good rhythm and they carried me on - despite the finish line seeming to never come any closer!
The crowds at the finish were great, and were cheering us all on. I pushed, and pushed, and knew I could do no more and there it was. FINISH. I had done it!
My hand was already on my Garmin watch as I crossed the finish line, so I stopped it as soon as my foot went over. 57:04.8 was on the screen, soon follwed by 'Fastest 10k'. I knew when I passed the girls that I was on course for a PB but I had a mixture of emotions seeing the figures on screen. Relief, excitement, pride... and the inability to breathe normally!
I was given my race bling - the all important medal! I found a space on the green to calm down, catch my breath and stretch out my tired legs. Happiness flooded through me, a sense of achievement and pride in myself. My phone buzzed with a text message from Husband to say where he was. I soon found him and the girls, and excitedly threw myself at him with a squeal of '57!!!'. My good friend was waiting with him, and her husband who had also finished in a PB time of 50 minutes. A few photos later, and we were ready to find L and M who were due to finish. I managed a quick text to The Boss, and from his response of 'Wahey! Well done you!' I am guessing he is pleased, too.
Being typically British, we saw a queue and joined it, not quite sure what it was for! It turned out to be for the chip timing, so we waited to see what the official race timing had my finishing time as. My eldest daughter entered my race number and I was so disappointed to see my chip timing was slower than my watch had made me. It was only 40 seconds different, but that is the difference between a PB or not for me! Being a bit of a stats geek, I also had RunKeeper open on my phone which gave me a time of 57 minutes 30 seconds, so I decided to go with my own times. Well, they are better! I have also been using these times for other races, and today's times are better than those so still a PB. That's what I am sticking to, anyway!
Again I have to thank my lovely husband for his support today. He's allowed me an incredibly lazy afternoon, and knew just where I'd need him to be to get me through the run as well as I did. I adore him with every fibre of my body and soul, and I really don't care who knows!
Saturday 6 September 2014
The kindness of strangers
It is the day before my 10k event, a charity fun run fundraising for the only Children's Hospice in West Sussex. Despite it being a FUN run, typically for me I have piled the pressure on myself to run my best, and to go for a PB. In chip timing this means coming in under 1hr 11minutes, but having run from Lancing - Worthing in 58minutes, I really want to beat this time. The high expectations I have placed upon myself has unsurprisingly made me feel quite nervous all day. I have also been feeling reflective, and I have been thinking of the last six months and the highlights so far.
The Boss manages a local running shop, which is both popular and highly regarded by the local running community, so is usually quite busy. While there during the summer holidays, I had the privilege of chatting to a lovely lady who had run Brighton Marathon last year. She had run in celebration of beating Cancer, and was supported by the gentleman who was also in the shop with her. I was in awe of her strength and determination, and took on board her words of advice about getting around the marathon course. The conversation naturally led to my motivation, and my plan to run 100 miles for GOSH. The next thing she did totally backfooted me. This amazing lady, who had not only come through Cancer and all of the ruthless treatments that it entails, who had run a marathon in a very respectable time, was giving me money for my fundraising, and telling me that she was in awe of me. How could she be with her own incredible success story?! I didn't know how to accept, or how I could ever thank her enough, but she was insistent. If that lovely lady ever reads this - thank you from the bottom of my heart for being the first to sponsor me. You are truly inspirational, and I hope your good health continues for a very long time.
I rely heavily on social networking to have regular contact with friends, and family who are 3 hours away. I have used an online group for support once before, but I've never been one to make online friends. I generally prefer those who I can see for coffee and cakes! Through Facebook (love it or hate it, it does have its uses!) I have become part of a group called Run Mummy Run. I watched with caution for a while, but the group has turned out to be excellent. The ladies on there are supportive and understanding. Women post with real issues that affect their daily lives, and their running. From injuries to sensitive bladders, anything goes. Coming from a Nursing background where I am used to discussing pretty much anything and everything, I have found it really refreshing to see people talking openly about their bodies. It creates a safe environment for questions to be asked and discussion to be had. Many women in the group are running for charities close to their hearts, writing blogs, and training hard for their planned events. Some are running for weight loss purposes, to improve fitness, or just because they can. I am yet to see anything but positive support and care on this group - quite remarkable for a group with over 5,200 members. The kindness of strangers shines in this collection of runners, and I am grateful to the ladies who have sponsored me.
I am aware that I have spoken about my coach in previous posts, but he slots nicely into this blog as only a few months ago he was also a stranger. I was talking to my husband earlier today about how overwhelming my emotions have been in the last 6 months. I've never taken compliments easily, and I've often had a bit of a pessimistic 'Why me?' reaction to people who I don't know well being nice to me. I guess I have to work on my self worth! Accepting The Boss' time has been a difficult process for me, and I have had to work on not feeling guilty for bothering him with my novice questions and worries. As I say, my emotions have been running high, which makes the more negative feelings like guilt difficult to manage. He works with real athletes - I am overly aware of my status as a novice and that I am never going to be a champion runner like some of the people he coaches. I have to be reminded by my lovely husband that not being as good as a real athlete does not make me less important. I can only aspire to improve my mental fitness as my physical fitness develops. The time The Boss has invested into improving my training plans, developing my strength and fitness is also an investment into the charity to make sure I stay fit for the next year to complete the challenge. I don't know if he will read this blog or not, but if he does then I hope he sees how important he has become to me, and how much I appreciate all he has done so far.
Once the 100 Mile Running Challenge is over, I would love to present the money to GOSH in person. This way I can make sure the kindness of my strangers is shown to them in the true glory they deserve.
Friday 5 September 2014
A bad week, running without expectations, and my lucky pants.
I've mentioned before about the problems I had with my pelvis following my pregnancy with E. Chronic pain is vile. The pain I had was vile. The situation was vile. Having my husband help me dress each day was soul destroying. Him getting into a bit of bother at work because he had to take time off to look after me was a low, low point. So, when I get a hint of the pain coming back it scares me.
My lower back and hip has been feeling a bit stiff for a couple of weeks. Then my right arm started going a bit numb so off I went to the osteopath. I had forgotten that I can be a bit sore after a good cracking session; by the time I got to the osteopath appointment my hip was nudging towards being painful and once he'd released off what he could (the surrounding muscles were very tight making manipulation tricky) I was left feeling a bit battered. A day of shopping with my gorgeous friend took my mind off it, but the twinges going up my spine while I was standing still were a cruel reminder that it was still there.
Thinking I could do with stretching my legs, I headed out on my usual 5k route the following morning. I know this route well now. I know where I can hold back a bit and where I can easily pick up the pace to make up for it. Despite running at a decent pace it felt tough. It was like running through treacle and the pain was bothering me. My right leg felt heavy and as if I was carrying it. I also discovered that it isn't easy to run and cry at the same time... I got home, sat down on the decking in the back garden and sobbed.
I spent the rest of the day with family, and tried to ignore both the niggling feeling of doubt and the pain which accompanied it like a misplaced triangle in an orchestra. The Boss messaged me later that evening asking how I was. I had been to see him after going to the osteopath, and he seemed to get a good sense of how worried I was. He'd shown me some extra hamstring and piriformis stretches to add in to my usual routine, and told me many times that I would be OK. I wish I shared his optimism at times like this! It feels like his hopes for me to run a 10k in 57 minutes or under are a serious misjudgement and the only way I am heading is towards failure.
I've spent the following few days in a maudlin mood. The fear of the pain compounded by the start of a new school term and the worries this brings for E, meant that I've been a bit tearful and probably a pain in the arse to live with, as well as having my own pain in the arse! The Boss has once again been incredibly supportive, and I have a mixed sense of guilt at bothering him so much, but also a deep sense of gratitude for his expert guidance. My husband has given me a balance of love and 'pull yourself together'. All of these people make me a lucky girl.
The week has been spent 'resting' my leg. In my world, that just means I haven't been out for a run. The return of school has given me a chance to walk 4 miles each day, plus the usual housework and chasing around a very cheeky 2 year old! Emotionally I have battered myself, and left myself feeling exhausted. With this exhaustion comes doubt, and with these two together I only feel like hiding away from the world.
This evening I had to get out. Come what may I had to run. I like to be organised and prepared, and with the next 10k race just 2 days away, I had to run to see how I will approach the race. Running kit on, and leaving the husband in charge of the girls and cooking the dinner (a risky combination!) I headed out. No expectations, just to stretch my legs. I promised myself that if I was working too hard to sing along to my music, then I was going too fast and that I would hang back. This worked well for first mile. In the second mile, my GP was driving out of the surgery and paused to allow me to cross. With a wave of thank you, my pace picked up a bit. Seeing him indicating to turn the way I was running prevented me from slowing down. Working a bit harder now, but not pushing myself. The third mile was alongside the park. Ah, there goes my plan out of the window and now I'm really testing the legs out and off I launch into a 8.30 minute mile. Ooops.
This is where I have fibbed to you, dear readers, but only a little. I do not have lucky pants. But, BUT, I do have a lucky running vest. It just didn't sound as entertaining in the title...
My Great Ormond Street vest spurs me on. It is a lovely purple, and it reminds me of every reason why I am doing this challenge. My week has been tough. I've had a niggling pain, which - touch wood - seems to be OK. My vest reminds me that I am in a privileged position to be able to get out and run. Many of the children in Great Ormond Street would love to get outside and play. To run with their friends, to chase them and play football. Or to fly down a zip wire in the play park. They don't have the choices I do, and I really hope that some of the money that I raise will go towards simple FUN.
https://www.justgiving.com/Vicki-Slaughter/
My lower back and hip has been feeling a bit stiff for a couple of weeks. Then my right arm started going a bit numb so off I went to the osteopath. I had forgotten that I can be a bit sore after a good cracking session; by the time I got to the osteopath appointment my hip was nudging towards being painful and once he'd released off what he could (the surrounding muscles were very tight making manipulation tricky) I was left feeling a bit battered. A day of shopping with my gorgeous friend took my mind off it, but the twinges going up my spine while I was standing still were a cruel reminder that it was still there.
Thinking I could do with stretching my legs, I headed out on my usual 5k route the following morning. I know this route well now. I know where I can hold back a bit and where I can easily pick up the pace to make up for it. Despite running at a decent pace it felt tough. It was like running through treacle and the pain was bothering me. My right leg felt heavy and as if I was carrying it. I also discovered that it isn't easy to run and cry at the same time... I got home, sat down on the decking in the back garden and sobbed.
I spent the rest of the day with family, and tried to ignore both the niggling feeling of doubt and the pain which accompanied it like a misplaced triangle in an orchestra. The Boss messaged me later that evening asking how I was. I had been to see him after going to the osteopath, and he seemed to get a good sense of how worried I was. He'd shown me some extra hamstring and piriformis stretches to add in to my usual routine, and told me many times that I would be OK. I wish I shared his optimism at times like this! It feels like his hopes for me to run a 10k in 57 minutes or under are a serious misjudgement and the only way I am heading is towards failure.
I've spent the following few days in a maudlin mood. The fear of the pain compounded by the start of a new school term and the worries this brings for E, meant that I've been a bit tearful and probably a pain in the arse to live with, as well as having my own pain in the arse! The Boss has once again been incredibly supportive, and I have a mixed sense of guilt at bothering him so much, but also a deep sense of gratitude for his expert guidance. My husband has given me a balance of love and 'pull yourself together'. All of these people make me a lucky girl.
The week has been spent 'resting' my leg. In my world, that just means I haven't been out for a run. The return of school has given me a chance to walk 4 miles each day, plus the usual housework and chasing around a very cheeky 2 year old! Emotionally I have battered myself, and left myself feeling exhausted. With this exhaustion comes doubt, and with these two together I only feel like hiding away from the world.
This evening I had to get out. Come what may I had to run. I like to be organised and prepared, and with the next 10k race just 2 days away, I had to run to see how I will approach the race. Running kit on, and leaving the husband in charge of the girls and cooking the dinner (a risky combination!) I headed out. No expectations, just to stretch my legs. I promised myself that if I was working too hard to sing along to my music, then I was going too fast and that I would hang back. This worked well for first mile. In the second mile, my GP was driving out of the surgery and paused to allow me to cross. With a wave of thank you, my pace picked up a bit. Seeing him indicating to turn the way I was running prevented me from slowing down. Working a bit harder now, but not pushing myself. The third mile was alongside the park. Ah, there goes my plan out of the window and now I'm really testing the legs out and off I launch into a 8.30 minute mile. Ooops.
This is where I have fibbed to you, dear readers, but only a little. I do not have lucky pants. But, BUT, I do have a lucky running vest. It just didn't sound as entertaining in the title...
My Great Ormond Street vest spurs me on. It is a lovely purple, and it reminds me of every reason why I am doing this challenge. My week has been tough. I've had a niggling pain, which - touch wood - seems to be OK. My vest reminds me that I am in a privileged position to be able to get out and run. Many of the children in Great Ormond Street would love to get outside and play. To run with their friends, to chase them and play football. Or to fly down a zip wire in the play park. They don't have the choices I do, and I really hope that some of the money that I raise will go towards simple FUN.
https://www.justgiving.com/Vicki-Slaughter/
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