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!

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