Why it’s Never Just About the Running

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Sooo I bet you thought I’d gone away eh? I’m afraid you’re not that lucky. I just let the blog go to seed a bit whilst I licked my wounds from the London Marathon (and no, I haven’t done another one).

It’s been a really weird 12 months to be honest. After last year, when I ran every 5k league race, every cross country race and did the marathon, I felt totally burnt out and couldn’t work out what I wanted running to be to me any more. So other than parkruns, I pretty much stopped competing. I didn’t do any of the 5k league races in the 2023 season, and some of the events I usually love (such as the Wibbly Wobbly Log Jog) were cancelled for this year (so obviously it would be hard to blog when you don’t have a lot to talk about).

But then this summer, suddenly it was time to put my hat into the ring to run the Round Norfolk Relay for Ely Runners, and this is an event I’ve done quite a few times before and it is an absolute favourite. I put my name down, and was lucky enough to get my favourite stage, stage 14 from Feltwell to Wissington that usually begins around 5am on Sunday morning. This felt like a great way to ease myself back into hard running for my brilliant club.

Then 5 weeks ago, on August 16th, I had a pretty serious cycling accident that knocked me out and landed me with a lot of facial injuries and 20-odd stitches in my forehead, as well as bashed up knees and ligament damage to my wrist. I’ll probably write a post about it at some point but it’s still a bit raw and I’m still processing it (plus I have about 10 hours of memory loss from the day). Thankfully I was with my two amazing friends Bethan and Justin who got me help as quickly as possible, and I was on my way to hospital within 30 minutes of hitting the deck. The staff at Addenbrooke’s were equally incredible, and I feel so lucky to have had the care and support I did.

The accident came at a point when I was going through a bit of a time of it. I had to have a referral to the breast clinic at Addenbrooke’s and was waiting for my appointment which was scheduled for August 21st. I was also bitten on the hand by a dog on Monday 14th August, and I was told I needed to go to Addenbrooke’s to get a special tetanus shot (although it turned out my docs gave me duff information as I only needed the standard shot which I could have got locally). All in all I had 5 trips to Addenbrooke’s in just 17 days.

BUT! I recovered from the accident well, and was back on the bike (for short journeys) within a week and started running again shortly after. So when the RNR weekend finally rolled around, I was SUPER anxious (I usually am anyway, but was even more so due to the lack of competitive running and the confidence knock from the accident) but I was so excited about the chance to be part of an amazing team and to push my body to see what it was currently capable of.

I woke up at 1:25am on Sunday morning to be picked up just before 2am by Justin and James. Justin was running the stage before me, James the one after. We got to Thetford and Justin set off a little after 3am, and James and I hopped in a car with Jon and Darren (two of the incredible support crew) to head to Feltwell where Justin would be handing the baton over to me. When we got there we were approached by a marshall who broke the news to us. Stage 14 was cancelled due to a police incident in the village that meant the roads had to be closed. There was nothing else the organisers could have done.

I was devastated.

Poor Jon did his best to console me as I sobbed in the car, and when Justin finished his leg we had to explain to him why I wasn’t running, and then I had to take myself away from all of the happy runners who had smashed stage 13 as I simply couldn’t handle it. All I wanted was to be running for my club.

I spent the next 48 hours wallowing, and was so upset that Ian had to dig out the PDF from the hospital to reassure me that all the things I’ve been experiencing – messed up appetite, difficulty sleeping, difficulty concentrating and general anxiety – are all normal after a head injury. I felt like I had been dealt the WORST hand, and no amount of perspective could make me realise that things really weren’t as bad as they could have been.

But I think I reacted so badly to missing out on RNR because it was never just about the running (as is nearly always the case for me). It was about the camaraderie, the being part of a team, the desire to feel contentedly knackered the next day, the exchanging of happy messages and photos and the opportunity to be SO proud of my body and how it had recovered from some significant damage. And that got taken away from me. I had needed that run more badly than I realised.

With the support of my awesome running buddies I’m now trying to turn a corner. I spoke to my friend and Ely runner Michelle (she has also had a really tough few months) to see how she was doing, and she said “running, and being with such lovely running friends, helps everything”. And she’s absolutely right. The mental impact of my accident is still going to take some time to get over, but I’ve actually got a few races in my calendar (the Abington 10k and the Rutland Night10k) and hopefully these will help me to gain some confidence by making me realise my body is still capable of great things, and also help me to get the headspace I need to process the last few weeks.

Plus I’m going to be doing them all with some of my lovely running friends.

My London Marathon Experience

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“You did it, even when it was against everything that makes you feel safe.”

Such wise words from my friend and all-round awesome person Jo, as I struggled post-marathon with feelings of bitter disappointment, embarrassment and regret.

I’ve said for a long time that I’m a 5k girl through and through and that I don’t think marathons are going to be my bag. With that and my bucket list in mind, I wanted to make sure that if I only ever did one, it would be something huge like London and I’d want to enjoy it. Because what’s life without stepping outside your comfort zone?

But there’s stepping outside your comfort zone and there’s running 26.2 miles away from it. It’s probably obvious from the start of this post that my marathon didn’t go to plan. I always knew I was going to have an uphill battle to the start line, going from nothing to marathon in 10 weeks thanks to injury, and having to manage that with some serious anxiety in crowds, exacerbated by 2.5 years of not even having caught a train, let alone been in a group with 40,000 other people plus thousands of spectators. But I had one of my best friends with me to support me to the bitter end, and we were dressed in costume and had raised a load of money for Blood Cancer UK. I thought that I had done everything I could to feel safe in a situation that I was frankly terrified of.

But despite all of this, I still couldn’t have predicted how spectacularly things were going to go wrong on the day.

In the lead up to Sunday, my most pressing concern was my gastro issues. I get so nervous before big running events and that stress and adrenaline always hits me right in the gut and has caused me a lot of problems in training. But apart from that and the 6 weeks missed through injury, I had done all of my long runs without any major issues and had even done just shy of a solid half marathon a few weeks back. My sleep before the marathon wasn’t ideal, with two nights in two different beds, and being woken up consistently the night before the marathon by those in the apartment above us and trucks outside my window. I was awake at 5:30am after less than 6 hours of sleep (but I don’t think anyone sleeps well the night before a marathon). But thankfully on Sunday morning my stomach surprisingly wasn’t that bad, and we made it from our apartment to the start line without any issues at all and I felt really good about it. And the crowds at the start (in our pens etc.) weren’t as bad I thought they’d be. I did get crazy tense in the 30 minutes before we started as my bladder decided that my two pre-race pees were actually just the support act and I was suddenly bursting with no place to go, so it was a speedier than ideal first mile to reach the first portaloos on the course. But after that, we found our pace in the crowds and settled in around the 8:40 per mile mark.

Before things all went a bit wrong

At around mile 5, I suddenly became very aware of the heat, and the cool breeze gave me a weird sensation of being both hot and cold at the same time, almost feverish, and a brief sinking feeling about the whole event came over me before I forced it away. So on we ran, passing the Cutty Sark (me: “where?” Pete: “literally there”) and going over Tower Bridge, hydrating and taking on gels just like we had in training. We saw the super speedy runners who were coming past us in the other direction and kept an eye out for any of our club mates (sadly to no avail), and it was at around mile 15 that I started to get what felt like a stitch, and a tingling feeling under my big toe that felt suspiciously like a blister despite wearing socks that have accompanied me on my long runs with no issues whatsoever. The sun was beating down on us, and that first moment of doubt slipped in.

It never left me.

The first tears came at mile 16 as the pain in my side increased to the point where I couldn’t breathe properly, and nothing was loosening it. I tried different breathing techniques, stretching (usually guaranteed to shift any stitches I get) and changing my cadence, but it had me in a vice-like grip and the more frustrated I got the more tense I was getting and the more I cried the more I couldn’t breathe properly. It was like my mind and body just stopped communicating and rather than simply accepting the fact that I had pulled something (obvious now due to the pain still being there as I type this) and allowing my body to tell me what it could do in that moment, I fought against it, devastated that all I wanted to do was run the last 7 miles, no matter how slowly, when in fact all I could manage was a few hundred metres at a time between regular walking breaks, the only thing that would stop the excruciating pain under my right ribs.

And during all this, I was acutely aware of the fact that it wasn’t just me going through this, but I was derailing Pete’s run as well. He deserved better from me. He did everything he could to calm me down but I had lost the mental battle, and I kept thinking about all those people who had said to me “you’re stronger than you think you are” when I had never felt so weak and pathetic. But another thing Jo has pointed out to me post run (damn her for being so wise) is that my ego was playing a part. I’m used to performing well at running for the most part, but I started thinking about all those people tracking me on the app and witnessing my complete and utter disintegration in real time, discussing what might have gone wrong in my race, not to mention the London crowds seeing me sob as I ran walked through the streets. I felt humiliated.

And speaking of the spectators, I can totally see how people love London for the support they get as they’re running. But for me, I don’t think I have ever felt so overwhelmed in my whole life. The noise was relentless, with whistles, cow bells, air horns, clappers and more, sometimes right in your ear, and there were times when I thought I was going to go mad from it (overly dramatic I know, but I wasn’t in a good place at that point). It turns out I was right to be worried about my anxiety in crowds, but rather than it being from the other runners, it was from the spectators. On the train home Pete and I got chatting to someone who had been volunteering for a charity and she said that some of her runners had also struggled with it and that we shouldn’t underestimate the impact that Covid will have had on our ability to tolerate so many people and so much noise. With hindsight, I wish I had prepared myself better for that, as running with your fingers in your ears and your eyes screwed shut isn’t conducive to a cracking marathon.

Eventually we did finish, but I had failed on my two goals – I hadn’t wanted to stop to walk except for fuelling purposes, and I hadn’t wanted what was likely to be my only marathon to be a negative experience. And the negatives were all I can currently focus on.

I’ve found writing this to be really quite upsetting, but it felt easier to type it out rather than have to keep retelling it in person. I so wanted to be on a runner’s high right now, but instead I feel like all of my weeks of hard work, both running and recovering from my injury, were for nothing and I feel desperately flat. But deep down I know that I put too much pressure on myself to perform well in my first marathon, despite it being an event that goes against everything that makes me feel safe. I know deep down that I’m not a distance girl and that there was a time when it looked like I wasn’t even going to make the start line, let alone finish it. And I know I’m overwhelmed in crowds and generally avoid them like the plague, so in hindsight choosing a big city event for my first and likely only marathon crossed the line from brave to foolish. I’m just not suited to so many people and so much noise, and I don’t think I’d do any big city event again, regardless of distance. And I know that Pete was happy to just be there and earn an amazing medal and that my friends and family are proud no matter what but I feel like I let everyone down. But more than anything else I’m my own worst critic, and I’m so disappointed with the way I fell apart on the streets of London, and I’m not sure how long it’s going to take me to get over that.

But I’m going to try and end this post on some positives, because of course there were some.

  • Getting to experience such a bonkers thing with one of my best mates and realising that he’s a bigger legend than I ever thought possible
  • Raising a load of money for Blood Cancer UK in memory of two incredible people
  • Seeing Eliud Kipchoge and Paula Radcliffe at the Expo
  • Watching kids wanting to high five Pete before spotting his Wolverine claws and freaking out
  • Hearing all the cheers for Wolverine and laughing about how no one had a scoobie who I was meant to be
  • The love and support from friends and family, ESPECIALLY Rach’s flapjack
  • Seeing Pip’s beautiful happy face at the finish and her look of horror and regret when she hugged a very sweaty and emotional me
  • The free burger from Bill’s afterwards
  • The fact that I can do stairs again just 48 hours later
  • The fact that I can always say that I finished the London Marathon
  • The spectacular medal
  • The fact that I never have to do it again

I’m also highly aware of how lucky I am that I’m back home and safe with only bruised and battered emotions, sore ribs and a badly blistered toe after a marathon runner died after collapsing at mile 23 in the London Marathon. My thoughts are with his friends and family.

Oh my giddy aunt I’m running the London Marathon

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Well hello there! Remember me? Slightly overdramatic running type with a flair for longer than average blog posts?

What a five months it’s been. Lemme do a quick(ish) recap for you as to how I’ve got to actually looking like I might be running the London Marathon in less than 4 weeks (gulp) and why I’ve once again been MIA from this blog.

  • Enters London Marathon ballot in October 2020.
  • Actually gets a place to run in 2021. Panics slightly.
  • Defers to 2022 thanks to plantar fasciitis. Feels a little relieved.
  • 2022 comes at me full pelt. Suddenly sh*t gets real and I feel like I might actually be running London this year.
  • One of my best friends, Pete, gets a charity place to run so that he can be with me on the day as he knows how much marathons scare me. I both love and hate him for this. I have even more reason to do it now.
  • On very first interval training session for the marathon, something goes very wrong in my calf. I literally can’t run on it.
  • I cry. A lot. I can’t even think about running let alone write about it.
  • After 6 weeks of intense physiotherapy, osteopathy, acupuncture and an unhealthy attachment to my massage gun (don’t come at me if you don’t believe in this stuff. I do.) I’m able to run again, but I have a LOT of ground to cover. Literally. I need to get from 0 to marathon in just 10 weeks.
  • 6 weeks into training I finally accept I’m running London. Feel sick with nerves and excitement practically every hour.
How my face will probably look on marathon day

So there we have it. I’m actually running the London Marathon in less than four weeks and I currently feel like I’m in a cheese dream. I’m scared of marathons. Like properly sweaty palms as I’m typing, stomach-churningly scared. I’m a decent, experienced runner, but there is something about the longer stuff that I have always struggled with mentally. I just don’t believe that my 5k ability is going to translate to marathons and my brain likes to interrupt me at random, regular intervals across the day to scream “ARE YOU MAD? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TRYING TO RUN A MARATHON?” before doing a fun little visual montage of chubby younger me coming 2nd to last in the 1500m at school and more recent me sitting down in a grassy field dotted with rabbit poop and bawling my eyes out after a particularly difficult 5k.

(And don’t even get me started on the IBS.)

I feel a bit silly feeling like this. I’m in a running club full of people who run marathons. Some have done loads, some only one. Some get GFA times, some take their time on trail marathons. Some have only been running for a year or two before taking on this monumental challenge. And I am in AWE of every single one of them. Marathon training is really not for wussies, and to all of you who ever done one, I take my hat off to you. It is a HELL of a challenge.

I think ultimately, I’m scared of messing it up in some way. I’m still worried that my leg will give up on me in the next 4 weeks. I’m worried that I’ll get the fuelling wrong on the day. I’m worried I’ll hate the experience and that my only ever marathon will be a negative memory.

I’m worried about letting Pete down.

I’m worried about letting myself down.

But a teeny, tiny part of me is starting to believe that I can do this.

Running buddy Rob

I’m writing this the day after doing my second 20 mile run of my training programme (huge thanks to Charlotte for writing it for me – I just wish I could have followed it to the letter and done it justice) and I’m now entering into tapering whilst trying not to eat everything I can get my greedy mitts on. I have literally done my longest EVER run (20.05 miles to be precise) and I’m about to experience something that many people would love to get the chance to do, and I get to do it one of my best friends, someone who knows exactly what to say and how to distract me when the going gets tough (Quigley Down Under for the win Pete)! Plus I have had the most amazing support from my running buddies, especially those who have joined me on long runs when Pete has had to travel for work. Thanks Justin and Rob – I genuinely could not have done those without you.

This makes me extremely fortunate. And the best part of all? Pete and I are going to have a bloody good laugh, because we’ve decided we’re doing it in costume to raise money for Blood Cancer UK and to celebrate the lives of two people who meant the world to us and who we miss terribly – Pete’s mum Diane and my father-in-law Tommy. Crikey it’s going to be an emotional day in so many ways. Not least because of my decidedly dodgy interpretation of Rogue from X-Men in costume form. And yes, I will be dying my ACTUAL hair.

So whilst normally I would have blogged my way through training, this is a whistle-stop tour of my London Marathon journey so far. It has been far from conventional, but I guess the destination is the thing that really matters. Past me would not have believed I would end up doing this. Not for even a second. But what’s life without challenges that take us out of our comfort zone?

If you’ve ever enjoyed reading this blog, and have even £1 spare, please do think about giving us a donation. I know these are difficult times for us all but they’re even more difficult for those currently undergoing treatment for cancer. If you don’t have a £1 spare, do please just send me your encouraging words. They will mean the world to me.

And did I mention that I will be dying my ACTUAL hair? You can see a photorealistic image of how Peter and I will look on the day below. You’re welcome.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/pete-and-lauren-2022

The Bonds we Make when Running

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It’s been a while eh folks? I’ve had a pretty mad few months at work, and after a 10 hour working day the last thing I felt like doing was sitting back in front of a screen to type some more. Essentially, my creative mojo went MIA. But here we are, back on the blogging train and ready to keep this journey going.

Last night I had a brilliant time at the Night Trails Thetford Forest 10k. I’ve done so few events over the last two years but this is an event I’ve done in the past and LOVED, so it was a no-brainer to sign up again. It’s not a big event – 215 runners took part this time, alongside 26 canicross runners – so it felt like a good one to ease myself into. Plus it helped that I went with Justin and Jon, two Ely runners and brilliant friends.

The event started at 8pm when there was still some light, but the organisers requested that all torches were turned on from the start as it would be dark by the time we all finished. It was a tough course underfoot, with large sections of thick gravel, badly pot holed grass, forest trails with a lot of tree roots to hop over, and sandy paths. And I’ll be the first to admit that I got a bit swept up at the start and went out fast, on legs that had already taken a bit of a battering at a parkrun earlier that morning.

And it was at about the halfway mark that I fell in step with Chrissi Head from Team Dunerunner and Craig Skipper from Wymondham AC. And honestly, thank goodness for them. I was seriously flagging by about mile 4, but we kept chatting and kept encouraging each other, taking it in turns to drive the other two forward. Although I admit, the two of them were doing most of the driving until the final 800 metres or so, when it became abundantly clear that the course was going to be a decent chunk more than 6.2 miles, and we all had to dig desperately deep for the finish that seemed to take forever to arrive.

After 6.5 miles we all crossed the line within seconds of each other, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to the pair of them, going on to tell Chrissi that I would like her by my side at every race please. As we all posed for a photo together, I wondered if I would see either of them again. I hope we’ll run into each other at future races, but this shared experience will stay with me. For those 30 minutes or so, we bonded over the pain and love of running. And at least for now, we can follow each other’s running adventures on Strava.

Craig, sweaty red me, and Chrissi. Legends, the pair of them

This morning, as I basked in the glow of last night’s achievements (read: had a lie in and then moved around my house VERY slowly), I started thinking about the other bonds that I’ve made as a result of running. And when I look at my friendship groups, and especially those who have really held my hand (emotionally of course) over the last two years, so many of those people are in my lives as a result of running. Take Jon and Justin. If it wasn’t for Ely Runners, I wouldn’t know them the way that I do, and I wouldn’t have been crying with laughter 30 minutes before we all ran last night (rather than getting myself in an anxiety-addled tizz which is my usual pre-race MO). All of the group chats I’m in that have supported me through the pandemic – the Red Face Gang, the Hash Brown Appreciation Society, the Garden Appreciation Society, the Weds Bonkers Cycling Fun group (Justin is in all of them!) – these are all made up of people that I’ve met through running. I think that my life would be a lot quieter and arguably more lonely if running hadn’t become a part of it.

Me, Justin and Jon, ready to hit those night trails

Another example I have of a bond made through running is the friendship we’ve all made with Ryan, someone who only joined Ely Runners at the end of last year and who we met through Soham Village College parkrun. He quickly become a key part of our friendship group and we’ve enjoyed so many parkruns together since. It helps that we’re a similar pace so we can keep each other going in training and at races, and now we all have the privilege of being invited to Ryan’s wedding later this year (Ryan, we will do our very best not to disgrace ourselves). In such a short space of time we have all bonded with this ace runner (and he’ll be the first to admit – mega parkrun nerd) and our lives are better for it.

Ryan and I take parkrun VERY seriously

Finally, there is one other bond I made when running which will stay with me forever. A few years back, at a 5k league race in Newmarket, I had a shocker of a race. My pre-race anxiety was the worst it had ever been, and on a particularly hot summer evening I blew up spectacularly and was almost in tears as I desperately tried to hang on for the last 1.5km. At this point, a runner from Haverhill Running Club came up behind me and made sure I didn’t give up. He kept me going until the very end and made sure I crossed that finish line, and I’ll never forget his kindness, putting my race before his, as I have no doubt he would have finished well ahead of me otherwise. His name was Neil Mustoe, and I found out that at the start of this month Neil sadly passed away after being diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease back in 2020. I didn’t know Neil well, but when I read the tributes to him, I recognised the runner they all described immediately:

“One thing I always think of (about Neil), it was the willingness to assist others and sometimes to sacrifice his own running times for other people and generally just to help.”

This fleeting moment with Neil – we very occasionally bumped into each other at other races afterwards – has always stayed with me, as we shared a real bond for those 1500m. I felt such sadness at his passing and my thoughts are very much with his family, friends and running club. Needless to say, he’s not someone who will be forgotten, even by those he shared the briefest of moments with.

Those bonds we make when running really are something special, and I’m grateful for each and every one of them.

If you would like to donate to the Motor Neurone Disease Association, you can do so here.

Hitting the trails from Bury to Clare

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This weekend, I did something very unlike me, and took on Positive Steps’ Bury to Clare challenge in aid of St Nicholas Hospice Care. It was a little over 18 miles of farms, forest trails, some road, hills and a whole lot of phlegm courtesy of yours truly.

Too much? You should know by now that I don’t hide stuff from you on this blog.

So how did I come to find myself standing in Nowton Park in Bury St Edmund’s at 9am on a misty Sunday morning, shivering so much that I struggled to fill in the emergency contact details on the back of my race number and cursing my life choices? Well where there’s a Lauren doing a run she would never normally do you can guarantee that there’s a Justin who made the madcap suggestion in the first place. Even he admitted that he got me at a weak moment, egging me on and betting that I would never run such a race at a time when I had just recovered from my latest bout of plantar fasciitis and was feeling all optimistic and upbeat about running again. Plus I’m exceptionally stubborn and someone saying “I bet you won’t…” is like a red flag to a bull. Not even the threat of soul-sapping boggy conditions put me off – I gleefully signed up and then did what I usually do. Completely forget about it and waited for the date to creep up on me.

This it did, and along the way we recruited our fellow Ely Runners Bethan and Janet, and then had to work out the logistics of getting one car to be at the finish line waiting for us in Clare, and then somehow make our way to the start in Bury. The legend that is my dad stepped up, picking me up at 7:15 on a Sunday morning and driving to Clare to meet the others before bombing us to the start line. Thankfully as a golfer he is at least used to early starts on a Sunday, but he saved us a huge amount of logistical stress by scuttling around Suffolk on our behalf.

This smile did NOT last

To add to the chilly conditions, I had started developing a cold mid-week and by Sunday morning I was at the really grim coughing up green goo stage. I’d also had a rubbish night’s sleep, overheating and waking up pretty much every hour, and I’d stupidly done a fast parkrun the day before (so much for a gentle one eh Justin?) so my legs were not as fresh as they could have been. Common sense would have said not to run, but then common sense might have also said that a 5k road runner might have a tough old time on an 18 mile trail run. As we waited for 30 minutes for the event to start, the others did at least keep my spirits up by generally being legends (see below). But even then I was struggling to get my head into the game. Probably because it was full of the aforementioned goo.

No Bethans were hurt during the making of this photo.

At 9:30am we were off, and early on Bethan set a strong pace and after a mile or so we managed to find our place in the group where we were no longer held up by runners in front of us or got in the way of those behind us. This is not a big event, and as it started in two waves there were maybe 40 or 50 of us who started at 9:30am so the runners spread out nicely quite early on. If I’m honest, those first 7 miles to the first aid station went by in a bit of a blur, and I can’t remember all that much about them other than remembering that at the briefing we were told the first aid station would be at a little over 6 miles, so I picked up the pace at mile 6 only for it to appear at almost bang on 7 miles. I would regret that later.

I’m not one to eat during runs as my stomach gets unsettled really easily, so I had borrowed a hydration vest from my friend Charlotte (this ACE Salomon Advance Skin 8) so that I could stay hydrated with an electrolyte drink on one side and water on the other. So this meant that I didn’t take anything from the first aid station, knowing that I had a couple of cereal bars in my vest as well should I need them. The next 5.5 miles went by pretty quickly as well, but I remember going a bit hazy on some of the field sections where you had to keep your eyes down to make sure you didn’t turn an ankle in the tread from the tractors. I also think the climbs were taking it out of me more than I realised (it was 270m of climb across the whole run, which is an awful lot when you’re from the Fens). So when we stopped at aid station number 2, a wave of exhaustion washed over me and I just burst into tears. I didn’t even see it coming. Yes it had been a hard run to that point on a poor night’s sleep and my breathing was a little laboured because of my cold, but I hadn’t even hit the half marathon distance yet! Why was I crying? Thankfully the others talked me off the ledge and told me that if I needed to walk, we would walk, and that we would make it to the finish come what may.

And that’s exactly what we did. We encountered some sticky trails that battered my exhausted legs even more, and some more inclines that I may have told to eff off (Justin commented that he had never seen me so grumpy) but that last downhill coast into Clare was one of the most glorious parts of any run I’ve ever done, and when Janet shouted that she’d seen a sign directing us to the finish I didn’t even dare to believe her. The run ends between the two platforms of the long disused Clare train station (closed in 1967 fact fans) and under the gaze of the ruins of Clare Castle. I’d like to say that I ended strong, but apparently I was pale(r than usual), I was shivering and I was 100% DONE IN. I also managed to burn my mouth on the coffee Justin bought me, and as we chatted with two other Ely Runners who had started in the earlier wave, Debbie and Ann, I started getting nasty cramps in my lower abdomen.

L-R Debbie, Ann, Justin, Janet and Bethan. Gollum like pale creature in the foreground – yours truly.

The car journey home was actually hilarious. Justin decided to beep and wave at every person we passed (you’d be amazed at how many smile and wave back), and then he started getting tremors in his legs as his fuelling during the run hadn’t quite gone as he’d hoped. I think we were all a little delirious and desperate for a shower and some food by the time we made it back to Ely. It was actually mid-shower that my hunger suddenly hit and I nearly ran downstairs, my head covered in suds, just to grab some crisps. I then ate for most of the rest of the day.

Was I happy with how I’d run? Originally I was in two minds really. I was disappointed that I mentally crumbled, but I was pleased that I still managed to finish (because honestly if there had been an option to quit and just go home at the second aid station I would have taken it). And then on Monday my period started (if this is TMI for you, you’re not reading the right blog) and suddenly the terrible hot night’s sleep, the cramps after the run and my heightened emotional state made sense. Normally I’m pretty hot at using Clue, my period tacking app, but a really busy week at work meant that I wasn’t on top of my cycle and it just didn’t occur to me that it would play its part on Sunday, and play its part it did (this is the reality of life as a female athlete). And I also found out on Monday that I had won my age category. I think I got super lucky that there weren’t many women aged 35-39 taking part, but it’s an achievement I never would have anticipated.

So you know what? I am happy with how I ran on the day. I kept going when everything was telling me not to. I managed to do this run after being injured for a good chunk of the year. And I got an absolute corker of a medal and helped to raise funds for a really good cause. One that you can donate to here if you’re so inclined. So I am really bloody proud of myself. Just don’t ask me about running a marathon any time soon eh?

A Welcome Return to the Round Norfolk Relay

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There are some running events that you fall head over heels in love with. That you vow you will do again and again so long as the opportunity – and your body – allows. For me, the Round Norfolk Relay is one of those events.

I last ran the Round Norfolk Relay in person in 2017, which feels utterly impossible. In 2018 there was an admin error which meant we could only enter one team from my running club (and we decided to put forward the fastest team we possibly could – they won the open category!), and in 2019 I was injured. In 2020 the event unsurprisingly turned virtual so blink and you’ll miss it, here we are in 2021 and finally the event was happening in real life and I wasn’t injured. The stars – thankfully – aligned.

For those who don’t know, the Round Norfolk Relay is pretty much exactly as it sounds. It’s a 17-stage, 197 mile relay race around the outskirts of Norfolk with an actual baton and everything. The legs aren’t divided equally – the shortest is stage 16 which is 5.49 miles (from Downham Market to Stowbridge) and the longest is stage 12 which is 19.67 miles (from Scole to Thetford). In addition to the horrifically long legs, you also have the ones with what can only be described as an absurd terrain. Stage 5 is run on shingle, and stage 6 features a cliff with a climb of 75m. Stage 13 had a total climb of 100m over 13.25 miles.

The stage 4 to stage 5 handover – shingle!

So as you can imagine I felt extremely lucky to have been gifted with what I can only describe as “my” stage (not that I’m precious. Please don’t ever take it away from me. I’ll give you cake. Dammit I’ll give you money). It’s stage 14, from Feltwell to Wissington, and is a sociable 7.27 miles with just 25m of climb in total.

The only downside to this very pleasant run? I had to hit the road at around 4:30am.

When I ran it back in 2017, I travelled with one of my best buddies and regular GRL blog post star Pete. On that occasion, he ran the 10.59 mile leg after mine, which meant that based on the predicted pace of our team, we had to leave home around 5am to get me to Feltwell for my predicted start time. So plenty of time to get a good few hours of sleep in. This time however, Pete was running the 13.25 mile leg before mine, which meant a much, much earlier leaving time. Like, 3.5 hours earlier.

Yep, that’s right, after managing about 2 hours of fitful sleep, we were in the car by 1:30am, ready for Pete to hit the road at a predicted start time of 2:55am (20 minutes earlier than when we went to sleep thanks to Hannah absolutely beasting stage 11, but we had learned our lesson from the events of 2017 and given ourselves plenty of time to get there)! It’s fair to say that the two of us were slightly delirious on the drive over, raving to Kisstory (DJ Pied Piper and the Masters of Ceremonies being a real highlight) and marvelling at the extremely rural and really quite sinister route that Google Maps had taken us on. But before we knew it we were where we needed to be, anxiously waiting for our legs to start.

And honestly, that was one of the most stressful pre-race waits that I can remember having. I don’t know whether it was the lack of racing events in the last 18 months, the lack of sleep or the fact that the adrenaline had been building all day as we furiously kept up with our teammates via the WhatsApp group. It was probably all three. But as I nervously chatted to one of the brilliant marshals in an attempt to distract myself I was visibly shaking and my stomach was churning. It was really intense.

Spot the very calm runner.

Predictably, Pete absolutely bossed his stage, coming in at 1:39:00 on the nose, pretty much exactly at the pace he had predicted and before I knew it I was baton in hand, heading out into the darkness with no other runners in sight and just the noise of my support crew rumbling along in the van behind me, lighting my path, making sure I took the right turns and just calming me the eff down. And it worked. Within minutes I had found my groove and everything just felt meditative. There is something so eerily beautiful about running in the pitch black countryside in the wee small hours and the lack of sleep meant that the whole run took on this slightly dreamlike quality. It honestly seemed to pass within minutes, and before I knew it I was handing the baton to Jacob and wandering over to Pete in a bit of a daze. I had even managed to shave 3 seconds(!) off my 2017 time.

Now this is the time to talk about the support crew, because they are the real heroes in all of this. While yes, some of us were running on tough terrains or on little to no sleep, by the time they all got to me they had been up for 24 hours, and all bar one of them had run their own leg in surprisingly warm conditions for the time of year. And yet all they were worried about was me, making sure I was hydrated enough, making sure I wasn’t freaking out, and most importantly making sure I was safe. They had fostered the most incredible team atmosphere throughout the day, sending us all photos of our teammates on WhatsApp and bigging them up when they had beaten their predicted time or overtaken another runner. I felt like I was part of something really, really special, and this was all down to them. And this is just what happens on the day itself. The organisation behind the scenes for an event like this is HUGE, from arranging support cyclists and working out the start times for each runner based on the pace of the one before them (and making quick adjustments when someone drops out or gets injured), to making sure we all understood the rules around high vis and buying and giving every runner a lei to wear when they completed their stage. They were just incredible and I cannot thank them enough for giving me the chance to take part in this event that I LOVE. And a round of applause for their bladder control please.

The best of the best of the best.

As Pete and I drove home, Google Maps again decided to test us (or in our sleep-deprived state we missed a turning, far more likely) and we ended up taking a longer route which took us back on the leg I had just run. And here we witnessed this huge queue of runners which looked really spectacular as the sky slowly turned from black to inky blue. There had been hardly any runners on the road around us as Pete and I ran, but we had certainly found the majority of them as we drove home, all hurtling towards Wissington, the flashing lights from their support vehicles lighting up everything around us. We then continued to Ely and watched a misty sunrise, bleary eyed and looking forward to coffee. Those are the kind of memories that stick with you.

36 hours later I’m still on such a high from this event (but that might just be the lack of sleep really kicking in). There is nothing quite like it in the running calendar that creates such a sense of camaraderie and team spirit. While we might all do races for our club, wearing vests and earning points (in the races that do such a thing,) ultimately we are running for ourselves and perhaps chasing a PB. But in the RNR you are very much running for each other, and it’s an incredible feeling.

Same time next year folks?

Red. Sweaty. Delirious. Happy.

Feeling nostalgic with Adidas

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I remember back when I was about 14 my mum gave me £100 from the savings she had put aside for me to go clothes shopping with. This was a very big deal and a huge amount of money to me in the mid-90s, but she was very explicit about the terms of use.

Clothes shopping.

Naturally I came back with a load of tat from Athena including a to-scale purple glass head (perfect for displaying my hats! One at a time anyway!) and just one single t-shirt. Unsurprisingly, I got a fairly decent telling off for my blatant disregard of the rules and complete lack of respect for money, but to be fair to young, frivolous me (I’m still frivolous now. Young, not so much), I got my money’s worth out of that t-shirt. It became my favourite thing, and it was worn at every opportunity. It was a burgundy Adidas Originals t-shirt with bright blue detailing, and I loved it.

(Thanks Depop!)

Adidas was one of THE sports labels in the 90s. Do a quick Google image search and you’ll see Mel C in her tracksuits, Madonna in a maxi dress, J-Lo and Gwen Stefani in satiny trousers worn with crop tops and everyone – EVERYONE – else sporting a pair of Gazelles.

Kate Moss in Gazelles from 1993. Photo: Denzil McNeelance/Adidas

But somewhere between secondary school and my exercise wilderness years (i.e. my late teens and early 20s where I did very little in the way of considered movement), bar the odd pair of Stan Smiths Adidas simply fell out of my wardrobe. And when in my late 20s I rediscovered exercise and it became a huge part of who I am, that relationship never really picked up again, but I can’t really explain why. I wasn’t purposefully avoiding their gear, it was more that I veered towards Sweaty Betty (and the fact that they have a standalone store in Cambridge) and the sorts of shops that tend to sell Adidas are generally aimed at a younger clientele that nearly 40-year old me can’t be dealing with (I’m looking at you JD Sports!).

So when I was asked if I would like to collaborate with Adidas by trying out some of their sportswear, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to rediscover what made me love that t-shirt so much. I know from being a Yoga with Adriene fan that she routinely wears their gear and has collaborated on some ranges with them, so they hadn’t completely fallen out of my consciousness and I had occasionally coveted a part of her outfit during a downward dog or warrior pose. And while I flirted with the idea of trying some of their yoga pieces, I of course ended up selecting items from their running range.

I chose an Ultimate Alpha Bra in Orbit Violet, the Adizero two-in-one shorts in Halo Mint, the Own the Run Tank Top in Black, some Team GB Wristbands in Solar Red (a must have for a sweaty runner like me!) and a pair of their Adizero Adios 6 Tokyo Shoes in Cloud White. Essentially, an entire outfit, perfect for running Brandon Country parkrun in, which is where Justin (you can find his blog here) took these photos. Let’s look at each piece in turn.

Ultimate Alpha Bra – £35

Now normally I would save my favourite item for last, but it makes sense to start with the basics of an outfit. But I can say with absolute clarity that this bra is a revelation. I run solely in Shock Absorber’s Ultimate Run Bra, and I didn’t have any expectation that this would come close to the level of comfort offered by SA but I couldn’t have been more wrong. It fitted perfectly with none of that awkward wriggling you sometimes have to do with a sports bra to get it to sit right – just remember to remove the care labels to ensure you don’t get any rubbing. During the run I felt comfortable and ‘held together’ without feeling like my breathing was in any way restricted. Now I’m not exactly blessed in this department so I can’t say how well this bra would work on a larger bust, but I am definitely going to be ordering more of these so that I can keep them in rotation. An absolute dream piece that is also available in black and pink.

Adizero Two-in-One Shorts – £50

When it comes to running, shorts that don’t ride up are a must have for me. They either need to have an under layer or they need to have a rubberised grip around the thigh. These have both, which immediately made them a winner for me. They didn’t budge when I ran, and Brandon parkrun is a nice undulating course so they were properly put through their paces. They are really lightweight, even with the two layers, and are going to be a summer must have. If the mint isn’t your bag, they come in black too. The little bonus is that the undershorts have a pocket on each side, which although isn’t big enough for your smartphone, is perfect for a key and your very important parkrun barcode!

Own the Run Tank Top – £25

Disclaimer – I loved this tank top so much I’ve already bought myself the same one in pink!

There’s not too much I can say about this top other than that it’s as light as anything and it wicked the sweat away so well without obviously becoming weighty. I like tops that have a bit of flow to them rather than being skintight, and this just ticked all of my boxes at a really good price point.

Team GB Wristbands – £10

There’s not much to dislike about a pair of wristbands but when running in summer these are an absolute must have for me as my body is super efficient at cooling itself down. In other words, I don’t glow. I don’t perspire. I SWEAT. LOTS. The colour of these appealed to my flamboyant side, and they’re made of an unusually soft material and hopefully won’t become scratchy after multiple washes like some of the more traditional ‘towelling’ ones I’ve had in the past.

Adizero Adios 6 Tokyo Shoes – £110

Now I have to say that I have never found MY shoes. You know those running trainers that feel like they were moulded specifically to your feet, that you’re tempted to buy 5 pairs of to stock pile in case they change the next version? I just haven’t found them. A pair of Mizunos came close, and so did the Brooks Adrenaline GTS, but nothing has quite landed. So after quite a bit of research on the Adidas website and checking a few reviewer sites, I chose to try the Adizero 6, which are made with Primegreen, a series of high-performance recycled material, with 50% of upper made from recycled content.

Coming in at just 221g and with an 8mm heel drop (my preference), these have the makings of a super speedy road shoe (disclaimer no 2 – I didn’t wear them for the trail parkrun as I couldn’t bear to get my brand new shiny shoes muddy and sandy on their first wear, so I had taken them out for a fairly speedy road 5k the day before). They are in fact billed as a 5k/10k racer. They have a super lightweight mesh upper (great for keeping cool, less so if you’re going out in the rain) and they felt really grippy on my run. They’re pretty stiff in the mid foot but come into their own on the forefoot, and as a toe runner this could work really well for me. The only downside to them that I could find is that they’re on the narrow side so I need to relace mine, and they seem to have come up on the small side. I usually wear a size 5 in regular shoes and a size 6 in running shoes, but I could have benefitted from another half size up.

Obviously one 5k isn’t going to tell me everything I need to know about these shoes, but the signs are really promising. Plus they have gold accents so they make me feel fancy.

So needless to say my love of Adidas is well and truly reignited. It feels like a shame that it’s taken me so long to realise how well suited their running gear is to my needs, but better late than never eh? And as for that t-shirt, I didn’t buy the one from Depop, but instead treated myself to a 2021 version, because sometimes you need to channel your 14 year old self.

Cat hair: Model’s own

Thank you to Adidas and Kaizen for gifting me the five items reviewed in this post. All views are my own. You can see the full Adidas running range at https://www.adidas.co.uk/running-clothing #CreatedWithAdidas

Can we just let women do sport please?

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Urgh, sometimes it is just exhausting being a woman who participates in sport. From the everyday cat calls, and comments on whether or not “that” woman “should” be wearing “that” item of clothing (“Ooh I’m not sure she pulls that off. She hasn’t really got the figure for it has she? Should you really be running in just a sports bra?”) to the constant awareness of safety when out running alone (keys between the knuckles anyone?) it’s all just a bit much when all we want to do is just keep ourselves healthy and enjoy doing something we love.

When will women be allowed to just be when exercising, and feel safe whilst doing so?

The reason this has got my particular gander of late is because of headlines that came out during Tokyo 2020. You could only have been living under a rock not to hear about the fine handed out to the Women’s Norwegian Beach Handball team. They chose to wear – still pretty small – spandex shorts rather than bikini bottoms. Now if you’re a normal human being you’d probably think “fair enough. Those little pants are pretty revealing, and are probably less than ideal if you’re on your period, and you can still see how their bodies are moving if you want to argue that that’s the reason for minimal clothing.” But dear reader, the European Handball Federation were having none of it. They fined the team $177 per player for their protest. I mean, rules are rules, and the International Handball Federation dictates that women wear sports bras and bikini bottoms “with a close fit and cut on an upward angle toward the top of the leg,” and sides shorter than four inches, during beach competition. 

What? Ick. When pressed about this rule, IHF spokesperson Jessica Rockstroh could not point to any specific reason for it, and simply said “we’re looking into it internally.” Ok, so can I at least assume that the men’s team has similar rules to ensure that their bodies are fully on show and not restricted when playing?

Oh.

And before anyone says it, I’m sure there are other teams who are quite happy wearing the bikinis. But this is what’s missing when it comes to beach handball. Choice. If it has zero impact on how someone performs their sport and has zero impact on the scoring ability of said sport, there should be equality of choice between the sexes when it comes to the kit they compete in.

And clearly this works just fine in other sports. Check out the finish line of the mixed triathlon relay at Tokyo. While Jess Learmonth and Georgia Taylor-Brown from Team GB wore trisuits with shorts, Leonie Periault and Cassandre Beaugrand from France wore swimsuits. They had a choice on which was more comfortable, and made it. And in the gymnastics, Sarah Voss from Germany kickstarted a revolution in her team by wearing a bodysuit (in gymnastics, this doesn’t officially break any rules). Tellingly, she said “As a little girl I didn’t see the tight gym outfits as such a big deal. But when puberty began, when my period came, I began feeling increasingly uncomfortable.”

Arguments around what women look like or what they wear during sport is a tale as old as time. But to pick some recent examples, in 2004, Sepp Blatter’s suggestion for increasing interest in women’s football was that they should “let the women play in more feminine clothes like they do in volleyball. They could, for example, have tighter shorts. Female players are pretty, if you excuse me for saying so, and they already have some different rules to men – such as playing with a lighter ball. That decision was taken to create a more female aesthetic, so why not do it in fashion?”. In 2013, when commentating during Wimbledon, John Inverdale said of Marion Bartoli (who went on to win the Championship) “I just wonder if her dad, because he has obviously been the most influential person in her life, did say to her when she was 12, 13, 14 maybe, ‘listen, you are never going to be, you know, a looker. You are never going to be somebody like a Sharapova, you’re never going to be 5ft 11, you’re never going to be somebody with long legs, so you have to compensate for that.'” In 2018, the French Tennis Federation banned Serena Williams from competing in a black catsuit, despite the fact that she was wearing it not just for aesthetic purposes (it was an incredible bodysuit), but because it was a compression suit to help with blood clots, a health issue that had resulted in a pulmonary embolism in her lung that sidelined her for a year. Then just last month, Team GB paralympian Olivia Breen was told that her bottoms were “too short and revealing” and that she should wear something more appropriate. Unsurprisingly, at first glance they look less revealing than those required for beach handball.

It feels like women can’t win. Either they’re being sexualised, or are told that what they’re wearing isn’t appropriate or is too sexual. Can you imagine any of these conversations happening between a sport’s officials and the male athletes? Was Kristian Blummenfelt told off for his trisuit that became transparent when it got wet? Was Tom Daley told to wear larger swimming trunks (according to him, “they have to be small because everything has to stay in place”)? Were any male handball players told off because their vests were too baggy? If this did happen I’d be really interested to hear about it.

A study by Greater Sport showed that 1/3 girls aged 14-16 are unhappy with their body image, and another by Dove in 2010 found that 60% of girls drop out of sport due to this poor body image. If you were a self conscious 14 year old who had discovered a love of beach handball, but were then told “oh by the way, this is the outfit you’ll have to wear”, do you think you would have had the confidence to press on and wear it? I certainly wouldn’t have, and I would have wondered why I couldn’t wear a vest and shorts like the boys when we’re doing the exact same sport. Policing what women wear in sport is damaging. We should be doing everything we can to keep our girls in sport during puberty and beyond. They need to be encouraged to embrace what their bodies can do, not what they look like.

Beyond what women wear when doing sport, there is also the issue of safety when exercising. I broached this subject in a piece I wrote for Ox Gadgets last year which covered the safety of apps like Strava and the gender balance of apps like Zwift (where even in a virtual world women can’t avoid being hit on). Then when Sarah Everard’s life was so cruelly cut short when she was abducted off the street, raped and murdered by a Metropolitan Police Officer last March, I asked members of my running club if they felt safe when running, and if they had ever experienced harassment when exercising. Now I have to say that I do live in a low crime area of the UK, but even then the stories I received were harrowing. Many members, male and female alike, had stories of abuse thrown at them and stories of drivers slowing down and driving alongside them and feeling threatened when coming across people in quieter streets. But the key difference between the male and female members of the club, was that the abuse female runners received was always based around the threat of sexual violence, culminating in one runner having a driver pull over in a lay-by she was running past. He rolled down his window, and thinking he might need directions, she jogged over, only to see him looking at her as he masturbated in his car. This happened at 7.30 in the morning, in daylight, in a quiet town. As a result of this assault, she no longer runs on her own, feels anxious whenever she sees a similar car, and chooses to run different routes or at different times in case the man involved has a regular commute through the area at a similar time each day. I imagine other women might never run again after such an experience.

So where am I going with all of this? To be honest, I’m not really sure. I think this blog post was borne out of frustration that has been building for a while, anger and upset that women I know have had to change their sporting behaviours because of sexual assault, and that athletes at the top of their game are still being discussed for what they wear instead of for what they do. I was a self conscious kid growing up, and I was one of those women who left sport in puberty. The reason my blog is called what it is is because I didn’t start running until I was 28. I guess I just want people to do better, and to call out casual sexism when they see it. I want them to not tell women that they should not run on their own again when they are subjected to a sexual assault, like they are somehow to blame for a man’s repulsive behaviour. And I definitely want women to keep doing peaceful protests, wearing what they feel comfortable to compete in even if the archaic rules tell them that they can’t. Because then hopefully, little by little, women competing in sport will be able to do so without being sexualised at every turn, and young women will feel empowered to stick with the sport they love as their bodies change, because they know it will go on to do wonderful things.

Can running mean too much?

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Yep, I’ve been quiet on here. And sadly it’s not due to getting out and enjoying my marathon training plan and the easing of restrictions here in the UK.

Just two weeks after my blog post about getting a place in the London Marathon, my stupid plantar fasciitis (thanks shitty tendons) made a screaming comeback like an attention-seeking toddler having a hissy fit. Honestly, the timing was almost laughable. Twelve weeks later and I’m – finally – tentatively sticking a less than happy toe back into the water whilst I wait for my long-awaited for osteopath appointment to roll around. I know that its recurrence is due to a number of factors. Pre-lockdown I used to have monthly physio MOTs and it’s been 14 months since my last appointment, I’ve been working from a sofa all year due to the size of my house and having two adults working from home, and I’ve been doing online workout classes on a non-sprung floor. That’s all going to add up.

To be honest, London isn’t massively on my mind at the moment. I need to start my training plan in earnest in June if I’m going to make the October start line, and since I only just started running again two weeks ago and am at 2.5 miles, realistically that’s looking super unlikely. And I know some people think that London shouldn’t be about the time and you should just enjoy it, but I don’t even have any longer run foundations to build on right now. I’ll be starting nearly from scratch, and even getting around and enjoying it, regardless of time, feels like too big an ask. So I’m just waiting for them to announce their deferral process so I can get that sorted and not need to think about it.

But in these last few weeks, I’ve realised just how much of me is tied up in running. So much of who I am is wrapped up in this pastime of mine that I feel like I’ve really lost my way – and part of who I am – in the last few months. I’ve had to block notifications from my running club on Facebook as I couldn’t bear to see people sharing their virtual race results and sharing photos of themselves back at training. I’ve had to temporarily mute messenger conversations from close friends when the talk turned to running as the jealousy became too much. I’ve had to block notifications on Strava when I kept being told that any segment or “local legend” titles that I held had been snapped up by someone else. Everything just felt so negative and there’s also another argument here for stepping back from social media, but that’s another conversation for another time.

I have thrown myself into cycling, both on the turbo trainer and in the real world, and the racing side of Zwift has helped me to scratch my competitive itch, but nothing makes me feel the way running does. Nothing fits me like running does. I bumped into Ely Runner Kath just yesterday, and she summed it up beautifully. She told me that to her, running is meditative. She has come to know her local routes so well that she has one for nearly every mood. It’s not quite like cycling where you have to have more of your wits around you 100% of the time, looking out for potholes and being hyper aware of cars. With running, you can pick a quiet trail and switch off, and in Ely we’re lucky enough to be able to be in the depths of the countryside within minutes, with nothing but bird song and maybe the distant rumble of a train for company. It’s soul food and I feel like I’m starving.

Although I’ve been injured before, it’s quite an overwhelming thing to be injured during a global pandemic, when your biggest coping mechanism for good mental health is suddenly taken away and access to the treatment you need to get back out running is harder to come by. We’re all coping with so much change and uncertainty already, and to lose the one thing you rely on as a constant is gut wrenching. I’ve cried at friends who haven’t even been able to hug me and tell me that of course I’ll be back. That I’ve been here before and it’s part and parcel of being an athlete. And deep down I know this. But I think over the last 14 months my capacity for any mental strain has diminished, and to be a running blogger who can’t run, to be known as Girl Running Late online but have nothing to say about it means that I feel like without running, I’m nothing.

But I have to say, that alongside my husband, it’s my running friends – both old and new – who have kept me going. There are those that drag me out for bike rides just so that we can try and find Justin some random tat on the side of the road and make up even more nicknames for each other (sorry Bethan), those who turn up with flowers and chocolates just because they know I’m having a bad week (thanks Rach and Ann), those that let me cry at them and help me to see the bigger picture (thanks Pete) and those who offer to come out for a walk when they would normally be out running (Charlotte, Janet, Shaun, Emma, Emily) just so that we can laugh and vent about anything and everything (sometimes with a bonus doggo and/or baby). It’s meant more to me than they probably realise (even if Justin did beat my Mill Hill segment on a bike ride, the git).

So what next? I see Melissa at Spritely Osteopathy in less than 2 weeks, and I know that her treatment is going to be the first step in getting back out there. I’ve been doing a lot more pilates to work on my glutes and core, the twin engines of a runner’s body, and I’ve signed up to Fiit, whose huge number of classes and points based workout system keeps me motivated. And as for the running, I’ll keep taking it very steady, restricting myself to a short run every three days and not deviating from that plan, and knowing that if my foot flares up again I’ll need to stop. For now, that’s enough for me. I’ve realised that even running a mile is restorative, and makes me feel like myself again. Yes, a lot of who I am is defined by my running, but it’s also given me the people who have kept me afloat both during this injury and during the whole of the last 14 months. So maybe it’s ok that it’s such a huge part of what makes me, me. Because without it, my support network would have been a hell of a lot smaller. Just don’t be offended if I don’t like your long Sunday run on Strava. I’m not quite there yet.

London Baby!

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I don’t think it’s going to take a genius to realise what this post is about.

That’s right. Mrs “I’m probably never going to do a marathon” only went and got a ballot place for VLM 2021.

You know what it’s like. You watch the marathon, get sucked up in the emotion and enter the ballot with a tear in your eye after watching a man dressed like a camel tell his family he loves them at mile 21, knowing full well your chance of getting a place is something like 1/25. Even the weirdness of the 2020 marathon didn’t stop me as I watched all of those amazing runners take on the challenge virtually, without even the famous London crowds to cheer them on.

But then I forgot all about it, and when my email turned up last week I clicked the link with a wry smile fully expecting the usual “commiserations” message and preparing to go about my day. So when I saw the lovely red-headed lady’s face with the words “YOU’RE IN!” I did whatever anyone else would do. Started shaking and immediately went to the toilet. My body basically went straight into fight or flight mode, just like it always does on any event start line. Adrenaline is a bitch.

As I saw the disappointed posts start to come in on the Ely Runners Facebook page, without a single person saying they had been successful, something stopped me from getting involved in the chat. I think I needed to take the time to absorb the news and to accept the enormity of it for me as a runner. So many of my incredible clubmates have done multiple marathons, and although they all respect the distance, for a lot of them, it no longer holds any fear. But for me, I have a comfort zone, and it’s 5km.

But here I am, a week later, and I’m – dare I say it – a wee bit excited? I feel incredibly privileged to have something to train for in a time when few races and running events are taking place. And I have been utterly overwhelmed by the support I’ve received. I have a training plan coming my way courtesy of Charlotte. I have offers of running buddies on those long runs from Justin, Shaun, Pete and more. I have offers of dealing with the nutrition and mental side of things from Jo. And I have had nothing but messages of support from those I’ve told, all who have made me believe that yes – I can do this.

But I know I have a lot of work ahead of me, and it’s not just about getting the miles in. Anyone who knows me knows I’m going to want to do this to the best of my ability, and to do that I have things I need to work on. I need to work on my core and glute strength to manage my hyperlordosis which tends to make itself known around 10 miles into any longer run. I need to stay on top of my rehab and make sure I look after my calves which have a habit of tightening up thanks to my form which sees me running up on my toes (in a time when I can’t see my physio for my monthly MOT). I need to be more structured in my training instead of just running what I want when I want. But most importantly, I need to sort out my head. I need my brain to stop telling me that I’m not capable of such a long distance, that I’m simply not built for it. I need to believe in myself.

But the best bit of advice I’ve had so far has come from Charlotte, who immediately told me not to think about the time, and to instead treat London Marathon as the event it is. She told me to make sure I take everything in and be truly present, because London is an experience, and it might be a once in a lifetime one for me. If I enjoy the distance and decide I want to do other marathons, I can focus on the time then. London shouldn’t be about that. And in her words, “It’s about looking back and saying you did it and enjoyed it rather than ‘got through it’.” Amen sister.

So prepare yourself folks – I’m about to embark on a marathon journey, and I really hope you’ll come along for the ride.