When runs are rubbish

Date: Saturday, September 15, 2018

Distance: 6.72 miles/10.81 km

Listened to: My husband’s encouraging words

Rubbish runs seem to be a fact of life. I mean, there was a time when I would consider all runs rubbish, but it is not until you hit a really bad one that you appreciate the ones that have not felt so bad.

I think it was always inevitable that yesterday’s run was going to be tough and I am sensible enough to realise that, but just wish it had not been the case. I needed it to be a good run but in relying on running to give me an emotional boost, I put too much pressure on the run and myself.

I am on the edge of a cold (still at the achy ears and throat stage), I ran 6 miles two days beforehand, I sat in the car for five hours …and I had just got through my dear Dad’s funeral.

The family were treating Dad’s long-awaited funeral (nearly four weeks from his death) as a celebration. And quite rightly so. However, I had elected to deliver the eulogy but three read-throughs beforehand had not gone well. I had broken down into tears at the same point every time. I did not want to lose it when it came to the real thing. Some of it was entirely my fault. I have an excellent memory for the minutiae of life and can encapsulate emotion with ease. I had basically written a speech that was bound to trip me up. However, when it came to it, I got through it without losing my composure. My part of the occasion was done.

But, you still have to say goodbye and, quite frankly, I didn’t or rather don’t want to. I don’t want to let him go and I wish he was still alive. I know that it was his time; dementia had well and truly seen to that, but I will never be able to see him, touch him, hear him, kiss him, smell him ever again…and that is tough.

Aside from all the other negative factors that were rallying against me ahead of yesterday’s run, my body felt full of anxiety, resentment and deep-down sadness. With the sun beating down, it started off ok, but then I just did not want to run anymore. I did not have the heart for it but could not bear the thought of giving up either. I had put too much stall in hoping the run would make me feel better.

My poor husband John, who was already running on his toes to account for my slow pace, gently coaxed me along the seafront. He accepted my walking spells, my anger, my litter-picking and he dragged me along when all my heart, head and body wanted to do was stop. He knew I needed to achieve the distance we were aiming for.

He ran the slowest 10k of his life! But at least I had ticked off a few more miles and the gruelling job was done. It was the fourth of my terrible seafront runs! I am not sure seafront runs are made for me (there are no downhill bits!) Maybe there is a book in there somewhere: “Savage Seafront Runs”?

But despite the mental and physical pain, there were still some positives to be had along the running/funeral way. I have picked out 12.

Having picked up a pizza box on the run out, we met a whole team of beach cleaners on the way back. Loads of them! It was heartening to see and Dad would have thoroughly approved.
My lovely friend Cath ran her furthest distance for a long time…and even went running with two super-fast runners to get her going to #fightthefear. She used #runningfordad on her Facebook post on my timeline too and that made me smile.
My gorgeous friend Emma travelled several hours to come to the funeral wearing an Alzheimer’s Society badge. She understands how memory loss can affect a loved one.
My cousin-in-law twice removed – hell, let’s just call her a cousin – Pip has signed up for the Plymouth 10k.
My daughter Ella nailed it with her poem reading despite feeling really poorly. I was super-proud of both my girls and John, who had a tough poem to read too.
My dear friend Luisa is doing yoga multiple times a week.
One of my oldest friends Glenn called me the day before the funeral and it was so lovely so hear his voice. Old friends are important at these times as they have usually met the person you have lost. Mel, Hayles and Lucy fit this category too.
I ran past rainbow-coloured beach huts. Beach huts always make me smile.
I got to ride in a beautiful Roll-Royce.
I received loads of messages of support from friends, cousins and colleagues, plus a sausage casserole from darling Viv, and flowers and biscuits from Rachel. All the flowers, cards, meals, messages and love have been gratefully received. I cannot name you all.
A funeral means you get to see family members you do not see on a regular basis.
The sun shone through the window as we attempted to sing Jerusalem (one of the hardest songs to sing ever even if you don’t have a constricted throat) and I am hoping that was a sunbeam from Dad.