Date: Sunday, October 7, 2018

Distance: 2.24 miles/3.60 km (but probably 3.5 miles – my app stop working at the London Eye – grrrrr!)

Listened to: My friends

In my last blog, I discussed when I would feel like a runner. I think one of the outstanding items in my inbox before being able to admit I might be one are my nerves around running with friends.

Running with friends terrifies me and it came to a head last weekend when I had suggested two of my best friends – Mel and Hayles – might like to accompany me on a run during our weekend away in London.

A large amount of wine is hardly the best preparation the night before a run but, bless them, they were game. Not only were they fully aware of me using running as a way to manage my grief for my recently departed Dad but they knew I had signed up for the 75-mile challenge for October. I know…what I am I thinking? But, I need the challenge to keep me running. It’s too easy not to run.

It’s not the first time I have run with friends. The first time I gave it go was in the run up to my Bristol 10k. I bit the bullet and accompanied two of my lovely friends – Cath and Abs – who I like to call ‘fast girls’ on the Bowcombe loop from the primary school. I call them the fast girls because they are faster than me…and they TALK. They have full on conversations while I am using every bit of air in my lungs to breathe! I think they are amazing. And, as lovely people, they allowed me to be as slow as I wanted and ran ahead when I told them too. It was a real barrier for me and although I have been out with them since, I am still not up to their pace…or chat!

Last Sunday morning, I woke up in a panic. I wanted to run. I needed to run. But I was scared…scared of running with two people who love me unconditionally. It occurred to me then that I had chosen one of the hardest things ever to ease my grief. Add in potentially letting my friends down, and that’s a double whammy.

Running is hard for me. I do not glide up hills. I do not run fast. I find it hard to keep going.

Running with friends is super hard. It taps into all my insecurities in one fail swoop. And it really upset me that I was scared about running with my two best friends who were bridesmaids at my wedding.

How is this is a good way to ease my mourning?

My dear friends convinced me to go though and they ran at a pace I could cope with – largely helped by the lovely flat terrain of the South Bank. The sun was out, London looked beautiful and it felt good. I felt happy to be running with friends and in an instant I remembered why I was running for Dad. I was grateful to them for their support and for sharing that morning of mourning and then joy with me. They are keepers for sure.

It has not allayed all my fears. I can still feel my stomach clench when I think about running with friends but little by little, I trying to face this one.

I do think I probably prefer running alone. It clears my head and gives me time to listen to questionable music, but with so many gorgeous friends that run, it would be rude not to join them from time to time.

Since then, I have run a further eight miles to get my total up to 20 miles for this month so far. I have got a long way to go. In fact, I have got all of last month’s challenge to go, in terms of miles…plus five more. Gulp. Better get running!

PS I also want to thank the friends who have supported me on this journey. They may have not been by my side on the road, but they have shouted me on from the sidelines with their messages, race entries and news of their runs. You’re all very cool.

#runningfordad #slowrunningisstillrunning #runningwithfriends

Date: Thursday, September 27, 2018

Distance: 3 miles/4.82 km

Listened to: Rita Ora playlist 

This is an interesting conundrum and one my good friend Marissa posed me after my 10k treadmill efforts…and it is a conundrum I cannot figure out. The closest I can get is to say that I feel like I am closer to being a runner but still have days when I definitely do not think I will ever be one!

To be clear. This is not some attempt to glean shouts of “But you are a runner!”  from people. I am genuinely uncertain when one becomes one or whether we are all runners if we at least try.

I am a real sucker for comparing myself to other people, but not in a negative way. I am not coveting for their speed, stride length, endurance, ability to speak while running (well, maybe a little bit of that one!), medals won, etc. but I am in constant wonder at the prowess of others. It’s kind of what set me on this journey.

Kingsbridge is full of runners. They seem to be everywhere. If you are not a runner, it seems like you are in the minority. I have friends and colleagues further afield who are runners. And some of these lovely people are utterly bonkers.

One colleague has run 20 off-road marathons (and some of these have been further than 26.2 miles and sometimes multiples in the same weekend) in the last two years and is still keen to do more. I tracked (a bit geeky but thoroughly satisfying) eight people in this year’s London Marathon and one mum I know killed it with a time of 3hrs 25mins. A good friend runs qualifying marathon times and casually nips off to do marathons around Europe. Then there are the ironman or half ironman (and woman) nutters. These are all people I know. I am not jealous. I am in utter awe. I think they are amazing.

But I also worship at the alter of more normal runners, such as my two ‘fast girl’ friends who run just that little bit faster than me and still talk! I admire my marketing colleague who finished a 10k with his wife. It wasn’t fast but they did it. And then I read about a lady who has consistently finished 50 marathons in last place. This blew my mind.

I recognise that mental strength means a lot in my running progress. For me, the hardest thing to accept is a bad run like the one I did the day after Dad’s funeral. If I have the wrong mindset, I really beat myself up, mentally and physically, and then I have a bad run and then I feel even worse.

If you have read this blog before, you will know that accepting I will walk some of the hills was a breakthrough moment for me as it meant I could run further. This was partly influenced by the lady who has finished last in 50 marathons. She has accepted her limits but still carries on running/walking at her pace and is thoroughly proud of it. I admire that mental strength – the strength to know you are never going to win or be fast – more than I do someone who has done multiple marathons. And I bet she thinks she’s a runner!

There are days when my mental and physical resolve are good. I recently ran 10k on a treadmill in under one hour. It was a goal I set myself last Saturday on a particularly wet and windy day. With our local leisure centre undergoing a facelift, it was not the most interesting run as there was no Saturday Kitchen, Frasier or The Simpsons to watch as I did it. I just faced the wall! For some people, running that distance on the treadmill would be unbearable but I have always been comfortable there. My brain can cope with it.

I returned there to do my last two miles of my 50-mile challenge too. That was going to be it for running this month until my husband commented that if I did two miles more, I would have done the equivalent of two marathons in September. Arrrggghhhhh! With the sun shining, beautiful blue skies and the delivery of a new running top in the post yesterday, it seemed all the signs were there, so I went back outside for the first time in 10 days.

I did not really enjoy the first mile but then came a truly run-defining moment. I met an 80+-year-old runner along the way. Jim has long been my local hero. He is a multiple marathon runner and is still going strong. He is also adorable. He always smiles and gives you a wave. If getting the wave and smile was not enough, I ended up running in his wake and then overtaking him (sorry, Jim!) on my return leg but he gave me a cheery “Go on!” as I did so. I broke into a big grin and tears at the same time. I had been cheered on by a running legend!

My 50-mile challenge (well, 53 to get the two marathons nailed), my 10 runs in September, two races this year and the sub-hour 10k on the treadmill all suggest that I am a runner. I just wish I enjoyed them all and they all felt good! I still do not think I am one inside but I think it nearly am….and that’s progress. 🙂

#runningfordad #slowrunningisstillrunning #nearlyarunner #committed

Date: Monday, September 17, 2018

Distance: 6 miles/9.66 km

Listened to: Bristol 10k playlist (mostly angry break-up tunes)

After a a bit of sob-blog on Sunday, this time I am focusing on something a little more positive and up-lifting! I am going to dig deep into my memories to think about where confidence comes from rather than what it feels like when it deserts you. See my earlier blog Fighting the fear factor for the full Bristol 10k rundown of how inner panic can cripple you!

Confidence is a strange old thing. I think some of us fake it most of the time, but that faking it is probably akin to something like confidence. I think of myself of as a bit of an inner scaredy cat, but when I look back on my life, I have done things that would require confidence or, at the very least, a decent bit of nerve.

Picking up the phone the first time to do a telephone interview as junior reporter, carrying out numerous ‘death knocks’ (interviewing the loved ones of someone who just tragically died), shouting back at the feared deputy news editor when he yelled at me and pushing myself forward as a rugby reporter are four quick examples.

Just deigning to try and break into the rugby world at all required a bit of pluck. I certainly stuttered my way in:

1. I had to interview the man-mountain that was Tim Rodber after the first game I reported on and was nearly sick as I paced around the clubhouse before an old university friend pushed me in front of him…so I had to start asking my questions.
2. The first time I did a Premiership game, I had to ask the assembled journos to move up to accommodate me. One of them asked to see my ticket as he did not believe there was a place for me in the press box.
3. My first England game and having to leap on Sir Clive Woodward as he left the press conference (a big no-no) to try to nail a Northampton angle to keep the aforementioned deputy news editor happy.

All these were baby steps that I stumbled through, but I wanted the end result…so I did it. I kind of think the same way about running. I want to be able to run, not too fast mind, but just enough to get to a comfortable, consistent pace.

However, I am not the same twenty-something year-old who was trying to break into the very male and upper middle-age domain of rugby reporting and latterly PR. I was far more self-conscious back then. I tried to hide the things I was embarrassed about, like being deaf in one ear, having asthma or being rubbish at pretty much all sports. These days, I don’t really care and I attribute much of that to becoming a mum.

Although I had lost some of the perfect figure I did not appreciate while I had it (why do we do that?), having Ella gave me a skill. I always thought I would be rubbish at giving birth but I actually did ok. Her arrival also signalled the start of a responsibility I take quite seriously. Not just to love and care for her as long as I live, but to be a good role model. I don’t want her to see me hung up about my body or my lack of ability, I want her to think anything is possible and that she is wonderful.

This new responsibility was rubber-stamped on a European trip while I was communications manager for Northampton Saints. We went bowling one night to keep boredom at bay and I, true to form, was consistently useless while a team of elite athletes got strike after strike after double strike. Coach at the time, Paul Grayson (clang – sorry) asked me why my lack of skill did not bother me. I eyed this England, Lions and Saints legend, who could pretty much turn his hand to any sport, and simply shrugged my shoulders. In my head I was thinking: “I have squeezed a baby out of my body via a very small hole in …I’m all good!”

I just began to shrug my shoulders a little more.

Another stupid but landmark shrugging example: Unknown to me, some of the players were laughing at me when I had a trouser leg tucked in one of my socks during a photo shoot I had organised. My younger self would have been mortified. My older self was grateful to the player (Dylan Hartley FYI – double clang) who alerted me to my fashion faux pas rather than worrying about being teased. It was subtle shift but a shift all the same.

I think it was this kind of shift that led me to run in the Kingsbridge 10k (see stunning finish photo above – i had to wear glasses as I had an eye infection on top of everything else!) earlier this year after saying I would NEVER do it. The Bristol 10k was brutal but I had done it. I had got round. I knew I could get round the Kingsbridge route. It is a hilly nightmare but what the hell would happen to me if I walked it or came last? Nothing. I would still be me and people would still love me. So I did it. I ran some it. I walked the rest. I did not come last. I waved at friends and high-fived the kids. And now I can look back on that as a good memory and an achievement.

Looking back and remembering what you have achieved is important for confidence. Very often we forget the good stuff we have done because we are too busy beating ourselves up about what we haven’t done! For instance, I reported on the 1999 Rugby World Cup (and was welcomed into the press box); I was only the second female press officer in the Premiership and the only one for while; I won an award for the match day programme I wrote; I have given birth without intervention twice; I have moved to Devon; I have helped my biggest client win multiple business awards this year; I have run my own business for 10 years. Oh, and I have run in two 10k races this year!

Of course, it would be lovely to run further and faster but I am doing ok. I am doing more than ok! My last run was a dismal disaster but I had confidence in myself to know I had the tools to put it right. I enjoyed this run much more and it also meant I had run 30k in five days. I would never have dreamed doing that six months ago. I have come so far for a deaf, wheezy old bird and I need to appreciate that.

It’s World Gratitude Day tomorrow so be grateful for you have achieved rather than giving yourself a hard time for what you have yet to do.

As ever, thanks for reading. Also, feel free to comment and share. I am keen to hear about other people’s playlists, running stories, tips, etc.

#slowchick #slowrunningisbetterthannorunning #itsoktowalk #runningfordad

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.

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. My cousin-in-law twice removed – hell, let’s just call her a cousin – Pip has signed up for the Plymouth 10k.
5. 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.
6. My dear friend Luisa is doing yoga multiple times a week.
7. 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.
8. I ran past rainbow-coloured beach huts. Beach huts always make me smile.
9. I got to ride in a beautiful Roll-Royce.
10. 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.
11. A funeral means you get to see family members you do not see on a regular basis.
12. 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.

I promise the next blog will be less grief-stricken! Thanks for reading.

#itsoktowalk #runningfordad

Date: Thursday, September 13, 2018

Distance: 6.16 miles/9.92 km

Listened to: Alanis Morrisette playlist (if you have not listened to her for a while, give her a whirl)

Tomorrow is my Dad’s funeral. Don’t worry this isn’t going to be a sob-fest I am fully focused on seeking the positives ahead of what I know will be a tough day.

Having slogged though a really slow run on Monday night in the dark after work, it was great to see the sun and a blue sky this morning. I wanted, and frankly needed, today’s run to be a good one.

And how could it not be? It was so beautiful out there today and reminded me how fortunate I am to live in this lovely area. I managed all the little hills and walked bloomin’ Cattery Hill as usual. Although this time, I walked right to the top to get the full benefit of the views from up there.

If I had not gone to the top I would not have seen the plastic sweet packet and empty drinks can that I ended up picking up along my way. By the time I got home, I had picked up two crisp packets, another can and a plastic bottle too. I must have looked ridiculous but it made me chuckle as it really reminded me of my Dad.

He did a six-year volunteer stint with the National Trust as a litter picker on Burling Gap beach. He was basically doing beach cleans way before they were trendy and everyone started was worrying about plastic pollution. He cared about our environment before we knew it was an issue. He often came home with armfuls of litter or filled his golf bag with items people had left behind on the course. He simply never walked passed rubbish.

So there was no way his one and only child could run past that litter today.

I think this activity has a name…plogging. The Swedes started it by mingling jogging and litter picking. Whatever, it’s called, it’s a great excuse to stop and catch your breath!

One of the reasons for starting this blog was to encourage people to get moving in whatever way they can. Can I be greedy and also ask you to pick up some litter on the way? Just pop it in the nearest bin or take it home for recycling. When I do so, I say “One for Dad” in my head. You do not have to do that of course, but know that he would be very grateful for your efforts.

Running wise, I managed 6 miles today and I am over halfway to my 50-mile target for this month. I’m still doing it. I am still running for Dad.

#itsoktowalk #runningfordad #lessplastic #plogging #onefordad

Date: Friday, September 7, 2018

Distance: 7.17 miles/11.55 km

Listened to: Canada DriveTime playlist (soft rock classics like Extreme, Bon Jovi, Heart…you get the gist!) from a holiday last year

The last few days have been a little tough in the wake of my Dad’s death. After a wobbly first week, I seemed to benefit from getting back into a routine amid the support, food, wine and flowers of my family and friends. As the funeral approaches and with my youngest daughter starting secondary school, I have definitely had a set-back. Too many life events all in one go.

My way of coping has been to keep busy. I have never been a dweller. This blog, the runs that inspire it, work, ironing, pie-making, etc….have all been a part of my survival. I realised I just could not keep still. I was avoiding thinking about Dad. I was not comfortable with just letting my feelings do their thing. This, in turn, made me sad. So not only was I sad; I was sad about being sad!

As I headed out for my run this morning, these emotions led me to feel ‘the fear’. I had not felt this way about running for a while. I have felt this fear on multiple occasions: before the first run I did outside this year, before the first run I did with friends, and before my first ever 10k event in Bristol

My lovely, learned husband had advised me to embrace the Bristol 10k as a challenge, to look forward to it, to be excited by it even, so I released lots of positive endorphins around my body to help me run better. I could not have been further away from positive if I tried. I woke up early to a bright blue sky and a blazing sun. Cue first panic. It was going to be too hot. Then I visited the toilet multiple times. At the start line, I tried to soak up the atmosphere and take a load of smiley selfies, but in truth I was lonely and terrified. My family were about 200 metres from the start, which gave me encouragement, but as soon as I left them behind, my legs turned to lead. They just would not do what I wanted them to. I felt robbed as I had done all the sensible things my physio husband told me to do pre race: light run early in the week, rest in the days beforehand, plenty of pasta the night before, no booze and three poos! All that hard work and preparation, and I was still struggling. On reflection, the heat and starting off too fast played a part, but I also paralysed myself with panic.

When I did the Kingsbridge 10k, ‘the fear’ only reared its head for a nano-second. Being in my locality among friends and cheered on by my family and more friends was the soothing salve I needed. My friend Rachel (and crazily amazing runner) greeted me at the start with a hug (and four safety pins) and other fab runner friends George, Ross, Simon, Ben and others were all really encouraging too. I did not feel lonely at all. I felt part of something. That was until everyone hared up the uphill high street at the start of the race. I had a brief pang of fear at that point but had a word with myself and kept on going at my pace. I made the distance and was really chuffed.

At the end of this rather disconcerting week, the fear returned again this morning. Who did I think I was going for my third run in seven days? Did I really think I could do this?Surely, the wheels would come off. And it wasn’t going to bring my Dad back anytime soon. Indeed, when I started off from my house, the legs were a little bit leaden. The positive endorphins were in hiding. The real test though would be a hill I had managed to run up for the first time last Saturday. Would the fear and my grief cripple my efforts and ruin my tentative new-found confidence? I eyed it with distrust as it grew closer and just let my legs give it a go. I did it. I also ran more of the infamous Cattery Hill or Crappery Hill according to my friend Viv, (see below – the hill, not Viv) than I had ever run before. The fear was not winning. I certainly wasn’t experiencing the so-called runner’s high but I wasn’t being beaten by my own emotions.

The reason for this blog is to keep me running to honour my Dad and to create something positive from a frankly rubbish situation. With this in mind, I ran past the road that leads up to my house at the end of this loop to add on a few more metres and minutes. I ended up running 7 miles…further than I have run before. I have also run more miles this week than in any other week in my life, which means I have knocked off 19 miles of my 50-mile September challenge. I am sure the fear will come a-calling more than once in a while, but today I beat it and feel better for it.

Thank you for reading.

#slowchick #slowrunningisbetterthannorunning #itsoktowalk #runningfordad #fightthefear