Brain dumps post Lakesman.

Lakesman was originally going to be my iron distance event of 2016. Then my name came out of the hat and it became a perfectly timed training event, 7 weeks prior to Norseman. 

I had taper in the plan, I also had the Leeds ITU Olympic tri in the plan as part of the taper - sadly that didn't happen due to illness - so I went into Lakesman feeling like I hadn't really moved very much for the past 2 weeks. 

Very well rested but with the demon voices telling me I had lost all fitness. 

Because it had become a training event, the plan was, swim as I would on Norse race day - aim to replicate the intensity in the water, then bike at the intensity I was planning to ride at.  If all was well, do a couple of run laps.  Replicate the flat half marathon. then STOP. 

I ride with power, so while the 2 bike course couldn't be more different, profile wise, I would still be able to know how hard I was riding, how much effort I was putting in etc. It was also a chance to test kit and fuel and see how I felt getting off the bike. 

Race day arrived - I had camped the night before to replicate as best I could what it would be like sleeping on the floor of a community hall.

I was TOTALLY calm in transition - ok, my porridge wouldn't go down, but that was more about my body not wanting to eat when it should be sleeping.

My body also ignored the 2 poo rule - it ignored ANY poo rule to be fair. 

It was as though it was in some kind of denial. 

Nerves or Adrenalin would have been helpful. 

Instead, I just had standard issue giddy kipper Rach - and 2 Imodium just in case. 

I was bouncy - dancing like a loon to Olly Murs singing Up. James Bay also created a small hip sway, foot shuffle and bounce. Little did I know that Up would stay with me for most of the day.

Kisses were exchanged, we made our way into the water, not much time for faff and we were off. 

I set off and found myself in a wide pack reasonably close to the front, moving across to get the best racing line was done gradually as I went up the long first straight. 

After an unknown length of time, I had settled into a rhythm and remembered just how much I love swimming, how much I missed racing in open water and actually how little training I had done.

Yes, I have swum, but I haven't done any speed work, strength work, training sets of endurance - possibly since last June. Certainly not with any regularity. 

Bilateral breathing and the direction of the course meant that the view changed regularly - I found myself relaxing in intensity and had to remind myself that I should be racing. 

I bloody love Derwent Water though. 

I came out of the pond after almost missing the last turning buoy, then having to turn back and swim round the inside of the last buoy (stupid moral compass).

There were whispers I was 5th female out of the water as I exited. 

Looking at the results, there was only one female competitor doing the whole race who came out in front of me - the rest were relay swimmers. That'll do. 

1.09 in the water - get out feeling fresh and happy. Tick. 

Quick transition and I was good to go.

I managed to squeeze in a quick squish in transition and was told that I was getting outside assistance - so I kissed the marshal too. Joy of being a relay team! 

The plan for the bike was to settle in and sit at 75% of my FTP. 

Andrew had been data nerding on BestBikeSplit and it was predicted that I should be able to ride the course in 6.20. So that was the goal for the day. 

I settled reasonably quickly, started my fuel strategy and found a rhythm. 

Rob came past me within 20km, we had a quick exchange about the strange noises Alice was making and how the swim was, then he was on his way. 

Everyone who passed me got a loud and cheery 'moooooooorning', as did everyone I passed. 

The marshalls all got a morning and a thank you, accompanied by a beaming me. 

Life was good.

The power data was reading that I was at 80% - then it occurred to me that the numbers on the Garmin hadn't been updated.

Fuck. 

The percentage I was riding at wasn't the right number to begin with. 

I tried to do the maths and it didn't work. 

Lesson number 1.

Make sure the numbers you're using are the right ones.

Ah, fuck it. 

Go by feel and use the numbers as a guide. 

It was too late now. 

Fuckety bollocks. 

Every hill I encountered, Demi Lavato sang at me as I climbed. 

It was a good song to keep me in a good head space.

"You gotta hold on
Hold on to what you're feeling
That feeling is the best thing
The best thing, alright
I'm gonna place my bet on us
I know this love is heading in the same direction
That's up"

That combined with the headgehodges singing rude songs......

They weren't hills in the Yorkshire or Norway sense - but they rolled. 

I have a sneaking suspicion I may have over-fueled or under drunk (which is more likely)

The front hydration system had leaked in transition. Alice is so very tiny, that she was left swinging - this meant her front bottle leaked. 

I voted to remove it rather than faff. 

Lesson number 2. 

Have a front feeding bottle that doesn't leak so you remember to drink more. 

My left contact lens had been a pain for most of the week - after approx 50km, it was shouting to be heard - so out it came. I rode with one eye for the remainder of the course.

Lesson number 3.

I can see plenty enough with one contact lens. 

I saw Mel on the bottom of the loop, she was due to over taking me at any moment - I was over whelmed with pride for her. As I went round the roundabout, I was told I was 3rd lady. WTF?!

Me? 3rd lady?

That would change soon enough.

Lee came past and we had a brief chat as we cat and moused backwards and forwards.

Shortly after, Stuart came flying past, slapping my backside as he went!! 

It seemed only fair I returned the favour as I went back past him a few miles down the road. 

(This greeting exchange between myself and Stuart continued onto the run leg as well! I think I had 4 bottom slaps and gave out 3)

The bike leg itself was fairly uneventful - I missed Mel passing me as i nipped into a portaloo at one of the feed stations - I couldn't wee while riding, no matter how hard I tried.

Alice's noises eventually subsided and my thoughts progressively got darker as the miles ticked by.

At approx 80km, my hips were starting to hurt - I went to take some pain killers and dropped them.

Never have I been more gutted. 

My quads were hurting at approx 100km.

Shortly after this, my power dropped out.

Lesson number 4

Change batteries on the Vectors before racking.

I didn't have a clue how hard I was riding - other than I had just under half of the bike left to go, my legs were starting to grump and I was sick to death of headwind. 

After the flat coastal road, being slightly concerned I would be stuck on the loop at the top, unable to get off it and being made to go round and round like scooby-doo riding, when the hills rolled once more, I started to feel like a fraud. 

My legs shouldn't be this tired.

Everyone else seemed to be coming past me.

More women were passing and I was now probably down to 10th female.

I felt like I was going backwards.  

Initially, I managed to keep my head space happy, telling myself that my gearing would be different for Norseman. Different gears would make it easier. 

 

For all I was still smiling like a loon, I wasn't in a happy head space. 

I was convinced that the time Andrew had predicted was 6.15 and I still had MILES to go - the downhill straight into town felt like it was uphill.  

6 hours ticked by and I was still a long way back - the A66 seemed to go on and on and on. 

The headwind was relentless.

Weaving through town, the traffic was horrific.

Anyone would think that there was a big event going on. 

 

I pulled up to the dismount line with Cathy marshalling 'bike in' - Sarah was waiting for the chip, originally, I was running a loop with her - I told her to go without me.  

My hips were screamy by this point. 

John came and looked after me, briefly, making sure I had pain relief and recovery drink - he had to go back to wait for Dave coming in on the bike to start his own run. 

Colin followed shortly behind me. 

In the hours that followed, my hips hurt in ways I've never experienced before - not running was the right call.

But I cant do that at Norseman. 

I considered running a loop after resting for a couple of hours - that still counts as a long brick right?

I would've done myself a mischief. 

After a day of beating myself up, I'm ok.

I achieved what I set out to achieve - and I learned important stuff.

I rode to within what I'm capable of and given the wind conditions and lack of data - to produce that result based on feel is OK. 

I need to stop being my own worst critic. 

I rode alright. 

We didn't disgrace ourselves (myself and Alice, although she tried) and we (myself and Dr Sarah) achieved a 11.49 relay. 

I posted a 6.27 bike split. 

I have 6 weeks of solid training left to bank. 

I didn't fail this weekend. 

I achieved exactly what I set out to achieve and BEAMED while doing it.

I was able to spend the weekend with some of the people whom I love dearly and witness amazing people achieving awesome things. 

People pushing themselves beyond previous limits. 

Supporting others unconditionally.

I am VERY lucky to be able to do the things I can do. 

Even if they are ridiculous. 

Mental health rants

I found myself throwing the chair back, frantically heading to the fridge.

Desperate for something to put in my mouth. If I was chewing, the words that were threatening to spill would stay where they were. 

And I wouldn't get sacked. 

'So you think you can put a plaster on mental health when it's a bit poorly?

Bollocks to that' 

Too late. 

I was off. 

'You've got mental health, I've got it, he's got it, she's got it. All our kids have it. 

Sometimes it's good. Sometimes it's a bit tired. Sometimes it's properly poorly and needs a full chemical makeover. 

What the fuck is 2 days sat in a classroom going to teach me?' I spat at her. 

I sat back down. 

My other mother kicked me. 

In fact she kicked me so hard she nearly fell off her chair. 

'Well, you could learn about depression and how to get rid of it'

Ouch. 

My other mother kicked me again. 

Harder than the first time.

'I'm sorry. What?' I asked. 

'You could learn about depression and self harm' came the response. 

'Oh. Ok. Cos living with it isn't knowledge enough? Silly me'

Kicked again. 

I needed to stop. 

My legs would be bruised at this rate.

But my 'self diagnosed Tourette's' kept the words falling from my gob. 

'So tell me what I'll learn'

Let's save the council 2 days wage n me 2 days of my life that I'll never get back. 

'Well, you'll learn what it's like for those who self harm. Why they do it. 

They'll explain what it's like to live with depression and how we can make it better' 

Oh. 

Ok. 

What the actual fuck?

I think I said 'what the actual fuck' out loud but I couldn't be certain.

Nice to know that any previous discussions I've had with the management team who support me have been acknowledged. 

Nothing quite says 'screw you' other than dismissing someone's personal experience and diagnosed mental health issues. 

I suffer from depression. 

So what?

People I love suffer from it. 

So what?

'And how did they suggest we make depression better for our kids?'

I was livid.

I couldn't hide it. 

I also realised I was now pacing round the kitchen, opening cupboards in a further attempt to distract myself. 

Well, if you go on the training you'll find out won't you' she smiled patronisingly.

'Er. No. 

No I won't.

Am I meant to jolly them along n tell them to pull themselves together?'

'Well, if we keep them busy, it will help. We can't let them wallow in their bedrooms or carry on self harming. It's not normal behaviour'

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO FUNCTION WITH DEPRESSION. 

SELF HARM IS A FORM OF EMOTIONAL REGULATION.

AND SINCE WHEN HAS IT NOT BEEN NORMAL FOR TEENAGERS TO WALLOW?

So not only do our kids have to be separated from their parents, live with people who they wouldn't ever associate with normally, have 20 different people looking after them (some of whom, they really don't like), they have raging teenage hormones, have experienced trauma, neglect n abuse, now we have to jolly them along n tell them they don't really feel how they say they do. 

OVER MY DEAD BODY.

There was no point arguing.

I may as well save my breath.

Bearing in mind this is someone who has previously told me that I didn't feel a certain way. 

The same person who has said that one of my boys didn't really feel anxious. 

I left the meeting. 

If I still smoked, I would have been in the garden, chain smoking.

I was so cross that after my open water swim, I still hadn't shaken it off. 

I can feel it in my shoulders.

When I am calmer, I will work out how to fight this. 

What to do with it. 

What to do with and about my colleague.

I know that I will carry on loving the kids, acknowledging their feelings and experiences. Discussing coping mechanisms with them, taking about mental health. Talking about feelings and how all things are ok. How we all have mental health, just like we have sexual health n physical health. 

I will talk about how it needs looking after and good self care. In the same way we clean our teeth, we can make sure our metal health doesn't get bits stuck that will cause decay. 

But sometimes, it's chemical and the chemical shift can't be helped and that's not anyone's fault. 

It just 'is'.

The behaviours that follow aren't the person making choices. No amount of being cross, shouting or rationalising will prevent a behaviour taking place. Neither will dismissing someone or they way they feel. 

Mental health is what it is. 

It's hard watching someone you love struggling. 

It's hard being the person to struggle.

But it's fucking horrific to be told to pull yourself together or that you don't feel a certain way. I've had it. 

It doesn't help. 

I assure you, if, in my darkest times, I could've jollied myself along, I really really would've. 

My leg is currently bruised. 

You can see that it's sore. You can see there has been trauma to my leg.... But you can't see inside my head. 

Mountains and moral compasses

Have you ever visited a space in the world and it instantly feels like home?
A place that calms your inner noise, silences the chatter and gives you peace like you've not experienced before? A space and permission to be exactly who and what you are.

I have been there this weekend.

My energy levels are through the roof.
I have been in the outside... a very large lot.
My serotonin level is HIGH

And while I haven't slept much (I was watching bunnies bounding round a field at 4am on Saturday - especially after listening to the rain all night), I haven't felt this rejuvenated in a long time.

Castle Rigg has always been special to me - Derwent has many happy memories.
Swimmings, friends, special times.

This weekend was no different.

Very special.
Very magical.
Very welcomed.
Very lovely.
Very perfect,

A celebration of all things wonderful about being in the outside.
HELL. YES.

Sporting.
Doing.
Enabling.
Cheering
Encouraging.
Coaching.
Being.
Sitting.
Challenging.
Marshalling.
Ice-creaming
Shopping
Camping.
Loving.
Coffeeing
Talking.
Friending.
Puddling.
Raining.
Sunshining.
Asking.
Listening.
Seeing.
Magicking
Hilling.

You get the idea.
I've had a bloody nice time.

I have watched friends pushing themselves outside of their comfort zone.
I have listened when they have been nervous.
Offered words of encouragement.
Cheered when they have succeeded.
I may have even had eye leak.

My moral compass has also had an unexpected adventure.
I very innocently visited the Hoka stand - they very generously loaned me a pair of shoes to try for the weekend.

Now, there was a try before you buy offer which was too good to pass up.

I wanted to keep the comfy, spongy, clown shoes I was bouncing around Keswick in.
I didn't want to take them back on Sunday.
My Noosa's, my lovely, lovely Noosa's would feel like bricks.
My lovely Noosa's were half the price of the 'free' shoes on my feet.


'keep them' screamed my feet.
'It will be part of their business model to allow for loss' said one voice.
'It's theft' said another
'ah but you've left your shoes so its a swap, not theft'
'The karma police will make me fall and break my leg'
'It adds whole new meaning to run like you stole it' was the counter argument.

And so it went on.
All weekend.
Obviously the right thing to do is to take them back.

But..... they're so comfy.... and I didn't even leave my name..... or my number.....

Naturally, I am now the proud owner of a pair of Hoka's

I bought them in the sale when I got home.
They are multi-terrain clown-slippers for bouncing in.
And they are GAWDY.

They will make me very happy.
I will also run like I stole them.... But I wont have to run from the karma police.


I am going back to Keswick in a few short weeks.
This time with different friends.
Some will be the same friends from this weekend.
Some less, some extra.


I know now that it will be as magical, if not more so.
I know that there will be weather.
It could be all the weathers in one day.

I know there will be a whole range of feelings.
Joy, nerves, passion, excitement, fear, love, pain, determination, pride.
We will drive each other on.


I cannot wait to be in that field in Keswick and be full of those feelings.
It feels like home.

Running on empty

For the previous couple of weeks, I've started the weekend exhausted.

I've had to admit to myself that I was running extremely low reserves and my stores were depleted.

I have been training hard (yet feel like I should be doing more)
It stands to reason that something had to give.

I spoke to someone at work about this, telling him I couldn't afford to be ill (while he was coughing all over me), that it was likely my immune system was on its arse.

Little did I know that actually, I was referring to my emotional immune system.

That week, I had come face to face with a 13 year old girl, who, while I hadn't forgotten her, I had allowed her to slip quietly into the shadows for a while.
A familiar place for her. Somewhere she was unseen and unheard.

Work has been TOUGH.
Anyone who works with children knows that they are hard work.
Anyone who works with teenagers, know that the hard work can be quadrupled.
Add vulnerability in with that, separation from family, exam stress, historical abuse, violent families, living with a bunch of other teenagers who have suffered similar........ you get the idea.
And that's before you add individual crisis to the mix.

So, I'm knackered.

The kids have taken every shred of energy and positivity I own and have scurried away it for themselves.
Cos that's what teenagers do.
That's what humans do.
And the universe is based on energy exchange.

In place of all my bouncy stuff, they transferred all their crap and rubbish and negativity.
Then they ran away before I could give it back.
Plus, I didn't have that much to bat it off.... so it stuck... and got heavier.

(I wouldn't give it back.
They know that.
Lucky me.
Luckier them)

I have spent all of my professional life absorbing from kids - taking it and disposing of it makes it easier for them.
They don't even know they are doing it.
There are adults who don't know they're transferring, so why the hell should the kids?

But you know when you meet someone who makes your skin stand on end? Or gives you goosebumps?
Or their presence drains you? Or you fancy the pants off each other?
That's transference.

When you're with someone who loves you and you feed from their mood?
That's transference too.
Happiness is contagious n all that jazz.

Its one of the reasons I smile so much.
Or try to.
Its really hard not to smile back at someone who is smiling at you.
....and if you can raise a smile, however briefly, the brain responds and there is a little flurry of feel-good.
Lifting the lips in an upward direction makes chemicals in the brain dance.

In a past life, I used to be a pessimist.
But that was when I knew the 13 year old girl.
She became a 16 year old girl.
Both of these girls have tales to tell.
But not today.

I have come face to face with other past lives.

These have been unexpected visits, which have been stuff full of big feelings.
Mahoosive feelings in fact.

Fleeting visits filled with hope and adventure, vulnerability, forgiveness and more love than a heart can hold.

And suddenly, there was a shift.
This past weekend filled me with all the good stuff.
A swing of gargantuan proportion and my soul is shiny once more.

There is sufficient energy and joy - so much that I haven't been sleeping.

Me.
Not sleeping.
Yeah, I know.

But I feel ok - I feel good.
I feel fizzy on the inside without the cold water immersion.

I'd like to say its a throw back from the doom and gloom and energy sapping past few weeks, but I suspect it is more than that.
Time will tell.

For now, I am back to my giddy kipper-ish bouncy self.
There is no inner noise.
Only peace.

Happy, content silence.

Long may it continue.

Welcome to my conflict

Maybe I was a little bit adventurous with my 4.30 goal when I toed the start line of Paris marathon on Sunday.

It wasn't as adventurous as my 4hr wave I had on my bib. (Haha I KNOW! Who do I think I am! 4 hours! Me!! Hahaha. It wasn't even a typo!)

I'd clearly been properly delirious when I entered the race 12 months ago. I hadn't even run a marathon at that point. 

Aim high right?! 

I have now 'run' 26.2 miles, 3 times. 

I need to be kinder to myself. 

26.2 miles is a bloody long way n a HUGE achievement. 

Specially for me. 

Rachel Stead. The non runner. 

Imagine.... The words Rachel Stead, marathon and PB in the same sentence. 

It's not a lie folks. 

It's true. 

A 25 minute PB no less. 

Today I am proud. 

Sunday I wasn't. 

My demons were shouty and loud on Sunday. 

The problem I am having is this - in my head, I can do amazing things. I can make my body run fast(er).

The reality is that my body can't actually run that fast. 

It just can't. 

But it CAN do amazing things. 

It really can. 

Just not run a marathon time that starts with a 4. 

Not yet. 

Maybe not ever.
And while I would REALLY like it to, if it doesn't, that's ok.
Cos 26.2 miles is a bloody long way. 

I need to stop comparing it.... and if I am gonna compare, I need to remember to compare it to a fatter, more sedentary, non moving, smokier, less healthy n non competitive version of myself. 

Not other people. 

And not what I (or others) think I *should* be able to do. 

That is the voice of my dad. Not me. 

In my case, thinking I can sometimes causes conflict. 

I go into battle mode between my parents voice of me 'being a bit crap and how I should be able to run faster' and my own voice of 'screw you this is amazing' .... Then massive internal conflict ensues. Cos actually, I believe my own hype of aiming high and then I fail.
This then leads to the voice of 'aren't you a bit crap?' being reinforced.

And the conflict spiral continues.

And then I get cross with myself and begin to believe that I am a fraud....

That I have no right to be doing the things I am aiming to do.

They are simply too big. That I am not good enough. 

I KNOW I am good enough. 

I have a medal to prove it. 

In fact, I have more than one medal actually.
So screw you.

I need to remember the time i wrote this blog post

Don't get me wrong, I am stupidly proud of what I achieved on Sunday. 

I ran my second stand alone marathon in what was rumored to be 23* heat AND ran a 25 minute PB. 

I hadn't trained to run Paris - my race calendar changed somewhat with the Norseman ballot. 

My training for Paris consisted of a couple (literally x2) 13.1 runs a few 10 miles runs (x4) n LOTS of bike training. 

Paris became endurance training. 

It became a very long run at the wrong point in my training plan. And by God did my hip flexors tell me about the bike training. 

My pacing for the first half was fairly solid. I had planned to set off out a pace that would see me in good stead for a 4.30

6.10 min/km or 10 min/miles for 15/18 miles would be grand. The wheels could fall off a bit then. 

John asked me to pace him n hold him steady due to the weather and heat. For 9 miles I reined him back... But I knew early on that I couldn't sustain the pace. 

Me and John looking fresh.... 

(John went on to run 4.28 in his first marathon *PROUD FACE*)

solid pacing for first 15km

My head n body weren't working together n I couldn't get them in synch. 

The dark thoughts started early n while I could shake them, I couldn't maintain a happy place. 

There was too much energy being zapped by other things. 

Happy required energy. 

Or it did for me on race day.

Usually race happy is something I excel at. The fact it alluded me made my day so much harder. 

It also confused me. 

It confused me a very large lot. 

I tried robbing energy from the beautiful surroundings, from the river, the sun, the trees, the other runners. 

But as soon as I had snaffled it, it evaded me again and was lost.

Probably as I had none to give in return. I wasn't using it effectively. I was trying to hoard it - n that's not how energy works. 

Certain songs lifted my spirits. 

There were moments of dancing, beaming and singing. 

Moments of pure unadulterated joy. 

And then, all too fleetingly, they were gone. 

My hip flexors hurt from about 5km.

I have recently been running on my toes a lot more. I've put this down to running more hills of late. 

I know my gait has changed.

I couldn't find a rhythm that suited.

From 22km to about 29km I was in bits. I kept moving forward, but I was walking. 

It all fell apart between 22 and 29km

I cried.
I cried hot salty tears.

I put a plea out on social media. 

Help me. 

Help came.

(Thank you, thank you, thank you)

News came that Dave had PB'd. 

(I did little first pump at this) 

I was on my arse.
 Nothing more, nothing less. 

Everything hurt and I wanted to stop. 

For the first time in my life I wanted to DNF. 

I had no intention of not finishing but I wanted to stop. I wanted to stop so very badly. 

It would be so easy to just not move. To get on the metro. 

I knew that in order to make it stop I had to keep moving forward, but it was so goddam HARD. 

Looks a little bit pained, but smiling non the less

I took a picture of myself by the Eiffel Tower vowing that no matter how much it hurt, there was no way I wasn't not smiling. 

And then something magical happened. I went through the wall.

about to go through the wall

Then I *actually* went through the wall. 

Charlie Puth sang Left Foot, Right Foot at me. Katie Perry told me I was a Firework. Emeli Sande told me I was a Wonder. 

I beamed.

And while it still hurt, I was spurred on by the time on my watch, by the noise in my ears drowning the noise in my head.

I was going to finish my second marathon. And I was going to PB.

Ok, I would have to run a 10km at the same pace I went out in, but a sub 5 hour marathon was *just* achievable. 

So long as I kept moving. 

Run, walk. 

Repeat. 

Keep taking fuel. 

Keep cool. 

Keep hydrated.

Keep pouring water on pulse points, on the back of my neck. 

Keep on keeping on. 

Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Then I hit the park. 

In a previous lifetime, I have run many miles round the lakes and through the trees. 

My head went again. 

I saw Svetlana, Alexey n Feydor and my heart soared. 

Sweaty hugs were exchanged and I was on my way. 

I needed a Parkrun PB.

In all the heat. 

At the end of a marathon. 

Hahahahahahaha. 

I sped up as best I could.

If I had this much in me, I could've tried harder earlier. 

My head went again.
I knew I couldn't have tried harder.
I had given everything.

Bear appeared with a flag at 41km ish as the 5 hour pacer sauntered past effortlessly, just as my watch ticked to 5.00.00

I applauded the last band and sped up some more.

42.195km

Done. 

5 hours and 10 minutes. 

Hard earned bling

When I think about the girl who, 3 years ago, couldn't run round the block without feeling like she might vom a lung, I am proud. 

I am very proud, in fact. 

I am proud that I have carved my body into a vaguely athletic shape. 

I am proud of my internal metronome. 

I am proud of my clever legs. 

(When did my clever legs start to look like this please!?)

These clever legs are mine, yes?

I have learned some very valuable lessons. 

I need more salt when it's hot. 

I need to use all of the energy systems wisely. And properly.
You cannot cheat them.
They know.

I need to train specifically for a marathon when I next do one. 

I need to run more than 13 miles. Twice.  

I need to be kinder to myself. 

I am not other people. 

They are not me.

While I have never been as fit as I am right now, I need to remember that I am still 'new' to this sporting lark. 

I relearned to swim at 30, introduced triathlon at 32. This is my second year of 'long' at the ripe old age of 35. Running began in December 2012. 

Norseman is coming. 

It is 5 short months away. 

As I publish this, Norseman is 17 weeks away.
123 days (not that anyone is counting)

After crossing the line on Sunday, I was never going long again. 

By Monday, I was planning my marathon rematch. 

The reality is, I can't think about marathon running for a while.
(Although I do know the date for Chester n I'm in a trio at Equinox *cough*) 

I need to take the lessons from Paris and apply them to Norseman. 

It doesn't matter that I'm not a fast marathon runner. 

What matters is the fact I kept going. 

What matters is that I dug deep n didn't give in. 

I did what I promised John I would do.... I would pace him perfectly to 9 or 10 miles. 

Paris was a valuable lesson in endurance, in pushing beyond the pain. 

It was necessary and the timing within the year (and my life) was spot on.

And as hard and as awful it was in parts..... it was perfect and I loved it. 

PB ice cream.... as big as the medal.