This could get ranty.....

So.... there are many opinions floating around in the social media about this sporting lark – what it is and what it isn't.

There are people who started sporty blogs which have now turned into feature length adverts and reviews for various products.

Sport very rarely gets a mention.

Don't get me wrong – there are some people who manage to review products very honestly, are selective about how often and what products they will review. These people manage to maintain their integrity.

Some are less selective.

Anyway... that's one of my many gripes.

Another one?

Well, here goes, and I hope I can convey what I want to and get the balance right.

Last weekend while walking a chunk of Manchester marathon with Sarah (@SazzyMCH), probably around mile 23, one of the wonderful crowd shouted very loudly 'keep going you've almost run a marathon'

I thanked the lady for her words of encouragement but told her that I wouldn't be a marathon runner as I was walking.

I didn't have much run left in me at that point and wanted to save every ounce of run I could muster for the last mile.

And I meant it.

I can't call myself a marathon runner – I haven't run a marathon.

I have completed one, so I am a marathon finisher.

That's what it says on my t-shirt I got at the end too.

Marathon finisher.

If I had run the whole 26.2 miles at a pace of 12 minute miles, but run them all – then yes, I would call myself a runner.

If I had run them all at 6.30 minute miles, then I would call myself a runner.

I think by calling myself a runner takes away some of the achievement from those who run hard.

Those who give everything to do a 3 hour marathon – those that run hard to do a 6 hour marathon (but run all of it, not walk a bit here and a bit there)

Running a whole marathon requires proper training and proper dedication.

There are people who go out, week on week, and give it their all at park-run, those who will never run more than 5km every Saturday morning, but run with all their heart and soul on a weekly basis.

There are those who are sponsored – be that via nutrition or kit supplies, proper professional athletes who train every day, for multiple hours a day.

GB runners, those who do nothing but run, cross train so it benefits their running, recover thoroughly and scrutinise everything that goes into their body as fuel.

Day in, day out.

They eat, sleep and breath running.

These are runners.

There are recreational runners who train every day and have sponsors – these are runners too.

I don't want to take anything away from anyone, and include myself in that statement.

Don't get me wrong 26.2 miles was a big deal for me.

And yes, I trained for it.

I trained hard (not hard enough) - but it wasn't my primary goal.

My first 5km was a big deal.

I know the exact spot on the canal where I turned so I could complete my first 10km run ever.

Were it not for triathlon, it is very unlikely I would be doing any running at all – and for that reason, I feel a fraud in calling myself a runner if this detracts form others who work harder at it than I do.

I don't even consider myself a triathlete – I am someone who does triathlons.

Just because you lace up a pair of trainers, doesn't necessarily make you a runner – for some running is something they do – it doesn't define who they are.

It doesn't mean they enjoy it any more or any less than someone who does it more often or faster or for longer distances.

Someone very close me is a very talented runner, has great fitness, good speed, good endurance, but openly dislikes running – it is something they do.

It is just different – it serves a different purpose for different people and there are lots of people out there, in running circles, in media circles who could do with thinking about it in this way.

What was it Paula Radcliffe said on Sunday 'I run because I am a runner. I am a runner because I run'

While I respect everything she has done and am more than a little bit in awe at her achievements, bounce-back-ability and determination, this statement is only true for some.

My next area of shouty rantiness could go in any direction – I know what I want to say, again, whether it comes out the way I want it to is another matter..... but here goes.....

When the 'This Girl Can' campaign came out, I had a watch of it and a read about it and thought 'I LOVE the 'I jiggle, therefore I am' and yes, I thought 'this girl can' briefly about myself, but equally and more often, I thought 'what about the blokes who jiggle and can?'

Why wasn't it 'you can'?

Regardless of your age, shape, speed, size, jiggly bits, limb structure, skin colour – it should be 'you can' or 'I can' or 'this person can'

Because there are men that need some gentle encouragement too.

Lots of men.

Without going into detail or derailing myself, its worth mentioning the male suicide rate and the positive links between sport and depression at this point.

I regularly see the rants about 'women in sport' and needing to get more women taking part – we need to get more people in general taking part (the flip side of more participation being the complaints about events selling out 12 months in advance / being overpriced due to demand etc etc)

The same people who want women involved in sports, who vote for women only marathons and triathlons, equally whinge and moan about the 'pink it and shrink it' approach and complain that they don't want that – that women don’t want that.

Some women must want it, else it wouldn't sell.

Make your mind up... do you want specialist treatment cos you're female? Do you want sport in isolation so its all soft and gentle?

No – we want it tough..... ok... so why can't it be mixed with the blokes if that's the case? Ah, well, there is everyday sexism too.....

JUST STOP IT!!!!! 

I love the idea of Race for Life – I really do, but why can't men take part? Men suffer from cancer.... ah well, its breast cancer.

Yeah – they suffer from that too.

Show me a man who hasn't been affected by cancer.

How pink is that?

And exclusive.

If men organised a male only event there would be utter uproar.

Carnage.

Men had Movember as A Thing of their own for prostate cancer– but the women have gradually infiltrated this and leapt on board with cries of 'we're supporting our men folk'

Wicked.

No really, well done. 

Last time I checked, the prostate helped with the production of sperm and women don't have that – but men do have breast tissue.

See my problem?

I want more people in sport.

I want kids passionate about it – and have the opportunity to try all the sports and have access to them all so they fall in love with whatever it is that floats their boat.

I want men and woman of all ages and abilities to have access to welcoming and supportive clubs and facilities.

I want people to be proud of what their bodies can do.

I want people to realise how glorious life can be when it is coloured with endorphins.

I want everyone to be encouraged to be the best they can be – at whatever they chose to do.

Other opinions are available.

Manchester Marathon

I would love to write a mile by mile, blow by blow account of how the marathon went.

I would like to write about how I smashed my goal time into bits.

I didn't smash it to bits.

My original goals were

A) Finish

B) Sub 5 hours

C) Sub 4.30

Sub 5 hours would be a push - i knew that before the day came.

When the gun went off and i crossed the start line, my goals for the day very quickly became

A) Finish

B) Don't shit yourself 

C) Don't be last

These all seemed like fairly achievable goals. 

Much more realistic than my first set of goals - although 'B) Don't shit yourself' came into question for a few of the middle miles. 

I think I would have liked to have blogged about my training that led into the marathon. But in all honesty, it wasn't that glamorous and in all honesty, some days, I called getting out of bed and getting dressed a success, let alone going in the outside and running. 

I can summarise the training part fairly quickly, I missed 6 weeks at the start of the build to the marathon - I found a lump in my left breast on New Years Eve, the first biopsy left me sore and not able to do very much for the first week of January, the second biopsy left me very sore and unable to do very much of anything for about 5 weeks.  I was unable to swim (arm movement hurt) unable to run (jiggle hurt far too much) and unable to bike (downward pressure was agony regardless of how much strapping I used) 

Lack of exercise, let alone significant training, also compounded the SAD that had already taken a tight hold. Overall, at the beginning of the year, most days I had the motivation of a sloth. 

Happily, I only had to have 2 biopsies and some poking about.

I did train when I could n February saw me racking the miles up - running became my happy head space and suddenly, the drop in heart rate I had been promised for so very long, finally arrived.  

Whoop.

The week before Manchester, I cheered Paris marathon, found myself giddy high and ready for it to be my turn.

Manchester wasn't a 'run' for me in the same way it was for many others.

It was a training exercise for Ironman Japan.

Yes the distance was a bit early, but I needed to tick off the distance. 

I needed to know what 26.2 miles of running would feel like.

I needed to know how far it was. 

I'm aware that sounds stupid, but until I completed it, I genuinely didn't know. 

And now I do.

I learned a lot while running my first marathon last Sunday.

I learned my mates are awesome. 

Really they are.

It makes my face hurt and my insides squish a bit when I think about the fact they stood in the cold for over 5 hours to cheer for me.

I learned that 26.2 miles is hard work.

It hurts your legs, your joints, your head and if you're not careful your stomach. 

I need to practice running longer distances.

I definitely need to practice pace control - even though I KNEW this and tried my best to curb my enthusiasm, I still went out harder than I should and this made the second half harder than it needed to be. 

Did I mention that I bloody loved it?

As in properly loved it.

I smiled the WHOLE way round.

And I high-fived EVERYBODY

I even found myself crossing the road to high-five kids!

That counts as extra running right?

I BEAMED all the way (apart from the photo below which was taken before the gun went off and I was still full of all the terror - also slightly pressured and confused, but mainly touched, by the fact my swim coach had come to watch me run.)

I was promised pom-poms at mile 26.
Couldn't really miss them!!

My biggest fan

And a new friend who helped me through the last 5 miles. 

The biggest thing I learned though was from looking back at the pictures after the marathon and knowing how much my knees hurt during the last miles and in the hours and days after I had finished.

If you look at the picture below, you will notice 3 things
1)  One of the loves of my life is hanging over the fence on the left of the picture.  I love her lots.  Signe covered miles on the course so she could cheer and squidge in multiple locations!! She's ace.
2) I am still smiling.
3) My legs are all over the shop.

The pressure that is placed on my knee when I connect with the ground is visible.
My whole leg is at an angle, with my foot tilted out to compensate and balance the weight.
I rock my hips from side to side.

If this happened for every stride during the whole 26.2 miles (which it did, cos this is how I run), no wonder my knee was grumpy with me.

I knew my run was 'distinctive'
I've been told I can be very easily identified in a crowd of runners.
And I kinda knew it happened.
I just didn't know it looked like this!!

Other than looking like a very happy version Quadzilla, there looks to be no roll in my left foot - it appears that I land flat, my hips seem to roll (although not as emphasised) 

 

Its certainly fair to say, I don't look like this 

Sigh.

There is much work to do.

No amount of work will make my legs that long. 

Orr lean.

I have been experimenting with my running form since the marathon - I have been working on aligning my hips and knees, not rocking my hips, keeping my feet facing forwards, shifting my body weight, altering my stride length. 

All to see which feels best. 

What it feels like, what it looks like and how efficient it is can all be very out of sync with each other.

And like swimming, having someone watch can be invaluable. 

So... for me, I need to work HARD of my running form - mainly so my knees don't die a slow and painful death just as i'm starting to love running. 

Any hints, tips, drills will be appreciated - I know there are lots of running coached out there. 

Ideally, I need to have some proper analysis and some proper coaching.

I shall add it to the list of things to do.....

Macaroon making

I have only discovered these little magical clouds of loveliness since coming to Paris.

I was asked if I would like to join a friend of Bear's at one of the many cooking schools in Paris for an afternoon macaroon making.

How could I say no?

My place was booked at La Cuisine, Paris.

Having never baked in public, and not being in a cookery lesson since I was 14 (so 20 years ago), I was slightly apprehensive but looking forward to it. I love both baking and eating the finished product.

When we arrived at La Cuisine, we were welcomed by the reception staff who were clearly passionate about food - we were given a map of Paris with various restaurants, cookware shops and specialist food shops highlighted - told the best paces to buy marmalade and the famous beurre bordier

We were informed about their market tours which take in local markets and specialist shops, buying local produce then returning to the kitchen classroom to rustle up some tasty treats with the help of the chefs.

After being introduced to Eric, our chef and instructor for the afternoon, the group of 6 of us went into the cellar, scrubbed up and found our work stations. The kitchen was used standard kitchen ware so that those attending classes could be sure they would leave with the ability to replicate at home.

We would be making 2 different types of macaroons - Italian and French. 

We were talked through the differences in the 2 and the science needed for both - there is a very specific failure point from over mixing and too much moisture.

Turns out, macaroon making is quite an exact science.  

We set to work making the different fillings first (so they could sit in the fridge while we made the macaroons)

Me and Cas were allocated fruit filling. There was also coffee butter-cream, vanilla patisserie custard and dark chocolate ganache made by others in the group.  

We were all invited to have a look at the science of making the other fillings, every step was explained and monitored.
When we had all filled the piping bags and sent them to cool, it was time to make the Italian macaroons (the harder of the 2 to make)

The sugar solution had to be heated to exactly 118*C - while this is warming, start to whisk the eggs

Add the sugar to the eggs when it reaches temperature and continue to whisk until the mixture is no longer hot.
While this is happening, sieve the ground almonds and caster sugar.

once sieved - add remaining egg whiles and mix until combined - add any food colouring at this point

Add powdered food colouring rather than liquid so as not to mess with the humidity.
We voted to make purple and the blue colouring got everywhere. I looked like I had been shaking hands with a smurf.

Then its time to combine the 2 mixtures together.

This is a very important part of the process. Its easy to over mix then and ruin the whole batch.
Consistency is key. Its important to add the egg whites and sugar mix a third at a time and fold in gradually while checking for a 'ribbon' consistency.

Pop the mix into a piping bag, pipe small rounds onto a pre-prepared baking tray.

Bake at a low temp for approx 12 mins or until the macaroons 'don't wiggle' (technical term)

Once cooled, the macaroons should slide from the sheet easily, leave to cool and then pair with their soul mate macaroons
Fill with the prepared fillings, squidge them together and allow to stand in the fridge for 24 hours to get the best results (if you can leave them alone for that that long!)

The jam filling ones should be eaten soon due to the liquid content affecting the stability of the macaroons - same with the custard. Eat these first - let the coffee and and chocolate ones stand.


We then made French macaroons, which was a very quick method - and while the macaroons looked different and tasted different when they had just been made, after a few days of standing - they tasted exactly the same as the Italian version.

If you ever fancy an afternoon of learning something 'typically French', and happen to be in Paris, I would recommend this.
Eric, our chef, was friendly, helpful, and had obtained a pastry degree while living in France - his knowledge and passion shone through.

I had a great afternoon and may return to have a bash at croissant making in the future (although that may prove very dangerous for my waste line)

Get your skates on Rach!!

Many moons ago, I decided that I wanted to take up rollerblading so duly jumped on eBay and bought myself a pair of shiny adult roller-blades.

Sadly they were used once.  Home is hilly and not conducive to happy skating, so they became a home for spiders and the like.

Fast-forward to December-ish last year and I see that they do rollerblading tours round Paris - one on a Friday night which is rumoured to be at speed and for more experienced and a different company run a Sunday afternoon bimble which is more friendly for families and those 'not as confident'.

I also see that they do a 24-hour rollerblading 'ultra' at Le Mans.
I very much want to do this. I don't know why, but I really REALLY do.

I had been and scoped out the Sunday skate, it was free and had all shaped and sizes of people - little people, older people, those on retro 4 wheeled skates, those on pro blades.
There were lots of staff, easily identifiable in bright yellow tops.  There was a row of police bikes leading the ride and an ambulance at the rear.

Very well organised.

I decided that I would have a go the next chance I got.
The very generous Bear had said it would be easier to buy skates in Paris that have the hassle of shipping over my eBay ones - besides, the spiders would complain.
Also buying them would mean I could practice.
So, along with all the protective paraphernalia, Bear bought me some new roller blades.
(Thank you V much x)

The day before, I found a closed road in the park and scooted up and down the closed road.
I practiced going downhill.
I practiced going up hill.

Huzzah.
I can do this.
I have remembered.

It may have been over 20 years since I skated for any length of time, but I hadn't forgotten.
(when did I become 34?)

What I HAD forgotten was how much it hurt my shins and ankles.
After half an hour, my legs were grumbly.
Very grumbly.

Meh, 3 hours the day after would be fine.


So, the day arrived and suddenly, I was full of all the terror.
What if I fell over? What if i was crap?
What if I was slow?
What if my legs hurt after 10 minutes?

Fuck it.
Skates and armour on.
Yes I wore protective lid, knee, elbow and wrist guards, yes I looked a prize pudding, no I didn't care.

And off we go.
Me and approx 350 other people skating round the streets of Paris in convoy.

It was BLOODY BRILLIANT.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Then I looked at my watch.
We had been going for 10 minutes and covered about 2km.

Oh.
I'm gonna be tired by the end of this.

Down the back of the Louvre - pedestrians are filming as the odd sight travels past them.
Round the corner and over the cobbles.

What The Actual Hell?

Oh my goodness.  My shins and knees are NOT made for being shock absorbers.

OUCH!

Onwards.
A band is playing in one of the squares.
It makes me smile.
I am LOVING this.
It is utterly bonkers, but I am loving it.
This is playtime fro grown-ups.

My speed is ok - I am holding my own in the middle of the pack - a few people over take me, but that's ok.
The road turns from one way traffic into 2.
"A droite, a droite" the staff are shouting.
Keep right.

Throughout, there have been the 'cool kids' doing tricks.
skating backwards, doing jumps, cutting people up.

They are skilled, but I am taken back to my teenage years of 'not fitting'.
My head space starts to slip.
I am starting to get tired too.

Traffic panics me a tad, not much - the cars are aware of us.
One minute I am skating along, the next I have face planted.

Wahoo - didn't feel a thing.
Huzzah for armour.

I had hit a cats eye and BOOM.
Man down.

A member of staff is there in a second.
Do I need help? Do I need an ambulance?
Non, merci, c'est bonne.
No, thank you, I'm good.
And I really am.  I am not hurt in any way.
I get up and carry on.

But I am tiring, my legs are starting to shake from the strain and the little voice in my head that has been silenced for so very long awakens.

'You can't do this'
'You shouldn't be here'
'What makes you think you can do 24 hours of this? You struggled after 25 minutes'
'Ha!!!!'

I tell the voice, I am fitter than I have ever been.
It is simply a matter of re-learning a skill and bringing the muscle memory back.

The voice quietens briefly.

I have fallen to the back now, when we stop and reconvene 'beginners and slower skaters to the front' is bellowed in multiple languages "debutants et les personnes plus lentes a l'avent"

So I move to the front.
When we reconvene again, I am at the back.

The voice is screaming to be heard now, mocking me.
Really mocking me.
I move to the front of the group.

We set off again and hit a steep down hill - I can see the ascent at the other side knowing it will slow me down, that I need to apply physics and the laws of motion to the situation.
This stops the voice and I am fine.

The next hill I am less fine.
The voice starts as we roll down hill, the faster I get, the louder the voice gets, the more nervous I become, the more excited the voice becomes.
It is being fed by my nervousness.

Relax Rach.

But I can't.

I am unsure how I will stop.
There was no end to the hill.
What if we re-convene in the middle of the hill and I am the one responsible for knocking everyone over.
Like dominoes.

BOOM.
I was down again.
This time on my arse.

One of the pack stands behind me and makes sure that no-one coming down the hill hits me.
A member of staff comes and helps me up.
The man who stood behind me takes my hand and helps me to the bottom of the hill.
I thank him and don't see him again.

I want to peel off at the next Metro station.
I want to go home.
This feeling remains at every Metro station I pass.

I am in my Team Bear hoodie.
Suffer but NEVER surrender.
You can do this Rach.

There were a number of 'what the hell do I think I'm doing?' and also a number of 'I can do this, everyone starts somewhere' conversations with myself.
The voice was busy giggling in the background.

But I made it back to the start.
I was Properly Pooped and I would have a cracking bruise to show for my efforts.

Ultimately, I love it.
I was cross that my fitness didn't transfer as easy as I'd hoped.
But I had done it.
And I had a starting point and a measure for next time.

I have work to do.
So, I'd best get my skates on and do it.

Plans

Plan

noun

1. a detailed proposal for doing or achieving something.

2. an intention or decision about what one is going to do.

'Life happening' was touched on a number of occasions the other day while I was chatting with my Other Mother.

On more than one occasion, the phrase, 'this was never part of the plan!' was mentioned.
One instance was with reference to the direction my life has taken over the past couple of years and how far removed I am from the person I used to be.

When I walked through her door, less than 12 months after seeing her last, her opening words were 'what have you done with my Rachel?'
She was beaming. She could see how content I was.
She could see that life is good.


This current chapter of my life was definitely not part of the plan..... or not that I knew of anyway.
I suspect there was a Universal plan going on somewhere, but I certainly was aware of it!
Oh My God!
I am *SO* glad!!
It is a giddy making, nerve wracking, exciting, mahoosive, unexpected(ish), exceptionally welcomed, awesome adventure full of possibility and hope and unknown.
It is utterly glorious and I am so very blessed.

I am going to grab it with both hands and squeeze every drop of goodness out of it.

Well.... that's the plan for it!
If life happens, it will have to work along side the plan.
They will have to find some kind of harmony.


I cannot ignore the fact that I had amazing plans as I was growing up and these didn't come to fruition.
I had planned that I would be married with children by the time I was 24 years old. No idea why 24, but that was always the age. I would have a boy and a girl.
My childhood fairy-tale was so very entrenched that I actually believed it would come true.
Boy was I wrong!!

I guess I had lots of plans for my childhood that never came true. Like someone telling me I was adopted. This one was no different really.
My plans and wishes got jumbled.

So.... when I was turning 30, and neither marriage nor babies had happened, I slipped into a chasm of despair at my own failings.
30 was my bad age and I am convinced that my own limitations of what I thought I could and should be, were directly responsible for my unhappiness at that time.


30 was the age I set the wheels in motion to change everything- and while it felt very negative at the time, I can honestly look back at it as a massive positive.
Everything negative in my life has helped me be the person I am today - and one of the absolute worst experiences, turned out to be one of the best..... because it forced me to take action.

Even if we get some of our plan - it can suddenly shift direction and take us by surprise.
Illness can strike, relationships drift apart, needs change and can go unrecognised and unmet as a result, life circumstances change and The Universe has its own agenda.
All we can do is respond as best we can and hang on to our hats until the unexpected has passed.
Sometimes, the unexpected sticks around and we have to change the shape and colour of our plans.
The route can be bumpy and lumpy, but that doesn't mean we can;t get to where we are going.

So... what are my plans?

Well...
I plan to be happy and content.
I plan to live in a state of peace.
I plan to be forgiving and compassionate.
I plan to consider others and put them first.
I plan to be selfish when I need to be. I will not have an issue with doing this.

I plan to want what I have.
And occasionally, I plan to have what I want.

I plan to give my all in the events I have committed to.
I plan to be honest with myself and others about effort, progress, and potential outcomes (in all areas of life)
I plan to take each ounce of goodness and joy out of life (while ever I am not crippled with SAD and even then, I plan to fight like hell)
I plan to grab life with both hand and hang on tightly. And help others do the same.

I plan to be the best version of myself that I can be each and every day.

I plan to swim daily. And get faster. And swim further.
I plan to stretch and meditate daily as well as doing core strength work.
I plan to be fricking awesome - and suck it up and shift it as soon as possible when I am a little bit below awesome.
I plan to have a little lot of an EPIC year.

And for the record....
I know where I want to be.
I know EXACTLY where I want to be.

I have a plan.
Do you?

Blue Monday

The media have informed me that today is Blue Monday.

There was a song about that wasn't there?

My issue isn't with Monday as such - I work shifts, I don't have weekends in the typical way other people do, so Monday is OK as far as days go.

But today is the day that the world feels blue and glum. 

Apparently.

People drop their new years resolutions cos implementing change is hard and takes time and patience and occasionally lots of failing and trying again.

They get their credit card bills from Christmas and potentially realise that they bought people they don't like, a load of tat that cost a fortune. In best case, they bought people they love, things they wanted - but they still have to now pay the debt.

I've ranted about Christmas before so wont again - but yes, it impacts on how people feel come January.

The radio reported that today 'depression' is the most searched word in Google - or something like that. 

Thats quite worrying -that people feel as though they could be depressed and the media are saying 'its just a thing caused by Christmas and the new year'.  

It could stop people seeking the help and support they need.

I am currently in a state of what can only be described as confusion. 

I don't have the Monday Blues, or January Blues.

I am quite happy thank you.

Except I'm not.... I am... you just wouldn't tell I am

I'm depressed and it is tarnishing everything in my world - it is impacting on other people *again* and I don't want it to.

It is tainting the way I react to things and view things. 

It is stealing my joy, my motivation and my zest for life.

Last year, I wrote about Feeling SAD and about how I am always taken by surprise. 

Last winter was a good one. 

This winter is NOT a good one.

The only difference being, I am crying less.

I tried to combat it with Happy Tablets when September rolled around - being proactive and all that jazz. The happy tablets are the only reason I am crying less - the apathy for life remains - that part is unchanged. 

The sparkle from my soul is buried at the bottom of the heavy rucksack again - and well, I just don't have enough energy to shine at the minute. 

And yet - I have all the things to motivate me and all the things to be a giddy kipper about.

This year is full of Adventure and Exciting - and currently, I just feel a bit underwhelmed. 

I know that this too shall pass.  It always does.

OK, sometimes its as late as April, Sometimes as early as February. But invariably it passes.

Next weekend will bring me cold water euphoria and cuddles with friends who will lift my soul while it can't lift itself.

But if you are one of the people feeling 'a bit blue', ask friends to keep an eye on you, keep a log of moods, diet, sleep, visit your GP, have a chat, if there are things causing stress, ask for help in identifying what these might be, seek support in reducing stressors. If money is an issue, speak to your bank, the CAB, visit money saving websites or MA. Tart your credit card to an interest free to make it more manageable.  

Don't be alone with 'the blues' or depression.

 

Don't shut people out or push them away. 

Let them love you*. 

*I am mainly speaking to myself when i write this

Do The Thing

I have been thinking a lot about running lately.

Any time I have run recently, my heart rate has been stupidly high.
I ran 7 miles with TC a few weeks ago n felt like I may explode.
She was very patient with me (thank you)

My fitness was through the floor, my breathing was akin to when I smoked 30 a day.
My HR was at 188.
No wonder it was bloody hard going.

Since then, I have continued with the base work. Zone 1 horridness.

I feel like I am running at a snails pace. I don't like it.
I seem to be getting slower instead of faster.

Running slower hurts my legs too.
Urgh.

And still I keep coming back to the thought of running a marathon....

Why on earth would I want to run 26.2 miles?

I ran 5 tonight with Ms Locks n they were hard, horrid with a high heart rate.
Equally, they were in the woods, tucked away from the hussle n bustle of Leeds, hidden away.
I had great company n gossip.
I earned my pudding.
What more did I need on an autumnal evening?

While running, I had an overbearing thought, playing on repeat in my head.

"You must do the thing you think you cannot do"

So when I thought I couldn't keep going, I continued to put one step in front of the other.
When I wanted to cool down n walk the last stretch, I found a sprint finish.


Months ago, I entered the ballot for London on the back of a horrible hurty run... A run in which I vowed never to run again.

Strangely, I was slightly gutted I didn't get a place at London. In fact I was more than slightly gutted.
I have since looked at charity places for Paris. I have checked the dates n profiles of other marathons. I will find one that fits. Manchester is appealing at the minute. It is flat, it is local. The date works.

It would be oh so easy to enter.
Less easy to train for n complete.

I have a post it note on my mirror in my lounge.
It has the word 'marathon' n a time on it.
I see it daily.


Why do I want to run 26.2 miles?
Because I must do the thing I think I cannot do.