What depression sounds like on a Saturday.

This post is not intended to shock, nor do I want pity or sympathy.

There are people I love dearly who suffer with mental health issues.

I suffer with poor mental health occasionally. 

I endure bouts of depression. 

I have suffered, on and off, for as long as I can remember.

This is my experience of a day in one of those bouts. 

My intention is to give a small insight - in the hope it helps one person feel less alone, or one person understand a little more what it might be like. 

This is my truth. 

Yours may be different.

**********************************************

It’s been a funny old couple of weeks.

Not in the haha way.

Maybe in the haha way.

I guess it’s all just a matter of perspective.

And whether you were on the receiving end.

Last Saturday was a new low.  

It’s just been a REAAAALLLLLLLLLY long week since then.

Colleagues have looked at me, wondering what might fall out of my mouth next.

Occasionally wondering if my truth will be aimed at them.

I have wondered if my darkest thoughts might fall out of my mouth….. And what the consequence of that might be.

My filter hasn’t been working very well.

My filter hasn't been working very well at all.

And I’ve been a bit dead behind the eyes.

My spark has vanished.

Thoughts have been falling out of my mouth with astonishing rapidity.

There has been a running commentary to my life.

My inner monologue has been my outer monologue.

Properly honest thoughts….. ones like…..when a man was bouncing round his girlfriend during Wilmslow Half, announcing ‘i've got loads of energy left, what's up with you?’ (she was clearly on her arse)

She told him it was hard - that they were at 6 miles and it was too hard.

He told her she needed to change her play list.

I announced (a bit too loudly?) that her playlist was fine, but she probably needed to change her boyfriend.

This blog / outpouring is probably part of the same thing - my inability to appropriately filter my thinks, sprinkled with a touch of self harm.

I have waited though - until it is safer, at least.

People do not need to know my business or my bonkersness.

And then I wonder, will it help someone else?

And then I think, will it help me?

And then I think, nobody will ever speak to you again after they have read it, they will know for certain you are a fruitbat.

And then i think, this is my blog for me and I don’t actually care what you think.

There are all of the thinks.

They come simultaneously

At volume.

Layer upon layer of chatter.

Some of it, properly meaningless drivel.

Some of it, desperately hard to ignore.

All the while I am having these thinks, there is a layer of sound, planning how best to kill me.

We could throw her off Suicide Bridge over the M62

Thats no good, think of the drivers.

She’s only just got over the height thing -  that feels a bit cruel.

Hang her.

Run away and do it.

If you don’t want to upset the M62 users, think of the person who would find you if you hung from the TRX anchor point.

Where would you run to?

Far away.

You would have to wear matching underwear. Signe would never claim you otherwise.

You could poison yourself before you drive off somewhere.

Then hang yourself

But stab and skin yourself first.

Do that.

Imagine how good it will feel when the knife slide into your bicep.

My bicep? That’s new.

And so it goes on.

And on.

And on.

All of the noise.

Relentlessly.

When I am half well, I know it isn’t real.

When my filter works a bit, I know it is there, chattering in the background.

But I can filter it out.

I can make the volume work and while it is there, I don’t have to listen to it.

But when I am properly poorly?

Oh my god.

The filter becomes useless.

The volume is up to 47.

I cannot filter what falls out of my mouth and I cannot filter the things I pay attention to.

If I’ve said ‘say words at me’ once this past 2 weeks, I’ve said it a million times.

I don’t hear what is being said.

And when I do, I don’t understand it.

My brain is too busy hearing how I should impale myself on some railings.

Or something.

It’s all too hard.

Listening,

Hearing

Processing

Understanding

Responding

Fucking hell, you want me to respond.

What was the question?

Engage filter.

DO NOT say what you ACTUALLY think.

Oh my god I’m exhausted.

Those words actually fell out of my mouth.

I don’t know what the question was and I don’t care.

MAKE IT STOP

The relentless noise makes everything so very very hard.

Working out which socks to wear.

Actually having clean socks.

Getting out of bed.

I have been so very paralysed by the noise in my head, sometimes, I can’t actually move.

Which is great.

Apart from when you need to do things.

Like go to the toilet.

When you’ve been in the same spot for over 15 hours.

Or get dressed after swimming in open water.

Whole-body inability to move is a thing.

A very scary, very real thing.

Less scary when you are trapped under the duvet.

But still scary even then.

I have to take all the energy I have in my whole body, and focus it on the limb I want to move.

It is exhausting.

All the while, there is noise screaming to be heard.

I have the worst headache.

I’ve had it for a few weeks now.

My head feels like it is filled with helium and is lifting the top of my scalp.

My crown is consumed with pressure from the inside.

Lifting.

Screaming.

Pressing.  

Did i mention the noise?

I set off last saturday to do my last long run before the marathon.

I was doing 16 miles, 18 if I felt good.

That was the plan.

The plan in my diary that had been out there before ‘this’

The sun was shining, but I struggled to get out of the house (and bed, and dressed, you get the idea)

I wasn’t feeling the love.

I wasn’t feeling anything.

Well, I was.

I was feeling like I had disconnected from myself and there was a part of me, floating, high in front of my body.

My soul was made of helium and threatening to leave myself, it was tethered by the thinnest sliver of a thread.

And a desperately heavy heart.

Made of lead.   

My heart was heavy and my head was empty.

I couldn’t make the 2 things work together.

How the hell was I meant to run 16 miles?

I got to the canal (yay!) and found myself in the midst of a local marathon.

This will either be brilliant or awful.

Someone I used to go to school with shouted my name.

He thought I was running the marathon.

Fuck.

Haha people thought I was almost finished.

I couldn’t even manage one mile.

That does wonders for your sense of failure - when people think you’re doing awesome and you’re actually in bits and a massive fraud.

I cried in the first mile.

I couldn’t pick my feet up and propel myself forward.

The layers of noise were immense.

I was hyper sensitive to all things.

There were shoots of green among the woods and trees.

Birds singing, chirruping, chattering, squawking.

Spring was doing that thing that spring does.

JUST STOP THE NOISE

The noise that should be pleasant, that should be happy was irritating me.

I didn't have any music with me.

My head noise starts again.

You need to cancel everything.

You’re a failure.

Your legs don’t work.

Just slice them like we told you to.

You’ve got razor blades at home.

Good blades.

Sharp blades.

Knives.

Your legs are useless.

Like you.

You like spring, but you can’t even feel that properly

I could hear the traffic in the distance.
And the birds.

And the noise.

Oh fucking hell this is too hard.

Go home.

Don’t you fucking dare, stay here and torture yourself.  

A runner comes towards me.

HE IS FUCKING JUGGLING.

HE IS JUGGLING WHILE RUNNING A FUCKING MARATHON

You haven’t run 2 miles yet.

Look at you.

You’re a failure.

Look at him, this is EASY for him.

What happened to your SAD going away in spring?

I can’t make myself run.

There is toooooo much other stuff going on.

My ears find a song on the wind.

It is a reggae version of My Heart Will Go On.

Nope.

No it won’t.

My heart will not go on, i will rip the fucking thing out while it beats.  

Have I really heard that?

I try tune into where it is.

It really is reggae Celine.

3 boys cycle past me.

They are about 13 years old.

They’re discussing the poo processing plant and how it would’ve paid well in the 70’s and 80’s.

I couldn’t even bring myself to run past the poo plant.

Despite the stench, I walked.  

A family comes out of Toby’s Tea Room.

Oh my god the child is screaming.

Get it away from me.

Make the child stop screaming.

I need to run.
I need to get away from that screaming noise.

Layer upon layer upon layer upon layer upon layer of overload.

I just want it to stop.

I walked 5 miles that day and ran one.

It was my slowest ever 10km.

That night, I put my face on, literally, got dressed up and went out.

I pretended everything was well in the world.

All the while, the noise remained.

I dreamt about flying that night - like a drone.

My disconnect continued.

Luckily for me (and people I come into contact with), I have had some time off work and I feel better than I did.

I am working really hard in lots of ways to make myself better.

But I am still exhausted and it is still relentless.

Today, I know that this will pass.

Saturday, I was all up for making sure it never happened again.

The thought of living with this crippling brokenness was too much to take.

I do not want to feel like this.

This is not who I am.

I have come to realise over the years (and only when I am well) that there will always be an impostor in my head.

Sometimes it is small enough to ‘just’ be wonky chemicals.

My inner superhero keeps it in check.

And sometimes it grows and it is the ultimate bad guy / villain.

I have no defenses and it consumes me.

Who I am vanishes.

I become this ‘other thing’.

The impostor takes my body as well as my brain.

Control is complete.  

We’ve all seen the films.

Ponderings on Love

I've been thinking a lot about love recently. For a while in fact. So long that i drafted this blog at the beginning of February and its been sat. Contemplating

Not the chemical ponderings I usually have. Or maybe it is about chemicals. I guess I will know more when I've unpicked n examined the colour n consistency of my belly button fluff. 

I have been thinking about the shapes and sizes it can be. 

About the needs it meets. And how my needs interact with the other persons needs..... and what that produces. 

Love requires 2 people. 

It doesn't have to be reciprocated but it needs someone to experience the love. 

To feel it. 

Be moved by it. 

Be motivated by it. 

To express it. 

And if they, the lover (not sexual in this case), loves another person, wonderful things can occur. 

Particularly if the person who is the object of the love feels something similar. 

Of course, how I experience love is not how you will experience it. 

It changes. 

Constantly. 

How I love one friend is not how I love another. 

It is not more or less. 

It is not better or bigger. 

It is just different.

And as such, it cannot be measured. 

Nor should it be.

How can it be? 

It cannot be touched, or seen, or contained.

It just is. 

Sometimes it is quiet, sometimes vast. 

Sometimes it arrives with its own fanfare. 

Sometimes it whispers in the night n smothers you when you least expect it. 

Occasionally it consumes you so much, it feels like your heart may explode through your chest wall, such is the inability to contain the feeling.

And for me, that's one of the glorious things. 

It is a chemical gift. 

It heals, creates, expands, enriches, motivates. 

It's not rationed.

It doesn't run out, expire, or go off. 

It is possible to love more than one person at once. 

Love is a wonder drug.

I love lots of people. 

In lots of ways. 

I love some people so very much. 

I hope they know how much they are cared for. 

I hope they know how far I would go to help them should they need it. They could have my kidneys in a breath. 

It's not even a thought process. 

Hot coals, ends of the earth, last pence in bank account. I would walk across, travel to and give. All of it. 

And it would be as easy as breathing. 

If I love you, I am all in. 

Luke warm is no good. 

I will remain all in, should you start to take me for granted n neglect our relationship.

I understand that I don't come first in your life. That you have priorities. My love doesn't have conditions. 

The giving of my time might, but my love doesn't. 

I understand that you have many friends and love them all. 

  

I can tell you how I need to be loved. About how I like to be loved. 

But I cannot make you love me that way. 

That's not to say you don't love me with every ounce of your being. 

I don't doubt that. 

People mistake my loyalty n love for weakness - I stay too long in relationships, with eternal optimism. Hoping that the other will recognise my needs. Hoping that I will understand the other persons needs with out effective 2-way communication. 

But sometimes love isn't enough. 

Effort is required.

Compassion. 

Empathy.

Understanding

Compromise. 

Sacrifice. 

I have recently been VERY lucky. 

Some might say I'm not, but I am. 

I met a manshape and I found myself to be quite taken with him. 

We chatted easily for hours. 

There was chemistry. 

A lot of. 

We have spent time together. 

That chemistry has remained. Grown. 

So has the ability to talk to each other. 

Openly. 

Stupidly.

The more time I spent with him, the more time I wanted to spend with him. 

Yet, this cannot become 'a thing'. 

For his reasons. 

And I completely understand. 

And while I am so very sad, equally, he has given me one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given. 

He was honest and open with me from the outset. 

I dared to trust and he acknowledged my fear and treated it respectfully.

He communicated the truth. 

Even the bits he knew would hurt.

He valued me enough to do this at the first available opportunity. 

And for that, I will always be grateful. 

As will my heart. 

It won't forget. 

I know what it's like to be homesick. My heart wants to go home - and be safe there.

My heart has found places where it is safe, places I can call home n absolutely be myself. 

These are rare, glorious spaces inhabited by those I care deeply about. People who will wrap me up when I need it, or come chasing up/down a hillside or immerse into freezing cold water with me in the name of finding adventure. 

I have spoken of loving with my heart. My heart pumps my blood. 

It is a muscle. 

My brain produces my chemicals (or at least tells my body to produce them).

So do we love with our hearts or heads? 

I think it's possible to feel lust and feel good chemicals and mistake it for love. 

To become addicted to a person and the way they make you feel.....To become submerged in that sensation is a heady high.

There is also something about words and actions, in this thing we call love.

There have been relationships, of all varieties, whereby 'love' has been offered to me as a word. 

An expression. 

But the actions of the 'lover' (non sexual) don't or didn't match the expression. 

Some people don't have the emotional intelligence to deliver. 

Some people don't have the capability.

Some people can - and simply don't want to or can't. 

They speak of love (I genuinely think they do love as best they can) but their actions don't resemble love. 

I was once told my mouth was writing cheques that I was incapable of delivering. And at the time, I loved the person so very deeply - yet I had unmet need which prevented me from behaving in a way that reflected my feelings. 

It all gets complicated. 

Too complicated. 

It doesn't need to be. 

Love is the easiest thing in the world, so long as we don't overthink it.

If we communicate honestly about our want and needs as well as our capabilities and limits, we won't go far wrong. 

It's so glorious how love transcends all things. 

It has no race, no religion, no age, no disability. It is genderless. 

Love doesn't care.

But it does make the world a better place to be.

Rants

I am quietly seething. 

Actually I'm not being quiet about it at all. 

I'm being feisty and ranty about it. 

Over the weekend, I discussed my sadness n dismay at the number of women who had replied to the thread on twitter when Kelly Oxford had asked women to tweet about 'their FIRST' experience of being sexually assaulted. 

https://twitter.com/rach_2_oh/status/784845929396441089

I discussed this with a female friend and we both confess that we had to think long and hard about when our first experience of being sexually assaulted was. 

We spoke about the shapes this took, and how, often, it was so blatant, that by the time we had realised and actually acknowledged once the disbelief had gone, (a hand up a skirt or similar), the perpetrator could be invisible in a crowd and onto the next victim. 

We spoke about the scale of sexual assault. About where being heckled sits on that scale. About sexist comments. 

I have had too many incidents to count. 

They vary in severity. 

My age has ranged from being under 12 to 35.

But anyway.... that's not why I'm ranting. It is, however, relevant. 

The stuff regarding sexual assault is linked to Donald Trump and his hideous comments about 'grabbing women by the pussy' has been far too prevalent this weekend. 

I am baffled as to how so many Americans can be so stupid and bigoted. 

And then of course there is my mother. The one who failed to protect when I was a child, yet rings me to tell me that I should stop running along the canal because 'a coloured man is attacking women near Rodley' 

Apparently I'm not to run as far on as Rodley. Seemingly the attacker doesn't travel. 

When I asked what colour he was, she was unable to tell me. 

I must assume he has been in the face paint. 

Unfortunately (for her), I have my mother my opinion with both barrels.

I told her that she needed to stop reading the Daily Fail given that it reports in such a way to completely dehumanise women. 

It also reports in such a way that she thinks it's acceptable to use the word 'coloured' to describe someone. 

When I told her I needed to know whether the attacker was of Asian, Indian, Chinese, Caribbean, dual heritage, rather than 'coloured'. 

She was at a loss. 

I told her that we all had a skin colour so I guess I needed to be careful of every man in public.

I told her about the Nell McAndrew article - and actually, if men were reading that, women out running, are nothing more than moving sexualised objects. Why wouldn't they attack them?

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-3829369/Nell-McAndrew-flaunts-toned-arms-neon-orange-vest-limbers-half-marathon-London.html

My rant continued that I refuse to be frightened. 

I won't ONLY run when it's light. 

I CANT run when it's light in winter. Sometimes I'm at work. 

And actually, I quite like running at midnight. 

Why the hell shouldn't I? 

Sometimes it's the only way to shake the day off. 

I work shifts. 

It happens. 

I SHOULD BE ABLE TO RUN WHERE AND WHEN I WANT. 

WITHOUT FEAR.

I'm sensible. 

I take reasonable precautions.

I wear a headlight. 

I wear flashing arm bands

I wear a high viz frog. 

I wear loud and garish leggings. 

I carry a whistle.

I stick to the main roads late at night.

I refuse to be frightened. 

I am NOT going to hide from the world. 

To an extent, I tell people where I am going, or at least how long I expect to be. 

I try check in and out with someone. 

But ultimately, I live alone. 

And sometimes, people are sleeping. And sometimes I forget. 

But I won't stop running because it's suddenly dark. 

Or because there is a 'craze' for dressing as a killer clown n scaring women. 

I won't stop running because there is a man attacking women on the canal. 

Not all men are cockwombles. 

Some are. Some aren't. 

Some could see a woman running in hot pants n bra n would still know they had no right to assault or abuse her.

Some men see women covered up and take it as a personal challenge. 

I hope nothing terrible happens to you or those you love while you're out running. 

What with the drivers hating cyclists, that's not safe either..... I should probably go back to drinking and smoking..... 

Small piece of weather

My name is Rachel n I'm suffering from post race blues.

I am using endorphins to regulate my mental health.

There. 

I said it. 

I feel like I am at the beginning of an episode of depression. 

I can feel it. 

Lurking. 

Waiting to pounce. 

I am balanced on a knife edge, in fact, no, worse than that, I am balanced on the tip of the blade. 

Teetering. 

In all the directions.

It could all go horribly wrong at a moments notice.  Or maybe even without notice. 

Bam. 

Into the abyss. 

Currently, because I know I might fall, I am furiously packing. 

Preparing things that might help. 

Rope ladders, pick axes, safety nets n the like. 

I am setting goals n entering races.

I am making plans with people, which I will invariably cancel when I am in the abyss. 

Mainly because, deep dark hole n inability (lack of energy) to climb out of it. 

Mainly because I will be in bed.

Or in tears.

I am telling people about my standing on the edge n peering in.... Wondering if it's easier to jump than to wait to see if I fall. 

I don't want drugs. 

I have used drugs MANY times before n while the regulate, they make me feel just as void n empty as when I'm depressed. 

They stop me feeling altogether. 

At least when I'm under a heavy blanket of misery, I am still feeling. 

And feeling gives me hope. 

Kinda.

While I can still feel, I am still alive. 

And that's why I don't want drugs, I don't want to become mono-feeling n robotic. 

I'm aware that other people may not perceive me like that when I'm on drugs, but that's how I remember them. 

I know drugs have kept me afloat n alive through more than one winter. 

They are a good thing. 

I know antidepressants aren't even admitting defeat. 

This isn't a battle. 

It isn't something to win. 

It just..... is

I have wonky brain chemistry. 

Drugs stop it being wonky. 

That's all there is to it. 

Endorphins stop it being wonky too. 

Or at least, they do most of the time. 

Trouble with endorphins is this.... 

What goes up, must come down. 

And when I am like this, my biggest problem is my inability to regulate. 

I swing too low. Then it takes more and more to get me back. 

Highs are giddy n fleeting. I cannot hold on to them.

I feel bereft when they vanish.

I am a junky.

I have had LOTS of endorphins recently. 

Norse endorphins

Rio endorphins

Because reality, I came home. 

And went back to work. 

September is historically bad for me anyway. 

Winter starts to creep in, days have more hours of darkness than light. Vitamin D intake drops. 

SAD wraps itself around my being n threatens to drown me.

Add post race blues n all the hope, anticipation, preparation n hype that a big race holds.... Then remove any sense of purpose or forward momentum. 

Add work being horrendously difficult n desperately unhappy (combining of course shift work, emotionally challenging children and colleagues I struggle with)

It all gets a bit much. 

I have been told (on more than one occasion, by more than one person) that my appearance physically alters when I am flat/sinking. 

I cannot fake it to those who truly see me.

I had a little epiphany when I was about 150km into the 180km bike leg of Norseman. 

I was OFF MY FACE on feel good n had accomplished a HUGE physical undertaking. 

I was riding across a deserted moorland, designing my next tattoo.

My face hurt from smiling. 

Joy leaked from my eyes.

There was a huge rock in the middle of nowhere. It hadn't fallen off a cliff. It hadn't rolled down a hill. 

It was on the tops. 

Nothing was above it. 

I concluded, in my delirious state, that a giant must have thrown it n that's where it landed. 

What's the relevance of me telling you about the rock?

Well, the thing with wonky mental health is random thoughts appear, without explanation or warning. 

Often big, heavy, unwanted fuckers too. 

Like the random rock. 

As I rode past the age old lump of stone n mineral, I was thinking about weather systems and seasons. 

How cyclical 'things' are. 

How change is necessary and how the seasons are wonderful in their own way. I love all of them. 

How the shedding of skin n growth happens to us all. 

How it is Ultimately Good. 

How we evolve. 

How our needs change over time. 

How we respond to our environment. 

How the weather is a good representation for emotion and mood.....

Sometimes, the sun shines. There is light n warmth cast on all things. 

Growth is fast. There is a positive energy. Everything is easier in the sunshine. Any shadows are easily explained, they shift quickly. 

Sometimes, there is rain which is warm and nourishing. It smells of earth n goodness. 

Petichor. A good name for a good type of rain. 

Occasionally, the rain is barely visible, but soaks you to the skin. 

Fine, wet drizzle. 

The inconvenient type that there is little protection from. Wet rain.

Then of course there is snow. 

Good fun. 

Beautiful. Cold. 

Blinding. 

The sum of its parts altering its combined matter. 

Or of course, inconvenient.

The fog does exactly what it says on the tin. It disorientates. Traps, confuses, makes you feel isolated and lost. It is rarely pleasant or easy to find your way out of. 

Thunder and lightening bring change. Clashes, changes in atmosphere, disturbance, pressure. 

Warm meets cold. 

Shouting. Banging. Electricity. 

Resolution. Clarity.

Of course.... After the wet stuff, when the gloom lifts and the light begins to shine again, there is the magic of rainbows.

I decided on that mountain top that I would try treat my mental health like the weather. (And the weather would feature somehow in my next tattoo)

Something that is ever present. 

Something that I cannot control. But I can respond to. 

There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.

Control what you can.

I'm not one to let the weather stop me playing out. 

There is nothing I love more than open water swimming in the rain.

So, when the fog consumes me, I will either send out flares, or lay low until it lifts (rather than wondering aimlessly, becoming more lost)

I will wrap up warm n snuggly to combat against the cold of winter. 

I will top my chemicals up regularly. 

With exercise.

With laughter

With good self care

With love

With good food, containing proper nutrients (and grown in the sunshine)

My brain may behave as though it has a broken valve and allow the chemicals to leak, but if I top up regularly n ask others to check on me, I can ride this out.

My survival rate is 100%

And it's just a small piece of weather.

Norseman 2016

I will apologise now for the length of this blog. In fact, no I won't. I'm not even a bit sorry. 

I want to ramble n empty my head in case I forget it when I am an old lady. 

I want to tell the world what I achieved. I want to inspire strangers who think they can't, and let them know that they can. I want to send people to sleep with my mindless drivel. 

I don't ever want to forget. 

Ever. 

I want to shout from the roof tops about how proud I am of my little body. My little body that isn't the right shape to be athletic. My little body that doesn't have big paddles or flippers for swimming fast. My little body that probably had the most body fat on race day within the field of athletes. My little body that only started all this sporting lark in 2010 with an open water swim, and a sprint tri at the back end of 2013. My little body that is driven by my own stubborn n other people's self doubt. 

I didn't think it was possible to enjoy something so tough and so painful as Norseman was. 

But I did. I properly loved it. 

And I think I am now ruined forever. 

No racing experience will ever come close. I don't even think I can find the words to describe it.

I knew before I arrived in Eidfjord that Norseman was a magical experience. 

I knew when my name came out of the ballot in November last year, that my life would change ever so slightly. My life would change because of the 9 month journey to follow, but equally, it would culminate on one special day. 

I had been to Norseman before as support crew in 2014. I had vowed that I would never return. 

But it had got under my skin. 

My soul was stirred. 

Personal circumstances changed in the lead up to the race, which resulted in a change to my support crew and me having a couple of days to myself in Norway before the race. In the end, it worked out perfectly.

Cathy and Jayne did everything and more. They kept me calm, had foresight, they knew were where I needed them to be, when I needed them. Most of all, they had fun. 

In the midst of the extremity, the rain, the cold and the fog, they remembered to smile n enjoy themselves.... But never to the detriment of my race. 

During the time I was alone in the days before the race, I was able to float in the fjord, fettle with my bike, Alice, n get her set up sorted. 

While Norseman is a race, more than that, it is an experience. 

It is both brutal and beautiful and delivers everything it says it will and more. An extreme triathlon that is basic, true and unique.

The sense of community and camaraderie is astounding. 

One competitor arrived without his luggage or bike due to airline issues. He started the race n finished black. This was on the back of competitors and their support crews donating various items of kit. Human kindness prevailed.

They tell you to train as hard as you can for Norseman.... then train even harder. The initial email telling you that you have a place says 'train swim, train bike, train run, train hills, train cold, train nutrition.... Then train some more'

They don't lie. 

3*C in August soaked to the bone n with minimal visibility isn't much fun. But I LOVED it. There were people dropping like flies due to the cold. 

My bioprene paid off. 

Huzzah for having a bit of podge.

Support cars making space for filthy bikes, athletes retiring, frozen n shivering. Not the day they had prepared for. 

The days before the race had perfect weather. Calm clear waters in the fjord.  I had arrived late on the Tuesday and swam as soon as I could on the Wednesday. 

I was alone and so very tiny in a massive fjord. The mountains, the perfect backdrop, falling into the waters edge. 

I was like a pig in poop. So very happy and totally at peace.

I was happy to swim sans wetsuit on the Thursday the water temperature was so warm.

When the social swim happened on the Friday, myself, Cathy and Jayne were the loony Brits getting in without neoprene. There were a couple of others, but not many. 

It was properly glorious. Never have I been so calm before a race. 

Registration happened, briefing happened, tears and goosebumps happened.... And then we checked into the Tricamp. 

A school hall full of nervous athletes the night before a race. 

I'm glad we couldn't book the hotel until race morning. I LOVED sleeping on the floor with everyone else. 

Somehow, we all slept. I think we all slept reasonably well. Cathy slept so well that she snoozled through the lights being switched on at 2am n a couple of 100 people getting up n ready to race!!

Carnage in the school hall

The journey to the start passes quickly, nervous athletes sat around on a ferry in wetsuits is quite the site. The atmosphere crackling with anticipation, nerves and excitement.

We are summoned to the car deck. 

It is almost time to jump. 

The hose is pumping sea water so that everyone can acclimatise before the jump. 

I spend a few minutes under the spray, filling my wetsuit. 

Then, it is time.

JUMP.

The bit that i was dreading was the easiest thing in the world. 

I didn't even think about it.  

No fear, no hesitation. 

Just leap into the sea in the dark.

All races should start this way.

Quickest part of the day is leaping off the back of the boat

The overwhelming thought i had while swimming over to the start of the swim was 'what kind of knobhead wears polarised goggles in a swim that starts in the dark?' (that would be me then) 

The ferry horn signaled the start of the race.

We were told the fastest route was along the shore line - at times I was wide of the pack to get out of the washing machine. I would have periods of swimming completely alone - and then a wave would come and throw me back in to the pack.

I made sure that enjoyed the swim - watching day break against the backdrop wasn't something i would get to experience again in a hurry. Although, I was reminded of why I dislike swimming in anything with salt water or a tide.
The final 500m across the front of the pontoon seemed to go on forever - it was like being on a watery uphill treadmill. 

The swim was long, or I swam long. 4km overall and much slower than I was capable of.
I later learned that others who swam a similar pace to me found it tough too.

T1 went to plan and was fairly uneventful apart from weeing on Cathy - little did we know it would be the first of many that day. Somehow, she is still my friend.

The bike starts to climb fairly quickly and doesnt stop climbing for about 35km. The first climb peaks at 1271m (that's what my Garmin got it at)

The climb is beautiful. The old road winding in such a way that you can look up and see cyclists on the path above you, winding through tunnels in the mountainside, the path you don't see or experience when driving it, Voringfoss to the left as you climb.

You can see the bikes below - there is another layer too.

I knew early on that I was bleeding places - I couldn't make my body work at the right intensity.
I had planned to ride to a certain power, but couldn't sustain it.

On the day, my head was stronger than my body. It was an odd thing, having such amazing acceptance so early on and being happy about the fact that I knew I wouldn't achieve black finish.  I accepted that I might not make 18 hours. The weather was cold, so very cold on the tops. Reaching Dyranut meant that there was a tailwind - but it was about 3* and visibility was poor.

Having finished the first climb, knowing that my body and brain weren't working together, I wondered how I would make it to the end of the bike. I knew what was still to come - and people were dropping like flies around me due to the conditions.

Not once did i think 'I cant do this' (which is rare for me) I only ever thought 'I don't know how I will do it' - so i kept on pedaling.

I smiled alllllll day - even through the grim bits

Turning right at Geilo meant that some of the worst weather was over - it was just going to be wet now. I had standing water in my shoes and another 90km to go - and still i smiled.

Cathy took 'make sure i can see you' to a whole new level. 

There were descents where I had rain blasting in my face so hard that I couldn't see properly.

When I stopped at the bottom of Imingfjell (to wee on Cathy again), I was already Unsure about my ability to make it to the top of the climb.  It was 'only' 20km, but I had already climbed LOTS and had around another 800m in the last climb.
(The total bike elevation for the day was 2963m which is 9721ft)

I was tired and cold.
My legs were empty.
But my head was strong..... Ish

I hadn't come all this way to give in on the last climb.
I might finish white, and I might finish last, but I had to do everything I could to actually make it to the finish.
I had to know that I had done everything I could - even if they pulled me off the course.

So i set off with Alice, climbing for the last time.
Cathy and Jayne over took but pulled over when they realised I had stopped shortly after setting off.
Jesus this was going to be hard.
They came back to cheer me on.

I was so very empty that I had to do it in short bursts.
I physically couldn't keep cycling.
300m then stop. Have a rest.
500m then stop. Have another rest.
This was awful.
My brain was screaming that it would hurt just as much, but would be over quicker if we could just carry on.

My legs wouldn't work.
I couldn't turn the pedals.
Stop.
Rest.
Carry on.
Repeat.
Ad infinitum.

I stopped just after one of the hairpins and a chap from one of the other support crews asked me if i needed a push.
No.
Thank you.
I will do this.
It will be me.
All me.
Thank you for the kind offer, but I'm fine.
I have survived many things in my life, I'm certain that I'm not going to be beaten by a hill.

Many small chunks later, we reached the dam.
The climb was over.
Shortly, I would be descending to T2 and my bike leg would be over.

I had done it.
I allowed myself a little cry.
A broad smile that made my cheeks hurt and my eyes leak.
Somewhere in the desolate Norwegian Moorland, a sheep rang its cowbell in celebration.
I had actually done it.
Now the small matter of surviving the downhill to Austbydge.

As it got warmer and the miles ticked from 105 to 110, I found myself sad that the bike leg was going to be over soon.
I was sad that I couldn't have given more, but was so very pleased that I had loved it all - even though it was grim in all the ways possible. Never again would I complain about weather on the bike!! I also knew I had given everything that I could.

Just the small task of a marathon left.
T2 seemed to take ages - I couldn't co-ordinate my hands and for the first time ever, I had a desire to eat real food during a triathlon.
I went all diva-ish and demanded Brioche - Lo and behold! Brioche appeared.

I tried my best to override my body and make it run - i managed about 8 minutes of my run walk strategy and it all became too much. My feet were swelling and my body was resisting.
It wouldn't let me damage it any more than i already had.
I knew by now that I was in white position 200 and somethingth (210, i think?) - no amount of chasing would get me to a black finish.

If i maintained a reasonable march, I would make all the cut off's with time to spare.
So that's what I did.
I marched.
When I could, I ran and when I couldn't, I made sure i maintained a reasonable pace.  I ate proper food (who am i?) and enjoyed the scenery.

Somewhere around mile 10, I picked up Charles and distracted him for a while - we talked drivel at each other and debated whether it was an ogre or a moose we heard roaring.
But we kept walking.

Jayne met me at the bottom of Zombie Hill and was relentless in her quest to get me up the hill to the checkpoint. Somehow, we were over taking people - we were over taking quite a lot of people.
Who knew that was a thing?

Having made the check point, new time goals were set - sub 18 was still achievable.
Who knew I would be so pleased with a sub 18 hour?

What nobody tells you about Norseman and the white finish, is this..... you do laps of the car park to make up the distance.
Its like becoming the ultimate Strava wanker.
The only difference is, you get music, dancing, cheering and your card stamped as you tick off each lap. It was ace.

I would've loved to finish black.
I really would.
And maybe a few years ago, I might have had it in me.
Year on year, the field is getting faster and stronger - and I don't ever think I will be able to compete in that way. Not on that course and in that environment.
2016 is rumoured to have been the worst weather conditions recorded on race day. I also heard something about the biggest DNF rate ever.

I am stupendously proud of what i achieved.

Thank you Norway.
Thank you Norseman.
You were awesome.

Ready or not, here I come....

As I type this I am sat in a plane. I wanted to type 'I am sat on a plane'. But that would suggest I'm on the roof. And I'm not. 

I've just landed in Schiphol n will be travelling onward to Oslo very shortly.  But only after I've had Dutch Apple Pie. 

I am SO EXCITED! 

I don't even think I have the words to articulate it. 

For the past week, I have found myself breaking into broad, beaming grins, cheeks bulging, eyes twinkling. 

This has occasionally been accompanied by an enthusiastic squeeee sound, and almost certainly a seal clap will have escaped. 

I can't contain the feeling. It's far too big. There have been one or two tears as well. Not sad tears. Just big feelings leaking through my eyes. 

 

It is here. 

Norseman.

The race that has consumed me for the past 9 months IS ON SATURDAY. 

I cannot do any more. 

The training has been done. 

All that is left is a minor matter of a swim, a bit of a lumpy bike, n a run with a small climb at the end. 

It is 3 proper sleeps n a snoozle away (Friday night isn't sleep, it's laying down in the dark for a bit)

Taper madness is absent for the most part. There have been no major meltdowns. Ickle ones, yes. The cassette n wheel issue made me cry. But human goodness prevailed n it's sorted. 

Packing was a calm affair. 

I am amazed at how easy it was. It felt far too easy.

For months, I have been adding post-it notes to a box in the living room of things I need. I exchanged the post it for the actual item, cross referenced it with my race plan/packing list. 

It took all of 15 minutes to gather everything. 

Being organised pays. 

Who knew?! 

Getting everything in the case n bike box? That was a different matter. 

Friends have made my heart swell. Magical trinkets of love have been gifted. They are coming up the mountain with me. 

So much belief. So much support. 

I hope I don't let anyone down. 

I have a plan for the day which involves tactical stuff, head space management, ways to make sure I enjoy it as well as goal related stuff. 

People have asked me what time I want. 

I want to finish. 

I'd like under 16 hours. 

I'd really like black finish. 

I want top 160. 

But that depends who turns up on the day n what the universe has in store. I mainly want to finish.

I want to jump off the ferry without fear or hesitation.

I want a steady swim which uses minimal energy. I won't swim the swim I know I am capable of, but I would rather conserve energy where possible. 

God knows I'll need it. 

I'd really like to do the bike leg in a time I know I'm capable of (if the weather is kind)

I'd really like a 2.15 half marathon off the back of the bike. 

Then I am into unknown territory.

10km at 10% won't be fast.  

But the real answer to what time I want? 

I want to have the time of my life. 

And that's what I plan on having.