Body Postive!

There is a fair bit of irony in the title of this post...but we'll come to that. It's been a fair while since my last blog following Race to the King. I can still look back on that event with a mix of pride and horror at what I achieved. Recovery is something those of us who see exercise as a hobby do pretty poorly,  (I say exercise as I'm sure some wouldn't call what I do running). But I took to heart the need to rest, both my body and mind. 

Ultra running for me is equal part abuse and achievement. I push myself beyond the norm, run myself to empty as that numbing sense of pain helps me feel alive. It's the same symptom as when I would self harm as a child, when I drank far too much as a young adult and when I binge eat. Except ultra running gives me a medal and a sense I've accomplished something. 

This time the crash afterwards wasn't too far, but nonetheless there was a crash. 2021 is a year of collective PTSD. No one quite knows who they are anymore, what they should be doing and when we finally all emerged from our cocoons over the summer the horror by which we were expected to return to everyday life was just a bit too much. Not for everyone, but for a lot of us. Gradually the masks quite literally slipped and we had to face who we had become and what we really wanted. 

I am lucky in that I can build my own life lines now, using the routines I've set up, access to

private therapy and the simply wonderful Frazzled Cafe led by Ruby Wax. A regular session with like minded people where we simply share the weather conditions in our minds. And boy has mine been stormy, foggy and only now and then a hint of sunlight from behind the clouds to give me hope this will, eventually all pass. A lifetime of mental ill health can feel, well, like a lifetime. That ability to pick yourself, dust yourself off and think 'here I go again' is tough, for me and for those around me. But pick myself up I do. As what else is there? I've been to the darkest edges of my soul and survived so this time I won't be beaten. 

But I have to learn to feel, much as I have to learn to run again. And only recently have I learned the two are very much linked. 

Completing RTTK I then stopped running. The occasional racer pacer (a lovely small group where we run/walk 5k together) and not even a parkrun yet since it's return in July. I used some techniques to try and get me active - Maidstone had a fabulous display of Elmer elephants that I tried to find, a camping trip to the New Forest and I tried to run a couple of times and then I committed to Miles for Refugees with a target of 75 miles during September, needless to say I didn't make it. From the end of June to the end of Sept I only managed 7 attempts at 5k and nothing further than that. 

So what possessed me to attempt the virtual London marathon on 3 October I've no idea. I mean I entered it and I had decided I wanted to walk it with Keeley. To give her some company, unlike last year where she walked alone. And to take the pressure off me. By mid Sept I had already decided that my entry to Royal Parks Half this year was a step too far. My rollercoaster of depression and anxiety was sickening. Combined with the ever increasing symptoms of peri-menopause things were very much piling up in my mind. Which meant the pounds have been piling on in my body. 

In August I stopped weight watchers, accepting it just wasn't working and thought "I'll try something new" so signed up for Joe Wicks and the Body Coach app. No strict diet plan, easy to follow exercise. A new regime of constantly resetting because I'd not done any of it....

What perfect marathon preparation! Nearly 2 stone heavier than when I ran RTTK (yep that much in 3 months!) and hardly any running. See what I mean about abuse. 

I was spurred on by memories of the Half MDS and seeing people out in Fuerteventura for the 2021 version, those memories go a long way for me. And I was only walking....until Saturday 2 October when Gaby Roslin presented a very short programme from the Expo and I felt that pang of regret that I could no longer perform like I had. That I had to decide what mattered most to me and that for the good of myself perhaps now was the time to put some effort in. Crazily I decided to try the next day. I asked Keeley if she would mind if I attempted to run/walk. She (of course) said no, as really we'd have only walked together listening to music or audible books. Our route would be the same, out and back along the river so we would still see each other. 

Turns out we didn't see each other a lot on route as Keeley unfortunately slipped and fell at her 10 mile point, injuring her foot and knee so had to pull out and remain as support for others also going up and down the river. But me, well I ran/walked as planned. 2 mins running and 1 minute walking. Up and down that river path. Reaching half way and thinking "wow, you're doing okay here" - passing friends, other runners, random strangers who would cheer us on. And soon I realised I was going a lot stronger and faster than I had imagined. Once I passed 6 miles and the app told me "20 miles to go" - my head said "well, only 20 miles you can do that" and by the time I hit 8 miles the aches in my shins had passed and I was in a groove. 

Now I suspect my app was a bit off piste as it does look like I probably didn't run a full marathon that day but it was the app I was basing my run on as that's where London take the result from and even if I'd added some extra distance I'd have still been a good hour faster than last year. But actually this really wasn't about time. This was about how I felt. I felt amazing. Like actually amazing. I loved running along the river. I bloody loved running. As I went on I felt stronger and it was never in doubt that I would finish. I would see people struggling and I just wasn't, I mean I was tired, I had blisters but I was in my comfort place. Mindless, endless movement. At 14 or 15 miles I yelled at Keeley "I'll be finished within 7 hours, seems I can do this shit" - and actually seems I can. 

I'm not fast, I'm not graceful but this body can achieve amazing things. This body. My body. The one I generally hate. 

So I finished it and then we waited to see others finish. The recovery was rough. Probably one of the most painful I've had since my early marathon running days. But I'd also made a decision that if I did recover I would turn up for Royal Parks the following Sunday. And I did. 

Yesterday (from when I'm writing this) I ran my 8th Royal Parks Half marathon. Another Jeff approach with the same run/walk strategy. Another surprise in that my only training had been a marathon the week before. If anything though this time I felt even better (well other than the pain for the first 5 miles) and completed it in a not too shabby 3:12:14. I didn't feel the same pride as I had doing the London virtual, but I did realise I need to run. I do need to also learn to respect this body I'm in. My knees are not grateful for the additional pounds I'm carrying and a relentless hot flush just after the start made me remember that my age does not make this any easier. 

I'm not naive enough to think this will be easy and to imagine I'll stick to it (the chocolate I've consumed since Sunday is proof to that) but I want to try. Realistic, achievable goals that support who and how I want to be. And I want to run. Without pressure, without goals, just to give my mind that space. As it's in that space I find myself, I find my worth, my belief, my sense of being enough. 

Picture Credit: @sow_ay

It was world mental health day on Sunday, which felt appropriate - I just hope each of us can find whatever it is that helps us realise our value and place on this planet matters, we need each other, we need ourselves. It doesn't have to be perfect, you don't have to be super fast, or even remotely fast. You don't have to have huge goals. Sometimes just getting out of bed will do. But you do have to be true to yourself and find what works for you, no one else...I'll let you know if any of this continues to work for me!