What's going on?

It's been a while. Not just a while since I wrote a blog post, which was insanely positive about my running but also well, since I ran. My last run was 5k at 4pm on 10 November 2021. Exactly 14 weeks ago, what's that 98 days - wow nearly at the 100 days of no running mark. 

I didn't mean for that to happen, but it has. Perhaps in November and December I meant for it to happen. Dark days in a number of ways, too much wine (is there such a thing), too much food. But January started lighter and brighter in so many ways. I knew I didn't feel like running but I have been walking daily, discovered Apple Fitness+ and restarted trying to be more mindful in my eating habits. All of which has added up to feeling a lot better mentally and starting to feel better physically. 

Yet running remains off the table. I can't say I even miss it. My therapist thinks perhaps it was filling something in me that no longer needs to be filled. Which may well be true. I don't know. I know that I think I will go back to it. Once I'm feeling fitter. That's how I found it after all. I was losing weight, the gym was no longer cutting it so I started to run. At the moment the thought of the effort needed to pound the pavements or the trails doesn't inspire me to put on my dusty trainer and squeeze into ill fitting run gear. 

I guess if I don't run again I'll have to retire this blog, I've been thinking of doing that anyway, after all it's always been a lot more about my mental health in the last 3 years than running. And now I've got lots more to say about being a 48ish year old woman who is going through the hell that seems to be peri-menopause. I mean lets face it, if you're reading this thinking it is about running you are probably not my target audience...

Oh and did I say hell? I did, it is hell. But not every day hell. Oh no. Like I say January was a pretty spectacular month in that I felt content, settled, in control. Started taking Black Cohosh alongside my now obligatory anti-depressants (just let them try and stop that prescription). Have a routine that involves therapy, Frazzled Cafe, even returning to parkrun as a volunteer and feeling almost sociable. Back to the office didn't even phase me. But then something slowly happens, fatigue, followed by more fatigue, followed by a hot flush, followed by not even remembering your own name, followed by an inability to hold your wee for more than 10 seconds. And did I mention fatigue? And now it's the 17 Feb and my wonderful January feels like a distant memory and I begin to question EVERYTHING...which is not a good place to be. 

As I start to wonder if it's me I realise it isn't me. It's peri-menopause. The battle for a solution and probably HRT continues. But being kind to myself also needs to ramp up. Learning to perhaps live with my new reality and weight also accepting that I can still run. That actually what is stopping me is the perception others may have of me, that I'm not as fit or fast as I once was and accepting that none of that matters. 

This may therefore be my last blog post here, I may start a new one away from the running world and moving into the mental health, menopausal, who the f**k are we becoming world. Or I may not? That's the joy of not really understanding what the hell is going on at this moment in time! 

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! 

The End!

I did it. 53.5 miles in 18 hours and 48 minutes. Finishing just before 3am exhausted. Elated. Everything put on the line to reach Winchester. It started at 8am on Saturday morning with a few tears unsure if this was really the right thing to do, facing what I knew would be a tough trial both mentally and physically. Hoping that I could do myself justice. 

As always Threshold events make it easy. Well run, managed safely and great support throughout. Although this year with a few changes it wasn’t quite as it has been and I spent several hours just dying for a cheese sandwich. Even better I had my wife Keeley as extra support. Carefully worked out stops (so we thought) and a boot full of all the goodies I may need and knew they wouldn’t have at pitstops this year (except cheese sandwiches!) 

Race to the King is arguably the easiest of the original threshold series - less hills, shorter than Stones, but the tricky terrain of the South Downs Way means it is still very much a challenge. Lots of chalky flint stones under foot meant that even with my blister powder and taped feet I’m left with a lovely blood blister on the sole of my right foot meaning recovery is still in progress. It’s definitely beautiful. Some stunning scenery and beautiful fields. Sadly no photos of this to share with you (you’ll find out why in a moment) - apparently 2000 people entered one of the 3 events on offer. Straight through like myself. Two day campers and those just doing the one day option. Which meant plenty of company and it’s those moments of snatched conversations with strangers which make ultras so much fun. 

My run/walk technique worked well even around the hills. The longest gap of the day was the 10 miles to the first pitstop which ended up being slightly less as they had had to move the start to Goodwood race course. This pitstop was super busy I grabbed a pack of nuts and didn’t stop. Knowing I’d arranged to see keeley before pitstop 2. But both of us realising we’d accidentally put her next to pitstop 2! The weather was perfect none of the searing heat of the previous weekend. Light drizzle in places. But no torrential rain that had left the ground sodden, slippy and muddy. 

Pitstop 2 was really where things took a turn. Unfortunately I discovered that once again for the big occasion I would have my period to contend with, the joys of peri-menopause, that said my body was put through such strain it never became the issue it could have been. Leaving me as fast as it arrived! After seeing Keeley and having some food I happily texted a few friends to let them know how I was doing. Put my phone back in the pocket of my pack. 30 minutes later I reached for my phone to take a photo of the stunning view that was in front of me to be met with a screen saying “hello what language would you like” - my iphone had completely reset. I was in full on panic mode. No means to contact anyone. No way for Keeley to track me on find my friends. Disaster. The next hour is a blur as I tried to keep going but also fix my phone. Suffice to say I couldn’t get it back to normal so had to get it working as best I could. Thankfully Keeley sent me a text so I could reply (no contacts, no clue of her phone number) explaining what’s happened. I tried to phone but it wouldn’t work! The plan to try and restore from back up at basecamp which was the next stop. After arranging this I turned the phone off and tried to refocus. 

Basecamp was only 23 miles. Bad news for those hoping for a double marathon weekend. Keeley was there. I couldn’t focus on anything but my phone. It’s against the rules to not have a working phone. Never mind my own safety at night. This meant I didn’t even look at the hot food on offer, I didn’t sit. I didn’t do anything other than mess with my bloody phone. Which didn’t work. It meant we agreed Keeley would take it back to our hotel and hope they had wifi which would enable a restore from backup so I had something. She would just come to somewhere on route at some point before darkness to return it to me. But that meant any of our other planned meeting points were now out of the window. I felt pretty upset. The tears and anxiety were there on the edge. But there was nothing to do other than set off for the second part of the race. 

The next few hours were amazing. I just had myself. My focus on one foot in front of the other. The views that I could only commit to memory. My mind when I’m running switches off. It’s the only time I can turn the noise off in my head. Simply working out pacing, when and what I should eat next. How far to the next pitstop. I had time to reflect on why it is that pushing myself to extremes is something i am apparently good at, believing that I can do it. But in daily life I struggle to even get out of bed. The rain came during those hours. My blister started to be noticeable on the downhill sections. But I kept going. I was making great time too. Surprised at my ability to push through. 30 miles came and went. I was also working out where I may see Keeley especially as it was just starting to get dark. Although I had begun to realise I’d be okay and almost wished I could get a message to her saying “I don’t need my phone”. Then after leaving a pitstop with the chap on the bike putting out the glow sticks for us to follow, at the top of a hill in the drizzle there she was! 

My phone was safely restored and working. I had some food and watermelon. We talked about if I should see her again and decided actually she should just return to the hotel and see me at the finish. I expected that to be between 2 and 3am. 

This was my 5th ultra and I’ve now done a few which take me into the night, so I know that it becomes a very different race. After nearly falling flat on my arse and sliding down the entire Old Winchester Hill due to the mud I knew it was going to get slower. You’re tired. Hitting 40 miles at 9.45 felt like I should be finishing before 2am but my blister, the chafing and the growing nausea in my stomach all took it’s toll. For the first time in an ultra I found myself sitting at some of the pitstops. Great advice from my virtual support Whiffers meant I had some soup as my stomach could handle this. I’d also taken a packet of miso soup when I last saw Keeley and this was a godsend at the last pitstop where I felt super sick. The salty warmth giving me a boost to make those final miles. It becomes so tough. Your brain struggles to focus, you’re just longing for the finish. People around you are the same. Lots of conversations with medics about whether they can continue. One lady running with her shoes undone as her feet had swelled so much. I say running. But in the dark you’re walking. I had a trot when I could on the roads. But realised it was energy sapping so stuck to trying to get a good walking pace. But for me that’s ultra running. So shoot me if you don’t like that! 


And then suddenly there’s only 5k to go and 2 miles, 1 mile. The finish line. I achieved all I wanted to. Finishing. Smiling. Faster than RTTT. But spent. Keeley cut me out of my compression sleeves, my feet broken but my spirit not so. One thing I was sure of, which I’d decided during those hours without my phone, was that this was my last ultra that took me into the night. It’s not something I need to do again. Nothing to prove and it’s such a price. Literally running to empty. I’ve withdrawn from the Canterbury Trails in August and should I do an ultra again it will be a straightforward 30 miler or a two day affair. But even those, right now, don’t appeal. 

I am still in recovery. The sick feeling took a few days to pass despite a giant breakfast the next day. My mental strength may take a bit longer but I am proud of what I achieved and it’s helped me reassess Tower and feel proud of that too. This experience definitely reinforced that you can’t always change the beginning but you can write your own ending! 

Where next?

Suddenly its June? Where did that come from? This means I have Race to the King in just two weeks. Things haven't really gone to plan. Yes, I've run more this year already than last year but that wouldn’t be hard. I had hoped to get up to 30 miles but my longest run is just 20. Lots of people tell me I know I can do it. After all I’m not new to ultras or this kind of distance. But my last long distance race was in 2019. I’ve done a virtual marathon. I’ve done a couple of real and virtual halfs. I last ran 26.2 miles over 8 months ago. 

Worse still I’ve lost myself to anxiety and the wild noises in my mind that have crashed through after 3 lockdowns, a literal creation of my own bubble and the lack of desire to see anyone or do anything. The dark grey fog has settled around me and i can glimpse patches of light but I have no understanding of how to reach them. 

Picture credit: @sow_ay 

The races I’m doing this year were meant to be over - I deferred them in 2019 due to my breakdown but 2020 destroyed the opportunity to complete them when I was feeling more in control. Now I’m not the same as 2019 but will the impact of pushing myself beyond what I’m probably physically (and maybe mentally) capable of be worth it? 

I guess I’m going to find out. It’s made me question my future in terms of events. I don’t see me entering much else. I want to reach 10 Royal Parks and then perhaps I’ll just stick to my own steam. Currently I’m back on the trails alone. It’s too complicated to Jeff with others and my self induced bubble feels a safe place. The few times I venture out to run with others I’m crippled with anxiety. I probably need to break this but I don’t quite know how. Trusting in others is bottom of my list right now and my pace is that of a slightly fast walker. Although people say they don’t care about such things - many do. And that’s their right. But my running is not in the space I once held so alone is where I suspect I’ll find myself. 

That said I do wish everyone would stop justifying their times or if they run/walk. I love Jeff Galloway. He’s changed my ability to keep going even through all this. And it’s still running. It’s my running. It may not be your running but that’s okay. We are not all the same person. I’m one of the worst to try and “accept” where i now find myself but the constant comparison on social media or even worse running apps isn’t good for us. My fitness is judged by these apps on times I got in 2015 and 2017. 4 years ago! If only I had the courage to completely delete them but there’s the rub. I don’t. But I still run. My way. 

We’ll see what 2021 brings but I can’t risk fracturing my fragile state completely for the sake of a medal. I’m not afraid of a DNF anymore. I will start. I will try. But I won’t lose it all by betting on black. Just someone remind me of that at 3am on 20 June when I’m still struggling to finish...

Learning to Accept

Second blog of the year, that's already a plus! What a year it has been too. This 3rd Lockdown has been tough, maybe because it's winter, dark and cold. Maybe because we've now been here before and can't be sure is this really the final time we'll need to do this. Whatever it is the world has been feeling it. You can't move for podcasts or articles about how to survive, how to help yourself stay sane, how to all be a little bit kinder. 

We can read the words, we can even advise other people but can we - can I - listen and take it on board? The jury is very much out on that one. I started the year with all good intentions. But we've learned the coronacoaster doesn't work that way. A few days or weeks of consistency should be celebrated, even a few hours of just feeling good. As at any moment it can all come crashing down and you won't even know why. Just because. Just because the world has gone to shit and as humans we aren't that great at dealing with shit on a sustained level. 

My good intentions to be running deserted me in January and Feb. But then Royal Parks Half became a virtual race and I knew that I wanted to still compete, keeping my string of RPH races going and raising some money for Mind. Which meant i needed a plan. So at the end of Feb, after the snow had left us I started to run regularly again. For about 2 weeks. Then I stopped. Then I started. Then....see where I'm going with this? In the end ANY running is okay. 

I thought it would be great to complete Royal Parks in under 3 hours. After all my PB is 1:58 so surely I can run a 3 hour half, well turns out maybe not so much. Also turns out that pressure isn't good for me. I can hear lots of you yelling "NO, we know that!" but you could have told me. I will try and do the best run I can on 11 April, but I've no idea what that will be. I have managed to train. I've done 3 10 milers in the last few weeks, including one the day after my first vaccine which nearly killed me as i had zero energy for a 10 mile run. I think I've got a flat route, as frankly I don't want to run up hills. And I'm just going to enjoy myself. 

Life in general is tough. Did I mention that already? My mental health is struggling and however hard I try and cling to a routine it doesn't stick and I just feel bad. At the moment it's hanging on with your fingertips to what works and just hoping you'll get through. Yesterday I decided to do my 10 miler up on the North Downs, it's beautiful up there but also you can't run those steps and hills. No pressure. Just go there and enjoy. With the wind as it was it blew away the cobwebs and helped me get some perspective. 

I've long known I've got all sorts of disordered eating and body dysmorphia but as I climbed the hills I remembered what this body has given me. What I've achieved. Holding on to an unreal image in my head of what I 'should' be in terms of weight instead of just accepting who I am. Where I am and what I can still do. Things that others would never dream of. I mean my races this year are 53 miles and 100km. Who am I kidding that I'm somehow less than....

At least that's this week. Trying to move to a position of acceptance. Of kindness and less criticism. Of running without pressure. In the now. As who knows with the rollercoaster we're all on when the ride will stop next. 

This is the way

I'd planned to write a post before the end of the old year, particularly as 2020 was a quiet one for me on the blog front. Certainly it wasn't quiet on any other front! But better late than never and why not start the new year with a desire to try and blog a bit more? 

No resolutions. They are too easily broken, too easy to use to make yourself feel bad or a failure. If 2020 taught us anything we should start the new year with a desire to be a little bit kinder to ourselves and others. 

But this is meant to be a running blog - so what of my running? Well just a few short weeks ago at the start of November I was flying. Faster, fitter, feeling great. My fastest time for a 5k in 3 years thanks to my Racer Pacer friends - where we support each other to keep going, getting out for runs when we could as a group of 6 and then in pairs. Mostly jeffing with a 2/1 cycle of running and walking and it paid off. 

But then the second lockdown, the rise in cases meant a rise in workload and I slipped off the track. Still going out though so nothing terrible. But Christmas excess and the ever increasing rise in festive drinking, only matched by the ever increasing size of my belly, was never going to end well. (Oh I did try one of those 28 days without alcohol things, I quit on day 21 - it wasn't for me....as a friend said though 2/3rds is better than nothing!)

I've wanted to try and support James with an incredible distance challenge for ending the year so despite not really feeling it I thought I'd end the year with a run. Notch up another (not)parkrun for Maidstone...(that's probably a whole blog in itself) - so out for a 5k jaunt around the streets where I lived before beginning the New Year festivities. It started off well, but not even 1km in the shin splints started. A sure sign for me of excess and overweight. I struggled on. But before even 2k was texting home to say I  would probably cut it short. Starting to feel very sorry for myself, already the demon voices in my head working out how slow this would be, how out of shape, how unfit, how, how, how....STOP! 

Enough. As the wonderful Christmas present given to me says 'Just trying to be better not the best'. I was out there. I was trying. It wasn't great but it was something. I am something. Don't end 2020 beating myself up, feeling bad, going home grumpy and miserable. That was so 2019. This was my year of recovery. Of realising I could survive anything. Of understanding my mental strength and what mattered and what doesn't matter. Finish the 5k and take the win. 

So I did. I have. This year I've got races planned and I don't expect them to be cancelled. Two ultras in the summer. Something to shoot for. But I do wonder if perhaps in my heart I'm just happy where I am? I want to make sure I can complete them. But I also want to stop always striving for something that just feels out of reach, instead of perhaps just enjoying the journey? Not sure, too early in the year to tell yet. But you will be the first to know - I promise! 

Where to begin....

Over the years this blog has been as much about my mental health as it has about my running. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what to write about next, how to explain these strange times we live in. How to reflect where I am in my running journey, but also my mental health and just life in general. Face it we live in curious curious times. How many of us would have imagined we would become so much part of history. A global pandemic that has impacted the very fabric of our society but also us as individuals - we cannot and should not underestimate the times we live in. Then a global movement also began to rise out of the existing disruption. Black Lives Matter has become something none of us can ignore. It has challenged us almost as much as Covid-19 and it has the ability to divide us almost as much as lockdown, if we let it. 

I’ve kept a diary all throughout lockdown. Just daily notes of key things that have happened and some of my experiences. I plan on writing them up but that is not for this blog. Part of me also realised it was time to start writing my wider journey. Perhaps finally try and put pen to paper or fingers to keys to put down my story. Lockdown lethargy has meant I’ve done neither but I also now know how much discipline I need to give myself to achieve these goals. But again that is not for this blog. 

Back in March, when I last wrote we had little idea what lay ahead. We had all read about Italy and Spain. We all knew we were shifting in to a new reality. We talked of what would become the new normal. There is no new normal. There is just now. We told each other to be kind. To give ourselves space and time. We started to work from home. Or as I now like to think of it ‘live at work’. Small comforts became big comforts - our favourite restaurants still on deliveroo. A walk in the park (only one a day). Netflix releasing new programmes. The amazon delivery man keeping to his 24 hour promise. Learning that Gino was the name of my DPD driver. 

My blog at the start of lockdown dipped into our changes in human behaviour. How judgemental we all became. How watching others instead of ourselves became the new national past time. For some lockdown was a chance to finally release the need to be what others wanted them to be, but they couldn’t. Introverts excelled. Extroverts folded. Families who got on found that they missed each other and the distance was unbearable. Those who don’t need company blissfully watched days pass with no one. Loneliness became intolerable. The thought of seeing people again became unimaginable. We discovered we are individuals. No right way, or wrong way, to go through a collective experience of such magnitude our brains struggle (even now) to comprehend what we’ve lived through. 

Then the realities hit. The daily deaths rise. People you know die, people we knew died. Not necessarily Covid, but in these weird and strange times death becomes something even more other. A surreal, isolating experience. It’s hard to maintain any sense of self. Any sense of holding on to what you know. I tried to run. Honestly. I managed two runs during April - one of them nearly 10 miles. Then a smattering of 5ks in May. I reached June having run a total of 66 miles for the year. It was nearly the anniversary of my Race to the Tower where I did 53 in one go! 

During Lockdown I tried my hardest to live well. Our social media image showed deliveries, wine, takeaways. Those small comforts which hid a reality of long work hours. Stress. Fear. Anxiety. Isolation. I felt myself slipping in to old habits. My resilience failing. I started binge listening to blogs, books, Brene Brown, Glennon Doyle. Anything that would help me through. I found an online therapy site (Better Help) and signed up with a coronavirus discount. I found that solitude could bring rest and recuperation. No pressure to do things. No more shoulds. The coronacoaster ride had its ups and its downs. By the end of May i felt powerful. I used the term Lockdown Liberation. I found inspiring words and quotes. I found that doing things differently brings you different results. I found Enneagrams. I found a place for me. 

With the lifting of social restrictions I even found running with people back on the agenda. 5k and super slow. But it was company. Hard as I find seeing people ‘putting myself in the path of good’ is something I have to strive for. However uncomfortable it makes me, that connection you get from others is what keeps us alive. 

But then the world started to burn. Rightly so. Justly so. A new reality dawned for me. My white privilege. My inability to understand that the opposite of racist isn’t ‘not racist’ but anti-racist. Uncomfortable questions. Difficult answers. Friend against friend. Family against family. Fear and the belief this questioning made you wrong. Made you defensive. Made you embarrassed. But actually, doing difficult things, learning to ask difficult questions, opening yourself up to consider new points of view just makes you grow. As runners we know that reaching hard goals isn’t easy. You go through pain. You have to push yourself out of your comfort zone. But it’s worth it in the end. So why shouldn’t it be the same for life. It isn’t asking us as individuals to apologise and feel shame. It’s just asking us to be vulnerable. To open ourselves up to new possibilities and ask the hard questions and listen. We’ve not been listening. I’ve not been listening. And it hurt. But it didn’t put my life in danger. It didn’t impact my ability to find work. It didn’t tell me I was worth less than someone else. But wait, yes it did. When I was young and realising I was gay all of those things stood in my way. I had no legal protection. I had no understanding from society. I had individuals who stood with me, told me it was okay. Told me they would help fight for my rights. So why now would I turn in any other direction than into that head wind?

It’s fucking hard. Let it burn. Let’s not be afraid of things that are ‘other’ to us. Let us just listen. On all sides. But no side trumps the other. No side is trying to trump the other. I promise. Do not fall in to the trap of thinking this is about supremacy or power. It is not. It is about equality. It is about policy and making change. Tolerance. Acceptance are all great. But they are not equality. We cannot educate others until we educate ourselves. 

And now where am I? Where are we? I thought in June it was all falling apart again but I’ve learned it’s an almighty wave, I will always find myself sinking, going under, panic rising inside as I struggle to break the surface. But I will also always make it up above the wave and back to the beach. And because I can, because I want to, I will take myself back out in to sea and go through it all again. Some times I’ll swim back to shore with no issues and then other days I’ll sink again. Or perhaps it will be raining and I’ll pack my bags and just go home instead of venturing into the sea. All of that is okay. 

Last sunday I packed my bag and headed off for a run. I’d heard from Lucy about the Kentish Loch - Langley Loch. This I had to see for myself so i set off on an adventure. Run/walking - feeling the fact I hadn’t really run anywhere in a month. But I found it and I found the thrill of a trail run where you don’t really know where you are or where you should be going. I planned to loop briefly onto the Greensand way to visit the goats at Buttercups and head home. But I got to the Greensand way at about 5 or 6 miles and just knew I wanted to go further. So I did. I ended up on a 13 mile route. Perhaps I could have even gone further. No training. No foresight. Just me, taking my time. No pressure. No judging myself or walking or stopping. Enjoying the views. Enjoying being out. Enjoying the feeling of not knowing if I would continue or stop. Liberation. Lockdown Liberation. Who knew? And who knows where it will take me next but, in that, I’m no longer afraid. 

Lockdown Lowdown

Well, this finds us all in a strange place doesn’t it? Lockdown. The world overwhelmed with a virus that we don’t fully understand, other than it spreads quickly, it kills many and it has resulted in a change to our reality that we probably still don’t fully comprehend. We can try and jump into a new reality or we can stop for a moment and allow ourselves to catch up. I know for one that I need to catch up. My mind is exploding and the reality I had found myself in has been replaced, not necessarily with something worse but with something so different if I don’t stop for a moment, well who knows?

Up to 2 weeks ago things were pretty normal. Back working, in something I was very much enjoying. Running again - including managing a half marathon in under 3 hours with no training. Even involved in parkrun again each weekend. 

And now? Now we’re allowed out for one piece of exercise a day - running, walking or on your bike. No more. At the moment allowed to go for as long as we need, although asked to be sensible and stay close to home. If we abuse it or if things get worse this will be taken away. It’s great people are now exercising regularly. We feel if we don’t take it we’ve somehow missed out and it’s a way of keeping us sane. If we used to swim, or spin then this is all we have. I never used to exercise every day, other than my walk to the station and home again. I had just started to run again regularly but now I’m using my once a day to go out with Keeley, my wife. We’ve all become attached to our one exercise a day, quite rightly as it’s all we have and if you think you’re going to lose something you hold on to what you’ve got. 

And in that is how we keep ourselves together. We need to hold on to what we’ve got. Our humanity. Our compassion. Our kindness. Before all this happened I’d finished reading Rising Strong by Brene Brown. Her focus on vulnerability, shame and daring greatly is just what we need right now. We are face down in the arena and this is where we need to pick ourselves up and face where we are, without falling into traps of nostalgia for a past that’s gone but also through the fundamental belief that everyone around us is doing the best they can. We are far from perfect. Each of us. We may not like everyone around us. How could we? Why should we? But we can believe that even those we think are arseholes are just doing the best they can, with the set of circumstances they’ve been given. 

I’ve made mistakes this week. I’ve been judgemental. Misunderstood. Angry. Sad. Falling into the rabbit warren of social media - like White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland “I’m late, I’m late” - late to understanding what matters, what’s important and what we need to hold on to. But I’m here now. I’m settling into to a new routine, making sure I give myself time and do what I need within the boundaries we’ve been set. And I know people think those boundaries don’t go far enough and I think likely they’ll get tighter, but we cannot judge others for following the new rules. We need to look at ourselves and our own behaviour. Trust others to look at theirs. Mud slinging. Personal politics. This isn’t the time for that. 

We can get through this, today on our walk we stood 2 metres way from Sally and had a lovely chat. We talked about trauma, the need to reflect, feel, and not close down or just move on - this is about processing. If we do that and support those around us through they’re own steps we can get through. If we judge and question and spend the next 6 weeks on social media, well we will get through but we’ll go insane.

 In the same way I’ve given up strava and comparing myself to people when I run, this is a time to stick to our own swim-lane. We can support the other swimmers in the pool, cheer when they finish and offer them encouragement but we don’t need to compare. We just need to be. That’s what will get us through, let’s just be....

Happy to be alive

Here I am, nearly a year on from when everything fell apart in my life. It was only the second week in February 2019 when I was shocked to hear a GP tell me “you’re not safe to go to work” - incredulous at first, but then too exhausted to argue. She was completely right. I had passed the point of no return and every little thing was another blow I couldn’t quite deal with, a nail in a coffin that I felt I was building myself. Just trying to work out the best time to put myself into it. We really don’t notice when our world begins to fall apart, I think that I have a fairly good understanding of what made this time so different but that’s in hindsight. At the time you’re just trying to keep going, day after day. You don’t want to let anyone down. You don’t want to seem a failure because you can’t cope. You don’t want to admit to yourself that actually its more serious and you’re not well. 

This is what makes serious depression a mental illness and not a passing moment that you’ll get over. There are other things, of course. And we all feel sad, depressed, anxious, lost at different moments in our lives. But these can be at very different levels and require very different interventions. 

What made 2019 different to all my other periods of being depressed wasn’t how deep and dark I fell, but how much I worked to really understand why and what was happening. Opening myself up to pain I had locked away. Exploring the very depths of my soul and my mind. I put the work in. And it has paid off. It has not been an easy journey and at times I really thought I wouldn’t make it this time. There is a big gulf between suicide ideation and actually killing yourself. I know that and I’ve always been more into thoughts, feelings but not believing I would carry them out. But this time I had a plan. I had a method. I had a motive, so I believed. I’ll never be 100% sure why I didn’t go through with it. I’m grateful that I didn’t. I’m grateful to those that gave me support in my darkest hours - Keeley, Tor, Jules and Lynn alongside my therapist Carolyn. I’m grateful to the others that watched from the sidelines - either virtually or in person and offered support in different ways. Not being one who is always open to such things I did hear every word, read every tweet, digest every message. 

Then I’m grateful to the books I read that helped put things in perspective. Of course I couldn’t read in my darkest days, I could barely get out of bed. But Audible became my friend and as I worked through my pain these words helped give perspective - most especially Lost Connections by Johann Hari and My Sh*t Therapist by Michelle Thomas. Michelle’s words to me whilst I was on holiday, telling me to “hold on” were literally a life saver. 

Despite all this support and probably the best therapy I’ve ever had in my life (Google EMDR it is amazing) - I know this one was my win. I did the work. I put the time in. I got up from the floor time after time and chose to keep living. I wanted to get through. And I have. I’ve learned lots about myself. My past. My inner demons. I know that happiness isn’t a thing we achieve. It’s something that comes to us in moments. Sometimes fleeting. Sometimes hard to grasp. We need, I need to stop chasing a dream. Living in the moment and accepting. Most of all accepting me. Knowing I am good enough. Knowing I’m like a bottle of L’Oreal and very much worth it. Brene Brown has begun to teach me about the power of vulnerability. With honesty comes risk. But if we don’t take those risks then we aren’t alive. And we certainly are never going to achieve things. I don’t think I’ll ever be completely free of depression. I certainly won’t ever fully understand all the emotions I feel and how to process them. But I believe I now have the routine and the tools to work within that. The waves will rock me and I may still feel like I’m sinking, but I know where the lifeboats are until this one is saved! 

This morning I went for a run. Did my hill training. No one knows about it because I’ve turned off my Strava. Even better I bumped into Sally and we had a fabulous chat about mental health. Connection is important (see reference above to Lost Connections). She had some very wise words about staying still. Not chasing after things. The best lesson I learned was to stop chasing a false idea of happiness. To accept me. To accept the world around me. I may be a grumpy bugger a lot of the time but I think it has come from fear. Fear of letting people see me. But frankly now everyone knows a lot about me thanks to this blog! And it’s so important to me that others do not fall into those traps of thinking. Positivity is wonderful. It’s important in the right circumstance. But it cannot fix things that are broken. You can. If you’re open to it. And once they’re fixed, or at least you’ve accepted them, that positivity will become what you need it to be, in the right place and time. Chasing after what you want in life may not bring it to you. Or you may run right past it without realising it is there all the time. Working out what your ideal life really involves brings up surprises. Then rather than chasing a dream you can work towards it. 

2019 was an amazing year for me. Out of my darkness came some of my greatest achievements. I stood on top of the world at the Half MDS and cried my heart out. Not only for what I was doing (and from fear) but with relief. That I had allowed myself to live so I could take part in something so amazing. That it took me to people I love having in my life now (you know who you are Von Trapps and MDSers). That I received so many messages of support and of love that I knew they must be true. It isn’t a lie to say I think about that race every day. My wife kindly gave me a fabulous memory photo book for Christmas made up of snaps from the race. I keep it by my bed so I can remember and be reminded of how it made me feel and how strong I really am. 

And now it’s a year on - but it wasn’t just about last year. This has been a lifetime in the making for me. For the first time though I know I’m in control. Leaving my job in November was a huge risk. But it was a giant leap of faith that paid off. I gained freedom to make the right decisions for me about my future. I no longer feel scared. I’m back feeling confident in who I am and what I can give to the world. I’m running, albeit slowly. I’m enjoying being back at parkrun as a participant and most of all as a volunteer. You never know I may even join the Selfies on a slow run one day (if they’ll have me back!). Or I won’t. That’s the joy of my life now. I’m not confined by what I should do. No more shoulds. No more just saying yes. The best thing about your story is that you get to write the ending....

Picture credits: Sow_ay, Cleo Wade and Brene Brown - and me! 

Knowing when to stop

A few weeks ago I happily announced that I was going to start walking more races instead of running - people mistakenly took this as my announcing I was over with running. I’m not - but out in Fuerteventura I discovered that sometimes just finishing is better than worrying about time, or how much you run. Perhaps if I’d had a break once I got home to properly recover I wouldn’t have made this announcement. But the fact is these last two months have been my busiest in activity all year. 

Two weeks after the Half MDS finished, still with blistered feet and tired limbs I headed to London to take part in my 6th Royal Parks Half. It was my first Half Marathon back in 2014 and would be my last fundraising race for Breast Cancer Now. The weather was perhaps the worst I’ve known it for a Royal Parks, with the race village area a horrific mud bath, meaning feet were wet and muddy before the start. That said I was surprised to find myself running and running quite well once the race started. I had started at the very back, not worried about time or pace. But my feet kept me moving, until about mile 10 - when I realised that wrapping yourself round and round the park really wasn’t as exciting as climbing mountains. I had seen a few people I knew and at this point it was really lovely to see three of my Half MDS buddies, where I shared just how bored I was with road racing! I had text my wife too just before saying I was starting to find it really dull and with that my running slowed, I began to walk run. The rain began to fall. It’s was cold and wet and I realised, that perhaps, road racing was over for me. 

I finished in under 3 hours, which I hadn’t expected. Time wasn’t important - after all I’m a long long way off my 2 hour Half Marathon times of old. The experience was fun, but also eye opening in how much I’ve changed perspective of what I want from a race. No one questions your time when you’re going a long way. No one stops to ask why you’re walking. No one cares your walking. Partly because no one is watching. It’s just you. The race. The other competitors. Plenty to think about as I trudged home soaked to the skin and still covered in mud. 

Two weeks after this, so just 4 weeks after Half MDS had finished I had Beachy Head Marathon. Now I wasn’t expecting to even do Beachy this year, we’d entered to walk it together Keeley and I. But she has injured her knee so instead we were going to go away for our wedding anniversary but we changed our minds and this meant, well yes I could use my entry to Beachy. My 3rd visit there. It will most definitely be my last. It’s another great race and ticks all the boxes for a trail marathon. Great support. Great scenery. Challenging conditions and sausage rolls at 18 miles.  I had started off seeing a few people I knew. Again not worried about time with a plan to run/walk and aim for at longest an hour per 5k. Run/walking - which i was doing. Until I decided I wasn’t. Then I was walking. Which was fine. My feet were still a bit sore and blistered but so far other than the wind the weather had held off what was it’s horrific forecast of gales and rain. Reaching my sausage roll was wonderful. I knew I wouldn’t be doing this race again so enjoyed every mouthful. Even trying a second. But i was tired. My body was tired and it would only get worse as we entered the hardest part of the race. Which was when the weather turned. Stupidly I hadn’t put on the jacket I was carrying at the last pit stop. So when the rain began i was soaked in seconds. No point wearing it now. Plus it was cold. The climbs of the Seven Sisters didn’t phase me. All those climbs in Fuerteventura have given me perspective. But i was dressed for run/walking not walking - so the conditions became tough. I knew it was going to be dark when I finished. I was slowing. 

But then we reached Beachy Head. I saw the emergency Chaplain van and I thought how strange it was to be back here again. The first year I ran with Jules I was right on the edge of my mental strength, it was all about to crumble away and the race simply became a battle for me mentally. In 2017 I ran it thinking I was doing so much better but little realising how much more there was to come. And all this year I had often thought about taking myself to Beachy, not for a nice day out but to end it all. It’s was one of the options on my shortlist. Although I was cold. Wet. Tired. I was alive. And I want to be alive. For a moment tears filled my eyes and then I thought “fuck this” as I so desperately wanted to finish. I can’t tell you how awful the conditions now were. Wind that nearly pushed you over. Stinging rain. So NOT the lovely sunshine I have discovered I like running in. 

Even worse when it was finally over (muted celebrations, soaking wet, cold, everything closed as it was nearly cut-off time) I had to drive myself home. Nothing glamorous about this race.  

And then two weeks later, so just 6 weeks after finishing the Half MDS, i packed my WAA ultra kit bag and headed off to Swindon to take part in XNRG’s Druids Challenge. Having been too ill to try Pilgrims in February this was my alternative. 3 days along the ridgeway. Sleeping in community centres. This time I was prepared to be a walker. I’d packed trousers and the right kit. My WAA bag turns out to be more comfortable than I’d realised, having used my old UD bag at Beachy it just wasn’t for me. 29 miles day 1. 27 miles day 2 and 28 miles day 3. Or something like that. A long way. 

Turns out too far for me. Day 1 was fine. I enjoyed every moment. Well nearly every moment. Once it got dark and I was on my own it wasn’t such fun. Meeting a group of people I knew at the last checkpoint I hurriedly followed them out of the checkpoint so I wasn’t too far on my own. Sticking to the guy in front of me like glue. Running when he did just so I didn’t feel lost and alone in the dark. Overnight was the horror show I expected it to be. Dirty cold showers. Freezing cold hall. The only saving grace was I managed to acquire one of the spare camp beds so I wasn’t on the floor! Oh and my period had arrived a nice 2 weeks early. One of the fabulous XNRG crew drove me to the Co-op so I wasn’t left with an even bigger disaster. But all this combined to make Day 2 an experience I simply didn’t expect. 

It was ice cold in the morning - like literally ice. I had dressed in my trousers and walking gear as I knew the forecast was terrible. This part of the route started to join the Race to the Stones course so there wasn’t even anything new about it. But it was fun. I was having fun. It was all I love. Like minded people. Snatches of conversation. Beautiful scenery. Great check points. Amazing marshals. I was doing really well. Had a good pace. Until we hit the Thames stretch where it was deep mud and I slowed. My limbs felt sore and tired. And the rain began. Leaving Checkpoint 3 i was beginning to struggle. I had tried singing all the songs I knew - including an entire rendition of the sound of music. But i was getting slower. Up on the ridgeway where the wind and rain became incessant i began to cry. This was not fun. Then finally my shoes gave way and i realised i had wet feet. My double socks were no longer keeping me dry. I was so cold. My hands were in wet gloves. The jacket was clinging to my triple layers but still i was getting wet. I was at about 21 miles. I knew the last checkpoint wasn’t far and then it was 4 miles to the finish. I began to think about the next day. How slow I was at walking. How I hadn’t managed any running. I knew that it as unlikely I was going to try for Day 3. Another 9 hours of this wasn’t looking like something I would enjoy. I was just so slow. If I could run a bit or be a bit quicker then maybe. But i was tired. 

As I cried I realised that actually I had nothing left to prove. I had about a kilometre to the last checkpoint. At my pace that was about 12 minutes. I could stop. Just stop. Another 4 miles would take me easily a couple of hours. I was soaked. The weather was getting worse. Just stop. 

So I did. I walked into the checkpoint to be greeted by one of the amazing team and asked “who do I speak to about stopping” - they tried to talk me out of it but I was sure. There was  another woman who was injured who was waiting to be rescued and we both got driven back to the sports centre in Didcot that was the Day 2 sleep spot. Realising I would have to spend another night sleeping out as they couldn’t recover me to my car until the next day I looked at a map and was able to call on my hero Charles who lived near by and came to rescue me and take me back to my car at the finish. They gave me a medal for my efforts of day 1 and in total I had completed 52 miles. 

Since then I haven’t really done much. One parkrun. My feet are no longer blistered. My body is recovering. I’ve got races next year. And yes I’ll be walking some of them, but I’ll be running too. I can’t spend 9 hours on my feet it’s too long. So I need to get some fitness back. Lose some weight. Take my time but know I can get back to being a run/walker. Walking has its place but for me not over those distances. I take my hat off to those that did Day 3 and it took them 9, 10, 11 hours. That’s a long time on your feet. Those at the back deserve our praise. 

And here is the thing. I felt fine about it all. I still feel fine about it all. No regrets. No second guessing. No ‘oh but I could have....’ it was the right decision for me. The best decision and in that moment of knowing when to stop I realised I’m getting better. I’ve found who I am and who I want to be. Who i can be. I pushed myself but I also respected myself, was kind to myself and said ‘enough’.  Since that moment I’ve taken that into other areas of my life. Leaving my employer of over 13 years and looking to see what adventures lie ahead. Recovery is just that - being kind to yourself. Taking the moments you need. Making the most of the moments you have. It’s not easy. Life isn’t. But now I’ve learned there is nothing to prove in pushing yourself beyond your limits. Don’t get me wrong, pushing, striving, achieving all has it’s place. The Half MDS taught me that. I went way beyond my limits and came out flying. Druids taught me that you don’t have to do that every time. Only you know when it’s right to push and when actually some things are more important.  Listen to yourself and no one else. And whatever you decide it’s the right decision!