01 March 2020
07 March. 2020 • Category: Running | London | Addiction | Mental Health | Recovery | Mindfulness | Anxiety | Authenticity | Sobriety
Running the Vitality Big Half in London.
I don’t like to see runners complaining about how slow they are or how fast they run. For me everyone runs differently, I know there are a lot of people out there that can run a lot quicker than I can, being able to complete a half marathon in almost half the time that I can, and yet, I also know that I can run a lot quicker than some people too. I’d rather be grateful that I run, and that I can complete some long distances than worry about how slow I am.
It is hard, because sometimes I would love to be a bit faster, but realistically, I am a mum of four, who only started running not even two years ago, I’m not training everyday or a professional athlete so I can’t expect to be that fast.
It’s a shame to hear people be so negative about their running when they forget what they are achieving. Although I’m not the fastest, I think it is amazing that I can run a half marathon now. I had no idea that my body would be capable of that, and quite frankly, I don’t think it matters what time it’s done in, if someone is doing it. It’s the same with parkrun. Some people look for the illusive sub 20, when others would be more than happy with a sub 30 or even 40. It shouldn’t matter, my favourite quote, is that we are still lapping everyone on the couch!
It’s easy to forget what we are achieving when it becomes normal and we take it for granted. I was at parkrun a few weeks ago and ran past the Marshalls thanking them as I went as I normally do. One was particularly supportive, cheering us all on and telling us to keep going, that we could all run faster than he could. He wasn’t just being kind, you see, he was in a wheelchair. It was so refreshing to be reminded of what we were all doing and what we were achieving, especially when it is clear that not everyone can.
I think sometimes we’re afraid, it’s easy to put our own achievements down, than wait for someone to do it for us. For example, I know if someone faster than me asks me what time I got in a race, I usually avoid telling them or I might start the sentence with, “I only” or even put an excuse in, maybe about the weather. It’s stupid, because actually, I am proud of my times, I worked hard for them, and while there are people that are faster, I know that I got those times on my own, with no one helping me, just me and my feet.
So we should all be proud, because we can do it, and some people can’t. Because getting out there is better than staying at home. Even if we’re slow, we’re improving, we are out and seeing things that we wouldn’t have done if we stayed at home and maybe connecting with others too. Even if it’s only a smile. Because it all matters.
Thanks for reading!
06 March. 2020 • Category: Running | Addiction | Mental Health | Family | Recovery | Mindfulness | Anxiety | Authenticity | Sobriety
Stanley and me.
I took my littlest son to a soft play centre last week. He had been jumping on my bed (he’s two), and when I asked him to stop, he asked to go to soft play. It was raining, it’s been a while since I’ve taken him and it was my day off from work so it seemed like a nice thing to do. I’ve always enjoyed things like that, where I can play with the kids, but in all honesty I am not great with the etiquette that goes with it. For example, why do I seem to attract all the children whose parents are happy drinking tea and chatting? I only took one of my children and yet I end up with a trail of others. I don’t mind, but it is awkward, I don’t want to be rude to them, but one in particular was so demanding and I just wanted to play with my son.
I’m a people pleaser, I don’t choose to be but it is one of those annoying habits I can’t quite knock on the head, so I don’t want to upset kids, although I also try not to encourage them. I also feel like I might be judged if I show impatience, even though it shouldn’t matter, I don’t even know these people! I’m not rude and this little one just followed me around trying to tell me all about her holiday on an aeroplane. Stanley tried to talk to her although she was a couple of years older, and mentioned his holiday which was sweet, but she didn’t even hear him. It was clearly an adults attention she was after. I think my experience of working with vulnerable children in the past has also made me wary of dealing with other people’s kids when out and about. It’s all too easy for actions to be misinterpreted and for that reason, I’d prefer not to be in any situation where that could happen.
Eventually I think the child’s mum cottoned on to the fact that I was being followed around, and she left her drink to come and watch her child play, and so Stanley and I had a bit more freedom. It was so nice just being able to run around with him and explore. Being able to go in the week meant it was really quiet and there were only about ten or twelve other toddlers there so we didn’t have to wait for anything.
We climbed, we rolled, we slid, it was fun, and it reminded me of being a kid again. Except it wore me out a lot quicker than it would have done then. Mind you, every time we went on the big slide, I had to carry two sacks and Stanley up the stairs. He was more than happy to race me back down to the bottom, before going again.
I think though, (and I am not suggesting you all go immediately to your nearest soft play centre), that play is important. It doesn’t matter how old we are or what we do, but having fun without worry or judgement, whether it is running, climbing or dancing in the kitchen where no-one can see you is important. All too often we get weighed down by our daily lives, the work, the bills, the grind. It’s all vital, we clearly need our jobs to pay our way through life, but it shouldn’t be the only thing in our lives. We should make time to do things that are fun, that make us laugh and that make us feel good. Otherwise, what is the point?
So am I the only adult that likes soft play?
Thanks for reading!
04 March. 2020 • Category: Running | London | Addiction | Mental Health | Recovery | Mindfulness | Anxiety | Authenticity | Sobriety
Coming up to the finish line.
My son Barn flying again.
My daughter Katie running the Little Half.
On Sunday I ran the biggest race I have ever run. Not the longest, I’ve run a few half marathons now, but definitely the biggest. But most of you know that, because you were so supportive of me before, on Saturday when I was worrying about how it would go. I thought I’d tell you a bit about it.
Most of the races I’ve done are small, local events, the biggest was probably Plymouth Half Marathon where there were about five thousand runners. On Sunday there were over twenty thousand. I’ve never run something with so many before, and I’ve never had to start in a wave before either. That was strange, but weirdly reassuring, knowing most of the people around me were a similar speed to me, based on the predicted times we’d put down.
So, as you may know we live in Cornwall. I’d decided to book this race last year, after the disappointment of not getting through the ballots of two other big ones in London. It seemed like a good idea considering you could just book the ticket, and I thought we’d maybe make a weekend of it and take the kids. Time however, got slightly away from me and that didn’t happen. By the time I looked, most of the obvious choices were either fully booked or had no parking. There seemed little point in not being able to park, and if we were too far away I thought we’d be getting up so early we wouldn’t have time for breakfast or anything else. So, we decided in our wisdom to do the trip in one day. We looked and looked for the best underground option too, because many of the stations we’d used on previous trips were shut due to maintenance. It made the planning harder, but we thought we’d worked it out...
On Sunday morning we got up at 2am, my eldest son had gone clubbing so decided not to come with us as he stayed with friends, just leaving the three younger kiddies. Trying to keep the littlest man asleep we got into the car, aiming to be at Ruislip for just after 6am. When we got there, we realised I’d misread the stations and Ruislip was shut, we were supposed to be at West Ruislip instead. We’d already parked the car, and so a very kind bus driver let us on and dropped us off at the right station. It was an extra thing I didn’t need. I’d managed to make it through the journey without worrying too much. I’d only had two or three head between my knees and try to breathe moments, so was doing pretty well. Anxiety gets me at the strangest times. It was a huge relief when I saw other runners carrying their marked kit bags for the race. I knew I wasn’t the last runner to arrive which helped me to relax, as did the enjoyment our two year old had at seeing and riding on the trains. He was so excited bless him, we’ve only brought him to London once, and he was so small then he wouldn’t have remembered it.
Forty minutes after we got on that train we jumped off to change over, and obviously having traveled a long way, needed the toilet. Many of the stations have closed the facilities they did have, which is fine if you’re local, but isn’t so good when you’ve come so far! An attendant pointed us out in the direction of the public toilets, and when we got there we realised we needed change to pay. That was brilliant, I’d left my purse at home, and my husband only had cards with him. We had no choice but to turn back, but the idea of being stuck on a train again, with no idea where the nearest toilets would be worried me. Luckily a very kind man in a cafe let us use their toilets, even though they weren’t open yet. It was lucky for me, because by the time I got to the start of the race, although there were many portaloos, there were queues of ten to twenty people for each one. I had no chance of getting in there! Going back to catch our next train, poor Katie tripped and fell, banging her hip, shoulder and shin on the metal edged steps in the underground, which really hurt, but also embarrassed her, we were so lucky it wasn’t worse or it could have really spoiled the day for her. That’s what you get for rushing!
We literally got to Tower Hill one minute before my wave loading closed. I panicked, thinking they wouldn’t let me in, and dropped all my extra stuff on Lee and the kids, before running to the start following the arrows. I had no idea where I was going, but marshals directed me according to my colour and number of my wave. And then I was there. Standing. It was so weird. There were hundreds of us, just waiting. In the distance I could see Tower Bridge, and a massive screen showing the elite runners who had started much earlier just flying along, making it look so effortless. I took a photo and posted it for you all to see, wanting you to know how much your encouragement meant to me. In the distance we could hear counting down and we began to move forward. Another wave started and we moved forward again. Soon enough we were there at the start, well the front of my wave was, I couldn’t see it! And then, we were off.
Mostly the half marathons I’ve done are hilly being as I live in Cornwall which means I can have the excuse to run and walk the steep bits if I need to. It helps break it up, and in my head feels like a break, even if I don’t stop. Not so in London. It was so flat! I had no choice but to run all but a couple of steps at the water stations. It was great to show me that I really could do it, as I am so used to slowing down, I questioned whether I could run the full distance. Boy did I ache afterwards though!
As we ran we moved through the different districts of London and it was so amazing to see the different things they had put on for us. There were samba bands, brass bands, choirs, all kinds, and it was brilliant. We ran through the longest tunnel, which upset my Garmin and told me that I was half a mile ahead of where I thought I was. I overtook the Eiffel Tower and a Rhino, and a bunch of grapes, among other people running, and it was fantastic.
The hardest thing was not knowing where my family would be. I signed Barn and Katie up to the Little Half, which started around my mile 11 and finished where I did. I hoped I’d be finished to see them run, but didn’t know for sure, so I knew Lee would take them to the start. The organisers had also suggested where good places to watch the race would be, so I knew in all likelihood I wouldn’t see them before mile 7 or 8. I kept watching though, and looking out. Running across Tower Bridge was amazing. Something so iconic that I have walked across many times, and yet I got to run over, straight down the middle, with people watching and cheering. It was fabulous. I felt very emotional, but I didn’t cry. (Not like my first half, where I did cry quite a lot!)
Mile 9 came and went, and then 10, and I thought I’d probably missed my family, that they were probably getting ready for the start of their race. But then sometime around mile 11, I saw them all sitting on the pavement and watching out for me. It was so good to see them, such a boost, and perked me up for the finish. That last mile and a bit was the hardest. It seemed to go on forever, and after the incredible Tower Bridge nothing much was going to match up. But I kept going as best I could. Running on cobbles earlier had hurt my ankle a bit, and the wind was strong to run into. I was getting tired, but I had to finish, and in my head, the fact there wasn’t a hill meant I couldn’t walk. So I pushed on, and got to the finish line. It wasn’t my fastest, but I am proud of it.
It took nearly an hour for me to get out of the finish area. I heard a lot of people talking and I’m not sure what happened, as apparently the organisation was better in the previous year. I had no choice but to wait with everyone else, but it was cold, I couldn’t get to my hoody, but then, neither could anyone else. Eventually I got through, and with my medal and finishers t-shirt made my way back to the finish to see the kids, but I’d missed them running and they had already finished. Poor Lee was struggling along with all the bags and a sleepy baby, so we decided to walk (I hobbled) back the two miles to meet him.
It was a fab experience for the kids too, they’ve never run anything so big either, and considering it was free for under 18’s and they too got a finishers medal and t-shirt, I think it was brilliant. Katie was so proud, she ran the whole thing and really enjoyed it. I was especially proud of her because she had hurt herself earlier but still carried on. Barn flew, (again) coming in 4th place in the whole race, of almost 1300 runners. If he’d started at the front, he may have gained a few places, but he doesn’t often like to. The best bit was that they enjoyed it. It was a shame I didn’t get to see them run, but Lee managed to get a video as they passed him.
It was a great day. A long day though and by the end of it my feet really hurt! I hadn’t thought about the walk to and from the start really, and then going back to meet Lee was further again. Although I heard later that the station nearest the finish was packed so it would probably have taken longer to get home had we done that. Although I worried about getting there, about even managing the car journey there, I did it and then I ran it. And it wasn’t a bad time either. I’m pretty proud of myself.
So thank you to all of you lovely people who read what I write and for all your support. It means so much to me.
03 March. 2020 • Category: Addiction | Mental Health | Recovery | Mindfulness | Anxiety | Authenticity | Sobriety
A Cold Walk On The Beach.
I don’t like asking for help. I’m not sure why. Perhaps some of it is linked to my childhood. I didn’t like school and would have been happier not to be there so given any opportunity and an excuse that was reasonable, I would take it and take the time off if I could. Even when I was really ill though, I felt time off was given with a bit of scepticism. Maybe I was an attention seeker, I’m not sure. But I do know that now, and for many years, I feel like I am one when I admit how I feel.
I know my mental health isn’t great. Over the years I have tried to talk to doctors and therapists, but no-one understood and nothing made it better. In the end I resorted unintentionally to wine, which numbed it, and made things feel better than they were in the short term, but ultimately, I still had to deal with them in the long run.
Removing wine from my life is and was a good thing. It was the plaster holding me together but the wound underneath needed dealing with. So for the past three years and five months I’ve been trying to do that. I’ve tried to be patient with myself, I’ve tried to push myself slowly and safely out of my comfort zone and do new things. I’ve taken up hobbies, I’ve meditated, I’ve talked and I’ve cried. But... I am still struggling. I still find ‘normal’ things hard. New places, new things, people, work. Sometimes they are all a bit much for me.
Recently I had an argument with one of my kids. I know it wasn’t a big deal, arguments happen. But that voice is always there in my head reminding me what a failure I am, that I am not good enough, and it’s so hard to shake it off. I just can’t seem to keep it away. I want to feel positive in my life, because I have a wonderful family and home, I am lucky, and yet, sometimes I feel really down. I can’t get motivated to get out and do things. Everything is hard. Although sometimes there is a little glimmer in the middle when it gets easier again. That is confusing because it makes me question whether I am coming or going. I feel muddled and sometimes a bit vacant, like I hear what is going on around me, but I don’t take it all in. I feel like every comment made is directed at me, or a mistake I’ve made, even when I haven’t done anything. It’s exhausting.
I know recovery is different for everyone, but I had no idea it would take this long. Or that it would be this hard in so many different ways. Working through all this stuff seems endless. And makes me eat a lot of biscuits. Writing this makes me feel very self-indulgent, and like I am feeling sorry for myself, but actually I am a little bit. I feel like I’m doing all I can to get through this, to get on and make the most of my life, and yet I feel like I am stuck in quick sand. I know I’ve come along way from the woman who relied on wine everyday, I just wonder sometimes if it’s enough?
Has anyone got any advice? Tell me it gets easier please.
Thanks for reading!
01 March. 2020 • Category: Running | London | Addiction | Mental Health | Recovery | Mindfulness | Anxiety | Authenticity | Sobriety
A couple of photos from today... When you try to take a selfie on Tower Bridge, but you just can’t slow down!! At least I got some of me in it! 😂😂
Thanks for all the lovely messages this morning. It was really lovely to have so much support! 💖💖
01 March. 2020 • Category: Running | London | Addiction | Mental Health | Recovery | Mindfulness | Anxiety | Authenticity | Sobriety
Tower Bridge in view at the start line. And what a lovely morning it is too. Not bad for such an early start. Now just to run this thing! 🏃🏼♀️💖🏃🏼♀️