On a cool summer Wednesday evening, after work, on the 20^th of August 2014 I started the NHS couch to 5 K programme.  The Didcot rabbits were out in force along the grass verge, the sun was shining in a friendly manner and there was a light breeze.  I had only just moved to the area and knew exactly two people, my landlord and the letting agent, so I wasn’t even slightly self-conscious about being spotted.   I had a new purpose, I was going to run gosh darn it and I felt great about it – until about 10 seconds into the first minute jog!

In the weeks prior to that fateful first run I had been mentally preparing myself for the possibility of running.  Armed with the internet I found out about the NHS Couch to 5 K programme.   I was touched and motivated by reading the success stories of people making it to the end of the programme and I wanted to become one.  Eventually I managed to psych myself up enough to give it a go, after all, I wouldn’t become a runner without actually running.

So it begins… Session 1 is a 5 minute warm up walk and then 60 s of running followed by 90 s of recovery walking for 20 minutes (that’s 8 cycles, therefore 8 minutes running total).

As the first running bit came up I felt ecstatically emphatic, I would become one of those motivational stories, I would lose dramatic amounts of weight and captivate people with tales of my physical prowess.  I would accomplish something and I felt generally great….  As previously stated this feeling lasted for about 10 seconds.  Each subsequent second got worse.  Each footfall seemed heavier than the last.  Each pull of breath into my lungs was ever less satisfying.  By the time the first minute “jog” was up I felt positively awful.  My heartbeat was erratic and I was gasping frantically for breath.  And I still had 7 cycles of this torture left?!  Surely I could run 7 more minutes?  Only it seemed not.

By halfway I couldn’t do it anymore.  It was too much.  I stopped and went home for a nap.

Instead of giving up entirely, like I had done in the past, I rested for a day and set off again with renewed gusto.  I was determined to run for the full session.  At that point I did not care about making it to week 9, or running a marathon.  My sole focus was just to run those full 8 minutes… or at least to run further than I had done the first time.  So I was disproportionately triumphant when I completed the run.  Out of breath, yes, aching legs, yes, an alarming shade of red in the face, yes, but I had also done something which I thought impossible:  I had gone and completed a run.

Over the weeks that followed I stubbornly stuck to the NHS couch to 5 K podcasts.  Each completed run added to my confidence.  I still wasn’t sure how on earth I would get round 20 minutes of continuous running (end of week 5) let alone 30 minutes in just 9 weeks but I started to believe that it might just be possible.

I have done a lot of self-reflecting lately; I had a bad run and it made me question if perhaps I was actually crazy to attempt a marathon so soon (rather than people just telling me I am) – but if I look back on how far I have come in just one year then it doesn’t seem crazy to me at all.

On 20/08/14 I ran for maybe 4 minutes (with walking breaks) and it left me an exhausted wreck needing to lie down (!) on 20/08/15 I ran a leisurely 10 K (01:06:33) with a friend, whilst having a chat, then cycled home.  My idea of a bad run is now stopping at 18.6 K after hitting my head on a tree branch, being mauled by foliage, running out of water, tripping over a tree root and scraping my arm on a fence post.  It will not be easy and it will not be quick and I will not look glamourous whilst doing it but I will make it around the 26.2 miles of Portuguese coastline in October.

Quick shout out to those of you who wrote to me to say you made it round week 5!  You are doing great!  I am so happy my story inspired you to try!

Week 8: Total mileage for the week was 28 K (17.4 miles), total running time was 3:02.

Before I started running I spent a great many years thinking about it.

Evidence of this exists in the fact that I have actually tried running before.  My earlier attempts to get into running were as follows; In 2007 I went at least three times to Sefton Park in Liverpool to run and in 2010 I went once more.  On all four occasions I went with someone much better at running than me and on all four occasions I stopped before it got too hard.  I just could not get past the hammering in my chest or the instant pain that consumed my entire body.  More than that I could not convince myself that I could do it or what the actual value in it was.

In essence, I talked myself out of running before I had even given it more than a cursory glance.  These early experiences only reconfirmed my lifelong belief that I was rubbish at sports anyway and what was the point?  My strengths lay elsewhere and I was (at least on the surface) okay with that.  You can’t force penguins to fly just because they are birds and have wings.  I was like that.  A misfit penguin amongst greyhounds and hares, of course I couldn’t run, I was embarrassed to have even tried.

But I still thought about running.

I have always admired runners.  They are a fascinating anomaly.  For instance, however you want to sugar coat it, running is a high impact, vigorous, hard, exhausting exercise and yet, runners often look so peaceful on their runs.  Some even claim that running energises them.  When you think of runners you think of elite athletes.  You think of those carefree, beautiful people gliding effortlessly across some idyllic countryside or tropical shoreline into the setting sun.  I wanted to be like that.  But I could not because I was fundamentally a penguin and penguins can’t fly.

But I still thought about running.

And so the pattern for the following years was essentially set.  I would think about exercising or dieting or some other lifestyle change.  And then I would order a take away, binge watch the latest DVD boxset or something I had saved to the Sky Planner and push it to the back of my mind.  It is easy to accept this fate if you have given up on yourself.

Ironically it was actually a TV show on Sky that played a huge part in convincing me I could run.  “Obese: A Year To Save My Life” has morbidly obese people (we are talking anywhere from 27-35 stone) who essentially change their entire lives with the help of a super likable, enthusiastic personal trainer – Chris Powell.  These people are not healthy when they start.  They often have health complications, sleep apnoea, type II diabetes, high blood pressure and they can barely stand without pausing for breath… and yet… as the weeks and months slip by, they become athletes.  They scale mountains, they run half marathons, they cycle across the continent, they do IRON MANs.  They are not the skinny beautiful people of an idea I had, they are the reality.  They are evidence of what you can achieve if you set out with purpose.  Did I want to wait until I was another stone heavier?  Or did I want to try today?  The show doesn’t glamorise the process.  These people sweat, cry, vomit, and scream… they sometimes miss their weight loss targets but they all persevere.  They all have smiles and confidence by the end of the year.  If they can do it, why can’t I do it too?

And when you look more closely, past your superficial preconceptions, runners actually come in all different shapes and sizes and ages and abilities.  Of course there are those who appear graceful in their exertion to whom you can aspire to become but there are also those runners who huff and puff, red and sweating, decidedly unglamorous but still determinedly going about their running business.  And in the end it was these people that inspired me to give running a go – because they made running accessible to me – and for that I am truly grateful.

I had a terrible week for running.

It started with a twinge in my right knee and hip. Nothing painful, nothing I could specifically point to and go “there, that is what is bothering me”. Just a twinge, just a feeling that something was off.  I blame myself entirely for not warming up before the Clacton-on-Sea Half, for being a bit slack with swimming lately, for something, something, blah, blah I am sure I have done wrongly.  That is always my first instinct – to pick fault in myself.  Still, no point in dwelling on it, best to decide what to do better next time – and also to decide what I am going to do about this worrying twinge.

The most common bit of advice I receive about training is “Listen to your body”.  Honestly, originally this sounded like some hippy, airy fairy, fortune cookie advice.  “Listen to my body?” I thought.  That is hardily conductive.  If I listened to my body I would still be sat on a comfortable sofa chomping down fast food at an alarming rate and watching reality TV shows on MTV. Of course, I had also ignored the many other signs of how that sedentary lifestyle was not healthy so it’s probably not entirely fair to blame it on my body.  Maybe I am just not that good at listening to it?  The truth remains though, that it was mental determination that propelled me to run.  Which means what, that I should listen to my mind?  To run or not to run, that is the question.

Okay, I miss one run.  No big deal, it was just 3.2 K.  I have a twinge and I don’t want to aggravate it or escalate it to a proper injury and ruin my chances for the marathon.  Then Thursday comes around and I am supposed to run 10 K.  I say supposed to because fate seemed to have conspired to make running impossible.  First a late train, then a forgotten key, then rain, too hungry, too late… and that twinge is still there… fine, I can take a hint. I skip the second run of the week.

The missing miles are like a guilty cloud coming to hover above my sunny happy running bubble.  I feel guilty but there is not much I can do about it now – I vow to complete the long run on Saturday as originally planned.  This comforts me, as the long runs are really what will get me through the marathon so, so long as I stick to that this week will still be a success.  I really put too much hope on that.

The run felt hexed.  Dead ends.  Overgrown paths full of bracken, stinging nettles and spiky ball plants (scientific name – Plantas spikiatisannoyance). Low hanging tree branches which did not mix well with my face.  Uneven grass paths. Potholes. Tree roots. Fence pins. Not enough water.  No shade.  Disaster.

I stopped at 18.6 K (still miles from home) because it felt like I was a footfall away from getting cramps in my calves.  We were supposed to run an idyllic 26 K along the Thames.  I would have cried except I didn’t want to waste the fluid or salt.  How can I possibly explain it – I set a running target and I reach it – only I didn’t.  Will I even be able to run the marathon?  What if we go all that way only to fail?  Why do my calves hurt so much?

Andreas, to his credit, listened sympathetically and then, once I had finished explaining what a terrible excuse of a human being I was, asked incredulously “Are you kidding?”  I was not.  But it is difficult to remain sullen and piteous when the person you’ve just run 18.6 K with points out that you have just run 18.6 K.

Touché Andreas touché.

I’ll have to adjust my running schedule but the twinge is gone and I have great support to get through the tough runs.  Running is hard enough, I don’t need to beat myself up mentally too.

Week 7: Total mileage for the week was 18.6 K (11.5 miles), total running time was 2:33.

Before the full marathon in October I was advised to get in a few more official races to practice the race day protocol.  So without much need for further convincing back in June I eagerly trawled the internet and the pages of Runners’ World searching for races which matched with our training programme.  The result was entry into 2 more half marathons and a 10 K.

The first of these ‘practice’ races was on Sunday (09/08/15) in Clacton-on-Sea.

The Clacton-on-Sea Half had appealed to me because it was described as a flat course along the coast – much like the Lisbon Marathon will be. On top of that, British seaside towns fill me with nostalgia for my childhood and I thought I might get the chance to play in arcades or defy death in the amusement parks as well as consume a Mr Whippy.

I was excited to practice my pre-race protocol mostly since it includes a legitimate excuse stuff my face with meatball calzone (before a race it totally counts as carb loading).  Over dinner between delicious bites Andreas and I discussed race tactics.  I wanted to treat it like any other long run – i.e. go slowly, whereas Andreas wanted to try and best our time from the Liverpool ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’ Half Marathon.  To be honest, I pretty much thought beating our previous time was a given.  During the Liverpool Half I had to stop to use the toilet and since I figured we were already behind schedule I also stopped to chat to friends that had come out to support us.  All this chatting and faffing and waiting in long portaloo queues in Liverpool must have added at least 10-15 minutes on to our time – I figured, with optimistic hindsight – so we can easily beat 2:29:17.  In the end, feeling wonderfully optimistic, throwing all caution to the wind and heroically passing on dessert I might add, we decided to aim for about 2:15:00 which is an average pace of about 6:30 mins/K. Easy eh?

Happily jumping from bed the next morning, eating our predetermined race day breakfast of banana and brioche bread and raring to go, we drove down to the race start with 45 minutes to spare.  Plenty of time to warm up, go to the loo etc. or so we thought.  The first hitch to the plan was the queue for the ladies – only 2 cubicles for a race with at least 600 or so people (!).  Inevitably we were late starting and despite good intentions I didn’t warm up.  Note: Warming up actually serves a purpose as I discovered after mile 8 when I had to keep stopping to stretch out tight leg muscles.

Anyway – long run in brief; it was hot, really hot for running (22-26°C) and whilst it definitely seemed easier than the Liverpool Half in the end it never really picked up.  What I mean is, whilst I was never at the point of feeling I can’t go on – in Liverpool at mile 10 I cried to Andreas that my legs hurt, hell my arms hurt, even my hair hurts and he smoothly replied ‘wasn’t that the point, it’s not meant to be easy’ and I reluctantly agreed and carried on – I also never had a moment like in Krakow where I felt like I was really doing this (!).  My theory is the heat had baked that part of my brain to a crisp.  Kilometres drifted by without me really being aware of what was happening.  2:15:00 came and went without notice.

The last 2 K on red tarmac was the worst, not because I was tired or had aching muscles but because the sun was directly overhead in a perfectly blue sky and beaming radiation down harshly upon us.  The coastal breeze was only an occasional lick of even hotter air pushing against you and the road was superheated so it was like running on fire.  I think it is the first time I have been at the seaside and wished for a cloud or two to appear above us – or perhaps a quick thunderstorm would be nice.  Still, on the other hand, you couldn’t deny that it was a glorious day and there was good support along the route.  It is always pleasant to hear “good job guys” and clapping from random strangers.  And, I suppose, I shouldn’t really complain about the weather considering we are running the Marathon in Lisbon, Portugal.  If anything, I should consider it good temperature conditioning.

The end result was 2:27:11, over 2 minutes off our previous record and I can honestly say we worked for every second of that!

Week 6: Total mileage for the week was 37 K (23 miles), total running time was 4:21

I am a massive fan of ParkRuns!

ParkRuns are free, weekly (every Saturday 9 am) timed 5 K runs up and down the country.  You only have to register once then you can turn up at any event – there is no commitment, you choose when it suits you.  You find runners with the whole range of running abilities, from those who bomb it round in 15 minutes to those of us in it for the long slog.  You will not find a more varied, inclusive or supportive running community.  People run with their dogs with their babies in prams with their kids with their partners with their friends – the spirit is always high. The ParkRun volunteers will cheer you on with enthusiasm regardless of whether you are running in first or last place (or any position in between).  I cannot recommend ParkRuns enough!

In addition my little brother Kyle, took up running in January and has also caught the bug!  He is currently training for his first Half Marathon – the Ikano Robin Hood Half Marathon on the 27/09/15 – go Kyle!

So when serendipitously it turned out that Krakow, where Kyle, Mum and I were visiting on a city break (to celebrate their birthdays) has a ParkRun… well it was obvious to me what had to happen!

And so on Saturday the 1st of August at 9 am in Krakow, Poland, Kyle and I, with 102 other runners set off.

The Krakow ParkRun course is a wide tarmac path enclosing a pizza wedge shaped park. It was flat, straight and even – basically the perfect running terrain and almost immediately I knew it was going to be a good run.

My suspicion was confirmed when the first K was up and my pace was 5:52 min/K (normally I run 6:30 comfortably or 6:00 at a push over short distances). The next K was completed even faster at 5:41 and I still felt great. At this point Kyle started to slip a bit behind and like the loving sister that I am, I abandoned him in a trail of dust to his fate.

As normal the ParkRun volunteers cheered and danced and shouted support – pushing me to run even faster. I was beginning to feel tired – running at this pace is energy consuming – but I also felt invigorated in a way. After all I was still running wasn’t I? I was still putting one foot in front of the other. I was definitely doing it! Besides I could see I was gaining on a few other runners so I was chasing them down, picking them off one by one. Guy with buggy, check, tall guy in red, check, girl in pink and black… this last runner I chased for ages. If she can do it, so can I. I told myself. Just a little bit longer.

The final corner and the last straight, I pass girl in pink and black and it is just me and the 500 m to the finish. I can do this, I can do this. Arms, legs, lungs, heart and head… we are all focused on this simple task – it is harmony in motion.

I cross the line to the cheering of a few dozen Poles, grab my finishing barcode and go to stop my GPS watch… realise I am a few metres short and confuse everyone by running off again. A bit anticlimactic but I wanted to hit 5 K because it was such a good run!

By the time I come back to the finish line my brother was already crossing it.  My mum had made some new friends whilst spectating and so the spirit of ParkRun is maintained even outside of the UK! (I am not surprised).

Our official times were 26:55 and 30:02 both new personal bests!!

Week 5: Total mileage for the week was 34 K (21.1 miles), total running time was 3:44.