I signed up to the Reading Half because a mate was meant to be running it and I thought it would be good fun to go round together.  Tom, is a lot faster than me but, in his own words “past 15 K it ceases to be easy”. Thus it would certainly make for some interesting racing.  Speed vs Endurance, Ego vs Ego, just a bit of fun, followed by an indulgent lunch and maybe a round or two of Settlers of Catan (*side note I adore playing board games).  Unfortunately for Tom he fell over playing badminton and fractured a metatarsal. No running for at least 2 months, what every runner wants to hear as they enter their taper period – said no runner ever.

I was gutted for him but also a little relieved, he was wanting to run a sub 1:50, and I haven’t been close to that pace in a while, favouring long slow runs almost exclusively for the last couple of months.  In addition, 8 days prior we had run 30 miles as a PB, then flown to Lapland and had 4 nights in the Arctic Circle, snowshoeing, snowmobiling, husky mushing, evading a rouge reindeer, late nights, early mornings, no recovery type holiday (yes – it was indeed amazing) – but basically Andreas and I were not exactly rocking up to the Reading half well rested ready to slash 3 minutes from a PB.

In fact, that morning I had a random onset thigh/upper groin pain even before the run commenced! Should have paid more attention to that, but, alas I did not.  Weirdly enough, circumstances presented another friend who happened to be running as well (also sub 1:50 group!) – However I knew better than to try and keep up.

At least I thought I did.

I have a race strategy, I know what works for me, yet, that day – ego, carelessness, whatever you want to call it, definitely got the better of me.  After the Amersham Ultra you’d think I would learn some caution, but apparently not.  Rather than following my usual proven routine – that is starting slow and going faster if it feels good later on – I threw that plan away and went with steady pacing (running everything at the target pace).  That is, to run a sub 1:50 you need to run 5:11 min/K – so that is what I would start running at.

Dear Readers, it takes my body about 6 K to warm up.  Even to this day my body resists running.  It will huff and puff and fake aches and generally try and dissuade me from continuing, especially when trying to go fast.  I just suck it up.  Tell myself the moment will pass and you know what?  It always does.  About 6 K in my body surrenders to my will and things are noticeably easier. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some bodily cooperation over shorter distances, but generally for the half distance (and even some of the Ultras) my fastest 5 K is the last 5 K. Confused? Andreas thinks so, like, if I could go faster why didn’t I start out running faster…? And maybe I could, maybe I should, but subconsciously I think I hold back to make sure I can actually go the distance.  If there is just 5 K to go… Well, I can definitely make that! So you see it is easier to rip up the road.

So even knowing that I would benefit from a slower start, for some reason, I decided to just go for it.  I think maybe I was curious what would happen.  If I could make it to 6 K at 5:11 min/K pace then surely I could go the remaining 15 K…?

I made it 3 K, then well, forget it.  It seemed like after that I was just chasing wind.  3 K happened to coincide with my headphones breaking, so maybe if Dance with the Dead had kept playing this tale would have a different turnout – but I doubt it. That is a really fast pace for me and I hadn’t trained for speed.  Even without Tom there to run with us, I was still mentally racing him.  He runs a 21:30 5 K, I can run a 25:30 5 K – it was never going to happen unless I PACED myself – and I am usually good at pacing.  Oh well.

I didn’t blow up or anything drastic like that.  It just felt really hard.  I kept overheating again (this time I was wearing a vest and shorts but it didn’t seem to help) and did the thing where you pour water over your head and face like an elite.  But having a wet head was only a temporary fix.  Soothing in the moment but a minute later I was back to feeling like an inferno.  What are my hormones up to? I’ve been asking myself that a lot this month.  Or maybe it’s the extra 2 kg I’ve gained since Christmas?  Okay, 2.5 kg. Whatever. Argh.

Anyway, I’ve given up on a new PB by 8 K, since the 1:50 pacer has just whizzed by with a flamboyant and unforgiving flourish but I haven’t given up on a sub-2 time.  Even if its 1:59 I think I will be really happy.  Head down and crack on.

I wish I could tell you details of the course, but honestly I’m not sure I looked.  I remember there were a lot of spectators cheering which was nice, lots of kids offering high 5s and a generous amount of jelly babies.  There were a few hills, I think, a hospital, a bit of greenery, an underpass… and a long bridge just as we approached the finish.  The ground of Reading though I can tell you is mostly fraying tarmac, tired concrete or the occasional spot of cobbles.  Andreas can describe it better since he decided to wear his barefoot style running shoes and felt every little indent!

The finish was the most memorable, nothing like crossing the line in a packed stadium, even if the girl in purple I’d secretly been racing beat me in the final steps! I’d lost Andreas a few kilometres back so I decided to grab some water and wait for him.  As soon as I stopped I knew I’d pushed too hard.  I was aching way too much for a half marathon.  That random thigh pain? Back with vengeance. I will struggle to fall asleep that night because every time I move my right leg, it feels like something is deeply out of place.  I won’t be able to contemplate running for another 9 days and when I do that thigh pain will niggle at me. Oh dear.

Even so, 1:57:23 is not bad right?

For Valentine’s Day this year Andreas treated me to Mexican food and bought us race entry to the XNRG Humanity Direct Amersham 50 K Ultra.  This guy is the best!

Baja Fish Tacos, nachos, Pina Coladas consumed and with a 44 mile race already ticked off this year I was feeling pretty confident about that second part.  This would be our 3rd 50 K race and training had been going well, I was consistently racking up the weekly mileages and remaining injury free.  I was thinking of it as a chance to really rip up the trail, get a new PB, legitimately consume Rocky Roads… In all honesty I thought it would be a breeze.

Andreas, generally the more grounded of the two of us, did not agree.  “Are you joking? 50 K is still 50 K!”

Now it’s impossible to know exactly how the day would have gone had we not had this conversation, 7am, in the car on the way to Amersham but I’d like to speculate that sometimes you are your own self-fulfilling prophecy.  That is whether you think you can or whether you think you can’t, you’re probably right.  Other times, the opposite is true.  You might think ‘there is no way in hell I can run for 30 continuous minutes in just 9 weeks, maybe never’ but then you go ahead and do it anyway.

Of course sometimes the answer is glaringly obvious.  50 K is indeed still 50 K, and despite my intention to consume yet more cake, it was not, to quote an American expression referring to a very easy task, a cake walk.  And I was mentally woefully under-prepared for the distance.

Physically, I had been having some of the best training weeks leading up to an event possible. But mentally, my dismissive, it’ll all be fine, because it’s totally going to be easy… arrogance had left me chastened and aching by 28 K.

The route, the organisation, the wildlife, the other runners – everything was fantastic.  XNGR have the best stocked aid stations I’ve ever seen. But I was tapped out.  Then Andreas was tapped out.  Then I was again.  Then Andreas was again.

It’s hard to describe exactly what I mean – I could run, I wanted to run, but a few times I found myself crouched down (okay sometimes actually sitting down) feeling generally sorry for my calves as they protested at being forced round yet another obscene distance.  Why was I feeling like this? It sounds stupid, but I wasn’t expecting it to hurt. I know, right? I had forgotten the ‘let’s jump in the canal feeling’.

I am not alone, who finishes an event, feeling wrecked, broken and exhausted swearing never again, only to sign up to next year’s event with the discount code provided in your finishers bag?

Anyway, back to the actual event.  It’s a circular course starting from Dr Challoner’s Grammar School (with showers and changing rooms, yey!) which heads out and about the Chilterns, one of my favourite places to run!  Out from the school and the first section is a seemingly gentle downhill, (which will not seem so gentle uphill at 47 K in).  At the race briefing Neil Thubron, XNRG Founder and Director, says they like to make their courses challenging and enjoyable to all.  He is genuine, warm and eludes confidence which is catching. The surfaces today are officially something like 10% paths/roads and 90% trail, I would counter that it was 10% path, 80% trail and 10% mud. (Good thing I remembered last minute that I bought some gaiters (mudguards)).

In the right shoes I don’t mind mud. With the gaiters on I felt kind of invincible (even if I did occasionally pick up a few sticks!).  There was a really squishy downhill section, with an uneven twisty path, where you could literally hop like a ninja from bank to bank. During this section Andreas and I overtook a few folks, who I assume under normal circumstances would easily outrun us.  But on this downhill track they just could not get purchase.  Their feet slipped with every step.  I empathised, I’ve tried to run on a muddy track with my road shoes before and they do not enjoy it.  It makes it a real mission just to stay upright. The Saucony Peregrine’s however, hugged the ground and never once lost traction. In really thick mud they do tend to get clogged (think Spice Girl era platform shoes) but today they were really holding their own.  Down we went, through the fields, past some ponies, under the forest canopy… Yeah, this is defiantly one of my favourite places to run.

Andreas bonded with a guy running in barefoot style running shoes and I stuffed my face with Clif energy blocks/bars and all the cakes. Things were going well… but then… 50K is just kind of long… so, yes… I started to hurt and overheat, which I wasn’t prepared for and so began a mental motivation battle.  I was doing it, wasn’t I? I can do this. I wasn’t quitting, but did it have to hurt?  And why it is suddenly boiling hot?

The weather that day was perfect for running. It wasn’t hot or cold or humid.  My body was just having a tantrum.  Two check points before the end and 14 ish K to go I decide to risk death by chafing and remove my running top to run in just my sports bra.  My Camelbak will chafe, it’s just a question of how much.  But I can’t stand the heat anymore – is this still a side effect of the secondary amenorrhea?  I still get hot flushes and night sweats like a menopausal woman, is this what this is?  How long to undo all the damage I inflicted through inadequate fuelling? I moan to anyone who will listen at the aid station and forget to eat anything but with more skin exposed I do feel better.  Cooler, calmer – I settle into a nice rhythm for the last little bit, still optimistic to be under 6 hours.

Alas it was not to be.  The hill which hadn’t seemed so relentless at the beginning was stretching on.  Andreas and I shuffled up following a guy walking nonchalantly with a cherry flavoured vape.  I watched his Tesco carrier bag swing back and forth with a sigh of resignation.  I was trying to convince Andreas we could still make it (in under 6 hours) if we ran up the hill, but his toes weren’t cooperating.  Andreas rarely complains so it had to be bad (it was, his blisters had blisters under his toenails!).  Eventually I am persuaded to head on alone but it is too little too late and I can’t help but feel guilty to leave Andreas behind.

TomTom snap! Just over 48 K in just over 6 hours. Pretty good eh?

How could I leave this guy behind? Thanks babe 😉 !

6:02:53 … a frustrating time but it is still nearly 2 hours off our previous personal best so I refuse to be disheartened about it.  The race director Neil personally shakes everyone’s hands and congratulates us which is another little touch that makes me love this kind of event even more.  Andreas follows a few minutes later and then we head off in search of cake.  My back is bleeding a little from rubbing with my bag but fortuitously it doesn’t sting too much in the shower!  Additionally, I can just about walk normally, which is good, because tomorrow morning Andreas and I are off to Lapland…

One final amazing thing about the XNRG Humanity Direct Amersham 50 K Ultra – XNRG essentially run this event for free for the charity Humanity Direct.  Many people fundraised on top of donating their entry fee, generating a total of £12,000 to help patients in Africa who would otherwise be unable to get critical healthcare.  Really shows how generous people can be! Real people and real lives have genuinely been dramatically improved because of Humanity Direct, XNRG and the runners that day! And that is kind of beautiful.  Well worth it!

Check out the Charity here – https://www.humanitydirect.org/

“What if I am accidentally or deliberately knocked into the canal?”

This thought comes without preamble, on reflex. A group of boisterous lads on bicycles have just forced me to take evasive action on the narrow canal tow path. I have successfully dodged the danger but I can’t shake the lingering feeling of demise.

“Even drenched I could keep going.” I think self-righteously, but closely on the heels of that thought flows another… “Then again – it would mean I could legitimately stop”.

I process that idea, my calves sighing in agreement and my eyes drifting to examine the turbid water in question.  I would almost certainly become hypothermic… unless I got out really quickly…This is a dangerous line of inquiry so helpfully my brain reiterates the point.

“Why not jump in the canal?” – No!
“It would look like an accident.” – No!
“No one would blame you if you stopped.” NO – I don’t want to stop!
“But it’s hard.” I have to concede this point.

My brain recycles the idea and I argue internally. The canal remains silent but winks every so often in the sporadic blasts of sunlight that occasionally make it past the cloud cover.

How did I get here, miles from anywhere, debating with myself the pros and cons of hypothermia?

Several hours ago, Andreas and I set off – on foot – from Wendover with ~250 other runners for our first race of the year. The Country to Capital Ultra, an aptly named event which begins humbly nested in the Chiltern hills in a traditional village pub.  The route then takes you 44 miles away to Little Venice, London – the capital.  The first half is run on pleasant undulating trails and tracks through some very scenic countryside.  The second half is run along the perfectly flat, seemingly endless, grubby canal tow path – not that I am bias – at least not much.

Ever since we reached inside the M25 people are less tolerant to our running antics, even shouting abuse at us.  On top of that, I can’t help but notice that whenever there are boats moored there is always an accompanying accumulation of rubbish.  I’ve lost count of the amount of crushed cans and faded crisp packets that pollute the path edge. It makes me sad.

Before, in the countryside, I had been a bit sore, but otherwise enjoying myself. Navigating puddles.  Chatting with other runners.  Trying not to get lost (the course was simple but unmarked).  It was pretty and hilly and varied.  The occasional crowd of spectators cheering you on, fields of ponies, and walkers smiling, nodding their head in encouragement.  I was feeling good.

Now, 40 K in – I am beginning to question my motivations.  I am contemplating ending it all with a quick dip in the freezing January waters.  It doesn’t help that I was expecting check point 3 (CP3) to have come by now.  I must have misremembered – is that it now?  It wasn’t.  It was 2 K further along.  It was a very long 2 K.  I decided in the end, not to jump in the canal, but then I was left with the only alternative.  To. Keep. Going.  But I am not happy about it.  Will this canal ever end?

10 minutes later, CP3 reached, lunch consumed, calves stretched a bit, and the sun out – I can’t imagine ending anything.  I feel, not invincible, but close to it.  26 K to go I think, I can do this, I can definitely do this.  And we are off.  It might be my imagination but people suddenly seem friendlier, the day a little brighter, the surroundings offering more character, charming narrow boats, colourful graffiti, enjoyable views… I have to admit, maybe it was my mood tainting my earlier perceptions.  At least the canal doesn’t hold me in a morbid obsession anymore.

So, highlights to report.  Kevin – legendary bloke, kept us company for first two CPs.  His fifth time running the C2C, he’s got lost every year (he tells us gleefully) and stops at each CP to have a cigarette (“I can’t go without my rollies”- he says).  Kevin keeps a constant conversation and imparts wisdom along the way and despite regularly reducing the oxygen carrying capacity of his blood he easily pulls ahead after CP2 and finishes an hour ahead of us.  Well done mate!

Next exciting thing – bear with me – the weather!  It was essentially all four seasons day.  We had rain (I am secretly pleased as I got to finally use my new super expensive OMM waterproof jacket – it works!), snow, bright sunshine and the usual overcast British skies.  There was a really pleasant stretch, South Bucks Way I think – where it snowed.  Andreas and I were alone and it was suddenly kind of romantic and cute – piles of nature, snow, sharing a Cliff Bar – what more do you want?  Miles ticked by effortlessly (before the canal obviously).

During the canal section, it is so flat, my legs literally forget how to deal with gradients of any kind.  Whenever there is a bridge to cross Andreas and I are forced into a strange side wades limp in order to climb and descend it.  Post 50 K (furthest run ever) I am also completely incapable of holding a thought, a song or a decent conversation.  I am reduced to simply moving forward with fleeting song lines in my head.  I do tell Andreas about my canal jumping fantasy, to which he smiles and says – “Ha, me too!”.

In order to get through the whole event – mentally – I can’t think of the whole thing at once.  I just break it down to getting to the next check point. This matter was helped by the next race highlight – The Go Beyond Fruit Cake.  It was at all the aid stations where I inevitably gobbled a square down each time and it was, frankly, bloody lovely.  NEXT CHECK POINT = MORE CAKE, and so in this way I was able to convince myself to keep going.  Many thanks to all the volunteers at the aid stations – especially CP4 where I had to refill my water bladder and my fingers didn’t really work so a lovely man did it for me! If I had had to do it myself I might still be there!

So what happens when you realise you are going to actually run 44 miles?  For me, at CP5, hearing there was just 10 K to go, filled me with powerful feelings of euphoria.  Suddenly I had plenty of energy in the tank, my pace increased, my vision narrowed (not just because it was getting dark) and I was riding this jubilation of I am actually going to do this and soon I can shower.  Andreas had to reign me in – no point in sprinting at kilometre 58 only to kill yourself by kilometre 59!  This euphoria was closely followed by intense feelings of sorrow.  I had to wait for Andreas to fish out his head lamp and whilst I was waiting (probably only a minute) I lost momentum and couldn’t quite match Andreas’ pace afterwards.  I was only a footstep away from full on balling my eyes out – they had already started to water painfully – but Andreas noticed and slowed down – thank goodness, I definitely didn’t have energy to spare to have a cry.  This emotional rollercoaster aside, the final miles came quickly and painlessly.  Some people were cheering and there was a bright light (finishers photo – I didn’t notice the photographer) and then – somehow, 1.5 hours faster than we predicted, Andreas and I covered 68.5 K in 9:03:37!  I can hardly believe the canal and I can part ways!

In the spirit of honesty – I felt great, ecstatic, amazing upon finishing – which was lovely.  Then, after a grace period of maybe 30 seconds the pain kicked in.  Calves were done, arms were done, feet were done.  Even helping myself to more Go Beyond Fruit Cake didn’t really help (couldn’t hurt to try though).  We ran that last 10 K in 1:12:17, but it took us 20 minutes to walk the 350 metres to Paddington Train Station.  It was cold and I lost circulation to all my fingers and toes and I was beginning to feel nauseous – Andreas wasn’t much better!  This is the result of running nearly 70 K.  My main comfort though, aside from the fact that we had just completed our longest distance yet, was that – all things considered, it was still infinitely less painful than the Lisbon Marathon!  You’ve been in worse pain, I told myself, get on with it.  Showered, changed into warm clothes and tonnes of Lebanese food later, (and only a slight bit of gastrointestinal distress) – and the pain is totally manageable.  I am even considering doing the 50 mile Go Beyond Thames Trot in a few weeks’ time…

some refuelling… Ya Hala Paddington!

check out the my age-category leader! only a few hours faster…

Anyway, a really great event to start the year off.  It was well organised, excellent cake supply, super helpful volunteers.  Many thanks to all (including my Mum who played taxi again!), we really enjoyed it!  Definitely one to repeat.

I also have to thank Andreas.  He has wholeheartedly embraced this foray into endurance running with me – the training, nutrition, events, the gear, the blisters – and I couldn’t be happier to finish something like this with him by my side.  He has a cool, easy athleticism and attitude to the whole thing which makes our long run jaunts a delightful way to spend a day.

How do you even get into something like running further than a marathon?

Did you even know that, that was even a thing? I did not.  I think before I learned about Ultra running I assumed everybody must stop at 26.2 miles – except perhaps for a careless heroic few – the kind of athletes who run across the world for fun or have a tragic sense of direction.

No, I did not know Ultra running (that is any event longer than a marathon) was a thing.  Even knowing it was a thing – it’s not something you might immediately leap to.  Running a marathon (or even just that first session of couch to 5 K!) was hard enough and now you want to run further?

The Lisbon Marathon (my first, and still only marathon, road or otherwise) was not a pleasant experience for me.  You can read about it in detail on its blog entry here but in short, I cried, I ached, I felt nauseous and couldn’t really use my right hip properly for about a week afterwards. I was physically and emotionally a broken wreck by the end.  Of course, this did not put me off running.  In fact, before halfway around, with tears streaked across my puffy and red face, I had already decided I needed to run another (to be continued).

But that’s a marathon – a physical feat of endurance we’re all familiar with.  Going beyond that… well, what’s the point?  Why bother?  A marathon was enough to make me suffer why push further?

Well, for starters, Ultras are easier.

Wait! Hear me out.

I had the same reaction to that news.  But marathons are often run as fast as you can on road.  Ultras… well… there is a lot of walking on trails and beautiful views and real food.  There was some running obviously, I am not suggesting you turn up to a 100 miler next week, you still have to train, but at those distances, time on your feet is just as good training.  Sure if you’re out for medals, you may need to rethink this strategy, but since for me the challenge has always been in completing something (hopefully before a time cut off) it’s not an issue.

Training must be a nightmare, you’d think.  Indeed, if you google “50 K training plan” you’ll get back something which looks like a monster.  Double runs in a day, back-to-back long runs at the weekend, more interval and cross training than ever before and scarily high weekly mileages… but, truthfully, I think it’s a bit overkill.  So long as you routinely run 25-30 miles a week and manage to get in a few longer runs of over 20 miles you can do it.

I was convinced of this by a former work colleague called Richard.  Richard, apart from running a histology department, also ran – a lot. In 2014 Richard ran a 31 mile, a 50 mile, a 57 mile, an 86 mile and a 100 mile race.  He did all this whilst working full time and with a young family (although he credits his wife for making it happen).  Spending time with Richard and talking about running was like the recently converted meeting the pope, I was utterly enthralled.  I read his blogs (https://richyla.wordpress.com/). Bugged him about kit. Wondered how on earth you make yourself run 100 miles.  Richard in turn sent me more reading material, showed me his shoe collection and told me anyone could run 100 miles if they wanted to, “and, by the way, there is this great intro to Ultra running event in July in the Chilterns and you should definitely do it”.  Which is essentially, how I ended up running my first 50 K (31 miles).  There were more doubts than I let on here.  And I postured for a bit, should I, could I – what about Andreas? But that is essentially the story.

How do you end up running further than a marathon? How do you end up doing any kind of challenge?

Be inspired.  Be encouraged.  Enter the event! Train as best you can.  Surprise yourself!

I slipped out of the habit of writing about running for two compelling and equally dubious reasons excuses.

1. I had a bad post-race experience (see here for details) which confused me on what to write
2. I was running – I found myself thinking about writing whilst I could legitimately be running and err… running won.

Nonetheless, I always meant to catch up on the “blog” filling in interesting running tales as I had time.  Including, for example – the first time I tried back to back runs (i.e. running two long runs on consecutive days) which is supposed to improve your mental strength as you experience exhaustion sooner – instead I ended up sulking and walking large chunks. And that time in Greece when Andreas and I faced off with a pack of stray dogs – absolutely terrifying – but I also ran in just a sports bra for the first time (because 32°C!!!).  I was going to rant about the “bikini” body myth (but someone did that for me here) and how losing weight has some downsides – secondary amenorrhea inter alia.  How actually, eating 1200 kcal a day and a low fat diet is just setting yourself up for failure etc. BUT then more races happened.  More training happened.  More firsts and more training.  And then some of the things I wanted to vent about weren’t so simple to articulate.

So – I ate, I trained, I ate some more, I trained some more – I rested, relaxed a bit, took the diet a little less seriously (and predictably gained weight) – but felt better.  My womb started working again (if a little unreliably), I cared less about how I looked and tried instead to focus on how I felt and what I could do.

And this is when it gets interesting.  I gained back ~6 kg but was able to run faster and further.

Here is the list of the races I did in 2016, along with my weight and time (and the last race of 2015 for comparison).

* These races I ran at my brothers pace, to be fair, but the Sheffield half I am not sure I could have gone much faster anyway!

NOTE: NOPE those 50 K races are not typos, Andreas and I skipped marathons this year and went straight for some Ultra distances!

What is strangely fascinating about this race chart is – when I was at my lightest, not only was I miserable and living in a state of perpetual hunger – but I was also not performing as well.  FOR EXAMPLE, it was only once I regained some weight and totally lowered my expectations of race performance that I broke the sub-2-hour time barrier for a half.

The Harwell half marathon was not meant to be a record breaking PB kind of experience – it was 90% trail, uneven ground, with 2 very steep uphill sections – and yet somehow, because I was relaxed and out to have fun – it went by kind of effortlessly. Then, a month later, the Bristol Half comes along and, sub-2-hours should be a possibility – but I was at my cousins wedding until midnight so I didn’t have high hopes – but again, we completely smashed it.  Was I the 52 kg I was aiming to weigh? No.  Did I care?  Not much. 1:52:24!!! This is 33 minutes 9 seconds faster than my best time in 2015.

I would be lying if I said I had everything under control.  I don’t.  But if this year has taught me anything it’s that you shouldn’t have to compromise your physical and mental well being for an arbitrary goal.  Be this weight.  Run this time.  I have been guilty of both and it’s entirely meaningless if you aren’t healthy.  Weighing 53 kg didn’t make me happy.  Running 50 K, however, certainly did.  I shouldn’t be trying to squeeze myself into someone else’s unrealistic ideal – I shouldn’t be trying to please anyone other than myself.  If I do right by me then the rest is going to be what it will be and I am okay with that.  I love to run.  I enjoy training.  I enjoy racing.  I enjoy finishing something that tested me.  I am intrigued by the limits of human endurance and want to chase just a little bit of that feeling for myself.  But I also simply enjoy the act of running and the freedom it offers.  It wasn’t that I couldn’t run before, it was that I didn’t.  And now?  Running really has changed my life for the better and I am looking forward to the challenges I have set for 2017!

A few tales from our summer holidays in Greece 2016!

I’ve never been brave enough to run in just a sports bra.  Even when my brain was melting during the Clacton-on-Sea Half it never even crossed my mind to strip down and cool off.  I have always admired runners, that is no secret.  The image of a girl disappearing into the horizon in a crop top, with a bouncing ponytail, looking effortless, has long been burned into my mind thanks to popular culture.

But I am not that girl.  Aside from chopping off my hair, my stomach is still generous and wobbles an awful lot. Privately I am also deeply ashamed of how my abdominal area has turned out since losing weight. I convinced myself it’s okay to wear a bikini because, well, reluctantly, I am probably never going to look like Ellie Goulding so I may as well get on with it.  However, I am not sure there is ever going to be a right time to unleash my rippling, wobbling, magnificent beast of a stomach mid-stride on the world.

This counts as carb loading right? Delicious Greek Food!

Beach casual – because life is too short to worry about what you should or should not be wearing!

I was wrong.

I was fundamentally examining the wrong parameters.  It was not a matter of right time, or being the right weight, or looking like that girl, it was a purely biological function of wrong temperature.  It turns out that there is a point, where physical comfort overrules emotional discomfort, and that point for me was 32°C.

Yes. 32°C. Greece in July.  The sun has barely come up but it is already brutal. Hellenic heat, combined with practically no breeze, a tough hill coming up and I can’t bear it anymore.  The outermost layer has to go.  And yes, it is every bit as cooling and invigorating as I had imagined.  I am still nervously looking out for other people, expecting to be judged for this gross wardrobe oversight, but I feel so much better. Besides Andreas is here and he has given me a cheeky wink, a pep talk and a chug of water, so all in all, I feel fantastic.

And you know what – nothing bad happened.  I ran along the sea front of Nea Makri in a sports bra and it was great. I was great.  The sea, the sun, a comfortable stride, I’m feeling pretty idyllic –  even if I’m not the stereotype.

So my advice would be – you’ve got to be comfortable.  No one has the right to tell you what you can or cannot wear.  If you want to wear a crop top and go running in 32°C heat, or hell, 7°C – (which I’ve actually done now, because hot flushes are a thing if you’ve run your estrogen into the ground from prolonged calorie restriction – but I digress!) – then do it.  You be you.  You’re still running.  And if you can’t imagine it yet, don’t worry – maybe you’ll be sensible enough to avoid exercising in such extremes of heat!

AND hounds? Where do they fit in to this tale?

Well it was a surprise for me too.

Andreas’ Dad (Vaggelis) armed us with a long sturdy stick before our first evening run from his place (a small town up in the mountains by Athens) but I didn’t really think much of it.  Even when Vaggelis cautioned me directly about the stray and sheep dogs I still couldn’t take the threat seriously.  I mean who doesn’t love dogs?  If a furry canine wanted to say hello I’d be more than happy to comply.  I have secretly been feeding the cats and dogs at all the restaurants and petting them under the table when the other adults weren’t looking anyway.  However, Andreas took the stick with purpose – because of course he knew it was a good idea.

We set off, with limited sunlight left, but that was a necessity given how hot it gets in the daytime!  This is the town where Andreas grew up.  The streets are white concrete, dusty but firm and almost all of it is on some kind of steep incline.  We head away from the town to hit the mountain trails for a bit of off roading.  We get to the first long road out of the town and a lone stray dog barks excitedly as we pass.  It’s not a friendly bark though.  It’s more like what, what, what!

We pass unscathed and head further out.  The road is downhill, with tall trees lining it.  We’re counting tracks off on the right (we need the third to make our loop) and a few more stray dogs pop in and out of the verges.  They are sometimes silent but more often than not they bark that desperate, antagonised bark.  It’s not too bad, they aren’t chasing us, they aren’t even approaching us – yet – just letting us know they are there.  There is more barking in the distance.

Then, one or two dogs, rapidly becomes three or four, and before you know it, suddenly there is barking all around and it seems that whichever direction you look there are blurry furred shapes whizzing past, coming closer, closing that distance.  I counted eight on the right hand side alone before I gave up.  More ominous shapes are visible over the crest of the hill.  They are circling us*, some now only a few metres away, brave and defiant.

Andreas is a legend, carefully and efficiently navigating us back the way we came.  “Best not to run,” he says somehow a sea of calm, “don’t want them to give chase!”  We retreat and the pack does not pursue us.  Just as quickly as they descended the wild pack have disbanded.  The Cujo moment has come and gone so quickly I have to wonder if it happened at all.  But Andreas still grips the stick as a not so subtle reminder.

Rather than risk heading back past the original dog, we instead use one of the mountain trails which Andreas knows will join with the major road back into town.  The trail was great fun. Hard packed dirt, flowers, hedges, narrow paths and rocks to navigate, there is a steady climb and a pretty decent view from our vantage point at the top.  We even bump into some folk who recognise Andreas (and who may have be co-opted into taking a photo for us)!

Getting back alive and in one piece was an added bonus!  So my second piece of advice is to listen to the locals!  And if in doubt, bring a big stick.

*After reading this post, Andreas said “Circling us? Really? It wasn’t that bad.” I think he is just that cool.

I admit.  I have massive bias for this city.  I studied and lived here for a decade.  The streets are filled with many happy memories for me.  To say I love Liverpool doesn’t really do it justice.  It’s more than the place, more than the people.  It’s the atmosphere, the vibe, an undefinable something that Liverpool gives generously.  It’s a city steeped in history, culture, music – so it’s suits the Rock ‘n’ Roll franchise well!  I am looking forward to the next 21 kilometres.  It’s May, the weather is nice, my brother and boyfriend are both here running with me and my Mum is in the crowd.  I have other friends running today. It’s going to be a blast.

Last year, this same race was something else, it meant something else.  It was my first half marathon.  I had never run further or harder.  Physically, my calves had never ached so much.  Emotionally, I’d never been touched so deeply by simple gestures.  I had never been so connected to the task at hand.  But I had demons to exercise.  The voice that said I wasn’t a runner.  That I wasn’t good enough.  That cake would always triumph.  I love Liverpool, but it didn’t always love me.  Fast food, late nights, skipping any form of exercise… In a way, if I were going to run a half marathon – it needed to be here, in the streets of the city that made me.  I wanted to be remade, redefined.  In the week before I had my signature long dark blonde hair chopped off and dyed purple.  I was 67 kg – 2 kg to go before I was considered not medically overweight anymore.  I was there with something to prove.

This time? Well, I had a difficult choice.  On the one hand I wanted to race this race hard.  I was lighter than last year, with a lot more miles under my belt and I desperately want to run a half in less than 2 hours. On the other hand – I want to share this run with Kyle.  I wanted to play tour guide.  To point out some of the memories.  I wanted to have fun.  There will be other days for racing.

And so, we three, Andreas, Kyle and I, make our way to the 2:30 corral and prepare to have fun.

Mid-run selfies are harder to keep in focus

Sefton Park and in the flow…

If you want to do a half marathon in the North West – I can’t imagine you will find one much better than the Liverpool Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon.  All bias aside, the route really is lovely.  It takes in all the best Liverpool has to offer.  The picturesque docks, the towering cathedrals (yes, like football teams Liverpool has two), the parks, Penny Lane (where Penny Lane is played on repeat – obviously) the promenade.  There is live music every mile or so and ample aid stations.  There is only a tiny hill to keep things interesting on an otherwise mostly flat course.  On top of that the race really is well organised, the medals are very high quality and there are some really good deals to be had at the expo.

You should definitely try this race! Already signed up for 2017.

By now I’ve lined up at the start of many races.  I know the pre-race jitters well.  The nervous excitement that bubbles up, especially before an important race – yes, you Lisbon!  I’ve known race delays, rain, bitter cold, fog, stark sunlight.  I’ve had contemplative silence, excited chatter, boisterous warm ups, ineffectual instructions and been deafened by badly placed speakers.  I’ve been crammed tightly into start pens like sardines and floated detached at the back of the pack.  I’ve seen toilet queues exceed infinity (and rapidly diminish as the race starts) and many people frustratingly fiddling with their GPS watches (how long does it take to find a satellite – aren’t there tonnes of them littering up the sky?).  I’ve been in races with 30,000 people and those with just 90.  I’ve lined up solo, with (more often than not) Andreas and my brother Kyle.

But today is different.  Today is not my race.  It’s my Mum’s.

Yes! We are running the Liverpool Rock ‘n’ Roll 5 K.

My Mum took up running again after a decade or so last year.  I am happy to accept blame here.  It was not an easy re-start though and her training has been plagued with niggles and injury.  There were times she thought 5 K seemed unrealistic.  Every time she got close another injury would befall her and she’d need another 2-6 weeks of rest.  But like with most things, persistence and perseverance and practice and patience paid off.

As we stand at the very back of the starting corrals Mum declares to the two girls we’ve befriended “I couldn’t even walk uphill 6 months ago, now I’m going to run 5 K”.  She is beaming and proud and has a determined glint in her eyes that I recognise well.

For me, it’s not a surprise Mum is here.  I have multiple memories growing up of home workout VHSs, of Aerobic Step Classes, of swimming lunches, of going to the gym and running on the treadmill in the garden shed.  Mum has always been active and strong and powerful.  To illustrate the point – she once by herself, moved a full standing freezer from the kitchen, out the side door and into the garage.  When the new freezer arrived it took two delivery men to move the empty freezer onto a wheelie thingy and they complained about it.  That is my Mum though.  She just gets on with it.  And if there is fun to be had, she’ll have some of that too!

Explains how we end up chatting away the massively delayed start with everyone.  And end up racing against a bunch of sweat shop running company employees in full minion fancy dress!  And how she has barely stopped grinning since we got here.

The race then.  The course follows the best of Liverpool docks, taking in the three graces and views of the Wirral.  The weather was warm enough and as always there is a bit of a wind.  Andreas and Kyle cheer us on as we near 2 K and I am having a secret race with the minions.  Mum can have them I think and I tell her as much.  As far as motivational speeches go, not great, but there is something about chasing down Gru and his band of yellow followers that encourages you a bit more!  We tick off the kilometres and I keep up a monolog for entertainment purposes.  As the finish appears I am happy in a cheeky way that the minions are just behind us.  For my Mum, I don’t think she cared about such inconsequential things.  Finishing the race was the goal, and that we did!  She even made a personal best out of it!  It is truly an honour to run this side by side!

Inhale… two, three… exhale… two, three…

Inhale… two, three… exhale… two, three…

He is a tantalising target in the distance.  A tall dark figure with his jacket tied around his waist.  The jacket flaps around awkwardly in the blustery Liverpool wind but the man’s stride doesn’t falter.  He leads this run and I am determined not to slip away, forgotten in the dust.

Inhale… two, three… exhale… two, three…

We race along the promenade, wind and miles rushing by.  The sun burns off the morning dew and the day is already proving to be unseasonably warm.  I am thankful for the wind and the cooling evaporating sweat on my skin.  The path is straight and wide and in the not too far distance my prey gives me a thumbs up.  I smile returning the gesture and continue to count my breaths.

Inhale… exhale…

My heart pounds uncomfortably hard but my legs and lungs are faithful.  This is furthest I have gone at pace.  My Garmin beeped earlier to tell me I have already set a record for fastest 5 K (25:55) and 10 K (53:03).  I am committed to this; not just chasing down the shadow of my friend, but to see what I can actually do.  How fast?  How far?  I am testing my limits. So far, so good!

Inhale… exhale…

A quick pit stop for ice water (thanks to Andy who dropped by in his car to help us) and the pursuit begins again, but this time I have a secret advantage.  It’s on an incline, and I do love me some hills.  My escapee doesn’t gain much ground on the hill, although he does pull frustratingly further ahead the moment we reach the flat.  Alright then, challenge accepted.

Inhale… exhale…

I don’t gain any more ground.  But it comes down to this.  My body knows this game.  It can put one foot in front of the other.  It can do that for a long time.  And I will not quit.  My focus narrows.  My music blares encouragingly up tempo beats. I am just this, oxygen in, CO₂ out, step, step, step – repeat.  It’s moments like these – where simplicity and synchronicity and clarity of purpose burn bright through every fibre of my being – why I love running so much.  Running is my solace and passion and in this moment, with 10 miles done in less than 90 minutes and still feeling strong, I am definitely riding a runner’s high.  My favourite mantra is on a loop in my head –  I can do this, I can definitely do this!

Inhale… exhale…

I’ve chased my friend along Otterspool, up Upper Parliament Street, through Toxteth, past Princes Park and around Sefton Park… I lose him on Queen’s Drive and end up doubling back finding him just in time for a final effort.  We sprint side-by-side past Greenbank Park and it feels amazing.  It’s a perfect 11 mile training run in preparation for the Half here later this month.  I’ve never run so far so quickly and I am, to use a Scouse expression, absolutely buzzing!

Massive thanks to Nav for the challenge!  This was definitely one of those barrier breaking runs.  I don’t know what my limits are yet, but I know I haven’t reached them yet and I am excited to keep reaching.

It has taken forever for me to get around to writing this, partly because my enjoyment of it was tarnished a bit by the fact that it made me horrendously ill.  The day after the race I went to London to watch the Marathon in person – and I got dizzy, nauseous – then vomited, then kind of sat down and passed out a bit, until I ended up in London Undergrounds’ version of a school sick bay.  There was more vomiting to follow and a week off work.  Andreas had to collect me from Liverpool Street Station like some diseased toddler from nursery and my friend had to sit with me for hours until Andreas could make it.  It was that bad.  Presumably, in combination with general post-race exhaustion and accidentally ingesting the wrong bit of field at some point during the run, it had mixed inside me and my body must have generally had enough and decided to switch off.  Note to self: No more ridiculously muddy obstacle races! And many thanks to the London Underground staff for scooping me up off the floor!

So what am I talking about?!

The race! A 20 K obstacle course called W.A.R. – Warrior Adrenaline Race – which tells you a lot about the mentality of the race organisers (Regiment Fitness).  The pre-race pep talk consisted of being yelled at like army recruits to run around in circles and to do burpees.  I was not impressed and ignored their burpee requests.

Why would I subject myself to this?

The idea of doing an obstacle course was planted earlier on this year at a friend’s 30^th birthday party.  Said friend’s cousin regaled me with tales of heroic conquests of muddy hills, electric fences, cargo nets and swimming across rivers.  She was tall, unapologetically athletic, and fiercely beautiful with a face that looked years younger than she was claiming to be.  Obviously she was someone who knew just a bit about healthy living and keeping fitness interesting.  “So long as you can run, you’ll be alright” She told me.  “It’s loads of fun!”  I looked over at Andreas who with a raised eyebrow let me know there was no way he would be participating in any such madness.  But still the seed was planted.

A couple of weeks later whilst perusing the race pages of Runner’s World I found an obstacle race conveniently located near family and whilst Andreas was away.  Awesome, I thought, I had been wanting to mix up my training a little. Since entry costs were the same for all the distances I picked the longest figuring I would get more adventure for my money!

Which is how I came to find myself one freezing April Saturday morning at the Woodhall Estate, in the Hertfordshire wilderness, wondering if short sleeves and shorts were a mistake and if I would still be able to climb rope bridges if I lost circulation to my fingers as was already happening whilst queuing for registration.  During this time, Mum and I (whom I had roped into taxi service) chatted in the queue to fellow runners, where I met my saviour – Gustav.

How to enjoy madness!

Gustav. Everyone needs a Gustav. He was an absolute legend.  He runs half marathons and obstacle courses once a month for fun, so apart from being very knowledgeable on what to expect, he was also happy to slum it around the course with me and a great conversationalist to boot!  I am so grateful!  Without him I would have been entirely miserable.  With him, I actually had fun in spite of the cold, wet, mud and high things.

So how does a 20 K obstacle course turn out?

Turns out there are some obstacles!  The basic format was a very obstacle heavy first 5 K, with a stretch in the middle of about 10 K which was mostly trail running, then the final 5 K which was also very obstacle and people heavy (10 K and 5 K route reconnected with the 20 K).  Obstacles ranged from piles of hay bales, wooden A-frames, wire bridges over water, cargo nets, tyres in various arrangements, tunnels and tubes, to more substantial wooden climbing frames, a rope climb, vertical walls to run up and a skip at the end filled with cold water for full body immersion.  Additionally, the course organisers took full advantage of any natural bodies of water and hills and mud and deliberately funnelled you regularly into rivers, bogs etc. and up the steepest hills. Plus, at one point it hailed (as in, ice, from the sky) and some dickhead marshal made you go face first in mud when it was entirely unnecessary (yes, I am bitter about that).

The first thing I learned was that hay bales are actually quite imposing close up.  I ran towards the first one excited to be getting on with it and embarrassingly stopped short.  It was like a short circuit.  Brain said, let’s jump, Body averted.  So I climbed over instead.  Less graceful than some of the other participants but I got there.

The second thing I learned was that 300 metres from the start of the race we already had to queue.  No point in racing Gustav had imparted before we set off, queuing is half of it.

The third thing I learned was that the course liked to get you wet and keep you that way, and that keeping my gloves on (despite being soaked through) was an excellent decision!

Despite the cold, chronic wetness and overzealous race marshals, I wasn’t going to wimp out.  And actually since I had yet to stop talking to Gustav I was pretty distracted and making good progress. Excellent progress in fact.  With Gustav on hand to literally throw me over obstacles and secure shoes (triple knotted) which proved surprisingly resilient to bogs and slipping we easily ticked off the obstacles.  I may have freaked out once – at the top of a cargo net climb – because, heights and smash-able skulls etc. but Gustav saved me, with calm reassuring advice (and moving my feet into the rungs)! About 5 K in, there was a near vertical muddy slope which we had to climb up with help from a rope.  My fingers were entirely numb (and had been since registering!) but I didn’t think about that (or how far I had to fall) I just persevered onwards.  The race marshals here were really encouraging and friendly and I could have hugged them when upon reaching the top they told us there were no more obstacles for a while.

Here is where I discovered an entirely new love. Forget pounding the pavements, trail running was immense, and I am entirely smitten.  It turns out I can enjoy hills if there is a good view and if the terrain is more interesting.  The 10 K that followed was easily some of the most enjoyable, scenic countryside I’d seen in a while.  The forest was covered in bluebells like some whimsical fairy tale and the hail that slammed us only added to surreal feel of the place.  The crowds were long gone and Gustav and I ripped up the kilometres, all the while having a pleasant chat. I didn’t even mind when the course deliberately snaked towards a massive dip or through a stream, it was all an adventure.  At some point a marshal on a bike joined us and he was also very friendly and encouraging (just the one dickhead then!). And, amazingly, I got the feeling back in my fingers – at least for a little while!

Too soon though we end up back with the obstacles.  Forth lesson: mud and contact lenses do not mix.  Higher walls to climb, more rivers to traverse, more people again including the occasional group of spectators.  It was around here Gustav pointed out he hadn’t had breakfast! So I shared some Cliff energy cubes which had miraculously survived in my pocket.  We kept going, Gustav bounding 10 foot fences with minimal effort and me getting thrown over by Gustav (also with minimal effort!).  At some point we had to cross above a bog by a wire bridge and in all seriousness, I very nearly fell in.  As more people climbed onto the bridge the lower wire got weighed down increasing the distance between it and the one above it (for balance and support).  This is okay if you are 6 foot something, it is not okay if you are 5ft 4in like me and you can’t feel your fingers again.  Gustav saved me. Again.  He got everyone (yes everyone) to stop and pull the two wires closer together so I could actually make it across without nose diving into yet more cold water.  I honestly don’t know what I would have done without him, so thank you Gustav for that!

Final stretch now; loads of obstacles monkey bars (which I had to skip because I simply cannot do the damned things), a vertical wall (which you are meant to sprint up which I lacked speed to complete – Gustav did it in one take!) and… The Skip.  I saw people faffing and taking their time but I knew the only way I would survive was to get it over and done with.  In, under, breath, under, breath, under, out.  During this time, I heard my Mum cheering (in and out of focus as I went underwater) so we were definitely near the end! The last obstacle, a leap of faith.  Gustav waited for me at the top so we got to jump together. Then 100 m to the finish.  20 K and a whole bunch of obstacles complete in 2:48!  Not only that but we finished in like joint 35^th place! I was the 6^th female!

This is why I am so annoyed and conflicted about the race, if it had ended there – a good solid effort, a new running buddy, a new love for trail running and some warm clothes/hot drink I would have written this up months ago and been raving about it.  But the following day I was so ill (and not just me I learnt later, at least 2 others too, which implies it was something on the course!) and disillusioned about the run that I simply could not easily write about it, hence the long hiatus (although since I have back dated the blog you can’t automatically see that).  Lots of other races and things have happened since the 23^rd of April on that bitterly cold morning but I couldn’t write about those until I got this race out of my system mentally as well as physically.  Suffice to say, I won’t be doing anymore muddy races! And I hope to fill in the blanks on this blog soon!