Joining the back of the Lisbon Marathon start line at 8:30 am after not running for 3 whole weeks, taking the equivalent of 6 Immodiums and still with a bit of a sniffle from that stupid cold was not exactly ideal.  But damned if I wasn’t going to run it anyway.

I had been training for this for months.  Thinking about it for longer.  Talking about it frequently and to anyone who was in my general vicinity for long enough.  Hell, I even started this blog about it.  My Mum and friend Andy had flown over to support us.  I had coerced my loving and supportive boyfriend through miles of Oxfordshire countryside.  I had put hours into planning routes, nutrition, recovery, the whole trip.  I had missed meet-ups and events and weekend LAY INS to fit the training in. So yes.  Barring a natural disaster, kidnapping or being dead – I was running this damned thing.  Even if I had to drag myself on hands and knees across that finish line – though of course I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

I was originally hoping to run it in about 5 hours and 15 minutes.  In my more optimistic moods I was secretly hoping for less than 5 hours.  Today I held no such illusions.  Today I just wanted finish before the roads were reopened.  That meant I had to run 42 K, 26.2 miles, in 6 hours.  Barely more than a Londoners brisk walk – and yet – somehow a lot more painful.

I was not in a good mood.  I was not in a bad mood either, just feeling a bit nauseous with a bubbly tummy and resigned to my fate.  I wish I could write that I loved every second of it.  That it was a joyous experience but that wasn’t true.  I was in a kind of stoic running bubble – set, determined, yes, but also not really connecting with the moment.  I passed beautiful Portuguese coastline and quaint fishing villages and sometimes dramatic castles and old town fortifications without as much as a glance.  I just kept thinking of how much further I had to go.  Of how unprepared I was.  Of how much this was going to hurt.

Andreas’ attempts to lighten the spirit fell on deaf ears.  At 5 K in Andreas asked if I could go a little bit faster, which earnt him a glare and a stroppy ‘no!’ At 10 K in Andreas tried to make small talk about the view which earnt him a grunt.  At 14 K in I was hoping to see my Mum and Andy who were going to catch us up by car but I didn’t see them and my mood fell darker still.  At 18 K Andreas saw a dog with shaggy long ears perched on a doorstep next to a beer bottle that gave the illusion of a dreadlocked guy totally chilling out and Andreas wanted to tell me about it – but he never got the chance because when he tapped me on the shoulder I barked ‘What!?!’ at him.  I didn’t know what was wrong with me.  And Andreas decided – wisely – to give me some space by accelerating off.  Of course as soon as he was out of shouting distance I missed him immensely.  As he bounced elegantly away I don’t know how to say, but, I imagined our whole relationship unravelling and began to sob uncontrollably.  For 3 kilometres.  Even after catching up with him.

Don’t get me wrong – I was prepared for the marathon to be emotional, I had after all got all choked up towards the end of the Liverpool Half – but I wasn’t expecting to get upset at only 18 K in!  In retrospect I think I was overwhelmed.  18 K wasn’t even HALF WAY.  18 K was like, the warm up, and there were MILES to go before we were even CLOSE to finishing.  Okay, my legs didn’t hurt.  And despite crying for 3 kilometres I still didn’t feel particularly tired – although boy did it hurt later!  In the end it was a stranger who cheered me up.  An elderly Portuguese lady who (I kid you not) had spent the first 10 K chatting on the phone.  She grabbed my hand demanding in emphatic foreign “força força”.  The message was clear, no need to cry, just get on with it, you’ll be alright, let’s go!  And so I did.

By the time I met up with my Mum and Andy at 25 K I was back to feeling normal and emotionally balanced.  I could appreciate the views and the fact that the weather was co-operating and the warmth and support of all the people who had turned up to spectate.  Life was good.  And I felt great…

I suppose it is not without a strong sense of irony that as soon as I got my shit together mentally my body started falling apart.  28 K in and my calves – usually the first spot to go – started to ache.  Not too bad you might think – but there is still 14 K to go.  I try stretching.  I gobble energy gels.  I swish water about.  But, nope, that pain is not going.  Andreas isn’t looking much better.  He makes a speech “Kerry, I had a good run.” (He is Greek so it hard to tell if he meant this pun or not).  “But I am not going to make it back alive.  Tell my parents I loved them, that it wasn’t their fault.  Take care of my niece.  Tell my brother… I blame him for everything.”  It is good to joke again.

We reach Lisbon (30 K in) and the city is a nice change from the view of the river.  Cobbled streets.  Endearing architecture.  People cheering you on.  The gentle rain that starts to fall is a welcome relief, a cooling mist on our faces.  I was actually enjoying myself.  A bit cautious of slipping and of getting lost – because we were obviously the dregs of the race and the path wasn’t so clear without someone to follow around the town square – but nonetheless I felt good.  If I could just keep this up I might even make it before 6 hours have passed.  Of course then I notice the rumble of a motorised vehicle and risk a look behind to see a race marshal on a scooter behind us.  I look at Andreas, Andreas looks at me.  The thought passes between us that this guy – Mr Scooter – might actually be The End.  Like – The End, The End and if we fall behind him, it might be game over.  “Sorry kids, but better luck next year.  Go directly to Jail.  Do not pass Go.”  Andreas jokes but the humour doesn’t quite reach his eyes and the engine noise remains ominously close, like the worlds slowest (and most pathetic) getaway chase.  It turns out I could run faster after all!  Eventually we overtake some other runners and Mr Scooter fades away.

The last 10 K was by far the bleakest section.  Not just physically, as you might have predicted, but also in terms of surroundings.  Lisbon had obviously run out of convenient pretty places and so we were now running along the main road of an endless industrial estate.  You couldn’t see the river anymore for shipping crates and dismal warehouses.  And whilst I was grateful for the overcast sky it wasn’t doing any favours for the abandoned dystopian town we now found ourselves in.  The only people were waiting forlornly at bus stops impatiently checking their watches and clearly hoping for the roads to reopen soon.  However, since I had done my crying earlier, I was looking at the positives.  For example; one benefit of coming through so late was that the water stations were now giving out entire Powerade bottles.  Cool I thought, I’ll distract my calves with that.

We were progressing okay, even overtaking people but we were suffering with an ongoing problem.  Namely that Andreas and I run naturally at different speeds.  At my slowest I am only barely faster than Andreas’ walk (he works in London after all).  Which means he was continually pulling ahead and having to wait for me because running at my pace is hard on his knees.  I’ve known about this problem before – everybody comments when they see us running together.  Andreas has long bouncing strides whereas I take many shorter steps to cover the same ground.  Imagine a penguin attempting to keep up with an ostrich and you will have something similar to our current predicament.  Over short distances it’s not a problem but today we are running a marathon and our differences in running style are only exaggerated.  So when Andreas finally tries walking next to me at 38 K and actually, he is kind of keeping up – I am so disheartened my motivation fails me and I end up walking too.  My calves are on fire.  My feet are beyond sore.  My arms ache.  I have run out of Powerade and to be honest I am feeling a little nauseous from the high amount of sugar I have consumed to get here.  My knees are throbbing.  I am 4 K from the end, if I have to, I can walk to the finish.

Time passes and some of the people we had previously overtaken are now claiming their places back.  Andreas is looking like hell next to me and I am feeling guilty for holding him back.  If he was running alone he could have finished hours ago.  I am feeling sorry for myself in a big way and walking is so slow and still incredibly painful.  Eventually, about 800 m down the road, I think Hell with this.  It’s about 3 K to the end and if we run we actually stand a chance of finishing within the 6 hours.  So basically I suck it up and plod on.  No, it didn’t get any easier, yes it was still painful but I wasn’t going to walk across the finish line – or be dragged across face first by Andreas – I was here to run, so in the words of an awesome Portuguese seniorita, força força!

Eventually, grudgingly it seems, the finish line comes into sight.  Spectators have been growing in number and whilst most are people just generally milling about they do perk up as we near, clapping, cheering, snapping photos and so it’s not so terrible these final miles after all. Andreas holds my hand, I pick out Mum and Andy in the crowd (cheering ten times more enthusiastically than the rest), I can see that yes, we will be less than 6 hours after all and I try to smile though at this point it may be more like a grimace.  All that is left of these 26.2 miles is a few meters, a few steps and at last the suffering is over, our reluctant bodies successfully cross the line and we can stop!

05:54:06 – not a great time.  I can’t say I felt elated at finishing – I am dazed and quite possibly dehydrated.  We are handed magnum ice creams and our medals and goodie bags.  We pose for some pictures and it is kind of a blur.  I don’t have this feeling that I can’t believe I just did that – it’s not confidence or arrogance – it’s because my body won’t let me forgot.  I am a wreck of sore everything so there is no room to doubt that I just (mostly) ran a marathon.  And worse is the feeling that I already want to run another one – because I can do better than just shy of 6 hours.

Of course all things considered, 6 hours or not, it is still no small achievement just to finish the damned thing. 42.2 K, 26.2 miles – that is no light jog – it is a significant feat of endurance which few people attempt and not everyone finishes – so we can be proud on that.  Still, there is a bitterness too, I let the pressure at the beginning take my enjoyment out of it, I didn’t train as much as I wanted and my time suffered – hence why, even though I won’t be able to walk properly for the next week and my whole body aches like nothing I have felt before, I already have the burning desire to run it again.

Week 16: Total Run Distance: 42.2 K (26.2 miles). Total Running Time 5:54:06

It turns out that if you have a cold – like the kind that comes on suddenly, gives you fever, terrible headaches and tremendous pain upon swallowing so bad that you end up shoving a tea towel under your face to catch your drool so you can actually get some sleep – then you should probably not run a half marathon.

Alas, this was not advice I had received before The Nottingham Half Marathon that I ran with my brother.  Of course I am stubborn enough that honestly you probably could not have imparted that wisdom on me anyway.  I had paid my entry fee (not cheap) and I already had the merchandise (t-shirts) and I wanted to be there with my brother.  Google said that so long as I didn’t push it and remained well hydrated – I would probably be fine.  And that is what I did.  I took it easy.  I wasn’t out of breath once.  My legs didn’t hurt at all.  The whole thing was a breeze.  Totally nailed it.  Only my body, surprisingly, didn’t thank me.

The following day my legs hurt.  And the day after.  And the day after.  And the day after that.  Basically the following week my legs still hurt from that half marathon.  To put in perspective, my legs were perfectly fine the day after I ran 20 miles.  20 miles!  Clearly energy was being diverted elsewhere.

In a scientific way, I can appreciate the human body’s prioritisation of tasks.  We’ll repair these damaged muscles later once we’ve contained that damned virus.  I can even be a little bit impressed by it – biology in action so to speak.  Of course that doesn’t make my suffering any easier.  And in the meantime my throat is raw from the persistent cough I have developed.  And my nose is flaky and red from constantly having to blow it.  And my face is probably stuffed full of cotton wool which is the only way to explain this sodden, bunged up feeling and pressure behind my eyes.  And my ears have a permanent ringing noise for background accompaniment.  And who knew one person could generate so much mucus?  And what kind of moron runs a half marathon whilst being sick?

Yep, that would be me.

So in summary I have not run in a while.

And I am a bit worried about the Marathon.

Weeks 14 & 15: Total Run Distance: 0, zero, zip, none at all!

Running with my brother and listening to his thought processes on running is an awful lot like having a mirror held up in front of me.  He has a similar breathing technique, the same arm pumping action and the same mental battle to overcome self-doubt and laziness on a run.  When he had been running regularly for about 3 months he asked me “Do you spend a lot of time telling yourself you are running whilst you are running?” – I was shocked.  Yes! – When I first started it was like that all the time – if I thought much of anything beyond my next breath it was always variations of ‘am I doing this? Why am I doing this? I can’t do this – but I am definitely doing this’.

We ran the Ikano Robin Hood Half Marathon together on the 27^th of September (his first, my third) and it was one of those beautiful surreal moments when you look at someone and can completely empathise.  Oh, I have been there my brother, but know this – pain is only temporary whilst the glory is forever.    For my part, I am not sure I was much good as a companion, but after leaving Kyle behind in the Krakow ParkRun I was going to stick to him like glue the whole way round – whether he wanted or needed me there or not.

I should point out – this was only 3 weeks before the Lisbon Marathon – and so it was supposed to be my last big run (i.e. 20 miles).  So I was half planning to run 10 K before the half started to make up the distance.  I was put off committing to this plan for a number of reasons. First, Kyle isn’t that slow or that far behind me in terms of training that I could expect to keep up with him if I ran 10 K first!  Second, running before requires somewhere to run and getting there like an hour and a half early and we know how well mornings generally work for me!  Thirdly, that weekend I was struck down by some horrible virus that made it difficult to breathe and swallow so even running the half was probably pushing it!  But run it I did and I can’t believe I can even say this – the whole thing was phenomenally easy.

Hence why I am not sure how good a companion I was for Kyle.  For example; as Kyle paced himself I was itching to go faster.  As Kyle dragged himself along the 8^th mile I was practically skipping.  As Kyle extended his middle finger to the 9^th mile marker I giggled and clamped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder before adding conspiratorially “Wait until mile 10, that’s when the real pain starts”.  Because I had passed through that particular level of Hell myself hadn’t I?  Back in June with the Liverpool Half Marathon.

I tried to help – sharing running mantras I had learnt, chatting about the weather but on the final mile, when Kyle’s emotions were flicking frantically between the euphoria of nearly finishing with the awful knowledge that you have. Not. Finished. Yet. And-why-do-my-legs-hurt-so-gosh-darn-much? I was powerless to help.  I had exhausted my running tips and/or distracting stories.  And anyway – I knew that particular set of emotions flashing across Kyle face.  Towards the end of my first half marathon I had sobbed aloud each time someone with a “in memory of” t-shirt slipped by and I nearly had a breakdown when a blind runner overtook me.  How wonderful – I’d thought – isn’t the world a fantastic and yet terrible place?  And Kyle was in that place now.  Pushed himself beyond what he thought he was physically capable of.  Pushed beyond anything.  But still doing it – yep, definitely doing it.

For my part I was hugely impressed.  Kyle was a machine.  He did not stop once.  Not to sip his drink.  Not to chat to friends.  Not to go to the loo.  And he ran faster up hills (he trained in Sheffield which is apparently hilly).  Just kept going.  Steady.  Determined.  And I utterly respect that.  When he crossed that finish line you could see what it meant to him – the amalgamation of months of training, completing a goal that seemed outlandish 6 months ago, realising that you are actually capable of so much more than you ever thought possible.  Yeah, respect bro.  I am honoured that I got to witness it!

Week 13: Total Run Distance: 33 K (20 miles). Total Running Time 4:06

I’ve been avoiding writing the exact details of my training programme out for a number of reasons;

• A list of my runs for the week is probably not exciting to anyone but me
• Programmes come packed with copious amounts of jargon/codes which used to intimidate and frustrate me in equal measure and I didn’t want to inflict that on you lovely readers (hi Mum)
• There was always something more interesting happening!

However, I wanted to open this blog with it being a ‘Recovery´ week which therefore involves me explaining what that actually means. Don’t worry I haven’t injured myself *knocks fervently on wood*.  A ‘Recovery’ or Rest week in a training programme just means giving yourself a break in mileage and allowing your body to absorb the training – at least that is the theory.  A good/typical training programme will let you drop your mileage about once every 4 weeks.  Other features that most training programmes will incorporate include;

• Gradual increase in mileage (there is a rule about never increasing beyond 10% – although I couldn’t find a lot of evidence to support that statement it seems like a sensible idea not to overly exert yourself, especially if you are a beginner)
• 1 faster run per week (called any number of things, speed work, fartlet running (yes, it’s a real thing – Tip: it doesn’t involve eating beans the day before), interval sessions, tempo running)
• 1 long slow run each week (thankfully this one is pretty self-explanatory!)
• Easy runs to fill the rest of your time (although I used to take umbrage with the word “Easy” being used to describe any run)
• A taper period just before the race where you reduce your mileage significantly to save yourself for the big day.

You can spend hours building your own plan – or conveniently google it.  There are so many training programmes online.  The best advice is choose one that you like the look of and stick to it.  Personally, I only wanted to run 3 times a week and considering that I wasn’t particularly bothered about speed (I just want to complete the marathon in one piece) I picked one that didn’t have a lot of speed work and built up at 10%.  I actually used an online tool to build my own personalised training plan.  Runners’ World Smart Coach – here you input how and what you want to train for and it tells you everything you need to do to reach your goal!

It is good advice if you are taking up running to always keep a running log – so that you can properly track your mileage, look back at how far you have come or notice what methods of training really work for you.  There are loads of free Apps that will use your phone GPS to track your runs (which can be fun if you want to compete with some friends at the same time) such as Sports Tracker, Strava, Map My Run, or you can just work out how far and fast you have run by using g-maps pedometer route drawing tool online and a watch.  You can write things down on paper, online, wherever – just keep a note.  Personally I love my Garmin watch.  It tracks my runs as I go and keeps a record online including things like, the route I ran, the incline, weather and temperature!

So how did I spend my recovery run?  A quick 10 K jaunt around Sandy with a few friends (we were 4 in total).  Company definitely keeps me on my toes as this 10 K was under an hour (58:49)!  Glorious sunshine and without the need to pace myself for another 20 K afterwards Andreas and I could just enjoy the new surroundings and really stretch our legs.  Maybe not a proper rest but definitely lots of fun!

Week 12: Total Run Distance: 27 K (16.7 miles). Total Running Time 2:55

We’ve stopped “short” a number of times lately.  One bad run (18.6 K instead of 26 K) knocked the training programme a bit off course and we’ve been playing catch up with the miles ever since.  When we were supposed to be running 30 K we ran 27 K, when we were meant to run 32.2 K (20 miles) we ran 28 K.

Part of it was caution – training programmes are specifically designed to build your endurance up safely and slowly to reduce chances of injury – so I didn’t want to just skip a run.

The other part of it was, honestly, running long distance is hard work.  Pushing through the physical pain is one thing but mentally overcoming the boredom and self-doubt – that is harder.  Of course it doesn’t help if your calves are on fire (at least on the inside) either.

Last week when I stopped at 28 K rather than 32.2 K – I could just not be bothered.  We’d already finished on a high – slogging it up the Wittenham Clumps and being rewarded with fabulous views just in time to sprint like maniacs to cross the Earth’s Trust 10 K finish line…  To keep going after that – I just didn’t have the motivation.

But that does mean we have procrastinated far enough.  We have to run 20 miles before the marathon (preferably twice) and we are rapidly running out of training weeks.  Thankfully, this week offers us an opportunity to finally hit that run.  We are supposed to run 26 K but will instead run 32.2 K.

What is the best way to complete the longest of our training runs?  Take the train to Oxford and run back – obviously.  I figured, this way there was no way I could talk myself out of it.  It would be easier to just run the damned thing.

The back of my hand was scrawled with directions.  Incongruously – Oxford to Didcot – was not long enough to meet 32.2 K but, knowing ourselves well, we thought we would probably get lost at least once (we did) which would probably make up the full distance (it did).

So how did this elaborate route go?  From Oxford train station we made our way to the river and followed The Thames Path for 15 K to Abingdon where we honoured their ParkRun loop before heading off towards Sutton-Courtney.  In Sutton-Courtney we managed to lose our intended path but found another which seemed to be heading in the right direction.  After refuelling on a handpicked apple (Andreas claims the best apple ever) and being barked/chased by a giant wolf/dog we picked our way through an overgrown bridle path to Harwell Road which leads to the industrial estate Milton Park.  From Milton Park we took a slight tangent along cycle route 5 back towards Sutton-Courtney before correcting ourselves and taking route 5 back into Didcot.  From Didcot we missed the footpath but from past experience we knew a very steep path back onto the Ladygrove loop – where we completed the run finishing about 400 m from our house.  Easy as pie!  If pies involved 4 plus hours of strenuous physical activity – they don’t, pies involve pastry and delicious fillings – which is why more people would choose to eat pie over running 20 miles in one go but there you go.  (Note: we had pie for dinner which is probably why I have devoted the best part of 3 sentences to the traditional dish).

No easy run for us.  Raging pain hit my calves at 27 K.  Had to stop and stretch and consume a lot of energy beans.  I don’t know how I carried on – waddling and barely quicker than walking pace – but it seemed important to push on.  I wasn’t dead yet, or even that tired.  My breathing was fine.  So I concluded my calves were just being stubborn.  Fine.  I can be stubborn too.  On we go.  Eventually either the energy beans kicked in or my legs accepted their fate.  The pain subsided and it was almost too easy to reach 32.2 K…

It turns out my legs were saving the worse pain for when I stopped running – still, not as bad as on the 18.6 K run – and it is a phenomenal weight off my mind that we have finally ticked off the big 20 mile run.  For the Lisbon Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon we will only have to go an extra 10 K.  Nope, I can’t believe I said that either – but surprisingly I do mean it!

Week 11: Total mileage for the week was 45.5 K (28.2 miles), total running time was 5:30.

Week 10 of our 16 week programme and the fateful 20 mile run I joked about 11 weeks ago.  Gradual incline I said.  Summer heat I said. Oh won’t that be fun?  But I am getting ahead of myself!

The plan was to incorporate this 20 mile (32.2 K) run into the Earth’s Trust 10 K race on the 06/09/15.  Rock up a few hours early and run a half marathon (and a bit more) then run the 10 K race which is described by the course organisers as “undulating and challenging”.  Totes possible.

I’ll be honest – when I signed up 2 months ago I didn’t know what the word “undulating” meant.  I got a clue when I was reading the August edition of Runner’s World – which described undulating as meaning “neither flat nor hilly, otherwise known as a lie”.  The next clue as to what kind of race the Earth’s Trust 10 K was going to be, came during one of our other training runs to Little Wittenham when I finally realised where and what the Wittenham Clumps were [see photo – but basically massive hills you can see from miles away!].  For some reason I still wasn’t worried – I figured it was just too ridiculous to run up them so the 10 K course must go around them.

A rather mundane glitch in our ‘Let’s ran a half marathon before a 10 K race’ plan was waking up on time.  As previously stated – I am not a morning person and that Sunday morning it showed.  Rather than arriving at 8 am we got there at 8:30 am… still we managed to squeeze in 10 K before circling back to race HQ to pick up our racing bibs and timing chips.  After that we could only fit in another 6 K before having to come back for the race start (6 K short of our target).  Nonetheless I was in high spirits – I wasn’t tired or aching or anything – and I have been curious to see inside the Earth’s Trust site since I signed up.

We gathered with the other racers (a few hundred maybe) on the green opposite the Earth’s Trust HQ in anticipation of the race start.  I love races, or rather, I love any kind of group running.  The cross-section of people you see at these events is really empowering and motivating.  Name me another sport where regular civilians can stand side by side at the start with elites.  No doubt some runners are nervous whilst others more confident but here we all stand old, young, slim, beefy, tall and short alike – all up for this challenge and in it together.

The race starts and we’re off down a gentle downward grassy slope.  I enjoy watching other runners spread out in a long ant-like line across the landscape.  The terrain isn’t so difficult to negotiate – recently Andreas and I have been running along the Thames Path which is similarly mixed surfaces and there are lots of CAUTION signs when things are especially tricky.  The new thing today is getting used to slopes – downhill and I feel like I am flying, uphill and I slow to a crawl.  Still – at least I am maintaining constant effort.

The weather is sunny – a little too hot in direct sunlight but cool in the shade.  The water stations are well manned and frequent enough plus there is good crowd support along the route.  The race was also open to walkers so at some points we are crossing their paths and even though they must have seen dozens of runners before us every single person smiles or nods or waves their encouragement.  I was fully enjoying this local scenic run.  I had not a care in the world… Little did I know what the 8 K marker (24 K in for us!) would bring…

Yes, you probably guessed it.  The Wittenham Clumps.  It turns out we were going to run up them after all.  Before I had chance to come up with a strategy (like perhaps walking it!) Andreas places his hand on my back and actually pushes me along.  I guess we are running it.

I don’t look up.  I don’t engage in any conversations.  I keep my head down and my feet moving.  Breathe in, breathe out.  At some point Andreas’ hand drops away but I am in my rhythm now.  It’s not easy but I am not stopping.  There are many people standing still or walking the up the Clumps, there is even a person laying down (it is a steep hill!) but I keep at it – briefly looking back only to check where Andreas is (a little behind – to be fair he pushed me for about half of it!).  Finally I make it to the top and only then do I stop.  I drink the last of my water and pause.  The views are outstanding.  With the clear weather you can see for miles all around.  I am dizzy and a touch euphoric.  Wow.  What a view.

Now just 1 kilometre to the finish and –because I am an idiot and caught up in the dramatic views and delight of it all – we floor it to the finish as fast as my legs will carry me.  Really an amazing course and well worth the challenge!  Will definitely be entering next year as well (without the 16 K before!).  Finishing time was 1:09:50 which I am quite impressed with!

Week 10: Total mileage for the week was 44.8 K (27.8 miles), total running time was 5:13.

21.097494 kilometres (or a half marathon) is the furthest distance I have run… that is up until last Saturday (29/08/15) when we successfully ran 27 K.  There were no rouge tree branches, no dead ends just miles of agreeable countryside and the feeling that we are taking an epic adventure – albeit a slow one (3.5 hours in total!).

Every run since the ‘Trouble on Thames Disaster’ has been pleasant, comfortable and importantly pain and niggle free.  Even the 2.2 K run on Tuesday when the heavens opened and I was soaked in an instant was kind of exciting.  I used the rain as an excuse to race the guy in blue running ahead of me.  I got a personal best for fastest 1 K (4:52) and felt awesomely heroic for overtaking an unsuspecting stranger.

So whilst I was a bit nervous about the long run, I also had to trust in the training programme and the running foundation I have built up diligently over the last year.  In any event, I was not going to give up without giving it my best shot.

We decided to take the Thames path again, go as far as 13-14 K and head back.  We quadrupled our liquid supply and tried out a new electrolyte drink recommended from a friend (Japanese Pocari Sweat) as well as taking a bag of energy jelly beans.  I wasn’t risking running out of energy/water again.

I’ll be honest – the run was slow and at some points unbelievably hard to keep going.  The Thames Path is a mixture of surfaces, some tarmac, some pebbles, some grass – variation is good as it keeps you nimble and reduces the pounding your legs take – but it does take more energy and time to navigate.  One wrong footing and you might twist an ankle or end up in a ditch or both.  Additionally, knowing that we needed to run at least 26 K to catch up with the training schedule, I didn’t want to push myself too hard too early in case I ran out of energy.  All this added up to a slow pace – 7:50 min/K – and even that felt enormously draining.

Kilometres 18-22 seemed to be in alternate dimension where time passed infinitely slower and limbs were inexplicably heavier.  Minutes and hedgerows would pass by but the gauge on my GPS watch would report that we’d only gone an additional 300 metres, if that.

We reach, finally, 21.1 K, the point where each additional step is now officially my longest run, the furthest I’ve ever run ever – it was a bit anticlimactic.  There were no fanfares or drum rolls – just miles of countryside between me and lunch.

Surprisingly, the run did get noticeably easier after 22 K.  I can see my pace increased and I know I felt a lot better.  We stopped at 27 K but honestly, I kind of wanted and felt like I could have gone further – Just as well, next week is the Earth’s Trust 10 K and we plan to run 22.2 K BEFORE attempting it.

Week 9: Total mileage for the week was 41.5 K (25.7 miles), total running time was 5:13.

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.