The Three Tenners

I like ten mile races. 10 miles is just a nice, raceable distance. It allows you time to get into your running, it's long enough to play into my hands as an endurance specialist as opposed to a speed merchant, but it's not too long: just as you are starting to hurt and wish it was all over, it is indeed all over! Racing half marathons is hard, in fact, it's probably the distance I have mastered the least well of all the major distances. It feels like it should be run fast simply because it is half the distance of a marathon, and yet, invariably, from approximately 9 miles in, it becomes a survival game and you feel as though you just trying to hang on. Also, the fact that it was a half marathon (the Exeter Half in February 2013) that started off my spell of injuries probably doesn't help to endear me to its cause. A 10 miler is manageable, enjoyable and doesn't leave you broken and in need of several recovery days after. I like it.

With that in mind, I have decided to make this distance my main focus for 2015 with a view to using a series of 10 mile races as a springboard for an Autumn half-marathon. This is easier said than done as there are actually very few opportunities to race this distance, particularly in the South West. Devon's one big 10 mile race, the Plymouth Hoe 10, was axed last year due to increasing difficulties in obtaining approval for road races at an affordable cost. Cornwall and Dorset don't seem to have such a problem with this, but in Devon, for some reason, good quality road races are few and far between and multi-terrain events, invariably licenced through ARC as opposed to UKA (now, there's another blog post in itself!) are taking their place. I have nothing against a good trail race – I love them! - but I would rather they were not at the expense of good quality road events. Choice and variety is a good thing!

I therefore jumped at the chance to run a new 10 mile race whilst on a Valentine's weekend mini-break in the New Forest. The Lytchett Manor 10 took place on February 14th and so I lovingly dragged an ever-tolerant Matt along as chief bag-holder, calmer-downerer and supporter, and left him hanging about in the cold for an hour whilst I raced 10 miles on an undulating route around the Dorset countryside: if that ain't love and devotion, I don't know what is!

My main concern for this race was that my left leg would hold up okay. February has become my “nemesis month”... well, one of two nemesis months, the other one being June. For the past two years, since February 2013, I have torn my left calf at clock-work intervals, every February and every June, four times in total. I was determined to get through this February without a repetition of that to reassure me that I am now on top of the problem and finally progressing again with my running. After forking out well over £1000 this past year on physios, podiatrists and on orthotics, I should bloody well hope to be!

The Lytchett 10 race was celebrating its 25th anniversary and, in order to mark it and try and assemble a really strong field, they invited all the previous male and female race winners back, offering them free entry to this year's event. I did not know this until after the race, and just as well, as it would have made me unnecessarily stressed about over doing things and getting caught up in racing all these other ladies when I should really be running my own race. It's totally ridiculous, but I have to admit to studying published entry lists prior to race day and pre-calculating my likely finish position based upon whose names appear on the list! Due to my chronic lack of self-confidence, my calculation is usually several places lower than where I eventually end up, but I still go through this tired routine before most races. That's why it's also nice to race out of the county, because you don't always know the other names and faces and so that takes the pressure off somewhat. And yes, I know it shouldn't always be about placings; it should be about racing yourself, racing the clock, and being satisfied with your own performance, etc etc, but I am ridiculously competitive and so it is hard to quash that racing mindset!

My aim for this race was to try and run a consistent effort that delivered me at the finish line in one piece, feeling as though I could go on for another couple of miles if I needed to. This meant allowing other women to go off if they started at a pace I didn't feel comfortable with, even if it meant that I may not be able to reel them back in later: easier said than done, remembering my competitive mentality! It was an impossible race to pace off the garmin as the hill profile was all over the place! Undulating would be a slight understatement; mildly hilly, with 700ft of climb over the 10 miles, would be a more fitting description. So I decided to base my run on perceived effort, and, with miles 1 – 5 being a constant uphill grind, that perceived effort level was mighty high and the pace, mighty slow in the first half of the race! I did, however, manage to work my way through the field, picking off several men and three women as I went. I was rapidly closing in on 2nd place in the last 2 miles, but just ran out of room and finished 3rd in a time of 65:25. This was only 1m20s slower than my PB, set on a much flatter course, so better than I could have hoped for considering I haven't been doing any form of speed work or even running any farther than 10 miles at a time in training. Onwards and upwards from here!

Upwards being a rather apt description, considering what I was about to face on my next ten mile race just one week later. This one was in fact a multi-terrain race, the Dalwood 3 Hills Challenge. It was one of the first races I ever did and my first ever race as an Exmouth Harrier, back in February 2011. I remember it well at the time as it was the first race that managed to reduce me to a walk in places! 3 hills doesn't sound much (and it is in fact 3.5 hills!), not compared to the 10 hills in 10 miles that the Full Montycute 10 boasts, but these hills are beasts! 1500Ft of climbing over the ten miles: half the height of Snowdon! The second two hills in particular go on and on and on.... or maybe they seem to be worse as you are knackered by then. This year some of the worst weather conditions I have had the displeasure to race in – freezing cold, driving rain, howling wind, swollen river levels etc – were thrown into the mix, and the race really did live up to its name of being a challenge. 

It's a classic Axe Valley Runners low-key affair, in which the benign nature of the picturesque Devonshire village setting, with its snowdrop-framed village hall HQ, bursting at the seems with jolly locals offering you good priced tea, cakes and soup, beguiles an absolute brute of a course. Talk on the start line seemed to follow a common theme: “Last time I did this race I told myself never again. What am I doing here?” Mud, mud a plenty, combined with knee-deep puddles – some of which still had an icy crust on them that you had to break through as you ran – jagged rocky trails, and 4 river crossings make this race far from benign. Oh, and I also still had the lingering remnants of a cold I picked up the previous week to deal with. I know, I know, I said I wouldn't run in future with a cold, let alone race, let alone let alone (?) race a race like this in these wintry conditions. I knew it wasn't a great idea when, approximately half way in, I went to thank a marshall and all that emerged from my mouth was a pathetic squeak. From half way in, this race became something of a survival game. My hands were numb with the cold – I stupidly hadn't worn gloves – and were bright red and badly swollen; I made a good call to remove my precious engagement ring before the race as they were so swollen by the end, it would have likely been reducing my circulation. I dug in to finish as second lady but it was far from being one of my best performances. I finished it cold, wet, knackered, and talking with a croak. The cold I picked up on the weekend of the Lytchett race returned with a vengeance – surprise, surprise – and is till with me now, 5 weeks later. Herein surely lies a coded message: DO NOT RACE WHEN ILL.

4 miles into the Dalwood 3 Hills Challenge, still level with Helen at this point, but she went on to annihilate me in the second half of the race!

One of 4 ice cold river crossings at Dalwood.

My bling for finishing second: champagne, crystal champagne flutes with Swarawski crystals, and a trophy that I was told to have my photo taken with and then had straight back!

With that in the mind, and with the thought that I might quite like to be cough and snivel free this side of summer, I have decided not to run the third 10 mile race I had put in for, which is the Granite Way 10, due to take place this Sunday. Yes, it's annoying as it's a club championship race and it represented a rare opportunity locally to set a new 10 mile PB. Had I not been ill and in my present form, I estimate I would have run between 62:30 and 63 minutes; but, as I keep trying to tell myself, no one race is ever worth making yourself ill for. In myself I feel fine, and I can train, but pushing myself for an hour in a race whilst simultaneously coughing up half the contents of my lungs will do nothing to help my cause. There will be other 10 mile races and other opportunities to set PBs, but only if I am well. I am taking courage from the fact that I can actually be sensible and have seemingly learned not to fly in the face of age old wisdom by thinking that the rules of Joe Public just do not apply to me. This is progress; maybe not progress in the running performance sense, but that will follow later.... hopefully!

... to the heart of the matter

Heart problems and long distance running are somewhat uncomfortable and yet seemingly increasingly frequent bedfellows. I have decided to broach this topic on my blog now as, for several reasons, it is one that has recently become quite pertinent for both myself and for many other members of the South West running community.

An extremely talented ultra runner, based in my home town of St. Austell, Cornwall, tragically and unexpectedly passed away two weeks ago. I would like to stress that the cause of his death has NOT as yet been confirmed, but there has been much speculation amongst his friends and fellow runners that it could have been heart related. It is not difficult to see why people might come to that conclusion, following recently published findings about the relationship between high mileage training and heart problems, as this man regularly put in 100+ mile training weeks, often running 70 miles every weekend, and had done so for many years. The effects of running high mileage on weakening the heart muscle over time are now well documented; the scary thing is that, invariably, it is a sudden and silent killer that gives no pre-warning as to when it will strike and the first and only warning is that the heart spectacularly gives up. Sometimes pre-existing heart conditions are at the root of sudden heart failure, but not always. Sometimes the heart can become damaged as a result of what we ask of it.

Another runner I knew, who was a member of my one-time second claim club, the Teignbridge Trotters, passed away last summer due to a sudden, massive heart attack whilst out on a regular 10 mile club run. He was a fit man, who took care of himself, participating in triathlons, duathlons and marathons, and so did not present himself as your classic coronary candidate.  

Thirdly, and I have already mentioned this, way back in a previous blog post in December 2013, there is the case of another talented runner from Wells City Harriers. This guy had represented GB at races and, in his latter years in the sport, had dared to venture into the murky waters of ultra running. Fortunately for him, his problem was diagnosed before it led to a life-threatening event; unfortunately for him, he was told he can never run again as the risk is just too great.

These are three runners who were all fairly local and who I know personally, having trained or raced with them. They all looked after their bodies and did not lead over-indulgent life styles that were prone to excess.... the only excess in their lives was running. In the case of the third athlete, from Wells, I remember heeding his situation as a warming at the time as he had explained in an interview that his condition had likely been brought on by continuing to train through coughs and colds: something of which I am extremely guilty. I knowingly ran the 2011 Snowdonia Marathon whilst on antibiotics for a urinary tract infection. Result? I came third.... and a week later, for my efforts, I found myself in a high dependency cubicle in Yeovil Hospital, hooked up to an antibiotic drip, fighting off a severe kidney infection. It took me the best part of a month to recover from this, having to take 3 weeks off work and it was a long time before I had sufficient energy to run again. In March 2012 I had been training hard to target a sub 3 hour marathon and I aimed to try and improve my half marathon time along the way and defend my title at the Yeovil Half Marathon. The day before the race I got struck by the dreaded norro virus. This was horrendous and I would not wish it on my worst enemy. I spent the entire night being violently sick at 10 minute intervals, got no sleep, couldn’t even keep a sip of water down.... and yet, the next morning, I dragged myself out of bed, head whirring and pounding, seriously contemplating still doing the race. It was only when I nearly passed out through exhaustion whilst simply trying to assemble my running kit that I realised I was being a tad unrealistic. Go figure! However, I still ran the Taunton Marathon just 7 days later, and 7lbs lighter, still not having regained a full appetite and having spent the week trying to force Build Up drinks and soups down my throat. I did get my sub 3hr, just, but it was a massive risk.

Since then, I have tried to be good to my body, to “listen to it”, and to back off when I am feeling the effects of a cough, cold or virus. That said, I’m not the most patient of people and I invariably resume  training after a maximum of two days rest, regardless of whether the illness has left my system or not. However, I got a rather stern wake-up call recently and, now that I know everything is okay and I have had the all clear, I feel able to talk about it, in the hope that it may prevent others from being as idiotic as I have been. You’d think that being hospitalised for a severe kidney infection brought on by my own refusal to respond to the crystal clear warning signs my body was giving me when it was screaming at me to back the hell off and let it rest would have been warning enough, right? Apparently not for me. I seem to operate according to my own peculiar, erroneous set of rules; rules which show a total disregard for commonsense and which, at times, tend towards the masochistic and self-annihilating.

In my last blog entry I mentioned an “incident” (as it was tactfully referred to in the SWRR committee meeting minutes!) that befell me whilst out on a club run with my new club, South West Road Runners, in November. I did not know it at the time, but I was actually coming down with glandular fever. What I did know at the time was that I did not feel well and had not felt well for several days, but I had continued to train through it regardless, accusing myself of being lazy for not feeling like going out and of being pathetic for feeling the cold and shivering so much. The result was that I keeled over approximately 4 miles into an 8 mile club run, causing much worry and hassle for my fellow club runners, not to mention for my fiancé, Matt, and much embarrassment for myself. What I did not make public is that, as a result of a little visit to hospital following that “incident”, it was discovered that I have a heart murmur. You can either be born with a heart murmur, and these generally tend to be quite harmless, or you can develop one in later life, which can be more worrying. Reasons for developing a heart murmur can include – but are not limited to – prolonged periods of starvation and/or continuing to exercise through illness; both of which I am guilty. A rather worrisome time passed before I got an appointment to have the murmur checked out, during which I agonised over whether mine would be of the ‘harmless’ variety or of the ‘go to jail, proceed directly to jail; do not pass go, do not collect £200’ variety, whereby you are told that you are a heart-attack waiting to happen and that you have to stop all forms of strenuous exercise immediately. You can well imagine the thought processes that raged through my mind at the contemplation of this latter. I can now thankfully say that I have had my open access echo done and that all is well. I have a harmless murmur that has settled down considerably now that I have recovered from the glandular fever. The doctor explained that often, with people who are extremely fit, the heart pumps at a much higher pressure and, if it comes under extra stress – for example, when you are fighting an illness – this pressure increases all the more and manifests itself in harmless flow noises. For once in my life, I was damn grateful to be told that my case was devoid of excitement and that, as a medical specimen, I was quite quite dull!

Nevertheless, the episode was yet another reminder of how fragile the body can be and so, if I choose to ignore this one, I would quite frankly be an idiot. Ignoring it would also add an element of futility to the situations of the three people I have referred to above, who have not been as lucky as me, so I owe it to them to take heed of the warning. Being so content and settled with Matt has shown me that running is not the be all and end all and it is certainly NOT worth risking your health and happiness over. Yes, it can and does make you healthy, and certainly for me it has helped me to arrive at the healthiest place in both mind and body that I have yet experienced during adulthood, but it’s like everything in life: you can definitely have too much of a good thing. I am finally starting to learn that moderation is the key and that moderation does not equate to mediocrity: that dispiriting state of being that I have strived so hard to avoid all my life!  

2015 has started well. I am healthy, happy and, dare I say it, injury free. I am finally starting to put some good training together and, just this afternoon, I have sat down with my coach and started to make plans for the rest of the year and into 2016. This scares me somewhat as, in the past, every time I have made plans I have subsequently got injured. However, I think that I now have 4 years of running knowledge, in addition to knowledge of my own body, to draw upon. I now have a better understanding of what works for me and what I really need to avoid. I just have to be sensible and stick to my plans, not getting led astray by the suggestions of others. It can be hard sometimes to say no to things, as you feel like you are letting people down: my club mates who might like me to form part of a team for a race that does not fit in with my schedule, my Dad who would rather I only target races in picturesque, quaint Devonshire villages where good bacon butties and cheap cups of tea are on offer! You can never please everyone. I need to learn that the person I need to please with my running is myself and keep focussing on that!

And now to close on a high with a few pictures from recent races:

Wellington Monument 10k, 21st December (hilly!): 2nd lady in 40:59.

Stoke Stampede 10k, 28th December: 2nd lady in 38:42.

First Chance 10k, 18th January (windy!): 3rd lady in 38:42.

Fulford 5 mile, 1st February: 2nd lady, just losing out to Serane Stone of Tiverton Harriers in a sprint finish, but we got given the same time of 30:35. Good race!

Why run?

Below is a copy of a blog post I wrote for the running website, City-runs.co.uk. Enjoy!


It is common, on the 1st of January, to make new year's resolutions. People may resolve to drink less, eat more healthily, do more exercise, etc. For some, this can lead to discovering a new sport, such as running. For me, my love affair with running did not start in this way, but the arrival of another new year with new running goals to be set and personal targets to be met has got me wondering, why run?

I quiver in horror at the recollection of secondary school athletics. I remember finishing in the top 5 in my year group at cross country every year and this endowed me with the dubious honour of being selected to represent the school at various cross country and track and field events throughout the year. The memory of lining up in sub-zero degree temperatures, on a bitter winter's morning, in an exposed muddy field at St. Austell Rugby Club, clad only in a pair of briefs and a crop top, and being made to run multiple laps to the sing-song chorus of hundreds of pushy parents cheering on their offspring, has been etched into my mind for all eternity. Even back then, my talents must have lay in the longer distance events – much to my annoyance – as I was invariably picked for the 800m and 1500m races in the summer. I hated them! My best friend, Shanna, was a sprinter, and I used to be envious that her discomfort was over after a 14 or so second burst, whereas mine went on for up to 5 minutes! I recall, on more than one occasion, arriving at Carn Brea or Newquay and Par athletics track and spinning a yarn to my PE teacher that I felt sick in order to duck out of competing. So, how did I get from being someone with a modicum of fitness and aptitude for running and yet a complete loathing and fear of doing it competitively, to someone who simply cannot get enough of it and who readily embraces the associated pain of pushing her body to the limit in a race? It's an interesting question and one which I am not sure I have an answer for.

I know that I spent most of my teenage years using and abusing running as a part of an unhealthy exercise and weight loss obsession, and thus, as a result, grew to hate it even more. Running became something that I had to do in order to justify eating. I would run (outside, if the weather wasn't too atrocious, or else up and down my staircase for hours on end if it was) morning, afternoon and evening. If I missed a session, I would panic that my fitness would suddenly and dramatically plummet and that I would turn into a lazy, loafing layabout with no self-discipline, and would then have to double my routine the next day. There was certainly no such thing as a “rest day”. When I finally managed to free myself from this obsessive routine, the last thing I felt like doing was signing up to a sport that might reignite the same compulsive behaviours. I did go for the occasional jog or run on the treadmill at the gym to keep fit, but my main sport during my university years was horse riding. However, not having taken this up until my twenties, risk awareness and a resulting lack of nerve always held me back from achieving what I might have done had I taken up the sport as a fearless youngster. I dabbled with many sports throughout my childhood and teenage years but invariably quit after a few short years, finding myself in some way unsuited to them: ballet (not graceful enough), tennis (not coordinated enough), swimming (not buoyant enough), and yoga (not “zen” enough). Running is the only sport I have found that I feel so strongly about, I cannot imagine getting bored of it. The reason for this, I believe, is because it suits my personality; running and I just 'go'. I am mentally tough enough for it, I am dedicated enough for it, and it doesn't require me to be elegant and graceful and poised. It does, however, require an element of patience, and my lack of this commodity has thus far been my downfall. It is my impatient want-it-all-now-right-now personality that has led to me having experienced a string of injuries the past couple of years. When I fixate upon something, I want to achieve it as soon as possible. No biding my time, no chipping away at it slowly, methodically working towards a long-term end goal.

In May 2010, I decided I wanted to run a marathon. I was 26 years old, living in North Wales, and the 26.2 mile Anglesey Marathon was due to take place on 26th September: it seemed like an omen. I signed up, threw myself headlong into training and I ran the marathon 4 months later in 3 hours 19 minutes. I was worried beforehand that I would come last, that everyone would be waiting for me, and that it would be hugely embarrassing. As it was, I finished as 2nd lady, it had felt quite comfortable, and I was convinced that, with more training, I could go faster, further. Whilst my legs were still like jelly and the post-marathon euphoria was still coursing through my veins, I signed up for an ultra-marathon. I was hooked.

After my first marathon on Anglesey, 26th September 2010: the start of my running journey. Colin Jackson was the patron of the event, he officially started it and presented the prizes every year.

It is now widely recognised that regular exercise makes you feel more positive, No scientific mysteries here: exercise releases endorphins and endorphins are hormones that make us feel happy. Simples. I know that since taking up running I am the happiest I have ever been. I have more energy and more motivation towards life in general. I feel more confident as a person: after a good run I regularly feel as tough I could take on the world and emerge victorious (I would say that anyone who has completed an ultra-marathon will have experienced this feeling to an extent!) There is something about running marathons and ultras, and achieving times in 5ks and 10ks that most of the non-running population could not even comprehend, that entitles you to feel just a little bit smug and superior. I can vaguely recall my reaction, during my pre-running days, when someone told me they had run a marathon –  A marathon! 26 miles? (“26.2 miles”). Are you insane?! Why? – but now I get it. Now I get the lady who lived down the road from us when I was growing up in Cornwall, who I'd see out running almost every day, in almost every weather; at whom my parents would scoff, insisting that she must have “issues” as no sane person should willingly put themselves through that on a daily basis. This was the eighties, and whilst the running boom had hit the male population in earnest, women who participated seriously in the sport were still a rare commodity. (Not forgetting that the first time women were allowed to run the marathon distance at the Olympics was not until 1984, in Los Angeles). I was born in 1983: things have come a long way for females in the sport since then. Nowadays, on occasion, women even outrun men, particularly in ultra-distance events in which our testosterone-devoid, more measured approach to racing and pacing regularly pays dividends. Furthermore, luminous yellow and pink lycra clad ladies are now a regular sight, pounding pavements the length and breath of the country, come rain, come shine. I am proud to be one of these women and proud to be a part of such a friendly, supportive, all-inclusive sport.

I cannot, at this time, envisage a life without running. I know that when I am injured or ill and cannot run, I stress more; I worry about silly little things: Did I lock the front door when I left the house this morning? (yes, always do). Did I leave my watch behind in the locker at the pool? (Oh, wait, it's here on my wrist). Will I make it to work without filling up with petrol? (Easily; I have a quarter of a tank left). Running definitely balances me. I will never be sufficiently “zen” to reap the benefits of a yoga class (I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking, upon emerging from the class, 'well, that's an hour of my life I'll never get back'), but, so long as I can run, I am as close to zen as I am ever likely to get!

So, if I were to push myself to answer the question 'why run?', I suppose it would be because I cannot imagine what I would do with myself or what I would be like if I didn't run. Running and me are now intertwined; impossible for me to extricate myself from it without losing a part of me in the process. Running is me, I am running. But that is me: why do you run? Why should anyone run? Indeed, why run?

Slogging up the 10th hill (of 10) at the Full Montycute 10 race, December 2014. Four years on from taking up running and still loving it. There isn't another sport in the world I'd rather be doing!

In sickness and in health

I like the titles of my blog posts to have a duplicity of meanings and this one certainly does not disappoint. The most obvious reference, and the most negative one, is to me having spent most of November ill with glandular fever. A more positive spin on the title is that it represents the words you utter during a marriage ceremony, which is quite befitting given that Matt and I just got engaged at the end of October and are currently planning our wedding for July next year.

I wasn’t feeling great before half term, in October. If I had rested early on, I’d probably be fine now. But I didn’t. I carried on training and racing through it. Since then I have picked up cold after cold after cold; four of them, in as many weeks. I know the sage advice is to rest when you are ill, and I do try, but I have to confess that my patience for resting starts to wear thin after day two of doing nothing. I didn’t feel great when I ran the Templer 10 and after doing it I got much worse: crazy huh?! Who’d’a thought that racing 10 miles on a head-cold doesn’t top the list of the best recommended cold and flu remedies?! I started to improve after a week, no doubt because I was forced to take it easy as my legs were so wrecked, but then, a few days later, I got yet another cold and just in time for the Drogo – terrific. Flying in the face of wisdom, I decided to run the Drogo on this cold. Even as I type this I can see my mistakes; I can hear myself telling other people in my position to listen to their bodies, to rest, not to race etc. I do tell myself the same stuff; the problem is, in the next breath, I sooth myself with flattering unctions in order to believe that it will be alright: it’s just a snivel; hell, if I back off every time I don’t feel 100% I’ll never run; I’m tougher than this; staying in bed with a Lemsip and day-time TV is for lesser mortals. Back and forth, back and forth, this internal debate rages in my head. Do I run? Don’t I? It nearly always ends up being the former. 

Unfortunately, and much to my annoyance, in the end, the body always gets its own way. If I keep trying to placate it with pseudo promises of rest that are never delivered, it eventually wizens up to this and realises that if it wants the rest, it will have to do something drastic to ensure it gets it. It is around about this point that my body tends to give up on me, in an alarmingly spectacular fashion: ‘screw you; I ain’t takin’ any more of this crap’. It did it to me after the Snowdonia Marathon, which I decided to run whilst on antibiotics for a urinary tract infection. Its way of paying me back for this particular bout of abuse was to turn this into a full-blown kidney infection that landed me in Yeovil hospital on a drip for four days. This time, its revenge for making it run with glandular fever was to make me go ‘splat’ whilst out on a club run; an evening which also culminated in a little trip to the hospital. I must add in here that I don’t go out of my way to inflict abuse on my body like this; I’m not a masochist! I didn’t know I was suffering with glandular fever when I decided to run. I thought I was just a little "under the weather", and other such platitudes. Just a soppy-southerner who always feels the cold. I genuinely believe, every time, that I’ll be alright and that I can get away with it. I am invariably shocked to discover that, actually, I’m not as invincible as I might like to think. In all seriousness, I’d like to say a huge thanks to the SWRR 8m/m group who looked after me so well, particularly to John and Jim who stayed with me. I was lucky it happened when I was out with them and not up on Haldon on my own, in the dark, with a head torch. That could have ended very differently…

The past few days I have finally started to feel better. I’ve managed to get through the day without needing to put the heat on in the house – a miracle in itself! I’m not needing to go to bed at 8pm and have 12 hours sleep simply in order to function the next day. I’ve got more energy; I’m looking slightly less like a walking-talking corpse. It’s all good. NOW is the time I need to be careful. NOW is the time I risk starting to overdo things again. The internal debate – ‘you still need to take it easy; if you want to have a successful 2015, you need to rest now’ versus ‘you lazy sod, you haven’t trained properly for weeks; how are you going to hope to be competitive in the races you’ve planned for the New Year by loafing about on the sofa swilling tea all day? Get your arse out there’ – has started in earnest. To try and assuage the guilt that comes with being on light training, I have deleted myself from Strava. That site might be good for a lot of things but it isn’t good for an ill or injured and yet still fiercely competitive runner who needs no encouragement to overstep their limits. I don’t need to know that my rivals are putting in 70 mile weeks, including intervals, hills and tempo sessions right now. I need to do my own thing and not be influenced by any external forces: my internal forces are virulent enough!

I am trying to stay positive through all of this. At least I’m not injured. I have a wonderful new fiancé and our wedding to plan; a lovely new house to make into our ideal home; a big family Christmas to look forward to and a lot of good friends around me. I have much to be thankful for. I will get better, and sooner rather than later if I am sensible. Can I be sensible? I can but try.

No running pics this time round, just a happy memory: Matt and I on the cliffs in Cornwall, just after we got engaged. :-)

Getting back on the horse!

It’s been a long while – by my standards – since I last raced. I’ve been doing parkruns a plenty as they are a fun, pressure free, yet motivating way to get in a tempo run and to measure my fitness… or, rather, current lack of it. Due to my recent string of injuries and the resultant drop in fitness due to interrupted training, my appetite and nerve for racing have somewhat deserted me. Sometimes, though, you just have to take a deep breath and get back on the horse: feel the fear and do it anyway! (And I say this as a former horse-owner, addict and general equestrian nut who has taken her fair share of tumbles!)

If you are going to get back on the horse, it might as well be a horse that you like and know well. On this occasional my horse was the Templer 10 – an event I love and in which I have participated more than any other race. It is a scenic, 9.5 mile, flat off-road route along the Templer Way and through Stover Country Park and Hackney Marshes nature reserve. Having won it the two previous years, the pressure was most definitely on for me to perform again this year. That said, winning it the previous year had granted me a free entry to this year’s race, so at least that took the financial pressure off: if I had a disastrous race, at least I wouldn’t have to pay for the privilege and could look upon it as a free training run.

This was another Teignbridge Trotters organised race: always well staged events that usually culminate in top quality cakes and refreshments! The last time I raced properly was also at one of their races – the Totnes 10k in August – and that did not go so well. Again here, I had a free entry so I thought I might as well give it a go, but having had a month off with no running to rest my posterior tibial tendon, I had lost masses of fitness. So I wasn’t exactly expecting a scintillating performance, but neither was I expecting the whole thing to be a game of survival from about one mile in until the finish. The impromptu fartlek burst about 2 miles in, to escape a herd of stampeding cows, pretty much finished me off and I puffed and wheezed my way around the rest, actually being reduced to a walk in the uphill wooded section. I eventually dragged my out-of-condition body over the finish line 5 minutes slower than last year’s time and several places lower, to the sound of the finish line announcer trying his best not to sound patronising and referring to it as ‘a brave effort’. Not my finest hour and a definite confidence knock.

Struggling already, barely 1 mile into the Totnes 10k in August 2014

Since Totnes I have got my head down and got back on the training waggon. I am only now up to 25 miles per week, and haven’t touched any speed work or structured intervals yet, but I have been cross training hard and swimming a lot. I have recently joined the Exeter Triathlon Club and have benefitted from some proper coached sessions to improve my technique and breathing pattern, which I’m sure will help me with my running. Running-wise, I’ve been hitting the trails at Haldon Forest on the way home from work a couple of nights a week. That place is a labyrinth of narrow, twisty, technical trails and wider, straighter, compacted forest access tracks. You could easily fit 15 miles in without retracing your steps and it has options for a totally flat run, if you stay up on the ridge, or a mega hill that is 1 mile long if you drop down to the base of the forest. This will probably be my last week of being able to run in the light after work, but fortunately I have got to know it well enough to feel confident navigating a route in the dark, so I think the head torch will be making an appearance soon.

Back with the Templer 10 though, and I loved it! I have always liked this race, it’s just the perfect mixture of different terrains and scenery, which makes it go really quickly. My time was down on last year, to be expected, but I was utterly amazed, given the strong line-up in the ladies race, to come away with another win. I knew I had some strong ladies behind me and I don’t have any endurance to fall back on at the moment. We also managed to retain our Harriers’ team prize for a consecutive year, which was an added bonus. I had told myself that if Templer went ok and my legs came off it ok, I would run the Drogo. Unfortunately, between times, I picked up a stinking cold that was still bothering me on race day and so I had a dilemma as to whether or not to run. In the end, I decided to give it a go as it was actually quite comforting to know that if it went badly, I had an excuse to fall back on!

Start of the Templer 10, in Kingsteignton.

Tackling one of the many wishing gates on route, no time to make a wish as I went through!

Another 10 mile multi-terrain race, but, unlike the flat terrain of the Templer 10, Drogo is hills, hills, hills. 3 of them, all whoppers! 1800ft of climbing in total along uneven, stony and, this year especially, very wet and muddy tracks around the Teign Valley, starting and finishing at Castle Drogo. The start of this race always scares me as it’s a mad dash up the drive to get a good position, then try and hold onto it down a seriously steep set of steps, hoping that you don’t get shoved from behind by the lunatic fell-runner types who throw themselves down past you, hurtling down to the valley floor. If you don’t start fast you end up getting stuck in a queue for the bridge over the river 1.5 miles in; however, this doesn’t play to my strengths – I prefer to start steady and work my way through, but as the opening 2 miles are so narrow, this is not possible and you would struggle to make up all the time lost whilst waiting to cross the bridge.

Flagging and full of cold, having just climbed the final killer hill - Hunter's path - at the Drogo.

It was a pretty close race on the ladies side, with a competitive line up. The positions chopped and changed from the start. I was jostling for 3^rd and 4^th place for most of the way, overtaking a girl on the uphill climbs, only to be overtaken by her on the descents: she was fearless on the downhill and descending has never been my strong suit. Then, on the long flat stretch back along the river between mile’s 6 and 8, I managed to overtake her and another woman and made my way up to 2^nd. However, the last hill – Hunter’s Path – is a killer at the best of times, but especially so when you don’t have the miles in your legs (I have only been running 6 – 8 miles on training runs and Templer 10 was the only time I’ve been over 8 since June!). Today, what with feeling a bit under the weather anyway, I was a spent force by the time I got to this point; I got overtaken by a fast-finishing female from Haldon Trail Runners and had no way of hanging onto her: back down into 3^rd again! I had to dig very deep into my mental reserves to retain my podium place, just managing to hang on in there to cross a very welcome finish line! So, no, I didn’t win it – despite being given race number ‘1’ by the organiser (the ultimate kiss of death!), and yes, I was slower than the last time I ran it in 2012, but only a minute slower, so maybe the situation is nowhere near as disastrous as I thought. And once again, as at Templer, us Harriers ladies won the female team prize - smiles all round!

With my fellow winning Harriers teamies and our prizes. :-)

The best thing is that my legs have come off the race unscathed. Well, no, quite so; I have been experiencing that familiar and much-missed feeling of DOMS these past few days, on a truly epic scale. I guess without the miles in my legs to withstand it, those hills took their toll! But it’s a nice feeling and good to have it back: up until now my injuries have put a limit on me actually pushing the rest of my body to the point that DOMS is able to set in. It was nice to stretch out in bed on Sunday night with that satisfying feeling of having done something.

So, what now? Well, I have another hilly, off-road race coming up in December – it’s a new one for me and that comes with the advantage of there being no expectations on myself. Well, no, correction: no expectations in terms of a time; I would, of course, still like to podium if possible! And then, thinking ahead to 2015, I have a couple of races booked in, a 10k and a 10 mile. My main aim for next year though is to be ready to run a marathon again by the autumn, so lots of long, slow distance stuff over the coming months to get the miles back into the legs and to try to get them to the point that a marathon is a reasonable ask of them again…. like it used to be!

Going cold turkey!

‘No running for 6 weeks’. The words reverberated mockingly against the 4 walls of the stark white tiny treatment room I was sat in at Ocean Physio. Ok, a touch melodramatic, but if you knew me and my complex relationship of dependency with running, you’d know that it is vastly akin to that which a desperate addict shares with his drugs. Running is my drug and I need my regular fix, so hearing that I would have to go cold turkey for 6 weeks is not what I wanted (or, indeed, expected) to hear. I had hoped that I was going there to be fitted with a pair of orthotics and so, whilst not expecting them to be a miracle panacea of a cure straightaway, I thought I would at least be able to resume very light training as I slowly get accustomed to them. Nope. No running. At all. For six weeks. Why does it feel like a life sentence?

Yes, I’ll admit, I do have a tendency towards the histrionics sometimes, and yes, I know the situation could be far far worse. In reality, I am lucky that I have never had to stop running completely for this long before. Maybe if I had, if I had rested previous injuries properly instead of trying to run through them, then I wouldn’t be in this situation now. Maybe if I had succumbed to the lure of the eerie and artificial underworld of the orthotic earlier then I would be running pain free and putting together some consistent training right now. Maybe maybe maybe. But I am not and I could not have timed it any worse to be ‘signed off’ running for 6 weeks: the start of the summer holidays. The 6 week period of the year in which I have all the time in the world to run in the sun, which I love. No, for me it’s now six weeks of being stuck inside a gym, working my merry way through yet another sodding strength and conditioning programme. Terrific.

Ok. That’s enough sulking and navel-gazing. Time to focus on the positives. I think (hope!) I finally have an accurate diagnosis of what’s been causing all the issues with my lower left leg. I have been prescribed a pair of orthotics which should help. I have been given a detailed strengthening and stretching programme to improve the flexibility of my calves and ankles. If I commit to this, and it is a big commitment (the stretching programme takes 15 minutes to complete and must be done five times every day for the next 6 weeks), then I will hopefully see lasting results and prevent a recurrence of any lower limb injury. If it doesn’t work, if I do all this and then, 6 months down the line I get injured again, I think I may have to target golf as my next hope for making Rio 2016! My 24 strokes over par round of my local pitch and putt course the other night showed great promise and lifted this from being a nebulous notion to a plausible plan. ;-)

Whilst I hate the gym, I am at least lucky in the sense that I have the free use of a very impressive one at the school in which I work. For 2 hours before school and 2 hours after, the gym is exclusively available for staff to use but, usually, I am the only person who takes this up. Three of us in there at once is the most crowded I have seen it yet! It’s a fabulous facility, full of all the cardio and resistance equipment I need, and, unlike at my own gym, for which I pay £30 a month, I do not need to limit myself to just 15 minutes on the c.v. equipment, which is barely a warm up for me! So I shall throw myself, with a fervour particular to fools, into my prescribed regime, and much good may it do me!

          The fabulous gym at my work that I can train in before and after school each day. 

I would like to thank Teignmouth Community School for allowing me to use this amazing facility free of charge. 

Learning to love the cross-trainer!

CV, resistance and weight equipment galore and I am the only person in there!

The biggest downer is that I have a coveted place in one of my favourite all-time events – the Snowdon International Mountain Race – on July 19^th, at which I will be now registering yet another DNS. Highly annoying as this one cost £32 to enter and I have also had to take a few days unpaid leave from work to get up there in time for it. Ho hum, can’t be helped. I will have a terrific time in Llanberis anyway, catching up with all my old North Walian friends and doing lots of mountain walking instead…. at least I am allowed to walk I suppose. I guess I had better get used to life in the not-so-fast lane for a while!

I tri-ed...

On Sunday June 1st I took part in my first triathlon. I had been umm-ing and aah-ing about doing one for a while and kept putting it off, telling myself I don’t have the right kit, I haven’t done sufficient training on the bike, etc etc. In the end I figured that I was just excuse-mongering because I was nervous about venturing out of my comfort zone; so I decided to take the plunge, choose an event, sign up, then just man up and do it! So I entered the Total Buzz Events Taunton Triathlon, held at Taunton School. It was a sprint distance event, with a 400m pool swim, a supposed 20km bike ride, which got extended to 30k (18 miles) due to a last minute course change instigated by the organisers due to safety reasons, and a 5k run. I fully understand and respect the need to put safety first, but the added distance on what is already the longest discipline of the three did not play into my hands. Not that I’m a weak cyclist; I could probably hold my own against the opposition… given the right equipment! I feel this was a genuine and justified case for blaming the tools and not the work-man for a below-par performance! I was cycling on a basic hybrid model (one of about only 4 athletes not on a road bike!) and so, whilst my legs were turning ferociously at ten to the dozen, I was still unable to generate a speed anywhere near that of the road bikes and time-trial machines, with their light-weight carbon frames, sleek high-pressure tyres and aerodynamic handle-bar position. Basically, however hard I cycled, the amount of time I would lose over a 20k cycle, let alone 30k, far exceeds the time I could ever make up on a 5k run.

Nervous but excited: waiting to get underway on my first ever triathlon!

I had managed to get my 400m swim time down to about 8m10s in the time-trials I did myself in the pool and was hopeful that, with the added adrenaline on the day, I could lower this to 8 minutes. However, I was slowed slightly by sharing the lane with other swimmers and having to pull over twice to allow them to pass, and by a ridiculously shallow shallow-end (below knee height when standing, making it impossible to tumble-turn, difficult to pull a normal front crawl stroke without striking the bottom, and requiring an interesting twisting manoeuvre to turn yourself around without bashing your knees on the pool floor). This all resulted in the loss of a couple of seconds every other length and so I was actually quite pleased to see the time of 8:29 on my stop watch when I completed my 16 lengths and exited the pool towards the first transition (T1, to all you tri-techies!).

Swim done - heading for T1. 

Triathlon tip from a resourceful newbie: put fleecy lined slipper Crocs filled with talcum powder at the exit of the pool: by the time you run across to transition, your feet will be almost dry, clean and ready for your socks!

The transitions did worry me slightly. The sheer volume of kit you have to take with you to a triathlon is quite baffling to a newbie coming at it from a running background. For running races I arrive fully dressed and shod, ready to run, number pre-safety-pinned to my vest and there to remain for the duration of the run. The only other bits I would take are my inhaler and something warm and dry to put on after if it’s an inclement day. For my first triathlon, I arrived with a whole car full of kit crammed in the boot in the available pockets of space around the bike. This instantly flagged me up as a tri-virgin who had yet to invest in a rear-mounting bike-rack! Aside from the bike (pretty high up on the kit list in terms of essentials), I had my helmet, pump, puncture repair kit, water bottle, tri-belt (to attach the number), swim suit, goggles, socks, Crocs (to wear on exiting he pool), running trainers, which I also cycled in, but for those taking it really seriously, you really need separate bike shoes with cleats, sun glasses and a cycling jersey or tee-shirt, two towels (one to deposit in transition to dry your feet before the bike; the other to shower with after), and a whole new change of clothes for after the event. If it’s a cold day or an open-water swim, you can add wetsuit, waterproof cycling jacket and gloves to this list. In short, there’s a hell of a lot to remember, and this is before you even begin to memorise the various rules.

Faffing around in T1: I'm sure you get more efficient at this with practice!

When you enter the event, you’re sent a 5 page A4 document with instructions on it outlining all the triathlon dos and don’ts. You have to ensure that your bike is racked under your race number and all your kit is laid out alongside it, and not encroaching on the space of your neighbouring competitors, before transition closes at 8am. Oh, yeh, triathlons are also aimed at the early-riser types, of which I most certainly am not one! You need to familiarise yourself with the transition area as there are rules a plenty to observe here: ‘enter in this direction; exit in that direction’, ‘don’t mount your bike before the “bike mount” line’, ‘dismount before the dismount line’, ‘put your helmet on before touching your bike’, ‘rack your bike before removing your helmet’, ‘number showing on your back for the bike, on your front for the run’, and, my particular favourite, ‘no nudity in transition’. Not being the most body-confident of people, this last one wasn’t too difficult to observe! On paper, it all looks rather daunting, but on the day it all flowed quite well and the marshal that pointed out that I hadn’t swapped my number from back to front as I headed out on the run obviously recognised the wide-eyed triathlon newbie in me and was very polite about it!

The headless rider! Off out for a nice 30k bike ride :-)

The bike section was somewhat demoralising. The ‘whoooooooosh’ sound as another, invariably male, competitor zoomed past me on his lean, mean racing machine got a little bit tedious after a while. However, it wasn’t, as I had initially feared, a total embarrassment. Considering my rickety piece of kit, I actually did ok. I was by no means the slowest overall and I did comparatively well on the few inclines, even managing to overtake someone on one hill… for the one and only time on the 30k out-and-back course! Also, had there been a prize for the fastest person not on a road bike, I’m pretty damn sure it would have been mine! Nevertheless, I was still out on the course for 1h06m and so most of the competitors with similar swim times to me (which is how they rank you and get you to line up your bikes in the transition racks) were already back, so I struggled to find a space to park my bike back on the rack, nearly sending another competitor's expensive piece of kit flying... :-/ My time also put me way down on the leading female, and, with her also a strong runner and relatively strong swimmer, this meant I would have to do the 5k run in a world-record destroying time of 3 minutes to overhaul her: never gonna happen. Not that I should have even been thinking about placings on a debut attempt, for which I wasn't all that well prepared, but the competitive instinct in me doesn't just disappear because it's a different sport. Don't be daft!

In T2 and about to head out on the run. 

I had difficulty finding a park as I got overtaken by so many people on the bike phase, so all the people that started the swim around the time I did were back and parked up!

I was relieved when I got to the run section as all the technical parts were over: bike racked, helmet off and away I went, heading out to do what comes naturally to me: just putting one foot in front of the other, as fast as my legs and lungs would allow! Having done no brick training whatsoever, I wasn’t too sure how my legs would feel after the cycle, but the initial jelly-legged sensation experienced upon dismount from the bike soon worked itself out and I didn’t feel overly sluggish. I was pleased with my run, which I timed on my own watch at 18:35, but I have a sneaky feeling it didn’t measure a full 5k. Again, this did not play to my strengths: with the bike leg being over distance I could have used a long, not a short, 5k to make up for it.

Back in my comfort zone: on the 5k run.

I felt ever so slightly euphoric upon crossing the finish line: that much loved but, recently, much missed giddying feeling of satisfaction at having tested myself; at having “tri”ed my best and accomplished something new and unknown. I finished 7th female overall. First was way way out in front, but I was only 2 minutes slower than second, which was lost on the bike. Basically, if the bike leg had been the advertised 20k and not 30, I would likely have finished as runner-up, so I can't complain at all.

It was great to experience that buzz again (maybe that's why they call themselves 'Total Buzz Events'?!) that has been missing in my running for some time. It was a welcome change to take part in an event in which I had absolutely no preconceptions of how I would perform and so, no matter what I did, it would be a PB! With time passing steadily by since I took up running in 2010, and with the races (and the win count) notching themselves up, a routine established itself, resulting in an almost robotic ‘here we go again, time to perform’ approach to the sport. Feelings of excitement, anticipation and accomplishment have given way to expectation, apathy and apprehension. If I still felt as though I were moving forward with my running, perhaps I would feel differently; but with the past 18 months having been blighted by injuries and my running (both training and racing) has been dictated by what my left leg can cope with rather than what I would like to do and which goals I would like to accomplish. In short, running has become something of a chore, just something I do, when my body will allow, rather than a joy and something that I want to do.

Crossing the finish line of my first tri generated a buzz and natural high that I have not experienced with my running for some while now.

When I started out with running, I instantly knew that I preferred the endurance stuff than the eye-balls out, lung-busting short stuff. When you complete a marathon or an ultra you feel as though you’ve been on a journey and the post-event euphoria is immense. I just don’t get that from 5ks or 10ks, even if I run well and manage a PB. Other people have told me to bide my time for the longer races, that my legs are still unaccustomed to the distance and I am better off getting some speed into them now and then upping the distance slowly and shelving the longer races for now. I agree: that is the standard approach. You start out as a youngster on the track, doing 800m and 1500m races; then you graduate to the 5000m and 10’000m and start incorporating a few short road races, and then, 10 or so years later, you might do your first marathon. Superb, if you have risen up through the ranks from juniors, but I haven’t. I was forced to run cross country at school and was selected to represent my school at local level athletics because I had a modicum of fitness and was clearly not too bad at it, but I didn’t enjoy it and I didn’t continue with it. I then abused exercise for weight-loss from the age of 15 onwards and grew to hate it even more. It was only at the age of 26, when the idea casually popped into my head that I might like to run a marathon, that I took up running and training properly and actually started to enjoy heading out the door for a run, rather than having to force myself due to some misguided logic that because I hadn’t exercised since that same morning, I was becoming lazy and losing my fitness.

I guess what I am trying to say here is that I found my way to running because I wanted a personal challenge and, over the past year and a half, it has no longer been giving me that challenge. I have spent more time in the gym these past few months, trying to maintain my fitness, than I have actually outdoors, on the trails, running through the countryside. So, whilst I have absolutely no desire to redefine myself as a triathlete just yet, nor to invest in the hundreds of pounds of kit that the sport demands if you want to do it properly, it was lovely to have a go at something completely new and to experience that much-missed natural high that comes from pushing yourself, physically and mentally, to achieve your best. 7th female and 79th overall is a little lower down the pecking order than I would like, but it was far more satisfying than many of my running victories and, as debuts on a £150 hybrid bike go, not a bad benchmark to revisit at some point in the future.

Right now, I need to re-evaluate where my running is taking me; both literally and metaphorically. Whilst my coach would like to see me improve my times at the shorter distances before tackling a marathon again, I’m not so sure. Aside from the satisfaction issue, doing the speed-work required for the shorter stuff is invariably what breaks me. My legs were at their strongest and most injury-free when churning out the longer, slower, higher mileage weeks for marathon and ultra training. So I think it is back to the drawing board for me. I need some fresh goals, some new targets to keep me motivated, and I need to get back to doing what I do best and stop faffing around with all this unsatisfying and painful (on the legs and the lungs!) short stuff!

In front of the beautiful facade of Taunton School, glad that I gave triathlon a tri... ahem, try. 

But at £38 a go and with no medal or tee-shirt to show for your money, it's not something I'll be rushing back to until I invest in better kit and get some proper training behind me!

Photo credits, bag holding extraordinaire and chief calmer-downerer and supporter go to my boy friend extraordinaire, Matt!