London Marathon blog: My Tales with My Trainers
I am not a runner. But I appear to be running the London Marathon. If I can do this anyone can.
Latest update...
April 23rd
'Slow, slow, slow, slow, quick'
I did it. We did it. But first....
The day before.
Kit sorted and chill. Couldn't breathe when I woke up but by mid afternoon I was calm and excited.
Until I looked at the route.
Miles 13 - 22 go out of London. I knew this. I had been warned about this, but seeing it in print was a day before shocker.
I put the map away. Set the alarm. Had a scrummy tea. Watched a really rubbish film accidentally and actually slept!
'Race Day'
The morning.
Bumped into two fellow rookies on the way to the start. Lovely to share fears, injury worries and training stats.
Did a bit of star radar spotting on arrival.
Quick Facebook Live and some official photos. And met a woman running for Tommy's. And what a woman. Heidi Rayward is running for the son she lost to stillbirth. I will think of her as I run, and for a long time after I am sure.
More mates with some last minute top tips, we all agree the sunshine is lovely but it could be too hot. In the end it was...
And they're off.
At ten seconds to ten I felt amazing. Thrilled to be there, proud of my husband and all my friends running, and of the other 40 thousand who had trained for this, and the million plus who came before us.
If you can, experience this just once in your life.
That feeling lasted for so long. The first 13 miles. My three quid sunglasses hiding my happy tears.
My playlist was on shuffle. I ran to some top tracks, (Gordon Lightfoot 'If You Could Read My Mind' a real highlight), but many of my most motivational tunes came on in the first 13 miles, which made the second 13 much harder.
I kept running.
Which I later realised they could see on TV. My name 'in lights', Ian Beale behind me!
Head down following the thin blue lines. A top tip from news mate Matt Barbet who had explained any deviation would add extra steps to the 26.2 miles.
But head down with headphones on and no name printed on my vest made for, at times, an unexpectedly lonely experience.
I knew many people who were going to be on the route but I didn't see them, or them me.
I loved the Cutty Sark moment and of course Tower Bridge, but much of the rest of the scenery (good and less good) passed me by.
A runner I had interviewed a few weeks earlier caught up with me at some point, I realised she was the only person I had really spoken to in four hours.
And then she too sped off.
I battled in the heat with how much to drink. How much water was enough, how much was too much.
All my long training runs were in freezing temperatures or torrential rain. Sunshine was not really in the plan!
A slight dizzy spell around mile 20 came as a shock. But in the end my body was helping me.
I had slept, my tummy was fine, my legs felt strong, no toothache or real foot pain for the first time in six weeks, the 'marathon magic' had kicked in!All around the route spectators were rewarded for their support with that glorious sunshine. London at its finest. The big stuff is what we do best.
The runners were rewarded with great signs and banners. My favourites included 'Push here for power', 'Only 3 more parkruns to go', 'If your feet are hurting spare a thought for my arms holding up this' and 'At least you are not at work'.....
Around mile 22 a marathon miracle. I could hear my name. I swung round to see 'my friends from the North' beaming back at me. They were down because their daughter was performing later at the Royal Albert Hall. Over the past 20 odd years we have met at gigs around the country , on sunny holidays and snowy ones around the world, but I have never been so pleased to see them.
The brief high was followed by a sudden low.
Mile 24.
It was just so hard. I could see Big Ben but it felt unreachable. All around people were walking or stopping. The crowd were seemingly shouting out in unison 'not long now', 'you are nearly there', 'just keep running'. They were right of course, but part of me wanted to shout back 'How do you know?' and 'Believe me I'm trying'.....
I thought this bit would be easy. How wrong I was. This was where the mental race began. I kept going until I saw the 1K to go sign. And then I sprinted. I overtook people, I let out a little sob. I had my own mini Richard Whitehead experience.
I crossed the line. With a heavy medal and a very heavy goody bag I rang my Mum. She sounded so chuffed. I apologised for putting her through so many months of worry. She asked me if it was worse than labour.
Yes I said because at the end of giving birth at least you get to cuddle your baby. My children felt a million miles away in Surrey. I couldn't get through on my phone to meet my husband. I needed a Tardis to get to them all.I found him. 'Will you ever do that again I asked?', 'No. Never' came the reply I wanted, and I agreed.
My Learns:
1/ So many people will have so much faith in you.
Especially my best friends, my family and my colleagues who chucked their hard earned cash at me back in January. To the new people I met over the past few months, who got the measure of me instantly and believed, despite my foot, leg and tooth problems I would get to the start line AND the finish line. My trainer who tweaked and ripped up my plan as soon as I got an injury diagnosis, but didn't give up on me, and to my husband and mates who did it too, and made most of it a laughing matter.
2/ Anyone who doesn't have dodgy knees or hips can probably try to run a marathon.
3/ The training is tough. But good tough. Relentless and not always rewarding. Until race day.
4/ It is as much mental as physical.
You have to believe
You have to try to enjoy it.
5/ I achieved my goals.
Two out of three way before race day. I lost weight and way surpassed my fundraising target weeks before I got to the start line. That was an incredible feeling.
6/ My feet and marriage survived.
The latter even thrived. The former helped with a rewarding session in a floatation tank the day after.
7/ Children really do say the nicest things.
Two of mine were really pleased for me. The youngest said 'right, no more running, ever'.
We were sent this the night before;
And returned home to gorgeous good luck cards from my mum and sister's family.
Amber who I did my last training run with wrote 'I am so proud to be your niece'. The last nine months from saying I was going to do it, to crossing the finish line was worth it for that alone.
Her younger brother Callum knew me best though. 'I bet you don't stop running'.
I didn't.
But I must now stop writing.
My first blog, one of seven thousand others about running London.
I've loved it. Thanks for reading, and for your kind words.
Over and out.
The story so far...
Jan 2nd
And so it begins.
First training run for the London Marathon. That race I said I would never attempt. Wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't.
My ten-year-old treadmill breaks. What a start. It's just the screen not the important bit of kit, so I plough on with the new bit of wearable tech I have on my arm.
Tick run 1 out of 42 off the list.
Let's do this. (Yikes!)
Jan 5th
First biggie. 10 miles. Fingers freezing. All the way. Why didn't I wear gloves? I do the distance but I don't warm up for the rest of the day.
When I'm still shivering a few hours later I remind myself I'm not just doing this for me, I'm doing this for the charity Whizz-Kidz.
I volunteered as I felt it was time to do something way out of my comfort zone for them, for a change. Sometimes it feels good even when you feel bad.
Jan 12th
With a mate. She's leaner, keener, and way faster. We're doing 12 miles. She's done 17 on a treadmill before. The second time we've run together.
The first I hurt my knee when she persuaded me to add an extra 2k to my 10K target. This time I'm stopping at 12 miles. Wherever we are, and even if it's a very long walk back to her house.
It's perfect. The chat, the banter from passersby, the weather (cold but sunny), the sprint finish for the last mile and a half. She's grumpy about walking home. I'm beaming. We did it AND loved it. Who knew running could be fun?
Jan 21st
First and hopefully only long run at the weekend. Hate missing a minute with the children for something so selfish. Out the house at 8. Back by 11-ish.
Everyone still in pjs. I haven't been missed. 14 miles. Weather perfect again. La La Land tunes in my ears mixed with some old favourites; The Smiths, U2, Snow Patrol, Duran Duran. There is singing and some gentle hand dancing. I must look like a fool to passing motorists.
And there are dates. One every half an hour. And they appear to give me an instant boost. Whether it's real or placebo it works. No water (I haven't worked out how to carry it), but it's fine.
Get home. Well chuffed. But can't walk. Not much sympathy from my husband who is also training for his first marathon. I think he is secretly jealous I've done such a long run (for me), when he's still on the 10k mark.
Water, marmite cashews and a bit of cheese and the weekend begins proper.
Jan 26th
15 miles. New route. Make it up as I go along. A mixture of roads where I worry a bit about the cars, and trails where I worry I am a woman running alone.
Then I worry how worried my mum would be if she knew where I was right now, doing what I was doing. Irrational I am sure, but it comes from my freedom very nearly being taking away from me when I first took up running more than a decade ago.
I was robbed at knifepoint on the Southbank, running on an early summers morning. He put the knife on my throat. I was silent but thinking 'this is it, after all this, this is how it ends'. He got away with my rucksack and I got away. I don't think about it much but I do look over my shoulder more than most.
I don't worry about the actual run though. I am so slow that at times I am going backwards. But I do it, whisper it, pretty easily. Home to a long warm bath with epsom salts. I can barely manage the walk up the hill to pick the children up from school later, but I'm still smiling. I love this.
Jan 28th
Training for a marathon is like being pregnant. You are suddenly aware of everything you eat, you worry about every twinge or ache, you are counting the days down and your body is changing week by week AND everyone who's been there gives you advice.
I lap it up and seek it out. I even pay for it. I found my personal trainer when I wanted to lose my baby weight while still breast feeding to come back to work early for the Queen's Jubilee and the Olympics. I've stuck with her ever since. Now she is helping me do this.
So too are the friends who have done it themselves. So many brilliant tips about the course, the black toenails, the loos, and the way it makes you feel at the end (I'm expecting the same high as giving birth, no pressure!).
I therefore find myself this Saturday morning dragging the family on an hours drive to a tiny independent running shop for my gait analysis. I am cynical, surely they are just trying to flog me expensive trainers.
One of the reasons I love running is because it is free, I hate feeling pressurised into spending money on things that aren't essential. I hop onto the treadmill and they film me running fast. My legs are tired from my long run so this is hard and embarrassing.
They show me the video and say I run perfectly. I am a failed perfectionist so I have never heard anyone say that about anything I do. My husband runs wonky, landing badly on one leg. The videos don't lie. This doesn't seem to be a gimmick.
We thankfully don't get the hard sell and both buy new trainers as he needs supportive ones and mine are too small (hence the blackened nails). I have no chance of beating him on the big run so pathetically I take this as a minor victory over him. I don't think he minds....
Feb 2nd
The big biggie.
18 miles. So nervous. Gloves on, playlist set, dates at the ready and a tiny bottle of water squeezed into my running belt for the journey. A straight route worked out with my husband with a clever app. 9 miles there. Then turn round and repeat. Ends at my doorstep. Take the first 9 super slow. Bit muddy, bit bored.
Places I know that should be coming up take ages to reach. Then suddenly the end, or at least the turnaround point. The next 9 are joyous. I speed up. I smile at the dog walkers, the cyclists and my fellow runners. There is more dancing and singing. There is a hill at mile 16. I make it.
Then I speed up so much I record my fastest mile ever at mile 17 to 18. Half of it is down a very big hill but I just don't care. I am still, most unexpectedly, loving this.
Wish I could tell my overweight exercise hating teenage self how good this feels.
Feb 9th
The bad run.
Take one mile off and add running partner friend. Sprinkle with an unexpected chill factor of minus 8. The knowns are the route and the pace. The unknowns; the weather and the fact my friend will hurt going so very slowly. This is endurance not enjoyment. This is what some of my friends have been feeling on some of their runs. The chatting becomes tense, becomes silence.
Her ankles are hurting. I urge her to run ahead but it's my route so she doesn't know it. I have two pairs of gloves and many a layer but I can't feel my fingers. Suddenly it's not funny. We are too old with too many responsibilities to potentially make ourselves ill or injured for the sake of 26 miles. We muddle through. I hate feeling guilty for causing her to be in pain.
She hates the feeling that she is spoiling my run by making me go too fast. We finish. We are home. Our fingers far too cold to open my front door or even the car. We have to call my neighbour over to help us get in the warm. I feel freezing, pathetic, grumpy and gutted. I nearly cry. I send her home and I get a bath.
An hour-and-a-half later we meet for lunch. We sack each other as running partners for anything over 10k and celebrate our friendship with a hot coffee and a green tea. From now on we'll stick to being 'ladies who lunch'.
Half term
Swap my trainers for my snowboard and do some serious cross training on the slopes. Got a strange twinge of jealousy on day two when I see a runner on a run. Surely I'm not missing my mileage? By day six I'm more than happy to never see my trainers again and live in my snow boots, but sadly it's time to come home.
Feb 23rd
The first 5K
What a week. I can't speak eat or exercise properly because of a heavy cold. My first 'race' of the training period is looming. A half marathon with best mate and husband. What to do? While I dither over whether to do it or not I manage to fall down the steps at the train station on my way to work. I'm 43, everything hurts. At work there's no real pain but by the time I'm on the way home my ankle is in agony. My news editor suggests ice so I lie on the sofa with a bag of peas and take some painkillers. Is this really the end of my marathon adventure?
The next morning I wake up and the dodgy ankle has gone. Amazing. I tackle a very slow 5K on the treadmill and still nothing hurts. It's boring and therefore hard, but nothing hurts. Forget the cold I'm doing the race. Yipee!
Race Day
Just. So. Brilliant.
I've done 5Ks and 10ks for myself, for charities, with mates. We love the local Park Runs and doing them as a family. But I've never loved a race, until now. It starts with an outdoor massage in the car park of a pub. It's not Thailand but it's ace. The atmosphere is really friendly, the queues for the loos comical. The course is flat and very muddy. The way back is along a canal, it's so slippy I'm prepared to swim a bit if I accidentally fall in.
I've got Ryan and Emma in my ears again, mixed with Les Miserables and Moana. Not the trendiest of playlists but a great vibe. I take the first 6.5 miles and my normal snails pace, then get faster and faster and faster on the way back.
I've got this. I'm actually running, and over-taking people, and sprinting to the finish. 15 whole minutes off my PB and only a few minutes behind my mate and husband who had planned a brew at the pub while they waited for me.
A great medal, a great morning, a great way to end the week.
March 2nd
Well that was scary. 45 minutes of sitting in sodden clothes and my fingers still wouldn't work to get my water bottle out of my belt or open my front door. Panic as I get colder, call my husband who suggests I call a locksmith, I try to stress it's me not the lock. I'm running out of time to get in, get a bath and get to school.
My phone battery is dying and the car heater isn't helping my fingers. They are swollen and white. In desperation I call a friend who drives 20 minutes to get me into my own house.
After 4 1/2 hours running in the worst rain and wind I've ever encountered I felt invincible when I reached my house. I felt ridiculous when I couldn't get into it.
March 4th
A tempo run. Shorter than a long run but still 10k in the rain. In proper hilly Huddersfield, but with my husband. We run too fast to talk. That wasn't the plan.
March 7th
It. Is. Sunny.
Squeeze a so-called tempo run into my morning after a doctors appointment and before work. 8 miles. These fast short runs seem to be getting longer. I'm allowing myself to feel suddenly daunted by the hours of training to fit into my busy weeks. So I run faster, and it works. I have surprised myself.
March 9th
I have become one of those people who takes pictures of their food (with filter...)
Fridge oats aka overnight oats aka cold porridge.
Breakfast of no King I'm sure, but perfect for a long run and even more perfect because you wake up knowing your first meal of the day is already made.
Tired legs, tired feet, just tired. Run was a slog. Husband texts a few hours later to say his was too. All marathon mates report the same. We're hitting a wall. I just keep repeating we have three hard weeks to go.
March 10th
This arrives at work. This is real.
For those kindly asking, yes I am fundraising. For details please click on this link.
March 11th
The night before the morning after.
42 days to go and still not taking the training so seriously that it spoils a good night out.
Fuelled by prosecco and posh fish and chips (I'm sure that qualifies as carb-loading right?), four of us do a spot of 5K interval training Sunday morning.
How far we've come. Four best mates, in our forties, who for the first time in our friendship are choosing to spend half an hour of our weekend running together.
Medal goes to husband who is left holding the 'babies'.
March 13th
I'm a bit broken. I do the 22 but I don't really enjoy it. I question whether this is really for me. Later when I see my discarded trainers I realise they have become the enemy. This is the 'loneliness of the long distance runner'.
March 20th
Radio silence due to NO RUNNING.
It's breaking my heart, but due to sore foot, shin, knee and calf I've rested since the 22 miles.
So instead of my usual rants here's a collection of strange photos instead;
First one, this haul arrived for my husband the other day. How many marathons is he planning to run?!
My 'cross-training' for the week: Super physical.
My foot is under there somewhere. Hoping the ice will fix whatever is wrong with me....
What Not To Wear for London 2017:
Find out why I'm dressed in a 59 kg divers suit on the telly soon.
March 25th
How a fractured tooth stopped me running.(Well that's my excuse anyway).
So no sleep at all Sunday into Monday, because of throbbing gums. Painkiller my way through three days of filming to be diagnosed with cracked tooth syndrome on Tuesday night. The dentist, called Nash (really) uses a teaspoon and his iPhone torch in his kitchen to give me the bad news. (He's a lovely friend of one of my best friends)
On Thursday morning my dentist confirms it. Sorts it (he thinks) and by Friday night I am in zero pain.
So I run.
It's taken me this long to dig deep enough to attempt putting my trainers back on. After pains in my knee and foot after the 22 I've been scared.
This is the hardest bit mentally. Knowing I should rest, feeling guilty about not running, then the tooth giving me a second reason to stop, then enjoying the break. Danger-zone.
I can't face the cold, I'm too tired and too nesh when I wake up. So I put on a film and try the treadmill.
Sing Street helps. I love the line the lead (who is a singer in a band) says to the school bully 'you can stop but you can't create'. A perfect statement after three days of reporting on the Westminster terror attack.
But my foot still hurts.
I only manage 6 miles, not 13.
So what now?
April 5th
'My Right Foot'
How did I end up here?
Three weeks and two days since my last long run and I am still broken. But not officially. No sign of a stress fracture on my x-ray. But no sign that the pain in my foot, below my knee and down the side of my thigh is going away.
The worst 3 weeks of my training by far. Feeling I have let everyone down; the charity, work, my trainer and my children. Having to get my head round the fact that sometimes people who train hard for the marathon don't make it to the start line. I have long given up dreaming of the finish line or 'running the race I want'.
Happy now just to be there, to walk or crawl round the course, to suck up a 'comedy' time.
Not being able to train is so much harder than the training itself. It is all consuming and time consuming. Three appointments in three days to try to find out what is wrong.
It has made me sad, frustrated, teary. It's made me question why I wanted to do this. It was supposed to be for fun. It has made me guilty about not being able to physically play with the children. They have been lovely and sympathetic, but it's not their job.
It's also not my husband's job to look after me when he's battling a pause in his own training because of a troublesome ankle. But he has, and is, and I'm very grateful.
He's not quite kind enough to agree we run the race together if we do make it to Greenwich though. I think he's secretly hoping his 3 months of training (rather than three weeks of no training) will see him through to an ok time. I guess there's part of me thinking the same.
It's given me much more insight into the life of an athlete. I started off in January jealous that their job is to exercise. Now I realise what a burden that must be. The fear of injury or an actual injury wiping out months, or years of training. Not being able to ever fully relax and enjoy a big night out because unhealthy food and booze is bad fuel for your body, your machine. How they don't wrap themselves up in cotton wool is beyond me, and how do they begin to deal with the stress of an injury stopping play?
From being the fittest I have ever been I have spent endless hours of late on my sofa, or my mum's sofa. I get the bus to work rather than walk, and I sit everywhere not stand. And sometimes I wake up and the pain is gone and I feel amazing. Then like an evil 'jack in a box' it suddenly, without warning, returns.
I've tried drugs and harder drugs, spiky massage balls, a muscle activation session, heat cream, ice packs, rest and more rest. Nothing has helped. 18 days and counting.
Next stop physio. Wish me luck!
April 8th
'Getting on my nerves....'
So, a new diagnosis. A bio-mechanical irritation of the nerves. Whatever that is. Probably caused by pushing myself too hard on the last long run (a month ago today!), and the bad camber of the country roads.
Treatment. There is none! Two physiotherapy sessions help not hinder, but the advice is to 'suck it and see'. Try a short run and if it hurts quit the race.
If it doesn't hurt she warns I will only be able to walk run it. She wants me to give up on thinking I can run this. That comes as a shock.
Speaking later to a colleague who isn't marathon rookie she dismisses this, with a twinkle in her eye.
She says I must remember the 'marathon magic'. On paper I wont be fit enough for the distance. I wont enjoy it like I had hoped. My feet may hate it and I could very easily, for the first time, experience what it is like to hit a wall.
But she argues, I may find, like she did, that somehow, for some reason, on the day it just works.
Back in the room and new sympathy from my boys, who came with me to the appointment. The youngest enjoyed the toys in the waiting room, the eldest I need to thank for taking a photo of my session in action.
April 9th
'To run or not to run, that is the question...'
Sunday brunch and a new family favourite; Shakshuka. Well fuelled and feeling strong after a sunny morning training session in the garden with my trainer. Since she moved away from the area we now train by Skype on the telly in the lounge.
It feels amazing to see her in person at this crucial stage. She confirms I look 'wonky' because I'm putting more weight on my good leg. But she says I am managing her exercises and she, like the physio, says I need to run.
The trainers go back on. The first time since my lovely Mother's Day present has been attached. My eldest wants to come with me as I try a 5K. He's on his bike, I'm back on a muddy trail rather than horrid treadmill. The weather is glorious.
His smile at the end is amazing. Sitting chilling, helmet off, waiting for his slow coach mum he says 'you're going to be able to do it!', and for the first time in 27 days I start to believe it......
April 13th
The return of the pain, what a pain, and my marathon making the papers....
I'm in agony. Once again. But it's my stupid tooth rather than my stupid leg, so I'm smiling when I am not grimacing.
An emergency dental visit reveals an abscess on an x-ray and thousands of pounds worth of work needed. If that shock isn't bad enough I'm warned there is no chance of getting the tooth sorted by race day.
So I have to hope the antibiotics work. (spoiler alert, they don't).
But the foot, the knee, the thigh all seem a little better. I drive to Huddersfield to visit my mum and I manage a 1/2 hour run up a hill that I couldn't walk up two weeks ago. This is progress of sorts.
I then have a brilliant phone call with a sports psychologist who has an impressive CV, working with both Paralympic athletes in 2012 and 2016, and more recently with some top flight footballers.
She's read the blog and explains how the mental stress of the past few weeks will have had a massive detrimental impact on my physical health. So the worry about my foot and leg, the worry about letting the charity and myself down will have all produced lots of cortisol, which can be bad for the body.
She gave me top tips for the night before, saying I should write down all my achievements since training began, so I focus on the highs not the unexpected lows as my head hits the pillow.
That's the very short version of a very long conversation which came at the perfect time to give me a pre-race boost.
By Sunday my tales with my trainers is the subject of an interview and photoshoot with the Sunday Express. I will always think of doing long runs in the rain when I see the picture of me in that fluorescent pink dress.
Easter Saturday
By Saturday I leap out of bed to take my niece and nephew to the local Park Run in Huddersfield. A place I spent many an hour with my sister playing in the pond and on the swings.
With some 700 runners it is said to be the second biggest in the country, only pipped to the title of largest by the original in Bushy Park in Teddington.
My 6-year-old nephew Callum loves it, describing it at one point as 'so -colourful'. His older sister Amber finds the hills a bit tricky, and is a bit shocked by the second loop of the park (we all are, not again!), but slowly, with lots of smiles, high fives and giggles, we make it through.
My own three are still in pjs at granny's house when we return. No excuses next time, we'll all go together.
Easter Sunday
Not much chocolate, no booze and no running...
Home again. Three cheeky G&Ts at a family birthday the night before, but now I'm teetotal for seven days.
I smile at the training plan I stuck to my fridge at the end of last year. We did good, me and my trainer Annabel. We were acing this training malarkey. I loved it more than I hated it, I managed more runs than I failed.
It came unstuck at 22 but that's further than some, and hopefully those miles in the bag will still help.
I know of at least two people who might be forced to drop out at this stage. An awful thought. After all the effort. I hope if they don't make it to the start line this Sunday they do London next year instead, but I know I couldn't.
I do back to back weight training sessions with Annabel via my telly. For the first one she is at her in-laws so there's a bit of a weak signal so she keeps freezing mid instruction or star jump. Thankfully we both see the funny side of the situation and crack on. The next night my youngest son and daughter join me for the warm up. This is comedy too of a different kind. I love it.
I feel strong and calm and excited.
All I need now is a few nights of good sleep, no drama and a straightforward week at work.
12 hours later.....I do an unexpected mini marathon broadcast on ITV.
Thanks Theresa......
April 20th
The Toothless Wonder
My first tooth extraction, three days before my first and final marathon. It's all too comedy now.
Turns out after the initial crack and the abscess, I have managed to crack it again, so it had to come out. I survived a painful, caffeine and hot food free day.
So now I'll be on the telly (and hopefully) the finish line with a new 'gappy' smile.