Marathon Eryri 2023: Event run down

How many times can you walk around Llanberis between 7am and 10.30am? Quite a few it turns out. My late decision to run the marathon meant that hotel bookings were slim pickings and we ended up staying in a pub about 10 minutes outside Llanberis. And just to make things more challenging, Fin my eldest son had to be in Warrington to train with the scholars side at 9am. I wrangled a bit with what I was going to do: go into Llanberis at 7am so I could get a lift with them or hang around the pub and get the bus? The fact that the Air B&B we stayed in wasn’t exactly cosy and the kitchen facilities were almost non-existent swayed my decision: I’d wing it in Llanberis.

Fortunately there was a working kettle in the accommodation so I was able to make myself a couple of instant porridge pots but when you’ve got a 15 year old asking ‘are we going yet, are we going yet?’ on repeat porridge oats get a bit stuck in your throat. There was no milk in the fridge where we were staying which meant no cup of tea and my pre-marathon routine felt like it was being thrown out the window. Words of doubt started to creep in as unhelpful voices started telling me it was ‘ALL GOING WRONG!’ The little habits that we mentally depend on sometimes feel like they have too much hold on us and I had to rationalise with myself that there would be tea or coffee somewhere in Llanberis at 7am. I also discovered that I hadn’t brought the tee shirt that I had intended to run in. It was a purple tee shirt to represent Action for Pulmonary Fibrosis, a small thing but again I started to think bad omens were creeping in and I was going to fuck it all up.

Gavin and Finlay dropped me off at registration, we said bye, they gave me good luck hugs and then I was on my own. And then I started walking. Llanberis isn’t exactly big. I walked straight up and back. I walked off to the right and found a loop. I walked down by the lake. I breathed in the early morning air. I looked at the local B&Bs and hotels with envy thinking how lovely it would be to still be cosied up in bed. Gav had made sure I’d layered up so I didn’t get cold and fortunately it didn’t rain. I discovered a public toilet which was clean and had space for me to apply vaseline on the areas of potential chaffing. I looked at my watch. I had used up precisely 45 minutes of my waiting time.

Back at registration I discovered a purple running tee shirt for sale. It felt daft to buy it when what I was wearing was probably absolutely fine but at the same time I felt like I needed to buy it and wear it. I know the whole thing of not trying or wearing anything new on marathon day is a ‘thing’ but that tee shirt being there felt like a sign. Right before bag drop off I was stripping off, putting my new tee on, fastening my number to it and weirdly I finally felt ready. I reasoned that I had been to the toilet enough that I needn’t jump into the queue or go back to the village for a pre-emptive bladder emptying. This was a mistake, I ran the whole marathon feeling like I needed the loo. Shout out to my pelvic floor for taking a total kicking and not letting me down.

I knew that the first section of this marathon was up hill and I was kind of prepared for that however I did not expect Pen Y Pass to go on as long as it did. There were points even as early as that where I wasn’t sure if I had the mental strength for the rest of the route. Seeing the people stretch out across and up the path ahead felt discombobulating if I looked too hard and it made me feel dizzy. Seeing a course elevation profile and trying to mentally prepare yourself and actually seeing that landscape rise in front of you are very very different. Not enough hills in training, I muttered to myself. I managed to run that whole section though and as I reached the top ready to descend I took my first audible gasp of many during this race. The views that stretched out before us were some of the most stunning I’d ever seen and I knew I was taking part in something truly beautiful.

The downhill continued to spiral into the valley and at the cross roads for Beddgelert we were sent to the right and on to an off road section by people dressed as giant traffic cones. The off road section sent us down a technical path where I embraced my inner pygmy goat and hopped and skipped over stones and rocks embedded in the path.

We then continued along a flat section, this part became a blur really. Passing people, them passing me, listening into conversations of others but mostly being blown away by the scenery. I had some discomfort in my stomach and I started to worry that I really needed the toilet. That with the intermittent tingling in my bladder made me wonder if I should stop, and yet I didn’t. I seemed able to push everything back down and keep running.

At mile 13 we were starting to lurch uphill again. I ran for as long as I good but eventually realised I was hot and my left calf was cramping. I started to power walk this section to conserve energy and to give me a chance to strip off the base layer that I had worn under the new purple tee shirt. No fucks were given as I stripped off to my bra and rearranged myself. I ran/walked this section and at the next station opted for some electrolytes which were being handed out in cups by the amazing volunteers, many of which were little kids.

Mile 15 came and went and the ground seemed to level out again and I started to feel the cramp ease off. I settled into a decent pace and really felt like I was cruising along. I was enjoying myself and starting to believe that I could make it to the finish. On this section I really started to notice the traffic. I’ve never run an event where the road has stayed open. The majority of drivers were respectful but one Mini driver became incredibly impatient, started to crawl over to the left and almost clipped a woman from Cornelly Striders. We all let the driver know our thoughts, her actions were completely unnecessary and yet she seemed most put out by the runners running an event that would have been advertised well in advance.

Between miles 16 and 18 I chatted to a lovely Irishman. We reassured each other that we were well within the cut off for mile 18 and that we were now within sight of reaching Llanberis. At 20 miles I didn’t think I could feel my legs anymore, I’d run the last few miles at what I felt was a comfortable but decent pace and now fatigue was setting in as well as more cramp: my arms, my calves, my hamstrings and my stomach were screaming at me to stop. But 20 miles means only 10k to go, there was absolutely no need to stop now. I disembodied myself from the discomfort and ploughed on. There was a shout of ‘cup of tea soon’. Yes I thought, that’s the kind of positivity I need to hear!

At mile 21/22 the subtle sensation of an incline started to creep into my legs. I stopped at the next feed station to take my gel, rally myself and push on. Up ahead there was an arrow directing us to the right but this arrow felt like it was also angled ever so slightly upwards. I turned the corner and saw where we were headed and the first words that popped into my head were ‘oh fuck offffff’. I had been warned in advance of this hill by my friend Stephanie, but I don’t think I had really appreciated what it would be like in reality. I tried to run the first part, I slowed to a jog and then realised I’d probably be just as quick to power walk it as Stephanie has suggested, and that I did. My fellow runners and all the spectators really got me through this section, we shared jokes about it, we shouted on those who were running it and continued to be amazed by our surroundings. My hamstrings really hated this hill but I knew I was now so close. Finishing was a reality now.

At the next feed station at the top of this monster hill they were having a party. There was music and laughter and cups of tea on offer, but I didn’t want to stop. I was too close, I needed to be done now. I reached the point where the descent started……and I just let go. My arms sat up high round my chest, I skipped and jumped and just let the path take me, doing my best not to trip and fall. And I laughed and smiled. I rounded the corner and there were more people in traffic cones. One of the cone women shouted ‘sprint finish’ at me, and that’s what I did. My little legs started turning over and over and I passed people as the line got closer and closer to me and then I was over the line. I’d finished my first marathon since 2014. I found Gav and Finlay and had the best hugs. I bumped into Arwel from Run 4 All Neath and had another hug, he had finished a long time before and was still looking fresh. I phoned my parents and let them know I was okay, alive and intact. I checked my fundraising page and realised I’d smashed my £500 target for Action for Pulmonary Fibrosis. My stomach was cramping, my calves were like rocks but my heart was full of joy for what I’d managed to do. I also exceeded my expectations with the time I ran but that wasn’t really important for me that day. What I got from Saturday was that I am capable of running a marathon, it’s not beyond me anymore. I managed to commit to a training programme and despite all the other shit life has been throwing at me over the last few months I still managed to show up and run while doing something good at the same time.

This was truly a bucket list event for me. I would highly recommend this event to any runner who wants to run something that is a contrast to a city marathon. The organisation was fantastic and all the feed stations were well stocked and supported by incredible volunteers. It’s also a very friendly marathon, it felt like there was very little ego around me. People were also kind in ways you don’t always expect. At the start I got chatting to a guy called Ron who had run this marathon many times before. I had been fiddling with a jumper I had taken with me to the start to keep warm and I was contemplating dumping it or tying it round me waist for the duration. Neither was ideal and I was telling this random man about my indecision. No problem said Ron. His brother was only a mile up the road. He would give the jumper to his brother, tell him my number and he would take it to registration. We ran together and chatted, he saw his brother, gave him my jumper and said see you later you’re running quicker than me. I didn’t see Ron again but my jumper was at the bag drop. A small act of kindness that really helped me as I got all stressed out on the start line. All the way along the route runners has nothing but kind words and support for each other. It’s also an inclusive event that provides an earlier start time for slower runners, meaning that the achievement of finishing Marathon Eryri is kept in reach for as many runners as possible.

I loved this race and as the dust settles and my legs start to feel less stiff and sore, I think I would do go back and run it again. There are some things I need to look at for future events. My nutrition strategy doesn’t seem to work for me right now, stomach cramps for 2 hours post marathon are not fun and ruin the post marathon snacking! I would also look to find more hills for training so that I would have more chance of running all the hills, even that bitch of a hill at the end. That being said I am giving myself the occasional moment to be proud of me and what I did on Saturday.

The ballot opens for the 40th Marathon Eryri on 1st December for October next year. Just saying….

The lead up to Marathon Eryri

I haven’t run consistently or very well for many years it feels. I dabbled in the local running club but it wasn’t for me. I did run a few cross countries for them but it never felt like ‘my’ club. I was a regular runner with Running Punks for a while but circumstances meant that I couldn’t go to the Cardiff group every week and my social media game isn’t quite up to keeping up with all the other activities so I drifted from it. And so I got a bit lost with running and completely lost focus. Injury, illness, injury had become a pattern and I just didn’t think that taking part in running was for me anymore. Which, as a researcher who researches running and had made it her life was a tad frustrating.

At the beginning of the year I decided to trust my own instincts when it came to running. I realised that I had enough knowledge from my own experiences as a runner and as a health and exercise professional that I could devise an approach to running that suited me. I could take into account my age, my lifestyle, my other hobbies (hi tap dancing) and family. I worked out a rough programme to get back into regular, consistent running. I factored in my tendency towards developing achilles tendon pain. I also decided that for my running and for my long term health as a woman entering perimenopause I needed to bring heavy resistance work into my training habits long term. I harnessed the skills and knowledge and developed a bespoke running and exercise approach and the result was I started to enjoy running that much more, and I think it was because I wasn’t making running the centre of the universe. It was empowering for running (or not running) to have a hold on me and my identity.

Around spring time I started to feel confident enough that I could start entering events and I started by entering an October 10k. More than enough time to ‘get fit’ and ‘make it round’, I thought. I was being cautious and sensible, best to be that way, best to try not to get hurt. But then the one that had eluded me in 2021/2022 popped into my inbox: Marathon Eryri, a waiting list spot had become available.

I had an entry for the 2021 race but it was cancelled due to COVID. The entry was deferred to 2022 but I was injured so I sold it. I entered the 2023 ballot and didn’t get a place. I thought it just wasn’t to be. But there it was, looking up at me from Gmail and before I really knew what I was doing I had bought the place. Once it was confirmed I then thought ‘now what?’ Was this really a good idea? The previously missed races and opportunities tutted over my shoulder, trying to tell me I’d made a frivolous decision, it was going to end in tears again. But I shook those fears off and thought fuck it, whatever happens happens.

The next day I had devised another bespoke, ‘all about me’, marathon training programme. And until last week only my husband, my parents and a couple of other people knew what I was up to. I didn’t document my training on social media because I didn’t want to look foolish when it all went wrong again. I didn’t document my training, or at times even believe that it would happen because I was still correcting my thesis and my Dad was so unwell. My Dad featured very heavily in all my thoughts during training for this marathon, I wanted to raise money for a charity that supported him, but I also needed the routine of training to help me through what has been and continues to be a really tough time. Was I literally running away from my problems by entering a marathon. Possibly, but that’s another conversation that I should probably have with a therapist!

I surprised myself during this training cycle with how I managed to adapt to everything going on in life. It seemed I developed an ability to work out the best day/time for my long runs based on family, kids, work, a holiday and even the exceptionally hot weather. I grew in confidence with every long run and embraced every strength session in the gym as the numbers on the weights crept up. I developed a new faith in me as a person. I was strong, I was able to run, I could commit to a challenge, I wasn’t a complete flake out. The words inside my head started to be kinder when I looked in the mirror. I struggle greatly with negative self talk and it felt good to not hear that negativity from me, to me so often.

The training cycle wasn’t all plain sailing though. After my 20 mile run at the end of September my left shin ached and my left inner calf cramped for a few days. I tried a gentle treadmill 5k but it didn’t feel right so my physio (me) made the executive decision to rest. I did nothing for a week, then I started on the stepper and got back to my weights routine plus some lower leg rehabilitation. I didn’t panic (much). That’s a lie, I stressed a bit, convinced myself I had a stress fracture, tendinopathy plus a calf tear. Honestly my head can be a special place sometimes. At some point I woke up from my self imposed, completely made up nightmare scenario and remembered I had done a very hilly 20 miler and there was probably a little bit of inflammation that needed time to settle. I figured I had time, but then a cold went to my chest, my peak flow dropped and I developed a productive cough. I started antibiotics and steroids and an Extreme Taper. This wasn’t in the plan but it was forced on my by a virus likely carried into my class room by students during Freshers. Nice.

Among the drama of niggles and chest infections I had managed to resubmit my thesis. This was a huge weight off my shoulders, which lasted precisely 24 hours because the next day I was dialling 999 for an ambulance to help my Dad who was very ill. When I came home from hospital after seeing him and bringing my Mum home a selfish though popped into my head: would I be able to run the marathon? And then very quickly snapped out of it and marathons and races don’t matter, there will always be others. Being rational didn’t really help the pain in my chest that had seemed to settle there. I reasoned it was probably stress but it gave me another thing to worry about.

The events from end of September onwards are why I didn’t tell anyone about the marathon until I posted my fundraising page last Friday. I genuinely didn’t think I would be in Llanberis. I trained the whole cycle knowing that there would be a huge possibility that the very worst thing that could happen would happen and I wouldn’t be there. It wouldn’t have been for nothing though because I truly enjoyed training for it and these months of running and strength training have buoyed me during a very challenging time. To stand on the start line on Saturday felt like a dream but also a privilege at the same time. The stars seemed to align and for that I feel very grateful. I found my love for running again too and importantly I feel like I’m in control of running rather than running controlling me. It’s intentional rather than compulsive and that’s an empowering feeling.

Since Saturday the pain in my chest that I’ve had for the last few weeks. Funny that.

(Apologies if you were expecting a race report, that will be a part 2 to this blog).

A Weight Lifted

I was reflecting today on my decision to give up pause running and the overwhelming feeling was that a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. A relief to not be fighting the losing battle that I’d been in since August time last year. Set back after set back…. injury, illness, illness, injury, rinse and repeat… pushing me back even further and to be perfectly honest I just didn’t have it in me any more to experience another set back. If doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different outcome is the definition of madness then I’d been driven crazy by running.

I thought I’d be itching to get back out, craving the sensations that running gives me, desperate to put my trainers back on but instead the urge just hasn’t been there. I thought I’d have felt more disappointment at seeing social media posts of people out running but I felt nothing other than a ‘well done them’ reaction.

Maybe running had become a burden. It is my job as a physio to treat broken runners. My research project is about how to prevent broken runners. My social media is connected to running and my social media feeds are heavily about running. I had placed weight of expectation on myself regarding running in my life in more ways than one. But who was there to pick me up when running was ruining me? Me. I had to make the decision to step back and I believe it’s the healthiest thing I could have done.

I’ve actually got a bit tired of it all on social media and how it was making me feel: running posts about distances run in a month, pace, calories burnt, numbers of races and numbers of kudos and followers, screenshots of Strava stats, Twitter trolls with anonymous accounts pulling other people down for their lack of speed or for what they choose to wear. I found myself resenting it all and feeling angry. None of us are fucking Olympians so what the fuck are we doing and why are we so intent on watching each other and telling each other how we should be running? Why does every run have to have some inspirational message or intention? Why has running become so weighted and heavy for me? I know that running has to be physically hard occasionally and I have no fear of physically hard training, in fact I embrace that feeling, I quite like it, but it had become ‘hard’ in a different way. This week I was reminded of a quote from one of the focus groups I did with physios for my project and it really stuck with me:

‘…there’s not that many people out there for kind of the love of running and just getting out to move across the landscape…it’s all very competitive and timed and focus driven rather than listening to what your body says on a particular day…’

I’ve always said that I run for the love of running and I feel like I lost sight of that in recent months. I’d also stopped listening to what my body was telling me and my body has been screaming at me for months that running just wasn’t working for me. Pressure to appear to be posting about running or to be part of an online community, to fit in and ‘be liked’ and be part of social media conversations took over and that’s just not me. I want to be able to run and find the void again. I want to run and fall into a trance and wake up having run for miles without realising how far I’ve come. I want to run and it feel so effortless that it feels like my soul has left my body and is floating up in the clouds, the way it felt over a year ago. But right now when I run my heart feels heavy with the weight of my own crushing expectations and the frustration that I keep hitting an invisible barrier that I just can’t seem to break through.

I said to my husband today that I think I’ve given up running and he just laughed and said ‘no you haven’t you’ve just stopped for a bit’. And I think that is the answer to this madness I’ve made for myself. To stop for a bit, to do something different, remove the burden, let myself get through the twilight months of my PhD and eventually come back to running and discover the love for it again.

Maybe. Possibly. Never say never.

Hitting Pause

I’ve been ill again this past week. The same symptoms that seem to rear their head after a few weeks of feeling well: scratchy throat, head aches, nausea, achy joints, head fog and just overall feeling rather shitty and shit about myself. I then have to take more time off running, lose the progress I’ve made AGAIN. It’s become a never ending circle, I get two weeks grace and then my immune system decides ‘NAH that’s enough for you.’

I had COVID at Christmas time and thought I’d recovered. I’d had what could be considered a mild case but it took a few weeks to get over. Then after my 18 mile trail run in April I was ill for a month, on steroids and antibiotics, struggled and had to really fight to get back into running again. I finally seemed to get over it but since then every few weeks viral symptoms flares up again and I’m floored.

I rack my brains as to why it’s been like this, is it burnout from my PhD, is it perimenopause, a run of back luck? Or is it Long COVID? My husband suggested this a couple of times and I’ve brushed it off, but could it be? The same symptoms every few weeks: head ache, sore throat, fatigue, occasional insomnia or if not insomnia, sleeping like the dead and waking feeling unrested. As long COVID cases go it might be at the mild end of the spectrum but it seems to fit the pattern.

This Sunday I was meant to run a 10k in Tenby so to see how I was feeling I went out for a jog. One mile in and I felt shattered, two miles in and I had to stop and walk. It felt horrible and I was hating every second of it. And what’s the point if it makes me feel like that? As I walked home I made a decision: no more running for now, at least not the way I want it to be. I had races this year that have been deferred due to the pandemic, including Snowdonia Marathon in October, a race I’d really been looking forward to. It would be foolish to think I could rush training for that race now, I’ve had no consistency in running since this time last year and I do not want to just ‘make it round’. I want to enjoy the races I do. I’d also risk serious injury again if I ramped up the miles at this point to be ready. For what? For ego? For social media likes? For the sake of running which at the end of the day is just a hobby?

Once I came to that realisation this morning, that running needs to be paused right now I started to cry. Frustration, shame, embarrassment, helplessness, sadness…..who knows. I walked over the railway bridge in the village feeling really shitty and pathetic, and then I saw my husband and my daughter in the little park. She saw me, smiled and laughed and ran towards me for a big hug which made me want to cry even more. It’s just fucking running isn’t it? It’s not the be all and end all of my life, and I learned a long time ago that running shouldn’t be used as an emotional crutch, that just leads to trouble. It all feels like it’s a bit forced and I need running to have less emphasis in my life for a bit, I want it to be fun and enjoyable again. Races will be there when I’m ready again. I don’t want to become resentful towards a sport that’s been part of my life since I was 11 years old. For now it’s more important that I’m healthy and well to do all the other things I’ve got going on in my life.

These shoes? I don’t think so.

Thank you firstly to Kirsty Macoll whose song jumped into my head as soon as I decided to write this post. My blog hasn’t actually ever seen any physio related content. I kept this running blog as separate to that but maybe it will work as a space for me to express my thoughts in a non-academic way.

Shoes are quite a hot topic in running, elite, professional, recreational, they are always a talking point and even more so with the new carbon plated shoes that are helping elite runners break records. We admire each others shoes, we want to know how good they are, do other runners recommend their shoes, how often should they change shoes, where you went for the gait analysis? Discounts, new seasons, last seasons, pronation, heel drops, uppers, lowers. It’s the thing that seems to be deemed one of the most important factors in our running and how to keep ‘injury free’.

Now that last point about shoes and being injury free is obviously of interest to me because of my profession and because of my current research project. I don’t know if it’s a fallacy perpetuated by the running shoe companies but it is a deeply entrenched belief among running populations that running shoes prevent injuries. Studies with runners about their beliefs surrounding running injuries often come back to shoes with runners citing ‘the wrong shoes’ as an extrinsic factor in the development of running injuries. One study found that 76% of runners felt that running shoes were important in the prevention on running injuries (Fokkema et al 2019). Recreational runners have been observed taking time and attention in selecting the ‘right’ running shoes. As noted above runners have strong beliefs about running shoes being an extrinsic factor in the development of RRI but many of these beliefs could in fact be due to compelling sales tactics and arguments put forward by those who sell running shoes to us (Malisoux and Theisen 2020). Recreational runners are prescribed running shoes according to the ‘shoe shop theory’ approach which assumes that running injuries are caused by excessive foot motion and excessive ground reaction forces: runners find themselves categorized into different shoe categories based on their foot profile and running gait. Running shoe manufacturers justify their technologies by arguing that they protect against injury (Theisen et al. 2016). The RRI prevention features of running shoes are based on biomechanical studies but these studies are often restricted to the laboratory and are conducted on healthy uninjured runners, therefore limiting the findings of such studies to the injured running population (Theisen et al. 2016; Malisoux and Theisen 2020).

This ‘shoe shop theory’ is a fallacy. It cannot guarantee that injury will be prevented but that is what we are sold. Plus the incorrect notion that ‘pronation’ is bad and evil and must be prevented at all costs when in fact a most runners feet will pronate an appropriate amount for the big toe to be able to make contact with the ground to propel us forwards. Pronation has not been proven to be an intrinsic cause of running injury. And yet runners continue to be sold the belief that motion control shoes that prevent pronation will stop them getting injured. In fact the only consistently found predictors of running injuries are training errors and a previous history of running injury.

So what should physios like me say to runners? Researchers Napier and Willy (2018) suggest that clinicians like me need to counsel runners that the evidence for particular types of running shoes is lacking, that runners should not be recommended one type of shoe over another and that it is training practices that need to be given the greatest consideration when educating runners on the prevention of running injuries.

It should be noted that despite advances in shoe technology the rates of running injuries have not changed and may in fact have increased. Anecdotally I would say if the numbers of runners have increased over the years, which they have, then of course the rates of running injuries are going to increase. But my other anecdotal belief is that there is definitely a more is more attitude among the running community presently. Running everyday, distance challenges, entering long events when we’ve only just started running because we’re inspired, competing with each other over Strava mileage…these are all glaring training errors and despite all these achievements being inspirational unfortunately it is training behaviours like this that are going to contribute to the development of a running injury. Because whether we like it or not, science is science and training principles still hold and muscles and tendons have a capacity for only so much, despite how inspirational we want to look for Instagram.

Regarding shoes and the advice for selecting them I would defer to what Nigg called the ‘comfort filter’. Some people will prefer the cushioned shoes like Hoka, other people might prefer the motion controlled shoes that Asics tend to do. I like Saucony they work for me, I previously ran in Nike Pegasus. I would suggest running in shoes on a treadmill first to be sure that the shoe is comfortable and works for you. If you feel that you need a gait analysis I would suggest you seek out a sports podiatrist who can tell you if you do have biomechanics that would benefit from a particular type of shoe.

But regarding shoes, I am yet to be convinced that it’s the shoes that cause injury. Otherwise I think there would be far more of us hobbling around injured, constantly changing our shoes. And constantly changing running shoes is an expensive state of affairs to get into. To mitigate for injuries the best things you can do are train sensibly, increase your mileage in a sensible, manageable manner, take your rest days, cross train, address issues from previous injuries, sleep if you can, eat well and hydrate. These are the things that are going to make you a more resilient, robust runner. The shoes don’t do it all for you. Unless Nike have got something up their sleeve…..

Vale Coastal 9th April 2022

I’m very much wishing that I had this blog back up and running a few weeks ago so that I could have written this directly in the aftermath of this race. It was my first event for many years and I was bouncing with pride and elation on completing it. As a novice trail runner I was extremely proud of how I dealt with the kit carrying and navigation which was all new to me. Few mistakes which could be rectified for future trail races but every day is a running school day and as someone who is a believer in life long learning I never presume to know everything about the sport that I love.

As part of my Ultra Training (the ultra which is no more due to ill health) I had entered the 18 mile race for the 2022 edition of the Vale Coastal race organised by Run Walk Crawl (RWC) Events. I’ve known people to rave about this race, I’d heard it was well organised and time wise it was perfect. My long training run needed to be about 18 miles and it was along the same terrain that the VOGUM would follow so it seemed like a no brainer. I was feeling nervous but quietly excited as the previous week I had run/walked 14 miles of the coastal path and had a great experience, now was time to dip my running toes back into an actual real live event. My first since the pandemic, the PhD, since Isla, since I don’t know when. This running event was long overdue!

Organisation wise I couldn’t fault RWC: the emails were always informative and encouraging, the kit list was readily available, the maps were already marked out and you were given options of where to register and pick up your number, either the afternoon before the race or on the day. Encouragement and smiles were forthcoming from the guy handing out the numbers the day before, which were so welcome as I started to feel a bit jittery about the distance and it being my first proper trail event with kit.

The morning of the race I felt quite relaxed. I was a big fan of the 10.30am start so breakfast was a relaxed affair and I made sure to eat enough having made that mistake previously (London Marathon 2014 I felt hungry most of the way round, absolutely dire situation). I packed my kit with the gels and snacks that I had practiced with and made a mental plan of the timings for the gels. See, race fueling hasn’t all dropped out of my head!

The start was at Porthkerry Park in Barry, a beautiful place where the viaduct looms over you. I was grateful to see the toilets were open as the nervous bladder had kicked in and I was convinced if I didn’t go I’d need to submit to the dreaded wild wee. Comfort restored and I hung around with the other half until it was time to go. I bumped into my neighbour Gemma and fellow Running Punk Catrin and it was nice to see friendly faces, although my nerves had kicked in and I couldn’t bring myself to say very much (sorry girls I’m genuinely not that standoffish).

Runners who had started the 32 mile race in Penarth had already flown past and my head tried to comprehend how quickly they had made it through with another 18 miles to go. Something to aim for next year perhaps? The 18 mile race started and a running/jogging cloud started trundling from the pen towards the main path out West towards our destination. Within a few minutes I was kicking myself for starting at the back of the pen. All the runners bottle necked on a steep hill because there was a smallish gate at the top. We had to queue to make our way up so there was very little movement or running at this very initial stage of the run. If I came back I would definitely have more confidence to stand further forward, if only to avoid the queue situation. However it did give me a chance to talk to a runner who was training for a 100km race and was using this run as a training run. We exchanged niceties as runners do and then we separated as we got past the gate.

Once we were past the queue on the hill everything opened up and we could all stretch out. I was glad I kept my base layer on as the wind was strong despite the bright sunshine. The sunglasses probably made me look like a poser but at times the light was bright as the sun bounced off rocks and the sea so they were well justified. I started on my gels at around an hour in and then kept up the fuel intake every 35-40 minutes which seemed to work as a strategy. I made sure to walk the hills and chat to any runners around me, remembering all my countryside etiquette, keeping my litter, closing gates or holding them open if a fellow runner was just behind me.

The section from Porthkerry to Llantwit Major was pretty straight forward and I didn’t have to worry about getting lost as there were plenty of runners ahead that I could see or keep in contact with. The path by the energy station should be called Dogshit Alley, it was actually disgusting and I think some of the dogs must be the size of small ponies. Pick it up dog owners FFS. Fortunately no shitty trail shoes but honestly, that was my main take from that section.

The support station at Llantwit Major was approximately the half way mark for the 18 mile race. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so looked after in a race. The volunteers could not do enough. my empty bottles were immediately filled and returned to me before I could muster breath to ask for water. I was shown a buffet of running snack delicacies: bananas, organges, salty crisps and what looked to me to be the pick and mix from the sweets aisle in Tesco. RWC really outdid themselves here and I was able to set off again hydrated and well fuelled again.

Up the steps at Llantwit my legs were tired but I was now into territory that I had already experienced and I was mentally starting to pick off my own little checkpoints, helping me to tick off the miles and help me get closer to the finish: the rocky fossil beach that I made a mental note to take my kids to, the RNLI station with the swimming pool next door, the little foresty bit with the stone stile, the expansive green fields, the lighthouse, the ridiculous steep incline at Monknash that I thought would finish me off, more fields…..hang on Southerndown….that means Ogmore is a couple of miles away. I felt bouncy and happy and I even managed a couple of gurns for the photographer who seemed to appear out of no where.

This is where I got a bit over excited and started putting the pedal down a bit too hard not really thinking about what was ahead. I hadn’t gone past this point on my recce run so think I chose to ignore that lay before me. I started passing a couple of runners and then I remembered that to visit Dunraven Bay at Southerndown you have to drive down a very long, very steep hill to get down to the car park. Ogmore Beach, the finish line was somewhere beyond the top of that incline. I started looking over to the right to see if there were more gradual inclines, but no they were taking us straight up the hill. I felt it before I even hit it and I gave a half hearted attempt to maintain a jog and then laughed out loud and succumbed to the trudge. The 32 mile runners were also hitting this hill, what did I say about trying that next year?

I reached the top of the hill in the most beautiful sunshine, light was bouncing off the sea below and even though my legs felt shredded I started to give myself a little pat on the back that I had made it almost to the finish. There wasn’t really anywhere to go wrong at this point, just follow other runners in a straight line to the finish. Some people sprinted past me to the finish but I felt no need to hurry myself up, time was not my goal. For me it was the thrill of being able to say once again that I had completed a running event. It has been such a long time, after all the stress of last year with my injuries, having to DNS a number of races including Liverpool marathon (still gutted) and then the added setback of COVID at Christmas which affected my running into January. But despite all that I had really managed to complete 18 plus miles of beautiful but fairly unforgiving terrain. 18.5 miles (closer to 19 smdh) of beautiful trail running on the Wales coastal path complemented by the most wonderful volunteers and supporters and the company of my fellow runners. I couldn’t have asked for more and all being well I really hope I can do this race again next year, 18 or 32 miles, who knows? And if anyone else is tempted to venture into trail running as a novice then this is a great event to dip your toe into.

NB: I think I was meant to get my course map stamped at the checkpoints. I didn’t do that, didn’t realise you had to. No one asked to check at the end but next time I’ll make sure I get the CPs stamped. However if anyone at the end had tried to claim I hadn’t completed that race because of a lack of stamps I might not have been able to maintain my composure.

Pregnancy, PhD and a Pandemic

I’d almost forgotten about this blog. It’s sat here dormant sine 2017 and I have no idea what made me give up on it. I think Instagram had really kicked up a notch and I started writing epically long captions under my pictures to really piss off my few followers who were expecting to see pictures of the kids and the dog. Since 2017 though things have massively changed for my family.

I’ve had another baby. I started my PhD at about 3 months pregnant. I had the baby (a little girl) and had 8 months off, which in hindsight was no where near enough. I returned to work just as the 8 month sleep regression really kicked in. I launched the data collection phase of my PhD project in March 2020…..and then the pandemic hit. Cue major panicking about how I was going to collect focus group data from runners (yes my project is on running, how convenient) while we were all prevented from mixing and being in the same room together. And then Zoom swooped in and saved my PhD backside from annihilation.

I’m now in the final writing phase of my PhD and I still can’t quite believe everything that’s happened: lockdown, homeschooling and supporting the mental health of two older children, raising a toddler, managing not to kill each other after being cooped up for months, data collection, work. Did it all really happen? Was it an episode of Black Mirror because with all the tech innovations that have come out of the pandemic it feels like that. But yey for vaccinations, I’m more than happy to be levelled up and I can’t wait for my super powers to kick in.

Through that this time though running came back to have a prominent position in my life. I had run a little bit early on in pregnancy but following the delivery I had struggled to get back into running until my daughter was about 9 months old, and even then the sleepless nights would often mean I was too exhausted to run in the day. The one hour a day during lockdown lead to a reinvigoration of my running and I found the joy of running again. It was something to look forward to and I managed to build up a great baseline of running fitness again. I even managed a couple of half marathons with one in a Captain Marvel costume in 2021.

And so here we are, about 5 years since my last blog post here, lots has changed but running is still there, sometimes an extra, very often a support actor but almost always a lead role in my life. It hasn’t all been plain sailing. There are still injuries and illnesses which require time and mental resilience to deal with and even though I sometimes think it may be time to throw the trainers away I never do. Because time heals most injuries and the pull towards the tarmac or the trails will never really go.

I’m not sure what form this blog will take now. Maybe a bit of running with some added running injury information and a place to share my PhD musings as the process continues. And hopefully some races to, because I’ve missed events, no matter how much of an introvert I am, I still like running in amongst other people or with people. And the people on Instagram can have a break from my running witterings and be subjected to my awful photo skills instead.

You’re So Vain

Not you. I’m not talking about you, or anyone else. It was a song that popped into my head today when I realised my current motivations for running right now.

It’s 3 months since the horrible back pain and leg pain. It’s gone and my dissertation is finished and I’ve reopened my physiotherapy clinic in new premises (yay!). Despite the back injury lots of good things have happened. I passed my masters, I found a new place for the clinic and we went on an awesome holiday as a family.

Family holiday meant summer clothes like shorts, dresses, shorts and *gulp* swimsuits. And while I had a lovely time on holiday with the boys and with my husband I discovered that three months of being unable to exercise and keep myself fit had taken it’s toll. Clothes that I took away with me were snug. I hadn’t tried them on before we’d headed off, I just grabbed my usual holiday outfits, chucked them in the case and away we went. Things were tighter around the waist and I could feel my thighs rub together when I was wearing shorts. When I wore my swim suits I was self conscious and instead of giving myself up to the wild abandon of playing with my children in the pool I was making excuses not to go. I didn’t like that I was feeling like this and started to judge myself for those feelings.

The holidays have now finished and this week I have made a conscious effort to get back into things. The pain and stiffness that I had has subsided enough for me to gently edge myself back into some exercise. A few weeks ago I started practicing Pilates to feel stronger again. On Monday I tried the rowing machine and I felt okay. Today I tried my first twenty minute run. It was a relief to be able to put on my running shoes again but there were things that I didn’t like: the top of my capris felt taut across my stomach, my top that usually swings about was like a body con dress and I could feel things wobbling, caused by my forced inactivity and the resulting loss of muscle bulk. It upset me because my body hasn’t felt like this since I had my second child. And then I was a bit more upset that I was being so vain which is when that Carly Simon classic popped into my head. I then judged myself for being so vain. And then I realised I’m only human and this is just the start and hopefully where running and exercising are concerned it will start to get better and I’ll start to feel better abut myself again.

But I ran…..yay!

 

The Long Haul

On a Tuesday in May my husband had to help me into the GP surgery as I couldn’t put weight through my right leg. Every time I tried to move I felt like a bolt of lightning went through my back as it spasmed. This was then followed by equally nauseating pain in the back of my thigh. I’d been having back pain since lifting furniture and boxes around the house. I’d been coping with hot water bottles and pain killers but as the pain in my leg referred further into my leg and my foot went numb I knew this was something else.

Right then running or any form of exercise was the last thing on my mind. As a physio with a background in treating back pain I had self diagnosed myself with sciatica. The GP was in agreement and gave me medication to help manage it. I declined an MRI scan referral as I didn’t think it necessary. I needed pain management and I needed to get moving once the pain was under control.

For the rest of that week the boys, the dog and I stayed with my parents. Once the pain relief (mainly anti inflammatories) helped the pain to recede I was able to shuffle walk around the park across the road from my parents. A couple of months before I had been running the perimeter of this park but running was not even in my mind then. Being able to walk was enough. I would walk the mile perimeter while the boys would go off and play and my dad would walk my dog. Sometimes it would be a bit much and I’d feel the ache down my leg again but by and large the treatment plan I’d worked out for myself was helping me manage.

As the pain started to ebb and flow away and more and more activities became pain free my thoughts turned to exercise and inevitably to running. The first few weeks the pain had clouded me so much that running had not even entered my thoughts. But at week 4 and 5 into recovery a horrific thought occurred to me: was running over for me?

I have been running in some form or another since I was eleven years old. Track, road, cross country, middle distance, hurdles, marathons. I have done all these things at some point in the last twenty six years. Not running is abnormal to me but this time returning to running the way I love to run didn’t seem possible. I started to make peace with the fact that maybe running was over for me. To admit that hurt deep down in my soul. I had a little cry to myself about it and then scolded myself for being upset about something that seemed so trivial.

I was lucky that during this time I had other things to distract me. I worked at the World Para Athletics Championships as part of the medical team. I attended my graduation to accept my masters degree in sports and exercise Physiotherapy. I found a new base for my physiotherapy practice to work from and set about moving in. I enrolled on a course to learn how to teach Pilates exercises to patients and enjoyed it. All these things helped to distract me from my decision to ‘retire’ from running. I didn’t even have pangs of jealousy when I saw people out running. I saw this as an acceptance of my decision. Walking, Pilates and body weight exercises at home were going to be enough for me, I was sure of it. It was just running. I’d get over it.

I don’t think I consciously remember putting my running kit in a bag when we were packing for our holiday in France. It was likely out of habit as I have always packed my running kit when we’ve gone away on holiday. When I pulled my trainers out of the bag there were no thoughts about running to start with. I used my kit to play tennis with my eldest son. It was fun and hard going. He’s nine and has lessons so sent me dancing around the court. I felt a burn in my chest and my muscles contracting in a way that they hadn’t for at least three months. When I moved the next day and realised there hadn’t been an increase in pain other than an exercise muscle ache something stirred and I asked myself: could I run?

I didn’t spring out the door. The thing is with an injury is that even though physically you feel okay, mentally you become hyper vigilant. A fear of running had developed. Not just a fear of being in pain again but the fear that it might go wrong and you end up disappointed, frustrated or even devastated all over again. Pain and emotion are so intertwined in our injury processes and trying to dampen down that hyper vigilance over my every move had become hard. And so I waited. I had another game of tennis. I played in the pool. I ran about with the boys. I just played and played. Playing is so under rated but I found a joy again in just being able to run around with the boys with no real purpose. I then realised that in the back of my mind while we were around the camp site that I had planned a route.

And…..I ran on my holiday. Not once, but twice. I allowed myself two very slow 20 minute runs. I kept my stride short and went even slower if I needed to. It was hard, so hard, but I never thought I’d be even trying to run again. Two months ago I was happy just to be able to sleep through the night! I was grateful. Grateful for the body’s ability to heal in it’s own time, grateful for my background knowledge that had allowed me to take a step back and enabled me to heal and grateful that I was able to do this again and feel the sensation of running again.

I called this blog The Long Haul because it was about the length of time it’s taken me to get to this point, but it turns out it could apply to the length of this post.  It took three months to get to the point where my tissues were able to tolerate running. I had tried about 6 weeks previously but going by the fact I seemed to go backwards in my recovery it was too soon. For now twenty minutes will be enough For now every other day will be enough. I want to enjoy running again. I want to make myself stronger mentally and physically. There will be no races and no running groups. Running has been a part of me since I was a little girl and I need to find that piece of me again. This injury has been a long haul and it’s not over yet but with some self care and maybe a little bit of running selfishness I’ll be out of my self imposed retirement and calling myself a runner once again.

 

 

 

Panic In The Pool

A couple of months ago I’m starting to think I did something pretty stupid. I was looking for something to challenge myself and after deciding that I had really enjoyed my foray into open water swimming for triathlon training I entered an open water event. But not just any event. I entered the Welsh Swim which is a 2.4 mile swim being held in Tenby in July.

Now at the time I was convinced that it was doable. I can swim a mile under my own steam. I’m not fast, I’m not technically proficient but I get there. So I convinced myself that 2.4 mile wouldn’t be so bad. I planned to get some open water practice in locally (with friends) and it was all going to be fine.

But it’s not. Because for some darn reason little head demons have crept in and are making me doubt my ability. I’m used to self doubt and tough mental stretches in running races. But this self doubt seems to be manifesting itself physically as panic and it’s crippling my training.

A couple of weeks ago I went to the pool with a goal in mind. I didn’t even achieve half of it. I had intended to go for eighty lengths and I think I managed under forty. I struggled from the off, my body felt like lead and my breathing was all to pot. I pulled myself out of the pool frustrated and angry. I know I had been tired, I had been away on a kids’ rugby tour but I still felt I should have been able to swim the way I wanted to. I didn’t go back to the pool until this week.

I had to make myself go swimming on Monday. I had been avoiding it, turning to my preferred love of running. But feelings of guilt at the possibility that I was on the verge of giving up were screaming at me so I went. I was terrified I was about to have a similar experience.

I started swimming and it felt not to bad. And then my mind started to wander and the challenge of swimming 2.4 miles in the sea started to play with my head. Then I convinced myself that I might have missed a phone call from school and feelings of mum guilt sneaked in. I started to worry about other things at home like the work that needs doing to the house since the flooding incident. This was accompanied by stressing that I might not ever find anywhere to house my physio practice again. I then started worrying about my breathing and how slow I am and about my stroke and that I should try more bilateral breathing, and maybe I don’t belong in the International Pool because I don’t have a pull buoy and paddles. And then I realised that the way I was feeling was similar to open water panic but I was experiencing it at the swimming pool. ‘Totally ridiculous’, I scolded myself, ‘I can’t let this happen in the swimming pool!’

So I stopped swimming front crawl and started swimming breast stroke, calming my breathing, getting back control, forcing myself to be in the moment again. After a few lengths the panic had subsided and when I felt ready I started swimming front crawl again, but in a similar rhythm to my breast stroke. Slow and in control. I ended up swimming 88 lengths, my furthest swim ever, and physically I felt tired but not sore or in pain. I had just needed to switch my brain off and slow down.

I have no idea if I will be on the beach in Tenby ready to take on this challenge. My head seems to be messing me up a bit at the moment, but I’ll keep trying. I would hate to be a DNS because of my lack of mental toughness where this event is concerned. It will feel like a failure if I don’t do it because of the fear of panicking. But I remember feeling a bit like that at the start of my triathlon swim a couple of years ago and once I was in and swimming all the fear ebbed away and the excitement of being in the race took over. Maybe the key here will to stop being so judgmental of myself and have faith that I can do this. Instead of ‘shut up legs’ it’s a case of ‘shut up head’. Be quiet head demons and let me swim!