The Full Circle

The Full Circle

I would have been just 6 when the first London Marathon runners snaked their way through the streets of London in 1981, finishing in the Mall.  I remember being inspired by these runners to play a game where I just ran laps of the garden round and round until, I dropped, enjoying the early evening sunshine.  Another marathon inspired game I played, was imagining that I was running alongside the car on long car journeys, all the way to our holiday destination.  That was a quite a run from Hertfordshire to Cornwall!  I eventually ran the London Marathon in 1998 and wow what confidence booster it was.  I say I ran it, I’ve never been a fast runner, but I got around and that’s what counts.  I still miss that running club to this day.

Number 2 woke up coughing on Monday the 9^th March 2020.  It was nothing particularly serious but in the lite of the recommendations at the time, I rang the school and informed them I was keeping her off for the then recommended 7 days.  And that was the start of our isolation.  Hubby had been up and out early to catch a train.  He was walking part of the South West Coastal Path that week, having just finished his latest contract.  He came home early in the end.  The wind, rain and rather increasing seriousness of the situation rather took the shine out of his adventure and he missed us.  I was glad to see him come home, throwing shopping bags, the car keys and a list at him before he set foot in the house.  He came back with most of the food on the list and a pack of Carona beer, apparently all that was left on the shelf.  He’s not fussy!

So, this week I was back to running laps around the garden.  My Garmin watch has given up the ghost and Map my run couldn’t cope with the fact that I was only moving such small distances, so I am back to being that 6 year old running laps around the garden until I drop, unaware of the time and enjoying the sunshine.  We have an evil stepped hill in garden, so this is not as easy as it sounds, but I am eternally grateful that we have such a lovely long garden which backs out onto the local woods.  After my run I sat and watched two Robins feeding from

Like the rest of the country, the rest of the world, my plans are up in the air due to the Coronavirus pandemic.  I am heading back to children’s nursing on the bank, which was always a vague plan but my hand has been rather forced by recent events. My Coast2Coast adventure looks likely to be pushed back to next year.  One of the hostels I have booked has already cancelled my stay.  Some of my bookings don’t have free cancellation.  Boring.  Thankfully I had only started booking week one.

It’s looking possible that I will end up deferring the Art degree I am due to start in September.  So, it seems that too lifelong ambitions I thought would be realised this year will have to wait.  Life throws us curve balls sometimes, but I’m thankful that I have made the steps to making those dreams come true.  Having the goal post moved is frustrating, but you know I’m pleased I have a goal posts to keep me motivated.  I won’t be giving on my dreams.  They are merely postponed.  For now, though I’m not sure who needs more home schooling in the maths department, me or the girls.  Drug calculation revision for me!

Don't Make Your Arrows TOO BIG!

                                           

                                                 Don't Make Your Arrows TOO BIG!
                                               
Pulling back the foil lid of my left contact lens this morning, sent a squirt of liquid shooting across the room. It was reminiscent of the time the blister under my toe nail shot its innards at speed towards my newly acquired walking companion.  Richard and his friend Alan had allowed me to tag along with them on day two of the Cotswold Way 100k challenge.  My toenail had long since parted company with its bed and was floating loose in a large bubble of liquid.  Richard copped the lot when it popped and Alan, suffering himself with his post op knee, wrapped zinc oxide tape around it.  If you’re going to attach yourself to anyone on a long walk a retired policeman and ex RAF logistics officer are a good bet.  Two true gents who dragged me to the end of our challenge, crossing the line arm in arm with a real team spirit.  It was quite an achievement for all of us and we were all pleased to finish.  No more hunting for little pink arrows. 

Now, I don’t mind admitting that I probably would have struggled to finish that walk without Richard and Alan.  It was a particularly hot weekend; walkers were dropping out left right and centre and I had often found myself alone on the route.  With painfully shredded feet, it wasn’t so much that I was alone that bothered me, it was the fact that I could end up alone, injured and unable to continue that frightened me.  I had been quite dehydrated when I finished the first half of the walk the day before, and without the regular rest stops put on by the organisers I would have been in serious trouble.  I have done the same event 3 years on the trot and it’s always been the hottest day of the year, so it's this fear that kept me awake the other night.  What if I simply cannot carry enough water or replace salts efficiently, and I become dehydrated and sick whilst I'm walking on the Coast2Coast?... 

My husband looked at me like I had just spoken to him in a foreign language, "Why would you want to do that?" he asked incredulously.  Ever the optimist my husband doesn't do thinking ahead and wondering if that pub on the map will be open on that day or indeed still exists.  "I want to be prepared, I don't want to walk all that way expecting to get lunch and find that I can't because you have to book 3 weeks in advance" I replied pronouncing each word clearly as if talking to an elderly deaf person. Still looking at me like I was mad and now not understanding my obvious irritation either, my husband replied  "But there will be somewhere open you can get a drink, you'll still be in England"  My husband thinks I'm a bit of a pessimist, he might have a point but I would prefer to call it "being realistic".  I sit and bite my tongue remembering how, his best man, ended up in the wrong Holiday Inn on the other side of town the night before our wedding, because my then fiancé wouldn't let me book for everyone at once.  I expect you can imagine the slow inhale of breath and eye rolling that I did when I found that out.  But it was their inevitable cock up, they could deal with it their way. I had other things to worry about at the time, like how two bridesmaids, my parents, my brother and myself were going to get ready on time with only one bathroom!  I was also remembering the time we tried to go for an impromptu lunch out with my parents and the kids one Sunday.  We ended up driving around the local countryside looking for a pub that could accommodate us all, getting more and more hungry and breaking more and more rules of the road.  Eventually out of desperation we ate in the mother of all rank and nasty pubs.  Hey ho, my husband and I rock and roll differently.  Such is life, love and marriage.  We will be celebrating 9 years in July; his optimism and my "realism" do tend to work well together.

But of course, plans are not always fool proof.  I once went to the wedding of a lovely old university friend of mine called Jo.  She had sent out maps with the invitations with everything marked on it with a big arrow.  I went on my own and stayed in a little B&B not too far from the where I thought the arrow was pointing.  But it's a good job I went on a recky the day before as I found myself looking at the map and realising I was standing under the large arrow.  I couldn't figure out where I was supposed to go.  So, I decided to play a little game and dared myself to ask the next handsome man I saw for directions.  No mobile phones in those days you had to just be braved and communicate with a fellow human.  Anyway, smiling and flirting I did indeed get the directions I needed from a nice-looking chap who smiled politely back.  It wasn't until I visited the public toilets two minutes after our conversation and looked in the mirror, that I realised I had an enormous piece of chicken stuck in my teeth.   

Having thought that I was all about going off into the wild hills and not worrying about where I am, I've come to realise that I will enjoy a good wander off the grid if I am better able to place myself on the grid in the first place.  I'm really enjoying planning my targets along the way, if I plan them now it saves me thinking about it too much when I'm on my walk, possibly tired and frustrated.  I want brain space to paint and think while I'm up there in the hills.  If something better comes up then great, I'll go with it.  The point is I want the choice, without my arrows being too big.

...as for the weather, I'm not in charge of that and I can only take it as it comes and plan each day accordingly.  If it's too hot then I'll have to rest, in the open pub, at the table that I booked 3 months in advance.  Maybe.

My Left Foot and other minor injuries...

“Oh yeah, just there” said Sophie as she ran her hand over the historical break in my little toe, while I explained the various injuries, I have inflicted on my left foot over the last 10 years or so.  My left foot will not be helping me to become an artist; at least not so directly as it did for Christy Brown, (you never know I may become dexterous enough to paint and draw with my feet after I complete my BA in Fine Art, but I doubt it!)  but the fact that I have not been able to train since my ankle gave out on me whilst running a cross country race in Chepstow at the beginning of the month, means that it’s not currently helping to prepare me for my Coast2CoastSolo challenge either.   Pesky left foot!  “It’s all a bit crunchy down here too” she observed as she expertly manipulated my ankle this way and that. “Yes, that bunion on your big toe is throwing off your stride and stopping you from pushing off correctly and that tendons rather long where you’ve rolled it a few times”.  Harrumph…I’ve always felt rather aggrieved at developing a bunion, I know they are hereditary but come on, I’m 6ft tall it’s not like I misspent my teenage years in pointy stiletto heels exacerbating them, I wasted it in Doctor Martens and cowboy boots.  Or rather I was often wasted in Dr Martens and cowboy boots.

Anyway… I know it sounds odd to say that you almost look forward to visiting your Osteopath, but I do actually quite like a quick trip to Sophie down at The Medical.  I mean, there’s something about chatting to someone who’s there to help keep your body in the race and understands your desire to push yourself as far as you can go, that keeps you motivated even when you’re injured. Sophie has manipulated my back and neck on numerous occasions.  Definitely a useful person to know and she’s good giggle too. I still haven’t figured out how I tore my teres minor in isolation, (a rotator cuff muscle in your shoulder) which she was treating for me before Christmas. Does anyone else ever just wake up injured or is it just me?  Honestly, the things I have done to myself in my sleep makes me think that simply going to bed and sleeping is more dangerous than any sport.  I once woke up with such a bad neck and shoulder, I kid you not, I couldn’t walk properly due to the pain.  I actually felt at one point that the pain was comparable with being in labour with N.o 1.  Her nick name was “little shit” while I was in labour.  Perhaps I should explore that in more detail with a therapist!  No, I love her really, she was born with a full head of beautiful hair, that stopped the ventouse from sticking.  That's why she didn't want to come out, she was doing her hair even then!  

N.o 2, nick named “Tit leach two, (the return of the sucky monster)” no prizes for guessing who the original “tit leech” was, had an early introduction to mummy’s attempts at fitness.  Now, I hate the gym, so much so that I have only had a one membership and it lasted about two months when I first moved to the West Country.  To me exercise needs to have an added bonus, like your getting from A to B somehow.  I just don’t feel right getting all sweaty and not really moving from the spot you’re in, there’s not enough distraction, it’s a bit repetitive and quite frankly I can’t be arsed!  Hence, I took on a personal trainer to come to my house when N.o 2 was just 6 weeks old.  Now I was paying for a someone to train me, there was no way I was going to spend half my allotted hour sitting down and settling or feeding a “Tit Leech” so she was often latched on while I squatted up and down or used as a weight like on a bench press.  I couldn’t have done that with N.o 1, bless her, she would have simple sprayed me in regurgitated milk.  We never did go back to the pub where she vomited down the back of the radiator as 4 month old.  Messy.  Poor kid. The couple in the corner nearly were crying with laughter!  I still kissed her puked sodden face. 

Teresa my PT helped train me for the Bristol to Bath Marathon in 2015, the year I turned 40 and N.o 2 at just 14 months and just stopped tit leeching.  Teresa also trained me for my first Ultra walk in 2017, 100k in two days along the Cotswold Way.  An event she also took part in with another client.  I was almost scuppered by the sleep induced injury described above but since I had already dropped out of the Edenborough marathon under Doctors’ orders due to a nasty bought of labyrinthitis, I wasn’t going to be stopped on my walk. We all made it round despite some gruesome looking blisters, and touch of heat stroke!  Teresa trained me for five years before she moved away, in which time we also became friends. 

I was supposed to be running the Two Tunnels 10k on Sunday and I was booked in for the Afan half marathon the week before.  Both cancelled due to my pesky left foot.  Sitting around has given me a bad back, I told you doing nothing is as bad as sport its self ! I’m really fed up with my lack of physical effort in the last few weeks and I need a shove up the proverbial. I did make it to my rowing class on Monday but that’s another blog entirely.  Frankly I miss Teresa, not just because of her PT skills but because of our motivational chats and general gossip, which stops me dwelling on my minor injuries. I feel another trip to The Medical coming on, although Sophie I’m skint, fancy a coffee and a chat instead?