Giving up on grief (not a running blog)

I started this blog after we lost E as a way to help me cope, then stopped writing it when it became evident it wasn’t helping. Earlier this year I reread my old blogs and decided to kick things off again to compliment my marathon training for the Edinburgh Marathon as running had been a big help in managing my grief. Then it struck me, I use the word grief a lot. Even defining it as “my grief” seems scary. I understand the principle behind this, and honestly I think acknowledging ownership of it is a big thing in coping with it. But as a word its one which only has negative connotations and to be honest I’m sick of it. I’m sick of how it’s come to define every aspect of my life and how, no matter what, it’s going to continue to do so until the day I die. I don’t want to hear that word any more, and I don’t want to say that word any more. So I’m not. This post will be the last time it gets a mention so lets get everything that plays over in my mind out in one go. In fact, why delay to the end of this post, the ban starts now. This is a post about it, that won’t mention it again.

The metaphor.

One key thing I’ve taken away from the past 20 months is people experience it in very different ways, it is an extremely personal thing.  I’ve seen a lot of discussion about how living with it is a little like having a grey cloud following you around, always ready to rain down on you. For me it’s not like that, my experience feels more like something from It’s A Knock Out. My life now is about moving forward, passed the obstacles being thrown at me, and a lot of the time that’s doable. However there’s always something tied around my waist, waiting to pull me back. Sometimes there’s plenty of slack there and its pull is negligable. But inevitably the further forward I get the more it pulls, slowing me down until it eventually snaps me back

Time, the great healer.

Perhaps at 20 months in I’m not qualified enough to comment on the passing of time. Perhaps the purported healing properties of time take longer than 20 months to take effect. However at this point I can categorically say it doesn’t get better with time. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Sure the pain isn’t as immediate anymore, but it still hurts. Time masks those wounds but it’s a temporary fix, and not a great one. Time is a bodger.

I realise this sounds a little contrary, but I’m ok with the bodging nature of time’s work. Some wounds are just too deep, and in truth I can’t say I want them to be fully healed. I want to remember what I’ve lost, and more importantly what I had. To fully appreciate the special time we had with E we need to be willing to put up with the hard times as they provide the context. This is where time comes in to its own. What time does is teach you how to put up with the hard times, how to get through the day without succumbing to them and adapt to your new life. Because that’s what your life is now, new. It’s not a gleaming glistening kind of new, and you’d give anything to go back to your old life. But it is new, and you need to learn how to live it because the old rules no longer work.

The future.

Having A in our life makes a massive difference. She was the one who made sure we got back on our feet straight after E died, and keeps us looking forward, working to build more and more slack in to that bungee cord. She seems to be growing in to a happy little girl, and I hope she hasn’t been affected by spending all but the first three months of her life being brought up by grieving parents. That word, this time, was unavoidable as unfortunately it best describes how we have been these past 20 month. Thankfully we can still enjoy life with A, seeing her laugh is one of the few times when the bungee cord falls completely slack and you can soar forward without restriction. We’re learning to more relaxed with her, the slightest sniffle or temperature can drag you back and leads to some anxious times until things settle again. And I do worry about her reaching the age where she understands what happened to her sister, and how we make sure we explain this without frightening her or causing her too much upset. It’s sad to think she’s growing up without a big sister to play with and look after her, but that’s our dark spot. A will never know any different and that, as sad as it may sound, is reassuring.

The next step.

I can write all this, and I believe every word, but it’s not straightforward. There are times when it takes hold, triggered by a song on the radio, a memory from social media, or more commonly something A does that immediately sparks thoughts of her lost sibling. It takes time to get back on track again, but time is the key. Time has taught me that when I do succumb I will get back, I just have to put my faith in time and let it do its thing. The focus now is about how to manage those hard bits whilst time is doing its thing.

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Taper Tantrum

22 May 2017

How on earth did I get myself in to this position? In less than one week Edinburgh marathon will be starting and I’ll be running it. I forget the point at which I signed up for the race, but I assume it felt like a good idea at the time. Now I’m not so sure. Sure it was exciting at first, getting the training plan sorted and working out how to fit in the extra runs to my usual weekly routine. However as the weekly mileage ramped up the excitement levels dropped away. I was getting tired, I was getting slower, and I was starting to hurt.

A little over half way through the training plan a dodgy knee stopped me in my tracks, I couldn’t run on it. To help get me back on track I dropped the best part of two weeks from my training plan entirely and stopped running with running club for around 6 weeks whilst I eased myself back in with some steady runs. It helped. My legs improved and eventually I was running without pain. More importantly I was starting to enjoy it again.

I’ve been back at running club for two weeks now and last week marked my first proper speed-work session in what’s felt like an eternity. It was hard going and I’m definitely slower than when I started this godforsaken marathon plan, but it felt good to be back. I’ve missed running at full pelt, too many runs recently have been ambling along for mile after mile to try and get some mileage in without risking injury. These runs were the best I could manage, and have helped, but by crickey they were boring. At the end of last week I finally felt like I’d got my mojo back, I was itching to run again.

In timely fashion this revitalisation has coincided with my marathon tapering. With the marathon due on Sunday this week is potted with rest days and minor efforts to keep my legs fresh. I want to run, I’m physically able to run, but I’m not running this week. Not really.  I know it’s important not to overdo it, and tapering is just as important to a training plan as getting those long runs in, but on the back of a prolonged period of recovery runs I’m desperate to make the most of my return to fitness. Plus with the injury and the missed training sessions I feel like I have to make up for lost time. I’ve missed a 19 mile and 20 mile run to injury, and although I managed to claw some back I still feel like I’ve under trained. I know there’s nothing I can do now, and I know how ridiculous it sounds, but I’m struggling to shake that feeling that one more Tuesday training session at running club will undo a lot of damage from the missed training.

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The race number arrives, its actually happening.

Despite my wittering I am grateful I’m fit to run the marathon as I know plenty of folk that are having to miss out entirely.  I will be good this week, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be going to running club, even if the handicap 10k on Thursday does sound good (it’s not often the whole club joins in the same activity). It’s fair to say my mood this week is going to be a flit between frustration and worry. Frustrated I can’t run, and worried I haven’t run enough. If only I could find an activity that always helps to clear my head…

Above all else this marathon, however much I may have complained to my wife and anyone who’d listen, is being run for a good cause. I may not have raised as much money for charity as I’d have liked, but the bit I have raised will make a difference.


 

Beyond the marathon itself my other concern, worry, maybe even fear, is focussed on the few days after the race. Post-race blues. When all that training has been spent, all the build up to the day is over, the crowds have cheered you home, you’ve got your finishers medal and cuddle from loved ones, then you retire back home with achy legs and the endorphins slowly drop away. That’s the bit I’m dreading (I guess that’s the word I was looking for). Last year it was obvious I was dropping after each race, my mood dipped and I started to struggle with my grief again. In hindsight it only lasted a week or so, but they were long weeks. And that was only after a half marathon, my other worry is that twice the distance run equals twice the recovery period, both physically and mentally. I hope that’s not the case. Thankfully I have two days off work immediately after the run, two days to spend with cheeky, smiley A who can elicit laughter from anyone at any time (well, except one chap on the train recently who flatly refused to even acknowledge her despite her best efforts). It’s reassuring to know that despite everything that’s happened since A was born she’s still growing in to a happy little girl just like her sister. Just one who’s been to so many races she’s now conditioned to clap and cheer anyone she sees wearing running gear, whether they’re running or not. Pavlov would be proud.

A week away. Now hurry back.

As things were flowing nicely in preparation for Edinburgh marathon my body, specifically my right knee, mounted a minor protest at all the early starts and extra miles and demanded a rest. My IT band was flaring up and causing quite a bit of aggro whilst I was running. A quick Google check presented some stretching exercises that should help and recommended a period of rest until things settle down. Not wanting to cause any serious damage before the marathon I dutifully changed my training plan for the week, I gave myself a week away from running.

This has been a long week. At first it was quite novel not having to worry about whether it was better to do 8 miles before or after work, whether I could run home in time to collect A from nursery, or whether running club were going off road again (they were). However this relief didn’t last. I read at the start of the week that you can take a week off running and not see any real impact on your fitness. That’s as maybe but I found day five to be the point where I started to lose a little of my mental strength. 

It’s difficult to pin it exactly to my mini break from running, but Friday night was a low point. It’s the first time in a long time where I couldn’t sleep and my mind took me right back to that week in 2015, that room in Edinburgh, and sitting with E. All those numb, distant days that followed. Life didn’t really feel as if it was “just going on” it was quite the opposite, I couldn’t understand how life did just go on after this. Friday felt like this again.

A restless Friday gave way to a miserable Saturday. I can’t have been much fun. To compound matters A fell ill on Saturday. Nothing major, but her temperature spiked and immediately led to a tail spin. “What if she has a convulsion like E?” “What if it’s something worse?“. Both my wife and I struggled that night and I struggled to offer much support to her. In reality the dose of Calpol was enough to sort A out, but we checked on her constantly that night. I worry sometimes that we’re going to turn A in to some anxiety ridden germophobe when shes older, picking up on our over-the-top responses to her temperature. Hopefully she isn’t picking up any habits just yet, and maybe one day we can settle down with her. 

Sunday rolled round and enough was enough. I went for a run. My knee is still sore, but not enough to worry about. And after the few days that preceded a little bit of knee pain is nothing. I think it helped.

These few days have reaffirmed what I already knew, running is keeping me going. In one sense that’s positive, I can go about daily life without much fuss. But on the counter to that I may just be running away from grief rather than facing it and dealing with it properly. Am I setting myself up for a fall in the future when my legs can’t hack it anymore? I am aware this may not be the ultimate solution. I associated with the things Rio Ferdinand described in his moving documentary, I keep busy to get by but I don’t process my grief. And today Prince Harry spoke of his 20 year struggle to face up to grief, instead finding himself avoiding thinking about his mum instead. Thankfully I haven’t gone too far down that path this time, although I did when my mum died. I love to think about E. I love to talk about E. I love the many photos and videos we have of E and telling A about her big sister.

For the time being running is here to stay. There’s no magic solution that’s going to help me through definitively so I’ll stick with what’s working, sort of. Anything that helps keep me upright can’t be a bad thing, plus it gives me that headspace for a short time each day to refocus. Although, for the sake of my knees, this training plan may be downgraded ahead of the next marathon.

Joining the injured runners club.

It had to happen sooner or later. Training was going well and optimism was high. Just 4 miles in to my 19 mile run last weekend I pulled up. My right knee wasn’t having it. At first it felt like my knee just needed a good stretch to get things moving so I dutifully tried my best to loosen it off and set off again. A few sore steps followed, for a moment I contemplated pushing on and trying to run it off, but common sense made a surprise appearance and I stopped. The sensible part of my brain winning the argument with a reasoned “you’ve got 15 miles to go on this run and you’re already in pain, stop now or you’ll only make it worse”. So I did. Luckily this struck at a point where I was only half a mile or so from home so I didn’t need rescuing (good, as my wife doesn’t drive). I made my way towards home, occasionally grimacing and clutching my knee as cars passed so they knew I was injured and not just taking a break. Yeah…. I know. (On the plus side I resisted conjuring up a run name on Strava to justify my poor showing; “Aborted Long Run” perhaps, or “Long run – knee gave up at 4mi”. It remained as “Morning Run”, an unprecedented double victory for the sensible side that morning).

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So much for the long run – not quite the 19 miles it was meant to be.

Deflated I made it home, still battling the idiotic side of me which was determined to just run it off. I explained to my wife why I was back early and received some much welcomed reassurance that there was still plenty of time to the marathon and just to rest for a few days. I sat down to sulk and quickly turned to Dr Google to figure out what was going on. Symptoms entered in to the search bar returned a monumental list of articles and forum posts, all along the same theme – Iliotibial band syndrome.

“ITB syndrome can result from any activity that causes the leg to turn inward repeatedly. This can include wearing worn-out shoes (nope, they’re still ok), running downhill (yep, that’s when it kicked in) or on banked surfaces (I’ve been trying out off-road running recently, that might not have helped), running too many track workouts in the same direction (nope), or simply running too many miles (we have a winner).”
http://www.runnersworld.com/tag/it-band-syndrome

I’ve never heard of the iliotibial band before, it seems as though this is the runners equivalent of the metatarsal bone which David Beckham helped to popularise in 2002. Now I know what it is, it looks like there are iliotibial bands flaring up everywhere.

I did worry that I was pushing it too far with this training plan. Running six times a week, clocking up some pretty hefty weekly miles would push me towards a decent marathon time, but did carry a risk. It looks like that risk has been realised. Following the diagnosis, Dr Google has subsequently prescribed a break from running and stretching exercises. The exact length of this break wasn’t clear, so I initially took this to mean a day and set off for a nice and steady run on Monday evening to test things out. I managed around 1km before realising this was a mistake and turned back to home.

By listening to that sensible side again I’ve rejigged my training plan to give me an entire week off running. That was hard, and in all honesty sticking to it will be a battle with the idiotic side still chirping away telling me I need to go for a run. It’s disappointing, not least of all because training has been going well so far and I was finally starting to feel like running a marathon was an achievable goal. The main thing now is making sure I’m fit enough to actually run on the day, because above all else this run is about raising money for charity. If I can‘t run at my best on the day, I’ll be disappointed but I’ll cope. If I can’t run at all on the day then I’m letting down a charity and missing out on running with E on my chest again. Hopefully, by telling myself that this rest week is part of my training plan to get me to the start line then I can be disciplined enough to stick to it.

 


 

This setback has come at the end of a trickier week all round. Another birthday rolled by recently and once again, as with any milestones, brought out all those emotions that are kept sealed away on a “normal” day. A thoughtful birthday card from my wife on behalf of E was a little too much and while emotions were just about kept in check in the house, the subsequent car ride was soundtracked by one of E’s favourite albums. I’d gotten better at listening to this album in the past few months, but with the heightened emotions it was a little too much and tears flowed for the first time in a while. Thankfully this was before my introduction to the iliotibial band so this was one thing I could run off.

The Return of the Long Run

27 Mar 2017

The Sunday long run. A recurring marker in the diary that makes sure your Sunday starts early, and your Saturday stays honest. As the training weeks tick by and the Edinburgh Marathon draws nearer those Sunday long runs are starting to get longer. This weekend gone brought with it a 17 miler, officially the furthest I’d run since my 2013 marathon attempt (I think I was still running at 17 miles, but only just). I was a little apprehensive on setting off, and still so around 5 miles in. However by the end of it I was a changed man. This marathon was going to be mine.

Ok that’s maybe going a bit too far. Putting this in to context this was a 17 mile training run benefitting from fresher legs after a week lost to illness. But it did feel good. It was a challenging route, more so than the EMF2017 route looks, but I got round without wanting to stop. This run felt like a turning point, like I can finally let go of that miserable marathon effort from 2013. The marathon that effectively ended my interest in running for two years and has dogged me ever since.

I left the 2013 Yorkshire Marathon wondering how anyone can run a marathon at anything resembling pace. Throughout this training plan to date that thought has remained. I’m genuinely nervous, and that never happens before a race. I know the day itself will still have another 9 miles to add on top of this latst run, but I won’t be running 8 miles the day before EMF. Plus my training still has 3 lots of 20 mile runs to come to help bump up my endurance. I’m starting to think I could actually become a marathon runner.

One big thing that went right on Sunday was the fuelling, another mental hurdle I’ve had to overcome. Although I’ve been merrily getting through my stash of SiS gels for a while now I have doubted whether or not I could make these work over and above the half marathons I was running last year. I’ve been worried that a) they wouldn’t be enough to stop me hitting the wall again, or b) I’d overcompensate, take too many and get stomach cramps (tip: extra gels can’t rescue a half marathon you’re running two days after getting back from an all-inclusive holiday you’ve definitely got your money out of).

My plan was to keep it light and go for two gels over 17 miles, one after an hour and one more 40 minutes later. This seemed to work for me. I felt ok at the point I took the first gel, but knew I’d be needing it soon so took it whilst the going was good. The second was perhaps a little delayed as I started to struggle around 13 miles, however shortly after taking it I picked up again and managed to up my pace for the next 3 miles or so. This gel is the one that’s boosted me. The difference it made was certainly noticeable, something I have questioned in the past. Just before I took the gel those doubts were starting to creep in as I plodded along “You’re over 13 miles now. You don’t like running further than this. Stick to what you know, you’re no marathon runner”. The gel silenced these. My legs got going again, my form returned and my breathing settled (or more accurately I remembered to breath). As I upped the tempo along a familiar and dull stretch of road I was growing in confidence and started to see how I could keep a decent pace for 26.2 miles.

By jove I think I’ve cracked it – finally putting to use the free SiS gels (good marketing folks, you’ve roped me in now).

As I got closer to home I could tell my energy was dropping again. 17 miles is probably the time for gel number three, one to try out on this weekend’s 19 miler. At this rate I’m expecting to be on four gels for the marathon itself, maybe with one spare for emergencies.

Next week’s  19 miler, the three lots of 20 miles, and the marathon itself are no longer daunting (well, maybe the marathon still is a little). I know if I keep going with the training I’ll be able to run 26.2 miles. Yes it feels like a lot of running at the moment (partly because it IS a lot of running), but it’s going to be worth it.

 


 

One of the main challenges in these long runs is going to be making sure it doesn’t take over our weekend. Because of our work patterns Sunday’s are often the only day we get to spend all together. I want to train properly for this marathon, I want to run a good time, both for me and to do E proud. She’ll be pinned to my vest after all. But I also want my family time. Running for 2 hours plus every Sunday, with the added time back home to recover and refresh could become a bind. So far I’ve been able to drag myself out of bed early enough to get out, run and be back in time for family breakfast (A has at least two “beckfasts” these days so even when I miss the first I can catch the second). Hopefully that continues. The warmer weather should help. And it’s not like I’m bothered by having to keep my Saturday’s alcohol free, we rarely drink anyway so that’s no challenge. In fact with my hangover record, I’d lose more of my Sunday after a Saturday on the beer than I would from a Sunday long run. This is just another reminder to myself to keep things in perspective and keep one of the promises we made ourselves after we lost E – whatever happens we won’t let losing her affect the way we bring up A. I probably wouldn’t be running if E was still here, as much as I enjoy it now I didn’t have the motivation to get up and run before. This marathon is for E, but it won’t be at the expense of our family time.

 

The spreadsheet isn’t always right.

28 March 2017

Week 6 of the EMF2017 training plan turned out to be the one where things fell apart. Ok, that’s a tad dramatic, but it was a pretty poor week for training. Of the 70km or so I was meant to run I managed the grand total of 18km over two runs, and that’s with some rounding up.

The week started as it should with a 5km recovery run, much needed and now fully appreciated after earlier moans from me of this being a wasted activity session. This would be the peak of the week as things quickly went downhill.

My wife is also in training mode with a half marathon coming up in May. She too is going all out on the training and doing one hell of a job given, as she herself admits, she doesn’t really like running. After commenting on “not feeling right” before her Monday recovery run she set off regardless, keen to not let the training plan slip, and ran the prescribed 5km. This did not aid recovery. That night she became more and more unwell and as a result spent much of the following two days in bed. With nursery unable to take A an extra day this bought me a day and a half off work, and also meant no running for me for two days. Up to this point I’d been strict in my training and stuck to every run, squeezing in pre-work runs where possible when evenings weren’t going to be an option. However I was getting tired, my legs were still struggling to recover from the previous week’s exploits. An extra rest day or two to stay on call at home was most welcome.

As my wife recovered and was well enough to look after A, it was time for me to run again. Admittedly I didn’t feel great, but as I’d missed the last two days training I decided I had to stick to this one and set off to the Thursday club run. There’s no structured training at these, it’s just a run with the group around the area at a reasonable, but comfortable pace. Things did not start well. We live approximately 1km from the club meeting point and about halfway through my run to club I was struggling; 500m in to a gentle warm up I stopped running and walked. I told myself it was down to a lack of running over the last two days, and that I’d soon pick up once we got going properly. In short, I didn’t. The following hour and a bit was torture. I usually keep a reasonable pace on these runs, pushing up the hills to keep pace with the quickest folk and circling back down to regroup with the rest of the pack. This time I stayed with the rest of the pack. In fact I was the tail of the pack. My stomach was cramped, my breathing was short, my legs just weren’t interested. If I’d been out on my own I’d have turned back, but not wanting to lose face with the group I kept going. At one point I looked at my watch and saw we’d only been going 20 minutes, my heart sank. I was struggling, and we weren’t even half way through yet! I just about made it to the end of the run, the worst run I’d for a long, long time. I mumbled some goodbyes and sloped off home to collapse on to the sofa.

In hindsight I should’ve listened to my body as I got ready for the Thursday run. I didn’t feel great because I was getting ill (albeit my wife had it much worse than I did). The following three days were complete and utter write offs for training and worse, meant my day with A on Saturday (whilst my wife works) was perhaps one of the most boring days of her life. I had no energy to play with her and we spent a lovely sunny day getting through until Mummy got home. I regret that Thursday run. Whether it exacerbated things or not is hard to say, but regardless I shouldn’t have run. I was so het up over recovering an already slipping weekly training schedule I ignored what my body was telling me and made it work harder than it wanted to for an hour. An hour of such poor quality running that it can’t possibly have had any positive effect on my training.

Being relatively new to training plans, certainly of this intensity, I’m learning as I go and the key lesson here is to pay more attention to what your body says than what the spreadsheet on the fridge says. Yes, there are times when motivation drops and you need to force yourself out on a run, and I’ve found the printed [not laminated I hasten to add, I’m not that bad] training plan is a good stick to keep myself going. But it’s important to recognise those times when forcing yourself out on a run isn’t the best thing to do, something we both now understand after a miserable few days preceeded by runs we both knew were mistakes. A 16-week training plan has enough give to afford the odd missed session to cope with injury or illness, or just a break. If the quality of the runs is deteriorating then what good are they doing? Get yourself right and go again when you’re back to your best.


This week was always going to be a bit higgledy piggledy in terms of training, with Mother’s Day on Sunday. The long run would’ve needed to be brought forward to Saturday evening, something I’m quite glad my illness scuppered. Evening running is never the same, and two hours of it just seems unnecessary. Even under normal circumstances I would’ve wanted to make sure my wife got the Mother’s Day treatment she deserved, instead of disappearing for a couple of hours at sun up. However for us, days like this aren’t exclusively a day for celebration. They’re a jolt to remind you what’s missing, and require that bit more focus to make sure we all get through. These are days to stick together, and take full advantage of the smiles and laughs from happy A to keep right. Sunday must have been hard for my wife, it was for me, but she never showed it. It looked as though A enjoyed herself which always helps, stubbornly refusing to be carried as we walked up quite a sizeable hill in a local park (she obviously doesn’t share my dislike of hill work). All in all Sunday was a nice day, a nice day that didn’t involve any running.

 

 

A runners high without the run.

27 Feb 2017

Week two of the EMF2017 training plan has passed and was noteworthy only for a lack of noteworthy incidents (great news when trying to come up with a new blog). The runs themselves were uninspiring even with the promise of new runs in new towns on our mini Scottish tour to visit family, friends, and meet some inspiring people. More on that to come.

The now standard three mile Monday recovery run came and went. I’m sure once I’m running longer distances on the Sunday runs I’ll see the point of these runs. For now though they seem to be a wasted effort.

Tuesday was to be a hill session, however this had to be aborted when it became obvious that Elgin suffers from a chronic hill shortage, at least in the bits I saw. Instead it was off to the park with my wife and A in tow to do 1km efforts whilst they enjoyed a blustery session on the playground. Wednesday was another lazy 3 miles around a small village near Perth which itself is only 1.5 miles around. Two plodding laps followed, the only highlight being some fully deserved heckling from a young lad on highway safety, concerned at how my running in the road contravened the advice his mum had repeated to him. Unable to find fault in his argument I could only smile and offer a thumbs up as I dutifully mounted the pavement and carried on my way.

Then there was storm Doris. In terms of my training plan I was lucky that the worst of the storm came on my rest day, however it did coincide with our drive from Perth to Edinburgh along a very snowy and slippery M90. The weather and driving conditions were awful. It was windy, the snow was coming down fast and sticking despite a healthy flow of motorway traffic. To top it off this was a journey I didn’t want to be making anyway. We were due to meet with the lovely people at The Sick Kids Friends Foundation in Edinburgh who have helped us with our fundraising over the past year and a bit. This is the charity associated with the Sick Kids Hospital where E passed away. We weren’t going to the hospital itself. We weren’t meeting any of the doctors or nurses who treated E (lovely people themselves, but covered in memories). Yet I did not want to go. I could’ve quite happily seen us stuck in the snow for an hour or two to avoid this meeting. Even at the point of ringing the bell to go in to the building I wanted to turn back, my bottom lip tensing ready to resist the oncoming wobble. However my last minute efforts to come up with an excuse to run away failed as the door opened and we were welcomed inside. Getting through that front door was hard. I felt like I was being pulled off the safe, steady course I’d clung to this past year and the best thing to do was not risk it and scarper back to the slow lane (a feeling foreshadowed by overtaking the longest HGV ever during our snowy M90 adventure). I was, as so often is true, being ridiculous. This was uplifting, inspiring, any of those words that might sprawl across those ubiquitous Facebook posters set on pictures of sunsets. It was great to meet everyone at the charity and see the work that goes in to supporting the Sick Kids Hospital. This wasn’t about being reminded of the sad things that families suffer through, but seeing how all that fundraising helps to make sure the kids in there still get to be kids. The most appropriate comparison I can offer is on those runs days where you know you should run, but every part of you is telling you this is a bad idea and your legs will you back to the sofa. Yet you go, you fly round and when you’re back you feel incredible and ready to go again. In terms of runs, I haven’t had that yet in this training plan, the runs have come without any extra motivation required. However I look forward to it coming after this week. The finishers high definitely beat the starters low.

By Thursday evening we were back home and back out running on familiar hilly territory first thing Friday morning. The week’s training ended with a balls up on my part, falling two miles short of the programmed ten miles for my Sunday long run. Although unintentional this was probably for the best. I wasn’t at my best on Sunday. A Saturday afternoon without any parental responsibilities for my wife and I resulted in a few more drinks than intended and subsequently a less than optimal Sunday followed. The eight miles I completed weren’t great, I’ll spare any detail but suffice to say I was happy when they were done. The thought of having to do another two miles on top of this may well have broken me that day.

Week three’s training is a little lighter with a 10k race to come on Sunday and an ambition to break the sub-40 barrier. A few weeks ago I’d have felt pretty confident about this, even after failing to break it at my last attempt (kale smoothies do not make for a suitable pre-race breakfast). However my legs are still coming to terms with running 6 times a week and I’m not convinced there’ll be enough there to keep up the 4min/km pace for 10km. But we’ll see. In truth this 10k feels like it’s getting in the way of my marathon training and there is a tinge of regret at signing up. I can comfort myself at the thought that maybe this will be the run I drag myself out on and end up on a finishers high.

I’ll end this week’s blog with a confession. After eulogising about morning running in my last blog I have already relapsed. On Monday morning my 6am alarm sounded as planned only to be swiftly dismissed and proceeded by another hour of sleep. In my defence, A was awake a lot during the night so an extra hour of sleep was definitely worth taking.  Besides, the run itself was only 3 miles so could easily be squeezed in to the evening (a thought which was surprisingly clear in my mind in the seconds between turning off my alarm and falling back asleep). Those are suitable excuses, right? No,they’re not. Wednesday morning, that seemingly pointless three-miler is on…………… although it was snowy when I left the house this morning.