Just Like That

At work, on a Tuesday, just a normal Tuesday, my manager came over.

‘Got a minute?’ She asked me.

Half an hour later I was redundant.

I know people this has happened to in the past. I’ve always felt sorry for them, such turmoil to go through, and briefly wondered ‘what would I do if that was me?’ But that’s as far as it went. A brief thought, a ponder.

My first reaction was feeling sorry for the others it was happening to as well. I wasn’t alone. There were quite a few. And then I was feeling sorry for my manager, having to tell us. Then I was thinking about all the work I had to get done before I left. Next up in my chain of thought was ‘I need to find a job’. All these different thoughts whizzed through my mind over and over again.

I needed a run. To think. Clear my mind. It was freezing outside and I only had shorts and vest with me (I was planning a gym session) so treadmill it was. My Garmin was playing up and recorded the 5 miles as 6.6. I didn’t care enough to change it. I had enough to worry about.

14 years in the same job in the same company. So much of my life and now it was no more.

I didn’t love everything about my job this is true, but I did like it. I liked the people, my team, the friends I had made, the routine that I loved, the problems and queries I continuously had to resolve.

And now without any warning at all…..

For the first few days my head was, as we say in Scotland, mince. I didn’t know what to think. The weather was reflecting the situation as well (as it often does) and we were hit with ‘the beast from the east.’ The worst snow storm to hit the UK in I don’t know how long. It felt like Mother Nature was reacting to what was happening. It shut everything down. I was very conscious not to allow the same thing to happen to me and let depression get hold of me again. I knew I was about to go through the journey of emotions – shock, upset, depressed, angry, confused etc etc. And I knew I was lucky to have people rallying around me. I received a lot of supportive messages from co-workers saying they wished it hadn’t been me, it didn’t make sense, they were in shock too. Family and friends offered to ask around for jobs available, their determination ringing loud and clear. ‘We will get you a job within the week, don’t you worry!’ I was told time and time again.

But I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Did I want to stay in Insurance? It was the obvious choice but I wasn’t enthralled about it. Did I want to do a complete 180 and re-train? The thought of going back to school when I have an 18 year old at college really didn’t inspire me either. Until now I would have been the first person to start spewing about how you can do anything at any age and you should just go for it but when it was me being hit with that reality? Not so easy.

Lorner’s suggestion of going to work as a receptionist at her doctors so she could get an appointment when ever she needed was quickly vetoed. The offer of a prossecco night was not. For someone who doesn’t drink I can certainly put it away at times! And my living room dancing skills are second to none. Lorner continued with her suggestions of jobs as the alcohol flowed although ‘dwarf’ almost earned her a slap. (It’s not even a job!).

When the hangover lifted the cold light of day was upon me. What do I do now? I knew I needed a plan, I just didn’t know what of.

Then I got the worst possible message ever. A friend of mine had taken seriously ill and was in ICU. Her husband told to prepare for the worst. I won’t go in to the details here, it’s not appropriate, but if anything is going to put life into perspective, it’s most certainly that.

I needed another run.

A few miles later and I was no longer in the ‘woe is me’ state of mind I had been. Reality was setting in. My friend had improved slightly but was by no means out of danger. This was good news. I had even had a little bit of a joke with her husband to say this was typical of her always going one better than me which he fully agreed with. She was nothing if not stubborn! I had also realised that I was in the fortunate position where I didn’t have to get another job straight away. I didn’t even have to get a job that paid the same. The first thing Joe had said when I phoned him was ‘think of all the training you’re going to get done’ (after the initial ‘where the hell did that come from?!). I had to be grateful for that.

Amazing how running can help you sort your thoughts out.

I chose to go back in to work to collect my official letter and my things. I wanted to get them myself. I also wanted to make sure my team were ok and knew who to go to for anything they needed. I dreaded it. Absolutely dreaded it. I didn’t want to do it but I had to do it. Thankfully, it wasn’t as bad as I imagined. I didn’t do the ’rounds of goodbyes’ – oh god no. I was most definitely not up for that. But I did have a quiet moment where I said goodbye to my spot. (Ah my spot. We’ve had many, many moments at lunch time. I had to stop myself carving my name in to the bench.)

Once that was done I did what was needed.

I went for a run.

And whilst I was running I received lots more lovely messages from my now ex-colleagues. I couldn’t have appreciated that more. And when I got the message to say my friend was now out of ICU and into HDU, well that lifted everything. Absolute miracle that woman!

By the end of my run I knew what I needed to do. I knew what my plan needed to contain. I had been comfortable in my job. I liked it, I liked the routine, but, it wasn’t really exciting.

I need an adventure. Something that was going to push me. Test me. Almost downright break me.

A plan was already forming in my head. Yes. This is what I needed. Let’s get started.

To be continued…….


A Night To Remember

What makes a memory for you? What special event or moment sticks itself to you and never lets go? Good or bad?

A few weeks ago we had the Perth Road Runners Awards night. Now, being the organised person I am (who coughed?!) I already knew what I had achieved. Plus, you know, writing about every race you do kind of helps jog your memory. So yes, I knew what to expect.

Andyes, I asked my other half to come along. Why wouldn’t I? Ha ha

We are not big on nights out, can probably count on 2 fingers how many times we ‘were out’ in 2017. In fact. Make that one finger. And make it the small one. So I was looking forward to it. My mum was looking after the kids for us until 10pm so we had a good few hours of freedom.

Both of our wardrobes are about 95% Lycra so we had to make a trip into town. Naturally I found nothing so ended up with a tshirt and jeans and Joe was jeans and a shirt. About half an hour before leaving I glanced through social media.

Panic set in.

Everyone was dressed up!! I’m talking going out, sparkly, dresses with 4 hours at the hairdresser and a professional make up artist doing the finishing touches. And that was just the guys!

I was straight on the phone to my friends.

‘What the actual hell, who wears a dress over the age of 16 nowadays?!?! I can’t go in jeans! I’m going to look SO out place! Oh my god their not even jeans, they are jeggings! How the hell did I end up with jeggings?!?’

‘You don’t wear dresses Ella. I’m surprised you even wore a wedding dress. Why do you even care? Everyone knows you’re a jeans and tshirt person. Be comfortable. Oh, and FYI, normal people wear dresses over the age of 16. Normal people.’

I had nothing. They had a point. Not that I would tell them that. I threw the tshirt in the wardrobe and found a top that was a ‘bit more dressy’ and swapped my flats for heels (after covering my entire feet in plasters to try and prevent the inevitable blisters).

Joe didn’t care.

Tantrum almost over we headed out and managed to find a seat as soon as we went in. We chatted to Gillian about all the awards and how training was going. Joe almost had a heart attack when he realised he wasn’t getting fed until after all the awards were given. He definitely went a very pale shade of white.

First up for me was the Hills Series. The one I’m most proud of. If ever I was to take myself out of my comfort zone it would be running (cough) up and down a hill. The only female to run every one of them. And I still only came second ha ha. I really don’t care though. I finished them. That was my success. Oh, and not dying. Kind of important.

I also picked up my Bronze Club Standards. I didn’t get that half marathon time I was after but I gave it everything I had. Hopefully 2018 brings with it that goal.

Third in the Championship. ‘You almost kicked me out of that one by suddenly deciding to run a marathon!’ I joked with Gillian. She just laughed as she went to pick up her second place.

Next was the fastest distances in the Championship. These ones got trophies. ‘If I get a trophy there’s no chance in hell I’m giving that back, Ronnie will have to catch me!’. ‘Same here!’ said Gillian. ‘Pretty sure he can run faster than both of you.’ Joe tried to say under his breath.

Fair point.

‘The fastest female half marathon was Ella Webley.’

‘Did you know you were getting that?’

‘Something was mentioned but I didn’t really understand it.’

The person who was actually the fastest in the Championship was also fastest overall so according to the rules it goes to the next person.

I don’t care, it’s not getting handed back!

Sitting in front of me was proof I had worked my ass off for the last year. I had pushed myself and I had achieved something. I may not have London yet, but I have this.

‘Well done love, is the buffet open yet?’.

To be fair, the chilli was worth the wait. It was delicious.

Back at home and my awards are pride of place on the windowsill. And yes it just so happens everyone can see them ha ha.

Oh, I wasn’t the only one in jeans. At least 1 other women was.

Ella Webley. Jeans and t-shirt.

Time To Smell The Roses

Last week was a bit different. Well, quite a bit different actually.

I found myself running solo on Monday as I had to deal with something at work at lunch time. I knew as soon as I headed to the changing room I was going to push those first couple of miles after that and was pleased to see my overall average mile at 8:19. Every cloud and all.

Tuesday and my legs remembered they had ran the 15km Devilla just 2 days before. I got a stitch just 10 seconds in – how is that even possible?! I didn’t think I was even going to make 3 miles. In the end it was a very slow 4 and the night was spent on the torture device that is the foam roller.

Wednesday I chose a gym day so warmed up with 2 miles on the treadmill and, if I’m perfectly honest, I then ‘pretended’ to do some arm and core work. Couldn’t even tell what I did because it was genuinely next to nothing. I think I hung from the pull up bar and that’s about it.

Thursday was another lone lunch time run. Not expecting much from my legs I headed out and didn’t make that conscious effort to push. It was still wet and muddy and although I don’t actually mind the cold feeling on my legs I don’t want to fall so I don’t hammer it.

Now. I will be honest. I may not find it that annoying when I have to stop at traffic lights at lunch time. And I may, accidentally of course, or even sub consciously, not necessarily speed up to ‘make the green man’ every time. Thursday though, I had no such luck. Every blooming traffic light had s green man. On other roads I had to cross, there were no cars! Seriously people, I need a break before hitting the climb back up! Come on.

As soon as the watch beeped 5 miles I stopped. I wasn’t caring that I still had a few hundred yards to the door, I was stopping! When it uploaded I was a little surprised it was faster than Monday’s at 8:15 a mile. Clearly the need to stop pushed me on!

Friday I decided to jump on the turbo. I want to conquer my fear of road cycling but I need to be more confident on the actual bike. The other reason (and some may say the main one, it’s hard to be sure) was because I wanted to watch a programme on Netflix in peace. Yes, I am a selfish wife and mother and wanted to watch a bloomin tv show! There are no less than 5 people and 2 dogs in my house. Peace doesn’t exist unless you block the world out with headphones. (Not entirely blocked out obviously, but enough so I could watch it and the youngest had the ‘big tv’ and his Lego). We were both happy, trust me. Just not my legs. Or my under carriage. Or my arms. Why was I cycling?

Saturday was supposed to be long run day however the other half was doing the trail half marathon that I had wanted to do and had to leave at about 7am. Our daughter was also leaving to go skiing at 6am so this meant that even though I would be up early (and in desperate need of a run to handle the stress of my daughter going away) I wasn’t going to get it. My mum phoned at 7:30am to ask what time Lucie (my daughter) was leaving. ‘Eh, an hour and a half ago Mum, she’s away’. ‘Oh we were going to come see her off.’

You can see where I get my issues with time from!

My mum then phoned back about 10 minutes later to say she was on her way in to Perth and would watch my youngest so I could go for a run. We have a saying in our family – ‘You’re the best’. And well Mum, you certainly are!

I managed to head out for a few miles before Parkrun but struggled to plan a route so ended up going round the park a couple of times. Not a bad thing to be honest. I stopped at the start of Parkrun to chat to Lorner and Matthew who were volunteering yet again. Lorner said they were going for a run later but Matthews raised eyebrows said otherwise ha ha. She said I didn’t look in the mood at all and I realised at that point I really wasn’t. I hadn’t looked at my watch once since leaving home – I was entirely focused on getting the worry of my child potentially breaking every limb on the slopes in Italy out my head. My legs also felt heavy and sore. Lorner was tailwalking so I joked she would have to push me along.

Just as I was trying to tell her I really wasn’t joking I saw Mags from work. She had come down for her first ever Parkrun! Mags is a lovely, slightly older woman who did Tough Mudder with me all those moons ago. She had a bad accident on the course and burst her cheek bone which caused her face to swell up. This was just days before she went on holiday! She’s a strong woman though – nothing holds her back. Armed with painkillers and the biggest sunglasses she could find she got on that plane. I think the wine helped too.

Once Parkrun was done I headed straight home so my mum could get back. Clicking stop on my watch I was pleased I had still managed 10 miles. I was ecstatic when I saw the pace though! Average miles of 8:32 – bang on Marathon pace! That felt good!

When I woke on Sunday I was still in a happy place from Saturdays Run but also attached to my phone ready to instantly reply to any text or message from Lucie. I was planning on doing a 10k race but I didn’t want to risk missing her so I made the impromptu decision to have a complete rest day.

I made it a whole 5 minutes before the panic set in of falling behind with my training and therefore failing to make my target at Manchester and basically my entire life as I know it being ruined and the end of the world being announced.

All because I didn’t run a 10k Race.

But I might miss a text from Lucie. And I wasn’t willing to do that. So rewinding the completely unrealistic scenario that had just played out in my head I decided I would just have to fit in a 15 mile run somewhere within the next week and deal with it.

So what were we going to do now? Joe was completely broken from the Glentress half marathon (doctor suspects he has a broken toe – this was diagnosed before it by the way) so there was no chance he was taking off to train. Day out it is!

We took our youngest to the Glasgow Science Centre where he got to play with lots and lots of things, see stars in the planetarium (absolutely awesome by the way), play with body parts other than his own for a change and Run on a track in the Body Works section. It doesn’t get better than that.

So yes. I stopped and I smelt the roses. Sometimes plans don’t work. Sometimes you need to change them. The goal never moves, the goal is the goal. But the journey to the goal is forever changing. Time with my family will always be the most important thing so if that means a day off so be it. And just so you know, I got everyone of Lucies texts.

All 2 of them.

That’s right. She only sent 2. And the second doesn’t even count as it was just a ‘k’.

She was too busy skiing and thankfully not breaking bones (so far, touch wood). But the point is I got them. And I was able to reply instantly.

It means this week is going to be a tough week. But it’s worth it.

The goal is the goal. And family is key.

The Devilla

I ran the Carnegie Harriers Devilla Trail Race last year and I remember being really worried I wouldn’t make the cut off.  It wasn’t the type of running I was used to so I had no idea if I could do it.  Thankfully, I did manage to cross the line before the sweeper so I duly signed up again this year – as you do.  Despite it still not being my type of running.

A 15km trail race doesn’t bring with it the same fears as it used to but that doesn’t mean I’m any better at running them now.  The aim was to beat last years time but the reality was it was unlikely.  I’ve found now I’m concentrating on distance my sub conscious refuses to let me go fast (well, fast for me, maybe not compared to everyone and definitely not compared to most but, fast in my terms).

A couple of days before and the weather returned to it’s usual troublesome self.  Jack Frost seriously needs to do one and let the Easter bunny make an appearance.  Shorts and a vest were unlikely.  But trousers could cause issues when caked in mud and at this race, that was a guarantee.  I decided to make the decision when I was there so packed both.  I also packed a towel for a shower after, congratulating myself on being organised.  For once.

Suitcase in hand I went along to registration where I was handed a bottle of beer.  Scheihallion to be exact.  I rarely drink but I do like this craft beer.  I briefly considered opening it pre-race, you know, for that extra boost.  That little drop of Dutch courage.  And if I’m honest, the only reason I didn’t was because it wasn’t cold (sacrilege).  The entire walk to the start line I was debating whether this had been a good decision or not.

I went with shorts – the cold was no longer keeping these cellulite enhanced legs covered up – and a long sleeve top under the club vest.  At the start I bumped into a few fellow road runners.  We had quite a few running the 15km and some doing the 5km.  No one was drinking the beer – yet.  I also saw a couple of people from our local tri club who came over and said hello, so quite a few from Perth!

We started talking about what was ahead and Catriona, who had also ran it last year, reminded me of the bottle neck section.  She mentioned she had been caught up in it last year and had had to wait to get through.  I remembered people just stopping in front of me and trying to go round them.  I looked up and realised we were probably starting a bit too far back and were likely to get caught in it this year.

Yet I didn’t move forward.

Big mistake.  Huge.

The whistle went and we found we were walking to the start line.  And then walking past the start line.  And then still walking.  Nope, nope, no.  This won’t do.  You’re meant to be running!  I veered left and tried to cut my way up through the pack.  I managed to get some room and then we went off the forest track and into the woods.

The path shrunk. We were no longer on a wide forest road but we were on a single track.

The mud didn’t bother me, it’s a trail run, you’re not going to stay clean, and the pre-race email made it very clear wearing brand new trainers probably wasn’t wise if you wanted them to stay looking new.  However, it appeared some people were determined to do all they could to stay pristine.

‘Come on man it’s only mud! Get in there!’

A fellow runner took the words out of my mouth.  I enjoyed this race last year but this part was frustrating like hell.  Who stops in the middle of a race? You just go for it!

We eventually came to a little fork and the path on the right slowed way down again so I went left.  Good move Ella, I thought to myself.  You’ll get round the ones not moving and be able to keep running.  Pushing forward I was still in my smug state when I glanced over at the fork on the right only to discover that the people I could now see where actually behind me before I had taken that turn.  No.  I was not so smug now.

We joined up with the original path and again I went to the left to try and weave my way through, crashing through the bushes and going knee high in the mud.  There was no way I was beating last years time now but I could still push for a good finish.  Back on the forest track and we had more space – finally.  Now it was up hill and I could spot Nigel from the tri club in front of me.  Slowly I creeped up.  Not in a stalker ‘I’m going to kill you’ kind of way, but more of a ‘this is a steep hill and walking would be faster but I’m stubborn’ kind of way.  As soon as I was within ear shot of him I took a deep breath and shouted out ‘Nigel, I’m coming for you.  Very slowly but I’m coming!’.  He didn’t turn round.  Oh my god is that not Nigel? Mortified I didn’t know what to do. The runner on my right turned to look at me, clearly wondering who I was taking to. Oh my god could this get any worse?

Ok do I slow down and let them go then hope I don’t catch up with them? No, they will get to the finish line first and therefore see me when I finish and no doubt point me out as the weirdo who thought she knew someone but didn’t and then was too slow to keep up.

Oh the pressure!

Ok. You’ll need to speed up and get past them. Then you’ll need to stay past them. Oh god I can’t run that fast for that long!

I put my head down and slowly, very slowly, get alongside ‘not Nigel’.

It IS Nigel! Oh thank god! He says hi as I go past and I oh so very briefly get the lightest of reliefs that it is him and I’m not quite that weird.

Then realise how stressed out I got about the situation – which lasted all of 10 seconds by the way – and have to admit defeat. I’m a bit weird.

Thankfully there are no further issues and I even manage to keep my hands to myself and not have the same intimate connection with the bush at the infamous plank as I did last year! The 10km sign is still in the wrong place but I’m ready for that. I do giggle as I remember the older guy from last year and his comment of ’10km my @rse!’.

Approaching the finish and I manage a little sprint to get it over and done with and I can hear some lovely people shouting my name as I do. I’m not going to lie. I love that.

Gillian is just seconds behind me and Nigel is just behind her. Poor Gillian fell over in the mud and as she shows me her completely covered right hand side she points out my leg is bleeding. Oh yeah, I picked up some more war wounds! My right leg is scratched like a cats post. Seasoned runner right here ha ha.

I head to the showers with my bag so I can get changed before the cold sets in. I pull out my clean clothes and my towel and……

It’s not a towel.

It’s a tiny piece of material you use for the turbo or spin bike when you’re really sweaty! I may be small but I’m not that small. Trying to get a wash and shower with that was not fun.

So no. I didn’t beat last year’s time. But I did feel I ran a better race. Excluding my little detour of and starting too far back. The beer is still in the fridge and I have great plans to drink it this weekend after my long run. There is every chance that one beer will have me drunk but hey, it’s worth it.


Marathon – and Ultra – training requires long runs. I know right? Mind. Blown! Bet you’re glad you’re reading this.

After the last few weeks I knew I needed a long run to myself, to sort the fuzz out of my head get the fresh air circulating around in there. (Because let’s face it, there’s either too much or too little going on inside my noggin).

I politely ignored the offers of company for Saturday morning. I had to do this by myself. I also had to do it Saturday and not Sunday as it was the clubs presentation night (proof there is occasionally something going on in my head). My plan was to head out at about 7am to get a relaxed 10 or 11 miles in before Parkrun. At 6:30am my alarm went off and at 7am I eventually got up. At about quarter to 8am I was good to go. Podcast on and laced up.

I headed up to my brothers. My parents have rather inconveniently moved into his in the last few months so I’ve found myself avoiding going past their old house. I knew from the previous week it was 2.8 miles from his front door to the Parkrun start line and I also knew it was about 2 miles from my own front door to the same place so that should make at least 5 if not 6 miles near enough.

There’s that ‘Ella maths’ again.

I won’t tell you what podcast it was I was listening to but I did feel the need to turn it down when ever I passed anyone. Put it this way, my dad definitely didn’t write it!

It felt good, my pace felt good. I had a bit of a pain in my right heel but all was ok. I trundled along then started the delightful climb up to my brothers. Why did he have to live up this hill? I told myself just to deal with it and felt pleased that I was obviously over 5 miles in and still feeling good. I get to his house and I of course stop to take a photo to send to him.

‘Guess where I am’.

The reply – rather surprisingly – comes instantly back.

‘You better not have a key!’ Sheer panic. My job here is done.

I check my watch.

4.1 miles?!? Aw come on! Where am I going to go now?

I head back down the hill switching from laughing at my brother to cursing at my miscalculation. Realising I am now running my well trodden lunch time route I switch it up and take a turn towards the swimming pool. I quite enjoy not really knowing where I am going (pretty much the story of my life anyway) and just take the odd turn here and there.

I impress myself by calculating the 10 miles down to Parkrun before the start. As I come back on to our park I spot Lorner and her son who are well into their volunteering spree – must be over 20 times now I think. I stop to say hi and she quickly updates me on their own running (4 miles the day before). Have to admit I’m a little jealous her son willingly runs with her. I’m pretty sure my eldest isn’t alive between Monday’s and Thursdays and then lives in the nightclubs at the weekends – spot the 18year old. My daughter flatly refuses to run and even a bribe of a poster of her favourite boy band doesn’t work – stroppy 13 year old. Then there’s the youngest. He’s 4. Let’s just say I’m working on that one (mwah hah hah).

Off to the start line and I notice I didn’t stop my watch when I was talking to Lorner, drat. Well no biggie. I also use Strava and that has auto stop. I spot a few road runners and go and say hi. I get a few comments on my hydration vest (have you been for a few miles already?) and should probably take it off at this point but truth is I just can’t be bothered. Im well aware I look like a twat running 5k with a back pack full of supplies (my Wonder Woman keyring, plasters, spare headphones oh and water) but I’m getting cold standing around waiting to start again. Turns out I hadn’t timed it too well after all.

We all shuffle together as we are about to start and I feel these hands on my shoulders. Then I’m moving. Slightly upwards, and then to the side. A very tall man then steps in front of me.

‘Did he just move you?’ Gillian asks.

I’m a bit dumbfounded by it and just nod my head.

‘I think he did!’ I reply.

I make a joke about it being ‘game on’ (yeah ok, because the 10 miles you just ran will put you in a great position to challenge someone to a race!) the whistle goes and we are off.

It’s carnage. Utter carnage. The route has been changed to 2 laps round the Inch and it feels like everyone around us are running like headless chickens. Mr Mover is still in front of me and I see him diving here there and everywhere. But no. He doesn’t trip up.

Eventually I get a little space and just settle in for the 3 miles. I speak to quite a few others as we head round and I just stay comfortable, the pain in my heel threatening to burst out in song any minute. I wave my usual ‘morning’ to Lorner and her son as I pass by both times and to the other volunteers and cross the line in an acceptable time for what I’m doing.

I head back home and I now feel like I’ve run a bit of a distance but I feel ok. Nowhere near as depressed and sluggish as the last couple of runs so that’s good. My head is cleared! I may even thank Mr Mover slightly for his unnecessary lifting and shifting. (I won’t though, it was slightly offensive, I’m not that small, could have just asked).

15miles. I will take that. For the first time ever my Garmin recorded it faster than Strava. Looks like my auto pause wasn’t working. This surprisingly doesn’t bother me too much though. I enjoyed the run and that was my aim. I’ve still a very, very long way to go to hit my target but I’m beginning to see the first small steps of improvement.

I’ve got 8 weeks. I can do this.


Trust. A simple 5 letter word. Easy to write, easy to say – but incredibly hard to do.

There’s lots of advise out there. Everyone has an opinion, something to say, words of wisdom. But when it’s you that’s going through it, you that’s struggling, well, it’s just not that easy to believe anyone.

I’m not alone though. I follow a lot of people on Instagram and almost all of them are thankfully (although that sounds cruel to me) going through the same thing. And we are all saying the same thing to each other.

Nowhere near where I need to be but I need to ‘trust in the process’.

I had a cut back week this week. It was almost forced upon me as work has been busy and I was sent to Glasgow so lunch time runs have been missed. Not great for my mindfulness but not the end of the world. I need to challenge myself with this kind of thing and I know that. Ironically the conversation on the train on the way through was ‘toilet related’. I’m going to have to watch that not every story I have is about bodily functions! Not convinced I started that one though. And I’ve also been back to physio about my good old rotated pelvis. Oh and I’ve got new trainers.

Let’s face it. If all that doesn’t work then nothing will!

So it’s a good thing it did!

I’m not talking astounding Paula Radcliffe times here don’t get me wrong, but I’ve had a couple of good speed sessions that have said to me ‘actually Ella, you’re not quite as slow as a turtle in treacle’. I’ve even managed 2 progression runs – negative splits – these are things that don’t exist in Ella Land. I hate them. But I’ve done them. I’ve learnt from it though that watching anything on Netflix which may have a ‘surprise’ in it is not a good idea when on the treadmill as I am most likely to lose my footing as I gasp and shout ‘I did NOT see that coming!’.

I joined some of the road runners for a longer run last weekend knowing I would drop off at some point as it was all the fast guys. The great thing about the club is that no one rules you out of running with them. They showed me a great new route which I will give another go soon. I turned back after 5 miles as I didn’t want to keep holding them back. This gave me the chance to get a little snap happy too ha ha. But by 8 miles my legs were dead weights. I have no idea why but it really got me down so a cut back week this week didn’t sound too bad an idea.

So this week has been just over 20 miles only. No long run over 10 miles. I did do a trail race today, the third in the Strathearn series, and my running felt better. Unfortunately the time didn’t really reflect that but I’m holding on to the fact it felt better.

My little one chasing me down and showing me how it’s done.

Back in to it this week with my lunch runs and another progression run is on the cards. I’m back at physio again and I’m going to try and increase my swimming. I have the clubs presentation night to look forward to as well. A night to remind me that if I stick at it – and trust in the process – I can hit my goals.

It’s All Lies

It’s All Lies

Who ever claimed ‘couples who workout together stay together’ clearly was not part of a couple!

We’ve tried, a few times, to do our training together. Not once has it been successful. It generally goes something like this – ‘slow down, you’re going too slow, you need to tell me before the turn, you should try it this way’.

It’s that last one. That ‘I know best’ attitude I find the hardest. Just NO!

We both ran round Loch Leven a couple of weekends ago. It wasn’t a great pace I admit. I’m finding speed really difficult at the moment and it’s getting me down. I told him the 13 miles was going to be about a 2 hour run at the start. It started off ok. He was ‘glowing’ in an aura of ‘I’m so much faster than you.’ I would liken it to running with a dog who goes here there and everywhere. Yes, that’s right, I just compared my husband to a dog. Deal with it.

I ignored it. Focused on my own running. My legs were really sore and tired so it was an easy distraction. I even managed to bite my tongue through his comments of ‘you’re rolling your left foot in’ and ‘you slow down so much on a hill, you should really try to go faster’. The last one almost gained him a swift kick but, like I said, my legs were sore.

Today we did the same route again but in reverse. His choice. Again it started ok. There’s heavy snow on the ground and conditions are difficult so it was single file at the start. I was actually in front. Shock. Horror. Obviously this didn’t last. He went in front and took off. After about a mile of having at least 100 meters between us he eventually waited for me to catch up. He then said ‘Are you not feeling well? You’re quite a bit slower than usual’.

The rage hit about an 8. I festered on this for the next few minutes. I was still trying to stop the steam coming out of my ears when he said ‘there’s a runner coming up behind us.’

What the bloody hell did he think WE were???? Freaking joggers??!! Are you ACTUALLY kidding me?!?

That was it. It was all guns blazing then. I’m talking tantrum central! It started with running related issues – you know the usual of you’re meant to be running with me not a couple of hundred metres down the trail etc – and carried on through every tiny little niggle possible. Including leaving his socks on the floor. (Although he probably didn’t hear that one as I’m pretty sure only dogs could hear my squealing by that point). He definitely heard the one about him using all of the cliff shots he bought ME for my birthday!

Of course, because I was letting off more steam than the Flying Scotsman, my pace slowed even more. He started arguing back but very quickly realised the only way out of this was to try desperately not to laugh and make the situation worse. And naturally when we came across other people on the trail I quickly switched from psychotic, screaming wife to happy runner woman who politely said hello with a smile on my face.

Couples are NOT made to work out together. Fact! They just aren’t compatible for that kind of pressure. Show me a couple who claim they never argue and never hate each other ever and I will introduce you to the current President of America.

By the time we finished our 12 miles of World War 3 the snow started up again – but I did feel better! Ironically so did he. Not that I cared about that at the time.

Will we go running together again? Well….. certainly not any time soon. Next Sunday I’m joining the club for their run and he can do what ever he damn well pleases.

Less chance of us wanting to kill each other that way.