Stirling Take 2

Stirling Take 2

When I signed up for Stirling it was with the intention – yet again – of a London qualifying time.  However.  Less than a month after signing up it was beyond crystal clear that wasn’t going to happen.  And it wasn’t due to the fact I am looking at longer distances and on trail not road.  It was due to the fact that I hate sprints and fartlek and track SO much that I just don’t do them.  In black and white – I am a lazy runner.  I run to enjoy it and even though I may look at my time and think ‘ah, I wish I was faster’, I’m just not prepared to do anything about that.

I will go out for another ‘Easy 10 miles’ before you see me anywhere close to throwing up after 3 sets of 800m with a 30 second recovery followed by 5 sets of 100m at flat out pace.

So rocking up to the start line of the Stirling Marathon today I had a more realistic expectation of about 4:30.  I wouldn’t be overly happy with that but it was to be expected.

Joe had finally caved/gotten sick of my moaning about needing new trainers and bought me a pair yesterday.  I am fully aware of how ridiculous it would be to wear brand spanking new trainers on race day but I would be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it.  More than once.  And almost put them in the car just in case.  I didn’t wear them though so I was in the usual ones with my shorts and vest – it was going to be a warm day.  I couldn’t find my PRR club vest and I haven’t bought one yet for the tri-club so it was my lovely pink one.  It matched my hair band and my shorts.  Couldn’t have been more girly.  (Well, I could, if I didn’t have the body shape of an 8 year old boy ha ha.  Thank goodness I’m already married.)

It was a ridiculously early start for the family but as usual they didn’t really complain.  Lucie was sold on the offer of going for breakfast once they had dropped me off and Oliver was happy with being able to sleep in the car and play his Switch.  Bribery in it’s finest form.

Dropped at the start I saw a couple from the road runners and went over to say hi.  We were off just minutes later.  The marathon was set off at the same time as the half marathon and I lost count of how many times I repeated in my head ‘keep left, keep left, keep left’.  I even paused at the fork in the road to just make sure I was in fact, turning left.  It wasn’t a huge field so I didn’t feel crowded or have to jostle for space so that was a nice change from other marathons.

The first few miles done and a women from the club came past me.  I didn’t think I had overtaken her and she regaled her emergency stop at the portaloos.  All I’m going to say is I’m glad I am not the only one this happens to!  I resounded there and then that if I was to need during this race, I was going to pick a tree or a big bush.  She was aiming for a certain time goal and unsurprisingly I didn’t see her again.

A little further up and Joe texts me to tell me my parents might be at a village we pass through called Doune.  True enough they are exactly where I thought they would be.  I spotted my mum on the left and started waving.  This gave her enough time to get her phone ready.  Or…at least it should have.  As I went past she gave her usual ‘Well done Ella, keep going’, then I swear I heard her fumbling with her phone and saying ‘Oh I missed her’.  I love seeing her at races, she always makes me laugh.  My dad was on the other side so I crossed over and low and behold he’s there with none other than his Ipad!  He has the thing held right up so there’s no way I am in the picture (I’m knee height to a grass hopper, the sky never appears in my photos) and it looks like he is actually taking a selfie.  Parents ladies and gentleman, you got to love them.

I’m now at about 10/11 miles and my left calf is so tight it could give Scrooge a run for his money.  It’s that bad I stop now and then to try and massage it out but it’s not working.  It’s painful.  And I’m not feeling any cushioning from trainers.  I bloomin knew I should have put my new ones on.  At this point it was a risk I was willing to take.   I spend the next couple of miles in a complete grump that I hadn’t bought trainers earlier and wore them in to wear today.  And naturally, I blame Joe for this.  Because obviously I’m not going to buy myself trainers without him knowing.  (The 4 boxes hidden under the bed don’t count because I have only just re-discovered these ok).

I then spend the following miles after that swearing off marathons completely.  At mile 17 I am enjoying the route but I am still on tarmac – funny that, being a road marathon – and have absolutely had enough of running and am now deciding that I am not going to run the Glen Lyon Ultra which is in just 6 days.  Forget it.  My legs hurt.  The pain has migrated to my quads now, cheers for that body, and I’m now resembling an old woman hobbling down the road with her stick missing swaying side to side.

That’s it.  Time for the music to be cranked up.  Little Mix comes on.

My life could not be any worse right now.

I’m now in the stages of awaiting some ‘K-pop’ coming on – not that I know what that is – so I can just end it right here and now.  But the song turns in to a re-mix and dare I say it, but I quite like it.  So much so in fact that I have it on repeat several times and I am able to pick up the pace for a few miles.

That ends come mile 20 though.  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

I’m still swearing off marathons when I get a message through with a picture of my instagram moan/post and the caption ‘Other than London’.  You make a good point Ginnie ha ha.  But London will be different.  London will be several HUNDRED photos and videos taken and many, many tears no doubt.  It will happen.

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22 miles and the fast 4 miles Joe wanted for the finish are now as likely as a Donald Trump having a personality transplant.  I do try and my legs feel a little better when I lift them more and take a longer stride but I can’t sustain that.  There’s a lovely marshall at the top of the hill at the University who tries to get me moving faster but I can’t do anything but laugh with him.  This old woman needs her zimmer frame I’m afraid.  The nursing home is calling.

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Wallace Monument behind me – 100000 miles still to go

The only bonus is that I am in no fit state to add on any extra running miles on the way home so Joe’s not going to kick me out the car.  I am however going to have to endure a lecture at some point from him – most likely about my lack of speed training but I don’t doubt he will add something else in there.  My nutrition plan hasn’t worked for me today.  The Clif chewing things mixed with Active Root in my water has not sat well in my stomach and I have had to switch to plain water and nothing else.  I’m going to have to find something to replace the Clif things.  I’ve also ran out of water several times so my flasks aren’t big enough.  Training note there.

I get a text from Joe telling me is right behind the photographer in front of the finishing line and soon enough I spot my youngest waving wildly about with my dad at the side.  He runs along beside me – much faster than me I might add – until I reach the finishing chute and it’s this that makes my day.  It was brilliant.

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I collect my goodie bag, which contains bath salts for recovery – best goodie bag ever!! – and head out.  Stupidly I make the mistake of sitting down and then proceed to spend the next 5 days trying to stand up.  Yup.  Quads don’t like me very much right now.  I bump in to Steve and another from the club and as we regale our stories of sweat, hills and confusion over left and right Joe and the rest of my family find me.

 

So a 4:13.  If I’m honest I fully expected a 4:30.  My trainers are in the bin though and my new ones are ready to go.  Obviously my legs are not and I have no intention of any miles tonight or maybe even tomorrow.  Luckily, being a swim teacher, some of my day tomorrow will be spent in the water so that will be good for the legs.

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My lovely new nightie

The one (ha ha ‘one’) downside of today was missing watching and tracking the London marathon.  I positively love to do that.  I thought running today would be a good distraction of not being there yet again but it was actually worse.  So I wouldn’t book another race on that day.

Am I running the ultra next Saturday?  Well, I’m still in pain so I’m still undecided.  It will be completely different given it’s a trail run.  It has actual river crossings which I find both terrifying and amusing – I’m considering wearing my swimming costume underneath.  It also has the next badge in the collection for me to collect.  It’s a possibility.  But I’m not interested in road marathons anymore.  Not unless these new trainers are something out of this world.

*Disclaimer – I adore my parents and love their support.  It’s just sometimes it can be comical.

 

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From Viaduct to Nelson Mandela

I’m currently sat with a chesty cough that I quickly learned you can’t run with by the way (pace was really slow yet heart rate through the roof – an interesting feeling for me ha ha).   So I’ve been doing a little ‘thinking’.  And yes, my head now hurts, but that’s just something else to add to the collection.

I’ve been thinking about adventure.  And as bad as I could claim this year to be – injured from March, bum still hurts, hamstrings still bad, didn’t achieve GFA, didn’t get London, a few DNS – there has also been a few adventurous experiences in there.

Manchester. Ok so it didn’t turn out to be the London qualifier I was hoping for but it was a marathon ‘technically’ in another country. It involved travelling and education as I learned that no I wasn’t running through an area where no one wanted to live and was selling up but an area simply called ‘Sale’. Still find that weird though.

Ireland. No official race but does it have to be? I got to run for fun past one of my Bucket List places to go – The Titanic museum. And thanks to that I discovered the back of the museum which had the layout of the magnificent ship. I also had my first proper fall there when running and returned to the apartment bleeding and with a broken phone. Good memories.

Race To The Stones. The initial plan was to run the entire 100km straight through. Then I was hit even worse with the injuries and couldn’t run a step without pain. Mr Cardio was not so secretly pleased. I tried every single profession possible to find a solution – including a podiatrist (lovely man, Alistair Dall). I reluctantly changed my entry to complete it over 2 days. Clutching at straws but I was definitely in the ‘go hard or die trying’ camp by then. Even my physio had that look of ‘it’s not happening’ but she gave me lots of advice and understood my need. When I reached base camp half way through the race I changed my mind and pushed through. My challenge was to do it in one day, not two. It was pointed out to me a couple of months later how insane it was to just decide to start another 50km running at 5’o’clock at night. I learned so so much from completing my goal that day.

South Africa. I ran the Nelson Mandela Fun Run. Never will there be a cooler name of a race. Enough said.

50th parkrun. 2018 was the year I hit 50, and I’m not talking looks. I teamed up with my friend Lorner for a few and I completely removed the stress of going for a PB. I don’t care if it affects my average or any of that, that’s not my focus. I’ve kind of fallen out of love with my local parkrun though so I’m going to try some tourism.

Aberfeldy Middle Distance Relay. Ginnie was the swimmer (4th relay team out the water I believe) Joe was on the bike (sub 3hrs!) and I ran the half marathon at the end. It took me 2 hours and was no performance to be shouting of – we dropped places once I started running – but we all had fun. Would definitely do a relay again. Wouldn’t attempt to make porridge in a flask again though. Nope. Can still hear the gloopy sludge of the spoon being sucked in.

Glen Ogle 33. Loved, loved, LOVED everything about this race! From speeding up to register the night before and discovering Lorner gets travel sick, the pack lunch she brought me, seeing a friendly face at the start line, another at the bottom of what felt like a waterfall I had just ran down to the surprise of Joe and the kids finding me on the trail with just 3 miles to go. My second ultra of the year. And I got to run over a viaduct! A viaduct!  Well worth it.

Did I get any PB’s last year? No. Did I get slower? Definitely. Did I die though? No.

I didn’t manage to complete any of the road runners series and I’ve not won any awards. (I did get a nomination for club personality which genuinely put a grin on my face) but no medals or trophies this year. I’m also not doing Marcothon because I can remember how miserable that made me feel. A Christmas Day run is on the calendar though.

Next year starts with a return to my first ever triathlon – the New Years Day Tri. That’s just for fun. It also has more ‘adventurous’ running. It would be very easy to feel depressed about what I didn’t do this year but what’s the point, it won’t change it. I will get London one day. I will continue to run past places on my bucket list. And I will continue to try and not drown and not fall off my bike.

xx

It Didn’t Feel Good

How much crap can one person honestly have thrown at them?

Bucket loads! Truck loads even!

And I fear there’s more to come…

I just got turned down for an interview for a receptionist! An interview. I didn’t even get an interview!! For a receptionist!

Wasn’t even a prestigious place. I’m reliably told the wine there is crap and it’s not somewhere many would recommend. Truth be told I had completely forgotten I had even applied. But that’s not the point. No I don’t think I’m ‘too good for the job’ but I could do the job. Guess they’ll never know.

What an insight into the job seeking world. What an eye opener I’ve been getting. I’m still traumatised by the job centre. And I’m still applying for minimum wage paid jobs because they are just the teensiest bit related to what I really want to do.

I had an ‘interesting’ conversation with the woman who is taking my first course at the end of the month. I phoned to pay the balance (education is expensive people, stay in school!) and I could not help myself blurting out ’em, everyone’s not half my age on the course are they? I mean I’m not going to be like the granny at the side?’

She found this hilarious. And on reflection thank god as that could have gone drastically wrong! She said without checking dates of birth she couldn’t say but generally there’s a bit of a mix. Mostly young people but you do get older folk.

End goal Ella. Focus on the end goal.

And as for my running? Here comes the truck.

5 full days of no running. I was climbing the walls. I was icing, swimming, yoga-ing my ass off. The morning of day 6 I pulled on my shorts and t-shirt, laced up my trainers and headed out. The plan was to test it for the first mile and if all was good carry on for 3.

Not even 100 metres and it was sore. Nothing had changed. 5 days and nothing.

Obviously I complained on my instagram instantly.

A couple of people suggested that, given where the pain was, it could be hamstring Tendinopathy. I googled it. I cried. A lot! 3-6 months recovery.

At the chiropractor and I was instantly on it. ‘I ran this morning and it still hurt. It’s been suggested it’s this hamstring thing. Could it be that? The pain seems to be right where that is.’

‘Hi Ella how are you? What happened to not running until Monday?’

Oh yeah, may have missed that. I just wanted to test it on Friday though. And as for my manners…..

‘Sorry, sorry, it’s just getting to me a bit. Hi,how are you?’

She then showed me why it wasn’t the hamstring thing by pushing on exactly where the pain was. Too high for it to be that. Adjustments followed – she shot me in the neck with her adjuster! – and gave me some stretches. I’m back Monday. No running.

It wasn’t until I was walking out that I realised she had, in the most politest of ways possible, told me to stop googling. How did she do that?

So lots of ‘not so feel good’ moments this week but if life was easy it would be boring. To keep me focused I have written out my marathon training plan on a huge piece of paper that will be pinned to the wall ready for when I can get back to it. I’ve taken the plan straight from the book of a well known marathon runner. I will tell you about my library visit later. (Mortification honestly).

And of course next week is our wedding anniversary so hopefully we will get out for a nice meal and then we have a little trip away. Life could be worse. Let’s be honest.

Manchester and the failed GFA

Manchester and the failed GFA

Ok. Let’s get this over with.

Manchester’s done. And no. I did not get my GFA.

This time.

So here’s how it went…..

We travelled down on the Saturday and surprisingly for me I didn’t make a big fuss about not going to Parkrun. We didn’t leave until 11am so I would have had plenty of time but Joe and I have had lots of ‘discussions’ on how much I’m running and I didn’t want another one. He didn’t want me running a marathon right now anyway and Mr Cardio wasn’t exactly in agreement so I didn’t push it. I could get a few miles in at the hotel at a more sensible pace.

It was a relaxed journey down. Probably a bit too relaxed at some points as I had been forcing the intake of water for the whole week and my bladder was now having a fit every 30 minutes. This meant many, many stops for what was meant to be a five hour car journey! The youngest however was in heaven with his new DVD player. Best money we’ve ever spent!

We pulled up at the hotel and instantly the regret was clear that I had stupidly been allowed to choose it. The couple in front had a solid 10 minute argument with the receptionist over her refusal to let them use the ‘spa’ (a word I use in the loosest of terms for that place!) until she finally agreed to get them a manager.

We gave our name and took our key. The receptionist asked if we would be having breakfast (it’s food – is that a real question?) . I asked what time it was at and she said it started at 8am. Hmm, that might be too late to get to the marathon so I asked if she knew how far away the start was.

‘Marathon? What Marathon?’

It was then our turn to be stood at the desk for 10 minutes. Not arguing. Just dumbfounded. I still don’t know what to say.

I put my things in the room and headed to the gym for a gentle few miles. After much googling and phoning of NASA I eventually figured out how to use their lockers. The ‘spa’ receptionist clearly having went through the same customer service training as the hotel one. In to the gym and the smell hit me like a tidal wave. Excuse the pun but it was clearly ‘run down’. The treadmill must have been older than god himself, I’ve never seen such a thing. I made a mental note to let the receptionist know that air conditioning has in fact been invented.

A quick dip in the pool after with Joe and Oliver, a quick tea and it was an early night.

We parked at the metro/train/moving vehicle station and it was an easy ride to the start. No traditional porridge for breakfast for me as we had had to leave at 7:30am but I was lucky to find a burger van selling bananas. If I wasn’t already married I would be now! Life saver!

In true Webley style we were late getting to the start so I couldn’t get close to my pen. This didn’t bother me too much as the same happened in Stirling. I would just have to chase down the 3:45 pacer and then stick to them like glue. A steady shuffle to the line and I was off. Within just a few hundred yards I spotted a fellow PRR and instantly felt better. I ran up to Caroline and turned round to wave manically as I went by before quickly realising running backwards in a crowd of people is not a good idea.

The first couple of miles is a loop and I was pleased to see Joe and Ollie so soon after starting. I thought they had headed to a cafe to get food so wasn’t expecting it. Big smiles all round.

Now. I don’t know what it is, but, when it comes to marathons, I always seem to have a ‘wardrobe’ issue for the first few miles. This race was no different. I wear 2 layered Adidas Climates. I love them. They are perfect. I have many of the exact same pair I love them that much. However, on this day, the outer layer had decided to pull right up. And I mean right up. Many a mile was spent pulling it right back down! Then my vest decided to pull up – exposing my belly. Oh the horror!! Seriously!! Parents were shielding their innocent child’s eyes as I went past – and I couldn’t blame them! Thankfully I was eventually able to sort the problem but to anyone that saw this, please accept my most humble apology.

Photo 5

Finally finding my stride I was just beginning to settle into the torture of what was 26.2 miles when my old demon came back to haunt me. If you’ve ever read any of my race recaps you will know that the element that is water has it in for me. Hands down it’s truly trying to kill me. Now, being Manchester is a road marathon with no rivers, lakes, swamps or such in sight I thought I would be safe. It wasn’t even raining!! But alas, no. It got me. Out of nowhere as well. Hit me smack in the face. How?

Water station.

A man on my right decided to reach ACROSS MY FACE for a bottle of water. The poor volunteer didn’t know what to do and so bang – literally all over me. Up my nose, in my eyes, down my legs. You sir, are a twat! That was it. His race bib was marked.

Moving on.

Not long after the water incident I felt it. I knew it was there. I knew it wasn’t going to go away. When it was still there after my sports massage a few days before I knew I was in trouble. But I hadn’t wanted to say it out loud because it would be that that would make it true. Now there was no getting away from it. I had no choice but to admit it. My hamstrings were tight. And this was already painful.

This was also only the fifth mile.

Stay positive. You never know what can happen.

I saw Joe and Oliver again. Clearly he was going for a race record of how many cheer spots he could make! I was impressed. Another smile and high five. Nice.

Trying to ignore the hamstrings I battered on. There’s a section where you turn back on yourself and you can see who’s behind you so I concentrated on spotting Caroline. I couldn’t see her and just as I looked down at my feet, debating if I had 26 miles in me I heard her screaming my name. It couldn’t have been at a better time!

On to the section where the front runners are now running towards you I start looking for Garry, also from PRR. There’s a women on my left screaming every single name as they go by. It’s nice at first. For the first 2 to 3 minutes. Not for 5 minutes solid. I am now desperate to see Garry just so I can shout louder and longer than her! Game on love!

‘Jesus Christ, someone tell her to shut the f@ck up!’.

No that didn’t come from my mouth. But I did whole heartedly agree with him. As did many, many others. And unfortunately, I didn’t see Garry.

On I trundled and couldn’t help but notice the number of properties up for sale. It didn’t seem that run down a place, how odd. The signs were odd as well. Not like your usual For Sale signs. Must be an English thing.

Joes at mile 17 and as I see him I cross over to go say hi. I go to stop and very quickly realise if I do I may not continue on so I very, very slowly go past and tell him my hamstrings have gone. He knows this already of course. He just didn’t want to say it.

I round the corner and there’s a man with a microphone. I can’t hear what he says at first but then I hear him loud and clear.

‘Think about why you’re doing this. Think of the many, many people who want to do what you’re doing but can’t. Do it for them!’

At this point I well up. He has a very accurate point. I should be grateful I am here running at all. I was very close to being pulled from doing this. Just be thankful Ella.

Mile 18 and although I’m still in pain I’m feeling in good spirits after that blast of reality. Ok so I wasn’t getting my 3:45 but I had had time before coming down to accept it, even if I didn’t actually admit it. I could still get under 4hrs. That’s the new goal. I glance at my watch and do a quick calculation.

Hold on. 8 miles left to go. I’ve been running for 2hrs 45. I can do 8 miles in an hour.

I can do this!!

I try to push on harder whilst floating on this cloud that has now appeared under me. I might actually get my GFA – Oh My God!!

Somehow in my head the number 8 was being replaced with the number 6. I blame the water incident. It knocked the numbers around.

And don’t worry. It wasn’t long before I realised my maths was indeed wrong again.

Time to put the music in. (I skipped The Greatest Showman. This wasn’t his moment.)

Mile 25 and it just took forever. I swear it must have been at least 3 miles long! I reckon Manchester stretched it out ‘just to be sure’. Bastards.

Coming up to mile 26 and I start vibrating. Who the hell is phoning me? I look at my phone.

‘I’m a bit busy dad what is it?’.

‘The feeds not working – are you not finished yet?’.

‘No dad. I’m not finished yet. I’m at mile 26.’

If nothing else it gave the runners around me a laugh.

Jesus Christ where is that god damn finish line?!? I’ve been staring at the blue archway for 6 years! It’s NOT getting any closer!!

I hear my name being shouted at the side just as I’m debating whether or not to do a sit down protest about how long this final straight is. Just smile and keep going. Keep going.

4:14:08.

Yes ladies and gentleman. That is a SOLID 30 minutes behind target time. I give you, the failed GFA Run. *takes a bow

To add insult to injury I am forced to hobble a further 10 miles to collect my medal and finally a bottle of water.

Who’s doesn’t have water AT the finish line?!?

I waddle past a stand with a loud speaker, protein shakes and an ice bath.

Ooooh. Ice bath.

Should I?

No. You’re by yourself. You’ll look like a twat.

But….

I hobble back and join the very short queue.

I keep my socks on. The public has already seen my belly today, they definitely don’t need to see my feet on top of that! There are 2 separate baths so you go in 2 at a time. It’s only for 45 seconds but it’s ice. I gingerly step forward after watching all the grown men jumping about. I step in. Another guy steps in the other one.

We sit down and they start the clock. He starts shivering straight away and looks like he’s having a fit. I wait for it to hit me. I take a quick video before it gets too much.

But what is this? This is awesome! It feels sooooo good!!

The other guy jumps out.

’15 seconds’ is shouted out. ‘Can I take his spot’ laughs someone else.

I’m just sitting there. Relaxed. Loving it. This is almost better than…..

’45 seconds love, you’re done.’

I don’t really want to get out.

I walk over to my trainers and that’s when I crumple. ‘Oh my god it’s so bad when you get out!!’.

I grab my beer, get my photo taken at the wall, refuse to fist pump as let’s face it that was a miserable time, and find Joe and Oliver. Manchester done.

Eyes Open

So no. It was not meant to be. I didn’t do it. I failed. Woe is me and all of the other sad things that can be said. Reality is though that anything can happen and Manchester just wasn’t ‘my time’ (oh that’s cold!). I’ve learnt from it though and that’s what makes it NOT a failure. I also had no issues with my heart and that’s a huge bonus!! The words of the man with the mic rang clear as day – I’m lucky I can run. I’ve ran 5 marathons. No I didn’t hit my goal but that just makes my journey longer. Unsurprisingly I already have a plan to get there. And this time it’s not just me. I have enlisted some help. And I have no choice but to listen to it. I will get to London Marathon.

Oh, and just to clarify, there weren’t actually a huge number of properties for sale – the area was called Sale.

My bad.

Worms, Spots and Life

I am bored.

Actually I’m more than bored – I’m beyond bored.

What do people DO all day??

I get to about 9:30am and I’m hanging upside down off the couch contemplating what life even means.

Not dramatic at all, nope.

What’s making it worse is I’m now on taper.

Taper. Who came up with that word? Where did it come from? ‘Oh, I know, runners need to reduce their running before a big race so let’s annoy them even more by calling it a stupid name!’ Pah.

Taper.

That’s a worm!

‘Are you not running Ella?’

‘No, I’m tapering’.

‘Oh, You’ve got worms?!’

And so it goes on.

I did do a trail race at the weekend though. 4 miles, 2 loops of some difficult hills. Came 4th female!! Lost third on the last hill, gutted. First in my age category though.

Of course there was only just over 50 runners……. minor detail.

So back to the taper.

It’s very difficult when you have a lot of time on your hands. I usually end up going for a little run or heading to the gym.

Shall we talk about my new gym?

Yes. Let’s.

So naturally I’m looking for my new ‘spot’. Surprisingly for me I’m comfortable in the middle section. Usually I like to find the quietest corner and sneak in and out unnoticed. I’ve been drifting to the same locker each time too in the middle so looks like it could be ‘the one’.

However…

(Oh come on you knew it wasn’t going to be that easy).

It has become apparent that the times I like to go to the gym are the same times your older type woman does. And they like to spread their shit EVERYWHERE! The bench in the changing room is huge. I mean you could stick a mattress on it and sleep comfortably.

So why then, do these women insist on taking up the whole thing?

I’m small. My stuff is small. I have ONE bag. One. Unlike you. You have your designer handbag. Your family sized hold-all that could contain the rest of the bedroom furniture and that you empty on to the bench because, you know, why would you not need two hairbrushes, your makeup bag, your small make up bag, your hairspray, your clean clothes for after, last weeks newspaper, this weeks lottery numbers, next year’s calendar right in front of you right now?!?!

I’m not a bolshy kind of girl so I won’t even politely ask someone if they could possibly give me an inch of the bench a la Oliver Twist style. I will struggle in the tiniest of spots in front of my locker, try to get dried and changed and not drop all my stuff. Because I don’t want to be rude.

At least, that’s what I used to be like. Before I had my precious spot wrenched from under me in the most vile way. Not just a number? ‘Ok then’.

She was small. She had a huge bag. She also had two smaller bags?? She had a coat. She had a Club La Santa water bottle so in my opinion, she should have been clued up on ‘space in the changers’. She was wearing a bikini when I waddled in from the pool so she obviously wasn’t going for a proper swim. She had no goggles either. The kitchen sink yes but no goggles. Sherlock Holmes deduced she was going to the sauna. There was no room for me to even place my goggles on the bench. She somehow even managed to take up the area beside the bench as well with her locker door wide open so I was left to drip at the side blocking the walkway. After the third ‘excuse me’ of people wanting past I snapped.

This was ridiculous.

I stormed all of the two steps over to my locker, opened the door and left it wide open and put my wet goggles and water bottle on the tiniest of squares on the bench – knocking some of her stuff off. (That was an accident – but I didn’t pick it up).

She. Tutted.

So I proceeded to strip out of my swimming costume not carefully so yes, she may have gotten splashed, it’s certainly no bikini. You could probably cover a small country in the amount of material but I’m there to swim. Not prance around or pretend to workout. And I’ve found when in the changing rooms many others get very uncomfortable with nudity. I used to be one of them. Getting changed under a towel or covering myself up whilst taking one piece off and trying desperately to put another on. Now I don’t care. The faster I get changed the faster I can get to the gym or the pool and get things done. And quite frankly, if you don’t like what you see, don’t look. There are plenty of mirrors for you to stare at your own beautiful body.

She didn’t like this either. She moved some of her stuff away from me. Presumably because she thought my nakedness would infect her Louis Vuitton bag with I don’t know what but hey, it worked. I quickly dumped my Ironman bag on to what was now ‘my spot’.

Along with my Asda carrier bag. Balance and all that.

Mission accomplished. I did feel slightly triumphant but I’m also aware that by this stage I was also slightly hangry so that wouldn’t have helped. It’s done now though. And she still had at least 3 quarters of the bench.

So overall I would say tapering is going well ha ha. Sorry, my worms are going well. I’ve got my fiftieth Parkrun on Saturday which I’m running with Lorner and the clubs ten mile race on Sunday. My appointment with Mr Cardio is booked for after Manchester which means I can concentrate on GFA. I’m under strict instructions to take it easy until our chat and I’m not stupid. I know if I push it he could pull the plug on some of my events so I will heed his advice and if any symptoms start then the goal will just be the finish line.

It is what it is.

Trust

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.