Olympic Obsession: I’m nuts aren’t I.

The Olympic Motto is Citius, Altius, Fortius, which is Latin for “Faster, Higher, Stronger”. The Olympic Ideals are that it’s not in the winning but the taking part, the struggle to get there not the triumph. Well if trying to obtain London 2012 tickets was an Olympic sport I would definitely have got through the heats at least. I have had minor triumphs in my quest but my mission is ongoing. Let me explain.

I applied via the ballot system for London 2012 tickets the same way most other UK Olympic fans did. I was conservative with my application: I applied for two tickets to some athletics heats and four tickets to the opening rounds of the men’s hockey. I love athletics but why the hockey I don’t know. In May people were starting to hear that they had been successful. I knew money had been taken from our account and the amount seemed to correlate with the ticket costs. For a moment I thought the King of Nigeria, you know the one that emails you, had got hold of our bank details, but hurrah, an email came to my inbox with confirmation of my ticket allocation. All of them. All the tickets I had applied for. I whooped and danced around a bit. I was going to see some 2012 action.

The news was full of people who had got tickets and people who hadn’t. There was a guy who had to clear things with his bank so that he could pay for £11000 worth of tickets. What the holy *you know what*? Yet there were other people who had nothing. The system claimed to be fair but it just wasn’t. My father applied and he was unsuccessful. My brother too was unsuccessful. Hardly any of my friends had tickets. How could this be possible? I was so disappointed for my father and brother. They both live in London and are passionate sport fans. I decided to find out what I could about getting more tickets. Getting them in the UK seemed to be a non-starter. There had to be another way. I was a woman on a mission. This is where my Olympic ticket obsession began.

I started to stalk a BBC Sport presenter on Twitter who was receiving up to date information about Official Olympic Ticket retailers in Europe. The first tip came via a German company. I checked Twitter for the correct time, logged on and….nothing. All that was left was some boxing and synchronized swimming. I could have bought them but for some reason I didn’t fancy watching people getting beaten up or half drowning with a pretty bejewelled hair piece. That seemed to be it. The end of the line. But then my Twitter source came up with more European options.

Spain released tickets back in July. They had nearly everything apart from Opening and Closing Ceremony tickets. That didn’t bother me, I’m not fussed for watching people walk round a track or listening to a cringey official ‘Olympic’ song while hundreds of dancers make giant flag formations. They had athletics tickets. My favourite sport.  I was on the ticket website in a shot.

The Spanish ticketing application process was an Olympic worthy event in itself. However as the Olympic ideals say, it’s about the struggle not the triumph. The Spanish process was far more complicated than ticking boxes on a Ticket Master type website. This required the completion of an application form. In Spanish. My experience was something like this:

‘Shit, I don’t know Spanish. Right, Google translate. Bugger can’t type into the form. Shit, bugger. Um copy paste into Word. Oh piss, the form now in English and in Word looks nothing like the original format. Oh arse, they want the codes for the events too. Need to go back to the London 2012 website. Ok, typing in the events….’.

I probably made it far more complicated than it needed to be but I completed the form with all the necessary information. I attached it to an email and sent it off with a grovelling apology for it being in English and not in Spanish. I’m hoping they won’t hold it against me. Still, that was 8 more tickets applied for. That would cover my family. I will hear in September as to whether I have been successful in my application efforts. I was content, or so I thought. Twitter sport dude then tweeted about another European seller in Slovakia. Apparently they had thousands of tickets. I. Had. To. Have. A. Look.

So I went to the two Slovakian websites that were tweeted. There was some more Google Translate. I don’t speak Spanish and I definitely don’t speak Slovak. Maybe when I’m drunk, by accident. Not actual Slovak words but maybe sounds similar to their vowels. Definitely not enough to help me fill in a form. This time though there was printing off of forms to fill in applications by hand. With codes. Duh of course, I already had the London 2012 website up and ready. Then some scanning and saving and attaching forms to another apologetic email. My second application had gone off. With more tickets applied for….16 more tickets in fact.

Yes, via Spanish and Slovakian websites I have applied for a total of 24 more London 2012 tickets. Yes I know I’m mad and I’m obsessed with athletics. Yes I know that’s a lot of tickets but no money will be changing hands yet. If you’re successful they invoice you and if not well hopefully they won’t pass my details onto a third party.

So why all the effort for Olympic tickets? I could have applied for more tickets originally via the London 2012 website but if I’m honest I never expected to be successful. Once I realised I had and my family hadn’t I just felt I wanted to help them if I could. I’m hoping I will be successful in at least on application, so that I will have eight tickets for my family to be able to go and experience the Olympics, an event I have been fascinated by since I was a child. An event that, once upon a time as a junior athlete, I dreamed of competing in. Plus I also got a bit competitive with the whole ticket process.

I know people complain about it and despair at the money spent and the disruption it will cause but it’s coming now, there’s no turning back. I’m embracing it so I can see those amazing individuals aim to go Faster, Higher, Stronger. There is no other event in the lives of those athletes that compares to the Olympic Games and I’m excited that my children will get to experience it in their life time in their own country.

As for what happens if I am successful and get the other 16 tickets for the athletics at the Olympic Stadium? I want to share them with friends who want to go (not for free, I’m not that rich) and if I get no takers, well you can print off an application form, no need to translate, fill in the form with the codes and why you think you should have a ticket, draw me a picture of your favourite sport, scan it in and attach it to an email telling me how much you love me. Or just watch it on the TV. I’ll tell you in a few weeks if it was all worth it.

(Olympic Rings image from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Olympic_Rings.svg)

Double figures: A running mummy post

While everyone is watching the X Factor I thought I’d blog about my achievement from yesterday.

After feeling poorly for a few weeks and managing very few runs I had been despondent. However I had dragged myself out for a 4 miler and a 6 miler. I was pleased that my running legs were coming back. So pleased in fact that yesterday morning I woke with a new resolve. I wanted to do a long run. Longer than 6, 7 or 8 miles. I also had an idea of the run that I wanted to do. I wanted to run from our village to Cardiff along the back roads. This route was one we drive through regularly to get to the city centre and it has been a goal of mine to run this route. I got my husband to work out the distance. I had 9 miles in my head but he worked out it was 10. Double figures. The big one zero. A huge milestone for me as a runner having been injured for a significant time.

When I get it into my head to do a run the best thing is to just do it. No pondering and stalling, just go! My husband was off work so I suggested he wait for me with the boys at Llandaff Fields, a beautiful Cardiff park at the end of my 10 mile route. He decided to set off about half and hour after me. The run was on.

I set off at an easy pace, a little unnerved by the distance that lay ahead of me. I found a pace that felt comfortable and stuck with it. After 2 miles I was well into the village back roads on route to Cardiff.

I had noticed during various car journeys that the pavements were not in the best condition. The reality was quite shocking. The condition of the pavements was awful and the hedges were creeping out over the path like skeletal arms trying to pull me into neighbouring fields. It was an effort to avoid twisting an ankle or being ripped to shreds. I skipped and dodged like a boxer in training and ploughed on.

My pace felt good and I started to feel confident that I would make it to the boys who would be waiting for me in the park. After 40 minutes of running I heard a ‘toot toot’ and saw our family car go by with husband waving from window. The way I was feeling I was sure that I could do complete this run, if I didn’t get hit by a car first. At points on the path it became so narrow that I was almost on the road. I was running facing the traffic and as cars came whizzing past I felt like I was inches away from making contact with metalwork and um, death. Not only that but at some points along my route the path would come to a complete stop and would start again on the opposite side of the road. There was nothing I could do but dice with death again and listen out for cars (there was no way I could see round the bends of these roads) and sprint across. I could almost hear drivers cursing me as I darted across in a pink lycra blur. Not pleasant for them and scary for me.

The path eventually widened out as I ran through one of the villages which was at the half way mark. There had been some inclines and I thought I had managed them quite well. Not even hilly I thought as my confidence grew, just undulating. My car journeys had obviously lulled me into a false sense of security as I came to the bottom of a ridiculously steep hill. But then why was I surprised? I live in Wales for goodness sake!

The hill crept up around a bend and just kept going. We worked out later it was a 50m rise over 1 and a half km. I still don’t know what that means. All I know is that it was f***ing hard and it f***ing hurt! Cars were going past me and probably wondering why that woman was walking backwards down a hill. That was how I felt. Like I was going nowhere fast. I thought at one point I had come to a brow but no, I was deceived, the incline kept going and going until all of a sudden it came to a halt. I was on the straight again. Thus followed my slowest minute mile for the whole run as I tried to recover from the bitch of a hill.

From there everything was down hill, but in a good way. I had obviously come to a peak in the route and the only way from there was down. I took it way easy on the downhill and enjoyed the scenery as I let my legs relax and my shoulders drop. With three miles to go I felt ok. I was reassured that I was going to make the distance.

As the 10 mile mark became not just a fantasy but a reality I felt my pace pick up. I don’t know whether it was euphoria at my achievement or an urgency to get it finished. As I moved from rural paths to urban roads I was struck by the sudden difference in noise. Cars sound different on country roads to how they sound in built up areas. I know this is an obvious statement but for some reason during my run there was a striking difference. There was no longer any tree cover and the sun felt hot on my back. I was on the home stretch.

I turned a corner and Llandaff Fields came into sight. I felt a relief wash over me. I had almost done it: run from home to Cardiff. My goal was almost complete. I ran round the path and into the fields towards the playground where my family were. I ran along the fence until I saw my husband pushing the boys on the swings. As I saw them my legs felt like jelly and I came to an instant stop.It wa almost like seeing them was a signal to my body to cease all running movement. I looked at my watch: 10.01 miles, 1 hour 26 minutes. I felt exhilaration but exhaustion all at once. The boys saw me and were excited, wanting me to play but I just wanted to go home. My husband hugged me and gave me some water. A chill came over me as my body started to cool but I went over in my mind what I had just done. I had run into double figures. Now 11, 12, 13 miles doesn’t seem so impossible.

So that’s my 10 mile run done. I have managed double figures. This was a huge mental block for me in running. I am running further and longer now than I ever did when I was a teenage athlete. The main thing for me thougt was that I enjoyed it. It wasn’t a chore. Mentally I felt a lot better about running than I did 2 weeks ago. I feel reassured that I can continue to up my distance and hopefully start improving my speed.

On another slightly related point, I have never run listening to music. Never have and never needed to. However songs do pop into my head among my inner running thoughts. Can anyone tell me why this very random song popped into my head on replay during my run? Does running drive you mad?

When The Darkness Came

When I walked into the house a few weeks ago after being at my parents with the boys for a week I knew instantly that something was wrong. There had been clues while we were away in our phone calls. My husband had taken a few days off because he wasn’t feeling well but he couldn’t be specific, he just said he felt washed out. But when I walked into the house that day I knew it was serious. There was a darkness in his eyes, around his eyes. In fact his whole face was clouded.

As I started asking questions it became apparent that he was suffering from depression in the same way he had many years ago before we were married. If I’m honest the signs had been there for a few months. The reluctance to get out of bed in the morning, not sleeping, staying up late watching TV in an effort to make himself tired enough to sleep. He was snappy but nothing that I would have thought out of the ordinary for someone who hates, and I mean really hates, where they work. As we talked in the kitchen with our children playing in the next room my husband, my big strong husband dissolved into tears and I felt that there was nothing I could do. He told me just how dark his thoughts had been in the week we had been away and they were some of the worst you could imagine. I was frightened and I think he was frightened at what his mind was doing to him.

The next day I managed to persuade him to phone our GP. This took some doing due to his poor experiences with the GP practice where we used to live. When he had sought help during the last bad episode one GP told him to tell his boss to ‘fuck off’ if work was the problem while another gave him the card for the MIND charity. No one actually talked to him or did anything constructive. Because men aren’t meant to be depressed are they? Not men with jobs and wives and children. Why would they be depressed?

I convinced my husband that this time would be different and that as we had already learnt depression is not just ‘in your head’, it’s a physical condition due to chemical imbalances in the brain. We had already had better experiences with our new GP practice where the children were concerned. I felt that he would have more of a chance explaining things to these new GP’s. He wasn’t so sure. He was worried that he would be told there was nothing wrong with him. The appointment was made but things were not straight forward. The time he had booked was the time I was supposed to be leaving for my evening job. I pointed this minor detail out to him and he went into meltdown. I suggested phoning his sister to ask her to baby sit but it was like even the smallest thing could not be processed by him. He looked panicked. This is where I went behind his back and put out an SOS to my sister in law. Once she realised what was happening she didn’t hesitate to help watch the boys. This was a small detail in events but it had a major effect. My husband was going to the doctor.

After he had seen the doctor there was an immediate small change. He seemed relieved that someone had listened to him and believed him, that he wasn’t malingering. The GP he saw diagnosed him with severe depression and spent time with him, going over his thoughts and the triggers behind it. This GP prescribed him anti-depressants just to see him through the next few weeks to try and lift his mood. He’s been back to the GP for a follow up and I went along too. I was impressed and thankful for the level of care that this GP offered. He took an interest in my husband’s condition and genuinely seemed concerned for him. This GP has referred him to a CPN and we’re waiting to hear from them regarding counselling, something I think my husband has needed for many years.

I don’t think my husband realises how strong he is for having coped with his depression the way he has. When he had the similar, and in my opinion worse episode, before we married he managed to help himself without the help of health professionals. It came close that time but this time I think we’ve managed to acknowledge it sooner and he’s talking about things more which is definitely helping. It’s a slow process and he’s not fully recovered just yet. The medication takes weeks to take effect but he’s more upbeat. He’s been signed off work for a bit longer and I’m glad for that because he needs to get himself better before he goes back to work, the place that triggered this in the first place. He needs to be strong enough.

I feel like a broken record at the moment. I ask the same standard questions many times a day: ‘Are you alright? Have you taken your pill? Do you need a nap?’. I feel like I’m annoying him but I hope he will tell me if I am. I’m just a bit nervous because from time to time the darkness comes over his face again and I wonder to myself is he in that horrible part of his mind where he thinks those dark thoughts. My immediate reaction when I see him looking like that is to pounce on him, ask him, talk to him to pull him away from that place. I hope I’m doing right by him, I just want him to heal properly.

Why haven’t I cried yet?

My last blog post was rather factual, about how my husband came to be diagnosed with severe depression. I hadn’t really gone into my own feelings about it, mainly because I haven’t really acknowledged them and because I don’t want to be full of self pity. After all I’m not the one that’s ill. However I’ve had some thoughts buzzing around in my head and I needed to get them out.

I had a very supportive message from a Twitter pal who told me she was going through a similar experience with her husband. She said that my blog post had left her in tears. I then realised that I hadn’t cried yet, and I’m a crier. I cry at most sad things on TV why hadn’t I cried about this? Even when my husband told me what he had been thinking of doing, taking his own life, disappearing so that we would never find him because we’d be better off without him, I didn’t cry. I wasn’t even hysterical. I think I went into ‘Fixer’ mode. I had to get him fixed and crying and feeling awful for him or myself wouldn’t do anyone any good.

A few weeks down the line and I still haven’t cried or felt any real wash of emotion. I feel sad, tired, fed up, worried but I haven’t given into the tears yet. Either that or they just won’t come, I’m not sure. If anything, and this is me being brutally honest, I feel irritated and angry. I don’t think I’ve ever suffered real depression, maybe an extended period of baby blues and I suffer with hideous PMT but that just makes me a grumpy cow, so I don’t think I will ever understand what he’s going through. I’ve never gone to that really depressed, dark, cloudy place where my husband has been. It’s also hard to help someone who doesn’t have a ‘visible’ problem like a broken leg or flu. The ‘fixer’ in me can’t get their head around that.

There’s also the times when I feel really mean in my head, when I’m feeling a tad cross about the whole situation and I want to say ‘man up’, try some tough love but that frightens me too, because I worry that if I say the wrong thing I’ll send him backwards in his recovery from this episode. I kick myself mentally when I think those things because I just feel so selfish but then I just want things to go back to normal.

I worry about the boys but they are so young that I don’t think they will have noticed anything. My mother says she’s worried about me but I don’t want her to worry. I married this man and promised I would love him for better or for worse. This is undoubtedly one of the toughest times in our marriage but if anything I think it could bring us closer as we are both talking more frankly about his feelings and his depression.

As for the crying or lack of it I’m sure it will come eventually but for now I’ll just concentrate on my family and getting my husband back on track.

Well done Mo!…..and teachers and grass roots coaches!

I sat in our living room this morning screaming at the television. If you follow me on Twitter then you will have noticed that I have been tweeting excessively about the World Athletics Championships in Daegu, South Korea. I am an avid athletics fan, having taken part in the sport myself as a teenager, and I follow the coverage closely. The reason I was getting excited in our living room today was that UK athlete Mo Farah was going in the Men’s 10000m.

He was a justified favourite going into the race this morning. He had beaten a number of his nearest rivals in the past few months leading up to the final today and was being totued for a medal, possibly even gold. His racing tactics and sheer strength and self belief had gone to another level since moving to the States to train. He had never won a major medal on the world stage so to see him run so well and achieve a well deserved silver medal was fantastic for a British athletics fan like me. My interest in Mo’s achievement’s though go beyond being a sports fan.

I remember Mo as a teenager when I was training at Borough of Hounslow Athletics Club, as it was then. You could tell his talent then, he kept up easily with the senior men in training and there were whispers throughout the club about how good he was. He was never arrogant or aloof. He hung around with a gang of lads at the club and liked a laugh but he was always polite and happy to have a chat. I remember he was always smiling. He was in short a nice lad. However without certain people Mo may never have been at the athletics track in the first place.

Mo attended a local school in my area. One of his P.E teacher’s picked up that he was a good runner. This teacher subsequently introduced him to the Hounslow club and would pick him up to take him down on training nights. Once there Mo was taken on by a brilliantly dedicated youth athletics coach called Alex. Alex had a huge group of kids to coach in many disciplines but he encouraged and supported anyone who showed an interest. Once Alex realised Mo had reached a particular level, Mo’s coaching was taken over by my own coach Conrad, yet another dedicated athletics coach. I then left athletics and I’ve never really seen Mo again since my running days, although I’ve always followed his career and achievements.

Since his time at Hounslow Mo has grown in maturity as an athlete and his talent has really taken shape under his new coaches in America. We were with him every step of the way in the house today and it was a truly exciting race. I was willing him on to the gold but on the day someone else wanted it that little bit more. Commentators and media have speculated about how this move to America has changed his career and transformed him as an athlete. But thinking about how he came to be in athletics in the first place, I wonder if Mo has any thoughts for the Feltham School teacher and the coaches, Alex and Con at Hounslow, for starting him out on his journey? Mo’s experiences just show how important good teachers and grass roots coaches are in identifying sporting talent in this country. If anything we need more people like them to help young people in our community in developing talent that they have. Who knows, without them Mo might never have realised athletics existed.

13.1 miles of Therapy: A Running Mummy Post

If you have read my blog before you will know that I like to, love, to run. I have been involved in running on and off since I was eleven years old. Back then it was middle distance running on the track. I went to a club and had a coach. By the time I was seventeen or eighteen other things had taken my interest, studies and boys being among them. At university I did almost no running at all. When I got my first job I started running again and even went back to a club. This was short lived as I got married and within a year of getting married I was pregnant. After second son was born I decided I wanted to get back into running again and even after an enforced break due to injury I am still running now.

The reasons I run are many and changing all the time. Initially when I went back to running last year it was to get myself fitter and to lose the last of the stubborn baby weight that wasn’t shifting. Then I was running because I enjoyed it and got a great high and satisfaction from completing a run. I felt a rush and a high whenever I finished a good run (note I say ‘good run’ there).

This year many things have changed. I have finished work to be a stay at home mum while the boys are small. Even though I have a part time job and see friends with children at toddler group it wasn’t quite enough. I found that I needed something else and out of my many interests running was that something. Running has become a focus for new reasons. Running has become my ‘thing’. The thing that I have just for me, that makes me feel good about myself, nay, awesome about myself. I am enjoying it more than I ever have before. My head has felt clearer since I finished work and I am less fatigued. The lack of motivation I used to feel with some runs has been replaced with an over boiling eagerness to get out for the next 5, 10, 12 kilometers.

Running has taken on another dimension for me though. I’m finding now that I ‘need’ to run. I’m not sure if it’s quite an addiction, that’s far too strong a word. What I do feel sometimes is that I’m compelled to run. During times of stress, a hard day with the boys, or emotional upset it has become something of a release for me. I can feel angry or upset with the world but once I go out for a run I feel soothed and almost cleansed. Sometimes I think about the day’s events. Sometimes I think about how I’ve been feeling and why that is. Sometimes it is a way for me to escape and have peace and quiet other than the hum of the accompanying traffic. The whirring of cars whizzing past can lull me into an hypnotic state and before I’m aware I’ve covered a mile or two, having just been thinking about putting one foot in front of another.

Yesterday I managed to do another long run on top of the ten mile run I had managed just over a week ago. This time I added 3.1 miles on to take me up to the half marathon distance. 1 hour and 49 minutes of me on my own taking in the beautiful countryside of the villages just outside Cardiff. It wasn’t all bliss if I’m really honest. There is one hill that I’ve renamed Bitch Hill but even then just letting my body haul itself up that hill, breathing deeper and feeling my legs work hard made me feel amazing.Almost invincible. I must have been exhilarated because my subsequent mile following this hill was the fastest of the entire run!

I have decided though that this running ‘therapy’ is all very well but that I need to do something with it. I have entered the Brighton Half Marathon which will take place in February next year. I’m hoping the training will continue and that my version of therapy continues to cleanse me and unburden me in the way it is at the moment. I don’t think I’m the world’s greatest talker and at the moment I’m letting my body do the talking for me. I’m unburdening my sub conscious through running. I just hope my motivation and love for running continues as the nights become darker and the colder weather sets in.

I don’t listen to music while I run but songs often pop into my head and play themselves over and over in my head. This was playing in my head during this week’s long run.

Fartlekking: Running Mummy Post

I did a Fartkek today. No it’s not a bodily function or a weird Japanese fetish. It is Swedish and translated it means speed play. I have been buzzing since my long run at the start of the week and in truth been feeling empowered and invincible in my running.

The day following my run I was sensible and had a rest day. My ice bath the day before had seemed to help and I had minimal aches and niggles. Yesterday I decided to go for a very short recovery run and this again seemed to help my aches. I was feeling relaxed and happy. I decided that today I would mix things up a bit and try a fartlek.

Up until now I haven’t been doing much in the way of interval training. A fartlek seemed to be the way forward. For those who don’t know how a fartlek works it basically involves running at a steady or quick pace for a set time and then slowing down for a set time. If anyone has tried the couch to 5k programmes involving a mix of walking and running, that’s a kind of fartlek. So for my fartlek today I decided to do 30 secs running, 30 secs jogging, 60 secs running, 60 secs jogging, 90 secs running and 90 secs jogging, then repeat. That was the plan.

After my one mile warm up I wasn’t feeling that great. I thought the heaviness in my legs would ease but it didn’t. I started my fartlek and I just felt like I was dragging my legs around the aprk. I could see my family playing in the swing park adjacent to where I was running and I was half inclined to jack it in and join the boys on the slide. Today’s run did now feel fun.

No, no, no I then thought to myself. It can’t all be plain sailing all of the time. I have to experience the bad runs to really appreciate the good ones, to grit my teeth when I feel rough so that I know I can dig in to finish. I had to give myself a metaphorical kick up the backside today but I managed to finish a decent fartlek, even though during the jog portion I just wanted to walk or slump over the barrier of the football pitch. I finished it. I got my head together and finished a 3 mile fartlek. Adding in the mile warm up I had managed over 4 miles of running.

I don;t know whether it was the 13 miler still in my legs or the fact I was feeling a bit uner the weather this morning. I just felt heavy and stiff. My head was willing but my body wanted to sit on the swings with my children. The plus side for me again was that my head won again and I completed my session.

On another note, not impressed by the people using the park that cleraly let their dogs soil the grass along side the football pitch. Use the dog poop bins people! My trainers are a bit whiffy and with the deep tread on my trainers I’m going to have to get a stick to get rid of it. Gross!

As I’ve said before, I don’t listen to music while I’m running. I didn’t sing a song to myself today, all I had going round my head was my own voice scolding myself for thinking of giving up. However on Twitter today Dawn from The Moiderer has been tweeting about her own running and how she’s been building her distance. She has being doing really well with her running and she’s now up to 5k! I like the song that she had on repeat during her run today. So for Dawn this is today’s running song.

 

I want things back to normal.

I feel selfish for feeling that. I don’t want to rush my husband’s recovery from his depression but I just want us to feel normal again. I know he would rather I spoke to him about the way I feel but I don’t seem to be able to bring myself to at the moment. I worry that I’ll upset him and set him back. I would speak to my parents but my grandmother has been admitted to hospital so they have their own worries.

Despite my yearning for normality I don’t think he is ready to go back to work yet. The smallest decision or unremarkable event seems to send him into a tailspin and I can see him panic. We went to the swimming pool with the boys and the pool receptionist said the baby pool was full but the main pool still had space. This meant we couldn’t all go in as the main pool would be too cold for our 19 month old.

For a few minutes he just froze. He had obviously taken in the information but he could not see any solution. In his head the trip was ruined and it was his fault. Accompanied by a 3 year old shouting that he didn’t want to go anywhere else, he wanted to swim, my husband seemingly stopped functioning. Eventually I convinced him that he should take 3 year old boy and I would take younger boy home, but I had to raise my voice for him to hear me. For a few moments I was talking to a brick wall and my words could easily have been Flemish or Cantonese or Klingon.  If something doesn’t go remotely the way he things it should he throws his hands up and gives up and it’s starting to really infuriate me. I want him to get better but I don’t know how else I can help.

I think he is better than he was a few weeks ago but I just wonder what happens next. Human resources at his company have left messages to offer help but he hasn’t rung them back. He puts up a barrier whenever anything about his workplace comes up. He feels guilty for being off and must feel that they’re checking up on him. We still haven’t heard about counselling from the Community Psychiatric Nurse but he does have an appointment with the GP next week.

I’m a physiotherapist used to treating outwardly physical ailments. At any point in rehabilitation of these problems there comes a point to push the exercises further or throw the crutches away. With mental illness how do you know when that time has come to throw the metaphorical crutches away and move your recovery forward? Right now I feel like we’ve plateaued with no idea how to get things going again.

 

 

What a Difference.

What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours, so the song goes. Yesterday was emotional for the whole family. There were tears from my son, tears from me, phone calls to family and a general feeling of worry for what today would hold.

Would he sleep?

Would he be upset in the morning?

Would he go into meltdown in the car, on the playground or as I said goodbye?

The memory of him digging his fingers into my arm and the look on the teacher’s face as she tried to pull him away was firmly at the front of my mind.

The good news was that he went to bed and settled quickly last night. He didn’t wake at all through the night. There were no bad dreams and no visits to our room. He woke at a reasonable time and asked for his breakfast of chocolate spread on toast (minus the cheese and cucumber accompaniment that he has been fond of lately). He dressed with minimal fuss and checked that I had put his water bottle and fruit in his bag!

On the journey to school he chatted and sang the whole day. I didn’t let myself get complacent though as he had done this yesterday, thus lulling me into a false sense of security. No, today I was readying myself for a similar response to my departure as yesterday. I had my tough love game face on. He had been fine yesterday after I had left. I would walk him in and retreat as soon as I was able.

Well I think I took a completely different child into the classroom today. This child wanted to go in. This child threw his coat off and showed me where the coat hook was with his name tag. This child showed me where the drawer was to put his fruit snack and bottled water. This child started chatting to the teaching assistant and sat down at a table and started to play!

I was gobsmacked. It was as if yesterday’s trauma had never happened. I hadn’t slept very well last night worrying about today and I was on pins driving him to school. But here we were, a transformation over night. I didn’t question it though. I would have loved to stay a few more minutes and watch him, just to make sure but I had all the sensible advice from family, Twitter and blog comments ringing round in my head. Before giving him time to register it I gave him a peck on the cheek and ran for it! I was the first parent to leave. My heart was still in my mouth as I did it but I felt a tonne weight roll off my shoulders.

I am now about to leave to pick him up and I can’t wait to see him. I hope he’s had another good day. I’m glad that I steeled my resolve and didn’t crumble like I did yesterday.

I’ve often wondered why they called it tough love. I though it was ‘tough’ for the children but I really don’t think its only that. I believe the ‘tough’ is for us parents too, as we help them take their big steps into the world.

I would just like to mention all the people who came to my blog yesterday and commented. I genuinely appreciate the time you all took to comment and share your thoughts and advice. It honestly helped. Thank you.

Mission Completed: The Cardiff 10k

Since yesterday morning at roughly 10.45am, or sometime after I have been excited. Nay, hyper. Yesterday after many years of not being near a running event of any kind I completed my first ever 10k race.

I had been worried for over a week going into this weekend’s race as I had been feeling under the weather. Training with just over a week to go hadn’t been going particularly well and I was feeling rather despondent. My youngest son had also started school last week and his first day was rather stressful. This seemed to knock me sideways and when I had attempted to go for a run it was awful.

From Thursday evening I had started to notice pains in my ears and the occasional feeling of feverishness. I convinced myself I had a cold coming and that by the Saturday I was bound to have a full blown snot fest. My running mind was in turmoil. Should I run or shouldn’t I? What are the top up/bottom down rules for running or not running? I started to get myself a bit upset as almost a year ago I’d had to withdraw from the Cardiff Half Marathon due to a chest infection. I didn’t want to pull out of a race again. It frustrated me last time and I didn’t want to withdraw for the sake of a sniffle.

At this point I decided to change tactics. Instead of waiting for a cold to develop I decided to head it off at the sinus path. I went for hard core over the counter action (don’t get excited) from my local pharmacy. This bascially involved badgering the poor woman at the pharmacy for drugs that would ease my symptoms. I came away fully loaded with decongestants and painkillers. I also opted for some sideways herbal action in the form of Lemon and Ginger tea. If a cold was thinking of rearing it’s ugly head I was going to have a Spartan type response ready. I also rested. No running, no trying a jog to see how I felt. Just rest.

The night before the race came and I still had no idea how I felt. Yesterday when I woke up I wasn’t feeling too bad. I was less achy and had no sniffles. My first line response of lots of legal drugs seemed to have seen off my non-illness. The Cardiff 10k was on, and what a beautiful day we had for it.

The whole family piled into the car to get into Cardiff and we parked up with plenty of time before the 10am start. The start was just beside City Hall and the lawns in front of the stunning buildings had been turned into a mini race goer’s village. There was a gentle hum of activity around the various tents and stalls. Nothing too raucous was going on, no-one wants to pull a muscle before a race. People were milling around in groups, couples, with families, in costumes or, if you were one of the elite athletes, sitting on a bench by yourself listening to music. The majority of people were in their Cardiff 10k t-shirts. I had decided to opt for my shocking pink vest and I’m glad I did because yesterday turned out to be a scorching one if you were running.

As the time for the start edged closer I started to feel more and more nervous. As I mentioned, I hadn’t been near anything like this since my early twenties. I hadn’t trained with anyone for this, I had entered this race of my own accord. Once I left my husband and the boys to walk down to the start line I would be on my own. My nerves got the better of me and I whimpered out loud. I waved my family off and headed down to the start.

From there I don’t think I was aware of very much. There was a warm up man from British Military Fitness. I had already warmed up and being on my own I didn’t fancy jumping around in front of complete strangers. Max Boyce was there and I think he tried to start the crowd off singing but I can’t remember what. All I remember thinking then and for most of the race was ‘Can I do this?’. Yes, yes even at that point I was being Queen of Self Doubt.

As we ran past the city buildings within the first kilometre my legs felt a bit jelly like but I put this down, yet again, to nerves. There was a little bit of jostling in the first 100 metres but it soon opened out and a sea of runners turned the corner towards Cardiff Castle. I found a pace that suited me and before long we were out towards Pontcanna and Llandaff Fields. I looked out for every kilometer marker and each one was knocked down in my mind as a goal. My pace was still consistent and at times I was passing other runners. My self doubt lifted and confidence grew with every marker I saw.

We came through the beautiful Sophia Gardens and back out by the castle. The route then took us round the back of the castle and up towards Blackweir. I passed the 8 km marker and realised I was almost there. As we came towards the final marker a marshal was shouting encouragement at all the runners. There was a slight incline to get back up onto the main road and he was shouting at every runner that went past ‘Only this bit and then it’s flat, go on you can do it’. My hilly training runs hauled me over that hump and we were back on the flat. I was into the last kilometer.

As we turned into the final straight back towards City Hall I could see the finish line in the distance. At this point my stomach actually churned and I felt the urge to be stop and throw up. Somehow I managed to dampen down the need to vomit and dug deep. I focused on the banner above the street emblazoned with the word ‘FINISH’ and I didn’t take my eyes off it. Once I estimated I was somewhere between 200 or 300m off crossing the line I went for a sprint finish. Somewhere in there my old track legs came forward and I finished quickly. I stopped my watch, looked down and couldn’t believe my eyes. My watch was telling me I hadn’t just gone under 50mins, I had smashed it. I was in pain all over my body but I was utterly elated.

I limped along the finishing area and acquired a goodie bag but all I wanted was to see my family. My eldest son caught sight of me and ran towards me but instead of the huge running hug I was hoping for he went for the goodie bag looking for the medals he had seen people with. My husband took a few pictures but within minutes we were back in family mode looking for ice cream for the boys and thinking about what we were going to have for Sunday lunch. Plus my husband was itching to get back to watch the Wales vs South Africa World Cup Game he had recorded. He had to put his hands over his ears when the 10k organisers announced the score over the sound system.

So that is the narrative of my Cardiff 10k experience. I am still elated, happy, over the moon with how it went, despite feeling so under the weather before hand. I’m still not feeling 100% but for some reason I seemed to harness a determination and will power to see it through. I’m also sure that many months of good training on the surrounding hills, a change in my diet and remembering to stay hydrated had given me the underlying strength I needed to get round.

My time of 45 minutes 23 secs on my watch (46mins 12 is my official time) surprised me but I was well under 8 minutes for each mile. I was thrilled with this as it has been a running goal of mine to bring down my minutes per mile. I hope with more training that I can improve on this even further.

So what have I learnt from my first 10k road race experience? That some things are about mind over matter. That if you’ve done the hard work before hand you should have confidence in yourself. That people who wear headphones don’t realise how loud their breathing is. That running in hot pink suits me and that I really shouldn’t get over excited and forget to warm down properly after a race. Today I am tight, stiff and struggling to walk. But it was worth it for that awesome feeling I had yesterday and I intend to do it again.

 

I don’t know how she does it? I decided not to.

I am only just slightly aware of the latest film offering from Sarah Jessica Parker where she stars as a working mum juggling everything life throws at her. I haven’t read the book and I don’t intend to. All I know is that I decided I couldn’t do it and I didn’t want to.

I started rambling about the reasons that led to our decision for me to stay at home but I re-read it and deleted it because it was just a rambling of my life prior to giving up work. I’ve written about it before and it just BORES me. I just want to think about life now.

In the end I wasn’t one of those mothers who saw work as a respite from their children as one of my colleagues once did. I didn’t talk endlessly about my children and their toilet habits in the staff room as one mother I know did. I wasn’t even skimping on my role as a lead physiotherapist in the department. I was still seeing a full caseload, teaching students and juniors and preparing training sessions to present to the department. I just decided that at this point in my life, for my family, right now I didn’t want to do it. So I decided not to do it.

I’m not anti working mum and I am not pro ‘all mothers should stay at home’. I am pro choice for all mothers but what the recent Save the Children survey shows that in this country women don’t seem to have much choice. If you work you pay more for childcare in this country than anywhere else. The cost of child care was a massive influence on my decision to stop working and for now for my family it is the right thing to do.

Don’t count me out though, I am still ambitious and I am still relatively young. There will be time for a comeback and I have ideas and plans for the future that could take me in a direction far different to the one I was taking at work. For now though I’ll leave it to SJP and the other to get on with it.

Chasing Rainbows: Running Mummy

Today I went for my first hard run since the Cardiff 10k. I hadn’t been able to run since the start of the week. I had felt lethargic and my legs had felt heavy. Today was the first morning that I didn’t feel I would be forcing it.

It had been raining on and off all night and the morning was still drizzly. Even though it’s only September I could smell autumn in the air. I started running and my legs felt ok which took me completely by surprise. The traffic was light and there was no one around so I was able to concentrate on getting round my 4.3 mile route.

To start with the air felt cold but the motion of my limbs and my ever increasing breathing rate soon warmed me up. The break in the rain that I had hoped for didn’t last long and the water splashed on my head and sprang up my legs as it hit the ground. Today the rain felt like a relief and I welcomed the water running over me, like it was cleaning away the aches and pains I had been having.

Almost as soon as it had started the rain shower stopped again and the sun beamed through the clouds. As I made my way up another hill I looked up and realised that in the distance there was a rainbow suspended over the world. Rainbows can represent many things: hope, promises, light. An arc of slightly hazy colour, almost not there at all, in a world that can be so grey, dull and painful. A symbol of hope to hold onto.

My legs were sore again and my breathing laboured slightly but I concentrated on the rainbow. I ran towards it, chasing it, covering the road but never quite catching the rainbow. Before I knew it I had turned another corner on my route in the Welsh valleys and was heading towards home. I had my back to the rainbow, it was gone. I just kept running.

 

No Child Born To Die: Health Workers

As a junior Physiotherapist I was fortunate to gain experience within our health system on the acute paediatric wards. During my rotation I was privileged to work alongside some of the most dedicated, professional and skilled health workers I have ever come across. They ranged from doctors and nurses on Paediatric Intensive Care, the specialist nurses on Neonatal and my fellow Physiotherapists in the trauma wards. These people went above and beyond to make a difference to the children they treated and their families. Working alongside these people helped to shape me into the health worker I became and without these people the lives of so many children would have been lost or severely limited.

It is a travesty that this level of expertise and care is not available to all children. That is why I have signed the petition launched by Save The Children to end the health worker crisis in Africa. I hope you will feel inspired to do the same.

Cardiff Parkrun Forever!

Last night as I was checking out the interwebs I came across a Twitter hashtag referring to the Cardiff Parkrun. A few more clicks and I was dismayed to find out that Cardiff Council have cancelled the event until further notice. I couldn’t work out why this fantastic event had been stopped. Les Croupiers running club run the event for free on a Saturday morning so I visited their website for more information. In a forum page entitled RIP Cardiff Parkrun Phil Cook of Les Croupiers states that he has had an email from Cardiff Council asking him to complete some forms. It also says that Parkrun can no longer take place on the beautiful Taff Trail for health and safety reasons, although these reasons are not fully stated. It also states that a complaint has been received about runners blocking the path. So from this e mail I can only gather that for a number of jobsworth reasons and one killjoy, a fantastic weekly event has been cancelled. Not that this is stopping Cardiff Council advertising a link to the Cardiff Parkrun on their website here.

I have blogged about the Parkrun movement before. For a free timed event that started off in Bushy Park in Surrey it has grown into an amazing phenomenon that is now spanning the world. There are Parkrun events in Iceland, Australia and Camp Bastion in Afghanistan. Every Parkrun I’ve been to has had an atmospheric buzz and a feel good undercurrent. Mo Farah the World 5000m Champion runs the Bushy Park event as does ex Ireland International Sonia O’Sullivan. Writer and blogger Bangs and a Bun has blogged about Parkrun as part of her running journey. The best thing about Parkrun though is that it is not an elite event and it is not just about running fast times. People of all abilities and all ages attend Parkruns throughout the country at 9am on a Saturday morning (9.30am in Scotland folks). I was hoping that as my sons got bigger I could get them started running and walking the route but it’s not looking good.

My susprise at this event being cancelled is also coupled with confusion at the messages politicians, ministers and government officials are sending us about our activity levels. They happily mount their media soap boxes and lecture us about how the latest research tells us we should be less sedentary and exercising more to prevent disease and ill health. In Wales there has been a huge campaign to improve people’s fitness and make physical activity part of their lives. It is great that they want to share this with us but they have now cancelled an event that promotes exactly that! I think they have shot themselves in the foot big time and this is sending members of the public mixed messages.

I hope that more comes out about the reasons this run has been cancelled. The health and safety reason just seems ridiculous. I accept that the run is alongside the River Taff but no one as far as I’m aware of has jumped fully clothed into the river (that only happens after some individuals have been out on St Mary’ Street for the night). There are marshals on bikes along the course that shout at the runners to move out of the way for people on bikes or other runners not taking part in the event. If one person was really offended by the run why didn’t they approach the marshals? They are a friendly bunch and they want to help. It is in their interests to keep everyone happy, runners and non-runners alike. When I have been out running the same trail on my own I have almost been knocked flying by people on bikes or snarled at by dogs but I’m not going to demand that people stop riding bikes or that they ban walking dogs!

I’m really disappointed that Cardiff Parkrun could be no more. I hope this isn’t the start of events being cancelled by councils all over the country. It is a movement to be proud of and whenever I do it I always think about the hundreds of people all over the UK who have hauled themselves out of bed to do the same thing. At the moment Cardiff Parkrun news states that they are still waiting for a response from the council, so maybe there is hope that the event could still be held this Saturday. I really hope so because the hundreds of people, and there are, who do this event each Saturday will be disappointed.

Long Live Cardiff Parkrun.

 

 

 

Play to Learn with Sport Wales

A little while ago Jane Thomas from Sport Wales gave me the heads up on a fantastic new project called Chwarae I Ddysgu or Play to Learn. In 2009 the Welsh Assembly set out their vision in ‘Creating an Active Wales’ in which they envisage physical activity being the norm for everyone. Specifically for children this also meant activity being the norm, children playing frequently outdoors and the majority of children (and adults) being regular users of leisure facilities. I am a firm believer in exercise for children having been a junior athlete, a mother of two boys and in my work as a Physiotherapist. If you’re in any doubt about why children need to exercise then the Play to Learn website lays it out for you here.

Exercise and activity isn’t just about weight and being fit, it has an impact on confidence, behaviour and learning. Not all parents and children are keen to do any formal exercise with a team or club so Sport Wales have come up with a fantastic way of getting us all exercising by incorporating stories and imagination into the activities. There is a gang of cartoon characters that your child can choose from to start them in their activity story. My favourite character was Jade whose favourite things were athletics, skipping, hopscotch and dancing. Finlay’s favourite character was Dragon who loves running and leaping.

Once your child has chosen their character they can move to the Learn Skills section where they select their character, where they would like the character to practice and then select what skill they would like to practice such as running, star jumps, frog hopping, catching or kicking a ball. You can then sit and watch the character practice the skill before you have a go yourselves. If you do really well you can even print out a certificate to put on your wall! The website also introduces some new game ideas such as Dragon Egg Hunt, Creature Chaos and Shape Shifting with videos to demonstrate how to do them. There is also a fantastic story time section where you read the story and have a go at acting out the skills and activities described in the books. We really liked this section as we’re big fans of acting out stories like ‘We’re Going On a Bear Hunt’.

This website is a great idea and a fantastic resource for ideas of games and activities for children. I think it is especially good for children like my 3 year old who is probably a bit young yet to be involved in a formal coaching session. The great thing is that you can practice the activities with your children and they can then develop their own games leading on from what they’ve seen on the website. After having a practice of some activities and talking about the characters we went outside and set up our on obstacle course which involved running, jumping and hopping.

Getting ready to start a race with Dad.

Towels as water jumps.

More obstacles in the garden.

On your marks, get set, GO!

Sport Wales have developed a fantastic resource for parents of young children here. It’s not teaching them sport as such but it’s a great way to get them starting the basics such as running, skipping, jumping while involving their imaginations. Hopefully after getting the basics physical activity will become the norm for families after using this website although I can see the contradiction between sitting at a computer looking at the site and being active. Some people just aren’t confident in being active though so maybe this website will give some families the boost they need to get active and stay active!

www.playtolearn.org.uk

www.sportwales.org.uk

He’s got a friend!

After the shaky start in week one my son seems to have started to settle. He’s been more compliant about getting ready in the morning and hasn’t made a fuss about getting in the car. We’ve also had no repeats of the first day which has been a relief. We’ve been getting into a routine and everyone seems quite happy.

As any mother or father does I’ve been asking F questions about his day. What did you do? What did you have for dinner? Who did you play with? The answers I’ve been getting back have been nothing, nothing and what else now….um NOTHING!

I have tried asking the questions in different ways. I’ve pointed at things in the class room and playground but the standard answer has been nothing and/or no-one. Teasing answers out of a criminal suspect would be far easier. I gathered that my annoying round of the same questions were starting to irritate him. I remember having the same prickle of irritation whenever my own mother asked me questions about school or my friends so I decided a new approach was needed. It wasn’t a fancy approach. All it entailed really was BACKING THE HECK OFF!

Hearing the ‘nothing’ answer hadn’t really been bothering me too much, I knew it wasn’t true. Of course he would be doing something. I’d seen the classroom and the state of his uniform each day. They’re always doing painting, water play or something messy. What was bothering me was the no-one. He said he wasn’t playing with anyone. He said he wasn’t talking to anyone and he didn’t know anyone’s name. This tugged at my heart a bit and I started to worry, in the way I’m inclined to, that my poor little boy was the child with no friends. He was starting off in this school not knowing anyone there anyway. All I could imagine was this poor wee soul walking around the playground on his lonesome. Family reassured me that it was early days and before long he would have plenty of friends. I was in panic mode and wasn’t so sure.

Towards the end of the second week the new ‘back the heck off’ approach started to offer us some tit bits of information. It started with telling us his shirt was wet because another child splashed him. He then started informing us that he didn’t like the puddings they gave out at dinner time. Then in among all this brand new information came a name. ‘Jessie’.

‘Jessie doesn’t go home, he stays in the lunch hall but I go home’.

‘Jessie is in my group’.

‘Jessie has a green jacket’.

I gleaned that Jessie must be someone in his class but after mentioning him briefly like this all talk of Jessie stopped and he wouldn’t be encouraged to tell us more about ‘Jessie’. Jessie isn’t a common name for a boy these days and I wondered if this was the start of an imaginary friend. I also joked to my husband that maybe there was a little boy he was friendly with but he had re-named him ‘Jessie’….

‘You there, what’s your name?’

‘Rhys’.

‘No no that’s not right, from now on you will have a different name, I shall call you……Jessie’.

(This was the amusing scenario that played out in my head anyway)

Moving on *ahem* today I actually met ‘Jessie’. My son had pointed in no particular direction in the school yard this morning to where Jessie was. I couldn’t spot anyone in a green jacket. My son wanted to show me the slide and play house they have in the yard before the klaxon went. As I stood with him I became aware of a little boy hovering nearby. He was looking at my son and when my son turned they didn’t smile broadly but seemed to acknowledge each other with some kind of odd facial expression I’ve never seen my son use before. However when I said hello to this boy I seemed to spook him and he went away.

‘That’s Jessie’ my son informed me as he cocked his head in the direction that this boy had taken.

Ooooohhhhhhh, that’s Jessie. He is real. Jessie is real. The Jessie I thought was imaginary was a real live boy! I did a little head boogie and took my cue to leave the yard. As I made my way to the gate I could see the two boys, my son and Jessie migrate towards each other. I felt a wee bit warm and fuzzy and reassured. My boy was starting to make friends. When I spoke to my husband the first thing I said was ‘I MET JESSIE!’, like he was my friend. I honestly need to get a grip!

In this third week F has started volunteering even more information. Today he proudly informed us that he helped give out the milk to the other children at break time. We were sat at a level crossing at the time so maybe he was bored and wanted to fill the lull in activity but still, he offered this juicy tit bit first. As the weeks progress I hope he will continue to open up and let us into his school day experiences.

So things I’ve learnt in this third week? (Yes I know it’s only Tuesday bu still):

Backing the heck off seems to be a good approach so far. That I should have more faith my little boy and his ability to make friends and be sociable. To know that ‘Nothing’ will probably be the standard answer for a boy (I do have a brother after all). That it is only the third week ‘for crying out loud’ and to let things take their natural course. And hopefully that we may be hearing more about Jessie, and many other children, in the weeks, months and years of school to come.

The World

Our 3 year old has posters in his room. He has one of the Welsh alphabet. He has one that I bought for him at the live show of We’re Going On A Bear Hunt. He also has one of the World.

Every morning and evening he says to me ‘Mummy can you lift me so I can see The World’. He runs his hand over the map of all the countries. He asks me what the white bit at the bottom of the poster is. I tell him it’s very cold and it’s where all the penguins live. He runs his finger over the blue and asks me if he can swim in the deep blue sea. He asks me where we live and I point to the speck on the map which is the UK, so tiny compared to the land masses of Europe, Asia and the Americas. He points to Africa and I tell him this is where the lions, tigers and elephants live. He tells me he would like to go there.

I really hope one day he will. He’s a little boy. The World is his for the taking.

Jodie Marsh an Inspiration? Pull my Metatarsophalangeal joint.

Jodie Marsh has come up for a bit of flak in the press for her body building transformation. While she has done amazingly well to transform her body, meticulously sculpting individual muscles to enhance their appearance to then win a body building competition I wouldn’t necessarily agree with people saying she’s an inspiration. After all what she has done is something that professional athletes do. It’s their job, they just don’t flash their pubic ramus to the world while exposing their rectus abdominus muscles.

Jodie has much publicised issues relating to self image, self esteem and relationships. I read an article in which she tells the interviewer that she went on to do modelling as a sort of revenge on the bullies at school who taunted her over her looks. She purposefully entered an industry in which she was judged on her appearance. She was then exposed to the general public who would also judge her for the way she looked and dressed. She entered Big Brother which was another form of judgement. By going on to do Body Building she’s opened herself up yet again to judgment of a different form. Competitive and related to fitness it may be, but it’s still the subjective opinion of a judge as to whether or not you are the winner.

I have no issues with her body. It’s not as dreadful as everyone thinks. People who commit themselves to the gym will end up buff in one way or another. Just look at the other girls on stage with her, she’s not alone. I do not see her achievement as a massive inspiration. Exercise will give you muscle, I can assure you this is very well documented. What would make Jodie an inspiration in my opinion is if she turned round and refused to be judged on her appearance any more and showed young women being judged on how you look should not be important in life, sport or the universe. It’s what you do in life that matters. That would be an inspiration.

I’ve Entered a Marathon!

Finally after stuttering over the decision for a few years, entering the London Marathon ballot, feigning disappoinment, making excuses, finally I have entered a marathon. Not the famous London event but the Edinburgh Marathon which will be held in May next year.

I have always said that I want to run a marathon. It has been one of my life goals. I love running and I’m enjoying it again for the first time in many years. I’ve entered a half marathon but I felt I actually needed to take the jump, go the whole hog and do an actual marathon. If I don’t enter one now then I’m worried that I never will. I had to bite the bullet and just do it!

After the confirmation came through I was a bit euphoric. Grinning and jumping around. I was actually doing it. My mind wound forward to May next year and the thought of crossing the finishing line, finally a marathon runner. Then reality started to sink in. The marathon is seven months away. A whole autumn and winter away. Months of training in the cold and dark, constantly upping the mileage. I have committed to a gargantuan task but I am comforted by the fact that in many thousands of people of all levels of fitness have completed marathons.

So in seven months time I will hopefully be in my favourite UK city. Not for an open top bus ride, not for a tour around Mary King’s Close and certainly not for dinner at The Witchery. No I will be attempting to run 26.2 miles to a finish line that right now seems so far away into next year that it doesn’t even seem real yet.

During my marathon journey I plan to update my blog so please pop back for Running Mummy updates!

The Olympic Meme

Well when I saw this meme on The Five Fs blog I rubbed my hands with glee. Being a huge fan of all things Olympic, this meme is well up my finishing straight.

Lou at Bloggomy started the meme and has set nine questions. She mentions that she hasn’t seen many blogs about the Olympics. She obviously hasn’t been to this blog then! I’m Olympic nuts and was referred to as an Olympic ‘Statto’ recently. I’m actually rather proud of that!

Ok here goes!

1. If every day tasks were Olympic events what would you get a gold medal in?

Today it would be the most changes of outfit before leaving the house. This warm weather has taken me completely by surprise and I had a total outfit crisis this morning. At least when I was working I had a uniform so that decision was taken out of my hands.

Other tasks I would win gold in? Most loads of washing and ironing done in one week. I seem to be on a roll with it at the moment. I don’t expect this to last long. Most cups of tea drunk in one day?  I’m sure there’s stiff competition for this one, although I have NEVER been known to turn down a cup of tea, even if I’ve just had one. It just seems rude not to!

2. As a child (or now even) did you excel at a particular sport and if so which one?

Can’t lie. Athletics. Specifically middle distance and cross country. I just missed out on an English School’s place in the 800m because my time wasn’t quite quick enough at the county champs. I was kicking myself when I achieved the time later that season.

It is one of my great regrets in life that I left athletics so soon. I was a little bit talented apparently (coaches and father’s verdict, not mine) and so I have decided that if the boys are good at something (sport) or otherwise I will try to encourage them as much as possible. Dreams are put in our heads for a reason!

3. Michael Phelps (swimmer) or Michael Johnson (runner) – which sport appeals to you more?

For torso appeal it’s got to be swimming but then the whole drugs thing happened with Phelps and I was like, well that’s a bit stupid Mike.

Being an athletics fan I have to go with the legend that is Michael Johnson. Always the professional, so dominant during his time, double Olympic champion, five times World Champion. If I had to sit next to him I would be a quivering wreck. He’s just amazing. Amazing. I’ll say it again. AMAZING!

4. How fast can you get out of bed and ready to go out the door if miss the alarm and sleep in?

20-30 minutes maybe. The boys are still getting up quite early though so I can kind of (touches wood) depend on them still as my alarm clock if mine doesn’t go off.

5. What fantasy sport would you like to see made into an Olympic event?

A full shop round the supermarket. I can get in and out of Aldi in 20 minutes and have pretty much everything I need for at least five days. Mainly because I loathe food shopping and just want to get in and get out!

6. Claim to fame time – Have you ever met an Olympian and who was it?

I have been in the presence of Paula Radcliffe a number of times. She was a senior athlete when I was a junior. People were asking for her autograph back then in the nineties and she was always so nice about it.

I’ve raced against a girl who was Iwan Thomas’ girlfriend at the time.

I’ve had tweets off Kelly Sotherton and Katherine Merry.

So no, all rather tenuous. No actual meeting of anyone. Which makes me think I should do some actual Olympian stalking for 2012!

Oh and Mo Farah! I trained at the same athletic club when we were kids and he was beyond awesome even then. He just oozed talent. He was also a cheeky, mischievous chappy and I had to threaten him and his brother with being thrown out of the swimming pool I was a life guard at.

7. What event in past Olympics can you remember most vividly?

Oh why ask this? I remember so many!

Staying up to watch the rowing coxless 4 in Sydney and waking my parents up.

Cheering on Sally Gunnell, my childhood hero, in the Barcelona Olympics in my Granny’s living room.

Watching Cathy Freeman live up to the pressure in the Sydney 400m despite wearing that daft all in one outfit.

Making my 6 month old son cry with fright as I screamed Nicole Cook over the line in the Beijing Olympic road race.

And how could I forget Dame Kelly doing the double. I had a feeling she was going to do it. Husband is still cross that I didn’t tell him this. The odds were amazing apparently.

8. Tuning in at home, not for me or tickets clamped ready in sweaty palms?

Tickets! Tickets, tickets, tickets!

I have tickets for an early session at the athletics stadium. I get to see the Women’s 800m heats. I know it’s not a final but it means I see all the athletes run, from the not so great to the awesome ones.

We also have tickets for the whole family to see the preliminary rounds of the men’s hockey. Although, how to keep the boys attention during this I don’t know.

I am also thinking of having an Olympic themed party on the night of the men’s 100m final! I’ll get everyone to come as their favourite Olympian. Cue lots of people turning up as the 118-118 dudes.

9. Who do you think most deserves a gold medal (any walk of life not just Olympians)?

Claire Lomas, the paraplegic lady who recently completed the London Marathon wearing specially adapted equipment to help her walk the entire length of the course. She deserves her own gold medal for demonstrating Olympic qualities and showing the rest of us that we really have no excuse not to try something.

So here endeth the Olympic meme. I’m not good at tagging but why not have a go at the questions yourself. Or try making an Olympic torch like we did, check them out here!

Tapering: A prelude to madness.

Tapering. The word sounds a bit like tapeworm. Tapeworms sit in the gut making the host feel unwell and unsettled. I don’t think I have a tapeworm (I hope I haven’t) but tapering is making me feel unsettled. My tummy keeps flipping and doing somersaults. Occasionally I feel a bit nauseous. I think they call that pre marathon nerves.

I’ve never tapered for a race like this before. Tapering feels like a strange no mans land. I feel like I should run but I know I shouldn’t run too much. How much is too much? I know I should be relatively rested this week. How much should I rest before I run further than I’ve ever run before? I’m following a programme of sorts and sticking to the advice but it just feels weird. Weird! I’ve gone from lots and lots of running over a long period of time to almost nothing.

I feel restless. I feel jittery. I find myself daydreaming about the day and how it will pan out. I can’t stop talking about it. I want this week to fly by so I can just get on with the unknown. But then another side of me is very reluctant and almost fearful of what may occur on Sunday. When I think about being on the start line my breathing gets heavier and my stomach flips again. I feel like I might panic but I know I musn’t. Panicking would be the worst thing I could do.

My husband says it’s all nerves and he chose to embellish this with something he heard Welsh legend and now oracle, Tom Jones, say on The Voice on Saturday. Yes, stick with me now:

You’re nervous because you care.

It’s true. I’m nervous because I care about it. I care about this very much.

The preparation for this marathon, my first ever marathon, has taken months. It means a lot to me because I never thought I would start running again after my children. I never thought I’d be able to train for a marathon after my back injury. I’m nervous because I am going to try and complete a goal I set for myself and I don’t want to fail. I’m nervous and it’s driving me to the brink of slight insanity this week. But Tom, Welsh legend and oracle, says nerves are good, so that’s ok. If you’re there on the start line in Edinburgh with me on Sunday then good luck. I’ll be the one dry retching.

I am running the Edinburgh Marathon this Sunday. I am trying to raise funds for Macmillan Cancer Care. If you would like to sponsor me a pound for this fantastic cause please visit my fundraising page http://www.justgiving.com/KATHLEEN-WALKER0.

Thank you for listening to my madness x

The Lady Doth Protest.

You know on that Facebook there? You know some of the people you are ‘friends’ with? You know the ones that post status after status about their AMAZING life and how busy and fabulous it is?

‘X is such a lucky girl to have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world who bought her the most amazing handbag.’

‘Y is off on his sixteenth skiing holiday this year. Life is just AMAZING’.

‘Z loves her husband so much and is so lucky to love him so much and her love him so much that there’s just so much love in the world and we’re all so lucky.’

Do we not read them and think they’re over egging things a bit? They’re so keen to let everyone know that they’re so happy and so lucky just in case we might start to think otherwise, even though the majority of us are a bit busy and actually couldn’t care less?

Well there’s one woman I believe doesn’t see Facebook or social media as enough now. She writes actual articles for newspapers and magazines about how happy she is, how wonderful her life is as a trophy wife and how beeeyootiful she is and how we all can’t stand her because of it. But she’s happy being that way and she doesn’t want to let us forget it!

I fear the lady doth protest a teensy weensy bit too much.

Tapering and Missing my Boys.

The marathon is coming ever closer and I am thankful for tapering. I am thankful that the next longest run I do will be the marathon itself. Building up to the long runs takes not just physical but also mental preparation. I have to be ‘in the mood’ as it were and I have found myself getting mentally fit and ‘psyched’ up for my Saturday long run as early as the Wednesday before.

So I’ve been enjoying the fact that I’ve been resting my legs a bit and busying about doing housework and work work. As I was putting the washing out today I got weird pangs about something else which is not quite directly marathon related. I was hanging out my sons’ clothes and I got pangs of how I’ve been missing them at weekends. I had a heart wrench at how many hours of the weekends I’ve missed because I’ve been out running for 3 hours plus at a time and taking almost the same amount of time to recover (although my recovery time last weekend had improved dramatically I’m glad to say).

I’ve missed taking them to the park and to the beach. I’ve missed mucking around the house and running around the garden like a complete loon. I’ve asked my husband to take them to birthday parties because I’ve been too knackered post run to drive (it’s not an excuse honest. Cough).

Bearing the brunt of this the most is my 4 year old. He is at nursery school and he only has time with me now in the evenings and at weekends. When does Mummy do her running? In the evenings and at weekends. I’ve sure I’ve heard audible sighs from him when he sees me getting my running shoes out. I’ve missed him but I’m wondering if he’s been missing his marathon Mummy too, even though he always shouts well done to me every time I come back from pounding the roads.

So I shall look forward to the Edinburgh Marathon in less than two weeks but once it’s over I’m looking forward to having some well deserved time with my two little boys. The last few months have been hard work.  I know they won’t comprehend it until they’re much much older but soon they will have a Mummy (fingers crossed) that has run a marathon and I will be all theirs again. Until the next one maybe. But not for a while.

Cloud Gazing

It was our 2 year old who instigated it. Our mad cap, harem scarem, needs to calm down a bit toddler who started it.

I was stood at the kitchen window watching the boys playing in the garden with their Dad. They were running back and forth, screaming and laughing, throwing things to each other and chasing one another.

All of a sudden our youngest boy stopped. First he sat on the grass. Then he slowly lowered himself so he was lying completely flat. I couldn’t work out what he was doing. He raised his arm and started pointing. He was quickly joined by his brother and together they started shouting out shapes they could see in the clouds.

A dinosaur. A cat. A turtle. A monster. A robot.

Their Dad then joined them too and I was able to take a quick picture of them relaxing together on the lawn. The two boys a picture of calm. Something I’ve never really seen before and don’t expect to see too often with two boys.

When not to go for a long run.

I learnt a hard lesson today. I had a diabolical run today and I feel I must share the things I have learnt with fellow runners (and anyone else who cares).

And doth let the lesson be thus and the lesson shall be so and you shall go forth and not run when I have doth learnt you this lesson thus. Or something:

1. Don’t run on five hours sleep. You will be drained, emotional, sluggish and fed up throughout the entire run. The run will be spent thinking about the nap you want to have later or wishing that you’d stayed in bed. You may as well have because the run is totally shit.

2. Don’t drink the night before. Even a glass and a half of wine is too many. This coupled with poor sleep leaves you sluggish (word of the day) and dehydrated. On the first sunny morning in months. Yeah, good one.

3. Don’t run when you’ve gone to bed annoyed and or upset. Running is a mental sport and it requires your head to be in the game. When you’ve gone to bed pissed off, with unresolved issues, you don’t sleep well (see point 1). You wake up even more pissed off and the run is a struggle. You think you can run off your temper and use it as fuel for running but no…..it drains your mental energy and again you feel shit and your run is terrible.

4. Don’t let people steal your chi. People who steal your chi are thus known as chi thieves and are out to put their negative shit on you. Don’t let them suck your chi dry or your chi will wither into a husk and you’ll have nothing left to give when you go running. Shun the chi thieves (that’s another LONG story).

That’s all the advice I have for now. This is what happened to me this morning. My goal for this morning was to do a well paced 13.1 miles. It became a pathetic, all over the place, half arsed attempt at 10 miles. It felt awful and it was awful. I didn’t walk though, no matter how much my inner voice (I hate that bitch) was telling me to.

Well you’ve got to take the positives when you can.

So anyway, that was the last long run I’ll do before the marathon in *gulp* 2 weeks time. Better to get these shocking runs out the way now before then. The run has been acknowledged for it’s major failures and been tucked away in the *forget about it* box. The taper is here.

Fighting the Black Dog.

The sceptre of the Black Dog seemed to be making an appearance again this week in our house. I cannot express to you how much I hate, how much I loathe the Black Dog and how it haunts my husband. The Black Dog is smug and menacing, lulling us into a false sense of security, making me think he’s gone for good. The reality is the Black Dog will probably never be gone and I think I’m finding it hard to accept this.

I hate the way the Black Dog taunts my husband, whispering in his ear, making him think things about himself which aren’t true. My husband tries to hide the Black Dog from me but I know when it’s back. I can tell the Black Dog is there in the darkening of his eyes, an unexpectedly sharp word or his echoing silence.

The Black Dog is clever. It knows when my husband is struggling and seizes the opportunity to try and make his home back in our home. It stalks him, biding it’s time to reappear just when my husband is feeling well again.

The Black Dog has been gone for a while now and I guess it would only be a matter of time before he came back. Sometimes I don’t know whether to help my husband fight it off or wait until my husband calls for me. I hate what the Black Dog does to my husband and to my family but we can never be truly rid of it. What I hope we can do is recognise the triggers that call the Black Dog back and find ways to keep the Black Dog at bay for as long as we possibly can.