Running, mental health, and me

Before I write about the magical day that was Sunday 23 April 2017, I thought I would explore a far more important and pressing topic.

This week is Mental Health Awareness Week, and I would like to write about why vital conversations need to take place around mental health. I also want to share my own experience of mental health, how it has evolved over the years and particularly recently, with the discovery of running.

You’ll have heard it many times before – a staggering proportion of the population will struggle with one or several mental health problems at a point in their lives. It is estimated that, each year, 1 in 4 people in the UK will experience a mental health problem. The type and magnitude of these problems vary enormously, but it is undeniable that they have a profound effect each person who goes through it.

Given the amount of people that this affects, it bothers me greatly when I see dismissive, ignorant, and, at times, downright mean responses when the issue of mental health is raised, whether directly or indirectly. The fact that there continues to be a lack of knowledge and awareness surrounding mental health makes this week, and a charity like Heads Together formally declaring the 2017 London Marathon as the Mental Health Marathon, all the more important. The message is clear. We. Need. To. Talk. About. This.

Those who consider themselves not to have or to ever have had a mental illness are invited to join the conversation. The goal is to remove the stigma surrounding mental health, to improve understanding, to educate people, to get people to listen… All this to help us as a society realise that it’s completely fine not to be fine 100% of the time, and to be open about it.

I have been dealing with mental health problems since I was 12 years old. Throughout the years, depression and anxiety have made appearances in my life, and in some really low moments, taken centre stage. Talking about how I felt was only ever possible with strangers – a health professional, a person on the other end of a telephone hotline. The majority of the time, however, I would often feel rebuffed, rebuked, ridiculed for what seemed (to other people, even people from whom I would have expected support) to be my disproportionate reaction to the situation at hand. If I had a penny for the every time I’ve been told I was imagining things, being melodramatic or unreasonable… This all contributed to me thinking that I was not entitled, allowed even, to be upset for whatever reason. Worse, still, that I was wrong for feeling what I was feeling.

It has only been in the past 6 months that I have gradually been able to open up and to seek help. In autumn 2016, my boyfriend asked me one morning whether I remembered getting out of bed the previous night, walking a couple of steps, standing by the bed for a couple of seconds, then getting back into bed. Having had no recollection of this, I came to the conclusion that I had experienced a sleepwalking episode. Although I am known to have a good natter in my sleep, I had never sleepwalked before. I decided to consult my GP about this, as my sleep quality had been deteriorating over the year anyway, and fully expected to be prescribed sleeping pills of some sort.

At my appointment, the GP asked questions that I had not anticipated. ‘Do you have nightmares? Do you have hobbies and are you still interested in them? How are your energy levels throughout the day? How are you at work? Do you have physiological reactions to stress?’ It then occurred to me that I was being asked questions to assess the likelihood of me suffering from a mental health problem, rather than just a sleep disorder. At that appointment, I gave what answers I could give from recent memory. At the same time, I was suddenly remembering how I felt at 12 years old, and several times again at other points in my life. As much as I had tried to dismiss those times as bad days or bad phases, I was faced with the reality that this was long-term.

Between that appointment and now, several major changes have happened.

  1. Opening up. It started with my closest friends and my parents. Then, a cognitive behavioural therapist. Then, a handful of colleagues. Slowly, I am moving out of this box I’d locked myself in, where I felt I always had to deal with my problems by myself, and that I’d be a burden to anyone with whom I shared how I really felt. I had always believed that by solving my own issues on my own, I was making myself stronger, more resilient, more prepared to face life’s difficult moments. In fact, I was only going round in circles in my head. Talking helps me take stock, make sense of what’s going on, and saves me from getting caught up in minute, and sometimes irrelevant, detail. Being listened to makes me feel valued, and if not understood, at least that I’m cared about enough to be worth someone’s time. The gratitude I have for the people who give me the time of day when things are going wrong is immense, and I hope they know how much they mean to me.
  2. Tango. I started tango 9 months before I went for my GP appointment, but looking back, it is the first activity that successfully quietened the noise in my mind. It showed me the possibility of life without never-ending worry, even if it was just for a couple of hours every week. I have also met some incredibly kind, funny, utterly loveable people in this way, and a community that is encouraging and supportive. Tango gives me an expressive outlet and and chance to progress in something – it offered me my first steps to recovery before I even knew I was down.
  3. Running and the 2017 London Marathon. ‘Is this a prank?’ were some of the first words I uttered when I found out I’d obtained a ballot place for the 2017 London Marathon. If you look back to my first blog post, you’ll see that the odds were stacked up against me running 26.2 miles in April 2017. Running gave me the same release from the constant churning of worried thoughts in my head as tango did. I focussed on my breathing, on the music, on the regularity of my feet hitting the ground. And when each training run was over, whether it was a 30-minute or 3-hour-30-minute run, that elation from achieving what I once thought was impossible (yes, I couldn’t even fathom running for 30 minutes not that long ago) was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. And then, there were the really tough runs, the unfinished runs. I even gave up on one of my long runs after nearly 11 miles. Yet, I can now call myself a marathoner. Cynics will roll their eyes and dismiss this as indulgent rubbish, but running taught me that I can overcome adversity. Pain, be it physical or mental, could be staring me in the face and daring me to succumb to the negativity, and I’ve proved that I can shut it up and emerge victorious. Running is not a cure, but it helps me manage my depression and anxiety on a daily basis. That ‘prank’ turned out to be a lifesaver.

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Phew.

So that was me being open. And that was me inviting you to understand that mental health is not straightforward. Dealing with mental health problems is an ongoing effort, and doing so positively often starts with acceptance and a dialogue. Reach out and listen – it achieves so much more than negative judgment and stigma ever will. And if anyone reading this feels like they need someone to talk to, I would be more than happy to listen. ❤

Training Update: Week 13

Peak week! And what a strange and eventful week it has been.

Tuesday’s recovery run was another 50 minute easy run. I stuck to my normal route and ran a couple of laps around the nice flat bit of Greenwich Park, by the Old Royal Naval College. I went slowly, as the 16.6 miles the Sunday prior had taken their toll on my knees.

Thursday’s interval run was a steadily progressive one, where I started off with 10 mins easy run, then gradually upped the ante: 10 mins steady run, 10 mins target marathon pace, 10 mins tempo run, then back down to 10 mins easy run. I felt in control for pretty much the entire run, even though this forced me to pay attention to my pace. In the end, being able to sustain a tempo run for 10 mins made me feel like I’d achieved something – I remember my first few interval runs, when a 4 mins tempo run felt impossible.

For the past few months, I had been thinking about getting a running watch to track my runs. So far, I’ve been putting my phone in an armband and using the Nike+ Run Club app throughout my runs. However, 3 hours of continued use last weekend significantly depleted my battery. Given that I’m likely to take just under 5 hours to run the marathon (and that’s one run I definitely want to track), I took the plunge and purchased a Garmin Forerunner 35 on Friday.  It would stop me having to crane my neck awkwardly to check my time/distance/pace. I could connect it to my phone via Bluetooth so if any text notifications came through, I could read them on my phone. Most importantly, it wouldn’t be such a faff anymore to remove my long-sleeved layer when things got too warm! It was a pricey purchase, but I’m confident it will help me through the marathon and in my running beyond the event.

I took the Garmin watch out for a spin during my long run today. This run was particularly daunting – I was aiming for 20 miles! It was so far I didn’t even know how far West I needed to run before crossing a bridge to come back home! I was in such an apprehensive mood as I left the flat, not just because of how far I was supposed to run, but also because I’d been having tummy troubles since Saturday evening. One of the worst things about IBS is the unpredictability it brings. It’s almost like you can’t trust your body to function properly. I can safely say that I started my run in a pretty negative mood.

The weather was amazing today, with the sun shining down on London for the entire day. I decided to start off slowly to conserve my energy for the final part of the run, which I knew was going to be incredibly tough. Also, having a new gadget that made it easy to check my pace was awesome. I could finally actively pace myself – this was so much easier than getting a neck cramp, what a revolution! I had toyed with the idea of running a new route for the longest run of the plan, but decided to stick to my tried and tested method of following the Thames and just crossing when the halfway point came along.

Coming up to Westminster, the emotion was palpable. On Wednesday afternoon, news started to filter through that gunshots had been fired outside the Houses of Parliament in Westminster. As we all now know, several individuals including a policeman were killed in a tragic attack. Today, the streets were teeming with more tourists than I had ever seen in the area. Without wanting to sound dramatic, it felt as though every single person there was going about their normal business to represent how we are not afraid. The flowers at the gates, resplendent in the spring sunshine, were a wonderful tribute to those who sadly passed in this awful event.

London is my adoptive home. Despite the usual London things we all moan about (the tube, overpriced sandwiches, house prices, etc.), I adore London and count myself lucky to be able to call myself a Londoner. I could not imagine living anywhere else. The city’s spirit has particularly shone through over the past couple of days, and although it hurts when atrocities like the one on Wednesday happen, London is a resilient place. This resilience is an automatic declaration of victory over anyone or anything that wishes to inflict as much harm as possible.

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As predicted, the final part of my 20-mile run saw me painfully shuffling one foot in front of the other, completely exhausted. I finished my run on the other side of the Thames from the Isle of Dogs, and stopped to stretch my calves out as they were seizing up pretty badly. I looked up and saw Canary Wharf. Even though the buildings are pretty bleak-looking bastions of capitalism, I realised there really is no place like London, especially when the sun shines.

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In 4 short weeks(!) I will be running the whole 26.2 miles of the London Marathon. That apprehension I felt at the beginning of today’s 20 miles has now been replaced by excitement. I cannot wait to run this beautiful city I call home.

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London, I love you.

Training Update: Week 12

This week was going to be a crucial one, following the downer that was last week’s long run. I needed to learn how to keep going with training and not let one bad run define my training experience and that of the marathon itself! Building yourself back up after a knock to your confidence is tough to do in only a couple of days, but time isn’t waiting for me and 23 April 2017 is hurtling towards me at full speed.

Tuesday was a 50 minute recovery run, which went fine apart from a terrible stitch that plagued me throughout. I started my run aiming to adopt a different approach to running. I told myself I would pay my running app no mind, and that I would just enjoy running for the liberating, miraculous act that it is. Being close enough to the Thames to run along it is also something to treasure, so I just soaked in the surroundings, paying attention to the ducks and geese on the river and to the beautiful architecture of the Old Royal Naval College. I felt so rejuvenated in terms of my outlook on running, that I resolved to tackle my recovery runs with the same attitude every time.

After that, I was gearing up for an interval run in a city I’d never visited before. Work took me to Leeds for 2 days and 1 night, and I asked around for good running routes. I was consistently told that the canal was the best place to run, so on Thursday morning, I laced up nice and early and set off to explore.

The run went something like this: 10 minutes easy run, (6 minutes tempo run, 2 minutes walk/recovery jog) x 4, 10 minutes easy run. Once again, I slightly dreaded this as I’m no good at intervals. However, the case really must be made for running through uncharted territory and how much it boosts your running. The novelty of the location combined with the early morning sun shimmering off the water made the run a breeze. Well, I say a breeze, but that’s in comparison to previous interval runs where I thought my heart would literally rip through my chest it was working so hard. Time simply flew by. Looking back, I think the interval made me slightly more optimistic for this week’s Sunday long run. The change of scenery did wonders for me and for my mood.

Saturday evening, I went to see An American in Paris at the Dominion Theatre. Now, you may be thinking, “What does a musical have to do with running?” I’ve always firmly believed that dance is a sport, and I am in awe every time I watch professional dancers, of any genre of dance, perform. It boggles the mind how athleticism and control marry with artistry and a semblance of effortlessness, to create sheer magic. There is no doubt in my mind that dancers are athletes. The stamina required to train relentlessly, to give your all in every performance, day in and day out… It makes you realise that the human body is an incredible thing, and that so much of what dancers do applies to running as well!

I was on cloud nine after the musical, which was an absolute tour de force. Go and watch it! There’s a reason it has won 4 Tony awards. Here’s a taster (just imagine doing this 7 times per week, and as part of a wider show!)

Onto the long run…

During the week, it occurred to me that I had experienced that mysterious feeling of “hitting the wall” on last Sunday’s run. The time had come to look into fuelling during the run. Because of my IBS, I had always been fearful of energy gels, jellies and bars as they contain caffeine, fructose, and loads of other ingredients I am confident my tummy could not handle. I spoke with people at the London Marathon store on Bishopsgate to see if they had any experience, first-hand or otherwise, with GI issues on long runs and how to fuel adequately. I left the store with an energy gel, jelly blocks, and energy jelly beans to trial them and see what works best.

I set off today overwhelmed with apprehension about the fuelling and about the run itself. I opted for the jelly blocks to begin with, but had no idea how my gut would react to them. I did feel better and more hopeful than I did last week, though, so that was a plus.

I felt in control up until I had to cross the river at Waterloo Bridge in my third segment of 28 mins easy run + 2 mins walk (repeat 6 times), but with the quote from last week’s post on my mind, I kept moving forward by walking. By the time I reached Tower Bridge, I felt it was time to break out the jelly blocks. I knew I was going to hit the wall within 10-15 minutes. They had the texture of a Turkish delight – halfway between gummy sweet and jelly – and were sickly sweet. I was advised to take two blocks and to help them along with some water.

I braced myself for intense cramping and made a mental map of which toilets were on the route home. Imagine my pleasant surprise when the cramps never arrived! This spurred me on, and allowed me to focus on not giving up even though my knees were screaming at me to stop. If I ever felt like giving up, I would walk for a minute, then start jogging again.

Nearly 3 hours and 26.8 kilometres later, I flopped down on a bench outside my local supermarket, utterly spent. My head was racing not with thoughts about my run today, but about the run last week, and how defeated I felt then. After remembering that, I looked back at what I had just achieved, and felt like this whole week was a success in overcoming the bad run and the proverbial wall. The change in outlook, learning about fuelling during the run, discovering new places, the power of dance… It appears I have found the 4-part remedy to the bad run blues!

Next week’s long run will be the longest of the entire plan, and I intend to cover 20 miles. You will find me at the Marathon store stocking up on jelly blocks!


You can sponsor me for the London Marathon 2017 by clicking here. I am running to support Anthony Nolan and Crohn’s & Colitis UK.

Training Update: Week 11

I had a completely different plan for this post, much like I had a completely different plan for my long run this Sunday. I had been hoping to end the weekend on a strong note, by conquering yet another longest-run-ever.

For the week’s first training run, I was exhausted but riding on the high from finishing my first half marathon the previous weekend. So 40 minutes of easy running came and went, and all was right with the world.

As the interval run on Friday loomed, doubt set in, particularly because I hate intervals, and this upcoming one was going to be tougher than any interval run before (10 mins easy run, (5 mins tempo run, 3 mins recovery run/walk) x 5, 10 mins easy run). Still, I went out thinking I’d take it one interval at a time. I managed it, but rather than being elated at having overcome the negative thinking, I focussed instead on how wiped out I felt for the rest of the day.

Then today’s long run happened. The target was 2 hours 30 minutes, and between 14 and 16 miles. I set off feeling tired mentally and physically, and had already told myself that I was more likely than not to give up when the moment came. At 2km, a nasty stitch made an appearance, and it took a really tough kilometre to get rid of it. Even then, it still lingered as a mini stitch for the remainder of the run.

Just as found my stride, it started to rain. Cue my cursing the Met Office for the gross misinformation (they had said it would only be overcast for the entire day). Rain on a 30 minute run, I can definitely cope with that. But for over 2 hours? Hell no. Especially not when I decided to cross the Thames at the Millennium Bridge, which has the slipperiest surface.

I crossed the bridge and had to stop as the area outside the Swan at the Globe was shut off to pedestrians for a couple of minutes to allow for filming. While it was fun to witness the action, it did screw up my rhythm. Coming to a standstill made me acutely aware of the growing pain in my hip flexors and my knees, and also of how tired I felt. It all started to go downhill when they opened up the South Bank again to pedestrians.

At 16km, I had to stop and walk, and with the rain intensifying, I was just sick of the entire thing. I rang my boyfriend to get encouragement or to ask for a lift (still not sure which of the two was my true reason for calling), but he offered to come and fetch me. He said wouldn’t be another 10-15 minutes, so I agreed to meet him 1km further on. I ploughed through until 17km and simply couldn’t put one foot in front of the other anymore.

The relief when I stopped was quickly usurped by regret. If I could still run another kilometre after that call, why couldn’t I have run another 5? What I perceived 5 minutes prior to be an all-consuming intense pain was now a dull ache. I was disappointed in myself for not persevering. After all, I had previously pushed through awful stitches, mind-numbing leg pain, stomach cramps (and the emergency pit stops that came with them), snow, and I had always finished what I set out to do.

Then I realised this was my first real bad run. When that dawned on me, the disappointment increased hundred-fold. The marathon is only 6 weeks away, and I’m supposed to be rising up to the challenge of the weekly long runs, not giving up on them!

Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up. – Dean Karnazes

Having reached out for encouragement and support, and read around the topic of bad runs a bit more, I have had a nice shot of positivity to kickstart the process of bouncing back from today. As a beginner, the novelty of training for an event provides a really steep learning curve. I am sure that more advanced runners have experienced and overcome the mental setback of a run that just didn’t go well.

I am still feeling slightly down about the whole thing, but Week 12 starts tomorrow. It will be a clean slate, and a new opportunity to prove that this cannot and will not stop me in my tracks. I look forward to reporting back next week with insights on how I conquered not just a certain distance or duration, but most importantly the shock of my first bad run.

Onwards and upwards!

Run, girl, run

This International Women’s Day, I have been thinking about my experiences as a female runner.

It was only 50 years ago that Kathrine Switzer grabbed headlines by entering and completing the Boston Marathon. What stunned the world was that race officials tried to physically stop her and force her off course 2 miles in, but her teammates from Syracuse fought them off and she completed the race.

She ran the marathon at a time when it was thought that women were too fragile to run long distances, that they would suddenly acquire male features such as big legs and facial hair, and that their uterus would fall out should they attempt to train for and run an event such as the marathon. Switzer was a catalyst in challenging the ridiculous perception that women were physically incapable of running long distances.

It would take another 5 years for women to be allowed to compete in the Boston Marathon, and another 17 years before the first women’s Olympic Marathon event took place. In between, some extraordinary work was done to drive a change in attitudes towards women’s long-distance running for the better.

When I realise this, I feel immensely grateful and lucky to be able to enter and run a marathon with no disadvantage based on my gender today. The tireless effort inspiring individuals like Switzer have put into giving me and other women the right to run alongside men in races is enough to make me get out of bed at 6 a.m., lace up, brave the cold and the dark, and run.

We still have a long way to go. In some parts of the world, women are still battling for that same right.

Progress is also slow to come by in other aspects of running for women. A survey of 1,036 Runner’s World magazine readers has uncovered some disturbing statistics about harassment while running, and women are experiencing it more than men by a long mile.

On several occasions while out running, I have experienced unwelcome and unwarranted comments from groups of men, stares, car horns beeping as they drive by… I was even followed a couple of weeks ago. These all constitute ways of making a woman feel as though the public space in which she chooses to carry out the *outrageous* act of running – a space in which she is as entitled as anyone else to feel secure and free to use  – will always be unsafe to a certain degree. As much as I will myself not to allow them to get to me, I can never fully focus on my running. Instead, my attention has to drift to think of ways in which I can avoid the harassment.

A book I recently ordered about running routes in London opened my eyes to just how backward some people still are when it comes to women’s running. The book has an introductory section on safety for women running in London. It offers the ever-popular tip of running in a group or at least with a running buddy. As helpful as this would be, I feel I am hard-pressed to find someone who lives in my area, who is willing to wake up at a stupid hour, and who runs at roughly the same pace as I do. Besides, I prefer training alone.

The next golden rule to avoid potentially unsafe situations: ‘Wear loose-fitting clothing’. Words fail me when I read rubbish like this, especially in a book that was published – wait for it – in 2015! For the umpteenth time: why are we still blaming disgusting behaviour against women on women’s clothing?! I wear leggings when I run because it is comfortable – not because I’m looking to impress anyone. And the author’s final words of advice for women who run: ‘Interpret whistles as compliments’. I’ll be the judge of what I deem complimentary, thanks, and I shall not accept unwanted and uninvited attention.

Today and every day, women should be allowed to run as, when and where they please. Not just in London or Boston, but all over the world. It is vital to recognise the work that has been done and the work that remains to be done in challenging the setbacks women face when they make the choice to run. What the pioneers of women’s distance running have taught us is that forcing the wider public to rethink the status quo is a powerful thing. Powerful enough, sometimes, to spark tangible change.

Reason to run

In May 2016, I made the fateful decision to enter the ballot for the 2017 Virgin Money London Marathon. I genuinely thought nothing would come of it. How many times had I heard of people applying several years in a row and never getting a place, regardless of how avid of a runner they were?

Knowing my luck (or lack thereof), I told myself there wasn’t a chance in hell I would be standing at the starting line in Blackheath on Sunday 23 April 2017. Besides, I couldn’t even run 3km without giving up. I had not laced up my trainers in 2 years – where had I even put them? I understood that it was a completely lucky draw, but still believed that, surely, people who had been training and had willed it to happen for years and years would be drawn over me.

But I entered the ballot anyway.

My relationship with running up until this point had been a fraught one. Looking back through my Nike Running app to when I first started running, there are no happy memories flooding back. It was a hard slog, every single time. I would feel defeated and deflated after every run, wondering how people managed to run 5km, 10km, half marathons and marathons without a stitch, without the taste of iron building up in the back of their throats. I could not even run a mile without feeling all of those things. Also, what was this “runner’s high” I had been promised by every person who pounds the pavements for fun? And why wasn’t I experiencing it?

After a year of running, not enjoying it and failing miserably at it, I decided it just wasn’t my thing. People who ran long distances must be suffering from some form of insanity, I thought. How anyone could deliberately dodge traffic, crowds of people and selfie sticks for the sake of putting one foot in front of another at speed and enjoy it was beyond my comprehension.

Two years later, what I can only describe as a seismic shift in perspective happened.

Call me a sensitive soul, but watching tens of thousands of people of all walks of life and of a range of ability get through 26.2 miles together on Sunday 24 April 2016 made me incredibly emotional. Amongst them, there were people running in memory of loved ones or to support loved ones going through illness – the toughest obstacle life can throw in your way. One of my friends was running the marathon with a disability. The swell of people running around the Cutty Sark, across Tower Bridge and then to the finish line, even if it is witnessed through a screen, is such a bold testament to the human spirit and to life itself. I was, quite simply, awestruck (and rather teary).

When I applied for a ballot place a week after the 2016 London Marathon, I decided I would try completing a Couch-to-5k programme, no matter the outcome of the ballot, which I would not hear about for another 5 months anyway.

So began the early morning pre-work runs. The programme built up with run/walks of varying distances over 8 weeks. The only intervals I had done until then were unplanned ones during that awful year of running, when I was plagued by stitches and had to walk to stop myself from crying out in pain and freaking out everyone around me. After 6 weeks, I found I could run 5km slowly without stopping. I had done it!

However, throughout those 8 weeks to 5km glory, another stoppage loomed. I found that running triggered my IBS, making me feel bloated, giving me cramps and draining me of all energy before my day could even begin properly. This made me associate running with feelings of anxiety: anxiety around whether I could find a toilet in time while out running, around whether I had inadvertently eaten a trigger food the previous evening, around whether IBS and my running endeavour were fundamentally incompatible. No Google search gave me the answers I was searching for. So after 8 weeks of diligent but painful running, I stopped and hoped that I would get a rejection for my ballot entry.

Upon arriving home to find my acceptance magazine in October 2016, when the shock had faded, doubt like I’d never felt before started to creep in. There was the smallest sliver of optimism, but the 26.2 mile mountain staring me in the face was overwhelming. As much as the people around me were trying their best to be encouraging, I thought I sensed their doubt as well. Those who know me well know that I do not have bottomless reserves of self-confidence. Determined? That I can be, but only if I initially have that degree of certainty I can achieve something. That was crucially absent in the early weeks of October.

A double whammy of flu and sinus infection throughout the autumn and early December compounded the sense that I had been under a spell of temporary madness when I entered the ballot all those months ago. How could I train if my body was failing me before I could even begin?

I am writing this 10 weeks into my 16-week training plan, and I am so pleased to report that nearly everything has gone according to plan so far. I have just completed my first race, a half-marathon.

Coming from numerous lengthy setbacks to my will to run to where we are today, I have accumulated so many thoughts, emotions and side notes that I couldn’t possibly keep them to myself. And rather than talk the back legs off a donkey about it to people who probably don’t want to hear it, I thought I would write about my experiences.

I have started this blog mainly to chart and share my progress during this nascent but intense rediscovery of running and of myself. The many times I have unsuccessfully tried to find a blog with all the information I needed in one place have also prompted me to start writing about my marathon journey. So, expect to find training updates and running-related rambles aplenty.

Ready, get set, go.