I Quit

Training for a half marathon is easy. Said no-one ever.

Not even your Mo Farah who is far superior in his athleticism to me, will find it easy when he’s constantly pushing himself in training to be the best he possibly can be. I’m no different, I am pushing myself beyond what my body is actually capable of at this moment in time.

I’d always promised myself that one day I would complete a half marathon. It’s never been the right time, never had enough time and never quite wanted the time until this year. I was sick of making excuses and decided the Great North Run would be the place to do it but I had an added incentive in running for a remarkable charity for a fantastic baby boy and his family.

The days I’ve had where I’ve struggled to make that extra distance I’ve needed, I’ve thought about them and their daily challenges. I’ve told myself to get a fucking grip, grit your teeth and get on with it. I started my training early as I didn’t feel that I needed to start as a complete beginner but I wanted to feel comfortable on the day knowing I had completed the distance prior to the race day.

What I hadn’t prepared myself for was the extra thought that needed to go into running. It was no longer adequate to just roll out of bed, put the gear on and set off. I’ve managed to wing it for years but I knew now I needed to give extra thought about nutrition, fluid consumption, keeping myself fuelled and attire.

I’ve had a some hiccups along the way. My reliable trainers, suddenly started making me feel uncomfortable. Not taking on enough water and figuring how to transport it whilst running. I’ve gone from running pretty much bare to having to carry energy blocks, water and a phone (sick of being lectured about pissing off for a few hours on canal paths and nobody knowing where I am).

And then about 4 weeks ago, I started to get a niggle in my groin/thigh area. I ignored it because all runners get niggles and I’m not one who actually gets injuries. But this niggle didn’t go away and running became more painful. In fact, just walking or trying to get my leg out of the car seat has caused problems. So naturally I sought help and began physio treatment, not knowing whether I should push through it or whether I was making it worse.

I’ve always had the attitude that it’s my determination that gets me to the end of the run, not any talent. I have a decent level of fitness that has seen me through a number of events over the years but it’s my heart that enables me to complete it.

But now in the final 2 weeks before the Great North Run, my body has failed me and I’ve listened to advice from runners and non-runners over the last week or so. I’ve been told that I can do it. I’ve been told not to put myself through something that could potentially cause further problems. My physio is confident that it’s not an injury and it’s still a niggle and he can get me to where I need to be. The start line.

I quit.

My body told me to quit this week. I attempted a run and returned after 1.5 miles, broken. It wasn’t the boost I needed and already started to make preparations for the other half to be my stand in.

But then something happened. I had a committee meeting with myself and thought about what gets me to the end of the race. My heart, my determination and I couldn’t let myself down.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I laced my trainers up, loaded myself with all the extra gear that was needed to completed a long run and set off for the make or break run.

My average pace was considerably slower, allowing for the niggle. I ate the energy blocks and I consumed water I was carrying at the right times and ten miles later I made it back. In my head I wanted to get further than this at this stage but some events you have to mark down as a win.

I have no idea what will happen between now and race day or even on the day itself but I’ve never been a quitter and I’m not about to start now. Some would say I should know when to quit, but it’s a skill I’m working on.

Sunday 10th September I’ll be on that start line running for #TeamDaniel and Bluebell Wood Children’s Hospice.

If you want to sponsor me, you can do here or if you want to read more self depreciating stories, click on this link…Confessions of a Shit Runner – Women’s Stuff.



Popping the Volunteering Cherry

Way back in 2013, I took part in my first run and on 21st January 2017 I completed my 85th. Those that know me, will tell you that I never tire of telling anyone that will listen of what a great concept parkrun is and how I love the inclusive environment that you can take advantage of, a free local 5k run.

Its success is reliant on volunteers stepping forward to take on one of the various roles; timekeeper, scanner, marshal, tail runner or even photographer! So it goes without saying that for someone who has been so applauding of parkrun, that I need to hang my head in shame that I had not volunteered up until today.

If any excuse is possible, it’s my struggle to find time to run with conflicting priorities and the moment I do have the Saturday morning available, I want to take advantage of running the course. Unfortunately, if that was the case for everyone, parkrun would be no more as a minimum amount of volunteers are needed each week.

So what changed this week?

I was injured and childless and frankly, I had no excuse.

I had fallen the week previously whilst out running (that can be a regular occurrence in my case and I am often accused of not being able to stand on my own two feet) and stupidly and stubbornly I attempted to run around Hyde Park whilst there with work this week.

The leg was not going to hold up to a parkrun so I announced to my fella I would be volunteering. My New Year’s resolution, was not to get fit but to become more of a parkrun tourist ,but for volunteering purposes the easiest option would be to head down to my nearest parkrun, only one mile away.

Friday came and I had still not offered my services to anyone and knew that my opportunity was slowly slipping away. That night, I logged onto facebook and noticed a plea for volunteers at one of the runs I had taken part at previously but it was nineteen miles away. Before I could change my mind, I responded to the request.

Saturday morning, I was up bright and early as I always am when childless (life sucks a little like that doesn’t it?) and made my way to Poolsbrook parkrun. I was starting to get a little worried as to what role I would be allocated and hoped I wouldn’t be given too much responsibility. I’d be bloody mortified if I was responsible for two hundred runners with no official times!

On arrival I was allocated a Marshal in position three which seemed pretty straight forward and once the runners set off, I made my way to my position ready to cheer the runners. Now, although I had received some brief instructions on the back of the lanyard, nobody actually tells you what you should do when people are running past; I know how I have responded to marshals but not everyone wants a cheery shout or a smiley face.


So as I was shouting morning to people and a round of “well done’s”, my first task caught me a little off guard. A fisherman was extending his rod (this is not a euphemism for something else) right into the path of oncoming runners. We are always told to be respectful of other park users as they have as much right to the park as parkrunners but how do I tactfully ask him to mind his rod? Some runners looked a little concerned so I politely asked him to be careful and hoped that he would retract his rod. Unfortunately, he wasn’t too keen on the idea and told me if anyone damaged it they would have to pay. At this point I was thinking, “This could only bloody happen to me.”

I’m not known for my international peacekeeping skills but I explained that I was there to prevent any accidents from happening and gave him my best cheesy grin. It must have worked as before long he was having a little chat with me and asking how many laps of the course the parkrunners did.

1-0 to me.

My attention could now be devoted to the people passing me and give them the praise they deserved. Respectful of the passing runners and walkers, I attempted to judge how they would want me to acknowledge them although I have never been a great face reader. I continued with my smiles and praise and high-fived a couple of kids. My people watching skills, had a stab at working out how many times I had seen individual runners and based on their pace, how many laps they had done. If I thought they were on their last lap, I shouted “Not far now!” I wondered whether I had made a schoolgirl error in that what if I had miscalculated how many times I had seen their faces? What if they responded with, “are you taking the piss?” I am certain, I told some non-parkrunners well done and others who had already completed their three laps but they acknowledged me nonetheless (maybe to shut me up or out of politeness!)

What was actually amazing was the amount of people who thanked me. I never expected so many thanks and I am completed overwhelmed how parkrunners took the time to do this. I have never felt more rewarded for standing still for fifty-six minutes and in turn I would like to say thank you to the 187 people that took part. I am in awe of everyone of them, from the frontrunners (who I never get to see) to the people who carried on despite struggling through injury or fatigue.

I’m not sure whether the lady in the pink bobble hat was as shit a marshal as she is a runner, but today volunteering gave me a massive incentive to carry on being part of the wonderful community that is parkrun.

Thank you Poolsbrook for allowing me to pop my cherry, and I hope you had no complaints from the regulars 🙂



Shit to Working, I WANT to Stay at Home!

There is an undeniable amount of pressure on working mothers to fulfil a new role that has been developed over the past twenty or so years. And curiously enough this role has been created by women themselves.

I was raised thinking that anything is possible; women don’t have to stay at home and raise the kids, but to go out and get a career. I felt proud of my own mother that she was working full-time and wanted to be financially independent and not rely on my father for ‘housekeeping’ money. But there was that part of me that craved for me to have my mum waiting for me at home when I got in from school to prevent the need for me having the responsibility of a key. I didn’t want to be wondering who would be picking me up from school, if indeed there was going to be someone; all I wanted was to see my mum’s face at the school gate.

Years have passed with women battling against sexist, stereotyped views so that they can be an equal to their opposite sex. Why can’t women carry out the same jobs as men, earn the same amount of money as men in addition to juggling being a mum? Other women provide us with inspirational quotes to try and empower us to be everything to everyone; government incentives to try and encourage women back to work; employers offering flexible working schemes so that you can go to work earlier or later so you can combine school pick ups and drop offs with your paid role. And the day isn’t over then, because you need to support the children with homework, cook dinner, clean and generally shove the broom up your arse and sweep the floor, assuming you haven’t met the perfect man who is doing it all with you.

And if you don’t succeed in all of the above, your fellow women are likely to judge you as a failure because you are not successfully spinning all of the plates.

But I have seen a new group of women who are trying to subtly make an entrance. Mothers who choose to work less hours so they can spend more time with the family. Mothers who choose to not work at all because they want to spend time with their family and become a domestic goddess with their extra available time. Or even more fantastically, mothers who don’t feel the need to be baking, cleaning shopping or gardening to justify their lack of employment.

I’m a strong believer in that you cannot be effective with so many tasks to juggle and that something has to give. I also believe that every woman has a right to choose whether they want to have a career or whether they want to be a great mum, but to combine the two is stressful and certain concessions will have to be made, even with the most supportive partner in the world.

I have been that judgy woman who questions why my women friends are not working more hours and why they don’t want to fill their time with something more productive. Why can we not accept that some women choose this way of life, not forced into it and have the finances to be able to do it?

My parents generation were lucky in that only one person needed to work. The woman could choose whether she wanted to stay at home and be a kept woman or buck the trend and go out and find herself a job.

If you are that career woman who has chosen to work full time and not forced into it through a financial necessity to work, I applaud you but please do not complain when you miss key events, as that is usually inevitable if you work full-time.

I believe we all have a right to make our choices, whatever they may be. Some people are backed into a corner and have decisions taken out of their hands but let’s not fall into the trap and believe that we have to be something we don’t actually want to be, purely because that is what society expects.