A first birthday

I usually write this blog on a Sunday night. It's become my little Sunday night ritual: get Katherine to bed, find a tasty evening snack, put either SCD or X-Factor results on the TV and settle down to write this blog. But last night I chose not to because it needed to wait until today.

Today. Today is the first birthday. The first of Mark's birthdays that he's not here to celebrate.

I've spent all day pretending to be upbeat, professional, chirpy Lizzy the surgical registrar. I've laughed a hollow laugh at bad jokes and I've stuck cameras up several bottoms (that is my job- I'm not a weirdo) and inspected guts for badness. I've chatted about inane things with no consequence or meaning and I've eaten pasta for lunch in the mess with my colleagues and friends. And all day I've felt so sad.

I guess with grief there'll always be good and bad days and I think recently it's really starting to sink in that we can't skype Mark and we won't be able to pop in and see him when we're home at Christmas and there's no address to send a card to this Christmas or birthday. And it sucks. I mean it really, really stinks. It's just rubbish. (I'd love to use more colourful language but probably not appropriate for a Vicar's wife but I know Verz would have laughed at it).

A lot of people talk about how God took Mark "home" at His time of choosing and that it was God's plan. I know that may help many come to terms with his death and I hope that's helpful to them but it doesn't sit right with me. I can't imagine that the God I worship ever "chooses" to end lives prematurely and I'm quite sure life had more in store for Mark and that God had even bigger and better plans for him. So that leaves me with why did Mark die? Well, maybe it's the doctor in me but quite simply, he died of natural causes that we don't fully understand and that seems so bonkers for a young, fit, healthy man. And I believe that God is sad with us too. There's so much I don't understand about faith, God, medicine and life but for now, I'm holding on to it.

And that's where running this stupid marathon fits in: because if we want to help understand more about heart disease, more money is needed for research. So please sponsor me. If you knew Verz, consider it the birthday present or Christmas present that this year you tragically won't be buying.
http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy

Thanks.

Happy 39th Birthday Mark.  

Reaching your full potential.....or having a cuppa, cake and a sit down

Another week, another lack of training. Oh dear! But in my defense I have been beyond busy with work, finishing audit projects, writing abstracts for a conference and trying to get ready for a church Christmas fayre- Santa needed help choosing presents (on a budget) for all the children coming to see him in Aspley.

But we'll move swiftly (unlike my running style) on from talk of a lack of training to a whole day of talking about training in London. Yesterday saw me getting up at silly o'clock and boarding a train to head down to the British Heart Foundation headquarters. There was a lot of important information to be taken on board yesterday but the most important information I need to communicate to you is not about how awful heart disease can be, about how you must stop smoking NOW, or how I really, really need to get more training in and stop eating cake but is, in fact, wait for it..... that first class train travel is BRILLIANT. Seriously! I've never travelled anywhere, by any modality first class ever but it was only £2 more per ticket when I booked my journeys a couple of months ago and it was so worth it. Big, comfy seat; warm, quiet carriage; free wifi and tea/ coffee; nice big table all to myself. Perfection. I really enjoyed it. Did stick out like a very sore thumb (or thighs in my case) in my running gear and shabby trainers however!

Ready to leave. Note my little supporter all ready to leave at 06:55 also.

Anyway, I'm meant to be talking about the training day and not the luxury travel I enjoyed. There was so much covered that I'm going to have to leave some for another time but the funniest part was definitely having my gait analysis done. Cor blimey, that sounds posh don't it?!

Gait analysis involves taking your trainers off and running up and down whilst trying to land a foot on a special pressure sensor pad. Generally they need 3-4 good strikes for both feet. The first couple of laps I managed to miss the pressure pad completely as my little brain freaked out and thought "don't land on the pad- what if they decide you run like a chimp with a limp" and I took a gazelle-like leap and missed it entirely. Now that's how to look like a class A plonker. Once my neurones had decided to relax I managed to actually land on the pad a few times but it's really hard to run "normally" whilst bare-foot, being watched by others waiting to be analysed and with a woman on her hands and knees staring at your running style. I felt compelled to launch into some kind of ministry for funny walks effort but thankfully controlled my urges. The other thing I was dead nervous about was getting out of breath doing the gait analysis! Seriously, the strip was maybe 10metres and I ran up and down it easily 12-15 times. Thankfully the training is paying off as didn't so much break a sweat. What a relief!
Then the very serious lady takes a look at what trainers you've been running in (mine are about as old as God and definitely not designed for running, let alone long distance running) and in my case, sighs, rubs her forehead, frowns and exclaims "these have zero support, and will be doing nothing for your foot arches, which incidentally are really quite high, and don't have anyway near enough cushioning". Oh good. I can feel a large sum of money for new trainers is about to leave me.
Then we had a good look at her fancy computer program which was actually really interesting. Turns out I run all bouncy and on the balls of my feet (who'd have thought it- me being bouncy and enthusiastic? Surely there's been a mistake...!) with hardly any pressure through the heels. This style is suited to the new craze of bare-foot running. I laughed when she mentioned this. I live in and therefore run around Aspley. I can't remember the last time I didn't see broken glass somewhere on one of my routes so it looks like barefoot is out then. So I now have a new pair of Adidas something-or-other trainers on order which I'm assured are going to improve my running efficiency, decrease my aches and pains and make me zoom around those 26.2 miles, Marvellous. Do they have attached wheels and a motor then?

Then it was time for the training run with all the other marathon-ites. This is where it started to go wrong. A gentle jog from headquarters to a running track at Regent's park at conversational pace. I am quite sure that there is no such thing as moving any faster than walking at conversational pace. However, the tall, lean, athletic girl in matching expensive running gear who regularly runs 15 miles at a weekend and decided to run with me is very happy to jog and chat. Turns out, I'm good at jogging and listening, along with the occasional two-word question (to keep her talking so I don't have to waste precious breath on words) and an emphatic "hmmm". Once we got to the track we were introduced to the fresh torture that is Threshold training. In short, this is running for short bursts (3 mins for begginer numpties like me and 5 minutes for scary, running girl and the like) at 80% of full potential and then resting for 90 seconds and then repeating 4 times. Hideous. I was overtaken by a balding, overweight, middle-aged man. I thought I might die.
Now as you're all aware if you've been reading this, I'm running this stupid marathon in memory of Mark. I thought I might die during this threshold run business and quite frankly, two wrongs don't make a right. This was the kind of "Stop running NOOOOOWWWW" thought that was going through my head whilst gasping for breath and clutching my side with a terrible stitch. I've not had stitch before but I really hope I never have it again. OWWW.

Anyway, once I'd managed to get some blood flowing back to my head and regain control of my ludicrous thoughts, we had to jog back to the headquarters. Things improved here. I met a lovely girl who's also running London and is new to running. And guess what... I can run a bit better than her!! Extraordinary. She was walking (slowly) back to HQ so I stopped, walked with her for a couple of mins, persuaded her to run again and ran along beside her and it turns out that at slow-new-girl to running pace rather than scary-keen-serious runner pace, I can chat whilst jogging! I was doing the talking, she was doing the listening and "hmmm"ing and afterwards we had a good giggle about just how useless we are at running. I'll be looking out for her on the big day. 22 weeks away and counting.....


Next time: marathon nutrition (sadly, no cake)

A little bit further than not very far

Hello!

Sunday = Strictly Results, X Factor results, making sarnies for Monday at work, and trying not to dribble on the settee during your afternoon snooze (owners of toddlers excluded). It also = blog time and for today it = a new personal best!

In fact today has seen two personal bests. No, I am not referring to the record amounts of noise the children in our church can make at inopportune moments. Or the record for the amount of roast chicken eaten in one sitting (though I did attempt this). But, wait for it..... I ran FURTHER than ever before! And I ran the first 3 miles FASTER than ever before! Get me! Further AND faster! These are very positive words. Admittedly to run a bit further than not very far and faster than not very fast isn't huge but I'm quite proud of myself.

Today I ran twice round The National Watersports centre. This doesn't just mean circling the canteen twice whilst tucking into a cream tea (although that sounds fabulous) but actually running 5.93 miles. I'll say that again..... 5.93 miles! It took me 1hour and 6 minutes. I managed to run almost all of it and just a short walk at one point where my short, but chunky legs felt like they might collapse beneath my fairly substantial weight. But even with the walk, that's an average of 11:08mins per mile which is reasonably respectable. So that's the further bit.

I managed to run the first 3 miles of today's run in a blistering, blinding, blink and you'll miss me (in a taking 40 winks rather than a blink kind of way) average of 10:30mins/mile. Again, for anyone who knows anything about running, this is actually not awesome at all. The point is though, that when I started I could barely get to the top of the road before thanking God for the pedestrian crossing, the stop that creates and then taking a long time to stumble 2 miles. Progress!

On Thursday, I ran 3.67 miles (6K) in 40mins which was pretty good for me too.

So only two runs but both pretty reasonable pace. So I now owe my sponsorship pot £9.60- £1/mile/week. Maybe you could do 50p/mile/week? Or 10p/mile/week? Pretty please?  (PS. Thanks to my first sponsor- Becca Williams is a lovely girl!)
http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy

During today's run, there were some lovely moments when I managed a little smile to myself between the beetroot faced grimaces. There were lots of geese flying perfectly in formation- always makes me wonder how they're so organised. There some funny, little boys on bikes wobbling around with parents trying to keep up. There were some swans flying so low that one had it's feet scuttling along the water and looked like it was running on the water. There was also a memorial to Wayne Smith. I don't know Wayne but it just so happened that his memorial is next to some benches where I started and ended my run. Turns out that Wayne was 36 when he died. Another sporting, fit person dying in their 30's and another motivating sight for making all the pain, puffing and sweat (don't even get me started on the sweating) worthwhile if it raises money for research into medical science.

The benches, incidentally, were brilliant for collapsing on to after my run and taking a couple of pics.....

For Wayne

This doesn't do justice to quite how red I was. So attractive.

Tired feet

Next time: A day at BHF headquarters with other runners. EEEEK!

The Reason

Hello!
Training summary this week: NONE! Ha! Various reasons including a community bonfire for 130 to organise (good times) but I'm sure if I'd tried hard I could have done better. So it's a cheap week on the self-sponsorship front but I am vowing to do better this week.

Let's move on from this teeny, tiny problem of a lack of running.

I've been reading a great book called something like "A non-running woman's Marathon". It's not called that but it's similar and the book is in my bedroom, "Downton Abbey" final episode is on and frankly I'm not walking upstairs to fetch it. Anyway, it's written by someone who has even less fitness than I (i.e. literally none- she describes reaching for the remote control as strenuous) who decided to run a marathon in memory of her Grandad. She talks about needing a good reason for running such a ridiculously long way that will stand up to the persuasive, crazy thoughts of an oxygen-deprived brain in training. For example, the reason of needing to get thinner falls down when you're running. I simply think "bring on the cake if it gets me out of even another step". But a good reason, like a late Grandfather is enough to keep you going.

You will already know that I'm going through this ordeal in order to raise money for British Heart Foundation in memory of our best mate, Verz as he was known to us. I've already cried sad tears (and therefore, wasted precious body fluids) whilst out running, thinking about Verz as my inspiration. Mark (aka Verz) died very suddenly in February of this year and we have been left devastated by the loss of him. I'm sure I'll write more about how Mark, his life and premature death have affected us in the future but he was my husband's best mate and his words sum him up best. So here is the tribute to Mark from his funeral, written and read by my husband, the lovely and brave Matt Elsey.

This is the easiest thing I have ever had to do yet the hardest thing at the same time. I consider it an honour to pay tribute to my best friend, Verz. I tried to write Mark but I don’t think I have ever called him that! Trying to sum up his life, personality, character and calling in a few minutes, as you will all appreciate is a pretty big task, in fact it is impossible.

I can’t give you a definitive moment when we became friends, we just did. Our friendship, although focused around our involvement with the corps here in Felixstowe, quickly developed into a relationship that others would probably be described as brotherly. In Fact, my mum recalled one evening Verz coming to our house about tea time and enjoyed a steak or something rather tasty only for my Dad to be told on his arrival home that Verz had eaten his tea and there were some sausage in the fridge!

I am not the only one that is grateful to Verz for his friendship and willingness to share his life and home in our youth. His house became the venue for numerous takeaways, board games, phase ten marathons, friends viewing on a Friday and many many happy memories of our youth group. Allow, he did get some ribbing for his strange obsession with Coke. This was compounded by a Doll he brought that seemed to be watching our every move! If you were to look in his fridge at his house at the Downs it would have consisted of Milk, butter and coke! I’m not sure his washing machine ever got used either! Even up to a couple of weeks before his passing he would return home to Jean with a load or two of washing. A domestic godess he was not but a hospitable, loving and sharing friend he always was. I, along with many others can only thank God for those years we spent sharing life with him.

To say that Verz and I were inseparable is probably not an understatement. Lizzy certainly questioned me on a number of occasions as to whom was more important in my life, Her or Verz! For example, when working for P and O Ferries we went on a romantic trip to Bruges in Belgium 3 days before Christmas, just the 3 of us. One of my lasting memories of that trip is ice skating in the city centre and 20 mins into our time Verz complaining that his right skate was hurting his foot. On closer inspection having two left skates may have been the cause. Nothing worried him, his approach to life was stress free and taking everything in his stride. No matter what the situation Verz would not faulter and would be the one prepared to come to anyone’s aid. When I left Felixstowe to go to the SA training college, I had a crash on the A12 halfway to the college. It was Verz that got in his car with my dad to pick me up and took me to London and drove back very late on a Sunday night. When Lizzy and I suffered a miscarriage 2 years ago, Verz’s response was to commit to fast and pray each week until Elsey junior was born. In one of his emails he said “After all the attitude of thanksgiving is not circumstances dependant.” Katherine was born 12 months later.      

Of course Verz’s passion was sport, any sport really but of course Football. Playing as a junior for Trimley Red Devils he was spotted has having great potential as a centre back. He went on to play for the Salvation Army team in Stowemarket and is 9^th on the appearance list but a lot lower for the Goal scoring one. It might have been a dream but I even remember his scoring with his foot once!  Verz’s, main strength came in his strong tackling. Even in training many of us would go home having been kicked, I mean, tackled by him. He went on to manage the reserve team, which you would have thought would have meant I got picked every week but alas (mainly because I wasn’t that great) he dropped me to the bench, unless they need a Goalkeeper!

Of course, we know that sport was to become the medium in which he would invest his life and follow a calling that would take him all around the world playing football. Yet, for us the place where we spent most time was on the golf course. I was not always the most controlled golfer yet Verz had such patience. Alistar told me of a time where they were playing at Felixstowe and he decided to go for the green. First attempt in the farmers field, second the same and again the third. Not once did he lose his rag. Even though he played tough on the football pitch, he never over stepped the mark and was a true exponent of sportsman ship.

One of the greatest joys for me and so many of his friends was the year he discovered Ambassadors in Sport. On deciding to take redundancy from Lloyds TSB he made himself open to discover the next calling of God on his life. I have since discovered that the Bank offered him a really good package to stay but once he came into contact with AIS at Roots 7 years ago it was like a revelation in his life. The best testimony I can give to this revelation is the stories that have come to the fore since his death and his desire to follow where God called even when called to move to South Africa. This is a guy that was obedient in faith, always! Within a few months of his internship with AIS you knew that this was it, this was what Verz was being prepared to do. It was the calling that captured his passion for football, his desire to know God and his hope that others may know him too. I want to say thank you to AIS for investing in him and believing in him. We pray for your whole organisation as I know that there are not many parts of the AIS family he has not impacted in some way.

The things I have missed out: Him and Trevor as the ugly sisters in a youth panto, following England all around Europe, ITFC to Rome, his time at Lloyds TSB, his premed blond hair, various band trips, Sketches with the youth, his Views form Verz newsletters, his complete lack of a sense of direction, cricket for IBC, Fifa late into the night and my lasting memory will be of him shouting at our TV during the England Netherlands watch and him saying “oh no not Bopara” who then went on to smash the winning runs and so much more that you will hold dear in your memory of him.

To finish, I want to reflect my own love for this amazing friend. It was hard enough to start writing this tribute but to finish it is even more painful. The word that keeps coming up in conversation, written and spoken tribute is the word; legacy. Verz never set out to leave his own legacy but a legacy that would reflect the king of the kingdom he served. There is a sign in my office that Versey brought for me: “My Boss is a Jewish carpenter”. He knew who his boss/manager was! He would be astonished by the out pouring of love and tributes to his legacy that have come to light. Yet, he would simple shrug his shoulders, give you a little cheeky wink and smile and get on with what living out his life for God.

Bob, Jean, Michelle and Jonny, Nathan and Edward you can be proud of what Mark has not only achieved but the person he has become in the process. We will continue to pray for God’s comfort for you in the days to come.

Within the Salvation Army tradition we would say; Mark Versey good and faithful servant, Well done.

In a football tradition I invite you to give thanks through a minutes applause.        

Well done Verz, Well done