I went for a 5 miler with my brother in Felixstowe. Not too bad. He reckons I'm not quite as useless as I say I am (high praise indeed....). Here he is:
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| My "little" brother out for a run with me around Languard. Check out one the many container ships that visits Felixstowe daily in the background. |
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| A very tiny part of the Port of Felixstowe |
Friday was my worst run in a long time. I set off with the target of 11-12 miles in my mind and was trying to be positive. After 4 miles of feeling like I was really struggling and the occasional very short walk and pause to cross the roads, I got stitch. Now, for those of you who don't know me, I have nearly 12 years of medical training behind me and yet, whilst doubled over with agonising pain in my side worsening with every breath, I had to google "what is a stitch?". And it seems no-one is really sure. Great. So this hideous pain which stopped me in my tracks is apparently a bit of a medical mystery. Which means no-one is really sure why you get it and, more importantly, how you can prevent it. Even better.
After a bit of cursing under my (laboured) breath, along with a bit of walking I was able to resume my stumbling towards Wollaton park.
At mile 7, I had a tantrum. Proper, foot-stamping, crying, throw yourself on the floor, angry tantrum. Well that's how it was in my head. In reality I was a bit too worried about the deer/ dog/ duck poo on the ground and so didn't roll around yelling "Get me a taxi home now!". I did, however, sit on a bench, fling my earphones down, turn off my up-beat, motivational music with an angry index finger jab and have a mental break down. My legs were aching, I was tired, it was hot and yet windy and I wanted to be curled up in my comfy bed. A sympathetic dog wandered over to see what the fuss was about and I was so angry with running that it was all I could do to restrain myself from giving it a swift kick.
After I'd pulled myself together, I decided that there's no rule saying I have to run the whole marathon so made the decision that walking is better and set off to purposefully walk the rest of my planned route around the park. Those two non-running miles were brilliant.
Unfortunately, it couldn't last forever; I still had another 3+ miles to do which felt like a marathon in itself, so it was back to running as I left the park. Managed another mile or two of running (by which, I mean jogging really slowly) before I gave up again and pretty much walked the last mile to our church cafe. I rang ahead and forewarned Matt that I was on my way, in a strop, to the cafe and that he was going to make it better by buying me lunch and then driving me home and that this wasn't up for debate.
12.2 miles. A miserable experience. Tired, painful legs. A few angry tears. And an appalling time of 2 hours and 25 minutes.
And do you know what's really feeble about all of this? My legs were fine the next day. Just proves that I was able to, and should have, pushed myself harder and found some strength to continue running that bit further.
There are a lot of people that I know have experienced similar emotions over the past year.
Anger. Disappointment. Sadness. Stabbing pain for no apparent cause. Frustration. Confusion. A feeling of such weighty heaviness. Feeling like it's a real uphill struggle. Short periods where things seem ok but knowing deep down that it's going to get worse and more painful again soon. Times where even short distances last forever.
My 12.2 miles took under 2 and a half hours. The desperately sad, desolate emotions of losing Mark have been with his family and friends for one year and a day now. That's proper pain. Not a pathetic loss of motivation, stamina and strength as displayed by me.
There are times when I almost forget that Mark has gone; when I can hear his loud, fairly high-pitched laugh in my head; when I can have a conversation with his ever-present Suffolk accent; when I think "Mark would really laugh at this". And yet he has been gone for a year.
Mark meant a lot of different things to different people. To some, like Matt and myself, he was the best of friends, a best man and to Matt, an additional brother. To his colleagues, he was dependable, solid and so enthusiastic in his commitment to work with Ambassadors in Sport. To his sister, he was an only sibling and a fantastic uncle to her sons. To his parents, Mark was a great son who was such a good example of their steady, reliable, calm love. To his friends, he was the most useless host who never had anything in the fridge other than bottles of Coca-cola. He was the provider of Phase 10 and DVD marathons. He was a golf buddy. He was a prayer partner. He was brilliantly disorganised and lost a lot of Robbie Williams concert tickets. He bought vast amounts of chinese take-aways for his friends. He was a passionate football supporter of his beloved ITFC and England but an even more passionate Christian.
And a year on, that's not fading.
I'm sure that, with time, there will be a gradual acceptance of the loss of Verz. That those awful, tear-you-apart emotions will ease and that stitch-like agony will go away. But the memories of who he was to us won't fade and that is testimony to his life.
Please sponsor me as I continue to battle with my training:
www.uk.virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy
Thank you.
Here is a short video that was made about some of Verz's work with AIS. It might help you understand if you didn't know him.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-a-0ZpW2bNQ
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