Ouchy ouch ouch. Running is bad for your health. And bad for your ankles and feet. And especially the left ankle and foot. Ouch.
You might remember that I twisted my ankle a while ago (the whole run a mile, slip over, twist ankle, hobble back to car, no car key, limp back to site of injury, still no key, stumble back to car and ring for help saga) and it's still not right. I thought it was better but every time I do a long run, my foot and ankle are really sore. Bottoms. (Other less polite swear words are available- feel free to insert your own).
Yesterday I ran 16 miles which is further than I ever thought I could. Sadly it's still a whopping 10miles off what I have to run in 4 weeks time (FOUR WEEKS!!! Cue slightly maniacal laughter bordering on hysteria). It involved more listening to the dulcet Wolverhampton tones of Caitlin Moran discussing rude stuff (boobies and the power of a good bra this time) and an awful lot of the canal, River Trent, Attenborough Nature Reserve and the visitor centre (emergency wee stop!). It also involved a lot of pain. My left foot arch and ankle started hurting at about mile 8 and haven't stopped aching since despite ibuprofen and a lot of whinging. I've also managed to start a new trend in bubblewrap-esque feet with my increasing blister burden. I was tempted to take a photo of the grossness for the blog but Matt suggested I should use it as a threat for if I don't receive enough sponsors. So, if you want to avoid having to view my revolting feet with lumpy, swollen blobs, pressure point hard skin and a little toenail that's threatening to leave me, you'd better sponsor me!
http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy
Something that I hadn't anticipated about long distance running is the way it allows your mind to wander and think. Dangerous. Now you might expect, given that I'm allegedly a reasonably well educated woman who holds down a sensible job as a trainee surgeon and engages her brain in additional musical extra-curricular activities, that all this time to think would have produced something of worth, of significance, of depth.
Nope.
All I could think about yesterday was other modes of transport that I could see passing me by that beat running. The following transportation modes were noted:
- motorbility scooter (I've often thought of hijacking passing electric wheelchairs whilst out running)
- bike (although does require physical effort so a tough call)
- narrow boat (complete with kitchen and therefore, cake)
- horse (looks romantic but carries risk of falling and trampling to death- less favourable)
- rowing boat (appealing but suspect harder than it looks)
- canoe (saw 7 of these with young teenagers having a right laugh- fancied a go)
- scooter (do they do adult size ones?)
- large dog (not sure it was large enough to carry my big bottom but I was getting desperate)
- mythically large, flying swan (admittedly didn't actually see one of these but the thought crossed my mind)
- pushchair (yeah they're made for toddlers but I was in so much pain my gait resembled a toddler learning to run)
So you see, too much time to think is a bad thing. And when I try to focus on why I'm doing this marathon, I get all emotional and start to cry. Useless.
Tuesday was a day of training horror with the (not unexpected in retrospect) realisation that curry is a bad thing to eat the night before a long run. I'm not sure I need to expand on this point any further. Lesson learnt. (If you are clueless as to what I'm writing about, google "Joggers trots". It's not an equestrian event.)
Thursday saw me have a rubbish run of less than 4 miles and it felt like such hard work. I wanted to walk all the time and found it so hard to keep motivated. I felt exhausted, achy and fed up. Still am really! Came home and burst into tears about all this stupid running and really hit a low point. I just felt like it was too big a mountain to climb and I was stupid for even thinking I could do it. I also felt (and still do actually) that I'm going to let you all down. So many of you have been so generous already and so supportive and I'm so, so worried that I'm going to bottle it on the day and walk half of it and finish in a really rubbish time. I know I'm not the speediest runner but this could realistically take me 7 hours if I walk a large proportion. So, I'm going to apologise now if I let you down. I really will be so upset and disappointed in myself.
Which brings me on to my next point.
I expect that there's a significant proportion of you who don't choose to go in for religion in any form or maybe have a faith other than Christianity so if you're this category, then please don't be offended by this but maybe you can just continue to support me with positive thoughts and the knowledge of that will be a comfort to me.
Equally, I know that many of you who read this are (rightfully in my opinion!) big believers in prayer and God honouring and answering those heartfelt prayers. I'm struggling with believing I can do this marathon. It hurts. It's hard. I'd really rather not drag myself out for any more long runs or even any short ones. Whilst I was running on Saturday, I was thinking about God and what he must make of it all. Whether he's bothered? Whether it matters? In comparison to all the horrors, atrocities and hurt in our world, my lame efforts to run a marathon because our mate died and the fact my foot is sore is so trivial. So meaningless and minor. But, we talk in church about our "Father God" and as a parent, I want Katherine to grow up always being able to share her troubles and concerns with me, no matter how small or insignificant. I think God feels the same way. Yes, he sees the bigger picture and can put everything in context, but he also cares about our personal hurts and struggles. Part of being a Christian is upholding others in prayer. Another aspect of being a part of a church is being humble enough to ask for help when it's needed and not struggling on alone- because we don't have to. So, I'm going to add myself to my prayer list for a while and I'd be grateful if you could add me to yours. Pray for my foot- that it recovers quickly and doesn't give up on me before or during the marathon. Pray that I have the motivation to carry on training over the next 4 weeks. Pray that I might even start to enjoy it (yes, I believe in a God of miracles!!!). Next Saturday is due to include a 18-19 mile effort which will take me at least 3.5 hours and I'm sure I'll need your prayers then. If you don't normally pray or think it's all barmy, then just humour me and give it a go. You've not got anything to lose.
Verz would have agreed.
Next time: Memories of Mark - please email me at elizabeth.elsey@nhs.net or inbox me on facebook with your favourite Verz memories and I'll put them together for us all to smile at. Deadline= Sunday 6pm!
Sunday, 25 March 2012
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
A LOT of cakes and the BeeGees
This is my friend Lyndsay:
Lynz is really clever at making yummy and very pretty cakes. It's the main reason we're friends to be honest. All of my friends should be made to pass a cake baking test along with a personality analysis that indicates generosity with the cakes that they make.
But Lyndsay is a particularly special friend. She's one of those that you can rely on, whatever the circumstance. Lyndsay has done the following things in the fairly short 4 years that I've known her:
Anyway, Lynz announced that her contribution to my marathon fundraising was to make some cakes and sell them for Mother's day. Aaah, isn't that nice? Sell a few buns to a couple of mates and donate a tenner to the pot. I bet that's what you're thinking. Well, not Lynz. She had mass production in her head and before you could cream your sugar and butter together, Lynz had taken 25 orders for boxes of 6 cupcakes, all to be ready for Mother's day weekend. That's 150 cupcakes!!! Did I mention that Lyndsay has a gorgeous but enthusiastically lively toddler and an absolutely beautiful 6 month old at home to look after? She is practically superwoman.
Here's some of the finished cakes:
Yum yum yum. I bought a box of 6 for my mother-in-law and helped her by eating them. What a kind daughter-in-law I am.
Lyndsay has managed to raise £250 as a result of her baking marathon for my mad marathon. She is quite literally brilliant.
So if you know Lynz, give her a hug and if you're feeling cheeky, a sloppy kiss. Tell her she's fabulous and incredibly generous. And then try hard not to cry with the general emotion of it all. That's my plan anyway.
I'm sure you can't have missed the distressing footballing news from the weekend. Fabrice Muamba collapsed during a football match on Saturday after suffering a cardiac arrest.
Sudden cardiac arrests are fatal in more than 95% of cases. The key to survival is very early cardio-pulmonary resuscitation and defibrillation (if appropriate). The longer the brain is without oxygen as a result of the cardiac arrest, the more irreversible brain damage occurs. Sadly, brain death is largely responsible for the mortality of those hearts which do start to beat normally again in these sudden cardiac arrest cases.
Muamba was fortunate to have paramedics on hand immediately and received early defibrillation on pitch. Thankfully, the latest press release is that he's doing remarkably well and has woken up and been able to communicate with his relatives. His long journey to recovery is hopefully underway.
Many people don't feel able to perform CPR in the community and this is a tragedy for so many people that are taken so seriously and suddenly ill away from immediate medical help. Chest compressions done immediately really can save lives. The British Heart Foundation has recently launched a publicity campaign about the importance of chest compressions. Here's their video advert:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ILxjxfB4zNk
Who'd have thought that The BeeGees would ever be so useful?! It really is that easy.
Cardiac arrests do happen and they do kill.... unless effective resuscitation is given quickly. You can do it. Make sure you do.
You can also check out the website for more information and training:
www.bhf.org.uk/handsonly
So: in memory of Mark, to raise money for research into heart disease; in celebration of Charlie and to raise money for the vital support BHF nurses give; for training in resuscitation to prevent unnecessary deaths- please donate to:
http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy
Or bake 150 cakes and sell them to your mates. Whatever's easiest.
Thanks.
But Lyndsay is a particularly special friend. She's one of those that you can rely on, whatever the circumstance. Lyndsay has done the following things in the fairly short 4 years that I've known her:
- organised a baby shower for me
- celebrated my 30th birthday with a surprise little do
- looked after my naughty daughter more times than I can count on a Sunday during Church
- bought me generous birthday and Christmas presents, all of which have been perfect
- given me advice about new babies when I was struggling
- cried with me when I've been sad
- laughed with me when I've been happy
- prayed with and for me
- baked more scones than you can imagine for a Strawberry tea
- helped me with various community events which I'd never have managed without her
- guessed I was pregnant before anyone else
Anyway, Lynz announced that her contribution to my marathon fundraising was to make some cakes and sell them for Mother's day. Aaah, isn't that nice? Sell a few buns to a couple of mates and donate a tenner to the pot. I bet that's what you're thinking. Well, not Lynz. She had mass production in her head and before you could cream your sugar and butter together, Lynz had taken 25 orders for boxes of 6 cupcakes, all to be ready for Mother's day weekend. That's 150 cupcakes!!! Did I mention that Lyndsay has a gorgeous but enthusiastically lively toddler and an absolutely beautiful 6 month old at home to look after? She is practically superwoman.
Here's some of the finished cakes:
Lyndsay has managed to raise £250 as a result of her baking marathon for my mad marathon. She is quite literally brilliant.
So if you know Lynz, give her a hug and if you're feeling cheeky, a sloppy kiss. Tell her she's fabulous and incredibly generous. And then try hard not to cry with the general emotion of it all. That's my plan anyway.
I'm sure you can't have missed the distressing footballing news from the weekend. Fabrice Muamba collapsed during a football match on Saturday after suffering a cardiac arrest.
Sudden cardiac arrests are fatal in more than 95% of cases. The key to survival is very early cardio-pulmonary resuscitation and defibrillation (if appropriate). The longer the brain is without oxygen as a result of the cardiac arrest, the more irreversible brain damage occurs. Sadly, brain death is largely responsible for the mortality of those hearts which do start to beat normally again in these sudden cardiac arrest cases.
Muamba was fortunate to have paramedics on hand immediately and received early defibrillation on pitch. Thankfully, the latest press release is that he's doing remarkably well and has woken up and been able to communicate with his relatives. His long journey to recovery is hopefully underway.
Many people don't feel able to perform CPR in the community and this is a tragedy for so many people that are taken so seriously and suddenly ill away from immediate medical help. Chest compressions done immediately really can save lives. The British Heart Foundation has recently launched a publicity campaign about the importance of chest compressions. Here's their video advert:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ILxjxfB4zNk
Cardiac arrests do happen and they do kill.... unless effective resuscitation is given quickly. You can do it. Make sure you do.
You can also check out the website for more information and training:
www.bhf.org.uk/handsonly
So: in memory of Mark, to raise money for research into heart disease; in celebration of Charlie and to raise money for the vital support BHF nurses give; for training in resuscitation to prevent unnecessary deaths- please donate to:
http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy
Or bake 150 cakes and sell them to your mates. Whatever's easiest.
Thanks.
Sunday, 11 March 2012
A half feels like a long way from a whole.
March 11th 2012. The day I ran my first ever proper race.
I say proper because I'm not sure sack race at Colneis Junior school counts. Although, I was pretty good at a bit of jumping within a hessian sack along a school field. Maybe someone should attempt a sack-race style London Marathon. They'd definitely get a chat with Sue Barker for that.
I digress. Turned up at Retford Rugby Club today full of porridge and butterflies this morning and was instantly put into panic mode by all the terribly serious professional runners sporting various running club tops. We had a good giggle at the man running for a team from Penistone who was stood in front of a post that blocked out the "tone". There were several mad mavericks warming up by running around the rugby ground. "What are you doing??! You're wasting precious energy and muscle strength you twits!!" was what I wanted to shout at them. Instead, I stood in the queue for the portaloos and prayed for toilet roll.
We collected our numbers and sat in the car looking at them for a while. I wanted to stay in the car but my friend said it'd be cheating.
Jenny arrived and we thought it was time for the essential pre-race warm up, not of jogging or stretches but posing for photos:
After much dithering about pinning numbers on straight, deciding between water and lucozade and working out which pockets we were sticking keys and iphones into, we set off for the start line.
We decided that all these very serious runners were likely to be significantly quicker than us so kept to the back of the crowd. I spotted a girl wearing arm socks. Honestly. It was that kind of serious. I suddenly felt like I'd missed a trick by not wearing my BHF vest as that would have marked me out as a charity runner who's a bit useless. I think I perhaps should have put a sign on my back saying "Will be slow, please feel free to overtake" but seeing as I was the 19th slowest runner there (officially), a sign on my back seems a little surplus to requirement.
The Retford half marathon was described on Runner's world website as "undulating" and several runners on the forum had commented that it was mostly flat with "one or two minor uphill stretches". Lies. All lies. Admittedly the first 6-7 miles were flat-ish but then it got, well, not hilly as that would suggest some downhill stretches but mostly uphill for the next 4 miles. Evil.
At mile 11, a friendly water station marshall said that it was all downhill from that point. "Hallelujah" I thought. Turns out he lied too. Downhill for a mile before another hill right before the end. I hate hills. I really, really hate hills.
I eventually rocked in past the finish line at 2:27 accompanied by a very few cheers and supporters seeing as most people had already finished and gone home. The winners and medals had been presented, the marshalls were looking bored and yet I was just collapsing over the line. Somebody did ambitiously shout "Well done, you're looking really strong. Great strong, fast finish". Lying must be pandemic in Retford! Mind you, the slowest runner eventually made it back in 3:15 so I was significantly faster than last place. That's always something to be proud of!
Here's me approaching the end. Note the lack of supporters!
So that was my first ever race. I came 423rd! Out of 442 runners. Apparently there's no medal for finishing 423rd. There should be. And it should say "Good try (slowcoach)" on it. It was very hot, bright sunshine, no shade and virtually no supporters along the way. No headphones were allowed so I found it hard psychologically as there was very little to distract me from the torture. A tough last 75 minutes.
I did get a consolatory bottle of water and a t-shirt which I have worn with pride all day (before it gets consigned to the decorating or gardening clothes drawer).
And now it seems that the big day is looming fast. It's 6 weeks to go and frankly, I'm terrified. I'm really not sure I could have done today twice. I'm really hoping that the lack of London hills and the huge amount of cheering will help inspire me. Also the thought that I'll never have to run again is a pretty strong incentive. I really am never running again. Never. Ever.
In other news (literally), I featured in Felixstowe's local paper thanks to the mother who is on first name terms with the reporter. A touch embarrassing but good to have a bit of publicity for my (meagre) efforts and to remind people why I'm running. Here's a blurry photo of the article:
Please feel free to sponsor this madness at http://uk.virginmoneygiving/longrunlizzy
Thanks!
I say proper because I'm not sure sack race at Colneis Junior school counts. Although, I was pretty good at a bit of jumping within a hessian sack along a school field. Maybe someone should attempt a sack-race style London Marathon. They'd definitely get a chat with Sue Barker for that.
I digress. Turned up at Retford Rugby Club today full of porridge and butterflies this morning and was instantly put into panic mode by all the terribly serious professional runners sporting various running club tops. We had a good giggle at the man running for a team from Penistone who was stood in front of a post that blocked out the "tone". There were several mad mavericks warming up by running around the rugby ground. "What are you doing??! You're wasting precious energy and muscle strength you twits!!" was what I wanted to shout at them. Instead, I stood in the queue for the portaloos and prayed for toilet roll.
We collected our numbers and sat in the car looking at them for a while. I wanted to stay in the car but my friend said it'd be cheating.
Jenny arrived and we thought it was time for the essential pre-race warm up, not of jogging or stretches but posing for photos:
 |
| Me and Ali. Note the sun and no clouds. Hot! |
 |
| We three half- marathoners |
 |
| The start line as viewed from the back. I know my place. |
The Retford half marathon was described on Runner's world website as "undulating" and several runners on the forum had commented that it was mostly flat with "one or two minor uphill stretches". Lies. All lies. Admittedly the first 6-7 miles were flat-ish but then it got, well, not hilly as that would suggest some downhill stretches but mostly uphill for the next 4 miles. Evil.
At mile 11, a friendly water station marshall said that it was all downhill from that point. "Hallelujah" I thought. Turns out he lied too. Downhill for a mile before another hill right before the end. I hate hills. I really, really hate hills.
I eventually rocked in past the finish line at 2:27 accompanied by a very few cheers and supporters seeing as most people had already finished and gone home. The winners and medals had been presented, the marshalls were looking bored and yet I was just collapsing over the line. Somebody did ambitiously shout "Well done, you're looking really strong. Great strong, fast finish". Lying must be pandemic in Retford! Mind you, the slowest runner eventually made it back in 3:15 so I was significantly faster than last place. That's always something to be proud of!
Here's me approaching the end. Note the lack of supporters!
I did get a consolatory bottle of water and a t-shirt which I have worn with pride all day (before it gets consigned to the decorating or gardening clothes drawer).
And now it seems that the big day is looming fast. It's 6 weeks to go and frankly, I'm terrified. I'm really not sure I could have done today twice. I'm really hoping that the lack of London hills and the huge amount of cheering will help inspire me. Also the thought that I'll never have to run again is a pretty strong incentive. I really am never running again. Never. Ever.
In other news (literally), I featured in Felixstowe's local paper thanks to the mother who is on first name terms with the reporter. A touch embarrassing but good to have a bit of publicity for my (meagre) efforts and to remind people why I'm running. Here's a blurry photo of the article:
Please feel free to sponsor this madness at http://uk.virginmoneygiving/longrunlizzy
Thanks!
Sunday, 4 March 2012
More than half way there..... just!
I RAN 14 MILES YESTERDAY!!!!!
Yes. You are not reading things. The useless runner who is truly terrible at moving faster than a stroll managed to drag herself no less than 14 MILES! Without walking! Well, mostly without walking anyway- 4 minutes out of a total of 2 hours and 35 minutes doesn't count.
Admittedly, this 14 miles was planned to perfection to avoid any form of incline at all but still. Hills are evil and exist purely to depress runners with their thigh-burning terror and should not feature in my life.
I've talked before about mental strength and knowing that I lack even mental mediocrity (on a diet but cake in the room = cake in the room for not very long) I had to find a different strategy.
Distraction.
And so I downloaded an audio book to listen to. I chose Caitlin Moran's "How to be a woman". Oh my word. It's a teeny weeny bit rude. In fact, it's really rude. Lots of naughty swear words (Mum- I didn't understand them, honest) and a considerable amount of time devoted to the dilemmas of alternative names for, well, ahem, erm, lady's, errrr, front bottoms. Paaah-haaa-haaa!
So picture this: me, clad in unflattering lycra with large bottom fully outlined in tight black running leggings- quite awful, red-faced and moderately sweaty, trotting along beside the canal, hopping over fisherman's rods (not a euphemism- it's not that type of canal.....I hope) giggling out-loud to my iphone about foofoos, po's and, my personal favourite, Aunty Susans!!! (I know you were wondering.....)
I did get a few funny looks but I didn't care- I was running and approaching 10 miles without feeling like I was dying.
When I got to 13.5 miles I was so delighted with myself that I felt like stopping every passer-by to tell them. Romantic couples enjoying a picturesque stroll, dog-walkers, their dogs, teenagers off for a crafty illicit fag, fishermen, other runners: no one was safe from nearly being accosted by me proclaiming "I've blooming-well run nearly 14 miles! I am brilliant!!!". I couldn't contain myself when a considerate fisherman moved his rather large rod off the path (why does that sound a bit rude? Think the book has given me immature silliness) and said "Thanks, Can't hurdle it, I've run 14 miles you know". He didn't look impressed. He just laughed. Perhaps he didn't believe me. Maybe I should have sat him down and shown him my Nike+ app for proof. I might just do that if I see him again.
So a pretty good run. Oh, except I was a plonker and at 2 miles realised I'd left my bottle of lucozade sport on the front seat of the car. I knew I'd never manage 14 miles without both fluid and calories (can't be bothered to explain the science behind glycogen stores so you'll just have to believe me that you need calories for anything over 90 mins) so had to turn around and run back to the car and retrieve the drink. Running past the same fishermen three times within 40 minutes got me some funny looks as well.
Another of my runs this week was with the very lovely Kim White. She took up running fairly recently and does it for fun. Not for marathon madness but for fun. Clearly I've judged her wrongly as I previously thought her to be pretty sensible but nonetheless, she remains my friend. When Kim was in Australia, she suggested we went for some runs together when she got back to the UK. I took her up on the offer as long as it combined with one of our previous favourite past-times. So on Wednesday, Kim and I ran 6 miles together and then went for coffee and cake. That's my kind of training. Here's the highlights:
Also did a short 4 mile run which takes my weekly milage total to 24 miles. It's taken me three runs to travel 2 miles short of what I have to do in a SINGLE DAY in, wait for it, 8 weeks time. AAAAAGGGHHHH!
This coming week is going to be tricky. I've got to fit training in around night shifts, a training day on emergency surgery, hubby having an operation and a cake sale. Crikey. Oh, and there's the small matter of running my first ever "race" next Sunday. Yes, I am an official entrant to the Retford Half Marathon. I am terrified that I will crash and burn on the first hill, lose all motivation and confidence, walk the rest of the route whilst sobbing and finish last.
And they apparently don't let competitors wear earphones. I was relying on more talk of "lalas" to see me through. Alas, no. But I will have a couple of mates running it with me so maybe we'll drag each other round whilst discussing "botbots". Here's hoping.
Wish me luck! Oh, and feel free to sponsor me: http://virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy
Yes. You are not reading things. The useless runner who is truly terrible at moving faster than a stroll managed to drag herself no less than 14 MILES! Without walking! Well, mostly without walking anyway- 4 minutes out of a total of 2 hours and 35 minutes doesn't count.
Admittedly, this 14 miles was planned to perfection to avoid any form of incline at all but still. Hills are evil and exist purely to depress runners with their thigh-burning terror and should not feature in my life.
I've talked before about mental strength and knowing that I lack even mental mediocrity (on a diet but cake in the room = cake in the room for not very long) I had to find a different strategy.
Distraction.
And so I downloaded an audio book to listen to. I chose Caitlin Moran's "How to be a woman". Oh my word. It's a teeny weeny bit rude. In fact, it's really rude. Lots of naughty swear words (Mum- I didn't understand them, honest) and a considerable amount of time devoted to the dilemmas of alternative names for, well, ahem, erm, lady's, errrr, front bottoms. Paaah-haaa-haaa!
So picture this: me, clad in unflattering lycra with large bottom fully outlined in tight black running leggings- quite awful, red-faced and moderately sweaty, trotting along beside the canal, hopping over fisherman's rods (not a euphemism- it's not that type of canal.....I hope) giggling out-loud to my iphone about foofoos, po's and, my personal favourite, Aunty Susans!!! (I know you were wondering.....)
I did get a few funny looks but I didn't care- I was running and approaching 10 miles without feeling like I was dying.
When I got to 13.5 miles I was so delighted with myself that I felt like stopping every passer-by to tell them. Romantic couples enjoying a picturesque stroll, dog-walkers, their dogs, teenagers off for a crafty illicit fag, fishermen, other runners: no one was safe from nearly being accosted by me proclaiming "I've blooming-well run nearly 14 miles! I am brilliant!!!". I couldn't contain myself when a considerate fisherman moved his rather large rod off the path (why does that sound a bit rude? Think the book has given me immature silliness) and said "Thanks, Can't hurdle it, I've run 14 miles you know". He didn't look impressed. He just laughed. Perhaps he didn't believe me. Maybe I should have sat him down and shown him my Nike+ app for proof. I might just do that if I see him again.
So a pretty good run. Oh, except I was a plonker and at 2 miles realised I'd left my bottle of lucozade sport on the front seat of the car. I knew I'd never manage 14 miles without both fluid and calories (can't be bothered to explain the science behind glycogen stores so you'll just have to believe me that you need calories for anything over 90 mins) so had to turn around and run back to the car and retrieve the drink. Running past the same fishermen three times within 40 minutes got me some funny looks as well.
Another of my runs this week was with the very lovely Kim White. She took up running fairly recently and does it for fun. Not for marathon madness but for fun. Clearly I've judged her wrongly as I previously thought her to be pretty sensible but nonetheless, she remains my friend. When Kim was in Australia, she suggested we went for some runs together when she got back to the UK. I took her up on the offer as long as it combined with one of our previous favourite past-times. So on Wednesday, Kim and I ran 6 miles together and then went for coffee and cake. That's my kind of training. Here's the highlights:
 |
| Still smiling after 6 miles |
 |
| Post-run stretching. Sort of. |
 |
| Post run cake. I'd like to say that we were sharing this brownie! |
This coming week is going to be tricky. I've got to fit training in around night shifts, a training day on emergency surgery, hubby having an operation and a cake sale. Crikey. Oh, and there's the small matter of running my first ever "race" next Sunday. Yes, I am an official entrant to the Retford Half Marathon. I am terrified that I will crash and burn on the first hill, lose all motivation and confidence, walk the rest of the route whilst sobbing and finish last.
And they apparently don't let competitors wear earphones. I was relying on more talk of "lalas" to see me through. Alas, no. But I will have a couple of mates running it with me so maybe we'll drag each other round whilst discussing "botbots". Here's hoping.
Wish me luck! Oh, and feel free to sponsor me: http://virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy
Sunday, 26 February 2012
A sad anniversary
We'll get the training update out of the way and done with. It's still awful. It's getting worse. I really didn't think it could get worse but with every added mile, it just gets tougher and tougher. I thought that once I was able to run 10 miles, it would all somehow magically get easier and I'd reach a running double-digits nirvana. Alas no. Far, far from it.
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:
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
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:
 |
| 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. |
 |
| 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
Sunday, 19 February 2012
Confessions of a 30year old
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday dear Lizzzzyyyyyy,
Happy birthday to meeeeee!!!!
Yep, that's right. I am now officially another year older but not wiser and definitely not any fitter or physically closer to running a marathon. Time is marching on and I sadly am no longer in my 20's and today has marked the 9th anniversary of my 21st birthday. I can barely bring myself to say I'm 30- it's so, well, adult! I realise that when I look at my life it would seem that somehow I have morphed into one these strange and peculiar species of "adult". I am married (for a huge 9 years this summer- Matt deserves a medal), I am a mummy to a toddler, I own a car, I live in a sensible house, I'm a doctor and allegedly responsible for the care of several patients. I pay bills and moan about pensions. I can't remember the last time I went dancing in a nightclub and frankly, I'm not sure I can be bothered with all that anymore. All decidedly adult. I'm convinced I still live with my Mum, being moaned at for not doing piano practice, not studying a huge amount for my GCSEs and working in a hotel part-time at weekends. How can that possibly be 15 years ago? 30 is very adult and old!!!
But age is all relative, right? 30 is ancient to a 4 year old.
Budia Singh was 4 years old when he ran a marathon.
30 is child-like when viewed by a 100year old.
Fauja Singh is the oldest person to ever run a marathon. He was 100.
(I presume they're not related and part of a huge marathon running dynasty.)
Let's hope that 30 turns out to be a good age to run a first marathon.
It's now exactly 9 weeks until the big day. In fact, in 9 weeks time I am expecting to be in a whole world of pain with legs that don't work but with a serious sense of .... Pride? Satisfaction? Utter relief that that I never, ever have to run again!
Time most certainly is marching on and training is going very badly again. After the last 10.5 mile effort, you remember- when I was chased by a deer, ran further than anyone should in sub-zero temperatures and returned home to be locked out (oh, how I love running), it snowed. Then it froze. Slippy, slidey, icy paths are not for running on so frankly, I haven't bothered. And somehow a whole week disappeared beneath the ice.
Then last week we went on holiday to Cornwall. My trainers very much enjoyed their holiday and were reluctant to go out at all. I dragged them out for a 2.5mile trip along the cliffs and whilst I was absolutely prepared to run a further 8miles, my trainers refused to climb any more hills or clamber over inconvenient boulders and so they took me home. Damn those lazy trainers.
I certainly wasn't prepared to go for a run on my birthday. After all, birthdays are designed for cake and not running. Have I mentioned my love of cake before at all? My bottom is especially fond of cake it would seem as cake always finds a way to settle there. Lovely.
So, new decade, new start (when I typed that I initially missed the "s"- I quite fancy a new decade of tarts, I might even substitute the odd cake for a tart). Back to training tomorrow. Honest. But I'd better finish my birthday cake off first. Happy birthday me!
Next time: A year is a long time when it's without a best friend.
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday dear Lizzzzyyyyyy,
Happy birthday to meeeeee!!!!
Yep, that's right. I am now officially another year older but not wiser and definitely not any fitter or physically closer to running a marathon. Time is marching on and I sadly am no longer in my 20's and today has marked the 9th anniversary of my 21st birthday. I can barely bring myself to say I'm 30- it's so, well, adult! I realise that when I look at my life it would seem that somehow I have morphed into one these strange and peculiar species of "adult". I am married (for a huge 9 years this summer- Matt deserves a medal), I am a mummy to a toddler, I own a car, I live in a sensible house, I'm a doctor and allegedly responsible for the care of several patients. I pay bills and moan about pensions. I can't remember the last time I went dancing in a nightclub and frankly, I'm not sure I can be bothered with all that anymore. All decidedly adult. I'm convinced I still live with my Mum, being moaned at for not doing piano practice, not studying a huge amount for my GCSEs and working in a hotel part-time at weekends. How can that possibly be 15 years ago? 30 is very adult and old!!!
But age is all relative, right? 30 is ancient to a 4 year old.
Budia Singh was 4 years old when he ran a marathon.
30 is child-like when viewed by a 100year old.
Fauja Singh is the oldest person to ever run a marathon. He was 100.
(I presume they're not related and part of a huge marathon running dynasty.)
Let's hope that 30 turns out to be a good age to run a first marathon.
It's now exactly 9 weeks until the big day. In fact, in 9 weeks time I am expecting to be in a whole world of pain with legs that don't work but with a serious sense of .... Pride? Satisfaction? Utter relief that that I never, ever have to run again!
Time most certainly is marching on and training is going very badly again. After the last 10.5 mile effort, you remember- when I was chased by a deer, ran further than anyone should in sub-zero temperatures and returned home to be locked out (oh, how I love running), it snowed. Then it froze. Slippy, slidey, icy paths are not for running on so frankly, I haven't bothered. And somehow a whole week disappeared beneath the ice.
Then last week we went on holiday to Cornwall. My trainers very much enjoyed their holiday and were reluctant to go out at all. I dragged them out for a 2.5mile trip along the cliffs and whilst I was absolutely prepared to run a further 8miles, my trainers refused to climb any more hills or clamber over inconvenient boulders and so they took me home. Damn those lazy trainers.
I certainly wasn't prepared to go for a run on my birthday. After all, birthdays are designed for cake and not running. Have I mentioned my love of cake before at all? My bottom is especially fond of cake it would seem as cake always finds a way to settle there. Lovely.
So, new decade, new start (when I typed that I initially missed the "s"- I quite fancy a new decade of tarts, I might even substitute the odd cake for a tart). Back to training tomorrow. Honest. But I'd better finish my birthday cake off first. Happy birthday me!
Next time: A year is a long time when it's without a best friend.
Sunday, 5 February 2012
A renewed hatred for running
Right. Let's get one thing very clear (again). I hate running.
I hate running in the heat. I hate running in the wind. I hate running in the cold. I refuse to run in the snow.
I hate running 1 mile. I hate running 2 miles. I hate running 10miles. Fairly sure I'm going to hate running more than 10 miles but haven't actually experienced that torture yet.
I hate running slowly. I hate running fairly slowly. I can't run fast.
I hate the pre-run dread. I hate the during-run misery. I quite like being in the bath after a run but let's face it, going for a run is a not a mandatory pre-bath activity.
I hate the fact I haven't lost any weight for 3 weeks. I hate that I can't remember the last day that my legs didn't ache a bit, or even a lot. I hate the sight of me in my awful running leggings.
I hate the fast, skinny runners that sprint past me when I'm out dragging my feet behind me. I hate the amused walkers that chuckle at my luminous face. I hate the dogs that try to chase me.
I hate mud that makes me slip. I hate uneven paths that make me trip. I hate pavements that make my joints ache.
And I really, really, really despise hills.
I think we've got that clear.
I had to work five days this week (I know most people manage this every week but I'm now used to my slacker part-time hours) which in combination with evening meetings for Matt, a late finish for me and music practices has meant I've only done two runs. One was my usual 4 mile loop of the oh so picturesque streets of Aspley. The other was yesterday in minus 5 degree temperatures.
It should be illegal to run in temperatures that are sub-zero.
I'd set myself the task of running between 9-10miles and with the forecast of snow on it's way I had to get on with it yesterday morning despite the freezing conditions. (Like I said, I ain't doing no running in that cold white stuff EVER. End of discussion.)
I set off and headed for Wollaton Park again. It really is very beautiful around there, especially with such a hard frost. Everything had a blue hue to it and was quite stunning. As I lumbered around the edge of the golf course, I bumped into these guys......
Can you see just how unbelievably cold it was?! It was so cold that it made the skin on my tummy sting beneath my clothes. It made my nose run (shame it didn't help my feet run) and my face burn. Also, no matter how far I run or how warm every other part of me is, my bottom is always absolutely freezing. Must be because it's so far behind me.
Incidentally, later on a group of deer came hurtling out of the woods I was running past and made me leap a meter in the air in fright. I stopped to watch, thought I'd better carry on running and then a smaller group ran towards me- literally a couple of meters away. For a brief moment I thought I might have to learn to run an awful lot quicker but happily they decided to re-join the rest of the herd.
Here's some more pics....
When I took the above photo, I thought I'd take a pic of me to prove my running presence. Seemed like a good idea at the time (any excuse to stop walking and pause for a minute....) but retrospectively, I can see that my hypoxic brain hadn't thought through the image of a make- up free, sweaty Lizzy but hey ho, here it is......
So ultimately Saturday morning saw me run a total of 10.5 miles which is pretty huge for me. I say "run". I mean run/jog/walk a bit/feel sorely tempted by all the benches in the park for a short lie down. I haven't given in to the call of the bench yet but it's a tough one. Felt absolutely shattered at the end of it and arrived home to find I was locked out and the darling husband (?!) hadn't thought to leave a key hidden and wasn't answering his phone. Did I mention it was minus 5 on Saturday morning? MINUS 5! And locked out! It's fair to say that a few choice words were expressed by me to the sweetheart upon his arrival home. I believe it went something like this:
"Oh hello precious. I'm so pleased to see you. I do hope you've had a good morning. Oh, how I love running. I especially love huddling in the porch in approximately 40cm space waiting for you to arrive home. I love you. Shall I make you a cup of tea?"
Something like that anyway.
In other news, I became the very proud God-mother to Noah James Smith today. He's pretty cool. He doesn't run. Sensible boy.
Don't forget, you can sponsor me at: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy
You never know, maybe raising money in memory of Mark will help me hate running less? It's worth a try.....
I hate running in the heat. I hate running in the wind. I hate running in the cold. I refuse to run in the snow.
I hate running 1 mile. I hate running 2 miles. I hate running 10miles. Fairly sure I'm going to hate running more than 10 miles but haven't actually experienced that torture yet.
I hate running slowly. I hate running fairly slowly. I can't run fast.
I hate the pre-run dread. I hate the during-run misery. I quite like being in the bath after a run but let's face it, going for a run is a not a mandatory pre-bath activity.
I hate the fact I haven't lost any weight for 3 weeks. I hate that I can't remember the last day that my legs didn't ache a bit, or even a lot. I hate the sight of me in my awful running leggings.
I hate the fast, skinny runners that sprint past me when I'm out dragging my feet behind me. I hate the amused walkers that chuckle at my luminous face. I hate the dogs that try to chase me.
I hate mud that makes me slip. I hate uneven paths that make me trip. I hate pavements that make my joints ache.
And I really, really, really despise hills.
I think we've got that clear.
I had to work five days this week (I know most people manage this every week but I'm now used to my slacker part-time hours) which in combination with evening meetings for Matt, a late finish for me and music practices has meant I've only done two runs. One was my usual 4 mile loop of the oh so picturesque streets of Aspley. The other was yesterday in minus 5 degree temperatures.
It should be illegal to run in temperatures that are sub-zero.
I'd set myself the task of running between 9-10miles and with the forecast of snow on it's way I had to get on with it yesterday morning despite the freezing conditions. (Like I said, I ain't doing no running in that cold white stuff EVER. End of discussion.)
I set off and headed for Wollaton Park again. It really is very beautiful around there, especially with such a hard frost. Everything had a blue hue to it and was quite stunning. As I lumbered around the edge of the golf course, I bumped into these guys......
 |
| The locals |
Incidentally, later on a group of deer came hurtling out of the woods I was running past and made me leap a meter in the air in fright. I stopped to watch, thought I'd better carry on running and then a smaller group ran towards me- literally a couple of meters away. For a brief moment I thought I might have to learn to run an awful lot quicker but happily they decided to re-join the rest of the herd.
Here's some more pics....
 |
| Deer chilling on the golf course |
 |
| Frozen lake and Wollaton Hall |
 |
| Not at my best it's fair to say! |
"Oh hello precious. I'm so pleased to see you. I do hope you've had a good morning. Oh, how I love running. I especially love huddling in the porch in approximately 40cm space waiting for you to arrive home. I love you. Shall I make you a cup of tea?"
Something like that anyway.
In other news, I became the very proud God-mother to Noah James Smith today. He's pretty cool. He doesn't run. Sensible boy.
Don't forget, you can sponsor me at: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/longrunlizzy
You never know, maybe raising money in memory of Mark will help me hate running less? It's worth a try.....
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