Wednesday 30 October 2019

Baking, Making and Running

I've been baking quite a bit recently in an attempt to make the time pass and because the children like cake. So far I have tried a few new recipes, tinkered with others and had a few disasters. I like baking but it's an expensive habit.

As far as making goes it's been of the knitting sort of making. Specifically, blankets in super chunky yarns. I can't sit still for long and get impatient so this suits me well. The thick yarn knits up quickly and easily and blankets don't require too much concentration. The only thing is the yarn I'm using at the moment is all colours that are very much those of the not-fella and this is making me sad.



Running is happening as is strength training. Neither give me any joy. Nothing is if I'm honest- I feel numb and as though all the colours have gone and my senses are operating on 1% power. But I know that exercising is important especially as the loopy midlife hormones are becoming increasingly loopy and exerting an ever more visible effect on my body and mind. So probably 6 out of 7 days I run and/or power walk (trying to get back in the habit of early morning sessions too) and 3-4 days a week do some strength or core work. It's made my appetite return which is good, but I'm not even enjoying eating.

There has been a lot of what a friend calls 'toxic positivity'. Being told that if I think happy things then good things will happen, that all this bad shit has happened because I'm so negative, that I should get out there and make changes, that there are plenty of other guys out there etc. ad nauseam.

Firstly it's not easy being happy when you're heartbroken, when you're trying to come to terms with the fact that maybe you really are a nightmare and impossible and that no one could ever think you're worth really loving. It hits particularly hard when you're older and already bruised and scarred, and know time is short. It's also not easy to be happy when dealing with the circumstances I've been in for the last 10 years. Circumstances that came about precisely because I took a leap of faith and tried to change things for the better. Something I did this year too, which has resulted only in even less security and rather more stress.

Secondly, when you are in such circumstances and for so long it really does get you down. The tunnel gets longer and darker and you don't see any end to it; maybe it doesn't end.

Thirdly, I don't care about other guys out there.

So for now I'm going through the motions. Run, lift, knit, stitch, bake, work. None of it really matters. Perhaps one day I will run and feel at peace again.

Tuesday 22 October 2019

Knots and tangles

At the weekend it came into my head that perhaps I don't want to run any more. I don't mean race- the last couple of years I haven't done many races- I mean I'm not sure if I ever want to run again.

It's complicated and I don't know if I can untangle this particular knot.

Firstly, I realise it is still very soon after the A100 disaster and whether I am conscious of it or not it is likely still influencing my thoughts and feelings. But I also know that what happened out on the Ridgeway that night isn't the root of it. It was horrible hurting that much, no head-torch, moving at less than a shuffle, and I wonder if I had been in a better place leading up to the race whether I could have dealt with all that and got myself to a finish. But I'll never know so there's not much point in wondering. However, the act of quitting really hurts. I'm not a quitter.

But I quit my job at Easter without anything else lined up. I had got to a point where it simply made me miserable and I couldn't see a way to carry on. It was possibly a stupid thing to do and everything has been a monumental struggle since then, but people say if you don't like where you are then change it and that's what I did. Except it hasn't worked.

In my training this year I've not put in the focus or commitment that I have in previous years. Early morning long runs haven't happened- I've just not wanted to get out of bed.  In fact I haven't really done any kind of long runs at all. It's all felt like too much and I just gave up on trying to get the training done.

So maybe this year I've turned into a quitter.

And then the other stuff. I don't know if there are any ultra-runners reading this who are also perimenopausal. I cannot explain how big an impact those loopy hormones seem to be having on everything. It is akin to what it's like dealing with those early teen hormones except that you have to do all the adult stuff and people just expect you to cope. They could be responsible for training feeling like it's too much, for feeling so anxious about stuff, for struggling to cope with simple day to day things. But then again I don't know how much is hormonal or whether I'm simply trying to find excuses. I know I haven't feel like me for quite some time but it's been a very difficult year and up to a point there's been residual fatigue from last year's 100 miler too, so unpicking what is causing what seems impossible.

Whatever the cause, me not quite being me anymore has contributed the most painful breakup. And that's a big thing feeding into the not wanting to run any more. I was running before we met but all the trails I run are too full of my not-fella and I simply can't bear it. There's no joy in them any more and stumbling around through the mud half-blinded by tears is a pretty stupid way to spend my time. (As a side note it's worth mentioning that a lone woman, wandering about sobbing, attracts precisely zero attention from passing walkers. I am an expert in creating a S.E.P. Field.) Finding new trails means getting in the car in order to run and that's not practical.

So the act of running is making me miserable. My heart isn't in it.

My heart isn't in anything.



Tuesday 15 October 2019

Head, shoulders, knees and toes

Let's start with the toes.
A bit of blister surgery went on last night as two toes resembled painful balloons rather than toes. A few toenails will probably go over the coming weeks or months but that's ok. I can't wear my Fivefingers shoes at the moment as they don't go well with blisters and post-race feet but no one has told me off at work for wearing an old pair of race ultras.

Knees.
They are sore. Left one is complaining although I could manage the stairs at work yesterday albeit slowly. I think I'll try some gentle mobility stuff in a day or two but absolutely no running of any kind for a while. Recovery is likely to take longer than usual given I started out depleted so the focus should probably be on improving mobility and rebuilding muscle. I do have a little 50k booked for just before Christmas. It was going to be a short break with the fella- but obviously it won't be now. I still want to do the race but it's too much to drive down to the coast, run 50k and drive home all in one day so I'll have to see if I can figure out logistics.

Shoulders.
And back and upper arms. All a bit sore and achy. My back feels bruised although it's too far down from where my pack would have been so I'm not sure what that's all about. I hadn't run with sticks since OCC so I was expecting to be a bit sore in the arms after over 30 miles using sticks to power hike but it's a reminder that even though I don't need to practise with them as such, I should do more training with them leading up to a race.

Head.
This bit is in the biggest mess. I do tend to go over and over any race and I always look for what I could (or should) have done better or differently, even races where I'm happy with how it went. That's just me and I can't help it. I guess something in my nature combined with something in my upbringing means I feel I never quite live up to expectations, that I'm never good enough.

I wonder if I could have pushed on and completed leg 3, and that if I'd done that maybe I could have finished the race. But I'll never know. The fact that after resting my legs for 2 hours at Chain Hill and then several more hours back at HQ and I still couldn't walk suggests the race was over at 62 miles, but by the late afternoon on Sunday I was able to walk the quarter mile to the shop without too much pain. It's that complicated thing of pain being in your head: how do you know how much of the pain was genuine brain saying stop in order to protect a part of the body and how much was purely emotional?

I was running when my heart wasn't in it. So much of that race is mixed up with my not-fella. But so are my every day trails. So much of my life is. What running is to me has changed, evolved over the few years since I started. As others have said ultra running in particular is as much about the relationships with fellow runners as it is about the physical and mental challenges. The people we meet along the way become good friends- sometimes just for the duration of a race or a few miles shared but sometimes they become part of your life. I can't untangle what I do from the not-fella and sometimes a run feels like sticking needles in myself but I don't think never running again is the answer either.

Various types of hallucination accompanied me during the race but also in the runs leading up to it. I'd hear footsteps and turn only to see nothing; feel that someone was running close, just behind my shoulder; hear a voice... Plus the usual giant cats, turtles and such.

I had an idea of an ultra every month next year, but just little ones. It's not going to work out that way due to cost but perhaps a year of not trying to challenge myself is what I need. Everyone else can do their big shiny races, ones that are super-hard, really long, big profile, in lovely places abroad... Perhaps I've had delusions of adequacy and have forgotten my place. I'll go back to plodding in fields on my own.

Sunday 13 October 2019

Loser, Quitter, Coward, Failure

I'm not long home from A100. Yes, it's a bit early. No, it's not because I smashed it.

I quit.

The only defence I can offer is that I didn't quit when I wanted to. I pushed through that several times. In the end I quit because I literally could not move another step at a pace that would keep me safe.

After weeks of uncertainty I decided to start this race because I believed I had a reasonable chance of getting at least close to my goal and I was as sure as you can ever be with a 100 miler that I would finish no matter what. If I'd had doubts about finishing at all then I would not have put myself out there. But within a few miles of starting the race I knew something wasn't right. My quads felt oddly tight and there were twinges in my hip flexors. But you know how it is, you think it's early days and it can take a while to warm up and settle in to a long run or race, so I didn't worry.

I pushed through the first 25 miles in a very decent time, 4 hours 14 minutes, and although I was still feeling stiff I was confident that my legs would settle down. I kept reminding myself that it doesn't always get worse. I was efficient at HQ and got back out onto the second leg. Within 3 miles of setting off I found I couldn't run much. No panic, I thought, a sub 24 doesn't really matter and I can just power hike and run little bits. I've worked a lot on my hiking and can go at a pretty good pace now- faster than a lot of people can ultra-shuffle. So I hiked. Every time I tried to run it hurt a bit more so after a while I was resigned to a 70 mile hike to finish the race. Not what I wanted but given the good start I'd had I would still finish comfortably within the cutoff.

Then things really started to take a turn for the worse. I'd somehow lost my electrolytes. Then about 3 miles out from the turnaround at Swyncombe my right knee gave out. Suddenly my leg wouldn't hold me up any more and I couldn't even walk down hill. I was bent over on my sticks just sobbing. I'd had a few cries before then- inexplicable body-heaving episodes of sobbing- but I mostly put it down to the weirdness that happens in ultras. One of those things which will ebb and flow over the course of a long race. A guy ran in to the turnaround CP with me at which point I just burst into tears again. But I wasn't going to quit. I quite like leg 2 and although it is hard going in the wet I like that bit of the Ridgeway very much. I knew I just had to get back to HQ, have a sit and get myself out on leg 3. I felt that if I got out onto leg 3 I'd have the finish somehow.

At this point I should probably mention the mud. It barely stopped raining the whole time and the mud was just horrendous. Slidey, sticky, energy-sapping, muscle-breaking, sock-caking mud everywhere. I think it was the mud that was responsible for my messed-up legs as the constant micro-adjustments that go on when you're moving through mud really do take a huge toll. A bit like when you first do exercises on a Bosu or balance ball. But I'd had about 7 hours of it by this point.

Anyway, I had company on the way back from Swyncombe which helped a bit. My left knee decided to give up on the way and although I could manage a decent power hike on the flat, down hill was becoming very painful. The guys I was running with decided we'd all go out on leg 3 together as a team approach would help us all get through.

We eventually set off on leg 3 but very soon I was dropped. My power-hike was not as purposeful as it had been. But I plodded along on my own. My knees were becoming increasingly painful; uphill was now a struggle and downhill was simply unbearable.

Then my headtorch failed. No matter, I put the spare battery in. A few minutes later the light went out again. It wouldn't turn back on. Shit. It's very dark on the Ridgeway at night, there was no way I could do this without a light. I stumbled on for a while then saw some runners who were heading back and stopped them so I could use their light to get my back-up torch, they also gave me a spare light they had although I had no idea how long it would last. I started to panic a bit as I knew I still had probably 9 hours or so of dark to get through. I decided to save their torch for later and put on my backup light. It wasn't very bright but it was enough. After about half an hour that torch failed.

Then my legs just gave up. I was no longer marching along at 15 minute miles, I was stumbling, shuffling, barely able to put one foot in front of another because the pain in my knee and hip flexors was now excruciating. I reminded myself over and over that it was nothing to worry about as I hadn't done anything to injure myself, that it would pass but it just got worse and worse. I was moving slower and ever more slowly and I was shivering uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face. That last mile or so to the turnaround took an eternity. I approached the friendly lights knowing that my race was done. Voices said well done, but I just burst into tears again and said I'm done. Es ist genug.

After that it was several hours of sobbing, shivering, being forced to drink weak tea and stay at race HQ because they didn't think I was safe to drive home. I just wanted out of there- I couldn't bear to see the T-shirts, buckles, people getting their finish photos. But the medic wouldn't let me go.

I had a big hug from someone I'd looked after when they quit at CCC (they were doing the overnight shift as a volunteer at HQ) and it was strange being on the other side of things. But I remember how my heart went out to the runners on that bus who'd quit and how I did what I could to console them. People were very kind to me but all I could do was cry.

In the end I was allowed to leave. The 5 minute walk to the car took me about 15 minutes as my left leg wouldn't work and every time I made it move waves of unbearably sharp pain shot through me. It was a relief to get into the car, get dry socks and shoes on and start driving. But it wasn't a relief to walk away from the race.

I failed. I wasn't tough enough and maybe I quit because I was scared of making myself hurt even more.


Friday 11 October 2019

Raining in my Heart

The weatherman says clear today rain. Strong likelihood of rain throughout the race this weekend. So that's nice. I mean, 7 hours of torrential rain on leg 4 last year was so much fun and I especially loved wading thigh deep through flood water in Reading.

The rain means I've had to reassess my kit and drop bag contents- there's no way of knowing how much or how heavy the rain will be and so I need to be prepared to be drenched for the duration and have a change of clothes each leg. My inability to eat properly for the last few weeks has also made planning nutrition difficult. I'm so depleted I don't know how that will affect my energy levels or appetite during the race. Being lighter will mean my body will use even fewer calories than usual but I don't know if, being malnourished, my body will rebel and start demanding lots of high calorie snacks. In any case, my drop bag started out as compact and light but is now bursting with stuff to try to cover every eventuality.

It's a cliche but it's raining in my heart too. The days aren't getting any easier. There's a gaping wound where my fella used to be. I'm going to miss him every step of every mile.

The sun is out, the sky is blue
There's not a cloud to spoil the view
But it's raining, raining in my heart.

The weatherman says clear today
He doesn't know you've gone away
And it's raining, raining in my heart.

Songwriters: Boudleaux Bryant / Felice Bryant


Sunday 6 October 2019

Game face

I've disappeared from social media. Things keep tripping me up and somehow I have to be ready for the coming weekend.

Running an ultra with the knowledge that it will be a suffer-fest is new to me. Running an ultra knowing that there will be no one waiting or caring is new to me. Running to numb pain isn't new but this pain is like nothing I have ever experienced. It is my intention to leave it all out there on the course, to finish with nothing left. I don't know how hard I can run 100 miles or whether I can finish it if I push myself like that. I guess as long as I keep forcing calories and drinks down my throat then I can keep going. The pain won't matter.

Day breaks
Salt-grey
Another day
Chasing the ghost of you.

Sun sets
Bitter dark
Another night
Aching for the feather of your touch.

I hear the whisper of your smile
The gentle tread
Of sure feet 
Running
Vanishing
Out of reach.


Friday 4 October 2019

Running Solo

Well. It's all been pretty rubbish. I've been very unwell with yet another bout of tonsillitis, things really haven't settled down in my new job, the kids are having a nightmare getting to school most days, I won't get paid until the end of October...

And then the fella dumped me.

Plans for A100 are all in the bin. If I can make it to the start then I'll give it a go but with the aim simply of getting round. I've been too unwell and lost far too much weight to be fit enough to try to achieve what I wanted. Running it with no friendly face waiting for me at the finish will be so hard but I've run plenty of races alone before. I just hope I don't kill myself driving home afterwards.

It's completely floored me; the plans I'd had for the coming months are all in tatters and I feel adrift and lost. I have been trying to think ahead to next year but without knowing how much A100 is going to take out of me it's not easy to plan races. These days it seems so many races sell out so quickly and I don't want to be under pressure to enter things if I'm not sure if I'll be fit enough to be on the start line. There are lots of races I'd like to do, but there are also now quite a few I'll never be able to run.

I guess it's probably just as well I've been ill and that it's now taper time too because otherwise I'd be out there literally running myself into the ground. Running has helped me cope with bad times before but now every step on my local trails reminds me of what was, of a time when there was light and love. Healing, if it comes at all, is going to be painfully slow.