Tick tock…..

Days 92-94

Rest days.  Still feel guilty about calling them that when I think of them more in terms of ‘thank god I don’t have to run today’, days.

My sister and her family are coming today so everyone is very excited.  They live in New Zealand so this is a rare and much-anticipated visit.  They have  one night in amongst the punishing schedule of driving the length and breadth of the country with a 2-year-old and a four-year old in tow.

I don’t envy them one tiny bit.

They arrive late after getting stuck in traffic in Edinburgh so our kids are hysterical, and N and I are half-cut by the time they get here.

We have a fantastic night with them and showing a complete lack of respect for my body, my running partner and the commitment I have made to running this race,  my sis and I stay up until 2am drinking brandy.  I’m not sure about you, but I’m seeing a theme developing here.

 

Day 95

Our Sunday run is again planned for the usual route around Mawcarse, Balgeddie and the Loch.  We find it not too shabby an effort and despite the fact the Garmin 10 has once again failed us, and I have a stonking hangover, we do OK, and feel overall, positive and happy with the distance and time (both, estimated very heavily in our favour).

Cheating oneself is a key part of our training plan.

 

Days 96 – 98

Back to school, so we embark on the usual scramble to find reading books, gym kit and school trousers and realise that once again, rugrat number 1’s feet have grown.  Mercy dash to M&S.

We are taking this ‘tapering’ malarkey we’ve read so much about to a whole new level, by doing absolutely zero this week.

 

Day 99

Rugrat 2 is back at sports class so I take the opportunity to fill my free hour with a run.  Decide not to call on G as after a lax week, I don’t want to embarrass myself.

Manage a pretty good 9.5k and get back before the class is over so despite not having the Garmin (which has proved not to be the magic bit of kit I was promised), I estimate around 50 minutes.  The truth is probably nearer 55.

I’m buzzing after a sprint down the main street back to the hall but am soon brought back down to earth as the others waiting to pick up their kids question me about the race, my training and expectations on the day.  They appear to be talking to me as though as I am some sort of authority.  I feel a fraud so mumble some self-deprecating replies, and change the subject.

 

Day 100

The symbolic 100th training day should be marked in some way with a grand gesture of some sort.

I spend a very pleasant child free few hours in the hairdressers drinking coffee and reading celebrity trash.

I’ll remember it forever.

 

Day 101 – 102

My little brother and his girlfriend pitch up for the weekend as an unexpected surprise so training is moved to the back of my mind. I cannot wait until this run is over so I can eat and drink with impunity. We spend a lovely couple of days with them and V and I arrange a late afternoon run to round off a great weekend.

We do around 10k, only too aware that this is not enough.  No one has cast an eye over the training schedule for weeks but we estimate we are probably around 10k down this week mileage-wise.

I go home and drink wine while I ponder a solution.

 

Day 103  – 107

We do NOTHING this week at all.  Husbands working late, children, community group commitments  –  you’ve heard it all before. The rain was also a major factor in cancelling Wednesday evening’s session.

We really are not taking this seriously.

Guilt overtakes me eventually and I manage an 8k on Thursday morning and console myself with the fact that we are supposed to be ‘tapering’.

 

Day 108

N is out this evening so we arrange a 10am start. The conditions are perfect and we plan the 16k route we have done before as our final long distance training run.

It is an unmitigated disaster.

Neither of us are in the mood and we confess we are finding the whole training programme tedious.  We cannot wait until this race is over and agree we will never tackle anything of this length again.  The planning and time commitment required is just too much.

The final indignity is that N and G are brownie point millionaires as a result of all the absentee parenting we’ve done of late, and they’ll be out golfing and at the pub every weekend for the next year before we’re back on an even keel.

We walk probably a third of the route, and ditch out of the last 4k as the bugs around the loch path are unbearable.  We are swallowing huge swathes of blackfly with every in-breath.

On the upside, V thinks the additional protein may be replenishing our tired muscles as we run.

I’d still rather have a steak.

Not the positive and reinforcing last long run we’d hoped for.  I go home feeling extremely deflated and as unsure of my ability to finish as I was on Day 1.

I have a gin and tonic and feel only slightly better. Bad times indeed.

 

Day 109

No school today so I plan to take the children on the newly completed Heritage Trail which circuits the whole loch and comes in at around 14k or so.  On bikes, obviously.

Unfortunately,what should have been a happy family day out, turns into a scene from a horror movie only 6k in.

The flies on the path are truly horrific and despite the fact we are wearing buffs, sunglasses and cycling helmets, the little buggers seem to be getting everywhere; in our mouths, noses and crawling about in our hair even under the helmets.

Rugrat 2 is behind me on the rear seat so is somewhat sheltered and is happily singing to herself while number 1 is totally freaking out.  It is a horrible sensation and the swarm in so dense it is really rather frightening.  In his agitated state, number 1 keeps stopping and gasping for breath by removing his buff.  We abandon the cycle and turn back, crossing onto the road to get home in a fashion less likely to cause a walker to call social services due to the screaming – from both of us.

When we get home, we remove his buff and the mouth area, wet from the tears and snotters episode, is black with bug carcasses.  I feel a bit ashamed for being cross with him now and revert to my usual parenting style; offer chocolate as a poor substitute for understanding and patience.

 

Day 111

Last run before the big day.  It’s a beautiful evening but we’ve been here before and it ended up in ‘eye-gate’ where V carried off a rather delightful bug bite on the eyelid for a day or two.  With this in mind, we circumnavigate the woodland, who knows what dangers lurk within.

The pace is good and we complete 8k in 40 minutes.  Bearing in mind we need to keep that up over 2 and a half times that distance, we’re satisfied.

We are both terrified, but despite knowing we are overall, probably about 40k down over the whole training schedule, I am still convinced we’ll finish.  And right now, that is all that matters.

 

Day 113

V is over-thinking an email we were sent by the race organisers. There are only 29 recipients on it and the medal ceremony is due to start at 3.15pm, after a race start time of 1.00pm.

I calm her down telling her that there definitely more than 29 competitors, it is not a race only for elite athletes and yes, we will probably still be running long after the medal ceremony is over.

I use soothing words and I think, project an air of being totally unconcerned.  Afterwards, I rush home and ponder the wording of the email for good 20 minutes before going over all the race data stored in the Garmin and calculating our ‘true’ finish time.

Sometime before dark is the best I come up with.

 

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Starburst & The Smiths.

Days 75 – 109

We’ll call it a recap. I think I prefer that to the rather dull reality of work, family, school holidays and all round laziness as being the reason for my lack of motivation.

In the past few weeks, we been running and not been running. I’ve decided to list only the highlights, which should go some way at least to making this thing a whole lot less tedious than usual.

So sit back and relax. I am about to impart a host of amusing, entertaining and inspirational anecdotes. Honest.

We are away at our family holiday cabin in the Cairngorm National Park for the Easter holidays and despite the fact it’s one of my most favourite places in the world and where I feel most relaxed, I am aware of the niggle in the pit of my stomach that has been getting more and more apparent as race day looms closer.

We arrange to meet friends who have a nearby cabin and I’m hoping that F will be a willing running partner during the week to help keep my motivation up. That illusion is shattered when they arrive and she gets out of the car looking fantastic, and very, very pregnant.

 

Day 84

8 – 10k on the agenda for today. The weather is beautiful and I head off through the village and down the street known locally as ‘Millionaire’s Row’, passing some truly amazing holiday homes.

There are so many paths and trails in this part of the world I just take the first sign I see for Kincurdy Wood. I regret it as once I hop over the stile, as I come to a hill with what looks like to me, a 30% gradient.

In normal circumstances, I’d simply walk it but given that I have passed hikers, dog walkers and another jogger, the fear of losing face drives me on. It is exhausting and covered with fallen pine needles which lends the surface the air of an ice rink.

The full tilt belt down the other side was ace though.

The forest path is not great for running and I spend the whole time watching my feet and avoiding tree roots and rocks so the pace is far from record-breaking.

The weather is great however and not knowing the route seems to work well for me, I always find I manage to run for longer when I have no idea what distance I’m doing and only a vague notion of where I’m going.

I come out of the wood onto the cycle path and turn back when I reach the main turn off for Aviemore. The return leg is great as it’s a gradual but constant downhill. I enjoy it even more when I come across another runner singing along to Bon Jovi on his iPod. I deliberately stay behind him to see how long it takes him to realise I’m there.  Not because I’m desperate to hear what the next track might be.  Selfishly, he turns off before me so I never got to hear the end of ‘You Give Love A Bad Name’.

 

Day 85

Rugrat 2 is having a birthday so no run today. We spend the day with friends eating cake and drinking fizz but I do manage a cross training/cake-offsetting cycle around Loch Morlich.

 

Day 86

We head out with friends to Loch An Eilean and take a leisurely stroll around the loch as a warm up. Watching them eat their picnic half way round isn’t the best fun.  But I know to my cost that eating anything less than four hours before running results in vomit and this being a National Park, that’s probably considered bad form.

The plan is for me to run the 16k back to the cabin and M is concerned about my lack of food or water for the run. I assure him I’ll be fine. He is a cyclist and runner and properly built like one with an obviously super-fast metabolism. I run and cycle but am built for eating crisps and sitting on my ass. I eventually choke down half a banana to keep him happy.

I wave them off at the car park with only 4 Starburst, an eclectic playlist and an aura of negativity for company.

The run is actually great.

The route is varied and the weather is perfect. About 9k in however the landscape changes and the temperature rises considerably. I am plodding on through a heather moorland hot, thirsty and nursing a painful blister. Matters are not improved when I hear the opening bars of ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ ringing in my ears.

However, after about 10 minutes, this being Scotland, the skies darken and it starts to lash rain, just around the time my playlist reaches the Prince medley. Life is good again.

I get back to the cabin nothing short of elated. I have made it without stopping and the family are still out so I can get straight to my post run protein boost. Or, if you prefer, ‘standing at an open fridge devouring everything in it until I feel sick’ boost.

The glass of Sav Blanc I have 3 or 4 hours later is the best I have ever tasted.

 

Day 87

Feeling really good today. A little tired but no aches or pains, which is just as well as rugrat 2 is having birthday party number two and we have 8 family members on their way to the ‘cosy’ cabin, and I am a little concerned about where we are going to put them all.

Soon, they arrive, both sets of Grandparents, an Aunt, my sister, her two children and a Jack Russell called Molly.

It is a lovely afternoon, not least because we haven’t seen my sister for 3 years and have never met our nephew.  The children get on like a house on fire and we spend a wonderful few hours devouring 3 birthday cakes (poor communication between myself and Granny), and several bottles of fizz.

 

Day 88

Pack up time and we arrive back home mid afternoon. V texts me to let me know she too has completed her training run and done a not at all shabby 15k in 90 minutes.  I am deeply alarmed by this so I invite her up for a post run glass of Rioja. After she’s finished the bottle and the couple of ports I foist upon her, she is well aware that leaving me in a cloud of dust on May 10th, IS NOT PART OF THE TRAINING PLAN.

 

Days 89-91

Stuff happened. None of it running related. Unless you count the usual wet Monday night, ‘back-and-forth-and-ultimate cancellation’, text-based discussion.

 

Day 92

We curse our cancellation last night as a fuel spill on the Forth Bridge has pretty much cut off everywhere north of Dalmeny for several hours.  N eventually makes it home after a hideous 3 hour 25 mile drive and is THRILLED to see me in my running gear whizzing past him and out the door before he’s even had a chance to take his shoes off.

It is a beautiful spring evening and we decide on a hill route through the next village, over the motorway and back around. About an 8k loop.

We make it up the hill pretty well and are enjoying the easy downhill and through the wood on the other side. We are full of the joys of running by the time we make it home and both feeling frankly, smug.

I receive a text message with attached photograph from V about an hour later.

She looks as though she has been punched in the face.

It appears that during our delightful jaunt through the wood, we were not alone. Some bug or other, has bitten her on the eyelid.  Her eye is very swollen and almost completely closed. It looks pretty hellish and despite my concern,  I don’t mind admitting I had a fleeting moment of jealousy when the thought that she’d have to pull out of the race due to being blinded by a midge, popped into my head.

Lucky bitch.

 

Groin Strain. It’s no joke.

Sunday.  Day 68

Suffering with a groin strain so very glad this is a rest day.  Decide to make the most of the sunny spring weather and head off out for a jaunt with the family.

Beautiful riverside walk in Crieff.

Sunglasses and a picnic.

Ten minutes later…..snow.

Oh, Scotland.

 

Monday.  Day 69

Sticking with the ‘Moron’s Guide’ philosophy and resting up for another day.  Doing some yoga stretches to relieve the tightness but still finding it quite painful and walking like an octogenarian.

Tough week time-wise, so fingers crossed for a bit of relief tomorrow as we’ll be out regardless.  Remembering the current mantra courtesy of Keith Duffy, ‘Pain is temporary.  Failure is forever’.

I certainly never expected the words of a member of Boyzone to take on profound significance for me.  Just goes to show how I have *grown* as a person during this journey.

 

Tuesday.  Day 70

We are out and running after a tricky day.  Legs still sore and blister as yet, unhealed.  I spend the morning shuffling around the office wearing Uggs and a surly expression.  To make matters worse, rugrat 2 threw up at nursery and under Scots Law has to be removed from the building in a hazmat suit and quarantined.

A small network coverage issue with my mobile provider meant I was unable to answer the call.  I work in a lead-lined building which plays havoc with our telecoms.  Not ideal.

Particularly as I work in telecoms.

Luckily K, my erstwhile childminder, races to the rescue in her cape and super hero liveried people carrier.  She is surprised to find rugrat number 2 happily devouring her snack with no visible signs of illness.  But rules are rules, and the hazmat suit is donned and the nationwide alert level reduced to amber.

When I arrive to pick her up she is chipper and, it appears after less than 5 minutes, starving.  She may have smelled the chocolate digestives I opened as a ‘work aid’ while I settled her down in front of Cinderella (see that bad parenting sheen sparkling in the glare of my laptop?), or it may have been actual hunger, who knows.

Either way, we have eaten half the packet by dinner.

Working from home with an unruly and not-at-all-ill toddler is, I can confirm, quite impossible.  I am dangerously close to opening wine when 5pm finally rolls around.  It is only V’s text about our proposed run that saves the Chablis from immediate and speedy consumption.

We head out and manage a good 40 minutes.  The groin strain is still bothering me so the pace is not great but I soldier on, ever vigilant about the calories I need to burn due to the chocolate digestive binge.

 

Wednesday. Day 71

Another working from home day and the rugrat is extremely compliant.  I actually get a huge amount accomplished. Probably more than I ever do at work.

Including three loads of laundry.

Don’t tell my boss.

 

Thursday.  Day 72

Head out with G.  A great 4 mile run on a very chilly morning. Have a couple of incidences of slowing to a very easy jog as the groin strain has not improved.

Later, during the school run, I decide to seek advice from W, a nurse, only she can’t stop laughing when I tell her I have strained ‘both my groins’.  Being almost incapacitated with hysteria, she was no help at all.

I resolve to mug up on anatomical terminology so as not to embarrass myself further when next in her company.

 

Friday. Day 73

My folks arrive tonight so any chance of running is out the window this afternoon.  I frantically micro-clean the house in order to maintain the anal housewife label I pretend to hate, but secretly love.

I am rarely happier than when I have finished the high dusting.

 

Saturday.  Day 74

I had planned to take a short run this morning while rugrat number 1 is out being sporty and the grandparents are there to keep rugrat number 2 under control.  Instead I make pancakes with bacon, banana and maple syrup.

N does take us up a hill in the rain and mist, much to the delight of the children.  I guess that’s cross training of  sort.  I certainly burned off a few calories maintaining the constant moaning.

We have a rare night off tonight.  Out to dinner and the opera.  Let’s hear it for grandparents.

I fully intend to run tomorrow after the excesses of a slap up dinner and breakfast.

Did I mention we went out for lunch too?

“The Hill at Mile Ten”

Monday.  Day 63

Despite the fact V has moved house, decorated almost the whole place in 48 hours and started a new job today, we are back in the saddle.  You’ll notice I take credit there by saying ‘we’.  The reality is I am exhausted after a weekend of nothing more than drinking wine and ambling through the countryside on the way to nice pubs.   I am merely tagging along in the wake of her boundless energy.

Just a short training run. We are, as a rule, hitting the duration according to the schedule but I’m pretty sure we should be going faster.  A woman passes us at a pretty steady sprint and we stare at each other in horror.  The reality of  actually coming in last is now never far from my mind.

 

Wednesday.  Day 65

Another short burst per the schedule. Feels really good tonight despite a powerful headwind.  We had aimed for 30 minutes but extended for another 10 minutes for so and get back home in pretty good shape, having completed 6.5k in just under 40 minutes.  We’re feeling good.

 

Thursday. Day 66

Had planned to do the usual run with G while rugrat number 2 is being sporty but she is working and the weather is horrendous.   Instead, we have the rugrats’ chums over to play. Should have done the run, would have been less exhausting.

 

Friday. Day 67

Have worked out a new route based on the ‘hill at mile 10’ which is whispered in hushed tones every time we mention to anyone that we are doing this run.  We plan to do it backwards – let’s make it easy on ourselves  – and join up with the lochside trail afterwards which will eventually dump us at home after about 16k or so.  The first 3 or 4 miles are on the road which will be good practice as we don’t do too much on that surface and it’ll be good to see how the knees cope.  I download a map and check the mileage, while drinking wine and eating crisps. Planning really is the most fun part.

 

Saturday.  Day 67

Best laid plans. V has to be in Glasgow at lunchtime so we need to be able to shorten the route for her to peel off after 10k.  The new ‘hill at mile 10’ route doesn’t allow for this so we decide on old faithful.  There is a small hill in there so it’s not like we’re copping out completely.

I am all set to carry on and do the full 16k as we’re making great progress and I am really enjoying the run today.  At 10k, V takes off and my positive outlook is immediately replaced by negative thoughts, aching legs and sore feet.  It is astonishing how quickly a positive mental attitude can dissolve when one is left to one’s own thoughts.  I have a painful blister on the instep of my right foot which is not helping and I manage another 3k before taking a short cut home feeling a little bit ashamed.

So, ‘The Hill at Mile Ten’ route is shelved until next week. Or, as V is away and I have family visiting, the week after.  Although we are away on holiday that week, so possibly the week after that.  But that’s rugrat number 2’s birthday weekend.

So maybe the week after……or perhaps we’ll just face it with grim determination on race day…….

‘Rest’ and ‘lazy’ mean pretty much the same thing…right?

 

Monday. Day 56 –  Wednesday. Day 58

G has given me a book called ‘Marathon Running for Mortals’, or ‘Morons’, if you prefer. It talks a lot of the fundamental importance of rest and how, particularly for new runners like us, rest days are a vital part of your schedule.

Fine, we’ll call these rest days, if that makes you happy.

 

Thursday. Day 59

Finally dragged my carcass out for a run after a whopping 3 days off. Felt nervous before I started, and worried that I wouldn’t make the 10 mile goal I had set myself.  Those nerves were realistic.  I have a two and half hour window while rugrat number 2 is at nursery and forgot that I had booked an eyebrow waxing appointment – no self-respecting woman runs with poorly maintained eyebrows – so that had already knocked off half an hour. I also stopped to chat to a friend at the start point, so making 10 miles was quite clearly not achievable in the time I had left.

I set off and took a route that I knew gave me distance options, but secretly hoped I would manage 10k.  Something of a comedown from 10 miles I know, but that felt manageable and gave me something to aim for.  The frisson of fear that I would not make it back in time to pick up the kids kept the pace up a bit.  I hope that similar adrenalin will do well for us on race day.

I made it with a good 15 minutes to spare and used it wisely to go home and guzzle down berocca, half an avocado and a packet of chilli prawns before I raced back out to pick up the rugrats.

Showering is for girls.

 

Friday.  Day 60

Day off.  V is moving house.  Three doors down. I fear for my liver.

 

Saturday.  Day 61.

Spent today in a gym hall surrounded by desperate mothers and screaming kids.  This was the Jack & Jill baby (goods) sale I had signed up for while under the influence of enough Hendricks to knock out a small elephant.

As a result, I have spent large portions of the last few days cleaning, pricing, ironing, bagging and then removing from the sale bag, various toys and items from the rugrats’ past as I’m overcome with a (very unusual) bout of sentimentality.  We really do need to keep that Diaper Genie we never used because someone N used to work with (whose name I cannot remember and whose features are even more hazy) gave it to us with a note stating sincerely that this would be the ONLY bit of baby kit we’d ever need.

We got a similar heads up about an electric wipe warmer.  Common sense prevailed, not only about the wipe warmer , but the Daiper Genie, which made it back into the sale bag and was flogged for a fiver. Happily, I made a total of about £100 but the effort of trawling through the loft and sorting all the stuff out has not enticed me to do it again anytime soon.

On the upside, spent a fun morning with A. Who, it seemed, had decanted the entire contents of her house into the back of her people carrier. I am very surprised one of the kids wasn’t inadvertently scrubbed and priced up.

 

Sunday. Day 62

V and family are still in the throes of the house move and although that should have no bearing on whether I run or not,  any excuse will do.  I tell myself I can’t run because they may need help with their rugrats and being a good friend, I should make myself available.  Both sets of parents and G’s brother are there so there is very little chance I’ll be needed but I’ve used far flimsier excuses in the past.  The next series of Masterchef starts soon and it’s not unlikely that panna cotta will feature here as the sole reason for my not training at some point in the coming weeks.

 

 

It’s all about the Jelly Babies.

Monday.  Day 49

My feet hurt and I am knackered.

Tuesday. Day 50

My feet hurt and I am knackered.

Wednesday. Day 51

My feet hurt and I am knackered.

Thursday. Day 52

My scheduled training run with G. Usual route part way round the loch with an option to extend or shorten depending on mood/conditions/pain levels.

Feels pretty good considering I have done nothing even resembling exercise for 4 full days.  Unless you count creaking back and forth to the cupboard we keep the Berocca in.

It is much milder than usual and yet again I have dressed inappropriately for the conditions.  The upshot is I am soaked, sweaty, and manage to lose a neck warmer on the way round.  The pace is good however and I am feeling pretty pumped. Perhaps less training is a good thing…?  V will be thrilled.

G exits as we pass her house and I carry on to the village hall to pick up the rugrat. I arrive with a good 5 minutes to spare only to realise that my car is parked about half a mile away outside the school.  Exactly where I left it this morning.  It is now lashing rain and the rugrat has no coat.

A sprint back to collect it and looking on the positive side – as I so often do – I realise I have completed 8k and feel altogether chuffed with myself.

Friday. Day 53

Day off in preparation for a 10 mile/16k monster run tomorrow.  I decide on a healthy homemade burger for dinner with low-fat sweet potato wedges.  I feed the kids a chippy and another layer of guilt is added to the poor-parenting sheen I already wear so well.

The healthy extra-lean steak mince burger is delicious.  Especially after I pair it with a last-minute dollop of fried pancetta,blue cheese and onion rings.  I suspect “healthy” might now be out the window.  Although it’s likely the beer, wine, port and whisky helped did for me there too.

Bit wet and windy this morning but given this is Scotland, I have come to expect nothing less.  I have learnt my lesson and have had my Weetabix, topped with strawberries; on which I will impart some sound advice.  Do not buy strawberries in winter.  They taste of ‘red’, and frankly nothing else.  I could  have garnished the cereal with delicately diced polystyrene, it would have had more flavour.

We are off to a good start and after last week and our positive outcome, we are feeling motivated.  The Garmin 10 fails us somewhat initially, and we are almost 2k in before it finally finds the GPS signal.  I take no responsibility for wasting that time at a slow jog while I try to reset it no less than 9 times without any glasses or the first idea how to work the damn thing. Eventually though, Big Brother has us in his sights and we are making excellent progress on the route from last week.

It is very wet and we are sensitive about getting our feet soaked early in the day. The paths are so marshy that there is a lot of dainty  – and on my part, not so dainty – hopping over puddles, jumping bogs and general buggering up of the pace as we try to get moving in ankle-deep mud.  Eventually we get on to the road and pick it up a bit.

The wind is against us most of the way round and we are happy to note it doesn’t make a huge difference.  We are making good pace and our time is pretty much the same as last week, which was calm and still.  We may actually be FIT after all!

Being relatively new to this lark, we are trying out a range of energy boosters.  So far Starburst have worked well, but today Lucozade tablets get an airing.  An airing is exactly what they need as unfortunately, the only pocket in my running tights is right at the small of my back so they are a little soggy once we are 5 miles in.  As if that wasn’t enough of a reason to scratch them from the list, they are rather powdery and trying to breathe through your nose while eating them can result in choking. We had a bit of a hairy moment where I thought I may have to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on V or bundle her over my shoulder and sprint the rest of the way home.

Luckily for her, I managed to eat mine without too much drama, having to drag my heaving carcass into a fireman’s lift could quite possibly have killed her.

We will try gels next week. Watch this space for more in-depth analysis on training aids.

In order to make up the 10 miles we are so keen to get in the training diary we have to run through the park and then out to the end of the village and back up the hill to V’s place.  A slow and gradual hill isn’t really the way either of us want to finish but we arrive at the park making good time.  It is a quagmire and deeply unpleasant, particularly now that we are tired, cold and hungry. The lucozade tablets have given us neither boundless energy, nor the will to carry on.

Sucked in again by marketing hyperbole.

We make it half way up the main street when we hit the magic 10 mile mark and agree the rest of the way can be classed as ‘cool down’ if we stop and walk.  It is amazing how one can jog along, one foot in front of the other, for many, many miles but as soon as the decision is made to stop, the effort of taking another step, even at walking pace, becomes almost too much.

We agree that stopping en route come race day MUST NOT HAPPEN, as I doubt either of us would find the will to get going again.

I test out the theory by running from V’s place to mine – about another 1k – it is the worst feeling in the world and I am perilously close to collapse and tears by the time I get home.

The next sensible steps are: rehydrate, shower, eat a high protein meal and rest.

As you will have probably realised, I laugh in the face of conventional theory.  Or, if you prefer, never learn.

Instead, I throw together an enormous club sandwich with a side of crisps and wash it down with yet another Berocca.  Then I hastily shower, dress, and hot foot it out the door to S & E’s place to drink enormous amounts of alcohol and eat them out of house and home. While displaying a blatant disregard for parenting of any kind.

The rest is hazy, but both we and the children make it home unscathed. Social services are kept at bay for another day.

There was a small incident with a pair of rather expensive Ugg boots and some glitter glue, but as N is still terribly sensitive about it (they were a birthday gift), I shall say no more.

Sunday. Day 55

Rest day, except that N and rugrat number 1 are climbing Ben Vrackie so rugrat number 2 and I are left at home.  I can’t speak for her, but I’m feeling lazy and a little ashamed about sitting around on my ample rear nursing aching limbs and a fuzzy head.  So, once the ever-present rain has abated, we hop (I use the term loosely – I doubt a ‘hop’ ever involves groaning), on the bike and head out for a jaunt around the loch.

Exhilarating and highly recommended after a night on the sauce, but very tough on the thighs.  We run out of jelly babies after about 6 miles so have to turn back.  If you have learned nothing from this – and if you have, god only knows how – you must at least be aware that you cannot take small children on outings without the appropriate supply of jelly babies.

Forget the gels, next week…..it’s all about the Jelly Babies.

Morning sickness.

Sunday.  Day 42

Checking out of the hotel today so sadly, no time for training what with all that packing, organising and hoovering up of the breakfast buffet to be done.

I console myself that lugging cases, coats and  wellies back and forth probably burnt off 100 calories or so and helped build my upper body strength.  I check the Garmin 10 (which I have become obsessed with) and note only a measly 21 calories!

Clearly, it is malfunctioning.

Monday. Day 43

V has an after work meeting so I’m on my own.   You’ve heard it all before.

It is freezing……..please enter here any negative and uninspiring text you can recall from the huge range available in any other post I have published…..I arrive home and cry, vowing that after 10 May, I will never run again.

Tuesday. Day 44

V sends me a text heavy on the words ‘cry’, ‘couch’ and ‘rain’. My resolve wavers as it so often does, and I check the wine rack to see what we have in stock, just in case I need to go round there and, *make sure she is ok *. Unfortunately for her, there are only 7 bottles of champagne, a mulled wine from 2 years ago and N’s birthday bottle of Cloudy Bay.

I consider the mulled wine.  Even V, who is wonderful in every way, is not worth Bolly on a wet Tuesday.

Instead, I sigh and pull on my running tights.  By ‘pull on’ I mean of course, lie down, panting, as I squeeze my over large calves into lycra.

It seems that running four times a week does not offset 4 cooked breakfasts, three 4 course dinners, a case of wine and several whiskies.

Who knew?

The results of our run are slightly better than expected given the conditions and the horrors of Monday’s solo effort. I am feeling positive. I say again…

Who knew?

Thursday.  Day 46

G is as usual, drafted in for support.  We set off and it is soon clear to me that something is very wrong.  I feel nauseous and dizzy.  I press on anyway but a couple of miles in I confess that I feel unwell.  When questioned, (G is a medical professional and always ready with good advice. But on this occasion I know what the problem is and fear a ticking off.) I admit that for various reasons, I have failed to have any breakfast.  G tutts.  I decide it is probably unnecessary to add fuel to the fire by mentioning that I only had a half portion of some indiscriminate leftovers for dinner the night before. Or, that despite having insufficient time for food, I did manage 2 large glasses of wine last night and vacuumed the whole house this morning.

Skewed priorities.

Not where the wine is concerned, naturally.

I spend a couple of horrifying moments at the side of the trail choking back bile and hoping that none of the golfers on the fairway opposite are known to me.  My symptoms subside enough for us to carry on – walking.  Just around the corner we meet C walking her dog who is so supportive and complimentary about this whole endeavour, I feel like an utter fraud.

On the upside, lesson learned. In every sense, Weetabix is more important than hoovering.  A philosophy I promise faithfully to live by from now on.

Sunday. Day 49

A beautiful, bright spring day with the sun reflecting on the loch and a dusting of snow on the distant hills. Undoubtedly a Persephone day.  But, as usual, I’m stuck with good old reliable Doreen.  Even she however, cannot drag down my high spirits. It is cold, dry and clear, ideal conditions for our longest ever run. I’m feeling really good about today.

N has worked out a route for us based on his cycling expeditions and it’s only when we set off I realise that it is very likely a hill you run up, will appear steeper than one you cycle up. I decide not to share this groundbreaking observation with V.

We are off at a good pace and although the route is much more challenging than the well-lit flat pavement pounding we are stuck with during the week, we manage the hills like (horrifically injured) pro’s with no stops and very little in the way of foul language.

At 12k, we are close to a potential end point.  We’ve given ourselves several options on that score with final distances ranging from 12 to 16k.  At the beginning we were all about 16k. By now, our feet and legs really hurt and we decide with very little discussion that 14 will do it.

During the last 2k I check the Garmin every 90 seconds and feel every footstep.  However, we complete 14k in 1hr 32 minutes and are absolutely delighted with our achievement.

Endorphins! We’ve missed you!

I get home exhausted and starving.  I check the fridge and plan a delicious deli plate of leftover nibbles from the dinner party we had last night for my cousin L and her husband N. Visiting us on a whistle-stop tour of the UK from Zante, where they very sensibly live an idyllic existence in a sun-drenched paradise. In my eyes at least.

I have chorizo, artichoke dip, humus, marinated anchovies, crostini and those little hot peppers stuffed with feta.  I decide to have a long, hot shower and then prepare myself a delicious mezze platter while I rehydrate with lots of water.

What I actually do, is stuff the whole lot onto a slightly stale baguette and eat it standing up at the sink before I fall asleep on the couch.

I don’t even take off my trainers.