Running makes your brain wake up

This morning my schedule stated a 35min run/walk (I LOVE a schedule that actively encourages you

to not ACTUALLY die by adding ALLOWED walking) so I set off to take Grace to school, do my 35

mins, then get back to school in time for the harvest festival at 10.......... SO on went my garmin, I

saddled up the dog, tunes on, headphones at the ready ANDDDDDD the teacher at the gate told me

the harvest festival was in fact at half nine. Bugger I thought- I can't go running (YEE HAH screamed

the fat lazy me) but the sensible, determined me said "STFU- you can get a run in- its 8.45, run this

route and you can get home, shove the dog in and leg it up to school and the run will be DONE" so I

did.

I pushed myself a bit more, ran a bit faster and discovered my dog Fifi is a NATURAL at running

with me on the lead. Fab motivation she won't take no for an answer when it comes to her walks so I

might as well run them :)

I made it to the harvest festival EXTREMELY sweaty but SO FLIPPING SMUG. The harvest festival

was fab there was a huge amount of donations for the food bank, the kids sang beautifully and it was very traditional as it is a C of E school. They sang songs that I remember from primary school

harvest  festivals and they even had the local priest from the church affiliated to the school to bless

the harvest loaf.

I then realised that Grace is my last child at Primary school. I have two at seniors and one at

University. How did this happen? I can remember MY primary school days like yesterday.

Then the baby years, the toddler years - have all gone in a flash. I will never get them back. Its very

easy to look back with rose tinted specs but it is hard. It is relentless. The first post birth poo is a

memory you never forget (and I've had FOUR). Childhood illnesses, trips to hospital, bumped heads,

strange rashes that clear up the MINUTE you hit the waiting room. Starting nursery, that first nativity

when you think you will never stop sobbing at the angels with coat hanger halos, the random

spidermen, and of course, Little Donkey...........

I wanted to do a half marathon by the time I was 40, but real life and my own ill health got in the

way. I have now booked to do one on March 12th next year, which incidentally is my 3rd babies 12th

birthday, and 5 wish weeks before I turn 41 so I should just squeeze it in before my 40th year runs

out!

Ive chosen to do it and its going to be hard. The training, the actual event. Im not even sure Im

capable. BUT if I don't do it now the next 10 years will have passed, in the blink of an eye. I don't

know how my health is going to pan out- SO far so good since my resection but the surgeon was

eager to stress that when you have surgery for Crohns the first surgery is just that- the FIRST, thus meaning you will more than likely have more.

So, carpe diem, seize the day, run that run, watch that harvest festival while you are still told

"Mummy, don't be late and sit where you can see me" as I currently haven't seen daughter number

one for 7 weeks and I'm counting down another 7 until she comes home from Uni.........

Back In the Game??

I think I could be!
SO I haven't run for a very long time........I had the small detail of my perforated bowel, then sepsis, then my bowel resection operation and associated recovery and then I got scared. I have done a couple of little runs, a half hearted attempt at C25K again and have been going to the gym a bit but running has become a scary elephant in the room that I can't contemplate....

However with the group Too Fat Too Run I am taking part in a pilot scheme about upping your speed, and the first "task" is to run a baseline 5km to get your, well, baseline time to start from. This became an insurmountable task in my head and I have been putting it off and putting it off. Today, with some encouragement from the TFTR ladies I decided to bite the bullet and do it. I planned a 2.5km there and 2.5km back route (psychologically great as halfway through and you're on the homeward bound stretch) and off I went.....

I headed out the door looking like some sort of weird running gadget one man band, with my garmin on one wrist, fitbit on the other and my phone mapping my run strapped to my arm. Thank god I decided to map my run as 200 yards down the road my garmin battery died (I think its making a stand against lack of use) I whacked my headphones in with my old 10km playlist on to remind myself that at one point 18 short months ago I would go out and run 10km as a training run for fun.

Gosh running is hard when you haven't for a while but also isn't it fun! I was hot, cold, sweaty, panting and people had the audacity to look at me! I mean they must see millions of size 18 women, the wrong size of 40 wearing green leopard print leggings and a lime green t-shirt bearing the slogan "Too Fat To Run?" panting their way down the street all the time.  I ran past the local dodgy pub and gave a cheery wave to the bloke outside in his mobility scooter with his pint, I ran past Lidl and imagined I looked all inspiring as I ran. I ran past the scores of people smoking at the hospital gates, I ran past a lady getting out of a taxi by an old peoples home whose legs were so swollen I don't know how she could stand. I thanked the universe that I could run, I thanked the universe that I gave up smoking 3.5 years ago when I had a plume of Benny Hedges finest blown in my face. I thanked my surgeon for my surgery. I also thought the following things:

*Running sucks- its for arseholes
*Why the fuck do I even want to run? Surely I have better ways of spending my time
*Maybe I could take up another easier hobby, say lion taming or swimming the channel
*Stupid fat cow, you'll never lose weight, you're a laughing stock. You are so slow and you keep having to walk
*Oooh Actually I can! This is for ME. I deserve this. I can do this. I can work from this baseline and make a difference to my body and health, physical and mental.

So my baseline 5km came in at 44mins. That was a run, walk, wobble so I am working on improving that now Ive realised I CAN get out there and I CAN do this.

Now the big question is do I sign up for the half marathon next March that keeps popping up everywhere I go on line, taunting me and tempting me.............

My partially empty nest

SO yesterday we took the Eldest to Falmouth to start her University career. I have spent the last 3 weeks listening to slipping through my fingers and feeling really really apprehensive at the forthcoming separation.

I must say the last few days leading up to her departure were AWFUL- everyone was on the knife edge of temper, and in true teenage style she prioritised saying goodbye to her friends 56 times each over sorting out her room, getting stuff ready and generally being involved in the physical moving work. By Thursday I had gone from total devastation to knowing full well why some species eat their own young :0

So eventually Saturday rolled around- we left the younger 3 with Granny and we packed her and all her belongings onto the van with myself, husband and Dog. We had a really good run down to Cornwall and had a right giggle and I had no need for tissues at all. We arrived at Falmouth Campus and it was running like clockwork- they had loads of people directing you to the correct car parks and everyone was really friendly. It is a gorgeous campus- everything is on site so they are very contained and therefore it feels very safe. It looks more like Center Parcs than a campus!

We went to the student union and she had to go down and collect her flat keys and freshers week stuff and they had very kindly laid on tea and coffee for the parents in the upstairs bar. I went up there to pop to the loo and I don't know what finally tipped me over the edge but it was just so REAL. I ended up locking myself in a cubicle and just howling like a wounded animal. How could I leave her here? 5 minutes ago I was in Southmead hospital buttoning her into her little yellow newborn cardigan.  She was starting school, she was going to parties at soft play, learning to ride a bike and playing Singstar! It went against all my instincts to leave her in this strange place in a huge flat full of strangers. She might starve, she might be scared and lonely and its my job to protect her from the big scary world.

I tried to hold it together as she came out, fizzing with excitement clutching her student card, that states she is studying for a BA in Photography *proud* I didn't want to weep and wail and either upset her or make her feel sad. We went and found her accommodation and met some of her flatmates. They were all nice and the whole place was full of excited teams and red eyed, gritted teeth parents. We decided just to unload her and disappear- we wanted to let her get on with it without us trying to remain cheerful and our dog who shouldn't have been in the accommodation anyway!

Goodbye was hard- it felt like dropping her off on holiday- this summer she has been to Portugal, Wales and a festival in Cornwall and didn't come on our annual family holiday so the separating has been slowly working itself in, quietly and without too much pomp! It didn't sink in that we are not going to see her until Christmas and that she now lives there. She is very mature and sensible and I am so happy she has got there- her ultimate goal was photography at Falmouth and she worked her socks off to gain her A* at A level and secure her place. But surely, surely she should be playing on her Nintendo DS and letting me do her hair ready for starting high school.

Another feeling I battled with all day was a weird sense of disappointment that I myself never did the Uni thing. I left home when I was 17 and three years later was attending scans an antenatal appointments as she burst into my life. I have NO regrets and wouldn't change anything but I can just tell Uni is going to be a BLAST and seeing her starting out, in a lovely shared flat with nice new mates and a whole new experience of her course looks like SO MUCH FUN! jealous!

We're back home now and her next youngest sibling has already merrily moved into her room. My younger three are 12,11 and 7 so the nest is by no means empty! It feels no different as she was so often out but every now and again I remember she's living there not here and I lose my breath, just for a minute. The invisible umbilical cord stretches a little more, and my heart aches. Then Pride floods back in and silences the fear, worry and sadness. Pride is getting stronger, pride and excitement of watching the journey unfold. Christmas and a visit home seems a long way off but it will quickly come round and we will be reunited to hear about all her adventures and exciting new life........

So its been a while............

And wow what a year. I finally had my Bowel Resection surgery on May 18th as planned and it was a great success. I didn't have the stoma I was marked up for 3 days before the surgery, they managed to do all they needed laparoscopically so my scarring is as minimal as it could be and my recovery was as quick as it could be. But after my surgery I was SO ILL! I had a morphine pump the night after the surgery and apparently I pressed the button 65 times that night. I also had a central line in my neck which had 3 ports leading into my heart to take out blood and put in drugs, an oxygen tube up my nose and a catheter! My friend Steph came in to visit me the night after I came up from theatre and I was able to pose for selfies with her, give everyone a grin and a thumbs up before I slept off my anaesthetic..............However the next day they took away my morphine pump and I started the Vomit Days. OMG was I ever sick. My friend Steph came back to visit again with her husband and I was literally too ill to see them. I heard her going back down the corridor going "But she was FINE yesterday! I don't understand" I believe I was fine due to the morphine :) I continued to be sick for 4 more days and completely lost my appetite. As Ive spoken about in this blog before I LOVE my food and I couldn't eat ANYTHING. The staff were encouraging me to eat and I just couldn't. I couldn't even eat a quarter of a slice of toast or the chocolate goodies my mum bought in. Eventually I managed to eat some Rice Krispies and I don't even like cereal..........

Anyway its now 14 weeks from my operation and my scars are pretty well healed and I have rejoined the gym and actually started running again in the last month. I have just signed up for a 5km at the end of October as something to aim for. The kids ago back to school this week and I feel really ready to get back on the fitness wagon. My oldest daughter goes off to uni for the first time on Saturday *sob* and Im using not seeing her until christmas to shift some weight and get my fitness back up.

I have to have a colonoscopy in December to see if there is any sign of inflammation, and therefore my crohns being back. I feel so well compared to before the op that Im really hoping and praying that it hasn't come back.

So- my plan is as follows....back to walking the dog every day - Im aiming for 5km, Carry on running with the Sweatshop Running Community on a Weds eve, Go back to the gym for my dance class on a Thursday, Body Combat on a Friday and then weights etc in the gym as and when.

Its nice to be back...........

PICC lines and pink shrimps

Monday pm: so,after a terrible weekend where all my veins failed so I had no access in (drugs) or out (bloods) today I finally got a PICC line fitted. This is port that goes in a vein in your arm directly into your chest that they can put iv in, and take blood out. It can stay in situ for a year and is painless once in.
Prior to having this though I have been unable to have my iv drugs and have deteriorated rapidly. Yesterday I reached the stage where I couldn't even tolerate Fortisip- the enteral meal replacement I've been supposed to be having as it was so painful and was coming straight out, almost instantly.
I had numerous attempts to cannulate me and was sore, dehydrated, and very unhappy, woozy on morphine and so weak.
 I was very nervous about the PICC being placed- it involves ultrasound, local anaesthetic, a scapel and feeding 49cm of tube up a vein into your chest. Not my fave way to spend a Monday afternoon. Adding to the stress was my awful condition, my low mood and the anticipation of waiting all day for the PICC Man to arrive ( I was number 6 on a list of 6) my husband stayed with me all day and was fab at keeping me calm throughout the long awaited and thankfully relatively painless procedure when it happened.

I feel now like the sun has come out a bit! I just had (loads) of blood taken and didn't feel a THING. I have a couple of tubes hanging out of my arm but it's so much more comfy than a failing cannula and dozens of cannulation attempts. My lowest ebb was 11.45 last night when an anaesthetist, complete with ultrasound machine , couldn't find my vein to cannulate me, and there was blood dripping out of another failed attempt on the floor, the bed, her, me.......a low point.

Tuesday  2.15pm
What a change! Now I have the PICC fitted and am getting the correct drugs I have perked up 100 fold. My blood tests are normal indicating the infection and inflammation is lowering and going. It has been decided we will aim for my op date of 18th may with a view to weaning me off the steroids and getting as well as I can for the op in the meantime, thus dramatically I creasing my chances of laparoscopic surgery, quicker recovery and no stoma bag.

I am now allowed to eat. After 6 days of not eating this is a Very Big Thing. My legend of a sister bought me in some home made macaroni cheese last night (when we still weren't entirely sure if I was allowed to eat- I may have been slightly economical with relaying the drs words) and it was like an elixir of all the deities sitting in my tummy and restoring me to my happy well fed self! Even cornelius carbonara would not have tasted that good.
I will remain on a low residue diet until my op- low residue is any food that doesn't leave a residue in you and can be digested easily. It is odd as it goes against all our conditioned ideas of "healthy eating" as I am having to eat white not wholemeal, processed white carbs, no fibre, no skins, nuts, seeds. Things the gut doesn't have to work to hard to process. I will be working with a dietician to establish this and sort out the calories I need etc to get me in "peak condition" for the surgery (peak condition makes me think I should enter Crufts while I'm at it)

I am now exhausted by the small exercise of eating a white bread, plain chicken sandwich but I never ever realised it would taste THAT GOOD.............

Ps: re reading the title there is a reason behind the pink shrimps. On day 5 of not eating, in an act of reckless rebellion I removed from the packet and licked one pink shrimp sweet. It was the most delicious lick of a sweet that ever existed. And all the better as it was forbidden

Bed sores, bleach and bad days

i had oramorph for breakfast. I would have preferred a bacon roll but after a relatively settled night after they took out my painful cannula, I took off my horrid TED stockings (rebel) I read my book, fell asleep and slept almost quite well........
Then I woke up. In pain. Ow. So oramorph and two cannula attempts it was. No success with cannula but I have a bed sore on my elbow for ultimate granny chic (beat that, hipsters). Slept again. More cannula attempts, drugs given orally as I have no veins left to cannulate.
My Dr came and has called on call Dr who I am awaiting. Punctuation Caz. Not Dr who.
Feel bloody awful. Fed up of being cheerful. Wish I'd lingered over my last supper toast a bit more -5 days ago.
Today I'm all about the smells. Nice nurse smelt of apples and had a really nice snake print hair clip I concentrated on as she tried to cannulate me. Another one smelt of citrus. Then Bleach Man cleaned my room and I thought I'd gone to a swimming pool. I've had my eyes shut most of today so I guess that's what's heightened the smell thing. Also the reassuring probing of gloved hands trying to find my veins was a comfort when your hurting and scared.
I'm still allowed my beloved black coffee and can no longer taste if they've added sugar or not (I don't take it)
When on oramorph this morning I created myself a guardian angel - needless to say he was made out of food. This is the rambling of opiates so bear with. He is called cornelius carbonara and is made mostly of Italian food. He has a bay leaf wreath in his spaghetti hair. A pizza face with black olive eyes, and prawn nose and red pepper lips. Pepperoni red cheeks. Big baguette arms with calamari bangles. A spun sugar white gown and huge white wings. Chi-chi gold sandals.

When I get out of here I think I might eat him.

The hospital at night

The hospital that night was a strange place is my fourth night so weird it's quiet on the flipside really busy. Footsteps up and Down the corridor, the rattles of the trolleys of instruments and drugs. Every now and again someone presses the buzzer. I have a drip in my arm so there's no walking away from illness for me. I am currently receiving three different IV antibiotics, IV steroids,IV fluids . On the last count I have had four cannulas inserted but I have bruises evidencing the 10+ attempts to cannulate me that have been made elsewhere. I have hidden small veins which are very hard to cannulate  and some of my veins have started to collapse.
My hand where my drip is is really stinging and the pump keeps failing as I move around trying to get comfortable.
I'm also on a liquid only diet. Yesterday I was in nil by mouth so this is marginally better but not much! I can drink water I can drink fortisip which is a weird meal replacement drink it comes in a number of exotic flavour - bearing in mind this is a milkshake type thing I currently have a tropical flavour and a banana flavour. Who is ever heard of tropical flavoured milkshake

. I love eating eating I am real foodie I love to cook for the people I love to try new recipes I find cooking and eating a real pleasure and nurturing. From newborn infants we are taught that our lives  routines revolve around mealtimes.when we have a baby one of the first thing  we establish is a feeding routine, toddlers we placate and comfort with snacks and bribes. We fill lunchboxes for children with healthy nutritious food we are bombardedwith recipes in magazines newspapers and TV cooking programmes. And I can't eat!

I've seen every hour pass tonight. Really struggling to sleep with the drip, the noise, the horrid sheets and plastic mattress. I feel dirty and smell like a hospital

Apologies for typos- I have a drip in right hand so typing is ardourous but it helps to get it out of my head and into here. I'm not sure what the plan is currently. I have a date for my bowel resection operation in 8 weeks time but that's a long limbo to fill. I have a partial bowel obstruction and a perforation on my bowel. Both very serious conditions that need close monitoring. The drs change the goal posts every day the surgeon says one thing, registrar another, consultant another. They are all lovely and so dedicated but it is very frustrating being in bed, away from my gorgeous family with no firm plan in hand.
I am weeing in pots that are shaped like sombreros (Ar-wee-baa?) so they can measure my output and was wearing paper pants until my mum and sister came with emergency pants supplies :) my dignity is down the road somewhere

The CT scan and the gym

so after a huge palaver with a bed on a ward, no bed on a ward, witnessing a terse bed related stand off between nursing staff from different units I go back to the assessment unit and await a bed, and a CT. I'm promised my CT at 9pm. Eventually I'm told I have a bed, but not in the ward we were expecting. I was popped in my wheelchair again and off we trundled to my new bed. On the way up Vicky my fab nurse says " I don't really want to tell you where we're going.......... You're in the gym"
"Shut up!" I say ( in my defence I am a born and bred Bristolian) but no- there is a temporary ward set up in the physio rehab gym, 3 beds for 3 poor lost souls with no bed on a ward. So I get in bed with a view of the running machine, rowing machine and rehab walking bars. More about this later
At about 10.30 I get called down for my CT scan. I get dropped in the waiting room by the porter and left. It is a small waiting room, and it contains me in my wheelchair, a very dapper chap in his braces shirt and slacks in an ambulance trolley, another ahem less dapper chap on a hospital trolley and a little old guy in his dressing gown in a wheelchair like me. A bored looking nurse and 2 paramedics complete our party.
We sit in silence, occasionally catching each other's eyes and quickly looking back at the floor, the wall, our cuticles- ANYWHERE than in the eyes of another ill person. Suddenly there is a loud noise from the corner- dressing gown man lets out the loudest burp ever. We all, including him pretend it hasn't happened. Then trolley man starts calling for his nurse and she quickly erects a screen around his trolley ( please remember this waiting area is very small) it soon transpires quite quickly that he has had a bit of an accident and soiled his trolley. "Ribbit" says dressing gown man as he expels another huge belch. Oh bless trolley poo man but oh my days the small confined room, too many people and oh dear. We'll leave that there but it was unpleasant.
Soiled man goes in for scan, and is replaced by broken leg moaning man. Clearly he is in a lot of pain, he has a plaster cast on his lower leg which has been cut half off but he is in very vocal pain. Poo man comes out of scan, I go in. CT scans are weird. I'd already had to drink a jug of contrast stuff to light up my innards but when I got in the scanner they then gave me iv contract to light up the rest of me. So I am like a walking inside out Blackpool illuminations come ready brek kid hybrid. Now the iv contrast. How weird is that?! It feels warm and travels down your body warming as it goes. Luckily they warm you that when it hits your pubis area it feels like you are weeing yourself. Warm, spreading, and out of your control. Luckily CT is very quick and efficient so I was quickly scanned and popped back out into the waiting room where we are greeted with a loud low welcoming belch, and the sight of broken leg man in the foetal position on the floor having managed to fall or climb out of his chair. I am glad to leave the ct guys cajoling him back into his chair and I get pushed back to my gym home by the porter.

Hospital time

So here I am as an inpatient in the Bristol Royal infirmary..... Long story short, Monday was a good day- took the dogs out to abbots pool with my sister , it was a beautiful spring morning, we met an amorous retriever called Merlin and played musical dogs for 25 minutes after he decided he wanted a go in my car (and truth be told a go on my sisters dog Dora!)  but that's another story! I felt a bit  poorly with a sore ear and swollen glands that I was okay and it was beautiful day.
Tuesday morning I woke up with a terrible stomachache.  I mentioned to Simon and cracked on with is your morning activities, took some buscopan and hope this will do the trick. Ironically  I then had to take my cat (affectionally known as golden balls)to the vets to be castrated. On the way to the vets I was really struggling with stomach cramps but was determined to get him there as I already cancelled his appointment once due to my illness. Golden balls of dutifully delivered for his De- knackering I got back in the car and had to sit for a moment before I could drive home as my stomach was so painful. I drove very slowly home and come to the conclusion that I would need to utilise my painkillers when I got home as today was not a good day. I got home, took four codeine, curled up on the sofa  with, as always my lovely furry nurse Fifi not very far from me. The pain however seem to be increasing and eventually I gave in  and rang my mum and as I was in so much pain. Mum came down and we decided that a phone all to the GP would be a good idea. I rang the GP  and asked for a call back with on-call doctor. I was told by the receptionist that the GP would call me back soon.  The most unusual symptoms I had was that I wasn't hungry at all. I am always hungry I am a "good eater" and especially since I've been on the steroids,  if you sit too close to me for too long I may eat you!!! Over the course of the morning my pain got stronger and stronger to spite my 4 codeine tablets. there was no sign of a call back from the GP so I rang 111. After reassuring call handler that no I wasn't bleeding from every orifice, trying to explain my condition  and indeed my drug regime she decided that I need to speak to my GP. No shit Sherlock.  Decided the 111 would put a report through to the GP hopefully to speed up the so far non-existent callback. But half an hour after this the pain dramatically increased there was still no sign of a phone call back so my mum decided to ring 999 My mother-in-law had arrived by now on standby for school run so I had two mums, no callback and off the scale pain.  999 decided that I needed, you couldn't make this up, a call back! So don't use the phone I'm waiting for a call from the GP!! The GP via 111 and ambulance service. Eventually I managed  to speak to the GP who rang my Gastro team here at BRI and it was decided I needed to come in ASAP to the GP support unit which is housed in the same place as the been back clinic where is  where are spent my previous three admissions at least it's familiar!

Once I'm settled my consultant Dr Dixon comes to see me -he is a marvellous chap and is very thorough in his explanations of what is happening and what his plan is. He decided  that I needed a CT scan urgently to establish what was going on as this is now my fourth trip to hospital since Christmas. He then places my first  of many cannulas and we start the merry-go-round of giving blood and receiving drugs. At this point it is about 4:30 PM

The BRI  is currently on black alert and there are no beds at all. I then find out that there is a queue of 120 people waiting to be seen in A&E.  We're not sure at this point if I will get my CT scan that evening or not however despite the lack of beds Dr Dixon decided that I will be admitted as we really need to work out what's going on and were not getting any better despite doubling my humira dosage and the oral steroids I've been on the last month.

To be continued- 4.30am and I've just been woken up for a blood test. In a vein in my foot as my arm veins have given up and collapsed and/or hidden. Ouch

Chronically Caz

Well its been a while, and I've been ILL! Finally it would appear my not too debilitating Crohns has muscled its way to the front of our lives and its stamping, howling and making its presence felt.
Since Christmas I have had x rays, 2 trips to A&E, 2 ambulances, 3 days in hospital and more drugs than Ive ever had before!

I had to finally admit defeat and accept a prescription for Prednisolone- a vile hateful drug that is very effective in treating inflammation, but brings with it a sackful of horrible side effects that make you wonder if its worth taking them in the first place. It is a steroid and causes facial bloating, known as "moon face" it also makes me shake, so I take other meds to counter act that. It also makes you hungry. Not just peckish, but ravenous beast hungry. "Don't sit next to me too still or I will eat you" hungry. Climbing through the cupboards eating the packed lunch fodder hungry. It also makes me sweat. and sweat, and sweat. My hair is falling out, my tongue is split painfully down the middle, I have spots, Im bloated. I have mood swings. I cry a lot. Im exhausted. So so tired. This is exaggerated by the two injections I administer into my stomach every other monday- they cause major fatigue, as well as the nice symmetrical bruising either side of my (bloated) stomach. I then take another drug to counter act the heartburn the other drugs cause, my usual anti depressant and codeine when the pain is really bad (daily).

Hopefully however, this will be short term, as my consultant has decided that the time has come to refer me to the surgeon for a bowel resection operation. This involves surgically removing the diseased portion of my bowel and sewing it back up to make it good as new. This is an op that carries a fab success rate, with many people obtaining full remission for a number of years, being free of meds and well. It also carries the possibility of either a permanent or temporary stoma bag- something I should imagine would take a lot of adjusting to, but you just do. If i had a pound for every person that recoils and says "Ewwww I could NEVER inject myself" when they find out this is what I do I would be very rich. and actually, do you know what? you could. I have diabetic friends who inject a hell of a lot more often than my once a fortnight. you do what you have to. 

So throughout this period of illness I have been battling my demons on a daily basis. Its hard to get up and out no matter how ill you feel, despite knowing deep down it will make you better. I can't remember the last time I ran (well, more on this in a second) but thankfully due to my little furry nurse Fiona the Jackapoo I have to get out every day with her. 

The last few days I must admit have been hard. I have taken to my sofa, licking my wounds and feeling sorry for myself. Im fed up of being ill, Im fed up with being a burden on my family, I feel guilty watching my husband come home from work exhausted and then have to pick up the slack that I haven't managed. Yesterday my nearly80yearold Father in Law who has recently been bed bound with flu collected a prescription and delivered it to me. My sister had to rush to my house and call me an ambulance after I had a funny turn due to all my meds and I genuinely thought I was dying. Im fat, I can't eat healthily as most things that are considered healthy are like kryptonite to a crohns tummy (fruit, veg, fibre, wholemeal things) 

Yet this morning when I woke up the sun was shining. Despite daring to eat some salad last night I was in not too bad pain. I got dressed into my running gear and thought to myself sometimes even getting into the gear is the hardest bit. I decided to take Fiona to my local woods and wore my trainers not my wellies as it is that little bit drier after the torrential rain we've had for what feels like about 3 years..............It was sunny, bright and cold. The woods is awash with birds, the stream is trickling, there are crocuses, daffodils, snowdrops and dogs of all varieties. Suddenly I found myself at the top of a downhill path. Come on, I said to myself, you've got this. JUST RUN. It doesn't have to be a half marathon, or a 10k, or a 5k. It has to be one foot in front of the other. 

So like the great Forrest Gump before me, I just ran. Not far, not fast. But I ran. One foot in front of the other. One more step along the world I go. One step at a time. Because I can. Today is a good day, and I am well enough to have a little trot along the woods. Tomorrow may be a bad day and I might not be able to. But believe me, if I can, I will, because right here, right now, despite the being bloating, and balding, and bad tempered I feel inspired and nourished by one tiny run through the woods. So far I would say that has been the best prescription!

Run away from illness

"In the hospital it is as quiet as a tomb. The nurse fights to find a vein in my right arm. We give up after five attempts. Would you faint if someone stuck a needle into your arm? I've got used to it - but I still shut my eyes.

The Gautama Buddha instructs me to walk away from illness. But he wasn't attached to a drip.
The drip stings
A lump swells up in my arm
Out comes the drip
An electric shock sparks up my arm

How can I walk away with a drip attached to me?
How am I going to walk away from this?"

Derek Jarman- Blue


Please be warned that this may be a brain dump type post..........
The above excerpt is from `Derek Jarmans fantastic work "Blue"

http://www.queerculturalcenter.org/Pages/Jarman/JarmanBlue.html

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3RoasUMmV9Y

I woke up with the lines "walk away from illness" on a loop in my head this morning after a particularly difficult appointment with my Crohns consultant yesterday. I studied Blue in depth many years ago when I was at performing arts college, and his lines about the waiting room always whirl around my head at every appointment

Here I am again in the waiting room. Hell on Earth is a waiting room. Here you know you are not in control of yourself, waiting for your name to be called: "712213". Here you have no name, confidentiality is nameless. Where is 666? Am I sitting opposite him/her?

Now obviously I would never be as crass as to compare my experiences of Crohns with Derek Jarmans terminal illness and ultimate death but there is a definite familiarity of the medical roundabout you find yourself on. 

Since I was diagnosed in 2010 I have been on many different medications- sometimes the side effects are worse than the illness they are supposed to be helping. I started on steroids that made me a bit ragey and buggered my immune system. I then moved on to methotrexate which made my hair fall out and made me vomit. and vomit. and sleep. and have headaches.Then made me so depressed I ended up on meds for that.  I then had 18 months of wonderful remission with no Crohns symptoms at all. Then it came back. I then went on Azathioprine which made me feel like I was having a stroke and gave me such a bad chest infection I ended up in A&E at 3am unable to stop coughing. I then went back onto methotrexate, but this time injections which apparently have less of a vomitty effect. But yay! I kept the headaches and the lunacy. So I came off that. 

Im March this year I went to see my consultant in a major flare. He told me there and then I had a choice of Humira injections or Infliximab infusions- sort of chemo-esque delivered by a drip once a week. If I didn't choose I was to be admitted as an inpatient. I chose Humira- a medicine that is self injected once a fortnight after the loading doses given on a ward. When I went in for my second loading dose they had an extra gift for me while I was there: an iron infusion as I was by this point so anaemic the iron tablets weren't cutting it! SO a nice bag of iv iron it was- or the Guinness infusion as it looked so much like.

 Ive now been on Humira for 7 months, which was fine until the seasons changed and I have had infection after infection after infection due to the immunosuppressant element. I have had tonsillitis, a chest infection, and cold upon cold upon cold. 2 weeks of mega antibiotics and have been unable during this time to take my Humira, so happy days! My Crohns has gone into full flare mode. 

I went to see my consultant yesterday and was given two new medications- oh the excitement. Im back on steroids for a month and then he has given me a "bulking agent" to well, I'll leave you to figure what thats for...........
I am to leave off the Humira for another 3 weeks until I have cleared all these infections and then hopefully will be able to continue with it.

However there is an alternative...................Surgery. 

It has been mentioned before by my consultant but this time it seems more of a choice than an eventual "one day" distant option. Now for the technical bit- My crohns is in my ileum- ileitis 

http://www.ccfa.org/what-are-crohns-and-colitis/what-is-crohns-disease/types-of-crohns-disease.html

this means the surgery on offer would be an ileostomy

http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/ileostomy/Pages/Introduction.aspx

a huge thing for anyone to get their head round, albeit a temp ileostomy. They will take out the dodgy bit (12 cms in my case), give me a stoma for 6 months, and then reattach my innards with no inflammation. Surgery can work wonders- people can remain in remission for many many years after surgery, OR it can begin a game of cat and mouse where the inflammation moves along the intestine, requiring further surgeries. 
What a great decision to have to make *sarcasm*

Yesterday I felt quite sorry for myself. I have a lot whirling round in my head- options, choices, decisions. Whilst dealing with the side effects of the various drugs and getting my head round the 20kg I have gained since diagnosis. On a positive note the consultant has suggested that I give up work for the forseeable. It is just not feasible to try and hold down a job when your toilet trips are in excess of 5 or 6 a day, and last on average 40 minutes. When the side effects of the drugs make you so ill, so tired, so grumpy. This is a good thing now I have got my head round the concept that I am not lazy and workshy, I am ill and need to look after me to be well enough to care for the family.

It also give me time to run, in the day. I tried it for the first time this morning- I dropped my daughter at school in my running kit armed with my garmin, my headphones and my playlist. And I ran. I ran just over 4km and I ran away from illness. Derek Jarman came with me in my head, walking away from illness. I thought of his drip as I ran with my three huge bruises on my inner arm from yesterdays blood tests. I thought of the poo sample I had to supply the hospital yesterday. Which poor  bugger had to test that this morning! Id much rather be running than fiddling about with other peoples poo.   Running won't cure my Crohns. Running won't change the side effects of the medication or my utter impotent rage I sometimes suffer at the unfairness of my diagnosis. But running helps to clear my head. I processed some of the info I'd been given. I thought about my options. I was thankful that I was running. I was thankful for the NHS. I was thankful for my husband and family. I was so so thankful for my husband and his unwavering support, his wonderful attitude toward my giving up work, thus leaving ALL the financial commitments to him. 

Thank you running, for allowing me to revel in what my body CAN do, rather than bemoaning what it can't do, and focusing on the broken bits. I will run away from illness, me and Derek Jarman, as long as I can.

The streak day 2

So it would appear that despite my better judgement I am Still Ill and after waking up  (and STAYING UP) at 4am completely congested I dragged myself back to work for the first time in 2 weeks only to be sent promptly home by my manager. I promptly slept half the day on the sofa and was supposed to be going running with the Trundlers this evening but they all protested and said I shouldn't as Im still rough, and I DESPERATELY want and NEED to be better for the graduation of our first C25K ladies tomorrow eve. Anyway I was so determined to do my streak and not fail on day 2 that I got my running stuff on while it was just still light and treated myself to 1km. Up and down my garden LOL. Now luckily I have a large garden but I also have four amused children, 2 confused cats and no doubt some still sniggering neighbours.

The most interesting thing is just before I ventured out into the garden my son #1  (aged Nearly 12) said "You need to go and run in the street, Mum, not just the garden" "Why?" I asked him. 

"Because when you go out and run you INSPIRE people. Thats what everyone always says when you post about running on Facebook, that you are an inspiration so you need to run out on the streets where people can see you"

I am absolutely gobsmacked. And ridiculously proud of my son for noticing what I do, and being so very supportive. And I'll tell you what. Im rather proud of me, too, for trotting up and down my garden, scaring my cats, slipping on manky apples, receiving a face full of cobwebs as I circled the rotary washing line for the 19th time and no doubt now having a street full of neighbours that finally have the proof they needed that I am, in fact, bonkers!

The crying tree

Lets start at the beginning. A few years ago my husband wanted to do Parkrun-he'd read about it and rather fancied it after he'd done a 10k or two. He persuaded me to go along as he knew I was keen to start running but was apprehensive. Actually it was a fair few years ago as I know I was still smoking and I'm about to celebrate 3 years smoke free! Anyway I digress:

I can remember not being overly keen on this Parkrun lark- I'd read the website and been assured they were very friendly and inclusive but still I was scared. So scared that I snivelled delicately behind my (huge, non running) sunglasses the whole way there. When we arrived I'd sort of imagined that there would be some sort of nice "newbie" section. You know, like in aerobics "any new people. any injuries? Welcome, lovely to meet you, lets bugger this running lark and have a cuppa" - you know, that total flight of fantasy that meant No Running With The Proper Runners.  However we arrived dead on starting time and before I even realised I was there everyone (who were all dressed like proper runners) took off like shit off a shovel up a quite frankly humongous hill. Very quickly I realised that I was being overtaken quite swiftly by the kids, buggy pushers and dog runners, people who are usually related to the back of the pack. I tried to keep up (remember its a proper shitter of a hill) and suddenly a lady was beside me. "Are you ok? Im the back marker and we're quite far from the back" Me: "wheeze, gasp, hiccup, sob" I swear to God at this point some of the lycra clad men were fair bounding back DOWN the shitting hill, barely a sweat on their lycra leggings (which to be fair will ALWAYS look weird on men). At this point I informed the back marker lady that I "couldn't do it" and to "carry on without me" like a dying soldier in the trenches and I limped my way back to the tree where all the belongings were, to wait for my husband with my (huge) sunglasses firmly back over my (still leaking) eyes. From this moment forth it became known as "The Crying Tree"- a name that has since been adopted by some of my running friends that have helped me to conquer my fear of that dreaded Parkrun.

Anyway I was thinking about the crying tree today. I have been quite poorly lately- Tonsillitis, a lingering cold, two lots of antibiotics and a trip to the out of hours GP yesterday where I got diagnosed with costochondritis (inflammation of the cartilage between the ribs from coughing) and I am sick of being ill. I missed my planned run at Tyntesfield this morning but then I realised that a few of my C25K pals were going out to do a 28 minute run at lunchtime. I decided to join them. I decided that actually its a BEAUTIFUL day (17 degrees on Nov 1st) and I want to blow away some cobwebs and possibly some germs, especially as I return to work tomorrow after 2 weeks off *sob*

We started to run and it was hard- my calves were hurting, my nose is blocked and my chest definitely isn't 100%. After about 10 mins I was thinking of stopping- Doubting Delores popped into my head "You're poorly, You're tired, it won't MATTER if you stop and wait for the others to finish, they'll understand, you can just wait, or walk" etc etc. Then I thought: If I stop and they carry on I will be PISSED OFF. I won't be able to join in the post run selfie, I won't have the smug pants, I will feel CRAP. In fact, I would be firmly under the metaphorical crying tree. I don't want to go back to the crying tree. The crying tree lives firmly in my running past. There will be no more crying trees on my runs.

In fact I enjoyed it so much I have decided to do a running streak for November. Now don't worry, thats not streak as in nudey rudey streak, its a streak of a number of runs in a row- Im am doing 30 days (the whole of Nov) and the only stipulation is each run is at least 1km (so no running down drive in trainers and dressing gown pretending that counts before diving back into bed feeling falsely smug!) I will record it here so I can brain dump all the feelings I have during these 30 days. Hopefully there will be no crying trees involved...........

Tyntesfield - healing for the soul via soggy soles

So I'm still battling away with being a Not Very Runny Runner at the moment. I have been hideously ill this last week and on mega antibiotics for tonsillitis (ouch) and some rather annoying business *whispers and points* "down below"......

This meant I couldn't coach this week and have literally been in bed. But this morning I got up and went to do week 6 of the Tyntesfield 5-10k course. I tried to talk myself out of it the whole way. I thought ah well If I go I'll just have a walk, at least Im out. I thought I have every excuse under the sun to not run this week- I haven't been that poorly in a long time and should be Looking After Myself.

So I did Look After Me. I looked after me by going and running. Up hills, down hills, in soggy grass, jumping over cow pats, climbing over gates, dodging cows, admiring the gorgeous scenery and taking deep life affirming lungfuls of air. Surrounded by a wonderful group of inspiring women- two of which had birthdays today!

We did just under 5km, 15 mins running, 1 minute walking, 15 minutes running. It was hard, it was soggy underfoot but my God it was fun.

I am so over feeling sorry for myself. My health isn't great and has been pretty lousy recently but I feel a lot better getting out and running as fast and as far as I can. On the drive home I drove over the suspension bridge and saw the glorious sight of the Bristol-Bath marathon in full swing. I was filled with pride and admiration for all those taking part and realised that my 5km this morning was as important as their 26.2 miles. Every step is as worth it as the next one, if you are an elite athlete or a mum trying to squeeze in some fitness.

We are all athletes.

A triumphant return?

Just look at that picture above. That is a group of women who got out of bed at stupid o clock on a Sunday morning to meet at Tyntesfield and run. Look at the sheer glee. Now these are busy mums, busy mums who have kids, families, jobs, houses, schedules that would make a busy bee weep. But on a Sunday morning, the historical day of lovely lie ins we get up and GO! I am currently doing a course with #Thismumruns

Why do we do it? Because it feels GREAT. It feels beyond amazing. When the alarm went off at 7am it didn't feel great. I was warm and cosy, I start work at 8am every day Monday to Friday and yesterday I took my daughter to London to look at a Uni so endured the sheer trauma of National Express, a whistlestop tour of the Big Smoke and then back on the National Express THAT THEN BROKE DOWN so we didn't get home until past 10 last night. I am TIRED. I am always tired. My next possible lie in is in 6 days time. But something makes me want to run.

I have had a crappy summer running wise- Ive just been looking at my stats from my Garmin and it all went pear shaped in July. I did 3 runs in June, 1 in July, 1 in August and that is tragic. Luckily it has looked up from September where I clocked up 6 runs and I am hoping October is going to shape up even better. I am trying to stop focusing on what I haven't done (e.g.: run at all in the summer!) and look forward to what I can do, am doing and will do.

Im glad I have resurrected this blog and hope to keep it up to record the highs and lows of my running journey. Further than the sofa, one step at a time........

Mojo and muffin tops

Long time no post. So I previously sustained an injury and have been off the running bus for more than a month. Ive also been very busy in Real Life with changing jobs, adjusting to new hours working 5 days a week and of course, as a mum of 4 the summer holidays!

Ive also been thinking long and hard about the great weight debate. I am a bigger girl, I am also addicted to my scales and have been known to weigh myself when I get up for a wee at 4am. Yes, really..... so I have been looking at my body image, relationship with my weight, my body and the scales as a whole. I have a wonderful husband who is my rock. I suffer with Crohns Disease which is a fluctuating condition and very debilitating, so for all the nights I have danced till 3am I have other days I go to bed at literally 5pm. I know my husband loves me for more than the size off my bum but I often feel guilty that he has been lumbered with a fatty. My body has taken a battering due to the Crohns and the various medications I have to take. They also have an adverse effect on my weight and I have gained most of my weight in the last 3 years (conversely also since I gave up smoking) and my relationship with the scales have been getting increasingly dysfunctional.

SO I made a decision. I have removed the scales from the bathroom, they don't tell me my worth, they don't tell me how much I am loved by my family and friends, or how fit I am.
I have been going to the gym, doing circuits (with my husband) and my gym work out the PT set me. I have also now completed day 2 of 5k-10k which I have returned to as I feel I have lost so much fitness in injury time. I have also lost confidence in my running ability.

BUT body confidence wise I am feeling great- funnily enough I haven't miraculously lost 3 stone over night, but as I also don't know if I have fluctuated 7 lbs in a week either way then I am happy as my clothes still fit and I haven't stepped on the scales in over a week. I would like to lose weight, but actually I would like to tone up. I don't really care what figures I weigh.

I will return as the doors just gone

Woman down

This picture shows my foot 5 years ago. I was quite innocently dancing in my back garden at my 2 year olds birthday party and I fell over. Originally we thought I'd just twisted my ankle (direct quote from Lovely Husband "get up! Youre such a drama queen youve only sprained your ankle!"
 Little did we know. I could tell the whole sorry tale but suffice to say it was a wee bit more than a sprained ankle and I was to face extensive surgery and 9 months non weight bearing.
I had suffered a Lisfranc Fracture (normally an injury associated with falling off a horse and foot being trapped in the stirrup, NOT (badly) salsa dancing in your back garden in barefeet on seemingly innocent decking).....

From wiki:

Treatment

Options include operative or non-operative treatment. If the dislocation is less than 2 mm, the fracture can be managed with casting for six weeks.^[12] The patient's injured limb cannot bear weight during this period. For severe Lisfranc injuries, open reduction with internal fixation (ORIF) and temporary screw or Kirschner wire (K-wire) fixation is the treatment of choice.^[13] The foot cannot be allowed to bear weight for a minimum of six weeks. Partial weight-bearing may then begin, with full weight bearing after an additional several weeks, depending on the specific injury. K-wires are typically removed after six weeks, before weight bearing, while screws are often removed after 12 weeks.^[13]
When a Lisfranc injury is characterized by significant displacement of the tarsometatarsal joint(s), nonoperative treatment often leads to severe loss of function and long-term disability secondary to chronic pain and sometimes to a planovalgus deformity. In cases with severe pain, loss of function, or progressive deformity that has failed to respond to nonoperative treatment, mid-tarsal and tarsometatarsal arthrodesis (operative fusion of the bones) may be indicated.<sup>[14]

I was lucky I escaped having my bones fused but only just. The surgeon said the repair may last 10 years and I face the bones being fused in the future.

Anyway enough about that whats happened now? Well I have to be careful with my foot as it can still be quite painful and if you remember a week before the 10 k I fell in the street, and landed on my knees, and the top of my feet causing cuts and bruising to the central scar on my foot. I went for a run a week ago and my whole inner calf came up in bruising. This has happened a couple of times before and its very painful. I was advised to abort the run and to go and get it checked out asap.
Eventually (after my running buddy Plum telling me she was not speaking to me until I got and get it seen to!) I went to see a wonderful sports physio Claire Treen (https://twitter.com/clairetreen) who has had a good look and diagnosed me with tears in my calf and a very unhappy injured foot.

SO what now? Well 4-6 weeks rest from running *howl of anguish* and some exercises to do, and another appt on the 29th. However I am signed up for a 10k on the 28th, so what to do? You can drop down to the 5k on the day and we figured if I rest up between  now and then and go for the 5k option with tape and sensiblilty I should be able to take part. I have been doing a lot of swimming this last week or so and going to HIIT classes to get stronger. So Ishall be keeping up the swimming, and resting, and stretching foot with a big green elastic band and icing and being sensible..........

Notr sure what this means for the half marathon. I might have to aim for a 2016 half...............I will think on it</sup> 

Excuse me! I think thats MY mojo

Ok so there has been some serious mojo losing going on over here. After the 10km and then the abysmal run afterwards I have a confession to make. I haven't been running since :(
Doomy Delores has taken up residence in my head. She has been heckling me for still being overweight (see! I didn't use the F.A.T word) cos everyone knows if you take up running the weight just *falls* off you............and it HASN'T. I have convinced myself that I am not a runner, everyone is laughing at me, I can't run cos I'm slow bla la la

It would appear, looking at my group of running buddies posts on FB that its not just me. Maybe its a post 10k thing, a bit like post wedding, post baby, post anything massive! An anti climax?

Ironically a lot of us are doing another 10k in 3 weeks time but we seem to have forgotten that fact!

Anyway this evening I decided (with the help of some positivity from my running friends) I decided to go for a run. Not 10k, not 5k, just a loop from my house and back and see how it goes. I decided to lower my distance and work on my speed cos I am a SLOW runner. I need to speed up for some PB's, for weight loss, for ME.

The first km I was a lot speedier than usual, but I was gasping like an upturned turtle and grunting like a warthog. I knew I was, despite having noise cancelling earphones in. Some poor woman jumped out of her skin as I snorted up behind her at a bus stop! I then decided that I would just do 1km and turn round and go back. Yes, 2km, that'll do.
There was, however, a huge arson attack close to us last night, and the rubbernecker in me got the better of me- I decided to keep running so I could have a nose at the arson scene (a kids adventure playground- mindless idiots) I was still trying to keep my speed up and it hurt! I was trying not to check my garmin every 3 seconds and just enjoy but I was pleased to see that I was a lot faster than average. I then thought I might as well keep going as I could do a loop back home, and it didn't matter if I walked some.

Then I got to a hill. A downhill. And I decided to run down it. Not jog down it, not plod down it, but actually run. Like a kid does. Running for the sake of running. Some of my best running moments have been when Ive felt like I was a child running for the joy of it, like we all used to. So I trotted down the hill at a speedy pace. I realised that I was scared of falling over. I broke my foot 5 years ago and had extensive surgery to pin it back together. It still hurts often and Ive realised that I favour it and it adds to my lack of speed, especially on uneven ground.

I then came to the homeward journey that I knew involved quite a steep hilly bit. I thought, oh well, I'll run up it but a new character came into my head. Competitive Caz! Me! Competitive against myself. I snuck a look at my Garmin and realised I was still going pretty speedily compared to usual and decided that I would run as much as I could up the hill. I puffed, I snorted, I gasped, I groaned. I know this will hurt tomorrow but Im looking forward to it. Ive got comfortable being the slow one, plodding round at my own pace. But I want to speed up! I want to sweat, to puff, to grunt, to ache.
Competitive Caz is here! I am going to push myself harder as I have grabbed that mojo and I don't ever want to let it go.......

By the way- I did 4km in 34.19 mins

Fat and its associated friends

In a single day I can swing from "fat and happy": "Im only a size 16! I was a size 14 when i got married 12 years ago, AND I've had 3 babies since"
To fat and sad: "I am DISGUSTING. I am a SIZE 16. I am 5' 5". My BMI makes me very nearly dead. I must lose at least 6 stone to be a worthy member of the human race"

I can wake up Paleo, be on Slimming World by 11am, Weightwatchers by lunchtime, and Atkins by tea.
I have diet books on my shelves from (off the top of my head) Weightwatchers, Slimming World, Harcombe, Juice bloke Jason thingy, Hairy Bikers, terriAnn123, Fat Diet, Sugar free diets, Fasting .........................

My head is completely done in by all the different options, conflicting advice and new plans coming out every 5 minutes. I have looked up Gastric surgery, I have toyed with VLCD (Very low calorie diets), I have drunk shakes that taste like the foam in a sewer.

I have called myself horrid names. I have apologised to my husband for being so gross and how he is stuck with me. I have accused him of coming to bed after me so he doesnt have to look at my grotesqueness. (He was watching the cycling) I have watched my 6 year old daughter squeeze her non existant belly and say "God, Im sooooo fat". (learned behaviour or what)

It makes me so sad. Yes being overweight (and I AM overweight) is bad for your health. BUT why am I so mean to myself? I would never talk to someone else the way I talk to me in my head. I can be utterly vile to myself. Sat in front of the mirror poking my rolls of flab when I bend over (FYI my 11 year old football mad super slinky son has rolls when he bends over- its called SKIN. It covers your skeleton. You'dbe a bit nippy without it!)

The simple answer is a simple equation of calories in/ calories out. Eat less, move more. 

Why then is it so hard..................

Rubbish Runs. We all have them/Polly and Delores........

Last night I went for my first post 10k run. According to my training schedule I had to do a 30 minute easy run. Well to be fair everything was still hurting from the 10k and I chose a route that started with an uphill stretch. It was blowing a gale and I just wasn't feeling it.At 27 minutes I had to give up and limp home feeling really pissed off and angry with running as a whole. I decided it was a fluke that I ever got round the 10km and I could never run again, let alone the half marathon.

I have never had a hobby that makes me feel so schizophrenic in my life. I love running, I really do. I couldn't do it if I didn't, but I also hate it. There are two voices that live in your head when you are a runner. There is the one that pushes you, makes you get out there and do it and is your biggest champion. Lets call her Positive Polly. Positive Polly is sunshine, happiness and a forever positive outlook. She's the one who gets you putting your running gear on and believing you CAN do these distances, you can improve and you ROCK. She is the bit of you that makes "I love running" type boards on Pinterest, makes you subscribe to running mags and makes you get up at 6.30 am on a Sunday morning to stand around freezing to death in a vest top and a binbag, before running 10k having paid thirty odd quid for the privilege........

Then there is Doomy Delores. Doomy Delores is with me on most runs, if she allows me to get there in the first place. Delores also lives in my head and her biggest source of entertainment is, in layman terms, to piss on my proverbial bonfire. Often Delores is so much louder than Polly you don't get off the sofa at all. Delores will tell you you are fat, so fat that running isn't worth it. She tells you you're too tired, too old, too busy. If you ignore her enough to get out and run she will tell you you are crap, slow, embarrassing yourself. She'll tell you running is a waste of time, you look like a twat, everyone is laughing at you and its a waste of time. Delores likes to do nothing. She loves negativity and is a liar. She despises Polly and tries to trip her up at all times.

I think as runners we all have a Polly and Delores. In fact in most aspects of our life we have a Polly and a Delores. I am going to try my hardest to focus on and channel my Polly in my running. Ive spent too long giving headspace to Delores and she's a goner!!!!