End of November.... Reckoning Time.

At the beginning of this year, when I started running again, I had few simple goals in mind. I wanted to run in 5 official races; I hoped to reach and be able to maintain a regular 10k run up to the end of November; I wanted to get healthy and lose some weight, and I wanted to raise some money for Macmillan.

So, how have I done?

Well, lets have little look shall we?

Races - In order, I ran:

Pants in the Park, 5k, 12th June

The Jane Tomlinson Leeds 10k, 19th June

Temple Newsam Cancer Research Race for Life, 25th June

Then there was a lapse, during which I sort of switched off.... and slowly got back to training, and got myself together for the

McCain Scarborough Yorkshire Coast 10k, 30th October

And then the Abbey Dash last weekend, which was always going to be the last one of the season for me.

Weight - Here's a photograph which chilled me to the bone when it was taken. I don't usually like pictures of myself, but this was the most terrifying I've ever seen. The occasion was Jem's 28th Birthday Party, in the first week of April. I was about 15 stone.

There are more. They're more graphic, but this is the one I hated most.

As usual, I've spent more time behind than in front of the camera this year, although I've seen myself in some of my business partner's shots where she's caught me at weddings and events, and I posted a couple of me as I am now after last week's Abbey Dash.

But it wouldn't be fair not to post one of how I look today, what with this being where I intended to finish the challenge.

I'm somewhere between 12stone and 12'6, at the lower end more often than not. My scales are temperamental, but they agree most days that I've lost the best part of 3 stone.

Distance - When it became apparent that 10k was not quite enough, and that I was wanting to run further in my training sessions, I adjusted my target to be to reach 10miles by the end of the season, and today, I've run 10.2miles. My speed has increased in the last few weeks, after discovering what amazing effects a few small changes can make, and improving my running form. Despite running most of the route against strong winds and uphill, my average speed today was 5.7mph. Until 2 weeks ago, it was closer to 5.3.

Sponsorship - I've been very chilled about the whole thing, and allowed people to contribute as and when they feel like it without much bothering at all, and I'm on just under £250. I think that's pretty good, but next year's project will deserve much more!

I am delighted. I've loved the whole thing this year, and can't wait for the 2012 challenge to start.

This time next year I'll be writing a blog entry looking back on a whole year of serious races. That thought is almost as exciting as the thought of running them all.

Run no 5: Abbey Dash 10k

The alarm went off at 7.30. I was awake, my mind in planning mode already. After a quick tidy around the house, a last minute bunging of stuff into my back-pack, and a cup of tea for Jem, we set off into town in the car along Burley Road, cloaked in a thick fog. Every so often, as we approached Leeds town centre, runners became visible, some with race numbers already pinned to their chests, some running, some walking. I began to get very excited. In fact, last night when Jem had picked me up from work and we'd driven home along Kirkstall Road, I nearly caused her to crash the car with my excited hand gesture, intake of breath and cry of "LOOK!" when I suddenly sighted the 5k sign outside Abbey House Museum (I must remember not to distract her when she's driving).

From the Art Gallery down, the Headrow belonged to runners - approximately 7000 of us - and I walked through columns of sprinters running in short circuits up and down by the Town Hall, clusters of people using every railing, statue and wall to bend knees and stretch legs out before I found Nell McAndrew leading the majority of the crowd in a mass warm-up. I joined them late, so got stuck into my own usual routine in a little corner.

With so many people taking part, they needed to organise us into categories of expected speed, so I walked back to the 60min flag, and joined a few seasoned veterans, and we talked about some of the long runs they've done, and how this race usually goes, the places you can edge ahead, and what to do with the hills. I discovered that it is poor etiquette to mention, when one is on the starting line, that one would like to go to the toilet. Apparently it was just nerves, but saying it is like yawning, and the urge is infectious.

Hundreds of people were ahead of us, and it took some time to get to the start line, but I saw Jem waving and blowing me a kiss just before I got there, so when the pace picked up and we crossed the line, I did it running and with a smile on my face.

Outside, as the course took us down onto Kirkstall Road, the temperature dropped and the fog seemed much thicker. I could barely see the sides of the road, and not much beyond a few feet ahead, and the footfalls and breathing of the runners around me sounded close and confined. We were running close together, not more than a pace apart sometimes, as everyone in the pack kept moving forward together in search of a space of their own. Fairly quickly, I found my spot, and was able to swerve and overtake every-so-often to find a more comfortable speed or space.

Not being able to see where I was turned out to be a good thing. I just ran. Strangely, I don't remember much, my memory is like the fog - images come floating out of it, then blend back into it. When the lead runners passed us, we cheered. At 5k there was a sign saying "WATER HERE", or something similar, and I decided not to bother. An ambulance came screaming down the line of runners along by the roadworks, and we all pulled over to the side, the unspoken feeling being that of knowing one of us was in trouble. I got angry when I noticed the Final Runner pace-car already had a long stream of slow moving and stationary vehicles lined up behind it, all with their engines revving, their exhaust pipes blowing pointless fumes out into the air we were breathing in vast gulps. We waved our hands in front of our faces to point this out, and made grimaces at the the drivers, but I don't think it helped. A car crossed the line of runners to climb up a side street that should have been cordoned off, and I was amazed at the selfishness. One man veered sharply to the edge of the raod ahead of me and vomited horribly, clearly overdoing something. A number 63 bus had managed to get out of the depot onto the road before the main pack even reached it, we all swerved around it, incredulous as to why it was there when the roads were closed.

Under the viaduct, the 8k mark caused a few tired runners around me to either slow their pace, or slow to a walk, and I heard encouragement for those flagging coming from their friends next to them. At that point I do remember realising that I had been happily running at a fairly fast pace, and that I didn't have far to go. Along the roadside, people had started to gather to cheer their runners on, and I heard shouts coming to the woman next to me. She asked them what time it was, and her people didn't understand, they thought she wanted her personal race time, which they didn't have. I didn't hear the rest of the exchange, or the time when they finally got the idea, and that annoyed me, but at the same time, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I'd left my phone with Jem, and had no idea of how things were going. The frequency of groups of cheering people along the pavement increased as we got closer to town, and I began to think of my Support Crew, hoping they'd found each other, and that I'd be able to see them, and I began to smile. I realised my glasses were steamed up as the fog cleared at the bottom of the Headrow, and put them back on my face just in time to see my parents' shining faces on the other side of the railings. I was beaming with pride, and waved 2 arms at them, bringing them down just in time to hear Jem yelling on the opposite side of the road, I blew a massive kiss to her, and heard her yelling as the finish line came into sight. Then I heard my big brother Dan's voice, and my sister-in-law Mim yelling and cheering, and my nephews shrilling away and I found one last burst of speed and got across the line. Dan came to the railings just after the line to say that the clock time was only 1hr 07mins, and he knew it had taken me a few mins to cross the line, so I already knew I'd probably beaten my PB. I accidentally swore in front of the boys, but in the circumstances I think I got away with it.

My Support Crew - Mim, Dan , Mum, Dad and my nephews the Large One and the Masked Boy Wonder. Jem's taking the photo, but she should be in it.

I collected a t-shirt (accidentally got the large one, when I could have done with a medium these days) and a bottle of Lucozade which Oldest Nephew decided he might like (until he didn't really), and we made our way to the war memorial to meet up with Mum, Dad and Jem. I enjoyed lots of lovely cuddles from everyone, did a few stretches, and put on some warmer clothes to avoid freezing up. We decided to go for a coffee, and the first cafe we found was Costa inside Waterstones on Albion Street. Desperate for a wee since the start line, I discovered I wasn't the first to have this idea, but that they use a code on the receipt to limit access to their loos. We decided to cheat, and waited to tailgate another runner as she went through, and then Jem and I waited while she did a quick change and emerged much more comfortable, and happier. I checked my phone and was ecstatic to read the text message from the race chip: Gun time 1:07:13. Chip time: 00:57:43. I did a quick lap of the cafe, telling my whole family, raving, surprised, delighted, and chuffed to bits at knocking 7 whole minutes off my last measured race time in Scarbrough, so when, as Jem and I got into the cubicle, my brother squeezed his way in too, I barely even noticed the raised eyebrows outside!

After a coffee and a bun, and lots of post-race nattering and cuddles, we all came back here for a hasty but tasty Sunday lunch, and now, after a bath, I'm finally getting chance to post.

I want to say thanks to everyone who has sponsored me, supported and encouraged me. I'm amazed at the progress I've made as a runner, and the vast improvement I've seen to my health, both physical and mental. I've lost nearly 3 stone since February, and it has improved every aspect of my life. I've poured myself into this challenge, in memory of Mim's sister Sadie, and I'm well and truly ready for the next one to continue raising funds for Macmillan. Chatting to one of the women next to me at the start-line this morning, the seed was sewn - I could even do a half marathon by March if I keep my training ticking over through the snowy months, so the 1st of December might mean that against all previous plans, my trainers won't get hung up for 2 months.

Here's a couple of photos of me in my Macmillan shirt. One is from the Jane Tomlinson 10k in June, and the other was taken today. The change is far from dramatic, and I've definitely still got fuel to burn, but I'm happy to see I'm approximately 80% of the woman I used to be.

With my little Mummy in June

Spot the large nephew, hiding...

This time next year.... the spare fuel tanks will have been streamlined and the grin will be even bigger!

Almost the end of the long slog....

What a difference new running gear makes!

I can think of no other explanation for the sudden increase in my pace for the same 9.2 mile run after a week of doing nothing.

I missed my Saturday morning long run because I woke up with a proper headache and really didn't fancy it. I also felt totally justified in having a break and a rest after months of training.

However, by Saturday night, when I realised I had absolutely none of the happy feelings that usually accompany thinking about running, I began to worry about whether my switch had just flipped to off at the worst possible time.

Even when I was buying a new running bra and some proper fitting running pants, I didn't feel the now customary pride and happiness of being a runner. This should have been a moment worthy of acknowledgement, because I've finally decided to buy proper kit, and not just make do with my old stuff. This means I am committed to running. My old running bra has been threatening to fall apart for the last few weeks, having survived 5 years, including several runs with the high pressure of 15 stone of bouncing boobs inside it. The tracky bottoms I've been in are also 5 years old - bought before my first ever 5k race, and largely un-fit-in-able until July this year, when I could only just squeeze into them... and on my first run in them the drawstring at the waist carved cuts into my stomach which have scarred. They needed hitching up on my last long run. But this was just .... stuff. I was not excited. Meanwhile, Jem was in raptures of happiness at buying her kit - tights and tops - because she's finally had the all clear to get back to training after her knee injury.

The last few days, while I've been waiting until my shift pattern allowed me to get out for a long one, have been a little anxious. What if I got to this morning and just felt... nothing? What if the urge had left me? I've only got to make it through the last 10k at the Abbey Dash on Sunday, and I'll have done what I set out to do. But what if I can't be bothered?

I allowed myself to wake up without an alarm this morning, and took my time getting ready. I was still fairly unsure as I pulled on my tight new shorts, and figured out there are no baggy side pockets for my keys and phone in these. Through my warm up, I still didn't feel like I was really going to go out. I did some last stretches out in the backyard, laced my back door key to my trainer, and ended up putting my phone in the little tiny pocket sewn above my right buttock. And I still didn't really know what I was going to do as I set off, but I knew as soon as I cleared the end of the street and saw a bright yellow Sun low on the horizon, rising into a clear cold white and blue sky that this was a good day to run.

I had the Runkeeper app on my phone and it was giving me readings every 5 mins, and it confirmed my suspicion that I'd set off a a fair old lick, much faster than I normally start out at - but I realised that although my breathing was fast, I wasn't uncomfortable, so I decided to keep it up as long as I could. I'd read a blog on myfitnesspal about running form - the correct positions to look for and how to get more out of your muscles - so I set my thumbs into the Fonz position, and swung my hands "from nip to hip", leaning slightly forward and throwing my feet out underneath my hands. And that took me all the way down the canal path. At the 30minute mark, the voice readout came up from my back pocket, and I was at the 5k mark. I was amazed, and grinning (I'm usually a 33-34 min 5k). The workmen who are rebuilding lock number 5 and have greeted me politely all week on my morning walks, shouted Hello to me as I passed, and I Morninged them back, and then when I heard the 45 mins call, I was almost at the canal basin, my half-way mark on this route - 4.56miles. The readouts kept telling me I was averaging 9mins and between 7 and 50 seconds per mile. That's far faster than usual. At the bridge, I turned on my heel and decided to see just how fast my 10k would be. With the Sun still low and rising behind me now, my long shadow was lurching slightly lopsidedly, infront of me and to my right as I turned the bend of the canal, and I noticed that the curve of my bum was totally ruined by the square phone shape - the first time I've ever noticed or been bothered about what I might look like on a run, and this thought kept me going for a while as I followed the shadow up the path. The 1hour readout came just as I got above the goit on the river, and it told me I had done 6.1 miles, so I pegged it (Yorkshire for ran as fast as I could) to the Kirkstall marina bridge, knowing my 10k would be about 61 minutes. It was - 4 minutes faster than at Scarborough. With a massive chuffed grin, I let myself relax to a comfortable jog, and at the 65 mins readout, the app voice told me I was still averaging 9mins 55secs per mile overall.

THAT last hill was hard, as it always is, but by that stage I was running on pure pride. When I turned the last corner into the back street I found 2 of my neighbours having a morning natter, and they yelled "Morning Caroline!'" to me as I wrestled the phone out of my back pocket to press stop on the app outside my back gate. I had a good catch up with them both (Yes, thank you! I have lost weight, and I feel great!) as I did a few stretches and warm down exercises. The screen said 1hour, 32mins, 50secs, 9.18 miles, 1145cals, average pace 10.07mph (but this changes when you upload it to the site, and when I checked the route, it thinks I've done something impossible and taken a weird detour along the canal basin, so I'll stick with what was on the phone when I got back).

I am not only very relieved that the switch hasn't flicked, and proud of myself for knocking so much time off, and now determined to do my 10 mile run before the end of November, with certain knowledge that I can not only do it, but do it well, but I am really really REALLY looking forward to Sunday morning and the Abbey Dash 10k. I ran on the route, but inside out, last week, starting from home, all the way to the Art Gallery and back, which is exactly 8 miles. I had been worried about the hill up from Kirkstall Road/ Wellington Street, to Burley Road/Headrow, but in practice, it's dead easy! I can't wait to be lined up at the Town Hall ready to go. And it's only 10k!

But the best thing will be passing the finish line, having finished the race, hopefully inside 64mins, and having completed my 5 race challenge. If all goes well, my parents, my brother, sister-in-law and nephews, and Jem will all be there to see me come in, and I have every expectation of bursting into happy, proud tears.

And a little bit longer...

http://runkeeper.com/user/Carolino/activity/58754393

It's the morning after Mischief night, the day of Bonfire Night. Typically, for this time of year in Leeds, I was woken up by the rain falling on the roof above where my bed is in the loft. I know I have changed the way I think about running because, seriously, I actually thought "Perfect day for a good long run." This is only the second time this year that I've been out for a run in the rain, the other time being for the Jane Tomlinson 10k, because generally, I can find an excuse not to go. This morning however, I checked outside and it had blown over for a bit - still damp on the ground, but not actually raining, and if I didn't go today, I would have to wait until Wednesday, and that is now unthinkable.

I took my time in getting out, making sure my new trainers were laced properly so my foot didn't get too tight like last week, and having an extra drink of water (I am not fond of the idea of carrying anything with me when I run - what if I fall over and my hands are full?). Being as how it was past 9am, I opened the living room curtains and I suspect some of the neighbours may have seen for the first time my not very elegant warm up routine. Then, most excitingly of all, I set up the Runkeeper app on my new phone. I am very new to smart phones, and I don't really care about flash features or anything. As I mentioned before, my new phone's great, but the stopwatch isn't, so all I needed was something that would time my run, but if it could tell me how far I've gone, and save me half an hour of tedious maths by telling me what my pace and speed were then so much the better. There's a few apps out there, but I thought I'd try Runkeeper.

And off I went, and to be honest it was not a very remarkable run. Wet underfoot, wet leaves on the ground, people with wet dogs, other wet runners. Straight down to the canal basin and back up again. I'm pleased to be able to say that 90% of the other runners I met smiled or nodded at me.

I couldn't check my time at Lock #1 at the basin, because I couldn't unlock my phone while I was running (clumsy fingers) and the app doesn't show on the locked screen, so I decided to just power on. I did check my rough time when I got to the 10k mark and was amazed to find I'd equalled my time last week, roughly 65mins, and so I kept on. I remember the first time I'd had an inkling that one day I'd run the whole 9mile route, back in summer, but I don't think I really thought I'd do it this year.

The only really tough bit was knowing THAT HILL was waiting for me at the end of it all, and there have been days where that would be enough and I'd slow to a walk at the bottom having given in again, but not today. I'd like to say I came striding comfortably up the last 200m, but that would be a lie. I was virtually crawling on 2 legs, but I did it. My new hero is the last runner from Scarborough. She's an inspiration.

As I collapsed onto the wall, I stopped the app, and couldn't believe the numbers. 1.39mins, 10.54min/mile. 9.2 miles.

Whoo-hoo!

Run no 4: McCain Yorkshire Coast 10k.

This morning Scarborough woke up to beautiful sunshine, with a little mist left on the ground from a cold night. It might even turn out to have been one of the last good days of the Autumn. I checked out of my B&B and ambled down the winding path to the Spa complex, and found I was in a converging crowd of people wearing various amounts of lycra, and more often than not, an athletic club vest or t-shirt. There were many of those people I wrote about earlier - the long-legged beasties with vast lung capacities, the impossibly fast runners. It occurred to me that I might be slightly out of my league - this was a proper race. For runners. Not joggers and plodders like me. Not for people with wobbly bits.

I climbed up the steps from the promenade and checked my bag in at the Ocean Room of the Spa, and got my timing chip to tie onto my left trainer, then went to find the toilet, and found myself at the end of a very long queue. Everyone seemed to be in one club or another. Then I noticed that there were a few more normal looking people who were wearing club tops: people with wobbly bits, and ordinary length legs, and my revelation today has been that ordinary people join athletic clubs. It never occurred to me that improving runners might join for encouragement, development and companionship rather than to always be the winner, and it's given me some food for thought.

On the terrace above the Sun Court, people were doing all sorts of warm ups and team photos, and going through their statistics and what they wanted to achieve from the run. Silly times kept wafting towards me - 45mins, 50. The winners were expected to be in within 31 minutes: impossibly fast. When I was asked, in the application process, what time I'd complete it in, I optimistically put down that I could do it within 65 minutes. My calculations took into account all sorts of variables: the course was supposed to be flat, out and back, and I've been training on a circular and fairly hilly route. My last 10k race time that counts, the Jane Tomlinson in June (because I walked for a substantial amount of the Temple Newsam 10k) was 1.08.57, and I was probably around 14 and a half stone at the time, so I reckoned with a fair road and a following wind, at 12 and a half I might shave a few minutes off. I knew I was being hopeful though. In training for the last 2 weeks, no matter how far the course, I've averaged 1.09 at the 10k mark. Surrounded by the athletic clubs, I thought I would probably be left trailing at the back.

The crowd moved down towards the start line, where a band was playing, and local press were bothering people for quotes. Eventually someone with a microphone addressed us. We had a brief clap in remembrance of Sir Jimmy Savile who died yesterday at the age of 84. He was famous for was his love of running, years of fundraising through marathons, and his love of Scarborough (here is not the place and now not the time to air my true feelings about this man). The warm up was pretty rubbish. The crowd couldn't see the demonstrators legs because she was up on the terrace, and we were on the promenade, so as far as we were concerned she was just waving her arms around and squeaking at us to do things we couldn't quite understand, thanks to terrible amplification. I'd gone through my usual routine on the terrace, and so I just kept topping it up with a few stretches, and most people around me just got on with their own stretches instead of paying attention. When Perri Shakes-Drayton, up and coming Olympics competitor, came to set us off and give us a few motivational words, we couldn't hear her either, and so stood mystified while she giggled down the mike at whatever she had just said. And then, at last, we were off!

As always there was a crunch and a hustle to get to the start line after the timer had started, and it took a minute or two to get on to the official course. Crossing under the start banner, I pressed go on the stopwatch on my trusty old phone (my fancy new one has a stopwatch function but it's not as good). We could still hear the band up to about 1500m out, then there was an almighty racket which turned out to be 3 blokes in halloween costumes, with a drum, a guitar and a theramin. I like theramins, they're cool, like stetsons and bow-ties, but for all that's good in the world, if you're going to get one, and play with it in front of other people, then PLEASE learn how to use it! Some members of the Beach Boys were turning in their graves. I think the pack speeded up at this point, maybe that was the idea?

I don't recall much as we continued out along Marine Parade, through the crowds of morning seaside tourists, out along the sandy promenade, where the team of guys dressed as firefighters overtook me, until the pace car came into view coming in the opposite direction. It was displaying a sign with 20minutes and a few seconds in lights, and the first few runners, all genetically more similar to giraffes than humans, came pounding after it. There was swearing and disbelief at first, between me and the lass I was running next to, then we yelled encouragement at them. We chatted for a bit, and then I realised that I was finding it difficult to hold a conversation, and that I was running faster than I would normally, so I slowed my pace down for a bit. The sun was hot, it was later than I normally run, I was hungry, my team night out with work on Friday was still lurking, I'd not slept as well as I should... there are any number of reasons why I wasn't feeling as comfortable as I usually would at around the 3-4k mark, and I began to worry about making it all the way round.

I grabbed water from the table at the 4k mark at Peasholme Park, and ran through the grounds, and then back out onto the promenade, running parallel to the beach until a hairpin bend doubled us back on ourselves. Mentally, now I was on the way home, and I felt a little better. I could also see that although it had felt like it, not everyone had overtaken me; a few of the people I'd overtaken were quite a fair distance behind me. I'd only seen one or two other people in Macmillan t-shirts, and when I saw a young lad bringing up the rear of the pack (although by far not the last in the field) wearing his, I yelled "Come on Macmillan!" at him, remembering how much that had spurred me on in June, and his tired red face broke into a grateful smile. I hitched my pace to match that of an older woman with white hair next to me, and we were level for most of the beachfront, with me eventually breaking ahead of her as we came back into the harbour front. Although that felt good, I wondered if I could keep it up. Clusters of people were still watching and clapping on the pavements, but a few people ahead of me had slowed to a walk, but seeing them giving up opened the way for me to question my own motivation. I began reasoning with myself about how I should listen to my body, and that if I really did need to walk, then that's what I should do. However, these last few months, I've learned to engage my inner voices in a discussion, and reason back that I've done this distance loads, and that I wasn't really tired, and that I've had really long runs where I've been sure I wasn't going to make it from the minute I've got out of the door. Usually the run finishes before the argument does.

Just as this was happening, the pavement took a sudden but mild incline and a bend, and the slight change was coupled with the 7k marker. For some reason it hit me really hard and I noticed I had a stitch, and that my right foot was feeling too tight again. My head went down and I heard my inner voice ask for help. I needed something to kick me. Despite the fact that I could now see the Spa again, out around the curve of the bay, I was flagging. Exactly at this point, a woman who had been running behind me came alongside, and then overtook me. As she came in front of me, I noticed her top, a pale salmon pink long-sleeved cotton thing. With a sweat mark on the back. And it was in the shape of a perfect heart.

"Thank you Sadie!" I thought, and grinned, picking my knees and feet up, finding a little more energy from somewhere. I realised how far I've come this year, and why. Too far to give up.

The theramin group were still making me wonder why they were bothering, and as they faded out behind me, I noticed that the band at the Spa were now mangling one of my favourite songs, New England (Kirsty MacColl was turning in her grave too), and I started singing it under my breath. The lady with the white hair, who I thought I'd left behind, suddenly passed me and settled about 30 seconds in front of me, and we were onto the last 1000m. More people were gathered towards the finish line. I heard the cheers first, and felt my spirits rise and my pace pick up before I noticed that the clock said 1.05... and that that's the fastest 10k I've ever done. At the same time, I realised that I crossed the line a while after the official start: I would actually be faster than 1.05...! Some kids had their hands out to catch hi-5s off the runners, and I let myself take 4 of them, grinning, knowing I was on for my own little record.

I stopped the stopwatch in my pocket to confirm it - 1.04.49. I got a text message from my chip time a few minutes later that confirmed it as 1.04.48. My personal best 10k time. I felt fantastic, and narrowly avoided tears by immediately joining the queue for bananas and race t-shirts.

Immediately in front of me when I got there was the lady with the heart on her back, although it had changed shape by now. I told her about it, and we got talking about races and running as we caught our breath. I went to pick my bag up and get changed out of my sweaty stuff, and the white haired lady turned up next to me. She was talking with a couple of her friends, an older man and his wife. I caught her attention and told her she was amazing, the way she'd just put that spurt on. She said how hard she'd found it, but said she'd enjoyed it, and they told me how old they were: the man was 76, and had come in at 57mins, and she was 69. I want to be racing in those times when I am their age.

As I left the Spa to walk up the hill towards town for my bus home, I saw that the last runner pace bikes were coming in, and noticed the band were now putting undue pressure on "It's got to be Perfect" (it wasn't). The clock by now was counting for the family fun run that had started on the same route 10 mins ago, so I checked the time - 11.38. The last runner was an overweight but utterly determined woman, running painfully in. As she came down the last few metres, the crowd was going crazy, clapping and cheering her on. I hope she revelled in every second of it, because everyone seemed so proud of her, and for her. 1hr and 38mins. She was a purple faced struggler, as my Dad would've said, but she bloody well did it.

I left Scarborough on the bus, with a massive proud grin on my face, and settled down to demolishing the bananas and the veggy sausage sarnie I had talked my lovely host, Derek, at The Esplanade Gardens Hotel into packing up for me. He'd seemed bewildered when I told him I was running in the race, and that I didn't generally eat before a run so wouldn't be partaking of my breakfast with the other guests, but did me the honour of building me a butty anyway. I was delighted to find he'd slipped a couple of sachets of brown sauce in there too, lovely man! I nodded off a little on the bus, and was pretty much fully recovered when I got off in Leeds.

So, that only leaves the Abbey Dash on the 20th November to complete this year's 5 Race challenge, and I'm already wondering if I can beat my personal best time?

Dad's response to my text message about my time was "This is getting serious!"

I think it might be!

New Trainers!

On Sunday, when I'd sort of calmed down a bit from my triumphant and smug mood after my Big Long Run (8.3 miles) on Saturday, it finally occurred to me that I should go do something about my trainers.

I was in Harrogate to see Jem, and she was ready to test out her injured knee with a gentle walk, so we went for a wander around the town centre. After a surprising visit to the fantastic library, where Jem ended up getting a henna pattern on her hand to celebrate Diwali, we made our way to the shops, and found ourselves actually passing our favourite cookware shop with only a brief but longing glance at the mini Le Creuset dishes in the window. These places sell the paraphernalia that cookware fetishists like us crave (she's worse than me - she uses every utensil within reach even if she's making a bacon buttie - egg whisk, garlic press, at least 2 spatulas and a spud masher...), and even if we weren't buying, we would go for a quick perv, focussing on specialist equipment and fantasising about making rude, fabulous tasty stuff. We still both love cooking, but at least we're running off the results these days, so we hurried past and went straight to Up & Running.

I finally got my gait analysed, and in the process found that I am completely unable to run on a treadmill. Out there on the early morning roads, after a few miles I might be making weird noises and doing something that barely resembles running, but on a treadmill, I run like Phoebe, feet out to the sides, arms doing flapping movements to try and balance. How this could lead to an accurate view of my gait, I was very unsure, but apparently it's not where your feet go on the way down that matters, it's how they hit the ground, and it turns out I am a neutral runner. The very helpful assistant made recommendations for the type of support I might need for my heel pain, and listened to me telling him all about my Big Long Run the day before and how I'd practically killed my NB trainers since starting to run in them in February, having shrunk from 15stone to 12and a half. He looked at them and agreed they're dead. Then he brought me 3 pairs of suitable trainers and let me try them on. And these are the ones I chose:

Today I went out for the first time in my new trainers to get them warmed up for Sunday's 10k race in Scarborough . I only intended to do 10k, but once I had set off, I found it was such a gorgeous, cold and bright Autumn morning that I just wanted to keep going. Along the canal, despite feeling fine and enjoying the run, I found myself wishing that instead of running, that I'd gone up there with my camera to capture the golden misty light, the lances of sun striking into the mist through the orange leaves, the ducks and moorhens splashing in the misty patches on the water. There are some occasions when the 2 things I love so much cross over, and unfortunately they're incompatible. You can't take photos like that whilst actually running, and I had to remind myself that sights like that are also a reason why I love running, especially in the mornings. A good run or walk always throws up something beautiful and surprising. Yesterday, I saw a bloke carrying what I thought was his lunch in a bread bag, but I was proved wrong when he dipped into the bag and threw the contents in handfuls to the greedy ducks at Lock 6. Something about it made me smile, I'm not the only one who still loves to feed the ducks.

Just before the Kirkstall Marina, I asked myself what I wanted to do. Was I going to run straight down to Lock 1 at the canal basin, which would have been about 6.5miles, possibly run back up as far as I could? Was I going to run to the viaduct and run back up Kirkstall Road and get a bit of route practice for the Abbey Dash? What I heard coming out of my mouth as a reply (yes, I do talk out loud to myself when I'm running and there's no-one there to hear) was "I'm going to do what I did on Saturday," and that was my answer.

As I came toiling over the peak of the hill where Kirkstall Lane turns onto Morris Lane, a man getting out of a van saw me and asked if it was really worth it? I answered "2 stone off says it is!" and then I spent the remaining 30 minutes of the run kicking myself that I'd got my weight-loss wrong. It's 2 and a half stone at the moment, hopefully 3 by the end of November. Probably because I was thinking so much about this, I barely noticed the rest of the run, which means it was much easier than Saturday. I even made it back to the garden wall 7 seconds faster than last time.

My feet feel great, the trainers were really comfy and I can appreciate the difference good cushioning makes. I'm now set for the final 2 10ks of my 5 race challenge, and should be ok to get through the first few runs of the 200 Mile Macmillan Madness next year.

The longest I have run... yet! Prepare for 2012!

#Rocky Theme Tune#

8.3 miles. 93mins, 32 secs. Average 5.38mph

Yes. I. Did.

I feel AWESOME!

And now I know I can do that, I'm well up for getting to 10miles by the end of November, weather and attacks of the snot lurgy permitting.

And that would be a cracking end to a year in which my life has changed completely. At the end of my run, as I speed-staggered back to my garden wall, grinning massively, my neighbours were out on the back street. I had to go pull the bins back in from the road, and as I did so dripping with sweat and probably steaming gently, my 2-doors-down neighbour asked if it was really worth all that extra effort.

"Two and a half stone off since February says it is," I said. When she congratulated me and asked how I'd done it, I went on briefly to tell her about my walking, as she said she and her daughter see me setting off every morning, and I told her how losing the weight, and the act of running, have made every aspect of my life better. I explained about my motivation and the fundraising for Macmillan and other cancer charities. As it happens, her Dad is ill and being treated for cancer right now, and she's receiving loads of great advice and friendly help from Macmillan, and her Dad is finding their services invaluable.

It's everywhere. You really don't have to look far to find someone who is dealing with cancer, or relatives who are helping them fight and worrying every day and night. The work Cancer Research UK does is vital, and the Race for Life series is a brilliant opportunity for people to say thank you, and do something for themselves and their loved ones to help battle the illness. Macmillan pick up where the scientists leave off - they are there for the emotional and practical side, providing the essential support that people need to get from one day to the next to get through the illness, or deal with the grief.

This year, I set myself the goal of running 5 races. 5 is loads to a 15stone, 35 year old woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders. 5 is a lot, especially to someone who used to prefer to do absolutely nothing at any given opportunity rather than exert myself. 5 seemed like a long shot to that person I was in February. Behind all that was also the knowledge that this time I wanted to keep up the running for as long as I could whilst the weather was good. This time I wanted to make running a permanent part of my life, not just something that drops in every few years, stays for a few months until I've done a quick fun-run, then drops away leaving only a medal or t-shirt behind, as the pounds start to creep back on.

The result is that I'm now planning the maddest, most exciting challenge for 2012. Jem, a fresh convert to running, who has sustained a really cruel and nasty injury just as she was realising that the bug had not just bitten, but completely savaged her, came up with a wild and dangerous idea for her to run 100miles of races next year, when her knee heals. My honest first reaction was "If she can, I can," and so I said I'd do it with her.

In the next few weeks we'll be planning 5 and 10k runs all over the country between February and the end of November 2012. We'll each complete 100 official miles of races, some together, some separately. Jem will be starting from zero again, as an absolute beginner, as she was only a few weeks into the 0-5k plan before falling and injuring the bursar pad under her left knee. It's incredibly painful and virtually invisible, unless you count the horrible yellow colour all around it even now, 4 weeks on. I will hopefully be starting training again from 5k after a 2month break. We'll each start with the early 5k runs, and then get stuck into the 10ks and longer until we reach a total of 100miles each. There'll be plenty of geeky stats and a little competition between us: fastest average running speed over the year; most improved; furthest travelled to get to the runs, anything that can be logged and compared will be food for the competition. And, as a great big massive ending, we're trying to get ourselves into a half Marathon by the end of the season.

We're having an initial look at what we might do tonight, and Jem's setting up a dedicated blog for the challenge, so I'll publish more details when they're available. It's all ridiculously exciting.

I can already see where this might take me. I'm beginning to think 2013 might be my marathon year.

Goodbye to old Running Partners.

Last weekend, I finally had to say goodbye to the trainers that did so much to get me to where I am today. It wouldn't be right not to say a few words about them, and give a dignified send off to two old friends.

In 2006, when I had got to 13.5 stone and was disgusted with myself, I purchased a pair of trainers, as a desperate act. I'd just got out of a pretty nasty relationship and found myself in a precarious state of mental health, and so I threw myself into training, knowing that if I recovered my fitness, I might find a little bit more sanity along the way.



Note the holes, the worn down heels and gripless toes, the stretched and savaged air pads. This is a pair of trainers that worked hard.

These baby-blue Nike -Bowerman Series Air Pegasus trainers cost me £45 (I think) and they have served me ridiculously well. I started running again from scratch in February 2006, downloaded the Up&Running 0-5k plan, and ran my first 5k Race for Life at Skipton in the May, and another in London in June that year. I'd been out for a run in these on the day I was knocked off my bike and broke my collarbone (November 16th 2006) - I may even have been wearing them at the time. They sat in the wardrobe for a few months until I was able to get out again, and then they got me through another spring and summer of training and up to my first 10k at Harewood House on 16th September 2007.

All over Morley, Churwell, then Meanwood and as far out as Alwoodley, together we laid down some serious footprints. These were the trainers I conquered Dunny Hill in, the achievement I class as my official qualification as a Runner. Until I had battled the same monster hill as my Dad, and won, I was just playing at it.

This year, having purchased a pair of cheap New Balances in the sale, just to get back into running with, I demoted them, and they emerged from under the stairs to become my main vehicle for getting to work in: these helped me walk 40miles a week on average until I recognised that there was more of my socks showing through the mesh than was respectable.

They have been forlornly sitting by the back door for weeks, as if knowing it would only be a matter of time before I plucked up the compassion to do the decent thing and move them the final 5metres into the black bin. I did that last Saturday morning. But, in order to mark their passing, I took a photo.

Farewell then, old friends. We came a long way together.

It won't be too long until the NB's have to go the same way. They're coping very well indeed to say that they've now walked approximately 500miles AND they have been running with me since I started this year. I plan to invest in some properly measured and supportive trainers to get me through the next few months because I have a very exciting new running project on the cards for next year - more of which in the next post.

ONE MORE THING...

Finally! I've found the missing race. There's nothing like leaving it late! Tonight I've signed up to run the McCain Yorkshire Coast 10k Road Race next Sunday in Scarborough. Whoohoo! 5 races.

And that was far too easy..... watch this space for next year's big challenge.

The Zen of Running - Part2.

Another in an irregular series...

3) Never judge your fellow runners.

And especially do not compare yourself to them. When I first started out, desperately trying to co-ordinate my limbs and regulate my breathing on intervals of 1minute of running and 2 minutes of walking in a 10 minute block, I remember seeing lycra-clad, long-legged, healthy and gorgeous looking people striding confidently past me. They didn't even notice the velocity they were clipping along the street at, leaving other pedestrians in their slipstream, as I puffed and heaved and sweated. I thought I'd never get there.

How could I? They must have been born running. They were genetically different from me - look at their legs, the total lack of fat, the ease with which they attained such speed. It must indicate a bigger than normal (or, at least, bigger than mine) lung capacity. It was almost enough to make me want to give in.

But now that I need to run for at least an hour every couple of days, and now that I've lost 2 and a half stone, it's all become so much easier. My legs aren't any longer, but they are a bit less wobbly and more muscly, and nothing has changed my genetic make up, but my heart and lungs are used to putting in this work, and the oxygen and the blood pumping round my body makes my brain feel good. And today, I realised that I'm now putting in faster sections, where I can, just because I can.

Those runners I saw at the beginning may not have been sustaining their whole run at the pace I saw them at, maybe they were just enjoying a sprint section. I know for a fact that they must have been through the same process of struggling with their bodies to get to a point where they were running more than 5 minutes at a time, and you can't tell from looking at someone what stage they are at in their own run. Maybe they'd just left the house, they may have been off for their own big achievement of just one mile, but they might well have been out for a long slog. Who knows how long it had taken them to get to that pace and distance. And who can say what their reasons for running are? My reasons are about maintaining my mental health and improving my physical wellbeing, as well as raising funds for cancer charities. Like my Dad noticed at the Jane Tomlinson run, something has to make people get off their backsides and do such a difficult thing. There's as many reasons to run as there are runners, and no matter where you are along the way, it's all progress, and if you have put your gear on and set off to go running, you are a runner.

This morning, I ran for exactly an hour on my fairly new 8.5k route, and I saw another runner I see occasionally when I'm out at about 7ish. I usually see her up near Hawksworth Woods, but today we were both along Kirkstall Road. We smiled at each other, because we were both clipping along and couldn't speak. I'm convinced she's a veteran of some awesome long races because I'm sure I've seen her wearing the t-shirts, and she seems as fit as a fiddle. When I first remember seeing her, I remember thinking the smile was an encouragement to the newbie fat lass she must have seen heaving towards her, covered in sweat, but this morning, her smile actually seemed like recognition. I can and do run 10ks, and I wear the t-shirts.

I'm a runner. I run.

WINNER!

It's Sunday night, after one incredibly busy weekend. I shot a wedding yesterday, and went back to enjoy the evening reception as a guest, and today, despite the vicious hangover (my first in months), I went out to photograph 13 kids under the age of 10, and their 6 mothers. The condition I'm in right now is far from the general mood in which I usually update this blog. Usually, I come crashing in from a run, have a shower, then smugly type up my latest achievement making sure everyone knows whichever milestone it is I've just strode past.

So it's about time I set down the 2 things which made me so proud of myself yesterday.

I've been back up to running around 10k every other day for the last week or 2, and it feels fantastic. I'm down to about 12 1/2 stone, and delighted. Everything is so much easier. I look in the mirror and I recognise myself again. These things are fabulous, but they fall into the shadow cast by what I managed yesterday on a nice hour long jaunt in a fairly new circular route I use occasionally.

1) I finally killed the hill.

You know the one. The one that creeps up from the main road, with the woods on one side. The one that doesn't look so steep, it's nothing compared to Kirkstall Lane, which I now do about every other day in the middle of my 9 0r 10k. The one I've had so many fights with in the past. The one I've avoided since about April.

THAT hill.

Well I DID it. HA!

My breathing did sound like a seal yelping an alarm cry by the time I landed on the wall outside my house, but I flipping well did it! And now I'm going to have to do it again to prove it to myself. Next run. I know I can do it now.

And:

2) I had to buy a belt yesterday. To hold up the trousers I started wearing for work again about a month ago, which I fitted back into again for the first time in 3 years (my old size 18 work trousers have no beltloops, and my hips, tummy and bum are now no longer able to hold them up). Because they're falling down. And the belt I bought from Primark for £2 was a medium/large. At first I didn't think it would go round me, after years of knowing this would be true. But it fastened, and not even on the 1st hole. Or the second. I am on the 3rd hole.

Now that might be the reason why when I got back to the reception, I ended up spending about 2 hours on the dance-floor last night, getting sweaty and silly and loving every minute of it. And that's not happened for a very long time, if ever before. Proper, daft, bouncy, noisy dancing.

I'm healthier, I have more energy, I'm slimmer, and I'm far happier.

I love what running has done for me.

The Zen of Running - Part 1

I've always meant to get round to this, but so far haven't.

When I've been out for a while, I somehow reach a state of mind where I realise all the things I have learned from running that have had useful applications in the rest of my life. This could be a growing collection.

Here's a couple:

1) Whenever there's an up, there's a corresponding down.

This has a few resonances. I have suffered from depression, at varying intensities, on and off for the last 13 years, and running has become my tool of choice for managing the condition - it's cheaper and the side effects are better than medication.

I've learned that life is usually pretty balanced, overall. "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make," which has to be the best last line to leave fans with by any band, ever. For every moment of utterly terrifying, isolated, unspeakable sadness I've suffered, I've had another of amazing pride, delight and love. For every great boozy night out, there's the hangover. For every penny I've found, one's slipped out of my grasp. No big deal, that's the way it should be.

And so it is with hills. They're horrible. I don't like any of them. I toil up them, hating them steadily. But when I get to the top, whether it's a flat plateau for a while or a peak with a direct descent, I know I'll get a chance to get my breath back while I'm still running, and then there's the reward of the run back down. It's an instant reward - my body reacts immediately, gravity welcomes back my co-operation and thanks me by pulling me back down again. I can run faster, longer strides and my breathing's easier on the downhill.

No matter how hard it is, it will get easier. I will survive, and I will get better. I've learned to be nice to myself. If no-one else does, you should recognise your hard work and congratulate yourself for it.

2) "Hoo" breathing is better than "Aah" breathing.

I usually let my breathing do what it wants to as long as I'm keeping my strides regular and my speed at a recognisable running pace (not looking like fast walking or speeded up lurching). But when I hear myself making "aah - hiss...., aah - hiss.... aah - hiss" noises (exhale-inhale), I know I'm getting tired and not giving my body what it needs. It's asking for more oxygen. I try to get a grip and get back to controlled hard breaths out - "hoo... hoo...hoo..." and better breaths in.

Again... this has something to do with not letting events take over and overwhelm me. Learning to relax, step back and take a better control of my part in the situation.

I tend to remember these when I'm out, and forget them in the shower. If I remember any more, I'll blog them.

Oh, and one more thing - today I'm very pleased - I did my 5k route in 35.55 - my best time yet. I then got on the scales and discovered that for the first time in 2 and a half years, I'm under 13stone. This has put me in a great mood.

And Dr Who is back tonight. Awesome! Excellent day!

The Switch

Forgive me, for it has been over a month since I last blogged.

I must also admit that in these quiet weeks, I've only been out for 2 or 3 runs.

However, since taking it slightly easier, the weight has really fallen off, despite eating rubbish and drinking a bit more. I'm now 13stone - that's 2 less than when I started writing this. I have to conclude that this is mainly down to the 40miles a week of walking I've managed to maintain since mid-March, as I've been far more consistent in this than with the running. In fact, I reckon the running started to shift it, and the walking's kept it going.

The strange thing is that when I wrote the last entry on this blog, having had a totally uncharacteristic mid-day nap and feeling completely wrung out after the Temple Newsam 10k, I was aware that something had changed. Since then I've tried to figure out just what happened, but there's simply no explanation other than it seems a switch was flicked in my head that said "That's enough now."

Until then, running was part of my routine - every other day, at least 3 times a week, I was out in the early morning putting in a few miles. On a running day, I would feel satisfied and pleased with myself for having achieved something, no matter how small and insignificant. On the rest days I would plan my next run, something a little longer maybe, or perhaps a little more demanding in hills or intensity. All the time, I was walking everywhere, and all the exercise meant that those feel-good hormones were pulsing around my system, giving me a little more confidence, a bit more of a chilled out approach to life and even a little extra reserve of patience in stressful situations. This is what I love about running - it's not how you feel when you're doing it, the effects are felt afterwards in so many ways.

Somehow, though, that switch that kept me going had flipped off. My morning would start with me waking up in bed, and the part of my brain that responds to the satisfaction of obeying routine would say "Are we going for a run, then?", and the whole of my body would reply with a straight, honest "No," and not even feel guilty about it. On the few occasions that I've been out, it's been a result of my body replying to my brain's question with a "Yeah alright then," which was definitely not its' former "Hell yeah! Off we go!" I surprised myself by managing the odd 5k, or a run down the canal for 4.5miles, knowing that practically all the way, my brain and body were arguing like the mother and daughter I wrote about before.

I had begun to worry. The urge had gone. Is this forever? Would I ever fall back in love with running again, or is this it? What would that mean for my 5 run challenge?

I did a few calculations about the other times I've taken up and forsaken running. When I first started to do fun-runs and fundraisers, it was as a motivator to lose weight after hitting what I then considered to be an obscene weight, which I believed I should never, ever allow myself to return to or go above ever again - and that was 13 and a half stone. I got down to what I think of as my ideal, healthy running weight of 11 and a half stone (I actually went as low as 10stone 12pounds, but I looked like a skeletal horse) within a few months, then at the end of that season, I developed plantar fasciitis. I stopped running then, and by the time the good weather had returned, I had started a business, and was too busy running that to get out first thing in the morning. I came to the conclusion that the switch has flicked itself OFF a few times in the past, but I've had things which prevented me from noticing it, or reasons to ignore it.

I know when the switch is in the ON position. It's usually in the early New Year that I notice that the sight of other runners engenders that swelling feeling of mixed envy and pride, and thoughts of being part of a running event put a lump in my throat, and then I look at myself, realise I need to lose some weight and talk to myself about it for a while before one day, quite unexpectedly, I wake up, put my running gear on and find myself out making dragons breath on a cold and frosty morning, and feeling awesome. It's probably fair to say the switch is probably something that will flick on and off at intervals for as long as I live -Dad says his switch is still ON, and it's terrible for him because he really can't run any more. That's a peculiar torture, and it worries me I might have to live with it.

A few days ago I decided that I needed to focus again, to have something to train for (which is why I decided to do 5 runs throughout the season), and that I would start running again next week, the start of August. One last weekend of lounging, I thought. That'll give me time to sort out this weird knee thing that's started in the last few days (a randomly occasional sharp pain behind my kneecap, as if it's bending too far forward), and see off the groin thing, which has been improving no end since taking it a bit easier. I had 3 beers last night, and a late night in front of the telly - surefire non-running behaviour. And then this morning, I woke up at 7am, and realised that I was going for a run, no decision about it.

33minutes. 4.5k. dead easy. I totally deserved my fat breakfast of french toast and fried mushrooms with a massive cup of tea. After a shower, I've logged on and registered for the Abbey Dash on the 20th November- the end of season run that is the other emotional run for me. This is the 10k that I've seen going up Kirkstall Road each year and felt the urge, the envy, the pride, and the unexpected tears welling up about taking part in. I'll finally do it this year.

Perhaps the switch flicked ON again over night. Or maybe I just like getting out on a sunny morning. I don't really care. It was a lovely run, and it was all mine.

Cancer Research UK Race for Life 10k at Temple Newsam

I have just woken up after the first afternoon nap I can remember taking in years. I meant to have just a little lie down when I got out of the bath I took to unwind when I got back home, but ended up lying face down on my bed, naked, in a patch of lovely warm sunlight for 2 hours.

It was a difficult one today. The course was much hillier than I expected. I woke up to the rain at 6.30 to get ready, and it was still threatening rain all the way across town, and it was muddy as I entered the field in front of Temple Newsam House where Cancer Research UK had set up their stalls and the start/finish line. It didn't bode well.

Having got bus times from transportdirect.co.uk, I left the house just before 8am and then spent 20 minutes waiting for a bus that didn't come, which meant I missed the connecting bus to Temple Newsam. Luckily, I wasn't the only person heading in that direction, I got talking to 3 other women waiting at the bus stop (which was not where the website thought it was) and we all got there just in time for the warm up. By now the rain had stopped, and it was warm and quite humid - not my favourite running weather, in fact the sort of weather that stopped me running in Atlanta when I first thought I might try getting healthy.

The race organisers divided the 1000 women there into groups of Runners (those who would complete it in under an hour), Joggers (an hour upwards) and Walkers (those who had no intention whatsoever of breaking a sweat), and set us off with a gap of a minute or so between each group. I put myself into the joggers group, and watched as the runners shot out of the starting line. A minute or so later, the Joggers group were set off too, and although I'd walked downhill to reach the line, it somehow hadn't occurred to me that I would have to run uphill to get out of the field.

By the time I passed the 1k mark, I was already pissed off. Grass is much harder to run on than the roads and hard canal paths I've been training on, there's much more bounce and no hard push off, and it tires me out much quicker. The marker was just before the route took us around the perimeter of damp green playing fields for 3k. I found myself looking for short cuts, and having to tell myself that's not the point of a measured race.

As the 4k mark approached, shortly after giving up on defending my back sign against the strong crosswinds, I noticed I was running in front of a Mum and Daughter running together, and I'd been listening to their conversation. The little girl was only around 9, maybe 10 at the most, and she was shattered, and whinging that she wanted to stop, needed a drink, didn't like the wind, or the heat, or the puddles, this was stupid and why did she have to do it anyway? Poor old Mum did her best to cajole and explain, encourage, praise and generally talk her daughter round, and I felt simultaneously sorry for and really proud of them both, because even whilst she was complaining, the girl had not stopped running. They overtook me just before the 5k mark, after I'd turned to them after a particularly whiny bout and said "Listen sweetheart, you're keeping me going! I think you're amazing. Everyone else has legs twice as long as yours - you're running twice as far!" A few other people around us joined in the encouragement. I hope they finished well.

After the 5k mark is where it all went wrong. They took us out around the rough paths on the wider estate, and there was a hill that pretty much was all there was between 5 and 7k. It was slippy on the stones, and muddy off them. Since about the middle of last week I've discovered I've got a pull in my groin which starts playing up after 5 or 6k even on the flat, and it makes hills quite unpleasant. At the same time, my left foot starts to tighten up, becoming hard and tense. I spoke to my Dad about after last week's race and he thinks it's probably a balancing and protecting thing related to my shoulder injury. Even though my shoulder doesn't hurt when I'm running, I seem to be holding the whole of my left side slightly tense.

I could not do the hill. I walked, steadily hating the terrain, the weather, my foot, my groin and my lack of preparation for the route.

I ran again whenever there was a flat bit or a downhill, along with most of the people around me. Seeing a crowd of women toiling up a wet hill, then somehow, fishlike, without verbal communication, reacting like a shoal and all suddenly running again was surreal and beautiful. By the 9k mark, the marshall assured us there was only a tiny little bit more uphill and it was nothing like we'd already done, and despite a few exhausted strides of walking, I came across the finish line running, and was surprised to find that my time, even with roughly 2.5k of walking, was 1hr, 14mins and 44secs. This probably means that my running is not that much faster than my walking. I'm not sure how I feel about that!

I ran into the finishing paddock, collected my medal and goody bag and collapsed among the others, lying flat out on the wet grass. After a natter on the phone with my parents and a few stretches, I set off up the hill to walk out to the bus stop. But when I got to the top of the hill, I found to my surprise that I was crying, and took myself away from the crowd to go and sit in the amphitheatre. I can't say exactly why I was so overcome, more even than last week, but I had to wait for the unexpected tears to pass before being ready to walk again.

And as I made my way back through town on the bus, chatting with a couple of other runners and wearing my medal, I made the following resolutions for future runs:

• Do not do overtime, then go out and drink with the data team the night before a race (even if you do stick to shandy). And you can't get away with a midnight bedtime before a 6.30 get up.
• Research the course. Next time you intend to run a 10k route that involves slugging up killer hills, please have at least 2 weeks of hill training under your belt. And do at least some grass work!
• Sort out your foot/groin pull thing. Could be all compensation for the collar bone injury.
• Drink more water!

So that was run number 3 of my 5. I've got my eyes on 2 more, but I'm saying nothing until I've signed up for them.

In the meantime, having not really had the best run in the world today, knowing that I didn't enjoy the route and that I was totally unprepared for the hills, I was asked by a marshall on the way out if I'd do it all again.

The answer's yes. Somewhere around Temple Newsam's grounds is a pink backplate that says "I'm running for Sadie Legard", with a heart, blown off my back between 4 and 5k. There'll always be better reasons to run than reasons to stop.

JaneTomlinson's Run For All 10k in Leeds

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

1 hour, 8 minutes and 57 seconds!

I am more than pleased with that time, especially given that this morning was the worst weather I've run in so far, and that there were roughly 9000 other people on the route, forming a wet, warm, steamy and sweaty crowd as we crossed the start line on the Headrow outside the Art Gallery.

What an amazing experience, and I'm so proud to have taken part. Somehow, I don't have lots to say about warming up in the rain in Millennium Square, or the course, or the weather (wet), or my time (far better than I thought), or my feet, or the chafing from my trousers (tummy and back - getting rid of those!), or much apart from motivation, and this is after a natter with my Dad about his thoughts today.

As it's Fathers Day, I had arranged for my wandering parents (who until very recently could have been described as being of no proper fixed abode whilst touring around in their campervan) to meet me after the run for a meal. My Dad is a recovering runner (he's not done it for years now, but used to have a habit that took him up to 2 marathons: it was a serious addiction), and he gets his running kicks vicariously through me these days. I know when I'm not running (like the last 3 years) I feel guilt and envy whenever I see a race, or when I see any lone runner on a long one, and he still suffers this 20 years on.

The course went around town before taking us out to Meanwood and then bringing us back into Leeds up North Street, where I was struggling at the 9k mark, having realised that it's one of those long slow hills I hate so much. Although I'd enjoyed the run and had settled into a decent and comfortable pace, an hour is a long time. I had to keep focussed on crossing the line running, and among runners, not walkers. Regardless of what time I got, that was my target. At various points I had remembered to keep my eyes out for Sadie's hearts and butterflies, and there was no shortage, as Heart Research UK had a fair number of runners in logo t-shirts, among other heart charities, and this put a smile on my face and kept my chin up when my head could have been hanging down. When we crossed the 5k mark I checked the stopwatch on my phone to see that it was 34mins, my best time so far. The 2 lads on either side were suddenly desperate to know the time, and when I told them we all seemed to pick up our pace a little. Macmillan had people stationed around the whole course clapping and yelling "Come on Macmillan!" whenever they saw a green t-shirt, and that gave me a boost each time. But at the top of the hill, all was darkness and difficulty in my head until I suddenly heard my name being yelled clearly over the sound of stomping feet and panting: both of my parents were there against one of the barriers, waving, clapping and smiling. I blew them a kiss and ran on, saying to the 2 people running next to me with a mixture of pride and relief "That's my Mum and Dad" (and then I realised I sounded like an overgrown school kid getting off the bus from a school trip). Seeing them pushed me on enough to get me across the finish line, despite that last kilometre feeling as if it was lengthening itself out with every step I took.

After I'd collected my finishers T-shirt and my bag from the storage back in Millennium Square, I called them to find out where they were, and went back to the finish line to meet them, thinking they'd be waiting patiently somewhere sensible. I found myself stuck on the opposite side of the road from them, with the runners and walkers still battling their way across the line, but I could see my folks, both of them enthusiastically cheering and clapping everyone who crossed, with massive and genuine grins of pride and encouragement. By the time I got to them, I could tell my Dad had been crying. Apparently he'd had a good sob when he'd seen me, and while I was cooling down and doing the post-race tidy up stuff, he'd found himself watching the hour-and-a-halfers, the "purple-faced-strugglers" as he called them. It had struck him that anyone who is still battling on at that point really has a reason, they've got a burning motivation to keep them going when they've worked so hard, and in these races, that reason is loss.

I've always found the end of runs to be emotional places. People are high as kites having achieved what they've been training for for months, and then the adrenaline crashes away and all that's left is tired muscles and mixed feelings about not having to go for a run in the morning. It's when all of the ideas that got you out there in the first place, and the memories of loved ones affected by deadly diseases your charity is trying to stop swim up to meet you to say thank you and you realise all of your efforts can't bring them back. It's when you realise 10k is nothing compared to what some people are going through. And when the simple acts of personal strength and bravery that you've seen around the course really touch you.

For a short while, I was running between a young man who was doing it barefoot, and a woman who I would say was in her late fifties. Her back plate simply read "In memory of my Dad" with his date of birth and 2011 on the next line, followed by "Happy Fathers Day, love you always." I had wanted to hug her and tell her that my Dad would be waiting for me at the end, and that I'd give him an extra cuddle for her Dad when I saw him, but had realised that that would've just made me, and possibly her, tearstained as well as sweaty and rain-damp.

As I walked up the edge of the Headrow, finding my way around the barriers and safely across the course without getting in the way of the battling plodders and the worn out walkers, and towards my parents, it all hit me, and I had had a little cry too.

So many people were out there in the rain today, running like me to raise money to thank charities for help, to research cures, to continue providing services that make a difference, and to get themselves fit and make a difference in their own lives.

If you'll excuse the pun, after 10k in the rain, I find that staggeringly inspiring.

... so I've got there and finally booked myself onto next Saturday's 10k Race for Life for Cancer Research UK at Temple Newsam. This is run number 3 of my 5 for my challenge for Macmillan, and you can sponsor me through my Just Giving page for them still, but if you'd rather donate to Cancer Research UK, click here instead!

Pants-tastic!

Well I don't know about you, but I've had a fairly cracking little week, as far as the running's been concerned.

After my lovely long run featured in last week's blog-post, I went out again on Tuesday morning, and ran 6miles straight off, down and back along the canal, and was buzzing with positive running hormones for the rest of the day. By the time I got in from work that night, I'd done 17 miles on foot, and I slept like a very contented baby. Then on Friday, I thought I'd better test my 5k time, and got home inside 38mins, even though I had to admit defeat by that f!@{ing hill and had walked the last few feet.

So this morning, feeling well and truly ready, I pulled my team Macmillan shirt out of the wardrobe, and was nicely surprised that it's no longer as snug as it first was - there's a little more room in there these days. I even pulled out my slightly tidier tracky bums, the ones without the paint stains on, and they fit me too, which they haven't in years! And off I went to Roundhay Park on the bus.

I have to say, it wasn't especially well signposted when I got there, so I'd walked for about half an hour, round the big lake, up the hill to the little lake, and then back to the Lakeside Cafe by the time I found the small gaggle of people in t-shirts under their gazebos on a hill near what I've always thought of as the posh bandstand (apparently it's called Barran's Fountain). The people standing around were a mixture of obvious habitual runners, families with young kids or dogs, students, older people, all out for a bit of a plod, a walk, a jog or a run, and mostly wearing their pants on the outside of their clothes. I saw plenty of fabulously colourful y-fronts, some stripy boxers, some french-knickers, some spotty granny knickers, a pair of grey ele-pants, some frilly bloomers, and a few doggy-pants too. I had forgotten the ones I was going to wear on my head.

The wind was coming up, which made the poor drum majorette troop look a little dafter when they were throwing their pom-poms up in the air and failing to catch them, but then they also failed to have a music system that worked so they performed their routine unexpectedly to the sound of a car stereo crunching their intended cd tracks. I have always had a fear of drum majorettes, and cheerleaders have the same effect - they make me want to cry and run away. This made me decide to go away and have a little private warm up session where I couldn't see them. Then, just as I'd completed my normal routine, a very loud and muscly man from British Military Fitness introduced himself to us all and made us run around and do warm up and stretchy things for another 10 minutes before setting us all off on the course, which was 3 laps of a 1mile-and-a-bit circuit.

We took off down the hill towards the cafe then took a sharp right under the lea of Hill60 and the adjacent woods, round the edge of the cricket pitch, on the path that all too quickly climbs towards the main gates on Princes Avenue.

It's a hill. I can do hills.

I did the hill, and recovered at the top where the route did a very tight hairpin bend at the gates and went back under the Mansion (New Walk). I got my breath back and settled into an even pace and turned right onto The Carriage Drive and back to the lap point. The second lap started well, at 10m55s, and in my head I was already imagining myself arriving back and finishing. I noticed the second visit to the hill was much harder than the first, and I took it slightly slower, but by the time I reached the top, I was more tired than I was expecting to be. I walked the hairpin, taking about 30 seconds to get my breath right before setting off again along the nice long flat stretch and the easy down hill bit. I didn't catch my time for the lap point, I was just determined to finish by then, and I was kicking myself about walking for that little bit.

And then far too soon, I found myself at the foot of that long, gentle hill again, and my mind went blank. I couldn't do it. I walked my third ascent, really laying the guilt down about not making it, and prodding myself with the thought of failing next week on the 10k, just because of a hill. I started running again at the hairpin, absolutely resolute to finish well, and very quickly found myself running far faster, but comfortable. I remember thinking "This is great! I've not run this fast in years!" as I strode round the corner, and could not believe the speed I picked up on that last 500m. I came haring across the finish line, suddenly feeling supercharged and full of energy, knees well up and full of fire. 36minutes and 16seconds, even with the laboured walk up the hill. The last time I did a 5k race, in June 2006, my time was 33minutes, but I was 3 stone lighter!

Someone lovely put a bottle of water, a cereal bar and a medal into my hand, and I found I could speak. Two very fit looking guys were standing next to me, in the same state as I was, red-faced and sweaty. I asked if it was just me, or was that hill a killer, and they both agreed loudly. One, who runs in most of the charity runs around Leeds throughout the summer, and has done this route every year since they started (4years ago), told me that some of the lads from his running club came with him last year, because they didn't believe him when he'd told them they'd find it harder than the Great North Run (13miles) because of THAT hill. He was alone this year. My guilt disappeared! I've stopped kicking myself. We all agreed that not knowing that a difficult hill is in front of you is fine, but knowing a tough one is coming up is a mental trap, and they both said they find it easier to run up steep hills than long shallow ones. I am not a freak!

So, that's the first one down. I'm happy with my time. Based on this, I should finish the 10k next week at about 72minutes. If I can come in under that I'll be chuffed to bits.

Hurray!

C

PS: LOOK AT MY TOTAL! Well chuffed and proud to be on £190 - nearly twice my original target already! Thanks to everyone who's sponsored me so far, it means a lot to me, and has given me the encouragement I need. I'm still looking at a few more events - but will confirm which and where when I've had time (and spare cash) to register for them.

Foot testing, sunny running, wobbly stuff falling off and new motivation...

This morning, after a week and a half of taking it rather easy on my twisted foot, I went back out for a little tester run to see how things are.

I'm very conscious that I need to get my distance back after a few weeks of either flat-out not running, or what now seems to be even worse - giving up early and walking home on fairly short routes. After a few days of strapping it up and using it as little as possible, followed by reintroducing my walks, was my foot up for a proper run? Could it stand up to any useful sort of distance? How long should I give it to heal? I would have to see how it felt.

The answer is that my foot didn't like being squeezed into the tubigrip support, and it twinged when I put in into the trainer, but after that, it was absolutely fine - a perfectly normal foot.

And so I warmed up, stretching my feet, ankles, calfs and heels carefully, and off I went. And surprised myself for the 2nd time in the course of this training. I ran down Kirkstall Road, past the Abbey, turned up the hill just before Morrisons, and joined the canal, following it all the way into town in the most beautiful morning sunshine. I didn't stop or switch to walking, even though on this occasion I'd told myself it wouldn't be such a bad thing considering the amount of work I've got to do in the next few days to catch up, and felt fantastic by the time I touched the wall of the bridge at Lock No1 at Granary Wharf. I last completed this run on the 24th April, and although I loved it then, and have promised myself I'd do it again one of these long weekends or bank holidays, I'd not managed it since. It's 4.5miles to Lock No1 from my doorstep, and I ran all the way, then turned around, stretched again and set off walking and running back. So I've done 9 miles on foot, with probably about 5 or 5 and a half miles of running, and was home by 8.45.

I think this might be the way it'll be for the next couple of weeks. It's time to move up a gear with the training - more frequent and longer runs must happen now if I'm going to make the full 10k distance on the 19th. On this route, I can extend my run by just keeping going for more of the way back. My shifts at work between now and the 19th mean that if I'm out of the house by 6.30am, I can fit it all in, come home, have a shower, then set off walking (back down the same route) and get to work on time.

I'm tipping the scales at just under 14 stone (my weight is still going down despite eating like a proper pig and consuming more beer than is sensible during the week that I was "resting my foot"), and the runs are feeling much easier already. Fingers crossed I can shed a little more of the wobbly stuff before the big race.

AND - I am incredibly grateful, stunned, and filled with new motivation at having exceeded the sponsorship target I originally set. I'm not one to push for sponsorship, or harass people, and I know that giving to charity, and the choice of that charity is a very personal thing. My methods so far have been to put the message out there and see who wants to sponsor or donate to the charities or organisations I've selected.

I'm now terribly proud to have the sponsorship of Dave and Sallie, Sadie's Mum and Dad (my brother's lovely parents-in-law). Macmillan helped their family immensely in terms of information, advice and support all the way from Sadie's diagnosis to her death from kidney cancer. I want to raise money to ensure that other families going through such a difficult time can continue to get this vital help and support.

I'm running with a new determination, and now, on Dave and Sallie's instructions, I'll be keeping an eye out for hearts and butterflies for Sadie along the way.