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!

Non-writers guilt.

Oh deary me. I've not written for more than 6 weeks.

This does not mean that I've not been running though. I've had some glorious long runs out through Horsforth woods and along the canal into town in spring sunshine. I'm up somewhere around the 5 mile mark, on about an hour of running. Or at least that is, I am when I've got time.

I have all sorts of excuses - not the least of which are the interruptions of consultations, weddings, and editing, cleaning the house and showing prospective housemates around, which have absorbed my morning and evening times around shifts at work which are on a rolling pattern which sometimes make a morning run impossible.

However, I've been getting out when I can, and I've got a new attitude. I've spoken to a few people in the know, a highly placed amateur very long distance athlete and a personal trainer who've reassured me that as long as I can say I've been for a run, then I'm doing ok, whether that was for an hour's slog or a 20min jog. I'm doing alternate days, keeping going for as long as I can manage, rather than going on just 2 long runs a week. And I'm sticking with that.

In the meantime, it's less than a month to go til the big long race. Im working on getting the distance up, and getting my weight down. 40 miles of walking a week is beginning to show, I can see muscles in my thighs and the scales are below 14stone for the first time in ages.

Now I need a big dose of motivation and a really good long run that I can relax into on Sunday morning.

More later!