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.