A joke's never as funny....

...the second time around.

Well, that's what they say. Thing is, I'm already missing the blogging (the training... not so much). The facebook fans have been kind enough to support my continuing to blog, and I thought you might be wondering how the aftermath is hitting me.

I guess you've seen the pictures taken around the race. Frankly, I'm amazed, I can only concur with what people are saying: I DO look happy and relaxed. Even in Julian's photo when I know how much I was suffering, I had a smile for the camera. The only one I look remotely worried in is one he took very early on (it was up on the blog, because I thought it was the 11 mile shot, but when I realised it wasn't I switched them. Oh go on then, this one. Interestingly, although I appear to be looking straight at him, I don't remember seeing him). I probably was really worrying at that point that I'd keel over within the first mile or so. Once I realised I wasn't going to, I relaxed into the whole thing. I'm in trouble, by the way, over the twist-and-turn one. Not because I'm such a drama-queen that I had to get my photo in rather than focus on the race. It is the angle my foot is hitting the floor at. It looks wrong even to me: I'm a suprinator. I don't know if it follows that I'm suprinating, but probably. Check it out, it's only the previous blog. It basically means that I (if this is usual with me) have a tendency to land on the outer edge of my foot. It has pluses and minuses: on the plus side, you run faster. On the minus side, that is because your foot is not evenly distributing the weight of your body landing, and you can seriously damage your calves, shin splints and the like.

Anyway, at the end of the race, I was just so happy. I think you can also observe my grinning ear-to-ear in the smurf picture. It wasn't just the smurf, I was grinning anyway. Heather was telling me how moved she was and how she wished Iris had been there, and I was still grinning. OK, I looked a bit serious. For a moment. I didn't really notice any pain. I did some stretches, and when I showered, I carefully dowsed my legs in freezing water for a few minutes. And I didn't think too much of it. I was expecting the stairs to be hard, and they were - I'd had the same thing from that fast run I did a week last Wednesday. But the next day - WOW. I'm not the most organised person, but the 3rd time I realised I'd left something else in my bedroom, I was just - oh, right, well how much do I really need that? I texted Sal to ask if I should ice or anything, and she replied that I needed to go for a half-hour walk.

I did this towards the end of the day, I walked into town to pick up some shopping. Rather gallingly, I forgot to buy actual food, but I did spend my usual obscene amount of money buying cards (I like to stockpile them), and a replacement ink cartridge for the printer. And I bought a hat that I'll probably never wear, but might if I have to go somewhere classy in Scotland when it is cold. (You have to think of these eventualities). Half way home, I'd got to beyond the half-hour, and beyond a joke. Cambers on the pavement were causing me to whimper out loud. Although I was nearly home, I stopped at Keely's house and begged for tea. I was entertained by a sign on the door that said "No thanks to salesmen; religions; junk mail", and was trying to formulate a sentence around trying to sell them some religious junk mail, but I was more interested in the tea, preferably accompanied by a seat, so I let it go.

At this point, it is only fair to share with you an idea that has been growing in my troubled mind. I'm not sure if I said at the time, but I may have mentioned it in passing: when I told my mother about the race, and raising money for Iris, I got quite a frosty reception. She came round in the end, and supported me like a good 'un, but to be honest, no one does scowls like my mother. (Well, actually, yes they do. Wow, I wonder what would happen if mum and Jeanette met, and annoyed each other? Fortunately I doubt that would happen, although it's possible that my dad might annoy both of them). The point was, you see, that I was running the race for someone else's mum. "What about me?" she wanted to know. "Well, you don't have cancer, do you?" [wrong response]. "No, but I have Polymyalgia rheumatica," she said. This is true. Well, obviously: she's not prone to lying. "It's not killing you, though, is it?" [wrong response]. I shan't tell you what she said, because I hope she didn't mean it. But it's nasty, and very painful. It's treated using a very strong steroid that has uncomfortable side effects itself, and is highly addictive, so doses are started high, and then reduced as rapidly as possible, and hopefully to the point of coming off it altogether. But flare-ups can occur, and then treatment has to begin again. Now, mum has been suffering for over 2 years, and I distinctly recall at its worst (at least, I hope it was) she had just completed writing her first ever book, but hadn't had it published, and she took my hand and said "if I don't make it, will you see that my book is published?". Now, she's not prone to histrionics as a general rule, this is just how awful she felt. I'm happy to say that the book is published, and we're all immensely proud of her. In fact, if you're interested, you can buy it on Amazon. It is about my great, great Grandfather, Edward Capern, who was a postman in Bideford, and used to write poems on the backs of envelopes he delivered. Since then she has had periods where she's felt better, but then also, periods where she's declined again. The pattern of almost "getting there" and then worsening depresses her deeply.

So amid my euphoria for having completed my challenge - which I regard as being pretty massive, but in the grand scale of things, obviously it isn't, there was a little nag of guilt. Your mother's suffering: it said, and you haven't tried to do anything to support her. Now here's another thing. My mum loved running as a child, and has harboured a desire to run the London marathon herself, which she had as a pipe dream, through my childhood, I think. She recently expanded it to "any marathon - in fact, I'd settle for just being able to run 26 miles". I think you can probably tell the general direction my thoughts are going in. 5 months ago, I considered it a physical impossibility for me to run 13.1 miles. I worked, I trained (and you know I did) and I did it. Seemingly pretty effortlessly, even with a virus. So, 26.2 miles also seems an impossibility. Especially as I've now established that I am, in fact, deeply competitive, and will need to do it in a "good time". I texted Sal, and she said, with her usual lack of hesitation "have to be a charity place now". This means that although the open ballot for places on the London marathon has closed, you can run for a charity, because they have places that they can give you. I looked up on the internet, and the charity that supports Polymyalgia research is Arthritis Research UK, and they have charity places. I'd have to raise £1800. This is almost as big a challenge (but not really) as undertaking the race. Of course, there are other marathons - the Edinburgh one, for example, which is a month later on (and hence potentially warmer).

I ran the whole thing past Luke and Keely. "Wow, a marathon" said Luke, trying not to laugh at the fact I was seriously discussing this at his table basically because I was too crippled to walk home. "Twice as far: I imagine that the pain afterwards wouldn't be twice as bad as a half marathon..." I don't know why I thought that was the end of his sentence: "no, I'd say it would be much worse. It's bound to be an exponential scale, isn't it?"

So a joke's never as funny the second time you hear it.... But then, running jokes are supposed to get funnier through repetition, right?

Watch this space.

Living on a Prayer

I slept badly, but that's OK, because Sal said everyone sleeps badly. She told me this when I asked her why on earth she recommended vanilla icecream and expresso before the aborted Grunty Fen half marathon. Turns out she was recommending it on its culinary qualities, rather than specifically pre-race food. I gave it a miss, but to no avail - I still didn't sleep well. I got up at midnight for a hot milky drink, but that didn't seem to help, especially after I managed to make it curdle (that was the apricot brandy). I woke up at 7:30, desperate to just stay where I was, but I had chickens to let out and cats to feed. I went round to Maggie's in my nightie, and was rather surprised to find her builder there at 8 am on a Sunday. We both pretended I wasn't wearing a nightie (fortunately I had an oversized jumper over the top of it). Then I ate breakfast... it was porridge, with yoghurt and apricot jam, and was completely vile. I managed about half a bowl, and rather like my childhood of eating the sugar out of the ready brek, then announcing I'd finished, I quit when the jam had gone. Frank finished the yoghurt, but turned his nose up at the porridge. The chickens LOVED it - which was as well because I also had half a saucepan left.

I started getting paranoid about missing the start of the race, and even though Nic's advice was I really only needed to get there half an hour before I started, I was scared in case the road was blocked or something, and set off at half nine, dosed up with paracetamol (as recommended by the GP) with an ibuprofen in my pocket for later. I don't tend to take analgesics that much, so I hadn't overloaded my liver too much over the previous days. I saw lots of runners and pedestrians on the way down, and everyone was very friendly and wishing each other luck, and made it to Cathedral Square, where I ran into Trudie who was doing the fun run with her boys. She was glad to see my up on my feet, after the last few days. The square was deafening, and it seemed unlikely that I was going to run into Heather and Nic accidentally. I sought refuge in the Cathedral - I thought, a quiet word can't hurt at this point. (It was also where I was the day I was interviewed for my job with English Nature). I sat at the back, relieved they hadn't started the service, and had a quiet moment, then saw Pete and Jenny, who I hadn't seen since they arrived back from honeymoon, so that was good. They promised they'd look out for me on the course.

Out in the square again, I randomly bumped into a guy I was at uni with, Michael, which was fun. I run into him about every 3 years, and think the last time I saw him was in almost exactly the same spot - he was also running, but i didn't see him again. I finally found Heather and Nic, who had brought Gavin with them, and was able to offload my bag and coat with them successfully. I lined up between 2 hours and 2:15, at the starter post, and spotted Rich, with his running protege, Tara. He said that a lot of folk from JNCC had said they would run, but had all dropped out (shame). He frowned at my ipod and said he thought it might be against the law, but I certainly wasn't alone, so I laughed at him. Also, lawbreaking is easy when you don't know the rules (right, Stephen?). However, he fully condoned my use of drugs, and said when he ran the Sahara, the squaddies were popping paracetamol and ibuprofen all the way round. I also ran into Will and Tony, but not Summer, who they said had stayed back a bit. They were hoping for sub 2 hours, so I made a mental note not to run with them. No sign of running Dave, though I scoured the crowds, I didn't see him, so that was one worry taken care of (I'd been going to run with him, and Sal said not to, so I was wondering about whether I dared raise her wrath or not).

We started out, and the first bit was a walk, but that was OK, because we hadn't got to the starting post yet. I fired the garmin up, ignoring Sal's instructions to not wear it - I was kind of interested in my heart rate today, what with being sick and all. Once we went past the post, just like Belvoir, away they went. You have to struggle not to peg off after them. I was all set to do my 11 minute/mile, and that went right out the window. I felt like I was running backwards doing a 10 minute mile, but I courageously let people past me. At the traffic lights, I passed Nic, Heather and Gav, and put in a wave; then at Central Park, I clocked Pete and Jenny again, with Stewart and Fiona (I didn't see Megan, but don't know if she was there or not; and didn't see little Caitlin either).  Around Newark Avenue, I saw Tony, who waved and said "Nearly there" because he's a bit of a joker, but he did get a good "fresh" photo.

 I kept my eye on the garmin, because let me tell you, my body wasn't telling me anything. Every time I looked at the garmin I was surprised. At how fast I was going. I tried to slow down a bit, because I wanted to get in the negative split, and I knew the second half would punish me if I didn't slow down, but it just didn't seem to be happening and my heart rate was in the comfortable high 160s, and I felt OK, so I kept going. Nigel told me about the kids all holding their hands up so you can high-five them as you go by, and it is really cool. They get all happy, and it gives you a buzz. So I did this for a lot of the first half. I had a chat with someone, mainly because I saw a bloke (walking) in full bomb-disposal outfit, and muttered an expletive, but forgot I had headphones in, so it might have come out louder than I meant. The bloke next to me told me it was bomb-disposal outfit (I wouldn't have known) so we gave him a cheer. I had a chat to the bloke, as I had un-headphoned, and thought i might as well check I was in chat-speed. He did the Grunty Fen, which was his first race, and said it was really cold and windy, so I felt quite smug I'd missed it.

I went passed Anita and her grandkids, high-fiving, and a little while later saw Chris, who had to run along side to get me to notice him. I'd just passed Rachel in Werrington who called out that she didn't know I was running it (note: touch her for sponsorship later), when Living on a Prayer came on the ipod. I looked at the distance, and I was at 7.12 miles - glory be, the boys came in bang on half way! WOAH-WE'RE HALF WAY THERE! - I would have sung, if I could - OOH-OH LIVIN' ON A PRAYER TAKE MY HAND AND WE'LL MAKE IT I SWEAR! WOAH-OH! LIVIN' ON A PRAYER. Just thinking of Fraser's face when he sings the bass made me grin from ear to ear. No idea what the bystanders made of it, but I was looking a lot happier than anyone else round me.

Anyway, time to speed up for the negative split! Didn't feel so comfortable about the idea, when I saw the smurf. The smurf was engaged in telling some female runners in front of me that he was a figment of their imagination "I'm the 9 mile smurf!" he said. The smurf was good to hang around with. Few of you could forget that I myself found Smurf fame at Scone: Rewind - well, a lot of people at that Festival greeted us collectively by screaming "LOOK, IT'S THE SMURFS". This meant that everytime the crowd cheered on the Peterborough Smurf, I just thought they were talking to me. I explained this to him, and he said "That's brilliant - you think they're cheering you, and you didn't even have to dress up!"

Around this point, I saw Julian (who for sake of clarity later, I shall dub Economics Julian), and shortly thereafter, Angela, Natalie, Margaret, and Peter and Mary, at which point I really started to feel like I was part of a community or something. Running around my town, and spotting friends all around the course. It was a good feeling. However, I can't deny I was also feeling knackered. Sal had said that 8-10 were hard. She said I had to be an actor, playing a Shiz hot runner. (Mum, if you're reading this, I don't know). I decided to do that; I thought that what was motivating her was recognition and adulation. Every time I saw a group of spectators, I gestured at them by raising my arms, and without fail I got an enthusiastic round of applause, at which point, I put my arms over my head as if I'd just won. It was good, actually. It was a bit tiring, but worth it, I thought. The crowd loved it, I was working them.

At some point around 11 miles, my next task was to pick people off ahead of me, and overtake them. I was tired, really tired, I don't mind telling you (now). I didn't feel like overtaking people. I felt like lying down. But quite a few seemed to be flagging, it was surely worth taking a few of them. I passed Jen (in the spectators) who gave an ecstatic yell, and further round the park, Pilates Julian, who compromised my time by shouting that he had missed me (brandishing his camera), and could he take another photo. At that point, I'd have done anything to slow down - every time I looked at the garmin now, it just said "warning: heartrate too high" which it defines as being 182 bpm - I don't have any arguments here. The ipod was playing Suzanne Vega, I'd abolished most of her songs from the set list yesterday for being too slow, but this one had something of a beat, so it stayed on. The lyrics went "If you were to kill me now, right here, I would still look you in the eye" - which frankly made two things occur to me - (1) it wouldn't be very difficult. You could probably do it by pushing me over. and (2) I probably would look you in the eye - I think my eyes got welded open several miles ago.

It ended, and Aqua's "Roses are Red" came on. I only added this yesterday, and I was really pleased I remembered about it. It's nuts, but it's very pop-y, and my pace picked right up, despite my state. I was now mile-watching on the garmin. I wanted this thing to be over, I really did. We got onto Padam Road East, which is part of the route that I know, because I run that way sometimes, but the familiarity didn't help, I was knackered. I wanted to stop. I saw Peter and Mary again (where did they spring from?) and they shouted out "Looking Good, Emma" - which perversely, did help, but not for long. I was just thinking that I was going to die for sure, when the Smurf caught up with me. "SMURF" I shouted (or croaked). He recognised me, which was nice, and said something like "Come on, you can do it!" in a way, not unlike Dave. I CAN do it, I thought. I thought of Louise writing on my sponsorship "Go Blue, fellow Smurf!", and I thought, this is it. I fell into pace with the Smurf, who was picking up, not slowing down. We bombed along, until that narrow path, where we had to negotiate our overtaking - including passing Rich and Tara. As the path widened out again, Aqua came on a second time! What a plan, to have it on twice! I decided to forgive the Smurf if he left me behind, but the final part of the plan came into action: I WAS Usain Bolt! (Don't tell Sal, I had to Google him when I read her plan. Sorry Usain). I sprinted around a group of people, conscious that Smurf was sprinting neck and neck with me on the other side of the people, but not getting away, and also that my name was being hollered in my right ear. We pounded past a few more people, and I was just wondering if I could keep it up, glanced at the garmin, which informed me that I was dead (heart rate 197 bpm) but recalled that Sal said she didn't care what my heart rate was at that point - and then it was all over.

Nigel was there, and gave me my t shirt; and I staggered out, and somehow Nic and Heather and Gav managed to find me.  Turns out I beat Dave - he came in about 6 minutes behind me. Although by his own admission, his training was somewhat lacking. And the stats said that I came in 2095th, with 66% people ahead of me, but 499th woman, with 43% women ahead of me. I was the same ratio in my age group, with 43% women my age ahead of me. But best of all, in the second half, I overtook 378 people, and was only overtaken by one! And I got the negative split in, too. Even the garmin thought so... boy did my heart know about it when I started the second half.

And you know what? I quite enjoyed it! But the best thing was stopping.

Thank you, everyone.

I just want to say a massive thank you to every person who sponsored me to do this race - so, many, many thanks to Rebecca, Simon, Nigel, Britta, Kate, David, Linda, Simon, Anne, Babs, Anon, Huw, Judy, Terry, Debbie, Stella, Mina, Keith, Jim, Brenda, Mike, Richard, Rob and Dawn, Justin, Simon, Chris, Colin, Ilfra, Sue, Gavin, Trudy, Margaret, Isabel and Jorg, David, Jessa, Cat, Heather, Louise, Fiona, Matt, Jeanette, Charlotte, Evelyn, Stephen, Sophie & Robbie, Jennifer, Anna, Susan, Ian, Catherine, Gavan, Nic, Jen, Marilyn, Helen, Daniel, Andrew, Carolyn, Dave, Geoff and Donna, Emma, Mike, Jasper & Dorrie, Joe, Stewart, Richard, Dave, Megan, Suzanne, Alistair, Tim, Tim, Mark, Trevor, Tim, Paul, Sue, Paddy, Paddy's guests (including Dougie) and Iain.

Thanks (and good luck) to everyone who joined in the sweepstake: Ian, Justin, Naomi, Chris, Tim, Anna, Sue, Paul, Nic, Brigid, Dave, Keith, Richard, Judy, Nigel, Alistair, Mina, Megan, Hannah, Heather, Suzanne, Stewart, Anita, Tim, & Tim.

Thanks to everyone who went running with me, including Nigel, Chris, Tom, Dave, moustachioed Chris, Paul, Summer and Tony. Thanks to Summer for agreeing to join my team, and help raise sponsorship money for Sue Ryder, as well as your donations to Macmillan. And especially, thanks to Sal for all your help and top tips with the training.

Thanks not just for your sponsorship, but also for all your words of encouragement, for following this blog, and generally keeping me at it!

You went nuts - the total I raised (so far) through this race for Macmillan is £1162.10, plus loads of gift-aided money (£239.53 online, plus more offline). Heather says it really meant a lot to Iris that I decided to do this. I'm sure it means a lot to Heather and her family too. And Macmillan is really grateful - they keep emailing me to tell me!

THANK YOU EVERYONE! 

and I'll let you know tomorrow how I get on...

The Stupidity Gene

OK, here's the situation. My cough started up again (perhaps from embers of the last cold I had three weeks ago) at the weekend. Not badly. I didn't think too much about it. On Wednesday, when I was back at work, I started feeling really ropey. Sore throat, very light headed, shaky and extremely nauseous. I came home at the end of the day and went to bed. I did well with the sleeping (it's a specialty of mine) and felt a lot better in the morning. The cough was certainly easing off. I got up, showered, and looked at the time. Plenty of time to walk or cycle to the station for my train. I sat down, tea in hand. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't get there. I picked up the phone to call a taxi. I considered as I did so, the 15 minute walk at Kings Cross, and almost started crying. I had a quiet word with myself. It went "Look, Goldberg, if you can't face walking for ten minutes, you're not fit to be going to meetings. And if you're not fit, go to bed." In doing so, I was sacrificing my social calendar. One doesn't take the day off work and then go out for the evening, not even for Summer's birthday meal. I called the meeting and gave my apologies. The relief I felt was palpable. I did a lot of resting, and tried not to be asleep for too much of it - it messes up your circadian rhythm, which I was keen not to do. Frank was ecstatic. He lay on me purring for most of the day (try not to think about him extending his claws right there). I decided to catch up on Doc Martin, which I love, and had so far missed the entire series, which was enjoyable. I love how rude he is, although it's phenomenal how many rare conditions there are in such a tiny village. Some people might think that general practice would be more dull in such a small town.

I posted a facebook message that read like this:

And I had a myriad of responses, which included a link to the Muppet Babies Get Well Soon Song from Britta, and a query from Susie about whether it was a delayed hangover. However, more alarming was the ones following that...

In accordance with this instruction,  I also decided to take the Friday off work. Actually, I would have done even if I hadn't been trying to get better in order to kill myself for a race. Although I felt better than Thursday, I still felt as if I'd been run over by a truck. I phoned my line manager and explained what was at stake. She was very understanding. There is some rule that says if you take a day's leave and you're sick, you can switch it for sick leave. I told her that although this would probably be the case, I had no intention of doing so, as it was largely going to be my choice.

I've just realised that by including this image, I've blown the secret covers of several of my friends. Damn, I'll just have to hope that they aren't litigious. Or try not to say anything libelous about them from now on, I've only got 2 days to go. Also, I could put here, any similarity in names is entirely coincidental.

Anyway, this morning, I got MORE messages on this thread. They were kind of backing up Sal.

I liked the stupidity gene comment. It's quite possible that the whole "running" thing may trigger this otherwise inactive gene, and turns it on. It definitely has with me. I'm going to have to look out for Nick on the way round as well, in case he tries hunting me down. As if I didn't have enough to worry about.

There's nothing for it, I thought, I'll have to ask a GP, that way it'll be their fault if I die. I booked an appointment for the afternoon, and Frank got onto my lap, purring very contentedly because I finally seemed to have learned my lesson. "Woman, know your place" was his general message. (It's on the sofa - not in the kitchen - and definitely not in Scotland). When my alarm went off at 3, we were snuggled in bed together, and I did wonder if it would do me more good to just stay where I was, but I got dressed and staggered off. The surgery is at the end of my street, so it wasn't far to stagger.

"If you just had a bunged nose, I'd tell you to take some hankies round with you" the GP said, "but for more systemic symptoms" (apparently this is medical for feeling like you've been run over by a truck) "I'd really suggest you didn't run it." I gave her the fish-eye. "It's important to me. I've raised over £800. I want to run it" I told her. "What'll happen if I run it anyway?" She listened to my chest and established I didn't have any bronchial infection, and took my temperature. She said if I'm feeling light-headed now, I might expect to feel more so; that I might be breathless; and that it'd probably take me another week to get rid of the virus. She said if I were a professional sportsperson, obviously it would be out of the question, but if I wanted to... I could. "I think you're mad though" she added helpfully. Then added: "But I think you're mad for running it at all". I almost explained the whole sponsorship deal, and how much I hate running, but I didn't think I'd squeeze her for sponsorship. It's probably unprofessional. She'd told me all I needed to know. I thanked her and left.

Ian came over after work to get a sleeping bag off me for his trip to Kenya, and delivered my sponsorship and sweepstake form. I asked him to check the post for my Macmillan t shirt, but it never arrived, so looks like I'll be running in my red shirt (don't forget to look out for me!). After he'd gone, I totted up my offline earnings, not forgetting to add the £37 from the wedding, and also to deduct £10 off the sweepstake earnings (although hopeful that the winner may add them to the mix. I found I'd had some more online donations too.

I've/You've/We've raised a staggering £997.10! 

This is amazing! Although for some reason, JustGiving thinks that this is 100% of my total. I'd love the extra £2:90 if anyone feels so inclined. Macmillan would love it if you blew my total right away.

I may not make the time, but I'm going to do my best to make the distance. It's all in the breakfast now!

Ready or not.

I had some training planned for this week... it went, Wednesday, 45 minutes, "at that slightly uncomfortable pace", then Friday, 20 minutes jog. I could barely stand upright in the office today. And it wasn't just because of the racking cough - that calf muscle started giving me gyp again. Furthermore, I felt nauseous all day. I don't know if it was the whole tight throat coupled with phlegm (mmm!) or nerves, or gastric troubles, but it was rubbish. I didn't eat breakfast, and then felt more sick. All in all, I felt like a crumbling wreck all day. Various sympathetic friends (Sue) suggested I should add some more times to the sweepstake.

I saw Sal at coffee time, who came to check how the weekend training had gone. I looked so doleful, she knew something was wrong. "Did you not do it?" she asked. "Oh no, the run at the weekend was fine" I said "it's just I'm still falling apart". She looked disbelieving in a way that suggested not that she didn't believe me, but more that she couldn't believe anyone could possibly be as sick as me. It's a fair point. I did say quite early on that if I didn't train every time I got sick, I was in for a fairly chequered training routine.

Anyway, it's not all bad news. She says that this week's training isn't necessary. She says I've done all the work to get the time I want, and this week is more psychological. She said the fast run today was just to "remind my legs they can run fast". If I'm honest, I think they remember. She said I could go swimming instead but then added "but I wouldn't, not with a chest like that". So that's the alternative out the window. Feeling absolutely sure it would, I told people "I'm going to do it if it kills me", and was horrified to learn that in fact, two people died doing the Great Eastern Run last year. I couldn't find anything that said why they died, though.

I did manage to do pilates at lunchtime, although I was hoping to lie on my mat at the back of the class and have a snooze, Anita made me come to the front, on the seemingly frivolous grounds that the sun coming in from the window would warm me up. Then she complained when I coughed over her. Some people! She also said she could tell something was wrong because I was being so quiet. She said it unnerved her. Anyway, I was quite pleased I'd made an effort because she noticed that I wasn't being very flexible and put in some extra exercises for me. By the end of the class, I was warmed up enough to do them. I might try doing some pilates on Sunday morning.

This is it, everyone. I'll give you an update on Friday to tell you if I go for that 20 minute jog, but I'm nearly there. Ready or not, it's race time. So there's just time to say: if you haven't sponsored me yet, and you're still reading this, then please consider doing so. If I don't know you, and you've enjoyed the blog, just write "love the blog"! - there is a link at the top right of the screen. And if I do know you, please remember that your support means everything to me. Oh, and if you live abroad... I checked, and Just Giving can accept your donation!

THANKS xx

Down hill and against the wind.

When I left the wedding weekend, I was on my way to cheer up Alastair. Everyone has times when they need cheering up, and that's when you're glad that you made friends with a bloody lunatic who is quite prepared to bomb up and down the country if you need her to. It made a change to be approaching his house from the north, though, I didn't see that coming. We had a very relaxing quiet time, although I did go for my run on Monday, which was a 40 minute jog. I managed quite well, even though the wind was blowing so hard I could hardly hear my iphone. It managed something quite unusual, which was to defy the first law of cycling ("it's always up hill and against the wind") by being downhill and against the wind. This is quite a common Scottish phenomenon, however, which I remember fondly from my student days. It's disheartening when you are looking forward to a bit of easy downhill on a bike, but funnily, less annoying when you're running. You just feel like you are getting in some extra exercise, like a canoeist going up the current. This is probably why it's the first law of cycling, not running.

The rest of my time with Al was mainly spent lying underneath Sam. I was reflecting on the number of dogs that have fallen head over tail in love with me. Sam is one such. Aside from him was my own dog, but that probably doesn't count. I did often find it uncanny how quickly he knew which human was his, though, especially given that, as I was a small girl, mum did a lot of stuff for him. But he knew. Then there was Kodi, who was a Siberian Husky I met in New Mexico when I was 17. He loved me so much, he wouldn't get up to say hello to his owner, who said he had never known him to not come and say hello. And then there was Penny. Lovely Penny. She loved everyone, but I did feel she had a special love for me. When I asked Billy why she was called Penny, he said it was because he felt like he'd lost a pound and found a penny... When I left the farm, she got into the footwell of my car, and wouldn't get out.

Hopefully it was as relaxing for Al as it was for me. Unfortunately, it seemed like the recharge time wasn't enough to kick the cough I'd been developing. I brought it right back to Peterborough with me...

Finding sponsors in unlikely places

Let me tell you, they don't just give a warm welcome in Cullen, they know how to throw a good party too. We headed over to the Crannoch for lunch, before the wedding, and consequently hadn't togged up. It seemed the way to it - the bride seemed casually attired for a wedding, in jeans and a t-shirt that read "Keep Calm and Swally On" - I heard her translate it for a child (thankfully) as "keep drinking". And once again, Brenda set us up with a fine meal. Cullen Skink was on the menu (it's soup), although I have to confess to going for deep-fried Camembert, followed by a roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. I felt it was wise to accompany this with soda water, for self-preservation. In all honesty, having this lunch might be the only reason why I'm alive.

Back home, we set to getting the glad-rags on, and I finished the morning's blog, and suitably adorned, we set out, umbrella-clad, into what was now a convincing rain, and made it back to the Crannoch, which I was starting to pick up was a bit of a focal point. Heather was interested to know if there would be any kilts there, which made me laugh, as it was about the only thing I had as a fixed guarantee in my head (long years of knowing Susie has taught me to "expect the unexpected" which was why I didn't make a single comment about the jeans and t shirt). I wasn't mistaken either, there was a fine set of kilts available - and furthermore, they came in all sizes! The first thing that happened was that Jimmy offered me, with a haunted look on his face, a whisky. "Yes please, Jimmy!" I said, but knew that this burnt bridge was going to be a tough one to rebuild. In fact, I almost nulled the whole wedding on account of it, because not long after this, we made our way through to the room where the wedding was taking place, and I'd got right past the usher, who was also my host, Steven, clutching my whisky. He spotted me, however, and confiscated it, explaining that it was against the law to serve alcohol in that room for 24 hours prior to the wedding. So technically, we can have the wedding nulled, although I didn't drink any. I asked Steve to put it somewhere safe for me, which he did.

The wedding was just simply lovely, especially the vows that Susie and Bruce read out, which had all the girls in tears, including one of the bridesmaids. Little Robbie demanded loudly "Why's she greetin', mam?" although his mother wasn't able to answer so I chipped in "Robbie, it's for the same reason you're mam's crying, and I'm crying, and Sarah's crying... we're girls. You'll never understand. It's an important lesson in life". There was something of a lull in the crying when Susie whipped a hanky out of her cleavage for Lauren, which made everyone laugh. After the wedding, amid the photographer trying to capture her subjects (inbetween rain showers and umbrellas) there were a few toasts to be had, cake to be cut, and a little more whisky to be drunk. The smaller Robbie had nicked off with his parents' camera at this point, and was surprising people in thrusting it into their faces at unsuspecting moments and snapping, then laughing at the result. I have to say, though, he got a pretty good one of me.

It was just after Iain showed up and had secured a double whisky for me, that Susie popped into the bar. "Right, the piper's here to pipe us up the road to the reception" she said. "Drink up". "Now?" I queried, looking at the golden amber in my glass, which seemed rather full. "What's the problem? Down it". she told me. I asked the bar staff if I could return their glass later, and they seemed uncertain. I teetered on a timeline between now and student days: I felt Jimmy's pain - and drank it back.

I have a few, hazy images of the rest of the night. Joan, for example, had cooked tablet (which is Scottish for fudge) for 150 people. I danced the Gay Gordon's with Iain, and stood on Jimmy's feet (I subsequently blamed my dance partner), and Strip the Willow (my favourite). There was a lovely spread of food, and more drinking, and more dancing. And some dressing up from people in the most unlikely attire. I think we had the Beetles AND the Pink Ladies from Grease, but I could be mistaken. And at some point I agreed to/demanded to go for a walk up the beach. On the way home from that, we passed Jimmy and Paddy's, who were still entertaining, and Jimmy asked us in for whisky. It should be clear that at this point there was only once answer, as I couldn't disappoint Jimmy. Paddy asked if she could give me a tenner towards my sponsorship, and at some undefined time later, I left (after two drams) with what turned out to be £37 that I'd fleeced from their various guests. When I looked in to say cheerio the next day, they were still reeling from my having persuaded one Dougie to give me £7. Apparently it had been a hard sell.

All I can say is that when Alastair came to fetch me on Sunday morning, he took one look at me, and said "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

Trains aren't water.

Having two days off was good, because my thighs really hurt after that run on Wednesday. Also, I got into a fair amount of trouble from Sal. I'd written on my shared spreadsheet, "I don't mind telling you, I'm rather pleased with myself." I got a paragraph back, swiftly, which started off "I'm sure you are, but". The gist of it was WHAT POSSESSED YOU TO RUN SO FAST? It was not dissimilar from when I suggested that I ran on sand this weekend and she said immediately ARE YOU MAD? You'll notice the capital letters. If you can picture Sal's lovely long blond hair, you should imagine it putting itself into a bun, so she can get more severe. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, there is a certain similarity between Sal and Susan Death. If I had monsters under my bed, I think Sal would probably tackle them herself with a poker as well.

Anyway, I explained (on the shared document - not to her face or anything) that largely she had possessed me to run that fast - it was the conversation about not relying on the garmin so much, which had made me use it less, and find my own pace. She wasn't too displeased though - she herself said "after that minor bollocking - I can now revise your final time down to 2:08" which was good news for everyone apart from Hannah, who deliberately picked 2:15 on the sweepstake on the grounds that I'd do what Sal told me. Judy is now in with a sporting chance at the sweepstake.

On Friday, I had to travel all day to get to the wedding (and the sand) that is the big event of this weekend. Ideally I would have packed on Thursday night, but I've never been one for turning down opportunities, (or "saying No"), so when Pete asked me if I'd like a spare ticket to see John Cooper Clarke, I of course accepted. I forgot at the time that I had already agreed to give some feedback on a workshop I attended about directing, which was technically at the same time. However, I found out that there was a warm-up act on before JCC was on, and I figured out, that as they are friends of mine whose work I've often supported, I'd probably heard the majority of it before, and I could skip from one to the other, arriving at the interval. This is just what happened. He was very funny, although part of what was engaging about him was that he was completely off his face, and a lot more tired jokes were delivered than actual poetry. From a lot of people, this would have been irritating, but, well, he was very likeable. We forgave him. And laughed. Then there was an option to go to the pub with theatre Dave and Jonni, and I thought, packing, it's pretty easy. I can do that later. So I went, and of course that was good fun, and I got some feedback on the Crucible. It's funny when you realise that people have no idea how much preparation you've put into something. Anyway, it's probably my fault for making light of it in fora like... this one. So, I got home at 1am, and realised that if I didn't catch up on the drama series I'd been following on iplayer, I'd have missed it by the time I got back from Scotland, so I sat down and watched and hour of French police drama. Because that was smart. I set the alarm clock for the remaining 5 hours of night time.

In the morning, I packed, apparently most of my earthly goods, and was just about to set out to the station at a startlingly early 9 am (for the 9:45 train) when I realised I hadn't packed my bolero cardigan, which had vanished. The time spend tidying was wasted, as a tornado swept through my bedroom and uncovered it just as I was about to give up, in the first pile of cloths I'd looked through 4 times already. Damn poltergeist. 9:15 and just time to get a taxi. Just as well, considering I now had a handbag, a plastic bag with wedding gift and fascinator, a backpack and a huge suitcase. It really doesn't matter how long I go away for, a couple of days or a month, I take the same amount of stuff. In this case I think there were mitigating circumstances: going to the North coast of Scotland during an Indian Summer that is bound to end at any moment, you have to pack for all eventualities.

The journey was startlingly uneventful (I ended up telling a German lady about this blog, which she described as being quite a story, but I don't remember why. Excitingly, she had also been locked on a train, and hers, if you can imagine, was worse than mine. She'd got her 3 children, two toddlers and a baby, off the train, and had got back on for her luggage when the doors locked. Can you imagine?). The timing for my recommended route was rather tight, in my opinion, with 10 minutes at Edinburgh and only 6 in Inverness, which I thought showed a startling optimism from the train companies. Considering that we left Newcastle running ten minutes late, for example. Many people would have spent a lot of time stressing about this, but I was resigned to my fate. I once spent 2 hours stressing because my train was 30 minutes late and I was going to miss my onward connection in Crewe: but when I reached Crewe, the connecting train was 30 minutes late too, and I felt I'd wasted all that stress. So i resolved to not stress about things I could do nothing about. In keeping with this, I was glad not have bothered stressing, because the train made up all ten minutes by the time we reached Edinburgh, and the connection was flawless. It wasn't the same platform I'd got locked on the train previously, so not too many flashbacks.

When I arrived at Keith, Sophie launched herself out of the car in paroxysms of excitement. She may easily be top of my fan list (my fans tend to be mainly in the under-15 category. I try not to think about the male over-50 category, they border between fans and stalkers). I was staying with Susie's friend Evelyn and family (including Sophie), who I'd been reacquainted with at the hen party, and it was great to have such an offer. When you don't know many folk at a wedding, it's so nice to feel a welcome, and let me tell you, no one gives a welcome like a Cullen welcome. As soon as I'd arrived and settled in, we were off down the road for our tea, where Susie was also with the family, and friends soon congregated around. Brenda was doing stirling work and gave us a fantastic dinner as well as taking drinks orders with startling efficiency - and frequency. I was semi-comatose before I had the glass of wine, and that certainly didn't help. The Scottish accent was doing that thing to my brain, and the lack of concentration really didn't help. Susie's dad Jimmie, and Evelyn's dad Alec were my two biggest challenges. They seemed so friendly, and I swear, I never understood one word of what they'd said. Alec was in the back room when I arrived, which was as well because as I was explaining I'd never met him, Jimmie said "Aye, ken ye ha'." "Sorry?" I said. "Aye, d'ye no' recall at Susie's movin' in t'the flat? Alec n Joan were theer then?" "Sorry?" I said. "Ye'll know im when ye set eyes on him" he assured me, "once seen, niver forgotten". Once I'd grasped the gist of this, about ten minutes later, I was able to place the pieces together. "No, I don't remember Alec, Jimmie, in fact I only remember one thing about that night: the measure of whisky you poured out for me. After that, I don't remember anything." His face cracked into a grin. "Aye, that were a good night" he said.

I was very good, and resisted any further alcohol that night, for the simple reason that I'd told Sal I could train on Saturday morning and not on Sunday, when I was planning on having something of a hangover (I hadn't spelled that out). So I didn't want to stuff that up by having a hangover on Saturday as well. And everyone was brilliant, helping me find a route. "You want to go across the viaduct, across to Portknockie" they told me, "that's about 4 miles". I later found out that it was 4 or 5 miles round trip, which wasn't quite long enough, but Bruce, (Sarah's Bruce, or the other Bruce, as I think of him) told me that I could pick up the old rail track the other side and keep going. Everyone was very kind, but I recognised the look on their faces - because it's been on my face enough times. "Whatever you're doing that for" is the subtext. I could tell they didn't quite get it by the numbers of cups of tea and breakfast I was offered "while I was over". At about 11pm, when I was getting the shutty-eye-lid thing going on, Susie made a move to leave. If she's going, I reasoned, I can go too. Unfortunately, the whole party simply moved to Jimmie's house. I felt it would have been rude to go to Jimmie's without having some whisky, so I made it very clear that I only wanted a tiny nightcap. "Aye, alright" he said. He came back with half a tumbler full. "Jimmie, I said small!" Everyone else in the room agreed that as Jimmie-measures went, that WAS small. I didn't finish it, and the pain in Jimmie's eyes was palpable. "Yer not the same lassie I remember. She wouldna' ha' left whisky in the glass" he said, sadly. He was right. It's also amazing the way I could understand him, after even a small measure. "I learned a lot at university" I told him.

The sunshine had gone by the morning, replaced by something between a heavy sea mist and rain. It wasn't cold though, and I set out along my recommended route, mentally noting which of my songs made me run slowly and which pepped me up. The viaduct was easy to find, and looked like a good route. I had in my head an image of the aqueduct run in North Wales, and thought of entitling my blog "Scotland... flatter than Peterborough" as a homage to "North Wales... flatter than Peterborough". However, I swiftly realised my mistake. Water needs to be flat. Trains don't. As a matter of fact, Scottish trains appear to be made of pretty stern stuff, which I doubted I shared.

The aim of the run was 75 minutes, negative split, (or, running the second half faster than the first half). What I found out was that the route was quite hilly, so I had some built-in fartleks in addition. It seemed to me, perversely, that I was going to have a fair bit of hill on the way back as well, which was quite bad news, given I'd be running it faster. I set out at a comfortable 10:30 to 11 minute mile. And it was nice, actually, although distressingly nothing like the google maps satellite image. I'm not sure what time of year you have to come to see sea that colour.

Anyway, that's the distance I ran - from Cullen to Findochty (that's the web link incase you want to zoom in), which turned out to be 4 miles. And there was a handy sign when I got to Findochty (which incidentally, as if having unpronounceable names wasn't bad enough, is actually pronounced "Fin-ECHT-y" which gives you an idea of what I'm up against here) which looked like this:
and that was how I knew it was time to go back.

Sure enough, the way back was more up hill, and I made a special effort to run faster on the uphill bits because I was afraid of losing speed on them, and think I had something of the reverse going on. I noticed that there was a beautiful very slight downward gradient as I approached the viaduct from the other side, which helped enormously. Peterborough should be more like that. Sadly, my sprint-finish was uphill again. It had to be good training, we don't get built-in fartleks around the Peterborough circuit like that.

Then, once I'd got my breath back, it was time to get ready for the wedding lunch. I guess it's a Scottish thing to have a wedding lunch before the wedding breakfast, but I'd promised Jimmy I'd be back on form tonight, and it made sense to have a big lunch to set myself up for the day...

Next episode: get ready for those kilts...