50 Shades of Graded Exercise

Recently I've been doubting myself, I feel like a bit of a fraud when talking about my M.E whilst reading stories about people who are far worse than me. People who are bedridden and housebound. I feel confused, how can I have M.E and still run? Why did graded exercise work for me and not others? Why is it that I'm much better now? Did or do I really have M.E if I can have a relatively normal life and if I can go running? All these questions, no matter how irrational, keep on rattling around my mind and I don’t really have any answers for them.

I guess you could call it survivor's guilt, I don't feel like I can be part of the M.E community if I am able to live a relatively normal life whilst others are suffering so much with seemingly no light at the end of the tunnel. I feel guilty talking about my illness and gaining sympathy from others when in reality it's been nothing compared with what others are going through.

Currently there is a big debate about Graded Exercise Therapy (GET). It's a highly divisive subject surrounding M.E. The idea is that you do small amounts of exercise, slowly increasing the volume you do. Not enough to overload the body and exhaust yourself, but enough to try and gradually improve your physical ability. In theory you can then progressively get stronger and better. It's the most accepted way to try and deal with M.E by those who don't necessarily understand the illness. It's what a lot of GPs advise for patients.

It's what I was told I should do when I was at my worst and again years later when I felt like I was relapsing. The first time it proved too much, the latter it worked. The controversy comes in that it's what pretty much every patient is told to do, no matter what stage their M.E is in. For a lot of people attempts at graded exercise have left them feeling even worse.

For me though, second time around it worked. I can credit this controversial technique with my improvement in controlling the illness in recent years. It's something I would have thought incredibly unlikely when I was at my worst. “You have to break the cycle” doctors said “Do something more to lift yourself out of the hole.” It's so much easier said than done and I would be the first to say that at times it's impossible.

To be honest I feel like a bit of a hypocrite to credit it with my recovery. It’s almost like I have gone over to the dark side and that I now stand with all the doctors and sceptics who think that M.E sufferers are just lazy schivers who need to get out of the house, deal with life and get some exercise. I battled people with this attitude for so many years but now what they have suggested for me has worked.

Because of the negativity surrounding this technique and the stories about it making people relapse I have felt I can't really talk about it, but I now feel this isn't right. There has to be a reason why it's suggested as a therapy, it has to work for some people, it has to do some good. If it failed every time, if every patient who tried it regressed back into the clutches of the illness then surely graded exercise would have been banished to the closet of possible M.E treatments.

The first pair of running shoes. At this point I was already many years into my recovery, running was the start of the next stage.

I feel it's wrong to disregard a possible avenue of recovery and to slate it as much as graded exercise has been if it offers some a way out and the chance of a normal life. M.E is a very different illness for all those who experience it, it is impossible to expect one recovery technique to work for all of those sufferers and the vast degrees of differences in their symptoms. Just because it hasn't worked for one person doesn't mean it won't work for another. The recovery process needs to be tailored to the individual, with doctors deciding what techniques to use, on who and at what time.

This makes M.E a very labour intensive illness to try and deal with. It requires time, effort and a lot of support along the way. Rather than just chucking a load of pills at the problem doctors have to take time to know the patient and their particular variant of M.E. They have to understand exactly how it affects that patient, going as far to find out every aspect about their life, their personality and their day to day existence. Only then can they begin to understand what may work and try to adapt recovery techniques for that particular patient. It's a long road to travel down and sadly one which our understaffed, underfunded, time limited doctors surgeries and NHS hospitals cannot cope with.

Graded exercise did work for me but it only worked second time around when I had reached a certain level of recovery anyway. The technique then helped me to climb the next few steps and it continues to help me get higher up the mountain of recovery. Whether it will help me get to the summit I don't know but at this moment in time it's helping me keep my head above the clouds.

But just because it worked for me doesn't mean it will work for everyone. When I was at my worst I just didn't have the energy to do more. Every time I tried it seemed to set me back. People would constantly tell me that I had to break the cycle and do a bit more each day, as if it was something I could just do. As if I could just decide I no longer wanted to be tired. Each time I tried though I felt like I would break again, one step forward and two back. It would take me weeks to build up to the confidence and the energy to start from scratch again.

When I was really ill first time around, Graded exercise proved too much for me, it just didn't work

I believe that to benefit from graded exercise you must have recovered to a certain extent. I couldn't use this technique when I was really ill it was just too much for me. I had to wait until my body had started to recover from the illness on its own. Only at a certain point of my recovery, when I had enough energy to cope with doing more could this technique begin to work.

The problem with graded exercise and the reason it has gained such a bad reputation is because of its misuse. It is being suggested for patients who are still way too ill and too fatigued to cope with it. The shock of trying this technique is too much for their bodies to cope with leaving many people so much worse off than when they started.

I feel that graded exercise is being marketed in the wrong way. Rather than being sold by doctors as a cure that will help lazy M.E sufferers get back to normal it should really be thought of as a coping tactic, an M.E management strategy for those who have already recovered to a certain extent.

The danger comes when people think that graded exercise is a catalyst for recovery rather than a contributor. This is when it can do more harm than good. It needs to be used appropriately. Our perception of exercise also needs to change for it to work. To start with this isn’t about exercise as we know it, pushing your limits and feeling the burn. This is simply about trying to do a little more. One step is exercise and progress if you couldn’t do anything the day before.

Graded exercise should be seen as a form of rehabilitation, something that can help those people who are already starting to get better. It should be thought of as something similar to physio for someone who has broken a leg. After the initial accident, you need time to heal and let the body recover, however once you have reached a certain point there are things that you can do to help the process along. If the physio is started too early or the patient does too much too soon then the recovery may take longer or the patient could be made worse.

Sadly M.E is not as simple as a broken leg, there are no set recovery times, patients don't have the knowledge that in 4-6 weeks things will start getting back to normal. Unfortunately it seems we are no nearer understanding what causes the illness and as a result we are still some way off finding the cure for it. The golden bullet, the cure to help all M.E sufferers seems like a distant dream. I'm still confused as to what made me ill in the first place and even more confused as to why I started to recover when I did.

Why did my body decide it was going to get stronger again? Why could I suddenly cope with doing more? Was it just that the illness had run its course? If so then why are others still stuck in the seemingly endless downward spiral? Why have I got better when many others are still ill? These are questions that continue to bug me, the questions that people who are doing research into M.E still need to answer.

For now though I believe there is a place for Graded Exercise Therapy but it has to be used appropriately, people in positions of trust need to understand the illness and their patients before they suggest it as a therapy. After all If it can help some of us to get better then it has to be a good thing.

Graded Exercise has got me this far but its been a bloody long road.

Feeling the Burn

We are stood here in the middle of nowhere, definitely going nowhere. Reading a map can’t be this hard can it? Maybe the organisers messed up and gave us last years route by mistake? That’s got to be it. No one can be this bad at finding their way around the countryside. It must be that we have the wrong map. If only we could find our way back to Margam and let the race officials know about their mistake.

The offending map

We are currently in the middle of the mountain bike section of the Burn adventure race at Margam Park or maybe that should read orienteering section of the Burn race which just happens to involve tiny sprints of mountain biking in between getting lost and staring at the map again. Of course, we do have the right map, we are just massively incompetent at using it. Apparently adventure racing is not about endurance, fitness and keeping a mountain bike upright, no, it’s all about the map reading and actually working out where you have to go. Why the hell didn't I listen more when I was in the Scouts?

Training had gone well, by well, I mean we had done lots of running, the occasional bit of falling of mountain bikes and absolutely no map reading, but then how hard can it be to find out where you are? People survived in the age before sat navs. My only bit of map reading experience before the race came whist I was out training with my run club. A competitor in an orienteering race ran past us at some speed before clattering straight into a tree. Clearly this was man ruled by the map, if a landmark wasn’t on it then it didn’t exist. The rather sizable lump appearing on his head told this chap that the tree was most definitely real. I made a mental note to not only look at the map but also the real world. That was the extent of my training for the orienteering part of the race.

So while we hadn’t bumped into any trees, finding the way home was proving rather elusive. Of course, I lie when I say that adventure racing isn't about endurance and fitness, it really is about that. The map reading should be secondary but as we pull out the now rather dog eared bit of paper yet again, it seems to tell us nothing. Margam Park is just behind this last hill but we are stuck at a crossroads with seemingly all routes a possible way back home. In our exhausted state we have given up on the final check points but we can't work out which trail will actually lead us home. All the lines, dots, squiggles and supposedly helpful markings are telling us bugger all. The whole page has merged into a tangled web of dead ends and wrong turns. We may as well be trying to read Chinese. In the end we pick a route which turns out to be the one leading us in the opposite direction to where we wanted actually wanted to go. Will we ever make it back to the finish and something to eat other than an energy bar?

It had all been going so well at the start of the day. The run had taken us up over some of the hills behind the country estate of Margam, we had managed to keep the leaders in sight for a while and took in the views looking back over the river Severn. Even the Kayaking had gone well. We had generally kept the thing pointing in the right direction, only accidentally cut one corner and at no point felt like we were going to capsize the thing. As we hopped onto the bikes we had dreams of more silverware after our success in the Mini Burn earlier in the year. 

Any excuse to use the photo of Stewart and I after winning the Mini Burn!

Ah the Mini Burn. A 3k run, 1k Kayak and 10k mountain bike on a marked course without a map insight. The weather that day may have been bad enough to have made us think about using the Kayak for the whole race but it had been a fantastic event. Adventure racing was definitely for us. On a high from the success we figured the next step before booking our flights to Patagonia was to enter the full on Burn Race. 3k running turned into 10 and 10k on the bike turned into 40. Maybe we should have thought this through.

Things were looking good though as we pedalled off in to the South Wales hills starting the mountain bike section of the race. We couldn’t see any of our competitors behind us, just a little jaunt out on the bikes and we would be back in time for lunch. Who were we kidding, the race had hardly started.

Still happy after reaching the first couple of check points.

The sign of things to come was at the very first checkpoint where we completely missed the trail taking us down to it. No worries we told ourselves it was down a huge hill anyway and there are plenty more checkpoints out there to get. The next two proved easy to find, this adventure racing thing is a doddle.

It was on the way down to the next check point that alarm bells started ringing. Half way through a joyously long and quick decent we were met by pretty much most of our competitors slogging their way up the hill in the opposite direction. Either they were all going the wrong way or we were, the odds were stacked against us.

The next two hours involved plenty of getting lost, many wrong turns and lots of pushing bikes up paths that were definitely not meant for cycling. Surprisingly we realised that everyone else had been going the right way. We were just riding round in very long circles missing check points that were staring us in the face. We had stopped to have something to eat, practically leaning against one of them without realising.

And so finally after our extended tour of the Welsh countryside we make it to the cross roads, one last four pronged decision and then the short ride back to Margam. Inevitably we decide on the wrong route before turning round and then taking another wrong track, luckily though this one led us in roughly the right direction. All we now have to do is throw the bikes and ourselves over the stone wall that is blocking our path and we are practically home, cancel the search party guys.

Relief after finally making it back to the finish

After one final blast downhill we finally make it back to familiar sights and stagger across the line, sneaking inside the cut off time by a matter of minutes. After the initial elation at our survival, our competitive instinct kicks in when we realise that with just a little bit of preparation we could have done this race so much better.

I admit I had my doubts about the map reading from the start, I am probably the only person ever to get lost in Chessington World of Adventures whilst actually carrying a map. Instead of listening to the lingering doubts I had chosen to employ the ostrich tactic, bury my head in the sand and trust to luck that it'll be ok on the day. I’ve now found out that the organisers run a course in orienteering just for people like us. Even if I don't come back for the race next year I'm definitely going to sign up for it. Who knows, it may help me find my way round next time I visit a theme park.

Cardiff Half 2016- Pacing Myself

Earlier this year I was standing in just about the same spot, outside the front of the castle with thousands of other runners. Just like six months ago all of us are brimmed with nervous energy, doing what we can to warm up in the tight confines of the starting area whilst trying not to hit anyone else with flailing limbs.

Way back on a rainy day in March around the same streets in Cardiff I was running in the World half marathon, the same roads I ran during the half in 2014. Today I am looking to beat my time from earlier in the year. With a real sense of deja vu I cross the start line to begin another 13.1 mile journey. Here we go again, again.

The team from CDF and our fellow Nike Squad Dockside runners before the start.

The beginning of the race follows a familiar pattern, the nerves before the start, the jostle off the line, the way too quick first mile trying to settle into the pack and the early glances at the watch to check my pace. As usual I’ve started too fast, I really made a conscious effort to run a more conservative first mile but the excitement of the day and the natural competitive instinct has taken over and I just can’t summon the mental discipline to run slower and save my energy. This always happens. I know I will regret it later.

Just after the first mile though the race changed, it became different to the run six months ago. In fact it was different to pretty much all the other races I have run. I'd been past the first mile marker, had the first beep from the watch telling me I was way ahead of schedule. Around the next corner I bumped into my club mate Jason. He had the splits for 1.22 written out on his hand, about the time I was hoping for so we decided to stick together, to pace ourselves. 

Six months ago I saw him at about the same point, lost in the chase for a PB and in a desperate attempt to bank some time and get ahead of schedule we exchanged a few quick words before I was back in my own lonely world again, chasing times. Now for the first time during a race I thought about what could happen later, about the wall I was going to hit, I chose to keep something in reserve for it. We also had the added benefit of keeping each other company. As the miles ticked by we kept each other on pace when the temptation was to try and run that bit quicker. 

Jason and I just past the half way point still looking happy

In many ways pacing myself during a race is similar to how I have to deal with my M.E. A lot of the time it's all about trying to keep something in reserve for later, storing some energy for when you need it further down the line. How to use my energy and when to try and leave something in reserve to cope with the unexpected is one of the most difficult things to learn. It's something I'm still trying to get my head around.

On the days when I feel good, it's so tempting to do as much as I can, to use up those reserves. It's so hard to hold myself back and tell myself I may just need that energy for later. It takes huge discipline not to do something you want because of the possible consequences. It's a challenge that more often than not I fail.

The difficult thing is keeping energy in reserve for things that may never happen. A few weeks ago I did two races in two days, something that looking back was kind of stupid and which left me feeling completely shattered. In the days afterwards work became unexpectedly busy and I struggled to keep on going. It was my real world equivalent of hitting the wall in the marathon, I had run out of energy and just didn't have the reserves to carry on. Of course if those days hadn't been so busy then I would have recovered just fine and would be sitting here writing about just how I could cope with two races in days and how I much better I was dealing with my M.E. The problem with M.E and life in general is that we can't see into the future, I can't judge how much I need to leave in reserve for the events I don't know are going to happen yet. It's the known unknowns as Donald Rumsfeld once put it in probably the only semi sensible thing he said. I know that there are a load of things that will happen to me that I currently don't know anything about. It's impossible to plan for them. I can try and keep energy in reserve but then if nothing happens I regret not using all of that energy for the task I was originally doing.

Coping with the unknown is the biggest challenge when dealing with my M.E. When I am feeling I'm completely knackered and that extra job comes in at work It feels like getting to the finish line of the race and someone asking you to run an extra mile.

This is what the reserves need to be for, trouble is when you are caught in the moment it's so easy to say "To hell with the future and the unknowns that may not even happen."

And so this is how I always used to approach my races. “I've got all this energy, I'm feeling good, let's give it all I can in the first few miles, I can get onto the shoulder of that runner who is just too fast for me and try and keep up. If I get ahead of my scheduled pace I may just be able to hang on, who knows?”

Inevitably two thirds into a half marathon at about the dreaded 9 mile mark I would really begin to suffer, the rest of the race would be about hanging on, desperately trying to keep going. Races became about survival. This time hopefully things would be different.

And so after what seems like no time at all we reached the point where I always hit the wall. It’s a section of the course around Roath park, one of the most scenic on the course. I always hate it. If you drive these roads in a car they feel flat. Run it and you realise they are anything but flat. It’s a long slope by the lake, ready to snatch your last reserves of strength and positive energy. It’s always at this point I regret that first mile.

Half way up this non hill is the 10 mile sign, and on this day things were different. Rather than hitting the wall I still felt strong. At the point where runners normally start passing me, I was feeling strong, able to keep the pace and catch those in front of me. The last few miles became a chase to try and get under 1.20. The early pacing had meant I could push in the second half of the race and my dodgy mental arithmetic told me I could get somewhere close. I had to give it a go. This time though the clock just beat me by a few seconds. Still I guess it’s something to chase for next year.

Splits from the race, if only I had been 8 seconds quicker!

Finally I had learnt to pace myself during a race, it felt like a much better much more controlled way to run, no longer was I trying to survive to the finish, I was fighting to reach it as quickly as possible. If only I had just paced myself 8 seconds quicker. It's strange being disappointed with something that you didn't think possible at the start of the day.

So now I’ve learnt how to pace a race now I just need to work out how to pace my life, It’s something I could be working on for a long time.

Just after the finish, Happy with the days work!

Obsession

So I’m currently sat on the foam roller trying to write notes for this blog on my phone. I’m writing about running whilst recovering from a run, which was training for another run. In this Olympic fortnight I will no doubt end up watching something running related on TV and read a couple of articles about running before bed. Who knows I may even dream about running when I’m sleeping.

I think it’s safe to say running has become an obsession. When I'm not actually out there doing it, I am talking about it, thinking about it and doing any number of things connected with it. 

It wouldn't be a Saturday without a parkrun. Here I'm running the course in Cardiff

Back in the beginning it was just running. I would go out, jog a bit, come back, die for a few minutes and then hope that exercise had done its thing and the high would kick in. Running was a process I went through in order to tackle my M.E. Once the run was finished I would try to forget about it until that inevitable feeling of dread would sit in the pit of my stomach and I realised it was time to head out of the door again.

Something changed though, somewhere along the line running went from a process to a passion. Rather than trying not to think about it I would actively look forward to going out for that next run. I would spend money on better kit as I started to realise there was a myriad of things that could be done to make that next run better and faster. Soon a full blown obsession had broken out. Running is why I'm here on the foam roller, why this morning I tried doing single leg squats in the shower, it's why I try to out plank the ad breaks on TV.

Obsession often seems to be associated with bad things. You hear about politicians obsessed with power, multinational companies obsessed with money and profits, Bond villains obsess about taking over the world and many runners seem to have a dangerous obsession with cake. To be obsessed is not considered a healthy thing. To focus and indulge on one thing to the detriment of everything else is apparently narrow minded. It's seen to be a dangerous element of life, excessive, indulgent and extremist. The argument is that to live to life to the full you need to broaden your horizons and see what else the World can offer. Well as much as I like a good horizon I do love having an obsession.

Surely to have an obsession, to have the discipline and dedication to achieve all you can in one task is a good thing. For the past couple of weeks we have watched some of the world’s greatest obsessive’s at the Olympics in Rio. These athletes are a reminder of just what humans can achieve if they dedicate their whole existence to one task. Obsession combined with the right knowledge, skills and determination can be a very powerful thing. 

An obsession can take over your life, it can be the centre point of your existence but it can also get you through life when times are bad. It's what got me through the years when I was really ill. In the space of weeks M.E took control of me, I went from being a sports mad teenager to hardly being able to make it out of my bedroom.

What had once been an amazing wide landscape view of life, taking in all sorts of possibilities and activities, had suddenly been constricted to a narrow gap of sunlight in the clouds. All those possibilities were now out of sight. I had a choice, I could either dwell on what I was missing or throw my limited amount of energy into the few things I could actually do. If I could obsess over just one or two things then I could fill the void, that way I could still enjoy life.

When I was ill I chose to focus all my energy on Formula One. It's a sport that I have been in love with all my life. Now I could use my time to find out every little detail about the sport. I would watch every race, re-runs of old races and consume as many books, magazines and newspaper articles as possible. I was a full on armchair expert. Most of my waking life was taken up with thinking about the sport. If I filled my time with thinking about F1 and obsessing over it I could keep on living. It helped me avoid the bad thoughts, it helped me stop thinking about what I could be doing if I wasn't ill, about all those things in life that I had lost. It made me realise I had to focus on the things I could do, the things I could still enjoy. It gave my life purpose, it gave me reason to try and get out of bed in the morning. 

Formula One was already a passion of mine but it my obsession with the sport helped me when I was ill.

Obsession has given me so much in life but in two distinctly different ways. When I couldn't control the things in my life I ended up obsessing over the skills and achievements of others. Now things have changed, I have control over the M.E and to a certain extent control over what I do in my life. Rather than focus on the achievements of others I can now obsess over my own goals and achievements. I can put my energy into running and think about every little detail to make my performance better.

For me one of the best things in life is to find something you enjoy and to put time and effort into trying to take part in that activity to the very best of your abilities. Yes, there are limitless possibilities in this world, you can spend a lifetime trying different activities and experiences but to get to your limit of abilities and skills in one activity is to live to the full. It's to find out what you are really about and just what you can achieve as a human being.

I do have other hobbies, honest, but If you took every other pastime out of my life and gave me a pair of trainers then I would still be a happy man. Running has given me so much more than just a form of exercise. Every time I lace up those shoes and go out of the door I experience new things, every mile helps me find out so much more about who I am and what makes up my character. Obsession may revolve around one activity, but that one obsession can bring you a whole lifetime of experiences and emotions.

Team Work

Running can be such a solitary affair, pounding the pavements for mile after endless mile, with only yourself for company. You follow the training plan you have set, aiming for the goals that you have made for yourself. It can be a lonely sport.

Not tonight. Tonight is just that little bit different

I'm running down a gravel path in a local country park, it's a path that's on one of my training routes. I have run through this place many times, in my own little world, on my own mission. It's often a quiet trail populated by a few dog walkers, ramblers and people out enjoying the view. Usually it's just a quiet little run in the countryside.

Tonight though, the noise is defending. I'm heading through a tunnel of fellow runners who line the path underneath the trees, screaming encouragement at the racers and team mates as run by. As I pass though this corridor of noise, I can't help but smile, raise my hands and wave to the crowds and raise my pace slightly. The defending encouragement is infectious, it spurs you on, gets your adrenaline going, making you run just that little bit faster. This ain't no solitary training run, this is something else. I'm on the first lap of my relay leg, our team’s last leg of the Cosmeston Relays.

Running the tunnel of noise

A short way down the trail, the course takes a right, off the main path and into the woods. I'm now on my own, the distant noise of the crowd muffled by the trees. I look down at the baton in my hand and realise for once this race isn't just about me. My team mates have done their bit, they have given their all and now stand in the crowd of runners waiting for me to finish what they have started. Now the race begins, now I have to forget the pain and run at my limits for them, for our team.

The trail winds its way through the trees, constantly either going up or downhill, never quite flat. There are just a few of us together now and the run turns into any other race. Those in front of me have targets on their backs, I try and latch onto them, using them to push myself harder, trying to overtake and gain positions. It's a great night for a run, sun dappled light shining through the trees, illuminating the lake beyond, it's a stunning view but there's no time to take it in. Must keep running, must keep trying to catch those in front of me. Soon we hook another right through a gate and I'm back on a path that looks familiar. The distant noise builds once again, telling me that those crowds are near and that I'm almost home.
I run through the tunnel of noise once again, this time though, the smile has been replaced by a grimace, one more corner and the finish line beckons, I'm done, we're done, our team has finished.

Now a new race begins, as I try to make it to the cake table in time to get myself some well earned treats before the rest of my club mates devour everything in sight. A short time later we drag ourselves away from the now depleted mountain of cake and snacks for the prize giving where we are told we have won the mixed team race and our club has won in three categories. So we ended up with trophies, stuffed ourselves with cake and spent an evening in the sun with friends, oh and somewhere along the line we did a bit of running. It's been a damn good night.

I may have got a bit excited about winning

The Cosmeston Relays is a small race, it's a race not many people have heard of. You won’t find it being advertised in the back pages of Runners World and it’s not won any awards. It's just a little club run taking place on a weekday night, using a not quite 5k course, but it’s most definitely one of the best races of the year. There is just something about a relay race and being part of a team which creates a special atmosphere.

I remember when I stared running everything was about me, my goals, my pace, my aspirations, running seemed like a very self centred sport. Tonight reminds me why I joined a club. Yes we have come here to race but more importantly we have come here to have fun, to socialise and to spend time in the company of people who have the same passion. We all have different reasons for running but we all share the same love for the sport.
It's been great fun to run as part of a team, to run with and for other people, this is why I started running with a club. Running can be so much more than a solitary past time, races like Cosmeston prove just how social and how much more enjoyable running can be when you are part of a team.

What a team. There were quite a few of us from CDF Runners at Cosmeston

What Next?

Ok, I admit it, I completely underestimated the marathon. It was just going to be another run, another race. Who was I kidding? There's a reason why we use the word marathon to describe feats of endurance. I now know why it is regarded as such a challenge and why people looked at me as if I was slightly mad when I said I would run one. In no way is it just like any other race, the marathon is so much more than that.

During the race you are living on the edge of your capabilities, pushing your physical and mental limits. It’s a wonderfully intense, exhilarating and satisfying place to be. As the race goes on your perspective of time changes and a life time of emotions are condensed into the space of a few hours. It’s like you are existing in a hyper-reality, a world where you are completely in tune with your body. Your senses are heightened, you can feel every little change of pace, raise in heart rate, every nerve ending sending data to your brain. It’s the most alive you will ever be.

And then just like that it's over, everything you have been training for, everything you have been working towards, all that you have thought about for the last six months is gone. You've finished.

So what now!? What the hell do I do next?

Trying to get back into running again at the new Cwmbran Parkrun. Photo by Sarah Debnam

I haven't really known what to do with myself these last couple of weeks, without the marathon to aim for and a goal to work towards I've felt completely lost. There's a huge marathon shaped hole in my life and I'm not quite sure how to fill it.
People said it would be like this, the marathon blues they called it. You spend so long aiming for one thing, concentrating on one event. You become so fixated and focused that nothing else matters. Then suddenly with the end of the race it all stops leaving you with an anticlimactic empty feeling. After experiencing such a high normal life just doesn’t quite cut it.
I hadn’t wanted to believe them. This was going to be a race like any other I thought. I would run, take my usual week or two to recover and then move on, ready to try another challenge and achieve some new goals.

It hasn't quite happened like that though.

I didn’t realise just how intense the Marathon experience was going to be, how much I was going to go beyond what I thought were my limits during the race and how it would affect me both mentally and physically. These past few weeks I have struggled to come to terms with what I have done and what I should do next. What can top a marathon?

The first answer to that was to run another marathon as soon as physically possible. I could just continue on with what I've done for the last six months, one training plan could slip seamlessly into another. After all the three hour goal was still there, I just needed to find a race that would be fast, flat and perfect for having another crack at it. As early as the massage table thirty minutes after the race I was thinking about the next one, already asking fellow runners which races they recommended. The buzz of the race still had me in its grip, I could just keep on running, I'd already done one Marathon, nothing could stop me now. For the first couple of weeks this thought got me through.

A month on and physically the aches and pains have gone however exhaustion still has me in its clutches. I've been stuck in this post marathon daze of tiredness, shattered, unable to concentrate, unable to get on with life. It’s like I’ve been on a six month long adrenaline high which has suddenly worn off. I've felt disconnected from the world around me, as if someone else is operating my body by remote control.
The reality of just what a marathon is has finally hit home. It's only now that I have come to realise just how much effort I put into that run. The further I get from the race the more I realise I just can't do that all over again this year. I've gone through the process of registering my interest for races and researching fast flat courses, but in reality I think I knew that it would be a struggle to start this all over again. I was just letting myself down gently, I struggled to admit to myself that maybe I couldn't do this all over again quite yet. With this realisation I have started to feel a bit helpless. The next marathon was going to drag me out of the hole, it was going to kick start the second half of the year but without that solid goal, a race to work towards, I haven't got anything to aim for and have been struggling to find the motivation to run when I am feeling all kinds of shattered.

Friends have said that it must be nice to have a bit of downtime, a bit of a rest for a few weeks. I would nod in agreement, hiding the fact that actually all I wanted to do was run again. I had enjoyed my training and despite all the effort and time put into the race I hadn’t wanted to stop, not even for a few days. Why would I stop doing something I love? I don't want to sit still, I spent way too long doing that. I'm stuck in limbo with my three hour goal hanging over me, all I want to do is have another crack at it. Trouble is, I just haven’t got the energy to do it.

The marathon was all about finding my limits and seeing how far I could push myself, at so many points in my training I went over those limits. I use running to help my M.E but this was going to far, the training left me tired, the race itself has left me exhausted. The past few weeks I’ve been struggling to summon up the motivation and find the adrenaline not only to run but to get on with my normal life.
I found my limits and ignored them, running way past them, leaving them on the pavement at mile twenty. I desperately want to run and carry on where I left off but in all truth I just can't, I just haven’t got the energy. It’s time to listen to my body and slow down for a while. It's frustrating but it's necessary. I hadn't wanted to admit to my limitations but if I don't then I will never learn from my mistakes and improve in the future. I will only make myself ill again.

Getting out on the mountain bike at Cwmcarn, something I didn't have time for during training.

And so the marathon limbo will continue, until I find the next challenge or sign up for the next race. It may take a bit longer than I thought but I need to be patient. The next few months are going to be about the smaller goals, I'm going to enjoy the local races, run in new places, explore some new trails and maybe have a crack at my 5k and 10k times. No longer do I have to obey the all important training plan. I'm now free, I can take the time to enjoy my running. I'm aching to do the next marathon but I don't want to run the next one because I feel I have to, I need to do it because I want to. It may take a while for me to get over the first Marathon but it sure as hell isn't going to be my last.

The Marathon

It's there, it's finally there. The black banner rising high above the crowds in the distance signals the finish. In my delirious state I can't quite take it in, it's got to be a mirage in the running desert, a figment of my imagination. I can't believe I'm going to do this, I'm going to run a marathon. 

There's just one problem. That banner doesn't seem to be getting any closer. Every time I look up from the ground and away from my lumbering feet it’s stuck there on the horizon, just out of reach in the far distance, refusing to get any nearer.
I’m broken, I have been since about four miles ago. If this were a film (anyone interested in buying the rights please get in contact) now would be the montage moment. Six months of training and seventeen years of illness would be wrapped up in a three minute Rocky style moment of cinematic epicness. Real life is rarely like the movies. I have thought about this moment for a long time, about what it would be like, the emotions I may feel, but right now I can’t think of anything, I’ve got no energy left for emotion. I feel empty, shut off from the outside world, in my own marathon bubble of pain. It's just me and that damn banner. It will not defeat me.

From out of nowhere a figure runs towards me, it takes me a few seconds to register it's my wife, running in with me, guiding me home. She’s my link back into the real world after hours of running in a tunnel, thinking only of getting this far. I try to talk to her but I can hardly get the words out. After three hours with only me and my mind for company, I can't quite take in something from the real world. “Is that the line” I whisper, the voice seemingly not coming from me. “Yes” she says “Go for it you’re almost there.” I stumble forward, trying my best to look with it for the cameras. I'm here, I've made it, after all this, after everything I'm a marathon runner. I celebrate by trying not to collapse whilst chugging a much needed Lucozade. 

I've done it. At this point I was still in a bit of a daze. 

This is all I've been thinking about for the last six months, I've done it, but I can't feel a thing, I'm not sure what I expected but it's a massive anticlimax. All my concentration is now taken up with trying to stay standing. Slowly the real world is coming back into view. It's like someone has turned on the light after you have been sleeping. For a while everything is bleached out, over exposed, people are talking at me but it's not making much sense. Slowly the world starts to filter back into view. It's been hot, damn hot today. It's the one thing I was worried about before the race. Well ok, there were plenty of other things I was fretting about, but I don't get on well with heat, it’s what worried me the most.

Three hours and ten minutes ago I was stood waiting impatiently on the start line not quite sure what was ahead of me. The previous few days had been lost to a sea of nerves. It had become unbearable but I was here waiting to go, ready to do my running thing. Even then standing in the crowd it was too hot, that heat scared me but I had done all I could to prepare. I had plastered myself in three layers of sun cream and drunk as much water as I could stomach. Do your worst sunshine.

With the CDF, Dockside and GLA Runners before the start of the marathon

So we set off on that mad dash into the fist corner where it always seems like the race is a hundred meter sprint. Keep calm I kept on telling myself, stick to the plan. It’s just a run, a long training run in the sun, a tour of a city I don’t know. As we wound our way through the parks and past the football stadiums I stuck to my target pace, I felt comfortable. I enjoyed being the tourist, taking in the views, chatting to marshals on their bikes and high fiving people in the crowd. Marathons weren’t meant to be fun, they were meant to be full of pain, toil and suffering. Maybe this would be different? Maybe I could outrun the pain?

In the back of my mind the three hour goal loomed. I felt good. Despite the hills, the heat and the last minute injury niggles I felt like I might actually do it. For the first 13.1 miles the plan worked perfectly. Things were now starting to get tough but I was still on pace. I was using every bit of shade I could, running in the shadows of buildings and under the canopy of the trees. It was not enough though and despite gulping down as much water as I could at the aid stations I was starting to feel the effects of the heat. The world was closing in around me. A tunnel was forming and I was starting to blank out the sights of the city. The crowds that had once seemed so near and so loud drifted further and further away from me. I was now alone with my thoughts. My marathon had just begun.

At mile 18 on Penny Lane it all started to go wrong. I awoke from my running daze to the blaring tones of the Beetles. “You got this” A woman with a microphone yells. “Have I?” I thought. “Do you really know what it's like?” “Nearly there” she yelled at the next runner behind still eight miles from the finish. “You have no idea what you’re talking about” I think. “You have been employed because you are loud and have a super human ability to endure listening to the Beatles on a loop for seven hours.” Normally I love any kind of encouragement however the noise and loud over enthusiasm had proved too much. I realised then with these incoherent thoughts I was starting to struggle, the heat was sapping rational thought from me. More importantly it was sucking out the energy I had felt for the first half of the race. The goal of three hours was disappearing behind the shimmering heat haze that had now surrounded me.

Keep going, I must keep going.

I stumbled through the last park, and hit the seafront. Now there was no escape from the heat. No buildings to hide behind, no trees to filter it out. It was just wide open space, blazing sun and a headwind, a damn head wind. I could see the tall skyscrapers of the city centre that surrounded the finish line in the distance, never had four miles looked so far.

In a world of my own a few miles away from the finish. Thanks to Gareth Everett for the picture

At this point the run turned from a chase, into survival, the heat had got me. The stagger to the distant banner had begun. I now just had to make it to the finish, it was all I could do. The run turned had turned into a plod and then in places a walk. It was just a few paces here and there and then I would stagger on but it felt pathetic, it felt like I was on a treadmill going backwards. Apparently I ran past a friend in those last few miles, he later told me he was screaming at me, yelling encouragement as I passed within feet of him. I didn’t hear a thing, I could only think of the finish. Nothing else existed.

A week on and I still can’t quite believe I’ve done it. The pain that still sits in my legs reminds me that it did actually happen. During those last few miles I ran headfirst into the wall that runners talk about so much. They were the hardest miles I’ve ever run. 

The Finish! The point that felt so far away only a few minutes earlier

I’ve struggled with my thoughts about the race this week and I think that’s because of the conflicting emotions I feel about my run. On the one hand I’m proud to have finished a marathon on a tough hilly course. On the other I’m disappointed to have missed the time goal I had set myself.

I used to look upon the marathon as an unattainable goal. Marathons were run by people who were far fitter, stronger and tougher than I was. They were run by people who didn’t have M.E. By finishing I have done something I never thought possible a few years ago. I have proved myself wrong. Running has helped me tackle the illness and accomplish challenges I thought were out of reach.

I’ve always said though I never wanted to be defined by the M.E. I didn’t want to just get through this race. That was why I set the goal of three hours and I why was initially disappointed that I missed it. It didn’t matter about the heat and the hilly course. Club mates have since told me it was probably the toughest marathon they have done. In the coming weeks I think I will become happier with my time but I always want to run quicker and race better. As a runner I am never satisfied, it’s what pushes me on and drives me to the next challenge.

I know now why it felt like an anticlimax when I crossed the finish line. It was because I was expecting an ending, a conclusion for my story. The reality is that that it won’t end, I will keep on running, it’s what I do now. I was never going to stop after just one marathon. The three hour goal is still there looming large and I’m already thinking of what marathon to tackle next.

At the very start of this blog I introduced myself as Tom Martin, M.E sufferer. Now I am Tom Martin, Marathon runner.

With my wife Bernie showing off our race medals, at this point it was just starting to sink in what I had done.

I just want to thank you all for the support. Here is a link to my just giving page, raising money for Action for M.E, it's you last chance to donate people.

https://www.justgiving.com/M-e-myself-run

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I run a marathon. Actually let me say that again as I still can’t quite believe it. Tomorrow I am going to run a marathon.

My Liverpool Race number, This definitely means it's real!

It’s something that a few years ago I couldn’t even dare contemplate. I didn’t want to think about doing things like this as I struggled to believe that they could ever happen. In my tired zombie like state getting through the days was hard enough. It felt like the M.E would never let me recover enough to play sport again. Thinking about it just hurt, reminding me of a past life, of things I thought I wouldn’t be able to do again.

There was a dream I had when I was really ill where I was running around the lanes near my home. Why I was running I don’t really know but I was running and it felt great, it felt like freedom. I woke up in that euphoric state you sometimes find yourself after a run. For a few seconds as the real and imaginary combined I was still out there, then reality took over and the high slipped from my grasp. In real life I could never run like that and experience those feelings. Dreaming was as close as I would get. The tiredness still had me in its grasp.

Well this is definitely real, the feeling in the pit of my stomach says so. The pre race nerves that started as background noise last weekend have now become deafening. If anyone mentions the word marathon my stomach turns. There is no way I’m getting any sleep tonight.

All this lot are running as well. Runners from CDF Runners and Dockside Runners pose for a pre race pic

It’s been six months of training, but what feels like a lifetime of waiting to get here, tomorrow can’t come soon enough. I’ve had it with the waiting, I just want to run, it’s what I do now.

Each week so far the plan has been a simple one to follow, run lots, run some more and then keep on running. The more I run the, stronger I get and the closer I edge towards my goal. Suddenly all this had to stop, the plan was flipped on its head.

The race was getting close and I had to start tapering, whatever the hell that was? I wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. In simple terms tapering is cutting down the amount of mileage you run before a race, in theory meaning you start it feeling energetic and fresh after months of putting yourself through hell.
This meant a complete u-turn in attitude, I had to try and cut down on the thing my life has been based around for six months. I felt like an addict being asked to cut out the substance they rely on to exist.

This is perhaps the hardest bit of the training so far, not running is really bloody tough.
Up until now running has been the solution to all of life's problems,
-If I feel tired I run
-bad day at work I run
-Feeling stressed I run
-Need time to think I run
-Need time not to think I run
In fact with pretty much everything running just seems to help.
These last couple of weeks I haven’t been running so much and I’m starting to listen to my own thoughts and take notice of the voices inside my head. This really isn't a good thing.
Doubt has started to creep in, what if I had just gone a couple of miles more on the long run or done some more double sessions? Surely I haven't done enough training, or eaten the right kinds of food. There’s so much more I should have done, maybe I should have tried to cram in that one last long run? That would have helped. 

One of the runs I did do this week

It’s been hard to shut out all of these thoughts and try to think clearly. I’ve had too much time to analyse what I have and haven’t been able to do over the last few months. Mentally these last two weeks have been the toughest part of the training and a few little injury niggles really haven’t helped. A quick trip to the physio has hopefully sorted things out but I can still feel niggles and twinges in my legs. I’ve got to the stage where I can’t work out if they are real or if it’s just all in my head. I can’t stop myself from thinking over and over about the race wondering about all things that may or may not happen on the day. It’s going to be a relief just to get on the start line knowing that all I have to do is run. In my head I’ve already run this race a thousand times.

Tomorrow though I do this for real, I’m going out for a little morning run. Tomorrow I’m going to run a marathon and I can’t wait.

Here is a link to my just giving page, raising money for Action for M.E.

https://www.justgiving.com/M-e-myself-run
Please give what you can to a very worthy cause.

What are you Running from?

"What are you running from Tom?" It was only a simple light-hearted comment from a work colleague but one that got me thinking.

Finishing the Cardiff 5k. Thanks to Paul Stillman for the picture

The obvious answer is that I am running from my M.E, as with most things in life though it's not as simple as this.

That was definitely the case when I first started running, the only reason I was doing it was because of my M.E. I saw running as the cure, the antidote, the thing that I had to do to try and get better. In my mind the longer and faster I ran the more I could say I was beating the M.E, putting distance between the illness and myself. 

Racing the M.E ghost

It was like playing a racing game on the PlayStation. Once you have put in a lap a ghost appears showing you that time. Every lap after that you are racing a previous version of yourself. The M.E is that ghost, it's the former version of myself sitting there waiting to swallow me up and overtake me if I get things wrong. The further and faster I run the more I can shake it out of my slipstream. It's always there though, it never leaves the rear view mirror. It just sits their lumbering along at a constant pace following you like a zombie, waiting for you to make a mistake and slip back into its dense fog. There's a scene at the start of the film Zombieland where one of the rules to stay alive and out of the clutches of the undead is to work on your cardio. This is also one of my rules for staying ahead of my M.E. The more I improve my cardio, the further I can run and the more distance and time I can buy myself. 

Cardio: Rule number 1 for staying ahead of the M.E Zombie

Of course I can't stay ahead every lap, on the bad days it's like I’ve spun off into the gravel. I can only sit there helplessly trying to get going again as the hazy M.E version of myself looms into view on the horizon, gradually hunting me down. This happens every few weeks. I get to the stage where the tiredness builds up and I can no longer control it. The inevitable crash happens and the M.E once again catches up with me. On these days I just have to admit failure. After some rest the only way to deal with this is to dust myself off, start a new lap and try to buy myself some time again.

This was how it was in the beginning. I was racing the M.E, desperately trying to use running to keep ahead of it. The pleasure I gained from the sport was not from the actual running itself, it was from outrunning the M.E. I could start to see it fade into the background, feel the faint shoots of progress and begin to realise I could have control over my illness.

Gradually things started to change. I stopped looking over my shoulder and started looking ahead. I found myself going for a run because I wanted to, not because it was something I had to do to combat the M.E. I had started to enjoy the sensations and feelings that running gave me.

I would give myself times, goals for certain races, eighteen minutes for 5k, a thirty eight minute 10k or in the case of the marathon three hours. My training runs have become about working towards these, about looking to the future, trying to better myself, trying to beat a new ghost, one that is a future, faster version of me. I can see that ghost standing at the finish line, I can see what I want to become and what I want to achieve. It gives me something to work towards, something to attain.

This weeks training included a run along Bournemouth beach and around Sandbanks with my sister Clare 

I still can’t completely forget about the M.E though. Lizzie Hawker writes in her book Runner about being scared of falling back into the comfort zone. I have the same fear. I'm terrified that if I stop I will fall back into the tiredness and it will take over again, ruling my life. By running I continue away from that, no matter how hard it is to get out of the door, no matter how tired I feel, I have to keep moving, I must keep on running. I think this will always remain as one of my motivations for running. It will always be the process that can help me fight the tiredness.

Is there a finish line to my race with M.E? Probably not. It's taken me many years to accept this, that one day I won't just wake up and miraculously have banished those tired demons. No I think I will always probably have an element of tiredness in my life but I can cope with it. Running has helped me cope. It has given me the disciplines and structures in place to deal with the fatigue but I have to keep on moving as I know what will happen when I stop.

The M.E is the reason I started to run, it is one of the reasons I am still running but by setting myself goals and targets I have changed the main objective for my running. No longer is the primary focus to keep the M.E at bay, it is to work towards the times I’ve put up there in big shiny lights. It is to achieve those goals and to see how far I can push myself as a runner.

These targets have either been achieved or in the case of trying to get a 1.30 half just missed by 10 seconds. The misses have just made me more determined, the successes mean that new goals are set and a new version of myself has to be built to try and achieve them. With each success new targets are set and the cycle goes on, I try to challenge myself with times I'm not sure are possible.

That's how I've gone into this marathon, I’m looking ahead to what I want to achieve. That's why I've set the 3 hour goal. To just run the marathon and get through it feels like looking back, like I’m running from the M.E, doing it just to prove that the illness is no longer in control of me. I’m entering this marathon to see what I can do as a runner, to see how far I can push myself. It is about looking to the future and seeing the ghost that I want to become. Running has helped to stop my life from being dominated by M.E. I can now run for me.

Here is a link to my just giving page, raising money for Action for M.E.

https://www.justgiving.com/M-e-myself-run
Please give what you can to a very worthy cause.

Runners World

I’ve been meaning to write a new post for a while now but life and to be more specific running has taken over. Actually running has most definitely taken over life. It’s all I’ve been doing the last couple of weeks, it’s all I’ve had the energy to do. Don’t get me wrong training has been going well, but with all the long runs, speed session, races, double sessions and the inevitable stretching, strength training, foam rolling, and recovery there hasn’t been time left for anything else, even for the small every day things like shaving. Fifteen minutes extra in bed is much more important, besides more sleep helps my recovery and helps with my next run, Shaving doesn’t. So that explains why I am currently sporting a very scraggly ginger beard and also the lack of a blog post for the last couple of weeks.

This week has been the last full week of intense training. One more long run and I can try and get my head around the mysterious beast that is the taper. Hopefully it’ll mean a bit more time for writing and also maybe a shave. Anyway on with the blog.

The CDF Runners having collected their numbers before the Madrid half and full Marathons

Headphones on, hood up, I’m ready to go. Where shall we run today brain? That’s easy you run the same place you ran yesterday, the same place you run everyday.

It's dark, rainy, cold and damp but it doesn’t matter, I can shut myself off from the outside world and do the same route I always run. Down the end of the road turn right, up the slight hill and then keep turning right all the way back home again.
It's a boring, nothing to see here route through the greyer area of Cardiff. But I do it because it's my running route, I know exactly where I am, how long it will take me and I can never get lost, it cuts down on the unexpected, on the variables. It's a route I don't have to think about, I can just get it done. But it's so dull, if this route was a colour it would be magnolia, something to cover the walls before you can decide on the more daring colour you really want.

So hood up, headphones on, goodbye world I'm going for a run. For the next thirty minutes I may as well be I may as well be running on a treadmill. In fact that would be much easier, no rain or cold, just endless air conditioned miles that can be churned out in the safety of indoors. No variables, no weather, no darkness, no cars, no city, no getting lost, no outside world, no soul.

Surely running can be so much more than this.

Things started to change around my first race. Before the start we were told headphones would be banned as the roads would not be fully closed. How would I be able to run without closing myself off from the outside world? That little personal bubble I created, the songs and the beat they provided were surely the only thing getting me through the monotony of the run. The danger was without my headphones I would realise what I was doing and would fall to pieces, running was boring and running over an hour without music was unthinkable.

In fact the opposite happened, ditching the headphones opened up the world around me. From the sound of runners steps off the line to the cheers of spectators the race provided a host of new sensations. I chatted to fellow runners, waved at spectators, took in the new sights and a bit of the world I hadn't seen before, it was the best run most enjoyable run of my life.
Far from shutting the world out, I realised I could use running to explore more of the world around me. My usual route was abandoned and I started to become a tourist in my own city. I would plan routes around places I had never been to and take turns down streets just to see what was at the end of them. I would get a little lost just for the excuse to stay out a little longer and see a bit more. All the while the headphones stayed at home.
This was when the world started to turn into a big playground, running became the catalyst for seeing new sights and exploring new places. I started to pack my kit everyday for work just in case I had a job somewhere new and had a bit of time to explore.

Laugharne Castle on a run after a job in the town

I still didn't really run on holiday though. Holidays were an excuse to get away from it all to put life on hold for a few days, running included. I remember a colleague at work saying I could still train whilst I went away to Prague for a few days. Immediately my brain started to think of excuses, what if I got lost or injured in a place where I couldn't speak the language? I had no idea about the city, I didn't know where was best to run. And anyway with all we wanted to see there was no way I had the time to fit in a run. The excuses won, my shoes and the rest of the kit stayed at home. Running was forgotten for a few days.

All this changed we went to New Zealand at the beginning of the year. It had to change, four weeks without running just wasn't going to happen. The shoes were packed along with some basic kit and then a bit more kit for good measure. In fact normal clothes were left at home so running kit could take up precious space in the wheelie case.
That first morning in Christchurch I was horribly jet lagged but I was on the other side of the world, how could I not go and have an exploration run even if it was just to make Strava friends jealous of the profile. So I would make my way through town past the cathedral so horribly crippled in the earthquake and round the local park. The run followed a pattern, run stop look take pictures then run again. Normally I hated stopping out on a run, I would wait impatiently at traffic lights cursing as the cars and busses blocked my way, ruining my carefully thought out training plan. This type of run was different. It wasn’t a form of training, it was exploration. Time, distance and calories burnt could be forgotten about. Running was simply the transportation method I could use to take in the environment around me and see the sights. I realised I could use the run to make the most of my holiday.

That profile from my first jet lagged run in Christchurch

The rest of the holiday followed a similar pattern. We were in a campervan so would wake up with the sun. As I lay there I couldn't help but wonder what was outside, what places I could discover, what things I could see that I may never be able to see again. It became impossible to stay in bed no matter how tired I was. Each morning I would discover a completely new place and running was the best way to see it. Armed with my shoes and my phone I could see so much more than I would at my normal meandering tourist pace.

A photo from a run around the lake in Queenstown

So I’m now in Madrid, standing in the sun amid the chaos of the starting pen with forty thousand others waiting to sprint up the first hill. The whole point of this holiday has been to run.

Ok so I’m not taking the race that seriously, if I was then the sea food paella would definitely not have been my first choice for the pre race carb load the night before. No this is a race to enjoy, take in the atmosphere and explore a new city. It’s a training session in the sun after months of slogging it out through the rain, hail and wind of a British winter.

The CDF guys before the start in Madrid

These past few days away have been filled with running, after all when you go on holiday with your run club you expect to do it quite a lot, but it hasn’t been the collapse in a pool of sweat speed sessions we have been used to. It’s been a different type of running, tourist running. The have been the getting lost early morning runs, where you stumble across parks and landmarks. The group runs where we met up with a local run who guided us through the city and back to a bar where we were greeted with Bagels and Mimosas. There was also this race. 

Out on a run with the Lactic Acid Junkies a local club in Madrid. Thanks to Mikhael Puar for the picture and Robert Shultz for being our guide

So despite the seafood paella I had one of my most enjoyable races ever. Rather than blocking out the outside world I took it all in using the run to see the areas of the city I hadn’t got to yet. Once we had finished we could get back to the real business of sightseeing and eating way too much tapas.
This was what running can be. It’s given me a holiday with a group of people I never would have met if I kept the hood up and headphones on. I would still be on that same route pounding the same pavements day in, day out in my own little world.

I ran my original route the other day just to remind myself of how things used to be, to remember how small my running world once was. Running can be so much more than just running. It’s enabled me to make new friends and see places I would have never visited. Back home my shoes are now always in the car and on holiday they are now the first thing that gets packed. The only problem I have is choosing where to run next.

Here is a link to my just giving page, raising money for Action for M.E.

https://www.justgiving.com/M-e-myself-run
Please give what you can to a very worthy cause.