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I did it! I did it!
In 4 hours 39 minutes and 12 seconds, I ran 26.2 miles. I came 16736th beating around 20,000 people, although to be fair, that does include blind people, people on stilts and a giant robot. It was easy. Well some of it was easy. Quite a lot of it involved great pain and terrible suffering.
Despite the predictions of tropical storms and thunderous showers, I awoke to a pretty nice day on Sunday morning. I met my friend Ian at Charing Cross station and we packed ourselves like sardines into the train that would take us to Greenwich Park. Due to the blisters I had been getting each time I had gone running, I had taken to covering the balls of my feet with duct tape to reduce the friction. This had worked like a charm and I had been blister free for weeks. You can imagine how pleased I was when, sitting on the train hurtling towards the beginning of a 26 mile slog, I realised that I hadn’t taped my feet up that morning. Picturing blisters filled with blood erupting from my feet and running through Westminster making loud squelching sounds with thick footprints of gore trailing behind me, I grimly decided I would carry on regardless. Flicking through my kit bag I discovered that I had been saved. Paul and Sian Allen, two of the kindest and most practical people in Wrexham, had appeared at the station in Wrexham on Saturday to wave me off. As I was getting onto the train they presented me with a goody bag including sticky strips to treat blisters!!! Even better, my wife (who was born with more sense than I will ever have) had packed them into my kit bag. Delighted I taped these all over my grateful feet, happy in the knowledge that when I failed to finish the marathon now, it wouldn’t be because of my blistered feet.
We arrived at Blackheath Station and began the long walk to Greenwich Park. We were passed by men in Rhino suits, two men in a camel costume and a host of superheroes and people in charity vests all the colours of the rainbow. The information that had been sent out was quite explicit that there was to be no urinating in people’s gardens on the way to the park. Normally a walk to the park without urinating into someone’s garden is not a challenge for me, however, after a morning of gorging on water I had a bladder like a barrage balloon and seriously considering breaking my first rule. It occurred to us that there had been no mention of whether or not number 2s were permitted in people’s gardens or whether we could urinate anywhere in public apart from gardens, perhaps in wheelie bins or in the streets. Distracted by these musings we entered the park and saw queues for the ’ample toilet facilities provided’ snaking up and down the park as if someone had just announced tickets were on sale for the Elvis comeback tour. We waited in the queue for a few minutes. Scratched our heads as to why people were popping into the portaloos and not emerging for ten minutes, convinced they were taking the morning paper in there with them, before dashing off behind a tree whilst being scrutinised by the local constabulary.
We walked to the top of the hill where the race was to begin. At this point Ian, who was wearing jeans, a tee shirt and slip on shoes, asked one of the officials at what point we would get separated. The official looked at me in my jogging top and shorts and informed me I would have to stay outside the gate while the runners went through into the pen behind. I clearly do not have the look of a distance runner yet.
I said my goodbyes to Ian and went through the gate. The atmosphere was that bit more electric. Ten minutes until the start and I had to find the right van to put my kit into and go to the toilet four more times. This done I got into the queue and with music pounding, joggers stretching and cameras snapping all around me, I began the slow amble towards the start line, determined not to jog until I had crossed the beginning point lest any energy be wasted.
The first ten miles were quite enjoyable. I felt a freshness and euphoria that shoved me along. Strangers were shouting “Come on Keir” (I had written my name on my top in duct tape the night before. Remembered to put duct tape on my shirt. Not on my feet though…) and I was trotting along at a brisk pace, overtaking more people than were overtaking me. Every time I saw someone else in a MIND vest I would jog over and patronisingly wish them good luck as I ran past. Despite all my overtaking, there was always someone in front of me who looked like they really shouldn’t be there. Some shuffling pensioner who may well have escaped from an institution and found their way onto the course. I pictured a residential home where nurses were franticly searching cupboards and looking up and down the street annoyed because “Mr Smith has got out again”.
After 5 miles I came to my first Lucozade station. Here, thousands of bottles of Lucozade are picked up, sipped, spilt and thrown to the floor. The road looked like two bin lorries had collided and spilt their contents into the street, while the surface itself had assumed the texture of fly paper, greedily sucking at the soles of my trainers as I slowly plodded along.
After 9 miles I was overtaken by my first Womble. This was not an event that inspired confidence in my running abilities. The miles went by. I was looking forward to mile 15 where Ros and Scarlett might be waiting for me. The fifteen mile marker arrived and it was in the middle of a tunnel with no spectators to be seen. Disappointed I trudged on, knowing I would have a chance to see them at the 18.5 mile mark. Then suddenly at the end of the tunnel I heard a familiar voice shout my name and looked up to see Ian’s 6ft 8 frame looming out of the crowd as he poked Ros and Scarlett in my direction. After a quick dash over to see them I was inspired…to start walking. There was something about having hit the milestone of seeing them that took all the energy out of me. Granted I would see them again in 3.5 miles, but for goodness sake, that was 3.5 miles away!! I walked/ran for the next 3 miles, watching other MIND runners that I had sailed past earlier casually cantering past me. I picked up the pace at this point. I didn’t mind walking for a bit but there was no way I was going to walk past my family and friends who had stood in the rain for two hours to see me. Sure enough at the 18.5 mile mark I saw Ian’s giraffe like profile in the crowd and ran over to them. “You’re doing brilliantly” they said. “Little do you know” I thought. And started running again, waiting until I was around the corner before slowing to a walk.
I had began the day with my Ipod in my pocket, beating out inspiring tunes to keep me going. After mile three I had it at full blast and still couldn’t hear a damn thing due to the bands, supporters and PA systems along the side of the road. Both times I saw Ros I had meant to give her the bloody thing rather than keep it in my pocket. Unfortunately as soon as I laid eyes on them all thought of such mundane tasks leapt from my mind. It is because of this that my most impressive injuries are two raw, weeping sores at the top of my thigh where my Ipod rubbed against it for four and a half hours.
Miles 19-22 were the hardest. I was trying to run for a minute, then walk for a minute. My legs were really hurting. My right arm was starting to cramp and my calves were refusing to contract anymore. My muscles were running out of the sugar they needed to push me along and no matter how much Lucozade I gulped, no matter how many jelly babies I took from the crowd, the sudden burst of energy I was waiting for failed to materialise. I was struggling to pick my legs up off the floor. I had adopted the shuffling, sliding gait of a toddler who is trying their parent’s shoes on. I was looking at the floor, my back was hurting. I stopped running and started walking again. If there was one thing that that was more painful than the running, it was the walking. Muscles seizing, cramping, spasming. Stopping was worse still. I really wanted to wrap myself into a ball on the side of the road. I wanted my mum to come and rescue me. I just wanted it all to end. I had begun the day with the wildly optimistic plan of finishing around the four hour mark. As the run went on I moved the goalposts somewhat and hoped for 4.5 hours. I later revised this to being able to finish the race that day, then to being able to complete the race without the St John’s Ambulance brigade dragging me off the route wearing a shiny blanket. By mile 21 I just wanted to live. I tried to stretch out the tension in my muscles. Perversely my muscles were as loose, pliable and flexible as they had ever been, no doubt due to their three hour warm up.
Having lived in London for a few years, after mile 21 things started to look more familiar and I became aware of how little there was left to do. Granted ,I was in tremendous discomfort, and granted, I still had about an hour of it to go, during which time it was unlikely to get better. Still, 5 miles left through streets that I knew well. I started to lift my head a bit more. “Keep going Keir” “You’re looking great Keir” “Almost there Keir” the crowd shouted. And I ran. Slowly. I caught up with one of the MIND runners who had overtaken me earlier. We chatted for a bit, but he couldn’t match my pace and dropped back. I disappeared into my head and began counting my steps. Every time I got to a hundred I started again. Sometimes I lost concentration so started again. With my brain distracted from the torture I was putting my body through, the final miles started to be eaten up. Then came the ultimate humiliation.
I could hear a rumbling in the crowd. I heard extra shouting. I heard children laughing and calling excitedly. A shadow fell in front of me and from behind my left shoulder he came. Running like a serious athlete, tall, proud, a huge grin on his massive head. I had just been overtaken by a seven foot beaver. There were two miles to go. With effort I thought, I could catch that beaver. But there was nothing left to give. The beaver disappeared into the crowd of runners in front and I resigned myself to always thinking of myself as a crap marathon runner.
We ran past big ben.1,2,3,4. Past the houses of parliament 38,39,40, past St James Park, 89,90,91. As I reached the corner before Buckingham Palace I heard someone shout my name. I looked up and saw John Cadogan, my friend since playschool, beaming at me from the hoard of spectators, urging me on. I also spotted that the beaver was in sight. I pointed my finger at the beaver. “Him” I shouted to John “I’m going to beat him”. The muscles that had been so slack for the past miles, so wasted and exhausted when trying to run to ‘get a good time’ suddenly realised that there was someone trying to beat me. My pace increased. I pulled ahead of the beaver. I was going to beat him. No matter that I was going to finish long after I had expected to. In this matter at least I was going to win. The beaver turned his head. He saw me go past. He saw me looking at him. My heart sank as the beaver picked up his pace. He came up fast behind me, legs pounding, tail flapping behind him. I tried to run faster and found myself not jogging but running, not running but sprinting. With a hundred yards to go and 26 miles behind me, after having hit the peak of exhaustion, after wondering if I would ever finish this bloody race, I found myself galloping towards the finish line with a seven foot beaver hot on my heels.
The pace was too much for him and he dropped back. I flew across the line like I had won Olympic gold in every event. No matter that fifteen thousand people had finished before me, I had won.
It took me about an hour to find Ros afterwards. Mainly because I spent a lot of time lying on the ground hugging myself, wondering how badly you had to be hurting for the St John’s people to drive you to your family on their little milk float. I made it to the MIND reception where I was showered and massaged and then we headed to the pub. Ian signed up to run for MIND next year while I seriously considered chopping my foot off to stop it hurting. Never again. Not for a year at least anyway.
In this age of terrorism, cctv and increased surveillance many people are concerned at the amount of cameras that follow their every move. Not me. Flicking through the BBC coverage it appears that I ran though London wearing a fluorescent top during one of the most heavily covered sporting events of the year and I didn’t show up on camera once.
I’d just like to express my tremendous gratitude to Ian, John, Ros, Scarlett, Angela, Andrew, Emma and John who stood in the rain watching 30,000 people run past in the slim chance they might catch a glimpse of me. It made a big difference. Also a big thank you to all who sponsored me and made one of my dreams come true. The total is currently at £1907 but there is still more to come in. I will send out a final update to let you know how much was raised but the website is active for another 60 days ,so you can still give if you were waiting to make sure that I did it. Full details of those who helped me out plus the total membership for that exclusive 1% club will be revealed then.
Many thanks to one and all,
Keir
Random Statistics
Distance run - 26.2 miles
Lucozades consumed - 6
Number of attractive girls shouting my name during race- Hundreds
Number of attractive girls shouting my name since race has finished - 0
Number of Masai Warriors overtaken - 6
Number of blisters - 3
Metres run backwards after realising I really did want that jelly baby - 2
Children shouting in pain after holding out their hand to be slapped as I ran past - 3
Number of Beavers beaten to the finish line - 1
4 Days to go.4 days!!
4 Days to go.4 days!!
I’m getting quite apprehensive now. I feel rather ill prepared and all those times when I should have gone running but stayed in bed are coming back to bite me on the bum. The furthest I managed to run was 18 miles, which I managed in just under three hours but really knocked me sideways. Since then I’ve done a few shorter runs (7 miles in under an hour and 9 miles in 75 minutes) which have been fairly reassuring but I can’t shake out this little demon in my head that is telling me I’m going to collapse after 20 miles and ‘proper’ runners and people who gave their training the respect it deserved will be stepping over me on their way to glory.
Part of my usual preparation for things is to leave them as long as possible and cram everything in the week before. That is not possible in this case as all the literature is telling me to really take it easy for the last 3 weeks. Nowhere in the training manuals does it suggest playing two and a half rugby matches and getting knocked about in rugby training in your last three weeks. But what do they know.
Tuesday night was the last time that I will run before the big day. I ran for 20 minutes and it was one of the most difficult runs I have done yet. I was breathing like a geriatric asthmatic by the end of the road, my knees felt like they were being used to drive in fence posts and my calves were tighter than a particularly miserly Scotsman. It really does not bode well for the big day. All the books say it is natural to be anxious and hypersensitive to any aches and pains, but even still.
So the rest of the training consists of eating pasta and drinking gallons of water. With the time ticking down there is a real urge to feel that I should be doing something more…
As this is the last time I will get to beg you all for money, I thought I’d say again about some of the good work MIND does. While most of us are happy to tell our friends and family the most explicit details of our physical health problems, we tend to shy away from discussing problems about the way we are thinking. In a society where mental health problems are the last great taboo, what do you do when you keep thinking that your family would be better off if you were dead? What do you do if you can hear someone threatening you when you know there is no one around? What do you do when the thought of going out the front door makes you so frightened you feel you might might die? Imagine how terrified you would be if you thought that the stories in the paper were all about you? If you woke up every day feeling that you could do nothing right, that everyone thought you were useless and that it would never ever get better? How could you tell your family and friends that you need to clean you kitchen again and again and again because you are scared some bacteria will poison the ones you love? What do you do when your partner won’t stop crying? How can you help when your daughter is cutting her arms with a broken bottle?
These are the questions a lot of people carry around inside because the stigma of mental illness makes it too hard for them to talk about. They are questions MIND helps people to answer every day. Mind has a national helpline 0845 7660163 as well as branches in Wrexham and Mold that help people with the above questions as well as providing counselling and running support groups. By sponsoring me to run the marathon you are not only supporting the national helpline, but supporting local services as well.
4 days to go. 4 months work and the beginning of the end kicks off at 9.45 on Sunday morning. I am number 37998 and will be wearing a MIND vest sporting a daring blend of colours, lime green at the top and light blue at the bottom. Not my usual colours. The total raised at this moment is £1744 and it would fantastic to smash through the £2000 mark. This is the last email I will send out begging for sponsorship so if you were wavering about whether to sponsor me or not please, please do it. If you were thinking of forwarding this onto a friend or colleague, please do it. If you were considering just asking a few friends colleagues for a pound/spare change/foreign coins, please do it. The website takes donations from £2 and any contribution is more than welcome.
While I can’t promise to stop asking you for money, after the marathon it won’t be for charity anymore.
Many thanks to all those who have donated and those who have sent in messages of support. Considering the charity insists on you raising £1600 to get your place, I literally could not be doing this without your support. See you on TV.
Keir
4 weeks to go. 4 weeks to go!!! Its getting a bit scary now. That’s only 3 weeks training left. That’s only 21 days of training to go. That’s only 4 more long runs. That’s only… My mind is becoming somewhat preoccupied with the marathon.
Training is going ok. There have been some blips though. Four weeks ago my friend Llevon forced me out of bed on a Sunday morning and got me doing another 10 mile run. It felt really good, surprisingly good. It felt good to be running in the bright sunlight, it felt good to be stretching out the aches and pains from the previous days rugby, and it felt good to leave Llevon panting and gasping for breath in Rosset because he couldn’t go on any more. Not only that, I threw in a lap of Acton park on the way home. There was something highly empowering about having run seven miles and then beginning to run in the opposite direction from my house. So I made it home. 12 miles. Again the furthest I have run in my life and at the end of it I felt like I could run back the way I had come. It seemed that the training was really coming together.
Then the blip came. A big part of my weekly mileage has been running to and from rugby training. With the arrival of the 6 Nations competition training was cancelled for a week and because there were no first team games written in our diary, Mrs Harding has been whisking us away to visit friends and relatives. A week went past without a decent training session. Then another. Then another. It was this realisation that prompted me leave the relatives we were staying with last Saturday morning to drive over a hundred miles to play for Wrexham seconds. An effort few other players made that day I suspect. We played a really good game. Had my usual game running about like a headless chicken and give away penalties into double figures, but despite this we tonked Mold 10-3. I was running again. The momentum was back.
With all this momentum behind me on the Wednesday night I set out to pound the roads around Wrexham. I put on my kit, strapped my ipod to my arm, munched my half a bananna and with motivational tunes thumping into my ears I bounded off with the aim of getting 15 miles done. I lasted half an hour before phoning Ros and begging her to stop feeding the baby and come pick me up. 3 miles. Not 15. 3.
The next day was a Thursday. Rugby training day. Again I left the house, motivational tunes playing, water tucked into my shorts and looking faintly ridiculous wearing rugby boots on my hands. The aim was to run to rugby training. A distance of only two miles which I had done many times before. I stopped 3 times on the way there. 3 times. The outlook was not good.
Things improved this Sunday. Not only did I get out of bed in the right frame of mind to go running, I also managed to get 14 or 15 miles done. Were it not for the blisters that formed underneath my old blisters and started bleeding I may have gone on. Never the less, 16 miles this week, 18 next, 20 the week after and all will be well for the big day. A big thank you to all who are beeping their horn as they drive past. A few times each run a blast of noise tears me out of my stupor and through my sweat smeared vision I see a car fading into the distance. I like to assume they are people lending their support.
You will see from the website (www.justgiving.com/keirh) that the £800 target has been reached, although there is still a long way to go. The keen eyed among you may have noticed me gracing the pages of the Flintshire chronical and the Evening Leader (http://www.eveningleader.co.uk/news/Welsh-rugby-stars-support-for.3854579.jp) last week in desparate efforts to drum up publicity, and so far its resulted in ….£20. The fundraising and constant harranging of those likely to sponsor me continues.
The introduction of the 1% club (people who donate 1% or more of my target) has caused some controversy with those who have given as a couple feeling hard done by. While I sympathise, the rules of the 1% club are very strict but any anger, anxiety or resentment caused by not being a member of the prestigious 1% club can be swiftly assuaged by the mere donation of £20. New members of the club include Phil Roberts and Emlyn Roberts of Drumreed, my favourite civil engineering company, Guy Bingham captain of Wrexham 1sts, Amy Gould who is currently training for a piddling little six mile run of her own, Ian France who for many years has been my tallest friend, John Cadogan, a fellow I have been friends with since playschool with and big Adam Jones who we all feared would blow away in the recent high winds. They join Ros Harding, Jayne Thomas, Jason Gemmell, Brian Matthews, Beryl Matthews, Gareth Lewis, Lisa (Lisa who ?), Angela Jarvis, Frances Adams, Gareth Hall, Guy Bingham and Tony Medcalf in what is becoming one of the least prestigious clubs in history. Special mention must go to Wrexham RFC’s Matty Arnold who, with his whopping great donation, deserves a club of his own.
This months saintly people include Gareth Griffiths who has taken my appeal to heart and is bullying all the customers of his local and making phonecalls to all and sundry drumming up support and donations. He invited me to the Thursday quiz night at the Golden Lion in Coedpoeth where for the past few weeks my appeal has been the recipient of the proceeds from the quiz and raffle. many thanks to the Gareth, the landlord and all who donated from the Golden Lion.
Sian Allen has also been been raising oodles of cash for MIND. When Sian told one of her colleagues that I was running the marathon for a mental health charity, they asked what was wrong with me, assuming I had some mental health problems myself. Sian assumed he was referring to my foolishness in entering the marathon and replied "He's mad isn't he." which did little to clarify the situation. Whatever brings the money in...
All the 1% club, Gareth and Sian have really helped me out. You can too. For only £20 you can join the 1% club, bask in the warm glow that comes from knowing you have helped a good cause, get a brief mention in my largly unread website/emails and recieve no other benefits at all!!! Alternatively you could pester your friends for me. Drop me a line and I will happily send you some poorly photocopied cuttings of me from the paper and a sponsor form . (www.wherearekeirandros@yahoo.com)
Keir
9 weeks to go…
The training has now began in earnest. Not only am I managing to run back and forth to rugby training (4 miles, twice a week), but I did my first big run last Friday. Knowing that I don’t have Uri Geller’s will power, I got Ros to drop me off just outside Chester so that I could run home, a distance of just over 10 miles. Compared to the 26 miles I will have to run in nine weeks, 10 miles doesn’t seem that much, but I’m pretty sure that it’s the furthest I have ever run in my life.
The run itself wasn’t actually that bad. I had expected to be puffing and wheezing like an aging locomotive however it was the muscle pain that was the hardest part. During the first mile my calves repeatedly asked me what in the hell I thought I was doing and told me to quickly turn back and phone Ros before she got too far away. A few miles of roughly pounding my legs into the concrete soon silenced this whinging, although perhaps too effectively as on the last two miles my legs, beaten into submission, went wobblier than a birthday jelly. You can imagine how pleased I was that I had saved the big hill by the Kings Mills for last.
Despite the discomfort I’m really pleased with how the training is going. I’ve run further than ever before and theres some sort of psychological milestone around running miles in double digits. There should be a 12 mile run on Sunday provided I don’t get too injured in Saturdays rugby.
The fundraising side of things is also going pretty well. If you have checked the website (www.justgiving.com/keirh) you’ll see that £675 has been generously donated so far. When you run for a charity they like you to send they some of your money upfront to show that you are not just trying to scrounge a free place. I need to send MIND £800 in three weeks time. Only you can help. If you haven’t donated, please think about it. If you have (and thank you so much) please badger your friends!! This weeks chief angels, (people who have pressured their friends and colleagues into donating), are Rhiannon Pinder who brought in £20, Suzanne Thompson who must have made our recent work party hell by pressing people into donating around £100, Piggy from rugby whos friend donated £10 and Gail Morely who has been emailing all her friends to spread the word….They have done so well. Can you do better???
I’ve also decided to start The 1% Club. This is a prestigious group of the great and the good. It only admits those of the highest moral calibre, the highest values or anyone who has donated 1% or more of my total.
The roll of honour currently holds Ros Harding, Jayne Thomas, Jason Gemmell, Brian matthews, Beryl Matthews, Gareth Lewis, Lisa (Lisa who ?), Angela Jarvis, Frances Adams, Gareth Hall, Guy Bingham and Wrexham RFC’s resident hypochondriac, Tony Medcalf.
Fine gentleman one and all, especially the ladies. Would you like to make it into these chosen few? Would you like the fame and honour that comes from a brief mention on an obscure barely visited web page? For £20 this distinction could be yours (www.justgiving.com/keirh)
11 weeks to go...
Well the training plan would have me doing a 90 minute run this week. I am not looking forward to that one iota but i suppose the work must be put in...
The ankle seems to have recovered pretty well. I treated it to a new pair of running shoes on the weekend so I shall be most dismayed if it begins to hurt again. I went to Sports World for them originally. I asked the fellow what shoes he would reccommend for marathon running. He seemed to suck his teeth a bit, pull a few faces and then direct me towards some rather naff looking footware that varied wildly in price and were "comfortable". When I asked the same question of the man in JJB be was able to talk about cushioned soles, feet expanding, pronation and a myriad of technical terms that gave me the impression that he had some idea of what he was talking about.
I managed a four mile run last week with rugby training on top, as well as playing in one of the poorest rugby matches ever witnessed against Rhyl on Saturday. Despite the two week lay off i do seem to be getting fitter.
The fundraising is going quite well too. The poker night at my house raised £40 with lots of pledges of sponsorship from my friends. I was in the Evening Leader the other night however so far that has failed to raise a penny. I suspect this may be due to them not putting in the correct website address. I need to add some of the money i have collected to the total on the web page, but I think we are hovering around the 20% mark. Mind want £800 off me by March 14th which is starting to make me sweat a bit. This week will involve trying to get some more publicity in the papers and perhaps a segment on the local radio. Fingers are tightly crossed,
Many thanks to all who donated so far. I really appreciate it. If you could make your friends donate that would be fantastic. Do spread the word...
Keir
12 weeks to go…
Twelve weeks until the big day and the pressure is beginning to build. The training plan says that this week I should be doing a ½ hour run, one 40 minute run that includes hills and one 80 minute run off road. The actual training plan has been somewhat different. It began well with a plan to sprint around the rugby pitch for 80 minutes last Saturday. This plan was scuppered when 10 minutes into the game I emerged from a ruck with an ankle that refused to work properly. It has been slowly improving over the past few days and I have lost my “comedy pirate” limp, however I still can’t run on it. I did 10 miles on the bike on Monday and will be hoping to do more on the weekend.
The fundraising has been going a lot better than the training and I have been quite shocked at how generous my friends, colleagues and family have been. I’ve had lots of pledges of money and through the website, over 10% of the target has been raised. That’s pretty good for one week, but we can still do more…
I was disappointed to learn that the serious marathon runners get to start before the amatures such as myself. I suppose it would be rather farcical for Paula Radcliff to have to push her way through runners dressed as nurses and pantomime horse, but I had this great plan to sprint for a few minutes so that for one brief moment I would be winning the marathon. It seems now that this ambition will not be met. The other year Paula Radcliff made headlines by stopping to urinate as she was running along. I fear my only chance of catching her is if she stops to urinate, deffacate, wash her hair, apply make up, then take a long soothing soak in the bath followed by 40 or 50 winks. She has not done this in any of her races so far but I can hope…
Week 13
It was with great surprise that I opened an envelope just before Christmas to find that I had been allocated a place to run the London marathon. I had applied a few months back and completely forgotten about it. Now I find myself with 13 weeks to prepare my lazy body to run 26 miles and raise £2000 for the charity MIND.
I work in a community mental health team helping people experiencing mental heath problems to live their lives more independently. I was working with a young man whose ambition had always been to compete in the London marathon. He had applied every year for the past five years and been unable to secure a place. “Why not try running for one of the charities?” I said.
He seemed unsure.
“We’ll do it together” I said, happy in the knowledge that we wouldn’t be allocated a place. We sent off our applications to MIND and lo and behold, they have given us the responsibility of running for them. Unfortunately the gentleman I was entering with has changed his mind, leaving me with a lot of training and fundraising to do.
So far I have found the training quite easy. This is largely because I haven’t actually done any running. In the same way, the fundraising has been fairly simple too. With 13 weeks to go however, the pressure is starting to build and the first of the big runs will start over the next week. One of my difficulties is that I don’t like running. I loath running. After a few minutes of my fifteen stone bulk crashing onto my ill prepared knees my body starts questioning my brain as to why it is making it do this foolish activity. My brain invariably cannot come up with an answer that can justify the amount of pain, discomfort and tedium it is enduring and decides it is time to stop. Quite how it is going to cope with four or five hours of running I have no idea. I feel that some kind of tearful, screaming meltdown in the Trafalgar Square area may be on the cards.
You can make things easier for me by sponsoring me at
www.justgiving.com/keirh
All money donated goes directly to MIND. MIND provides support and information to families and individuals experiencing mental distress. Their helpline takes 20 thousand calls per year. They send out over 1 million information leaflets per year. Whether it be depression, phobias, stress, mania or psychosis, should you or a member of your family ever experience any mental health difficulty (and one in four people will), MIND will be there to support you.
If you enjoyed reading this please forward to EVERYONE you know.
