Those of you who know me know that I'm not a natural runner.

When I was a child I watched a documentary that said that cheetahs run so fast because they hold their breath when they sprint. At a school sports day not long after I decided to put this into practice - "I'll be as quick as a cheetah", I thought to myself excitedly as I stood on the starting line. The countdown started and I readied myself for victory, sucking in a big deep breath of cool, damp air. I race hard with great extermination like my life depended on it. But my confidence quickly ebbed away as every single other runner came breezing past. I came last. It was sad.

More recently, I revealed to a close friend that I had started running regularly. It felt like a dirty little secret. "What, you!? But you hate running!" And she wasn't wrong (probably a result of my cheetah experience...)

However, last year my depression was starting to get the better of me so I owned up to it, spoke to my doctor, and read many books and articles on self-help. Every single one commented on the benefits of exercise/running, so much so that I couldn't ignore it any more. I had to start. I began the 'Couch to 5K' programme and initally couldn't run for 60 seconds without gasping for breath. There were so many times when I wanted to throw in the towel but I kept pushing through because there was something very therapeutic about it.

After one particularly energising run I felt confident (some may say cocky) enough to enter the Sheffield Half Marathon but, honey, I did not appreciate at that time how far 13miles is for an inexperienced runner! Initially, I didn't want to make this a big thing. I wasn't going to do it for charity because I was scared that I wouldn't make it, that I would let people down. I was doing it for me just to prove to myself that I could. But when I registered there at the top of the list of charities to run for was Bowel Cancer research. It touched a nerve.

My family lost someone too special, too loved, too soon to bowel cancer. My nana, Margaret Caroll, is a woman that I love though I've never met her. She passed away at the age of 49 when my mother was only 12, leaving a family of seven children. I have no doubt that we'd have been close if I'd have been lucky enough to have met her and she is still remembered fondly. Whenever I visit her's and my grandad's graves in Co. Offlay where my family were born and raised I always promise myself I won't cry but I always do.

So this is for her and for everyone working through this now.

You have my deepest thanks.

 

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