Anyone who knows me knows that above all else I thrive on life stories. Some may call me nosey but I prefer my Dad's term 'I have an enquiring mind.' Well, I wouldn't have made a very good journalist without that skill would I?
People fascinate me and there is no better way to collect amazing life stories than when you are travelling.
I have heard so many during my trip to America.
There are, of course, the many stories that my friend Stephanie and I exchanged about our friends and family on our week long road trip from Pampa to San Antonio but ...what goes on
Tour stays on Tour...so I will tell of some of the snippets of the lives belonging to some of the complete strangers I met.
There was the woman attorney who I met at a workshop who I asked about her experiences of young carers.
Instead of offering anonymous case studies from her professional experiences she told me her own story of fostering and later adopting a baby boy whose sister had become his carer due to their parents suffering mental ill health. She told very frankly of how her family's relationship with the baby boy had worked out fine but that the girl had been so damaged that an alternative foster family had had to be found.
"She is coping now. She holds down a job and has kids. My son is at college and has already worked out that his birth family are not positive elements in his life."
Just on the journey home with Hubby and kids I got talking to a young man who told me of his dismay at having turned up at Houston airport to find that his Chinese girlfriend had been grounded overnight in Seattle.
Complete in cowboy hat, oversized cattleman's buckle and boots to match, he tells me and my youngest that he is from West Texas but teaches English as a foreign language in China - where of course he met his girlfriend.
"I was with her in China when we completed her Visa and we were successful on the second attempt. But they still got her name wrong on her ticket. She's going to stay with my cousin in Seattle until they put her on another plane."
Sleepless too no doubt!
I was sad not to be around to see their reunion and wondered, for a split second, what the Chinese English students think of their cowboy teacher.
Then there was the 65 year old nurse on her regular journey from East Texas down to Houston where she is working as a corporate nurse awaiting retirement. We discussed the cultural differences in our countries' approaches to retirement. Then she told me the story of her daughter's decision to adopt the child of a distant relative after the birth mother found herself in prison as a consequence of
substance misuse.
"She adopted the boy after 2 years of fostering. The adoption was co-ordinated by the local church which arranges 100 adoptions a year."
Ah the church. What a huge part it plays in the average American's life.
I was staying in the SouthWest where atheists are as rare as vegetarians!
One particular story of how vital faith is in the area was told to me in Pampa and I later posted the blog written by the person in question on my Facebook page.
It was the story of a woman diagnosed with a rare form of cancer whose mother admonished her for her lack of faith. A substantial dose of prayer later she found herself walking out of hospital after doctors diagnosed her cancer benign just minutes before cutting away a considerable part of her internal organs.
The point here isn't faith but that this woman blogged her experiences every step of the way.
This may be a choice made by many people experiencing a traumatic situation but I rather feel it is more symbolic of the openness of Texans to share their life stories.
I found people willing to share their most personal stories - was it just because I was a stranger passing through? Maybe. But I rather felt there was an urge to just share with a sympathetic ear.
Monday, 13 August 2012
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
Pride, Patriotism and the Power of Faith
There are three unquestionable loyalties evident here in the South West of America. Patriotism: evident in the proliferation of flags here. Utter unequivocal commitment to the armed forces: illustrated by everything from standing ovations to military personnel at public events and concessions for military personnel at all public museums and buildings. Faith: displayed in everything from historic monuments to bibles on sale in chemists.
Today we went to SeaWorld, San Antonio. An amazing experience for adults and children alike. My family
love killer whales and we were so excited about watching the Shamu show. We were certainly not disappointed. Just before the show began, amidst the build up created with music and emotive images on the big screen the presenter called for all the military personnel present in the building to stand up. Across the auditorium random people stood up and the whole audience then cheered and gave them a round of applause. In almost every public venue we have paid to enter- mostly museums- the concessions for entry have included seniors, students and Military personnel. It reminds me of my last visit, probably then around the time of the Gulf war, when Colin and I were asked at the dinner table of a friend to 'bow our heads in prayer for our boys in battle'. With the advent of charities such as Help for Heroes Brits have, I feel, become more aware of the impact of battle on serving men and women but this does not equal the pride of Americans in their serving men and women.
So what place does faith hold here? It
seems that multiculturality is accepted and embraced, particularly by the younger generation but it does seem that while in England we do have incidences of racism, such as during the riots, our cultures across Britain are
more diverse. I live, of course, in a city which has clear evidence of Multi-ethnicity. Here in the South West of America there is still strong evidence that the bible belt is as much a part of the area's personality as Tornados.
To enter a chemist and see bibles
on display as obviously as the magazines pertaining to Southwestern fashion and fayre is unusual to a Brit. Sitting in a restaurant in Dallas with the kids I witnessed a 30-something dad close by bow his head in silent prayer. And the churches are more frequently located than Starbucks.
Finally, patriotism. To illustrate this I need only suggest that readers look closely at my photos on FB to see that it hasn't been hard to include Old Glory in every photo. Pride and patriotism pervade.
Today we went to SeaWorld, San Antonio. An amazing experience for adults and children alike. My family
love killer whales and we were so excited about watching the Shamu show. We were certainly not disappointed. Just before the show began, amidst the build up created with music and emotive images on the big screen the presenter called for all the military personnel present in the building to stand up. Across the auditorium random people stood up and the whole audience then cheered and gave them a round of applause. In almost every public venue we have paid to enter- mostly museums- the concessions for entry have included seniors, students and Military personnel. It reminds me of my last visit, probably then around the time of the Gulf war, when Colin and I were asked at the dinner table of a friend to 'bow our heads in prayer for our boys in battle'. With the advent of charities such as Help for Heroes Brits have, I feel, become more aware of the impact of battle on serving men and women but this does not equal the pride of Americans in their serving men and women.
So what place does faith hold here? It
seems that multiculturality is accepted and embraced, particularly by the younger generation but it does seem that while in England we do have incidences of racism, such as during the riots, our cultures across Britain are
more diverse. I live, of course, in a city which has clear evidence of Multi-ethnicity. Here in the South West of America there is still strong evidence that the bible belt is as much a part of the area's personality as Tornados.
To enter a chemist and see bibles
on display as obviously as the magazines pertaining to Southwestern fashion and fayre is unusual to a Brit. Sitting in a restaurant in Dallas with the kids I witnessed a 30-something dad close by bow his head in silent prayer. And the churches are more frequently located than Starbucks.
Finally, patriotism. To illustrate this I need only suggest that readers look closely at my photos on FB to see that it hasn't been hard to include Old Glory in every photo. Pride and patriotism pervade.
Saturday, 28 July 2012
Public Mourning
I think today was summed up by that favourite word of mine...dianafication. For those unfamiliar with the noun it is: our seeking of a shared public grief at any given opportunity. Today we witnessed an example of such in the form of a memorial to the Murrah building attack of 1995. This was, of course, when one American citizen, dissatisfied with the 'bullying' tactics of
his government took action by blowing
up a federal building killing 168 people, many of them children.
I am already aware that some of my English friends reading this might be questioning my decision to take an 11 year old and a 6 year old to such a 'tourist attraction'. My daughter was taken with the educational proviso of being tasked with making her own decision as to whether she believed the memorial to be fitting and appropriate while the youngest tagged along, listened to the 10 minute presentation then promptly 'needed a poo' thus enabling him to get mum on her own to pronounce his judgement: 'I don't want to go back there mummy, it's too sad'.
I have come to consider the appropriateness of grief in recent years and had many discussions with friends about 'public grief'. At what point does public grief become a spectacle or simple an excuse for people to jump on the grief bandwagon.
I have friends who strongly believe that the right to mourn the death of a family member is the right only of those closest to that person, those who have played a role in their life. Others have taken comfort in the shared grieving that takes place on Facebook. However I do believe that while we, as English people, have many memorials and monuments to historic events, we do not mark them in such a major way as Americans.
The Murrah memorial comprises not one but 8 component parts including two huge gates each marking the two seconds between which the bomb exploded, 168 giant statuesque chairs depicting the empty chairs now left at the dining tables of the victims's families, a reflective pool, a survivor tree, a fence incorporating well-wishers' personal tributes, a survivors' wall of names and a museum depicting the whole story.
My daughter offered her considered opinion today saying she felt the empty chairs were very 'touching' especially as those representing the children who died were fittingly smaller. But, she concluded, did they need a whole museum about it?
Do they?
My American friend puts the convincing case that this was the first incident of its kind, differentiated from 911 even in the fact that it was an incident perpetrated by a citizen of the country against his fellow men, and that, in her opinion and those of the survivors involved, the erection of the memorial was essential to ensure that the lives of those people were marked and remembered forever.
I considered comparative incidents and how they have been marked in Britain...Aberfan? A disaster which killed 116 children and 28 adults although not the fault of one person. Fred West? There popular opinion decided it was best to mark the deaths he had caused in a subtle way so as not to immortalise him.
Perhaps we should remember that the bigger we mark the tragic event the longer we will remember en masse the act of a perpetrator who might best be forgotten?
http://www.oklahomacitynationalmemorial.org/secondary.php?section=1&catid=24
his government took action by blowing
up a federal building killing 168 people, many of them children.
I am already aware that some of my English friends reading this might be questioning my decision to take an 11 year old and a 6 year old to such a 'tourist attraction'. My daughter was taken with the educational proviso of being tasked with making her own decision as to whether she believed the memorial to be fitting and appropriate while the youngest tagged along, listened to the 10 minute presentation then promptly 'needed a poo' thus enabling him to get mum on her own to pronounce his judgement: 'I don't want to go back there mummy, it's too sad'.
I have come to consider the appropriateness of grief in recent years and had many discussions with friends about 'public grief'. At what point does public grief become a spectacle or simple an excuse for people to jump on the grief bandwagon.
I have friends who strongly believe that the right to mourn the death of a family member is the right only of those closest to that person, those who have played a role in their life. Others have taken comfort in the shared grieving that takes place on Facebook. However I do believe that while we, as English people, have many memorials and monuments to historic events, we do not mark them in such a major way as Americans.
The Murrah memorial comprises not one but 8 component parts including two huge gates each marking the two seconds between which the bomb exploded, 168 giant statuesque chairs depicting the empty chairs now left at the dining tables of the victims's families, a reflective pool, a survivor tree, a fence incorporating well-wishers' personal tributes, a survivors' wall of names and a museum depicting the whole story.
My daughter offered her considered opinion today saying she felt the empty chairs were very 'touching' especially as those representing the children who died were fittingly smaller. But, she concluded, did they need a whole museum about it?
Do they?
My American friend puts the convincing case that this was the first incident of its kind, differentiated from 911 even in the fact that it was an incident perpetrated by a citizen of the country against his fellow men, and that, in her opinion and those of the survivors involved, the erection of the memorial was essential to ensure that the lives of those people were marked and remembered forever.
I considered comparative incidents and how they have been marked in Britain...Aberfan? A disaster which killed 116 children and 28 adults although not the fault of one person. Fred West? There popular opinion decided it was best to mark the deaths he had caused in a subtle way so as not to immortalise him.
Perhaps we should remember that the bigger we mark the tragic event the longer we will remember en masse the act of a perpetrator who might best be forgotten?
http://www.oklahomacitynationalmemorial.org/secondary.php?section=1&catid=24
Wednesday, 25 July 2012
Can't Believe I'm in Texas
Yee Haw! We're experiencing life as a member of an ethnic minority. I can't say that we've experienced any negative reactions to our vampirishly pale skin, dark hair and, of course, 'funny British accents'. No, I suppose the main response from people here is to treat us like novelties, persistently asking us to speak so they can hear that 'overseas talk'. Going through the supermarket today our friend's eldest, Samantha, stopped at two boys she knew. Without looking at us she said to her mother: "Mom. Make them talk British."
In today's Global community this quaint fascination in this town with the Brit factor is as fresh now as when I first visited Texas 23 years ago.
The supermarket encounter made me question what other things have remained the same since that first visit. This thought was further fuelled by the news that during our trip I would be going back to Dallas, the city where I lived, worked and even had a minor car crash (!) when I was 21...not far off the age that Samantha is now. How would life as a 20 year old Texan, born and bred in the state, compare to my memories of being a visiting student?
We'll see.
After only a day in Pampa, situated in the barren, windswept cowboy country of what is known as The Panhandle, I have been reminded of so many of the things that I realise many people, including fellow Americans, hate about Texas but which I love.
The Texan drawl, the 'Y'alls randomly thrown into sentences like we Brits throw in swear words.
Then there's the enveloping heat and the 'traditional' heavy interior design (no Ikea here).
But these are superficial things. I'm here to investigate, absorb and analyse the many more deeper differences from health, diet and fitness to schooling and, of course, politics.
I get to Texas on average once every 4 years. I'm in my element not chilling on a beach holiday but consuming culture (sometimes literally) and absorbing the way of life and I am privileged to have like-minded friends in the Kellys who see the huge benefits of being able to expose our children so deeply to another culture. It's not for everyone but it sure is for me and hubby...y'all!
....more to come
In today's Global community this quaint fascination in this town with the Brit factor is as fresh now as when I first visited Texas 23 years ago.
The supermarket encounter made me question what other things have remained the same since that first visit. This thought was further fuelled by the news that during our trip I would be going back to Dallas, the city where I lived, worked and even had a minor car crash (!) when I was 21...not far off the age that Samantha is now. How would life as a 20 year old Texan, born and bred in the state, compare to my memories of being a visiting student?
We'll see.
After only a day in Pampa, situated in the barren, windswept cowboy country of what is known as The Panhandle, I have been reminded of so many of the things that I realise many people, including fellow Americans, hate about Texas but which I love.
The Texan drawl, the 'Y'alls randomly thrown into sentences like we Brits throw in swear words.
Then there's the enveloping heat and the 'traditional' heavy interior design (no Ikea here).
But these are superficial things. I'm here to investigate, absorb and analyse the many more deeper differences from health, diet and fitness to schooling and, of course, politics.
I get to Texas on average once every 4 years. I'm in my element not chilling on a beach holiday but consuming culture (sometimes literally) and absorbing the way of life and I am privileged to have like-minded friends in the Kellys who see the huge benefits of being able to expose our children so deeply to another culture. It's not for everyone but it sure is for me and hubby...y'all!
....more to come
Sunday, 1 January 2012
Can't believe I ran a marathon 8 months ago
I always feel in a slump after Christmas but on January 1 my mood changes and becomes what I can only describe as 'optimistic'. No matter what has gone before and no matter how much it is purely psychological I do feel like a New Year is a metaphorical new page. Just like many people, I make my New Year's resolutions and they tend to always read the same.
1. Lose weight and/or eat healthier
2. Get fit
3. Commit to church regularly and/or a bible study
4. Take on a new project to completion...usually one of the books I've started writing.
So no change this year in any of these items on my list.
I stepped on the scales, ate a salad for lunch, dutifully went to church on this New Year's day and opened my Dropbox file on my computer to the notes of my latest book project. But it was that 'other' item on the agenda that has me really challenged...getting fit.
I can't believe I ran a marathon 8 months ago. Not just any marathon at that but THE London Marathon.
And yet, here I am pledging once again to 'get fit'. I have no idea what happened following the amazing high I experienced after the London event. I just ...well...lost the desire or will to run. I've tried...with friends, without friends, with the pressure of a race, without pressure. I've tried forgetting running and getting on my bike instead. I've even tried forgetting about fitness altogether, taking a break over Christmas.
Slowly, during my 'break' I have felt stirrings of desire. I've found myself wistfully craning my neck out of the car window to watch other runners.
Last night I read an article on the Internet about Burn Out...true burnout...when you have over trained and pushed yourself into a sport so much you develop an aversion to it. And the optimistic conclusion to the article was...all is not lost. The general prescription was for remotivation?
So today I added 'running' to my fitness resolution and, furthermore, resolved to find a way to REmotivate myself.
I started small...really small. I made three decisions...
1. To start from scratch and learn to literally love the experience of running again...no pain and no intention to gain
2. To blog my journey because, after all, writing is my most consistent motivator so I reckon to combine it with running will help
3. To run with an aim...not a race or an event or a time or distance schedule but purely to run as part of my daily life...
Here's my first blog (check objective 3). I started with my firt 2k run (very small) but felt every step....the cool, wet air, the darkness that I once loved to run in, the music that helped me when I started and, with today's Deuteronomy passage 'Choose Life' echoing through my head I ran to my friend's house and back to feed her pet for her before my healthy tea.
Tomorrow is another day.
1. Lose weight and/or eat healthier
2. Get fit
3. Commit to church regularly and/or a bible study
4. Take on a new project to completion...usually one of the books I've started writing.
So no change this year in any of these items on my list.
I stepped on the scales, ate a salad for lunch, dutifully went to church on this New Year's day and opened my Dropbox file on my computer to the notes of my latest book project. But it was that 'other' item on the agenda that has me really challenged...getting fit.
I can't believe I ran a marathon 8 months ago. Not just any marathon at that but THE London Marathon.
And yet, here I am pledging once again to 'get fit'. I have no idea what happened following the amazing high I experienced after the London event. I just ...well...lost the desire or will to run. I've tried...with friends, without friends, with the pressure of a race, without pressure. I've tried forgetting running and getting on my bike instead. I've even tried forgetting about fitness altogether, taking a break over Christmas.
Slowly, during my 'break' I have felt stirrings of desire. I've found myself wistfully craning my neck out of the car window to watch other runners.
Last night I read an article on the Internet about Burn Out...true burnout...when you have over trained and pushed yourself into a sport so much you develop an aversion to it. And the optimistic conclusion to the article was...all is not lost. The general prescription was for remotivation?
So today I added 'running' to my fitness resolution and, furthermore, resolved to find a way to REmotivate myself.
I started small...really small. I made three decisions...
1. To start from scratch and learn to literally love the experience of running again...no pain and no intention to gain
2. To blog my journey because, after all, writing is my most consistent motivator so I reckon to combine it with running will help
3. To run with an aim...not a race or an event or a time or distance schedule but purely to run as part of my daily life...
Here's my first blog (check objective 3). I started with my firt 2k run (very small) but felt every step....the cool, wet air, the darkness that I once loved to run in, the music that helped me when I started and, with today's Deuteronomy passage 'Choose Life' echoing through my head I ran to my friend's house and back to feed her pet for her before my healthy tea.
Tomorrow is another day.
Saturday, 16 April 2011
Can't Believe I'm Fed Up With Eating
I'm doing Ok with the fundraising. Reached my WellChild target of 1500 and already raised £150 for Gloucestershire Young Carers. but let me tell you that I would have raised it all much quicker and then some if I 'd had a penny for every time I' e had the following conversation: Jane to whoever: 'I'm running in the Marathon'
Whoever: 'What? the London Marathon?'
It absolutely floored me each time that happened. What a strange reaction. Is the London Marathon somehow longer than other Marathons?
Anyway, so here I am...sitting on my bed in the hotel room. I got through the injury that wasn't an injury (according to my physio who really didn't feel the pain), I have avoided Max's numerous attempts to curtail my training with various viruses he's conjured up, I managed 20 miles - admittedly in pain and what seems like months ago now - and I've even resisted the temptation to run this week. I got all this way and now only one thing is threatening to hinder my performance....SLEEP. Or lack of it.
for so many years I have dreamed of having an excuse to take myself off to bed for a few early nights and catch up on the sleep that I swear I am owed from the first two years of Max's life. so this week, my chance came. with the family's blessing I went off to bed on Thursday at 8pm. by 9 o'clock I had put my iPod on...bit of music to calm me but, of course all my tracks are running themed in preparation for the big day. So I tried a podcast or two but Ricky Gervais makes me laugh out loud. I eventually turned to my audio bible...not surprisingly I finally drifted off in the middle of Deuteronomy. It was about 10.30 when I hit the land of nod and Max woke at 7.
So I tried again on Friday in the Hotel. neon who has tried to sleep next to two wired children will know that I didn't have a hope in Hell. At Midnight Max stopped flailing around in his sleep...making me fear that I make it to the start line with a thousand bruises. So no joy there.
As I write this I am freshly woken from a 45 minute nap which I opened my eyes from only to find myself thinking 'oh crap. I've forgotten my safety pins to pin my runnernumber on!'
And so my mind works.
But the two things I am loving most about this final weekend are...the commeraderie and, of course, the eating.
anyone who knows me will know that I haven't got through this year of training without a few books to help me. One such book has come into its own this week and is called: Nancy Clark's Food Guide For Marathoners. Firstly, I just like re-reading the title as I still can't believe I am a 'Marathoner' and secondly it is the diet for anyone who has dieted all their life. It is the Anti-diet. Like A Dawkins book to The Bible. Like Ozzie Osborne to Susan Boyle. Basically it says eat as much as you like...particularly the stuff you like for a whole week and if you put on four pounds by Marathon day then you are doing it right. Now this is what makes running a marathon worth it. And I have to say that as I sit here I find myself full and actually craving salad! I've eaten chips, bagels, pretzels, bananas, biscuits and consumed carb drinks...and I ate a bit like that yesterday too. It's fab.
Now all I've got to do is miss a meal tomorrow! Oh ... And run 26.2 miles. Keep forgetting that!
Whoever: 'What? the London Marathon?'
It absolutely floored me each time that happened. What a strange reaction. Is the London Marathon somehow longer than other Marathons?
Anyway, so here I am...sitting on my bed in the hotel room. I got through the injury that wasn't an injury (according to my physio who really didn't feel the pain), I have avoided Max's numerous attempts to curtail my training with various viruses he's conjured up, I managed 20 miles - admittedly in pain and what seems like months ago now - and I've even resisted the temptation to run this week. I got all this way and now only one thing is threatening to hinder my performance....SLEEP. Or lack of it.
for so many years I have dreamed of having an excuse to take myself off to bed for a few early nights and catch up on the sleep that I swear I am owed from the first two years of Max's life. so this week, my chance came. with the family's blessing I went off to bed on Thursday at 8pm. by 9 o'clock I had put my iPod on...bit of music to calm me but, of course all my tracks are running themed in preparation for the big day. So I tried a podcast or two but Ricky Gervais makes me laugh out loud. I eventually turned to my audio bible...not surprisingly I finally drifted off in the middle of Deuteronomy. It was about 10.30 when I hit the land of nod and Max woke at 7.
So I tried again on Friday in the Hotel. neon who has tried to sleep next to two wired children will know that I didn't have a hope in Hell. At Midnight Max stopped flailing around in his sleep...making me fear that I make it to the start line with a thousand bruises. So no joy there.
As I write this I am freshly woken from a 45 minute nap which I opened my eyes from only to find myself thinking 'oh crap. I've forgotten my safety pins to pin my runnernumber on!'
And so my mind works.
But the two things I am loving most about this final weekend are...the commeraderie and, of course, the eating.
anyone who knows me will know that I haven't got through this year of training without a few books to help me. One such book has come into its own this week and is called: Nancy Clark's Food Guide For Marathoners. Firstly, I just like re-reading the title as I still can't believe I am a 'Marathoner' and secondly it is the diet for anyone who has dieted all their life. It is the Anti-diet. Like A Dawkins book to The Bible. Like Ozzie Osborne to Susan Boyle. Basically it says eat as much as you like...particularly the stuff you like for a whole week and if you put on four pounds by Marathon day then you are doing it right. Now this is what makes running a marathon worth it. And I have to say that as I sit here I find myself full and actually craving salad! I've eaten chips, bagels, pretzels, bananas, biscuits and consumed carb drinks...and I ate a bit like that yesterday too. It's fab.
Now all I've got to do is miss a meal tomorrow! Oh ... And run 26.2 miles. Keep forgetting that!
Monday, 28 February 2011
I Can't Believe I'm Lying on a Rolling Pin!
Well it has happened. I knew it was going too well - 2 years of running, up to 18 miles and 3 and a half hours on my feet and boom! Injury!
At the end of my last 18 miler (God did I really say that?)I felt a deep ache in the top of the outside of my thigh. Well only to be expected when you've been running for 3 and a half hours eh? So I thought nothing of it. Ran the rest of the week short runs - no worries. Then I'm out on my 'long run' aiming for my one off 20 miles. The last big push before the BIG DAY. At 7 miles my thigh aches. At 8 miles it's getting quite bad. At 9 miles I phoned Colin to moan to him. But I kept going - if I was going to have to quit I wasn't quitting before 10 miles - a respectable amount of mileage.
It's at this point that the dilemma occurs - should I stay or should I go.
The thought of phoning for a lift home in the middle of a long run seems as shameful as Dad turning up early at a party to take you home.
Failure is the first word that springs to mind. I haven't reached my end goal. For at least three miles I battled with my own misgivings. A veritable argument going on in my head - I can do a few more miles surely? - I can run through this throbbing ache can't I? It's not debilitating is it? But then the angel on my shoulder is whispering ... but what if it is injuring you long-term.
I've had an injury only once before - right at the beginning of my 'running career'. Crap shoes and inexperience led me to complete a 30 minute run with an achilles problem - I ended up out of action for a good couple of weeks.
I can't afford time out now. Only 6 weeks of serious running left. Panic is setting in. What if I injure myself and can't run at all. What if this happens 10 miles into the Marathon. Oh Crap!
So limping across Plock Court I admit defeat and Colin comes to pick me up.
The journey home is miserable. I find myself crying...frustration, disappointment, fear.
And then I find myself still amazed ... sports injuries, prospect of physio? Who is this person? When did I become someone who talks about illiotibial Bands?
So Sunday morning I find this unfamiliar person texting a recommended physiotherapist.
And today a good friend sends me a link to an hilarious You Tube video that promotes rolling around on a swimming woggle or rolling pin to 'release your illiotibial band'. And today I will be shifting my training to a rowing machine...
At the end of my last 18 miler (God did I really say that?)I felt a deep ache in the top of the outside of my thigh. Well only to be expected when you've been running for 3 and a half hours eh? So I thought nothing of it. Ran the rest of the week short runs - no worries. Then I'm out on my 'long run' aiming for my one off 20 miles. The last big push before the BIG DAY. At 7 miles my thigh aches. At 8 miles it's getting quite bad. At 9 miles I phoned Colin to moan to him. But I kept going - if I was going to have to quit I wasn't quitting before 10 miles - a respectable amount of mileage.
It's at this point that the dilemma occurs - should I stay or should I go.
The thought of phoning for a lift home in the middle of a long run seems as shameful as Dad turning up early at a party to take you home.
Failure is the first word that springs to mind. I haven't reached my end goal. For at least three miles I battled with my own misgivings. A veritable argument going on in my head - I can do a few more miles surely? - I can run through this throbbing ache can't I? It's not debilitating is it? But then the angel on my shoulder is whispering ... but what if it is injuring you long-term.
I've had an injury only once before - right at the beginning of my 'running career'. Crap shoes and inexperience led me to complete a 30 minute run with an achilles problem - I ended up out of action for a good couple of weeks.
I can't afford time out now. Only 6 weeks of serious running left. Panic is setting in. What if I injure myself and can't run at all. What if this happens 10 miles into the Marathon. Oh Crap!
So limping across Plock Court I admit defeat and Colin comes to pick me up.
The journey home is miserable. I find myself crying...frustration, disappointment, fear.
And then I find myself still amazed ... sports injuries, prospect of physio? Who is this person? When did I become someone who talks about illiotibial Bands?
So Sunday morning I find this unfamiliar person texting a recommended physiotherapist.
And today a good friend sends me a link to an hilarious You Tube video that promotes rolling around on a swimming woggle or rolling pin to 'release your illiotibial band'. And today I will be shifting my training to a rowing machine...
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