London Marathon 2017

Marathon Goals

1. Don't shit myself
2. Finish the race

(in that order)

I arrive at the race village with plenty of time to relax, pee and eat another banana.
There are so many people, too many people. I find a spot on the grass, put my headphones in, stretch out and enjoy the sunshine. I find a quiet space in my own head and try to find a sense of calm. I'm ready. I've been ready for this for weeks.



Waiting to start. Ant and Dec are commentating the beginning of the race, "There are some good looking ladies running today, let's have a big cheer for them!" Every man, woman and child near me eye-rolls. I've never been prouder of the human race. Absolute jokers.

It takes forever to get out of the starting pens. I knew this would happen but it doesn't do anything to dampen the frustration and excitement. A few messages trickle in on my phone from important people in my life as I wait. Their words are essential to my success, and I savour ever last one of them. I cross the start line at about 10:20am, and that's it. I am doing it. I am running the fucking London marathon!

The first mile slips past so quickly as I settle into my stride, but it's not long before I detour to the portaloos for a quick nervous wee.

It's lovely and sunny today. The showers en route make for the nicest surprise. I run through each and every single one and the cool water makes me feel brand new, for all of about thirty seconds. I find joy in the littlest things: smiling and saying a meaningful 'thank you' to the volunteers handing out water; hi-fiving a small child as I run past; Jungle Boogie coming on shuffle.

There are so many people here and trying to spot people I know is like Where's Wally. I know Mum and Ali will be roughly at mile 8, mile 13 and mile 23 but I'll keep my eyes open just in case. I haven't written my name on my running bib this time. As lonely as this makes me feel during the many other miles, it makes it so much easier to find them when they're near by. I miss them at mile 13 and this really upsets me. My brain gets weird and for a solid two miles I reeeaaalllllly miss my Mum, on the brink of tears like a homesick child. Hey Mama by Kanye West comes on, and I remember that it's not really so bad. I'll see her in a couple of hours!

I drift in and out of the miles mentally in a bizarre day dream. One mile passes, then another. I focus on my breathing, fleeting thoughts, the people. The first TorQ gel is delicious, black forest fruits. The second one, less so. After five I want to vomit. But if I don't eat them I'll definitely hit the wall. I pretend it's medicine to shut my mouth up from complaining because 'A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down...' 

When I hit mile 20 I am acutely aware that I have never ever run further than this. No mans land. Who knows what my body will do here? I certainly don't know. I see a sign that makes me laugh, but it's also sound advice, 'NEVER TRUST A FART AFTER MILE 20'. I keep going slowly and steadily, smiling as I run through the pain because Chrissie Wellington (four-time Ironman Triathlon World Champion) told me so in her book. It works a treat up to a point.

Mile 21 and 22 are the hardest by far. I'm so tired. Everything hurts, especially my right hip, and I really want to walk for a bit. I manage to convince myself to keep running, just for one more song. Six or seven 'one more songs' happen before I relent and let myself walk for a bit to stretch out my legs a little. Hard Times by Paramore comes on, and I can't do anything but start running again. It's like when you're in a club and hear a song you know, and can't do anything but run to the dance floor to enjoy it. The sun in shining, everything still hurts, I don't have control over my body, but I do have control over my head. I just have to keep going. One more song.

Nothing in my life has ever felt sweeter, than when I hear my Mum shout my name at mile twenty-four. Her kisses and kindness push me faster and further. Only seconds later I see my old housemates, "Only two more to go Immy!" Josh shouts. This stays with me. This helps. I can do this. Only two more? Easy! I feel totally invincible.

I turn the corner of The Mall towards the final stretch for the last 1000m and one of my favourite songs of all time comes on: Langhorne Slim, The Way We Move. It takes me back to 2013; a party in France. It's the middle of the night. Stars overheard, drinks a plenty. Toby and I are dancing like absolute lunatics in an orange bedouin tent, family and old friends around us celebrating my cousin's marriage. I'm overcome by love. And though we aren't together anymore I feel the weight of that memory like he's there cheering me on. We're dancing and laughing, and nothing beats the encouragement from one of my best friends. I finish with a smile. (I think I am smiling but I can't tell any more. My body feels like it's totally detached from me.)

Five hours, sixteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds, and I'm done.

I catch the tube back towards Greenwich where I'm staying. I climb the stairs slowly, painfully. Every step feels heavy but I've never felt stronger than I do right now, mentally, emotionally or physically. I have to keep saying the words in my head to really believe them. "I ran a marathon. I ran the London marathon!" For days it still won't have sunk in, and even now three weeks later I feel far removed from it. I didn't run the London Marathon; it was someone I knew or knew of, a friend of a friend.

Walking back through the streets of London and I'm smiling like a twat. Like when you find out the boy you fancy likes you back. A big goony grin from ear to ear. The city feels smaller today, a different place to be. Kind strangers come up to me to ask me how I am, shake my hand and congratulate me. I feel a part of this big, mad place and it's wonderful.

Home. I lift each leg into the bath with great effort. I've never heard my knees click so loudly. My pants have chafed a sore red line into my arse. But I know I'll sleep well tonight... because I just ran the fucking London marathon!

I'm going on a bear hunt

Truth be told, I'm a scaredy cat. It's the little things that make me feel uneasy.

Catching buses. Meeting people (whether I've known them years or five minutes). Going to new places. Making small talk. Waiting awkwardly at the counter in Pret for my coffee to be made. Clothes shopping. Eating in front of other people. Going to the gym. Being in clubs/pubs/bars/anywhere there's a delightful combination of alcohol and strangers.

But that's the exact reason I've always tried to push my boundaries. I need to be a yes man screaming 'YES!' from the top of my lungs, otherwise I'd struggle to get out the house most days.

It's the reason I uprooted my life from Devon to Nottingham alone when I was eighteen. The same reason I took the job in Kingston. The reason I'm flying to Bali on my own in two days time.

I've long had this deep seated belief that I need to move, in rather extreme ways, to get past the fear. People sometimes tell me I'm brave. Quietly I tell myself I'm mad. I don't feel like I have a choice; it feels more like an impulse. I get an idea of somewhere I need to be, and I follow my gut. It's that simple. It doesn't matter if I'm scared, or anxious, or excited, because I'll probably feel all those things wherever I go. All that matters is that I listen, really closely to what I really need. And that's why I'm here, and that's why I'm headed where I'm going.

How to mend your heart

Oh God, the biggest cliché of all. Over the past few months I've read a hundred articles about dealing with loss, change and people leaving. These are the things that so far have proven useful:

1. Feel all the things. Don't hold back. If you need to cry every day for five weeks, do it. Get it out your system and acknowledge everything that's going on in your mind. You owe it to yourself to be honest (especially if he wasn't honest with you.)

2. Eat what you want, do what you want. Fuck it. Your life and your body belong to you. And you can spend your time doing whatever YOU choose to do. If you want to stay in bed for three days, do it. If you want to drink gin every day, do it. If you want to listen to Beyoncé and dance around in your pants, do it. There are no rules. This evening I drank champagne and ate a scone slathered in cream and jam, just because I bloody well could.

3. Try to brush your hair, wash your face and brush your teeth every day. This step is much trickier than it sounds... I'm genuinely sorry for anyone who was within view of me December through to February. I hummed.

4. Find other reasons to get up in the morning. I literally used to message or call my ex first thing in the morning and last thing at night. It was how I framed my days for the last six years, and obviously when that initially vanished I was terrified. Now I try and meditate early in the day to ground myself. It doesn't always work, but it's good to try. If you're at rock bottom the only way is up. I haven't quite mastered the art of switching off in the evenings yet, but I'm getting there. In the mean time 3am can be for writing, planning adventures and watching crap TV. Who needs sleep anyway?

5. Sleep.You need the downtime without that anxious chatter in your brain to recover and feel strong again. Even if that means you need to have a nap every day when you get home from work, do it.

6. Explore. On the days when you're feeling brave enough, go on adventures. Visit the seaside. Go to your happy place. I've been following my spontaneity which has so far resulted in trips booked to Berlin, Bali and Brighton and who knows where beyond... I'm trying to let my instincts guide me which is fun.

7. Be yourself. Do things that remind you of the person you were before you met the arse who broke your heart. For me that means writing and creating stuff. You suddenly realise when you find yourself coming out of a relationship how much you bent and changed to be with the other person. Only in subtle ways perhaps, but undoubtedly so. I'm fully embracing every inch of me. And I bloody love it.

8. Run. Move. Swim. Do something physical to channel all that hate and anger that fills every inch of your body. It's like fire in your belly, and if you don't burn it out it'll only grow and manifest in ugly ways.

9. Let other people in. Especially your Mum. Let her look after you. You're feeling vulnerable and you need someone to remind you to leave the house, or just hold you until it hurts less. My Mum has text or called me every day for the last three months to tell me she loves me and to reassure me. Through being alone I've found the capacity to let other people closer into my life. It's no exaggeration to say that my friends and family have been my lifeline. I've put more energy into those relationships and in return I've had a lot of laughs, delicious food and bottomless glasses of wine. And spooning your best friend is just as good (if not better) than spooning your boyfriend.

10. Meditate. Breathe. Just be. You'll be spending a lot of time reminiscing about the past, and day dreaming about the future you'll no longer have together that you've spent years dreaming up. So it's important to remember to be truly present and acknowledge what's currently physically happening around you.

11. Write him letters: Angry letters. Sad letters smudged with tears. Hopeful letters dreaming of the better days. Tell him what for, in the hope that it will make him feel bad about the dumb choices he made. Say all you need to say and then keep them. I wrote about 30 letters and only sent one —the best one— where I felt valid, and said all I needed to say and nothing more. It doesn't matter that he won't read them. But it will help you feel heard and get those ideas out of your head and onto paper. You'll need that brain space for doing really cool independent lady things very soon.

Admitting defeat

It's not easy for me to say. I'm a perfectionist and I really don't like letting people down. This horrible guilt sits on my chest, the pressure to be perfect comes from within and no one in my life expects more of me than I do.

With all the craziness going on in my life over the last three months I've not been able to run as much as I needed to prepare for the Brighton half marathon. So... I've had to postpone my place until next year. Totally gutted. A month ago I told myself I wouldn't let it stop me, and that if I gave up on this then I'd give up on other things and this year would be full of closed opportunities. But that's not what it's about. It's about understanding my mental health, and accepting that sometimes it is totally debilitating.

All the donations made so far will carry over to next year, so all is not lost. I wish my head had been in a different space and that I'd felt well enough to run but it's felt totally out of my control up until very recently when I've been able to be more pro-active about addressing the current problems in my life. I wish I'd felt well enough to run, but that's not the case and I can't beat myself up about it. Leaving the house has been hard enough, let alone running 10K+ each week. And that's okay. If I had a physical injury I wouldn't be so hard on myself about pulling out, sure I'd be disappointed but I wouldn't berate myself or worry what people think of me. 

If you've sponsored me so far, thank you so much. I appreciate your encouragement and as soon as I'm able to run another event for them I will, and the money already raised will still go directly to Scope.

Little chinks of light

The more I travel from place to place, looking for ways to heal this hurt, the more I realize I will carry this feeling around for a while. My brain will find reasons to be sad. I'm depressive. That's what my brain does. When it's dark I need to look for the little chinks of light.

Calm - Michael Acton Smith

I've been using the 'Calm' structure to help be more reflective about my days & more appreciative of all the good in my life. It goes something like this: 

What made you feel calm today? 

Listening to Dan Auerbach on the train this morning.

What are you grateful for today? 

Friends. I'm blessed to have people in my life who care about me even when I'm a bit rubbish at making plans and keeping them, or simply keeping in touch. 

Three highlights of today: 

1. This cup of earl grey tea.

2. Having breakfast with one of my most favourite people. 

3. Spending an evening with the best kind of people. Laughter, Martini & home cooked food. I'm a lucky girl.

What helps you feel calm?

For blue skies

Today I went to the beach to clear my mind again. It's amazing how healing the sea can be. I remember in a Rob Bell podcast how he talks about how the salt/water ratio in the sea is similar to that in the womb, and that's why so many people have a sense of affinity with the sea.

2016 is here, unapologetically urging me to make goals and resolutions to be a better me. But as a perfectionist I'm always striving to be a better me. Alas, I still resolve to do this, that and the other on January 1st because I like marking milestones and what better place to start than at the start of the year?

This year will be about mindfulness and self love — something I've always struggled with, but the need for this has become amplified more recently.

2016

Write and meditate in some form or another every single day. These are both activities that make me feel well and keep me on track. In working full time I've made more excuses and written less. Words make me feel like me. Not writing is like a form of self-neglect. I vow to write everyday, because it's important and because I matter. Not everything has been written before (I fucking hate that quote that says it has! It's so uninspiring... ) and my words have great merit, even if only to myself.

Read more than before. 25 books in 2016. Zadie Smith reckons reading is a form of meditation. How often can you sit and read and be fully engrossed in a book and not realise that you've been sat there for hours simply staring at marks of ink on paper, using your imagination to fill in the gaps the author has left for you. It's basically hallucination. More of that please.

Blog weekly. This place will be a testament to that! I'll try my best. Writing in itself is good enough, but writing with some kind of direction requires a bit more effort.

Avoid chocolate/sweets. I did this in 2014 and felt incredible for it. Yes I dreamt of eating Percy Pigs accidentally pretty much weekly until the end of the year, but my skin looked great. And my determination and self control led me to achieve some pretty amazing things (including running a half bloody marathon!)

Run more than before. Last year I clocked up 194 kilometres. This year I'm set on pushing past the 200km mark.

What do you resolve to do with this new page?