Good enough is bloody brilliant!

Jess Guth1 Comment

Nearing the end of January and I haven’t run as much this month as I wanted to but I have definitely made progress. As of today I have run just under 20 miles – not far off a 3rd of the entirety of last year’s mileage. I have done some yoga almost every day. Sometimes only 10 minutes and often sabotaged (supported?) by Storm Cat but this is huge progress and I have done a few strength and HIIT sessions. I have lots to feel good about really. And I am trying. There’s that niggling voice in my head that keeps reminding me that I am way behind where I should be given the things I have coming up. A voice that keeps telling me that I am insane to think I can do the Yorkshire 3 Peaks in 90 days. A voice that keeps pointing out the obvious fact that I am still close to the heaviest I have ever been. A voice that will not accept that losing about 6 pounds over the course of a month is fine, good and steady progress and instead insists that the weight loss needs to be faster.

Storm Cat helping with Yoga

But while the voice is there, it is less forceful than it sometimes is. Yesterday I eventually managed to get out in the afternoon. I had all sorts of plans when I was still sitting on the sofa. I was going to run the 2 miles down the hill and along the canal a bit before turning round and running 2 miles back including the hill. But as I set off it soon became very clear that my lungs were not playing. I couldn’t get air in, I was puffed after just a couple of 30 second running intervals and the idea of taking a walk break out was ludicrous. It was tempting to just give up and there was a time where I would have done. But not yesterday. I physically shrugged and said to myself that it would be silly to turn back. I’d done the hardest bit and got out the door and being out was good. Plan A might not be on the cards but doing something is better than doing nothing. So I carried on, I stuck to my 30 seconds runnings followed by 30 seconds walking and gritted my teeth. The voice was there but it never got into monologue mode.

Me after the longest 2 miles ever

My back was niggly (lack of core strength) and I sounded more like a steam train than human but somehow I made it to a mile. ‘So’, I thought to myself ‘If I just do that again, I will have run 2 miles, and 2 miles is good’. On I went, suddenly conscious of the people along the canal, conscious of what I looked and sounded like, the assumptions people would make. The voice got louder and at about 1.5 miles I nearly stopped and walked home. I was, rarely for me, running with music so instead of stopping I just turned the volume up and focused on the lyrics to push the voice out of my head and then, suddenly there we were, 2 miles done. Everything seemed to hurt, I felt slightly dizzy and I couldn’t get air into my lungs fast enough. I started walking home and I recovered. I was fine. I did it. Perhaps not plan A but I was out and moving. Good enough.

This morning we went to Bolton Abbey and right up until we set off I was looking forward to it. I like running at Bolton Abbey. I like running through the wooded bits, I like the paths – not really trail so my scaredy-cat brain doesn’t need to worry about mud and slippery and all the silly things it worries about – but not tarmac either. I like listening to the birds, looking out for herons (none today) and the otters which continue to be elusive. I like listening to the musings of the river that sometimes whispers in confidence and sometimes shouts in anger but mostly just tells her own story as she meanders. But Bolton Abbey isn’t flat and I was not at all sure I had it in me today. Plan A was the Barden Bridge loop, Plan B was the Aqueduct loop and Plan C was to run to the Strid and back (actually plan C was to get back in the car and find somewhere for coffee and I wasn’t far off implementing Plan C after having gone for a pee). Kath set off to run the Barden Bridge loop and for a while I could see here ‘Dopey in Training’ shirt make steady progress ahead of me. She looked comfortable (she later said she wasn’t and it took her ages to settle) and that made me smile.

I walked the first 3 minutes to get moving and then I started running 30 second intervals. I was struggling physically from the go. Lungs struggled and my back was sore. I was in real danger of spiralling into negativity and just giving up. But I was wearing my new Dopey in training shirt. Kath bought it for us for my birthday, we designed it together and it came the other day. I couldn’t give up on its debut. I needed to give it a proper inaugural outing! I thought about what doing the short proud could look like today. Well so much of Dopey and certainly the training is actually just getting it done. It isn’t always pretty and more does it have to be. It’s about getting in the right mental place to just grind it out. So doing the shirt proud today meant doing the distance today, no excuses, even if it meant walking lots. I walked up the path by the Strid noting that Plan C was conquered – I was not turning round now. I ran down the hill and managed a few more proper 30/30 intervals along the flat. I was coming up on the aqueduct. The loop would still be 3.5 ish miles, that’s good. I’ve been struggling so doing that would be progress, right? Maybe – but that’s not what I set out to do today. Remember: The distance. Today. No excuses. Dopey. Proud. Nothing was seriously hurting, nothing was getting worse. I was tired, I was huffing and puffing but I was fine.

I carried on. I saw Kath on the other side of the river still looking good. I waved. I smiled and dropped back into running intervals. I’d walked a fair bit but I was doing ok. I hot two miles and in spite of being a chunk slower even than yesterday, it hadn’t felt too bad. I crossed Barden Bridge, I tried to stick to the 30/30 intervals on the flat and once past the aqueduct again I walked the slopes, ran the downhill and did a bit of both on the flat. Nemesis hill doesn’t seem so bad just walking and I ran down the other side. Back on the flat I tried to drop back into 30/30 but my calves were cramping so I jogged/hopped /walked from random landmark to random landmark. Through the last gate, onto the bridge and I could see Kath sitting with a coffee at the Cavendish Pavilion. I jogged to her and was done.

The running itself was pretty awful but it was a great run. I got a little bit better at doing hard. I reminded myself that the little niggly voice is not in control. January has not been perfect but it has been good enough and good enough is bloody brilliant!

Cliffe Castle parkrun

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I am not entirely sure I had really thought through what ‘doing Cliffe Castle parkrun’ would mean when I suggested it for New Years Day. It’s our home parkrun. We have actually only run it two or three times before and have volunteered a few times. Anyway, starting the new year with a parkrun seemed like a good thing to do and when deciding which one, we quickly discounted those which would be muddy in places – mainly because my feet are still a bit sensitive and definitely prefer cushioned road shoes over trail shoes at the moment. But I am barely 5km fit. I have had hardly any runs of that distance and my lungs and willpower seem to give out around 2 miles ish at the moment. So I have no idea what made me think that joining a group of people to haul our backsides round a 3.1 mile course with a huge hill in the middle that you have to do 3 times would be a good thing to do this morning.

Anyway, I am assuming you all know what parkrun is. If not – it’s a weekly 5km timed run, usually on a Saturday but with special events on Christmas Day and New Years Day, which is free and you just need one registration for all parkruns round the world. So, Cliffe Castle parkrun. I always say I quite like the course because it is basically all down hill apart from the so-called Cliffe. But I think maybe I just forget how bad the Cliffe actually is. I was expecting more people to turn up today than did and while I was expecting to be really quite slow, I wasn’t expecting to be right at the back. It doesn’t actually matter at all but somehow in the moment it did matter. I didn’t like it. I have come last at parkrun before (I know, I know, you are never last, the tail runner/walker is…) when I did it in Bath and I don’t usually mind the idea or the reality of coming last. But today I did.

We set off at the back of the pack and jogged reasonably happily down the hill, turned left onto the path and eventually found ourselves at the bottom of the bloody big hill known affectionately (or not) as the Cliffe. We walked up it and I had definitely forgotten how steep it was and how long it goes on for. When we eventually doubled back on ourselves and the hill changed from actual hill to slight slope there was no way I was running yet. I didn’t start running again until we were back on broad tarmac paths going downhill. I was tempted to duck out and just go back to the car. But that would have taken a little more planning and as quickly as the thought came, we were past the entrance to the grounds that would have made that possible.

I ran/walked lap 2 until we got to the Cliffe. We walked up again and my lungs were next to useless. I huffed and puffed my way to the top and seriously thought about going to the car. Kath was spending her time chatting away and trying to make me laugh but my sense of humour had parked itself at the finish line and if I wanted it back I was going to have to finish. So, more run walk, with a little more walk, for lap 3 and a walk that felt more like a crawl up the Cliffe the third time. I barely had enough breath to say thank you to the marshals at the top. Still huffing and puffing I tried to keep run/walk going, I tried to ignore the fact that the tail walker was the only person behind us and that it was beginning to feel like the marshals were waiting for us (they weren’t, there were a couple of finishers not far in front and some more not far in front of them). I ran up the last hill and got to the finish with lungs burning and struggling to breathe. Still, it’s done. I am sure at some point I will enjoy having done that.

2023

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So that’s it, as the clock ticks over, we take down old calendars and put up new ones, 2023 is done. We draw an arbitrary line and start again in the morning to welcome 2024.

I’m not really sad to see 2023 go. It showed me the worst of people, how broken some people are and how many really only care about themselves. 2023 renewed my disappointment in people, made me bin more role models and discard more heroines. A lot about 2023 confirmed to me that really, most people are completely overrated and you are almost always better off with a cat.

2023 also showed me the best of people. I met, worked with, chatted with, ran with, taught, was taught by and laughed with people who showed me and others genuine kindness and warmth and who restored my faith that there are good people out there, some even approved of by cats.

In terms of running, 2023 has been…, not quite sure how to put this really. 2023 has not been a running year. According to Strava I have run 63 miles all year. I’ve tracked walks of about the same distance. I’ve done some yoga and pedalled about in zwift a bit and only recorded 78 days of activity of one sort or another. In terms of exercise, well, the less said the better! I finish the year the heaviest I have ever been and unfit, very unfit. But that just is fact.

I am usually reflective at this time of year but this year I am not very focused and can’t quite get the words so here are my reflections in photo format. One from each month, all from places that hold memories – old and new. Make of them what you will and I hope some make you smile.

I hope 2024 brings you happiness and peace

Festive Ultra Day 3 and some New Year New You reflections.

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I did not sleep well at all. I woke up not all that long after having fallen asleep to an absolute downpour outside, then I needed to pee, then at just after 3am Storm cat woke me purring and rubbing and being her best fluffy cuddly self (I assume she was hungry) and then, just after I dozed off again it was time to get up. I felt all achey and grumpy and sore. I dropped Kath off at the station and drove to the office. When I looked at my messages once I got there, Kath had had to walk home because there were no trains into Leeds due to flooding at Kirkstall. Well, at least she got a couple of miles on the board for us!

I have been overwhelmingly tired all day. I’ve tried to get on with stuff but I’ve just made mistakes and couldn’t quite get my brain to where it needed to be. Maybe because I am tired, or maybe because fitness (or the lack of it) is on my mind because of this festive ultra, I am seeing adverts for diets, exercise programmes and for ‘health’ apps everywhere. My timelines on social media are full of advice to help me ‘have [my] fittest year yet’, ‘finally lose that unwanted weight’, ‘get rid of hormonal weight gain fast’ or simply ‘have your best year ever’. There’s an awful lot of new year, new you stuff out there at the moment. That’s been whirling around in my head as we dragged our slightly tired, slightly grumpy backsides off the sofa and went for a walk to make up today’s distance.

So in the silences in between off-loading about work and putting the world to rights I was mulling the idea of ‘new year, new you’ and I can see the attraction of picking a point in time to start over, to do things differently. I am often guilty of picking an arbitrary date to change something – to start running again (in fact isn’t the festive ultra just that – an arbitrary thing to get me into a habit of exercising again?). The more I think about it, the more the idea reminds me of a coaster I have with the slogan in the picture. Tomorrow, next week, next year is attractive because it never has to come, we can always pretend we’re going to do things tomorrow. It can always be tomorrow (and tomorrow and tomorrow – hang on that’s a different story altogether). So the particular tomorrow of New Years is slightly different because we tell ourselves that on this given tomorrow, things will actually change. But here’s the thing, as the clock rolls over from the 31st December to the 1st January, you don’t suddenly change. You are still the same person with the same habits (good or bad), the same influences around you, the same pressures, the same hopes and dreams, the same biases, prejudices and ways of thinking and being. A clock, a calendar moving from one minute, year, to the next doesn’t change your lifetime of becoming you. It’s just another tomorrow.

I have, over the years, ranted about the new year, new you thing. Particularly in relation to health, fitness and exercise it does so much harm, causes so much unhappiness and costs a ton of money. I’m not going to repeat that rant. I’ve been reflecting on the mythical tomorrow of New Year and on making resolutions, on planning, on thinking about aspirations for the coming year and the extent to which we are conditioned to think that we somehow need to be better. I actually think that pressure is there in the media all year but it takes on a particular aggressive and persistent form as we count down to next year. A lot of the adverts seems to suggest that previously we’ve just been doing it wrong, buying the wrong products or following the wrong plan so surely in the New Year we’ll be smarter and finally do the right thing… or maybe this year we just haven’t been trying hard enough so surely in the New Year (tomorrow?) we will focus and finally commit and do what’s been determined to be right for us. I doubt any of that is true and all those of you who have been doing your best, who have been surviving and juggling and muddling through – I see you. I am you.

I am trying to be immune to that intense pressure but it doesn’t always work. Sometimes I think about how I must get my running back on track properly, how I need to implement x-y-z strategy or plan and just bloody well do better. But I am trying to be gentle and kind. On the 1st January 2024 I will, hopefully, still be just me. I will have had another birthday so my number will have rolled on by 1. I’ll still be fat and unfit (but maybe just a little less unfit than I am today), I’ll still be my reflective, slightly grumpy overthinking self. I’ll still suffer periods of depression and anxiety. I’ll still have an irrational and slightly over the top love of all things Disney and I’ll still think I can do anything when I am sitting on the sofa and don’t actually have to do it. Will I make any resolutions for 2024? Nope. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have hopes and dreams for the year. I’d love to run consistently, I’d love to continue the much healthier work life/ non work life balance that the last couple of months of 2023 have brought. I’d like to have time to think and read and dream. But resolutions won’t get me there. Resolutions are a sort of pressure. A requirement to be better, to do. Resolutions have to be measurable otherwise how do you know you’re being better? They involve comparing and numbers and tracking and measuring and and and… And I already have way too much measuring and metric-ing in my work life.

So there will be no aims or targets to lose weight, to run longer or faster, to be more successful or productive. There will be no requirement to ‘do’. There’ll be none of that, nothing measurable, nothing tangible. I just want to wake up on January 1st, linger, listen to purrs, drink coffee and anticipate the magic and wonder that 2024 holds. In the meantime – back to measuring. We are at 52km, just over 30% to target so we are still going strong – even if my feet say otherwise.

Festive Ultra – Day 2

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I was determined to make a bit more of a contribution to our total today. At least I was until I actually got out of bed and was faced with the reality of actually going out and making a contribution to our total. I procrastinated a bit, played through some of the usual excuses. Hang on was that a twinge in my back? How’s my foot? I’m sure I felt that complain a minute ago. My jacket is still damp, maybe I should wait. Kath is out on her long run, maybe I should wait until she’s back in case she needs rescuing along the way… Eventually, as is usually the case, I ran out of excuses and got sorted to head out.

I hadn’t given distance all that much thought. So as I set off I thought that it would be good if I could actually maybe finally manage 3 miles without any drama. As I tried to work out where that would take me I decided that 3 miles made no sense and that instead I would run the start of my current usual loop but then drop onto the canal and try and get to Fisherman’s Bridge and then back to Bar Lane which should be about 4 miles (it was in fact exactly 4 miles). I haven’t done 4 miles in an age. I seem to have a bit of a wobble after just over a mile and things get hard and apart from one ‘Sheep Loop’ I haven’t even come close to doing 3 miles run/walk. So who knows what possessed me to decide I was going to do 4.

A mile came and went. I dropped onto the canal. I picked off walkers one by one. I nodded in acknowledgement at a number of runners coming towards me. I don’t really know what I was thinking about while running the first mile and a half or so. Then my thoughts suddenly turned to whether I really needed to do 4 miles or whether 3 would do. I considered a number of options. I wondered about turning round at 2 miles and heading back the same way which would give me 4 miles but would certainly mean I wouldn’t be able to manage run/walk to the end as I am still completely dead on hills. Then I wondered about turning round at 2.5 miles and coming back the half mile which would take me to a bridge where I could then walk home from. Then I wondered about just running a loop and heading on to the bridge as intended and then crossing and walking up from there. None of those options were quite what I wanted though.

I reminded myself that I really do want to get better at doing hard things. I have lost a lot of my mental strength generally and certainly in running and I need to build that up as much as I need to build my fitness. That reminder got me to the 2 mile beep. I did a quick mental scan of myself. Nothing hurt, feet were still dry, I was slightly too warm and a little grumpy for now real reason. Ok, onwards. I started looking around a bit, no herons, no kingfishers, just some ducks and about 4 dog walkers ahead. Ooh I could just turn round before I get tangled…. No! At the bridge I turned round and fairly soon had to weave my way in and out of the dog walkers again. For a little while I ran on the ‘I’ve turned round which means I must be nearly finished’ high but then it got hard. The 3 mile beep came and went and I just refused to think about it. I just kept running for 30 seconds and walking for 30 seconds until my final bridge was in sight. I reminded myself a couple of times that I could do it and yes my feet might be a little sore and my back a bit achey but we were in single figures in terms of running minutes left. The 4 mile beep went just a few steps before the bridge.

I was relieved to finish. I was getting to the stage of a run where I wasn’t sure if I could persuade myself to keep going. That might of course just be because I knew I was finished and I can never run further than I am supposed to be running that day. I walked up the hill home feeling quite happy with my efforts and also really quite tired. When I got home Kath was already home and about to get out of the bath. So I could have a soak in an epsom salts bath and then have some lunch. Since then I have been trying not to fall asleep. I do need to stretch more otherwise I don’t think I’ll be running tomorrow! We also might go for a walk later on this evening which will be a nice way to make sure I don’t stiffen up completely. Kath has been running strong with a solid 10 miles today. Currently we are at about 32km so just a little ahead of target on daily distance.

Happy Sunday!