I am struggling for a title because the usual ‘starting again’, ‘back to basics’… don’t quite fit. I had a therapy session this morning which was well timed because I have been struggling this week. Talking it through was so helpful and it all makes so much more sense now- I was/am completely over peopled. After a busy week that included a day on main campus, presentation to the Executive, 3 days of conferencing, running a team day, marshalling at a half marathon and then the great north run, my system is in shock. That tracks!
We talked about movement and running and whether I was in a need/have to or want space. I had already planned start a 5km running programme and do the first run today so as I was driving round to the car park at Bolton Abbey and getting sorted I was interviewing myself in my head:
So, Jess, do you enjoy running the moment?
No not really.
Really? Why is that?
It just feels hard and like I am not making any progress at all
But you still want to run? Tell us a bit more about that
Yes. I know the joy it can bring. The joy of being outside, of being in nature, feeling it, the joy of being able to move.
When you look back at your happiest running what comes to mind?
Well, running or run walking a loop at Bolton Abbey of whatever distance and having coffee and breakfast afterwards.
And then I laughed at myself. Running is only partly about the running itself. It’s also about the being able to run or walk and then have coffee, to not be in pain or so knackered that the only option is to go straight home. It’s about ticking runs off and the sense of achievement that comes with consistency. It’s about saying yes to long walks or uphill adventures without worrying about whether I can do it.
But mostly it’s about the joy of being able to feel the rain on my face, smell the rain on the car park tarmac, hear it rustling as it bounces its way through the trees. Running is a way for me to find joy in the everyday that I don’t get from anything else. I’d lost sight of that.
So I set off on my first run of the programme. Running 30 seconds, walking 2 minutes eight times. I deliberately turned my face into the rain and bounced into puddles. I laughed at myself as I sucked the autumn air into my lungs and wrapped myself in the solitude of the empty paths.
The run almost finished too soon. I ordered coffee and a bacon sarnie to relive a happy running tradition and to offer my system a gentle and calm restart.
I love running in so many weird and wonderful ways.
Last weekend was a weekend of running adventures. Different adventures and experiences. On Saturday Kath took part in the last of the 2025 Due North CIC trail half marathon and 10 km series. I marshalled and had a lovely 90 minutes or so at the top of Malham Cove clapping and cheering on runners doing both the half marathon route and the 10km route before heading back to the finish to help hand out goodie bags and pies. It was glorious and energising and inspiring. Kath did really well, the runners were fabulous and it felt inclusive, supportive and fun. Maybe one day I will get myself in the right space to have a go – at the 10km route.
Sunday was the Great North Run. I hadn’t trained for this. I had barely run since the Rasselbock Half in July and I hadn’t trained for that either. Was this a stupid idea? Well yes and no. I thought about pulling out several times. I got messages reminding me to trust my training and enjoy it – good advice, assuming there has been any training to speak of. So what was I thinking going in? Well, I don’t like DNS. DNS is worse than DNF. To me not starting just feels like complete failure. The only times I won’t start an event are situations where I am either genuinely injured or not well or where I know I won’t finish and starting would mean that I have to rely on event volunteers or staff for help or where I present a risk of being a medical emergency. If not finishing has minimal impact on others, I will start even if I might not make it. Psychologically, I had to start this one. For me. To silence the voices in my head that have been getting louder and louder, insisting that there is no way I can currently get round a road half marathon.
I was anxious. I didn’t much like the crowds as we walked through Newcastle to the start, found the baggage bus, queued for the loos, made our way to the assembly area and stood around for a while. I found my zen somehow. Then we started moving forwards in little waves. Then the red arrows flew over making me smile. Then we were off. Kath set off and I very quickly lost sight of her as I tried to settle into my run/walk. I didn’t really like being in the wave we were in because I was surrounded by much faster runners. This was the pace that was ambitious but realistic when we signed up, before I just didn’t manage to get myself out there with any consistency. It was the pace I have managed to get close to before. But right now I am a long long way off that pace. I was really conscious of getting in other people’s way. I tried really hard to tuck in and not take up space. I tried really hard to be ok about my run/walk.
The support was incredible but also overwhelming and at times it felt like the crowds were closing in. I had flashbacks to the London Marathon and people getting right in my face and I could feel panic rising. What can I feel? Sticky – my fingers are sticky from my drinks bottle. What can I see – a unicorn, a runner in a unicorn costume just ahead of me. What can I hear – my name being shouted with lots of encouragement. And I am grounded again for a little while before the panic comes again – in waves. I don’t feel like I belong. I am still running 30 seconds and walking 30 seconds. It is all actually going to plan. It’s all fine and yet it isn’t. I battle the panic from just over 1.5 miles to the 5 mile marker. I am walking much more now and I can’t quite settle. I do the maths in my head – how long will I be out here, how much longer to get to the finish, how long will Kath have to wait. I resist the temptation to check the app to see how she is doing. If I get my phone out of my pocket I might call her to say I am calling it. I might cry. I am crying. I think about maybe just not doing this.
Waiting to start
I wonder if I can get to half way. My right foot hurts, my hips hurt, I keep scanning my body and the message is always the same – there is some pain but none of it is serious and none of it is a reason to stop. Mile 6 feels like it takes forever. It was actually faster than the previous mile. As I pass 10k I suddenly feel a bit more positive. Maybe there is a slight break in the crowds coming past me. I’m not sure. I just feel less anxious. I start to take more notice of the signs and the support. I start to feel a bit more like it is ok for me to take up some space. A bloke from 2 waves behind me walks along side me for a few paces to fuel, asking if we are nearly there yet and I cheer him up by telling him we are very nearly half way. He tells me I am doing great and then disappears off into the distance. Somehow the interaction makes me smile. I realise that an earlier one had played on my mind – I had dropped into a walk and a bloke came past me, turned to look at me and said ‘For fuck sake’. I am pretty sure I didn’t block him. I am pretty sure I wasn’t in his way. I am pretty sure he didn’t have to change his line. I hope that taking out whatever was going on with him on me, helped him get it done, I also hope that he has a particularly energetic batch of fleas hatch in his pubes.
Mile 8 was a big thing in my head. I am not sure why – other than maybe running maths. I was thinking in 15 minute miles. I knew I was going slower but for the purposes of my running maths, 15 minute miles worked well. 4 miles an hour. Which meant that if I could get to 8 miles then I only had to do another hour and then I would only have a mile to go. The additional minutes and the .1 don’t feature in running maths. When I made it to 8 miles I knew I would finish. I didn’t know how long it would take me but I knew. The doubts about finishing and whether maybe it would be better to pull out were gone. I settled into the pain. I kept telling myself that I only had to keep doing this for another hour. If I could push through for an hour I would be nearly there. Then we saw the red arrows. I am not sure there are many places on the course where you can see them so this felt like my own personal 8 mile celebration.
I tried to run a little every mile – and I did but I think in miles 11 and 12 I only ran for 30 seconds each – it hurt. I kept pushing the walking – that hurt too. I found focus in the pain somehow. I knew it wasn’t dangerous pain, I knew I wasn’t doing serious damage or injuring myself. It was just my body telling me that it wasn’t prepared for this and that it really wasn’t entirely happy about what I was asking it to do.
As I made my way down the short sharp slope before the ‘finishing straight’, two women passed me and one said to the other ‘now prepare yourself for the longest mile of your life’. And it is. You turn and it feels like you should be there but you still have a mile to go. The support is loud and brilliant. After an age I got to the 800 metres to go sign. I kept walking as fast as I could and talking to myself. Both firm and reassuring because giving up now would be stupid wouldn’t it. Never mind the longest mile – the 400 metres from the 800m to go to the 400m to go sign were at least 3 miles long. It felt like forever. I started jogging really slowly at the 400m sign. I glanced at my watch and realised that I would probably just get under 3 hours 40 if I kept pushing. I got there. I crossed the finish line and felt – well nothing really. I walked and got water, a medal and a bag/t-shirt and made my way through the crowds to find Kath (she did really well). We queued for an hour or so to get on a bus back into town and got back to the hotel about 10 minutes before our dinner reservation. Job done.
So reflections. I can do hard things. This was hard. I am annoyed at myself for lack of training and the resulting lack of fitness is just embarrassing and silly. No excuses. I didn’t do the work. The Great North Run was not fun. This particular ‘impossible’ was not fun to do at all. It just was. I am glad I pushed through and did it. It was a good mental exercise and I am proud of myself for coming through those first 5 miles of waves of panic. 2 days after the run I am sore, sore but not broken. This was my slowest road half marathon ever, slower than the first one I ever did at Disney World in 2013. Over an hour slower than my PB and nowhere near my running ambition which is to run strong and happy. The positives – I am mentally tough. My superpower might just be a complete inability to accept that I can’t do something. Realistically, starting on Sunday was a bad idea. It was always going to be pretty awful and yet doing it and it being awful was still better than not doing it. Because I have done it, I know what needs work. I have pushed myself into a place where I want to do the work. Doing the GNR on Sunday was the test I think. It was always going to tell me whether I am done with longer distances or whether I want to keep trying. And I’m not done. While I was out there, as painful and horrible as it was, I also knew I wanted to be there and I wanted to be back and do it again, properly, with training and preparation. Sometimes doing hard things is about saying, yes, this is hard, and it hurts and that’s my fault and next time, I’ll be ready for this. Next time won’t be easy, but maybe next time will be a happier hard.
Me, about half way round the Rasselbock Half Marathon
I started this post quite some time ago – just after finishing the Rasselbock Running Half Marathon at Sherwood Pines just over a month ago. What I started trying to articulate then was that I like to think that I am quite good at doing hard things, that I am ok out of my comfort zone and that I trust myself to do have a go, figure it out and get it done. Just sometimes, I forget. I signed up last minute and did the half marathon to prove that I can indeed still do hard things and that doing those impossible things can indeed be fun. I was struggling for the words then and sort of gave up on the post.
I think I was struggling for words, because what I just said doesn’t quite capture it. I have been thinking about it and now, a month and a bit from doing it and 3 weeks away from the Great North Run, I think I am beginning to untangle it a bit more. So I think the reality is more like this: I love my comfort zone and I love being good at things. I generally only do things I know I will be good at. Being pretty good at school from the start, learning to read and to swim early and being good at horse riding when I first learned as a kid – and those really being the only things I did – I never learned how to learn and work at something. I never actually learned to do hard things – nothing I had to do was hard to me and anything that was hard, I just didn’t do. And I pretty much managed to get through life like that (not consciously, I am just lucky that what I am good at conforms to what society expects – I did well at school, I went to uni, I got a good job and even though it wasn’t quite that simple or linear, it pretty much holds true). And then I started running. I am a crap runner. And I don’t usually mind being a crap runner. Running has taught me 3 key things that I don’t think anything else ever has:
You can be objectively awful at something but still really enjoy it and get pleasure and the benefits from it. Objective success based on society expectations or on what others can do is pretty meaningless.
You can find something really really hard, both physically and mentally and still want to do it, sometimes even enjoy it and get a lot out of it. And the feeling of having enjoyed something once you have finished it even if you didn’t really enjoy it at the time, is a powerful thing.
You can get better at doing hard things. You can train yourself to do hard – not just to get physically better or mentally stronger so that the hard becomes easier- although that’s part of it – but to think about doing hard things in a different way. It’s a way of believing in yourself, trusting yourself and not accepting a ‘no, you can’t do this’ – even from yourself.
But when my running isn’t going well or I am struggling to get out, I no longer feel like I can do hard things. The ‘can’t do this’ voices get louder and doing the impossible no longer seems like fun, it just seems impossible. I retreat to the girl who was good at everything she did because she learned to avoid anything hard. But life’s not like that as an adult. Life is full of hard things. Work is hard – often just with volume of stuff, but sometimes also intellectually. Article revisions, managing relationships, juggling priorities… it can be hard and I am better at it when I remember that I am good at doing hard things. And I become much more confident in my ability to tackle anything when I am consistently running, because consistently running means I am consistently practicing doing hard things. My mental strength and ability to get things done, work at things, prioritise and push through are not something that I have brought from life to running, they’re all things that running has brought into the rest of my life. So without running consistently as a reminder that I can do hard things, the rest becomes the hard things I just don’t do. I end up doing the easy quick win work, I don’t prioritise as well and I avoid the things that will require me to work at them.
And let’s be honest, running has been inconsistent. Some of it has been happy running which has been nice but it has also been easy running with permission to bail out and walk all of it or sit on a beach instead. And that all has its place – but I have not been practicing doing hard things. Not at all. So when Kath saw the Rasselbock Marathon and we discussed doing it so she could get a marathon in as part of her ultra training that particular weekend, I signed up to the Half. Untrained, barely running 2 miles at a time and terrified that I would be so crap that I would be timed out on one of the most inclusive events around. Doing. Hard. Things. I could tell I had got out of the habit because even signing up made me nervous. Was this going to be another DNS or maybe a DNF, was it going to be horrible, how painful was it going to be?
But the thing with signing up fairly last minute means that you don’t have a lot of time to spiral. I was also stupid busy at work so didn’t have much time to think about it and the focus was Kath’s marathon (she was awesome!). I managed to put my half to one side because I convinced myself that I was just going along to support Kath. And then we were on our way down to Sherwood Pines. On Saturday morning we headed for parkrun – might as well. That in itself felt like ‘doing hard’. I was ok going round using my run/walk intervals but I was slow, slower than I am really comfortable with. But that’s just comparing myself to the runner I was rather than focusing on the runner I am now. Nothing hurt though and overall I actually felt ok about the half after having completed the 5k. It was also lovely to see my friend Jo and the Fordy Runs crew at the parkrun and to see the set up for the next day.
Half marathon day came. I set off before Kath. The marathon set off half an hour after the half to avoid congestion on the course. I settled in at the back around the three and a half hour pacer although I had no intention of sticking with a pacer. I know I prefer doing my own thing. However, after a little while the pacer settled in with me. I checked my watch and her pace was off by a lot. We were going downhill and were roughly 14 and a bit minute mining. We chatted a bit and she asked me several times if I thought she was on pace. Then she decided she was ahead of pace and needed to slow down and I thought I would be sensible and join her and we walked a while. Eventually though I remembered that I really need to do my thing and this running faster for a minute and then walking really slowly is not how I pace my run/walk – so I left her and did my thing. I went through mile one at 16 minutes and she was a way behind me so that just confirmed I didn’t want to stick with her. She might be very good at getting round in the specified time but I much prefer even splits. For a couple of miles we leapfrogged each other and then I think she eventually settled into her proper pacing and went ahead. I settled into my own headspace. I was walking more than I wanted to really but mostly I was having a good time. I was enjoying being out there. I was enjoying the feeling of not having a choice but to finish (there’s always a choice), of having a reason to push through the doubts. I just kept plodding. Every now and again I would have a chat with people I passed or coming past me, but never for long.
Kath caught me at an aid station, she was struggling so my focus shifted from me to encouraging her. I had some water and coke and carried on leaving Kath to go to the loo. When she came past me again she looked much stronger and seemed happier. All good. The route was nice – woodland paths, some sand, a lot of shade which was so welcome in the ridiculous heat. Part of the reasoning for this run had been to practice fuelling so I had apricots as well as some haribo and tailwind in both flasks. If I was to get anywhere near the recommended amount of carbs, I’d needed to drink a flask an hour and have several apricots. The haribo were emergency fuel. I was doing ok-ish on the drinking but really struggled eating so gave up on that. When I had nearly finished one flask I wanted to replenish my tailwind at the next water station but I couldn’t get my stick pack open. It just wouldn’t tear. So I gave up in that in a huff and just filled the flask with water and got myself round on that and flat coke from the aid stations. I thought I might like the little pretzels and other things they had but I didn’t want proper food. Not even the haribo. I should of course have just asked for help to get the stick pack open. I honestly just didn’t think of that on the day.
I was genuinely having a great time until about 10 miles. Then I was getting tired. Nothing really hurt, my hips were beginning to niggle. I was pretty much only walking. I knew from my pace that the 3.45 pacers which included my friend Jo would be catching me up soon and when they did it was nice to have some company for a while and chat and catch up a bit. Right towards the end I couldn’t quite keep up with them which annoyed me slightly – I was here to do hard things after all – but I came in at 3.46 something – just behind the first marathon finisher (who had run double my distance in half an hour less than me).
So how did I feel about it. I loved it. I had indeed done the hard thing. I had finished a half marathon in the heat without having trained for it – just going on experience and understanding of how hard I can push my own body safely. I can do hard things. And I did enjoy it and nothing was broken or really painful. Girl did good! But now, a month on. Hm. I walked most of it. It’s the slowest time I have ever recorded for a half, did I really do a hard thing? Didn’t I actually just stay right in my comfort zone and not push? Wouldn’t doing hard things actually mean running more than I did, not stopping to walk quite so easily, having less fun and more determination to get it done more quickly? And I honestly don’t know. Well, no, I know that I couldn’t have pushed much more without risking injury or heat stroke or at a minimum just utter misery. And I keep trying to remind myself that ‘hard’ does not mean miserable and awful or stupid and risky. And what I did that day was hard. There were times when I wanted to stop but not seriously, and there were times where I did push myself to run a bit more and to get moving. I am trying to remember that I was taking a baby step towards getting used to doing hard again. But I don’t quite believe it.
How I feel now is probably shaped by running since then. I have, once again, not been consistent. I ran a little 5k the week after, another 3 miles in the Yorkshire Dales a couple of weeks ago and a 5 mile plod along the canal at home last week. That’s it. Hardly sensible or even useful Great North Run training. So yeah, The Rasselbock Half was all about reminding myself that I can do hard. And it was a well timed and needed reminder. That reminder now needs build into a habit. Doing hard as a one off takes effort and willpower. Being practiced at doing hard, being in the habit of just doing it even if it seems impossible, being comfortable with the possibility of failure but refusing to not try because I might fail, or worrying about the possibility of being outside the comfort zone, finding something tricky or not being able to do it – all those things come with consistent running and re-wiring my brain so it doesn’t just know, it also believes that doing the impossible is fun.
After my Happy Running in Bath, Edinburgh and at home, we headed to Seahouses for a week of writing and thinking for my DBA. We had a lovely little apartment and the perfect location and as well as some lovely walks on the beach I also had one little run.
I didn’t go far and I found it really hard and was initially frustrated at the lack of fitness. I was also a bit unsettled because we’d had to change plans. The initial plan was to drive Kath to Craster for her to run back and for me to have a plod there before driving back. But the road was closed and rather than trying to work out an alternative, we pulled into the car park at Beadnell Bay to regroup. Kath was unsettled and so was I but eventually we got going and she set off to run to Dunstanburgh Castle and I set off on my plod.
After about a mile I realised that I didn’t want to run, I wanted to walk in the sea with bare feet- so that’s what I did.
I didn’t run very much at all that week but I loved walking on the beach, playing with the sea and just being.
You might have guessed, if you have been following my blog for a while, that I have not been in a happy running phase. It’s been about persuading myself to get out at all and then just trying to get through to the end. It’s been about trying to stick to a plan, about building consistency and not being hugely successful with any of that.
And then there has been the silly self-consciousness and lack of self-belief. All the nonsense that led me to benching the brain a little while ago.
So I am really just checking in to let you know that I had a happy running week last week. In objective terms it was pretty awful: Slow, lots of walking, short distances… but I loved it. The first run was on Tuesday morning in Bath. I was there for a 2 day thesis workshop. I didn’t sleep well and I felt overwhelmed by work stuff and thesis stuff and I didn’t really want to be away from home. But I had a little plod round Bath. I walked lots. I didn’t go far. I smiled lots. It was perfect.
And then on Friday morning I had a little trot out round Edinburgh. Yep that’s right. On Thursday morning I made my way to Edinburgh from Bath. Again I didn’t sleep well into Friday. I was already over-peopled when I got there and my imposter syndrome was through the roof. It was actually lovely but I should also know better than have 4 days of intense people-ing in a week. Anyway, the Friday morning pootle round Edinburgh was much like the plod round Bath: Slow, lots of walking, stopping for pictures and smiling. I had a great time out there and I didn’t care what people might think.
And then on Sunday I ran at home. I did what we call a backwards sheep loop, just over 3 miles. I should have gone earlier in the morning. It was already quite hot but I just plodded along using 30/30 intervals and walking any particularly sunny or uphill bits. I found it unreasonable hard and it may well be the slowest I have ever run that loop – but again, I had a great time.
Saturday and today I also had pretty good gym sessions where I seemed to get into my little bubble and my brain behaved. So anyway, even objectively awful running, in fact doing something that some people would not even consider ‘going for a run’, can be very happy running indeed!
really (not) a runner 