I logged off from work for the year on Friday, spent Saturday in the kitchen baking and cooking and cleaning which was a great brain re-set and then spent Sunday not doing much at all really. Kath was still working yesterday but we did the Christmas food shop early and then I curled up on the sofa to finally finish reading Allie Bailey’s There is no Wall. I started this a while ago after we listened to Allie talk at the Ilkley Literature Festival and then bought the book. Kath read it first and then I started it. Then I got busy at work again and as so often happens, just didn’t read for pleasure. I picked the book up again last night and went back a bit.

The book is phenomenal. It made me laugh, it made me cry quite a lot, it made me breathe deeply, be thankful for what I have and at the same time ask questions of myself that are not entirely comfortable. The book is and isn’t about running. It’s a lovely and at times brutally real antidote to the social media and new year new you nonsense. It’s about mental health, addiction, faking it, asking for help and accepting it and, to me anyway, it’s about finding your values and recognising them as fundamental to everything really. I love the honesty in the writing. I love that the swearing isn’t edited out, that the tone of the book isn’t polished into a beautiful narrative that sort of glosses over how dark Allie’s story really is. The writing is good, really good but it’s gritty and real.

I will need more time to really reflect on the book but there are a couple of things that really stand out to me

1. The stories we tell ourselves. Allie notes that that the stories we believe are the ones we tell ourselves (or are told) most often but reminds us that we have a choice what thoughts and stories we believe. We have a choice. That’s really fucking powerful.
2. External validation doesn’t get us very far. Our self-worth has to come from us, not from what we think others think of us
3. Values are key to EVERYTHING
4. There is a big knowing-doing gap. I had never thought about it as a knowing-doing gap before (I am probably late to the party here as always as apparently this is a pretty well known idea – it just wasn’t to me) but it is such an obvious way of describing it and applies to me all the time! As Allie notes, it’s really hard to bridge that gap and not just shout back as you fall further down the huge crevice the gap can create

I am feeling the knowing-doing gap particularly keenly at the moment. I know consistency is key to almost everything. I know good fuelling is key to being healthy, I know stretching and strength work are crucial to staying healthy, I know I need to focus on the stories I tell myself about running, I know I need to do the hard work and I know I need to start doing it now – with kindness and love, but now. Doing it is so much harder than knowing it though. And I think that is why I like the book so much. There is no pretence that any of this is easy. Getting your shit together is hard and it stays hard. You don’t just suddenly get your ducks in a row and then they stay there and you live happily ever after. Or maybe other people who have never experienced poor mental health do. No idea. I have been nowhere near as ill as Allie and I am grateful for that but I also expected running, at a very very different level of of course, to save me. And for a while it did. I got fitter, so much fitter. I could do things. I could view my body in terms of what it could do rather than what the number on my clothes label said and somehow that all helped.

But I haven’t really done the work on me, I know this. Because when the running fell to pieces because of Covid and busy-ness and toxic workplaces and all the shit that life can throw at you and personal bests and races well run or at least struggled through to claim mental victory were replaced by DNF or actually mostly DNS, running was (is?) just another problem. My body is now not delivering, I am not strong, I am not fit – so how should I see my body, myself, now? Allie is right, running won’t save you from whatever demons you have but I also think she is right that running can buy you time to save yourself. I think through most of my running I have been both running away from stuff and running towards who I want to be, the balance has just varied. And who I want to be is not far off who I am right now in this moment sitting here writing this. I am happy. I am relatively healthy. I look forward too much and could do with being more in the moment and I know a lot of stuff that I am doing fuck all about. But I am aware and I am taking tiny little baby steps to start building a bridge across the knowing-doing gap. Running helps me meet my black puppy with curiosity and kindness every time it appears, it helps me make better decisions day to day, it helps me accept things as they are so I can start from there, it helps me breathe deeply when I need to and it helps me be kinder, most of all to myself. Those are the things that save us – if we do the work.

Read the book. Even if you think you’re fine, even if you don’t run. Read it because it is just a bloody good book about a remarkable woman. And somehow it is a book of tremendous hope.