….is what my body, and subsequently my brain have decided. 

Last time I trained for a marathon, shin splints became runners knee which caused ITBS which impacted my hip flexor and basically I spent 6 months chasing pain.

When I trained for the triathlon it was mostly my IT band which hated me.

This time, it’s my hip flexor again. and my head. My head is really, REALLY done with all of this. 

I’m a goal-setter. Always have been. What’s the point in anything if there isn’t an objective in mind. 

That “objective” has been events over the last few years. It’s also been fun. But the fun part seems to have diminished from this here challenge. 

Set backs before I even started training have given me a greater sense of impending doom than one of achievement. I really have come on leaps and bounds but it definitely does not feel that way at the moment. 

Another (A FUCKING NOTHER) week lost to being sore. And the dawning sense of “oh fuck. I will not be ready to kick London in the face”. 

Being sensible and looking at it pragmatically, I am under a tonne of pressure just now. Not so much training wise because I’ll bloody well finish that marathon if it kills me, but my day job is kicking my ass at the same time as all new pressures which have started to appear in my personal life. 

Since when did it become A Thing that as one approaches 30 she should be married and have the babies? Can I not make my own decisions and have my life the way I want it please? Sans judgement? 

There is just this pressure everywhere from every angle and my whole body and now my mind are screaming “FUCK OFF STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS WHERE THE FUCK IS THE GIN?” 

My boss once said to me that her 30’s were her favourite because she stopped giving a shit what anyone else thought of her and her choices. 

I am waiting for the shit-giving to stop. 

I feel like every time I do something and tell someone about it, I’m faced with criticism and second guessing. “Are you sure that was the right thing to do?” Has become a main-stay question I seem to be asked every day. 

Instead of shouting “NO. NO I AM NOT SURE BUT I FUCKING DID IT” I am constantly second-guessing MYSELF now. Before giving anyone else the opportunity. Invariably they bloody well do anyway and then I just feel like the worlds worst everything. 

Boo fucking hoo. 

So it’s 8 weeks until the marathon. Mega fuck. And 10 weeks until my 30th birthday. At which point I shall magically cease to give a fuck about anything ever including Ètape Caledonia which is in… OH LOOK TEN FUCKING WEEKS. 


The Coldest I Have Ever Been. 

Today a shocking thing happened. 

I under-dressed for a run. 

I know. I KNOW. It’s ok. I made it. But I wanted to share this with all of you so that you never, ever make the same mistake as I did. 

I am famous for overdressing. The anstruther 10km debacle is evidence of this. So today I was going to be totally fine…

The weather this morning was Scottish, at best. I’ve run through two winters. I’ve run in a blizzard, hail storms and thundersnow. There’s not much that will drive me to a treadmill other than icy pavements and risk-of-breaking-bones. Today we had 50mph gusts and a LOT of rain. Standard, really. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. 

But. Somehow today turned out to be EXTRA shite. 

I went for a thermal base layer, t shirt over the top, thermal tights, my really decent waterproof, buff and visor to stop the rain putting actual holes in my eye-balls. Usual cold/wet weather kit. I also opted for my Nike winter gloves. Which turned out to be Nike winter sponges. 

The wind was so powerful that it was blowing the car across the motorway. OH and I headed to Lochore for a change of scenery. Plenty of MTB tracks for him to explore on his Santa Cruz, and a familiar route for me with a mix of hardcore and Tarmac. Ideal.  

I had a low HR and therefore SLOW 1hr25mins to get in. So a couple of laps of the loch would do it. 

I should’ve known by the time we got there and there was sleet hitting the car, that this was going to be tough. 

Within half a km I was already soaked. And frozen. “Not to worry, I usually warm up in a few km” and right enough, by the end of the first lap I was back at Optimum Temperature. 

As I rounded the top of the loch, the ice-bullets were really pummelling me hard. There was much cursing. Damn you, Scottish winter. Give me a fecking BREAK! 

By 8km I was starting to lose body temperature. Fast. My hands were like ice. My feet were numb (and soaked) and the waterproof was now filled with all the rain blowing into it. 

It was decidedly fucking miserable. And I really don’t usually mind Weather when I’m running. 

I made it back to the car before OH. Thank feck I took the keys. I jumped in and immediately had to strip and get the heating on. My lips had gone blue and my hands wouldn’t work. Pretty sure I’m lucky no one called the police as there’s registers for folk that get naked in carparks… 

When OH made it back his bike-nappy and entirity of his kit must’ve weighed about 12kgs. We steamed all the way home while I inhaled two cereal bars that I found in the glove box. 

Once in the door I literally poached myself in the shower. I’ve never been more desperate to be warm. I also definitely spent an extra 10 minutes using the hairdryer to warm myself up. 

Lesson? MORE THERMALS. And I should’ve gone for waterproof gloves. Or stayed in bed!!! 

I pre-vitamined and shall dose up again tonight. I’ve also realised that my beautiful new Asics are destined to be black with mud. I’ve had to dry these on the heated clothes rack FIVE TIMES this year. That’s five whole times more than any of my other sneaks. Boo. 

I’m off to hide under MANY blankets now…