Back to Where it Began. 

There are certain races that draw you back repeatedly. For me it’s MoRun in Edinburgh. Tied in with Movember, the race company donates proceeds towards the fight against Prostate and Testicular cancer and helps raise awareness of cancer and suicide in men. 

The MoRun 10k was my first EVER race back in 2013. And it always draws me back every year. Apart from last year where I’d torn a muscle in my back and was at home with my mum in a huff, eating French toast. 


Time: 1:11.19

Post-Race Leg Status: unable to walk down stairs for 4 days. 

Recovery time: 2 weeks. 


Time: 1:04.54

Post-Race Leg Status: had only just been given the all-clear to run by Physio. 6 months post first-marathon. Stairs not ok for 2 days. 

Recovery Time: a week. 


50kg reps of Deadlifts on October 20th  ruptured a muscle in my lower back. I was out for 6 weeks. It wasn’t the most fun ever. 


Time: 1:01:54

Post-Race Leg Status: Pain-free trudge back to Waverley. Pain free when moving from sofa to standing. Leg win!

Recovery time: TBC 

My stomach was on it’s arse most of last night and this morning. I’ve not been well this week and haven’t had a consistent week of training. The demons had truly got into my head. I really really almost stayed in bed. BUT. I am glad I didn’t. 

So, aside from the improvement in medal quality, and my times, what else has changed? 

I’m much stronger now. And tougher. You may be looking at that time and scratching your head because it’s not *that* fast for me. I’ll explain: the route is 2 laps of Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh. I’ll say only that. And share a knowing grimace with the Scots among you. 

I’ve no idea why I want to do this race every year. That hill. Twice. 

The race itself hasn’t changed. Although there were LOADS more 5k runners this year and a lot less 10k runners. The double loop of the hill is pretty nasty, though, so I can’t blame anyone for opting for the single loop. 

Brian’s dad ran the 5k. His 3rd medalled race in 30 years. He’s diabetic and has made HUGE improvements to his fitness recently. He ran a great time and enjoyed the event. Awesome effort, Mike!

Brian, having spent the week unable to digest solid food after a tummy bug, managed to keep it under 55 minutes. Good effort for someone who admits to not training consistently! 

And, as always, it was ace to bump into friends. Ella and Frazer both ran excellent races. And I ALMOST caught Frazer up! 

The weather won the day. The forecast had been shite. But the sun shone and it was warmer than the week had been. I only needed one layer and, obviously, chose my VLM adidas long sleeved top. 

The video Mike got of me crossing the line shows me stumbling. I can’t remember much about finishing except that I really really wanted a nap. I learnt the hard way that, even though I ate enough by normal standards before the race, I should have made more of an effort given that the days running up to the run had fallen WAY short of my normal calorific intake. My blood sugar plummeted after the race and I was dangerously low on glucose. Luckily, Mike was on hand to feed me sweets until I could muster the strength to wander about. 

Another great event from MoRunning. Let’s hope they move to a flatter route eventually! 


Being Mentally Fit. 

A recent post on my training team’s Facebook page got me thinking. What IS good training for an endurance athlete…. like….. in general? 

I could sit here for hours and preach about strength training and distance work, but I’m going to look at the bigger picture: Not just particular training methods, but actual life stuff. Stuff that’ll put hairs on your proverbial chest. Give you the mental edge. Make ya tuff. 

1. Two words: Lunge Jumps

Fucking dry heave. The minute I clock these in my programming I want to curl up and die. Give me 1000 hills to climb on my bike. Give me 40 burpees and 300 kettle bell swings. But please. Please. Dont make me do lunge jumps. 

Searing heat in the quads. HR through the roof. These usually come at the end of a heavy leg session and are the precursor to a threshold run. 

If you can endure 5 sets of these bastards then you can endure a marathon. Word. 

2. A season of Grey’s Anatomy. 

Probably the one with the shooter. Or when Denny died. Or the plane crash. Or George and Izzy. 

The emotional roller coaster, frustration, sheer joy, laughs, tears, blood and other bodily fluids will fully prepare you for most endurance events, I’d imagine. 

Plus you get used to using proper actual medical terminology so that you can impress* medical staff upon your frequent visits to doctors and hospitals with yet more injuries and gross toenails. 


But don’t mock. I could absolutely perform complex surgery. I know ALL the terminology. 

3. The Magic Fifty.

…. or similar. My lovely coach likes to throw these at us occasionally. My equally lovely, but mostly mental pal Chris, absolutely loves these workouts. He asks for them. One time he requested The Magic ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY. 

They involve many reps. Usually featuring a few similarly horrible exercises. With as little rest as required. And generally you do these workouts once a week for a few weeks to try and get your time down for the total effort. 

There is nothing like the mental battle when you’re only 20 swings into 50 of with the kettle bell. You’ve got another two rounds to go. Your hands are basically bloody stumps and you just. want. to stop. 

But you DON’T. That’s what makes you NAILS. 

It’s entirely acceptable to puke after one of these. 

Me. Dead. After The Magic Fifty. 

4. Applying (or trying to apply) for Jobseekers Allowance. 

I was very fortunate that my obsessive search for a new job came to a swift end in May. Because I lost one day. One ENTIRE DAY to this farce of a process. And many have lost MORE than one day. 

Name. Age. DOB. Redundancy details. Not accepted. Name of first dog. Wrong.  Name of first neighbours pet hamster. Air speed velocity of an unladen sparrow. Nope. Wrong. Death. 

Honestly. It was the in the top ten most harrowing experiences of my life. But it taught me RESILIENCE in the face of adversity and you definitely need this for endurance. 

Me at the job centre. Aka Bridge Of Death. 

5. Shit-Awful Runs. 

You know the type: Lead legs, no energy, dog shit in your trainer tread. 

These make you head-strong. Not at the time, like. Cause at the time you just want to be on the sofa eating beige food, but honestly they do make you better at coping when the endurance stuff starts to hurt. 

6. Winter Training. 

Now I’m not going to say it’s tough in Scotland because in the grand scheme of things, a few weeks of ice and maybe a few snow days are nothing compared to a few months of solid night time and 8 feet of snow. 


In Scotland, we seem to be blessed with the type of weather that feels mild to begin with but then you find a puddle with ice at the bottom and because it’s so fucking dark and there are so many manky leaves everywhere, and you find out about this puddle as you wake from a coma with a broken hip. 

Winter training makes your lungs hurt. Makes your toes cold. Makes everything cold, actually. It makes your nose stream and your ears ache. But it definitely makes the summery runs feel better. 

As long as they’re not too melty…..

7. If it makes you hate life, it’s good preparation. 

And that sums it up, really. I love a good workout, but the ones that make all the difference are the ones that make you want to cry and stop moving forever. 

It’s the subtle things too, like that Economics Lecture you sat through at uni, determined for the stuff to stick. It didn’t. You tried. But it taught you that LITERALLY NOTHING is worse than that. 

So. Do more stuff you hate, and then nothing will seem as bad as that! 

(Not really…..) 

Seven. Days. To. Go.

If I think back to when I started this journey, I don’t think I’d ever have seen myself sitting in a hotel, with 7 days to go until my first tri, writing lists of things to remember to take with me.

I’ve changed so much that I’m almost unrecognisable to myself now. I mean, I’ve always liked lists, but physically and psychologically I feel like I’m a different person. Stronger in both respects. Hardier. More of a “doer” than a “nah. It’s cool. I can’t be arsed” type.

Endurance has completely changed me. It’s given me self-belief and the ability to shed renewed perspective on stressful situations. “Honestly this is not as shit as cycling in hail into a headwind”… I still freak the fuck out every now and then, but it’s easier for me to cope at work, where my workload has grown exponentially in the last 2 years.

I’ll never claim to be an expert in this stuff, I’m really only trying to get by and have fun, but I’ve learnt a lot about how *not* to do things. And that if things go tits up it’s ok, really.

I’ve stopped worrying about DNF and technical failures. Sort of. I know I can change a tube. I know I can fix basic problems on the bike. I know the run will suck. I know I’ll punch myself in the face at least twice while removing my wet suit. And I’m ok with all of that.

Now it’s just me, 7 full-on days of work and then a half iron distance swim-bike-run next Sunday.

Easy, right?

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. If I had to be completely truthful, I am largely shitting myself. Everyone keeps telling me not to worry, but I’d rather be nervous than not. This MEANS something to me. This is MY fight. MY time spent running in the snow, cycling into permanent gale-force head winds and swimming in 11 degree lochs full of Tesco trolleys. This is MY sacrificed social life. MY “sorry I’m bloody training AGAIN” texts to my VERY patient friends and family. I’ll be a bit pissed off if I don’t finish it. Purely because WHAT A WASTE OF A YEAR… Even though I’m at least 80% more ace than I was last year… So there’s that I suppose.

If I wasn’t nervous I’d question why I’d done all this hard work.

I’ve had the opportunity to raise some funds for a really brilliant charity  and I’ve met the most amazing people. I’d not change ANYTHING about this adventure.

Well. Maybe less falling off stuff.

I keep being asked what’s next? I’d kind of like to say I want to get this one out of the way first, but plans are forming in my head. I have loved triathlon training. Really truly. Well. Ok maybe less 5am sessions would be nice, but honestly I have loved watching my body change and the improvements in speed and agility have been amazing.

I remember back when I started training for the marathon, my buddy told me “it doesn’t get easier, you just get faster” and I’m starting to feel that happen now.

What was “race pace” over a 10k before is now a gentle effort. That’s huge for me.

I managed to pull an 18mph ave speed out of the bag over an hours ride last night. That’s a massive improvement (that’s NOT my Feldy pace… I’d die)

So it’s all coming together nicely. I’m actually enjoying “taper”. I’ve only really thrown one strop so far. And it was justified (I don’t even WANT to get into it).

I’m so goal orientated that it makes sense to give myself targets for the next year. I struggle without a Plan A. So once Feldy is done and dusted, I’ll start researching my next moves. (I’ve already decided but shhhh….)

So. 7 days to go. Bring it.

Birthdays, Bikes and Bells. 

Where to even start!! 

It’s been a crazy week. The first of a fortnight off work (finally. It’s been AGES) but hectic none the less. I had a birthday (mine and other half’s) and a half marathon and cake-dates and a new bike. 

Let’s start with the bike. 

Built by Brian and his dad, my Dedacciai carbon framed beauty would’ve cost around £2k new. They have worked to build this absolute beast. And she weighs less than one of my cats. 

Hello Stella.  
Then the half marathon happened. Loch Leven half was my nemesis, this year. Last year I shouldn’t have done it. 2 weeks out from Edinburgh and properly injured, I forced myself to walk/run it in 2:27. 

This year is a different story. 

The plan was consistency and no injuries. I’ll probably know more in the morning but so far the only aches and pains are standard post-endurance niggles. 

My splits are pretty even. Although I did set out pretty quick by the looks of things. And I managed new PBs over 10k, 15k, 10miles and 20k. My final time for the half was (I think) around 2:16. I’m so proud. I didn’t walk. Apart from when taking on water. So all of 2 minutes walking in 2 hours is huge progress. 

The race itself is brilliantly organised. It’s a very “clubby” event though, so even at my relatively not-shit pace I was still quite far back in the pack. Because it’s such a popular race for experienced and fast 1/2 marathoners and marathoners, they all beast it in under 90 minutes. 

I smiled the whole way. I took a gel on around 10k in where there was a water station to wash it down. That was sensible. I got a boost before I started to flag and I really felt the benefit. At one point, I passed my buddy Michelle (another of Coach’s clients) who was in a bit of trouble. I checked she was ok and she waved me on. I managed to shout and wave at a Marshall further up to tell them to go find her. I know she’s fine now and took the tough decision to withdraw (she needs to save herself for Edinburgh in a few weeks). She took the most amazing finisher pic of me which I’ll show you in a bit. 

Oh. It was HOT! It rained a bit and was quite cool at the start, but as we turned a corner onto the flat ‘moss road’ on the way to Scotlandwell (where mum, dad and Lissie were all waiting) the wind went away completely and it was MELTING. Short-shorts and t shirt combo was the best choice. Even with SPF30 I think I have sunburn. Oops. 

I love this pic dad took of me. Mum shouted “bloody hell she’s not crying this time” and I got the giggles. 

Around 11km there’s a not-terribly-steep-but-terribly-steep-after-11km hill. I overtook a lot of walkers and this became the theme of the second half of the race.  
Having been in their shoes last year, I seized the opportunity to encourage and try to motivate each runner I passed. I know the route so was able to give those unfamiliar with it, a brief summary of how little they had left. I made some people smile, dished out some fist-bumps and high fives and continued on my journey. That was nice. 

I’d had a stitch on and off for a few miles and knew it was because of my quicker-than-normal pace. So I used breathing techniques and sipping water at water stations to make it fuck off and, for once, it worked. 

By 12 miles, my head was starting to question itself. “Walk. Just a bit. Go on.” But my legs kept going. I’d been feeling pretty worried about my shins coming into this race but they’d stopped niggling around 4 miles. By 10 miles, the IT bands were starting to ping a bit. And the old hip problems were causing some minor stiffness. But I just kept the pace slower and pushed on. 

Once I passed the “one mile to go” marker and ran into the housing estate before the school, I started feeling a bit anxious about the finish. I’ve no idea why I get this. It’s bizarre. I could have honestly stopped here and walked the rest. 

But I didn’t. 

Suddenly; I burst into a cacophany of bagpipes, cheers and neon Lycra and there was the finishing chute. 

I picked up my knees, high fived my buddy as I passed, waved for dad’s camera and sped over the line in 2:16. 

That’s 11 minutes faster than last year. And I’m not (so far) broken. 


So there we go. And the medal? A cowbell. Odd. And I’m not sure what the link is, but there must be an in-joke in there somewhere between the clubs. 

Today I have mostly eaten everything in sight. And legs permitting, I hope to give Stella her first flight tomorrow. 

It’s a very exciting time for this budding triathlete. 


Huge well done to my future bro-in-law too, who finished in under 2:10. Go Sean!!!

Peace out, for now x 


The Good Run

If you are one of those lucky, LUCKY people who never have a “bad run” then stop reading. Because all of this will be things you already know. So off you go and be smug and stuff.

Right. That leaves the rest of you. Those of you who know all too well what a bad run involves.

For those reading who don’t run or have yet to draw the line between what you yourself consider to be either type of run, let me clarify what, to me, defines both “good” and “bad.

Such Good Many Run Such Wow

Let me point out that all runs have some degree of suck. Unless you’re high or mental or both or one of those “natural” runners. There are varying degrees of suckage. The Good Run involves the least suckage. Maybe only your left shin hurts. Maybe you got a stitch at mile 6 of 7 instead of mile 2. Maybe you didn’t shit your pants or puke. Maybe you even set a PB (Personal Best).

Yuck Very Bad Such Horror

This involves pain. Puke. Possibly crapping your pants. Possibly having to piss in a hedge and accidentally squatting on a nettle. Maybe tears. Probably shouting. Definitely a stitch. Legs so heavy it feels as if two full sized Orcas have somehow adhered themselves to you.

So now we’re clear on the definitions, I can begin.

The Good Run

I had one of those today. Naturally it sucked until 5k in. Because most runs suck until my legs stop hating me for making them get out of bed and my stomach stops trying to digest itself.

I often get asked why I run when it’s so damn bad for your legs/ankles/knees/hips/face and in my blog called But Why? I answered some of those questions. I didn’t so much discuss my love of running though.


There’s something strangely therapeutic about running through the woods and fields sporting a face more twisted in anguish than a sock caught in the door of the washing machine. Ask yourself, when was the last time you were truly alone with your thoughts? My phone stays at home or in my pocket. I have no web-based distractions. The only distraction I have comes in the form of a friendly beep every kilometer to tell me I’m still moving. Occasionally a badly behaved or growly pooch will launch at me, which usually prompts some loud reminding that YOU ARE IN A NATURE RESERVE PUT YOUR OVERGROWN RODENT ON A LEAD.

But that’s it. Just me and my 1000mph brain. I have my best ideas when I run. And quietly berate myself for my worst. I clear my head of work stress and other life-nuisances.

If I’m out on a PB seeking 5k, I’ll probably just be moments from vomiting the whole time. But afterwards, a kind of zen-like calm descends and I have my most productive days following a run like that.

On a slow, easy 10k, I put the world to rights. By myself. It’s tremendous and in my crazy, chaotic life, I absolutely cherish those quiet hours alone with myself.

Noticing Stuff

When I’m out for a ride on the MTB, I rarely have much time to take things in. The only wildlife I see tends to be the deer that I startle or a local Jakey with his carry-oot. When I’m out running, I see much more. I’ve seen whole housing estates spring up house-by-house in the town and the trail I run has changed and become established and overgrown. I’ve seen every season on the trail for two years now. I like that.

My favourite animals to see are Robins. Granny used to tell me if a Robin hopped in front of me, it was someone I know checking in. That makes me smile. They don’t hop though, they fly like they’re racing. Or sit and watch me run by. I say hello to magpies, and sheep and cows and horses. I stop to fuss over collies and labs. Not yappy little pretend dogs though. Yuck. It’s like I’m Dr sodding Dolittle.

Fit Folk Bants and Lolz

I like to say hello to other runners and cyclists. Ones that are so deeply in the pain-zone that they can barely lift their eyes from focusing on a spot ahead. When I did hill-repeats on Saturday, a guy wearing the most complex Camelback I’ve ever seen asked me to wish him luck on his two-lap Marathon PB mission. Mental. One lap of the loch used to break my head. Imagine two. IMAGINE.

When the weather is shitty, (and I mean REALLY shitty, folk of sunnier/milder climes) and the ice is hitting my face and the wind is so strong I fall over, the exchanges become that of people who are equally bloody mental and they give not even the smallest of fucks. “lovely morning!” or “thank feck for thermals” are common hello’s that I get.

When I’m on my bike I don’t get long to converse in passing. But running is slower and more laid back. People always seem surprised when a runner smiles back. But I’m not looking for the pain-zone yet. I’m still getting my mojo back.

Trying a New Thing

On Saturday, I decided to get in my car and drive to another section of The Heritage Trail. A hilly section. Because flat is fabulous but I want a better ass. So off I went in Sheldon the Mini and we found a carpark and it was tremendous. Not the hill bits, because fuck that shit. But the change of scenery did me a world of good.

When it all just….works

Very occasionally, if I’ve been ever-such-a-good-Sensible, nothing aches. The breathing is labour-free. The lungs open. The snot goes away. The legs turnover without a second thought. And I could go on for HOURS. These runs are rare. I honestly never ever thought I’d have one. Marathon training will do it’s absolute best to destroy every ounce of fondness that you have for running. So these runs are the very bestest. The icing on the cake of Fit. The jar of Nutella you find in the cupboard after a shit day at work. The Jaffa Cake your colleague gives you at coffee time. Cherish this run.

Next time you find yourself growing bored of a route, change it. I read an article lately that recommended changing a route every so often so that your body has to re-adjust. There is an argument that not following a routine or pattern can make you more efficient, faster and stronger.

Notice things. Look at stuff. Stop to take pictures (the light was so amazing last weekend that I couldn’t not stop… this is where I run…)

run trees

Lastly, SMILE. Because running is a privilege.


The Exciting Thing

Today something magical happened. 

You all know of my struggle since Marathon. The damage to my hips has been significant enough to make even walking slightly Quasimodo-esque. Running has been out of the question and also largely banned by physio. Initially, it looked like running would never ever be the same. But…

Last week, I was told to try running. Gently. For a short distance. Today I did it. 

1 mile. 9:52. Mild discomfort only. I felt exactly the same elation as I did when I finished the Marathon. Except more because I wasn’t actually dying and it wasn’t the middle of a thunder storm and my sister wasn’t making me cry. 

This enormous victory happened because of one major thing: I’m a determined little bastard. 

Competitive? Me? NO!

This determination stems from my very VERY competitive nature. I’m the worst kind of competitive. I will go out of my way to win if I can. And I’m competitive with MYSELF. A good example would be a new phenomenon I’ve discovered since re-kindling my Swimming Love. 

Picture the scene: You dip into the water. You’re ready. Garmin set to Swim mode. In your peripheral vision you spot a swimmer of a similar age/build. They are head to toe in club kit. They mean business. They’ve seen you look. They know you’ve clocked them. DAMMIT. You’re already weak. So you swim. You swim hard. Fast. Relentlessly. 8 hard years of turn practice and  stroke perfection coming back to you. You overtake. A lot. Then they start to gain on you. So you push a bit harder. You’ve surpassed your planned distance for the session. You care not. YOU WILL WIN. 

Absurd. But awesome. And yes. I won.

The Determination

One thing I’ve learnt about myself over the last 6 months is that I am a lot stronger mentally than I ever thought I was. It takes a special kind of grit to push yourself to run a 5:40:16 Marathon and still be able to function at the end. (I use the term “function” VERY VERY loosely. I basically ate Pringles and Bananas constantly for 2 hours while crying like a toddler) 

It takes an even greater mental strength to realise at 5:05 hrs that you have not a hope in hell of finishing sub 5 or even sub 5:30. And when that moment is in a deserted street in Prestonpans while you stretch your seized quad beside a man dressed as a smurf, that feels pretty damn bleak. I tell you.

I wanted to run a marathon for me. I wanted to do something good with it, so I did. I helped a wonderful charity. I wanted to run a marathon to prove a point. That I COULD. I was fed up of being chubby, of telling myself I couldn’t do things. Or that I wouldn’t. I needed to change that and I am so so happy that I did. 

There’s a song on repeat on Radio 1 at the moment, and if you can get past the fact that it’s a wildly overproduced pop-fest with a slightly chavvy edge, the lyrics stick in my head…. 

“I never held back from the edge
We all hit the same line in the end
But I don’t wanna fall down too soon
Take every moment I can with you
Not over till we’re in the clear
Hold tight and let go of the fear
All the trouble we’ve left behind
We’re not gonna get home tonight”

Here’s a link to the audio…

It just makes me think, I’ve let go of so much negativity and self-doubt. I actually heard myself speaking to a colleague today saying “the only thing standing in the way of you doing something, is yourself” and that is so true. Loads of people have scoffed and said “there’s no way you’d run a marathon” and “if you’re this injured do you really think you’ll ever do another one?” and I’ve realised a bit that those people don’t matter. You can do things to prove the haters wrong, and it’s a happy by-product of achieving your ambitions, but in the end, DO IT FOR YOU.

I can and WILL be #RunnerBean once more. I can and WILL be #TriathlonBean within a year. 


Bring. It. On. 




And So It Continues…

This blog isn’t going on sabbatical until my next mission….

… Because I’m already on it.

I’d quietly, to myself, decided that I’d do another marathon before I ran 18 miles in training and somewhat significantly damaged the ligaments in my left hip, and then ended up with a rather severe bout of tonsillitis which I think pretty much screwed the rest of my training and left me an exhausted, antibiotic fuelled wreck for taper.

Then I entered the ballot for VLM2015 and told everyone. Big fucking thumbs up, Bean.

This gives me until October when it’s revealed whether or not I’ve made the cut, to get my hip better and focus on another mission. #TriathlonBean

Yep. I can feel my non-athletic friends rolling their eyes.

For me it’s not about winning, or being the fastest, or the fittest. Let’s face it, none of those are a realistic ambition. However, having shed the two stone I’d gained in my early twenties, I now need to be the fittest and leanest that I can be, for me. (Also, I like medals. I like them A LOT)

I went for my first swim speed test last week. I swam 1000m Front Crawl in just under 23minutes. Good pace. I felt strong and my technique hadn’t lost it’s edge despite the 12 year hiatus. That’s the benchmark set. I want to get to 20 minutes.

The cycling is getting faster. And I’m almost never encountering instant brain-death now. I’m bound to my MTB until such time as 1) I no longer dodge death once per ride 2) my road bike is built 3) I’m no longer terrified of clippies.

The only thing missing is running. And I miss it very, very much. Despite my initially troublesome relationship with running, it didn’t take me long to fall for it. I dropped music on long runs and enjoyed peaceful birdsong and the shade of the trees. I make it sound heavenly and problem free, which of course it wasn’t. However, the health benefits (pain aside) have been significant and it’s lead me to some amazing places and brilliant people.

I’m very lucky that most people I know are incredibly supportive. But I get a lot of concerned questions whenever I discuss my athletic ambitions.

“Aren’t you worried you will lose too much weight?” – no. Carbs are my friend. I love them too dearly to be bony.

“Are you mental?” – duh.

But the most frequent is this: “are you a bit addicted to exercise?”

I can now fully understand why people become addicted to exercising. I’ve found it incredibly hard both emotionally and physically to have to cut out running. If I don’t, I risk permanent damage to my hip until it’s repaired and strengthened. There is no accurate time frame for this, which for a control freak like me is VERY DIFFICULT. Also, it fucking hurts. But I feel like I fucking NEED to run. I threw a massive paddy last week when my quad and calf cramped just as I was getting into a fast lap of Loch Leven on the bike. Don’t think OH was *quite* prepared for waterworks combined with “FUCK SAKE I NEED TO BE ABLE TO THIS”

Is this what the Marathon has done to me? Am I now destined to wander the earth in search of the next endurance event to throw myself into?

I have my limits. I think. I just need to find out what they are….

Marathon – The Aftermath

My previous blog (26.2) was written at 6am the morning after my first ever marathon.

Social Media Meltdown

It was clear flicking through the EMF facebook page on Monday, that there were a LOT of unhappy runners. Most of them raging because the results were not going to be published publicly. This isn’t really an issue for Bean and her 5:40:16 run, but for those wishing to qualify for Boston or the likes of, its a bit shite. However, it IS the 3rd year they’ve done this. Possibly cost cutting… Which fits in with the absolute SHAMBLES that was the finishing line.

By the time I got there, no one was really manning anything. It wasn’t until I found my mum and realised how starving I was that I remembered that I was supposed to get a goody bag. They’d run out. I’d got a T shirt handed to me and asked if I wanted some water and my medal. (Are you REALLY asking if I WANT my medal? GEEZ IT.) And when I got back to my friend’s flat, I opened the Tee to find it didn’t have the distance on it. It was just the standard Finishers tee that you get as well as the distance one.


I emailed EMF who eventually came back to me on Tuesday afternoon to say they’d post them out “asap”. It’s not that big a deal, I’d be more pissed off if I was the girl who posted to say she’d got home to somewhere in England only to find she’d been given a half tee.

Anyway. Edinburgh has the potential to be a really brilliant event. And I did love it. (Despite the fact that you’re only *in* Edinburgh for 5 miles) But it seems they get something wrong every year. I gave them very honest feedback… I’ve since had an email saying you can now choose to make your times public. But no mention of the fact that eventually the RAN OUT OF MEDALS?!! (Shocking!!!) Being a retail buyer and having to predict sell-throughs on products with no actual firm information on how many I will sell, it amazes me that they, despite knowing exactly how many people had entered each race, STILL ran out of stuff. Their predicted failure rate is obviously offensively high.

The Recovery

Moving was pretty horrible in the first few days, if I’m honest. If I was totally still in either the seated, lying down or standing positions, I was fine. Brilliant, in fact. But the transition between these three positions was tough. Yes I stretched off, and had a massage, but there’s only so much that my body will let me away with and forcing it through 26.2 miles with a dodgy hip was a bit too much for it.

I had, with some kind of stroke of genius, managed to book a physio appointment for the Monday night. I couldn’t drive so Brian had to take me and collect me. PhysioDan took one look at me and giggled. What an absolute mess I was in.

The Walk was pretty funny. Like someone had stuck a splint to my left knee. I couldn’t bend it at all. I wasn’t very brave about it either. Dan focused on stretching out my hip and working on my knee a bit and diagnosed a bit of Patella Tendonitis which ought to clear up on it’s own.

The sunburn was deep and very painful. I had a small cry each time I had to apply Aloe gel. Lesson firmly learned.

Oh. And I wore my medal ALL of Monday.

Tuesday saw small improvements to range of movement. Physio made my knee feel a bit better and my limp was starting to look less like a Quasimodo walk. Bonus.

I managed 800m of breastroke and Frontcrawl at the pool on Tuesday night. Very relaxing and I felt fast (though it’s likely that the other pool users were just REALLY slow…)

On Wednesday I returned to work, bling in tow, to regale my colleagues with many tales of Marathonning. They did pretty well. Not one person yawned. I work on the 3rd floor of a very old building and the lift is supposed to be for customers only. I kept forgetting that my knee was wobbly (I’m used to the hip… that’s been groaning on since March…) and trying to scale the stairs. Lift it was until Friday.

I didn’t do any exercise this week apart from swimming and a bit of Pilates based hip work. And by Friday I was REALLY beginning to miss running, like some kind of weird addict. But I knew my body wanted me to rest.

After work on Saturday I attempted a cycle. 14 miles around Loch Leven on my MTB. It felt MAGIC. I felt fast and strong and nothing hurt. “This is what I’ll do for a while” I told myself. So this morning I ventured out again and went anticlockwise and managed a QOM! (Unbelievably)

Setting Goals

I’m the type of person that works well to goals. If I don’t have them I tend to feel a bit lost and depressed. So all week I’ve been busy setting mini goals for myself. And bigger ones.

I want to do a triathlon next year. Plus VLM if I get a place. So swimming and cycling will now get plenty of attention while I get back to the gym and start rebuilding my hips and knees with a bit more strength. Running will be small distances for now. Just enough to keep all the parts moving but not enough to do any damage.

The First Trot

I went out and tried a mile today. Not a brilliant plan. I knew my legs would feel like lead but I wasn’t really prepared for all the weird pains that started in my pelvis and knees. Bit depressing. But as I said above, it’s time to build strength now so that for next time (and there WILL be a next time) I will be stronger, leaner and faster.

The Questions

Marathon runners. Ask yourself: what is the weirdest/funniest/most offensive question you’ve ever been asked?

Here’s a few beauties from this week: (Along with my retorts)

“YOU ran a marathon?”  – Yes. Quite surprising, isn’t it? Given my addiction to donuts and beer…

(When told I’d like to run VLM and do a tri next year) “You’re nearly 30. Shouldn’t you be thinking about having children?” – My sole purpose is not to breed. I’d actually like to achieve some life-goals before I start pro-creating and spending all my money on baby-wipes and pampers instead of Asics and Garmins.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” – Yes. “Why would you do something that hurts?” – Because it’s a marathon. Not many people get to do those. Lots of people can’t even walk. And I can. I can use my legs. So I will.

Final Thoughts

The marathon has fundamentally changed me. I’m so focused on getting stronger now. I’ve always been competitive, but I’m REALLY competitive with myself. I feel a strange sense of calm. I know now that I pushed through pain for about 2 hours just to get to a finish line. If I can do that, I can probably push myself to do almost anything. Manning up is going to become second nature, I think….



Taper Madness


Following yesterday’s whiney, wallowy blog, (Terror and being hated by my own body) I manned up a bit and did some thinking and some googling. It turns out that what I am experiencing is actually a thing. I know. Shocker. Some call it a Taper Tantrum, others Taper Madness. (It’s a thing if Runners World have written about it… )

I thought I would go back to the start of tapering and talk myself through what I’ve actually experienced while reading through the article. It completely rationalised everything and I woke up today feeling still a bit bruised and tired, but much MUCH better than yesterday.

Week 1: “First week of my fortnight off work. Week after my 20mile run/walk/cry/vomit”

Symptoms: STARVING at all times. Completely exhausted. Fell off bike on day two and got a concussion (probably unrelated. I’m accident prone…) Aches and pains. Inability to walk down stairs due to quad-related difficulties.

Explanation: I’ve just completed my longest run. Ever. I’ve also just had a particularly nasty bout of tonsillitis and a week of strong antibiotics. Of COURSE my body is broken.

For Next Time: Make sure not to go out on a bike, drink plenty of fluids, eat plenty of protein and watch the carb intake. Try and maintain mileage over the week to around 30% less than previous week.

Week 2:”2nd week off work. Week after concussion and 1/2Marathon PB”

Symptoms: Craving sugar like some kind of crazed junkie. (Actually considered making sugar-butter icing JUST to eat it with a spoon. THAT is a sugar addiction…) weight gain (thank you sugar), feeling of complete and utter desolation. LOTS of tears. LOTS of tantrums. Inability to walk without a limp. Back pain, hip and knee pain, weird run, weird walk. Just fucking WEIRD. The best way to describe the pain is like being in a dream, when you are trying to run towards or away from something, and you…just….can’t….move.

Explanation: Over the last 6 months, my body has become addicted both physically and mentally to running. And now, after building up for ages, I’ve cut right back. A further 50% to what I was doing before. All of a sudden, I’m moving less and eating more. I’ve put on weight, I definitely do NOT feel strong and I’ve got these phantom aches and pains. When I should be feeling my strongest, I’m actually feeling weak and useless.

For Next Time: Remember that I’m on a come-down. Maintain protein levels at a higher level than normal to aid muscle recovery. Include healthy fats and carbs. The pains are mostly in my head but there is a lot of science that points towards pain coming from the body repairing itself. In the same way a scab sometimes hurts more when it’s healing. A muscle or joint hurts more during it’s recovery. So basically I’m like Wolverine at this point. Only less hairy. (No less grumpy…)

I’m now about to go into week 3. Decided to cool the running off a bit and visited mum today who worked on my pelvis, hams, quads and lower back with massage. That’s certainly eased whatever it was. Last night I walked 3 miles out and 3miles back and it took me over an hour and a half. Very frustrating but I know it’s as important to keep the joints and muscles moving as it is to let them recover.

This week is Sports Massage, final Physio, Gentle Walk/Jog/Runs and pilates with my race on Sunday 25th. Carb-loading will be kept to a relative minimum as I’m already carrying 5 extra pounds of holiday-chub and I don’t want to add strain to my ankles. (I’m certainly no heifer but every little ounce counts) I plan on increasing carb intake over this weekend and into the beginning of next week. From Wednesday onwards I shall cut back and concentrate on grazing. (Basically, instead of 3 meals (1 small, 2 medium) per day, have 4 or 5 small meals containing lighter foods with moderate carb but plenty of healthy fats) Saturday will be the same. With small snacky meals all day and porridge with honey and banana about 2 hours before bed.



Oh shiiiiiit. It’s getting real.

Also, I have now got my race number….


I’m planning on blogging the night before if I haven’t worked myself into a pit of fear and despair…

Anyway. If you’re going to be there on Sunday 25th, look out for me. I’ll be the one smiling at the cameras and trying not to collapse in a heap….

The trouble with Bean

I have this thing. Which is quite annoying. You see, I’m incredibly accident prone. Which is funny because I’m the most paranoid, over-careful person you’ll meet. So it’s like I make myself fall over and fall off things and get sick.

I posted last week about my bout of super delightful tonsillitis which thankfully fucked off. However, I’ve since been left with a very tickly cough and resulting sore throat.

I gave up donuts and pizza’s and took up running to be HEALTHY and LOOK what it’s done to me??!!

Anyway. I ran/walked/cried for 20 miles on Sunday. OH came with me and ran for the first 6 before his knee gave in. I continued to mile 10 then turned back. Mile 8 was pretty brutal. I had one of my stitches that won’t go the fuck away. Then I got a bit pukey because I was trying to push through it. OH had caught me up walking by this point and was luckily on hand to clean me up and kick my arse into moving again.

At around mile 11, the humidity was getting to me. I was fucking miserable. The midgies were unbearable and for the first time in a long time I fucking HATED running. Hated it. Then a lovely man passed by, giving his daughter a piggy back as his misses pushed a pram and said “chin up,darlin, you’re doing well” and I had to wait 5 minutes until they’d passed so I could stop and sob and have a serious fucking word with myself.

When times get tough (and they got very fucking tough that day…) a wise chap I know has given me a few techniques to try and get myself to HTFU. So. Serveral shouty swears at myself, some serious reminding myself of how lucky I am to even be able to run in the first place, and I was on my way again. Around mile 13, I stumbled upon OH again who was freezing and waiting for me. He had really fucked his knee so was in no position to run back with me. He walked and I ran/jog/walked and eventually after 20.1 miles and 4hrs 12 mins, I got home.

I hurt. I had really given that last few miles everything. But I had smashed the big mental barrier I’d built for myself from day 1. My legs were actually ok. My hip wasn’t but fuck it. I’d only have 6.1 more miles to go on the day. AND I’m ahead of sweeper bus pace…

Monday arrived and myself and OH departed for 4 days in the highlands for our joint birthday. Mountain bikes strapped to the back of the car, suitcases full of kit. Perfect.

Except I’m Bean. Which inevitably means that something will go tits up.

I’m a very nervous cyclist and after 15 years of very little bike action, I’ve recently rekindled my love of it. Albeit very slowly and not too steep, please.

OH is very confident and lacks the Fear Gene that I have in abundance. He can quite happily throw himself down the side of a mountain at speed. Me? Not so much.

So on our Birthday, we had a huge breakfast and then set out a few hours later to adventure along the Great Glen Way. The first 6 miles were flat, slightly potholed canal track. Perfect. Nice and quick. Rainy then sunny. Cold, highland air. After 6 ish miles we reached Bridge of Oich where the lovely easy path stopped and the Great Glen Way got a bit fucking mental. Pot-holed muddy grass with hardcore forestry paths, steep ascents, descents and then….. The Tree Roots. About 100m in I shouted along to OH that I wasn’t doing too well. We were on a time limit so we decided we’d head back to Fort Augustus. Easy enough?


50m later, I hadn’t quite got up to enough speed to avoid the large tree roots and my front wheel slid off one, large chunky tyres failing to find grip and bedding into the mud in front of a root 6 inches high. Bang.

I came off sideways, my right shoulder hit the ground first, then my head, then my hip (which has a VERY impressive bruise). The bike landed on my hand. When I opened my eyes seconds later, OH was swearing as his already damaged knee twisted while getting his clippies off his pedals to try and get me up. I was bashed to hell but I was fine. Oh. I was also crying like a fucking toddler. “I *sob* hate *sob* this *sob* my *sob* head *sob* hurts”

“Get up, you’re ok. Take your helmet off”

No blood from my head.



My face was fine. But I was feeling VERY sick and dizzy and we both knew I’d given myself a concussion. We were at least 40 minutes cycling off road from the main road and my helmet was compromised and I had concussion so our only choice was to walk. For over an hour. Until we reached the sanctuary of a nice flat canal path. OH with his totally trashed knees and clippy shoes was not in the mood for Bean’s Concussion Banter.

“Did it look cool?”


“Oh. This is JUST like an episode of 999. Hours from anywhere.. DISASTER STRIKES”

“It’s not a disaster. you’ve bumped your head because you’re a fanny”

At one point, nausea got pretty bad so I was rushed into the shade of a tree while Mr “Just got my First Aiders Badge” used his iPhone flash bulb to check my pupil dilation.

Anyway. Hours of scary middle-of-nowhere-ness later, we arrived back at our cottage and I was chucked in a car and driven very quickly to Raigmore where a very lovely doctor lady examined me thoroughly and told me I’d be fine.

She also mentioned that I was very lucky to have been wearing a helmet and wearing it properly. Any looser, there’d have been brain damage.

When I told her I was training to run the Edinburgh Marathon, could I go for a run later? She said “NO! Rest. And no more bikes…”

Brilliant. Think I’ll hang my shiny new replacement helmet up until AFTER May 25th…

Damage Sustained to Forward RHS of hemlet. This was a slow crash at no more than 8mph on a track. The rock I hit with my Right temple was the size of a tennis ball.


My Right Shin/Calf… (thankfully no muscle bruising)Image

The bruise on my Right hand. I didn’t use it to break the fall. My reflexes aren’t that quick. Instead I broke the fall of my carbon fibre handle bars, which, as it turns out, are quite heavy when attached to a bike….



My shiny new Bell Ventura helmet.