I tried everything.
In my head, I would do it, positive, mental attitude in place.
Chicken stir fry with loads of vegetables, bean sprouts and noodles my meal the evening before and a drop of wine to relax me and make me sleep.
I got up early to give my body plenty of time to wake up and to eat half a banana.
Favourite trainers, best kit.
I arrived early to do a good warm up lap. Nice and gentle, all joints moving well.
Stretching gently, kept moving, positive mind.
Moved nearer to the front of the starting huddle.
It felt like a quicker first lap, managed to stay with Andrea. We kept Gill in our sight.
Breathing under control.
Felt good.
Felt quick.
Sprint finished.
Missed it by 12 seconds.
A whole twelve seconds.
Gutted.
Saturday 30 August 2014
Tuesday 19 August 2014
Silver Threads
There is a silver thread from the top of my head pulling upwards. It keeps my eyes on the horizon or looking at the birds in the tree tops or counting the chimney pots atop the roof tops. Look ahead, keep your eyes on where you're going. Pick the points of where your feet will soon be treading. Farm steads, lone trees, bends in the road. Keep the silver thread taught, don't let those eyes drop to the floor I don't want to fall anymore. Enjoy the view, make it to the top of the hill and survey the scenery laid out below, the patchwork of the countryside. Follow the lane down alongside the lush golden fields, soon they will be scalped and ploughed and the colours will change as the season moves on.
There are silver threads in my hair. No longer can I pull them out one by one. Accept them. Love them. There are lines around my eyes and I push them back and wish. Power surges and hormonal dips play havoc. Time is moving on, praying I'm only half way, so much to do, so many dreams to chase so much to see and do.
There are silver threads to be worn. I shall wear silver shoes too. I shall celebrate in style with my nearest and dearest, my wonderful family. We shall wine and dine on the finest. We shall laugh and reminisce and look forward. Cryptic messages in my diary soon to be told. Its only a number and not really that old.
Medals have been won and challenges achieved. The next season begins with goals anew. The next decade of dreams waiting to unfurl, races to be done and most precious of all, time to be spent with my most special girl.
There are silver threads in my hair. No longer can I pull them out one by one. Accept them. Love them. There are lines around my eyes and I push them back and wish. Power surges and hormonal dips play havoc. Time is moving on, praying I'm only half way, so much to do, so many dreams to chase so much to see and do.
There are silver threads to be worn. I shall wear silver shoes too. I shall celebrate in style with my nearest and dearest, my wonderful family. We shall wine and dine on the finest. We shall laugh and reminisce and look forward. Cryptic messages in my diary soon to be told. Its only a number and not really that old.
Medals have been won and challenges achieved. The next season begins with goals anew. The next decade of dreams waiting to unfurl, races to be done and most precious of all, time to be spent with my most special girl.
Tuesday 12 August 2014
Home and Away
I was unsure if I needed to pack my running kit for my holiday. I wanted to pack light and trainers are heavy and cumbersome compared to another pair of sparkly flip flops. Plus I would be too hot to wear them en route, I was longing for that blast of hot hair to hit me in the face and once my foot hit the top step to disembark from the plane my freshly manicured toes needed to be sunshine ready.
I was also feeling somewhat tired and wondered if my week away needed total relaxation, long lie ins and late nights sitting on the balcony enjoying copious amounts of rose wine. My knees were still not completely recovered from my last race and a trip up the garden steps resulting in a freshly scraped layer of skin removal from both and a bruised chin had me thinking it was time for a complete rest. Save the running for home.
So, the running kit didn't even make it to the 'to be considered for packing pile.'
Then my mind started thinking, what if there was a lovely long stretch of downhill road from mountain top to beach to be attempted? What if there was a lovely long coast road to be enjoyed? What if there was a mountain top trail to be explored?
And that was that. The trainers were in the bag.
Three early morning get ups had me enjoying an almost deserted port, save for the other runners. Who by the way were very serious looking and barely acknowledged my wide smile and morning hola's. I set out from the hotel just as the sun peeped over the top of the mountain. My first outing took me up the hill and back down to a park with a running track. I had spotted runners tracking the evening before and I was going to have me some of that! Two dusty loops and I was bored and so I headed out along the sea front towards the hill that headed up to the lighthouse.
I didn't climb to the top until my second run. This time Mr B got up too, he set off a few minutes before me, he was walking to the top and I was jogging gently, hoping to reach the top without stopping. I almost made it but the final switch back had me gasping for breath, sweat dripping from every pore and legs feeling like jelly. I walked the final part and took in the glorious view whilst I waited for my husband to join me and share the joy of being alive and fit and well with me.
We took the tram into the town of Soller and I calculated the journey there and back was probably about 6k, and mentally planned my next run. I could have that glass of rose wine, that pastry, that ice cream, after all I had brought my running shoes, I'd earn them! I set out on my third run fully intending to follow the road into the town but the lure of the lighthouse called me back up the hill. This time I couldn't manage so far before walking, but hey, I didn't care one bit. I also attempted the trail at the top. Sadly the terrain immediately reminded me of the Selworthy Beacon trail and neither my knees or my head were ready for that. Instead I enjoyed the downhill all the way to the bottom. And, I didn't fall. Well not then anyway, I did manage to slip down the last three steps of the hotel on our last day, at least my knees were saved this time, my bottom took the brunt this time. I'm seriously thinking this falling over malarkey might need looking into now.
Being out and about before the rest of the world puts a truly magical slant onto a place. Just the workers getting everything ready for the hordes of tourists. Rubbish collectors, sand sweepers and tram drivers, all far more smiley than the runners. Still waters, lone swimmers, bathing birds. Bobbing dinghies alongside the sleeping super yachts and cruisers. Dog walkers, stationary taxis and the postie. Heaven, glorious peaceful heaven. Running is relaxation. Running is recuperation. Running is for home and away.
I swam too. No waves, perfectly still, clear, warm water. I spent many hours floating and studying the homes around the port. I eventually chose a villa as my perfect home. A villa in need of renovation. Perfectly placed atop one of the lower mountains, right around at one end of the port. A beautiful view looking out across the boats and restaurants and from the back a never ending vista of sea. Yep, that's the one, I'll take it. I would never have to think about packing my trainers again.
I wonder if my granddaughter would like to spend long hot summers in Mallorca with her Nanna and Pops?
I was also feeling somewhat tired and wondered if my week away needed total relaxation, long lie ins and late nights sitting on the balcony enjoying copious amounts of rose wine. My knees were still not completely recovered from my last race and a trip up the garden steps resulting in a freshly scraped layer of skin removal from both and a bruised chin had me thinking it was time for a complete rest. Save the running for home.
So, the running kit didn't even make it to the 'to be considered for packing pile.'
Then my mind started thinking, what if there was a lovely long stretch of downhill road from mountain top to beach to be attempted? What if there was a lovely long coast road to be enjoyed? What if there was a mountain top trail to be explored?
And that was that. The trainers were in the bag.
Three early morning get ups had me enjoying an almost deserted port, save for the other runners. Who by the way were very serious looking and barely acknowledged my wide smile and morning hola's. I set out from the hotel just as the sun peeped over the top of the mountain. My first outing took me up the hill and back down to a park with a running track. I had spotted runners tracking the evening before and I was going to have me some of that! Two dusty loops and I was bored and so I headed out along the sea front towards the hill that headed up to the lighthouse.
I didn't climb to the top until my second run. This time Mr B got up too, he set off a few minutes before me, he was walking to the top and I was jogging gently, hoping to reach the top without stopping. I almost made it but the final switch back had me gasping for breath, sweat dripping from every pore and legs feeling like jelly. I walked the final part and took in the glorious view whilst I waited for my husband to join me and share the joy of being alive and fit and well with me.
We took the tram into the town of Soller and I calculated the journey there and back was probably about 6k, and mentally planned my next run. I could have that glass of rose wine, that pastry, that ice cream, after all I had brought my running shoes, I'd earn them! I set out on my third run fully intending to follow the road into the town but the lure of the lighthouse called me back up the hill. This time I couldn't manage so far before walking, but hey, I didn't care one bit. I also attempted the trail at the top. Sadly the terrain immediately reminded me of the Selworthy Beacon trail and neither my knees or my head were ready for that. Instead I enjoyed the downhill all the way to the bottom. And, I didn't fall. Well not then anyway, I did manage to slip down the last three steps of the hotel on our last day, at least my knees were saved this time, my bottom took the brunt this time. I'm seriously thinking this falling over malarkey might need looking into now.
Being out and about before the rest of the world puts a truly magical slant onto a place. Just the workers getting everything ready for the hordes of tourists. Rubbish collectors, sand sweepers and tram drivers, all far more smiley than the runners. Still waters, lone swimmers, bathing birds. Bobbing dinghies alongside the sleeping super yachts and cruisers. Dog walkers, stationary taxis and the postie. Heaven, glorious peaceful heaven. Running is relaxation. Running is recuperation. Running is for home and away.
I swam too. No waves, perfectly still, clear, warm water. I spent many hours floating and studying the homes around the port. I eventually chose a villa as my perfect home. A villa in need of renovation. Perfectly placed atop one of the lower mountains, right around at one end of the port. A beautiful view looking out across the boats and restaurants and from the back a never ending vista of sea. Yep, that's the one, I'll take it. I would never have to think about packing my trainers again.
I wonder if my granddaughter would like to spend long hot summers in Mallorca with her Nanna and Pops?
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