Who Am I?

Who Am I?

I am a daughter. I am a niece. I am a sister. I am a friend. I am a wife. I am a daughter in law. I am a sister in law. I am a mother. I am an aunt. I am a mother in law. I am a nanna.

But, who am I?

I am a runner. I am a photographer. I am a blogger. I am a crocheter.

But, who am I?

I was a waitress. I was a shop assistant. I was a hairdresser. I was an in store demonstrator. I was a PTA secretary. I was a school governor. I was a higher level teaching assistant.

But, I am lost.

I am fortunate. I am grateful. I am looking forward.

But, I am still lost.

Watching From The Sidelines

Once again I am watching and not taking part.

I've been out of sorts.

Funerals, life changing decisions and problems with my ears have caused me to stop exercising and it's all taken its toll on my poor body.

However, yesterday I watched the Herepath Half. A local race organised by my running club. I was able to walk to the start and finish of this event and did so with my camera.

I have done various parts of this race by myself but never all joined up. I'm not really a trail runner either but the final part of the course is a particularly favourite homeward bound stretch for me and I am contemplating attempting it next year. I will have to do it myself first to be sure I can do it in a sensible time, couldn't bare the thought of making all those lovely volunteers and marshals wait for me!

I positioned myself on the first bend and snapped away at all the proper runners racing past and immediately decided I couldn't do it, I just can't set off at that pace. A field of about 125 runners headed off towards the steady climb to eventually reach the top of Neroche Forest before enjoying the steady decline all the way back to the start. And therein lies another problem, all that up. Love the down, but not the up.

A quick trek back home and I uploaded the pictures and managed a small pile of ironing before returning to see the first runners home. Just over an hour and half after setting off these true athletes were crossing the finishing line. I had decided that I would position myself a short distance from the finish at a very unkind final hurdle for the runners. A stream which at this time of year has to be crossed either through the large bowl in the middle, through the deep squelchy mud to one side or by the little known stepping stone to the other side. Being a kind local I did point out the stepping stone to those hesitant about getting in the water and who can blame them, see I hate mud and water and wet feet. I may have mentioned that once or twice before!

Once the first three gents and ladies were through I headed up the track under the trees to capture fellow Running Forever runners on their final decent. I stood and watched in awe as one by one they came past, most with a smile or a comment, some in pain but still determined to finish and all covered in mud. I stood and chatted with one of the marshals that had completed the course that morning before the race. That's dedication I say.

Anyway, I came away with a renewed vigour. I will get running again. As soon as my perforated ear drum has repaired itself I will be back out there. Back at the beginning maybe but back out on the roads. Maybe I will venture off road and maybe I will dip my toe in the mud. I'm wondering if it's possible to run in wellies...

First lady home Jo Carrit, who expertly managed to not get her feet wet! Well done Jo, great to see you winning.

In Memory of Doris

Doris may have worked for you, cared for you, been your family or your friend, whoever she was to you, you will know that all she ever wanted to do was help.

When our youngest son was not much more than a toddler I asked her if she could look after him for me the following afternoon, as usual she said yes. He was delivered and I went to work. Later that day Steve collected him and brought him home.

We asked him if he had had a nice afternoon, oh yes, he said. What had he been doing with Grandma we asked? We went to a big hall. I had cake. I made the sad old ladies laugh, he replied. This had us somewhat puzzled and Steve rang his Mum to find out where they had been.

I was quite cross, actually I was very cross, to discover Doris had taken him to a funeral tea because she had already agreed to help and she thought it would be OK to take Lewis along. I was cross because I didn’t think it at all appropriate to take a three year old to a complete strangers funeral tea. But I was also cross because she hadn’t said no. No she couldn’t help me as she had already made plans. No it would make her afternoon tricky. She just couldn’t say no. She always wanted to help everybody.

I didn’t understand then that Lewis was perfectly all right at the tea and he had actually helped lift the mood of the ‘sad old ladies.’ But I understand now and Doris’s great granddaughter will be with us later to help brighten the ‘sad old ladies’ and ‘sad old men’ and the rest of us!

Because of the dementia, Doris didn’t quite grasp who Sophia is, but she adored her and was always delighted to see her and always wanted to hold her.

Having spent her whole life caring for others the time came for Doris to be cared for. We did our best, we muddled along. We didn’t know the rules. It was hard and it hurt like mad. We questioned every action, every thought.

Thank you Lavender Court, especially in recent weeks, you pulled out all the stops, your care of Doris was second to none.  I am thankful I was able to help Doris, to repay just some of her kindness. We would dance around her room to Daniel O’Donnel and my last happy memory of her was dancing with her at Rob and Vicki’s wedding, we whirled around and around the dance floor, she had a beaming smile on her face the whole time.

Whether Doris worked for you, cared for you, was your family or your friend; you will know that all she ever wanted to do was help.

 And she did.

Disappointed of Taunton

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.

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.

  

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?

Beacon to Beach

Last week I ran the Beacon to Beach race. I had really been looking forward to what I falsely presumed would be a downhill all the way with a bit of flat at the end run.

On the Friday evening my running buddy Fi and myself studied the race details and eventually resorted to looking at the OS map to check the coordinates and where we needed to be. We found Selworthy Beacon atop Bossington Hill and decided we would need to head for Selworthy in order to reach the start.

Come Sunday morning this is where we headed only to find narrow lanes ending with a 'not suitable for motor vehicles' sign. Oh. Ok, lets move onto Allerford and see if we can get to the top from there. Um, that'll not be the right place either then! Yes, we could walk to the top, a steep climb for twenty minutes but, no, the kindly gentleman told us, we really needed to go back into Minehead and up North Hill to get to the start of the race.

We retraced our journey and decided to head for the finish line where hopefully we would be able to get the limited minibus lift to the top. Time was ticking by and the car park was filling but we duly found a space and dashed for the minibus only to see it turning out of the car park. As the sign was still displayed we decided to wait and hope another one would be along soon.

We left Minehead in warm sunshine and arrived at the start in almost drizzly and quite breezy chilly weather. Our singlets and shorts quite the wrong attire for standing around waiting. We sheltered alongside the parked vehicles and were grateful that our foray around the surrounding area had left us with only ten minutes to wait for the start.

Now, remember I mentioned my hopes of a downhill and flat race? It started with an up, a slow and steady up but nonetheless an up. Humph. This was not what I had envisaged at all. The horn sounded and suddenly we were all hurtling through the gate along the track. So many people, no time to dawdle but within seconds Fi was edging away from me. Hills always kill my times and I just had to dig in and keep going. My team were long gone and I settled in for the climb. Being a slow and steady runner and dropping further back into the field I had time to look out over the view of Porlock Bay, way down below bathed in glorious sunshine.

Soon the up eased out into a short stretch of flat before we were rising more steeply up to the beacon. A gentle downhill section followed and then disaster struck. I fell. I fell badly. As soon as I started to go I knew there was no saving and resigned myself to the forthcoming hit. Oh my goodness did that hurt. My left knee hit the rocks and my upper body and leg slid along the stones in the rut. I wanted to cry. It hurt like hell. A very nice young man of about twelve or so helped me to my feet, retrieved my water bottle and was very concerned for my well being, it took me quite a bit of thanks before I managed to shoo him along to do his own race and not worry about me. Runners all around me asked if I was Ok whilst I stood dazed with a bleeding knee. What to do? Carry on or stop. I had fallen just before one of the relay team change over stations and I decided I would carry on to the next relay change over and by then I would know if I hurt just because I had fallen or if I had actually damaged my knee.

Next we dropped down over into the wooded area of North Hill. Marshals warned to slow down and take care as the way ahead could get quite slippery. I took my time and even managed to pass a few people. My knee hurt like hell but the bleeding seemed to have stopped and the trail was softer under foot so I tried to enjoy myself. Before I knew it I went over again. Heaven only knows why I tripped that time but this was steeper ground and smoother thankfully but I hit the ground hard and slid for what felt like forever. I managed to get myself sitting up and cried whilst I felt very sorry for myself. Two burly chaps took me under the arms and got me back onto my feet whilst a third suggested I walk for a while.

More kindness form the runners around me making sure I was OK whilst I realised I actually had no choice whatsoever but to carry on as this would be the only way to get to the finish. I re-pinned my torn number and gingerly tested walking, my right knee now bleeding, my shoulders scraped and my sweaty body now covered in a fine muddy dust and my pride well and truly in tatters. I walked for a little bit but soon decided this was going to take too long, I still had quite some distance to go, and gently sped up to a jog.

Eventually I reached the bottom and thank goodness out onto a tarmac road. I headed along the sea front and felt all alone. I was so far behind everyone else I really wasn't sure I was going the right way. I decided I had to keep going until I saw a marshal and eventually I did. Im sure most of the pedestrians were unaware of the race and I was duly ignored by quite a lot of them. I did get one shout out that was very special as the lady had read my club name on my vest. At last I reached the crossing point and headed towards the West Somerset Railway Line where I had to wait for the Thomas the Tank Engine steam train to puff past. A welcome breather maybe but I was seriously concerned I wouldn't be able to get going again.

I was directed up past the hospital and I wondered if they were open on a Sunday and if I would be needing their services, oh and this was an incline once again. At last I reached the college and onto grass. As I turned the corner I saw that I had to run down a steep bank, I edged to the corner determined not to fall in front of the crowd and made my way to the bottom. Sadly my spirit did not have an ounce of sprint finish about it but I ran to the finish. I heard Fi and her family shouting for me and I crossed the line and spotted my finish time of 1hr 10. I was not the only team member to fall, Phil also damaged his knee and hurt his rib.

It eventually dawned on me that for 7 miles I had actually done a good time, then I was cross, had I not fallen I could have got a wriggle on along the front and done a sprint finish and my time would have been cracking, for me. When I studied my stats I had actually done a really good pace up those hills.

The day after I could barely walk, the next day the bruising really began to come out and my body ached from head to foot. By Wednesday walking had become easier but banging my knee on the table leg reminded my how badly I had hurt it. Today I worked with the reception children and we compared bruised knees, mine were right up there I have to say and they seemed quite impressed that I had fallen over twice!

So there we have it, I'm out of action. Maybe I'm not a trail runner. Maybe I should stick to solid, flat ground. After fall one I remember muttering that I would never do this race again. After fall two it was a definite never again. Almost a week later and maybe...




Kerry, Fi, Lyn, Gemma