The day I met Elvis

Sunday 28th Aug

It was during my 40-something length of the pool that I realised I’d just been chatting to Elvis… and he’d been hitting on me. I didn’t hesitate when I reached the end of the length and found him stood there ‘resting’, I spun around and kept going even thou my heart was about to explode from my chest and I had water up my nose.

It was about 10 days before at the same pool that I had been struggling to get any sort of breathing technique in my front crawl that I met Bob. He was chatting to another guy (lets call him frog man since we was wearing hand web paddles) and both were having a laugh when I joined them. Bob had recently retired and came to the pool most days, he ‘gently persuaded’ me to try wearing flippers (read practically forced then on my feet) although I declined frog mans insistence to also don hand paddles, not wanting to look like something from a cheap 70’s horror film. The improvement was fantastic as I suddenly glided down the pool, albeit still spluttering water on occasion.

It was after a few lengths that Bob asked if I knew Elvis… I looked at him quizzically, trying to read if this was a bad joke or a serious statement and said a cautious “no?”. Turns out Elvis comes to the pool almost every day and hits on anything vaguely female looking. Maybe I should be insulted that I haven’t been hit on, or maybe I should just be grateful. I thanked Bob for his help and left, jogging home chuffed that I’d managed to glide through the water, albeit slightly cheating and without achieving front crawl and breathing at the same time.

I arrived at the pool that Sunday geared up to finally get the breathing right and take in more air than water. 30 lengths in and I was feeling good. I was almost annoyed when the alarm went off and everyone slowly vacated the pool… why is there always one person who ignores the alarm, swims the length of the pool, then gets out last while everyone watches?!

I watched the lifeguards huddle round a rather purple looking toddler at the other side of the pool. The ‘gentleman’ next to me was making no attempt to hide his head bobbing up and down as he looked me over and asked my name. “Caroline” I said. Doh! Should have thought of a false name.

“Miss Caroline” he replied. Then proceeded to ask if I came here often and if I were married. As I almost laughed at his obvious intentions for talking to me I did my best to look over to see if the toddler was ok. The man next to me, now staring at my chest, did not seem as concerned.

False alarm, toddler alive, we get back in. Elvis sits next to me and tells me I am pretty and fit and should come here more often. He mumbles some other stuff about how he does a million exercise classes and despite being very old, is actually very young. He keeps calling me “Miss Caroline” but I am trying to politely ignore him and make my excuses that I need to keep swimming. I set off and swam a few month lengths, then it dawns on me, Bob’s voice in my head, I just met Elvis.


New York Part IV

I’m still on First Avenue, I keep looking up to see the hordes of crowds and focus on a red brick tower in the distance. I know Adam is there with hugs, support and water. My energy is low, I’ve hit the wall in previous races so know what that feels like. This isn’t it, this is just tiredness – mental and physical. My body starts to ache. I know from experience that within a mile my body will flush with its own painkillers and the ache will dull.

I am a block away from Adam. I see him in the distance and make a bee-line for the pavement. He hugs me and hands me my water and my energy gel. We chat briefly although I am too tired to string much of a sentence together. He taps my bum with the England and British flags he has been carrying, “go on then, keep going”. It hurts, really hurts, my muscles are tender to the slightest movement. We kiss and I jog onward (knowing that he’ll pay for that bum tap later!).

Another few blocks and we cross the bridge to the Bronx. The crowds here are smaller, there is a different atmosphere from the previous districts. The crowds are thinner but more excited. There are less banners and more people who are going about their own business and making cheers as they pass. There is a camera and big screen and I wave again as if Megz were watching.

We take a few sharp turns and the wide roads make the running crowd look sparse. We hit the bridge in to Manhattan within two miles of arriving in the Bronx. The energy gel has kicked in and I feel stronger, I still hold back to enjoy Fifth Avenue and keep something in the tank for the finish.

I meet Adam again with another drink and gel at mile 22. We hug and I’m more chatty this time. We debate how long until I finish. I explain I will be slowing down for Central Park to really enjoy the finishing atmosphere. I’m mentally stronger for seeing him. I’m physically stronger for the water and gel. But I’m 22 miles in to a marathon, I’m still tricking my own body in to those last four miles by not thinking about them.

The last few miles are always the slowest. Legs become like lead weights. Thoughts don’t stay long and mental capacity is low. We run in to the park and the crowds are dense like First Avenue. They are loud and have narrowed  in an attempt to see their loved ones pass. I count. I do this when I am tired and things get tough. Paula Radcliffe will count to 400 and a mile will pass. I’m not that fast but by the time I’ve counted to two hundred, I’ve been distracted and forgotten how many hundreds I’m at. I’ll then count backwards to really distract myself. Then add up to 100 and back again in sevens. Central Park is beautiful, the autumn leaves are oranges, reds and browns. The crowds echo around the trees and every turn they become louder and denser. As we turn at the end of the park, crowds don’t just cheer, they chant ‘keep it going’, ‘beer at the end’, ‘you can do it’, ‘almost there’, ‘you’re amazing’. I’m trying so hard but have to slow to a walk in those last two miles, just for a short time. My shoulders are starting to hurt beyond anything else. I am used to some pain, usually muscle aching like lifting a weight a few too many times, I can overcome that. I’m also used to running with a stitch in my side when going out too soon after food or when sprint work gets too much. But this is sharp pain in my shoulders. My sports bra is tight over my shoulders and the momentum and tension in my arms is causing stabbing pains in my upper back.

I walk for a minute in that last mile. This seems to get the crowd roaring, ‘keep it up’, ‘you’re almost there, don’t walk yet’, ‘be strong’. I run, I don’t want to, nothing in me wants to, but I do.

I turn the corner for the last half mile. I look up and in front of me is the rhino. The very man I’d sat on the bus chatting with hours before. The cheers for him are deafening. I decide that after my caterpillar incident at Hyde Park, I will not be beaten to the finish line of New York marathon by the foam rhino. Everything else around me disappears. There is darkness around, just the rhino, me and that finish line (and my dignity).

I dig deep, image the finish and push for the last time. I chant to myself ‘do it for megz’ as I overtake the rhino. He is raising his hands in the air and enjoying his moment of glory. I keep up the pace as hard as I can, not wanting to have my finish line picture one of defeat by a rhino.

I don’t look back, I can’t, everything I have left is in this moment. I push for the finish line, it still feels slow, my legs are stiff and it feels like I am running pigeon steps through treacle. There are stands either side of the last 50 yards and I look up at the screaming supporters.

I cross the line, I tried to smile but it was more of a grimace. I slow to a walk and my legs buzz and tingle. They know it is ok to stop now and my steps are small as they tense up desperate to sit down. It is the worst thing I could do thou as moving again after rest right now would only add to the pain later. I shuffle with the crowds for half a mile. A man puts a medal around my neck and congratulates me. I am handed water, a food bag, a silver blanket and shuffle with a crowd like herded sheep to collect my bag.

Once I get out of the park and head to the meeting point to find Adam I pick up my walking pace. I try to lengthen my stride but my legs won’t let me. They are tightened already and it feels like someone is pushing back on each step. I try to walk, drink Gatorade and eat the free pretzels at the same time while pushing through crowds of people waiting for runners – not moving to let anyone else by, the only way to get passed is to try and squeeze through. Not easy when you’re tired and wobbly.

Adam and me have decided to meet outside I liquor store two blocks away. I see him and we hug. He congratulates me and helps me to put warm clothes on. I rattle off my stories as we head in to the shop for champagne….

New York – Part Two

We cross the bridge in to Brooklyn. The first of the crowds are thin but enthusiastic. A church has spilled out early to cheer crowds, a local fire department is out cheering, the road widens and runners spread out. As we head further into Brooklyn the crowds become dense. Bands play, crowds hold banners, children chant and hold out hands for high fives. I think of Meghan, my purpose, my mission, my focus, the cause, the strength she has. I take deep breaths and take in each moment, drawing mental strength.

Mile five and I can smell food, good food, I want pizza! I take water at the next station. The guy handing it to me seems reluctant to let go resulting in most of it spilling over my glove. It’s ok, I’d gone for water early on the chance this would happen. Mile six I take my running energy blocks from my pocket and slowly chew on two. I take water at the next stop and feel strong again.

We run under a few road bridges, runners make whoop whoops to echo, cheering themselves on in a dry spell of spectators. I zone out for a while and wonder if Megz is watching at home. We run under some cameras and I smile and wave at them as if she can see me at home.

Mile 13 and we hit a bridge moving steady uphill. I slow down to pace myself out, then slow right down as I watch the horizon come to view. It is powerful and still. The bridge runs as two layers, we are underneath moving traffic. It is odd and as the view becomes clearer I slow down even further and realise the runners have gone silent in awe. Half way across the bridge and the cheers pick up again as the runners are consumed by the energy and lifted by the stunning scenery. Slowly we hear a loud rumbling roar. It is booming and breath-taking. It gets louder as we approach the end of the bridge. It is the crowds at the start of First Avenue. They are dense, happy, cheering, singing, dancing, waving, high-fiving…

It is mile 16. The slopes on the bridges have tired my legs earlier than I’d hoped. I am taken in by the crowds and see we are at about 64th street. This pleases me as I know Adam is waiting for me at about mile 19. He’s at 112th street  with an energy gel and water. I count the blocks as each one passes. I think in my head, only 25blocks and he’s there…

I look ahead of me, First Avenue is a sea of bobbing heads. It reminds me if Orange Day in Amsterdam, a sea of heads taking the main street for celebration. The New York pavements are lined with dense crowds, the sun beams down on the runners, the colour of shirts and banners line brightly as far as the eye can see, insignificant to the towering skyscrapers either side.

I decide to put my head down and focus on getting to Adam. This is the toughest part for me. It’s not a physical wall as such, I have energy. It is a mental wall. 17miles and things start to ache and hurt… still almost 10 to go… I walk a few times to take it in, jog backwards to see the runners coming toward me, high-five a row of school children and firefighters…

I think again about Megz. Can’t help but think I know where this journey ends, regardless of how tough. I can walk it if I have to. Megz has no end in sight right now. She hasn’t seen the finish line like me, she doesn’t know where or when it is…


New York – Part One

My last four weeks training were a bit of a blur. My physiotherapist was happy with me, I was not happy with myself as I’d lost important training sessions by working long and hard hours. I’d managed my two 20miles and a 22 mile run, but still felt underprepared for what was ahead. This is a typical mental game of marathon runners. They don’t say 30% body and 70% mind for nothing.

3rd November and we arrive in New York. It’s late and Adam and I collapse to jet-lagged sleep in our rented apartment.

The next couple of days we head out exploring the city. We got to Hard Rock café and drink strong cocktails (only one for me!), see Times Square (can’t miss it), Chinatown (crazy shouty little women everywhere), Little Italy (crazy shouty big fellas everywhere!), Union Sq green market (drank hot cider and eat fresh bread), flatiron building (got in lots of other people’s photos), Brooklyn Bridge (don’t like the wooden planks and shaking as the traffic passes, walked it, but don’t like), Macy’s (got lost – twice)…

We went to the marathon expo to collect my race number. I tried to stay calm as not waste energy but wow! Runners heaven! Freebies and tasters and all things running. Running can be a lonely world, out there on the road 5 hours a week with only yourself for company. Suddenly a thousand like-minded people in one room.

I had my silent video taken by the Asics stand. It asked ‘why are you running new york?’, I wrote ‘because I love my best friend, she’s awesome’. Later that day, we sat with coffee watching the Times Square lights, and there, smack bang in the centre of Time Sq, Asics were showing the videos… I was on the big, no HUGE, screen in Times Sq. I watched the videos and felt tearful as I read all the messages from other runners and their reasons for running. I thought of all the hours we’d all put in, the funds we’d all raised, the pain we were about to endure for it all!

‘M’ minus 24hours and we head to central park to see the finish line. There is a complete chaos of runners and photos and excitement. I try not to get wound up but can’t feel but help completely out-of-place in my combats and boots rather than lycras and trainers. It’s too late and a wave of pessimism has me. I haven’t trained enough, I’m out of place, I should be out with them jogging, I don’t feel strong enough… I ask Adam if we can leave sharpish so I can clear my head.

We head home early and I start my pre-race rituals. Write up my running top ‘ For Megz. Epilepsy Foundation, Run Caz Run’. Eat pasta. Chill out in the bath. Drink copious amounts of water, layout all my gear for the following morning. Pack my bag. Check my travel plans A and B. Set two alarms. Watch rubbish television. Sleep.

The next morning I’m up at 5am. Porridge, dress, photo, go. I walk to the metro, it’s dark and still way before 6. As I emerge from Times Square station I see runners everywhere, all meeting groups and rushing to their arranged transport. As I approach a crossing, a runner in front of me sparks up a cigarette. I’m confused and I am sure she will regret that in a few hours.

I hop on the coach, still calm, the boy next to me is fidgeting, I chose not to talk to him as he will make me nervous and I’m busy calming myself. Instead I listen to a guy chatting about how he is dressing as a rhino. This is his umpteenth marathon as a rhino over 15 or so years. He’s run New York three times. I should probably add he runs for the charity ‘Save the Rhino’, the costume has purpose beyond stupidity! He is on the same wave start as me, but has run marathons much faster. He says he hopes it doesn’t rain as the costume is made of foam and absorbs water. I know we marathon runners are a bit crazy but it is safe to say, some of us are more crazy than others. Much more crazy!

The coach drops us by Fort Wandsworth on Staten Island about an hour later. Runners are cattle herded into the Fort, through security and bib checks. I head straight for my starting area. I’m on a mission and focused. Must stay  calm. Not a time to waste energy bouncing around. I weave through the thousands and get coffee, bagel, water and find a spot to sit for the next hour or so. I open my sleeping bag and crawl in to keep warm. The sun is warm, but the wind bitterly cold. I had been warned of this so knew the sleeping bag would be worthwhile. I curl up on the grass, sip my coffee and people watch.

Some Chinese runners look like the expo running merchandise spit-up on them. They have marathon branded socks, joggers, coats, gloves, scarves, hats, belts, bags… the works. All 8 of them in a crowd chatting away excitedly like an Asics/NYCM 2010 advert.

Two people crouch next to me and comment how they don’t want to change yet as it’s too cold. They look at me, at my sleeping bag, smile and nod ‘you’ve done this before!’. They are both debut marathon runners. He looks ready, young, slim, lanky, athletic. She does not, curvy and broad she almost topples trying to take her joggers off.

A professional looking Italian runner sits in front of me. He starts unpacking his bag and running his own ritual. He’s done this before! Change shoes, lube, laces, running number, headband, timing chip, more lube, banana, sports drinks… he looks focused and well-practiced.

I watch as others come and go. 9.20am and I decide it’s time. I crawl out from my cosy bag and begin my own routine. Bib, sports drink, timing chip,  watch… I drop off my bag and head to the main staging area. I find another settling spot and watch the main race begin in the first wave. It’s 9.40am and to my left in the big screen showing me the professional miles line-up. As I hear the gun echo around me, I look up and to my left. I can see the bobbing heads of the lead runners starting across the bridge. The crowds wave, cheer and clap.

Finally, it’s my time to line up. I take a toilet stop (we do some disgusting things as runners – lube, snot rockets, sweat buckets, but nothing tops portaloos before a race – trick is to take toilet roll, hold your nose and be quick). I giggle as I watch a french man get to the front of the queue, open the door, turn-up his nose up and reel off a mumble of rude words. He turns away and goes to find a bush.

I head to my starting corral and join another cattle herded crowd of runners shuffle to the start line. People cheer and shout. I take my last layer of clothing off to reveal my graffitied running T. I bounce, set my headphones up, set my watch to pick up satellites to track me and try to look around. I say try – I’m 5”2 so don’t see much or far.

The gun goes suddenly, we walk a few paces to the start following other runners. Before I know it I am passing the start. We’re on the bridge and crossing the water. The crowds are mixing paces, some overtake, some drop behind. The bridge is a good couple of miles and I try to keep far left to take in the view of lower Manhattan. I think to myself – I’ll be over there soon enough…

Part Two coming soon…

Beaten by a Caterpillar and those “easy” 22 miles

Apologies to all those following me in taking SO very long for this next blog.

The week has been crammed with training, work financial year-end and studying. Anyway, enough of excuses.

Sunday was a 22mile run, and the next day I didn’t ache much – impressive even if I say so myself!

So what’s been going on.
Last Sunday I completed the London Royal Parks Half Marathon. I was up at 5.30am to cycle the 9miles to the coach stop to get to London in time (lesson learnt: cycling riverside in pitch-black darkness is not fun).

It was a gorgeous day, a lovely autumnal route and some great spectators and supporters along the way. The speakers at speakers corner looked rather bored as people turned their backs to cheer the 15,000 runners along.
I took the first half relatively easy, then picked up to a steady pace. Mostly because I could hear the crowds cheering on a caterpillar. I took a glance behind me to see a guy in a 7foot tall caterpillar costume.
I kept my pace up as I realised the most embarrassing defeat for all runners – being beaten by costume runners – the ones that must have lost a daft bet down the pub a year ago. I had already overtaken the elephant, and tomato and the toilet (yes yes, there was a man dressed as a toilet for the charity water aid – definitely an alcohol induced bet/decision).
Two miles from the end a reporter decided to bike alongside the caterpillar and ask questions. This seemed to spur him on so as the reporter left, his feet kicked in (all 8(?) of them!). As I slowly watched my running credibility disappear into the past miles, mr caterpillar slowly ebbed past me. I tried to kick up some speed, but feared for not making the finish if I pushed too hard.
The Royal Parks will always be the race where I was overtaken by a caterpillar.

Monday I cycled in but was achey from the previous day. Despite the creepy crawly I was actually going at a faster pace than normal for such a long run and had preceded this with a bike ride.
The rest of the week was sort of a blur of work, study, training and all random hours.
My week was polished off by a challenging but good quality speed workout on Friday. I did the ‘Bart Yasso’ method of 2mile warm-up, sprinting 800m and taking 400m recovery again and again, until I felt ill, then do another two, then jog 2 miles to cool down.
It worked, it worked 6 times, round and round the park. After the 6th time my legs were complete jelly and I wobbled to a bench to lean on something. Of course I made it look like I was stretching so other park runners wouldn’t watch me and smirk at my inability to stay upright. I jogged two miles to cool down and spent the rest of the day devouring various foods while trying to keep focus on mind numbing financial reports.

Next up was Sunday – the longest run. Everything just clicked into place. Saturday was restful, I ate well, slept well, the day mimicked average race weather conditions. I picked a completely new route to give me things to look at and keep my mind busy.
For those who know the area (or want to look it up on google maps) – Abingdon centre, round Culham village, across the river and up Barton lane to Radley lakes, then Radley to Kennington, on to the river path all the way to Oxford – stop at Tesco for a drink. Turnaround and do it all back to Abingdon.
It feels wrong to say this, but it felt easy. Not easy like taking the dog for a walk easy, but looking back at other long runs, it didn’t burn or ache. The last three miles felt like the slowest as always, but even then only because I was getting bored.
Back to today and my legs aren’t too achey, I’m awake, eating like I’ve been stuck in a Chilean mine for over a month, but generally ok and reaping confidence.
I can only hope that in three weeks time things come together in the same way.
And now the taper starts – dropping 25% of weekly mileage each week. Phew!

Studying, training and changing jobs

Sunday: Good strong speed workout – my first time in the new winter darkness. All a bit weird running in the dark again. I followed the perimeter road of my town and felt exposed running with cars again after months of fields, tracks and farms.

Monday: Busy day, meetings all day then cycled home.

Tuesday – Thursday: Travelled up to Crewe and took my course induction and registration. I am now a Sports Science undergraduate at Manchester Met University. It is part-time and distance learning so bye-bye evenings and weekend but I am so excited.

I took a few runs while there, taking advantage of the different area. Time passed quickly as I am pretty sure I found the roughest and dodgiest areas Crewe has to offer – then a strangely empty and beautiful park in the centre of several housing estates. After exploring I’d ranked up a good 8miles so headed back to the hotel, with my head down past the chavs!

Friday: Work – busy with meetings and a job which angers me greatly. I only have two weeks until I move to a new job elsewhere in Oxford University. I was highly stressed by the time I got to physiotherapy.

My physio is amazing thou, Sarah always makes my mind, as well as my legs, feel lighter when I leave. She’s the only person I can really chat to about my running fears, work, relationships and general natter. She wants to join my course to meet all the fit men I’m studying with.

Saturday: I bought a shiny new netbook for my course and started study. I then went for a little jog and mumbled to myself about the respiratory systems chapter I’d just read. Suddenly everything felt tough, slow and hard work – really hard work.

Here’s a bit of personal insight in to me running… my internal dialogue in todays run: If this is tough, how am I going to be ready for race day, but I’ve done a lot of stuff this week so am rightly tired, but it shouldn’t be this tough, I mean this hurts, how can I run a marathon PB in a few weeks if I can’t get 4 miles down without the lead weight legs dragging behind me but then it was physio yesterday, that’ll be it it’ll get easier. Easier, easier? you’ve got a half marathon tomorrow and twice this in 4 weeks… but I’ve done that before, so I can do it again, yes I can do it again…

Running is about believing. You have to believe in yourself that you can do it. Without that belief you won’t put on your trainers, you won’t get round the block, you won’t look at your watch after two hours and survive the next hour of running unless you really believe you can do it.

Running like this means the belief is often based on delusion and playing tricks on yourself. Whether it’s only seeing it as 3 lots of 20minutes and focusing one at a time, or just thinking through what I’ll do when I get home, or believing I’m being chased in a speedworkout, convince myself of footsteps on my heels, visualise a finish line, see the tape ready to be broken.

Another frequent internal dialogue in long runs: My legs are tired, it really hurts, should I stop and walk a few seconds, but I’ve run longer than this and survived, and if I get another two miles down I’ll reward myself with a gel, but there’s a hill in those two miles, that’ll hurt more, I should go easy now, but there is no point of reward without effort, I should go strong. But it’s hot out and I don’t want to overdo it, but it might be hot on the day so need to practice this pace, wow my legs are getting tired, but I’ll be home soon, in less than an episode of CSI, ooo, I could watch a CSI when I get in with my lunch, I’ve got that cake I can enjoy too, oh bugger here’s that hill… and so on and on…

Tomorrow I run the London Royal Parks Half Marathon. I’m excited, despite the 5.30am wake up call to Hyde Park for 9am. I remember going to London with Megz when she was here last… we did a boat trip then, given the minging weather, hit up an aussie bar for a quick drink… a few friends and a few more drinks later we stumbled out onto the embankment. Well you can see London better in the photos than real life sightseeing anyway…

There’s a load of momentum behind the fundraising now. Megz is making a virtual gift basket as a prize for raffling off at work, she’s been speaking to politicians about epilepsy and disability and we’ve even had other people blogging about us. All while she’s messing with med.s and having seizures. I’ll have my money jar and sponsor form at work on Monday – 4 weeks and counting ’til M-day.

Time for some food, then study, then sleep.

Another 20miles and philosophical Caz

Wow, what a week (and a bit).
So what’s happened…
Some speed work, some cycling, another 20miler and LOTS of rain.

I’m in the stage of training where my legs are always tired, they’re stiff and achey most of the time, and every run needs to be a careful decision to do enough… but not too much. It’s all about stress and adaption. A heavy thought in my runs this week.
The whole concept of building muscle and improving the body through exercise is stress and adaption. We stress the muscle by pumping weights, walking or running fast or long, even hoovering, carrying heavy shopping and ironing loads when you’re not used to it. The muscle develops tiny tiny microscopic tears, these then repair in recovery and build stronger muscle which can take more the next time. If we over-do it, those tears can become too much and make you ache the next day. The tears become inflamed and press on nerve endings causing muscle soreness.
My deep thought in running is how this relates to us mentally as well as physically. We undergo various stresses as we go through life, and we repair and bounce back stronger. Sometimes this is overdone, and there can be pain which takes a bit longer to heal. And, both physically and mentally, there are times when you can twist your ankle in the rabbit hole and injury can take weeks to build strength back and recover from.
Equally, some people are just born stronger than others and have inner strength to deal with the stresses. In my mind, this would make Megz an elite athlete!

So Wednesday was my 20miler long run. And it hurt, really hurt. Physically and mentally. I’d already post-poned my run by 24 hours as my legs hadn’t got over the previous 20miles and recent speed work.
At 15miles I was ready to give up, I’d been rained on for the past five miles, had to change my route as the fields were too muddy and my glutes were seizing up while climbing a hill. I closed my eyes and thought of New York, of the hot shower waiting at the finish, of speaking to megz the day before about medication and baked goods. The last few miles were painfully slow and my legs wobbled up the stairs when I got in. Phew! Only one more 20mile run before the big day…
The next day I decided to cycle to work… big mistake, HUGE! my legs and me disagreed with eachother for the rest of the day. They ached, wobbled and stiffened for the rest of the day. Walking down the corridors at work was more of a shuffle!
I took a couple of days off and focused on stretching and recovery. It worked! Just got back from a speedy 8miles and things are on track.
Other stuff this week:
Sponsor forms are now ready! You can contact Megz or me to donate with cash/cheque.
I found out New York will be giving out a type of gatorade you can’t buy in the UK, and can only get in 50oz powder quantities in the US. Here’s hoping my stomach likes it on the day!
It’s been raining on and off. I’ve been soaked through by rain more times than hot showers this week.