On your Marks... Get Set...

Only 14 days to go until I reach the “GO!” phase of my challenge and get to run in my first race (The Great Winter Run to be held in Edinburgh), and it’s a disaster, it really is. We’ve moved on from the “Stricken! Injured!” thing I was going on about last time when I’d contracted the flu bug to a whole new series of training-hampering events. The first was that I went out for a very ill-advised run one Sunday night shortly after I was recovering from the flu virus thing. It was ill-advised for two reasons: the first being that it was completely dark when I went out and although I was wearing a high-viz vest, I could barely see where I was putting my feet when I ran out of streetlights. I ran through some very dodgy stuff (without putting too fine a point on it, it was some kind of excrement – either cow or horse, I’m not sure which, but being as neither is more appealing than the other as a substance to run through, it doesn’t really matter) and tripped over a number of sticks lying across the path in the process. Then, when I got back I developed a cough. And I mean A COUGH!!! It’s probably as a result of going out too soon after my illness and running when I am not fully recovered, but whatever the reason I’m having a hell of a time persuading it to leave now that I’ve acquired it and have thus been rendered unable to train at all. (14 days to go... panic, panic).

Of course, you are all saying, there’s nothing to worry about, and, concerned with my fitness as I am, you no doubt believe that I have had a very frugal Christmas, didn’t over-indulge too much and therefore am still in pretty good shape to run. As one fellow runner asked: “As your first event is in January does this mean Christmas will be a little less jolly for you this year, maybe not so many mince pies and brandies? I have done that before and surprisingly really enjoyed that Christmas as I had loads of energy and I could still eat bad stuff and have a few drinks here and there but just did not sit with Quality Street tin all afternoon.” And, of course, you would be absolutely...(pause to sweep away those tell-tale Quality Street wrappers) correct. Or not, as the case may be. No, it’s a disaster, it really is – I’ve completely over-indulged (as normal) and as a result, (and totally unsurprisingly) I now have no energy and cannot possibly justify eating any more bad stuff... Oh, well, go on then, just one more strawberry cream. One more isn’t going to make any difference, believe me.

So as a result of all of the above I am in pretty terrible shape to run my first race. I’m still going to do it. The time will be rubbish (I was never that bothered about times anyway). I am seriously worried about the course description with its allusions to the large hill that is required for runners to scale, but I will still do it. And if I haven’t got any faith in myself, not to worry – the organisers of the run haven’t either. The run is started on a “wave” system whereby runners in the white wave go first, the orange go second and the green wave go last. I’m not sure how many entrants there are but I’m in the green wave and I’ve got the feeling that I may be somewhere in the vicinity of the back of the green wave. I’m runner number 2044 (if anyone knows how many entrants there are in the Great Winter Run, I’d be delighted to hear confirmation that there are indeed only 2045 participants). Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. It would only really knock my confidence further to have all those other runners overtaking me. At least at the back there is only runner number 2045 to overtake me. Plus, I won’t get lost – a serious advantage when your sense of direction is as bad as mine. I’ll just be able to following the disappearing forms of all of the other entrants around the course.

The only real good news on the fundraising campaign front I can offer this time is that I have since I last wrote confirmed my entry into the Great Yorkshire Run. That’s three entries in the bag. I also tried (vainly) to confirm my entry into the Great North Run. Obviously, anyone who knows the Greats will know that this is the big one. It’s the longest one, but it’s probably also the most prestigious and the one which is going to be most difficult to gain entry into as a result. However, I happened to notice on the Great Run website that it was possible to enter as a priority entrant now and that to become a priority entrant, all you had to do was become a member. I don’t want to knock the Great Run team – they’re fantastic, they really are – however, I’m sorry to say that the website did definitely give the impression that it was possible to join as a new member. And it isn’t. Not if you’re just a riff-raff amateur like myself anyway. I tried, I really did. The website won’t let you do it. I even rang the helpline. It was Christmas eve and the person manning the helpline was in a very bad mood and as a result wasn’t really inclined to help. So the upshot of this is I do not have my entry into the Great North Run in the bag and will just have to take my chances when the ballot opens in early January. I do hope I get a place, I really do. Without placing too much emphasis on this, but I’m sure you will agree with me, my entire fundraising campaign relies on my place in that event.

Anyway, in the meantime, I am going to rest my battered lungs (probably indulge in some more Quality street – sorry) and do my best to get the training back on schedule at least a week before my first race, but even if I don’t manage it, I can assure you that I will do my very best not to disgrace myself (well, at least totally) in the Great Winter Run and I will finish it (even if I have to crawl across the line – a distinct possibility – indeed, if anyone could arrange to run in front of me with a Quality Street on a string for me to follow, this would go a great way towards providing added motivation. The strawberry cream is my favourite). Failing this, if you would like to support my fundraising attempts in other ways – i.e. if you are not available for strawberry-cream-dragging purposes on 10th January, you can sponsor me at http://www.justgiving.com/valderbyshire Myself, and the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity, would be very grateful for your support.

Injured! Stricken!

Okay, it’s not that bad. But I thought I’d give it an Enid Blyton-esque type title just to inject a little drama into this blog. In actual fact, it’s less drama, and more a right tale of woe. It started when I went for my weekly swim training in Bakewell swimming pool and, whilst in the course of dodging the teenagers doing handstands in the very shallow, shallow end and the man with the hairy back doing backstroke and trying to complete my mile, I somehow managed to injure the muscle in my chest. Don’t ask me how. I don’t know. How is it even possible to strain your chest muscle? I didn’t even feel it until I got out of the pool and suddenly realised that I had a feeling across my chest like I was having a heart attack. In fact, I might even have been having a heart attack, but it’s just too embarrassing to go to the doctors with this after I’ve been telling anyone who’ll listen for the past few months how very healthy and how very fit I am to run the greats. Anyway, it went off after a bit, and I didn’t feel ill or anything, so it must be okay (right?)

Well my embarrassing chest muscle strain continued all week – striking me at the most inconvenient of moments (whilst out for a meal with my friend, whilst lifting the shopping bags, whilst exhaling during a telephone call – and this is bad considering I work in a call centre) so I decided to give the swimming a miss for a week or two until it went completely better. It’s no big deal, I told myself. After all, I’ve got until September to get this swimming thing right. (But perhaps I really should try and learn to swim properly, for I suspect it was my faulty breaststroke technique which has caused this injury in the first place, and not, as I may have implied, the hilarious antics of some teenagers or a hairy pensioner). And, I told myself, I am still maintaining my fitness – after all, I’m still running twice a week.

Then disaster really struck. My eldest son caught a flu-type virus. He was really miserable. Then I caught it. And I was really miserable too. My youngest son is now coming down with it. He’s pretty miserable as well. On the upside, my husband is yet to catch it. On the downside, the fact that my youngest son was crawling all over my husband when he returned from work tonight and wiping his snotty little nose all over my husband in the process probably means that it’s pretty inevitable that he is going to catch it. And you know what men are like. They don’t get colds, they get flu. And when it’s flu (and, oh God, it’s felt like it) they’ve got something worse. So when he does catch it, not only will I be nursing one miserable toddler, one miserable child and feeling sorry for myself, but I’ll also be nursing someone who’s somehow contracted yellow fever. Anyway, the upshot of all of us being stricken in this manner has meant that I haven’t done any training whatsoever.... I don’t know which is worse. The virus or the guilt. I mean the bug is bad, but the guilt is crippling. It truly is worthy of the italics I have placed in this paragraph to emphasise it. It’s only one week’s worth of training after all, but I feel like my muscles have wasted, my fitness has evaporated and I’m no longer capable of running up the road, never mind running all the greats. Plus there is the knowledge that in precisely 23 days’ time my first race takes place and this week the only preparation I have done for it is more Enid Blyton-esque lashings of lemsip and chocolate smothered toffee from Thorntons to make me feel better. It’s not good. It really isn’t.

So, sorry. I can only apologise. Next week, when I’m feeling better (and I’m already on the mend) I’m going to go and find a big hill to run up. This week, however, I have nothing to report.

And Going Darker Still...

Hurray! We've finally moved house and, most importantly of all (how did I live without Facebook???) we're back on-line. It was all a bit of a palava I have to say. Not just the move itself, which was without the shadow of a doubt, a nightmare, but getting back up and connected to t'internet (as they say up here). We used to be with Tesco, but after we moved out to the sticks we discovered that the telephone network out here seems to be working on the basis of some strange archaic system comprised mainly of paper cups and bits of string. A man from Tesco telephoned to explain that they were no longer able to provide us with internet access in the area in which we now lived because, he said, of the limitations on the exchange.

I use the word "explain" loosely. Indeed, this is perhaps the wrong word to use. The man in question was clearly not calling from their Customer Services Team. In fact, goodness knows where Tesco had been keeping him. He was clearly one of their boffins employed to administer their internet services and was definitely not used to dealing with/communicating with other human beings. His attempts at an explanation as to the reasons underlying their failure to provide an internet link at our address, I have to be honest, just baffled me more. Still, it was nice of him to call.

Next we tried Sky. They said, "Sure, we can do it, and you'll get to watch Sky Movies over Christmas too, and all for the price of our variety package at £17 per month." Brilliant. But... Then they followed this up with "Oh, hang on. We can't get network coverage there without renting it back from BT. That'll cost you another £17 a month." £34 then. Too expensive. Particularly given the expense of the move and the fact that we still have a house to sell in Sheffield. And, as my husband pointed out in a particularly skin-flinty moment, there's a perfectly good Sky dish on the side of the old house just waiting to be taken down and stuck on the side of our new one. All it needs is pointing in the general direction of the satellite. (I'm not sure about this myself, but he's good at this sort of stuff, so I'll just leave it to him. In fact, I'm not even going to think about it, even though I am, I admit, missing Cbeebies for the children's sake. There's only so many times you can sit through the Bob the Builder DVD which came free with The Daily Mail and not get sick of it.)

Anyway, all of this eventually led us to plus.com who can provide us with internet access in our area. (HURRAY!) So, yes, it's been hard. The whole move has been hard, but we're getting there (despite the fact that two commodes belonging to the previous occupants are still in situ in the lounge - but what the hell - I can stick some tinsel round them and make an original and unusual decoration for christmas). And there are disadvantages to living in the sticks. But, I love living here. It's just lovely. I can sit at the computer and see hills out of the window, instead of flats. We can walk 100 yards from our door and feed the ducks. I can see the spire to the village church from our bedroom window and hear the bells on Sunday (and Thursday night too, when it's clearly bell-ringing practice night). The running is great too. On Sunday morning I ran up a very big hill along a lane from Bakewell to Monyash. It was a long, empty road surrounded by hills which had turned pale green under a light covering of frost. There was a timeless feel up there. In fact, I forgot that there was such a thing as time and ran for so long that I couldn't feel my knees anymore and even my husband (who never worries about anything) had started to worry about me. When I ran/staggered back down the hill I ran into a charming village which is (charmingly) all lit up for Christmas.

But there are definite disadvantages too. If there is no telephone network coverage, there is hardly any street lighting either (well, beyond the Christmas trees). It's virtually impossible to run any distance at all in the dark (And at this time of year, there is a lot of dark). So I'm down to one run a week. And I'm losing fitness because of it. It can't continue. I've got to find a way to train in the dark. My guess is that it's going to involve running up and down the main street in my husband's high-viz jacket and a head-torch, getting harrassed by the groups of bored teenagers who are perpetually hanging around outside the Spar shop, but if that's the way it's got to be, then that's the way it's got to be. And at least I can now walk to the local swimming pool and it only takes five minutes to get there.

Oh yes. The local swimming poool. The fact that it is local makes it easier to train for the swimming, but the advantages kind of end there. Put it this way, it ain't Pond's Forge. In fact, it's a 20m pool which, (I'm reliably informed) you have to swim eighty lengths of to have swum a mile. This information is, however, in fact superfluous because it is virtually impossible to swim eight lengths in the pool, never mind eighty, due to the combination of the bikini-clad teenagers doing handstands in the shallow end of the pool and pensioners with implausibly hairy backs doing backstroke up and down the pool. (They make allowances for no-one - if you don't get out of their way, it's like being run over by one of those old-fashioned doormats made out of coconuts). The shallow end, incidentally, is also the shallowest shallow end I've ever before encountered. The water only comes up to my mid-calf. I'm not tall. I'm 5'4". I don't know how deep the deep end is, but I'm guessing that's not that deep either. In fact, more of a shallow deep end. Still, at least it's cheap. And near. And somewhere to swim.

In all honesty, I cannot wait for the swim part to be over. Sadly, the time between now and reaching that blissful moment in my existence is ten whole months. In the meantime, my first event (the Great Winter Run, 10th January) is looming, and I can't wait for that one. Not just because it's the first event, but because I'm combining it with a weekend away with my sister. Who says fundraising can't be fun?

Don't forget you can sponsor me now at http://www.justgiving.com/valderbyshire and join in with all this fun too.

Going Dark...

Well, if you're an eagle-eyed type of person - the sort who never misses a thing - it can't have escaped you that it's getting very dark these days. There are certainly a lot less hours of daylight. This is bad for lots of reasons. I'm not really talking about S.A.D. (although I know a few people who always get really down at this time of year). It's more that there seems to be even less time to get what needs to be done, well, done...

I've taken to running in the dark. I'm trying to stick to streetlit areas, but even when these are available, you still end up stumbling over tree roots and falling into potholes and puddles. , Of course, there are positives too. I did one of the prettiest runs I've ever done on the evening of Wednesday 5th November and got to watch everybody's fireworks for free (including the people on Ecclesall Road who were setting them off just a bit too close to the road for comfort). However, on the whole, the dark is not really helping the training regime. And it's not just training in the evening which is depressing me - the morning runs are pretty dismal as well (it just seems to be cold, wet and dark all the time now).

It's not just the training that's suffering due to the lack of daylight hours either. There just seems to be so much to do that I just can't fit it all in (did I mention we were moving house?) I bet I did. It's become something of an obsession over the past few weeks. I'm not thinking about anything else. I'm not doing anything else except working towards this move. I don't even seem to have the time to sleep anymore. Of course I've paid a price. We all have. We can't find anything (everything's in boxes). I thought I'd packed only the non-essential items. Turns out I was wrong. Unable to find the egg cups the other day, the children were reduced to eating boiled eggs out of candlestick holders. It was only partially successful, but they seemed to enjoy the novelty of it. The swimming training has gone completely out of the window. As soon as we've moved (next Friday) I'm going to start again. Well, as soon as we've moved and unpacked the boxes and had the washer plumbed in and... oh God, all the other things which I don't want to even think about. The lack of daylight hours definitely isn't helping. I find myself packing items well into the night. Some nights all I do is pack. (How have we accumulated so much stuff?) I don't even sit down until the 10 o'clock news and then I'm too knackered to concentrate on it. I'd complain to my husband, but he's in exactly the same state as me. If anything, he's even more stressed.

I suppose all that box-lifting has got to be good for my muscles (see "Who needs a gym?" from the other week)...

Anyway, I suppose the point of all this is that there just doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day anymore. I don't even seem to be able to fulfil my training regime, never mind get to work on more fundraising. So, it was a big surprise to me this week to be able to tell you that actually, this week, I've had a really good week on the fundraising for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity front. In fact the fundraising has received a massive boost, and through doing one really simple thing as well. I told my boss what I was doing and she's been, well, amazing. She's trying to persuade my employers to match anything I manage to raise. This is a BIG boost. They haven't promised anything yet, but they're looking into it and have said that they should be able to do something towards providing a contribution for the fundraising target anyway. I'm hoping I'll be able to exact a promise from them soon. (I know, I know, we're in difficult economic times, but surely an organisation of the size I work for should be good for at least a tenner? In fact, they should be good for a lot more than that, but as they said, they're not promising anything yet.) On an individual basis, my boss has also sponsored me herself and then went onto say that she would probably sponsor me again as I complete the events! What a star. She then stuck a poster of what I'm doing on the noticeboard and from this one of my other colleagues sponsored me. And it was one who I thought didn't like me too. With this in view, maybe the ones who do like me will sponsor me more.

All of the above cheered me up immensely. I am now over 10% of the way towards achieving my fundraising target. It's not much, I know - but I have got nearly a year to get there and there are other people out there who have definitely promised to support me, but who just haven't got round to it yet. With just a little more pestering, and Christmas out of the way, who knows...? Perhaps they will get round to it.

I didn't want to just moan about dark nights this time (or the move for that matter). I've lived in this country my entire life. I know November is the most miserable month of the year. (I also know I've got the coldest, the windiest, and the wettest months to come before I get to run along some amazingly scenic route near to my new home in the Peak District in beautiful summer sunshine and be able to return to a box-free house in which I know exactly where the egg cups are stashed). Difficult times lie ahead, but boosts such as the one which my boss has give me this week, should help get me through. Anyway, as I was saying, the purpose of this is not just to moan about the dark; because, due to the house move and the various intricacies of phone lines/internet connections and other things which I'm not even going to pretend to understand - it's the husband's department: he's the technical one -we are "going dark" in other ways too. In fact, due to the loss of internet connection over the next month, I won't be able to contribute to this blog for a short time. I know, I know. The three special people out there who are actually following this (you know who you are) will be devastated. Or maybe you won't. Either way, I will be back in the near future to update you once more on my efforts towards achieving this ridiculous challenge which I have set for myself.

In the meantime, should anybody who is reading this feel the urge to support me in raising funds for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity, then please do so. Don't let the economic crisis/the credit crunch or the fact that Christmas is just around the corner put you off in anyway whatsoever. In fact, supporting me now may even cheer you up, in this, the most miserable month of the year. You can do your own personal good deed at http://www.justgiving.com/valderbyshire

I'll be back shortly to pester you some more.

Who needs a gym...?

One of my friends posted a picture of herself on Facebook pushing her young children in a very large, very heavy looking double-buggy. The caption was "Who needs a gym when you have to push a double-buggy up that bloomin' hill?" And I've got to say, the very same thought occurred to me when I was spending yet another miserable (for me) morning in the park with my youngest son on the see-saw with me providing the power for it. As I'm pushing it down for the umpteenth time and he's laughing delightedly as he rises up in the air and shouts "More! More!" it suddenly occurred to me that people pay good money to do just this kind of exercise in a gym. Okay, okay - it doesn't rain in a gym. It's nice and cosy and warm, and you can watch Coronation Street while you make your arms hurt, so maybe being in a gym is a bit nicer, but you can't argue with the fact that doing the exact same exercise in a park is a lot cheaper.

Also, whenever I see those people running on a treadmill in a gym, I can never help but feel that it's a bit pointless running on one of those things. It's like all the pain, and none of the pleasure. And there's a lot of pleasure to be had from running out onto the moors or through the woods, particularly at this time of year.

Last week, in my blog, I asked the very same question. Who needs a gym when you can paint a ceiling (oh, yes, the house redecoration in readiness for its impending sale continues - so far I've painted nearly two and a half walls in the kitchen, plus the ceiling - okay, not great progress, but I have got two small children to look after). And there's no disputing the fact that the house move has definitely contributed to my overall fitness. I'm working all hours to get things packed up (we now have a moving date - and a removal firm - booked in for 3 weeks time!!!) and lugging boxes about to stow them out of the way until the big day. The stress has been good for my figure too. I've got to say that despite all the training up to this point, I haven't really lost any weight. In fact, if anything, I'm eating more (of the wrong stuff) because I feel like (a) I deserve it; and (b) - whenever I think about the swim - I need cheering up - so I'm still a bit flabby... but this week, the pounds have been dropping off me. I'm really feeling the stress and it's making me - shock! horror! lose my appetite. I can't wait for this move to be over so I can get it back again. As I said last week, if it wasn't for the training I'm doing, I would surely have been committed by now. It's a real relief to get out of the house and just run. In fact, if things get much worse, I might just keep going just so I don't have to come back and face it all: the half-white/half-blue kitchen, the mess, the boxes everywhere, the whingeing children telling me over and over that they don't want to move house... (We've moved on from patience, encouragement, admissions that Mummy and Daddy don't want to move either, but it will be lovely when we get there to saying "Well, we are doing." in a voice that belies the fact that the speaker is sick of being told the same thing over and over).

Anyway, with all of the above in view, I'm starting to look "athletic" as one person described me last week. "Athletic". Is this a good thing? I'm not sure. One thing's for certain, I've never been described as it before; so if nothing else, at least it's a novelty.

This week hasn't even been that good for the training either. A couple of weeks ago, for the first time ever, I managed to swim the entire mile in training. 32 lengths of Pond's Forge in 50m lanes. I cannot even begin to describe the last 100m. A new definition to the word "pain" sums it up. The lifeguard was hovering at the edge of her high stool. She was poised to jump in and get me, and it was only luck that mean't she didn't have to in the end. And I was slow. I mean really, slow. It took me 55 minutes to swim the distance. At this rate, I could swim the channel in just over a day (24 hours, I'm talking, not just daylight hours). This week, I only managed a paltry 24 lengths. In the first place, the pool was really, really busy. It was like the sea in there. There were groups of kids congregating at each end of the pool, rendering swimming a complete 50m an impossibility anyway. In the second, halfway through the session I had to get out because I needed a wee. (I am generally bursting for a wee halfway through the session - I don't really know how I'm going to manage the whole mile across Windermere without... well, weeing in the lake - and, sadly, the face of the person swimming behind me - let's hope they put me at the back or I'll just not have to have anything to drink for about 3 days before). Anyway, the stop for a toilet break was disasterous for the training and at 24 lengths, I gave up. I suppose swimming in the pool when it is like the sea should be good thing really. It will get me used to swimming in choppy waters. Windermere is most likely to be more like the sea than swimming in a nice, safely enclosed, pool, with both ladies and gents toilets close at hand.

Then all of the stuff I've got to do towards this move is cutting down the training time I have available, so that's hindering me a little too. It's a good job, really, that it's half-term this week and I've got both my children at home. If today was anything to go by (another freezing trip to the park, hoisting kids in and out of swings, propelling roundabouts and once, even, a rocking camel - don't ask) then it's going to be a right workout this week. As my friend says, when you have children, who needs a gym?

It's all go...

It really is all go... This week I've felt like I haven't had time to... well... break wind, never mind train. However, I have still managed to get out there for the runs and my weekly swim, so rest assured, I'm not falling behind.

The reason for all of this chaos? Well, as if we haven't got enough on at the moment, what with my eldest son starting school, sustaining both of our jobs and all the other stuff we do, we've decided to move house. This, of course, means selling our own house, which needs redecorating in order to make it appealing to buyers in the current market; so this week, I've been mainly painting the kitchen. I've been having to do it in stages because I've got my youngest son at home with me all day. So when he's awake in the day, I can only spend a very short time decorating and I can only paint things which are out of his reach (i.e. ceilings, and the tops of walls). All of the rest (i.e. the stuff within his reach) is having to be done after both the kids are in bed. I've got to say, however, you can really feel your muscles after a session painting a ceiling. It's got to be good for you. Who needs a gym?

It's not just the practical stuff though, it's the stress involved. My head is just buzzing with the amount we've got to do. Every room I enter in the house requires something doing to it to make it more presentable and I don't even want to think about the twelve years' worth of accumulated crap we've got stuffed in cupboards and in the loft (the loft! AAAAGGH!!) which we are going to have to sift through, either discard, or pack and move.

This, however, is where going for a run or for a swim comes into its own. Surely, there can be no better stress-buster than going out and running so far that you can't feel anything anymore. After a few miles I'm not even thinking anymore; I'm just running. All I can feel is the ache in my legs. It's a relief, I have to tell you. It's a relief to have somewhere to be able to escape from what's going on inside my head.

So I've been training harder than ever; and I've been working harder than ever on the fundraising too. At the end of last week I finally got the T-shirts I'd ordered from the (rubbish) print shop. With this in view, I made an appointment to call into the fundraising office of the Weston Park Hospital to have some photographs taken for them to place on their website. The photos (featuring my T-shirts) are at the top of the page. As you can see, thankfully, the print shop obviously haven't been reading this blog, as they have resisted the urge to write something obscene on the back of my T-shirt. They almost look quite professional, apart from the fact that they promised they'd print the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity logo on a white background to make it stand out (they didn't) and also the "r" in "Great North Swim" is a bit wonky when you look at it close up. Still, at least I've got it now. There were also some pictures of my front but I have to admit I got a shock when I looked at them. Do I really look that old? I know I feel it, but that's another story. Needless to say, I have not included them here or on any of the other websites I use. I asked my husband if I really did look that old. He (perhaps erroneously) muttered something about me looking quite young in the pictures. How old do I look without the intervention of a camera? I don't even want to think about that.

Moving swiftly on, the print shop produced another T-shirt for me too, in flourescent green (to make sure I can be seen out on these dark winter nights). It reads "Sponsor me to run the greats in support of the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity". If you see an elderly lady out stumbling along in the dark in a flourescent green T-shirt bearing these words, it's probably me. My website is on the back of said T-shirt - make sure you take a note of it and sponsor me.

I've had a few more visitors to my justgiving web page, including sponsorship from someone I've never even met before. He contacted me via facebook and left an extremely touching message about how he had heard that I was raising money for cancer and would he be able to sponsor me because his own mum was dying of a carcinoid tumour. His email moved me to tears. I was amazed and touched by his generosity for supporting me and it gave me such a boost. It was the best stress-buster ever and the best motivation to persevere with the training, even though time, as always, is desperately short.

I am now nearly 10% of the way there to raising my target of £3k. I know it sounds a bit rubbish, but I haven't even started yet. The next few months is going to see me doing some real pestering for sponsorship...

Don't forget, you can sponsor me too. Whether you know me or not, if your life has been touched by cancer, perhaps you'd like to help raise money towards research into treatments of the disease. You can sponsor me now at http://www.justgiving.com/valderbyshire

I would stay and write more, but I've got the kitchen wall to paint...

Seasons they fly...

The title is from a Tyketto song... "Seasons they fly... Stealing, you never will know why..." Okay, they were a bit rubbish, as were their song lyrics, but during the eighties I loved Tyketto. I once went to see them twice in one week. They were my favourite band, despite the dodgy hair and even dodgier material they produced. What do you mean you've never heard of them? You haven't lived...

But that's not what I wanted to post on my blog this week (although Tyketto are definitely worth looking up if you haven't ever heard of them. Or even if you have. Go on, give them another chance... They weren't that crap). This week I wanted to talk about motivational issues and how hard it is to keep up with the training for the nine runs and one swim I have promised to do for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity, now that it's becoming obvious that the seasons are whirling past us and we are all labouring under the sure and certain knowledge that winter is looming on the horizon.

I mean, how hard is it to get yourself out of the house for purposes of exercise anyway? I find it incredibly hard. I'm always exhausted after a day spent dealing with preschoolers (and there's nothing more exhausting than reasoning with creatures who know no reason) and sometimes I just don't want to spend the tiny, miniscule amount of free time I have slogging up the nearest hill with a stitch and the feeling of an impending heart attack. And that's when the evenings were beautiful, golden, sunny late summer evenings. Now that the nights are drawing in... Well, getting myself out there is even more difficult.

It's not just the swimming, although that is a challenge. After all, who in their right mind, on a dark, freezing October night wants to leave the comfort of their nice warm house with the deliberate intention of immersing themselves in water that feels positively Baltic? Okay, it's not that cold; but it certainly feels a little bit nippy when you first get in. And, okay, the temperature of the pool is being recorded at 27 degrees. But it still feels cold to me. (And, yes, I do know that when I take part in the Great North Swim in Windermere next year the temperature is going to be around 15 degrees, or possibly even colder, and that this is a good 12 degrees lower than the temperature I am complaining about now). But no, it's not just the swimming. It's the running too.

In some ways, training for the running should be easier. I mean I don't have to get the car out and drive to a pool to do the session. All I have to do is step outside of the house (yes, my nice, warm, light, cosy house) and start running. It's hard on these dark nights. In the first place, there's so much thought that has to go into plotting a route. I need to find routes where I know that (a) I won't get mugged, (b) there is adequate streetlighting to keep me safe and so that I can see where I'm going, and (c) it's a route where I'm not going to get mown down by drivers who can't see me out on the road. (At this stage, I should point out that it is very unlikely that I will get mugged. I don't carry anything on me to get mugged for. Not even watch or glasses as they irritate me jiggling around when I'm running, so I leave them at home. And no mugger worth his salt is going to be interested in my running shoes (each shoe a different size as I have one foot slightly larger than the other, and a positive hazard to human health anyway) or my disgusting, sweaty running vest or shorts - well, not unless the mugger has scientific leanings and wishes to discover the new life forms which are inevitably building their own ecosystem in these garments). It's the time it takes as well. I don't run quickly. I think I've mentioned before that I resemble a shambling old woman going out for an incongruous jog - I still do, even after six weeks of training. I suppose this is because I'm not really bothered about race times. I just want to finish the events. I don't care how long it takes - as long as they don't have to reopen the road before I cross the finish line, of course. A six mile run (10k) will take me at least an hour and a half. And time is precious when you've got bugger all of it to spend on yourself anyway.

It mentions in my bible of endurance training by Jon Ackland that time is the most valuable commodity an endurance athlete needs, and because of this (s)he needs to use it wisely. (Yes, alright, the sharp-eyed amongst you, and those in the know, will note that this particular section of the book is on page two and no, I haven't read much further than that. But I'm getting there. I haven't had the time...)

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that I have, like all other people who promise to do these events, I suspect, had motivational issues. So this week, I've tried to look on the positive side - which brings me back to the seasons again. Because what can be more lovely than running through the woods on a beautiful autumnal day? The leaves are changing in a riot of colour - every conceivable shade of red, russet, gold and brown is on display. What can be more enjoyable than running down (down, not up - it's far too steep for that) Carterknowle Road and seeing the leaves on the ground from the trees which line the road? What was more beautiful than running through Millhouses Park this morning and seeing the sunlight filtering through the trees and sparkling on the babbling river Sheaf. I can, I told myself, (probably somewhat delusionally) hardly wait for Winter to come so I can see the first snow up on the moor. Imagine how fantastic training in the Springtime will be when I can see the woodland floor as a carpet of bluebells. (Of course, there are distinct disadvantages to the woodland floor - the main one being that certain people do not feel the need to remove the evidence their dogs leave behind from the woods in the same way as they do in, say, the park. In fact, it is almost certainly left behind, indiscriminately peppering the woodland paths making it near impossible to take a run through the woods without bringing something disgusting home with you on the bottom of your shoe. The fact that dog excrement is nearly exactly the same colour as the autumnal leaves only adds to the likelihood that you won't spot it before you've ploughed through it. Unless, of course, it's that weird dog poo which is entirely white - what on earth have those dogs been eating? Seriously, I'd like to know. I can imagine that some dear old lady is feeding their pooches soap powder or something like that. I can't think what else would account for the colour. It would be "Well, of course, the dog died within a fortnight, but for a short while his poo smelt lovely.") But that's just a minor niggle, and as I say, I'm focussing on the positive at the moment. It's the only way I can keep on with the training.

Another factor that's keeping me going is the number of people who have sponsored me to complete these events so far. I can't not get out there and go training, because I would be letting all of the people who have so far believed enough in me to actually part with some cash on the basis that I'm going to complete these events. Rest assured, all of you, I am going to complete these events. It won't be fast. It might not be pretty. (Although, I did, amazingly, get chatted up by someone whilst out for a run the other day. I have to say though the person in question was old enough to be my grandfather. And was possibly either blind or senile. It was right next to an old people's home). It might even be a bit smelly (if I can't manage to avoid the dog poo). But I will do it.

If you want to sponsor me, you can do this at http://www.justgiving.com/valderbyshire All of the funds raised on the donation page will go to the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity, which is one of only three UK hospitals dedicated to cancer care. The Weston Park provides specialist cancer treatment services for over two million people living in the South Yorkshire, North Nottinghamshire and North Derbyshire areas, but even if you don't live in these areas, the Weston Park is a leading national and international centre for the research into, and treatments of, cancer, so there's a good chance that if you are unlucky enough to develop cancer (and it touches 1 in 3 of us), the Weston Park will have had some input into your treatment.

Anyway, I've gone on and on again, so I'd better sign off for now. Yes, it's cold, it's dark, and I've got to go running...

Things I wish my mother had (n't) told me... And things I wish I hadn't told her.

Last week I mentioned the fact that I hadn't told my mother about the fact that I was intending to run 64 miles and swim one, all in the name of fundraising, and I promised, faithfully, that this week, I was going to come clean and put her in the picture.

I mean, I had to, really. The fact was, part of the reason I'm doing this in the first place is because my Dad lost his Dad to cancer when he was only eighteen (in fact the justgiving page where you can still sponsor me - hint, hint - is actually partly in my Grandad's memory). With this in view, it was ridiculous even considering taking part in this fundraising challenge without my Dad even knowing about it - and with this in view, I had actually already told my Dad about it... But not my Mum (too scared to). My Dad, similarly, was also too afraid to tell my Mum about it all and had been keeping it quiet. This, as you can imagine, has put him in a very difficult position. He was having to pretend to know absolutely nothing about it whatsoever and when I actually did come clean this week, and tell my Mum all about it, he had to pretend to look surprised as well. (Oh the tangled web we weave...)

My Mum's reaction, I have to say, was not as negative as I expected it to be. Don't get me wrong - she doesn't want me to do any of the events. In her own words: "I don't want you to do all this running and swimming." In fact, she even urged me to give up on the attempt (Come on, Mum! What kind of advice is that for a parent to give to their child? Weren't you the one who drilled into me from an early age how important it is to keep one's promises? You can't change the advice now, just because the promise I've made doesn't suit you...) Her advice was: "Tell them you can't do it. Tell them you've changed your mind. Tell them anything, but don't do it." And when I told her that this particular advice was way up there with other pearls of wisdom I've gleaned from her over the years, including: "You won't feel a thing in childbirth. Well, you'll soon forget about it afterwards, anyway." (ha ha), and that I wasn't going to take any notice of it anyway, her response was "well, I'm not going to think about it."

Now there's a small part of me that feels that this IS good advice. Sometimes I don't feel like thinking about it either. Sadly, it keeps coming back to haunt me. If I don't think about it, I'll never manage to either complete any of the events or raise any money for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity. I've got to keep up with the running and keep the momentum up with my swimming training, or those 65 miles will probably finish me off for good. And once I manage to get out there and get going, I (usually) quite enjoy it.

This week, of course, it was the Great North Run. I had to work on the day, but because a bookmakers has loads of televisions in it, I managed to watch the event. It was fantastic to watch, I have to say - really thrilling to think that this time next year, I'll be running too (albeit not dressed as a donkey as I saw one man was - how on Earth did he manage to keep running for 13.1 miles in that suit? It was the same size and looked nearly as heavy as a real donkey. Hats off to him - I hope he raised loads of money for the - erm, donkey? charity - he was running for. I'm assuming it was a donkey charity anyway, and this, I feel, is a reasonable assumption, given his attire). I would have really enjoyed watching it, if I hadn't kept getting interrupted by the, quite frankly, selfish customers who were ringing me up, at work, expecting to be able to place their bets for them.

I had a friend running in the Great North Run this year too and besides keeping a look out for him on the television, I'd asked him to give me the low down on what the event is like and how it really is to complete the course.

I wish I hadn't asked. This, I have to say, is a prime example of when following my mother's advice and "not thinking about it" would pay off. For I now wish I didn't know the information he has given to me on the matter. I wish I wasn't party to it. Here is a small extract of what he told me:

"It is quite hilly and hard work so take it easy and enjoy it. Loads of support along the way. Start is great through Newcastle up and down hill but it begins to feel like you have been running up hill forever. At about 5 miles a sign says now 3 miles downhill.....this is not strictly true you still have lots of ups and downs to go but it still feels like a lot of uphill and flat stuff (keep training on those hills in Sheffield it will help a lot).From 9 miles it starts to feel really tough as you are going uphill again I found it almost a deal breaker and loads of people started walking so no shame if that's what you want to do after all you are just completing it for charity. As you turn the corner onto the sea front at South Shields everybody says you are nearly there (crowd encouragement is great) but you still have 1.2 miles to go. This will be THE longest mile of your life (you will not want to walk) and the 800m's to go sign will try and trick you but that is still half a mile."

I know he wasn't trying to put me off, but I have to say... Perhaps not thinking about it is the way to go after all...

Fundraising is hard work...

I have come to the conclusion - and possibly it's not a startling one, because it's probably patently obvious to those in the know - but I have reached the conclusion that fundraising is really hard work. Seriously, it is. In some ways, it's harder work than the training I've got to do to be able to complete these events. Okay, the training is hard work too. There are motivational and tiredness issues, but once I get out there (and I have always managed to get myself out there so far) I quite enjoy it. Even the swimming. Really. But raising funds for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Appeal is really quite difficult and also requires a degree of dedication which I hadn't quite thought about when I took this challenge on.

I suppose that is why charities and hospitals employ fundraisers to work on their behalf. They wouldn't be paying people to hold these positions if it wasn't hard work, and I have to say, I now have a new respect for the people who do hold these posts. Hats off to them - it's a very difficult job.

When I first thought about running the Greats for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Appeal and set about putting my plan into action as a serious fundraising attempt, I have to admit, I really didn't think too much about the target amount of money I set myself to raise when I set up my "Justgiving" donation page. There was something almost frivolously easy in the way I gaily typed in £3,000 in the "target amount to be raised" box, as I set the page up. I really didn't think about it too much at all. Now, one month in (and, okay, it's only one month in and there's plenty of time to get there yet), but it has suddenly occurred to me that £3,000 is a lot of money. I mean, it's three thousand pounds. What was I thinking when I typed that figure into that box? People don't part with any amount of money easily and to reach the three thousand pounds target, I'm going to have to persuade a lot of people to donate.

Therefore, with this in view, I have decided to contact EVERYBODY I have ever known. Yes, no matter how slight or tenuous the connection, I have been attempting to contact everyone in the entire history of my life who might remember me, no matter how slightly, and thus have an interest in supporting me, just a little bit. This has involved tracking people down (mainly using Facebook and the Friends Reunited web sites) and sending lots and lots of emails. In fact, every single night, I spend at least an hour at the computer, sending emails, letting people know about what I'm doing and asking them if they'd be willing to lend their support. My husband, who is slightly sick of the time the training is taking out of our lives, and sick as a dog about the fact that he's got to look after the kids for the duration of the ten events I am participating in, is also getting sick of me hogging the computer all the time.


But it's not just tracking down old friends and sending out emails. I've also joined a University alumni group and posted a message on their website, pleading for sponsorship as well as sending an email to the people who run the University alumni newsletter which is sent out periodically, asking if they'll include a paragraph about what I'm doing in their next publication. (No response so far, but maybe they don't want to draw attention to the fact that one of their alumni has clearly gone off her rocker in even considering this challenge in the first place).

And then I thought of another idea to publicise the fact that I'm running the greats for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Appeal. I thought "I know, I'll have a couple of t-shirts printed up to publicise the fact that when people do see me limping down the road in an attempt at running, they'll know that I am actually doing it for a purpose. I'll put my Just Giving web page address on my shirts, and who knows, someone might see it, and sponsor me." So I went to a t-shirt printing shop in town.

I'm not going to name them. I'm not. I'm not naming them for two reasons: (1) I don't have a single good thing to say about the service this shop has offered, and if I name them, well they might sue me or something like that; and (2) I haven't got my hands on the t-shirts they agreed to print for me and which, I hasten to add, I have paid for, yet, and I don't want them to get cross with me and print something obscene on the back or anything like that.

I suppose I should have realised I was going to have a hard time. The man in the shop who dealt with my enquiry - and I don't want to be mean here - but he didn't seem the brightest spark in the world. He asked me what I was doing and I explained that I was running the greats for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Appeal, and that I would also be completing the Great North Swim, which was a mile through open water on Windermere. Maybe he wasn't listening to me properly or something like that. Maybe the explanation of what I am doing was deficient somehow, but his next question was: "You're running? Through water?" What can you say to that. "Well, kind of. Only it's called swimming and it's really, really important that you don't stop."

Anyway, I had taken the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Appeal logo down to the shop on a disk. It was a disk which the man's computer was completely unable to open. Fair enough - these things happen - technology issues, etc. We worked through the wording which was going to be appearing on the t-shirts I had taken in (when I say "worked through", this involved me typing the wording into his computer whilst he chatted to his mate) and agreed that I would email the logo to him later that day, which I did. He promised that the t-shirts would be ready by the end of the week and that he would call me when they were ready. Well, Friday came around and no phone call, so I thought I'd give them a call, just to see how they were getting on. The first time I got through whoever answered the phone said "Look, can you call back. I've got a shop full of people here." (Hmmm, very professional approach, I thought), but I called them back an hour later anyway, only to be told that their email was broken (why hadn't they phoned to tell me this at the beginning of the week?) and as such my t-shirts had just been left on the side. "Could I go in, with a disk with the logo on?". I explained that I had already done that, and that they had been unable to open it. They told me to save it as a different format and bring another disk in. I was cross, I have to admit. I was cross because they really didn't seem to care about the fact that they hadn't done the job which I had paid them for. Plus, it really wasn't that convenient to have to go all the way into town again with another disk, but it was patently obvious that unless I did take the disk, I was never going to see my t-shirts again, despite the fact that I had paid them already for the job they had no intention of putting themselves to any trouble to complete.

So I went into town with another disk. There was a MASSIVE traffic jam on the way in and it took me about forty minutes to cover three miles (you can imagine what sort of mood that put me in). Plus, I was in danger of being late for work (I took the disk in on my way to my evening shift at the bookies), so I literally ran into the shop, flung the new disk at the numpty on the desk and ran out again. He promised that I'd be able to collect my t-shirts by the middle of next week, but I'm not holding my breath. I seem to have heard those sorts of promises from them before.

Still, perhaps it will be worth it when I get the t-shirts. Perhaps loads of people out there will see me out training and sponsor me as a result. I hope so. I seem to have put an awful lot of effort into raising money for my cause but not seemed to have got very far. I suspect this is how the full-time professional fundraisers feel everyday of their lives, unless they have a really, really good day. It's frustrating and time-consuming, and worse, it's becoming something of an obsession. I find myself going on and on about it to my friends (who probably feel pressured into sponsoring me and are probably sick of hearing about it). I find myself plotting new ways to bring my campaign to the attention of people who might sponsor me. I worry about it all the time.

And then, there are the people who I don't want to find out about my campaign.

That sounds really odd, but permit me to elaborate. Obviously, as I have explained, I have spent the last month contacting everyone I can think of who might sponsor me and telling them about the challenge I have set for myself. This, of course, includes my family. My sister "Pompey", was the first person to sponsor me on my justgiving web page. The one person I haven't told is my Mum. I've got to admit, I'm really, really afraid to. She's a real worrier, my Mum, and I just don't know how she's going to react when she finds out about all of the running and swimming (particularly the swimming - my Mum, after all, will remember how I singularly failed to learn to swim until I was twelve years' old, despite the fact that she must have paid hundreds of pounds out in swimming lessons). Therefore, I have been in the slightly odd position where, at thirty-six years' old, I have been emailing people and letting them know about what I am doing and asking for their support, but if these people know my Mum at all, I have had to add the appendage "But don't mention it to my Mum - I haven't quite got around to telling her about it yet." It's ridiculous. I am, after all, as I have said, thirty-six years' old. Much too old to be afraid of my Mum and her reactions when she finds out... So next week, hardest task of all so far in the fundraising (apart from possibly getting those .... to print my t-shirts up) is to come clean, 'fess up and tell her what's I'm doing. I don't know how she'll take it. I'll let you know next week.

A Bit Tired...

When my eldest son was smaller, say about two years' old or something like that, he got into the habit of appending the word "bit" to everything he said. He was "a bit hungry.." or "a bit hot..." or, alternatively, "a bit cold..." Or, he'd been "a bit sick..." (this would be to explain the fact that his bed had been transformed into a sea of vomit after contracting a particularly nasty tummy bug - and I know just how nasty it was because I caught it myself a couple of days later...) This could also be applied to describe things other than his own feelings. For instance, the snail he had just trod on would be "a bit dead..." You get the picture. Anyway, for some reason, describing himself as "a bit tired..." was a favourite of his. (This must surely have been due to the fact that the little bugger absolutely refused to have any daytime naps after the age of sixteen months. Never a big fan of sleeping anyway, after he hit the age of sixteen months, sleeping in the daytime was suddenly a big no-no, and despite him clearly still needing this crucial nap in the afternoon, he would stubbornly refuse to give in and just have the sleep he needed. This led, as you can imagine, if you are a parent, to lots AND LOTS of tiredness related whingeing/tantrums usually culminating in him sobbing plaintively somewhere (too close) to the vicinity of my eardrum "....Bit tired, Mummy.... Bit tired..." And the only solution you were able to offer was a cuddle, because for some reason snapping "Well, go to bloody sleep then," which is what you wanted to do, didn't work.

Anyway, this week, I've felt "a bit tired" myself. In the first instance, I've had a cold. It's not been a particularly bad one, but I've felt it because I haven't had one for a while, and it's the first one (probably of many) of the Winter months to come. As a result of this, I've felt a bit tired and a bit out of sorts and I really didn't want to go swimming one bit on Tuesday night. I mean, like, really didn't want to go. But then I thought, okay, I've got a cold. It's kind of a valid excuse, BUT if I start making excuses NOW, at this early stage in proceedings, I really have just had it. I know myself; I'll make excuse after excuse, week after week, and when the time actually comes around I will just drown in Windermere, because I won't be able to do the swim. So I went and did my swimming session. How is that for commitment? I stand in awe of myself. I actually went.

I did alright as well, if I do say so myself. I was slightly alarmed by how cold the water temperature felt in Pond's Forge. The display in the foyer clearly indicated that the International Pool was 27 degrees. When I got in, however, it felt really, really cold. Which does not bode well, when the organisers of the Great North Swim have indicated that the temperature in Windermere in September (the time of the swim) will be around 15 degrees. (I suppose it might encourage me to swim faster if it feels really, really, really cold). I couldn't swim much slower, that's for sure. Even though I'm swimming in the slow lane, I'm constantly being lapped by other (slow?) swimmers. Still, speed is not important in endurance events. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. (It might be important - It might, for instance, start to matter if I'm still swimming the mile and night starts to fall, or something along those lines, but I'm sure I will speed up. You have to remember, after all, I am very new at this).

I swam twenty lengths, which I worked out (and I never was that good at maths, so I might be wrong here), but I worked it out to be one kilometre (20 x 50m lengths = 1k). I only need to add another .6 of a kilometre to add to that and I've done it! I've done the mile! How's that for progress? I'm still swimming in a bit of a funny way, though, I must admit. I do still definitely need to look into that lesson. I also need to remember to take my wedding ring off before I get in the pool each week. I'm so terrified of losing it that I have ended up swimming with my hand all scrunched up, and this resulted in cramp in my hand last week, as well as being detrimental to my swimming style, which is poor anyway. Still, all these negative points aside, being as I was actually ill at the time, I was quite pleased with myself.

I also managed the running part of the training. Yes, I have fulfilled my quota of two runs per week, this week, despite the cold and feeling a bit tired. There is, I have noted, a serious problem with running in Sheffield. It's so hilly. You just end up running uphill for ages and then following this with long periods of (usually steep) downhill sections. On balance, I decided last week, whilst I was running down Carterknowle Road and my knees were killing me, that I prefer the uphill to the down. I know this sounds strange; and don't get me wrong, I find running uphill very, very hard. However, it's easier on the knees than the long sections of downhill routes. Also, running uphill, I can feel my body working; I'm out of breath, my heart's pumping faster, and, surely, this is all contributing to improvements in my overall fitness? However, on the downhill sections, I feel that I'm covering distance, but I'm barely out of breath and I don't think that it's really doing that much for me, from an improving fitness point of view. One of the very generous people who have sponsored me on my justgiving page this week pointed out that I need to train smarter to be able to gain the necessary fitness to complete the events I have promised I will. He told me that intelligent training will mean that this entire insane project will have less impact on family time, because I'll need to spend less time training, but I'll still be able to do the events, and comfortably. He's right. He's so right. And I don't think that wasting valuable time running down hills and potentially injuring my knees is tantamount to "training smarter". What I need is to find an uphill version of Powder Park.

Now, any of you who has ever visited France during the winter months may have come across a slightly (very) dodgy teen-drama called Powder Park. I'm not sure if it actually originated from France, come to think of it. There is a distinctly American sheen to the programme, so maybe the very glossy, cleancut actors and actresses featured in this programme were actually American with their words being dubbed into French. Anyway, basically, Powder Park was set in a ski resort where the ultra glamorous heroes and heroines and all of their equally glamorous pals snowboarded and ski'd about to various locations whilst performing the business of enacting the dramas of their daily lives. Now the very odd thing about this programme was that in order to get absolutely anywhere in Powder Park you had to snowboard there (or ski) - but more snowboard, because it's cooller (sorry skiers, but it is). That meant that, of necessity, absolutely anywhere the actors/actresses wanted to go was downhill. For example, they'd snowboard down to the pub, have a few drinks, flirt/fall out with each other before snowboarding back down to home again - which clearly must have slid down the mountain in the time it took them to have the few drinks/flirt/fall out with each other in the pub, because they'd snowboarded down from home before... You get the picture. It was all very odd, but quite amusing too.

Anyway, if I could find a running route where I ran up the hill and then in a loop which would lead me in an uphill manner back up the hill to home again, I'd be very happy (and so would my general fitness and my knees). Sadly, I suspect that the laws of geography/science indicate that this might be an impossibility, but you never know. I was rubbish at geography and science as well at school, in addition to being rubbish at maths (and PE - I'm not painting a very good picture of myself here as a school pupil, am I?)

I haven't found one yet anyway. I went out today and went for a fairly level run, but even that included uphill sections and, of necessity, downhill ones too. (Absolutely everywhere you go in Sheffield entails going up a hill somewhere along the way. There are just too many hills). I wasn't going to go far today. I'm up to running around 5 miles distance now in each run and I'm quite happy with that for the moment. After all, my first run, the Great Winter Run is only 3 miles long, so I should be able to finish it comfortably now (I hope - all of this optimism might be ridiculously misplaced, and I might just be setting myself up to fail by even articulating it). After that, the next race isn't until May, so I've got time to build more distance into my training plan. Still, today, I ran six whole miles, which I was really pleased with, because it's around 10k, although it did take me a long time. Which leads me back to training smarter in order to save time. I think, on the whole, I'm just going to have to get a lot smarter at a lot of things (maths, geography, science, training sessions to name but a few) if I'm going to succeed.

Don't forget you can sponsor me now at: http://www.justgiving.com/valderbyshire I would be so grateful for your support for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Charity, in the meantime, I'm off to lie on the sofa with a gin and tonic because I'm a bit tired...

No big deal...

The training continues... It's the swimming which is the really hard work. Let's face it, you want to practice running, you can just step out of the door (as long as baby sitters are in place, etc) and go for a run. Swimming is an altogether different proposition. After last week's let down (the pool being too warm when it is normally freezing at Queen's Park), I decided to go to Pond's Forge in Sheffield city centre. Two reasons for this: (a) It's nearer; and (b) it's an Olympic sized swimming pool and so the lengths are fifty metres long instead of just twenty-five metres. (I know, I know, you end up swimming the same distance, but it doesn't feel quite so long somehow when you only have to do half the lengths...)

I have to say, apart from getting over Park Square roundabout (otherwise known as Kamikaze Roundabout... Well, to me, anyway) and finding somewhere to park in the city centre, the session went much better. I managed to swim sixteen 50m lengths and I did fifteen without stopping, which I was pretty proud of. It was actually quite hard, because there were several people lounging at either end of the pool, so to turn around without splashing them/sinking to the bottom of the pool was quite hard. I kind of floundered about a bit at each end until I'd managed to turn myself around. Also, even though I was swimming in what was clearly marked "Slow Lane" people were still overtaking me. Surely they should have been in the fast or medium lane? There's no need to swim in the slow lane just to make the real slow coaches (like me) look bad. Also, and this is the final negative point, I've realised that there's something a bit funny about the way I swim. I swim breast-stroke, and yes, it's slow, but it's all I can manage. Sadly, I don't even seem to be managing this properly. One leg seems to be doing the right thing, but my other (my left leg) does something a bit odd and twitches about a bit as I go. Sometimes I even completely misjudge the kick with my leg and splash it out of the water with a great crash of water (Usually going into the person behind me's face). I'm not going to be popular, plus I'm not going to be swimming very efficiently if I don't correct this. I may try and see if I can get a swimming lesson to try and correct my technique (possibly a private one, if I can manage it - I don't want to revisit my Brownie-gala-swimming-days-unfortunate-youth and get laughed out of the pool by a bunch of eight year olds again.) My husband says I need to correct this peculiar trait my left leg is showing in that it mutinies against what it is supposed to be doing. He says that if I don't, they'll all start calling me names at Pond's Forge now that I've started going regularly. He said they'd all be saying "Oh look, here comes Flipper again." Yes, thank you for that, thank you very much. Still, all in all, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself when I (with some difficulty in walking again) managed to get out of the pool, UNTIL I went into the changing rooms. Once there, I was cut down to size by three girls who were talking about their own planned endurance swim. Not one mile around Windermere. No; they intended to swim to Ireland. My one mile swim around Windermere, well, it's just nothing really... barely worth getting wet for.

And I have to say that I have found this a lot over the past week. That is, that what I'm intending to do over 2009 (i.e. run 64 miles and swim one) really isn't that big a deal to some people. Over the past week, I've been trying to drum up sponsorship for the events I'm going to take part in and over this time alone, I have encountered the following statements when I've told people about what I'm going to do:

"Run the Greats? Oh yes, I did Iron Man at the weekend..."

"Swim a mile? Oh OK I'll sponsor you, but my friend is training to swim the Channel..."

Well, what can you say to that? Apart from politely pointing out that there's a perfectly good ferry service, of course...

Anyway, I suppose it's true. To some people, running 64 miles and swimming one over open water (freezing open water) isn't that big a deal. However, I'm not some people. I'm me. Middle-aged, going grey, got two kids and the flab to prove it, never got picked for the teams in PE, (in fact, to be fair, spent quite a lot of time unaccountably absent from PE; absences which, I have to say, my PE teacher never reported me for, because I suspect she was as relieved as I was at my absence from these lessons), me. Everything about this is a total challenge to me. Finding the time for the training, staying motivated enough to do the training when the children wear me out sometimes. It's only going to get harder over the winter months and then later on it will be a wrench taking the time away from the children to travel all over the UK to take part in these events. Plus I've got to persuade my husband to do all that childcare for me, because I won't be there like I normally am. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm really enjoying it, in fact. But it is a challenge and a hard one for me.

One of the other challenges I've found is the time it takes to concentrate upon the fundraising. I'm making a real go of this. I'm really focussing on raising as much money as I can for the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Campaign. When I first came to Sheffield, my very first (student) house was on Whitham Road, right opposite this hospital. For the entire year of my stay in this house my view consisted of the hospital and one of those thermometer things which they often have outside of churches/hospital to show how the fundraising is going. I can't remember the red bar indicating an increase in funds going up that much or even changing at all. I owe it to the students who are now living in this house to raise enough money to alter their view a little and add a little interest in their lives. (Of course, it could have just been that nobody ever altered the sign thingy - I know that the Weston Park does a lot to raise funds) but, of course, as with all hospitals, if they want to carry on providing the best possible care for their patients AND carry on with their local research which is used to help everyone globally in the fight against cancer, they need more, and as part of this, I've been contacting EVERYONE I can think of to sponsor me. It's been an amazing journey really. I've started by contacting everyone I was at school with. Now I went to a lot of schools when I was growing up, so there's a lot of people (my parents moved around a bit...) So far I've only got to the last secondary school I went to. (Sending begging emails takes quite a bit of time). I've used Facebook to find friends and Friends Reunited. It's been brilliant. I've spoken (virtually, over the email that is...) with a boy who now tells me (twenty years too late, mind) that he had a major crush on me at school. (I didn't think anyone had a major crush on me at school, I was a surly child). It did my self-esteem no end of good to hear that. Two people from school have sponsored me twenty pounds each. Incredible generosity from people I haven't seen in twenty years. I'm amazed at them, I really am.

As for Facebook, lots of people seem to have added me on as their "Friend" just because we went to school together, but actually I can't ever remember them speaking to me whilst I was at school with them. To them I have sent the following email: "Thanks for adding me on as your friend on Facebook. To be honest, I don't remember you ever speaking to me while we were at school together. Well, better late than never, I suppose..." and then I've gone on to ask them to sponsor me. I've not heard anything back yet from any of them, and I wonder if they perhaps didn't take it as the joke it was intended to be... Oh well. Let's hope some of them come through and sponsor me. Perhaps I need to refine my technique for asking. I am asking for money off them after all.

As for other friends, well, people have been amazing in expressing their support, although some people are still inclined to think I've gone slightly mad. The "it's all a mid-life crisis" theory seems to abound. Still, if some of these friends haven't got round to sponsoring me yet, lots have said that they will do some of the events with me. One friend (Lindsey) has taken up running (and she really doesn't like running), but she's going to do the Great North Run with me. She tells me that she went out for a training session the other day and whilst she was running along (painfully slowly) she was overtaken by a couple out walking their dog. A few moments later the dog passed her too, poking her up the bum with a large stick it was carrying in its mouth at the same time. It must have just caught her as it went past, but she took the hint anyway and tried to run a bit faster. Still, it's not put her off. Despite the fact that she's got two kids too and she's just started an incredibly complicated sounding science course at college, she's still taking time out to train. She's going to do the swim with me too, ostensibly, she says, to stop me from drowning, but I think she's a bit worried I might get lost too. My sense of direction is legendary... Well, rather, I should say, the lack of it... Also, she says with the left leg twitching thing going on, I might start swimming round in circles and I'll need her to keep me on course...

Another friend has also offered to join me for the swim. In fact, this friend and I have taken part in an endurance event together before. We both spent a rather unfortunate week in the Lake District with our kids on holiday last summer. All the kids did was whine. All the weather did was rain. You get the picture...

Also, another Lyndsay (the fundraiser from the Weston Park Hospital) has said that she will also take part in some of the runs. (Sorry about the number of Lyndsays in this story, by the way). It's an unfortunate fact that nearly all of the principal characters so far are called Lyndsay/Lindsey. Nothing wrong with that, it's a lovely name; but I suppose it might be a bit confusing for you following the story... Anyway, more characters will emerge soon (my sister for instance, who has incredibly generously sponsored me fifty pounds to complete these events AND definitely isn't called Lindsey).

Anyway, back to my legendary lack of sense of direction. This morning was my best run yet and would have been even better IF I hadn't got lost. I ran up through Ecclesall Woods, up through Whirlow, the Limb Valley to Ringinglow and then back down Long Line/Ecclesall Road/Abbey Lane to home again. It's a total of 5.5 miles according to Mapmyrun.com, but it was probably made even longer by the fact that the signage for the public footpath in the very boggy fields leading up to Ringinglow was very poor. I ended up wandering aimlessly around a field (complete with cows) for at least ten minutes looking for the stile to exit the field. I reckon that added at least another half a mile on. It probably also provided some amusement for the farmer (I could imagine him in his farmhouse - which was at the top of the field - saying: "there be another one of them runners lost in our field again. Give it ten minutes and I'll send the dog to get her out...") In the end, I failed to find the stile (possibly I was in the wrong field) and was forced to climb out of it over a stone wall and through some barbed wire. Just as I was dragging my mud spattered carcass over the wall, a man was cycling past on a bike. It earned me a very strange look, but I was very glad to be out of the field, I must say... Not least because it was so muddy and running on muddy/rough ground is, I found this morning, quite hard. Road running is much easier on the feet. Still, what running through all of these puddles/streams/boggy fields has thrown up is the fact that I definitely need new running shoes. Everytime I go out now, I get muddy toes and it's clear the old ones are leaking. I'm very attached to my running shoes, but it's definitely time to get some more.

Anyway, I've gone on and on again, so I'd better get back to the real business of the day... Pestering for sponsorship. Back to the Friends Reunited page I think... Then onto University alumni... Don't forget, you can sponsor me NOW to complete these events at http://www.justgiving.com/valderbyshire There is a very good chance I will drown in open water on Windermere and you won't have to pay up anyway, so what have you got to lose?

One week since I passed the point of no return...

It's one week since I passed the point of no return... (the point of no return being the point just after I'd clicked the "send" button on the email to the Weston Park Hospital promising to run nine of the "Great" series of runs and swim one mile over open water (Lake Windermere to be precise) to complete the Great North Swim event, in order to raise some money for their cancer appeal. To clarify, here is the precise nature of what I've promised to do:

The Great Winter Run (5K/3.11 miles) to be held in Edinburgh on 10th January 2009. (Never been to Edinburgh - this is going to be fun).
The Great Edinburgh Run (10K/6.22 miles) to be held in Edinburgh again (going to be visiting there a lot it seems) on 3rd May 2009.
The Great Manchester Run (10K/6.22 miles) to be held during May 2009.
The Great Women's Run (10K/6.22 miles) - I'm not even that sure where this one is going to be held, but it's during June.
The Great Capital Run (10K/6.22 miles) - err.... London? July 2009.
The Great Wales Run (10K/6.22 miles) - It was in Cardiff last year, so I guess it'll be there again. To be held during July 2009.
The Great Yorkshire Run (10K/6.22 miles) - in my home town of glorious Sheffield, September 2009.
The Great North Run (the big one - a half-marathon at 13.1 miles) - Newcastle during October 2009.
The Great South Run (the last one - ten miles) - Portsmouth, during October 2009.

And then there's the Great North Swim - taking place during September, it's one mile over open water across Lake Windermere.

It's difficult to say exactly why I've promised to run just under 64 miles and swim one. I'm not exactly the sporty type. I'm 36 years' old and I've got two kids. If anything, I'm a bit on the flabby side (don't knock it - this could be a serious advantage during the open water event). I wasn't even that sporty before the advent of the two kids and the flab. I was always the last to be picked for the teams in PE. My husband says that I'm having a mid-life crisis (yes, thank you for that - thank you very much). Maybe I just want to do something away from the kids... Something different other than the school run, the hoovering, the wiping noses and bums. Maybe I just want to take a break from all that and do something different. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I'd seen a girl collecting for the Men's Cancer Campaign for the Weston Park Hospital in Sheffield City Centre and the sight of her made me think about how I never knew my own paternal grandfather because he died of lung cancer when my father was just 18, and how my own kids would never know their paternal grandfather because he died of prostate cancer when my husband was just 21. I don't know but the sight of her made me think that maybe just sticking a quid in her tin and walking away wasn't doing enough. That really, I wanted to do more. And then I had this idea... I'm not saying it was a good idea, but I've always wanted to run the Great North Run and I thought this would give me the ideal opportunity to do it. And then I thought, oh well, if I'm running that one, I might as well run all the other "Great" runs too. (Except when I went onto the greatrun.org website, I noticed they do a Great Australia Run, a Great Ethiopia Run and a Great Ireland Run too. I'm not doing these for three reasons:
a) I can't take that much time away from my children.
b) I can't afford the travel expenses.
c) My passport has expired).

Then, just as I was completing my online entry for the Great Edinburgh Run, I noticed a box asking if I'd be interested in completing the Great Swim event too, and before I'd known it, I'd clicked "yes" and "send". (Now, I really don't know what I was thinking of here. I can't swim very well in a pool, much less over open water. Also, I swim like an old lady - very slowly, refusing to get my face wet. I've always swum this way. I have a distinct memory of entering a Brownie Swimming Gala once as a child and knowing for the briefest instant what it was to be winning and have no-one in front of me, because all of the other brownies had finished their race and got out of the pool). But, hey, I thought, I can practice. A whole year to practice for that one. And, anyway, I'm sure they would come and fish you out if it looked like you were in trouble. It would be bad press if anyone actually drowned during the event. Anyway, whatever I was thinking, as I was saying, I have now promised to do these events and so I've got to do them.

My first training session, to be fair, didn't go great. The problem with running anywhere in Sheffield is that wherever you go, you end up running up a big hill. I ran up Abbey Lane, through Ecclesall Woods to Ecclesall Road. That's one big hill. It took me a long time and my legs were burning by the time I made it up there. I didn't even run all the way. I had to stop and walk some of the way. Even when I'd made it up to Ecclesall Road, my pride took a further blow when I was overtaken by a pensioner jogging past (albeit a very sprightly looking one). I tried to console myself that I'm training for endurance events and am thus entitled to go slowly. Plus, I did, after all, feel like I was having a heart attack at the time, which was slowing me down somewhat. I could have sworn the pensioner was laughing at me too (I mean, who has the energy to jog and laugh at the same time - there's something not natural there).

A couple of days later (legs still aching), I take my children to the park and bump into a friend I haven't seen for a while, out with her daughters and her friend. Her friend (something of an expert on swimming it seems) advises me that I'll get too hot swimming in a wet suit in Windermere. I don't know about this, I'll have to find out - but I do think that perhaps the friend swims a bit faster than me. After all, she told me she could swim a mile in just under an hour. At this present moment in time, I have every confidence I can swim a mile in just under a day. Plus, I'm no expert on open water swimming (at all), but I did go and have a paddle in Coniston Water during a hot August day once and it was so cold that I couldn't feel my toes for the rest of the day. And I do have a sneaking suspicion that Lake Windermere during September is going to be Baltic.

However, knocks to confidence aside, my second run does go better. I run just under three and a half miles and I don't feel too bad at all. (I've cunningly chosen a flat run this time). I was feeling really positive about the experience until I ran past the display window of Staybrite Windows on Abbeydale Road and noticed in that highly polished surface that there was an old woman wearing exactly the same clothes as me, also out for a run. It took me a couple of moments to realise that that bent-backed old woman hobbling along at a pace barely faster than a slow walk was me.

My first swim training session isn't exactly confidence inspiring either. I have not been swimming since before my first son was born (who, coincidentally, started primary school this week). I went to Queen's Park in Chesterfield because the water is always freezing there. Sadly, this time when I go, they've turned the heating up and it's actually quite temperate. I swim eighteen lengths of the 25m pool (Nowhere near the 64 lengths I'll need to be able to swim to have completed the equivalent of a mile). Also, I have to say, during that final length when I realise I am incapable of swimming even one more metre, I am on the point of drowning. I keep going under the water, I'm so exhausted. When I get out of the pool, I can barely make my legs work, the muscles feel so tight. Flopping about like some great ungainly seal (without the swimming ability, obviously) I somehow manage to stagger off to the shower. It's at this point that I ponder the fact that (a) I'm nowhere near making the distance; and (b) crucially, I'm nowhere near swimming the distance without stopping to grab onto the bar at the side of the pool and gasp for breath. There isn't going to be any comforting bar at the side of Windermere, and I'm going to have to be able to do it without stopping. I'm very grateful I have a whole year to train for this.

During this first week, it's my wedding anniversary. Coincidentally, we got married in a hotel next to Lake Windermere. The highlight of the wedding, according to our twelve guests (except my mother who was worried about her hair style being ruined by the breeze) was a champagne boat ride around Windermere. I wonder if this is a providential sign at all. Or maybe it's just a comment on the circularity of life. I got married there and I'm probably going to die there next year too, if my inaugural swim was anything to go by. It's our fifth wedding anniversary ("wood" - oh, and yes, the mathematically minded amongst you will now be saying, hang on, hasn't she got a son who's just started school and therefore must be around five years' of age? OK, so there were thirteen guests at the wedding). I buy my husband an apple tree for his allotment and then due to a severe shortage of places to hide an apple tree in in our house, I give him his present a day early. He buys me a book "The Complete Guide to Endurance Training". Must read it.

On the Saturday of this week, I go to work. (I work for a bookmaker taking bets over the telephone). It's not the job I thought I'd have, but it fits with the children. During my lunch hour I pop out to look for a suitable T-shirt which I can have printed up with the Weston Park Hospital Cancer Appeal Logo and have all the dates of my runs/swim printed on the back. I look in all the usual places. All the best sports shops. I even look in just general women's wear shops. Everything's too expensive and somehow not quite right anyway. Everything's got huge logos on it and brand names on it. In the end, I find just what I'm looking for in the British Heart Foundation Shop. A second hand plain red t-shirt which I intend to have printed up and a blue one for training in. They're great, they cost me three hundred and seventy five English pennies for the pair and the British Heart Foundation benefitted too. Everyone's a winner.