marathonmummy

I’m running this marathon in memory of my lovely dad. Most people know that by now. Those are easy words to say. What’s not easy to describe is how it feels to lose someone you love to a heart attack.

On Wednesday the 13th of September, 2006, I was eight months pregnant with my fourth child. The drains outside our house were blocked and I’d spent all day dealing with that, and worrying about finding the money to pay for it. It was one of those beautiful, hot autumn days, and I chatted to my dad on the phone as I gave my daughter her dinner. He was worried I was doing too much – my husband was working away a lot at the time, and I was on my own for most of the week. We talked for a while about nothing – the usual father-daughter stuff, then I said I’d better get the oldest off to bed.

Bye Pudding, speak to you tomorrow. Love you.
Bye Dad, I’ll give you a ring in the morning. Love you too.

At six o’clock in the morning, the children came into the bedroom telling me there was someone knocking at the door. By the time I got downstairs he was walking away from the house, and I called him back. He asked me my name, and I just said straightaway ‘It’s Dad, isn’t it? What’s happened?’

I’m sorry, he has died.

Just like that. I think the policeman-boy was as traumatised as me. He was standing on the doorstep with a pregnant woman howling like an animal, and three terrified children on the stairs staring at him in amazement.

When somebody you love dies suddenly, the world you lived in is gone forever. Every moment of happiness and joy is tempered with sadness that they aren’t there to share it. It’s easy to write that, but so much harder to live with it. I gave birth five weeks after my father died and he never met the grandson who bears his name. My daughter passed her ballet exam and she’s going to be ten soon – remember my tenth birthday, Dad? You bought me a pair of red earrings in the chemist because I was in double figures and you were proud of me. My son learned to read – listen to him read this, Dad, isn’t he clever? My other son learned to ride a bike without stabilisers – remember when you taught me to ride without stabilisers, pushing me up and down the road outside the house in Beauly? The little one can walk, has started preschool, can count to twenty. He looks like you, he smiles like you, he’s a stubborn bugger like you.

Guess what Dad, I’m running a marathon for you.

I miss you.

As it would seem that I really am running a marathon in 12 weeks’ time, I think it’s time for some of the technical stuff.

One of the benefits of all this running is that instead of thinking about dieting I’m thinking about diet.

I’ve been out for a run having eaten nothing (bad idea, got wobbly legs and came home after a mile with a headache), I’ve been out after drinking too much wine the night before (even worse idea: never run with a hangover) and I’ve learned that revolting as it is, nothing sets you up for a run like a bowl of porridge. I’m ashamed to admit that despite being Scottish, I think it’s utterly disgusting. It’s like eating lumpy, congealing wallpaper paste. But I force it down, because I know it works. I’ve tried adding fruit, cinnamon, raisins, maple syrup…it’s still gruesome.

I’ve also been doing some research into gels, which are lovely energy-giving little packets of gloop which you force down enjoy during long runs. I tried the orange flavoured Lucozade Body Fuel, because Lucozade have drinks stations every 5 miles on the marathon route. It had the consistency of PVA glue and tasted of orange-flavoured medicine. Then I discovered the deliciousness that is the Powerbar Strawberry & Banana Gel, which was so yummy I could just hoover it up as a snack (bad idea, given that it’s just sugar and electrolytes).

Alternatively, I can take my blogging friend Karyn’s lead: she did her first marathon fuelled by granola bars. Her finishing time was 3:37, qualifying her for the Boston Marathon, which is pretty impressive. Think it’ll take more than granola bars, though, otherwise I’d be fab at running already.

Luckily Karyn has some brilliant advice on her blog on pre, post and during race nutrition. She and carpeviam are my two favourite marathon bloggers – both of them could probably run two marathons in the time it’ll take me to do one, but they’re inspiring and have encouraged me from the very beginning.

In other news, I drove 24 miles to visit a friend today, and every single mile I was imagining how I’d be feeling by that point. I think I’m getting a bit obsessed.

*Nestle

I have been tagged by carpeviam, the inspirational goddess of marathon running and all round funny person, to list 10 things that make me happy. [I've also been tagged by the lovely Paula aka CaulaCaulaCaula in a similar fashion, so being lazy this covers both.]

1. Family – here we are this Christmas. Please note I have managed to avoid being in the photograph. I’m crafty like that.

2. Friends – this picture shows a small but very lovely selection. Yes, we had been drinking wine.

3. Tea. Kettle must be freshly boiled, tea must be decaf, milk must be put in afterwards and semi skimmed or whole, never skimmed (ugh). Yes, I really am quite fussy. You noticed.

4. Bookshops – until our lovely Borders closed, I was to be found hiding there as often as possible, drinking coffee and reading books, hidden in a corner. These are our kittens, Edward and Bella, who have inherited my love of books. Or maybe just small spaces.

5. My garden. Don’t be fooled by those hens. They might look cute, but they ate all 100 of my tulips last year, and they crap everywhere. They do lay lovely (occasionally tulip flavoured) eggs, though.

6. Skiing – I keep hoping my running experiences will end up like my skiing ones. My learning curve was very steep. In my first week, I went from lying in a foetal position on a nursery slope, weeping that I was scared I’d fall off the side of the mountain, to a red run. Now it’s my favourite thing in the world. Unfortunately I’ve yet to feel the same love of running that I have for skiing. That’s why you should all be impressed by me running a marathon, because there are about a million other things I’d rather be doing.

For instance, having

7. Baths – with a magazine, a glass of something lovely (Laphroaig will do nicely) and no interruptions from small people needing to go to the loo.

8. Wine – I know, I’m training for a marathon, my body should be a temple, etc, but a glass or two of red wine is good for the heart. Isn’t it? Oh, don’t tell me otherwise, I don’t want to know.

9. The wonderful world of the internet – for an arch-procrastinator like me, it’s a blessing and a curse. I spend far too much time reading the Runner’s World website for tips, when I could be doing something boring but constructive, like work. Or housework. Or running, instead of reading about it. Ugh.

10. Sleep. When you have children who get up at 5am sleep makes you very happy. In fact it’s the holy grail of the parenting world. Talking of which, I might have a little snooze before school pick up time.

Tomorrow: more about running. Today I realised I’m getting fitter. Hooray.

My friend P pointed out that I haven’t posted the article from the lovely and very entertaining MumsRock website on here. If you want to read it in all its glory, go here. But here it is for posterity:

I hate running. I look awful in lycra, and my body shape owes more to Dawn French than Paula Radcliffe. So running the Virgin London Marathon wasn’t really at the top of my things to do list. I have four children, I work from home, I have an allotment which recently earned a ‘must do better’ letter. So last April, when I discovered that my cholesterol levels were too high, I decided that I’d run the Virgin London Marathon in memory of my father. He’d have found that highly amusing, given that I was the girl who would run a mile to avoid any form of exercise.

Dad was only 55 when he died suddenly from a heart attack.
Every day in the UK, 700 people suffer a heart attack – that’s one every 2 minutes. I set up a blog and approached Heart Research UK, a charity which funds research into heart disease, as well as educating people in the ways to look after their hearts. My sister Zoe agreed to join in and for inspiration, we watched the Marathon on television. I’d like to say I was feeling proud of myself, but I was wondering how easy it would be to sneakily break my leg.

I set off on my first run at 5am. I managed a whole 20 seconds before collapsing on a handy bench and turning for home. My husband since confessed that he thought I’d forgotten something, but he was too polite to ask why I didn’t go back out. Since then, I’ve managed to master running for a whole five minutes without stopping – it’s harder than you’d think, you know. Recently I’ve discovered that my self-preservation method has a name. Calling it The Galloway Method sounds a lot better than ‘run a bit, walk a bit’.

My thinking was that with all four children at school or preschool, I’d have lots of time to run. It never seems to work out quite like that. Someone is invariably ill, the school is closed because of snow, and the whole summer holidays were a complete write off. I spent two months apologising on my blog for writing about sandcastles and how much washing the children generated, until my husband sneakily bought a treadmill on eBay. It turned out to be the size of a small transit van and takes up half the sitting room. It’s hard to find an excuse not to run when it trips me up every time I try and sneak into the kitchen for a biscuit.

26.2 miles is a long way, but it’s for a good cause, and I want my children to be proud of me. After all, not everyone can say they have a marathonmummy.

It was my birthday yesterday. Who’d have thought a year ago that this year I’d celebrate by going out for breakfast, then coming home for a 40 minute run?

I thought I’d be clever and strap on the Garmin heart monitor. Unfortunately I pressed the wrong buttons somehow, so I managed to establish my heart rate at the beginning and end of the workout but not the middle. Oops. I was hoping it would tell me how amazingly superfit I’m getting, but instead the graph looked like I’d died. Not really very cheering news.

I did some fartlek (that’s a running term meaning ‘speed play’, for those of you sniggering at the back) which was fun, and a few minutes of jogging on an 8% incline which wasn’t. Ouch.

I ran again today and managed to get the monitor to work this time. I’m getting better, slowly, but 26.2 miles is so far. I’m worried I’m going to be beaten by all the bananas and wombles and finish last. In fact the other night I dreamt we made it to the end of the marathon and they’d packed up and gone home, so we didn’t even get our medals.

I keep getting messages from friends asking if I’m still alive. I read the other day that in the run up to a marathon, it’s normal to become slightly obsessed, and rather boring. I went to bed at 9.30 last night, and the night before. I daren’t drink too much, because I know it’ll interfere with my running the next day. I’ve had to rethink my whole ‘carbs are evil’ eating strategy and start eating breakfast (bleargh). I’m either thinking about my next run, running, recovering from running, or musing over what I could have done better. Oh, or planning my fundraising quiz night and disco, and trying to persuade local businesses to give me lovely raffle prizes. Talking of which, I’d better go and do some more.

PS – going to go to London soon, and drive around bits of the Marathon course with Zoe. Just writing that gives me a horrible sick feeling in my stomach and makes my heart start thumping. Gulp.