my dad
This one isn’t about running. It’s about why we’re running. Three years ago today, Zoe and I lived through the hardest day of our life; our father’s funeral. He was only 55 years old, and looked ten years younger. He was dynamic, funny, stubborn, loyal, kind and thoughtful. He lived in a tiny village in Lincolnshire which he happily referred to as ‘the arsehole of nowhere’, having escaped London ten years before. The last thing he did was typical of him: he’d just taken on some new employees and he took them out for a meal, because he was worried they’d be lonely and bored, having just moved to the area. That night he went home, felt ill, and died of a heart attack before the ambulance arrived.
It was impossible for anyone to believe – my dad was tall, strong, fit enough to beat the younger men at work in their occasional after-work sprint, played the odd game of football, ate a reasonably healthy diet, very rarely drank alcohol and had never smoked in his life. Everyone agreed that yes, he was a couple of stone overweight, but ‘he carried it well’, so it didn’t matter. Only of course, it does matter. His diet wasn’t really perfect (too many stops at service stations for a Ginsters pasty and a Mars bar in lieu of lunch on the way to see his beloved Falkirk FC) and in reality he was probably four stone overweight, but at 6’3″ nobody really noticed.
Heart Research work in the community to encourage lifestyle choices for a healthier heart. In other words, they get out there and tell people what they should and shouldn’t be doing. They help perfectionists like me, who would rather do nothing than not give it 100%, to realise that every positive step helps. Because I’m overweight, because I’m in a high risk category, because of my family history, because my cholesterol levels were raised at my last blood test – their amazing work makes me realise that even my pathetic attempts at training for the marathon are helping to make my heart strong. And when the time comes and I start begging you all for sponsorship (don’t worry, I’m not hinting…yet!) remember it’s not for me, it’s for the amazing work that they do and for the lives they save.
Lovely, lovely, words.
Sobbing great big heartfelt sobs as I write.
After 18 yrs I still feel with disbelief and pain that heart disease is so sudden and fatal.
Worthy cause, you know I’m supporting you all the way,
Un grand bisou à toi
Lou
xxx
xxxx
My dad died of a heart attack too. But luckily for us we had more warning then you, so he lived with his heart condition for ten years before he died. I’ll definitely sponsor you when the time comes. It’s still relatively recent for you too. The pain never quite goes, but it does get bearable. Love to you and your sis. I know how you feel.xx
I’m so sorry for your loss. Only 55. I can’t imagine how hard that was for you.
You make such a good point in your writing. I’m a bit give 100% or nothing and it is the little steps we take, for me it’s walking as much as I can within my daily routine, which makes the difference. Thank you for the reminder.
xx
Catching up with you a little bit… your dad was *so* young. Young in years, but also in appearance and clearly his manner, too. As you know, we have this grief experience in common. I so miss my dad (+ two years now) and am still struck anew by the *finality* of it.
It’s a wonderful tribute to him, what you’re doing.
It really is the finality of it that’s so hard to understand, isn’t it? Keith Floyd died in just the same way, three years to the day after Dad. One minute there, the next minute gone. Big cuddle to you (and the other three). xxx
Hi, read your article in the local paper and visited your blog.Your words about your dad reminded me that I need to spend more time with my parents.I am doing london too and it will be my first one and I have butterflies just thinking about how far it is.I am a member of brackley running club and i run with them twice a week and do my long run on saturdays.My friend is also doing it.i would love it if we could keep in contact and if you wanted to pop over and run with us let me know.good luck with the training, its getting more intense now. cheers jane
Hi Jane, thanks for your reply and for having a read of the blog! Every time I think about the Marathon I feel sick too – I think it must be normal (or are we just insane?). I’d love to hear how you’re getting on with your training – I am sooooooo slow though that I’d be hopeless running with a group – I reckon I’ll be slower than the slowest fancy dress person!
Thank you, lovely friend xxxx
It does ease, doesn’t it? It’s one of those life lessons you don’t want to learn – but reaching a point when you can remember and smile makes it bearable. Knowing other people know how you feel also helps. Thank you xxx
Thank you. This time of year is always going to be hard, I think. I love autumn, but the changing of the leaves will always remind me of the season when my life changed forever.
Perfectionism is a terrible trait, isn’t it? The steps do add up, though – I had a pedometer for a while and I realised that if I just put in a bit of effort, I was walking miles every day.