Cork City Marathon 2011

I'd like to spend more time editing this blog, but alas I don't have that much time again until Sunday. Hence, it is going as is. The pictures are posted on the next entry, with figures/captions attached to help with this post.

It took me all of 4hours, 22minutes and 18 seconds, but I got there. I did my first marathon last Monday.

In the first 24 hours after the marathon, when I closed my eyes I could see the County Hall and the mile 24 marker on a telegraph pole just beyond it, as clear as a day.  It was etched permanently on my mind.  And despite (or because of) the acute struggle at this point, it brought me, initially at least, the greatest post-marathon glow. My marathon happened at  mile 24. For those of you who are non-Corkonians, the County Hall used to be the tallest building on Ireland and is built on the Western side of the city at the end (or beginning depending on perspective) of a long, straight stretch of road.  It is, therefore, visible from a distance and iconic in any impatient journey. It was during mile 24 that, momentarily, whatever temptation was in me to drop out of the race was overcome. It was during mile 24 that I walked for the first time (with the exception of a short sharp ascent off the Link Road at mile 17) and discovered that my legs had turned to jelly and that my body was crumpling on my left side. It was at mile 24, No.1 said, reluctantly and with more obligation than conviction, should you continue for fear of injury and inability to do other races? Of course, it was a question that brought clarity to the seeming crisis. I decided that, I didn't care about half marathons or 10kms or anything else, I was going to finish this race no matter what! All that remained was to strategise.  

But let me go back a bit. 

The weather was perfect. The day started bright, but cool. The clouds thickened gradually, but there was little rain and for the first four-five hours there was only a brief shower. I gather that later finishers were drenched in a sudden outburst. There seemed to be little, if any, breeze. The race started right on time, although it took me, in my 4-5hour zone, 2 minutes to get to the start. This is fine with me. In a marathon, even half-marathon, there are few advantages to being at the start line. The field thins out quickly enough.  We snaked our way through Patrick Street, down the Grand Parade and the English Market where I couldn't help but give a little regal wave in a private joking gesture towards the Queen's visit. We headed down the South Mall and I rejoiced in the tapering phase of the last two weeks. I hadn't an ache or a pain. I was in awe at how well the programme worked and pushed aside any doubts about the last two weeks and the brevity of the runs. I never gave a single thought to my achilles tendons, didn't have an achy/stiff muscle in my leg. My only challenge was to control my excited breathing, relax my shoulders, put aside the worry of the final miles and settle into the day.  Before I knew it, we had plodded down the South Bank of the River, crossed over the Bridge (Fig.1) and were winding our way in and out of lower Blackpool. This is real old Cork, dominated by Shandon and the Bells one side and Breweries and on the other. The atmosphere was electric. At every corner, bridge and junction there were crowds all clapping and cheering! On some corners, there were musicians playing Irish or African trad with a heavy emphasis on percussion. The final band, close to mile 26, were so powerful that the blood pumping through my veins seemed to pick up the rhythm of their drums. You couldn't but enjoy it.

Just as we entered into Blackpool we met our 2-mile marker and No.1 took my first photo. I remember, because I decided I had better be cheery for this one, at least! At this point, the leaders were also doubling back towards us on the opposite side of the road, accompanied by a Garda escort. It was impressive to see the pace at which they were moving.  Although I soon realised that the fastest on the course were not the marathoners, but the relay people who, obviously, were only running a few miles and so could afford pace. Let me add, that not all relay people were that fast. I seemed to spend much of my time surrounded by them. I knew them by the white background to their numbers, us full-marathoners wore yellow numbers and the half-marathoners wore blue. It was a matter of honour to check when passing out a contestant or two! 

It might be helpful to say here that No.1 spent the day on his bike, stopping, photographing, checking in, moving backwards and forwards around the course, reacquainting himself with minor streets to meet me at another point and to photograph, check and so on.  It's an easy companionship. We both know that it's my race. I can talk or not, smile or not, acknowledge or not as I wish. I know, at the same time, that he is relaxed and happy and enjoying the spectacle. In fact, often he gleans more bits of information about a race than I do, from conversations with other spectators or just by having an overview. That was one of the funny things about the post-race analysis with spectators .. they would ask 'Did you see the guy in the Sonic Hedgehog Costume?' or 'The guy who was dressed in a shirt and pants?' and so on. Of course, I saw none of these things. These people were all either ahead or behind me.  How do they run in those costumes, by the way?

Soon, we were heading East. The buildings, familiar landmarks just gliding by. At this point, mindful of the advice given to me by someone I have never met, though have spoken to on the phone and is known to me only through a cousin, but is an experienced runner, I really did my best to slow down. I had put myself behind the 4:30 pacers (the guys who were there to keep an even pace for those wanting to run 4hours 30, wearing bright yellow t-shirts with their pace time on their backs and carrying green ballons, also with the time marked on them). I didn't last a mile behind the 4:30 guys. I decided to skip ahead and keep on eye on them from in front! Yes, Seán Mac S, you may well laugh! As we were leaving Blackpool, I then spotted a more mature marathon runner and politely asked him his intended time. He told me 4h20. Perfect! That was my own hope - a 10 minute mile. I decided to stay with him. But, again, before I knew it I was looking back at him over my shoulder until about mile 4 when I did the honest thing and acknowledged I wasn't really pacing with him! I know, I know. I was in fine fettle and impatient to get there.  In my defence, I really was not tearing ahead. I was really watching my breath, muttering to see if I could talk, checking for discomfort and so on.  Despite these efforts, I found myself gaining time at each mile, right up to the mile 15.  In fact, so conscious of it was I, that I managed to stay with another contestant also aiming for 4h20 before losing him at mile 16 (Fig. 2). I knew it was going to happen though, because something had become strained between us (his breathing!). It was a brief relationship ... about 5 miles long! I never saw him again, but I hear he lived a long and happy race! (I was able to check his race number in photos and against the results).

I feel a small bit guilty about him, actually. I hope I didn't kill his spirit? We didn't chat too much, just a little. At mile 13, on the bridge leading off the Mahon Walk my first lot of supporters (No.1's family) were gathered to cheer and wave. I gave them a cheery bouncy greeting, as you do. Then, in the spirit of sharing, told him the next bunch would be at mile 18, the next lot at mile 20 and so on. As far as I was concerned, he could benefit from my cheerers too! In the meantime, No.1 appeared at the end of the Lough Mahon walkway, as we turned onto the Marina by Páirc uí Caoimh. My short-term race companion told me, a little ruefully, that his family were all on holiday. Another few paces and he walked for a bit!

Anyway, I found the run around the harbour cold and felt my muscles react and tighten somewhat, most notably my right hamstring, but it never really matured into anything. There is no polite way to describe the other niggle of the day, though. Most of you, I'm sure, have had a twinge at some time or other in your Gluteus maximus. Well, mine started at around mile 10 or 11, just a little twinge, ignorable but there. It was a constant factor for the rest of the marathon. I can't tell now when it got worse or how it got worse, it just tightened and tightened and tightened so that by Mile 24 I decided to experiment with walking steps to see if I could relax it a little. Walking seemed to make things worse.

To return to mile 16, my first 'change' in form came here where we left the Marina, Central Park Road, crossing through to the South Link Road. At this point, one of the many Relay Changeover Points happened and there were huge crowds. For some reason, I felt the first momentary sense of distress that became a greater battle for me at miles 22 to 24 later. It was just a little tweak of panic, breath too short, the slipping away of the comfort that had been on me. At this point, No.1 appeared and with a wide stretch of road cycled, at a distance, up the slipway from the Link Road, through Turner's Cross to mile 18 and then ahead to pause with the next bunch of supporters all decked out in our supporter t-shirts, darling Aislinn and all! The support made the day, both from those who were there for me and those who were there for everyone. I began to measure my marathon in terms of where each bunch of 'my' people would be.

At around mile 19, the Lough, the next lot were gathered, cousin Sinéad, her lovely son Séamus, teenage nephews who ran out with water, father and wife and sister (Fig 4, 5, 6). It was awesome to hear your name being called and a cheer. It was fantastic! Shortly up the road from the Lough, the race support team had one of their many tables with water or lucozade and, for the first time on this route, wet sponges. It wasn't particularly hot and I initially dismissed the idea of the wet sponge but then, more for the fun of it, grabbed one and did my best to look as professional as possible swiping and dousing. I stopped short of squeezing it over my head, though!

On I plodded, really plodding now. It was at this stage of the race onwards that other competitors would pass and give encouragement. One in particular at mile 25 was hugely important. I was really stiffening up at that stage and it was a case of managing the pain and discomfort rather than relieving it.  We were just heading onto the pedestrian bridge (elegant by the way) at the Mardyke and this fellow runner paused and looked at me, half sternly but well-meaning. I actually can't remember what he said, it wasn't much. But whatever he said, he made me realise that I was no different to anyone else, was suffering no more or less, was I serious about this or a fool-acting, stop looking for attention and just run the run! He said none of that, but that's what came over me for whatever few words he did say. At the same time, I had just come from another few walking steps and begun to run again for the last mile. As I began to run, I got a most encouraging cheer from the crowd. Mind you, the spectator who told me to smile was lucky I had more important things on my mind!!!! At mile 25, I also came into the company of an older lady who was so bent over that her chin seemed to touch the ground. She was a full marathoner. I was distracted by another lady, who was part of the relay, but also really, really struggling. She was almost weaving around the place.

I have skipped ahead. The bunch of supporters that gave me a surprise were at Roger Casement Park(?), just beyond St. Finbarr's Cemetery, where we turned right through a housing estate to cut out onto the Wilton Road. Standing at a corner, and I nearly missed them, were my brother and mother. He came onto the road to check on me. In an effort to deal with the struggle that was beginning to grow, I told him that I wanted to cry. The poor divil was all concern. He ran up the hill with me, wanted to go further but I told him I was grand now and wanted to be on my own. A funny thing is I remember him practically offering me the contents of his fridge ... at home ... in Killarney. "I should have brought stuff, I have a load of it at home, in the fridge."  I could only see this fridge in Killarney full of 'stuff' ... the fridge became a big image in my mind. I was touched by his kindness. He ran a few steps up the hill with me. And in the few moments after his departure, a calm descended on me. I had a moment's realisation that I had fulfilled a wish, the seed of which had been sown at mile 18 outside the mosque in Clonskeagh. When Singapore brother had run his marathon, I went out to support him, keeping step for a short distance then as this brother kept step with me on Monday. 

On I ran, on very familiar territory now as I turned at Dennehy's Cross onto the final miles. I spent much of my college years cycling up and down Model Farm Road. It's a slow tug. No.1 had turned up again here and so, wide of the race on a wide road, accompanied me up the hill on his bike. The support on this road was something else. Someone sprinkled us with his garden hose (I hope) as we passed, it was nice gentle rain. Youngsters and their Mums were out with jellies and I took them!   At the top of the incline (very gentle), I asked to be left alone again and plodded Westward, passing through the final relay handover. By now, the half marathoners were passing us in bunches and knots. My first real distress came here and I presume it is the 'wall'.  It's hard to describe. For me, it's more like panic. I wanted to hyperventilate. I slowed my pace in order to control it but a fellow runner encouraged me to keep going which I did, but could feel myself losing control again so knew I had to listen to my own instinct. Of course, at this stage I was losing the time and pace that I had gained earlier in the race and, as if to really drive the point home, the guy in Blackpool whom I had first set as my own private pacer passed me! Seán Mac S., I thought of you then and despite my distress smiled! He ran past me as spritely as can be, no signs of distress on him.  Anyway, it became a battle for me then, not so much to manage my body which I was just running with regardless of all sensation, but it seemed to be all about my emotions (Fig. 8). How shall I put it? I just wanted to 'flail', have a moment of hysteria. I could feel myself wanting to hyperventilate. Once before did I experience it and that was on top of the Devil's Ladder, on the way up Carrauntouhill, on a snowy icy day when I managed to wrap myself around an icy boulder unable to move backwards or forwards. It was my first and only experience of hyperventilation in myself, when the breath just becomes short and shallow and out of control. On Monday, I just had to treat my 'emotions' or whatever as separate from myself. I started to speak to them as if they were children saying that I recognised it was difficult but that they had to trust me that I knew what I was doing. A quick note on some of the more recent thinking of the so-called wall might be helpful here. Many believe that the mind reacts to the depletion of glycogen before the body does as a form of self-protection. It recognises that your stores are getting low, that this is potentially dangerous and should be stopped. It happens long before the critical point, however, and can be safely overriden, as it were. I presume that this is what I was doing for those few miles.  With me, the tendency to hyperventilate, needs to be managed by slowing down, relaxing those breathing muscles and just getting the whole system to trust my will, as it were. It is weird. As I write this or even as I experienced it, I realise that during a long run, you can begin to fragment your self into all sorts of components: legs, muscles, particular muscles, breath, head, will and so on.

At the end of Orchard Road, the turn onto the Carrigrohane Straight, the bunch of followers at the Lough were waiting for me again (I believe they were all squashing into one car at this stage, weaving their way through and around road blocks etc). I'll bet it was fun in its own right. However they managed it, they and Mam and Café-Java brother all found their way back into the city centre for the finish. I just think that they were amazing.

I'm not finished yet. That gluteus maximus was really tight now ... probably the consequence of my screw kick on the left side (I throw my left leg a bit and it gets worse with tiredness). It was really squeezing and pinching and I was trying all kinds of things like sticking my finger up against the pinch, walking a bit, changing stride (not a hope!) and so on. I didn't want to get into a major cranky battle with the situation either. Go for it or don't. I wanted to run those final miles with some kind of grace, not that awful stop/start/I can/I can't/grumble and growl. In a way, I had to walk/run, but it was more about strategy and making sure I finished than anything. Really, you just gotta ignore the legs and keep up the pace of which there seemed to be plenty left in me. Certainly, by mile 24 I wasn't handing over that race to anyone. It was mine. I got over the bridge, through the leafy walk which I had never been on before, onto the North Mall and there were the Three Nieces, their Mam and Dad. This was another major surprise ... not that I didn't know they were coming, but didn't know where they were. It was just gorgeous to see them smiling and waving (though the third was asleep, I think). Their little hearts were pouring out to me. I didn't have much mind to stop though. Greedily, I was reaching for mile 26 which was now just steps away. Apparently I turned to No.1 and said 'We are nearly there.' I know this because he told me that it was all he could do not to cry, both there and when we finally met at the end. He doesn't do the crying thing much.

Those lost .2 miles were (in the words of  American niece) sweet! Over Patrick's Bridge, straining to see where exactly was the Finish Line and then I saw it. I took off as if these last few strides would make all the difference between winning and losing an Olympic medal. I have no idea where that energy came from ... this in one who could barely walk twenty minutes ago. I heard my name (Café-Java brother told me he gave a roar); I was all tears and yet choking and then I was under that Finish Line ... sweet, so sweet; but sore, so sore.

I have never known such soreness so immediately after exercise. The stiffness of the last day or two I have experienced from hill-walking, but that immediate almost inability to stand, the ache, the attempts to pull of the barrier and squat and stretch out, the desire for a banana which was only 6 steps away, but out of reach until my sister got it for me. I cried, I smiled, I looked around for No.1, I hugged, was hugged, I heard my name and hugged again. Mam had bunches of roses for me. Café-Java brother was beaming. We bumped into a colleague of his finishing the half-marathon. I got my medal. No. 1 arrived on the bike, we hugged and kissed and couldn't believe that we had done it. Folks, it was pure joy! It was untainted, uncorrupted, the product of effort, encouragement, planning and just so purely physical. I like that. It's just me testing and pushing my limbs, my heart, my lungs and coming out strong. That's the amazing thing. I am stiff and sore, but even that is easing every hour now. It's like I have a body of two halves: stiff and sore in the bottom half, but without trace of a marathon in the top half.

 "We did it!" "We all did it!" This is not false modesty on my part ... it just feels like it happened, somehow, through chat, encouragement, planning, adopting and adapting advice and patterns ... it feels like a 'we' event. In that spirit, we headed back to Rochestown for post-race food and frolics which was just wonderful. I showered and then just sat, moving from time to time to try and catch everyone. It was just wonderful. We also raised a significant amount of money, heading towards 3,500 euro which is super.

I spent Tuesday in a post-race bubble of happiness, just kind of satisfied and glowing and reliving it. Even today, at work, I am still so so ... content and, just happy that I did it. I don't think much about the time. it was two minutes slower than my 'idea' time, but still under my lowest goal. When asked immediately after the event would I do another, my immediate reaction was to say, 'Never again!' And I really meant it. Today, though, I'm not so sure, maybe I will, and Etty will say, 'I told you so! I have a touch of envy when I see people beginning their training for the Dublin maraathon, partly, I think, because I am not sure that I will ever do it again. I'd have to really want to do it as much as I wanted to do this one.

I'm healing quickly. My legs were so sore immediately afterwards, I was cold and all the usual stuff. A hot shower, good food and a party soon sorted me. Etty sent the most wonderful bouquet of flowers which was a complete surprise. I think I had made peace with her absence a few weeks ago, though I was disappointed initially. Tuesday I popped up to the pool for a gentle swim/sauna. Wednesday was back to work and so on. Today, I am still tired, but the stiffness has eased except for specific tender spots like my gluteus maximus and my right quadriceps. I am  hungry and cold (but then it is only 9 degrees celsius). Overall, though, I am in awe at my 'normalcy'. I am just going about my business, the same but different. I have a contented sense of having achieved an important goal for me. I am grateful for the kindness and encouragement en route. I am amazed at the trainability and adaptability of the body!

Folks that's it from me. I am drawing a curtain over my contribution to this blog. It has been a wonderful journey. Thank you for your encouragement, support, engagement (on and off the pitch). Without it, I am not sure that I would have stuck to the programme. Without a rigid training programme, I doubt that I would have completed the marathon. As I sign off, I wish each of you good health, love, joy, courage to pursue your dreams and friends to support you! Go n'eirí an bothar libh!

The Pictures

What's the collective term for nieces?

Looks more like a gesture of surrender than a victory salute.

Wouldn't you love to know what they were talking?

The flowers!





Add caption



Fig 7. On mile 20, at the Lough.



Going for gold at the finishing line????

Fig. 5 Cousins, nephew

Fig. 6 Showing our supporter t-shirts at the Lough



Fig 2.







Fig 3. Mile 17, on the South Link Road. Beginning to feel it.

Fig.1 Run Tall. In the second mile.

 





She did it!

Our inspiration...home free really impressive time and looking fantastic.
So proud of you sis!

This is the day 2

I'm here in my Dad's house, closer to the race than Kenmare. We're up, dressed, showered, fed, watered, coffeed, number on, chip on shoe ... rearing to go. I can't say that I  slept well, I'm awake since 4, on and off, but that doesn't worry me too much. The sun is shining on this lovely cool morning. 

My thoughts are with Etty and will be with Etty throughout. It is so easy to write slogans on t-shirts about shared endurance, but the reality is that at the end of today, my marathon (whatever shape it takes) ends; Etty's Sarcoidosis goes on. But, at the moment, she is in a good space and we will take that and celebrate it and hope for more of same! 

Love you sis!

This is the Day

The long awaited day is finally here and although still in Massachusetts, my heart is in Ireland... A variety of circumstances did not make it possible for me to be there to cheer Niamh on, not least the fact that Hubby is in Maine all week, (who would take care of the kiddos?) but my thoughts have been with her constantly.

We spoke on Thursday, Niamh and I, a nice, long, leisurely, sisterly chat about all sorts of things. Her calm and poise impressed me. Tonight I have to resist the urge to send her an encouraging text, afraid that I might wake her (given that she is five hours ahead of me) and ruin her pre-race sleep. We both know what it is like to have such a thing happen and lose out on a whole night's sleep! This is not the night for such shenanigans...

So, goodnight sister. Sleep well, dream beautiful dreams of hope and promise, rest deeply and may the morning bring you sunshine, a light breeze on your back to cool you, many well-wishers to cheer you, strength and energy and joy to carry you on your journey. Remember, whatever happens today, you will forever be an inspiration.

The hardest part is over, we spoke about this last week, the days of having to drag yourself up and out in all kinds of weather are gone. This day is yours and we are all here whether in person or in spirit, willing you to the finish line. Run swift, run free, breathe, breathe deep, breathe for all of us.....

What have I learned?

And here I sit, blood still flowing through my legs from a short 3 mile trot around the village. I included,  in the local circuit, a loop around a neighbouring housing estate this morning, not used before, and two other often-used loops. This brought me over the 3 miles. People are out and about, the butcher's is open with the bags of spuds resting on the window.  Women (mostly) are chatting on corners, pre-school children eye each other up from the safety of their buggies. An elderly lady joins them.  Vans are unloading, there's the electronic beep of money emerging from ATMS. The day has begun here in Co. Kildare.

It's grey, but warmer than it has been. I'm not sure if I conveyed this to the International readers, but our May has been colder and wetter than our April. There have been days when it was only 10 or 11 celsius. We are promised some heat in the coming days which is a bit scary when you are facing a marathon, however, it seems there will be a cooler breeze from Sunday onwards. It looks like Marathon day will be bright, but not too hot. Couldn't be better.

 

I attempted to run a bit faster from the outset, this morning, but should know better at this stage. I am a slow starter. It feels awkward and 'jerky' when I try that in the beginning. Far better, to start slower, use shorter steps and let the system open up until I find a steady, strong pace which flows along in its own smoothness.  I am not a sprinter!

That got me thinking about the things I have learned about running (mine only) in the last few months. There are simple things, like running with my hands open rather than in fists, which would be my default position. It's cooler, I quite honestly relish the breeze around my palms. I've learned that, over distance, some socks work better than others. They should not be too thin and cottony or I will get blisters; neither should they be too thick because my feet will get too warm. I heard a story over the weekend of someone who wore a brand new pair of socks, gifted by his wife, on the morning of hs first marathon and doubled his time! He got severe blisters.  I have learned that the bent-shoulder-bum-out position which many long-distance runners fall into is known as the bucket position. I try to correct this as I run, from time to time. If I didn't, I would have a very stiff back and shoulders early on. The next point is a bit personal, but will make sense when you think about it. I avoid putting on body lotions, face creams (except sun cream on exposed spots like ears, nose and neck) before long runs. The chemicals combine with the heat and salts excreted through the pores to give a urea-like stink. I'm told that I'm the only one who notices this?! Finally, I have come to see food as nourishment. This may seem like a statement of the obvious, perhaps, but it is different to look at a food and see it as 'fuel' or as a nutrient that helps repair or build muscles. I inevitably drift towards the fruit, vegetable and fish counters which, in truth, I can be lazy about. While I love to cook for others, I can be a bit lazy about my own daily meals. I did read about that in one of the running narratives I read, but know exactly what it means ... at the moment.  For me, this realisation will come and go; I'd hate to be that serious about it all the time.

That's just a sample of the practical things I have learned.  I am trying to think what are the 'life-lessons' and I'm not so sure really.  There are transferable skills.  I have learned to recognise the phases of a long run,  including the bit where you 'get mad' or 'defeated' and it requires a bit of discipline to overcome. I probably always had that, but with the running I am practising it more and with practice comes ease. There is something else and it's kind of big for me.  I'm a fright for living in the future.  Even this morning, we were talking about retirements (I wonder why?) and commenting on how much or little time is left and what can be achieved in that length of time.  Then, as if from nowhere, I am reminded of a moment in the Phoenix Park during one of the long runs when, at the half-way mark, I tried to congratulate myself on getting that far and found it meant little ... in a good way. All I knew was that moment, a moment in which I happened to feel strong and smooth as I ran.  I can only run one moment, one mile at a time.  As someone who frequently sees the mountain rather than the constituent parts, this was quite a breakthrough.  When I struggle over an article, feel that I haven't enough undisturbed time to let the 'creativity' flow, feel there are too many things to do, want to be somewhere else doing something else, I find myself moving into that moment of realisation again: 'I have only the now' and what must or can I do in the now? It seems so trite and new-agey when I write it, but it means something 'from the inside' to me. Finally, perhaps most importantly, running is fun, is a hobby, is an interest and the energy it generates can infuse the rest of my life.

Of course, the trouble with life lessons is that we have to learn them again, and again, and again ... ad infinitum. In the words of Buzz Lightyear: "To Infinity and Beyond." 

IMPORTANT NOTICE ABOUT POST-RACE GATHERING!

Folks, there is a change of plan to the post-race gathering. No.1's sister has kindly invited us all back to their house which is out the Rochestown road (precise details can be obtained) for finger food. We have decided to accept. They have loads of space so it should be more comfortable for all, especially the little ones. Please, please do come along. Don't be shy. They are easy, generous, gracious people. It also means I can have a shower and that has to be a bonus!

One Week to Go: Butterflies

I saw quite a few butterflies on today's run by the Royal Canal. They were those pretty little blue ones and then some darker ones that were gone too quickly before I could identify further colour. I had to smile. They were almost an external manifestation of the occasional flutter in my tummy of the past few days. I go from moments of dull dread, to a smidgeon of excitement to just getting on with the rest of life. I could get very excited now, if I left myself.  

Last week and the week I am facing are very strange. I do not feel as if I am running enough. Today I did just 8 miles, I rest tomorrow, Wednesday I will do 2 miles, Thursday I will do 3 and then I will do another 2 on Sunday.  It feels so odd. I have found myself going online to check that this is what I am supposed to be doing. Of course, it depends on the programme you are following, but most do recommend tapering.  I have also considered going for a swim instead or even a cycle. Apparently I am not unique - almost as if reading my mind, the articles warn against doing other exercise in this last week, to resist the temptation.  It's all about building glycogen (from carbohydrate mostly) in the muscles. So, all in all, I feel a bit helpless which, of course, doesn't help the nerves. We're back to that 'control' thing again.

Of course, there are things that I can do. I can drink water. So, like a toddler, my bottle has become a permanent accessory. I can eat sensibly. Last week, I made healthy muffins so as not to be indulging in too many biscuits with their refined sugars. It is recommended, at this end of the week, to eat more protein and by Thursday or Friday to switch the balance in favour of carbohydrates. By Thursday, I should also watch my intake of fruit and veg. Finally, I can do some constructive imagining. I have already checked out the marathon route in some detail. Because it is Cork city where I was born, raised until I was 8, lived at various stages of my adult life, I am quite familiar with much of the route. In fact, I am looking forward to running around a city that I only pass through now, for the most part, en route to Kenmare or Clonakilty.  I had to do a bit of Googling to figure out certain sections of the route, but now have a good sense of most of it. I am relieved. I had some notion that we would be heading out the North Bypass route which would have been a long, slow haul. Happily, we are not. We will head East by the Quays and the train station before running under the Jack Lynch Tunnel. I am also relieved to learn that, on the Western End, we are not running the full length of the Model Farm Road or the Carrigrohane Straight (although we will run significant stretches of both), but turn right from the former on to the latter at Inchigaggin Bridge/The Orchards. Parts of Cork city are fairly hill, but the organisers have worked hard to provide a route as flat as possible. Cork city is also a city built between two branches of a river. There will be lots of watery sights to enjoy throughout and, in those final miles, bridges to count.

But that's next week! In the meantime, I can just focus on the other bits and pieces of life and, to that end, some mindfulness is helpful. I try to go about my business with quiet deliberation, choosing to engage as much as possible so that I do not torture myself into a cranky non-sleeping jibbering mess!

Coffee Morning Supreme

There were white scones, brown scones, seed scones. There were scones with cream and jam, butter, butter and jam, plain and whatever you're having yourself. There were chocolate meringues, iced fairy cakes and more besides. There was chat, explaining, introductions, questions and more introductions. There were pensioners and babies, cyclists in lycra, neighbours, friends and relatives. There were donations galore. All-in-all, it was a lovely morning! Mairéad, baking since 7.30 in the morning, raised over €500 for the Irish Lung Foundation, which I will register on the charity site as an off-line donation. Etty and I are very grateful.





Donation Box





Neighbours and Dad

Mairéad, the hostess

Modelling T-shirts front & back



Friend



Fabulous Feast!

Neighbours

Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

It's really beginning to feel like that. These little runs (4miles today) feel more of a nuisance and I am getting impatient to get at the 'big event'. "Just let me at it," I want to say, "Let's just get this over and done with." IN bed, at night, I have begun to really try and imagine the route, what phase of the run it will be, how I will feel and so on. The final miles will be measured in bridges, I think. 

Not that the little runs are too easy. Today I really was the reluctant runner. A jumbled phrase from the Meat Loaf song popped into my head around mile two, "I would do anything for love, But I won't do that." The 'that' in this case being my running. Why such resistance this morning is a mystery to me? My legs were heavy, I wanted to sit and work on a piece that has (finally) come unstuck for me, I will be heading South shortly for twenty-four hours. I think it just was one too many things to do. I only hope that I am not getting turned off running and that I will continue on when the marathon is over. As a way of coping, instead of doing the one and a half rounds that I usually do for 4 miles, I quite literally turned around at mile 2 and ran back the way I had come out. I was slightly fearful that if I passed my gate, I would be tempted inwards. Anyway, I got there. My short runs are now complete for the week and there just remains an 8 mile run on Sunday.

I'm off to Cork shortly. Mairéad and Dad are hosting a coffee morning for the neighbours in the morning and I am making a 'guest appearance'.  Seriously, I really appreciate it folks. The money is still coming in and I want to thank people for their generosity. I will be sending out a final appeal next week.

There is one last thing I want to say before I sign off today. Despite the cliché, "the loneliness of the long distance runner". I have rarely felt alone on this campaign. The blog has been a significant part of that, keeping me motivated, imagining my readers and 'answering' to them and so on. Also, I know of so many others who are out there venturing their own fundraising or raising awareness or marking a significant episdoe in their lives. Last Autumn, for example, a cousin ran the Evening Echo Women's Marathon, for another cousin who sadly lost a baby at birth, raising funds for Féileacháin.  Cousins on the other side of the  house are also out there running 5kms and 10kms for charity and personal achievement. I love following their exploits on Facebook. I have mentioned Singapore brother who started me on this really, back back when I was still studying. Café-Java brother has done a fair few events on his bike as has No.1's brother who is another great fundraiser. Brother-and-busy-father-of-3-girls will probably run a half-marathon before the year is out - no pressure! I had some lovely runs in November with Etty's hubby who runs every morning before work.  Rhetorician, a friend and colleague, is busily clocking up 2,000kms for the year and engaged in running 84miles in events to mark the age her Dad would be this year, if he had not died from a heart attack leaving her and her Mum.  There is an added poignancy to this because she is now the age he was when he died (am I right?). And she's in her forties! She has already done a half-marathon and has a number of events lined up, including the Dingle half-marathon which we will both do in September.  Then there are people I have never met, who have offered support and encouragement and their experience, through other contacts. In truth, I like to run alone. It's a great bit of space. That said, I feel part of a much larger, bigger community all out there striving and training and just cutting out a pace for themselves. A big cheer for all!

Morning

A light mist hangs suspended in the air, air that is sultry and moist. The birds sing their dawn chorus. Little Guy had a bad dream. Aroused from sleep at 4am I stumbled in the waning dark in search of "magic spray" (my perfume)that chases bad dreams away. A kiss and a cuddle and Little Guy sleeps again but mama's wide awake! And so it goes....

It seems I may have unintentionally created drama with my last post. No need for drama, no need for worrying or fretting. In fact her words, if anything, bring comfort, "time...", "peaceful....".

Have I told you lately that I am feeling really well these days? I feel like the sparkle is back, the energy is flowing. I had another infusion yesterday and it went really, really well. As I lay there receiving the medicine in my veins I imagined the healing that was taking place. I have been experimenting a little with meditation and was able to do a little healing meditation, blessing those around me, those in pain, those taking care of me and those close to my heart. (I don't know if that really helps others, but I know it helps me and my relationship with the world.)

The results from my CT scan of the previous week came back and my lungs appear to be stable, no new damage. Good news indeed! It seems that the remicade infusions, while maybe not completely eliminating the disease is at least inhibiting further lung damage. The report notes the loss of lung volume from previous disease activity and extensive fibrosis and scarring of lung tissue and of course bronchiectasis (floppy airways)in the lower lobes. But...just a week or so ago the New England Journal of Medicine published the findings of a study funded by The National Institute of Health and carried out at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston. This study claims to have identified stem cells capable of repairing damaged lung tissue. Of course it is a controversial study and of course it so far has only been conducted on mice (to which we owe so much gratitude for their contribution to medicine, seriously!) but surely it is a sign of hope and progress.

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/05/110511170837.htm

I certainly think it is!

Remembering a Visit

Etty ... You are very brave ... and very open. It can't have been easy to write that.

I don't really know how to follow that last post. Writing about my little runs seems somehow trite and facile, by comparison with such larger questions.

I am reminded of my last visit to Arizona, though, about four or five years ago. You had all been home for Christmas and then you went back and just seemed, even from across the miles, to be getting sicker and sicker. In the end, I organised a surprise visit through your Hubby. Gosh, we had some good fun plotting, he and I. Most of the time, when visiting Etty in Arizona, it entailed an overnight stay in Phoenix. So, I did that. On the following morning then, I picked up a rental from the airport and headed up the mountains. It was such an adventure on my own. Part of the fun was ringing Hubby (Etty's) on a Saturday, when he would be at home and surrounded by Etty and kids and trying to talk to me without letting on to them that I was on my way. He would talk to me as if I were an engineer digging for water (related to his work). So, He'd ask 'How much further' or 'Did you find anything yet?' and other questions that were nonsense to me, but I knew the drill (sorry!)  while I gave him location and expected time of arrival. It worked, noone suspected a thing. 

That was fine, except when I arrived into the Circle or estate and at the house, Etty was outside by herself tending to her plot of Spring flowers. I didn't want to cheat Hubby of the arrival, so I drove around again. There she was still, weeding and clearing to her heart's content, and no Hubby to be seen. There was nothing for it, but to hoot the horn and alert him to my arrival. In that part of the world, tooting the horn was not really the done thing. The kids were soon on the doorstep, Hubby guessed and was out with the video camera. Etty stood looking at the blue saloon car, wondering who could it possibly be. Most people in the area drove larger 4 x 4s or cars to cope with the mountains and families.  I can still see her expression when I stepped out. She was absolutely stunned. I think it was one of my best kept secrets ever. Needless to say, we shed a tear or two.

What I am really warming up to, though, is my departure. It was a great visit, easy going, ordinary and loads of time spent with Little Guy who despite being only 18 months and depending on sign language to communicate was just the best company ever. By the way, he was the only other person who knew the secret. Hubby admitted that he had to tell someone and knowing that Little Guy wasn't able to tell, whispered it to him one evening while changing for bed. Lucky there wasn't a baby monitor! The other two were in school and I did the aunty visit to the School. But Little Guy was at home and so I had some good times with him. That's when he used to sign 'leaf' for 'Niamh' which fascinated me. One morning, there was a little knock on the door and Etty told me later that he was outside signing 'Aunty Leaf'.  As I have said before, he intrigued me because despite his inability to speak, it was fairly easy most of the time to know what was going on. By the way, he talks plenty now!

Anyway, back to the trigger for this reminscence.  On the Sunday we went to Church. Etty and family were very active in White River, as she said. I was surprised, though, when the local pastor asked her if he could pray over her, without giving much reason. I was more than surprised, I was also troubled. He too could see what was prompting my worried visit to White Mountains.  I'm not an unbeliever, I just struggle a bit with faith and the language and, in truth, I'm not sure what I believe. I like to keep it a bit nebulous for myself. I believe in graced moments, but I'm a bit cautious about the miracle thing. That said, the following day, Etty went to her local physician who, finally, acknowledged that Etty was sicker at that point than he could manage. It was on the day I was leaving. From there, Etty's appointments with the specialist in Denver began and, certainly, some improvement came. Sometimes, despite my tough attitude to miracles, I wonder about the prayers or was Fr. Eddie and I and her physician and whoever else just recognising some real sickness in her?

I know that I have said this to one or two people in the past, but leaving Etty that day was one of the hardest things. I didn't know if I should extend my stay, but was conscious of my own commitments. She came in from the doctor and just sat. She was kind of blown away. Etty, you were so thin that time too. To hug you, was to hug bone and, let's be real, we're not small women.  The other memory of that day was the bag of coffee! Despite all this distress, or because of it, I spilled ground coffee over the counter, into the cutlery drawer, down the side of the cooker ... everywhere. It didn't do the decent thing and fall into a heap in the middle of the floor, no, that would be too neat. It just seemed to find every crevice, every nook and cranny. (Jeepers, 'tis almost a metaphor for that blinking Sarcoidosis which seems to be all pervasive.)  Etty would tell me, laughing, that she found more of it, for quite awhile afterwards. I suspect the new owners will even find coffee grains in the kitchen ... whoever they might be. So much for being helpful!

Prayers, faith, healing ... just your post triggered that memory for me. I want to write about other runners and projects, but I have been thinking of you a lot since your last post, as I trot my little circles. My runs are shorter again, so I am back to little circles within the larger local circle. Take care.

Circles, Part 3

Circles, lines, waves,....I see so many of them in my life. Today, I'll have to admit, it is the straight /forward path that has most caught my imagination. It has been only a little more than two months since my family and I moved to Massachusetts from Arizona. I am so amazed at all that we have lived and experienced in those two months. We have travelled far, both literally and figuratively. Niamh has travelled far, both literally and figuratively. Transformation is tangible for both of us. For both of us it has been an extraordinary few months...

Yet it is to the circle that I need to return to now. I need to circle back to some earlier posts of the week of Feb. 27th where I had begun to share some of my experiences living in the southwest and interactions I had with Native people. It was a Native Elder that first told me that I was sick. I wrote those stories as we were journeying across the country. It was a good "in-between" time to reflect back and it has been difficult to find that space here, but I'll try.

Many have asked the question "What happened with the lady in the church?" And the true answer is....nothing else happened! At the time I did not understand her words, I did not know how to interpret them but looking back now I see how sarcoidosis was already manifesting itself in my body. There were the night sweats, weightloss, coughing, difficulty sleeping, swollen lymph nodes, kidney stones, a miscarriage and then the drama of trying to find a diagnosis once doctors took a real look at me and figured out that something was wrong, terribly wrong and my chest x-ray was so alarming. So is this what she saw? Was this the shadow that was looming over me? I don't know and I will never know for she and I didn't speak again for a really long time, years and years in fact. I saw her in church every week but Native people don't look you in the eye, it's part of their culture, and this tribe in particular did not always want to engage with "white folks". So, what happened? I finally was diagnosed and my illness strarted to play itself out and there was no more interaction with the lady in the church...until the week before we left Arizona.

The community now knew that we were leaving. As the music minister there it would have been hard for us to leave without anyone noticing so an announcement was made. As I was leaving the church that sunday the lady was behind me. Aware that my time with her was limited I took a deep breath and decided that I needed to ask her if she remembered our interaction of so many years earlier.

"Do you remember that night?" I asked.

"Yes I do" she replied quietly. "And I remember that you did not know what I was talking about".

"I was diagnosed with an illness shortly after that", I said, willing her to talk more, tell me more.

"I knew you were sick", she said "and I know you have struggled so much. I see it in you. I tell my children sometimes, "you need to pray really hard for that lady because she is struggling so much"".

"Thank you", I said quietly, "I'm doing better now"

Her old brown eyes filled suddenly with tears.

"I'm so sorry" I said "I certainly didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's so hard sometimes" she said, "knowing these things. Father tells me it is a gift but it's so hard for me to see it. There is so much pain, people hurt so much and I look at them and I know that they will be leaving us soon, leaving behind family and loved ones..."

I was confused, just what was she saying to me?

"I'm sorry, I don't understand" I said.

"Your passing, I can see it."

And then it hit me, she was talking about death, my death!

"But you have time" she said. "you will have time to be ready, to have everything in order and everything prepared and you will be ready and accepting when the time comes. It will be very peaceful. I can see that, very peaceful"

And then she hugged me. It was a warm, tight embrace. And then she left...and that was it!

In the following weeks our church community said goodbye to us. The elders prayed over us, the Native people gifted us with a "burden basket", a hand woven basket traditionally used to carry food and supplies but often to be placed at the front door where one may place all one's troubles upon entering and preserve harmony in the home. They blessed us with pollen and "holy" salt from the river. They turned us around in circles, always clockwise "so you will always follow the sun and walk in the light" they said.

The lady's words don't scare me. We are all fragile. Time is ticking by for all of us. "You have time" she said. That could mean anything...She gave me a great gift that day though, a reminder that as we strive to live well we can also die well.

I'll concentrate on the living well and the dying will take care of itself!

2 Weeks To Go: Is Feidir Linn

As I write, Etty, your President is flying over my head towards Dublin city from a visit to a small town in one of my neighbouring counties where, reputedly, he has some ancestors. I could hear the helicopter earlier as it headed South from the Phoenix Park but, alas, I could not see it. That's news of national and international import.

As I write, I am preparing for my own drama of sorts, aware that this day two weeks the marathon, the weeks of training, will all be over. We will be celebrating or crying, as appropriate, in the Flying Enterprise in Cork. By the way, anyone who is in Cork on the day of the marathon is welcome to join us! We will be there from 2.30, maybe 3pm, hopefully. It's at the South Gate Bridge, right on the Bridge. I use the word 'drama', but deep down I wish to keep it calm, low-key, matter-of-fact. My biggest challenge will be to avoid losing energy to nerves and excitement. Every ounce of strength, emotional and physical, will have to be harnassed that day. Jittery heartbeats need to be kept to a minimum. Heartbeats are oxygen, I need as much oxygen as possible flowing smoothly through my limbs. I need strong, steady and slow heartbeats.

Training continues. Last Thursday, I used a version of my local Slí na Sláinte to do just 4 miles. On Friday, I was in  Kerry and so ran around Ashgrove and Sheen Falls to give me just over 5 miles. I rested Saturday and on Sunday, a day of mixed showers and sun, I did just over 10 miles, heading out to Roughty Bridge, back through the town, out the Killarney road to turn left towards Reen and down to Letter and back the Sneem Road. It was supposed to be 12, but I was stuck for time and had read that one shouldn't run more than an hour and 45 minutes this close to the marathon. I have no idea where I read that, but judging by the tiredness that seems to be fairly stuck in my limbs these days, I am happy to just keep things ticking over between now and then. It's a difficult balance. I can hardly improve in the next two weeks, but neither do I want to disimprove. There is also the reality that my body has become used to running such distances and may find less running quite peculiar. This week I will be running 2 x 4 mile runs, 1 x 3 miles and my long run is but 8 miles. I have also brought my long runs to Sunday, to dovetail with the Bank Holiday Monday of the marathon.

Over the last sixteen weeks, my body has changed, or rather my legs have changed. There are muscles and definition where there were none. Earlier in the Spring, I remember reading Cheever who, after several months of training, noticed a bridge of cartilage "running downward from the point of my kneecap". I looked down to examine my own legs but, almost disappointed, couldn't see what he was talking about. Inadvertently,over the weekend in the throes of a yoga pose, I spotted the ridge on my own knees. As I keep saying, I haven't lost much weight, but my lower body has stronger muscles than I did in January. Hopefully, those muscles are strong enough to keep me going through 26.2 miles! 

As I write Obama has arrived on stage in Dublin city centre where there is a concert to welcome him. It's a lively energetic visit, by all accounts. He seems a very joyful person? Who knows? Still, unexpectedly, it was last week's visit that touched me more. I will never forget the Queen's bow in the Garden of Remembrance. I was filled with memories of the terrible atrocities on the news that were such an intense backdrop to our childhood. One of my earliest memories of watching telly is, I realised lately, Bloody Sunday of 1972. There was some disagreement between the adults (parents/grandparents) and I knew it had something to do with the images on telly. That's all I can remember. In the last twelve months it occurred to me to ask for clarification on this memory. It seems my Grandfather had a somewhat intemperate response to the events of the day with which all in the house did not agree. I thought of my other Grandmother's stories about the Black and Tans, her husband's fight for freedom (I never knew him) and her attitude to our neighbours across the Irish Sea and I wondered at the change that has come, and I was filled with hope. That was the greatest impact of last week's events for me, there is always the possibility of change.  Cheever noticing the changes in his body from training was told by a friend, "You're a different person now. You can't ever go back."  Last week too, I thought of one of my nieces who, from where I'm standing, seems like she could be anything she wants to be. The world is, as we say, her oyster. I am happy that that world includes a more friendly view of our nearest neighbour. My Granny on one side, my niece on another and in between the change, for better, that has come about. Who could have thought it? Here's to "not going back".
As I conclude, Obama is concluding his oration which is, as expected, a message of hope and promise.  For the pessimists, those who don't believe in change, he offers the phrase, as Gaeilge, "Is feidir linn!" Yes, we can. Maybe, that will be my mantra on the day of the marathon. Is feidir linn!

Stepping Back

There is a lull this week, a quiet and much needed stepping back from doctors and testing and imaging and bloodwork... Yet even in the lull there is busyness.

It has been two months now since we moved to this state, this community, this home. I am still searching for my quiet, reflective center. It's in there somewhere I know!

I still feel the need to keep working on creating home in this new space. The nest doesn't quite feel complete just yet. This week the project has been to neutralize the purple, pink and gold hues of Scooch's bedroom. Somehow that combination of colors on an almost thirteen year old boy's bedroom wall and might I add, ceiling, don't do much for his self-image! I find myself pushing through the days, and pushing is the real word for it. I don't find myself as tired as I had been, thank goodness, but I do find myself reaching for the ibuprofen bottle at some point every day, hoping to stave off the malaise, hoping to stall the aches, hoping my stomach can take it, hoping I can finish the project...

I got to visit with someone in the hospital this week. She works at my children's school. She drove herself to the hospital after work last Friday and they admitted her. She couldn't speak two words in a row without coughing. She has COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder) and an immune defficiency. She is a music teacher, has her doctorate in music education, loves drum circles, is a vocalist, loves to teach. But one day twenty-three years ago a steam pipe broke outside of her classroom. No-one bothered to fix it. She's been sick ever since, fighting with her body ever since, visiting doctors ever since, hoping to get better ever since. Her body is mis-shapen from steroid medications, her bones twisted and brittle, she walks with a cane.

Today she told me that she can't do it anymore.

I don't want to end up like that!

Walk/Run

There is wisdom to scheduling one's runs for the morning rather than evening. The day has a way of taking over. It was too dark and damp last evening by the time I put on my running gear to continue out. Let me confess that I was distracted from work by coverage of the Queen's visit during the day and made up for the time after Supper. By the time I was finished it was, as I say, dusk and raining slightly. Ugh. I went back in the door.
This morning, I was hardly much better. Lethargic is the word that came to mind. I figured a compromise was best. I walk/ran the first round and managed to run steadily, and happily, for the second half. Three days without a run is a bit much. It's almost as if the muscles begin to believe this campaign might be over and that they can ease up a bit. I let them know who's boss though!

3 Weeks to Go

I'm tapering! That's the official term for running less mileage per week in the two to three weeks immedieately before the marathon. It's not that obvious this week. I run a 5-mile, a 4-mile, a 5-mile in the middle of the week and 12 miles on Saturday. The change in mileage is more noticeable in the penultimate and final weeks.

Still ... I'm tapering. Three weeks to go, I'm excited about it. Three weeks to go, I don't have anxiety. Three weeks to go, the marathon seems possible. This won't last. Mark my words, this won't last, but I (perhaps I should say 'we') shall enjoy my positivity for now.

As for last Saturday's long run, it came and went amdist the process of preparing for my part on a panel in a national radio programme on Robin Hood, which was broadcast live last evening. I had never done that before (radio thing). Let's just say, I could be happier about both performances, but I'm only going to talk about the run. I was on my own this weekend (a question of division of labour) and had decided to run in the Phoenix Park, but with the State visits of the English Queen and American President there are a lot of security operations already in motion. Instead I headed to Maynooth and the Royal Canal. Again, I had intended to run 5 miles towards Leixlip, 5 miles back to Maynooth, 5 miles out to Kilcock(and beyond a bit) and 5 miles back making a figure of 8 with Maynooth at the centre. 

Typical me, I changed my mind. It was such an effort to get going and I was in cold rain, that by the time I got to Leixlip I decided that it might be safer to keep running in that direction as far away from Maynooth, and the refuge of the car, as possible. So, a bit like Forrest Gump, I just kept on running. It also kept on raining! By the time I arrived opposite Clonsilla Dart Station, the cold wet and the quietness of the bridle path put me off. I turned around. (Rhetorician, I think you are braver than me on this issues. I like to know there are other people around me). It gave me just under 8 miles, but I thought (judging by my time) that it was closer to 9 miles. I turned around, the sun came back out, I was almost in 'the zone', but not quite. I was enjoying the lushness of the canal surrounds and the several families of ducks (cute little duckling's and all), I had only occasional lapses of fretting about Robin Hood(!) I even dried out again. As I arrvied back in Maynooth, however, the debate began: "Will I make up the extra miles?" "How will I make up the extra miles?" "Don't think about making up the extra miles, just yet." "I have to do it, it's my last chance." And so on. So, I arrive back at the bridge in Maynooth, I know by my watch that I am well short of 20 miles (I was running 2 hours 50, I think). I thought about heading out towards Kilcock, but I just couldn't quite get the courage (in broader sense of that word) to do that. Then it came to me, I headed under the bridge, turned right into the town, left through the college gates and did two laps of the college, stopping just short of 3 hours 20. If only, I had done one more lap!

When I came home, I took out the Running Ahead tool for measuring distance. By my reckoning I barely did 18.5 miles. I was really disappointed. It's daft, I know, but it almost (still had all the endorphins and some sense of achievement), but I really felt I sold myself short. I was also disappointed by my time. I was giving myself 10 minutes per mile. This is not a 10 minutes per mile performance. It's going to be a very slow marathon! I have not quite reconciled myself to that yet. I still dream of some kind of stellar performance below 4 hours. That is not, absolutely not going to happen. Still, I can't quite let go my disappointment about that; I need to deal with it. It is an unreal expectation, the expectation of a novice runner.

On a more positive note, there was a time when running 2 laps of the grounds of Maynooth college was a good run! As for running 18.5 miles, I have to remind myself that I did it. I was drifting through some older posts over the weekend (there are so many ways to procrastinate on the internet!) and I was struck by my sense of achievement for 11 miles, 13 miles and so on. I kind of dismissed the 18.5 as a fine achievement, but "nothing to write home about"! I didn't do much lounging around recovering as I did earlier in the programme. And that's all in a few months.  It tells me that practice, effort, training does work. My body is getting used to the distances. I do appreciate that, greatly.

Dithering

I thought that I might share a pre-run post this morning. I'm supposed to be doing 20 miles and I'm in a complete 'dither'. I can't decide where to run. I had fully intended to head to the Phoenix Park (mapped out and all) but, from what I am reading, Dublin is already in the throes of big preparations for the Queen's visit and I think I'll stay clear of that. So ... I'm back on-line revisiting my plans. I'll get my twenty miles in alright, but not sure where?

I recognise procrastination and paralysis when I see it. To be fair, it's not the running has me spinning slightly this morning. Ok. To quote Café-Java brother "Get a grip!" 

In the meantime, here's a short poem that I came across in The Runner's Literary Companion. It's a simple idea, but it has helped in its own way with the long runs:

Strategy for a Marathon
by Marnie Muelle
I will start
when the gun goes off.
I will run
for five miles.
Feeling good,
I will run
to the tenth mile.
At the tenth
I will say,
"Only three more
to the halfway."
At the halfway mark,
13.1 miles,
I will know
fifteen is in reach.
At fifteen miles
I will say,
"You've run twenty before,
keep going."
At twenty
I will say,
"Run home."

Another Appointment

It's been another week of going in and out of the city to doctor's appointments. Thursday I had an appointment with a rheumatologist. I had never seen a rheumatologist before and was curious to see how it was going to go, not quite sure why I was seeing him either if truth be told. Rheumatologists typically see patients with inflammatory conditions such as lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, crohn's and chronic fatigue syndrome...and they prescribe lots and lots of remicade, so inflammatory condition, remicade, I suppose I fit the bill! I also get a sense from Pulmo Doc that he does not feel experienced enough with remicade to oversee its administration.

I did not expect though to have to tell my history all over again in such detail. I had presumed that Pulmo Doc would have laid the groundwork for me. Pulmo Doc had sent Rheumy a note about my visit with him, but copies of previous imaging, CTs, MRIs, previous bloodwork were not to be found. Too bad because Rheumy was very particular about details that I didn't quite have in my hand or head. "What did the report say for your very first CT scan, did you have parenchymal lung involvement or lymph node involvement?" I believed the answer to be "yes" to both but couldn't definitively say so and as someone who really values precision and details I was driving myself (and Rheumy) crazy. Oh well. Somehow, we got through it, all 50 minutes of it. Rheumy's bedside manner wasn't the best and it didn't help that he had an accent that I had to concentrate hard on to decipher, but that's okay I can cope with that and doctors don't intimidate me. As the appointment was winding down I asked Rheumy if he saw a lot of sarcoidosis patients like me and I got a vague answer. "We see sarcoidosis patients here". I asked again, "But have you specifically seen and followed a lot of sarcoidosis patients?" I wasn't trying to challenge him, honest, I just needed to get a sense of how well he understands the disease and appreciates its complexities. I wanted him to talk to me instead of firing questions at me. I wanted to get a sense of his personal views on sarcoidosis as a disease. The answer I got was the same. "We see sarcoidosis patients here". Okay, it was time to pull back. Then he said something that really got me. "We just need to see more" "More sarcoid patients?" I asked. "No. More of you. We need to see how you are going to respond to treatment, see how your disease will manifest itself, before we can make any judgements because, you know, these pains you have in your legs, they could be caused by depression." I looked at him with shock. "Are you questioning that with me?" "Well, yes, I am, sometimes...." His voice trailed away, his eyes got shifty.

The sarcoidosis patient's (chronic disease patient's) nightmare! The doctor who questions your symptoms....

I hardly know what to say to this. You see, I know what depression looks like. I have looked it straight in the eye. I also know what this disease looks like. I've lived with it for at least nine years.

So to bring myself back to my center and to a more rational and productive state of mind this is what I need to do:

1. Respect Rheumy's desire to see more of me so he can figure this out
2. Remind myself that he hasn't lived this with me as my physician for nine or more years so he has a lot of catching up to do
3. Strive to be an even better communicator with my physicians
4. Remember that this is a complex, evasive, disease that is a mastery of mimicry
5. Renew my commitment to raise awareness for this disease and advocate for more funding for research

I also need to take heart that I have heard through the grapevine that the Pulmonary Division of the particular major medical center/hospital that I go to for my care is very interested in creating a Sarcoidosis Center/Clinic such as I experienced at National Jewish Hospital in Denver. To do that they need to develop a core set of physicians across various specialties that have developed a sensitivity and appreciation for and experience in the complexities and nuances of sarcoidosis. I believe from my conversations with Pulmo Doc that he is very aware of and sensitive to this. Afterall, he was very particular about making sure I saw one particular cardiologist, whom I will see in a few weeks and he wanted to take some time to think carefully about which opthalmologist he would recommend. So maybe, just maybe, in some small way I can make a difference...