Sisters

The donations are rolling in. Thank you. I am touched both by the donation, but also the messages of good will.

I had a lovely local run last evening of 5 miles. It was as much for therapy as for training. I was cold and tired and felt the need to get the blood flowing after a stay of stodgy sitting and staring at (note I did not say correcting!) essays.

I'm tired and emotional. Those long runs definitely take their toll; Etty's posting of yesterday also has an effect.  A friend, a much loved friend, has suggested in the past that I try to say something of how Etty's illness makes me feel. I'm not sure that I'm able. I don't want to burden Etty any more than she already is. Even writing this feels odd. I know, from someone who suffers from Lupus, that part of the illness is worrying about  the effect of the illness on her family. I think that came through in Etty's post yesterday as she strained to give some quality time to her son.

I can tell you that I am frustrated because right now I am not in a great position to go to America, although I admit to pondering it. That frustrates me and taps into some of my personal issues, namely the weird guilt that can hover around my own childlessness. Yes, one of the most irrational feelings is that I can feel guilty because Etty, who is a mother of three children, is sick; I am hail and hearty and unburdened by the responsibility of children. I can down tools, relax and go to bed early (my greatest luxury in recent times) when I like. I don't have huge amounts of housework to do and so on. I am pretty sure that most of you can understand how I might feel guilt, most of you will also recognise (as I do myself) that this is utterly irrational.

This is where the marathon comes in. It coincides with my inability to travel much right now and my discovery of running over the last two to three years.  I can do this for her. I can offer her some spiritual support, perhaps, by doing an event for her, particularly one that requires some long-term planning and effort. I can raise funds for a related cause, particularly one that offers support to people as well as research. A blog, it dawned on me, offers an opportunity to raise awareness. I have seen in Etty, and in my Lupus friend, the way these chronic illnesses can eat away at their lives. I have found over the years that sharing, people knowing or willing to listen can ease a burden. I am hoping that this campaign does that. I might not have pursued it, if it were not for early expressions of support and interest. Thank you.

There are other feelings too. I am reminded of these this morning as I chat with my mother whose sister is moving further into Alzheimers. We spoke about the importance of sisters. When Etty was first in the throes of being diagnosed, I was quite surprised at how emotional I got when telling one or two close friends. At the time, you may recall from Etty's earliest post, there were very frightening illnesses being bandied around. Mind you, episodes as described yesterday seem as frightening now. I felt utterly vulnerable, quite shredded, by the prospect of something happening to her. It felt as if a valuable, indeed a necessary, prop might be removed at any minute. I would fall down.

Let's cut through the 'mush'. Etty and I are quite different. Sometimes, I want to shake her loose a bit, move her out of her head a bit. Sometimes, I think I annoy her with my exuberance and enthusiasm .. . maybe? Yet, I have the greatest respect for her. In college, I would even say that I was full of awe for her grace, musical talent and her beauty. I felt quite ordinary beside her. I might even say, on reflection, that I lived a little bit virtually through her social life, although a not-so Holy Nun myself. I went to concerts and with her friends afterwards for a pizza or ice cream, as dictated by our collective budget.  She and I met and chatted over long cups of cheap student coffee and confided thoughts on those around us assuming, I think, permission to gossip to a sister where we might not to other friends. That's it, really, isn't it? If you are good friends with your sister, that friendship brings a level of loyalty beyond friendship. She became part of the new found freedom of thought that comes with leaving home, but with the freedom to include thoughts on home.

We worked together, I like to remember, when our parents' marriage collapsed. There was a bit of minding to be done of littler ones as the elders found their way. Etty was just finishing finals. I told her to stick with it, I would keep an eye now and over the Summer would be her turn. And that's what happened. In more recent years, I have known the pleasure of chatting about family stuff, knowing that she is intelligent and trustworthy enough to not be influenced in her relationship with other members. I have known the pleasure of shared recognition of faultlines, influences, values to be kept or discarded and so on.

We can cope with the distance. I don't pine for her to be closer anymore. I can live and manage that in today's technological world. I am distressed and frustrated to think of her ill, for her sake. I get scared when I think of her ill, for my sake.

Storms...

Little Guy and I took a walk the other day. It had been a hot and humid, sticky day, our Arizona bodies still not quite used to the humidity of the northeast, a thunderstorm brewing in the distance. Still, Little Guy was calling out for some one on one time and Oversized Dog was restless and bouncy. He needed to get out too. "Let's go!" I said "Although, I can't go very far or very fast." "I know Mom. We can just walk down Country Club Drive and back". Country Club is a beautiful little dead-end street perpendicular to our street and literally across the road from our house. It is less than a 1/4 mile long, it's flat at the beginning and then slopes gently downhill. We leashed up Oversized Dog who was now bouncier than ever, sensing a jaunt was in the offing, and off we went, Little Guy releasing all of the chatter he had been saving for this much coveted time alone with mom. We walked down our driveway, crossed the street, paused to wave hello to the neighbors on the corner and set out.

The street was so pretty with cherry, magnolia and apple trees in full and glorious bloom. Massachusetts really knows how to do Spring! We felt a little spattering of rain but neither one of us wanted to turn back. With each step I noticed my breathing getting a little more labored and a irrepresible need to cough every few steps and we were still walking on flat ground. We had just started the downward slope when there was a flash of lightning followed by a deep growl of thunder. Ten years living in the Arizona mountains and enduring summer monsoon thunderstorms had long ago replaced any fear of thunder and lightning with respect. The thunder didn't bother me but Little Guy's hand tightened its hold on mine. "You okay?" I asked. "I don't like it mom." "I know but it's still far away, we'll be fine". We continued our downward trek, I, coughing a little more. Another flash of lightning and roll of thunder. "I want to go back Mom!" "Okay" I said. Our little adventure had lasted all of three minutes.

We reversed our direction and headed towards home, walking gently uphill. But there was more of an urgency in our walking now, the sky was darkening, the upward grade was challenging my breathing. Soon, within seconds in fact, I was out of breath, struggling to find that breath to take us home. Then the coughing started. Not a cough that desires to clear out your lungs but almost like the airways have gone in to spasm and can't stop. I pushed us ahead now, cough, cough, cough, ever more urgent as the rain started to fall and the thunder got ever closer and Little Guy said "I'm scared" I had no breath to reassure him, cough, cough, just a hand hold. Soon we were across the road and walking up our driveway. I was bent over, walking, coughing, I had been here many times before. When this started the only way I could stop it was with my inhaler or nebulizer. Hubby was still at work. it was such a panicky feeling. Cough cough, "I need...cough cough, in hale..cough..inhaler...cough cough...upstairs..." I could only manage one word in between coughs. "Mom, are you okay?" Little Guy asked. "Yes, cough cough, just need..cough inhaler..cough cough cough cough, and..cough cough, I'll be cough cough cough cough ...fine" I was at the top of the stairs now, somehow, throwing things off my nightstand trying to lay hands on that inhaler, the nebulizer would be better but take too long to set up by myself, where is it anyway?. Sweat was pouring out of me now, my lungs burned, my abdominal muscles ached from the effort, so much effort, so exhausting, so much coughing. Inhaler in hand I took the first puff and immediately coughed it back out. That wasn't going to help much I'm sure. I tried again, trying to time it just right between coughs. It took several attempts. I lay on the bed, curled up in fetal position and coughed into the covers. "Should I call Dad?" I heard a little voice ask. "No, cough cough... he's on ..cough... train ...cough cough..., he'll be ...cough cough ...home soon ...cough cough cough cough..." It took so much effort to talk and cough and breathe. Was the medicine going to work this time? It needs about 15-20 minutes to work I reminded myself. Hang in there, you'll be okay, stay calm! "Can I call Dad?" Little Guy asked again. I couldn't answer, all my energy was being absorbed by this incessant coughing...cough cough cough cough cough, into the bed, stay calm, it will pass, the airways will relax, cough cough cough...sweating out my back...cough cough... The room was silent save for my coughing; short, irritating, unproductive coughs that had adopted a rhythmic chant I was desperate to interrupt. The minutes dragged on...And then there were urgent footfalls on the stairs, stairs taken two at a time, the door opened, a hand on my back, soothing, calming, gentle. I couldn't look up, too exhausted, too absorbed in coughing, but I knew it was Hubby, home from work. "I called Dad", Little Guy said. And there they stayed, rubbing my back, rubbing my feet, reassuring me that it would pass, the airways would calm down again, the lungs will relax...and the coughing slowed, the airways gradually gave up their rhythmic pulsing. Spun out I lay there, recovering from the physical effort involved in such an episode, berating myself for thinking I was ready for a walk, mad at my body because I couldn't manage a simple walk with my son. I don't understand what causes these coughing fits, bronchospasms the doctor calls them. Clearly my airways are still inflamed from the illness although the infection has resolved. I don't understand it, all i know is that it's a scary place to be sometimes.

Later that night in the intimacy of the dark and before succumbing to sleep I turned to Hubby, "Was Little Guy scared? Just what did he say on the phone to you anyway?" "Well" Hubby replied, "He said, "Dad, will you make dinner tonight because Mom is coughing on the bed?"".

What can I say, he's a growing boy! I'm just telling it like it is!

Mindgames

There was much to learn from Saturday's run and for the last 48 hours I have had a ferocious need to blog or, at least, write and reflect. I am pretty sure that Saturday's run is the closest that I will come to the full marathon and, all going well, I think that I have identified a set of stages for myself:

1. Warm up (1-5 miles)

2. Cruising (5-11)

3. Tired 1(11-15)

3. Tiredness 2 (15-18)

4. Confusion/give-up point (18/19).

5. Commit again, use mind, trust body and plod on (19-26).

While this is, by no means, an exact science or map. It does give me some idea of how to mentally prepare myself for the day. Any big challenge that I have faced I have usually rehearsed in my mind. Last Saturday now gives me some vague sense of doing that for June 6th. Recognising the stages gives familiarity, keeps me relaxed and gives me control, at least to a certain extent. I am learning to run through the various levels of discomfort. And, the discomfort is coming a little later each time. Recognising the stages, also reminds me to pace myself at the earlier stage of the run because I will need some reserves to manage the later stage.

I will blog about the managing later, maybe. I have read some interesting stuff on the relationship between the mind and the muscle fatigue.

Back to last Saturday. The training plan suggested 19 miles for Saturday's run. When I looked at Sheep's Head, however, and realised that I could loop back to Durrus over 22 miles, I was determined to do it. I saw it as an opportunity to test my mettle beyond the 20 miles prescribed by the programme and I knew it was a beautiful location. I was keen to get as close to practising the mental and physical exhaustion of the end stage, as possible. I also figured that it would give No.1 an opportunity to get in some cycling. He could loop back and forwards and hither and thither and still provide me with water. The rucksack with the water is very heavy over distance. Besides, it would be almost like our hillwalking days, a good old-fashioned day out in the fresh air.

Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, I (we) miscalculated our distances and, despite factoring in the Kilcrohane hill while planning, forgot that the mountainy hills form a spine along the whole length of the peninsula. This brought complications for the last hour of the day which I shall explain later.

 

At 11:15 on Saturday we were unloading the bike in Durrus for No.1. Minutes later, I was heading out the road, feeling more in need of a little nap than a run, but I got over that. It was a beautiful day to be out, although rather warm for running. It was one of those hazy dense days, the sun was shining down on me for much of the way out and I was sheltered on the East side from any prevailing breezes.  I was running only feet from the shore, looking over at Schull peninsula, squinting against the light to try and see the 'golf balls' (some kind of radio towers that are spherical in shape and very much part of the landscape). It was a warm Summery day (19-21 degrees Celsius), it was also a magnificent spot to be running. It was a real privilege to be out there. By Ahakista (5 miles) and the Air India Disaster memorial, I was well over the warm-up stage.  My slow, shorter start-up steps had lengthened, my breathing and general movement had fallen into a rhythm. The stiffness in my Achilles tendons had ceased squeaking at me. I was moving along nicely.  Occasionally, I talked myself down into a steadier more sustainable pace, there was the tendency to go too fast.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, I was really cruising. I became aware that I was slowly pulling upwards, out of a cooler brief wooded area, heading towards Kilcrohane, but with very little effort. It felt great.  When it happens, this is my favourite moment of the long runs. It's as if all the separate processes and motions required to run are working in harmony. It's like being a purring smooth engine. Before I knew it, I had arrived in Kilcrohane, hot and fairly dripping in perspiration. Reluctantly, I had to stop. I needed to attend to a growing blister on the arch of my right foot and I needed a comfort stop. I stopped my watch to attend to these matters before heading over the hill.

I knew the hill was fairly challenging from previous visits to Sheep's Head and from the map (it rises to six or seven hundred feet). I was determined not to let it burn me out too quickly so I took baby running steps and  walked, at times. I did not have anything to prove or to gain by running smartly up this hill. It was imperative that I did it in a way that conserved energy for the later part of the run.

The hill was fine and, of course, the rise brought beautiful sea views out over Dunmanus Bay on my right.  At the top of the hill, I was rewarded by views of Bantry Bay, Hungry Hill, Adrigole, Dursey and Bere Island. I was still feeling quite comfortable and found myself pacing along, probably not as fast as the outward leg of the journey, but nonetheless, comfortable. I was also distracted by the views, wishing that I was an owl so that I could swing my head around 360degrees! It was beautiful, not perfectly clear, but still so wild, and quite free of noise and traffic. There was the odd car and a tractor with dog in tow. I had a wonderful sense of freedom. A lot of the time, I could run in the middle of the road, feeling more like a child out playing than someone training for a marathon.  The word 'gambol' came to mind. I imagine that my running style was somewhat loose at this stage, I was too busy soaking in the scenery and just the freedom and openness of it.  I did pause at one stage to ask an elderly couple how far to Durrus, but they didn't know either. They told me that they too were visitors. I wasn't too bothered. I was enjoying the freedom of just running along, confident in my pre-run map reading. But pride cometh before a fall.

The return journey on the Western side of the peninsula is at a higher altitude than the outward journey which is almost close to the sea level.  To my right, Schull peninsula, Dunmanus Bay, the little village of Kilcrohane and the rugged landscape typical of West Cork. To my left, the fields fell away to the sea where, at this distance, silent white waves were crashing against the rocks. A pheasant flew straight past me. A pair of Goldfinches flew off to my left. Probably all were attempting to distract me from their respective nests. How could they understand that miles, not nests, were my preoccupation? Another three or four miles and I began to feel tired. Not impossibly tired, maybe not even slowing too much, just aware that my legs were getting heavier. It wasn't difficult to remember to keep my pace down, at this stage. My legs, chest, even my tummy, will volunteer to remind me that my resources are limited and that I should keep within my endurance speed limit. Otherwise, there will be penalty points later.

The road presented me with occasional dips and hollows. As I went on, I began to feel these little rises more and more. As I moved towards the 17/18 mile point at Kiloveenoge, I began to ask each little rise if it will be the one to take the last of my fuel. It's usually at one of these points that the change of pace from motoring to climbing, fails to return to motoring.  It's really quite extraordinary, it can just be a tiny extra effort that burns out the last of the fuel. At this stage, I am also wondering where No.1 is who had gone on to Sheep's Head. At Kilcrohane, we had had a quick discussion and I told him to go off and enjoy his cycle.  Another miscalculation of distances. I check my phone, I had received a text message from him ten minutes ago. He had just arrived at Sheep's Head. I was certainly more than ten minutes from Sheep's Head by now, running or on a bike. I rattle my water bottle. There was enough, just. (On reflection, I should, of course, have stopped at one of the houses and asked for a fill-up.)

At mile 19ish, I have the 'fall apart' moment. I suddenly realise that I will have to cross back over the hill to get back down to Durrus! Duh! I had not spotted that on the map. Besides the road that I had planned to return was not the road that I had travelled on before. I had overshot the runway, so to speak. I should have taken the road signposting me back to Ahakista. I was headed towards Rooska. At this stage, I did not know that the N71 or main road to Bantry was only 4 miles away. I make a call to No.1, leaving him a panicky message.

It was time to ask. A kindly man told me it is 'a bit on' at a sharp corner. The same man stopped in a car later and told me that I would be better heading to the N71 and then to turn back in the Creamery Road to reach Durrus because the climb over the hill would be too hard. I refused, explaining I am in training and that I have to meet someone. He waved, smiled and wished me luck. By now, I am half running, half walking and not at all comfortable. I am in a dispirited space looking for the sharp turn and the road over the mountain to Durrus.  No.1 was on the road back to Ahakista, he too had misjudged distances and our familiarity with the peninsula.  The road in our heads and the road on the map I had intended to take did not match.  Lots of sharp corners later, I realised that I have probably missed it.

Then, just like that, I crossed through the confusion and agitation. As we say at home, 'Come hell or high water', I was determined to finish that run. I was a woman on a mission and that was that. I paused to take out my phone, checked my google map (grateful for modern technology) and realised that the N71 was only four kilometres away like the man had said. I knew what needed to be done. I took charge. I texted No.1, to tell him to meet me at the junction near the West Lodge. Just to be sure, I sent a second text to say that he should bring the car! I had visions of us both arriving at West Lodge, he on his bike and me on foot, and the car back in Durrus.

Anyway, at that point,  I recognised the determination that has often frustrated those closest to me. Imagine trying to parent such single-mindedness! Nothing was going to make me stop on that run, that Saturday! Neither man, nor lack of water were going to have me stop at this point. I plodded on, dependent now on determination and mind games.  I tell myself to relax, it's ok.  "In three minutes, I will be at that cream gable end." or  "In five minutes, I will be opposite that point on the island.  Stay cool."   It dawns on me that my mind has the potential to be my greatest foe and my greatest friend. I have to manage it. I must silence the doubting, I must not waste time on struggling and just do it! It's not easy, but it's doable.

And that was the best thing about Saturday's run. I had read that training of the mind is as important as training the body. I experienced that on Saturday and we spoke about this afterwards. I can only do the marathon on my own. (Is that what is meant by the 'loneliness of the long distance runner'?) I was glad we got lost, I was glad I had to persevere on my own. I clicked into, by accident, a tool I will need on June 6th, exercising commitment, exercising my deep, deep desire to do this event. I want to do it for Etty, I want to do it for me. Saving serious injury or illness, I will.

Lost on Sheep's Head

Sheep's Head: Durrus to Kilcrohane, over the hill to come back the West Side of the peninsula (Goat's Path) back to the West Lodge in Bantry. 23 miles/36.6 kms. A blister, a mild headache, a few tender spots on my legs, but otherwise all is well. It was hot! It was so so beautiful though. There was also some confusion, but I will wait til I have a better computer to tell that.

A day becomes a week

It's amazing how easily a day missed can become a week missed! Happily, it is only the blog that has suffered ... mostly. I did miss out on one 5 mile run last week for reasons I am struggling to remember. I didn't manage to get out on Wednesday and Thursday of last week. I know I was preoccupied with something, but can't remember now. It doesn't matter. I managed to arrive in Kenmare on Thursday evening and so on Friday morning, I was galloping up Ashgrove, down to Roughty Bridge, through the town, out the Sneem Road to turn left up Tubrid, down past Cromwell Court and home through the town giving me more than 8miles. The weather is beautiful here in Ireland at the moment. My Friday run was done at 11:00 and so I was soon quite warm and heading for the shade where I could. Let me just add, that wherever I mention Ashgrove we are talking a hill which is probably just short of a mile long, climbing about 400feet. It's a lovely run, done in the countryside mostly, with views across to low mountains.

On Saturday morning then, I hopped out of my bed at 7AM to have my coffee and porridge, then I rested a bit to allow digestion and was out on the road by 9:00. I had been looking forward to this shorter 'long' run of only 13 miles. I had also decided to do it within running distance of the house, just to save on time and to allow No.1 get on with his favourite activity - grass cutting! So, again I head up Ashgrove, down to Roughty, through the town, out the Killarney road, turning left to head towards Reen.  As I say, I had been looking forward to this run, but I was soon disappointed. It was all a bit more of an effort than I had anticipated. It was fine, don't ge me wrong, but I had expected to feel a bit livelier and to 'sail' a bit more. By mile 7, I was growling and shedding a few tears. My frustration was directed at the lack of a GPS signal allowing me to measure my distance and pace, a  useful distraction when the run is a bit of a struggle. It was one of the rare few moments in this campaign that I was wondering what I was doing? Why was I doing this? What did I hope to achieve? Who did I think that I was? I was never going to be a good runner! At this rate, my marathon would take 5 hours.  I paused to report my whereabouts to No.1 because I was heading into a quieter road and we had agreed on a check-in call at the half-way point. I gave all my troubles to him. He reassured me that I was tired, had had a busy week, have been training hard but will be more rested by the marathon and so on. I knew all that too. From the beginning of the call, despite the snivelling and frustration, I was insisting that I did not want to be collected. I turned back into it and plodded on, brought to a sudden stop by a herd of cows being driven from one field to another. Then, I rounded a corner and came into a beautiful country road of trees in their first, shy bloom of Spring. It was beautiful, and although tired, a new commitment and engagement emerged. I struck on down the road and was rewarded with my first hearing of the cuckoo, always a favourite Spring moment. Encouraged, I ran on. I paused to visit Dad and Mairéad in their Kenmare home, enjoying a bathroom stop, a drink of water and, of course, a longer chat than I should have had. My legs were stiffer as I headed down their hill, but with only 3 to 4 miles to go, and having conquered my earlier blues, I was soon warmed up and pounding my way back to town. Then, it was all food shopping and preparation and visitors and Easter was here.



I have a few thoughts on Saturday's run, one which has been confirmed for me last evening. I have worn out my runners! You may recall the Asics Kayano 16s bought in January/February. They have at least 300 miles on them now. I have been feeling the ground over the last few days, hard sensation to explain. I took out the new gifted runners last evening and felt the difference. The trouble with runners is that it is the mid-layer which provides the cushinoning  is largely out of view. Most websites suggest 300-350 miles depending on your surface. I have been running on the road. My runners are shot, I would think. Any thoughts on this, you running people?

My other thoughts on Saturday's run are more philosophical. I wasn't present to it. My mind was ahead of me, back at the house, planning shopping, anxious to get into preparations, wash unclean floors for a much-loved almost crawling baby and all the myriad of things that trouble us when visitors are due. I, correction, we have it down to a fine art and with the lovely Summer weather we have at present, a bar-b-q makes life so much easier. It's not all me, by the way. I don't want to be embarrassingly gushing or anything, but I have one mighty helper. He also does the breakfasts! I do love entertaining, but on Saturday morning last it was competing for my attention. I was fighting, not so much tiredness and distance, as anxiety and impatience to be 'sorting it'. I wanted to multi-task in the most extreme of ways - run while cook, make beds etc.

Sunday, Monday then I rested. Tuesday I should have gone out, but the last of the visitors departed at midday and I needed to get stuck into finishing the project mentioned in my earlier post. I thought I might run in the evening but with the creative juices flowing I stuck with the project.

I woke on Wednesday morning determined to get in a run. I just needed 5 miles so did my Ashgrove route, back by Sheen Falls to give me the 5 miles. I worked on through my project and was satisfied to stop at 18:30. I put on my runners again and headed out for another 5 miles. Yip, you read right. I did a second run on Wednesday. To tell you the truth, I did it quite naturally. It was only when I was out that I realised I was happily and easily in my second run of the day! Imagine! I remember Killian talking about that once, when he was heavily involved in running, and I was full of awe and admiration. Here I was, making up the miles, twice in one day. It may not be the wisest course of action, but it was possible! Amazing! This time, I headed out past Sheen Falls, over our beloved Roughty Bridge, left into town, around the square to give me that extra bit and back home to give me over 5 miles.

I rose at 4:15 on Thursday morning, left the house at 5am, parked my car in UCD at 8:50, got through presentations and other work 'stuff'. I was out running the Slí na Sláinte by 20:40, doing it twice to get the distance. Oddly, the now dreaded Slí na Sláinte was strangely comforting last evening. I had thought to go down towards Sallins and the Canal, but the local appealed more: familiar, safe, comfortable, predictable and easy. It was a lovely run, not least because I was relaxed after the challenges of the last few days. I also love running as the light changes (morning or evening). It was quite duskish as I turned in home. I had a bit of fun with this run too, doing 'sort-of' intervals using the telephone poles for the first round of the Slí. I just plodded gently through the second.

I also took the time to look back over the week and to wonder at it all. Why do we (I) fret so? It all gets done - Easter, visitors, family, running, work - in its own time. It all gets done and everyone is happy.

Now it's another Bank Holiday weekend and I have a long run to do tomorrow - 19 miles. I had planned to use the Sneem Road again, turning at Blackwater Bridge towards Dereendirough and into the Black Valley, but it's the weekend of the Killarney Rally which means noisy cars racing round corners. Too dangerous! Another sign of how serious I take this running lark - I picked up the phone and rang the organisers to know where Saturday morning's stage would be held (the programme was not online). Imagine the organiser's surprise when a woman rings her who wants to run 19 miles on Saturday around the Black Valley/Sneem area and would the cars be in her way? I didn't quite put it like that, but that was the implication!

I have another route planned now, it should be beautiful, away from Rally cars. We are going to head towards ... d'you know, I think I'll keep you in suspense. Have a good weekend folks! Keep safe!

Huffing and Puffing

Easter just passed me by this year. I barely remember it.

Last weeek was the kiddo's Spring Break which we heralded in with an exciting day at the Boston Marathon and followed it with two mad days of city exploring, albeit in the rain. By Thursday the kiddos were ready for a rest day, we had really been pounding the pavement and everyone was exhausted. They slept in, relaxed, read books, watched a movie... I took advantage of the time to catch up on all the laundry that had accumulated over the few days. There were meals to be planned and the fridge and pantry needed re-stocking, there was hair from the Oversized Dog all over the house and that needed vacuuming, there was toothpaste adorning the bathroom sink and mirror, (sometimes I wonder if they're actually finger-painting with toothpaste rather than brushing their teeth, honestly!) all in all this house needed to be whipped back in to some kind of order and passable cleanliness. By Thursday evening I collapsed into bed, exhausted.

Friday morning, when all I could muster as a good morning to Hubby was a breathy squeak, I knew I was in trouble. I had lost my voice, was completely congested, throat was extremely sore, my body ached and head felt as heavy as lead. I had a fever but the most worrisome symptom was the cough that rolled around in my chest. The secretions were thick and blood tinged, never a good sign, but I was managing to expel them and that was important. I knew that over the next few days I would have to be very vigilant in trying to get as much of those secretions up and out as I could.

Those of us with chronic inflammatory lung conditions, such as sarcoidosis, are at risk for developing something called bronchiectasis. The airways lose their elasticity from being inflamed all the time, they become lazy and not as effective in doing their job in helping to expel secretions. When secretions pool and just stay in your lung it becomes a perfect breeding ground for all kinds of viruses and bacteria, not least of all, those causing pneumonia. It was time to employ those coughing techniques that a respiratory therapist had taught me in 2007 when I was battling hard with an aspergillus infection in my lung.

I find the "Huff-Cough" (at least that's what I call it) to be the most effective. You take a deep breath and literally "huff" ten times, (it helps if you think of the Big Bad Wolf!) as if you were trying to blow out a candle but with your mouth wide open, lips apart, almost as if you are smiling and with as much force as you can muster. You have to resist the urge to cough mid-way through your ten huffs. Huffing will move secretions around and you'll feel that but don't give in to that cough just yet. After your tenth huff only then can you cough and it's best to cough with your chin dropped to your chest and your mouth and jaw in an "eee" position (almost like a smile) rather than in an "o" position. And you should be wonderfully and productively successful! Bet you didn't know there was a right and a wrong way to cough!

So, I spent the Easter weekend in bed, feeling totally miserable but grateful that it was a weekend and that Hubby could help me out, grateful for the phonecalls of concerned family members. I started antibiotics on Monday and am slowly starting to return to normal activities so all is well, or soon will be.

Meanwhile I'll huff and I'll puff and.......

Later

I hear you, Rhetorician. I have missed blogging (can't believe I'm saying that), partly because of Easter visitor busyness, partly because of poor internet facilities in the Kingdom.

And Etty has been sick. She has been in bed and put on antibiotics for an upper respiratory tract infection.

I'll be back later today to give some account of my running over the past week. For now, I have to go and be a student (!) and present an Educational Technology project I have been working on over the last few days. Wish me luck! I'd rather run a marathon!