Wednesday, 12 October 2016

In which the London Marathon ballot occurred

I won’t lie.  When the London “Marathon News: You’re in” magazine arrived on my doormat on Wednesday, my first reaction was not one of excitement. 

Back in April, the recent post-birth me was desperate to go for a run again, in that flawed human psychology way which makes you want something so much more when you know you can’t have it.  And so my crazy, sleep-deprived brain enthusiastically entered my details into the ballot for the 2017 marathon.  After all, it was fate that the iconic marathon should come along just as I reached the magic 6 week post-birth mark and could start exercising again; fate that next year’s marathon would mark one year since my first post-birth run.  And with that neat plan and a new zest for life outside of my baby cocoon, I set off for my first little jog in six months.

One word for it: agony.  A different body to that which I had last taken for a run.  My middle empty.  My knees hurt.  My thighs tight.  My lower back ached.  My boobs too big.  My arms tense.  I was knackered.  Reality kicked in, and combined with the ongoing issue of having a far stronger mental desire to seek out a café serving strong coffee and large slices of cake than don my running shoes, I have been keeping my fingers crossed since that I wouldn’t get a place.  After all, I told myself confidently, the odds were against me, and at least I’d know I’d tried.  It had proved useful to kick start me into going for runs again, albeit rather – ahem – sporadic ones (it turns out a baby comes with a whole host of new excuses not to go for a run).

And so the arrival of the post resulted in a somewhat mixed reaction and some choice four-letter words.  The following 48 hours have been a whirlwind of overactive random thoughts about the practicalities of training, the excitement of a race, the nerves of long runs.  But the bitter fight between running me and mum me has dominated; oh yes, as soon as I felt a bit excited about the prospect of some regular ‘me’ time and started dreaming of being fit again (for I do like to complain about my current fitness), mum guilt popped up with a huge frown and waggly finger: “but this year is about having a baby… isn’t that enough for you… you must be a terrible and uncommitted mother to leave her for a run”.  Blah blah blah.  Ooh, how I hate mum guilt. 
As my finger hovers over the ‘enter’ button online, mum me is wondering what the hell I’m doing.  In fact, running me is too.  Maybe I need to rename this blog ‘Now I am running mum’, for I’ve got a feeling mum me and running me may be having more choice words over the next six months.  Here goes.  Madness. 
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  1. You can do it! I am always amazed by people who take the challenge! #Picknmix.

  2. Thanks for the confidence vote, watch this space!
    And thanks for reading :-)

  3. Amazing good luck! I'm surrounded by you fit crazy people, my friend Nat at Plutonium Sox did an Ultra Marathon thing recently ha! I'm hoping it'll rub off on me and I'll find the will power to get moving more soon ;) Thanks for linking up to #PicknMix

    Stevie x

    1. An ultra marathon, now that is true madness!!! Most days I feel that hours of sleep-inducing walks with a wide-eyed baby in a pram and weight-lifting a rapidly growing bundle are exercise enough :-) Thanks for reading.