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My second race of the weekend wasn’t my race at all, it belonged to my daughter, ASK and I’ve never been more ecstatic not to be racing.
I remember when she was born, almost exactly three years ago that I decided I would enter a race with her and aged 15 days old she completed the Dartford Bridge 2km Fun Run with myself, the GingaNinja and Pops (my father).

Well much has changed since that race, ASK has become a boisterous toddler, my father and I fell out over Hillsborough (although it was always made clear he was welcome at our door to see ASK whenever he wanted) and both the GingaNinja and I have lost half a yard of pace due mainly to Dominos Pizza.

Anyway three years later we return to the scene of her first medal triumph, only this time she’s powered by her own legs.

Now I’ve been accused by many of being a pushy parent getting her to run but the truth of the matter is she asked me to find her a race because, ‘I want another medal dad’. She also asks to go training and use both the running buggy and the Unirider – I think it’s fair to say she’s the pushy toddler and I’d rather be taking her running than having her sat infront of Dora the Explorer or Paw Patrol!


Anyway we rocked up to the start line just after the 10km had started and we paid our £3 entry fee (which would be going to a local good cause) and waited for the main race runners to come in. ASK stood transfixed at the sides watching runners of all shapes and sizes crossing the finishing line and claiming their medals – desperate to know when she could get started! 

Before long it was time to line up – kids from near newborns to 13 and 14 year olds. We eyeballed a couple of our fellow toddlers that we knew we could take down and when the horn erupted we set off from our position at the back of the pack like lightning.


ASK quickly set a steady if unspectacular pace for the first 500 metres, preferring to soak up some of the undeserved adulation she was receiving! But once out of sight of the supporters we made better time taking two other runners on the first corner, followed quickly by a slightly older girl whose interest seemed to have waned a little. By the time we had reached the end of the first kilometre we had taken out another couple of runners but the field had now spread itself out but with just 8 minutes on the clock we looked to be making good time and ASK showed no sign of stopping (other than for water breaks).

In the distance – some 200metres ahead – we saw a couple of older boys, probably aged about 10 and we suggested to ASK that we could try and catch them. As they disappeared around the corner and into the final stretch she looked dejected that they had gotten away. 

‘Do you want to catch them?’ we inquired. ‘Yes’ replied ASK and so with that we hit the go faster afterburners and our little daughter responded with much enthusiasm and although we would never catch the boys we knew that the sounds and sight of the finish line would give her a huge lift to finish well. 


With just a couple of hundred metres to go ASK geared up again and started hurtling towards the finish – the remainder of the crowds cheering her every last step home.

Cruising through the barrier she stopped only briefly to grab a medal (we offered thanks in her behalf) and then some rehydration and refuelling – this had been a gruelling race.


What can I say? There are a few things to say about the race, the organisers and ASK.

Firstly let me congratulate Bridge Triathlon events who year in, year out put on lovely events for all ages and all abilities. As a regular runner I’ve taken part in a few of the events as has the GingaNinja and ASK marks her third Bridge Triathlon event here.

The Dartford Bridge 10km and the 2km fun run really help promote a healthy running lifestyle and it’s low key approach in a simple setting make this a perfect September Sunday morning event.

Secondly the event itself is magnificent, either the 10km or the 2km (the only reason I wasn’t doing the 10km was because I’d ruined my groin at the RunWimbledon marathon the day before). The route is fast and flat and if you want it to be it’s a really good event for racing FAST!

And finally, ASK (my UltraBaby) What can I say other than, well done little daughter of mine. She ran brilliantly, she ran fast and she wanted to do it and is already inquiring as to when she can get her next race medal. So if you know of an upcoming event please let me know – I’ve got a three year old ready to race and that’s an attitude I’m happy to encourage.

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No matter how prepared you are you can never tell what will happen on the day and I’ve had some epic failures in running. Off the back of my most recent failure I wanted to revisit some of them to try and better understand how I’ve achieved responsibility and hopefully get myself back in the right headspace for MIUT.

Perhaps also in light of the awesomeness of John Kelly and Gary Robbins last weekend I think it’s ever more important to understand that ‘I’m responsible for me, nobody else’.

With that in mind this is what I’ve learnt…

What: No training, still injured
Race: Winter 100
End: DNF
Distance: 45/100 miles

It’s one of the few races I’ve never reviewed in full because this one still rankles nearly 3 years later. I’d been running injured for months and months prior to the start line – making the hip injuries I had ever worse and my physiotherapist made me promise that if she could get me to the start line that I’d have a few months off after this.

It didn’t help that UltraBaby arrived 6 weeks before the race and so I turned up to the start line having not done any training for around 8 months, having completed, badly, a handful of ultra events in that period and having had a very busy time as a first time parent in the run up to the start line. I managed to run the first 25 miles reasonably well but the second leg was nothing but agony and at around 45 miles the pain in my hips was so severe that I had to quit.

I recall sitting quietly in the village hall as the volunteers discussed their upcoming races and I found myself filled with rage that I wouldn’t be able to join them on any of these exciting adventures. I remember seeing Susie Chan coming through the door at the main central aid station and greeting me, sympathy being poured upon me, but I just wanted to leave and get away. It wasn’t that I was ungrateful I just knew that I was responsible for the mess I was in, I alone had caused this and I alone could fix it – but not here and not while I was so filled with rage at myself.

The Winter 100 caused me to understand that running while seriously injured has long term implications and it took a long time to return to being able to to run even halfway well again (and I’ll never recover properly it seems). Intensive physiotherapy and lots of rest allowed me to return to running only six months later and I’ve been much better at seeing the signs ever since but these and this race are mistakes I do regret.

What: Titting about
Race: National Ultra
End: Completed
Distance: 50km

Six months prior to the W100, having flown in from Budapest less than a dozen hours earlier I rolled up to the National 100km, in the early days of my hip injury and on a third of four ultras in 42 days.

I was tired when I heard the bell sound at the start and I decided as it was a cycle track I’d take it relatively easy. By about 20km I was bored and started messing about, joking with the spectators and basically being a bellend. In hindsight it comes as no surprise then that at about 27km I slipped off the track and twisted my knee in a bizarre and ridiculous accident.

Expletives rang out around the track but this was own stupid fault and so rather unwilling I dropped down a distance and cried off at 50km having hobbled slowly the 23km to the finish. The GingaNinja had no sympathy for me when I relayed my sorry tale of woe to her and quite rightly she let me stew on my own juices.

2014 was a year of massive mistakes and huge learning but it wouldn’t be until 2016 that I’d learned to mostly cut out the self inflicted mistakes.

What: 12 inches? No just a foot
Race: White Cliffs 50
End: Completed
Distance: 54 miles (and about 6 extra miles)

This remains my favourite ultra marathon story – probably one that has been embellished over the years but is very much based in truth.

  • I did roll my foot at mile 14
  • I was titting about for the cameraman
  • I did break my toes
  • I did hobble 2 miles to the checkpoint
  • I did change into Vibram FiveFingers
  • I did then manage to finish the race

The incident here would set an unfortunate precedent that no Ultra would occur without incident, injury or plain old poor fortune. I probably should just have retired here – become a ‘one and done’ but I didn’t and when I reflect like this it drives me mad at the level of stupidity and lack of respect I’ve shown to the races I’ve attempted. It’s only in more recent times that I’ve found myself turning up to events and showing the required level of dedication and mostly this is being rewarded with better running and better results, although still with a huge chunk of improvement to be made.

What: Shoes too small 
Race: The Wall
End: Completed
Distance: 69 miles

The Wall was a bit like ‘I know best’. I didn’t need fitting for shoes, I didn’t need help sourcing kit, reading routes, I didn’t need any help at all. Well the truth of the matter is that having done one ultra marathon when The Wall came up I was in no way prepared to take on a jump of nearly 20 miles in distance.

And when I rode in at mile 47 to be greeted by the GingaNinja I knew that my feet were in a bad way – we removed my shoes Adidas XT4 (or something) and inside, screaming out in agony, were two feet with more than 25 blisters adorning them in every possible place. It turns out I was wearing shoes that were 2 sizes too small and about 6 inches too narrow. My arrogance and self belief ensured that the final 22 miles of The Wall were simply the most painful I’ve ever faced. It’s fair to say I probably deserved those 22 miles.

The lesson was learnt – being assured is one thing but over confidence will chew you out!

What: Slip sliding away
Race: CCC
End: DNF
Distance: 55/110km

12 miles in and I was confident that after I had conquered the first major ascents that the race down to CP1 would be fast and carefree. Sadly the race to CP1 was fast but it wasn’t so much carefree as ‘loose’. I lost my footing once, then twice and then with control out of the window my legs buckled under me and I flew down the descent on my back, arse, head. I rolled and slid far enough for the runners around me to stop and check I was okay and while the immediate agony was my ego I knew I’d hurt myself. I stumbled along for another 25 miles before calling it a day but once more my over confidence had been my downfall.

What: Blisters, Blood, Vomit, Poo
Skye Trail Ultra
End: Completed
Distance: 75 miles (and a few extra)

I don’t want to paint a picture of a tortured ultra runner in this post, I’ll ultimately take responsibility for my own failures and hopefully find strength from the times I overcame adversity.

Skye is my ultimate triumph of overcoming that adversity. Even if you take out the hideous travel sickness I had on my 18hr journey up to the island and my efforts to recover from that with just 12hrs before the race started and only focus on what happened in the race – then my finish at Skye is still one of my greatest achievements.

However, it all looked likely to unravel when at 25 miles in I stopped running, I simply couldn’t continue – bent double in pain. My stomach had become what Obi-Wan might describe as a ‘wretched hive of villainy’. I made the assault of the final climb (or so I thought) of the ridge and I lay dying in the sunshine. I puked up the contents of my stomach and a few feet in the other direction my arse exploded a putrid green and neon yellow Jackson Pollock. I used the last of my water to clear my mouth out and simply lay back waiting for the DNF to take me.

Thankfully that fateful moment never came and I proceeded to spend nearly two hours lost looking for checkpoint one, but having survived the nightmare of my own body rebelling against me – I ploughed on with a determination to finish.

And I did… finish that is, I was finally starting to understand what it would take to be an ultrarunner.

What: Burning Balls
Race: Ridgeway 86
End: DNF
Distance: 54/86 miles

My infamous bollocks of fire where an issue at the Ridgeway and is second only to the even more infamous burning bullet hole of ultras when we are taking about running pains. Stood on the trail in the dark with my shorts round my ankles attempting to Vaseline them up and place a buff around my red raw testicles is something I’ll never forget.

I plan on returning to the Ridgeway to complete this event as I enjoyed it a lot, was well organised and genuinely scenic event – I simply made some poor kit choices and that’s easily remedied.

What: Turd Emergency
Race: Mouth to Mouth
End: Completed
Distance: 28 miles

The need for a poo on the trail is something that has dogged me for a while, so much so that a decent amount of toilet tissue always joins me for a race.

When possible I use the ‘Pre-race Flat White Coffee’ solution, as for some reason this delicious hot beverage has the ability to offer the clean as a whistle requirement my bowels like pre-race.

I digress…

The lack of cover at the M2M meant I needed to run several kilometres before nature overtook me and I had an urgent rush to the worlds smallest spikiest bush and created a mountain on the South Downs!

In subsequent races when I’ve felt the urge I have resolved that little problem more quickly and found that doing that has incurred better running – lesson learnt.

What: Head torch failure
Race: UTBCN
End: DNF
Distance: 73/100km

I was running really well at the UTBCN, strong, relaxed and, while unlikely to win anything, I would go home with a medal I could be proud of and a feeling that I was on the right road to my ultimate running aims.

The debacle with my head torch failing at the start line is an annoyance and, while I was angry with Petzl, ultimately it’s my fault for not carrying sufficient spares (I did have a spare head torch – it just wasn’t powerful enough). I let myself down by and while the kit fail shouldn’t ever have happened – it did.

The solution has been to buy new head torches and they will be fully tested before they go into battle and more importantly there’s two of them, both over 200 lumens, both adequate to see me through most ultra marathons.

The future?
By accepting responsibility for my actions I’m hoping that I can go to MIUT and beyond, giving my all as I run. I’m trying to drive myself to accept that I can do The harder races, the real challenges and that if I fail then I simply need to pick myself up, find the useful parts of whatever happens and continue my running journey.

I’ve found this post quite therapeutic, reminding myself about failure and the lessons I’ve taken from them (and indeed the successes). I’m hoping that information I’m gathering is influencing my performance and enhancing the recent progress I’ve been making in distance, endurance, speed and attitude.

So, with the disappointment of the UTBCN all I can say is, ‘come on MIUT – let’s see what you’re made of’.

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Does this look like a man with a heart condition?

Sometimes as ultra runners we are required to prove that we are fit to race, sometimes it’s enough to highlight your experience over a specified distance or terrain and sometimes it’s to prove that you have no health issues that might affect you on the course. I don’t have any trouble confirming that I can run distance and ice covered most of the available terrains now but there is a medical problem and has been since my idiot brother died about 6 years ago.

Let’s not bother with the sympathy about my brother, we did not get along, hadn’t spoken in years and when he died I really wasn’t moved by it at all. Why am I telling you this? Well because from the grave my brother haunts my running and this is how.

It was early 2015 and I needed to get my medical certificate signed for the CCC – I was just returning from a stint on the sidelines it’s some glute problems but this seemed to be working its way into the background. I went along to the doctor and asked if she would sign my mandatory form.

‘I see that your brother died of “heart complications” at the age of 29’ she said. It was here that I knew I was going to have some trouble, ‘and your father has some heart conditions?’

I confirmed that both of these were true but that my brother died because he lived on frozen pizza, beer and a range of unhealthy activities that ultimately lead to him dying young. My multiple marathon running father I explained had developed relatively minor heart problems in his early 60s but was still hiking and running to a reasonable level and had even completed large swathes of a 96 mile walk less than a year previously.

‘You’ll need tests,’ she said and with that sent me on my way.

I assume I’m going to die pretty hideously, a bus smashing into me, falling off a cliff edge, one of the nastier cancers and I’ve always been okay with that because I’ve not waited for life to find me – I’ve gone out and found life. I’ve fought to have my life and in my opinion I’ve earned it but I’ve always said that when my time comes then my time will have come and I don’t need any forewarning.

This doctor wanted me to have forewarning of any health problems I may have, what she failed to realise is that death doesn’t scare me, I’m into making positive life choices that aren’t determined by the boundaries set out for you.

However, she wouldn’t sign the form without the tests and so they ran a decent set of tests and told me to give it 10 days. Turns out, despite abusing my body for years doing all the things I’ve done, I was fine.

Signature, medical certificate and stamp acquired.

With those I disappeared off to the CCC. This same certificate covered me for the SainteLyon as well but had run out by the next time I needed one.

I assumed that it would be a fairly simple process to get a second one signed. Roll up, pay the fee, get the certificate, run. This was not the case. I was told that not signing my medical certificate was not about me, but about the doctor – he didn’t want to be held responsible for approving someone with a heart condition to race.

I don’t have a heart condition

He cited Fabrice Muamba as the reason why – the footballer who collapsed in a game between Tottenham and Bolton. I explained that the echocardiogram he was insisting I have would be no were near the levels of medical care that a professional footballer received, therefore surely we should consider the other more relevant evidence. He stood firm that he wouldn’t risk his career on a man whose family have heart problems.

Bellend

My immediate thought was to go out the car park and take my fists and the rocks liberally littered around the place to his Mercedes but instead I settled for shouting abuse at him from outside the surgery ‘useless cockbag’ and ‘cunty features’ were certainly issued. The truth is that had he looked at me at all he would have been able to see that I was in no way up to running. I had limed into the surgery as I’d injured my calf pretty badly the week or two previously and I’d put on weight after my retirement. Both of those alone should have been enough to disqualify me from running but no he used the ‘family heart problem’.

I went home and resolved the issue. I signed my own certificate and produced my own stamp – the benefit of being a graphic designer – then I submitted it.

About three weeks before the race start I received my echocardiogram date and of course I went because otherwise I would struggle to get a medical certificate anywhere. They prodded and probed my like I was a lab rat and I lay there angry that I was going to be given information I really didn’t want either way. I’d also missed the cut off for submitting another less fraudulent medical certfiicate and so I was feeling a little down when I left the hospital.

The hospital told me to call my doctor in a day or two. I did so and I did so for a further 12 days until the receptionist said, ‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss this with you, the doctor will need to see you’. By now I was the kind of fucked off that I reserve for those times in my life that I’ve actually had to hit someone and I responded rather curtly, ‘that is unacceptable’. Little Hitler told me the doctor would call me, I said that would be ‘acceptable’.

I don’t sleep well at the best of times but I really didn’t sleep well that night and spent much of it wondering if I would get to see UltraBaby run her first ultra or even her first 10km. I could hear the sound of my heart, I was listening for anomalies and I was replaying in my head over and over the letter of complaint I was preparing.

At 9.07am the doctor called, ‘You’re heart is as strong as an Ox’.

I assumed that was a good thing.

And so in theory I should be clear to have my medical certificate signed for the Madeira Island Ultra Trail and I know that the doctor was only doing his job, attempting to give me peace of mind while at e same time sating his own appetite for security that he was sending me to my doom in the best possible health. The problem for me comes in that I didn’t want to know whether my heart was healthy or not, part of me likes that idea that one day on a trail or a mountain somewhere I’m just going out drop dead and yes that possibility still very much exists but not so much from my heart failing me.

Ultra running and my health are deeply connected but I like to face them as an unknown – too much knowledge really can stifle you and in my case at a time where I am trying to up the ante this medical drama seemed pointless, I don’t feel better for the information that my heart is strong, I feel like something has been taken from me.

I know that the response to this I will receive is that the doctor was simply doing his job and I can accept this but his rationale was way off, he didn’t appear to adequately take into account my experience, training or my own lack of health issues. When I pressed him about the 40+ other marathons or ultras that I didn’t need a medical certificate for he seemed disappointingly nonplussed, he admitted he was covering his own arse and that says a lot about the way the world is these days.

Perhaps we should all be able to take a little bit more responsibility for ourselves and then I/we won’t run into a chain of red tape that was more about filling out forms, crossing ‘t’s’, dotting ‘i’s’ and avoiding legal action than it was about my health. Humph.


As I was stretching my calves yesterday within minutes of arriving home I realised for the first time in the near 5 years I’ve been running just how much time my favourite distraction takes up in my day.

And I began to wonder ‘is this normal?’

I started to look for research but most of it centres around what runners think about when they’re running. I’m interested in knowing if it’s healthy that I spend most of my day salivating at the prospect of running and looking through run related things.

My Daily Breakdown Let’s assume I get up around 5.30am and conclude my day around midnight – that’s a minimum of 18.5hrs per day to put running into.

So I wake up, showered, cup of tea, perhaps a yoghurt for breakfast and straight into my running kit. Place last few items of stuff into OMM 25 classic running bag. Spend at least a few minutes deciding which running shoes will cause me the least amount of aches on my RunCommute. I then begin the stretching that I need to do to make sure my glutes and calves don’t start firing the moment I leave the house and then at exactly 6.29am I leave the house for a couple of miles of running to the train station.

I usually arrive with seconds to spare, grab my seat and immediately reach for my phone to begin writing running blog posts, reading running blog posts or tweeting about running. That journey is about an hour and I usually get something out in the time, my only challenge being WordPress refusing to upload my photographs and a loss of signal as I enter Charing Cross.

As I leave Charing Cross I usually hit the afterburner and allow myself around 20-30 minutes of running through the backstreets of London, grabbing a snap or three of interesting buildings, sculptures or installations. Post run/pre work shower later I’m then usually hitting Instagram, replying to blog responses, etc – by 9am I’ve already done a reasonable amount of run related activities.

I’m lucky in my working life that my boss is also a runner and an extreme triathlete, this means much of the conversation during the day is about races, running, cycling and the Barkley. We supply each other with links to things such as stupid distance runs and ridiculously difficult OW swims.

If I ever got a lunch break then I’d be unlikely to run during it but I would (and on rare occasions do) go walking for an hour, this I feel helps keep my legs active despite having a sedentary desk job. However, when 5.30pm arrives I do my best to get out, get changed and hit the pavement – time and distance vary depending on running needs but I can be out for anything from 30 minutes to about 4 hours.

Once I arrive at a commuter train in the evening my time is usually spent doing one of a few things a) as tonight, blogging b) looking up races c) looking up kit d) looking up reviews for races or kit.

I might, if the fancy takes me, go for a bit more running (sometimes swimming) once I’m home but if not then it’s straight into foam rolling, stretching and preparing my running kit for the following day and so the cycle sets in again.

By the end of the day, if I’ve got either any energy or time left I’ll sometimes process race and running photographs for some slightly more creative, run related, projects I’ve been been working on but it amazes me how much of each and every day is spent revolving it’s way around my running endeavours.

It should be tiresome and dull, there shouldn’t be that much to blog about, there shouldn’t be that many races to look up or routes to run – but there is.

Do other aspects of my life suffer?
This I suppose is the real reason to ask the question. As a runner with a young family and a full time job both of these have been known to play second fiddle to my love of sport. However, I’ve never neglected either in favour of running, I think I’ve developed the art of multitasking and time management. I’ve let less important things slide in my life, things like peripheral friendships, days of hardcore nightclubbing, alcohol and working all the hours because these things were not improving either my life or aiding in the fulfilment of my running dreams. Obviously nothing’s perfect and sometimes I do misjudge the balance but I’ve come to understand how my own life works and I’m a better person for it.

Does running influence decision making?
Without a doubt running and the dominance of it in my life has a serious impact on decisions. The GingaNinja made certain choices about her new job because I wanted to ensure enough weekends were left free for me to be able to commit to racing. Running has been known to dictate holiday destinations, food choices and many other things. However, to me this doesn’t feel like a sacrifice, this feels like making the work/life balance right for me and the people around me.

However, I remember discovering the GingaNinja was pregnant. She told me from the shower cubicle and saying ‘Have you entered the CCC (2014)? Because you might want to rethink it as we’re probably having a baby that week’ – that’s the only time I’ve cancelled an entry and credit to the GingaNinja she provided a bloody good reason.

So does running dominate my life?
Yes probably,  however, I’m happy about the impact it has and I’ve developed it in such a way that it doesn’t negatively impact everything else, in my opinion it improves the rest of my life – but then I would say that. The benefits of life that is dominated by running are too numerous to list but my physical and mental wellbeing are infinitely better for it.

How about your running life? Do you spend most of your day in run related thoughts and activities?

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I know I’m going to die, I have no idea how and I have no idea when.

I’d love to make sure I’ve read all the books I want to, seen all the movies I wanted to see, admired all the art I’ve always desired to pore over and run all the races I’ve dreamed of partaking in. The reality is that this is unlikely to happen, there’s too many books, too many races, too many movies and way too many art works to see, experience and absorb before I end my time on earth.

UltraBaby
Having a child has changed my perspective on life a little, but not in the way I imagined. I always thought it would make me realise how precious and fragile life is and in fact the opposite is true. I’ve come to the realisation that the thing I have often thought, ‘we get a limited time allocated to us, so bloody well use it’ is true. However, the arrival of UltraBaby gave me rise to realise I have responsibility to myself and those around me to give it my all, every single day and not accept second best. Second best will sometimes occur naturally but I must strive to experience the best I can and I want to instil that into UltraBaby.

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Death?
Weirdly, I used to have a ‘death fantasy’, perhaps I still do. It went something like this; I would send out an invite to a party on my 40th birthday, somewhere cold (Iceland), flights and the like fully paid for and the attendees would be all the people I have hated in my life – my mother wold be the top name on the guest list – for those who might be wondering. They would all arrive to my specially hired out mountain retreat and in my mind they’d be having a fab time – I would not be there. No. I’d be on the mountain above – snowboarding down it with a shitload of high octane explosive strapped to my chest and as I sauntered over the precipice I would unload the fiery package setting off a gigantic avalanche that would, along with my entrails, devour the mountain retreat and killing the specially invited guests.

Barkley
Now since this idea first came to mind I have mellowed somewhat, not completely but enough to realise that my idea might be considered a little unorthodox as a way of smiting others and bring my own life to a conclusion. Now my ‘death fantasy’ would be to die at a race, a very special race – I’d like to die aged around 75 or 80 having just completed the Barkley Ultra Marathon, at the third attempt. Because I would want a couple of RTCs because of the iconic nature of it.I’d die as I crossed the finish and I’d die with a smile on my face.

Why the gloom?
Recent events have forced further analysis of what it means to be alive and the gift of living that we all possess. However, my conclusions that I came too all those years ago are even more firmly ingrained in me. When bad things happen you begin to understand that everything you take for granted now might soon be taken away from you, so you learn to value every single experience, good or bad.

If you feel your life is not going the way you want it to at the moment can I urge you to change it, even the tiniest little bit of change can have huge ramifications. I’ve always maintained that dying is the easy part of life, its the living that’s the tough bit – but be selfish and do this for you – because by living for you you’re helping everyone else.

Live Well.

Pictures taken leaping from the river edge into the fast flowing Hvítá river in Iceland

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This post is specifically about me and my job, your experience will (hopefully) vary and you can probably click away as this is hugely self indulgent. And so to my post …

Designing and running aren’t natural bedfellows and for me both are often like uphill battles.

Ranting?
As some of you will have seen my Twitter rant yesterday you’ll know it was a grim day but for those that didn’t it went something like this: Dear job, C-Bomb off you F-Bombing C-Bomb’ #DesignerNotArtworker and this led to wondering if running and designing were very compatible or was it simply that my job drives me bonkers because they really don’t listen to common sense?

Designing
Let me be very clear – I love designing. I love the intricacies of typography and the world building of ideas. I love the very technical aspects of producing great artwork and I adore illustrating complex ideas until they communicate smoothly and brilliantly. I even enjoy constructive feedback, collaboration and building things together that are ultimately more impressive than the thing you could do yourself. But my current job seems to think that by taking all those amazing elements out, (the bits were I offer thoughtful design, considered typography and interesting illustrative styles) that they will get a better product. It hurts my design soul that after 15 years of carefully crafting solutions to meet numerous clients/companies needs and often exceeding them that my current job is leaving me so bereft of enthusiasm.

And so to running
Last night (Monday), as I was fuming, I put on my running shorts and my 12kg of filled OMM rucksack and I went running. I ran on average 4.50 per kilometre over 9km – that’s the fastest I’ve gone since I started running again.

So running angry was good for pace?
Yes and no. The real issue was I felt the run in my glutes and hamstring – which was very bad – and today (Tuesday) I’m suffering more than I should be. But … I just wanted to flush away another rubbish day and I wanted to push my body to remind myself what it’s like to be good at something – because my current job makes me feel like I’m good for nothing. And even last night as I ran I could feel the tension in my muscles and yet I decided to keep going as fast as I could because I was so angry and now I’ve set myself back – that surely isn’t positive?

Comfort Eating?
Then there’s the fact that when work is going badly I usually eat ‘bad food’ and lots of it, this week has been no exception and that won’t help me stay in a size 32 inch waist trousers!

Stressful?
The strange thing is that things like stress and difficult situations I’m very good at handling, it brings out the best in me, when my back is against the wall I always come out fighting and I’m tenacious about it – the same has always been true of running. Here’s the thing though – my job isn’t stressful, it isn’t even difficult – it’s simply stupid, lacking in foresight, lacking in creativity and often rather obnoxious, self-important, political and bitchy and that’s something that I don’t appreciate or understand. This kind of multi-faceted fuckwittedness with people hiding under layers of management and email commentary is a dangerously layered mix and coming out fighting in this scenario just leaves you bruised.

Solutions?
The great thing is that having a crapper of a day can usually be sorted (for me) by a pleasant run, it clears the head, gets frustration out, however, my two hour commute home means that if I don’t #RunCommute then it can be hard to motivate myself out the door, especially when work has been belittling your professional skills and as my example above highlights that #RunAngry isn’t always the best option – especially when you’re still easing yourself back after injury with your recovery looking rather fragile.

I’ve clearly got my work/life balance wrong and that’s something only I can address and the best way to address is it is through a new job/career but this time when I move I’m going to need to be very careful in the role I choose because I’m 100% clear on what I want and don’t want.

So now I’m actioning my plan and I’m positive about it. I will get the result I’m looking for!

I’d be interested to hear about different peoples ‘bad day / bad job / crazy people’ scenarios and how you dealt with it. Did running help? Was your running affected? Am I’m just moaning and should just get on with it?

Happy running.

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