The Goats

The first time I ran further than 5k was on the Bristol to Bath Cycle Path. My mate had run the route with her personal trainer and suggested we try it. I have to admit I was pretty nervous and it was a bitterly cold day.

We set off from Bitton by the Avon Valley Railway leaving the steam trains well behind. We met a few other runners, and offered courteous good mornings. We then darted off the cycle path down to the river. Usually this route would have been a mud bath but the ground was frozen and it was pretty good going. We ran together chatting away putting the world to right, trying to navigate our way around the fields. I found it hard going - the red wine I had drank the previous night probably didn't help.

Towards the end of the run we came to a field with a style. We jumped straight over and started running across. That was when we noticed the goats. Now I'm not particularly nervous of animals but my running mate…. well. I had never seen her run so fast. One minute she was running next to me fairly chilled out, the next minute she was gone. Her acceleration was impressive to say the least. She reached the other side of the field before I had even blinked.

The goats had decided they wanted to join in with our run and started to trot along with us or should I say me. Yes I say trot as I wasn't really running that fast. I had goats either side of me and together we were running across the field like a scene from The Little House on the Prairie. Now I'm showing my age.

It was kind of surreal. I was in complete hysterics laughing at my mate who by now had vaulted the fence at the far side of the field, eyes wide with fear. I can't imagine how I must have looked surrounded by goats, trying to run. I was crying with laughter. I guess it was lucky those goats were friendly. I don't think it would have been quite a relaxed experience if they had decided to turn on me or if they had been bulls! Anyone had any similar experiences?

Sprained Ankle

I sprained my ankle. I wish I could say I did it running over rough terrain down a mountainside or trying to jump over a river whilst on a 10k run. Or even just running around the block on my way home. It would be great if I could say I had been doing some other other crazy sporting activity when it had happened. I'd been rock climbing the day before and came away completely unscathed. Hands were a bit sore, but no sprained ankle.

No, I'd been on Porthcurno Beach in Cornwall all day with my girls. If anyone knows this beach it is simply amazing - it has to be one of the best beaches in the UK. We'd had a fantastic day enjoying the sunshine.

We'd walked all the way back to Treen Farm Campsite with all our beach gear. You name it we had it. Boogie boards, wetsuits, buckets and spades and a backpack full of food. Muggings here carried everything all the way back along the rocky path without the slightest fall or trip.

When we got back to the campervan I dumped everything on the ground, kicked off my shoes and put my youngest daughter into bed for a nap. I turned…… stepped down out of the campervan….. and that was it. I stepped on to my trainer, twisted my ankle and collapsed to the ground. It all happened in slow motion, like it wasn't really me. Perhaps this was my first out-of-body experience. I found myself lying on the floor and then before my eyes a golfball lump appeared by my ankle. That was when I screamed. I felt physically sick and really stupid.

My eldest daughter, bless her, ran into the campervan and got me a cold, wet flannel. I called across the campsite to some friends staying near by. I think they thought I was joking when I first called out, but then when I didn't move they came running over. Next thing I knew everyone in the campsite had gathered round. It's amazing when there's a crisis there is often someone close by that has medical knowledge. Despite being in the middle of nowhere in Cornwall fellow campers gathered round. Amongst the crowd there was a retired nurse, a part-time physio and someone else who seemed to know a lot about injuries. I was bombarded with advice. The overall opinion was that it wasn't broken, thanks goodness, so I wouldn't need to go to hospital, but it was a bad sprain. I was gutted. A load of us had planned to go to the beach in the evening for a barbecue and I couldn't even walk to the edge of the field. Life's not fair sometimes.

So that put a stop to my running for a while and now I'm really careful getting out of the campervan.

Too Much Too Soon

After the initial euphoria of running for more than 15 minutes, I began to find running boring and monotonous. It was a chore and my joints hurt. There's got to be more to running than this. It's easy to see how people give up.

Determined NOT to give up, I decided to try running off road on holiday a month or so before my first Race for Life.

I was inspired. I had finally discovered what all the fuss was about. There is simply no comparison between running by the sea on coast paths and beaches to the streets of Bristol. For the first time in years I felt free. I breathed in the fresh air, held my head high and wished I could run here all the time. Running really CAN be enjoyable and it felt easy. Rather than thinking "my hip hurts - when can I stop?" I wanted to keep going and run as far as I could.

But disaster struck. After running four times in one week - something I never did in Bristol - I pulled a muscle. I was at the farthest point on the beach when I felt my left calf muscle twinge and then in a moment I collapsed to the ground. My leg really hurt and I knew I had messed up. Running too much, too quickly, without decent running shoes and stretching properly. What was I thinking! I slowly limped back to my family feeling very sorry for myself and a little embarrassed too as I was covered in sand from head to toe. I felt I had failed. Maybe running was just not for me. I was devastated.

I was learning the hard way. I was going to have to approach this running stuff properly if I was going to improve. Looking back at that time I went through a bit of a crash course in running. My physio took me through running style and pronation, and the sports shops kindly advised me how expensive running shoes are! I thought running was all about putting one foot in front of the other, swinging your arms back and forth at speed. How wrong was I?

How I got into running

I confess I have always enjoyed feeling fit. My early twenties it was karate and aerobics. Then it all went a bit crazy when I was introduced to rock climbing and mountaineering in my late twenties. By my mid thirties, married and with two gorgeous children I was struggling with my fitness. Yoga and climbing were my thing but I didn't feel fit.

I had been advised against running following sciatica and a prolapsed disk in my early thirties. Ashtanga yoga had really sorted out my back, but I needed to do something else. I wanted to loose weight and feel like the old me again, but I didn't want to go to the gym. I wanted to do something that was outdoors without any paraphernalia. I kept coming back to the idea of running, but was worried about my back. "What harm could a gentle jog do?"

After much deliberation I decided to give it a go. My first 'gentle' jog was really pathetic. I could hardly run around the block without hyper-ventilating. I would quietly sneak out of the house hoping nobody would see me struggling, returning only after 10 minutes, red-faced and hardly able to stand.

Slowly I began to run further. First it was once around the block, then twice and then I would venture further. As for my running gear....well.... I would wear a long baggy t-shirt, very unflattering tracksuit bottoms, and hide under a baseball cap. Every run was the same and I would arrive back home gasping for water, unable to speak. I did this kind of running for a year or so. Not particularly exciting and I certainly didn't tell anyone I was into running. That was my secret.

It was only when a friend mentioned the Race for Life to me that I decided to give myself a goal and have a go. Several other friends had the same idea. At the time we all had young children and were struggling with fitness. For most of us it was more about having the time to get out to run than not wanting to do it. We managed to get out once or twice a week. It was hard, but we made some progress and encouraged each other. We'd run along together chatting, probably scaring anyone who happened to be walking in the opposite direction.

One strained calf muscle later followed by lots of physio and a new pair of running shoes, I completed my first Race for Life. At the end of the race I discovered my weakness for great homemade food. Invited to join a picnic I simply could not resist the gorgeous display laid before me. Quiche, sandwiches, cakes, mountains of bread and strawberries. What is a girl to do? Well that's obvious. Just devour as much food as you can, putting back all the calories just burnt off of course!