Most of the events I’ve done in the past, have always been for my dad. For me too, but always to honour my dad. I have always been in awe of the support I’ve received from my in-laws in this, from my father-in-law lending me the bike to cycle Lands end to John O Groats, to coming along to London to cheer me on and the on going support.
So it’s a bitter sweet experience to be fundraising for that side of the family. My Father-in-law has been living with cancer for a while now, he’s handled it admirably and with better humour and dignity than I would. So it’s left me pissed off that this isn’t enough and his condition is now terminal. It’s not fair to see Em finally become a mum and now lose time for our boy to get to know his “bop” and vice versa. So I can’t sit back and stew on this, I need to do something about it.
Since London to Paris, I’ve been training but not like I had in the past, in truth mentally I’ve been giving myself a kicking. I’m still adjusting to being a dad, I’m struggling to find my purpose with work, I’m getting my head round potentially having ADHD and mentally I can be doing better. I will unpick all of these in the coming months, but that’s not the purpose of this blog, Let’s just say, I’m fed up of my pity party, I’ve let too much, chip and erode myself confidence, I need the challenges to get myself back to where I want to be.
It’s going to be hard, I have to actively carve out time to train now, I’ll have to squeeze it around having family and work commitments, but it’ll focus me.
So here we go, A costal, hilly run and a 182 Mile cycle in Wales, for the Weldmar Hospice, i’ll talk more in the coming months but in the meantime, please back me:
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/tyrunosoreruss2023
London to Paris
The build up
I should be packed and ready by now, instead it’s less than 24 hours till I jumped on the train, and my bike isn’t working. Specifically, it has one working gear, it won’t shift into any other gears. This is not the calm and quiet build up I’d been hoping for! So, thanks to a good friend offering to look at it, I’ve dumped the bike on the bike rack and I’m bombing off to his house. I’m trying to calm myself, but I’m super anxious, I’m annoyed at myself for how worked up I’ve gotten, how inept at bike repairs I am, and how unready to go I am. Em is thankfully super calm about it, but I feel bad as it’s eaten into time I wanted to spend with the boy.
Luckily Jim is anything but an idiot and has the bike up and running in about 20 mins, even sorting out a loose bottle carrier. I leave grateful for his assistance but feeling an idiot that something so simple is beyond my skillset.
Still there is the morning for some family time right… So, I fall into bed with my head spinning, realising how much I need this trip, but how unready to leave my new family I am…
And unsurprisingly the expectation of a chilled morning with my family before an easy journey into London, does not meet the reality. The boy won’t go down for a nap, so having repacked that morning for the 100th time, I take him on a nap walk of 4 miles and getting back just in time for mum to come and get my bag before I ride off to the station. I’m not ready for the goodbye and it’s harder than I thought, I’m leaving Em for the first time since we started transitions and leaving K for the first time ever, so the tears come. I do my best to get it together and give a proper goodbye, and then I’m off on the bike to the station.
My head is spinning now, feeling bad about leaving Em, about what’s to come and the days travelling. Slowly I start to settle into the process, I’m finally starting the journey and I’m ready to go. I get to the station, get my bag off of mum and then it’s off to get the train.
The journey is fairly uneventful and my frazzled brain with the help of music starts to calm and get into the head space of the ride that’s to come. It’s been a while since I’ve had anytime to myself and it’s a bit weird. I’m introverted by nature I’d say, so I like quiet, but I’ve forgotten what it’s like really. Having a child, you are on the go a lot, putting your thoughts and wants into second place a lot. This journey, this ride is for me, I need to do this, but I’m feeling guilty about that, but I resolve to just get on with it, get the job done, get what I need from the ride and come home a better dad for it.
Before long I’m in a wet and drizzly London and checked into my hotel. It’s off to register and get my details ready for tomorrow, a simple process and then it’s off to nandos for food and a beer. It’s all sinking in now and for the first time I’m also processing all we’ve been through on the adoption process. I had back to the hotel, a night cap then up to bed, where with nothing but the Queens funeral information on the TV, I try to read a bit and then finally am tired enough to drift off to sleep, way more tired than I realised.
Day 1: Croydon to Calais
87 Miles
5,541 ft elevation
I’ll be honest dear reader, I’ve had better nights sleep. But it’s 4am and I can’t sleep. Oh well, suck it up, get a brew on, the tea bag explodes in the mug…. so, pack the back for the 100th time. Check the weather…. Pissing down…. Joy. Put tv on, more on the Queen, turn it off and decide to shut the outside world out. Quick message to Em and smile at the video I get from her and the boy, shower and then it’s time to go find breakfast. Except of course I’m in cycle gear, so now I need a dump and the first of 15 nervous wees.
I settle down to breakfast with finally a decent coffee, a full English and start to look at the info for today… I have 5 conflicting bits of info on the day, but the main thing…. It’s a hard one. We have a time pressure due to the ferry, a lot of climbing over the south downs and the weather is horrible, a lot of persistent rain not due to clear to well into the day. Oh well, I’m starting to get into the right head space, this is supposed to be an adventure, so embrace it.
I start looking round the room, noticing the other cyclists and the nerves, all of us checking each other out, wondering if we have the right kit, have we trained enough. I just want to get going now. Lots of people chatting, at this point I want to be left alone and get into the head space and focus, I’m not awake either.
So, the briefing and then out to get ready, it’s cold and wet and my impostor syndrome kicks in. Still, it’s not long and we are off. And well if I was going to pick a starting location to a ride, East Croydon would not be it, lots of obnoxious and rude drivers. But I’m doing ok, and legs feel good and it’s not long before we are clear of Croydon, I notice a couple of guys up ahead, they look about my pace, if I can catch up with them, I’ll have some company for the day at least. So, a bit of a pull and I pass one struggling on the hills, and then I met up with a lad name Jonathan and we exchange pleasantries and then he informs me, we are the leaders on the road! This is a shock to me as I felt like I was plodding along in the middle, and it’s a nice little confidence boost that I’m doing ok. Before long Andy catches up with us and this will be who I spend the next few days cycling with and I couldn’t pick better company. The hills aren’t too bad thus far, truth be told I enjoy hills, and compared to previous rides the elevation is nothing.
Before long it’s the first water stop and we don’t stop long as it’s wet and cold and not exactly inviting, the next bit is more eventful, the rides are a bit dodgy with the rain having washed up all sorts of crab onto the road, and I’ve no idea how I spend the day avoiding punctures. Unfortunately, Jonathan gets one, and after a stop to sort it, we realise we made a wrong turn and so have to double back to the pub where lunch is. Lunch is nice and it’s tempting to sit in the warmth of the pub longer but probably not advisable and conscious we lost time the three of us, fuel up and go. Up ahead a road is closed due to a car being stuck but we are able to get through and then the climbing picks up some, still not bad and I hold my own and we are still out in front and making time. Finally, we get to the one hill that is pretty tough, Harrow Hill, it’s steep and has a nice false summit but clear of that, it’s a nice ride to the final water stop and we are still the first in and making good time.
The weather finally breaks and makes for a better ride into Dover and it’s a relief to be done, but satisfying the first days riding is done. And then there is a lot of waiting and we realise we were a fair way ahead of the others…. To the point the first ferry is missed, and we get a later one. I suddenly realise how my fears of being unprepared are unfounded and all the training rides I squeezed in on zwift or by commuting to work have paid off. They were boring as hell, but it’s made me thrive today and be able to enjoy a pint at the pub rather than be stuck out on the road.
Finally, everyone is in, and we roll onto the ferry, where after some waiting, it’s time to get some food, not the best, I opt for Fish and Chips and an ice cream, and it turns out I’m too hungry to worry about the taste. A bit of getting to know Jonathan and Andy better and then before we know it, we are in Calais, enjoying a nice sunset as the Ferry docks. A short ride later (my first proper riding in France) and we roll up to the hotel! Now Hotel is a loose definition it’s a dump, but I’m too tired to care, so a quick intro with my roommate Rob, who is a nice guy. He’s not ridden more than 60km and he’s on a hybrid, but he seems a lovely bloke and enjoying it. Before long we are exhausted, so it’s lights out and bed.
Day 1 done and it was in hindsight a good day’s cycling, at the time you don’t think so, you are just head down and enduring the elements. But you look back on it and our pride you did it, and you remember the hardship as much as anything. I didn’t really get much time to think about what I was doing or why I was here, but I’m in France and I’m sure the reflection will come.
Day 2: Calais to Arras
77.78
3346 ft
Wake up and feel more refreshed than I did the night before, not much time to sit and relax though, a quick shower then it’s off to bag drop and breakfast, which involves a lot of pastries, coffee and cereal for me.
Then it’s off to find the bike and assess the damage and it’s battered; it’s covered in muck, and I don’t want to think about the mechs. At home it would need a proper hose, degrease and clean. But I’m at a hotel, so a wipe down with bog roll and some lube on the chain is the best I can manage. I would learn later just how battered poor Alan is. But for now, I’m good to go and I’m off with Jonathan, Rob and Andy.
Cycling in France is a different world, the roads are so quiet, the surface much better and the people so much more respectful and sympathetic to cyclist. Finally, I ease into the cycling and dynamic of group riding and my brain starts to process the year…
I’ve been full gas since we were matched with our boy, with no time to stop and get my head round what we’ve done and well it’s a lot. I start to appreciate just how lucky I am, and I can feel a lot of my anxiety and hyper vigilance starting to fade with each peddle stroke. I think of Em and him at home and just how lucky I am. After the fertility treatment, the miscarriages and the stress of adoption, I have the family I’ve wanted, with the person I wanted to spend my life with. I feel a wave of satisfaction and feel very privileged to be the boy’s dad. Along the ride I’ll also come to terms with some of my anger at the friends who I’ve become alienated from, who haven’t been there. I have to accept that some of this is down to me too, I’ve not been at my best for a while, I’ve shut down some, but still I’ve been disappointed by the attitude of some. I spend time on the ride wondering if maybe I’ve been too outspoken, to comfortable opening up on my struggles, my loss and my angry at the world. Slowly I realise this is horseshit…. It’s ok to speak up and if people can’t accept that, then they aren’t my friends.
I think of dad and how much of my life he’s missed and how sad it is, my boy won’t ever meet his grandad. Part of the ride is about the fact I turn the age he was when he committed suicide, I’m now a dad and I understand better what he went through, I miss him terribly and this year especially but I’m proud of myself I realise.
I’m snapped out of my revere but a call from Jonathon, he has a puncture, unfortunately Andy is flying on the flat, doesn’t hear us and is off but he’s with another group so I stay with Jonathon. We work well together and make up some time on the lush roads and a nice climb takes us to the first stop where we re-join Andy.
At this point my bike is feeling a little bit odd, and not getting into gear properly, but it’s more annoying than anything so I press on. A comical moment, of hitting a closed road and carrying bikes through essential a building site to the bemusement of the builders. And then it’s a nice section of riding too lunch which is on an old V1 rocket site. I eat the biggest baguette I’ve ever seen, which seems to contain something from all the food groups and press on. We fly through some amazing roads next and its lush scenery before we hit the last stop and the last climb of the day. It’s not a bad one and I feel good, so I show off and make sure I’m first over. The ride is showing me, I should remember I’m a better cyclist than I think, I compare myself to some very capable friends to often on Strava but that has pushed me to work hard and this ride I’m seeing the benefits and it has me resolving to train better in future and stop beating myself up and comparing myself to others.
We make good time, taking in lush views on the descent, Andy is flying so me and Jonathon sit up and let him fly off as we can’t keep up on the flats and have essentially a club ride home, discussing the TDF and our favourite rides. Before long we arrive at Arras which is a lovely little town and it’s a well earnt beer, joined by Rob and some others and a nice chat. A quick shower in a far better hotel, then a nice meal and it’s off to bed, making a note to talk to the mechanic about my bike in the morning. A quick check in with Em, who is doing great at home, even as the boy struggles with naps and then it’s lights out.
Day 3
Arras to Compiegne.
74.49
2772ft
Didn’t sleep great as I worry about bike. A quick shower, decent breakfast and off to see Mechanic in hope I can be away early. An hour later and the bike is still being worked on. Turns out the freehub is gone. My ignorance on bikes, frustrates me again and I resolve to do better when I’m home and make an effort to look after my bike better. The mechanic reassures me it’s not an easy job for anyone though and just wants us on the road, so I get the spare bike, it’s smaller than mine, but I’m getting to cycle so I just want to get going. Jonathon and Andy have waited and I feel bad, I’m angry so I pull like crazy when we set off, riding out the frustration.
I start to notice the scenery and calm realising I’m still cycling and I’m out doing what I love, I just don’t want us to be the last in and slow us down, but slowly my mood lightens and I’m chatting again. Before long we pass a few people and hit the first water stop at a beautiful church and then it’s into the Somme. It’s beautiful and tragic, so many amazing things, we pass a church where a memorial for the Hearts FC pals battalion is, the grave of the red baron and a German war memorial holding 17,000 troops who died in the Somme. You can’t comprehend that number or just how senseless it is. I feel stupid for being so pissy over a bike, I remind myself how resilient I have been in life, I’ve endured so much, a bike mechanical is nothing and I resolve to appreciate the day more. It’s a humbling day and we pass so many memorials. The ride into lunch is nice and again a nice club ride like day. Before long the afternoon flies by on some flat and fast roads and it’s a lovely day, the spare bike, is doing my proud and it gets me first over the hill. Arras is a bit eventful as some locals have moved the signs, so it takes a while to find the hotel, where we find Rob is first in and deserves it, he’s a machine on his hybrid. We join him for a beer, and I’m chuffed we made up so much time, it turns out to be a lush day.
My bike won’t be ridable again, but I’m ok about it, tomorrow it’s Paris, another nice meal, catch up with Em and an early night as I’m exhausted.
Day 4 Compiegne to Paris
74.76
2244
For whatever reason I didn’t sleep to great, my mind was just not able to switch off, even though I was tired. Brain was a spin and just couldn’t seem to settle, so it’s potentially going to be a long day, but I’ll survive and it’s the last day. At this point, I’m feeling the effects of the last few days of cycling. So, it’s a lot of coffee in the morning, after a nice shower, packing stuff up and off to bag drop. Another reasonable breakfast of pastries and cereal. It’s definitely a chillier start to the day and although I’m on the spare bike I’m grateful not to hang around. So, we set off, me, Andy, Jonathon and Rob. It’s a lovely quiet morning and it’s a calm start. It’s freezing though and I’m glad when the traffic lights are clear and the roads open up to spin out the legs and warm up.
And what beautiful roads, it’s a lovely ride into the Compiegne Forest, which barring us, a few walkers and an occasional car is deserted. The roads are fast, the scenery beautiful and the light and quiet make for a lovely morning to cycle and take it all in. We come to the last real climb of the ride and I go for it to be the first over it, it’s fun and I love having a proper dig and just being a bit of a child, my mood is good and it’s a blast of a descent too, especially seeing Rob blast by on his hybrid. The roads next are undulating and fun and it’s a great morning before we come to our water stop at a stunning church and a lovely view.
After a short break it’s onward and a bit of a small hill and we are off again into some lovely flat roads and unfortunately flying down a road, Rob and Andy miss a turn so it’s just me and Jonathan for a while, through some lovely flat winding roads in perfect countryside. Eventually we are caught by them, and some real fun begins. Andy asks about what a chain gang is and so being a big kid me and Jonathan show him, the next 10 miles fly by as we start rolling into short pulls of the chain, resting and repeating, till lunch. It’s the most fun morning I’ve had on a bike and I’m feeling in great spirits. Lunch is a lovely spot again in a field but stopping we realise it is still cold and roll on. Again, we pass through a lovely town and in the distance our first glimpse of Paris.
The roads start to change, becoming more urban and busier and we ride a particularly horrible cycle path and into a rough suburb of Paris, feeling rather unwelcome, made all the more apparent by an abusive a driver, for no reason we can glean. We huddle up to protect ourselves and get to the last rest stop. We eat and press on, knowing the next bit, Paris traffic could take a while, and so we are steady and keeping together getting through the outskirts of Paris and finally we reach the point where we regroup. And we wait and wait. And wait. It takes everyone a while to come in as we are to ride into the Eiffel Tower as a group. Soon enough we are all in though and it’s off to the finish line.
And it is absolute carnage, people jumping lights, traffic everywhere, rights of way not a thing. It’s confusing and disorientating and I don’t know if I love it or if I’m terrified. It’s a blur and the senses are just so heightened, at one point, a roller disco flies past and you are swept up in the melee, it’s like what I imagine a battle to be like, snippets of what everyone else is doing, but you are so involved in what you are doing, there is no time to take it in and you just end up focusing on what you are doing. Before I know it, it’s over and I’m under the Eiffel Tower, someone is shoving a medal over my neck and handing me champagne and then it’s a pic of me holding the bike over my head, feeling elated and exhausted in equal measure.
Then it’s off to the hotel, a quick shower, then off for food. The day, the last few days have been relentless and the meal is fun a chance to unwind but still so fast paced.
Finally I collapse into a chair with a few others and have a beer and we take it in, all talking about it, hearing the stories, the why’s etc is humbling and you realise how much people have been through to get here. Just fully appreciating it all and the chance to get away.
The next day is just a blur of tiredness and travel to get home. A brief walk in the morning, a drive to the Station via Uber (much calmer than yesterday!) And then home. I’m tired but pleased with myself and already my mind is thinking what I can do next….
I’m so glad that this has taken me so long, ‘Cause it’s the journey that made me so strong
I could talk a lot about how shit 2020 has been. At somepoint, I want to address a big chunk of crap from this year. Namely IVF and the two miscarriages myself and Em have had to endure. It’s been some of the toughest experiences of my life and I have always been open about my emotions and our IVF journey. I’ve never looked to hide from it and soon I want to share that journey with people because it feels like a story that needs to be told. I’m just not ready yet.
It does tie into this story I want to tell though. The last Miscarriage was only two weeks ago and it hit me hard. I’ve been angry this year a lot, so much hate in the world and I’ve been pulled into it. The unfairness of our situation, why us, we’ve suffered enough, we’ve done everything we could to make this work, to have that moment of a scan at 7 weeks and to feel like we’d done it, the years had been worth it, till a week later and a text message to say the heartbeat had gone. The anger, the rage it was there.
This was in the midst of training for the London Marathon, which isn’t in London. It’s a virtual run. I’d been planning this a while, thinking I could go out hard and put in a personal best and get under 4 hours, to raise money for Winston’s Wish.
So the sunday of the news, I had to do a long run, the last one before the Marathon, and I went out hard along the canal path. Too hard in fact as, by 10 miles I was fucked…. and 8 miles from home. I was so angry and it all came out in that run, driving my legs hard into the ground. By ten miles I had none left and realised it was dumb. It was a beautiful day, it was lovely along the canal and I just enjoyed the run home, no pace, no pressure.
This week, I’ve been re-evaluating what I want to be about in life. There is enough anger and hate in the world now and I don’t want to add to that. I don’t want to take myself too seriously either. That’s not me – I’m a bit of a dork. I’m at my best when I laugh and piss about. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a drive and determination, but I will express it in a way that doesn’t require me to talk rubbish or big myself up.
So the run, fast time out the window and bring in the fun and this is what it’s led to:
Yup I’m running the Marathon in a dino suit. It is going to hurt, I haven’t trained to do this, but fuck it. When I look back on London, those who had the most fun were those in Fancy Dress and If I can’t run fast, I’ll run to enjoy it. At the end of the day the charity gets the money and I get a feeling of accomplishment.
Mostly I get to say to 2020:
“Fuck you, I didn’t quit, I’m going to keep going.”
So I might see you out and about in Gloucester come Sunday, I’ll be hard to miss!
And if this has moved you to donate you can at:
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/jogoncovid
The Socially distanced Marathon
Sometimes you get an idea and you have no idea how it will go. You hope it will go well. But you also fear it’s half baked, you’re setting yourself up to fail. This was a case of an idea working better than I could hope. And being greater than the sum of its parts. Sometimes a good story needs some things to not be great.
This all came about from some of the toughest times in my life. Family member with Cancer. Mother with Covid, Lockdown, Work being pretty full on. A miscarriage after 3 years of getting to that point ; of IVF working. Going from a morning a few weeks before to utter elation. To walking out to the car, leaving your wife at the hospital, hearing that what you wanted so bad. To be a dad. Was gone. And you had to leave your wife to deal with that. I drove home from Bristol in tears pretty much the whole way.
We dealt with it. Painfully. Raw. There was no hiding place in lockdown, nowhere to go deal. I was going for the emotions for a while. Counselling helps, it always does. It exposed the rawness of it, reminded me, it was ok to hurt, it brought up old wounds that will never truly heal. But were a part of how I felt now. I had to deal with all of this. I process things slowly, I deflect. It takes time for me to make sense.
I’d been struggling with runs, but an idea was forming. Kerry from Winston’s Wish called to check up on me. Nothing more than to make sure I was ok. It meant a lot. And she said they were short of money. It gnawed at me.
I went on a run and I felt ok. Just enjoying it, the rain fall, the peace in the woods. I text Em to tell her, I knew we’d get through this. We’d get a family one way or another. By the end of the run, I knew. I could mope and remember lockdown as a shitshow. Or I could fight back. An idea was born. I’d run a marathon in my garden and recreate the dragonride on my turbo trainer.
But the fear comes. I’m not ready I’m not far enough into training to run a marathon. I’d only run 15 miles that’s not far enough. It’s always there, I could have trained more for all my events. But I’ll get round, put that fear to bed.
So I planned as well as I could. The garden wouldn’t work; too short, watch wouldn’t record. So the Balancing pond in the front garden, 0.15 miles, 176 laps. Perfect. And a happy accident, I planned it for the date of the London Marathon; almost a year to the date of my first ever Marathon.
It was very different. Just Em to watch me start, and bless her she stayed out the whole time. I’d never get through any of this without her. A laptop to video and stream, a table of water and food. Suncream on, time to go.
I broke it into Quarters. The first part was fine, I was appreciating the sun, talking to Em on each lap pass, it felt good. As always too fast. Stop for food onto 2nd quarter. That was hard, people there to support, but legs heavy, it was boring, a chore. Just continual pounding. Turns out going round the other way was a chore the bends were tighter, shaper and it caused more pain on my hip. But I thought rotating directions would help, but my pace noticeably slowed. Some of that was due to settling into the grind of the run, the excitement and novelty wear off and you get into the event. I always find the second quarter the hardest, it’s funny really, and how it effects people differently. Em was great though, I know she worries but she was out the whole time supporting, it made a difference, and people randomly greeting me was great to, little shows of support, some donating, it kept me going.
Finally, halfway came about and it was hot, hotter than London and it was sapping heat. I couldn’t get near a pace I’d like and it was obvious this would not be a fast pace. So I refuelled, had some banter with people on the facebook live and dug in for quarter 3. It was hot but the change in direction helped a lot and my pace was better, this was a lot better and bearable. A few friends came to cheer me on, which was amazing and such a lift. And then it was time for the last push.
It was hard. My pace was awful, but I was still moving. I thought of lots of things, the thing was mentally I was ready for the wall. I had lots to push me on. But it never came. I felt tired physically, not able to do the pace I’d like. But mentally I felt good, strong. I knew I’d finish. As a friend counted down the laps, I knew I was doing this and it came. I staggered over the line. Garbled some words into the video feed, thank those who came and… went in to shower… while Em cleaned up. Later I had a moment of reflection in the garden with a coffee, fish and chips and a beer later. No medals, no fanfare like London, but it felt amazing.
So we flash forward to a few weeks, I feel recovered. My last few runs felt strong. I’m looking to the turbo Dragon Ride Now and building up to that on the 7th June. 140 miles on the turbo will be hard but I want to finish what I started.
So a few weeks to train, it’s going to be tough but I’ll give it my best. And I’m so close to hitting 2 grand, I can’t stop now.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
I’ve only run one Marathon. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, If I could bottle that feeling and share it with people I would. It was in London and the atmosphere was amazing. The next one is going to be very different. Why do you ask? Well for a start here is a map (pic) of the route:
Compare that to how the previous one ended:
Then we move onto the other amazing event of last year, The dragon ride which looked like this:
This year it’ll look like this:
It wasn’t meant to be like this. You see Covid-19 has decimated the events I had lined up and understandably so. But it means a charity I hold dearly close to me, is suffering. People are dying, children are losing loved ones, the charity are needed more than ever. But their budget is gone. I know this because Kerry from the charity rang me, not to tell me, but just to check in on how I was. Winston’s Wish helped me and my family all those years ago, in ways I cannot explain. I will always owe them a debt.
At the time I kinda thought “I wished I could do something,” but didn’t do much, but something changed over the next few days.
Me and Em have been trying for a child for over 3 years now and had been going through IVF. I’d found out a few weeks before that call, it had worked. I felt elated and on top of the world, something we both craved, had worked. It had been our lives for about 3 years. We knew we had a long road ahead and yet finally it had happened something we wanted so long. And then days later it was gone. We had a miscarriage. I went from the best feeling in the world to the lowest in the world, in weeks. I won’t go into this much, it’s a blog for another time. One I don’t know If I’ll ever have the courage to write.
For a few days I didn’t do much beyond cry, or mope, just grieve. I did my best to be there for Em and her for me. I gradually drag myself out for a run, I watched TV and saw the amazing stuff people were doing to help out. And It niggled at me and I did what I always did for clarity. I ran to Robinswood hill. A place I feel connected to Dad. And I knew up there, I had to do something. I can’t do much, I’m not an NHS worker or as inspiring as Tom Moore, but I can put myself through the ringer.
So now my second Marathon is taking place in my Garden. It’s going to suck. I worked out i’ll need to do 1310 laps and that’s assuming my watch records them all. I won’t be able to run as fast as normal, its going to be lonely and long, but I will do it. Cause I want to be the person who overcomes adversity and makes a positive out of it. That’s what Winston’s Wish taught me.
Then a few weeks later its onto my turbo trainer and Zwift to ride 140 miles and 10000 ft to recreate the dragon ride. Another mental test. But if I can over come what I have so far, this is nothing.
So there we go, I’ve asked a lot of my friends and family in the past with sponsorship, so one more time, I come to you again, with the usual request.
I’ll suffer for you, I’ll run myself into the ground, I’ll push myself further than I think I can go. But make it worthwhile, spare a quid, spare a fiver. I know times are hard, I know the funds are low. But imagine you help one kid get help in a tough time. I don’t profess to be anything special but thanks to Winston’s Wish I’m still here living my life as best I know how to.
Getting on my bike 