Apologies for my rapid fire blogging, but I'm keen to log these early days one by one. As time goes on, I will stop recording every tiny achievement and focus on the big ones. Unfortunetely, for now, the tiny achievements are the big ones, so each is getting recorded.
Friday, I woke up with a stinking headache and feeling really sick. But, as I waggled my foot up and down, I realised only very modest pain in my knee. I took 2 paracetamol, and that was it. I felt no need for anything heavier, at least not for my knee. I could do with some dynamite for my head, but opiates weren't going to be the solution there. I knew what the problem was. Dehydration.
Every night, several times during the night I would wake drenched in sweat. And this would also happen if I slept during the day. Couple that with my initial reluctance to drink to much because it hurt so much to get up to pee, and my heavy use of painkillers to deal with the knee pain. I essentially had a hangover. I really couldn't be bothered to get out of bed and wash. I was also very tearful for some reason. But I didn't want to head down the slippery slope of self-neglect, so I forced myself to get up, and washed myself whilst sobbing uncontrollably into the sink. I drank a litre of water and I went back to bed and slept until 1pm. Woke up, cried some more, took a couple more paracetamol, desk some more water and went back to sleep. I woke again at 3:30, still feeling crap. My plan for today had been to make my first journey downstairs by myself while Jason was at school still. We'd left the jug-and-bucket downstairs because there was still no way I could manage going up by myself. This was progress, and I wasn't going to miss out on it just for a headache and some tears.
Right, I could do this. My aim: get downstairs, make a cup of tea and sit myself on the sofa with tea and a biscuit. Simples.
Step 1: All the pillows and cushions upstairs needed to be downstairs for me to rest my leg on them. So, I threw them all to the top of the stairs, and then threw them all down the stairs. I also threw my phone, tablet, oramorph (just in case) and grabby-device down.
Step 2: get myself downstairs. Very very slowly and constantly re-checking myself
step 3: throw all the stuff from the bottom of the stairs firstly to the doorway of the living room, and from there into the living room beside the sofa
Step 4: Arrange the sofa so I could sit on it with my leg up.
Step 5: Make tea.
Step 6: get tea from kitchen to living room. (This is the bit I'm proudest of). Line up a series of chairs between the kettle and the sofa. Transfer tea a chair at a time until you reach the sofa. Transfer tea from final chair to the living room table. BOOM! Tea in place!
Step 7: Arrange myself on the sofa.
Step 8: sit back with tea and biscuit, feeling smug!
Victories;
Working through the tears and despair and making my journey downstairs
My success making tea and getting it to the sofa even though I'm not known for my common sense.
A whole day with no opiate analgaesia
Sunday, 7 February 2016
Saturday, 6 February 2016
hopping into the unknown
My first few days since the accident is now time served. I say served, because it feels like I am serving a sentence for some terrible crime. At times I have felt so low that I have considered this to be the case. This accident is somehow divine retribution punishing me for being such a terrible person. In less dramatic terms, I've had more bad days than good days.
My first day at home jason got me up at 5.30 and got me downstairs and onto the sofa. Since he had to work all day and there was no way I could manage the stairs by myself due to pain, we had come up with the plan of keeping me downstairs so I had access to the TV, and setting me up on the sofa with everything i need in terms of food and drink for the day, with handy living room based jug-and-bucket for when I needed to pee. (The other not being an issue due to the large quantities of opiates currently holding up my bowel). I spent most of the day asleep, woken only by pain and the need for more Oramorph. I had no desire to eat or watch TV. I know I was phoned a few times by friends and relatives to check I was ok and wish me well, which was lovely. The details are hazy. I do remember a call from my parents (currently out of the country), and my dad spent some time reassuring me that everything i was experiencing was to be expected. I also called the South West deanery to try to postpone my CMT interview that was due to be in 1 weeks time. They were less than helpful. You'd think that breaking your leg would be a good enough reason to postpone an interview....not according to South West Deanery. At this point in time i was too tired to argue with them. At the end of the day jason came home and tried to make me eat, but I wasn't interested. Not at all normal for me. He got me back upstairs and helped me wash. I did feel a lot brighter after this, and it made me to realise how important it would be to look after myself through all this. We decided that i would be better off in bed the next day with the jug-and-bucket in my room in case I struggled to get to the bathroom (the Oramorph was making me very dizzy and my walking balance was terrible).
I was still needing a lot of analgesia at this point, and before I went to bed I had taken 100mg tramadol and 20mg Oramorph. 2 hours after falling asleep, I woke up screaming. Jason came rushing into the room. I'm still not entirely sure what happened, but I think I must have just jerked my leg in my sleep. The subsequent pain was unbelievable, and i had nightmarish visions of having pulled the fixation apart. Jase gave me another 20mg of Oramorph and I sobbed in pain until the drugs kicked in and I half-slept, half-passed out.
Wednesday I woke late, Jason had already gone to work. I decided to try and get myself to the bathroom, and while I was there I managed to wash my upper body myself. The rest of the day was spent in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, and trying to respond to all of the lovely messages that had been sent to me. I also gently started to try some static muscle exercises, but pain pretty soon put a stop to that. When jason got home he helped me downstairs onto the sofa before he went out to running club. While he was out, the pain in my leg started to get worse and worse and I began to feel sick and shivery. I loaded up on Oramorph and then the next thing I knew jason was home. Well, at least I knew I wasn't becoming tolerant to the opiates! I was too spaced out and wobbly to manage a wash so he put me straight to bed. 2 hours later I woke up practically swimming in my own sweat. This had been happening every night since the surgery, but now in combination with the symptoms I'd had that evening, I became terrified that an infection was setting in. Dad called me the next morning and reassured me that the fevers were normal post fracture for several days. I knew this, and I also knew that infection was not a likely complication at this early stage, but it was so nice to hear it from someone else, least of all someone with as much experience as my dad. It's funny how you ignore your own knowledge in the process of catastrophising. I know how it can be difficult to come from a medical family, but by the Gods it is also a real blessing and I know how lucky I am to have dad there with his years of experience, ready to talk me through every tiny irrational fear that pops into my head. He makes me want to be a better doctor.
Thursday morning I felt a bit brighter. I also felt pretty disgusting and my bedclothes were all damp from me sweating so much. I couldn't bear the thought of lying feeling so skanky all day. I was feeling pretty determined, and the pain was well controlled. So, I got to the bathroom, washed myself, washed my hair, put on clean pjs, stripped the bed and put fresh bedding on. It took me frikkin' AGES and by the end I was exhausted, but mission accomplished!. I crawled back into my squeaky clean bed and slept for the rest of the day. Jase came home late because of a parents evening, got me downstairs, I managed a whole plate of pasta and then went back to bed. That night I slept right through until 9am.
Victories:
Having a full wash with jason helping, and a couple of days later progressing to a full wash by myself.
Managing to change the bed sheets by myself.
Managing a bowl of Musli and snacks of fresh and dried fruit every day.
Being proactive in trying to change the date of my CMT interview
My first day at home jason got me up at 5.30 and got me downstairs and onto the sofa. Since he had to work all day and there was no way I could manage the stairs by myself due to pain, we had come up with the plan of keeping me downstairs so I had access to the TV, and setting me up on the sofa with everything i need in terms of food and drink for the day, with handy living room based jug-and-bucket for when I needed to pee. (The other not being an issue due to the large quantities of opiates currently holding up my bowel). I spent most of the day asleep, woken only by pain and the need for more Oramorph. I had no desire to eat or watch TV. I know I was phoned a few times by friends and relatives to check I was ok and wish me well, which was lovely. The details are hazy. I do remember a call from my parents (currently out of the country), and my dad spent some time reassuring me that everything i was experiencing was to be expected. I also called the South West deanery to try to postpone my CMT interview that was due to be in 1 weeks time. They were less than helpful. You'd think that breaking your leg would be a good enough reason to postpone an interview....not according to South West Deanery. At this point in time i was too tired to argue with them. At the end of the day jason came home and tried to make me eat, but I wasn't interested. Not at all normal for me. He got me back upstairs and helped me wash. I did feel a lot brighter after this, and it made me to realise how important it would be to look after myself through all this. We decided that i would be better off in bed the next day with the jug-and-bucket in my room in case I struggled to get to the bathroom (the Oramorph was making me very dizzy and my walking balance was terrible).
I was still needing a lot of analgesia at this point, and before I went to bed I had taken 100mg tramadol and 20mg Oramorph. 2 hours after falling asleep, I woke up screaming. Jason came rushing into the room. I'm still not entirely sure what happened, but I think I must have just jerked my leg in my sleep. The subsequent pain was unbelievable, and i had nightmarish visions of having pulled the fixation apart. Jase gave me another 20mg of Oramorph and I sobbed in pain until the drugs kicked in and I half-slept, half-passed out.
Wednesday I woke late, Jason had already gone to work. I decided to try and get myself to the bathroom, and while I was there I managed to wash my upper body myself. The rest of the day was spent in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, and trying to respond to all of the lovely messages that had been sent to me. I also gently started to try some static muscle exercises, but pain pretty soon put a stop to that. When jason got home he helped me downstairs onto the sofa before he went out to running club. While he was out, the pain in my leg started to get worse and worse and I began to feel sick and shivery. I loaded up on Oramorph and then the next thing I knew jason was home. Well, at least I knew I wasn't becoming tolerant to the opiates! I was too spaced out and wobbly to manage a wash so he put me straight to bed. 2 hours later I woke up practically swimming in my own sweat. This had been happening every night since the surgery, but now in combination with the symptoms I'd had that evening, I became terrified that an infection was setting in. Dad called me the next morning and reassured me that the fevers were normal post fracture for several days. I knew this, and I also knew that infection was not a likely complication at this early stage, but it was so nice to hear it from someone else, least of all someone with as much experience as my dad. It's funny how you ignore your own knowledge in the process of catastrophising. I know how it can be difficult to come from a medical family, but by the Gods it is also a real blessing and I know how lucky I am to have dad there with his years of experience, ready to talk me through every tiny irrational fear that pops into my head. He makes me want to be a better doctor.
Thursday morning I felt a bit brighter. I also felt pretty disgusting and my bedclothes were all damp from me sweating so much. I couldn't bear the thought of lying feeling so skanky all day. I was feeling pretty determined, and the pain was well controlled. So, I got to the bathroom, washed myself, washed my hair, put on clean pjs, stripped the bed and put fresh bedding on. It took me frikkin' AGES and by the end I was exhausted, but mission accomplished!. I crawled back into my squeaky clean bed and slept for the rest of the day. Jase came home late because of a parents evening, got me downstairs, I managed a whole plate of pasta and then went back to bed. That night I slept right through until 9am.
Victories:
Having a full wash with jason helping, and a couple of days later progressing to a full wash by myself.
Managing to change the bed sheets by myself.
Managing a bowl of Musli and snacks of fresh and dried fruit every day.
Being proactive in trying to change the date of my CMT interview
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| Grabby-device. Also useful for sexually harassing strangers from a slight distance. |
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| My new getaway method. |
Friday, 5 February 2016
little victories
So my blog has significantly changed in nature. I have written about the accident itself, but am not posting yet as the police are still involved.
This blog is now a diary of my recovery. If it goes well, then hopefully it will be an inspiration to any other runners who find themselves with a similar injury.
At the end of each blog entry I am including a 'victory' section, to remind myself of positive things I have achieved at a difficult time.
This diary starts on the afternoon of 31/1/16 - one month into the shittest year of my life so far. For the first time in my life I awoke from general anaesthetic. I don't really remember much of the rest of the day. Mr Stitson, the surgeon who operated on me, visited and told jason and I that they had managed to get relatively good fixation considering the degree of comminution. That night I went into a drug-induced sleep. I woke the next morning and immediately started crying as the realisation of how much my coming year had changed and the fear of never running again washed over me yet again.
I went through my Facebook and email messages again. In honesty, many of the ones I had read on the Sunday had been spirited away by the combination of residual anaesthetic and opiates. I had so many wonderful and kind messages, offers of help, reminders of how strong I am. I know so many wonderful people. Reading these again gave me a bit of a boost. I was visited by Caroline and Lorraine from the rota office who brought me a load of fruit and goodies, and by Kenny from the medical directorate who brought me sweets and wished me well. Matron Sue also came to see me. Sue is amazing. She has so much energy and is always so kind and understanding. I cried when i saw her, and that started her crying. All these wonderful people, it was like being visited by family.
The postoperative instructions were that I was to remain in a full leg backslab non weight bearing for 2 weeks and that I could go home when I was able to mobile on crutches. Andy, one of the physios I know from my ortho days, came to see me teach me how to use crutches . He and the ward SHO looked through my op note, looked serious and did the medical equivalent of sucking air in through their teeth like a mechanic with a car that was going to cost a load to fix. "Small defect in the articular surface " i heard one of them say. Thanks guys. Because pessimism was what i really needed right now. That's the trouble with being a medic in this situation. You know what all the little details mean and tend to focus on the worst potential outcome.
Andy walked me up the ward and checked out that I could use the stairs. I got back to my bed, sweating like a horse but fairly comfortable from a pain point of view. I then stupidly decided to take my new crutches out for a spin around the hospital, not realising quite how much anaesthetic was still going round in my system and how much the femoral nerve block the anaesthetist had put in was still numbing the pain. I got to the Drs post room, picked up some mail I was expecting, went to the rota office to say hi to Caroline and Lorraine who had visited me earlier in the day. At that stage I started to feel pretty strange, sweaty and the pain in my leg was becoming quite prevalent. I headed back up to the ward, and made it just before I thought I was about to pass out. I spent the following 2 hours absolutely sparko on my bed and when I woke I had to seriously ramp up the amount of painkillers I was taking.
Jason came to pick me up later that afternoon. The wonderful staff of Shaugh ward wished me well, and Larissa teased me to go easy on the Oramorph. and Andy from the discharge team wheeled me down to the exit. His progress was slowed as we passed lots of people I knew who all wanted to ask what had happened and then to wish me well.
When I got home Jase got me settled on the sofa. The police were visiting that evening to take a statement so my plan was to wait downstairs until they had been and then head upstairs to bed. The pain in my leg was really starting to become difficult to manage and I was maxed out on the painkillers. When it came to getting upstairs I was in tears, every tiny jolt sent pain screaming through my whole leg. In the end I had to go up backwards on my arse while jason held my leg up off the ground.
The next issue was using the toilet. I had succeeded in this on the ward, but now, with all the nerve block gone from my anaesthetic, I simply couldn't manage the pain involved in sitting on the toilet. In the end I came up with the solution of peeing into a jug while standing. Genius.
Jase helped me into bed, and balanced my leg up on a pile consisting of all the cushions and pillows in the house. Damn, I was missing the adjustable hospital bed. Even with it elevated and my next dose of Oramorph on board I was in agony, and I cried myself to sleep while jason stroked my hair and told me that everything was going to be ok.
Victories:
Working through the toilet problem.
Getting over my embarrassment of peeing with another person on the room. It's just another bodily function, after all.
This blog is now a diary of my recovery. If it goes well, then hopefully it will be an inspiration to any other runners who find themselves with a similar injury.
At the end of each blog entry I am including a 'victory' section, to remind myself of positive things I have achieved at a difficult time.
This diary starts on the afternoon of 31/1/16 - one month into the shittest year of my life so far. For the first time in my life I awoke from general anaesthetic. I don't really remember much of the rest of the day. Mr Stitson, the surgeon who operated on me, visited and told jason and I that they had managed to get relatively good fixation considering the degree of comminution. That night I went into a drug-induced sleep. I woke the next morning and immediately started crying as the realisation of how much my coming year had changed and the fear of never running again washed over me yet again.
I went through my Facebook and email messages again. In honesty, many of the ones I had read on the Sunday had been spirited away by the combination of residual anaesthetic and opiates. I had so many wonderful and kind messages, offers of help, reminders of how strong I am. I know so many wonderful people. Reading these again gave me a bit of a boost. I was visited by Caroline and Lorraine from the rota office who brought me a load of fruit and goodies, and by Kenny from the medical directorate who brought me sweets and wished me well. Matron Sue also came to see me. Sue is amazing. She has so much energy and is always so kind and understanding. I cried when i saw her, and that started her crying. All these wonderful people, it was like being visited by family.
The postoperative instructions were that I was to remain in a full leg backslab non weight bearing for 2 weeks and that I could go home when I was able to mobile on crutches. Andy, one of the physios I know from my ortho days, came to see me teach me how to use crutches . He and the ward SHO looked through my op note, looked serious and did the medical equivalent of sucking air in through their teeth like a mechanic with a car that was going to cost a load to fix. "Small defect in the articular surface " i heard one of them say. Thanks guys. Because pessimism was what i really needed right now. That's the trouble with being a medic in this situation. You know what all the little details mean and tend to focus on the worst potential outcome.
Andy walked me up the ward and checked out that I could use the stairs. I got back to my bed, sweating like a horse but fairly comfortable from a pain point of view. I then stupidly decided to take my new crutches out for a spin around the hospital, not realising quite how much anaesthetic was still going round in my system and how much the femoral nerve block the anaesthetist had put in was still numbing the pain. I got to the Drs post room, picked up some mail I was expecting, went to the rota office to say hi to Caroline and Lorraine who had visited me earlier in the day. At that stage I started to feel pretty strange, sweaty and the pain in my leg was becoming quite prevalent. I headed back up to the ward, and made it just before I thought I was about to pass out. I spent the following 2 hours absolutely sparko on my bed and when I woke I had to seriously ramp up the amount of painkillers I was taking.
Jason came to pick me up later that afternoon. The wonderful staff of Shaugh ward wished me well, and Larissa teased me to go easy on the Oramorph. and Andy from the discharge team wheeled me down to the exit. His progress was slowed as we passed lots of people I knew who all wanted to ask what had happened and then to wish me well.
When I got home Jase got me settled on the sofa. The police were visiting that evening to take a statement so my plan was to wait downstairs until they had been and then head upstairs to bed. The pain in my leg was really starting to become difficult to manage and I was maxed out on the painkillers. When it came to getting upstairs I was in tears, every tiny jolt sent pain screaming through my whole leg. In the end I had to go up backwards on my arse while jason held my leg up off the ground.
The next issue was using the toilet. I had succeeded in this on the ward, but now, with all the nerve block gone from my anaesthetic, I simply couldn't manage the pain involved in sitting on the toilet. In the end I came up with the solution of peeing into a jug while standing. Genius.
Jase helped me into bed, and balanced my leg up on a pile consisting of all the cushions and pillows in the house. Damn, I was missing the adjustable hospital bed. Even with it elevated and my next dose of Oramorph on board I was in agony, and I cried myself to sleep while jason stroked my hair and told me that everything was going to be ok.
Victories:
Working through the toilet problem.
Getting over my embarrassment of peeing with another person on the room. It's just another bodily function, after all.
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| Full leg backslab on the right. The bandaging over my left "good"knee is covering the wound that had to be debrided and sutured. |
Monday, 26 October 2015
Make madness a way of life.
So the string of post-UTMB failure compensation races is done.
2 weeks post UTMB - MCN ultra round 3 - 38 miles
5 weeks post-UTMB - 3x3000 Skyrace ultra
7 weeks post-UTMB - Centurion A100.
Stick a fork in me, I'm done.
A100 blog
Edition A. For the chronically short of attention-span
Leg 1: this is too fast, I'm tired, I feel sick, I'm sweaty uuuurrrrghhhh
Leg 2: And we're off! Where the hell did this speed come from?! This may come back to bite me, but I feel great!
Leg 3: I'm still running...what's going on? why am I still feeling ok? Did I just overtake Ed Catmur?!
Leg 4: And...hit the wall. How is this leg so long? Come on Sarah, keep on plodding...and FINISH!
Edition B. Full version. Lengthy and rambling.
Kit used: Inov-8 race vest, Asics gel Fuji Trabuco shoes, 1000 mile compression socks, LED-Lenser and Petzl headtorches,
Sports nutrition used: High-5 electrolyte tablets, SIS gels, shotblocs, Lucozade dextrose tablets
Like my other recent races, entered the A100 after I'd come back from failing at the UTMB. I wasn't really sure what I was doing, feeling a bit directionless, but also really didn't want to have gone more than a year without doing a 100 mile race. Looking at the calendar, I had A100, Cotswold century or the White Rose 100 to choose from. But I also really wanted to do the 3x3000. A100 was only 2 weeks later, but I thought I'd give it a shot.
So, 2 weeks after the 3x3000, 7 weeks after dropping from UTMB, I was lining up at the start of the A100 for a second time. I had no idea what I would be able to do this year, having spent most of 2015 training on hills and racing in mountains, I didn't know what my legs would make of such a flat course. Add to that a week of night shifts leading up to the race, and a viral infection giving me a temperature of 38 degrees on the morning of the race, I was pretty convinced that I would fade hard after the first 50, and certain that I wouldn't be able to repeat my time from 2014. I had no real plan, just see what I could do.
Junior doctors protest #notsafenotfair
The first leg was as I remember it from 2014. Hard and miserable. It's flat, relentless, and you know when you get back to Goring you've only done 1/4 of the race. Add to that the uncertainty of pacing...should I trust my instincts and go slow or should I chase the lead woman (Sally Ford, who set off into the distance looking so strong and confident)? The Centurion team had set up a bit of a 'battle' between us in the online banter before the race, and I was aware that on paper Sally was a much stronger runner than I am. She has sub-3hr marathon times and some amazing ultramarathon results, having crushed the female field (and most of the male field) in all the other Centurion 100 mile races in 2015. I remembered seeing her at the Whitchurch checkpoint on the TP100 when I was volunteering, and was struck then by how strong she looked 67 miles into the race. I had started with the intention of following my own pace. But I am easily lead and was uncomfortable with the idea of being left behind, so I nailed my colours to the mast, and I chased her initial pace.
I got back to Goring from leg one feeling pretty rubbish. I felt that I had pushed way too hard, and was cursing my stupidity. Nici, who was acting as an impromptu crew for me, got my kit, made sure I had enough orange juice on board, and then mentioned to me that I was sweating a lot more than usual. I knew I had a temp to start with, and I had been feeling a bit shivery before the race so had put on an extra T-shirt. I decided to get rid of the extra layers and just go with my vest. This was definitely a good decision. I've realised more and more this year the negative effect that heat has on my performance. With hyperhidrosis I struggle to keep up with my fluid losses on a cool day, and the heat makes it nearly impossible. I ran the rest of the race in a vest and shorts, and was much more comfortable.
Leg 2 starts with some more depressing flatness. The whining nagging demons that had started in my head along the first leg were getting louder now. Telling me that the UTMB was a lesson to me that I couldn't do this. That I simply wasn't built for running, that I was still the fat kid who was useless at everything. Rich Keefe (Mudcrew ultra team) who was running close at the time commented on how my running style had changed from the initial stages of leg one, and that my stride was now much shorter. That really made me think about how I was running this race. Sally was still up ahead of me, but I made the decision at that point to find my own pace. I chucked down a couple of cups of Coke at the next aid station, put my headphones in, blocked out the negative voices and started singing. Here it was, here was my sweet spot. I soon found my legs, my pace, my stride and was rolling along Grims ditch feeling much more positive, singing cheesy Russian pop songs as loud as I could. I hit the turn-around point feeling really good, I was finally enjoying myself. This continued all the way back to Goring (despite a detour of unidentified length...who says you can't get lost on an out-and-back course!), as I met other runners on their outward journey I got lots of lovely words of encouragement (and I hope gave some too, although all I seem to remember is yelling 'Crack on!' at everyone who went past me!!)
Back at Goring it suddenly dawned on me that I'd just run a 50 mile PB of 7 hours. I was still pretty worried about this pace, and at this point was also stuggling with nutrition and fluid. I knew I had been eating far less than I intended, and received a few stern words from Nici who sent me away from the checkpoint with my pockets full of goodies. There's a steady climb of around half a mile in the first section of leg 3, and I mentally set this distance aside to walk, eat and drink. I finished off a packet of marmite cashews and a couple of gels and around a mile later the effects really kicked in, I was literally up and running again! I happily plodded my way to the turnaround point and headed back to Goring. Just before the decent into Goring, I passed Ed Catmur, not something I ever thought I'd find myself doing! I was getting nervous now, knowing how much I had been dreading the final leg. So close, and yet so far. I was trying to work out how much time I could allow myself to still finish in a decent overall time, but I was starting to get ultra-brain and I could barely work out what time it was let alone calculate ahead.
Back in Goring again. I was feeling sick, and so so sleepy. I think the run of nightshifts had caught up with me at this point, and I just wanted to lie down and sleep. When I whinged about how sick I was feeling I remember Gary pointing out that I was sweating like a horse and hadn't been drinking enough, and did I maybe think that this may have something to do with my sickness?! I think I may have called him a sarcastic bugger at this point, but he was dead right! I realise I was procrastinating here to delay setting off on the final 25 and so did Nici. She had soon turfed me out of the checkpoint and sent me on my way with strict instructions to eat more.
Procrastinating 'Camera tart'
The final countdown!!
4 miles to Whitchurch. This was ok, a nice bit of path and a bit of uphill to break the monotony of the Thames path. 8 miles to Reading. Not so nice. Flat, and with those never-ending fields, a depressing up 'n' down through a housing estate and a run of never-ending tarmac until you reach the far checkpoint. At one point I was retching into a bush, when I head a little voice behind me saying 'are you ok mate?' I turned around to see a worried-looking teenager peering at me in concern. Sweet! I mumbled something about being in a race and it all being a bit intense, and staggered away in embarrassment.
The journey back from the far checkpoint did seem to go faster. I know I was struggling, but I was still running. There was one amazing point when David Barker came past me, looking like he had just started a marathon. He finished 15 minutes ahead of me, in sub-16 hours. That guy is an absolutely amazing lesson in pacing!!
At Whitchurch I stopped at the checkpoint for a few minutes and confessed to the crew there that I had just pee'd down my leg in the dark. At this point a girl came into the checkpoint on her outward journey, patted me on the shoulder and said 'well done!'. I'm still not sure if she was referring to my running or my ability to pee on myself. Still, thanks!!
The 4 miles back to Goring flew by. Soon I was at the finish in a total of 16 hours 13 minutes, being congratulated by James, who had himself just smashed up the course record in an amazing 14 hours 35 minutes! What a legend!! I hung around for a bit, enjoying the warmth and friendliness of the extended Centurion family.
Well-earned Nici hug!
What a day! Such a range of emotions and experiences. I love the Centurion crew! I think their awesomeness and the awesomeness of their events is reflected in the fact that all their 2016 races are sold out already!
But, with myself, I'm not satisfied. I'm always underwhelmed with my results, and always feel I should have done better. This result is no different. So I will try harder. And hopefully improve.
2 weeks post UTMB - MCN ultra round 3 - 38 miles
5 weeks post-UTMB - 3x3000 Skyrace ultra
7 weeks post-UTMB - Centurion A100.
Stick a fork in me, I'm done.
A100 blog
Edition A. For the chronically short of attention-span
Leg 1: this is too fast, I'm tired, I feel sick, I'm sweaty uuuurrrrghhhh
Leg 2: And we're off! Where the hell did this speed come from?! This may come back to bite me, but I feel great!
Leg 3: I'm still running...what's going on? why am I still feeling ok? Did I just overtake Ed Catmur?!
Leg 4: And...hit the wall. How is this leg so long? Come on Sarah, keep on plodding...and FINISH!
Edition B. Full version. Lengthy and rambling.
Kit used: Inov-8 race vest, Asics gel Fuji Trabuco shoes, 1000 mile compression socks, LED-Lenser and Petzl headtorches,
Sports nutrition used: High-5 electrolyte tablets, SIS gels, shotblocs, Lucozade dextrose tablets
Like my other recent races, entered the A100 after I'd come back from failing at the UTMB. I wasn't really sure what I was doing, feeling a bit directionless, but also really didn't want to have gone more than a year without doing a 100 mile race. Looking at the calendar, I had A100, Cotswold century or the White Rose 100 to choose from. But I also really wanted to do the 3x3000. A100 was only 2 weeks later, but I thought I'd give it a shot.
So, 2 weeks after the 3x3000, 7 weeks after dropping from UTMB, I was lining up at the start of the A100 for a second time. I had no idea what I would be able to do this year, having spent most of 2015 training on hills and racing in mountains, I didn't know what my legs would make of such a flat course. Add to that a week of night shifts leading up to the race, and a viral infection giving me a temperature of 38 degrees on the morning of the race, I was pretty convinced that I would fade hard after the first 50, and certain that I wouldn't be able to repeat my time from 2014. I had no real plan, just see what I could do.
Junior doctors protest #notsafenotfair The first leg was as I remember it from 2014. Hard and miserable. It's flat, relentless, and you know when you get back to Goring you've only done 1/4 of the race. Add to that the uncertainty of pacing...should I trust my instincts and go slow or should I chase the lead woman (Sally Ford, who set off into the distance looking so strong and confident)? The Centurion team had set up a bit of a 'battle' between us in the online banter before the race, and I was aware that on paper Sally was a much stronger runner than I am. She has sub-3hr marathon times and some amazing ultramarathon results, having crushed the female field (and most of the male field) in all the other Centurion 100 mile races in 2015. I remembered seeing her at the Whitchurch checkpoint on the TP100 when I was volunteering, and was struck then by how strong she looked 67 miles into the race. I had started with the intention of following my own pace. But I am easily lead and was uncomfortable with the idea of being left behind, so I nailed my colours to the mast, and I chased her initial pace.
I got back to Goring from leg one feeling pretty rubbish. I felt that I had pushed way too hard, and was cursing my stupidity. Nici, who was acting as an impromptu crew for me, got my kit, made sure I had enough orange juice on board, and then mentioned to me that I was sweating a lot more than usual. I knew I had a temp to start with, and I had been feeling a bit shivery before the race so had put on an extra T-shirt. I decided to get rid of the extra layers and just go with my vest. This was definitely a good decision. I've realised more and more this year the negative effect that heat has on my performance. With hyperhidrosis I struggle to keep up with my fluid losses on a cool day, and the heat makes it nearly impossible. I ran the rest of the race in a vest and shorts, and was much more comfortable.
Leg 2 starts with some more depressing flatness. The whining nagging demons that had started in my head along the first leg were getting louder now. Telling me that the UTMB was a lesson to me that I couldn't do this. That I simply wasn't built for running, that I was still the fat kid who was useless at everything. Rich Keefe (Mudcrew ultra team) who was running close at the time commented on how my running style had changed from the initial stages of leg one, and that my stride was now much shorter. That really made me think about how I was running this race. Sally was still up ahead of me, but I made the decision at that point to find my own pace. I chucked down a couple of cups of Coke at the next aid station, put my headphones in, blocked out the negative voices and started singing. Here it was, here was my sweet spot. I soon found my legs, my pace, my stride and was rolling along Grims ditch feeling much more positive, singing cheesy Russian pop songs as loud as I could. I hit the turn-around point feeling really good, I was finally enjoying myself. This continued all the way back to Goring (despite a detour of unidentified length...who says you can't get lost on an out-and-back course!), as I met other runners on their outward journey I got lots of lovely words of encouragement (and I hope gave some too, although all I seem to remember is yelling 'Crack on!' at everyone who went past me!!)
Back at Goring it suddenly dawned on me that I'd just run a 50 mile PB of 7 hours. I was still pretty worried about this pace, and at this point was also stuggling with nutrition and fluid. I knew I had been eating far less than I intended, and received a few stern words from Nici who sent me away from the checkpoint with my pockets full of goodies. There's a steady climb of around half a mile in the first section of leg 3, and I mentally set this distance aside to walk, eat and drink. I finished off a packet of marmite cashews and a couple of gels and around a mile later the effects really kicked in, I was literally up and running again! I happily plodded my way to the turnaround point and headed back to Goring. Just before the decent into Goring, I passed Ed Catmur, not something I ever thought I'd find myself doing! I was getting nervous now, knowing how much I had been dreading the final leg. So close, and yet so far. I was trying to work out how much time I could allow myself to still finish in a decent overall time, but I was starting to get ultra-brain and I could barely work out what time it was let alone calculate ahead.
Back in Goring again. I was feeling sick, and so so sleepy. I think the run of nightshifts had caught up with me at this point, and I just wanted to lie down and sleep. When I whinged about how sick I was feeling I remember Gary pointing out that I was sweating like a horse and hadn't been drinking enough, and did I maybe think that this may have something to do with my sickness?! I think I may have called him a sarcastic bugger at this point, but he was dead right! I realise I was procrastinating here to delay setting off on the final 25 and so did Nici. She had soon turfed me out of the checkpoint and sent me on my way with strict instructions to eat more.
Procrastinating 'Camera tart'The final countdown!!
4 miles to Whitchurch. This was ok, a nice bit of path and a bit of uphill to break the monotony of the Thames path. 8 miles to Reading. Not so nice. Flat, and with those never-ending fields, a depressing up 'n' down through a housing estate and a run of never-ending tarmac until you reach the far checkpoint. At one point I was retching into a bush, when I head a little voice behind me saying 'are you ok mate?' I turned around to see a worried-looking teenager peering at me in concern. Sweet! I mumbled something about being in a race and it all being a bit intense, and staggered away in embarrassment.
The journey back from the far checkpoint did seem to go faster. I know I was struggling, but I was still running. There was one amazing point when David Barker came past me, looking like he had just started a marathon. He finished 15 minutes ahead of me, in sub-16 hours. That guy is an absolutely amazing lesson in pacing!!
At Whitchurch I stopped at the checkpoint for a few minutes and confessed to the crew there that I had just pee'd down my leg in the dark. At this point a girl came into the checkpoint on her outward journey, patted me on the shoulder and said 'well done!'. I'm still not sure if she was referring to my running or my ability to pee on myself. Still, thanks!!
The 4 miles back to Goring flew by. Soon I was at the finish in a total of 16 hours 13 minutes, being congratulated by James, who had himself just smashed up the course record in an amazing 14 hours 35 minutes! What a legend!! I hung around for a bit, enjoying the warmth and friendliness of the extended Centurion family.
Well-earned Nici hug!What a day! Such a range of emotions and experiences. I love the Centurion crew! I think their awesomeness and the awesomeness of their events is reflected in the fact that all their 2016 races are sold out already!
But, with myself, I'm not satisfied. I'm always underwhelmed with my results, and always feel I should have done better. This result is no different. So I will try harder. And hopefully improve.
Tuesday, 6 October 2015
I wandered lonely as a cloud.
When I came back from my UTMB failure I went a bit mad entering things. This race looked like it could be interesting, and I'd never given Skyrunning a try. Plus, I'd always fancied a run in the lakes. What more excuse does a girl need?
I travelled up on the Friday morning and went and recce'd the Scafell climb. It was wonderful! I could feel myself getting more and more excited, and I really had to resist the temptation to carry on running all afternoon!
On Saturday I recce'd the Helvelyn climb. The photo below is better than me trying to explain the wonder of the experience.
Sunday morning, 5am. We set off from Keswick and were quickly off the tarmac and onto forest paths. The first section to Scafell was all runnable, and along some lovely trails underfoot with boulders to jump, undulating sections that made you feel like you were on a rollercoaster and the hint of the sunrise promising a wonderful day ahead!
The climbing started from Seathwaite. I found that I could run most of the initial ascent up to Styehead Tarn, wondering if I would regret this later as I caught up and then overtook a group of guys ahead of me. But I knew that the pain would be on the descents and flat sections, so I decided to just let my body go with it and enjoy the climbs.
The corridor route to the start of the final Scafell climb was a treat! Ridges to clamber along, boulders to hop off, real hands and knees stuff! So THIS is why people love Skyrunning! I hadn't had this much fun since the Borriol Mountain Marathon!!
I made it comfortably up to the summit of Scafell having overtaken around 5 guys on the climb. A couple of them then overtook me on the decent, as I minced my way down a terrifying vertical scree slope and then scrambled around on some boulders on top of another peak. How do the fell runners throw themselves down this stuff so fast?! I followed a chap who was really motoring along on the next undulating section along some peaty paths and then hit another climb. I met another couple of guys here, and got chatting. I'm not usually that sociable during runs, preferring to just get into my own little world of pain and euphoria. But I really, really enjoyed the company of these guys all the way down the decent, through some deep bogs and seriously lumpy terrain to the base of the Helvellyn climb.
One of the blokes I was running with (I'm really sorry, I never asked your name!) started the Helvellyn climb just ahead of me, saying that he wanted to get a head-start on me so we could run along The Dodds together. Ah, that's nice!! I never really thought of anyone enjoying my company during a race, I always alternate between silly and grumpy! We climbed up, chatting for a bit and marvelling at the view. Unfortunately I was still in the power-up mode, and so I lost him on the climb. This is when I noticed Dave Troman. Bright blue shorts. About 5 minutes ahead of me. And that is where he remained for the rest of the race!
I hit the summit of Helvellyn and then set off along The Dodds. About 30 minutes later I started to feel a bit funny. I was sure I'd been keeping on top of my nutrition...or had I? 5 minutes later I fell over. I didn't trip, my legs just gave way. I stood up again and tried to keep on running. This bit was flat. But I couldn't run. Nope, definitely not keeping on top of my nutrition. I frantically searched my bag for stuff I could eat, and settled on a 9 bar and half a block of Kendle Mint Cake. 10 minutes and a bit of staggering later I felt the effects kick in and suddenly I was off again.
I got to the top of Clough Head, and at that point I lost the path. After running around the top for a bit I saw it. I'd been warned about this decent, but I was still shocked. That's a cliff, not a slope!! Grassy, sheer, with some mildly interested sheep dotted down it. Well, at least I'd have something soft to land on if I fell!
I started to edge downwards. No blue shorts in sight. Damn it, I'd lost the guy ahead of me. As the slope started to flatted a little, I started to run and caught my right foot on a boulder. I'd already gone over on this ankle twice on the night section, and it was feeling pretty sore. This time my ankle twisted and I heard a crack. I collapsed, grabbing my ankle and rolled around like an injured footballer for a bit, before I realised that wasn't getting me anywhere. A few minutes of limping and I found that thankfully there was no serious damage. It was bloody sore, but I could still run on it. Mental note to self - when I go back to do this race next year, I am going down this descent on my arse!!
The next section was a flat 4 miles to the base of Skiddaw. I was feeling pretty sore in the usual places, and very tired. I plodded up to the checkpoint at Latrigg ready for the final climb. 'See you in a couple of hours' the marshal said. A couple?! I thought this last bit would only take me an hour or so! Talk about misjudging distance! I didn't realise that there was a few miles of runnable path before the final climb started. I struggled along, definitely feeling the effects of my early power-climbs. The path was undulating and rocky, the kind I usually love to run, but I was getting very tired. I had a couple of shotblocs which gave me a little boost, but was very happy to hit the base of the climb. This one was different to Scafell and Helvellyn, the path was mud and grass rather than paved/boulders. It reminded me of the coastpath climbs between St Gennys and Bostcastle. Except that it went on and on and on! I could still climb well though, so really got stuck into it. As I neared the top I saw a figure standing on the summit silhouetted against the sky...what a sight! A moment or two later and the figure gracefully leapt of the cairn and ran over the horizon. That HAD to be Sally (Sally Fawcett, fell-runner and fellow GB trail team member)!! That girl is like a gazelle on the hills! She had been competing in the fell relay in Patterdale that morning, and had come over for a jaunt up Skiddaw to meet me. Sure enough as I got to the summit there she was! She offered to keep me company on the final decent. I felt pretty good at first particularly when Keswick came into view! But I think we set off a little fast, because despite the runnable nature of the descent, I suddenly I felt that horrible hypo feeling again. I couldn't run, and I thought I was going to pass out! Sally patiently waited for me to stand and sway pathetically for a bit whilst filling up on calories, then led me on down the hill to Latrigg. From here it was a gentle downhill along forest paths back to the centre of Keswick, and FINISH!
This event was spectacular. The course included just about every different kind of terrain you could imagine running on. Boulders and ridges, bogs, forest path, scree slopes and grassy trails. The Marshals were fantastic and really friendly. The finish included hot soup and a massage, and for me a pint, fish and chips, and a chance to catch up with Sally. And finishing in the centre of Keswick was amazing, with loads of friendly passers-by cheering and chatting to us afterwards.
Thanks so much to the event sponsors, Suunto, Leki and Petzl for the amazing prizes!
Thanks High Terrain events, for a wonderful day! This one is definitely on the calendar for next year!
Sunday, 13 September 2015
Mud glorious mud
Ok, so it was only 2 weeks since I dropped from the UTMB. I've been feeling knackered, my injuries are not yet healed, and I still can't run downhill comfortably.
But I'm also daft as a brush.
So, last weekend I went to the Black Mountains to sample some more delicious trail laid on for us by the team at Might Contain Nuts. My aim was to test out my endurance and hill legs and treat the race as a long training run ahead of the 3x3000 in October.
I've done one other race in the Brecons this year. The midnight mountain marathon (put on by Brutal Events) was a wonderful marathon(ish) race which included the summit of Pen-y-fan. I went into that one with fresh legs, but a stinking hangover, which was completely cured by the time I finished!
I've decided to start keeping a bit more of a record of training and kit now (having previously been someone who keeps no training log and doesn't run with a watch/garmin).
Training Week leading up to the race:
Saturday - 12 x 1 minute hill sprints. Sunday - 2k swim. Monday - 9 miles hilly road. Tuesday - cycle to and from work, then post-cycle 6 mile tempo run plus extra weight. Wednesday - 2k swim, 5 miles steady run. Thursday - cycle to and from work. Friday - 3 miles steady.
Clothing list: Shorts, long-sleeved running top, Hilly single-skin socks, Nike sports bra, Asics gel Fuji Trabuco trail shoes.
Kit list: waterproof trousers and jacket, long running tights, gloves, hat, headlight, compass, map, water and food.
Estimated food consumed during race: 1 pack shotblocs, 2 x SIS gels, 2 pieces of flapjack (picked up at checkpoints)
Here's my bullet-point race rundown, comprised of snippets of thought that I can recall.
*Ok, I can run, slowly but I can run
*I can't run fast and I feel very heavy. This is hard
*This climb is AWESOME! I feel like a mountain goat!!
*Yay, rain! The best kind of ultra-weather!
*Damn it, I'm lost. (This was a recurring thought throughout the race, as a lot of the course markings had been blown over)
*Oh hell, major energy slump. When will I learn to fuel properly?! (1 packet of shotblocks and 2 SIS gels were not enough for this run)
*It's really hot, I wonder if anyone would judge me if I ran in just my sports bra....no, I just can't do that to the world.
*Why the hell do I always seem to feel so short of breath and lethargic these days?
*Woohoo, I made it into first place! Thank you hill-legs!
*Boo, I still can't run downhill properly, I'm back in second!!
*This is the best macaroni cheese I've ever had in my entire life!!! (The catering company doing food at the end of the race were amazing)
Thanks Might Contain Nuts, another brilliant event!!
Friday, 4 September 2015
The cause and solution to all of life's problems.
Today I went for a run, and I felt terrible. My heart was thumping out of my chest, and my legs would barely move. I am exhausted.
It's been a generally bad year so far. I make no secret of the fact that I have mental health problems. They have been troubling me. I have felt myself become isolated and I have lost my enthusiasm. I have lost a close friend because of my difficult nature. I feel uncertain of my future.
That's the problem with racing when you have depression. The racing becomes a way to vindicate yourself. One bad race, and you lose all faith in yourself. 2 bad races and your world might as well have ended. At that point, you have become worthless. Because your only worth is in winning races, right? That's when people praise you, that's when people want to know you. The rest of the time you are just...nothing.
And even if you do do well in a race, you always know you could have done better....
That is the rut I have found myself in more and more this year, and it is sapping me of strength, and taking the pleasure out of running. Because, as a result of this, every bad run (not just race, but run) becomes overwhelming. And bad runs become more frequent. I find myself stopping and sitting by the side of the trail from sheer exhaustion after only a few miles. Instead of coming back from a training run and feeling satisfied and accomplished, I come back in tears. Why has my body stopped doing what I'm telling it to?
I have begun to examine the role of running in my life. Why do I do it? What does it mean to me? Why is it significant?
There are many reasons. Fresh air, love of the outdoors, desire to travel. But there are 4 major reasons which I identified.
1. I run to remain slim. I was surprised to find this at the top of the list, but the truth is, having suffered from anorexia as a teenager, and then piled on a load of weight in my early 20's, the fact that I can remain quite slim despite relatively normal food intake is massively liberating and comforting. And yes, when I can't run, I do withhold food from myself. My ideal figure is an androgynous one, and the years since I started ultra-running are those I have been most comfortable with my body.
2. Endorphins. I know that I get cranky and agitated when I can't exercise. I get sad, I stop eating (see reason 1), I drink more alcohol. I joke with people that running is just a more socially-acceptable form of opioid addiction, but it's closer to the truth than a joke. And point 2 is intimately interlinked with point...
...3. The good run. You know this one. The run that feels effortless. Your feet have wings attached and you glide. Your mind is free, your body is part of the air around you. I'm not an inherently spiritual person, but this is the closest I get to meditation.
4. Competition. I fit the stereotype; high grades at school, anorexic, competitive from an early age (originally in music). My mum always recalls how I phoned her in tears when I got a 2:1 in my second semester at uni. Her friends couldn't understand why I was upset, because 2:1 is good, correct? But for me, it wasn't a 1st and that was the point. These days I am not ambitious in my job, but in my running. I strive to achieve...to win. Then, if I do, I feel no sense of achievement and am still acutely aware of my own inadequacy.
And herein lies the problem. I have begun to define myself by this. These points have become over-arching. My other hobbies have faded away. I am a runner, but in my mind I am nothing else.
Today I went for a run, and I felt terrible. My heart was thumping out of my chest, and my legs would barely move. I am exhausted. Who am I?
...I need to find myself...
....I should go for a run.
It's been a generally bad year so far. I make no secret of the fact that I have mental health problems. They have been troubling me. I have felt myself become isolated and I have lost my enthusiasm. I have lost a close friend because of my difficult nature. I feel uncertain of my future.
That's the problem with racing when you have depression. The racing becomes a way to vindicate yourself. One bad race, and you lose all faith in yourself. 2 bad races and your world might as well have ended. At that point, you have become worthless. Because your only worth is in winning races, right? That's when people praise you, that's when people want to know you. The rest of the time you are just...nothing.
And even if you do do well in a race, you always know you could have done better....
That is the rut I have found myself in more and more this year, and it is sapping me of strength, and taking the pleasure out of running. Because, as a result of this, every bad run (not just race, but run) becomes overwhelming. And bad runs become more frequent. I find myself stopping and sitting by the side of the trail from sheer exhaustion after only a few miles. Instead of coming back from a training run and feeling satisfied and accomplished, I come back in tears. Why has my body stopped doing what I'm telling it to?
I have begun to examine the role of running in my life. Why do I do it? What does it mean to me? Why is it significant?
There are many reasons. Fresh air, love of the outdoors, desire to travel. But there are 4 major reasons which I identified.
1. I run to remain slim. I was surprised to find this at the top of the list, but the truth is, having suffered from anorexia as a teenager, and then piled on a load of weight in my early 20's, the fact that I can remain quite slim despite relatively normal food intake is massively liberating and comforting. And yes, when I can't run, I do withhold food from myself. My ideal figure is an androgynous one, and the years since I started ultra-running are those I have been most comfortable with my body.
2. Endorphins. I know that I get cranky and agitated when I can't exercise. I get sad, I stop eating (see reason 1), I drink more alcohol. I joke with people that running is just a more socially-acceptable form of opioid addiction, but it's closer to the truth than a joke. And point 2 is intimately interlinked with point...
...3. The good run. You know this one. The run that feels effortless. Your feet have wings attached and you glide. Your mind is free, your body is part of the air around you. I'm not an inherently spiritual person, but this is the closest I get to meditation.
4. Competition. I fit the stereotype; high grades at school, anorexic, competitive from an early age (originally in music). My mum always recalls how I phoned her in tears when I got a 2:1 in my second semester at uni. Her friends couldn't understand why I was upset, because 2:1 is good, correct? But for me, it wasn't a 1st and that was the point. These days I am not ambitious in my job, but in my running. I strive to achieve...to win. Then, if I do, I feel no sense of achievement and am still acutely aware of my own inadequacy.
And herein lies the problem. I have begun to define myself by this. These points have become over-arching. My other hobbies have faded away. I am a runner, but in my mind I am nothing else.
Today I went for a run, and I felt terrible. My heart was thumping out of my chest, and my legs would barely move. I am exhausted. Who am I?
...I need to find myself...
....I should go for a run.
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