It really hit home on holiday in Boston. We walked for miles (which was fine) but I started to notice that climbing stairs was starting to leave me feeling out of breath and a bit wonky. Deciding to climb the Bunker Hill Monument (294 steps…) probably wasn’t my best idea. To be fair, initially I did say that Ginge should go up on his own and I’d look at the photos, but I hate the idea of missing out on something exciting. So I climbed it, eventually reaching the top red-faced and glowing like a shire horse.

What I climbed.

I was not a happy bunny. “You wouldn’t believe I ran a half-marathon last month” I muttered, “look at me”. The realisation dawned that I might be on borrowed time as far as running is concerned.

Today’s effort confirmed that run-walking is now the order of the day.  Ginge joined me on a canal run on which I chose the route (up hill through a series of locks) and then announced “I’m not very good with hills. Or inclines. Or slopes. Or bridges”.  There was a lot of run-walking on the way out, but I was chuffed to discover that on the return downhill, I managed it all in one go (albeit at a much slower pace and with a much redder face than normal). My plan is to stop running when it’s either too uncomfortable or I don’t enjoy it (and presumably, if it’s too uncomfortable I won’t enjoy it anyway…). I suppose technically I have had my Last Run (managing any kind of distance without walking) but if you don’t mind, I’ll keep calling my run-walking ‘running’ because it’s easier and makes me feel better.

In the meantime, I have renewed my gym membership (with an option to take a break for a few months) and I’ve (foolishly) signed up for Juneathon so that’s some more motivation to keep myself active.

We set off and halfway down the M6 I realised that I’d forgotten my Garmin (which had been specially charged the night before). Slightly further down the M6 I realised that I’d forgotten my shuffle. By the time we reached Sephton Park and I totted up everything I’d forgotten, I realised that I was quite pleased that I had managed to be fully dressed. We timed our arrival well for the queue for the loos and had time for a quick hello with Runningman856 before I headed off to the start line and Ginge headed off to find food (unfortunately for Ginge, my last minute decision meant that he was ripped from his bed with little or no warning. Sorry Ginge).

I had no plan for the race other than getting round in one piece. I had no Garmin so I had no idea what pace I was running and I had no shuffle so I had nothing to distract me. I did have a bottle of water and my camera though, both of which turned out to be quite essential. Even when I’m well hydrated, I’m finding that I’m quite thirsty at the start of a run and today was unexpectedly warm. Having been promised overcast and cool, the sun was shining and I set off wondering if Hels (who has a knack of bringing sunshine and high temperatures to every race she attends) had snuck up North.

I’m rubbish at running in the warm at the best of times and was sensible enough to realise that today was a day to just take it easy and enjoy myself. Which is just what I did.

I had time to take in the scenery and watch a small dog debate the wisdom of chasing a large football into a river (sadly I missed the final outcome).

I smiled and “thank you-ed” all of the lovely marshalls who lined the course cheering us on.

I didn’t feel my heart sink as I was overtaken by the front-running gazelles peeling off to the finish line as I hit the 5k mark, instead I let the cheers that were clearly not meant for me carry me through. I did a lot of run/walking and didn’t stress about it. I enjoyed a short-lived second wind at the 6k mark.

I didn’t worry that I didn’t have a cap for my water bottle, but I did take the opportunity to decant my water station bottle into the bottle I had set off with.

I bounced past the official drummers and the chap who was beating out some skillful tunes on what looked like pots and pans…

I also enjoyed spotting Ginge as he popped up unexpectedly around the course.

If you look closely, you can see a blurry figure lounging in a tree like an over-grown squirrel. This is Ginge.

The race was organised by the same people as last year’s Port Sunlight 10k which I loved and I had high expectations about the organisation of the race. I wasn’t disappointed. Everything ran like clockwork, there were pens based on finishing time, the course was well signposted and well marshalled, my time was texted to me within minutes of crossing the finish and (probably most importantly) there the bling was splendid. So splendid that I had the back engraved to mark my last race until bump becomes baby. There’s actually quite a nice symmetry to today. A few years ago, when I wasn’t bothered about racing (basically before I discovered my inner Muttley) I ran the Liverpool Women’s 10k as my first ever race and today’s race has replaced the Women’s 10k in the Merseyside race calendar.

So this is it for me and racing for a bit, I’ve finished today with a few more aches and pains than I would usually have after a 10k and I think my ligaments are telling me that I should keep the distance down from now on. From this point on, I will run my races vicariously on twitter, plot my comeback for 2014 and cast longing looks at medal monkey and his hoard of bling.

It was more like 2.62 than 26.2 (and well done to everyone who ran London today – I treat you all with reverence and respect. Oh, and good luck with entering next year’s ballot!) but I did get to see some black lambs wearing white socks.

Initially the sheep were all quite far away, but while I took photos they started to trot over to me.

I’m not sure whether I simply caused a false alarm for breakfast time…

…or whether I’d triggered some kind of ovine uprising…

…I didn’t stick around to find out.

My symptoms have been a magnified version of the normal, unpregnant me – I’ve been hungry and sleepy. I say sleepy, I cannot express just how knackered I’ve been. The hunger (exacerbated by having to replace the calories I’ve used on a run) has had its moments. I particularly enjoyed the weekend when I went out for lunch with work and hoovered up a massive portion of fishcakes and chips with sticky toffee pudding to finish.

This was followed the day after with a pub tea of where I polished off a steak pudding and then had praise from the bar staff for putting away apple crumble and custard… I am trying to keep an eye on my excesses, I promise.

This next bit is my thoughts at the end of my first week of knowing. My midwife appointment was on Friday and I ran the Mad Dog 10k on the Sunday…

On Monday (the night before we found out) I entered the ballot for the Royal Parks Half. I think it was an act of defiance, a way of shaking my fist at the fates, but without going for the ‘pay now’ option (I’m not daft). Today the ballot results were out. Never have I been so pleased to get a race email with the subject “Sorry, it’s bad news”. There will be no squirrel chasing in the park for me this year.

I am still narky about the tea.

You see, when I googled ‘running pregnancy’, the first page of results throws up a Daily Mail article with the headline “‘You selfish cow!’: One of the insults hurled at me by other mothers as I jogged… because I’m pregnant”. I should know better than to click on a link to the Fail, but I couldn’t resist (and then went one step further by going below the line to read the reader’s comments…) and it made me a bit apprehensive. At that time I couldn’t even blog about it – my family sometimes comment (mainly during January and June) that they only know what I’m up to by reading it here and I felt that this wasn’t an appropriate way to pass on such news…

So I blogged about it anyway. In secret. Only twice, but this was enough to get things straighter in my head. Anyway. This is what I wrote (well it’s part one of what I wrote).

It’s funny how things turn out. One night I’m looking at race pace calculator apps and discussing a sensible half marathon time that would be achievable with a realistic training plan, the next night (literally) I’m looking at a wee sodden stick that is saying in no uncertain terms “pregnant” (the digital tests actually say pregnant, it makes it a whole lot more real than just squinting at a blue cross…).

Yup. Pregnant. I know some of you read this blog at work, so I won’t go into detail about my initial response (just to say that the level of effing and jeffing wouldn’t get past anybody’s security features). To put it mildly, it was a bit of a shock. After the swearing came a bit of a cry, where I bawled that I am far too selfish to be a good mum and that the poor child would be better off being raised by wolves.

After not too long I started to think about running. I had just declared that this would be my best half training ever, I’ve signed up for more races than ever and now it just seemed….pointless. Lots of things seemed pointless. What was the point in even trying to run when I’ll have to stop soon? What was the point in knitting anything ever again? (I’m not sure what my logic was this one). I am going to be responsible for a tiny human being, I would have no time, no energy, no nothing. I was no longer going to be me. This lasted overnight and into the next morning -  poor Ginge had to endure my continued mithering that it was all bleak and hopeless. So he kicked me out for a run and I came back with a smile on my face.

Unable to go down my usual route of finding stuff out (ask twitter) I asked google about running during pregnancy and I have to say that I mostly liked what I saw. The general rule of thumb seems to be, if you’re already doing it you can keep doing it, don’t knacker yourself (I usually maintain the recommended conversational pace while running – with hindsight this might be why I’ve never really improved…) and listen to your body. Oh and drink lots, but be prepared to be shameless about nipping behind a hedge for a pee.

As I write this, I’m slightly fazed about the fact that I have no idea what my body has got in store for me over the next few weeks. It’s not like being injured where you know that you can’t necessarily mend yourself, but following advice about resting/icing/strapping/stretching/rolling might help the healing process along a bit. I know that my body has the potential to blindside me completely with tiredness, nausea and all sorts of things. I want to keep exercising for as long as possible (and am coming up with plans b and c in case the running isn’t a goer) but I’m realistic to acknowledge that it’s not as simple as just wanting this to happen.

Today I am mostly narky that my usual tea intake has been curbed.

Yup. It turns out that there were actually two of us completing the last couple of weeks of Janathon (I wonder if this gets me restrospective bonus points on the table of death?) and whilst I’ve been running (and have reacquainted myself with the gym) since getting the blessing off the midwife, I have been doing what feels comfortable rather than Serious Training (not that I ever do that much of that).

I’ve had races booked in since January (the moral of this story, don’t try to plan ahead – the gods will mock you) and have done two of the 10k’s that I had planned, but Blackpool was a different matter. I was inspired by the woman who set off (and I suspect finished) in front of me at the Royal Parks Half wearing a five months baby on board sign, but could I do the same? I did what has become my standard research procedure (googling whatever I want to know about + pregnant…) mostly to find uber-fit running moms (they were mostly American) who looked slimmer at 20 weeks pregnant than I did before I was pregnant. This did not fill me full of confidence.

The Monday before race day, I started coming down with a bit of a snuffle. As the week went on, I became more and more snot-filled before it moved on to my chest and by Friday, I was doubting whether I would even make it to the start line. When I packed my bag on Saturday I was feeling better but still I packed for running and not running (just in case). After I checked in at the incredibly lovely and friendly New Bond Hotel, I met up with Ian aka runningman856 (who was my designated responsible adult), collected our race numbers, went for a pint (of blackcurrant in my case) and then went carb-loading at a rather nice little Thai restaurant (where I think the chillis helped clear my lurgy).

I went to bed with everything crossed that I would wake up feeling well enough to run.

Sunday morning came, I took a deep breath…and didn’t cough, rattle or wheeze. I could breathe and felt as human as you can do at half six in the morning when you know there’s a 13 mile run in the offing. After collecting a somewhat grumpy Ian from his hotel (apparently someone didn’t have a good a night’s sleep as I did…), we mooched down the front to meet Carla*(aka Fortnight Flo) who had ventured up north with her somewhat bonkers mates from Stopsley Striders. I had pre-warned Carla about me having a bun in the oven and she had very kindly offered to run with me doing 11.30/12 minute miles. Perfect.

There was a somewhat chaotic start to the race and Miles didn’t manage to get a signal until about a third of a mile into the race, but it wasn’t long until we were heading south down the promenade, inhaling the smell of doughnuts, eyeing up the roller coasters and pondering on the health and safety issues involved with staging burlesque on ice. I’m not used to running with company anymore, but running with Carla and Christa was an absolute joy and I don’t think I stopped grinning for at least the first five miles (their performance of Staying Alive as we ran past a giant glitterball was simply amazing).

The route is traffic-free and took us along either on the closed prom or the pedestrian-only sea front. The sea front nearly did for me. At first, it’s very nice running right beside the sea, but soon the endless sight of sea-to-the-left, sea-wall-to-the-right became somewhat dull. I say somewhat dull, if it wasn’t for Carla’s company and encouragement, I think I would have found a reason to give up at this point. Luckily, the turn-around took us back up into civilisation and gave us plenty of landmarks to keep us going. When we passed the hotel where I stay during Janathon, I knew that I really was on the home stretch and convinced myself that because I had run the route before, I could certainly do it again (although I haven’t usually run 10 miles when I set off from there).

Soon we were passing North Pier and the tower was looming closer into view. I’d already clocked the 12 mile marker the day before and knew exactly which shop it was in front of – never in my life have I been so pleased to see a Poundland… By this time, it was midday and the prom was much more filled with holiday makers and bleary-eyed stag do’s (some of who gave encouraging cheers and applause to the idiot runners) and I found it much easier than the previous quiet stretch. Coming into Bloomfield Road for a stadium finish, I couldn’t see Carla for dust as she pulled an amazing sprint-finish out of the bag and I came in slighty behind her in a not too shabby 2 hours 39 minutes 05 seconds on my chip time (about ten minutes slower than my previous half results).

Ian did his duty by handing me my bottle of chocolate milk and I collected my bling and goodie bag, before we collapsed onto the refreshingly cold concrete floor (to get up, I had to use the technique that I used to teach to older people who had fallen…). My ankles and right hip were complaining bitterly yesterday afternoon and I swore every time I had to go up or down a kerb (luckily this has now passed and I have been left with the normal post-race sore quads).

I’d stuck to my my basic rules – stay hydrated (carrying water between stations rather than taking a swig and chucking the bottle away), listen to my body (and hearing only the usual whinging from it) and don’t do anything bloody stupid. Could I have done it without the support that I had from Ginge (whose encouragement gave me the confidence to even consider the whole enterprise) and my on the day Athoner friends? Probably not. I really can’t say enough about how Carla’s pacing and company lifted me through the race – I would highly recommend her if anyone needs a running buddy!

I am also reassured that by the end of Sunday afternoon, I was already thinking about when I might do it all again – Autumn half in 2014 anyone?

(*Carla’s race review is here)

Queue for the ladies – thankfully, I had just been…

After a bit of research, I eschewed the promise of scenic surroundings doing the St Helens 10k (also, no bling) and opted for the Stroke Association’s 10k Resolution Run in Delamere Forest. I liked the sound of a nice run in the woods and as a special mother’s day treat, I took mum along to be my race day support.

Start line before the organised jollity started

Like many charity races, there was a jolly warm up of bouncing around and waving arms (I think it was more choreographed than that). Now, rarely do I warm up to motivational music and even if I did opt into the bouncing, I’m so uncoordinated that I would probably punch someone in the face (by accident, obviously). For everybody’s safety I opted out of the warm up and skulked at the edge.

The far biggest cheer of the morning went up when the race organiser announced that the route had been amended because one of the hills wasn’t safe to run. Yay!

After a bit of a puddle-dodging bottleneck at the start, we all found our space and set off for two laps of the lake. It was all very scenic and tree-lined, and I didn’t even seem to mind that it was snowing a bit. Obviously the forest was still open to other people and we were sharing our route with walkers, non-racing runners,cyclists, horse-riders and a couple on a tandem. Overhead ran the ropes and bridges of Go Ape, an activity that I fancy doing until I remember my fears of gaps and edges.

Being away from home and not being certain of the weather, I had hedged my bets by stuffing most of my kit in my bag before settling on long tights, my snug vest top, my thick long sleeved top and my gloves. Normally, my gloves are off by the first mile, but as I only regained the feeling in my fingers by mile four, they stayed on all the way to the end. My shiny new trainers are also now well and truly christened because of the mud and the puddles that were unavoidable throughout the route (I come from the “if you can’t go round it, you’ll have to go through it” school of thought).

Me and my murdering gloves showing off bling

Coming through the finish line there were two people handing out medals – I couldn’t get the attention of one of them and and when I approached the other, he announced gravely “I’ve run out…”. I dread to think what kind of dark expression passed across my face at that news. Luckily I spotted a woman delving into a box full of medals and went to help myself to bling (just one, I promise).

Just before I realised that there was a self-service medal box…

Reunited with mum (who was wonderfully easy to spot in her red anorak – it was like following Little Red Riding Hood through the woods, only she had a rucksack rather than a basket of goodies) we nipped into the cafe for some restorative cake and a sigh of relief that we didn’t end up being part of this event…

There are 18 Resolution Runs nationwide covering 5, 10 and 15k distances – the race fee includes a t-shirt (or for an extra £2.50, a tecnhical running vest) and all help to raise funds and awareness for the Stroke Association.

It’s twice been voted the best 10k in the country by Runners World and I have to say that it’s a well deserved accolade. Starting from a school, there were warm corridors to take shelter in, indoor loos (and plentiful portaloos outside), a clockwork-like t-shirt collection and nice volunteers who let mum have a carrier bag to keep all my stuff in. There were loads of food vans (which smelled amazing) and a man with a megaphone keeping everyone updated on the delay.

Huddling at the start line for warmth, the Mad Dog theme was unmissable on the various fluorescent signs and with the sound of ‘Who Let the Dogs Out?’ ringing in our ears (well if getting away from that isn’t going to make you run faster I don’t know what would) we were off.

I set off by following the Grim Reaper  (who incidentally was accompanied by Tigger, which has to be the best his-and-hers fancy dress combo ever) until I overtook Death around the 2k mark. This point was also marked by a team of drummers who could be heard for about a kilometre either side of them (and there’s nothing like drummers to put a smile on my face and a spring in my step).

At 4k I high-fived Elvis.

Well-manned drinks stations between 5 and 6k, then ‘It’s raining men’ blasting out from route-side speakers, a fabulous marshal telling us we were on our way home, the sound of drummers getting louder as we reached 8k and then it was 9k and the end was in sight. After crossing the line we were handed a very weighty goody bag, fruit and more water if needed. Oh, and my chip time was texted to me by the time I found mum (less than five minutes after finishing. All this and I beat Death.

The support along the route was amazing, from the marshalls to the cadets to the staff from Chicquitos huddled under a gazebo, it was never-ending. Add to this the fact that there seemed to be something going on around every corner and this race passed quicker than any I have done.

And there’s also bespoke bling…

And the goody bag was heavy for a reason…

And there was a rather special technical t-shirt…

Fingers crossed I’ll be running with the pack again next year.

Thank you to mum for being brilliant support, taking a photo of me where I look like I am actually running and bringing a flask of tea and a box of biscuits. She has made a rod for her own back with this one…

I own a sewing machine but mostly it languishes, loved but unused, in the cupboard under the stairs, however for a long while I’ve had a hankering to have a go at machine embroidery. So I asked Father Christmas for the ways and means and was lucky to get needles, a hoop, pointy scissors and two lovely books (Beginners Guide to Machine Embroidery by Pam Watts and Freehand Machine Embroidery by Poppy Treffry) from mum and a day’s course at the Ministry of Craft from Ginge. Buying me a course ensures that there will be at least one occasion when I do the actual thing that has caught my eye this particular time…

This morning I ventured into Manchester and tried to maintain my focus going downstairs in the tempting Aladdin’s cave that is Fred Aldous . The course was a full day with the morning getting to grips with the sewing machines, having a play with the different stitches and making a small appliquéd picture of our own choosing.

Having flicked through the resources that Sam the teacher had supplied and become slightly intimidated by everyone else’s artistic genius, I settled on a puffin. I like a puffin and I also like to prove that I am aware that penguins are not the only seabird.

I was quite chuffed with the little fellow but wanted to experiment more with machine embroidery techniques (rather than just sewing straight-ish lines on appliqué) and hatched a plan for our bag decorating in the afternoon… After a quick google image search for seed heads and some doodling, I was ready to cut out my basic shapes and stick them down before running free with the thread.

Apart from nearly going blind doing the tiny circles in the centre, having one or two thread mishaps and accidentally sewing the bag handle to the back of the picture, I don’t think that I made a bad job of it.

It’s rather wonderful seeing your design appear in front of you and there’s no room for being hesitant with the marks that you make; if I try to draw in pencil, I will go over my lines any number of times trying to get it ‘right’, but using the sewing machine you just have to go for it.

This is the second course that I’ve done with the Ministry of Craft – the first was making tiny Fimo cake jewellery – and I would heartily recommend them to anyone wanting to try a new craft or brush up their skills. They even do Sew Your Own Knickers afternoons!

I know it’s all over because I have been allowed my traditional post-Athon barbecue and have gorged on sausage and Ginge’s homemade handground burgers (50% brisket, 50% sirloin, 0% horse). When I got in from work I wasn’t even allowed a crisp until I had gone out and run, which I suppose is fair enough.

I only did a paltry 2 miles to take my Athon total to a round 110 (having learned about the perils of finishing on a Nelson from Abradypus, I wasn’t going to do 3 and I certainly wasn’t going to do 4…) but I did choose the direction that has more of a hill in it, so I’m not entirely lazy.

So, now we’re at the end of this ridiculous folly, have I learned anything? Kind of. I know my body is very unhappy with me, I am tired and lots of me aches. I am looking forward to a few rest days (happily these involve a weekend in London for the post-Janathon pizza and pub combo).

I have entered a ridiculous amount of races while I was giddy on Athon endorphins. I am now faced with the prospect of having to (a) train and (b) run them. I have my first one in just over a week…

I didn’t especially change my diet during Janathon and I certainly wasn’t on a diet, but it’s managed to take nearly 5lb off my weight at the start of the new year. This pleases me. This morning I saw numbers on the scales that I haven’t seen for months (possibly years) – this also pleases me, although after this weekend I suspect that I will be back at square one.

Athoners are amazing. I have loved reading people’s blogs – old favourites and all the new ones – and love the fact that everyone tackles an Athon differently, but you know what? It doesn’t matter. Amongst the many that I have enjoyed, I am faint with admiration for Benjiboyw who has set a new Athon record of 501 miles. I have loved the daily sheeps of Jovial Gnome. And of course runningman856 who has been very gracious in defeat after our Janathon mini-challenge about who would do more miles (I suspect that this originally involved a drunken throwing down of gauntlets).  Thank you all for keeping me entertained, arse kicking me when necessary and for all your lovely comments on here. It’s certainly helped to keep me going – I was wary of doing Janathon after having such fun doing my Juneathon treasure hunt, but have enjoyed most (if not every) minute of it.

A special thank you has to go out to Ginge, without whom we would starve and live in squalor throughout the Athons. On the quiet, he has also exercised every day and has whinged a lot less than I have.

(Oh and of course thank you to the JogBlog, Queen of the Athons, without whom none of us would be doing any of this and who will be rewarded with flapjacks).

See you in June!