I will rise now…

Every tweet/instagram/blog post has beautifully bee condensed into 8 minutes of emotional visuals. Love and Respect to Danielle of WonderLondon Films. 

The dust has settled. The medal takes up prize position on my fathers shelf. This part of the journey has come to an end.

What is funnily enough never mentioned in those pesky training plans, is the emptiness you will be left with once the finish line hasbeen crossed.

All of a sudden my diary is flung wide open and I can socialise again. I have no fifteen mile runs to ‘look forward’ to and i don’t quite know what to do with myself.

Once the tantrums had unfolded, tears dried and head deflated. I had to make some decisions.

Yes, I will run again. This tour has nothing to do with me and everything to do with HIV/AIDS. I will not stop until the stigma does. Point blank period. Two people I know and love are HIV+ Interacting with them allows me to simmer my ego and remember why I began this journey in the first place. Many runners take part in the physical to boost their own ego. I understand it. but I don’t co-sign it.

The fact I began to champion Avert is what has kept me going through the darker times.

I will do my best to mentor more ‘minorities’ and ensure that next years VLM has more black girls than a Snoop Dogg video. I understand that I am an unwilling role model. While there are no immediate plans to sack off my ‘recreational activities’ I will endeavour to lead a healthier lifestyle, if thats what it takes to get more people DOING DA TING.

All upcoming races have been put on pause. An X-ray revealed that I disrupted my ACL on the VLM race. That coupled with the fact that my stress fracture, still causes me stress, I am taking some time off. A month actually. I’ll probably have to come bad with a couch to 5k plan but fuck it, at least I’ll be able to walk in the shoes I work so hard for.

Whatever I do next, will not be so public. This space will always stand and the updates will continue to be regular but the time of inviting every tom dick and undeserving sally into the mix are well and truly over. This path we shuffle along is mighty lonely. While we are pressured into believing that we need assistance all of the time the marathon taught me that no one knows what you’re going through. So as the tour progress’ I am going to be playing my cards a lot closer to my chest.

To everyone that has donated thus far, there are no words that can entertain my gratitude.

To all those who consider me a role model, thank you. But remember I am human and when my shit hits the fan, it stinks more than most.

“Like most others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles – a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other – that kept me going.” Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary

DO DA TING

Cx

Waiting for the end….VLM2012 RACE RECAP

“This is not the end. This is not the beginning…”

I’m all alone in the flat.  Looking up at my London Marathon bling, I have to fight back the tears. I can’t believe I have fluid left within my sockets. Every time I think I am done, another text comes though and I am back to base. I want to have a soak in the bath, but fear I wont be able to get out without aid! I try not to drop things because bending down is not a strong point. I completed 26.2 miles.

I was alone in my pen. But there was a calm about the atmosphere. None of that useless fidgeting I normally conduct while in lockdown. I was just there. Staring into the beautiful landscape of Blackheath. I had not run in over a week. But my foot and knee played up still. I had a plan; ride until the wheels fall off. That was it. I looked down at my two pace bands and knew that if my leg held up; I could rock them out with ease.

Beneath the sun, I saw two familiar figures. Clutching onto the cold metal railings, I pushed myself up

“Nathaniel! Darren!” I wailed

Spotting me, Natty ran over

We embraced like we were both desperate for physical confirmation that we would be ok.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you too.”

Then I watched as he and Darren made their way to a pen behind me.

Then we were moving. Being thrust forward on a wave of human limbs, I made a sign of the cross and I lunged over the start mat. Sticking to the red lines of the road, I made it my business to keep myself to myself. Of all the races I’ve ever navigated, this was the tightest. There was no point in speeding up. Looking down at my watch, it was reading 8’53min/miles. I didn’t even notice. I have always been warned about starting too quickly in the Marathon.

Eager beavers sped on but I soon found a 10:30 pace next to a Grandad who clearly done this often. Fuck following a young buck. I was all about sourcing the OAP pacers. The streets were thick with well-wishers. The sun was hot. By the time I made it to 5k, I welcomed the water stand. Sipping while listening to Bon Iver, I smiled. I felt a touch on my back and it was Sami, swiftly followed by Robin.

“You ok hun? Want company?’

“Nuh uh!’ I spat.

“Go ‘head. I got this.”

I watched as they slipped under the current and I sat back into my stride.  Miles three to ten flew past in a blur. I stopped to pet a pug. Slapped every kid’s hand. Posed for a pic with an auntie who was clearly overwhelmed, dapped the hands of all the hood man and just remained thankful for the opportunity.

I had been running near a father and son, when it was clear that the father’s knee could not continue.

“Go on, Son. Go get your time.” He ordered, while fumbling with his bandaged knee.

“No. We walk together.” The Son shot back, while scooping his Dad under his arm.

I let the salty tears roll beneath my RayBans. That was the first of many signs of undying love, I would encounter.

I let thoughts of my own father swim through my mind as I reached into my fanny pack for another gel.

Ten minutes later my iPod shuffle declared it would soon die. Normally I’d panic but for some reason that wave of clam prevailed. I reached for my phone and rang Charlie.

“Hi Charlie! I am approaching Tower Bridge and my iPod will not hold up. Please have one ready!” I shouted

Within minutes he text me back to let me know all would be well. Bless that mans heart.

I continued on. Approaching Tower Bridge, I slipped my headphones off and soaked up the well whishes. As if God himself had orchestrated it I heard ‘Candice!’

It was the confident tone that made my head snap round. It was Melissa! I screamed. She screamed. She grabbed a picture and sent me off with a kiss.

Coming over Tower Bridge, I turned around and ran backwards. Punching the air as I went. This was my fav bridge and part of my most precious memory with my Dad. It hit me then. I was running the London Marathon. As I hit the middle of the bridge, I saw Denise Lewis. She outstretched her hand and put jelly babies in mine! The moment could not have been more perfect.

Charlie had already instructed that if your not prepared, this is where the race would get you. Naturally coming off Tower bridge, your body wants to go left but the course forces you to head right. I was prepared. My body followed the course with ease. And I marveled at the runners already hitting the mile 23 mark on the other side.

Onto magic mile 14! My fav number, I recognized this as the beginning of the route Charlie had guided me down weeks previous. Locked in the zone. A figure stepped out in front of me!

Uncle Ian. We embraced and I admitted that I was feeling tired. The sun was beating but I had fuel left and was still running strong. I took this as the opportunity to have a cigarette break. Smoke in hand; I overtook a fair few people. The gel seemed to be kicking in. The support was immense. Coming to mile 15, I felt a twinge in my leg but ignored it.

‘All you have to do is make it to mile 21’ I looked down at my knee, begging it to listen.

The darkness was looming. Mile 15 gave way to a tunnel. People were on the floor. Some were urinating. Others simply had no energy left. Running past, I was quickly stopped in my tracks.

As if scaffolding had been holding up my left leg, it buckled. Someone had taken a bolt out. I collapsed. My wails echoed and bounced off the tunnels walls. I rolled back and forth on the pavement. Begging the pain to stop.

Three runners came to my aid. Helping me to my feet, they alerted a member of St Johns Ambulance.

The black man on my right looked down at my shirt

“Candice. You do not have to go on. Do not break yourself.” He ordered while helping me to the medics.

‘Mile 21.” I cried.

He let me get snot all over his vest. I never got his name.

Much respect to SJA they do not play. Physio was on me in a flash. Asking me questions, rehydrating and beating the shit out of my leg. I rang Charlie from the back of the van.

“I’m with SJA. I don’t think I’ll make it round.” I sobbed in between wails of my knee being prodded.

“Where are you? Mile 16? Look for Natalie, she should be there, don’t move, we will come to you!”

Once again I was being sidelined in the race of my dreams. I felt like a failure. The SJA wanted me to stop. But I needed to go on. I had to get to mile 21. I had made a vow that I had to keep.

Thanking them and hobbling out of the van, I saw Natalie. Through the tears I could see she was getting ready to roll with me. Putting her backpack on, she put her arm around my shoulders and promised that she would never leave me. That by hook or by crook we would make it.

As the miles went by, I cannot tell you what an angel Natalie was. Because the truth is there are no words that suffice. It was then that I was able to align the physical with spiritual and get to grips with what the marathon means.

Sure for some it’s about time, endurance, VO2Max, negative splits, perfect splits and all the other things that will not care whether we make it round alive.

Love cares.  And Natalie had that in abundance yesterday.

Soon we came across Father and Son, who were still arm in arm, walking towards their rebirth. I cried from mile 16 to 20.

Between whimpers of ‘I can’t do this’ and having to stretch my knee out every five minutes, I felt beyond broken.

Natalie was quick in reminding me how far I had come. Not once did she let my self esteem falter.

Rounding the bend to mile 21, I began to shuffle. We could hear music. I knew that was my family. My finish line.

Clinging onto my right hammy, which kept cramping, I pushed. I just had to see…

I am a writer. But what happened next is beyond thesaurus or university education point of description.

Tahirah. Bangs. Dani. Peigh. I felt hands on me.

Natalie would not leave my side.

“Candice, you’ve got this.” Charlie demanded.

“I don’t, I don’t,” I moaned as I shuffled forward.

“Yes you have!” Screamed Tahirah.

I was home.

If I could stop time, I would have.

Who was I? Why did they wait for me? Commercial road had been turned into my homecoming. I could not fail them now. I could not fail us now.

8 miles previous, I’d been hailed up by the hood mandem, taken a picture with a 5yr old black girl, been chirpsed by a black dude and seen the look on aunties faces as I whipped around the way.

Word on the street was ‘Young black girls do not run marathons.’

I was here to change that.

I had to dig even deeper.

Keith ran ahead, camera in hand.

Jeggi, and Denis kept the feds off our case.

Peigh and Chaka took me either side.

Natalie and Angel made sure I was mentally together.

Dani, Tahirah and Bridget kept my mind off the pain.

Dad and Mama Bugg had sent my angels. The battle was not lost.

How could it be?

Some people finished their marathons in 2:20. Others in 8:20

Mine had taken 24 years.

In those last five miles I learned about guts, glory and the maturity of the human spirit. The rain came and still my angels surrounded me, keeping me spiritually dry.

I tried t run at mile 24 and fell. My legs were over it. My angels were not. Peigh and Chaka took my body weight and carried me.

Fuck Twitter, Email and Texts. These people were down for the doing, not the saying. They used their own adversity to esteem my own. I was running a marathon for a group of people who had been forgotten. This was our time to claim back the streets that had once turned their backs on us. The people that doubted. Those that we made uncomfortable just by being ourselves.

Approaching mile 25, I saw my friend Stephanie. Huddled under her Umbrella with her boyfriend, she had waited.

I saw her lips move but was now in a daze. Just seeing her face made me believe that this would soon be over.

Coming through Westminster, the chants of my name froze my heart. This could not be real.

“You got this now, you fucking superstar!” Screamed Peigh.

“Almost there!” Encouraged a police officer.

I could see the finish.

I had envisioned the finish.

Chaka and Peigh let me go.

“Yes girl, bring it home baby!” Screamed Keith.

There was an almighty raw from the crowd. I looked over and noted not an eye was dry. My friends were here. We had made it.

I tried to sprint. My knee and thighs immediately made that impossible. Before I could fall backwards, Chaka and Peigh had me again.

They began to sprint.

With my feet off the ground, we all crossed the finish line together.

We made it.

Once my timing chip was removed and I’d been wrapped up like an xmas turkey, I felt myself sobbing uncontrollably.

Words were exchanged between my loved ones. Photos were taken. I was physically present for it all but my spirit was somewhere else. I still don’t know what to call that place.

A very tired man made his way over to me.

“I’ve been on your case since mile 9. You should be very proud of yourself.  You are built for this. You can endure.”

Through wet eyes and a horse throat I thanked him.

And so with that, I completed that phase. I am safely through another level.

But please understand, I have done nothing to deserve praise or esteem. All the credit should be handed to my crew. A group of people who did not hesitate to ensure the journey was completed. I am forever indebted to a million hearts. Every hand that offered a jelly baby. Every stranger who cheered me on. To my mentors Charlie and Bangs. To you, the reader of this space. To Avert, a charity that have supported me in supporting them. My family. My tribe. My crew.

As the sun sets on the most highly anticipated scene of my life thus far, I feel alert. Wise. Sensitive. Making my way around the course. I finally got it. Reading the emails and texts from young women who think this is only a dream, I got it.

I have a plan.

As my body heals, the wheels are in motion.

Remain unrealistic. It will not kill you. It will make you stronger.

“Waiting for the end to come,

wishing I had strength to stand

This is not what I had planned…

Its out of my control….”

5 DAYS TIL LONDON MARATHON!

DO DA TING!

Cx

End Credits….

With less than two weeks to go, it’s time to admit that no more can be done and what happens on the 22^nd, happens.

I don’t know if this is usual come taper time but my emotions have been all over the place. Most normally in a little town called ‘Rage’ just over from ‘DO NOT LOOK DIRECTLY IN MY EYES!’

I began training in November, with hindsight that I should get the miles in early because I knew that there would be more drinking than running. While I’m happy I did, it means that I’ve been training far longer than anyone I know and I really am just ready to wrap this shit up. Like fo reals fo reals.

In the middle of one of my scheduled ‘fuck you and your mama too’ shout outs, Rochelle Bugg’s mother passed away.

Mama Bugg

Rochelle

You may remember Rochelle doing a guest post on Valentines Day as a memorial piece for her father. Her mother spent too long fighting a brain tumor, which unfortunately won.

Upon receiving the news, I had a little meltdown. Rochelle has been one of the main reasons I am coming out the other side of the grief tunnel unscathed. Our lives draw too many parallels for me to think that we found each other by chance. So to hear that her mum finally took the leap into the unknown shook me to my core.

Once again, there was one of my peers. A role model of sorts, without the guidance they needed and it sucks.

But what I did take from that is a sly reminder of why the fuck I’m gonna bust my ass and run this marathon like a boss bitch. It isn’t for a time, people or even bragging rights.

It’s a tip of my hat to the memory of man who taught me to endure against all odds.

I have become so wrapped up in the marathon hysteria that I have totally forgotten why this journey began.  So bundled in folly, I lost track of who I am and have tried in vain to do this running thing every way but my own.

No more fam, no fucking more.

There are no words that can describe how excited I am. With everyday, fear becomes less obtrusive and I find myself laughing- anywhere at dinner or in the shower, thinking; I’m running the London Marathon! At which point, I do a little VLM dance and cackle some more. This is truly remarkable shit. The idea itself is absurd. But if there is anyone that can handle the ridiculousness of it all, you best believe I’m involved.

So here we are, all of us. With different perspectives, morals and ideals. And here I am, me running for the memory of awesome parents who just want us to win.

Sitting here, looking at the special marathon top RDC and Rosie Lees hooked up for me, I am honored, humbled. With incense and cymbals at the ready, I beg all foolishness to stay out of my way until the 23^rd. I am focused, involved and so ready to do da ting that any foolywang is beneath the epic shit that is about to unfold.

Young black women like me ain’t supposed to run marathons.

I hear the whispers and feel the vibes.

To that, I hush my lip and await the 23^rd, when I’ll be giggling, medal around neck, having known that somewhere along those 26.2 miles, there is a little girl just like me that knows regardless of circumstance she can do it.

I’m about too.

DO DA TING!

Oi! Whose that RunDemCrew?!

So it’s my last night in Berlin, I am sipping a whisky sour and munching a chocolate brownie, thinking about how blessed I am. I need to take the time out to just thank the Divine intention that has allowed me to be who I am. This shit rocks. No refunds or exchanges. I am happy to be here.

FACT.

To be here in this time and place, surrounded by characters that amuse, vex, love and push me. To be in this awesome city that is full of life and culture. To have witnessed what hard work and dedication can achieve when applied diligently and correctly.

Watching 40k people cross the start line of the Berlin Half, solidified an idea I’d been toying with for a while.

I AM GOING TO RUN FOREVER.

In the run up to the race, I had bitched about being benched and even devised a plan to run away early Sunday morning and just re group after I’d snatched my medal. But I knew there was a lesson to be learned. But was I big enough to let my yes be a yes and my no be a no?

After much smack talk, I decided to do the right thing and stand on the other side of the barriers. And I’m so glad I did.

One by one, as my crew mates came blowing into the home straight, there I was, stood on a box, waving a cowbell, screaming my ass off. And that moment when someone who really needs you, spots you and wilds the fuck out, is the best visual orgasm ever. I cried many times.

There were gunfingers, kisses, tears and anger. I was out there for three hours, urging everyone of my crew to make it home in one piece because I know that feeling.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!” I kept screaming at Algy, who too had been benched due to injury.

In three weeks time, I’m going to need support like a three way sports bra from M&S. I have to rest of training and pray that my body remembers what it needs to do. I have to have confidence in my abilities. I have to have the time of my life, cause God knows when I’m going to get to do this again.

‘If you don’t run, you must cheer!’

I do run. And I cheer. Because both sides of the barriers are part of the same race.

Come on London, I am waiting.

DO DA TING!

Cx

What makes you strong?

I am sitting in the back of a cab as I write this. It’s 11pm on the dot on a mild Tuesday night and instead of drowning in sweat, I ‘ve been licking my wounds and entertaining my pride.

Today I went for what I assumed would be a routine, if long over due sports massage. After meeting Jack of Bodymetrics in Barbican, we went through the usual shpeel which I was sure was ever only reserved for lawsuit purposes.

We discussed the niggling pain I had reoccurring in my left foot, ankle, shin and knee. Ok leg, LEG!

Once I hopped on the table and Jack started to do da ting, it became clear that this was more than just a slight niggle.

Between the words ‘Stress Fractures’ and ‘You should sit Berlin out if you want to have a chance in hell of completing London’ I blacked the fuck out.

How could this be? I ain’t even the most serious of runners. I entertain some strenuous jogging from time to time, sure. But STRESS FRACTURES. PLURAL? That’s reserved for runners who, I don’t know, STRESS! I’m not involved. I jog round, get my medal, thank the folks for coming out and then be on my way.

HOW COULD THIS BE HAPPENING TO ME?

But let me tell you something about intuition. I knew something was up from the moment I was allowed out of the pens in Paris. But I pushed through. Cause that’s what I’ve been taught to do. Dad dies? Push through. Ill Mum? Push through. Screaming foot pain? PUSH THE FUCK THROUGH.

So, I thought nothing of it. Even when limping home after the 20mile effort,  I assumed that’s what should be happening. I just ran twenty miles, it’s supposed to hurt.  Right?

Well no, apparently not as much as I was (not) letting on.

So to cut a long story short, I’ve been relegated to cheer team in Berlin. And for the first time in my (running) life, I’m going to listen. Not to denounce the importance of this race to many, fuck another half. I have my eyes on the full 26.2. To let it slide for my pride and persistence would be a crying shame.

On the flipside, I am now very excited about being on the other side of the race fence. I’ve never cheered for anyone before. I can say through experience that support is very important and I am privileged to be able to support my and other crews, who rep for the same cause; running hard.

In the words of a wee Scottish lass

“If you cannot run, you must cheer!’

And cheer I will!

Come we….

DO DA TING!

Cx

What more can I say?

I am sitting up in bed, when I should be on my way to a meeting with my solicitor. But walking isn’t really top of my list today. Why?

I RAN TWENTY MILES YESTERDAY!

I KNOW.

LETS ALL (ME) TAKE A MOMENT TO REALIZE WHAT THAT IS.

For me personally, that was from Croydon to Battersea. AND BACK.

I wont go into a mile by mile report.

But I will say this; that distance is to be respected and revered but never feared. The things I put my body through yesterday will stay with me forever. This morning I awoke a new woman. Not because I am somehow better than the previous version but because being alone for four hours and twenty two minutes, allows you to see versions of yourself, you would rather hide in the larder.

But I enjoyed myself. If that’s easy to believe! I really just soaked up the experience. I saw a LOT of runners out; heads down, frowns fixed, ugly outfits. None of them were having the party I was. Every so often, when I thought about what I was doing, I would punch the air and scream ‘fuck yeah’ much to the amusement of passers by. But I gained perspective.

This time last year, I was training for my first 10k. Six miles.

Now here I am, potty mouth, south London princess about to shut some shit down and make peace with myself and every person who ever told me, that I was not good enough. Every boyfriend whoever cheated. Every backstabbing friend.

This is part of my sincere ‘fuck you. And your mama too.’

The route I took just happened to be the one myself and Tahirah explored when doing out longest training run for RunToTheBeat. I couldn’t believe how far I had come. Literally.

I hit the wall in classic Candie fashion. As I came charging into mile 17, it felt as if the pavement had disappeared and my legs had electricity running through them. I was spent. My mind willed my legs to trudge forward but they stopped outside St Leonards church in Streatham and told my mind to come down and ‘do da ting’ if it was so easy.

I was forced to walk. Watching my four hour target time, run away, quicker than I could, made me vex. And every other minute, I’d try a little faux shuffle and be forced to walk again.

RAGE.

Calls were made (chinese ordered, mentors spoken to) and I walked home in pain but with my pride intact.

Once inside the door, I let the tears flow. Between the distance and support on twitter, I was suitably overwhelmed.

I rang Charlie and Bangs. My running parents who have made sure that I get through this with m mental intact.

So many things were decided.

So much good advice given.

But one thing B said stood out

‘Don’t let your emotions overshadow your achievements.’

She had a point. I began training for this marathon before Christmas. I have been at it a long time. My emotions are now so fatigued, that I cry when the postman has a special delivery for me. Or when Tesco has a half price sale on Ben & Jerrys.  And especially at documentaries like this….

But I cannot let my emotions steal my joy.

I finally accept that I am role model.  A tattooed, smoking, beer guzzling, six inch heel wearing, potty mouthed, role model who against all odds, people are rooting for.

*  CHARLIE VOCIE * See the thing is this…

I am running the London Marathon. My outfit is going to be something one would find at Notting hill carnival. I am working on outfit changes as I type.

One of my hydration bottles will be filled with beer. My bumbag is going to be full of penny sweets and lipstick.

When you see me at mile 17, I am going to give you not one but TWO gunfinger salutes because, I am not going to be doing well but AWESOME.

And as I swish past, leaving a trail of dopeness behind me, I beg you check your watch.

Time?

Candie ‘o’ clock.

Come we….

DO DA TING!

No fear of falling…

If only you could see the way my fingers are dancing across this keyboard. People have mentioned that the sound of my acrylics, hitting the black keys sound like rain. I like the rain.

The post just smacked the doormat and within it is a hefty magazine from the London Marathon posse.

I haven’t even read it. Just kicked at it with my trainer.

The only way I am going to get through the next month is to totally disconnect myself from all the hoopla. I am tired of crying, being hungry, agitated, scared, tired, crying, hungry and then being agitated again.

People often ask me what the ‘best’ bit of training has been. Honestly? The bits when I’m not running. Or thinking about it. The best runs seem to follow that attitude also.

My favourite season has sprung and the scent of change is so thick, I need a gas mask.

I want to tell you that this entire journey has been paved with rainbows and glitter and that my little ponies come down from the heavens to make me feel better. But that would be a lie. It’s all been quite shit. Very shit in fact.

But I have to swim through the shit. Like dude from Shawshank Redemption, I know that the swimming through the shit part is the hardest but that’s cause I’m close to freedom. Freedom from well wishes and cheerleaders. Freedom to run when I want and how I want.

That’s all I’m craving right now.

I am surrounded by people who are still in their honeymoon phase of running. I’ve filed for divorce numerous times. The kids no longer like us being in the same room. But then somehow, when I’m least expecting it, running surprises me and plays nice. Fair. Easy.

Being the masochist that I am I let that suffice. When really all running is really good for at the moment is knocking my confidence.

Has he won?

Nah.

Going for a 10k in twenty minutes.

This is some heartbreaking shit.

But I’m addicted.

DO DA TING!

Cx

My Athens….

Athens is the birthplace of the marathon.  And the London Marathon is going to become the birthplace of me.

It’s Mothers day!  Shout out to my Ma who excused me from Sunday dinner so I could run 18miles. She doesn’t get it but supports me anyhow. I respect that.

My mother had me at 21. I changed her life and she continues to change mine. I have come and am living a life both my parents could never imagine. They both gave me free reign to explore the world. Especially my Mother.

It is true, two women cannot live in one home. Since parting & my fathers departing our relationship, while still tarnished with power struggle, has blossomed. I couldn’t ask for a better cheerleader.

Love you Mum.

Today as I moaned and whimpered my way around 18miles, I kept becoming overwhelmed with emotion.

I am going through an awkward transition in my life. One that depends on self confidence more than any other attribute. Contrary to popular misconception, it’s not my highest asset. The voice that says I’m losing is still louder than the one that wants me to know I’m winning.

Just before setting off. Thinking to double back, eat macaroons, have sex, read some Kelly Cutrone. ANYTHING BUT RUN!

The amazing orsii, who made miracles happen today!

I missed my Dad very much this week. I feel I have needed his council more than ever before, in every area of my life.  But alas his physical is no more, so I can only replay the whispers of yesteryear.

I know for sure, that this is not the time to run from responsibility. It’s time to be courageous and look hardwork square in the eye. Embrace it. Kiss it. Make love to it.

My run today was hard for various reasons. But some more than others. These reasons include but are not limited to:

MY LACK OF RESPECT FOR BREAKFAST. All I consumed this morning was a gulp of Supermalt and four energy gels.

MY IP DIP DOO TRAINING. I started a new job, was whacked from last weekend, could barely….blah fucking blah. Those mid week runs are vital at preparing my mind to double the distance on Sunday, I can’t keep sacking them off

MY LACK OF SLEEP. This three hours here, fifteen there, approach to catching zzz’s is abhorrent. I can’t function.

I could go on. But don’t want to embarrass myself.

So here is the thing, it’s ONE MONTH (the master of time needs to take an areana of seats with the way she is licking days off!) to go, I am not in a position to play.

“This is where people fuck up, They get confident in their long runs and start wildin’ out. Don’t go crazy.” Charlie warned.

This journey is proving to be far more emotional than I care to admit. I feel like I’m running for everyone. And while i respect that, when I hit the wall or catch a cramp, it’s just me. So that’s who I’m running for. Myself. I’m not running from anything. But towards everything. Please stick with me, I promise, it will be worth it.

I didn’t come this far to fail. I didn’t come this far to finish like no weak ass punk. I came to win. And win well. Are you ready? Good.

DO DA TING.

xxx