Facing Fears : The High Wire Challenge

A few weeks ago I mentioned that I was giving some consideration to running another Marathon.  Having the experience of running the London Marathon in 2006, I believe that as well as physical training and stamina building I would have benefited greatly from also doing some Mental Stamina exercises.


Therefore I noted that I wanted to start to try to do things that I would normally be 'too scared' to do.  The first thing I mentioned I might do, to kickstart the 'Face My Fears' campaign was to book myself onto the Aerial (High Wire) challenge whilst on holiday this year.


So on the (very wet) morning of Wednesday 4 July that is exactly what I did.  Sporting a rather fetching bright orange helmet and some bad frizzy swimming pool hair I donned the safety harness and took the steps to the first part of the Aerial Adventure.


I must say now, the photographs do not really give justice to the height of the course.  It feels higher than it looks to the naked eye from the side line.  When dealing with something regarding heights people say 'Don't look down' but with this there is no option. 

After the first challenge of walking a balance beam style implement,  I clung on to the next tree I came too for so long that the instructor came over and asked me if I was stuck.  Physically no.  Mentally yes.

 

Me : Tree Hugging

This was the point.  This was the reason I had decided to do the whole entire experience in the first place.  To be feeling that emotion of undulating fear.  To get to that point where all I wanted was to say 'I'm not a celebrity but get me out of here anyway!'

Clinging to that wet tree I looked at the sodden, slippery tyres that awaited my feet to be placed on them.  The instructor advised me to place my weight forward on them, as that was the best way to control the movement. 

I told myself it was all in the mind.  Like the fatigue when you think you can not run anymore, yet you find yourself a mile along and you are still going.  I told myself to think that I was only a foot off of the ground, it would still be wobbling the same.  I was perfectly safe and harnessed on.  I was going to finish the course. 

I made my decision I stepped off ...

 

Tyre Troubles

Breathing a sigh of relief, I reached the next tree I found myself at the first of the zip-wire.  Now this I had actually been looking forward to.  Since my days of watching 'The Assault Course' on the Krypton Factor I had wanted a go on a zip-wire.  It was awesome.  Even though I did have to swing myself several times at the end to get onto the landing platform because it was so slippery. 

Once I had surpassed that moment prior to the tyres; where I looked at my fear, looked at the steps down to safety and ignored them, although I wasn't exactly thrilled at each challenge I completed it.  The hardest part, probably traversing the climbing wall as the ridiculously small hand / foot holds were so slippery.

 

Yep, that black X is me...

  Before I knew it (actually that is a lie, I was counting down the challenges to the end) I was back at the starting platform.  I had achieved what I set out to do.  Could I have done a higher challenge?  Certainly.  But achieving what I did with my fear of heights was a pretty big feat.  Did I enjoy it?  Not particularly.  Am I pleased I did it? Abso - bloody - lutely. 

 

Relief at the finishing point

The Disability Diaries (The Life of J1) : Dark Days - The Big Day : Marathon 2006

Final part in a series of 'Dark Days' posts for Disability Diaries Feature. 

View parts one, two, three.

Beating depression is a highly personal thing.  Unless your mind, your brain, your thoughts want to banish it there is nothing anyone else can do, or say to make any difference.  If you are lucky enough to dispatch it out into the great unknown, that does not mean that it is going to stay floating out in space leaving you in peace for the rest of your days. 

For me, having suffered with depression for a short period in my life - in reaction to discovering my baby boy had suffered brain damage, with the consequence being he is afflicted with the condition Cerebral Palsy - I feel relatively safe that I can keep depression at bay.  I think it would take something pretty huge and grandscale, like what happened to J1 to take me back to that stage.

But I am mindful.  I was obviously susceptible to a degree, otherwise I would have made it through that period without anti-depressants.  To that end I respect, more than ever, the power of the mind and the need to keep it healthy, as much as the need to stay physically fit in order to be able to care for J1.

I was helped out of my personal 'black hole' with the help of science, but also with the suggestion of some good old fashioned 'Health and Fitness'.  From this suggestion I fell in love with running for the first time and decided that I needed to face a challenge.  A real challenge that could try and give me some tiny, small insight into what sort of strength J1 would need to have on a day to day basis.

I applied for a Gold Bond place with a charity to run the London Marathon 2006 and was successful.  After months of training, that in my opinion now should have been much more dedicated, we found ourselves at that wonderful weekend in April.  The roads of London were closed off.  The Mall was adorned with Union Jack flags.  Hotels were booked up with crazy Marathon wannabes.

We decided to make a family weekend of it.  My parents booked us a family room at a hotel for three nights and on the Friday morning, packed like loaded donkeys we took J1 on his first train journey to London.  It was exciting from the start.  We had a packed weekend, starting with going to the Expo to register at the Excel centre. 

It was wonderful.  A world of running and adrenaline surrounded me as I went from one stall to another, ate pasta and picked up all of my equipment needed for The Big Day.  A chip for my shoe.  A running number.  A bag for all of my personal belongings with '2006 London Marathon' emblazoned on it. 

On Saturday we were invited to a Pasta Party with the charity.  It was a fantastic boost as I got to meet other runners and hear their own personal stories of what had brought them to this point.  J1 got an amazing reception and many attendees said meeting him reminded them even more it had been worth all the effort of training.  It was a beautiful afternoon so we took J1 for his first ever visit to Hyde Park and enjoyed the City of London.

Out of everything, the thing I was most worried about was making my way to the starting point for the Marathon.  I have zero sense of direction.  I needn't have worried.  As I left the hotel I found myself constantly surrounded by other running attired people and at that time of the morning on a Sunday very few others.  The tubes were opened freely for travel by runners as part of the Marathon and there was a wonderful, excited buzz on the journey. 

Once off of the tube there was a fair walk to the start.  It was a unique sight seeing all the different running vests bobbing along.  By some miracle, both colleagues who I knew were also running I bumped into on the walk and it was nice to see a familiar face.  It helped take some of the pre-start anxiety away. 

I decided to be sensible and use the bathrooms before I joined the masses to get through the start gate.  That is quite a feat in itself.  There are plenty of toilets, but the queues for them are massive.  When I see the overhead shot on the TV now it always makes me smile.  Again, everyone just found it an opportunity to chat to others.  By the time I got through that queue the bulk of people had made their way through the start, so I didn't have to wait long before the big starting arch was in my vision.

With a lurge in my stomach, I checked I had everything where I needed it.  Felt that the chip on my trainer was secure for the millionth time.  Started, stopped and cleared my own stop watch and gamely set off on my Marathon Quest 2006.

It was still super busy at the start so I couldn't get running until about a mile in, and the excitement of it all; the crowds rows and rows deep full of cheer and support; the television cameras; the bunting and advertising meant I was at Cutty Sark before I realised it.  The next marker was Tower Bridge.  Half way.  They register your time here on your chip so all I could hear was 'beep, beep, beep, beep' of the runners times being captured, a memory stored forever.  My next marker was the Charity Cheering point at mile 18.  I was starting to feel it by the time I reached this point and was glad to see my family and J1, wearing his 'Run Mummy Run' T.Shirt. 

I took the opportunity to change my shirt and pick up extra sweets here.  It had rained non stop from the start and I was saturated and chilly.  I don't know if the stop was the trigger to hitting my wall, but at mile 19 I walloped into it with force.  The next four miles were bleak.  It is a pretty dull part of the race with scarce crowd support (it might have been due to the torrential rain which had by now set in of course). I was back to be absolutely soaked to the skin. I was sick of my sweets and Kendal Mint cake.  I had had enough and wanted to give up.  In the darkness of one of the tunnels I stopped.  I wanted to sit down and never run another step again.  I wanted to get a lift to the end. 

It was here I realised the importance of having a strong mind when doing a distance like the Marathon.  I had ignored this element of it and now I was suffering.  I had to go back to my key thoughts of 'I have the ability to do this run or walk, my child does not.' 

I plopped a tear as I realised that I had no clue where I was.  No phone signal to get some moral support and the only thing I could do was carry on.  After this low the rain eased up a little.  Then I saw it, the magical sign for 23 miles.  My final marker before the end.  I had trained my mind to repeat the following mantra on long runs - 'Only three short miles to go.'  As I crept out onto Embankment the support from the crowd lifted again to the heights it had been at the start.  I decided to start jogging again.

Three miles, at 23 miles is not short.  But as the two mile marker came into view I couldn't help feeling a buzz.  I was looking forward to running up the Mall to the Marathon music and to meeting my family at the end.  Just as I was coming into the Mall I heard my name being screamed.  As I looked I saw my family had managed to get to the front. They had lifted J1 out of the warmth and dry of his buggy and was waving his arms around.  He was in hysterics  and loving it and this pushed me to sprint the final 'point two' miles. 

Going over the finish line was immense.  I donned my medal and spotted a photographer and thought 'I have to have this picture'.  Lovely volunteers were wrapping me in foil and giving me drinks and asking how I felt at completing the Marathon?  I didn't know.  I felt exhausted and elated but it hadn't sunk in that I had actually completed that challenge I set myself the October before. 

It didn't sink in for a while either.  Everyone else who had supported me were more excited than I was.  It felt great to get my photos from the race arrive, and to see my name in the list of finishers in the newspaper.  My work did a follow up article about how I did.  Nowadays it is something I look back and think wow, what an amazing experience - how did I do that?

After the Marathon I came off of the anti-depressants.  I went back to my proper work hours and our life had truly started to have routine, that included all the world of disability and we were coping.  As I say, the sadness of it doesn't go away completely.  But I had made my way through the grieving process and had finally got to acceptance.  That had taken longer than 26.2miles and had been far tougher than the Marathon.

 

The Disability Diaries (The Life of J1) : Dark Days - Getting Lighter!

Part three in a series of 'Dark Days' posts in the 'Disability Diaries' Feature.

For part one click here.  For part two click here.

At the end of the last instalment of Dark Days, I had got to a point where I was starting to cope with day to day life.  I still had bad days, plenty of them.  But with the help of the anti-depressants, getting back to work and a change to a more healthier lifestyle I found I was beginning to accept and acknowledge that life for J1 and I was going to be very different from what I had thought it would be.

During my move to a 'healthier lifestyle' I had set my sights on undertaking a Charity 'Challenge'.  I was investigating the possibility of signing up to trek the Inca Trail in Peru, with the aim of raising about £1800.  A good friend also wanted to do it and the first step, before parting with registration money, would be starting to get fit.

Due to financial constraints I decided to get fit I had to start running.  This was the source of many wry smiles from friends and family, for the main reason that I had always been rather vocal about being anti-running.  I did what I always do when starting something new; purchased some reading literature on it. I bought my first of many Running Magazines and I enjoyed reading it.  I gave me a lot of inspiration.

The most useful article I read was Top Things To Remember with Running.  The key point that stuck with me, and still does when I run today : The first ten minutes are the hardest.  I really clung onto this little pointer on those first few tentative runs.  I stuck to a 'complete beginners' guide, which encouraged building up slowly.  I would run for two minutes and walk for one.  Soon I found I was comfortable enough to run for four minutes and then six and then eight etc.

It was after a Saturday morning jog that I came home to find my mail on the door mat.  On a high from the exercise, I opened a large envelope from the charity I was hoping to do the trek for.  It was a large advertisement for one of their other 'challenges' and it made me smile immediately : The London Marathon 2006.  I knew instantly this was the 'challenge' for me.  I completed the registration form, found my chequebook and walked the application to the post box.

I didn't tell anyone but the friend that had shown an interest in doing the Peru trip.  He was happy that I had found something that had inspired me, and insisted that he still wanted to register for the Inca Trail.  I found some literature on Marathon training programmes and started to train against that.  I would not hear for sure if I had been allocated a place for the Marathon with the Charity until at least October so in the mean time I continued to build on my running and started to brainstorm fundraising ideas so that I was prepared.

I got the good news that I was going to be a London Marathon participant and euphoric told everyone.  I think my parents were happier that I would be staying in the UK than disappearing to Peru.  I had found my mum slowly starting to drop tid-bits of information in like 'Rather large spiders in Peru'.  Although I wouldn't be going abroad I still had to rely heavily on my parents for support for all the training hours I was going to need to put in and for the fundraising target I needed to hit. 

As with everything new all training and motivation started with gusto, but as the dark, cold nights started to draw in, going out for runs became less appealing.  I was also going out more socially, as I was feeling much stronger.  Although this was good in one way, it meant that I was drinking more, which was not conducive to focused Marathon training.  Long runs were missed due to hangovers. Evening runs were abandoned in favour of spending the extra time getting ready to go out.  Or I felt I couldn't ask my parents to have J1 as they had already looked after him so I could go out. 

Then two things happened that made me realise the importance and scale of what I was doing.  I had registered for my first run in the January.  It was a 10 mile race.  I wanted to get used to the etiquette of racing and thought it would be a good starting distance.  The race came around much quicker than I expected and suddenly I was faced with the fear that I was going to be participating in a race that I was just not ready for.  That filled me with dread.  What if I just couldn't finish and then was lost?  What if I came last?  Not only last, but so long behind everyone else that the organisers had packed up and gone home? 

At the same time the University where I was working ran a feature on a both myself and another member of staff running the Marathon in the monthly magazine.  It was a lovely piece and displayed a beautiful photograph of J1.  When this was published I noticed the donations on my 'Just Giving' page went up dramatically and small and large sums of money were being pledged by University staff, most of them I had never met, all with kind and supportive messages.  It came screaming home that what I had signed up to do was real.  It wasn't something I could just decide not to do.  I had committed to it and I needed to pull my finger out and get serious. 

Along with the Just Giving page I also did a few different fundraisers; the main one being 'Party in the Pub' - a childrens party for adults.  This entailed a 'crisp and sweet only' buffet (big hit); giant games (also a big hit) and bouncy castle (biggest hit!).  We held a raffle and did various other 'pay and play' games and this raised a huge chunk of my target.  The support was overwhelming, everyone believed that I could do this and it was time I started to think that way as well.

I am glad to say that I did complete the 10 mile race.  I also found that I loved the whole atmosphere of the event.  Other runners were so friendly, and immediately interested in J1's story and the reason I was undertaking the Marathon.  And it was the first time I really felt like 'A Runner' - and that was a label I liked.

After that I made a lot of effort to enter races, in a variety of distances as these were great motivation for me to get out training.  Looking back now with the benefit of hindsight, I was out training and getting races under my belt but I only within my comfort zone.  I only entered one half marathon and this really wasn't adequate.  My longest run was about 16 miles, not really long enough or frequently enough and in the end I just ran out of time. 

Whilst life almost became all about the Marathon for six months we were also making a lot of progress with J1 too.  We now had the official diagnosis and this made getting the help he needed easier.  I still do not know how those parents that care for children who remain undiagnosed cope. Along with appointments about equipment (always was and I fear always will be the toughest nut to crack), physiotherapy and speech and language therapy we also got access to a weekly hydro-pool session.  This session meant we met other parents of children with disabilities and special needs - a huge support. 

Soon April had arrived.  I was feeling mentally and physically much better than I had for a year.  I was proud that I had reached race weekend without injury and was looking forward to taking J1 to London for the first time.  I was elated that I had not only reached but exceeded my fundraising target.  I was ready to face my physical challenge of a lifetime, but never forgetting the lifetime of challenge that J1 was facing.

The Disability Diaries (The Life of J1) : Dark Days - The Beginning of a Journey

Part two in a series of 'Dark Days' posts in the 'Disability Diaries' Feature.

I have had friends, who have been struggling with how they feel, ask me how the anti-depressants actually helped me.  The only way I can describe how they helped me on the road to recovery is to explain; I was able to deal with more.  Rather than the smallest thing seeming like a big deal, or a mountain to climb, they became just what they were again; a small thing. 

This in turn allowed my mind to start dealing with the other issues that it had to process.  Over the course of 15 months the days spent crying became less frequent, and the old 'fighting' spirit started to return, slowly.  It was not an overnight cure, the lack of sleep did not assist matters.  However, days where we had negative news on J1's diagnosis - which could have knocked me out K-O style - instead meant I cried, had a bad day and was able to move on.

In short, I started to learn to cope.

My doctor had not just prescribed anti-depressants to try and combat my dark days, he also suggested that I needed a healthier diet and some form of exercise as a 'natural' remedy to help lift me up.  The diet change was relatively simple.  Pre-baby I had always maintained a reasonable diet (my weight does not automatically stay down).  Also at one point I had spent a long period being an avid gym attendee.

Although I had good intentions with the exercise I struggled to find the motivation to do something.  The only real 'exercise' I enjoyed was going to the gym and at the time I was not in a financial position to join one.  Work had allowed me to reduce my hours, but of course with that came a salary reduction.  As I worked within the Students' Union at the University I was surrounded by a lot of sport-friendly/financially restrained people.  One person suggested that I might like to take up running.  It was free, would give me a good dose of happy hormones and some fresh air.  They even offered to work out a training plan for me if I so desired!  I nearly fell off of my chair laughing.  After thanking them for the offer, I explained that I faked a sick note for every 'cross country' session at school and had never even run on the treadmill at the gym.  Running was not a sport for me.

Although I was starting to feel better I still did not feel strong enough to take up offers of social occasions with friends.  I wasn't ready to run the risk of being required to openly discuss J1's condition, or even worse have to deal with their sympathy.  Additionally I found, after an 'attempt' at trying to tell certain people, they got very upset.  I felt they were expecting me to be strong enough to help them deal with their grief.  I didn't have that sort of strength so went back to my withdrawn method.  At work, people were appropriately avoiding asking anything too personal.  They stuck to 'How's J1 doing, ok?' allowing me to answer with a simple 'Yes, thank you for asking' - which was about as much as I could cope with.  I was thankful for the polite and reserved trait of the English.  

It was on another Saturday evening at home, researching a charity website, that I came across the 'How You Can Help?' section.  The site listed different 'Adventures' that you could sign up to, such as; Walking the Great Wall of China; Trek Kilimanjaro; Cycle to Paris.  One caught my eye in particular 'Trek the Inca Trail - Peru'.  It looked just, stunning.

I printed off the details and slept on the idea.  When I got up on Sunday the thought of doing something to raise money for charity, charities that were giving us help and support, invigorated me.  I felt a bounce in my step that I had wondered would ever return.  I had never been very adventurous in choosing holiday destinations, and to be honest it did scare me somewhat.  I decided to call a friend who was very well travelled to glean their opinion on the choice of adventure.

I felt nervous approaching someone about something that I wanted to do.  I was used to just doing exactly what I chose to.  However, I quickly realised that if I was going to do something, as big as what I was setting my sights on, then I was going to need support.  I made the call, and my excitement must have been infectious because two hours later I received a message saying - 'Not only do I think it will be good for you, I am going to do it with you!'.

I was even more worried about suggesting the idea to my parents.  I was concerned that they would think it was a step too far, considering I had only just started to cope with day to day life.  I was not going to be able to do this without their full consent however.  I was going to need lots of babysitting agreement so that I could get fit; go away for practise treks; organise the fund-raising side of things and of course go on the trek itself.

I did approach them however.  Although I could see uncertainty with a touch of 'We will say yes but I can't see her going through with it' in their eyes, to say 'yes' I think they must have see a twinkle in mine that had been missing for sometime.  My mum suggested before I parted with any money registering, I should take a month or two working on getting fit to see if I could - in reality - fit all the training in that would be required.

I agreed.  I had read that I would cope better with the altitude issues that would present themselves, if I had a good lung capacity.  At the time I could have taken a decent wager that it was currently pretty poor.  I looked up what would be the best way to improve it and unsurprisingly the suggestion was; Running.  It was time to go back cap in hand to the very kind person that had offered to help me with this very subject.

Little did I know that running was about to become a very real and very important part of my life.  How taking on more would in fact help me cope better and how much it would improve my state of mind.

The Challenge

Once upon a time, I pounded the streets of London for 26.2 miles (and not on a drunken 'let's try and visit every pub in London (impossible btw) mission on a Friday night).  Once upon a time... I ran a marathon.  I was as shocked as everyone else (although they graciously tried to pretend that they were not) when I announced I was going to do it.  It was one of those experiences where I could feel and hear the words leaving my mouth, talking enthusiastically about training for body and mind and brainstorming with friends on how I was going to do the fundraising for Scope.

It was one of those moments in life however, where I could talk the talk, make as many lists, positive affirmations notes to stick up, training schedules in pretty colours as I liked, but without actually getting out and doing the grass roots training I was going to fail.  And I pretty much live in fear of the word 'fail', so there was no way I was going to be able to let that happen.  I was going to have to do it. 

Now I had 'claimed' I was going to do things before, perhaps bought the gear to do it, planned and planned and planned to do it, but never actually got round to doing it.  So what was different this time?  What had made me fill out that 'Scope London Marathon Application Form', write out the £50 deposit cheque, put it in an envelope and put it in that ER Royal Mail Post Box?

My son.

My son was born in 2003.  One year later in 2004 he was diagnosed with quadriplegic cerebral palsy.  What did that mean?  It meant my boy had tragically suffered brain damage when he was born.  The damaged part of the brain is the part that controls his ability to sit, his brain doesn't send the messages to his torso to say 'sit your body up' so, it doesn't.  He can not sit unaided.  The messages his brain tries to send his legs and arms get confused so they sometimes do what he wants them to, but not with many of the fine motor skills required for it to not be a struggle or very hard work for him.

It was watching him struggle to do the most basic of moves that compelled me to think about the disgusting lazy attitude, I had been taking all these years about the gift of an my own able body.  All those years of driving to the corner shop instead of walking for 5 minutes.  All the times I 'couldn't be bothered to go swimming' or for a bike ride.  All the years I had moaned about having to walk urgghhhhh into town along the beautiful seafront.  What a selfish girl I had been.  What my boy would give to be able to do that huh?

So I decided to try and right some of that wrong and decided that I would look at some of the 'adventures' that the charity Scope offered people to do to raise money for them, that would give me a goal to get fit.  A friend and I mused over the idea of the Inca Trail in Peru, and decided that before we committed ourselves, both of us should try and get fit, because for that trip in the high altitude, you needed better lung capacity.

Being a single mother I did not have the money to join a gym so thought I would start walking and jogging, merely because it was free and I lived in the most perfect area for walking and jogging!  I think because I had been the most unenthusiastic (hear - 'lazy') person with regard to exercise before (just ask my PE teacher - I only managed to scratch a 'D' for effort because I was willing to pack up the equipment after every lesson, not for my athletic ability or want) the fact that I got myself out and complete a 10 minute walk/jog cycle that first day, it made it even more satisfying.  And I love that feeling.  So I tried again, and again and again.

Of course the first issue to overcome was finding the time to fit in the training sessions.  I had a young baby.  Cue my fantastic parents, who I think were so blinded in shock by the fact I was choosing to run that they fell over themselves to help.  In fact they not only baby sat, but my dad dutifully trailed me on his bike (my mum thought it was a safety wise move I think) as of course, most training is done in the cold, dark, cold, wet, cold, snowy (you get the idea) months!

I got signed up to a running magazine which had inspirational stories, ideas, tips and advice.  I got chatting to 'other runners' and felt better when they said sometimes 10 minutes in they felt like quitting too, but likewise when you did complete a run after that it felt even better.  I signed up to local races, and by then well and truly got the bug.  My life took on a whole new timetable and it was great.

About half way through I started blogging about 'the lead up to the marathon' and this was the most useful tool.  I found some great people to chat to and other blogs to read that made me laugh, feel better, sympathise with.  I met those people in person at races we established we had all signed up too.  It was a fantastic network.  And I found that blog all neatly printed a while back, which is what I think gave me the final push to start this blog.

The year I ran, 2005 was the year it rained, cold and miserable, from start - to - 'got so sick of rain dripping off my eyelashes sorry for myself I wanted to sit in one of the tunnels and never come out (well that's how it felt at the time - finish. 

26.2 miles.  That's farrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

But I didn't realise or appreciate that at the time.  And I was told, it would take year's before I would actually comprehend what I had achieved.  And they were right.  People also said that I would take a break afterwards and probably wouldn't go back to it.  They were right.  I wish they weren't.  Because I never did get back into it.  Life got in the way.  A change of jobs meaning I was working in the city with a long commute was my main excuse.  Then I fell pregnant again and now have 'Mr Energy' himself to contend with 24/7 as well as raising my older son of course.  Excuses, excuses.  And SHAME ON ME.  Because I still have that exact same driving force with me every day and that vigour to want to do it for him, to raise money for the wonderful charities for all those people like my son, should still be there.

And it is, today it has raised it's weary head.  So I plan today to sign up for a local race and set into the schedule times to train.  Hubby, sorry you will be on baby duty at least once over the weekend for training and then my dear family I will need your support on race days.  Then we will see just how much training and stamina building I can fit in to see how high up the length of race ladder I can go!

Maybe I could even start a blog specifically on that, an extra little driving force maybe?

Wish me luck people!