How I got here…

I was never a great lover of general fitness but as a child the family were into mountain biking and we went out most weekends, a large group of friends and family, to places such as the Forest of Dean. It was always good fun, even in the pouring rain. More rain = more mud!

I was also a member of the Newport and Maindee Olympic Swimming Club. I loved, and still love, swimming. I gave both things up by the time I was 13 to become a teenager. A lazy teenager. Running was not something I ever did. I wouldn’t even run for a bus and if that situation ever arose, I would just wait for the next one.

I am not sure how it all snowballed to where I am today but I remember walking up the stairs one day and being out of breath. I was 31. I had the lung capacity of a 90-year-old lifetime smoker. The next day I joined the gym and decided that I was going to sort myself out. Anyone that knew me back then would tell you that the thought of me in a gym would be quite amusing. When I told my work colleagues about it, they laughed. Quite loudly. However, this spurred me on. “I’ll show them”, I thought. Weirdly, I am actually grateful for the fact that they laughed that day. It’s what I needed to keep me going. I wanted to prove, probably to myself more than anyone else, that I could do it.

I went to a number of different classes such as spin and kettlebells but then I started to run. Well, I started to attempt to run. I’m not sure what I was doing would be classed as running but it certainly made me out of breath and raised my heart rate way above the norm. I downloaded the couch to 5k app on my phone, stuck my trainers on and off I went.

30 seconds of running, when you have never run before, feels like an eternity. It burns. You feel like your heart may actually escape out of your mouth and you want to vomit. This feeling lasted a good few months. However, I persevered. I put my headphones in, listened to music and off I went. The day I managed to run all the way through one song, I was so happy.

I started running with my sister, Jaime, who had also joined the running game but was a lot better than I was. She convinced me to run my first Parkrun, even though there was no way I could run 5k without passing out. We went along to Newport Parkrun, Tredegar House, on the 2nd November 2013 and I came in at a time of 35:57. Not too shabby. We then had the bright idea that we could run the 2014 Cardiff Half Marathon. Could barely run 3 miles without needing a nebulizer but decided that 13.1 miles would be achievable.

I felt sorry for Mr. P (my better half) who, always willing to help with my training, could walk faster than the pace I was running. He was always positive “you are doing great”, “you are getting faster”, “this is too easy for you”…..all lies.  

We developed a 12-week training plan, used the Fourteen Locks as our training ground and completed our very first half marathon in 2 hours 44 minutes, which included a pee stop, as someone (Jaime) was unable to hold it in for the last three miles! The feeling of completing the run, even though a man in a chicken costume overtook us at the last mile, was that of pure pride. We had done it!

During the training for Cardiff, I caught the ‘bug’. I signed up for everything and anything I could find. 5ks, 10ks, mud runs, more half marathons, bike rides and the infamous Trekathon. The day that Sarah Jones lost her toenails, Clare Bartlett carried a banana plantation in her rucksack and Jaime developed trench foot. It was a hike of epic proportions and Sarah almost clothed lined a marshal for saying we only had one mile to go…four miles from the finish line.

When I decided to give it a tri….

In May 2016, another friend of mine, the superhuman that is Rhianydd Evans, announced that she was going to take part in a 70.3 Ironman. Rhianydd and I had completed the very first Wales Velothon together the previous year, opting for the 140k route. We remarkably finished on naivety and very little training.

Having never heard of an Ironman before I didn’t really think much of it. I watched her training updates and once she had crossed that finish line, I had a look into what she had just done. Inspiring is not really a strong enough word for Rhianydd. The woman is a machine. She takes regular runs up the Sugarloaf before you or I have even opened our eyes in the morning. If I were to find my inspiration from someone, then it would definitely be her. Following on from her IM703 stint, the seed had been planted…could I do it?!

First things first. Swimming. I had not swum since I quit Maindee but thought I would manage it. How wrong I was. I managed to do four lengths before needing to stop and get my breath back. It was like starting to run all over again. Lungs burned. Arms ached. I felt like I was swimming in gravy. Over the weeks I would try and increase the amount of lengths I could do in one go but had to use breaststroke as a recovery in order to get my breath back. Four lengths front crawl, two breaststroke, then six front crawl, two breaststroke and so on and so on.

In February 2017, I jointly joined Newport East Wales Triathlon (NEWT) and Lliswerry Runners and started club training every week. Just prior to this, I had got back in contact with my old primary school BFF and fellow Maindee swimmer, Helen Tilston, who wanted to come training with me. I told her about my crazy plan to complete a 70.3 in 2018 and asked if she wanted to give it a go. I am not entirely sure she knew what she was agreeing to but went along with it and joined NEWT not long after me.

We started taking part in a few short duathlons and aquathlons, but it wasn’t long before we signed up for our first Triathlon. September 2017, Saundersfoot. We had done a few open water swims at Clevedon Marine Lake, testing out the wetsuits, but had never been out in the deep blue sea. This was a first for the both of us, and a little terrifying.

The event came around quickly. Mr. P and I had booked into a lovely little lodge caravan and Helen was staying with friends at their caravan on the other side of town. We met up to register when we both arrived the day before the event. The nerves had kicked in and we kept checking out the sea conditions. Then the weather. Then the sea again. We prayed for calm waters as neither of us had swum in choppy seas before. The predicted forecast was not great and we were meant to be hit by heavy rain just as the race was due to start.

Wake up call at 5am, forced some porridge down my throat and headed to transition, in the dark. There was a disgusting grey cloud above us but as the sun came up, the cloud disappeared. Relief! (Not so much for the IM Wales competitors who, the next day, had terrible weather). We checked all our stuff was ready in transition, had a few too many nervous trips to the loo and then waiting at the start line to enter the water. Oh shit. It was happening.

We hung back and entered the water with the pack of swimmers that looked just as mortified as we did. Here goes nothing. Once you get into your pace, the fear subsides a little and you almost forget that you are swimming in the open sea, with all sorts of creatures swimming beneath you. Until you see a dark shadow. Or someone brushes your feet. Even worse is the experience of several people swimming over the top of you. Panic hits. The sensation that you are about to drown…Stop. Calm down. Keep going. The event flew by and we loved every second of it. Running over that finish line and getting our very first triathlon medal was just brilliant! I wanted to do it all over again.

Two months later, we signed up for Weymouth Ironman 70.3.

But first…the London Marathon

Another bright idea of mine. The London Marathon.

I had put in a ballot place application for the two previous years. Only because I had watched it on TV and felt inspired by it. I secretly knew I would never get in. You could compare it with trying to win the National Lottery.

Then I thought it would be a good idea to try for a charity place with Cancer Research. So, I entered the 2019 ballot and also entered for a charity place. In the application, I mentioned the Race for Life events I had completed since 2007 (I had walked every single one of them) and dragged my lovely friend, Sian Cain-Culverwell, into the mix by saying that I would like her to join in the torture with me. Who needs enemies?

A few weeks later I had a phone call from a lovely man called Sam at CRUK who told us that they would love to have us both on the team. Ooops!

Along with the training for the Marathon, we had pledged to raise a whopping £2000 each. We decided to have a joint page and fundraise together. From raffles to an epic 80’s Disco, we managed to reach, and exceed, our target. Our total…. £4905.27. Amazing.

Sadly, before the Marathon in January 2018, Sian’s mum lost her battle with Cancer. This made Sian even more determined to cross that finish line, and she did. The finish line of the hottest London Marathon on record. There were tears, laughter, blisters, black toenails, lots of swearing and we hit the wall more times than a crash test dummy but we made it. Just like we said we would.

Over a year on and I am not entirely sure Sian has forgiven me.

The 70.3 journey….Round one

Once the Marathon was complete, Helen and I developed a 70.3 training plan. We tried to slot this around our non-triathlete husbands in order to retain some kind of life, but it was not an easy feat.

I was having issues with my lower back in the early days. Slight niggles here and there and some pain when running. I booked in for massages, did hip flexor stretches now and again and had a bike fit. I powered through. This would come to be my downfall.

The training was hard. I burnt out a month or two before the race and it took a lot of determination to get myself back in the game. The both of us were finding it really tough.  

The week leading up to race day was tense. The weather was forecasting gale force winds and it just looked like the race was either going to be cancelled or we were going to end up in Oz. The weather seemed to settle down a few days before and the wind actually eased up slightly. The rain did not. Registration and racking was miserable in the rain, but we got it done early so at least we had the afternoon to chill out a bit.

I slept ok that night and at 5am, I set off to meet Helen at her B n B. We walked towards the start, both of us slyly eyeing up the sea to our right but neither of us saying anything about it.

Bike bottles added to bike, toilet stop, bags checked in and hair done (the most important bit).

Voice over the tannoy….Race delayed for 30 minutes and the swim cut from 1.2 miles to 950m due to low visibility. Lovely.

We got into our pens, based on estimated swim time, and managed to see a few friendly faces from NEWT. Cathy, Paul, Kirsty and Huw (also taking part). It was cold and wet but the supporters still came out in force. We managed to see Mr. P, my parents, my sister and my niece. Helens husband managed to fight his way through the crowd and caught us just before we set off for the swim. They all looked so proud, if a little wet around the edges!

The swim was interesting. I tried to keep sight of Helen but the waves were lifting me up and crashing me back down and by the fourth time I looked back, she was gone. Replaced by two burly blokes that almost knocked me out with their elbows. It was a battle. I stuck my head down and tried to pace my breathing with each wave and once I got to the first buoy, it seemed to get a bit easier. I tried my best to swim with the waves and not against them. I was swallowing far too much water and trying not to wretch. Passing each of the paddleboard safety crew your head screams for you to give up. “Just put your hand up. Get pulled out. You don’t need to do this”. It takes pure willpower, that you didn’t even realise you had, to make it shut up. I saw the archway edging closer and closer, so relieved to have made it in one piece. To put it into context, seeing the archway at the end of the swim gives you the same feeling as seeing the golden arches of McDonalds when you have a stinking hangover. I kicked as hard as I could and tried not to topple over when I got up.

On to transition, seeing Helens sisters in the crowd, and got my bike gear on. I was relieved that Helen came in a few seconds after me. Transition took ages. Jerseys are hard to get on when you are soaking wet. Two buffs, thick gloves, a stack of nutrition and we were on our way. It was absolutely belting it down with rain. I saw my family again and gave them a massive wave and a huge smile. This would be my last smile of the day.

The bike. Wow. I am not sure I have ever been so cold. I shivered constantly for four and a half hours. The wind and the rain was relentless. It was biblical weather. The kind you see in movies. The route itself is a decent one, the training we had done prepared us really well, and I actually enjoyed the route. I felt good riding it. I would have loved it had it not been for the fact I could no longer feel any part of my body and changing gear was becoming near impossible. We passed so many riders that were being treated for hypothermia, being wrapped up in foil blankets and given hot drinks. At mile 10, I almost pulled over and admitted defeat myself.

50 miles in and we were making excellent time. We were on track for a four-hour PB. We had not come close to that in training. Until. Puncture. Back wheel. Six miles out.

I couldn’t feel my fingers and taking the tyre off was torture but I managed it, eventually. However, it wouldn’t pump up. After 15 minutes, I decided to try to ride it flat but only got a few meters down the road as my back wheel was skidding out all over.

Stopped again and changed the tube a second time. Same thing. Tried a third time but this time checking the inside of the tyre. Big spiky thorn. Great. If only I had checked this before. Actual brain freeze. I wanted to cry. We were starting to push our luck with cut off and the thought of being pulled after all our hard work and training was getting to me.

Inner tube changed, pumped, and off we go. Frustratingly the tyre was now not sitting right, and was rubbing with every pedal stroke. This made the last uphill feel like cycling through custard. Downhill followed, which was a much-needed respite for my legs, and we rolled in to transition with 10 minutes to spare.

Typically, by this point, the sun had come out and the rain had stopped. Blue skies all round. We transitioned much better this time, even with a pee stop, and got out on the run.

My back had other plans. The seizing started immediately and lower back pain kicked in. I walked a little and ran a little but it didn’t pass. By this point, I can normally run through the discomfort knowing that it will ease once I get into a steady pace. This didn’t happen. The pain was unbearable, I thought I was going to pass out, and so I told Helen to go on.

Her sisters came to find me and tried their best to get me going again but each step was agony and even with a slow walk/run I was never going to make cut off. I saw the medic and had to make the hardest decision to quit. I was gutted. My family came to find me and I just burst into tears. A trip to the medic tent followed which, thankfully, ruled out any serious injury. My back was in spasm and I just had to wait it out for it to ease. We took a slow walk back to the run route where we could spot Helen on an out and back section, cheering her on when she passed.

Even though I wanted to see her at the end, I just could not watch her finish. I waited at the side until she came out. It was bittersweet. I was so proud of her for finishing but so gutted that I hadn’t. I cried more that weekend than I have all year.

It took a good couple of weeks to get over that weekend. I’m not normally someone who dwells on things. I’m not competitive and if something doesn’t work then I’ll just shrug it off and give it another go. This was different. This was not a feeling I had ever had before. I felt crushed. All that hard work, all that training, all that time away from my family. To fail. Or what I saw to be a fail.

Looking at it now, it just wasn’t meant to be. The weather, the punctures, my back. It was against me from the start.

So…..what now?

Dust yourself off and tri again…

Mr. P is the one who said we would try again next year. I was having none of it. I wasn’t interested and said I didn’t want to talk about it ever again. I was properly throwing my toys out of the pram. Three weeks later, I was checking when the registration opened and determined to get the job done. I needed to cross that finish line. For my own sanity.

30th November 2018. Ironman Weymouth 70.3 2019 entry paid for. Accommodation booked. Leave from work granted. Here we go again. I decided to keep this one quiet. After my heartache of the last one, I could not face dragging my whole family back up to Weymouth incase the same thing happened again. I felt like I had let them down the first time. If I completed it, then I would happily announce it. If I failed then no one would need to know.

I turned to Diana Hopkins, good friend, owner of Perfect Balance Studios, wife of Sunhealth Gym, mum to Gethin and real life superwoman.

I asked for coaching, for help with my back, for general guidance and to make damn sure I crossed that finish line. I needed to prove to myself that I could do it and I wanted to make my family proud.

In January, Diana started my training. It was clear from the get go that this was going to be tough. Probably harder than I had trained previously but it was structured and fit better around my work, and my life. It also included strength training, which I had neglected the year before. Fitness tests were established. Heart rate zones determined. Goals set. It helped that someone else was working it out for me. All I had to do was turn up. As much as I enjoyed sorting the training out for Helen and me, it is amazing the difference it makes when someone does it for you. If anyone asked my advice now, on getting yourself through something like this or getting help to do it, I would recommend getting a coach. Every time.

As my training had been ramped up a notch I decided to end my membership with NEWT. The club are fantastic; however, I was aware they had quite a long waiting list so I decided to give up my place. I was not making the evening training sessions as I was going in the mornings and so I felt guilty for taking a place that I was not using.

I transferred my Lliswerry membership to Islwyn Runners (closer to home) and hoped that once this damn marathon was over I was going to be able to make club runs again. Another good friend of mine, Claire Lilley, was also a member. Although I sometimes dreaded the runs or the routes we did, we always had a good laugh. She had roped me into a few races where she would marshall and the smug face before I started would say it all. The route would clearly not be a fun one! Unbelievably, fitness is now my social life. Without it, I would be a little lost.

I had signed up for a few events prior to Weymouth so these had to be factored into the training programme. I thought it would be a good idea to take part in the Tour de Gwent 93 mile bike ride with Bethan Jones on April 14th, followed two weeks later by the Carten (Cardiff to Tenby) 107 mile bike ride with Mr. P and then the Newport Marathon the week after that. Mr. P had serious regrets of agreeing to do Carten after our second training ride. It was tougher than he thought but, between his love of football and my love of triathlons, we have very little time doing things together that we can both enjoy. This was the reason that he decided to purchase a bike. Sundays then became our long ride training days. As long as he got a pot of tea and some lunch out of it, he was (relatively) happy!

My training programme suited me really well. Diana was on the ball and I got my schedule on a Sunday for the week ahead. This helped mentally prepare for the 5am wake up calls. Training in the morning before your mind and body can fathom what you are doing feels so much better than doing it straight after a long day at work. It was still tiring, I will not lie, and I bonked on every one of my long runs leading up to the marathon. I couldn’t wait for that particular event to be over. I swore (as I had done the year before) to never do another one. Famous last words!

20:20 (unfortunately not the alcoholic kind)…

After a much needed break in sunny Mexico, and celebration for Mr Ps 40th Birthday, it was back to training. One week after landing in dreary Gatwick I was stood at the start line for the Fission 20/20 road race. Joy. Seven days of margaritas and all-you-can-eat buffet is not great preparation for any kind of run but for a 20 miler it was pretty dismal!

The first 12 miles flew by. I ran alongside Leanne Westacott (friend and Lliswerry Runner) and we had a good old chin wag for the first half of the run. By mile 13 Leanne was just a small figure running in the distance and my back was giving me grief, so I walk/ran the remaining seven miles. During my walking section of mile 14 I rang Mr P and told him, in no uncertain terms, that I was no longer doing the marathon. It was a stupid idea, I could not do it and I hated running. Despite all this, I still managed a decent time of 3 hours 31 minutes and was really happy to have finished.

However. I was not happy enough as exactly two weeks later I decided to officially withdraw from the Newport Marathon.

The thought of the long training runs for the next month had taken its toll. Enough was enough. I was not enjoying it and running was just becoming a chore, which is not what I wanted at all. I sent a text to Diana that morning to tell her about my decision and that was that. Good as gold and as supportive as ever, she sent me a revised training plan that involved a lot less mileage and the weight just lifted off my shoulders. I could now direct the majority of my training at the IM703.

When in doubt, ride it out…

Beth had contacted me in February to ask whether I was doing the Tour de Gwent event. She was given a place through her work, who sponsor the event, and I offered do it with her to keep her company. We had initially signed up for the Platinum Route of 93 miles but after I did a recce of the first part of it, I convinced Beth to drop to the Gold route (still a brutal 78 miles). It wasn’t that I didn’t think she could complete it, I just didn’t think we would complete it in the timescale given. It would mean going pretty much flat out for the whole way with very little time to have any breaks. I wanted Beth to enjoy the ride and not be clock watching. That would have put a dampener on the day.

Race day arrived and I got picked up by Beth and her husband who dropped us off at the race village. We swapped our Platinum number for a Gold one and off we went to the start line. It was a bitterly cold morning and the wind was painful. The route is pretty much a mountain goats dream. Hills galore. Even the downhills ended with another glorious climb. It was, what they call in the business, “undulating”! That is putting it mildly. It was good training for Carten and I really enjoyed the whole ride.

How did Beth do? Well, considering her lack of outdoor bike training and the fact she was not clipped in, she did absolutely bloody brilliantly! She did not whinge, moan, complain or threaten to quit at any point during the ride. Where I waited at the top of a climb for her, there she was pedaling away, grinning from ear to ear and yelling, “I’m on my way!” Legend. Not many people would have the guts to rock up and give such a challenging bike ride a go but this is what she did and this is why she succeeded. She wanted it and was prepared to work hard for it. I love that in a person. It is truly inspiring.

Two weeks later…

Carten. 107 miles…solo.

During a previous (fairly difficult) recce of the Tour de Gwent route, Mr P dropped a bombshell and said he did not want to take part in Carten. I had broken him! This gave my sister a get out of jail card (she was our lift home) and instead we booked a little B n B. Mr P would drive down to Tenby, meet me at the finish line and we could stay and soak up the atmosphere instead of coming straight home. 

The weather leading up to Carten was beautiful. Sunshine. No wind. No rain. That was not going to be the case for race day. Forecast = Gale force winds and rain. Of course it was.

2 days before the event a yellow weather warning hit Wales and the Carten organisers sent out a communication to say they would keep an eye on the forecast and let everyone know by 8.30am Friday if the event was going ahead or not. This would be the first time in 15 years that it may have to be cancelled. The one year I enter.

I woke Friday morning and friends had tagged me in a number of posts to state that the event had officially been cancelled. Absolutely gutted. The right call was made due to the dangerous conditions but I was genuinely looking forward to this one. The ride down, the atmosphere, the party at the end! They re-arranged the date for June, which I was unfortunately unable to do, but I sent back my race pack and got a discount off next year’s race. Still, the training I had done to date was a great base for my IM70.3 training….onwards and upwards!

The 70.3 journey….Round two

The medal design was announced on the 26th April 2019. I was buzzing that they has kept it in line with the one from last year as there is a T-REX ON IT!!!! I needed to get this done and completed to get my hands on one of those. Project ‘Dino Medal’ was well underway (again).

I entered a few smaller triathlons on the lead up to the event so that I could get enough OW swim practice and dreaded ‘brick’ sessions done. The first tri of the season, for me, being SWYD Sprint Triathlon in Barry #SoB

Up at 4am and out of the house by 5am. The one thing that never gets easier. Mr P and Diana were my amazing support crew for the morning and we got down, racked up and waited for the pre-race briefing. This race was split into draft-legal and general competition; I opted for the general, as I am nowhere near (and never will be) on the same level as a serious competitor!

The draft legal went off first. We watched them sprinting off down the beach, into the sea and then…..they all just ground to a near halt. The sea was clearly choppy but the waves must have been pushing them all backwards. We waited for all the swimmers to exit and then it was our turn. Running down the beach, into the sea and the waves were just crashing down on us all. I attempted a front crawl stroke but was being pushed and pulled all over the place and was losing sight of the marker so I opted to breaststroke out to the first buoy. It stopped me panicking and I was able to maintain a good rhythm, ducking under the waves instead of going over them. Coming back into shore was the easiest part as the tide was coming in, but the waves seemed to be getting bigger. I was grateful to have my feet firmly on the ground after that.

The bike was a (relatively) flat, fast course and I managed to get around it in 45 minutes. The rain had set in but I was surprisingly warm. The shivers hadn’t started like they normally do.

The run route was a hilly three-lap route. It was not pleasant but I managed a respectable 32 minutes, which I was quite chuffed with considering I am rubbish at running up hills. Or small inclines. Or even ramps for that matter. The best part? Polly James called out my name. Twice! I love Polly!

Overall I managed to knock 12 minutes off my first Sprint Triathlon (Saundersfoot) and came in at 1 hour 45 minutes. Progress.

Don’t tri this at home, kids…

The second tri of the season was Cardiff Triathlon – Olympic Distance.  I had done this one last year and really enjoyed it so signed up again.

It was all going well on the lead up to the event, my training was on track but just over a week before I started to develop, what seemed to be, an innocent cold. I carried on with training and had some OW swim practice at the Aberavon Aquathlon on the Monday before. By the Tuesday I had a full blown cold, cough and general feeling of being unwell. Coach told me to rest up and take the week off. Which I did. Not an easy task, but I managed it!

There were several nights that week that I almost pulled out of the event. I couldn’t go longer than 5 minutes without coughing and I was getting no sleep. I waited it out until the Saturday and decided that I may as well give it a go. If I need to withdraw then I would do so. Up at 3.30am, after another night of no sleep, and Diana and I were on the road by 4.30am. I racked up, sorted out my transition area and we headed for the swim start. My wave was due to set off at 6.35am.

Tannoy announcement…………… Swim now due to start at 7am due to a Police Incident and the bike course cut from 40km to 30km.

7.05am and I set off for the swim. Cardiff Bay is lovely to swim in, apart from the massive fish. Still, I got my head down and got it done. I had to breast stroke a couple of times just to get my breath but the whole swim was done without the urge to cough, sneeze or want to be yanked out by a paddle boarder.

The bike section was 6 laps, counting is not my strongest point, so Diana was telling me how many I had done as I passed her each time. I did feel like I was struggling on the first 2 laps, I couldn’t seem to regulate my breathing but by the 3rd I was flying round.

Into transition and onto the run, knowing this would be the most difficult part of the event. If I was going to have a coughing fit, this is where it would happen. Surprisingly, I did ok but had to walk run the majority of the route. My chest felt tight and I was getting tired. By the end of the second lap, and very close to the end, I stopped to walk. Jolene Kerby, Gareth Yeoman and Chris Elliot all passed me shouting words of encouragement so I dug deep and got over that finish line. Much appreciated, guys.

I did not set out to PB, just to finish, but my overall pace was faster than the previous year. Especially on the bike leg. I was happy with the results and headed home for a much needed bath and attempt to get some sleep.

Not feeling any better by the Monday, I headed to the GP. Turns out I had a chest infection and was prescribed a dose of Doxycycline to fight it off. I am not condoning exercising when ill, but I was pretty impressed with my effort, all things considered.

Weymouth bike recce take two…

I wanted to get another recce of the bike route before the big day so we booked a weekend in Weymouth, taking Deakon along for a mini break whilst we were at it. We went down on the Saturday and headed out on the bike at 8am Sunday morning, Mr P confidently telling Deakon we would be back at 12pm. No matter what I said, he didn’t believe that we would be out for longer than 4 hours. For a 56 bike ride. When he hadn’t been on his bike for a good few weeks.

Anyway, he knew best, so off we went. The sun was shining, the route was just as lovely as I remember and I was enjoying it, and (at that time) so was Mr P. I am not sure when he actually broke but during the last 6 miles of the course is a steep little hill. Not a long one but after a relatively undulating course you feel it. It burns.

I got to the top and saw the sea, knowing the last section was a lovely downhill all the way to the seafront. However, no sign of Mr P.

5 minutes later…still no sign. I turned back to see if he was ok and saw him pushing his bike up the last bit of the hill shouting at me to go on and he would just stay there. Drama queen. I promised the last section was freewheeling and down we went back to the apartment. We totaled 59 miles that morning, getting back around 1.30pm. By 1.35pm, Mr P was looking on eBay to see how much he could get for his bike.

Climb every mountain…

Diana and Sally are into their ultras and running up big ugly mountains. For fun. Not something I ever fancied. I saw a post pop up on Facebook for the Pen Y Fan challenge, a 13 mile “run” up and around Pen Y Fan. I sent them the link for it, thinking it was their cup of tea (This was on a Wednesday and the race was that Sunday) Stupid idea.

By the Thursday I had signed up for it. I’m not sure how it happened or what I was thinking at the time but Sunday morning comes around and there we were. Me, Di and Sally……on route to Brecon.

It was tough. I’m not great with hills so why I thought I could do this was beyond me. But I somehow managed it. My legs were like jelly on the last 5 miles and it was sheer determination to get to my car and back home to a bath that kept me going. Also, it wasn’t just one climb up Pen Y Fan, it was two.

Strangely, I enjoyed it. Di and Sally were fab and encouraged me the whole way. I even went as far as to say I would do it again next year. The pain I endured after the event though is not something I would like to repeat. Stairs were absolute murder and just getting out of the office chair was a challenge.

5 weeks to go….sh!t is getting real

5 weeks out and I had the Severn Bridge Half marathon and the last of the Aberavon Race Series to complete.

My back was giving me grief big time and I was starting to panic. I had done a 10 mile training run with Mr P and we had to stop every couple of miles to stretch it out. Not good. I booked in to see the Chiropractor twice a week until the big day and she assured me that she would get me race ready.

I ran the Severn Bridge half at what I hoped to be my Weymouth race pace, no PBs needed this time. I just wanted to race it comfortably, and finish it. The weather was glorious if slightly too hot for a 13 mile run. My back had the dreaded dull ache the morning of the race and so I thought that was it, a painful 2.5 hours would follow. Surprisingly, as I started to run the ache went away and did not come back until about mile 12. Considering I walked all the hills, had to jump over a fence to have a wee in a field and stopped to stretch on the bridge, I finished the run in a respectable 2 hours 18 minutes. Mr P stayed with me and, true to form, pushed me all the way around the course. He had a few choice words from me when he pushed a little too hard, but he got me round. The best bit? The ice cream!!

The next day I was back at Aberavon for the third and final of the Aquathlon Series. The weather was, again, beautiful and the sea was the calmest I have swum in. Which made a lovely change. 750m swim and 5km done with no sign of any back pain. So happy!

The Wye Tour was up next. I had signed up for me and my Dad to do the ride as a father’s day present but he was also having back issues and so couldn’t take part. I swapped from the short to the standard distance and decided to try it solo to see what pace I could push. It was definitely a challenging event. I wanted to see what time I could do 56 miles in (Weymouth distance). I had, roughly 4.5 hours, to complete the bike leg at Weymouth and so was quite happy when I came in just under that for the Wye Tour. The hills were higher, longer and the roads were open – meaning stopping at junctions etc. It gave me the confidence boost I needed.

Overall, my ride time was 5 hours 25 minutes for 68 miles. Looking at the difference in elevation, the Weymouth route looks like a leisurely ride through the park.

Focus!!

Race weekend was here before I knew it and on Friday 20th Mr P and I were on route to Weymouth. Again. The weather was beautiful, blue skies and sunshine, but that wasn’t to last. Stormy weather was predicted (deja vu) and the wind was coming from the wrong direction for a smooth sea. We were faced with a surfers heaven.

I registered and attended race briefing on Friday and slept very little that night. First thing I did on waking up on Saturday morning was to open the curtains and saw I was faced with more of the same sea conditions. Excellent. We attended Parkrun to have a nice gentle warm up and I racked my bike. It was nice not to do this in the pouring rain, like last year. I then sat in the window of our apartment for FOUR hours and stared at the sea. Praying.

Diana came to see me when she arrived in the evening and we had a good natter before my last proper meal (a Dominos pizza). Perfect carb loading food!

Race day morning. 5am alarm. Open the curtains…….slowly………much calmer sea. Hallelujah! My prayers to Zeus had been answered. I attempted to eat a bowl of porridge but it was going down in lumps so I tried toast. Same thing. The more I tried to eat it the less it went down.

Walk to transition to check the bike, add my water bottles and then down the beach. Announcement on the tannoy…swim cut to 950m, half hour delay and cut off time changed to 8 hours. That deja vu was coming back in waves! Here we were, one year later, stood in the same place in the wind and the rain waiting for a delayed, short swim.

Finally it was time to get in the water, the swim leg is always my favourite. I had worked all summer on swimming in choppy seas and so it was a case of head down and off we go. 20 minutes later I was back on the beach. A huge 7 minute difference to last year. Run to transition where, learning from past events, took my time to dry my arms before getting my jersey on and the waterproof coat I invested in. There would be no mistakes this year!

The bike was brilliant. I was warm, I made sure I drank and ate consistently and I had a good mindset. After the Wye Valley sportive this seemed much easier in comparison. I powered up the hills, sped down the descents and had enough energy in my legs to get a good pace on the flat. Even the headwind on the last 10 miles didn’t take me out. I needed to get into transition 5 hours after my swim start, meaning I had 4 hours 30 to complete the bike. I passed dozens of bikers with punctures and at the point where I had mine last time, I chanted “not today not today” over and over!

I enjoyed the decent all the way into transition where Diana and Mr P shouted I had managed it in 3 hours 46 minutes! So happy with that. Plus, that gave me over 3.5 hours to complete the run. So if the worse happened I knew I could walk it and still finish. There was no chance of me going home without that medal today.

I made my way out of transition and felt ok. I was running and that was a bonus. My back felt fine until 5 minutes later. Pain. I could have cried. I ran/walked for about 3 miles until I saw Diana and Mr P and said how much pain I was in. Diana then ran with me. I’m so glad she did. Just to have that push, was all I needed. She gave me marker points, “run to the aid station” “run to the next lamppost” “run to the clock” and with each marker My back pain became less and less and by mile 8 it was only a niggle. One that I could manage and run through.

The hard part of the run is having to pass the finish line three times before you can go down it. Its a little soul destroying yet its what drives you on. Seeing it. Knowing if you keep going you will be on it. Diana and Mr P left to get to the finish line whilst I did one last loop of the harbour. Hearing the finish line. Hearing the cheers. I was so happy but so exhausted. So much so that all I could do was run. No arms in the air. No jumping for joy. Just run. And then I burst into tears!! I had done it!!!! Project Dino Medal was complete.

Weymouth, its been a pleasure. However, I won’t be coming back! My demons are put to bed and if I have to see that damn clock one more time I will scream (7 times I had to run past it). I did what I set out to do and I’m more than happy with the result. My work here is done.

Acknowledgements

To a lucky few, all of this may seem like a walk in the park. I am not a naturally sporty person. It does not come easy to me and I have worked so hard to do what I have done. It is a massive achievement and I am so proud of myself.

Pre 2012 Jodi would have laughed in your face if you had said what she would go on to accomplish 7 years later. Pre 2012 Jodi was a lazy couch potato.

My back has been the biggest issue through all of this. I have seen physios and chiropractors and have taken up Pilates. I did think that maybe this wasn’t for me, as it just wouldn’t let up. Then, to top it off, I was diagnosed with first-degree heart block. It’s been one hell of a ride!!

So, to end this part of my journey I want to say a big shout out to all the people that helped me through it and those that I have met along the way. Thank you. Sincerely.

I apologise that I cannot thank you all individually on here, that would take longer than my actual story, but here are a few special shout outs:

To Mr. P. Whose passion and time for your own hobby gave me the push to find my own. For the support, the encouragement, for running me post-event baths, handing out (sometimes quite harsh) tough love and training with me even though you hated every minute. You have put up with my broken body and shattered willpower but have always done your best to patch me up and get me going again.

My son, Deakon. Although you probably have no idea what I have done in the last couple of years, thank you for just being you! You give a good hug and sometimes that is all I need.

Mum, Dad, Jaime, Jon and Emmy. I know you worry that I do too much but I love that you care. Thank you for all the support that you give me and thank you Jaime for making me go to that Parkrun for the very first time. If you think about it, this is entirely your fault 😉

My original partner in crime Sian Cain-Culverwell. We have been through so much together and there is no one else I would rather have swearing at me. It is a good job I am like a boomerang with the amount of times you have told me to sod off.

Helen Tilston. For being by my side during one hell of a 2018 and epic first IM703. It will not be forgotten in a hurry.

Claire Lilley. For your support both at club and as a friend. It has been a great help knowing that someone else is as miserable as I am when there is no daily supply of cheesecake.

Jasmin and Ceri. The fabulous work duo that listen to me whinge on a daily basis about how tired I am or how much pain I am in. For all the help you gave me with my fundraising and generally just being there for me.

Rhianydd Evans. My muse! You were the reason I started this journey and I am so glad I have you to aspire to.

Rogue Fox for keeping their delicious supply of handmade cakes topped up, even though I am now limited to one a week. I class it as essential recovery food.

NEWT and Islwyn Runners. Two clubs with amazing members. Lucky to have been a part of both. Thank you for all your help and support.

NISV My training ground. Thank you to the instructors, lifeguards, reception staff and (most importantly) coffee shop for always being so friendly.

Axis Chiropractor – Rachel Hughes, you have miracle hands! You promised you would get me race ready, and you did.

Last but not least, Diana Hopkins. For putting in the time and effort for the last 9 months to get me to this point. Not only did you plan my training schedule every week but you were there with me for the 6am sessions, come rain or shine. You have been a brilliant support crew and photographer! I really do appreciate what you have done and cannot thank you enough. Also, thank you to Ian and Gethin for putting up with me stealing you away!

What is next you ask? Who knows 😉