Glentress: The self-help edition.

                                         Photo credit High Terrain Events.

'I can't be arsed' had become something of a refrain by the time I toed the start line at Glentress Marathon on the last Sunday in February. And it wasn't just me. For all the bullshit that people (read: rank and file runners, for the most part) spout ahead of races - under-trained, too much beer last night, carrying  a few niggles, yada, yada, yada -  I got the feeling that there was a genuine enthusiasm vacuum among everyone I spoke to. I blame the rain. I have no idea of the statistics, and it's probably not the wettest February SINCE RECORDS BEGAN, but the prolonged spell of bad weather has certainly taken its toll. I don't give a shit about running in the rain, in fact, I quite like it, but unremitting dreichness at a time of year when we're supposed to be seeing the back of winter's worst excesses can be genuinely depressing, even for the most resilient among us.

I'd entered on a bit of a whim about three weeks beforehand, so I hadn't done any very specific preparation. I'm aware how ridiculous this might sound to none runners, or those who may have just started: entering a marathon on a whim is certainly the privilege of a healthy, able-bodied human being and I don't take that for granted. Aside from that, it's the result of years of persistent plugging away at my running and the power of long-established habits. It's not remarkable, it's just about showing up consistently. That said, I was sorely tempted to spend Saturday night over-indulging in Pinot Grigio on the couch, but I managed to resist. I was up at 0430 on Sunday morning as planned, but even then I toyed with the idea of sticking on my head torch and jogging round the woods behind my house for 5+ hours - it would have exactly the same training benefit, I wouldn't have to drive anywhere, and I'd be done by mid morning. But here's the thing: I have a tendency to be reclusive. I reassure myself that this is normal and I just love being at home, but the less effort I make to go anywhere, the more I isolate myself. As someone prone to low mood and often debilitating self-doubt, this isn't an impulse I can afford to indulge too much. Fortunately I'm self-aware enough (at the moment) to recognise that the little voice in my head is not my friend, and that I'll almost invariably feel better if I tell it to shut the fuck up.

I may have questioned the wisdom of this on Sunday morning as I drove over the Devil's Beef Tub in a blizzard, but I took my time, the weather cleared out, and I made it to Peebles in one piece. I mainlined coffee while waiting for Jeni and Sharon to arrive (they were driving down from Aberdeenshire, putting my journey from North Cumbria into perspective), and tried not to obsess about making sure I had 6 shits before the off. Funnily enough this strategy was effective, I'm sure the absence of my presence in the loo queue was noticed. Nor did I have one toilet stop during the race. No doubt regular readers (all 3 of them) will offer up their hearty congratulations for this impressive feat of mind over bowel mastery.

For those unfamiliar with the race, Glentress Marathon takes place just outside Peebles on a mixture of forest trails and MTB tracks, so there's a lovely combination of easy, hard packed fire roads and slightly more technical single track. There are also bits of open moorland, and significantly more climbing than you might expect (if the bloke behind me at about 2 miles in muttering 'fucking hell, fucking hell' repeatedly was anything to go by, it catches quite a few people out!). The views make the climbs worthwhile though, as do the fast, fun descents.  It's a lapped course and actually just shy of marathon distance, but I approached it as I would an ultra, given the 5K of climb and the nature of the terrain.

Jeni, Ellen and I continued to chat about how much we couldn't be arsed as we waited to start. Ellen supported me on the West Highland Way last year and I haven't seen her for ages, so it was a treat to catch up. She's been injured for a while now and only intended doing one lap. Part of me quite liked that idea, but now that we were actually about to get cracking, I wanted to give it a decent shot. I knew I'd be unlikely to keep up with Jen, I just wanted to pace well, keep fuelling, and finish strong. Lakeland 100 is my big goal this year, everything else is practise. I was also mindful of the fact that there would be mud. The weather was fairly benign as we got underway, but it's been wet for weeks, and the half marathon and 10K runners had already been over the course the previous day, so it was bound to be heavy going in places.

Jeni pulled away early on, as expected. Much as I'd have loved to share the miles, I knew I had to run my own race and I'm good at sticking to that resolutely these days. Ellen and I leap-frogged a bit; neither of us was feeling particularly chatty, but it's nice to see a familiar face all the same. I settled into a comfortable rhythm, reminded myself to keep eating, and took the time to appreciate the incredible views - made all the better for being under the first blue sky I've seen in weeks. The contrast between the wide open vistas of the high paths and the enclosed forest sections with their snow laden trees and intermittent, frosty flurries, made for a real winter wonderland experience. I think 'magical' was the most used adjective afterwards - a definite contrast to the CBA epidemic that had been so pervasive before we set off, and a good reminder of why we make ourselves do this stuff.

                                          More than worth the climb - and increasingly wet feet.

                                      
                                         A kind of magic: Photo courtesy of Jeni Rhys-Jenkins

I did very briefly consider stopping at half way, the lure of being home with my boys in front of the fire was strong, especially as the weather looked as though it was turning; but I told myself I wouldn't even contemplate packing in if it wasn't for the fact I had to pass through the start/finish area. I've got into the habit of a lot of negative self-talk lately and I need to break the cycle - the power of habit is strong! I've never been one for self-help books or motivational quotes, they make me want to gag, but every now and again I come across little nuggets of real wisdom. 

Brace yourself for something of a left-field scenario... 

I was listening to the joint memoir of true crime podcasters Georgia Hardstark and Karen Kilgariff (Stay Sexy, Don't Get Murdered) the other day - bear with me - in which they talk loads about the value of therapy (an anathema to to the stiff upper lip school of thought, I know but they're American, and I'm coming round to the idea that it's worth dedicating time and effort to better knowledge of your self). And I'm now unable to resist making a wank joke, not sure what that says about me... 

Focus, Jodes. 

Something that stuck with me was Georgia's discussion with her therapist around lack of motivation and berating herself for being lazy, the upshot being: you don't have to be motivated, you just have to do it. I like that. When applied to running it recalls that old mantra: one foot in front of the other, and repeat. Essentially, don't over-complicate shit that is inherently simple. 

Yes, I digress, but you don't need a step by step account of my run - Garmin tells me there were just shy of 60,000 of them that day - we've been here quite long enough as it is.

Funnily enough the second lap was easier, psychologically at least. You know you're ticking off the little landmarks for the last time, which is satisfying. I also passed quite a few people and, although I'm not really competitive, there's no doubt that being overtaken is demoralising, while the opposite is true when you're the one doing the overtaking, I was a wee bit slower, but the weather deteriorated and the already muddy terrain was even stickier than before. As I started to flag I remembered a message from my friend Ange telling me not to piss about socialising and put a bit of effort in (I'm paraphrasing, she's a lot more polite than I am) and I tried to run as many of the inclines as possible towards the end. I've got to give credit to the lads out marshalling the course here; every time they saw me run up a hill they cheered me on as though I was winning, which was a massive boost. Thank you chaps, you made my day.

I love a strong finish. Even at the end of the West Highland Way when I had struggled to run for a while I managed to jog all the way from the 30 mile per hour signs on the outskirts of Fort Bill, to the finish at the Nevis Centre. I genuinely believe there's always something left if you dig deep enough. I'd also overtaken another lass on the final descent and as much as I'm not competitive, I was fucked if I was being beaten in the final few metres!

There's a cruel but short hill just before the end but I felt as though I powered up it and received a tonne of encouragement from spectators and those who were already done with their race. Jenkins was at the finish line and passed me the remains of her Irn Bru while we discussed our respective levels of nausea. She'd bagged third 'old lady' (her words) and I was 15th female overall in 5 hours 35 minutes, which I wasn't displeased with for current fitness levels and conditions on the day. Obviously on reflection I'm berating myself for not trying a bit harder at various points, but I can live with that, it means I'm in the right frame of mind to work harder and do better next time.

                                                   
                                                                    It's Irn Bru this time, not Talisker. Future whisky date TBA.

I do wonder about writing these blogs. Or rather, I question my motivation for sharing them. If you'll forgive me a little more introspection, I think it's because I run to satisfy my need for goal-setting, and to help rid myself of a tendency towards perfectionism that has held me back massively in other areas of my life. Basically, I'm too afraid of failure to have ever achieved much professionally, but there's a part of me that thinks if I keep stepping up to the plate with this daft hobby, at which I will always be mediocre, eventually I'll be able to channel that discipline into a sense of real purpose elsewhere. Same goes for sharing what I write; it's not perfect by any stretch, but I enjoy doing it. If anyone likes it, that's great; if they don't, that's fine too. They don't have to read it, and it doesn't mean I have to stop writing.

As always, congratulations if you got this far. Brevity is not a gift I'm blessed with.