I don’t look good in lycra. In fact my c section stomach means I can’t find any decent running shorts to actually stay up. Instead I have to fasten my sexy running leggings tightly round my waist creating a rather glamorous muffin top with a beautiful camel’s toe down below.
But this was the look I chose this morning as I headed to the start of the Reading half marathon. Randomly I was joined by friends from all different walks of life. My lovely friend whom I met in the states twelve years who makes me giggle with the remarkably daft things she can say. For example as we shivered inside bin bags for warmth prior to the race start she questioned where the arm holes were? I also ran with my running buddy who forced me to sign up for the marathon against all my better judgement and a new friend, Mel, who I met in twitterland. My mum was particularly worried about me meeting Mel as she worried she may be a hairy old man who trailed twitter looking for vulnerable young ladies like myself to kidnap and have their wicked way with. My mum will be pleased to know Mel is a rather fabulous lady who shares my stupid desire to run long distances for charity.
To be honest the race was brutal, I am a firm believer that the reason man invented cars and trains was to put an end to people running further than the bus stop; so running 13 miles in under two hours does not sit well with me. But I did it, to be honest if it hadn’t been for jelly babies, my competitive nature to not let my running buddy beat me and seeing the reasons why other people run I don’t think I would have ran all the way.
The charity element of the race was tremendous, runners everywhere displayed messages to loved ones who they were running in support of or in many cases in memory of. When the going got tough, particularly at mile eleven when the wind decided to attack me I turned my thoughts to the little boy I run on behalf of and he carried me for a while. The rest of the race I ran on euphoria as I saw the end in sight.
One hour fifty nine minutes from start to finish, not bad for a fat bird who had a baby nine months ago.
Am off now to present my medal to my kids, they think it means I won; I choose not to disillusion them!
Four weeks till London; please sponsor me and help save a life.