Just keep swimming - Cotswolds marathon swim, August 2016

I'm not entirely sure what compelled me to enter a 10km swim. I'd never swum more than 6km (and that was in a pool - dull and repetitive, but strangely meditative too) and have historically had some, er, 'confidence' issues with open water swimming. Leptospirosis will do that to you.

I love swim. I'm happy in the water. But for a few years the mere thought of getting in a lake would be enough to give me a dull sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. I would find any excuse not to go, and typically I didn't venture into any water other than the local pool. I swam open water a handful of times in 2015, including my first ever sea swim and an ill-advised foray into middle distance triathlon. To be fair, the swim was probably the least of my worries on that day. Note to self, training helps.

This year has been fairly traumatic. Family stuff of epic proportions, and my beloved Daddy had a stroke in March. I stayed with my parents for several weeks afterwards, doing my best to support them through the early days of recovery. And thankfully the recovery has happened beyond what I could have hoped for. My Dad has been brilliant. Whilst I was at home, I started swimming more frequently - it was downtime, time to zone out, switch my head off and just swim. In April I swam 20 miles. The pool started to seem a bit dull, the chlorine started to kill my hair and my sinuses, and after the very real stress of recent events, open water swimming didn't seem so scary anymore.

I'd heard about the Cotswolds 10km swim from friends. It was run by the same team who hosted the 226 long distance triathlon Mr. Cake (him indoors) had done last year, and it was from all accounts a very well organised and friendly affair. I was only looking. Honestly I was. But then I seemed to have entered it.

Flash forwards several weeks - training had comprised of swimming 3-4 times per week (on a good week), with 1-2 open water sessions. For the first time in my life I'd dragged myself out of bed to swim before work (probably the busiest I've ever seen the local pool - and almost all of the swimmers were of the retired pensioner variety - who'd have thunk it!?), and I would swim a minimum of 1 mile per session. I did the 5km Big Swim in Nottingham, the day before the Outlaw triathlon (new marathon PB - whoop whoop!) and that was the longest OW swim I did in the lead up to the marathon swim (I like saying that :) ).

The day before the event Mr. Cake and I drove down to the Cotswolds. It was a gloriously sunny day, and far too sticky in the car to be comfortable. Arriving at the campsite was a relief, as was the mini milk lolly I had before putting the tent up. I say that as if I helped. I didn't. Mr. Cake assembled said tent whilst I ate crisps. I'd done the driving, so I think this was fair. Ish.

Helping with the tent. 

Once the tent was up and the crisps had been eaten, we had a wander down to Lake 62 which was where the swim would take place the next day. One of the organisers was there setting up for the next day, and we met his lovely dog Shadow, who was a) very excitable, b) very wet, and c) had the biggest 'ball' I've ever seen a dog playing with.

This is Shadow. Shadow has a buoy. There are many like it, but this one is Shadow's. 

All quiet the day before.

The rest of the day was spent eating, hydrating (I say this rather than 'drinking' as no alcohol was involved and camping + drinking to me implies booze) and lounging around. We chatted with others on the campsite who would also be swimming the next day. No one I spoke to was doing the 10km swim. I was starting to get a bit nervous.

As tends to be the case when nerves strike, a disturbing thought occurred to me.

What happens if, mid-swim, you need the toilet? And not to pee. Peeing in a wetsuit is quite a well-known thing. I've never done it (I've never tried, my brain just doesn't compute with peeing in my clothing...) but I know people who do. Apparently it helps to keep you warm.

But what if you need to poop?

As the sun set over the campsite, the smell of campfires in the air and the light fading into inky darkness, Mr. Cake and I whiled away the hours discussing wetsuit poop flaps, floaters and other such delights. The phrase "Code Brown" was uttered. It was a magical night.

Sunday morning and I wasn't so much nervous as buzzing with excitement. The "Oh my god, what the hell am I doing?" nerves had been replaced with a "bring it on!" bounciness. We headed to the lake, me singing along to Smash Mouth's All Stars (The water's getting warm so you might as well swim!) and Mr. Cake admitting that he was "shitting it" about his 5km swim. I hoped not literally, as the previous night's conversation had offered no obvious solutions to the mid-swim poop dilemma.

The 10km swim was due to start at 8:45am. I was wearing a rash vest under my wetsuit, and had applied liberal amounts of Sports Shield ('For Her' - it comes in a pink bottle and contains aloe vera for lady skin, which is obviously very different to man skin). It was quite fortunate it wasn't too warm. The overcast sky was a welcome change from the blazing sun of the day before. The water was 20.3C, and overheating would have been a distinct  possibility.

The Costwolds 10km swim is 10 laps of a 1km loop. On each lap, you swim to a pontoon and 'tap-in' on a timing mat, which registers the timing chip you wear around your right wrist. For the 10km and 5km swimmers, this pontoon also holds a feeding station - each swimmer has a designated place on a wooden frame where they could store 2 bottles (~750ml size) and gels/jelly babies/food, or whatever other hydration/fuel they wanted. I had one bottle of water and one of Lucozade (I like it, it doesn't upset my stomach, and it would rehydrate effectively), and also a packet of Nakd Berry Bits.

My plan to refuel and rehydrate was to stop after 3-4km, then again at 6km and 8km. Anything in addition to that would be based on feel. As it turned out, this worked well and I didn't need anything more.

Getting in the water is usually the hardest bit for me. I'm a wimp with the temperature change. Today though I didn't have much choice about easing myself in - there were a load of people queuing up behind me. The water was actually really nice - warm for open water, and the acclimatisation was barely needed.

The klaxon went. We swam. There was no washing machine start, which is usually the case with triathlon swims. This was something I  had been worried about, but with less than 50 people in the water it was calm (the shorter distance swimmers had different start times - this did mean faster, fresher people were entering the water as the 10km swimmers were tiring, but looking at the positives this presented drafting opportunities!). The water was green, and weedy nearer the edges. The buoys were big and bright, and easy to sight.

I swam. And swam. And swam. I wear a Garmin 910xt, and my pace would usually see me complete a kilometre in about 18 minutes. I finished the first lap in 20 minutes, and I measured it nearer 1.1km. 10% over. Hmm. This might makes things a bit more interesting.

I was hoping for a 3 hours 30 minutes (ish) finish. I certainly wanted to be done within 4 hours. The first 5km took me 1hr 36, so allowing for some slowing I thought my 3:30 target was achievable.

Long distance swimming is very repetitive. This isn't new information. Having never swum beyond 2hrs before, I had been a bit concerned about the mental side of things. What would my brain do whilst I was swimming? Turns out it was able to entertain me fairly easily. A trick I often use when swimming, cycling or running is to do maths. What distance have I done? What would that be if I converted it between miles/kilometres? How many laps of a 25 metre pool does it equate to? What percentage of an Ironman swim is that? What pace do I need to achieve x/y/z finish time? It passes the time :)

I spent a good two laps listing as many Harry Potter characters as I could think of. I even split them into different categories - students. Ministry of Magic employees. Deatheaters. Members of the Order of the Phoenix. I got through a fair few. Then I listed all of the horcruxes and their locations/means of destruction. Those were quite an enjoyable few laps.

As I tired, my brain started to wander. I couldn't concentrate as well, and I spent what felt like forever trying to work out what 9x700 was. I was saying to myself "do 9x7" but then couldn't think how many zeros I needed. Seeing as I'm a go-to person when it comes to mental arithmetic, this was a good sign that I was flagging. I eventually worked out my maths and swapped instead to my A-Z game - working my way through the alphabet naming for each letter something on a specific category. I heard once that swearing helps to cope with pain and discomfort, so today was swear words and curses - all said in the voice of Brian Blessed. I was quite impressed with my creativity. I don't think my Mum would be though :)

I completed my ninth lap in a time of 3:27, with my Garmin measuring 6.2 miles - just over 10km. Unfortunately, I still had one lap to go. Still, I consoled myself as I set off on the last lap, I had achieved my target time for the distance.

As I swam that final lap, a thought occurred to me. When I finished I would have swum nearly 7 miles. Would it be silly to bring it up to the distance? I was already knackered, so it was a stupid thought. But when am I likely to swim 7 miles again? "Just get out" I told myself. Do the lap, get out, and get dry. As I neared the finish though... my swim OCD took over. I like neat numbers you see. Something needs to end in a zero (or a five), be it time or distance. And I'll swap between metric and imperial depending on what suits the neatness. My ideal pool swim is 4km. This is 160 laps of a 25m pool, and also happens to be 2.5 miles (I've made peace with the rouge few metres, and will swim them without including them in the lap count - it would throw it off. I am normal, honest).

So I swam to the pontoon and tapped in - 6.92 miles. I asked the marshal if I could just swim for a few more minutes - he waved his hand at me in disbelief, but he didn't say no. So off I went. A couple of minutes later, I had 7.02 miles as headed for the pontoon ramp and clambered onto my feet.

Standing at the side of the lake was my husband and my friends. Any congratulations that might have been coming were overshadowed by bewilderment at me having finished, then setting off again. "Are you insane?" greeted me as I stumbled out of the water, grinning like a loon. Yes, I think I might be.

 

Would I do it again? Definitely. I felt a huge sense of achievement from that swim. It wasn't something I'd have believed I was capable of, and I surprised myself. I also quite like the bragging rights of being a 'marathon swimmer' :)

Warning - contains Oscar speech style gushing

I’ve been pondering for a while how to say something, and I can’t think how to do it without sounding sentimental and gushing.

So here it is.

My friends and family are bloody brilliant.

This marathon/fundraising malarkey has been far more stressful that I thought (or hoped) it would be.

The running side of things has been fine. Little niggles as expected, and I’ve learnt far more about foam rollers than I wanted to. But I feel that I’m stronger running now than I ever have been before. A proper training regime has been a revelation. Who’d have thunk it.

The fundraising however… it was much harder work than I had anticipated.

I’ve done a craft sale and a bake sale, I’ve sold recipe books and my Mum organised an auction for me. My brother made an animated video (he’s a bit of a creative whizz!). I’ve put myself in the local press in an effort to raise the profile of my fundraising efforts (photos… shudder!). Last weekend I did a car boot sale.

Roll up, roll up! 

I’ve tried to organise bag-packing at supermarkets – apparently you have to book about a year in advance. Who knew?! So that was a non-starter. I had grand plans for things I could do at work. It’s big hospital. There are lots of staff, so in my planning I had anticipated doing lots of things at work. I wanted to run a quiz, do bake sale, organise a raffle… but I was told no fundraising on site. Which I have to admit was a bit grumpiness-inducing. It seemed a bit mean spirited, but what I could do?

Lots of people have donated to me – simple acts of kindness, getting nothing in return. Members of my team at work have offered sponsorship the old-fashioned way – filling in their details and pledging cash. Most of what has been raised however has been online through my Virgin Money Giving page. I’ve been spamming people for months on Facebook and through Twitter, and my friends and family have dug deep. Five weeks before race day I’d got to the fundraising target half way point.

And then something amazing happened.

Step forward the Dog in the Wig. My fairy godmother. My hero (I did warn about the gushing).

Sunday afternoon, me and Matt had just got home from the car boot sale. I’d counted out the takings for the day (£59.70 – 4 hours on the day, lots of time baking and sorting before-hand!) and was sorting the coins into bags to take to the bank (why are you always short one 20p to make it up to the value?!) whilst Matt ate the leftover cakes (he ate six. SIX!)

My phone pinged to say I had an email. I opened it and my heart literally skipped a beat. There was a bit of incoherent rambling. I thrust the screen in Matt’s face. I flapped and cried like an American teenager (you know the films – they’re usually cheerleaders and have perky names like Brittney or Summer).

From less than £600 to over £1500, just like that. The Dog in the Wig had done something so incredibly kind and generous that I still can’t quite believe it.

I was – and still am – utterly gobsmacked.

No one was obliged to donate. Everyone who has has done it through generosity and kindness, sparing what they can to support the charity, to support me, or - possibly - to try and stop me spamming them. I am grateful to every single donor and I don’t think I can ever thank them as much as I need to.

My Fairy Godmother said something when he made his staggeringly generous donation: “Time for you to focus on having a good time on the day...”, and it’s taken me back a bit to one of the reasons I signed up for the London marathon. It has a reputation as The Marathon – an event that’s a bit special, and I really, really wanted to be part of that.

So here’s to my lovely, kind, generous friends and family. Thank you. I’ll try and have a good time on the day J

A nice relaxing massage...

I’m quite well known for injuring myself in stupid ways.

I once bruised my hand with a Quorn sausage. I’ve also broke my fingers with a cushion. And then there was the time I smooshed my nose with a Vax carpet cleaner hose.

I'm pretty much well on the way to earning myself a Darwin Award. 

If things can go wrong...

This week I’ve managed to strain my wrist whist using the foam roller.

Yes, in the pursuit of easing pain I’ve managed to hurt myself. To the point where I can’t grip anything properly with my right hand, and typing sends zingy burst of pain through my wrist. 

So foam rolling is out. And I suspect an illustrious career as an arm wrestler is too.

To this end, I’ve been to see a physioterrorist. I say this in jest of course. Physios are expert professionals who take no pleasure in inflicting pain on their patients. I would like to believe.

The physio I have seen is lovely. Friendly and chatty, his innocent smile belies the skill in which he can induce some of the most intense pain I’ve ever felt. All in the name of rehab for the calf tear I’ve managed to cause myself in training.

Deep tissue massage HURTS. It HURTS A LOT. My calf is riddled with bruises, and I’m having to sit with my leg stuck out awkwardly so that nothing touches it. And d’you know what? I have a pretty high pain threshold. But I've been assured that it'll help. So I grinned (grimaced) and got on with it. 

Pretty much how I felt during my massage

So tonight is an enforced rest. Instead of my planned run, I’ve eaten curry and watched Pointless.

It’s not so bad really :)

Feeling generous? Please donate to my fundraising efforts! 

50 Days to go!

50 days to go! So says the countdown clock on the Virgin London Marathon website. 

Not that I'm counting. 1208 hours and 35 minutes - tick tock, tick tock...

So, my training. I did Coventry half marathon last Sunday. It was my first race of the year, and a good test to see how my training has been going. It was also an opportunity to test out my newly personalised VICTA running vest.

I went to university in Coventry, but have to admit that I never ventured outside the ring road. Firstly, because everything you need as a student exists inside the ring road. And secondly, because the Coventry ring road is a top contender for modern day circle of hell status.

So having a run through the area was actually my first real look at the place.

The race started in the city centre. There was someone from that ice-skating show (I can’t for the life of me think what it’s called) to start the race, and apparently this was very exciting. I was slightly distracted however by the race commentator declaring that the people in the pens with expected finish times of 2:30-3hrs hadn’t trained anywhere near as much as the people in the 1:30 pen. Not the most encouraging thing to hear if you’ve slogged your guts out to get to the start line.

Anyhoo, once the race started it was lovely. The course was undulating, with one hilly-ish bit. It went out into the villages, so was a good mix of city and rural roads. The weather was perfect – cool, breezy, and only a very short burst of rain (alright, not quite perfect!), and there was some nice support along the course.

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed Coventry half marathon. I took 17 minutes off my recent half times (post smooshed leg) and finished feeling pretty strong. The medal is pretty nice, and the post-race chai latte (my reward J ) felt well earned.  

I’m feeling quietly confident for the London marathon. What I’m most concerned about is the fundraising target. Trying to raise such a large amount of money not long after moving to a new area is presenting some issues. I don’t really know many people outside of work, and, unfortunately, my work place has not been particularly welcoming to my fundraising efforts. Nothing is allowed on site, so this is turning out to be trickier than I had hoped.

Next up I’m planning a car boot sale. I’ve spent the past week ferreting through things, finding donations, and plotting. There may well be fancy dress involved, and possibly face-painting.

If you should wish to donate, I’d be very grateful. I’m actually starting to panic a little as my Mum (bless her, she listens to my wittering) would confirm. Click the link below – it’s very, very easy to donate online. Any other means you prefer would also be gratefully received. I hear owl post is quite reliable :) 


http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/SarahMartinRD

In the news!

It’s hard work being a celebrity *swish*

At least I’d guess so, maintaining those forced smiles at the Oscars probably took some dedicated training.

I, of course, am not a celebrity. But I have had a little bit more exposure since the last time I posted.

I’ve been in the local paper. FRONT COVER!! I wasn’t expecting that at all, and I can’t say it was a nice surprise to see my mug staring back up at me from my doormat last Friday morning. The full page spread was also unexpected, but as it was all for a good cause I put my unease to one side.

The article was very nice, and the response from it was lovely. Lots of people had some very kind words for me, and some made very generous donations. I would never consider myself as anything special, so to be called inspirational didn’t sit well with my natural instinct of keeping my head down and trying not to draw attention. But it was a bit nice to read such lovely responses J  

The article was intended to raise the profile of VICTA and the work they do, and hopefully enthuse kind-hearted readers to make a donation to my fundraising.

VICTA is only a small charity. Most of their funds come from that raised by people running the London marathon on their behalf. They aren’t high profile, or well known, and as such probably (definitely…) don’t get the attention or support that larger charities can demand.

So if you haven’t heard of them before now’s an opportunity to branch out in your charitable giving! The funds VICTA raises are used to help blind and partially sighted children and young adults to live, learn and enjoy the world around them, to achieve their full potential and experience the same opportunities as everyone else.

If you can (please, please, please!) make a donation, no matter how small (or large if you feel inclined!) – it will make a difference to a child who has been born without sight. It will make a difference to me (fundraising is stressful!). It will make a difference to you – think how warm and fuzzy you’ll feel for doing something so nice J

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/SarahMartinRD

Worry less, run more

This week hasn’t gone to plan. 

It was bound to happen – things don’t always go swimmingly. Not in my experience anyway!

My calf has been sore, but with rest and liberal use of the foam roller it’s been improving. I ran on Monday, and all seemed well, which was encouraging.

On Tuesday evening my Mum told me she wasn’t feeling well. Wednesday morning she was in A&E. Thursday evening I drove the 100 mile trip to the hospital, arriving 5 minutes before the end of visiting. This provided an unexpected opportunity for some speed work as I sprinted through the hospital, thinking that if I was in before closing time at least I’d get to see my Mum that evening.

I did get in on time, and what I found didn’t settle my worries at all. My lovely Mum looked pretty rough. She was in an awful lot of pain, and sounded hoarse and exhausted. Things got worse when they brought round her evening medication and she had a bad reaction to it. Soon the bed was surrounded by nurses, doctors and various bits of medical equipment. It was very stressful and very scary. I didn’t leave the hospital until nearly 11pm and I was confident enough that things were stable.  

Fortunately my Mum is recovering. She’s been dosed up on drugs that have made her say some odd things (apparently I’m having a baby and she’ll be making a pink dress for its arrival…), but she’s improving day by day and my stress levels are gradually going down.

My training though…Nowt much has happened for a good couple of weeks now. And receiving the “12 weeks to go!” race-day countdown email from VICTA… my stress levels might still be higher than they should be!

Back to it though. That marathon isn’t going to run itself!  

Click to spend a penny and donate to the wonderful VICTA!

(Mis)adventures in Foam Rolling

I have a new toy.

Well, not so much a toy as an instrument of torture.

A foam roller.

I bought it a week ago, but it’s only just made it out of the packaging. And within a minute (no word of a lie – literally less than 60 seconds had passed) I had managed to get peanut butter on it.

Note to self – don’t eat peanut butter and unpack fitness equipment at the same time.

Anyway, the foam roller. I’ve had a niggle in my calf. Sore enough to stop me running, and sore enough to drag me into the dark and masochistic world of foam rolling.

The foam roller is a piece of kit of which I have little experience. And by very little I mean none. I’ve heard plenty about it though, and most of these stories involve reports of self-inflicted pain.

The foam roller is used to relieve tension and tightness in muscles, and acts as a dynamic form of stretching. As running is a repetitive movement it’s easy for the muscles to feel sore afterwards, so anything that eases the tightness and soothes the soreness has to be worth a try. Even if it does hurt in the short-term.

After a bit of research I purchased a Pro-Fitness 3-in-1 Foam Roller. A fairly cheap and cheerful (pfft!) option from Argos.

Now as far as using the roller itself goes, I’m reasonably satisfied.

However.

The instruction leaflet directed me to the “included DVD” which “shows a variety of exercises that you can perform with the 3-in-1 Foam Roller”.

There is no DVD.

And the 3-in-1 roller? Well the centre roller doesn’t actually come out from the rest of the damn thing. As I write this my husband is battling with the little pull handle, trying to free the innermost roller from its captor. So essentially, it’s 2-in-1.

And as an aside – the quality of the instructions is… poor. Espercially* the spelling.

*If you have noticed the extra R, I have lifted this spelling directly from the instructions.

Ahem. I’ll put my inner-pedant back in her box.

Back to the roller.

I have rolled. It wasn’t too painful. I shall roll again.

Tomorrow I’ll attempt to run again. Fingers crossed!

PS. As ever, every penny helps. If you forgo a coffee from a high street barista this week and donate the money to VICTA instead, they'll be able to continue the excellent work they do supporting blind and partially sighted children. In the words of Mrs. Doyle, "Go on, go on, go on, go on, GO ON!" :) 

Donate now!