Anyone who has spoken to me in the last couple of weeks will know how overwhelmingly stressed I have been. Losing a house, a hat and a bag of washing in a matter of hours seemed funny at first (bad luck really does seem to come in threes) but after two painful weeks of house-hunting and preparing for a move back to Essex, I am happy to be settled in my second Fulham home. I am adamant that my blog will never be a place I come to rant, so I wanted to apologise for my silence and update you all on my marathon journey.
With my foam roller tucked under one arm, I’m fast becoming one of those boring people that only talks about running. Pounding the pavements for around twenty miles a week, by some miracle, my body seems to be getting used to it. Despite the sweat, the aching muscles and the weather, I’m defeating the blisters and not hating getting up at 6am to run in the dark as much as I expected to. Although I keep telling everyone that I’m only going to do this once, I’m slowly catching the running bug.
Running into the wind on the final mile of my 10K last Saturday, the enormity of how far I had to go hit me. Yet at the same moment ‘Fight Song’ by Rachel Platten started playing over my headphones, reducing to tears on the Thames path. I too readily switch off as I run, allowing my mind to dwell on moving, men and marathons. Bringing me back down to earth, the lyrics remind me why I’m doing this. Anorexia is an illness to be fought every single day; a battle few understand, but one that still rages in our society. As it hits me how far I’ve come, the pain of the past keeps me running for those still suffering. With my fundraising vest ready, bring on the coughs and colds of winter training.