I had never run one before and had been training for four months after running purely for pleasure for four years. I had never run with anyone, not even a 5km training run. I ran the marathon to raise money for a local cardiac charity (Northen Ireland Chest, Heart and Stroke) and to challenge myself to such a distance. I knew those 26.2 miles would be tough but certainly no tougher than any aspect of trying to deal with serious cardiac problems such as the ones Mum and Ruby had to deal with.
I started training hard in January. I investigated the right training programme for me, joined a gym and got stuck in. I completed training runs twice each week, never for fun, always hill repeats or speed-work, did one long run each week, gradually increasing my distance mile by mile, and attended the gym twice each week to focus on core strength and flexibility.
In February Mum died suddenly from a heart attack. I kept training. I was distracted.
Shortly after the funeral my aunt, Mums sister, died. I kept training.
The fourth anniversary of Ruby's death was approaching. I kept training.
The marathon was one week before Ruby's anniversary. It was only three weeks ago but every day since then has given me new insights and new reflections to consider about my health and my life, about Mum, about mortality, about self-determination, about autonomy and about many other things. It has been an unusual and confusing time.
I have only run three times since then- my interest has massively waned- once was a wonderful trail run over the beautiful and much loved Blacks Mountain, the second was a boring, ugly pavement run that was so disheartening I nearly stopped to call a taxi home, the third was a joyful run/hike around the Belfast hills yesterday with a backpack full of camping equipment, just to test myself. I have found new interest in other activities I am investigating, namely hiking, trail running and wild camping. I am a little worried about losing my love of running as I have heard of many similar accounts of post-marathon passion loss but I greatly hope it is temporary. I've never been very good at anything apart from running.
I now have time to grieve about Mum and my aunt. I don't know if I am grieving. I don't know how much conscious focus I need to apply to work through it. I don't really know if, while seemingly distracted with training, I have already worked through things. I don't even really know how sad I am. I know I'm not right and I know I feel that depression, or something like it, is following me ready for me to slip up. There are shadows near me where there should be none. My efforts are only just enough to keep the balance.
After the marathon I recovered surprising well, testament to my gym attendance I have been told. My recovery was relatively short even though I was physically wrecked- my legs were weak and very sore all over, I had many unexplained bruises that needled me for days and, worse of all, the soles of my feet were badly bruised and damaged so I could barely walk. I had large blisters that became infected and which still hurt now, three weeks later (I ran wearing the thinnest of running sandals- Mexican huaraches- instead of shoes in a style known as "barefoot running" which was totally unsuitable for Belfast's potholed, sharp-edged tarmac).
It is only now, three weeks later, than I am beginning to appreciate the psychological damage that may have been done during than race. If it can exhaust and injure my body in the way it did then it makes sense I should be affected in other ways. But the mental impairment, like the blisters, heals with time.
I can't guess other changes that will happen as I continue to reflect on my experiences but there is one thing I am absolutely certain of- I need to keep moving. Hill running, hiking, camping, cycling, strolling, ambling.
This is key, movement. In uncertain times such as these the only certainty is that movement always helps. I may never run a marathon again, life is different now after such an extraordinary experience, but I will do other things with my time as long as I keep moving.
Cave Hill, Belfast, yesterday
