Cardiff sprint triathlon and the world's longest blog post

Today was the day. After months of hard graft, cycling to work, nursing sore bits and smelling like piss (chlorine), the triathlon was here...

The Jolliffe clan were out in force once again (thank you) as we all crawled out of bed between 5.30 and 6am this morning, ready for the trip to Cardiff. They really have been the keenest of spectators in the past couple of weeks, and praise the lord that I had them to help me round and/or take photos for the purpose of this blog. I also had a bunch of 'good luck' flowers delivered to work on Friday (Rosa you are wonderful) and loads of texts from my friends so I was unbelievably motivated.

I slept for a grand total of about 3 hours last night, going through everything that could possibly go wrong in my head and went to the toilet at least three times. DISTURBED SLEEP IS BAD FOR THE TRAINING ATHLETE. I woke up this morning feeling nervous, moody and had a dodgy stomach (that classic combo). Totally ready for a triathlon.

I am someone who has famously said (on more than one occasion) "I have no sympathy with people who get nervous. I never get nervous about anything". This morning, I was definitely eating my words, ingesting them quickly and shitting them out the other end. Running doesn't reaaaally make me nervous because it's just walking but more quickly. You just have to put one foot in front of the other (OH COCKY TWAT). But this was a whole new ball game honeys. Adding in potentially leaky goggles, a cheap tri-suit that could disintegrate at any moment and A BIKE was enough to bring my breakfast banana back up before being subtly swallowed in the car on the way up...

Also nervous about not being able to wear my make-up...

When we arrived I did EXACTLY what Chrissie Wellington told me not to do in 'A Beginners Guide to Triathlon' (go and buy it immediately, my name is in there), and started checking out everyone else's equipment. So many posh bikes with those clip-in shoes and snazzy triathlon suits that definitely weren't bought off ebay at the cheapest price possible. Also, some people had their flipping names on their tri-suit... What was I getting myself into?!?

Because I'm a twat, I estimated that my swim time for 400m would be 7 minutes. Therefore I was placed in the last - and fastest - heat with all the professionals. After racking my bike and setting my kit out in the EXACT same way as the man next to me (he looked pro and I was clueless), I did a little warm-up and made my way to the start of the swim. By this point I was so pale and shaky and mum kept throwing me concerned looks. I was shitting myself and haven't eaten gluten for WEEKS, so couldn't even blame that. Bugger.

This is like a Daily Mail long-lense perv shot

"So then, who's nervous? Actually nah I recognise pretty much all of you in this heat so I know you'll be fine," said the man who was giving my heat our debrief. WHAT THE FUCK, NO YOU DO NOT. YOU DO NOT KNOW ME AND THEREFORE I WILL NOT BE FINE. I had fake tanned on Friday (obviously) but it was quickly draining from my face and I just wanted to get in the water. The man said some stuff that I couldn't take in because I was conscious of the fam looking at me through the glass window, and then he said "right we're starting in about 40 seconds". Me and a really tall girl got into the same lane and were told to keep to our sides of the lane, which was a relief because I didn't want to get kicked in the face or weed on, if the occasion so happened to arise. When we started, the girl went off like a shot anyway, so I needn't have worried.

The swim was unbelievably choppy and I was so far behind the other girl in my lane, but kept an eye on the man to my right who was going about the same pace as me. Shock horror, my shitty goggles leaked and I had to stop twice to empty them - but that's what you get when your goggles are older than your first thong (about 11 years, for anyone who's interested). When I was a swimmer back in ye olde day, doing a 400m race was pretty much death. I only ever did one and it was the equivalent of a marathon. NOT TODAY SISTERS. It felt like a properrrrr sprint; the first 6 lengths went so quickly and I hardly had time to breathe. Before I knew it, my end of lane man was putting a float into the pool - no, not because I was drowning, but to signal two lengths to go. In my heyday (am I really that old) I could knock out 50m freestyle in 30 seconds, so I got my head down and kicked like a muthaaaafuckaaaaaa. When I finished (9th in my heat) my little helper bloke said well done and I hoisted myself out the water, grinning like a cheshire cat.

I WISH YOU COULD SEE MY SMILE

Running into the transition area and whipping my hat off like I was starring in the latest L'oreal advert, I was met by mum, dad and Rach all taking photos of me. At this point I realised I was having THE BEST TIME EVER - in the words of my new favourite triathlete (@TheHisKnibs): I fucking love this shit!!!!

As I sat my padded ass down on my bike seat, a marshall said to me "go on girlllll, you look so girly - now catch that man". Let it be known right now that I am not great on a bike. I powered off down the hill as if I was the female Lance Armstrong at the height of my well-documented drug-taking career. I was up that man's ass like an Ann Summers special.

This would not last... Approximately 2 minutes into the bike I was met by the biggest hill I had ever seen (possibly). It was like riding up a death slide backwards. By the time I'd got to the top I'd been overtaken by everyone in my heat (HOORAY FOR ME), but somehow I was still smiling?! People from the earlier heats were running back down the hill, cheering on us late-starters as they were about to finish their race. It was amazing, everyone is amazing, triathlons are amazing.

Padded ass cheeks, check

The two-lap bike is not much to talk about apart from it was bloody hilly (apart from one massive downhill where I SWEAR I broke the speed limit) and I learnt very late on that standing up on your bike is an absolute shitter on your energy stores. The bike is so technical and I think I would have to do a lotttt of work to get significantly better at it, hmmmm. Also, because I started in the last heat and wasn't catching anyone up any time soon, I was very quickly at the back of the whole race. I knew I wasn't actually going the slowest and that the people in my heat were proper, experienced triathletes, but still it was a bit odd to be actually at the back. Or as my mum called me, 'the tail runner' - much nicer. The marshalls throughout were so so so good, and the welsh accent is so soft yet SO encouraging. I wanted to do well for all of my welsh friends that I made along the way.

Finishing the bike was such a good feeling, knowing that I was about to start my run and could finally take my bloody helmet off kept me going right until the end. I was a bit nervous about getting jelly legs and collapsing in front of everyone, but then again I do love the attention so either way I'd be a winner.

Rachel told me I was putting my bike on wrong and I didn't even get pissy - SO BLOODY HAPPY

The lady at the transition area complimented me on my outfit for a second time as I ran past her, and obviously mum, dad and Rach were getting snap-happy so I had to keep smiling. Honestly, it's probably the most I've ever smiled on a Sunday. The run was pretty much 5km of fields and wooded area with a tiny bit of road chucked in - so good practice for cross-country season if nothing else. It had a bit that went back on yourself, so I could see people finishing as I was starting. At first I was like ahhhh whatever they started half an hour before I did - until I saw the man who was two swimming lanes down from me, absolutely storming it down the finishing straight. What a lad. I had shit to doooooo. I absolutely love cross-country so running down all the mud paths and all that was an absolute treat. I also felt really professional with my tri-suit on, however realising that I wasn't wearing a sports bra and felt no bounce whatsoever was slightly earth shattering...

Again the marshalls on the run were unbelievable - I couldn't see anyone in front of me and was worried that everyone had gone home, but dad assured me afterwards that I made up loads of time on the run. I LOVE RUNNING. Anyway as I made it into the last field there was a marshall shouting 'GO ON EMMA' - bloody hell I'm FAMOUS. Oh no - mum had just accosted a random man to shout my name while I was wearing next to nothing and you could probably see the outline of my foo-foo, but no biggie. With 100m to go I put in a last kick and made it to the finish in one piece. I saw a photographer and flashed my best ever Emma Jolliffe smile, but to be honest I looked like shit. Hugs all round from the family and I realised again that I was smiling like a massive idiot.

END

Post-race chat over and done with, we watched the medals being given out. Dad timed me at 1 hour 14 minutes from start to finish, but I didn't know if that was good or not... The girl who got the bronze in the ladies race finished in 1 hour 9 minutes, so I was pretty chuffed that I was only 5 minutes behind and could've maybe got closer if I wasn't in the last heat and therefore missed out on getting in-amongst the racing. Surprisingly, I was spot on with my swim time and did 7 minutes dead - over the moon with that one thank yaaaa very much. My run was 23.02 which again, YAY. So I guess that puts my bike at around the 40 minute mark? It felt super sluggy but I'm quite pleased with that time. The race wasn't chipped so the tri club are still piecing everyone's time together - but I'd like to think I didn't do TOOOOO badly for my first attempt... I feel I could, and probably will, write a list of pros, cons and tricks/tips for your first triathlon, but basically JUST DO ONE. There were even 3 people doing a relay, so one person did each sport, HOW WOW. And what else would you possibly want to do on a Sunday?!?

Reflecting at the finish... lol jkzzz there was a fit man

Run to the Beat 10k: Running for Jack

I mostly run for selfish reasons. I like the free therapy it gives me, I enjoy racing and it means I can eat more than I probably should. But when Rosa tagged me in a Facebook post from the charity CRY, calling for runners to make up their Run to the Beat 10km team, I couldn't say no.

 

For those of you that don't know, CRY stands for Cardiac Risk in the Young. It's a growing charity that not only does great work, but is truly appreciative of every single penny it gets. When Jack passed away 5 years ago it was put down to an underlying heart disease that had never been picked up, and our whole community was left asking 'why'. Jack's death has affected a lot of people in a lot of different ways, but the support of - and for - CRY has been constant. Since that terrible day over £15,000 has been raised by Jack's family, friends and even friends of friends - he's made an impact that he would've never imagined possible. Over the years we've been runners, cyclists, football players, raffle ticket sellers, dashing Santa Claus's, auctioneers and much more. The importance of CRY as a charity is invaluable - all money raised goes towards heart screenings for young people around the country, in the hope that any problems are found and lives are saved. So yes, when Rosa tagged me in that Facebook post there was no way that I would turn down the opportunity to do my bit, in memory of the late, great Jack Boulton.

Held in Wembley, Run to the Beat was advertised as a flat course, with famous DJs dotted around the course to keep us all going - we'd be running to the beat, duh... Now the line-up was released and the only person I recognised on the list was Nick Grimshaw. Don't get me wrong, everyone loves a bit of Grimmy but COME ON he can't carry the whole bloody thing. Sister Rachel assured me that most of the DJs had at least one song that had been played on 1Xtra, so I wasn't too bothered. The whole Jolliffe clan went up on the Saturday, shopped in London for a bit but spent our evening in the hotel watching X Factor in our pjs. Whatever, I had more important things to worry about. I'd pledged to raise over £200 and get under 47 minutes for the first time.

As a regular runner I was worried that people wouldn't want to donate or think it wasn't that much of a challenge. Putting any idea of this to bed STRAIIIIGHT away, I decided to aim for a minute and a half PB of sub-47 and hoped people would realise how flipping hard that would be for my little stumps. Luckily I have the greatest family and friends in the entire world who - with unwavering faith in my running ability - helped me reach my target AND THEN SOME before the big day. I went to the start line knowing I'd raised over £400 for CRY and that was enough to keep me (almost) going for the whole race. It's funny how much more determined you feel when you have such a worthy cause behind you.

I ran the first 5km in 22.38 - this is close to my PB. I wish I could tell you more about it but I'd made the rookie error of wearing brand new shorts on the day and they were firmly lodged into my nether regions. I'd handily done a once-over with my razor the night before otherwise I probably would've exposed even more than was already on show... So yes my first 5km was spent pulling pink lycra out of my ass and hoping that no one noticed I was wearing a bright green 'novelty' thong. Excellent.

If you look very closely...

The second 5km was definitely a 'hang on for dear life' moment. At 5.5km there was a whacking great hill (NOT ADVERTISED!!!!), at which point the 45 minute pacer zoomed past me. He was quite tasty on the old eyes and had a tan almost as good as my (fake) one so I tried to snuggle in with him. Unfortunately this didn't work and therefore I had the mother of all tantrums; I started walking, then stomping, up the hill before screaming "NOOOO" and remembering what I was there for. Jack was always on the cross-country teams at school, despite never training, and he always used to finish in the top 10 with such an air of casualness. He must've been knackered at the time, but would never fuss. And here I was having a sulk over a little hill. I gave myself a good talking to, picked my knees up and made it over that hill! I didn't stop until the finish line - so thank you Jack.

The last 2km was by far the best - the aforementioned DJs were nowhere to be seen on the course until this point and (OH SURPRISINGLY) the addition of some banging tunes helped me on my merry little way. At the 8km marker I spotted Mum before she spotted me and started waving like a mad woman. She told me I was doing really well and for once I actually believed her. My watch said 37.30 so I knew I had 9 and half minutes to make the last 2km... Cutting it fine, especially as my thighs were slapping together like two drunk sumo wrestlers and I was worried about chaffing away my perfect tan. Dad and Rach were expertly positioned on the bridge above the course - it took me a while to find them but I managed a quick wave as I went under the bridge and heard Dad's voice booming all over Wembley.

My name is in there - somewhere..

I finally reached the 400m to go sign with my watch at 45 minutes exactly... TWO MINUTES TO RUN 400M? I do that easily in training, this will be a doddle. LOL, well I was very much mistaken. Just for the banter there was another hill into the finish and I felt like I was going backwards and that my shorts were just going upwards. Again, thoughts of why I was doing this and the generosity of people who'd donated spurred me on more than anything else I've ever felt when I was running. I didn't ever care that it WOULD be a PB, I wanted to get under 47 minutes for CRY, for the people who'd had enough faith in me to give me money, and most importantly for Jack. At about 100m to go I put on a classic short person sprint, arms and legs going everywhere and my thighs moving so fast that they merged into one big, wobbly piece of flesh. I heard the Jolliffes at the finish which was AMAZING. Not sure why, but Dad was continually shouting "EM, EM, EM" - maybe a new cheerleading chant? I have to admit I did overtake probably like 15 people in the home straight HAHA YOU LAZY FUCKS, and when I crossed the line I looked at my watch.

Dat assssss

FOURTY-SIX FIFTY-FIVE. 46.55. 46 minutes and 55 seconds. I punched the air like I was attempting to get on the cover of next year's brochure and realised I had the biggest grin on my face, like EVER.

Mum, Dad and Rach were waiting in the finishing area so we all hugged and OH, how we laughed at my camel toe, and then we went to find the CRY ladies. They were absolutely amazing, gave me a goodie bag, took my photo and told me my tan was great.

I told them why I was running for them and mum explained how much we, as a community, have done for them in the past 5 years. They were genuinely impressed and so grateful, which made me feel all fuzzy inside and suddenly very proud of Keynsham, Saltford and the surrounding areas. Events like this are so important, and where possible, everyone I know has contributed in some way or another. Jack has made us all better people, and we will never forget him. RIP x

Race report: Aztec West 5km Handicap

Walking out of work to see a neon-lycra clad Sarah Everitt hanging out of her car window shrieking madly, you'd be forgiven for thinking we were off to a festival... Oh no no no - this mild racket going on in the centre of town was due to the trial run in Bristol and West's latest race series: the Aztec West 'Fast' 5km.

Once I'd ducked inside the car we made our way to the faraway land of Aztec West (mum didn't think we'd make it in time from Keynsham, hence Sarah stepping up to surrogate mother duties) and were the first ones there; massively keen. I was after a PB and desperately wanted to get under 23 minutes before my 23rd birthday. Sarah seemed more interested in going to the toilet at this stage, but what's new.......

The new Aztec West series has taken over from the 'Bridge Inn/Pomphrey Hill' series of last year, thanks to yet ANOTHER housing estate being built over a beloved running route. But with a lot of hard work from Chris, Roger and Keith, a new race has emerged from the ashes and was promising fast times. As a trial for the upcoming fixtures, it was decided that a 'handicap race' would be run to test out the course and soooo that's how we ended up in a rather posh trading estate on a Tuesday evening.

"NOW WAIT!!!" I hear you cry, "WHAT IS A HANDICAP RACE? ARE YOU ALL OKAY?". We are all fiiiiiine. Until about 6 months ago I didn't have a clue what a handicap race was either. Baaaasically, everyone enters their 5km PB beforehand and the 'handicap master' (a lot less gimp-suit than it sounds) arranges the entrants into some sort of order. But not just any order (obviously). The slowest entered athlete starts first, followed by the second slowest etc etc, and the speed-machine blokeys are left coming up the rear (steadyyyy). If the 'master' gets his timings right, teeeechnically everyone should finish at the same time, which is GREAT if you love mass rioting, rugby scrums and mosh pits as 78 people all try to cross the same line. It is actually great though, as it means everyone has someone to chase and I even got to run next to some of the fit male runners for a teeny bit as they overtook me. Wonderful.... ARE YOU STILL WITH ME? I hope I've explained that well, if anyone has a better explanation then let me know.

Last year's handicap race finish....            *not really

Anywho, so this trial was a handicap and I'd entered my time as 23.00. Sarah was down for like 12 minutes 15 seconds or something (haha joking, I think she was down at 19.40 and was banned from overtaking me no matter what). More and more people started arriving, much to Chris' delight, and it was starting to look like a really good race. I'm sure there was an international athlete there? Rich Peters? Thinking out loud... but I'm sure he was there. Being the keeners that we always are, we managed a good warm-up although spent a fair amount of time aimlessly searching for the start line with no luck. Turns out it was just a dot on the floor - WHY DIDN'T WE THINK OF THAT?!?! The only glitch of the whole event - I suppose that's what trials are for, after all. Mum and Rach arrived just in the nick of time to get roped into marshalling; excellent for me as I need constant attention when I'm running and it was a three lap course.

The first runner was down for 31 minutes - so once they'd started I had 8 minutes to spare (are you getting this!?). It was a bloody quick 8 minutes, mainly because I was trying not to think about shitting myself (#glutenproblems) and also because wellllll everything goes faster when you don't want it to happen. Me and a man from another club (god knows which one, but he was very lovely) were both down for 23 mins so started together. Anything under 23 would've been good enough for me, I was gunning for 22.59 so decided to stick behind him for the first lap and hope he was pacing himself well....... Reaching the 1km mark in 4.21 I was right up his arse (LOL, every single time) and I could see mum and Rach. Obviously this meant trying to look like I was having a wonderful time and make sure I didn't look out of breath. It seemed to work and Rach even did a "WOOOOOooooo..." (to fade).

No photos of me, but here's Sarah smiling, for some reason.

The km markers were confusing because there were 3 laps but 5 markers and so just after the 1km you ran past 4km, but you had actually only done 1.6km, or something.... I overtook my mate after the first lap, but was terrified he'd re-overtake me for the rest of the race.

Anyway the second lap was a bit of a blur apart from getting overtaken by Nina, who not only managed to look super-glamorous and cool, but was also TALKING TO MY MOTHER!! This made me very sad, but I concentrated on her perfectly plaited hair and imagined I looked that effortless... Hahahah oh Emma. As it was 3 laps I tried to think of it in miles instead of kilometres, so starting on the third lap in about 15 mins I knew I had to cling on for dear life and not think about how tingly my arms had gone. I was working bloody hard. 

Having people cheer you on, no matter how attention-seeking it seems, is actually a godsend. It's hard to pick out voices sometimes, but I'm pretty sure Roger and Chris were at the start of each lap, followed by Alan and Sheila a little further up, then obviously mum and Rach were stood at the 1km/4km ishhhhh. This was more amazing than anyone can imagine (cue dramatic music). Knowing that people are waiting to see you (I should note that they were waiting for everyone, not just me) is suuuuch a good motivator and on the last lap was definitely needed. 

A difference race and I look HUGE but yay for supporters

Mum said to me afterwards that it looked like I was slowing down, ohhhh but she was very much mistaken. And also, how bloody rude. Well maybe I did slow down as I went past her, but the last km I actually said to myself "this is like 800m, you can do 800m in less than 3 minutes". Scared of being overtaken by the people I'd ran past, as well as wanting to get to those who'd started in front of me (a bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone), I was genuinely running scared. I undertook someone on the last 300m (rebel), attempted a sprint at the end and crossed the line with the weirdest, numbest feeling in my arms, having pushed myself so hard and thought "WOW this is what Paula must feel like when she's pissed herself during another marathon".

I looked at my watch...


*tension*


...22.21!!!! 

Classic photo, classic reaction

I'd finally gone under 23 minutes, by 39 bloody seconds! As I beat my handicap by a fair amount, I finished near the front of the pack and had a relatively empty finish. By the time I'd got my breath back and turned around, that 'mass rioting' that I spoke about earlier was in full force. With a finishing tunnel about 2 metres wide and around 30 people finishing at once, all hell broke lose. Well, as much hell that can break lose at an amateur running race. I was quite glad not to be in that pack (although it was all the fast people so maybe I should be aiming for that), but Sarah wasn't quite so lucky. I'm sure it wasn't as dramatic as I'm imagining, but I'm sure people were being pulled out of the scrum like a building had just collapsed..... Sarah did an AMAZING time of 19.08 and we even had a sweaty hug. 

Prizes were given for the fastest man and woman (Jessie did 17 mins something and continues to be one of my running idols), and the two who beat their handicaps by the most got a bottle of wine each... which made me think that maybe it's worth putting down a slower time, beating it by loads and then getting bliiiind drunk on free wine. HOLLAAAAA. But that would only be cheating myself, and wine makes me a sloppy drunk....

NON-RUNNING PHOTO ALERT. Mum, Rach and me

Everyone I spoke to afterwards was really pleased with their times. Overall I think handicap races are really fun in an aggressively-competitive way and a good way of getting a PB if you put down the right time. The Aztec West series is being billed as the 'Fast 5km' and the work everyone has done in getting it sorted has been immense. It's definitely one not-to-miss if you're after a quick time, a good race and to socialise with the friendliest running club in Bristol... Just as long as they find a start sign!

Reflecting on my year as a non-slob

All-in-all, I've been running for about 10 years. It started when I won my year 7 cross country and WAS IN THE NEWSPAPER (the article was later taken off the wall of the headmaster's office after I got caught sneaking out of school to buy some sweets... but that's another story), and ended when I was about 16 and thought that getting off with my permanently-stoned boyfriend was much more productive than running round a track...

I started it up properly again about a year ago; the Bristol Half Marathon was looming and I also had an aim to complete at least one cross-country race that season (a very strange aim, I am well aware). Since then I've spent, well... bloody loads of hours, to be honest, pounding the streets, thinking about times, distances and whether I am STILL running like a hunchback after many, many back massages. This has also given me a bit of time to think about what my half-life-long hobby has taught me about myself... *LIST KLAXON*

I am more determined and committed than I ever thought possible
Last night at the track I was struggling with my 400m reps. Instead of sulking and/or giving up, I went to the toilet (gluten problems, hahaha) and when I came back out asked Dave to put my watch back to 84 seconds (per lap). I had it changed up to 86 after the first five reps but after a quick chat with myself in the loo (spending some quality time with myself) I was determined to prove I could do it faster. Back when I was a teenage knob I would've pretended I had a stitch and sat out (sorry Dave) but NOT THE NEW EMMA. I am now one of those annoying people who loves to 'push themselves to the limit' and will probably be paragliding off Everest, if you give me a couple of months.

Me being a sulky little teenager and Soph looking concerned that I'd act like that forever 

I don't need to get drunk both days of the weekend
Sooo many times this year I've gone for a lime and soda instead of a quad-vod - something that I used to (and still do) consider "BORING, OH YOU ARE SO BORINGGGG". I unashamedly love to get drunk and dance like a loon, but I also love running and have learnt that unfortunately I can't go out on the Friday and expect to get a PB on the Saturday. It's actually really hard choosing to be sober when I could revert to my party animal ways and sometimes I feel like the most boring person in the world, especially when my times aren't even that great. But luckily my friends don't take the piss too much. Which leads me onto...

I have the BEST friends
Never, ever, everrrrr have any of my close friends complained about me running/talking about running/not coming out because I'm running. Well, not to my face anyway hahaha (no girls, I'm sure you never would). Every time I have a race - even if it's just Parkrun - I can count on a text from AT LEAST Rosa and Simone, and if they are up early enough then Mott, Robyn and the rest of the girls are pretty on it as well. And they always like my running photos on Facebook. Which, obviously, is what friends are for.

My wonderful friends (most of them)

I don't like yoga
Running isn't for everyone, and yoga isn't for me. I tried it once as a way to relax and whatnot, but I just don't feel like it does anything. I know people have told me that it does loadsssss for you and makes you really strong and flexible blah blah blah, and I'm sure it does. But I like the feeling after a run of being absolutely shattered, covered in sweat (sweat fetish, its the new thing dontcha know?!) and knowing that I've worked my absolute ass off. Yoga just doesn't do that for me. I wish it did, so I could be all lean and long-limbed, but it doesn't. Soz yoga babes. 

I am easy to spot in a crowd
This may not be scientifically true, but bloody hell, my family have got amazing eyesight. They spot me EVERY SINGLE TIME I race. Especially hard in events like the Bristol Half, where there's 15,000 people running, Dad and Rach have been squashed against a railing for nearly two hours and Mum has just ran to meet them (after finishing it herself). EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. And they always tell me I'm looking really good even if all four of us know that I look like utter shite. 

The year we all did it and Dad was left as head cheerleader

My feet are disgusting
I have been told on many occasions that my feet are 100% my worst asset. I'm fine with that, as it means my banging personality is shining through and no one is noticing how badly I need to get my roots done. My main defence of my grim feet is 'but I run loads...', as if this excuses the black toenails and weirdly stumpy baby toe. But on top of this, I also have to deal with blisters. The bane of my life, as I'm sure many other runners will tell you, is a big bulbous blister. YUMMYYYY. It's so unfair, trying to do something good and being rewarded with a puss-filled lump, ready to explode at any point. And that could be on your way to work, while you're on a long run or - even worse - when you're in the bath. IMAGINE, bathing in blister puss. Mmmmmmmmm.

I AM SO SORRY

I am really hard on myself
Every time I do a time that I think is too slow, I cry. And if I think I haven't trained very well, I think about it loads and punish myself by doing a hill session like some sadistic weirdo. So I suppose, running this year has taught me that I'm actually a bit of a perfectionist and need to be nicer to myself. Looking at how messy my bedroom is, my mum would definitely disagree (it's like a graveyard for half-empty glasses and dirty clothes), and maybe I need to convert some of that perfectionism into the rest of my life... But yes, I have been told more than once to not be so hard on myself and I'm finally realising that it's true. I've knocked 9 minutes off my 10km and 5 minutes off my 5km this year AND have reached my 8 stone goal, so I think deserve a little pat on the back from myself. 

After a workout, I don't look half bad in lycra and my abs sometimes say hey
This is quite contradictory to my previous point, oh well. The other day I did a 6km run and straight away did my 7 minutes app (it really is my saviour). I saw myself in the mirror afterwards and decided that (this is SO bigheaded I don't even know if I can type it)..... I actually looked alriiiight (oioiiii). I took a photo of this momentous occasion because I'm one of those selfie twats and realised that I've worked really hard this year and now I look at that photo quite a lot. AND NOW I'M GOING TO SHARE IT ON THE INTERNET (sorry mum, dad, the twat police).

Excuse the barnet

I have become an 'organised sports activity geek'
Since I quit running for Bristol and West AC when I was 16, I'd become one of those cynics who thought organised sports teams were a bit weird. WELL, I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT THEY ARE NOT (well they are a tiny bit). Bristol and West is one of those clubs that welcomes absolutely everyone, and since I've started getting my times down people have been so kind and supportive. Running folk are the nicest people in the world. And it's fun to be part of a club, so THERE.

I AM A RUNNER
I had a blast from the past while I was out the other night (I was drunk as well, proving that it is still possible!!!). We were having small talk, and he said 'aren't you, like, a runner now?'. I laughed and said 'kind of'... and as I walked off I realised, I ACTUALLY AM A RUNNER. 

It's been a good year.

'WOW!! She's definitely a runner'

TRY-ATHLON

I am so puntastic. 

As someone who is never, ever, ever satisfied with what they have (until I get a Chanel 2.55, obviously), I decided to take on another little challenge. Working on the editorial team of a triathlon magazine* and being a former competitive swimmer (haha, such a twat) it was only a matter of time before I entered my first one**. Fourty-two quid (yes I'm paying that much) later, I had signed up for the Bath Multi-Sports Sprint Triathlon. WHY? WHO KNOWS!!!!

*I actually work on the special editions team, but we mainly work with 220 Triathlon magazine and so I've worked on loadssss of issues.
**This will actually be my second triathlon, I did my first one when I was 13 and came 8th... out of 9. I tried to drop out halfway through and my parents forced me to continue. Dad has a photo of me giving him the middle finger, charming chid. 

Anywaaaaay...

From now on some of my blog posts may be taking a sliiiightly different view, e.g. not all about running; this will be great for those of you who can't help but click on the link despite finding my incessant running chat boring and annoying, although I can't imagine cycling and swimming are any more thrilling or endearing. Shoutout to the stalkers, soz 'bout that. 

This should be a BREEEEZE...

Having worked on 'The Beginners Guide to Triathlon' (available in all good book stores), you'd be forgiven for thinking that I'd be an absolute PRO at being a triathlon beginner. I have to point out, as an editorial assistant I don't get to do THAAAAT much and instead checked a lot of website names and made sure that certain swimming cossies were still in stock... But I did catch onto the absolute importance of transitions between each activity. The seconds from swim, to bike, to run are apparently well vital so I started off my OFFICIAL TRIATHLON TRAINING PLAN at 6.30am on Friday morning by practising just that...

Transition training, for those not in the know (aka, moi) is known as 'brick training'. I don't know why, but it seems to make the white middle-class men of triathlon sound extremely pompous and more profesh. Whatever keeps ya happy, I guess. I was supposed to be doing a 'brick session' of swim to bike - I was going to go for a swim and then ride my bike home straight afterwards. Ever the morning-person, I slept in my £6 ASDA swimming costume (already sagging at my non-existence tits) and when my alarm went off at 6am I was just like 'NAAAAAHHH'. With motivation and commitment at an all time high, I instead went for a 6km bike ride (I think that's super short but it was half past bloody 6), chucked my bike down on the drive and ran back up the road for about 8 minutes.

I may or may not have edited this... #expert

I'd read (actually edited some copy, ooooh) about the 'jelly legs' that you get from running off the bike, but bloody hell I wasn't expecting that. My legs didn't even feel like my legs... Is this normal? I actually felt quite drunk which initially was GR8 although odd on a workday morning... but it quickly became a bit weird and wooooozy. Remembering I wasn't running towards the kebab van on a Saturday night, I checked my watch and it said 3 minutes 30-something... about 10 seconds later my legs came back to life and I metaphorically sobered up. I only have to run 5km in my triathlon so every minute counts - I have a feeling that me and my 'drunk legs' are going to become eveeeeen more well acquainted...

With that done, this weekend I decided to buy a bike helmet (because crushed skulls aren't cool, kids) and also a PULL BUOY. This is a fascinating piece of swimming kit that I used to use when I was 12, had a six-pack and swam over 16 hours a week. A 12 year-old girl with a six-pack looks exactly how it sounds... disgusting. Anywho, the pull buoy is an oversized polystyrene peanut that you whack between your legs (oi oiiiiiiii), meaning you can only use your arms and therefore get massive biceps and asked by an international swimmer how your shoulders got so big (childhood scars). In all seriousness though, I do need to use this pull buoy ting as I need to save my legs for the bike and run. Also 'Dentist Dave' (my mum's workmate) does triathlon and told me to get one.

Helmet and between-the-legs buoy

OHHHH and also as a little note that may be of importance/interest, a sprint triathlon is:
400m swim (16 lengths of a 25m pool)
20km bike
5km run

WISH ME LUCK AND LETS HOPE MY SHOULDERS DON'T GET ANY BIGGER!!!

Leaving the label on, don't want to get too attached...

Sweaty betty on tour

I went on holiday to Majorca and so did my trainers. I know, I know, 'have a day off' and all that, but bikinis are daunting and letting standards slip just ain't my thangggg.

With a very important 10km coming up (as well as a triathlon - more on that later), I was quite conscious about not being a total slug for a whole week. I realise this is COMPLETELY ridiculous and probably really annoying - I can see the eye rolls from here - but girl got aims, ya feel meeeee? I only went for two runs while I was away, and ate plenty of food to make up for it so you don't need to cart me off in a straight-jacket just yet. Running abroad was actually amazing (lolz, totally Ghandi) and here is why:

You get to wear basically nothing
My friends know that I love nothing more than stripping off and generally being quite 'spirited'. Running in 30 degree heat is a great excuse for this. Sports bra and short-shorts and you are GOOD TO GO! No one gives a shit if you aren't wearing any clothes because its bloody hot and fair play to you sisterrrrr. MOVE DAT ASS. Allow the inner exhibitionist in you to run free (literally) - but not so free that you give yourself two black eyes. A bra is, unfortunately, always required.

NEARLY ALWAYS

You have NO IDEA where you are going
I've heard a few people talking about 'naked running' recently. I'm afraid this has nothing to do with my previous point (sad face) but is when you run without music or a GPS watch, meaning you just 'run how you feel' and don't obsess over minutes per mile and whatnot. As someone who is always chasing PBs and loves a good split breakdown, it was well weird, but nice, to run along a completely random road*, not knowing how far it was or how fast I was going. 
*for the benefit of my parents - this road was 'random' but also was a MAIN ROAD and there was no chance I was going to get into any trouble. Plus I was running welllllll fast so eat my dustttt potential attackers.

Foreign people
TAKING OUR JOBS. Haha, no no I am joking, the Daily Mail is a pile of shite and if people have the skills then by all means give them jobs. Anyway that's for another day... I love people who aren't English!!! They are so friendly. During my first run, which was a steady 35 minutes, I overtook a German man (getting them back for the football I suppose...). If he was English, it would've turned into a 2 and half hour race along the main road, with the middle aged bloke unwilling to give up and just LET A FEMALE WIN. Well, not this wonderful German man. He laughed, said something beginning with 'Ich bin....' and then tucked in behind me as we ran up the hill. I thought it was a bit weird he was running soooo close, but nevertheless as we got to the top he cheerily thanked me for pacing him and ran off down an alley. What a babe. 

(I just realised I wrote that a man 'tucked in behind me' - running lingo for my non-running friends)

Beautiful Majorca...

Wearing 'contraband'
If you watched I'm a Celeb this year then you'll know that contraband is very much frowned upon and use of these banned items is taken VERY SERIOUSLY by the general public. I still love you Amy!!!! My version of this televised scandal comes in the form of a pair of Nike Free Runs. I bought them in New York last year, wore them 4 times and then realised they were killing my very weak c-ankles... So now they live at my boyfriend's house and came with us on holiday. YAYYYYY!!!! My 'Mizuno Waves' went out the window like a discarded teddy bear and I got to run in my pretty grey and mint green Nikes <3. Since starting running properly again my ankles have got loads stronger, which not only means less falling down stairs in clubs, but also that I don't have constant club foot. I always slag off Free Runs - hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and all that - but I felt really light when I was running so they can't be that bad. Back in the box now though, until the next secret dalliance...

The two mistresses... and some beefy thighs

Tan?
If, like me, you spend a week lying on your back, slowly turning the colour of watery tomato ketchup, then this tanning malarky may not be for you. But then again, red legs don't go very well with pink shorts and that didn't stop me. For those of you who glow like a Greek goddess, then definitelyyyy run abroad. You can get a tan without even realising it, AND without leaving a sweaty outline of your body on the only towel you've brought for the week. 

It happens to the best of us, Kim

No one knows who you are...
...And therefore you can convince yourself you are a professional athlete. In my all Nike gear, doing my intervals, with sweat dripping down my back (and my front, LUSH) I felt proper fit. Like, properrrrr. In my head I was thinking 'I bet these holiday makers think I'm on a break from the Commonwealth Games and am gearing up for the European Champs'. UMM WHAT?!?! This thought would never enter my mind in the UK, and won't be happening again. Apart from when a little Spanish boy said 'Hola' and waved at me, which makes me think that Paula Radcliffe probably gets this all the time, and must spend her life constantly close to tears of joy.

THAT SMUG FEELING.
Oooohhh yeah. Pass me the Milka.

Smug git

50 Shades of Sweat...

As Dr Griffiths pulled it out my mouth after what can only be described as a four minute gag-fest, I hurriedly wiped my mouth and asked him if everyone reacted in such a way... "Not everyone", he smirked, "it's usually the younger ones that find breathing with a full mouth difficult..." He allowed me a few moments to get my breath back and I suddenly felt very vulnerable.....

HAHAHA sorry, of course I am talking about my 'stomach biopsy', and not anything else that anyone else may have been thinking of. Naughty Dr Griffiths. No no, yesterday I was put through the pain of having a camera shoved down my throat to try and solve my eating problems once and for all. Despite asking for a numbing spray, none was given (I have a feeling that they forgot...) and I was subject to 10 minutes of extreme pain and the feeling of being continuously sick. It reminded me a lot of one drunken moment in a toilet cubicle at uni, ahhhh the memories.

Knowing there was a 1 mile relay on at Eastville Park yesterday evening, I was determined not to miss out and had the whole afternoon off work to recover from the pounding I received from Dr Griffith. I was very flattered to get messages from a few fellows runners asking if I was running, so OF COURSE I had to make an appearance - can't let down the team now can I?!?

A nap on the sofa and a lot of sympathy from my dad (who has probably stopped reading this already) meant I was welllll up for a good time. I'd never done a mile race before so either way I'd get a PB, aka I could brag and be really smug and my friends would send me cute well done texts (Rosa, Mott, Simone - you are always babes). I was paired (tripled) up with Hen and Tracy, two of my favourite running ladies who - handily - are both speed demons. I put my journalism degree to good use and came up with the innovative team name of 'Best Buddies', whateverrrrrr everyone's got to start somewhere haven't they?!? To avoid running against my mother, I was put in the first leg, followed by Tracy second leg and Hen third. A quick trip to the loo and we were PUMPEDDDD. And I really wanted a medal and was hoping for wine (no wine, but free ice cream, chuffed).

The dream team...

Lining up for the 7.15pm start I noticed there was a distinct lack of women and a lotttt of men who looked a lot faster than me (and not like they'd had anything shoved in their mouth that morning). In my head I was just like YOLO - my dad was there so I knew he'd be cheering me on in the classic Steve Jolliffe BOOOOOMING VOICE so really, I was already winning. Also I didn't want to let my team down, these 'fun' relays are not actually fun; they are extremely competitive and I didn't want Tracy and Hen to resent me forever when I crawled in at last place, having picked up my free ice cream on the way round. No wayyyyy.

The gun went and I have to admit, I suddenly turned into a hybrid of a pitbull terrier and some sort of steam-roller. I was all over the place - it reminded me of a particularly cocky moment in year 8 when I elbowed three girls off the track because, well, they weren't very fast anyway. I was a very twatty 13 year old... I nearly knocked a fellow Bristol runner into a tree (sorry, Jane!) and clearly thought I was doing the 100m sprint. Definitely new to this distance hahaha... Such an amateur. Luckily the first bit was downhill so I kind of flopped down it, ran past mum ("NOT TOO FAST EM" - helpful in a race, calls herself an athlete) and concentrated on not thinking about my stomach being full of air (cheers Doc). By the time I'd looked at my watch I was going back up the other side of the hill and was starting to wish I'd listened to mum... But it was on 4 mins 30 so I just told myself to push push push, ignore that back sweat and WELL even if I do really shit I bet no one else was crying on a hospital bed this morning so I don't care. The twattiness has never really left me...

Entirely different race but there we go...

I got to the last 300m before the finish, where Tracy was waiting to take over from me. As I rounded the last corner I heard the trusty 'GO ON EMMMMM' from my dad so put in a bit of sprint (although 'running in treacle' came to mind) and slapped Tracy's hand like a good'un - my watch said 6.40 and we were in third!

Unfortunately the course wasn't great for spectating so I didn't get to see much of my team during their legs, but as seasoned athletes I was sure that no one would overtake them. Already dreaming of our third place glory, I told Hen to 'DO A SPRINT' (literally the most annoying thing to ever hear when you are blowing out of your arse hahah, I'm so sorry Hen) and of coooourse we ended in a blaze of glory as third ladies team. Obviously the running mums did one better and got silver, with Jane in their team as well - thank god she survived the steamrolling start line, and we all got medals, tshirts and ice cream. OH and I got to tell people about my traumatic and innuendo-filled morning at the hospital, which made me sound like suuuuch a trooper.

Mum, Sarah and Jane

Another good evening race put on by Sri Chinmoy (again, what a man) and although I am a competitive little shit, there were actually people there who run genuinely for the enjoyment and obviously the social side of it is wonderful. Sounding so soppy, but the people at running are SO lovely - it makes giving up my evenings for my quest of glory a lot easier.

We won the championship!! Bristol and West AC