Week 18: It's long, but then so is a marathon

Today we are celebrating Mum completing Manchester Marathon for Vizsla Rescue.

Yesterday we were not celebrating, because Mum left me!  I wuffed Mum up for my morning wee and she didn't come.  How was I meant to go for a morning week without Mum?  Dad came instead, I wasn't sure about this.  Dad is nice, but Dad is not Mum.  I was busting so I did my wee anyway, but it didn't feel quite right.

I wuffed in the kitchen and the lounge and the dining room, but Mum wasn't in any of those places.  I consoled myself with taking a pan scrub from the kitchen side and gave it a good chew while I mulled over Mum's absence.

While I was wuffing and chewing for Mum, Mum was on the start line of Manchester Marathon feeling cold.  Mum had peeled off all her extra layers and was ready for running now.  I bet she was doing her little cold jiggle that she sometimes does when we have to go out for a poo in the middle of the night and she's only got her PJs on.  Jiggle, jiggle, rub arms, c'mon get on with it!  Mum finally got to start running and felt great.  She reigned her pace in after a couple of miles despite feeling great, reasoning she could always pick it up later on if she still felt boingy.  

I had another look for Mum, wuffed in all the rooms to make sure she wasn't there, wuffed at Dad to magic Mum back for a walk, and wuffed at him some more when he didn't do that.  Dad took me for a walk instead.  He brought the creamy cheese with him so he wasn't all bad.  By this time Mum was four or so miles in and happy.  She fought the urge to pick the pace up and just carried on putting one foot in front of the other.  The sun was coming out from time to time but it was still chilly.  Perfect running weather.  A man in a shell suit dashed across the road in front of her pushing a pram with a crate of Stella in it.  Mum stepped round him and muttered "only in Manchester."

Around the point where I had the idea of sitting at the bottom of the stairs and keening to try and get Mum to come down Mum was hitting mile 10 and still feeling good.  Mum started to have serious ideas about going for last year's time if she still felt this good at the half way point.

While I was busy checking the downstairs bathroom for Mum and having a good old wuffle around in the bin for toilet roll tubes Mum was busy taking sweets off small children and not looking where she was going.  She put her foot in a pothole, and twisted her ankle, resulting in a very sharp pain right up the tendon on the outside of her left leg.  Mum had a moment of total panic but the pain eased to a little ache and she carried on. 

At the half way point Mum realised that she'd run the first half a couple of minutes slower than last year, and that she felt much, much better than she had at that point the previous year.  She started to ease the pace up a little bit and gradually pass people who were slowing.  She was getting tired but she was feeling strong.  It was going to get progressively harder from here on in, but she felt in a good place to deal with that.  

Half a mile or so later she had to admit the tendon was getting tighter and more painful.  Mum stopped and did a short massage on the calf.  It helped for a bit but the pain came back.  She slowed down more and tried not to feel disappointed at the thought of jogging the rest of the marathon.

After several miles of walk/jogging and just as I was reaching fever pitch in my attempts to snuggle and chew everyone in the house all at once, Mum had to admit defeat and stop running.  The pain and tightness had reached the point she knew she was risking tearing or snapping something if she carried on.  Mum had promised herself she would finish this unless she absolutely couldn't, so it was time to tough up.  She started walking.  She walked, and she walked.  It was cold.  When the sun came out it was bearable, but most of the time it was cloudy and Mum was wearing shorts and a vest.  People kept shouting at Mum to carry on, not give up, encouraging her to start running again, just assuming she'd stopped through tiredness.  Mum tried to block this out.

Mum stopped at an aid station and picked up a foil blanket which helped keep her warm.  She met someone she knew there who had stopped, also injured.  He encouraged her to get the bus back with him and the others.  Mum said no, the gingers, or something like that.  He looked at her like she had gone slightly mad and she carried on walking.  The sun went in for half an hour or so and she was getting shivery despite the blanket, and very stiff.  She kept on walking.  Mum was mentally aiming for mile 21 where she knew people from the club would be supporting.  Actually walking down the hill toward them wrapped in a foil blanket and then walking away again was the toughest bit of all.  She’d no doubt that if she’d stopped there she could have had a hug, some warm clothes would have been loaned, and at some point someone would have taken her back to her car. 

But then the sun came out and it started to get better.  Mum said she spent a lot of time trying to focus on her improved health and the strong run she had managed to do which would have been impossible a few months ago.  She thought about recovery and getting on and training again in a few weeks, and being able to do that properly, without the health concerns.  She thought about the many incredible people who had supported her fundraising and about not letting them and herself down.  She kept on walking.  The mile markers were ticking past dreadfully slowly but they did still tick. 

The finishing straight was hard.  Everyone was shouting at her that "she could do it" and to "run it in".  Mum had hoped to, but a couple of tentative jogs resulted in shooting pain up her left leg and she couldn't.  Mum ignored everything else and determined that if she had to walk over the finish line she would do so proudly.  She ditched her foil cover and marched up the finishing straight as best she could to complete Manchester Marathon in 4 hours and 26 minutes.

Mum collected her medal and was pleased to note it was meaty, which she likes.  I don't know why she said that because I chewed it and the rest of Mum when she got back.  Mum is a bit meaty, the medal is definitely not meaty at all!

On reflection Mum has decided to be very proud of what she achieved.  Maybe this really wasn't her year, it was the year of the pupsters.  She and I are so incredibly grateful to everyone for their huge support; the amount raised is just mind blowing and we hope it will make a real difference to real dogs.

Thank you for following our journey, we may be back next year with another, but as far as marathons go, Mum is done for this year.