Marathon fundraising - over £2,000 for 3.5 hrs work

I just realised I never wrote to say how much money the Spinal Injuries Association got in the end. I raised a total of £2,027.70 and each one of you who helped me is truly fantastic.

This 26.2 mile race takes its name from the battle of Marathon when a Greek soldier ran from Marathon to Athens to announce Persian defeat and dropped dead upon arrival. With this in mind, one could say that the money raised by the race probably comes closer to danger money rather than sponsorship money.

Fund raising is unusual. You either promise to do something unpleasant or downright dangerous and grant your friends the pleasure of watching you go through with it provided that they pay for the privilege, or conversely you organise something entirely enjoyable, like a ball or a pub quiz, and again, allow your friends to take part in it provided that they pay for the privilege. This dichotomy sort of suggests that friends aren't actually very nice people at all - they would just as happily dress up and share a celebratory evening with you as they would watch you put yourself through a world of pain.

Maybe Schadenfreude is actually one of our most base instincts. Surely at some point you have either poked yourself in the eye or pretended to walk into a lamppost to make a small child smile? I personally used to get regular bouts of crippling oral raspberries while driving to entertain my young charge. I'm not sure what the DVLA would have thought but it worked every time, case in point. Well, either that or I have spent my life being laughed at by kids who think I'm stupid.

Anyway, you obviously revelled in my physical torture since you helped me to raise so much, and for reasons discussed above, you should not beat yourself up about that, nay - you are only human, and I thank you for it.

Add to this the fact that nail removal is one of the oldest forms of torture... no... it really is time to move on from toenail stories; I'm sure you already know where I was going with that one, and if you don't, well, lucky you.

my toenails

My toenails came off yesterday! Painted a nice summery pink, apart from the fact that they are no longer attached to my feet, they are in perfect condition.

I put the situation out to tender today - what to do with Jess' toenails?? And I have to say, I was impressed by the calibre of suggestions.

The one that first struck a cord, was to create a Damien Hirst-style interest piece for our flat, involving a sort of animal/human fusion foot.

The second suggestion was initially disappointing - make a christmas angel with a toenail-halo. You see, these are not feeble strips of toenail suited to halo-making, but whole nails that are almost rhombus by dimension.

But the suggestion got me thinking... The Hatcher family is somewhat poor in terms of nativity scene characters, but what better addition to our current feeble collection than a bishop, reigning supreme, with a pink rhombus-shaped bishop's hat?!

In all honesty, I'm not sure either of these suggestions is entirely viable. The good Mr Scott might have something to say if I were to start decorating his lovely new batchelor pad with ex-bodily appendages, and equally, the elderly german relative might take offence were she expected to kneel for a dead toenail.

Thus, further suggestions most welcome. Until that time, I shall continue to keep them in my special pot.

Life after the marathon... and my next challenge.

I can't say life strayed too far from normality in the months leading up to the great race, but it was initially refreshing and, lately, has become rather boring, not to have something to make me feel uncomfortable about. Understand that I essentially spent my marathon training period not running, as the times when I was training were far overshadowed and outnumbered by the times when I was not, which made me uncomfortable. And I think I liked that.

What this boils down to is every person's need to challenge themselves.

I am now about to break into a verse of that excellent Sound of Music song, "Climb eve'ry mountain..."

I'm not sure how much I can say right now, but in April 2008, I will hopefully be part of a small group of people setting out to cycle 4,500 miles across Southern and Eastern Africa. Right now, it's looking like a 3 1/2 month-long journey.

I have never been to Africa. I don't think that matters too much, though. What might matter more is the fact that I don't own a bike, and my longest cycle ride to date did not take me out of Oxford city centre (and Oxford is not large). Apparently weight training is the thing. Oh, and apparently I am likely to lose the skin on the inside of my finger tips, which might be handy for evading US customs, but not so much for bushcraft.

If anyone were ever to read this, my blog, my stream of wordy trickle, from start to finish, they would see that my initial marathon-running thoughts prioritised very similar issues. They went something like this: "So I'm running the marathon. First things first, I think my toenails might fall off. Oh, and did I mention people often have troubles controlling their bowels after X number of miles? And I might have to wet myself."

Issue avoidance is a wonderful thing. Can you tell I'm shit-scared?

Race Photos

There are photos of the race online already, which is cool.

This weekend, I am going to spend some time adding up the total raised for the SIA so far... I think it is looking to be around £1,600. And I believe I still have some collection to do... it's pay day tomorrow, so I might tie it in with that.

Recovery

Yesterday, in response to someone asking me how I felt towards the end of the run, I actually said the words "Oh, I felt fine, actually". Really??

It would seem that having been in and out the other side, I have now allocated my marathon experience a handy rose-tinted glow. Although I have to say it did all go rather quickly and I didn't really have much of a chance to consider how it all felt. Apart from two miles (18-20) where my knee was threatening to give way, there was not one point when I genuinely didn't think I could complete it and sustain my pace into those last few hundred yards. And I pulled a sprint out of the bag for the finish. So all in all, I can say it was neither entirely enjoyable nor entirely painful. I have no blisters, chaffage or missing toenails, my bowels did not move en route (worringly common, as I am told) and I can walk.


All in all, I am very pleased with my effort and only a little worried by the fact that at some point, my 'skin of my teeth' attitude towards the challenges life throws is sooner or later bound to leave me a cropper, since it has not done on this occasion.

More soon - I have yet to beguile you with tales of adult egg-hunting in the village of Clive ('adult' in terms of age of participant, fear you not), the brilliant team behind Whitchurch FM, THE radio station for Shropshire ("It's so hot right now"), the generosity of so many wonderful, excellent, fabulous people and, er, other stuff but right now, I have to go now.

Oh, and I'll post a link to the marathon photos when they're all up.

J

The Marathon Proper

deary me, i owe so much posting, blogging, writing, ranting.

i haven't written for a while... i think i was a little reluctant to commit to any one particular emotion before having run those 26.2 miles - unknown entities make me uncomfortable. what if i'd sounded all too confident and then screwed up, hey?

but now i can safely inform you that it was fine. the results are out and 3 hours, 38 mintes and 3 seconds, it took me. a fine time for a first-timer, might i say it myself. there was a hairy moment when my sciatic nerve tried to disobey me and screw up my knee, but this led to little more than a slow couple of miles and nothing that two nurofen plus and a bit of determination couldn't handle.

i'll write properly tomorrow for now i must really go to bed, but thank you everyone for enormous support and i am going to sleep happy in the knowledge that i am the 26th fastest woman in my age group. yeah.

Fundraising and The Domestically Challenged Bakery

People are being really, really generous... I have a couple of enormous thank you's to say and, a la most uninspiring acceptance speeches, you know who you are. Yup, I have a big smile on my face for all of you.

When I was doing my University finals, Mum was coming down to visit me in Oxford and decided to bake some biscuits to give me, in an attempt to top up both energy and seratonin levels. She regrettably however had to confess that the biscuits were so revolting, that when offered to the Dog, they had been politely declined, and thus she had left them at home out of shame. I protested - biscuits, from a woman who can't bake, are a labour of love, and no true labour of love can taste bad, non? And on this assurance, we saw the birth of 'The Domestically Challenged Bakery Ltd'.

Mum would send me extraordinary home-made packages of baked goods which were often pretty edible. Equally, however, the occasional batch would require what one might call nutritional gallantry. Taste buds apart, I do know that every time I received one of my treasured 'Domestically Challenged Bakery' packages, I was filled with a combination of wonder, disbelief and joy. The biscuits always had directions for use, which might be something like "Put on short skirt. Locate academic tutor. Offer biscuit. Simper"; the ingredients would range from ground ginger to spaniel hair but would always list huge quantities of love; and crucially, each package would manage to surpass it's predecessor in terms of hilarity, and each one played a small but important role in the maintenance of my sanity.

I made a brief yet successful forray into jams in the summer of 2005, establishing the subsidiary 'Domestically Challenged Preservery', but since then, the trademark has laid dormant. Until, that is, I thought of Marathon Macaroons. Yes, last week, certain hapless friends received through the post a small collection of somewhat crushed, dubiously 'freestyle', home-made baked goods, accompanied by a sponsorship plea. Incredibly, a few wonderful people even sponsored me upon receipt of said unsavourables!

And little do they know it, but my esteemed work colleagues are soon to be subjected to a similar thing. I think Thursday might be the day for the next major biscuit assault.

Well, be it biscuit bombardment or begging, I am going to raise this much-needed money for the Spinal Injuries Association and I am (fingers very crossed as my right knee/ankle still aren't great) going to run every mile of the London Marathon.

Thanks again to everyone who has sponsored me... it means lots. And if you haven't, I would love just a little support.

Jess

A MARATHON UPDATE> In which Jessica runs 20 miles before work

So I've been lax of late, but since I begin every post with a statement to that effect, I will move swiftly on.

This windy Tuesday morn, I found myself without hangover and with time! (These things rarely happen concurrently, you understand) So, I packed my knickers with dried fruit, borrowed an MP3 player from a builder (I really should buy one) and set off along the Walworth Road toward the ever-resplendant Elephant and Castle. An early blip led to a detour around Holborn, but before long, I was nearing Regent's Park, and feeling a little thirsty. The wisely yet somewhat inaccurately named 'Food and Wine Store' by Great Portland Street Station does, I can assure you, sell liquids other than wine. I ran in, a flame-haired, pink-faced Jezibel, and announced to the loitering, but of course entirely neccessary, gaggle of young proprietors, my need for some form of over-priced, advanced-hydration drink. After a suitable bottle was located, I registered my request that I drink a little, run round Regent's Park and come back, drink a little more, run round Regent's Park and come back, drink a little... you get the message.

Looks were exchanged and one of the younger Indian guys stiffened, turned deliberately, and began to re-align the labels of Heinz Baked Beans on a shelf. At this point, I removed from my knickers a slightly sweaty fiver. This brought on a round of aaaahing and gabbling (apparently, until that point, they had thought I was performing an unusual variety of shoplift). So finally, we all managed to come to an understanding re. the drink-drop plan, and I was able to do three laps of the outer-circle with the 'Food and Wine Store' egging me on and greeting me with Hydro-Active at intervals. I think I might ask them to sponsor me.

Sorry, this is lengthy - I won't bore you with a detailed account of the next 16 miles, but merely say that we're breezy, man. I will instead round this off with the fact that a cabbie just let me off my fare, on account of me having 'done a day's rounds on foot, gal. Spend it on a pint, instead'. And indeed I shall. Cheers.

www.justgiving.com/jessicahatcher

disruptions, asumptions and setbacks- training not going well

I ended my last posting on a note of mysterious confidence. Foolish. "It turns out I am also pretty fast... More on this later". Oh bullsh1t, jess. Do not get cocky until you have crossed the line still alive. Ok, so I ran 12 or so miles in an hour and a half which is pretty darned quick. But that was what, like six weeks ago?! Since then? Nada, zip, noop, nowt, nothing. Or at least nothing worth writing home about. Cue me going on about twisted leg joints, soooo much work, a sudden succession of unmissable parties and a debilitating flu (read:cold). But I'm not going to. I'm gonna say thank you to all the people who have sponsored me! I'm doing this to raise money and do it I shall.

Unfortunately, the renewed running vigour will have to wait until next week for realisation - I am poncing round berlin with a waistcoat and a laptop case this week - but by golly I will be ready for it by then. Me, my trainers and the open road. (If any road in London can be given such a description).

Thanks again, people who've sponsored me!

the long one

Firstly, let me take this opportunity to apologise for my last but one entry which detailed, with particular emphasis on the note of personal tragedy, the theft of my blackberry and the double breakdown of my elderly estate car. Drivel, drivel, moo moo, don't I have the worst fate ever. You will be pleased to hear I got over it. I am fit, I'm having fun, and it turns out I might also be pretty fast. Ah, and also late. More on this will follow.

facebook

So I've chosen to lay a small amount of my inner dialogue out for all to see. Not exactly baring my soul but certainly something. And I've chosen a theme - running. There's something pleasantly purposeful and finite about it.

This facebook / myspace phenomenon is a whole different kettle of fish. Firstly, is it likely to ever end? Will my retirement be spent as a slave to my wall comments and photo tags? Secondly, it is almost a full time job. I would estimate that my productivity rate has dropped to about 15% in the last 48 hours. Thirdly, it renders you incapable of self-respect. I have shamelessly poked around people's profiles, hunted for boys I fancied aged 11 (Ben Davies, I know you're out there somewhere) and spent quite a while pondering how to politely remove undesireables from my friendship group (you're only as cool as the people you poke, you realise).

In social terms, I have survived that early glut of over-enthused poking, I have contemplated and changed my picture at least twice (head shot or full length? looking good or showing off? oh, what to choose!) and I have experienced the tabloid jouro's joy at unravelling telltale strands of people's lives, unbeknown to them (having checked first whether people can tell if I view their profile). And now I'm starting to rest on my laurels and enjoy this social / anti-social / downright invasive (delete as appropriate) interNetworking tool.

excuses, excuses...

I haven't been running for about ten days. There has just been no time. But now Sunday is drawing to a close and as I sit, waiting for my work to be done, a beer in one hand and my blackberry in the other, I reckon I can smell the approach of normality.

Born out of captivity like a racist in a reality show, my inner runner will emerge to strike a note of fear in the hearts of fellow marathonites.

Or so I hope. As it stands, I'd just rather like to go to bed. But writing this is at least more entertaining than match of the day (no matter how small the keypad).

Perhaps I should take this chance to fill you in on the Worst 24 Hours Ever, Nearly. Friday was the only evening in about ten days that I could actually relax, have a drink and switch off the next day. The week was manic, Friday unbelieveably so, and Sunday (today) has so far been about fourteen hours worth of work. As will tomorrow be. So you geddit- friday / saturday, this little jessie needs some FUN.

Friday, leave work 8 pm, arrive cargo 8.30, blackberry nicked 8.45. This is BAD. ALL info and contacts for BAFTAs on sunday on it, everyone has that number and that number only for problems with interviews / footage etc etc. Spend hour or so searching people / floor / bushes for discarded phone (?? Illogical, I know) then go home and have A Good Cry. 3.30 a.m. Cargo people call me - they've found my crackberry! Hoorah! Jump for the sky. Only way of getting it before 1pm saturday however is by going then and there. So I arrive at the cargo afterparty (east end trendies, fruit beers and musicians, man) in my pyjamas. Only to find it aint my blackberry.

Pink stripey pjs and hair like Worzel Gummidge on a bad day, I crawled around the floor for a while looking for it and eventually gave up and got a taxi home, sticky and dejected.

Saturday a.m. was spent sourcing, replacing and synchronising bits of telecommunicationware, Saturday p.m. and night was split between the inside lane of the north circular and the hard shoulder of the M40 (I broke down TWICE), Sunday has been spent working like a Polish cleaning lady on speed and now it's 2 a.m. MONDAY and I'm really looking forward to bed so I can get up and get back to work at 7 a.m. Don't ask me how the running's going.

Spinal Injury

Katherine is a close friend of mine from school - the kind who knew you at 12 and will know you at 112, (pending significant medical advancement, of course) regardless of how much you see each other.

A year and a half ago, in September '05, while on holiday in Portugal, Katherine's boyfriend dived head first into the sea from his feet and broke his neck at C5 which has left him paralysed from the chest down, with little movement in his arms.

His family, his friends and Katherine are absolutely amazing. On that note, I send a giant 'Big Up' to all of them. "Big-Up"? Is there no better rallying, incitational, morale-boosting one-worder than that???

To say more than this right now would be to risk a 5,000 word blog posting. I think it is fair to say that 'touching on' a topic like this is nigh on impossible.

It's strange... I don't even really know the guy, but I care deeply for his recovery and have nothing but admiration for him and all who know him.

And that extends to spinal injury sufferers across the world. By the age of 24, three of my close circle of friends had been affected in some way by spinal injury.

It is a dreadful business but one that we can help now and fix next.

Medical advancements are what will get James back on his feet... research is moving fast both in the States and the UK and it is hoped that clinical trials for potential treatments will start as early as this year.

It is a question of 'when', not 'if'.

My first comments!

My first blog comments arrived yesterday! All four are four of them are posted by 'anon'...

Yes. Before you is the author of my first ever comments - a man of the noughties, a pioneer of North Shropshire society, a wireless-enabled online daddy-guru of cool. And, of course, the reason for the marked increase in fedora sales across Shropshire over the last few months. Thanks, Dad! He also made the first donation. Nothing like a high roller to get the ball going, eh? But seriously, thank you very much.

Saturday, I squeezed nine miles out of a rather cold/cough-ridden Jessles and I had better now rest until better.

8 miles before breakfast AND a widget

I awoke this morning believing that my knee was once again swollen and painful. Lucid dreaming is a fine skill and one that I believe I have nearly mastered. I dreamt long and hard about how I was unfortunately unable to get up early and run 8 miles. In driving rain.

It took me 15 minutes of being semi-awake to acknowledge that this was not quite true.

This particular run took me on a magical mystery tour of South London - i.e. I got lost. I now know where Camberwell, Dulwich, Brixton and Kennington are, though. And the thing that suprised me most? The architecture, be it lurking behind boxy council estates, proudly looking down from above a yellowy-browning Wimpy sign or just looking vaguely suprised by the fact that its not in chelsea.

Were I bolder and richer, I would put an offer in now for a flat in one of the beautiful georgian townhouses in Camberwell or Peckham - sound of ceiling but lacking in location.

But sadly I'm neither particularly bold nor particularly rich. I'll certainly keep my eyes peeled though - by March, if anyone requires advice on the South London house market, I will be your man.

No-kneed

So much to say but where to start? Firstly, by declaring that Christmas is exhausting. I need a holiday. The problem is the lull between Christmas and the new year- the undefined slightly transitory recovery period at the end of which people tend to feel both rested and restless, resulting in them going and getting exhausted all over again on New Year's Eve.

Christmas training began well. My 9 mile early a.m. run on Christmas Eve elicited some suprise from family members, but went rather well. Lots of hills in Shropshire though. In fact, I never really appreciated how wonderfully flat London is until now.

I then became blase (acute accent), ran up the big Grins-Hill and then gleefully decended it at pace. My right knee has been swelling and hurting ever since.

So now training is over a week behind and I am unable to do anything until my knee stops hurting. Most frustrating.

I decided that perhaps some treadmill running would lighten the load on joints and joined a gym yesterday. While injury may be preventing use of gym, you will be relieved to know that Fitness First provide free fizzy drinks, newspapers and DVD hire. It's my new hangout- membership fees will not be wasted.

So I've started to think about really raising some money for people with spinal injuries, which is, don't forget, why both you and I are here. I plan on baking cakes for the inhabitants of North Shropshire and delivering them, along with sponsorship forms, during the Easter period. (Residents of Clive are invited to provide details of cake preferences in comments)

Other than that, anyone in London who gives £20 or more should most definitely invite themselves to dinner chez moi and I will provide them with fine cuisine and vin de table.

So roll up, roll up, why spend £50 with a load of same olds in Mamalanji's? Spend it on Dinner At Jessies! I reckon we can broker a deal whereby quality of dinner increases in proportion to size of donation... £50 could either get a dinner for 6 -guests of your choice- or oysters followed by boef en croute for one... I shall stop here before we get on to what £2,000 would buy you.

www.justgiving.com/jessicahatcher