Tough Mother

So one of the benefits of a last minute change in entry for the Coast to Coast was that I had a neutral bib. It could have been a proper one with my name and flag on it. 

Landing in NZ is coming home. It is the U.K. on steroids – mountains are higher, the rivers are colder and flow faster. It is raw, majestic, real.

I honestly can’t remember whether I chose New Zealand or the UK. But in hindsight, it seemed pretty appropriate.

Dipping my hand in the Tasman Sea at dawn seemed as spiritual as being in St Peters in Rome.

That said, coming back to the U.K. is also home. I practiced finding the eddies in Waterloo so that I didn’t get swept up in the flow of the morning commute.

But I still marvel when I see Tower Bridge, St Paul’s Cathedral, even the London Eye. Outside the city, you can still sense the presence of people. It‘s intertwined with the land. The influence of those who have come before.

Home.

After months of training, and the kids matter of factly observing that I was off for a run/kayak/cycle, we finally headed to NZ for the Kathmandu Coast to Coast- 240km from the wild West Coast of the South Island to Christchurch. 

Crossing the finish line at New Brighton in Christchurch was one of those unforgettable moments. It‘s hard to describe the experience of completing the event even now a few weeks on. Lots of superlatives come to mind, but how to capture the impact? The series of events that made it such a special experience.

First and foremost, it was the people who were part of it.

We have some amazing friends and family who were prepared to open their homes to our kids for almost two weeks. And great kids who were happy to do so. Which meant I could share the experience with my husband.

They’d already put up with the many hours of training – although my daughter was happy to leave the kayaking to me after our second experience (that’s a story for another time!).

The response to supporting Cancer Research was immense. So many people have been impacted in different ways but the donations – including all the messages – blew my target out of the water.

Then from the point of touch down, and the almost constant presence of family and friends, I was surrounded by people excited for me and the challenge (well, mum might have been a wee bit nervous about the kayak….).

Sharing a six bed bunk room with said husband, a couple of brothers, sister, and in-law at the top of a ski field mid race is definitely a once in a lifetime event!

Added to that were the messages from family, friends and colleagues back in the U.K., Oz, and the U.S. The ones coming through on my fancy watch at the top of the 16 degree Otira Viaduct slog particularly helpful at getting my legs working again!

I didn’t expect people to be interested in following the little name on the map as I made my way from one side of the country to the other.

It was uplifting, humbling, magic.

Thanks for sharing it with me!

I’m on the countdown to the Coast to Coast – 240km from one side of NZ to the other. The kids have been very patient with my training (when they notice), but I was taken in hand by my seven year old daughter the other day on our way to school. 

She was cycling. I was running. 

Not well enough apparently. 

“Mum, kick your heels up. So they almost touch your bum.”

“Now drive your arms back. That’s how I get my speed.”

I was already rather bemused, when she made me stop and said very seriously, “Now I have two rules:

1. Try your hardest.
2. Never give up.

And, always have fun…”

Is that three rules?

“Nope, that goes without saying.”

My husband’s goal last summer was to encourage the kids to be more grateful. 

I was just recovering from the news that my son’s year’s performance of MacBeth was going to be 75 minutes (not the 25 I had factored into my day), when my husband asked me to step outside for a sec.

That sounded serious.

Concerned, I headed out the door to see my Dad and sister!

Fresh off the plane from NZ.

They even had reserved seats in the front row (my plan to sneak out part way obviously foiled).

They’d managed to see my daughter as they arrived and my son’s jaw dropped as he entered the hall. He couldn’t stop waving, but he still managed to smash his soliloquy.

It turns out this had been in the pipeline for months and that my husband just about broke under the pressure of organising it and keeping it all a secret. I did think it odd that I hadn’t spoken to mum much (she wasn’t so confident about keeping it quiet) and that dad might have been losing it, but I had no idea. Turns out quite a number were in on it.

After dad’s second brush (well, full on dunking) with cancer, I didn’t think we’d see him on this side of the world again. Let alone my sister, who has four kids and a hectic life at home.

Amazing, wicked, epic…. there are not enough words for how much it means to me.

Thanks.

And, of course, there was the support crew, that is the husbands and kids who stayed at home while we had our weekend away. 

Running for something else and someone else meant I pushed myself harder than if I had been going it alone.  The challenge, a mix of Queen, laughs and, yes, some wine was energising in a way that I hadn’t realised I needed.

So my husband and kids arrive back tomorrow after spending three weeks away – mostly in New Zealand with my family (not counting the 60 quality hours travelling there and back!).

I wasn’t able to go due to work commitments and, I am not going to lie, the idea of some ‘quiet time’ at home was appealing. 

They seem to be having a fabulous time – scanning ewes, learning to ski, sledging (somewhat faster when you’re being towed by a motorbike).

I am also enjoying time connecting with friends. Getting outside to train. Working late without needing to worry about getting back. 

After they left, it took me about two days to sort through the chaos left behind and return some order. I even got a bit arty (for me), although the spare room was one step too far.

But it has been disconcerting walking into the house. A very quiet house. Where everything was where I left it. And stuff hasn’t bred into little (or big) piles to be sorted.

My mum used to always complain that our house was never tidy like the neighbours (their’s was ridiculously tidy. Their kids’ even put their toys away. Setting impossibly high standards – thanks for that!). 

My response was isn’t it good to have one that looked lived in (it usually didn’t prevent me from being press-ganged into cleaning frenzy).

I’m sure I’ll be telling myself that again soon…

Oh god. 

While it never made it out of drafts, I had wondered when it would change? When do the comments start in changing rooms? Usually the skinniest girl saying ‘I am so fat’, with the rush of reassurance ‘well if you are, …’ or was that just my experience?!

It was a bit tense in our household at the weekend. England were playing New Zealand in the World Cup final of the cricket.

The first time my husband and I watched sport together was, probably unsurprisingly, a rugby match. While we started sitting together in the middle of the sofa, within seven minutes we had migrated to opposite ends. 

This time we were prepared and staked our claims. However, there was a major tactical error. We had not made our children watch some of the earlier games so the storm of questions commenced…

What’s an over?
What’s bowling?
Why are there six balls in an over?Who is the wicket keeper?
What’s a duck? Is that the same as a golden duck?
Is a four better than one run? (patience hanging on by a thread with this one…)
Can I have a hug?

That one was as England needed two runs off the last ball. So, it was not an ideal time. Sudden uncontrolled movements can lead to injuries...

For all that, the kids got caught up in the drama. Along with the millions of other people who didn’t know cricket could be so exciting!

To the extent that my son was devastated when he realised England had won on a technicality (bless him for not claiming his English half at that point).

But (to misquote a quote I now can’t find) cricket was the winner on the day…