this is not quite goodbye but it is the end!

Keep On Running.

The finale.

So, if you haven’t already heard…I RAN THE CARDIFF HALF MARATHON!! I did, I bloody did it.

Who’d have thought, ey? The chubby kid did good. She did two hours and fifteen minutes good and I’m yet to come down of cloud thirteen point one.

Where to begin?

If I begin at the beginning I will have missed out a bit so I’ll start from the moment my eyes pinged wide open at ridiculous o clock. Nerves, excitement and the quaffed Chinese and cheesecake combination had me ready for action approximately two hours before my alarm was due to go off.

And then as sods law goes I dropped back off into a lovely slumber five minutes before the damn thing hooted that it was the morning of the Cardiff half marathon and I’d have to get my twitching arse up out of bed.

It is safe to say I spent a frantic half hour preparing for battle…you know the score; Vaseline, more Vaseline and surprise surprise more Vaseline!

Now if I mention that it was ‘cold’ on Sunday morning I’d be telling a lie. It was effin freezing. Literally. The car windscreen was coated in what looked like a good two inches of frost. Of course it was only a slither really but I was playing the role of drama queen down to a T.

‘I’m doomed.’ I had wailed, swaying in the darkness of a Sunday morning.

‘Your fine.’ Scotty Boy assured me flinging warm water over Jesus’s windscreen. And true to his word I was, the car was, everything was, just fine.

Scotty Boy then dropped me off at Junior Mee’s, that’s Antony by the way. Remember Antony? The one who emailed me whilst I was under the influence of Mexico’s finest cocktails; ‘Yes, I’ll join a running tem, that sounds fun…hiccup.’

Antony and Geraint (designated driver) were waiting and as soon as I said goodbye to Scotty Boy who reassured that everything was going to be fine once again, and we made our way to collect Gavin. Good old Gavin!

I don’t remember much about the trip to the city only the child lock palaver and the M people conversation which I won’t go into now for sanity reasons above all else.  

I don’t know what was more traumatising when we got to the runners village, using the portaloo, seeing the other eighteen thousand runners or having to take my jacket off. Seriously, it was freezing.  I was pretty much blue as we made our way through various shapes and sizes towards the castle for the national anthem and the start of the 2012 Cardiff half marathon.

Gavin actually said the words ‘turkey drummer’ when I held my arm out.

And then before I knew it, before I had time to realise what I’d potentially got myself into, we were off, just like that. I was embarking on thirteen miles in the city for my first half marathon.

I took the run at my own pace, after loosing Geraint in the first fifteen seconds and then loosing Gav and Antony around about mile two.  This meant I lost my team pretty much straight away and I realised I’d made a vital mistake by not having my headphones within the first two miles, I also realised my phone and everything else I’d brought with me was in Antony’s bag and if I didn’t find my team I’d be lost in the city for the rest of my life! Back to the lack of headphone malarkey; there’s something quite off putting hearing people pant and splutter around you whilst your concentrating on not falling over, not bumping into people and how cold it was, but I suppose it was all a bit of a learning curve and from now on I will have my Ipod or MP3 player on me ALWAYS!

The route was lovely. That’s all I can say on it. There were a few inclines scattered throughout but all in the entire ‘thing’ was very pleasant and I’ll be brutally honest, I didn’t find it all that taxing. In fact, I had another two miles in me for sure.

Like I said; I didn’t push myself, I wasn’t sauntering by any means but I took it nice and easy. I overtook the man wearing a boat and the man with the ironing board on his back so I was quite pleased on that front.

I have to give the girl who had ‘Eye of the Tiger’ screaming from her window as I passed a massive shout out! You made me very happy not to mention a little faster.

I do have to mention that I now hate Roath Park. It’s boring and never ending and there’s a bloody hill at the end of it! I’m even considering getting a T-shirt that reads; ‘I hate Roath Park.’ We’ll see.  

Finishing was amazing. The crowds, the atmosphere, absolutely everything was brilliant and I cannot wait to do it all again next year. In fact, myself and my team will be doing another one in March. Yes, we are undertaking a brand new half marathon in Newport! I believe we have created a monster but it was nice for morale to share it with the boys and I’d like to say a massive thank you to the three of them. It was fun.

(We’ve got a ballot system thing on the go now for anyone who wants to join our little running team! So, if we’ve inspired you to run; piss off!)  (That’s a joke by the way.)

After the run things went down rapidly. Scotty ‘I know all the back roads of Cardiff’ got a £70 parking ticket and then got lost trying to get out of the city, then the cheeky shit of a boy, whilst ironing his shirt, actually muttered; ‘God, my legs are stiff, must be because I stood in the same place for two hours.’ My reply consisted of words that are probably not appropriate for the blog!

I had just run thirteen miles and he was complaining about his legs being stiff! Nice one Scotty Boy!

So, this is it for the blog. The finale, the end of the road. I kept on running and got exactly where I wanted to be.

I’d like to thank absolutely every single reader, every single mutter of encouragement I’ve had and in general thank the entire universe for making me shape up and ship out onto the pavement.

Now, like I’ve said it’s the finale to ‘Keep on Running’ but it’s the start for ‘Run to the Hills!’ so keep tuned butties and for Christ sake KEEP ON RUNNING!

Love

Hannah 

Also its not too late to donate now i've completed the run! 

http://www.justgiving.com/hannah-phillips-0 

T'was the night before...

…the bloody Cardiff half marathon! Christ on a bike where the hell has the past ten months gone?

Ten months of sweat, blisters, ups and downs. Tracks, pavements, laps and trails. Inclines, bridges and even football fields. I wonder how many miles I’ve covered in total?

I wonder how many complaints to Sports bra companies I’ve lodged? How many bras I’ve actually gone through? How many blisters I’ve popped and how many times I’ve had the word ‘tits’ shouted at me?

Bloody hell I feel rather nostalgic thinking back.

Remember that first freezing cold January night when I laced up my much neglected trainers and headed out all cloak and dagger in the dark. Remember the first time I did the sweaty star fish impression on the kitchen floor? God, I really have come quite far. Thirteen point one miles far to be precise.

So, its here. Well, it will be first thing tomorrow. The Lloyds TSB Cardiff half marathon and to be brutally honest, I’m feeling fine. Excited if anything.

Scotty Boy has just treated me to a Chinese and a chocolate cheesecake and I’m patiently sipping water before I hit the hay way too early for a Saturday night but there you go, its all for a good cause.

I’ve had an interesting week to say the least and tomorrow it will be rounded up nicely with my first half marathon and then a cast amount of alcohol in my favourite place in the world; The Baili Glas. (Feel free to buy me a beer if you’re about, I’ll have deserved it, honestly.)

Friday I did the radio interview talking about this old running malarkey and it all went very well until I actually said the words ‘camel toe’ live on air! But the less said about that the better.

Secondly, I had the most disastrous job interview in the history of job interviews so its safe to say I wont be getting that promotion in work.

Also, I’ve spent my time between two houses and three and a half dogs and a cat called PshPsh. Yes, having the parents go away just as I’m in final training preparations hasn’t been the easiest of tasks but as the saying goes; ‘it’s all sent to try us!’

Right, this Blog wouldn’t be worth anything if I didn’t spend a relatively serious moment to say to everyone, firstly; thank you for reading this little journey of mine via Keep on Running, you have boosted my self esteem more than you’ll ever know and that is indescribable. Secondly; thank you to everyone who has donated to the Baili Glas Ammeter Running Team, we will be eternally grateful for your generosity and finally; thank you to Scotty Boy who has endured the ups and downs, in’s and out’s of a chubby girl training for a half marathon; ‘Babe, I’d never have done it without you!’

So, that’s enough of that and back to the matter in hand.

Tomorrow morning!

I’ll be leaving the house just before seven to have a lift with my fellow team mates (this makes me chuckle) and then we’re heading to the city to begin the fun!

The weather for tomorrow in Cardiff has been described as ‘optimistic’ so lets hope the conditions are good.

After the deed is done and the blisters start to form I am getting smashed! Yes, steaming beaming from the roof top so don’t be surprised to wait a while for the next (possibly final) instalment of Keep On Running.

I’ll leave it there for now. I’ve still got a bit of water to drink and a few final preparations to make (that’s code for; ‘I have to shave!’) so, wish me luck and well and I’ll see you at the finishing line!

One last thing; if you fancy donating £1. Text; BGRT97£1 to 70070 because every little bit really does help.

I’ll also leave the link to the Just Giving page if you fancy donating a bit more and the link to my very comical radio interview.

http://www.justgiving.com/hannah-phillips-0

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01n7kvm

KEEP ON RUNNING PEOPLE!

H xxxx 

Hank Marvin...

I forgot to tell you…I know have four reasons why I love shadows.

1. They frighten me on the odd occasion.

2. You can’t see how red your head is in them.

3. You’ll never, ever catch it and,

4. Mine looked pretty skinny in the autumn sunshine.

Yes, it was this weekend I definitely noticed a shape change. With this in mind, and my re-found love for running, I have decided that the Edinburgh marathon is no longer a maybe; it’s a must. I want, more than anything at this precise moment, to be able to tick full marathon off my bucket list. That’s if I don’t kick the bloody bucket in trying to achieve this.

So, we’re looking at four sleeps until I embark on my next step to achieving one of my ‘running’ goals and I have to say I’m feeling quite…OK! Yes, surprisingly I’m more excited than nervous and I bloody love this tapering excuse, I mean technique.

(Tapering, the lazy runners best friend!!!!)

I completed a nice three and a half miles this evening at a nice pace and even managed to conquer a mother of an incline.

I’d been on motivational interviewing training today and I’d like to say I left the hostel feeling positive, motivated and in general all the bumph I’d learned throughout the day. In reality, I was drained, lazy, bored and frustrated by the entire bollocks I’d had to listen to for seven poxy hours.  I’d also quaffed way too much off the ‘provided lunch’ to feel ready for a run, but run I did and I’m glad about that.

Yesterday, I only managed a walk. Me and Scotty Boy embarked on a stroll to the Gurnos to ensure a little bit of activity. You see, I love the sofa, Scotty boy loves the TV, we’d both be happy to stew in our own laziness and cheesecake if we had our way, hence the fact I make myself run and he makes himself…he makes himself look busy every now and then! (No one tell him I wrote this.)

Anyway, I walked yesterday because I was absolutely knackered from spending the day underground. Yes, you did read that right, we took a trip to Big Pit, the mining museum in Blaenavaon and to be totally truthful the tour pretty much wiped me out.

Its madness that people actually work in those conditions? Madness! And I have the cheek to moan about my job.

So, walk on Tuesday, three and a half tonight, do I attempt a three to four tomorrow and off Friday or three to four Friday and that’s me done until Sunday? Suppose its best to see how I’m feeling.

I’ve got to take the parentals to the airport in the early hours of tomorrow and I’m back doing my broadcasting bit for the BBC on Friday so there is a high possibility that there will be zero running until Sunday.

Oh heck!

Sunday.

Day after Saturday.

Not long until Sunday.

the final countdown

10 is our most important number because it is the base of our counting system.

Our counting system is based on 10 because we have 10 fingers.

"Ten" spelled backwards is "net."

Lobsters and other crustaceans have 10 legs.

You know where I’m going with this right?

Yes; the girl managed ten miles yesterday and as I keep saying; not bad for a chubby one. Its seriously baffles me that ten months ago I was two stone heavier, ten miles slower and in general, inactive, unhealthy and very unhappy with my appearance. Simply madness.

Anyway, I managed an eight miler on Thursday and was slightly concerned with taking on a hefty run yesterday seens as there was a mere eight days until the half marathon. Myself and Scotty Boy had a chat and we/I decided my best option was to just get out there and run. If I was tired I was to stop. If I wanted to keep going I would.

And I did.

And I managed ten miles.

And I was happy.

I started out on my normal five mile route but instead of turning I continued on the road towards the pretty bit of Merthyr. No, I didn’t run to the Gurnos, I ran past Brecon Mountain railway and into the sticks, looping back onto the Taff trail before getting back into the heart of the town.

And it was nice. Yesterdays running conditions were spot on. Sunny but not boiling. Everything looked lovely and yesterday I remembered why I had started running. Because despite my moaning and whining and in general negativity towards my hobby, I actually enjoy it. Yes, I am well and truly back in the game.

I did, however, make a school girl error yesterday. Have I mentioned about my new found acne problem? If I haven’t, all of a sudden I have become spotty. Yes, I have a face not unlike a seventeen year old and before embarking on my run, for some unknown reason, I cleansed, toned and the moisturised. Mixing a freshly moisturised face with sweat is not a pleasant combination I can tell you.

Slippery. That’s the only way I can describe my chops. Slippery and minging and a damn right mess. Lesson learned though; won’t be doing that again in a hurry. I’d rather be spotty than have my eyes stinging from whatever concoction Nivea uses that creates an explosive mess when mixed with perspiration. Yuck a ve.

Also, yesterday made me question my entire technique because three, not two, not one but three people asked me was I going for a run. Really like?

‘Are you going for a run?’

‘Out for a run is it?’

‘Been for a run?’

‘No, actually I decided to go ice skating half way down the Taff trail!’ I mean, seriously, I was clearly running, in the middle of running to be incredibly precise.  Surely in trainers, running trousers, carrying a water bottle it’s pretty obvious?

Another problem I have with running the trail on a Saturday is the cyclists. I have never had an issue with sharing my path with my two wheeled butties, however, I do have a problem sharing it with bell happy, rude idiots. I’m out for a run, I am not out to jeopardise your ride. There is no need to ring your ponsy bell at me. There is also no need to be so god damn rude. So, you got wheels, doesn’t make you exempt from being a pleasant human being, OK?    

Scotty Boy went out on his bike yesterday and I was sure to lecture him about the politics of politeness when he’s out and about. A smile, even a cheery ‘alright’ doesn’t cost a bloody thing. The poor boy now probably feels it’s necessary to ask passer by’s for their life story.

Anyway, a week today. Yes seven days and it’ll all be over. Well, the Cardiff half marathon will be over. Then training for the full on twenty six point two miles begins.

Oh heck.

That’s running the Cardiff half marathon twice.

Epic.

Epic yet exciting.

So, its Sunday today and I’m doing wifely things like cooking beef.

Yee ha.

I hope I don’t poison us. 

Guess who's back, back again?

IT’S BACK!

ITS BLOODY BACK! The running mojo, so to speak, is well and truly back.

You've all seen 8 mile, right? 

Last night I had a long hard think about what the hell I was playing at. I’ve spent the week justifying not running and basically, moaning about getting out there.

After I posted the blog yesterday I decided to get a blood grip.

Running has made me smaller, running has made me happier, running has given me healthy challenges and something to bloody do. All in all running, believe it or not, is making me a better person. Day by day, mile by mile, I am becoming more confident, more content, far more level headed (honest) and more important, I’m becoming a person I never thought I could be.

When I told a friend of mine this morning that I read four million motivational quotes and was now ready for battle, I wasn’t lying.

This evening I completed a lovely eight miles and boy oh boy did it feel good. In fact, It felt better than good it felt effin marvellous, so marvellous I was quite emotional…again!

Seriously, I’m turning into such a girl its frightening.

Anyway, let me tell you about my run. I had planned it from seven this morning. I Googled it, I AA auto routed it, I even street viewed it until I was more than happy in where the hell I was running.

I knew I wanted to do a relatively hefty mileage; after all, I’ve spent the week talking myself out of doing anything.

I wanted to run a route, no laps, a proper, quite a way route.

So, I started out from work in Pontypridd and basically did a seven mile loop landing me back in the old faithful that is, Ponty Park. Once I got to the park I had to do a little lap of it to just define my eight miles. (I don’t want to become one of those runners who run a seven and a half but tell everyone it’s at least an eight! I can lie with the best of them but I cannot lie to myself.)

I got back to the hostel, all be it red faced but completely unscathed.

I was elated I suppose. After a few days of such negativity it was nice to be back on track, back on the road, back sweating like an idiot.

Also, it was the debut of the new daps and like my confidence, boons and knees, my feet were also in pretty good shape after the EIGHT MILES!

You do understand that I ran EIGHT MILES, right?

As I've said, I got back to the hostel and I was all smiley and happy that was until I checked my phone.

Scotty Boy!

I forgot to tell Scotty Boy I wouldn't be on the sixteen twenty seven so my poor long suffering husband was waiting, like a tool, at Merthyr train station. Images of a lemon had sprung round my mind whilst I tried to text as rapidly as possible that I’d be on the next train. I added way too many kisses to feign innocence.

In my defense  on a pretty much daily basis I always let Scotty Boy know what train I’m going to be on; granted that train is usually the sixteen twenty seven but he always gets a customary text. Is it my fault he’s become to diligent?

The cock up in timings then meant I had to tackle Twyn Hill after a half hour train journey, a full day in work saving the homeless people from their sins, an eight mile run with a very heavy kit bag.

I believe the kitbag was heavy having not eaten my planned tin of soup at lunch. I mean, no one wants to carry tins of soup up Twyn hill, right? The two handbags, old trainers, boots and work outfit had nothing to do with the kit bag strap digging into my shoulder it was solely the tin of soup.

So, I’m spending the night catching up on the various administration that comes with trying to write a best seller…actually writing and watching Scotty Boy get excited over fully grown men kicking a ball round a very green pitch…TWICE! (That’s two games of the ‘beautiful game’ to me and you!)

Happy Thursday!!

PS; don't forget to sponsor us!!! 

https://www.justgiving.com/account/your-pages/hannah-phillips-0 

lost and found???

I am jaded.

Well, technically I’m Hannah Phillips but I have well and truly lost my running mojo. (If I ever had one! Get out the violins!!!)

And believe me I’ve been looking for it far and wide. On Saturday I even trekked Pen-Y-Fan to try and find my bloody motivation to no avail whatsoever.

I got cold ears, stronger calf’s and a massive feeling of satisfaction but no real urge to get my trainers on!

And talking about trainers have you seen my new daps?

Pink and orange.

Need I say anymore?

Yes I do need to say some bloody more because I’ve bought new trainers, have less than two weeks for this half marathon and I’m meant to be keeping bloody audio diaries for the BBC and I no longer want to run.  

What a kerfuffle!

Anyway, let me go back a few days. I completed the thirteen miles and felt bloody epic. Better than epic I felt amazing. Thirteen miles is quite a way after all.

I let myself have a few days off to get everything rested and back on track and then I stupidly set out in one bra.

In the words of Julia Roberts; ‘Big mistake! Huge!’

The one bra jaunt only lasted two miles because my tits did not cooperate one bit, or two bits, however you want to look at it.

But later that night it wasn’t my boys that hurt, oh no, my neck, my chest (bit above the boobies) and my poor, poor shoulders were in agony and I mean agony.

And those of you shaking your head right now need to know that I have a huge pain threshold, ask my husband, he’s bent my pinky (not a metaphor, I’m talking about my little finger) back so far that he thought it would snap off before I gave in and told him to stop. I’ve also got myself into various scrapes without complaint. (The falling over the pumpkin debacle and breaking my wrist without realisation. The loosing in cards and kicking the chair breaking my toes without realising! I’m a tough little bastard.)

I tossed and turned in bed and moaned and groaned, and no I wasn’t pumping, I was in pain. Full on, horrible pain.

I will never, ever go out in one bra again.

FAILURE.

Then came the Pen-Y-Fan stroll which to be fair might as well have been a run because Scotty Boy practically frog marched me up informing me half way, as I panted and sweated in places I didn’t know existed, ‘No one can overtake us mind!’ And they bloody didn’t, even the army clad muscle machine with a back pack the size of me hanging from his rear didn’t stand a chance. I married a Gurnos boy, he has fast feet. Trained in legging it!

When Sunday rolled round I felt more than ready to tackle a four miler which I completed but didn’t enjoy. Although to be fair, I think the lack of enjoyment came from the fact there was a weird bloke in the bushes half way through.

Now, I know I have an overactive imagination, I will never try and deny that, and I know I often convince myself someone in my close proximity is a serial killer but this bloke was seriously creepy and it sort of puts you off then. Everything looks like a threat.

That was three days ago and I have since made up every excuse under the running sun not to actually run.

I did walk for an hour and a half tonight but that’s no good is it?

I need to get back on track, back in the game, back out on the bloody road.

So, tomorrow id D day and I mean that. I am taking my vast amount of kit, complete with brand spanking new tub of Vaseline (see what I did there) and I’m getting my groove back.

I also need to start getting some sponsorship…and like my groove I need it bloody fast!

So, here’s the link to my Just Giving page and feel free to donate!

http://www.justgiving.com/hannah-phillips-0

Anyway, I’d like to wish my father a very HAPPY BIRTHDAY and wish myself GOOD LUCK!

Keep posted. 

Radio GAGA!!!!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01mzkvw 

Yo! It’s me…famous but very nervous broadcaster (well it made me laugh out loud!). Here’s the link to my stint on the radio today although it wasn’t all that impressive. Nerves and I mean, real nerves, shaking hands, sweaty arse, perspiring lip, nerves kicked in quite badly the minute I got to the studio.

Not like me. Not like me at all really, although I have been somewhat under the weather since the weekend so I’m going  to happily blame my giggly nervousness on that. (This is the part where everyone assumes Scotty Boy has knocked me up. I have to quash this immediately and would like to remind everyone of the copious amounts of raw alcohol I consumed over the weekend.)

And it fears me much to admit but I probably sounded like a complete weirdo live on the BBC today. Boo hoo. But that’s enough of the wallowing. I’ve got to concentrate on diary entries via the microphone, after I’ve run, for some future work. HOLY SHIT! Even more sounding like a weirdo live for the nation. GO HANNAH!

Anyway, I haven’t run today but I really wanted to. And I’m not just saying that because there was no way I could afford the time to run today, I have actually driven past joggers/runners in their snazzy waterproofs and really wanted to be out there in my daps, in the rain.

Funny how it gets to you, ey?

Anyway, tomorrows another day and if I’m going back to the plan (Am I? aren’t I?) I’m due a nice little four miles tomorrow, which quite frankly, sounds like a piece of piss given my adventures on Saturday.  Piece of piss minus the geese that is.

I do have to comment on the weather at this point, or I have to comment on the weather warnings, that’s more apt. The blackberry has warned me on several occasions today that the weather is looking particularly grim over the next few days. By grim I mean its bollocking cows and sheep over Wales. (Dogs and cats just don’t cut the type of rain we’re getting at the moment.) So, my haste for pounding the pavement tomorrow could very well be cut short due to drowning!

‘I’m so sorry Mrs Evans.’ The paramedic will tell my mother, ‘There was very little we could do given the depth of water Hannah fell into.’ My mother howls, cursing Merthyr Tydfil’s puddles and Scott is overly concerned that he’ll have to pair his own socks from now on. The funeral will include ‘Keep on Running’ and everyone will drink Guinness. And they can play the disaster that was the BBC recording of my radio interview.

Anyway, I really have had enough of wallowing now and would like to get back on track.

So, four miles in the rain tomorrow. Cool.  I’m thinking I’ll run to Cyfartha Park, say hi to the ducks, run round the pond twice and then home. That’s a perfect four miles, that’s a perfect run in the rain, which will be the perfect start to my Wednesday.

Off to lick more wounds now.

Not literally.