Light Of A Clear Blue Morning

It's been a long dark night

And I've been a waitin' for the morning

It's been a long hard night

But I see a brand new day a dawning

This post's lyrics come to you courtesy of Dolly Parton. I missed Dolly at Glastonbury because (have I mentioned?) I was traipsing down the Grand Union Canal instead. I love Dolly. My blog's title, 'Service & Devotion', is a line from Dolly's 9 to 5. You could blame impressionable teenage years spent in Kentucky, but I like to think its because I like a tough, tenacious woman with big hair and a penchant for glamour. Hence my friendship with Fran too. 

As I write, my feet are still throbbing and my muscles still ache, and I'm reflecting on our team's achievement over the past weekend.

Every single one of us pushed themselves to their absolute limit out there. No-one left anything behind. In the end Jamie, Siobhan, Shelly and I did the full 101.5km. Michelle was sent home by a physio at 50km with suspected torn muscle, we ordered Stuart home at 75km fearing he would injure himself irreparably if he went on. In the dawn of Sunday, as a long, bleak night spent stumbling over rocky paths with bats swirling into the dimly-lit beam of our head torches transformed into a clear blue morning, Siobhan observed that we'd all learned something about ourselves. 

It sounds like a cliché but she couldn't have been more right. Here's what I learned over the past few months training and the toughest 28 hours I think I've ever had:

Never be too proud to ask for help.

At 40km my feet were shot. My spirit was broken and every step was agony. I had to ask for help and it came in the form of my amazing husband who carried both our backpacks for the next 10km until we reached the half-way checkpoint. At that checkpoint I had my feet seen to by an A&E doctor and a session with a physio on my legs. That got me to the end. Had I not asked for help then, I would probably never have finished. Asking for help isn't a sign of weakness, its a tactic to give you what you need to go on.

When the task ahead of you seems too big, break it down into bite size chunks.

We learned early on that we weren't walking 101.5km; we were walking to the next check-point. As long as we could get there, have a drink, check our feet, lie down for 5 minutes, we could go on. Don't look at the size of the challenge, look to the next milestone. 

Focus on your own game.

Early on, I was intimidated by the sight of three men in t-shirts listing all the challenges they'd completed this year: Kilimanjaro, Three Peaks, Marathons, Triatholons. I felt woefully inadequate. They dropped out at 61km. If I'd let myself be psyched out comparing myself to them, I might have gone the same way. Equally, I don't know what injuries they were carrying, or what was going on inside their heads. Their journey wasn't mine, comparison was pointless. 

There is no such thing as the Dog Poo fairy.

I know this because there are a lot of signs on the Northamptonshire branch of the Grand Union telling you. I'm disappointed, obviously. I love a mythical figure as much as the next person. But the message is simple: no-one else is going to pick up your crap. Leave stuff as you found it... or better.

J.F.D.I.*

If we'd thought too hard about what we were doing, we wouldn't have done it. J.F.D.I. doesn't mean don't plan, don't be prepared, don't train - all of that was critical and without it we'd have fallen at the first checkpoint. It just means that there comes a point when all the preparation is done and all that's left is to *Just F-ing Do It. 

As long as you're moving forward, you're making progress.

No matter how slowly, or how painfully. If you are moving towards your goal, that's all that matters. Churchill was right: when you're going through hell, keep going.

Don't trust the official statistics.

As my dad once told me; there are lies, damned lies, and statistics. You might have noticed that this wasn't a 100km walk; it was a 101.5 km walk. A small detail they omitted to tell us. Believe me, at 99 km it makes a huge difference whether you have 1km or 2.5 km to go. 

Don't be held back by other peoples' expectations.

It's easy to underestimate someone based on the limited information you have about them. Based on what they knew of me, some people might have thought I wasn't capable of completing this challenge. Had I believed them I'd never have done it. Other people's opinions of you are none of your business - keep your eyes on the horizon and never entertain the thought that you aren't up to the challenge. 

On reflection, I reckon these are lessons for anything. For life, for the tough times, for those people affected by cancer and those people wanting to do something about that. 

Thank you for giving us the opportunity to learn them. We wouldn't have done it without your support and your sponsorship goes to giving Fran, and future 1 in 3's the means to fight their challenge. That's something important, something incredible. You did that. 

www.justgiving.com/franschallenge

PS. It isn't too late to make a difference - the sponsorship page is open for another two months. 

PPS. Apologies for the strong language, but you should have heard me at 76km - sailors were blushing.

PPPS. We've been asked for pictures, so here are a few from the challenge...

The NDL Contingent at the start

The whole team at the start

Paddington 

My Baked Potato impression at halfway

4am rest stop at 70km

The light of a clear blue morning - homeward stretch!

Dolly, not Fran...

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

The road is long

With many a winding turn

That leads us to who knows where

Who knows when

But I'm strong

Strong enough to carry him

He ain't heavy, he's my brother

Apologies if this week's theme song seems a little obvious. I'd been struggling to find the right one and then yesterday, after a week of nerves and niggles, I was driving to singing practice and this came on shuffle on the ipod.

I've already written about how I'd been worrying about the challenge so I don't want to dwell on that really. However, this week the reality of what we are about to do has hit us. We are walking for what will inevitably be more than 24 hours, without sleep, in rain and sun, with busted knees, aching hips, painful backs and, all (due to some unfortunate timing) over the toughest three days of Fran's chemotherapy cycle. 

Our team and how we pull together and support each other has become increasingly important and tomorrow it will mean the difference between finishing or not. 

Walking 100 kilometres is as much a mental endurance challenge as a physical one. Don't get me wrong, walking over ridiculous distances hurts. A lot. The balls of your feet burn. Blisters have gone from being one of those irritating things that happen when you buy a new pair of shoes, to the difference between being able to bear your own weight or not. But this week I've realised that our real challenge is in our heads. Carrying each other when that challenge seems too much is our real job here. Listening, supporting, reassuring, distracting, laughing together, crying together, singing badly and loudly (probably just me) - whatever we can do to get each other through. 

It's not going to be easy. Nothing worth doing ever is. But we will do it, and we will do it together. Writing that, I know I'm talking as much about supporting Fran as I am about supporting our team. Fran's journey so far has been the toughest physical challenge she's ever faced. But it's the mental strength that makes the difference - knowing she has people thinking of her, knowing people are willing to share her journey. 

That's what we're here for, isn't it? It's what separates us from the animals - the ability to walk a long road with another human being, see them at their lowest point and know when they need carrying. To choose to join a person for all or part of their journey because you know that some things are easier when you are a team. 

Thank you for being part of our team, of Fran's team. We'll carry you with us tomorrow.

Lorna, Stuart, Jamie, Michelle, Emma, Siobhan & Shelly xxx

www.justgiving.com/franschallenge

Accentuate The Positive

You gotta accentuate the positive

Eliminate the negative

Latch on to the affirmative

Don't mess with Mr In-between

Accentuating the positive has been tough this past few weeks. Work has been busy, and a slog, and created some crappy moments for most of us. Fran has been completely wiped out by chemo. The training walks are getting tougher and longer, the blisters more common, the aches more painful. Emma has taken the brave but wise decision to only walk half of the 100k with us due to her back.

Since my last post we have walked 24 miles overnight without sleep on the Brampton Valley Way, and 20 miles from Braunston to Stoke Bruerne on a muggy, humid summer's day. Fran's white blood cell count has been so low that her consultant is considering a blood transfusion. It would be easy to latch onto the negative.

But that's not Fran's way. And so, it isn't our way either. 

Our night walk was hard, but we had a blast. We laughed, talked, supported and fed each other every step of the way. When things flew out of trees at us in the pitch dark we grabbed onto each other, shrieked, giggled and carried on walking.  Fran sent us a clip of the Scooby Doo theme tune just before we walked into a 700 metre pitch black tunnel at 2am. We celebrated with a big fat breakfast and a high five. We'd reached a milestone.

On last week's longest, muggiest, training walk there were plenty of positives to accentuate. A cafe that served cream tea, where the owner took pity on us and only charged us what Shelly happened to have in her purse - telling us to pay it forward (we will). Baby ducklings, as tiny as they were new to the world, paddling alongside us. Majestic herons, trying to fool us into thinking they were plastic and then swooping up into the trees just as we reached them. Fish and chips for lunch. Why make it harder than it needs to be? 

Speaking to Fran, it is so reassuring to hear her latching onto the affirmative. She celebrated her birthday this week and managed to get away for a few days with loved ones. She's focusing on creating the perfect days. Frankly, she's a lesson in accentuating the positive. She's determined for us to raise as much money as we possibly can because she believes that she has been lucky. Lucky to benefit from the research and hard work of Cancer Research UK and funded by the people who walked before us. Lucky that when her surgery to remove the tumour became so complicated that a 3 hour operation turned into a 7 hour operation, her surgeon had a network of cancer specialists to call on. Lucky that her nurses have been trained to understand both the medical and personal impact of cancer. Lucky that other people blazing a trail before her have been brave enough to share their fight with cancer, and therefore raise funds and awareness to pay it forward.

Tomorrow our training walk will take 10 hours - approximately 32 miles. On Sunday we will walk another 5 hours. We'll need to dig deep and I'm not going to lie; we are nervous. But if Fran can accentuate the positive every day of her fight with cancer, we are determined to savour every tea break, appreciate every heron, get excited by every tiny duckling and latch onto every positive along the route. 

Your support is essential to this - the messages we've had so far mean everything. Your money goes towards 'paying it forward' so that future 1 in 3's can consider themselves lucky. Please do share the love.

www.justgiving.com/franschallenge

Have a great weekend - don't mess with Mr In-Between!

Three Little Birds

Don't Worry About A Thing

'Cos Every Little Thing's Gonna Be Alright

Halfway through last weekend's 22.7 mile/7 hour training walk I checked my emails on my phone and had one from Fran. She'd shazamed Bob Marley's Three Little Birds and sent it to me. I guess she was thinking that around about mile 17, in 23 degree heat we might be needing some encouragement.

It's crazy when you think about it. Fran (in the middle of her fourth round of chemo) was sending me (out for a stroll in the sunshine) encouragement and motivation. It worked though. I love that song. 

I had been worrying. I am a bit of a worrier. I'd been worrying about whether we should have been taking more breaks, whether the others would be annoyed at me for wanting to take more breaks, whether I could stomach yet another cereal bar, whether the loos at Cosgrove lock would be open or if I'd be peeing in front of bemused sheep (again). 

Whether I really have it in me to walk 62 miles in less than 4 weeks time.

I have read all the books on worrying. You know; focus on what you can control, don't worry about what you can't, think of the worst case scenario and how you can still deal with it. 

Here are some of my 'Worst Case Scenario' fears about this ridiculous thing I've roped all these people into (in no particular order):

1. Everyone hates it, and they hate me for roping them into it
2. I fall in the canal/break a leg/my feet fall off, I let down all the amazing people who have sponsored us, and the rest of the team hate me.
3. I break myself. Mentally, emotionally, physically. And the rest of the team hate me.
4. I get it wrong. Wrong start time/food/rest break/support car/pre-walk hotel plan and the rest of the team hate me.

Ridiculous, I know, but there it is. Fundamentally I've been getting a bit stressed about letting my team down. 

So when I received a link to Three Little Birds from Fran, Fran who we are walking for, Fran who frankly has other stuff to focus on than reassuring my fragile ego, I felt all at once buoyed and chastened. And I realised something else: 

We all have stuff we worry about, stuff that causes us doubts and darker moments. We could stack them all up against each other and have some kind of 'worry-off' (mine's bigger/more likely to happen/more serious). Or we could offer each other little bits of support and encouragement when we have the chance. A smile, shared silliness, a word of encouragement. This link to cute foxes that my husband sent today knowing I was a bit stressy. The email from one of our wider HR team telling me she thought we were great for doing this.

Our team will be needing that in three weeks time. And we'll sure as heck need it tomorrow when we do our first night walk - 8 hours (about 28 miles) starting at 11.30pm and pushing on through to breakfast. I've picked the stuff I can control (favourite socks, waterproof trousers, ending the walk near somewhere that serves breakfast) and am choosing not to worry about the stuff we can't (the fact that it's forecasting thunderstorms). And along the way we'll cheer and encourage and support each other. Because that's what this thing is all about. 

If you want to encourage us, or show your support for Fran, you can sponsor the team here:

www.justgiving.com/FransChallenge

Perfect Day

It's Such A Perfect Day

I'm Glad I Spent It With You

One day, early this week, I had a text from Fran telling me she felt really great. When someone's having chemotherapy a text to say they feel great is like a bonus sunny day when you were expecting thunderstorms. I replied to say she should absolutely make the most of these days. But shouldn't we all? 

Lou Reed wrote Perfect Day after spending a day in Central Park. It's about simple things done off the cuff, not grand gestures. Going to the park, drinking sangria, going to the zoo, seeing a movie. Spending time with people you love. Simple things; perfect day. Fran's approach to her illness and treatment has been to grab those perfect days when she can. To consciously set out to have them. Heading into the last spring bank holiday weekend we could do worse than follow her lead.

Perfect Day was recorded again in 1997 as a collaboration - a diverse collective of artists from all walks of life, genres and (lets be frank) ability getting together to raise money for charity. Sort of like our own team for the Grand Union Challenge. Like the 1997 version, which was recorded remotely by artists that didn't meet until later live performances, our team has been training and preparing for the 100k walk in a variety of ways and locations. I thought this post might be a good time to introduce you to our collective: 

Me (over there on the right >>>>) :

It was me that hatched this, plainly ridiculous, plan to get a group of people together and walk 100k from London to Milton Keynes. I suppose that makes me the Lou Reed of the group (minus the heroin addiction and hopefully with better hair). When Fran told me about her diagnosis I just wanted to do something. Anything. I've lost too many people to cancer. It's a topic very close to my heart. I'm not sporty. Not remotely. I have been known to get out of bed too quickly and pass out so I'm always a little wary of physical exertion. That said, I figured if I can just keep on putting one foot in front of the other for long enough, even I should be able to walk 100k.

Jamie:

My husband. The sporty one. Lost an aunty and a cousin to cancer within months of each other. Ran his first London Marathon last month (that's him grimacing as he crosses the finish line above) so he has very few toenails and a lot of blister experience. Joined the team to show his support for Fran and "to keep his fitness levels up" (??!) Second to join the team, I guess that makes him Bono? 

Stuart:

Fran's husband. The camera-shy one (I couldn't find a single picture of him online - apart from this one of his feet. I'm sorry). Third to join the team, which makes him either the woman from Morcheeba or David Bowie... Can spend a whole 5 hour training walk talking about F1 if we let him, but he brings spare Yorkie bars and is therefore forgiven. One of the loveliest men I know. And I know a few lovely men. 

Michelle:

The busy one. Michelle works in one of my teams and is currently studying part time while working full time. She's fitting training walks into a packed schedule of lectures, assignments and full time work. That's her on the left, on our first training walk from Market Harborough to Northampton about to walk through a very long, very dark tunnel. I'm at the back taking the photo and all I could think of was Scooby Doo...

Em:

The remote one. Em works in Yorkshire during the week and so is training by herself mainly. Em probably shouldn't be doing this walk, given that she has a few problems with her back. But she figured that if Fran can go through chemo, the least she can do is go for a very long hike. That's her on the right in the picture above. She turned up without shoes for that walk. We're hoping things have improved, kit-wise, since then. 

Siobhan:

The London one. That's her in her usual habitat above; a London boozer. Siobhan's husband is an endurance event veteran, having completed the Marathon De Sables in a very respectable time last year. He's currently injured so is training vicariously through her. As a result she's aching a bit and I'm feeling a little like Boyzone must have felt when recording Perfect Day alongside Bono and Elton. Out of their depth.

Shelly:

The detail focused one. Shelly joined the team last week so we eased her in gently with a 10 mile walk to Stoke Bruerne.  At 9.7 miles we reached our destination, Shelly barely breaking a sweat on the hottest day of the year so far. As we sat down for a well-earned drink Shelly promptly announced she was just off to walk the other 0.3 miles, otherwise it would bug her. A real completer-finisher that one. 

And you!

The collective wouldn't be complete without the brilliant, generous people who have sponsored us so far. We're so grateful for your support - of us, but more importantly of Fran. Every time she sees another familiar name pop up on her sponsor page it raises a smile. So thank you to you all.

If you'd like to join the collective you can sponsor us here:

http://www.justgiving.com/FransChallenge

Have a wonderful Bank Holiday - I hope you get to have at least one Perfect Day. 

You'll Never Walk Alone

When you walk through the storm

Hold your head up high

And don't be afraid of the dark

At the end of the storm

There's a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of the lark

In December last year a very good friend and colleague was diagnosed with bowel cancer. She had been visiting the doctor for over a year with symptoms and had some difficulty being taken seriously - she is young, female, isn't overweight, doesn't smoke or drink to excess. She didn't fit the profile. 

Cancer didn't care. Cancer doesn't care. 

Cancer, as the well worn statistics tell us, will do that to 1 in 3 of us. It's common, it's pervasive. And yet when it sweeps into your life - turning plans on their head, challenging your view of the world, making you second guess your lifestyle choices and curse your bad luck - you can feel really, really alone. 

So when Fran's diagnosis came last year her friends and colleagues wanted to do something to show her that she wasn't alone. We can't do the tough part. The surgery, the chemo, the pain and frustration and slog that is fighting the toughest fight one person may ever have to fight. But we can show her that she isn't walking through this storm alone.

Our way of doing that was to sign up for this: www.grandunionchallenge.com One hundred kilometres from London to Milton Keynes along the Grand Union Canal. Non stop. On foot. For 24 hours. 

At the time, I saw some vague, tangential link between the original logistics infrastructure of the UK that is the Grand Union Canal and the logistics industry that introduced me to Fran and that makes up our 9 to 5 (and the rest!). Now, the symbolism is much clearer. We are walking a very, very, very long way because the process of taking on an ultra endurance challenge way outside our comfort zone is our way of saying "You won't walk this alone". 

The walk takes place in just under 6 weeks. I'll post (between walks and training and bathing my feet in epsom salts) about each of the team, our progress, Fran's progress and other musings. If only because it will give me an opportunity to ask people to sponsor us here:

https://www.justgiving.com/FransChallenge

Please do. It can be your way of walking with us and showing your solidarity for Fran, and all the other 1 in 3's.

Thank you.