What The Doc Said

‘Ey-up!

I saw my Neurosciences Consultant yesterday. I appreciate quite a few of you out there care about me, so I thought I’d quickly sum up the 24’54” activity*.

Before I do that, a quick line to say I was truly impressed with the revamped and expanded Southmead Hospital. Only by googling now do I see it cost £430m. I’m no construction expert, so I can’t tell you whether that is a reasonable price for the end result. What I can tell you is that the campus-like atmosphere is very welcoming and reassuring, something which patients going in for tests or surgery will appreciate more than I did going in for what was, ultimately, a chat.

So… as for that chat…

…I’m always grateful for an early appointment. That said, I did lie awake briefly at 2am wondering whether it truly was an 8 o’clocker, or whether I’d got it wrong and we’d be there an hour early… fortunately it was and I wasn’t, so we weren’t. My consultant was twenty-five minutes late, which is less than last time: small progress, but progress nonetheless. At least she didn’t use getting her daughter ready as an excuse this time, which meant Karen didn’t have to bite her tongue about getting two boys ready and dropping them off at a child minder’s so that they could get to school…

Our appointment started as you’d expect: my consultant said “Good morning”, I replied “Good afternoon”. I’m not sure she got it. I’ve been seeing her for over a decade now, and still she rarely gets my wit, humour and sarcasm. OK, my sarcasm. Might be a language thing: she’s Polish. These highly-qualified Polish neurosciences experts, coming over here, stealing our jobs..!

She acknowledged the letter I sent her in February. Only, as I pointed out, I hadn’t written to her in February: I’d done so in April and indeed last week. She asked me when my seizures had been. Fortunately for me I had a copy of the letter she’d acknowledged last week and said we’d discuss right in front of me, and fortuitously this featured the dates of my three post-op seizures. Honestly: it’s amazing how coincidence can work in your favour sometimes!

She then tried to bring up an MRI scan on screen. For some reason, she couldn’t find the one she was after: a student was in the room and tried to help her navigate her way through the software, again without success. Once she told me she was after my post-op scan, I was able to enlighten her: “I’ve never had a post-op scan”.

“How peculiar!”, she pointed out, as if jumping out of a Jane Austen novel. “They are usually scheduled right after the surgery”. She duly indicated this would be done by someone else, which makes sense. And I did remarkably well by not pointing out that I’ve been seeing her for almost three years since and she’s never looked for my post-op scan and thus discovered its inexistence. I gave up on pointing out such minor details to her a while back. She booked one in, we moved on.

Whilst she’d not spotted the details of my last three seizures in last week’s letter, she had read the paragraph about my ‘suggestion’ I come off the meds, on the basis we appear to have tried everything else. It wasn’t a course of action I was suggesting with any conviction, rather it was a conversation I wanted to ensure we had: and I thought that proposing a week-by-week time-frame would at least stimulate that. It did. The conversation was brief but genuinely satisfactory. See, I’ve taken anti-epilepsy meds all my life: it’s second nature. I don’t mind taking them: what I did want to discuss was my surgeon’s comment that taking them after a positive operation could actually cause a relapse, as the drugs would have to find something to do now that the ‘issue’ they were looking to control was no longer there, and that this could have a backlash. She laughed off the comment, saying I’d probably misheard the comment. I know I heard it right three years ago: and, even though surgery slightly impacted my vision out of the upper left quadrant of my left eye, I could see Karen’s facial expression back me up. I could have offered to mail her my underhand audio recording of that conversation with the surgeon, but even I’m not that bad. She seems happy enough that carrying on taking my meds can’t do any harm and I’m happy enough to go along with that. If nowt else it’ll reassure those ‘around’ me, even if some more emotionally than physically so – such as Mother, whom I’d told over the weekend I’d be raising the topic. “Well what if you have a really bad seizure and end up paralysed?” Fair point, I guess.

The consultant (whose name I do know, but figure deserves some sort of anonymity out of courtesy – doctor:patient confidentiality and all that…) then enquired about my two 2014 seizures and as to their nature. Now, to me, an imbecile lacking in any medical knowledge (and I openly admit I should know more about epilepsy than I do), asking someone about the fit they have had is just plain unfair: I’m too busy being unconscious at the time to recall anything. Not the exact words I used, but she got the gist. “Was there anyone with you?”

“Oh, thousands. For the first one. About a hundred for the second”.

Again, I could just about make out Karen’s expression. A mixture of appreciation and despair. The consultant asked for a clarification, which I gladly provided…

“I had the first one whilst running a marathon”. To which I had hinted in my letter of April 7, by writing: “It was whilst running the Greater Manchester Marathon that yesterday’s seizure occurred, 20.6mi and 2h29’ into the 26.2mi run – therefore around 11:30am based on my GPS record”. Maybe I should try to be more specific next time…

…we swiftly moved on to the second one. Having already told her that had also been during a run, I put her at ease by commenting I was only running a 5k that time. Commenting on my underplaying of a 5k, she asked if I realised that for the people in the room ‘exercise’ “probably means sitting on a couch watching TV”. Seems like I’ve finally found a medical professional who doesn’t bother with exercise, then..! I probably should have invited her to Little Stoke parkrun, but didn’t bother.

I then quoted the paramedic who attended to me in Manchester, who asked me if I had any more runs planned. When I told him I was set to run 53mi three weeks later, he answered that I “should be OK”. My consultant jokingly questioned the epilepsy expertise of a paramedic; I just pointed out he was a Northerner. Again, probably wasted on her. I can but try.

She spotted a link. It’s a fairly obvious one, one that anyone aware of my seizures during Greater Manchester Marathon and parkrun will have noticed. I certainly have. Whilst the former was 8.45 times longer, both runs were high-intensity. I was going for PBs at both. My brain was working hard in Manchester as it was at Little Stoke. And I accept that might have been a factor. Which, equally, is why I was never overly concerned about the Highland Fling: yes, it was 53mi but no, it wasn’t high intensity. So I promised her I’d get back to her in ten days’ time, after Chester Marathon…

Am I worried about Chester?

No more than I was before.

Will I take it any easier?

Physically? No. It’s a race. It’s me against the clock, but it’s still a race. If it were just about running 26.2mi, I’d go off and do it on my own before work. It’s about me doing the best I can.

Will I ever enter another marathon if things go wrong in Chester?

Now… that’s an interesting question.

And not one I can answer, right now. It’s tempting to say no, but then a) I don’t know how I’d feel and b) I’m already signed up for Greater Manchester 2015, as a result of signing up twice (without even finishing once) for last April’s.

But look, all jokes aside: I don’t want to go into a marathon thinking it’s likely I’ll pass out. I’ll always allow for the possibility, as I do every time I get out of bed. But if it starts being more than just an average possibility, it wouldn’t be fair. Not so much on me (I can live with the odd foot-long scar), but on those around me: on my friends with whom I run, on the paramedics who are busy enough as it is – and, last but not least, on my relatives waiting to find out how I’ve got on. Some say I’m brave, I say I’m determined: regardless, it’s a fine line to outright stupidity, and one of which I’m keen to stay on the right side.

And besides, I wouldn’t have to give up running. I wouldn’t stop streaking, to be honest. I’d just have to reconsider my racing calendar, that’s all. Even when factoring in seizures, running has done me far more good than harm. Less high-intensity stuff, more ultras. Which is what my 2015 calendar is looking like anyway…

…and let’s be clear about this: when talking about ‘intensity’, we’re talking about the mind. Obviously there can be links with physical intensity, which can impact the mind: but it does not mean I can’t go off and run silly distances. I just have to take it easy without taking it slow.

Therein lies a challenge for me. I know I get intense. You know I get intense. I know getting intense doesn’t equate to performance improvement, that being more relaxed would probably help. You, hopefully, know I’m more relaxed now than I used to be. If you ever saw me on a tennis court, you know where I’m coming from… and hopefully that journey’s not over. I can relax more and more and run the whole 26.2, not just the first 20.5.

Disclaimer: the consultant did add that it could all be unrelated, as my seizures are ‘random’. Which isn’t helpful, but maybe helps me back up my claim that there is no point in me just sitting on my backside watching TV like a neurosciences consultant might.

There you go. Oh, the appointment finished as you’d probably expect, too: she said “Goodbye”, I said “Merry Christmas”. As you do.

* no, I’m not logging it on Strava, Mike!

Update: An hour after I posted this, Southmead rang to set an appointment for the MRI. “We can do Sunday” – i.e. the day after tomorrow…

…”I’m busy Sunday. And I’ll be out of the country for most of October. How’s November looking?”

Sometimes you can just tell when something’s not that urgent – which this can’t be, given it should have been done three years. You can tell because it only takes a minute to sort out. Whereas the urgent stuff…

Now - where should I be tomorrow?

It’s funny how things pan out sometimes.

There will be three places where it would make perfect sense for me to be tomorrow (a.k.a. Saturday, September 20, 2014). But for a few details, anyway, which I’ll outline in a second. First, I want you to have a shot at guessing what might be happening in those three places.

Here’s a clue: each event taking place is a key component of what defines me. It has probably played a key role in how you and I met – if indeed met we have. So, get your thinking cap on… then scroll.










<c’mon, be a sport – give it a go!>










<OK – last chance…>










Right – let’s go.

Event #1: TOMS RIVER REUNION – “The Musician”, Leicester

In 1999, I made my maiden voyage trip to the US. Some may think it’s a long way to go for two Springsteen concerts – but I suspect there’ll be folk out there who know it makes perfect sense…

…in the end I saw three, courtesy of Hurricane Floyd which caused the postponement of one of the gigs at Philadelphia’s Spectrum. Single and carefree, I (alongside many others) put back my return flight to catch the rescheduled concert as well as the second concert for which we originally had tickets and a third concert now sandwiched in between. Meant I got to see Bruce’s last show before he turned 40 and his first after, which added to the on-stage banter and made for some appreciated setlist selections.  Musically, a fantastic experience, worthy of an entire post in itself. But this one ain’t about the music…

…on that trip I made friendships that have withstood the test of time. Fifteen years and over forty Springsteen shows down the road, I know that I can count on friends first met over a beer or two in some bar in New Jersey, New York or Pennsylvania to be there for me when I need them. Friends with whom I’ll talk Bruce, for sure, but equally religion, football, challenges… in short, life.

Tomorrow, many of those people will meet up in Leicester. Some I’ve seen many a time since; some, alas, never. It would be good to meet up with each and every one of them. And if I could jump in a car I would: for the people and for a gig which will be one of the day’s highlights. No, they’ve not booked Springsteen (not as far as I know, anyway): but they have booked Joe D’Urso and Stone Caravan, whom we discovered on that trip. Having played solo on a bill at the world-renowned Howard Johnson, Toms River for us, Joe returned with full band a few days later to cheer up hundreds of Europeans who’d travelled thousands of miles only for a hurricane to shatter their expectations. And, on both occasions, he did a great job. The sort of job that makes you grab pen and paper and write a note to his dad, who was there with him, along the lines of: “You should be proud of your son”. If you’re a 24-year old like me, anyway.

(OK: if you are me. Which, fortunately for you, you’re not.)

I’ve since been Joe’s Tour Manager and seen him in England, Wales, Scotland, Italy and Norway (!), as well as back in the U.S.A., back in a time when I could afford to fly out there to see a relatively unknown musician, driving down the Jersey Turnpike (my last time at the wheel) with the window down and ‘Thunder Road’ on the radio… Great guy, great band – a bunch of scoundrels, but reliable scoundrels, still playing with Joe over a decade later. Great shame I hardly ever see them these days, although I did get to Cardiff just the oth…
<what? It was nearly two years ago? Yikes!>
Shame. Equally a shame that I so rarely, if ever, see many members of the congregation gathering in Leicester tomorrow, at the church of rock&roll. I’m a bit of a lapsed member these days, much as the faith is unwavering. I just kinda find it hard to get to church that often: but if there is a 2015 Springsteen tour I’ll be there and hopefully see a lot of the people I won’t be seeing tomorrow. And remember, guys: there’s always the chance to sing…

 

Event #2: SWINDON vs SHEFFIELD UNITED – The County Ground, Swindon

As I outlined over two years (really?) ago, I am defined by music, in particular Springsteen’s. Bruce is my moral compass. I am equally defined by Sheffield, its values, the values of its people… and Sheffield United. And on Saturday they’ll be playing in Swindon, just an hour down the road. If I could jump in a car, that is…

…as it happens, by bus, foot and train The County Ground represents a twelve-hour round trip. Least it would once you’ve allowed for watching the match, anyway. And a twelve-hour round trip, especially if I were to take Roberto, just ain’t gonna happen… I know many Blades will do that and then some, this Saturday as they have countless times, but I just… can’t. I say that with a tinge of guilt, but then again it’s just… life.

A shame, but one to which I’m used. One of the prices for my exiled life which hurts the most, not least given I pay it at least once a fortnight between August and May. Don’t ask.

 

Event #3: HIGH PEAK 40 – Buxton and The Peak District

I am defined by music. I am defined by Sheffield. And I am defined by running. And of the hundreds of runs I’ve embarked upon over the past eight hundred and eighty-two days, few have been more defining that last year’s High Peak 40.

HP40 2013 was my first Ultra. It was chuffin’ hilly, it was tough: but I ran it with friends, some of whom I’d only met on Twitter prior to that day and some whom I’d otherwise only met a few months prior at the Greater Manchester Marathon and/or the Sheffield Half. Not that you’d have suspected as such when we gathered round at some ungodly hour: by their standards, anyway – more ‘mid-morning’ in my book). The connection was there: we shared the same fire in our bellies, the same fears, the same goals. Just like those who’ll be gathering in Leicester and in the away end on Saturday. We all got it. Like disciples of the same religion do.


Springsteen… Blades… Ultra… And what will I be up to? What’s keeping me from joining any one of these communities so integral to defining who I am, where I’ve been and where I’m heading?

I’ll be home. Taking it easy, ahead of Sunday’s Bristol Half Marathon – although I do hope to sneak in a steady parkrun at Little Stoke in the morning. And with my family – who also define me, and share the theatre in which I live out my dreams and challenges.

But for the half, I would probably be in the Peak District, given I signed up for it the day registrations opened. Or I might be making more of an effort to get to Leicester, which has also been on the radar for some time. Realistically, less likely I’d be in Swindon, if only because I’ve already got February 14 in the calendar for a romantic encounter with fellow Blades at Ashton Gate, Bristol, BS3. Valentine’s Days don’t come much romantic than that. Not in BS3, trust me.

So yes, on Sunday I’ll head to the start of the Bristol Half with my Twitterblades badge safely on my trusty drawstring, with in my heart Springsteen’s songs and the inspiration and support of my friends who the day before will have completed the High Peak 40 challenge. That and my brothers, as always. A Springsteen-loving, United-supporting running nut can’t ask for much more. Well, other than that blasted sub-90’ time, anyroad.

And you… yes, you, having got to the end of this post with laudable patience…
…if you are heading to Leicester, Buxton or Swindon – have a great time. Better than sub-90’ could ever be.

Feelin' good

Greetings one and all! How’s everybody feeling?

For many runners, the autumn season’s about to kick off. Yes, running is a year-round sport: but some months are busier than others when it comes to larger races. And, squeezed in between the hot(ter) summer months (with those pesky school holidays that can hamper training and getting to races) and the darker/colder/wetter winter months (during which some runners find it harder to train, apparently), here cometh the Autumn Season. Which, for me, this year means two races, holding the keys to my outstanding 2014 goals:

1. Bristol Half Marathon (September 21)

2. Chester Marathon (October 5)

I was also meant to be running the Yorkshire Marathon on October 12, although it was never going to be a PB attempt: that was always Chester’s gig. But the fact that work means I have to be in Boston, Mass. on the morning of October 13 has thrown a spanner in the works there. Now, had it been Boston, Lincs., getting across from York would have been a doddle: but it’s not…

…it’s a shame, but on the whole I don’t travel anywhere near as much as I used to for work. It so rarely gets in the way of family and running that I can’t grumble for the odd exception. I did look into running the Oxford Half instead, whence reaching Heathrow would be a doddle: but, having put on my sensible hat, better to arrive in Boston on the Saturday evening and have a day to myself. After all, there are some nice routes in and around there, right? I’ve had the pleasure of running in Boston before: along the Charles River before, out to Harvard and back… that hours after doing the Freedom Trail Run, an organised instance of runtourism… I ran over 26 miles that day! So I will explore more options.

(Not that such a process has already begun, you understand… not that I’ve had a preliminary, exploratory, non-committal look at to get to Hopkinton, Mass. on what would be Day 1 of my third year of runstreaking… oh no, not me!)

As those who’ve come to know me should expect, I’m getting increasingly grumpy, not least in my online persona. Which is not to suggest I’m a different individual when I engage with the world via’t’Internet, rather that my self-effacing sarcasm doesn’t always come across over a screen and can be construed as either pure disappointment or stupidity, especially when I’m commenting my runs on Strava. So I thought I’d look to set the record straight.

I recently described Bristol and Chester to someone as “the two races I’ll get stressed about”. Because I will. Because I do want sub-90’ and sub-3:30’ and will get genuinely hard on myself to get there, if only because I think both are within my grasp – albeit one more than the other…

…whilst far, far, far from taking my marathon goal for granted (this game never allows that), I am optimistic: I clocked 3:31’03” in Chester last year and I’m a better runner now, as the first 20mi in Manchester proved. I’m not feeling particularly optimistic about sub-90’ but reckon I’ve got a shot at it – especially if I can stay on my feet. What will be will be: and, if all the pieces fall into place, it could well be 1:29’59” after all. Let’s just not forget there are a lot of pieces.

Do I put myself under too much pressure? I’m just an amateur runner, after all. I don’t see the same faces week in week out; I’m not in competition with anyone; I’m a member of two clubs but hardly held accountable by either… I’m just your everyday runner with his (arbitrary) goals. So what if I don’t hit them?

Quite frankly, not a lot. If I get to that start line knowing I’ve prepared as well as I could, whatever that will have entailed, and if I get to that finish line knowing I gave it all that I had over those thirteenpointone miles, I’ll be happy regardless of the time. Seriously. It just so happens that times are our best indicators of just how well we prepared and ran..!

And OK, let’s address the underlying question… does the pressure I put myself under engender seizures? Is that why I passed out in Manchester, chasing a time, and not in the Highlands, which was a more relaxed affair?

Honest response: I don’t think so. I was doing well in Manchester and I do fear I may have taken my meds twice the morning of my seizure at parkrun. But don’t think I’m dismissing the possibility out of hand. I don’t do that. With anything.

. . .

One reason I’m so keen to hit these milestones over the next four weekends is that my focus next year will be different. Everything about 2015 will revolve around the West Highland Way Race – least it will if I get in, anyway… and I don’t mean in terms of entering the country!

The WHW is a 95-mile trail ultra. I will still run Greater Manchester Marathon, yes – not least because I’ve already entered it. And I suspect I will run at least one 2015 autumn marathon, yes. But the overriding objective will be to get my body in shape to run 95 miles, setting off at 1am on June 20, 2015. I suspect I will venture into nearby woods at night with my flashlight; I suspect I will run back-to-back marathons over the course of a weekend or two: and I suspect I’ll run a couple of ultras in the first half of the years, for training purposes. I’ve already entered The Green Man, a 46-miler around Bristol; and I will enter The Highland Fling as soon as entries open. What this year was one of my three goals will next April be a training run: sounds odd, but then most things on here do – right?

Anyway – don’t worry. I’m happy. Honest. Runner’s word. In fact…

…right now I’m enjoying the quality of life of my life. As I’ve outlined before, there are downsides to working from home: but being able to get up, go for a run, get home, see The Boys off to school knowing I’ll be there when they get home and not be stuck in some traffic jam – all that’s good stuff. Last Friday I was particularly grateful for not having to get to an office other than my home one: we were short on blackberries, so I put on my trail shoes and headed down to the Coast Path, making frequent restocking stops. At first glance, not the most beneficial of training runs: but then I needed an easy session and this was such a run, with the views over the Bristol Channel a welcome bonus. It’s hardly the equivalent of hunting and farming to feed the family, but there’s still something nice, something fundamentally simple and natural, about running along a country trail and bringing home some food. Even if one of the first things I heard Big’Un say once I’d got home was: “Can we go to McDonald’s this weekend?”. He’s seven and I think he’s been ‘there’ four times in his life, which I guess means it’s still something special to do. He probably had no ‘food’ in mind either, rather free toys – but then, as a marketer, I can only doff my cap off to McDonald’s. Not least since Burger King’s burgers taste so much better – least they did when I last had one, circa 2011…
…and yes, on Saturday we did head to the golden arches, where The Boys enjoyed putting together their Boxtrolls. But we had been on a mammoth conquer-hunting session beforehand! Mummy had a chicken sandwich, I opted for a chicken wrap. With a smoothie: calorie count didn’t seem too bad, and I’ll generally jump at the chance of anything with even a hint of pineapple. I did have an inner smile upon placing the order as the cashier felt obliged to check whether I really didn’t want fries… “No thanks. How much is it?”

No, I don’t always eat this healthily.
I just like to brag when I do.

Yes: I feel good, to the point I’ll even admit it. I feel good when I meet new people and I’m in good shape: I like to think it suggests I look after myself, it gives me confidence when introducing myself to new faces in a work-related context. And I don’t really meet new folk other than for work these days – other than at races, where I generally “blend in” more! I feel good when I eat good stuff, even though my total inability to cook and Karen’s need to feed a family of four means the recipe rarely comes out of one of the running nutrition-specific textbooks. I’ve read up on the topic and do keep promising myself to teach myself some cooking skills beyond pasta and omelettes: but I struggle to find some really basic instructions as a starting point… Even throughout University, I never needed to cook: whether I was living with my parents or later my grandparents, someone else would always do the cooking and never passed on what you probably take for basic, for granted. Then one weekend when my grandparents were away it dawned on me I had to do ‘something’ – found some pasta five years out of date, cooked it, threw it back in the pan with some cheese slices on it and here I am, still alive, twenty years later! Eating granola and hand-picked blackberries with Greek yoghurt, dipping raw carrots into houmous, supping self-made banana/apple/blackberry smoothies, routinely turning down cake… although now that we have a new oven in place and today’s blackberries can be converted to a crumble I may just give in! And yes, I will be force-fed Cornish pasties over the weekend at some point: I like them, but it’s hardly race food… and, as Karen correctly points out, there’s nothing wrong with them! Not unless you’re hell-bent on sub-90’, no… There you go, Squintani: need to learn some new skills! And at least this year you WON’T be eating fishandchips on the eve of the Bristol Half!!!

Last year’s night-before-BristolHM
meal. Don't ask. No, seriously, don’t.

I’m not sanctimonious about food, and pray God never will be. Hey, I’m one of the “squeezed middle” in this recession that’s apparently just over: Karen’s yet to return to work (although not for want of trying of late), I’m on reasonable but unspectacular money, we know perfectly well how hard it is to put “good stuff” on the table night after night after night and will knowingly take the occasional shortcut. Indeed, much as I feel a duty to ensure my kids grow up eating good food and in turn understanding why that’s important, I see little harm in taking them to McD’s once in a blue moon, if only for the fun of it. I can just about remember its appeal, back in my teenage years, say nipping into the one at the bottom of Fargate with Russ and Tac at just after midnight, when after an evening’s flywalling few things tasted better than a quarterpounder and a large strawberry milkshake… Besides, I believe most things are good for you, in moderation. I’m just in my pre-race state of awareness/panic, appreciative of the need to taper whilst also fearful of gaining weight as a result, so trying to be good: otherwise believe you me, I would have had a milkshake at McD’s in a flash! There’ll be time aplenty for beer and cakes afterwards… no, really, there will. After Chester, that is, anyway… And we had delicious homemade focaccia on Friday, with prosciutto crudo, pesto, soft cheese, cheddar… I just had to make sure I also got some healthy houmous in there!

Seriously: hopefully this post has alleviated any fears my online whining may have created. Now… where’s the rest of that blackcurrant, banana, Greek yoghurt and granola smoothie I made yesterday?

So if I’m moaning on Sunday afternoon, feel free to remind me of this post. Of the fact that sometimes it’s about the journey as much as the destination, that I trained wisely for the Bristol Half and therefore achieved the best I could. Oh, and Karen quite plainly said that she doesn’t care how long it takes me on Sunday, anyway – in a “I can’t be bothered” rather than a “you’ll be my hero regardless, Darlin” kinda way…

…but then again she did go on to add: “I hope you do well – but I’ll be happy as long as you finish and I don’t get any calls from an ambulance”.

Hmmm… Fair dos.

Si’thi later… And thank you running, thank you runners: for the fresh air, the laughs, the good times. Let they keep on rollin’.