I’ve recently increased the weights I use for my strength training. They’re not the kind you can quickly adjust — changing them is a bit of a mission. And while it does feel good to know I’ve progressed enough that my old weights became too easy… these new ones are hard. Properly hard. Hard enough that I’ve noticed something I don’t love: I’ve started avoiding my strength sessions. Which feels a bit ridiculous, because this is exactly what I wanted, wasn’t it? ...
For someone who likes plans, certainty, and clear direction, the past few weeks have felt particularly uncomfortable. My daughter hasn’t been well, and we still don’t have clear answers. Maybe it’s nothing. Actually, it’s highly unlikely that it’s nothing; we simply don’t know how serious it is yet — and that uncertainty has a way of sitting heavily in the background of everything else. I’ve realised how much I rely on things being measurable, definable, and predictable. I like knowing what I’m dealing with and what comes next. Not knowing feels like standing still without a map. ...
After running my fourth marathon just more than a week ago, I expected to have so much to say. Instead, there’s a strange quiet. Where is the neat little story about perseverance, grit, and the magic of race day? I don’t have it. Instead, I find myself wondering whether signing up for two marathons so close together was actually a good idea. It probably wasn’t. At the time, it felt exciting. Ambitious. Like something my future self would thank me for. ...
It’s race week! On Saturday, I’m running my next marathon. The other day, I saw an Instagram reel that said: It’s always “Why do you run so much?” and never “What mile can I meet you at with snacks?” I laughed. Because — true story. At the start of this year, while discussing leave, I mentioned that I’m planning to run a marathon at the end of February. A colleague looked at me and asked, quite sincerely: ...
My foot caught on a lip of uneven concrete, and before I could even comprehend what was happening, I was down. There is a specific, jarring shock to falling at forty-four. It’s not quite like falling as a kid, which was already bad for me; it’s a heavy, bone-rattling impact that leaves you winded on the side of a busy road, traffic blurring past while you check for blood and broken pride. I sat there for quite some time, brushing grit off my palms, wondering why I do this at all. ...
Wow, this year has started with a bang. My father-in-law passed away the day before my husband and I were due to return to work after our December and January leave. Although he had been ill for some time, it was still a huge shock for all of us. I have already lost both my parents, but for my husband, this is his first experience of losing a parent, and it’s been heartbreaking to watch him go through this. And don’t let me start on what it’s been like for our children. ...
I took a long break from writing. It was necessary. It was good. But I’m ready to start again — carefully, intentionally, and hopeful that I’ll find the rhythm I managed to hold over the last two years. 2025 wasn’t a year of big ambitions. I stepped back from marathons to focus on shorter distances and gave cross-country a try. My only real target was a mileage goal: 2,600 km. ...
Way back when I wrote my learner’s licence test, things worked differently: you first wrote the exam, and then you did your eye test. I remember sitting down for the eye test, relieved that I had passed, only for the instructor to look at me with a seriousness I didn’t expect. “I’m sorry… I can’t give you your licence.” I felt my stomach drop. “Why?” “Because you cannot see.” I was seventeen when I learned that I had been walking around in a world I couldn’t see clearly. I still remember putting on my first pair of glasses and staring at the trees outside. I stood there completely still because for the first time in my life, I could make out individual leaves. I had genuinely believed everyone saw trees the way I did: soft green smudges. It never once occurred to me that my “normal” wasn’t actually normal. ...
This past week, our weather hasn’t been great. On Tuesday, I got properly soaked during my track session, and afterwards, I had to rush straight home — no coffee, no lingering, just wet shoes and that quiet frustration you feel when the day starts too fast. Then on Sunday morning, when it was time for my long run, it was pouring again. And for once, instead of pushing myself out the door, I realised I actually had the space to pause. So I decided to get another cup of coffee, catch up on some speeches I am writing for next year, check the weather later, and told myself that I’d run from home if the day allowed it. ...
Can you feel the end of the year approaching? I can certainly feel it, and that feeling usually gets me thinking about goals again — not just big ones like marathons or life milestones, but also the small, steady ones that quietly shape who I become. As you might’ve noticed by now, I usually write my newsletters about the one thing that stood out most to me in the past two weeks, and this time it was a moment that reminded me exactly why goals matter so much. ...