My daughter completed the London Marathon on Sunday helping to raise much needed funds for an orphanage in Africa. As you can imagine, I’m one proud mum! She had persevered with her training schedule all through the long winter months in order to be race ready by April. Her training partners were her two Labrador dogs who faithfully ran the miles by her side. Their fitness was even commented upon by the vet. I think they deserve medals too.
With all that training, you might think it would have been quite straightforward. She had the physical fitness, the mental determination and a clear purpose for running, but that does not fully prepare you for the actual experience on the day. By mile 16, she wanted to stop. I think they call it ‘hitting a wall’. Even the cheering crowds and fellow runners couldn’t rouse her spirits. So she dug deep, prayed and somehow managed to run the next ten miles to the finish line. A big hug from her brother, who had weaved his way to the front of the crowds at mile 22, gave her the much-needed impetus to complete the last four miles.
I’ve been thinking a lot about her experience and reflecting on how it links with my journey – another kind of marathon! Two weeks ago, I had keyhole surgery to remove a ‘suspicious’ nodule in my abdomen. I was discharged after two days to continue my recovery at home. My daily walks increased in length as I felt some energy return.
Then after about ten days, I started to become unwell with an infection in one of the surgery sites. As it took hold, we had to visit Urgent Care where the doctor prescribed antibiotics. Armed with these meds, I was able to come home and watch the London Marathon coverage from my sofa. I loved hearing the stories behind why so many of the runners were so motivated to fundraise. This year we had Daddy Pig raising money for the National Deaf Children’s Society in honour of his son George who was diagnosed with moderate hearing loss in the much loved Peppa Pig stories. I was particularly struck by a young man who was running with a fridge on his back to represent the burden of carrying something no-one else can see. He found out that he is a carrier of the gene that causes early onset dementia after his mother died from it at 52 years old. He has now dedicated his life to raising money for the research that could find a cure for this debilitating disease. And of course, many people were raising money in memory of loved ones who have died from cancer. When interviewed during the race and asked how they find the energy to do this, so many of them said they take it,
One step at a time.
This is the phrase that’s been going round in my head since the surgery whist waiting for results. Each time that my mind has raced ahead with different possible scenarios, I’ve kept going back to this phrase – one step at a time. I remember back to the days when I was learning how to run long distances and was taught to break up the road ahead into smaller sections. Focussing on getting to the next section was more achievable than thinking about the full distance.
The day after the London Marathon, I became very unwell and was admitted to hospital as my temperature soared. I am writing this post from my hospital bed having been here for four days on IV antibiotics. Once again the doctors, microbiologists and nurses have been working hard to get me back to health. Whilst here, I have had the results about the ‘suspicious’ nodule taken from my stomach two weeks ago. My consultant confirmed that it’s cancer and that I will need further treatment going forward. So another part of this trek begins!
The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him;
though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.
Psalm 37:23-24
Right now, I am feeling held by the Lord’s loving hands and by the many prayers of family and friends. And my next step? To get home and fully recover from the effects of this infection so I’m ready for the next part of this long trek.
This woman's journey 