With ruined legs but a heart that wanted to achieve more I awoke this morning and decided I had one way to reach my goal. Short runs.
So having arrived and unlocked at work I headed up the hill for half a mile, then returned. Back in the office at 7.23 I had a mile under my belt.
10.16 (tea time) I did the same. 14.55, once again I popped out. Only this time it was before going home.
Well not really my home. The home where I grew up from the age of 7 to 20 before I left it. But mum and dad didn’t, they’re still there.
And that’s what’s devastated me.
Last Friday as I was eating, having got home after 5 miles, my brother called to say dad had phoned and had called an ambulance for mum who was breathing oddly. Paul asked if I’d be ok meeting dad at the hospital to keep him company while he sorted his kids out. I put a clean shirt on.
5 minutes later Paul said he was going to mum and dad’s to see what was up, a second ambulance having been called, and thought I should join them. I didn’t like the sound of it. At all.
My car goes fast enough to get me banned from driving and I think I might have a summons due. I’ll argue it in court if the thing that flashed me was a speed trap because at the time, as now, I don’t care. Unfortunately by the time my brother or me arrived mum was gone.
No illness, no warning. The coroner report from today advises us that she somehow ruptured several veins around her chest (probably on Thursday) which leaked into her heart cavity (I don’t know the technical name bits. They seem not to matter.) and the first she knew was Friday lunchtime when she sent dad shopping on his own because her shoulder (which she dislocated and badly broke 5 years ago) was playing up. Only it turned out it wasn’t. The blood was compressing her heart which, around 6.30, gave her a heart attack. She died on the drive as the ambulance crews tried to save her and I tried to see her.
She always wanted me to enjoy myself and to try my best and she supported me in many odd decisions throughout my life. She’d be livid that I pulled my calf on Saturday but carried on killing it for 3 days after, just as she was annoyed I carried on through the London marathon for 16 miles with a broken leg. But she’d have understood and been there for me just after she’d made me feel an idiot.
Well now it’s my time to be there (wherever that is) for dad. It would have been their 52nd wedding anniversary yesterday. Whatever I have avoided in my thoughts by keeping busy and not stopping until I’m exhausted can’t be a fraction of where he is. This last part of my Janathon has been for her and my attempt to arrange my thoughts around what’s happened.
156 miles total and 5 miles a day average achieved by a ridiculously painful run tonight helps me feel I’ve closed out a goal but is of no great matter. Not in this context.
I didn’t even have chance to say goodbye.
19/02/1937 – 27/01/2012.
Janathon on a low note. It’s been a bad month.