A 'Diff full of Memories

The pavements in Cardiff are packed - of course they are; there are some 27,500 runners, plus supporters, in the Welsh capital to mark the 20th anniversary of the Cardiff Half Marathon. Even though Tom always drops me off in plenty of time to get to my starting pen, just moving through the crowd is a challenge.

Although this is my 10th time of running this race and I should be used to it, I feel a bit tearful and lonely at this point. I know a dozen or so runners who’ll be here and a few of the spectators, but with that many participants there’s almost no chance of me meeting anyone en route. I resign myself to feeling a bit Billy No-Mates and look up to see my dear running buddy, Helen, who’s queuing for the loos! We have a joyful hug before going to our separate pens, where I meet a lovely group of women who are running to raise funds for Pancreatic Cancer UK. I think of my dad and start crying again.

Thank you, ladies for supporting Pancreatic Cancer UK

Before I can get too morose, someone taps me on the shoulder; it’s my good running friend, Liz who really shouldn’t be in this pen because she’s Mrs Speedy. However I’m delighted she’s here to keep me company. There’s a particularly special moment when the first notes of the anthem sound out from the speakers, a hush descends and suddenly everyone is singing ‘Hen Wlad fy Nhadau’. As far as I can remember, this is a first at this event, and it’s truly spine-tingling and makes me so proud to be here.

Worried and tearful at the start!

We set off, and I instinctively know that for all the many hours of training I’ve put in, this is not going to be my day. It’s incredibly humid, I feel as if I’m running with a warm, damp flannel on my face, and the course is so congested at times that it’s hard to find my rhythm. But today is about finish line not finish time; I’m running in aid of The Royal Marsden Cancer Charity and I’m deeply aware of their message to me wishing me good luck and expressing their gratitude, and of the many kind supporters whose generous donations to my Just Giving Page have raised a fantastic sum of £486. There’s no way I’m going to let anyone down now!

As if by magic, friends appear along the course just when I need them. From the crowd, I get lovely hugs from my daughter’s friend, Jen, who I’ve known since she was a little girl. Another of her friends, Rachel, gives me a shout, a huge smile and a big cwtch. Then, a little further along, I see parkrun stalwarts Jen and Ken. I collapse into Jen’s arms and receive a big squeeze before being told to get going again! I mean, what are the chances of seeing so many friends in such a huge crowd? Many thanks to all of you for keeping me going and apologies for being such a sweaty mess all over you. And I’m so sorry, Welsh Hills Again, that I didn’t hear you when you called my name.

I reach Roath Park and see a familiar yellow cap; it’s my running buddy, Helen who’s hit a rough patch. We commiserate with each other then push on separately towards the finish. I’m really having to grit my teeth now, but my goodness, the kindness of strangers knows no bounds. For every difficult step, someone calls my name, shouts encouragement or, in one case, tells me quietly, ‘You’ve got this, Chris.'

And I have. It’s there, the finish line’s in sight and all I have to do is keep going. Closer, closer and then I’m through. 2:31:53, my slowest time (still 30/93 in my age group, mind) but so rich in memories. I collect my medal, my T-shirt, start to feel tearful again then look up and see my fellow runner and good Twitter/X friend, Dr Toby Driver (latest book, ‘The Hillforts of Iron Age Wales’ out NOW), who’s run a stonking race and puts a big smile back on my face, because, again, what are the odds?

They came, they saw, they conquered The 'Diff.
Photo courtesy of Dr Toby Driver

Wearing my medal with pride, I wind slowly back through the crowd to meet Tom, then it’s back to my daughter’s in Cardiff for a bubble bath and a glass of fizz. My granddaughters look up and Bee asks her usual, hopeful question, ‘Nana? Did you win?’. No Bee, I didn’t win the race, but I’ve been so very lucky in so many ways. It’s been a memorable day.

Happy Endings, New Beginnings

Blended families come with conflicting loyalties and at Christmas time nearly everyone has somewhere else they feel they ought to be. Throw partners into the equation and it gets even more complicated. Since Tom and I aren’t especially hung up about Christmas we’re happy to let our children go with the strongest flow, but I have to say it was a great delight to have the girls and their partners staying with us this year. When such moments are few and far between they become very precious. My stepsons weren’t far from our thoughts either, not least because we had the very happy news on Christmas Day that my elder stepson and his girlfriend had become engaged. Congratulations Dan and Gill, here’s wishing you every happiness together. Tom and I end a year that has seen the fruition of many years work, both of us crossing important thresholds within weeks of each other. I’m really looking forwards to seeing Turning the Tide published next year and it’s been so satisfying, after al

Reconnecting

I hadn't realised it until now , but it’s probably no coincidence that my last post was about our trip to Norwich, a city I’ve loved since studying at UEA. I wrote, then, that coming home was a hard landing, a feeling that took me completely by surprise as it’s been such a privilege to live in this beautiful, remote spot on the very edge of the west Wales coast. A trip to Skye at the end of October - Tom’s choice - with Ma, was a truly lovely holiday. The weather was kind, the colours of those breathtaking seascapes will stay with me, as will all the happy memories we made that week. And, because our small cottage had been so beautifully modernised and worked so well for the three of us, it was easy to imagine what it might be like to live somewhere different. If travel doesn’t broaden the mind, it certainly brings a new perspective. By the end of the year, Tom and I had decided that it was time for a change, time to move closer to a town (we are neither of us, as they say, getting

Fly Free, Dottie Do

‘How many days to my birthday?’ Ma asks. I do a quick calculation. ‘Eighteen,’ I reply. ‘Eighteen days until your ninetieth birthday.’ Ma pulls a face and shakes her head. Every sentence is hard work for her now, when each breath is a struggle. ‘You’ll have to write a book about this, you know,’ she says, with one of her quick, mischievous smiles. ‘“Carry On Dying”. Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry.’ The smile fades. ‘Who knew,’ she adds wearily, ‘that dying would be such a palaver?’ It’s only eleven days since Ma was diagnosed with a high-grade, aggressive lymphoma, four days since she was overwhelmed with pain and breathing difficulties and was admitted as an emergency to hospital. Until a few weeks ago, she lived completely independently; shopping, cooking, cleaning and tending her much-loved garden. The deterioration in her health is shockingly rapid. The eight days preceding her death are a living hell, a constant battle with the ward staff to get Ma the pain relief she’s been presc

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