130. The Moonwalk... what next?!

The official photos have arrived in my inbox. Here they are.

The Night Owls Team

The finishing line

Well deserved medals!

Were we mad? I think so. Plus, I am concerned that taking part of this was the first symptom of a new affliction. The day after the walk, as I was resting in bed with pleasantly aching limbs and a large number of blisters, I found myself browsing the website for the Nijmeegse Vierdaagse, or the Nijmegen Marches.

This is worrying. The Nijmegen Marches (in the Netherlands) involves walking four marathons in four days. It's a huge event which has been in my consciousness since childhood, as there are always news reports about the weather and the number of walkers dropping out each day. (We're talking thousands here. Dropouts that is, not walkers. Over 40,000 people take part each year.)

The Moonwalk organisers also send teams to take part in this annual event. This does sound completely bonkers, but let me own up: I loved the walking. I miss the motivation to train for a ridiculous event like the Moonwalk. So, I've registered interest in the 2016 marches...

Anyone else...????

Let me make it clear that this is no longer part of a recovery plan. In the summer of 2016, I will have recovered. This is just, oh, a new hobby perhaps?

Let me hope that by 2016, I will have recovered from this new ailment. Because honestly, who would want to suffer four days of crowds, blisters and near-collapse in the Dutch summer heat?

128. One foot in front of the other

In the end, my son's advice was the best.

Just start and keep walking.

So that's what I did, one foot in front of the other, ignoring the urge to sleep and the aching hips and the cold and the mile marking posts that seemed to be appear at, oh, about two-mile-intervals. (Except at the end, bizarrely. You'd think the distance would start to stretch like elastic, but no, after 20 miles they seemed to jostle for attention.)

This was definitely not a night to Listen To Your Body, as my consultant and countless concerned friends had urged.  I wonder how many of the 17,000 Moonwalkers would have made it to the finish if they had all listened to their bodies? Just saying. It was not only recovering cancer patients who qualified for a Pure Madness Medal.

"I'll see how far I'll get," I had told everyone beforehand (including your good selves, reading my blog). Covering my back in case I'd had to chicken out halfway through.

Of course, they all said. No shame in giving up when it gets too much. Listen to your body. Etc.

Except my Best Friend, who had arrived to cheer us on, welcome us back and fry our breakfast in the morning. She was having none of it.

"I think you are going to make it," she said confidently.

"You are not going to give up. You'll be kept going by the adrenaline from the event and by sheer determination."

We both knew she was right. Deep down, I've always known it. Barring a catastrophic physical collapse, there was no way I would stop. Sore feet? I'd crawl.

Best Friend's statement gave me just the confidence I needed. Of course I'd make it. Was it ever in doubt?

Determination abounded among Moonwalkers. Towards the end, people hobbled along clutching friends' shoulders. Some dispensed with their trainers and walked in their socks. I was full of admiration for the Moonwalkers carrying excess body weight or pushing a friend in a wheelchair.

But collapse was a possibility. In fact it happened to one of the Night Owls after she'd got to the finish: shivers, nausea, lightheadedness, vomiting.

It was obvious that Owl would have to come along. (If you haven't met Owl, read about him here.)

Isn't he too heavy? people wanted to know. The answer is: no heavier then a prosthesis!

My younger daughter insisted that Jokery (remember him?) should be carried on the other side, but it felt like too much of a sum total. I did like the idea of taking him though. Whilst Owl represents the entire sorry saga of my cancer year, Jokery represents the support of family and friends. The solution came in the shape of four safety pins and a hat. This proved to be a stroke of brilliance, as he acted like a beacon for other Night Owls. It can be quite hard to identify your friends in a sea of pink hats.

Love the outfit! I heard people say throughout the night. Best effort I've seen so far!

Effort? You can say that again. The effort Owl and Jokery have made this year is beyond words.

The theme of this year's Moonwalk was A Night At The Movies. The idea was to make your bra decorations reflect this theme, so there were plenty of spotty Dalmatians and Cruella De Vils.

"Owls!" one woman exclaimed as I emerged from a loo break. "Love it! What film is that from?"

"It hasn't been made yet," my friend replied.

We all gathered at my house, conveniently situated just 5 minutes' walk from Clapham Common where the event started and finished.

Nothing like seeing friends and strangers in their bras in the kitchen to break the ice and get into the spirit. There was a surreal moment when I came down the stairs to find a perfect stranger (friend of a friend), scantily clad, standing in the hallway fiddling with her bra and looking completely at home. Fabulous.

By the time we were ready to set off, we were in high spirits. I had been worried about being too tired in the evening, but I'd spend most of the afternoon in bed, and there was nothing else for it. Don't Listen To Your Body must include ignoring any urges to lie down and sleep.

We gather at our house for last minute preparations... food, fingernails and frilly bits

 

14 Night Owls, ready for the off!

Some of the 17,000 Moonwalkers...

Let's gloss over the wait before the start.

We got to the Big Tent around 9.30pm and finally set off just after midnight. It was a bit too long, a bit too noisy, a bit too crowded. But never mind. We knew all along that this would be one of the harder parts.

...and we're off!

The first few miles are rather slow...

What I hadn't reckoned on is how hard the first 5 or 10 miles would be.

The crowds made it slow. We passed Big Ben at the stroke of 2am. Two hours gone already? We barely got going! We went on to Tower Bridge, back along the north of the river, and By the time we passed Big Ben again it was well after 4am. Dawn was breaking. Less than 12 miles covered. Blimey, such a long way to go still.

Walking in the dark was not as magical as experienced Moonwalkers had said it would be. London is lovely and quiet! they'd said, but that isn't true. London is never quiet. Plenty of cars at 3am. Plus, it's cold.

...but by the time dawn breaks, the crowds have thinned

Never mind. Keep going, one foot in front of the other. Ignore body screaming for sleep. I may, just may, walk another marathon again one day. But never, NEVER AGAIN at night. That is just a ridiculous thing to do. Other Night Owls agreed that the nighttime business was one of the hardest parts.

Soon after the start, one pair and one trio of Night Owls had gone ahead, as we knew they would and should do. Impossible to walk with such a large group where everyone has a different pace. Others disappeared gradually, doing their own thing. For a long time, there were seven of us, catching up with each other regularly.

After half a marathon, you begin to recognise others who walk at your pace. You begin to greet each other.

"Ah, there's the owl again!" one Moonwalker cheered as we passed her for the umpteenth time.

Another came running after me as we were about to leave for home, having finished."I just wanted to thank you!" she said, "you kept us going all the way."

How, I didn't ask and can't imagine (our Beacon Owl? Our cheeriness?) but it was nice to hear.

It's getting light and it's still freezing!

Halfway at Marble Arch. Definitely going for the Full Moon!

Hot chocolate at Sloane Square (22 miles) beats hot chocolate on the cancer ward!

For the last ten miles, it was just my friend Louise and I, bringing up the rear.

(I might as well name her, as she's got her name scrawled across her chest in the pictures, so no point trying to keep anonymity.) 

We always thought we'd be last in the team, and it suited us. I needed to stick to a strict regime of 60 minutes walking, 5 or 10 minutes sitting. They advice against stopping, but I knew it worked for me. The few times in training when I'd gone on for over an hour, I'd felt faint and weak. But some of the remaining seven Night Owls were struggling with the cold and couldn't bear stopping, so we waved them on.

In the end, it wasn't that hard. We laughed at our weaknesses and our struggles to get up from the floor, like old ladies. We smiled and waved at anyone cheering us on. (Mostly, the Moonwalk volunteers. Londoners are rather blasé about people walking around London in a bra on a Sunday morning, although the vicar on her way to church did a double take.)

We were amazed and delighted when we realised, around the 20 mile mark, that we were really going to manage this.

Those last six miles? We grinned and giggled all the way through.

The emotions hit me at the final mile. That last bit, between Battersea Park and Clapham Common, is my stamping ground. I have walked and cycled it countless times, always on my way home from wherever I've been.

But this time I had 25 miles behind me. And behind that, a rather demanding year. This was no ordinary homecoming.

"I can't talk now," I had to tell Louise who was chatting pleasantly. "Oh dear, I'd better keep hold of this hanky."

Later, I heard from other Night Owls that they, too, had cried. Even the younger ones. But their tears seemed to be miserable I-CAN'T-walk-those-last-miles type tears. One Night Owl, who is super fit and runs half marathons, said that this was much, much harder.

"I am not alone!" she told me today. "I have a friend who ran the London marathon last month and who did the Moonwalk this weekend. She said that the Moonwalk was the most difficult challenge she has ever done!!"

I don't quite believe them, but still, hearing it gives us a pleasantly smug feeling. Because I cried only with the emotion of it all, realising that I am on my way to recovery.

Effort? This was nothing, nothing compared to the effort of chemotherapy.

This has been a challenge for all 14 of us. Most of us have slept and slept and slept. I am hobbling around the house in a state of pleasant exhaustion.

But this, my friends, is a lovely kind of tiredness. This is tiredness that gets better with rest. This is CHOSEN tiredness. 

This is nothing like having cancer. Marvellous.

Arriving back at Clapham Common. Need I say more?

Welcomed by faster Night Owls, friends and family

About to cross the finishing line...

...and look, we can still dance a jig!

You can still sponsor us! Here is the link again... THANK YOU!

127. Across the finishing line

I've done it!!!

And so have 12 other Night Owls. (The 13th never meant to walk the whole way and managed a good 15 miles).

Incredible. I am so, so proud of them all... and so happy that I've managed to walk 26+ miles... and amazed at the £5,000 our team has raised so far, with more money still coming in. (THANK YOU! If you meant to donate but haven't got round to it, click here.)

We set off just after midnight and crossed the finishing line at 10.45am.

I am nursing my aching bones and blisters, so it's back to the sofa. I'll tell you the full story tomorrow.

For now, let me show you the first triumphant pictures.

The Night Owls Team, ready for the off!

Waiting to start

Photo opportunity at 5 miles

One of many brief recuperations

Almost there...

Made it!

Almost 60,000 steps: medal deserved, I think

126. The Night Owls are gathering...

...and Owl is ready to receive them. It's 6pm, there's a huge pink tent just down the road on Clapham Common where the marathon walk will start, and fellow Night Owls have arrived from as far afield as Nottingham, Devon and Amsterdam. A few more hours and we're off! I'll let you know tomorrow how many of the 14 Night Owls have made it... Wish us luck!

125. Getting ready for the Moonwalk

Bra Owls, ready for the Moonwalk

Only three days left until the Moonwalk.

A huge thank you to all our donors. We have raised a whopping £3,500 so far. More donations are always welcome of course! You can find our fundraising page HERE.

When I signed up five months ago, shortly after my final chemotherapy session, it was an act of optimism and defiance. I could barely walk a mile and I still had radiotherapy to come, but hey, May was a long time off.

At times, thinking I could walk a half marathon (let alone a full one) seemed deluded. At other times, I thought that I might – just might – make it.

I gathered a team of Night Owls, some equally unsure of their abilities.

The Moonwalk Pack arrived, full of advice and stern warnings about dos and don'ts.

I started training. The longest distance I managed was 16 miles (three weeks ago) and it buoyed me up, but that was after a good long week’s rest in Majorca. Plus, it was daytime.

But since then, confidence and optimism have collapsed again. Yes, I can do stuff, but I still get ridiculously tired and full of aches. That 16 mile walk took a week to recover from. This week I’m recuperating from my three day conference in Copenhagen.

I can do daytimes (mornings, preferably), but NIGHTS?? I haven’t done midnight for over a year. Well past my bedtime. My friends, I fear I shall be floored before we even set off.

Let’s hope my fellow Night Owls and the thousands of other Moonwalkers will lift me up and keep me going.

My husband thinks I’m mad.

My hospital consultant seemed to agre. I told her about my plan seven weeks ago and I could see it in her face: How do I tell this woman that she is mad?

“Hm,” she said carefully. “I had a patient once who wanted to run the marathon. Then she realised that her body simply said told her, hang on a minute, you can’t do this. She had to stop training... All I can say is, just listen to your body and stop if it gets too much.”

I have it in black and white, as they copy you in to their letters.

“I note that she has been exercising regularly,” the consultant wrote to my GP, “and in fact training for a marathon walk (the Moonwalk). I have advised her to continue to exercise, however, extreme training may exacerbating her symptoms [I am still struggling with bone pains] and she may wish to reduce if she is finding that this is the case.”

She may well wish.

In fact, following that 16 mile walk I have stopped training altogether. I realised that the reason I could manage that distance was because I felt so well rested. My preparation for Saturday’s marathon, therefore, will include daytime bed rest.

In the meantime I have been sewing Bra Owls for all my team mates.

The first Bra Owl on the production line

The sewing room. Owl was born here.

Even the most reluctant Wear-A-Bra-In-Public friend is now looking forward to turning up with a suitably decorated cleavage. But I myself will wear just one of these, having only one breast left. On the vacated side I will carry my very own Owl.

Having come through everything this far, we will just have to go the extra mile together.

Now, get as much rest as you can, urged the last-minute email from the Moonwalk organisers. So let me put my feet up and call it Training.

See you on the night. Can't promise I'll be blogging, but I will send you photographic evidence, with or without my medal.

103. The fledgling Night Owls

I told my son I was going for a long walk. Training for the marathon.

"You're going to run the marathon?" he asked, incredulous.

No, not running, walking a marathon. Remember? I rashly signed up to do the Moonwalk in a few months' time. Twenty-six miles (or thirteen, if you'd rather do a half-marathon) throughout the night, wearing a fancy bra.

What's so difficult about walking a marathon, my son wanted to know. Why bother training? People go for long walks all the time. Off they set, hiking all day, mile after mile without so much as a warm-up stretch. 

"All you have to do is start, and then you just keep going," he said.

Put like that, it seemed a doddle. I felt a flicker of confidence. Of course! Just start and keep going! 

I could do with a bit of confidence, because although I have walked the occasional six or seven miles recently, there have also been days when I more or less collapsed after an hour. My confidence was not helped when a fat envelope landed on the mat which contained highly alarming instructions from the Moonwalk organisers. What shoes to buy. How often to stretch. (Every day, or better still, several times a day.) How often to train, and how long. (Often, and long.) How to do Power Walking. (Use your arms! Aim for a speed of four miles per hour!)

Help.

What am I letting myself in for? And why?

Well, why does anyone ever take on a fundraising challenge? It's not just to raise money for breast cancer charities, is it.

I signed up because walking a marathon seemed like the highest possible mountain to climb - and if you can do that, you can do anything. Right?

If I can walk a marathon, I am BETTER. I will have proved myself, to myself, to the world.

I listened to a radio interview with Danish actress Sophie Grabol (from "The Killing") recently. It used to puzzle her why people always wanted to climb mountains and run marathons after having cancer. Then she realised that the year following her own breast cancer treatments, she threw herself into work. That was her marathon.

"I had a year when I felt I didn't know whether I was dead or alive," she said. "It's a way of grabbing life, to test what you are actually capable of doing. But also I think there's this element of proving to other people, to the world, that I am allowed to be here. You see, I climbed this mountain, don't shut me out. Which is ridiculous and not rational, because I also discovered that people are very kind when you need help. To me, the big challenge was actually to receive it."

Oh, I can relate to that. It's not just the way I have picked up work again, churning out research papers and flying off to Switzerland as if I have to make up for that lost year and then some more - just to prove that I am entitled to be here, still, despite that long absence.

Don't write me off. Stop treating me like an invalid.

That marathon, less than four months after the end of those horrible cancer treatments, may be as mad as going back to work the day after my last dose of radiotherapy, booking flights to Switzerland and Holland (I'm in Holland now, my first time back since my mother's funeral) - it may be as mad, but it is also as necessary.

It is now clear that by May, I will definitely be able to walk 13 miles. So that's not good enough. Only when I can manage what many healthy people would find challenging - only then will I feel that my Cancer Year is behind me.

CANCER was not over at the final dose of radiotherapy. In my mind it will be over four months later, when I cross the finishing line of that Moonwalk.

About a dozen Night Owls have now joined the team of Moonwalkers.

A veritable Parliament of Owls, made up of family and friends, some with a daughter or a husband. They signed up as rashly as I did: Oh, go on then, why not! Perhaps they felt that finally, here was something they could do to support me? (Although a cheer from the roadside, or across cyberspace, or just a bit of sponsorship money, would have done just as nicely.)

It probably seemed a good idea at the time, but now several Night Owls are getting cold wings. They, too, have found that fat envelope on their doormats.

"I notice that neither of us are talking about the half marathon now," said one Night Owl who signed up despite being utterly unsure that she could manage a half marathon, let alone a full one.

Quietly, some of the Night Owls tried to tiptoe away. This isn't just my challenge: it has rapidly become their challenge, too.

"I'm too old!" one of them said. "And actually, I can't see myself wearing a fancy bra in public." 

"I hadn't quite realised how time consuming all this training would be," said another. "Oh, and perhaps I am too fat."

"I'm not even sure I can walk at all," said a third, who had just been to see her doctor about the pain in her feet.

But you know what? I love the team all the better for being made up of wobbly and self-doubting fledgling owls. 

It makes me realise yet again that having cancer is just one of life's many challenges. It makes me feel grateful, even, that I have an excellent prospect of putting the whole sorry saga behind me. I get all the sympathy (and I probably collect most of the sponsorship money) but the others have their own mountain to climb - and they don't get quite such a clear view from the top. They may well be climbing for the rest of their lives.

They need as much encouragement as I do.

My team of Night Owls includes people facing years and years of living with rheumatoid arthritis, insulin-dependent diabetes, fracture-inducing osteoporosis. Someone recovering from a hernia. Friends getting their heads around ageing, loss, expanding body shapes. Perhaps most difficult of all: people living with episodes of crippling depression.

And that's just the stuff I know about. Let's be honest, don't we all have our own hills and mountains to climb, often quietly and unknown to others?

So I've called them back and cheered them on, my Night Owls who wanted to slip away in the night. We all understand that for some of us, just making it to the start line is an achievement. It doesn't matter if some of us can only make it halfway down the road or halfway through the marathon: as far as I am concerned, that is enough.

As in real life, we have our eyes on our own personal ever-shifting finishing line, wherever that may be.

(I've lined up a friend with a car who is willing to pick the bodies of collapsed Night Owls off the nighttime pavements. I hope I can say this out loud without getting a red card from the organisers... I know they read this blog. Their press office seems rather interested in my story and has already telephoned me twice about it.)

Feel free to sponsor us. You can click on this link to our fundraising page.

We are raising funds as a team, so it doesn't matter which person you support. You will spur us all on. You can also choose to sponsor the team as a whole. Not all of us are able to raise as much money individually. Some Night Owls were reluctant to join, as they weren't sure they could raise the required £100 per walker: their friends are on very low incomes, or on benefits, or (by virtue of being monks) have no money at all. In my view, it doesn't matter.

Support comes in many forms and sponsorship money is only one of them. But for those of you who feel able to give in that way, let me tell you: I have felt surprisingly supported every time an email landed in my inbox telling me that we've got another sponsor. It's like an act of faith in me and it encourages me to keep up the walking. Thank you, thank you.

Now, back to the training plan.

I am happy to report that my son's advice worked better than the training advice in the Moonwalk booklet.

Whenever I found myself flagging that afternoon, it was best to stop thinking about the number of miles. Empty your mind of goals. Instead, I heard his voice in my head.

Mum, you just keep walking.

It was as easy as that. When  I finally got home and checked my step counter, it said 20 kilometres: 12 miles. Just about half a marathon. It's a week ago, and I have just about recovered from it.

I am spending a few days with my sisters in Holland right now. This afternoon, we went for a short but lovely walk in the woods.

But the best bit came this evening. My sisters had found the perfect bottle of wine to give courage to a fledgling Night Owl.

Cheers.

83. The Night Owls

OK everyone, the deed is done. I have signed up to do the MoonWalk.

And it's not just me: there is a team of us. Seven so far. We are called The Night Owls.

Because not everyone in the team will need to stop at half a marathon, and because we all want to set off together, we have decided that we'll all sign up to walk the full marathon (on the understanding that some of us may need to be picked up off the London pavements halfway through the night).

It seems madness right now. I've walked 1 mile this morning; it is now evening time, and I'm still recovering. But I can't tell you how exciting it is to think that in five months' time I might, just might, be able to walk 26 miles. Yes, I'm currently a bit of a wreck and I've still got a full course of radiotherapy to get through, but after that I am determined to start getting my strength and stamina back.

So now you have a choice: you can either sponsor the team, or join the team.

The more the merrier - you are very welcome to become a Night Owl, even if I don't know you!

To sponsor, simply get in touch with me (or any other Night Owl, if you know who they are - we are raising funds as a team, rather than as individuals) and pledge any amount of money to support various breast cancer causes.

To join, go to the WalkTheWalk website (click here) and sign up. Places are limited and I'm not sure how quickly they fill up, so once you have made up your mind to join, best to do so at once. (Do let me know if you've joined the team.)

To ensure that you are given the same starting time as the rest of the team, you will need to fill in exactly the same team name (The Night Owls) as well as the same finishing time, which is 8+ hours. Gentlemen, be warned: you will also have to fill in your bra size, as they will send you your very own brassiere to decorate and wear through the night (so why not go for the largest possible cup... to be turned into lovely oversized owls!)

Right, now all I have to do is sit back and wait for The Night Owl Team to grow, and the sponsorship money to roll in... Oh, and get my walking shoes warmed up. I'll get Owl on to the job.

Night Owl, warming up my walking shoes...

81. MoonWalk, anyone?

Inspired by my older daughter who has just completed a fundraising Santa Run, and my sister-in-law who is going to do the 2015 London MoonWalk, I have decided to sign up too. Not for the Santa thing, but the MoonWalk thing. It's happening on the 16th May 2015.

Anyone interested in walking through the night with me? Around London? In a bra? (Yes, even the gentlemen.)

I've often thought that it would be fun to join this annual event, which raises money for breast cancer (or should that be against breast cancer) - but I've never really had any personal connection to the Breast Cancer Cause before. Well, now I do.

You could say that again.

Haven't heard of the MoonWalk? Have a look at the website, here.

It is a night-time walk through London (no running allowed). Thousands of people take part. Fancy bras are part of the package: the fancier, the better.

Previous MoonWalks

Sounds jolly, but be warned: it's not a walk in the park. It's a Marathon (26.2 miles), although there is the option of doing only half (13.1 miles), which I think I might have to limit myself to this time round. It starts and ends at Clapham Common, which is, conveniently, at the bottom of our street.

Registering for this challenge is an act of optimism ("I will be strong enough in five months' time! I will!"). At present, it feels like stupidity to think that I might be able to walk five miles, let alone 13. But hey, five months is a long time. Sunshine, moonshine, here I come. (So I tell myself.)

I wouldn't mind a bit of company, so if anyone would like to join me... You can enter as a team (The Night Owls?). You can have a team made up of both full- and half-marathon walkers; they just make sure that you are able to start together.

Anyone joining is expected to raise at least £100 for the charity. You also have to pay a registration fee of just under £50.

I'm keen to register quite soon, as they have to limit the numbers and it's usually over-subscribed. So if you are interested, let me know soon! They don't know it yet, but I'm sure I can persuade the home front to cook us all a decent breakfast on arrival...