Accepting my scars, 18years later…

🚨NAKED BUM PICTURE AT THE BOTTOM (excuse the pun).. DO NOT READ IF YOU WILL BE OFFENDED🚨

18 years ago I noticed something wasn’t right with my body. I was in pain and at 14 years old I just didn’t know why. Fast forward a few months, a trip to the doctors followed by an immediate referral to hospital I was wrongly diagnosed and turned away. A few months later I was unable to walk. Paralyzed from waist down in excruciating pain. My doctor was right, the hospital were wrong. I had a pilonidal sinus and it had trapped my coccyx.

Pilonidal sinus is described as

“A pilonidal sinus is small hole(s) or tunnel under the skin usually between the buttocks, overlying the tail bone often associated with an infection in its depth”

In my case, an ingrowing hair had wrapped itself around my tailbone and become infected. It was that tight it had affected my movement. My parents were told it was bad. I needed emergency surgery and there was a possibility I may struggle to walk again. 2 years I lived in hospital. I spent Christmas in hospital, birthdays, I sat my GCSEs with a writer. I verbally spoke the answers, they wrote them down for me. I was told by school I would have to resit my year 11 as I had missed so much school. (I passed my GCSEs with 3 Bs 5 Cs and a D. I didn’t need to resit the year after all). I had 4 spinal operations, fought 43 infections with 38 courses of antibiotics. I was told if I caught MRSA I wouldn’t fight it as my body had become immune to so many antibiotics they couldn’t cure me. Eventually I was sent to Wythenshawe hospital for a 5th spinal operation which involved plastic surgery. A skin graft.

I was heartbroken. The way my body now looked and how disgusting my scars were. I have never felt so much hate towards myself as I did the first time I looked in the mirror. I was 16 and felt I looked like a monster.

The day I took my first step off that hospital bed will remain with me forever. The Zimmer frame I had to use and the physiotherapy I went through to learn to walk again. The first time I played football after my recovery was just the best feeling.

I had district nurses visiting me daily once home for months and months. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror out of sheer embarrassment of what I was left with. I cried and cried.

18 years later I still struggle to look at it. I even hide it from people closest to me. I’ve never really let anyone look at it properly. Ashamed of that part of my body. However I’ve recently told my “story” to a few friends and gave them a tiny peek at the scars and their reaction has shocked me. They weren’t horrified or nasty. They were amazed at what I had actually gone through and the scars tell my story and are part of me. I think I’ve finally accepted my scars. They are me. I’ll never win a booty competition or make it as a bum model but these scars are mine. If you ever notice something different about your body. Get it checked. I guess when I look back you could say I was lucky. I didn’t feel very lucky at the time but believe me, being able to walk again was an amazing feeling.

Over the last few days this pain has returned and I’m praying that it hasn’t come back. I was told there was a chance it could.

The “iconic” London Marathon.. if only …

Many of you have followed my marathon journey these past 10 months so I’d like to give you an insight into my London Marathon experience. The feelings behind the smiles you see.A weekend away in London to participate in one of the biggest marathons in the world. I was beyond excited, nervous. You name it. I had that emotion. We travelled to London on Friday 26th April, we attended the “expo” and registered our places and received our official bib numbers. Trade stands galore, an overwhelming amount of pride surged through my body, I was actually doing this. We had a great day. We laughed until it hurt and we were raring to go.Saturday saw a chilled day. Family arriving (which wasn’t planned and I was over the moon) a trip to Bannatyne gym to keep these marathon trained muscles going as tomorrow was our stage. Our 26.2 lap of honour after months and months of gruelling training and injuries.A nice early night planned as my alarm was set for 5.30am. As my alarm brought me into consciousness I started to prepare for the biggest challenge of my life. I got dressed and I was ready. I had pre loaded my feet with compeed (as you know I’ve suffered heavily with blisters) I had KT tape wrapped around my body, (a roll of bubble wrap would have been more cost effective) I was ready to leave. I woke Matt up and burst into tears. “I’m so scared” I balled at him through sobs and sniffles. “You’ll be amazing babe, you’ve got this” a quick good luck cuddle and I was off. I met Tim at the hotel entrance and we headed to the nearest tube station at Vauxhall. We had no idea where we were going. But as any northerner will know, reading instructions and directions isn’t in our blood… We will “wing” it. Entering the tube station I clocked a man standing on his own with a red draw string bag hung over his shoulders. Wearing shorts and a pair of running trainers. Brilliant … I turned to Tim and whispered “we will follow this guy he looks like he knows where he’s going”. As I looked at him he spoke. “Ah at least I know I’m going in the right direction” that was it, we had a tube buddy and I was following him no matter what. We met a few others along the route but this guy had it planned. Winner. We asked his name and we found out he was called Tom. We chatted away, he was as nervous as we were but we were the comfort blanket each other needed. We got to Greenwich park looking for our charity, Sense, and their flags as we were meeting for a team photo. Nowhere to be seen. We were ushered up what I can only describe as the biggest hill in history (or at least that’s what it felt like and not what I needed prior to a 26.2 hike around London). We reached the top and there it was. Greenwich park. The start line.Tom had stopped for a well needed coffee and we waited for him just the other side of the entrance. We headed into the park looking for our charity only to realise the meet point was outside the park and we had been to early and we passed it. Never mind. Let’s set up camp and look out for some similar charity vests. 8am at this point. Tom stuck around with us, we started this together and we finished it together. We met other runners and then it was time for Tom to take his bags to the luggage trucks as he was in an earlier wave than we were… (He was a proper athlete 🤣) but first… a picture.If you’re reading this Tom. Thanks for your help buddy, we couldn’t have got there without you. 💕Cut a long wait short we were entering our pen a mere 2 and a half hours after we arrived. This is it. I’d had 3 nervous wees in this time and now it was my time. My victory lap. If only I could say that’s how it went.We entered the pen and we were ushered to the start line. Our wave was huge. We were in the middle toward the back. I clocked the 7.5 hour pacer and pointed her out to Tim. Our training hadn’t been the best and I knew if I could stick with or around her I was onto a winner. We were told the course is open for 8 hours. What they failed to mention is the course is open for 8 hours from the gun start in which Mo Farah started at 10.10am. We crossed the start line at 10.56am.We ran across the start line and the smile on my face was beaming. My nerves had left me and I was excited for the challenge ahead. That was until we reached mile 1. Yes. 1 mile into my 26.2 and a sweeper coach was on my heels. I looked at Tim and confirmed with him that this is what it was. “Just keep going we’re fine mate”. As we trundelled along I was amazed at how quiet the streets were. Tim again, reassuring me, explaining that these parts were always quiet just wait for the “proper crowds” at cutty Sark and Tower bridge. I couldn’t wait!! Leaving the Red start you complete almost 3 miles and then the red and blue start merge together. There were a few hills on our mile 2 and the coach had gone past us. Overtaken by mile 2 by the sweeper bus. This didn’t feel good. However my watch told me we were making good time. Our pace was good and my first 5k was my fastest to date. Excellent.

Miles 4 and 5 were quiet but we kept our heads down and battled along. Waving to the small crowds lining the streets. Talking to other participants in the same boat as us. We were all on our own journeys but we were very much in this together. 6 miles hit and I knew not far away was the first of our charity cheering points. I couldn’t wait to see my family. I needed a boost as this had already been hard. A cuddle from my mum would make everything ok. As we reached Cutty Sark the crowds got bigger. I could hear cheering. This is more like it I said to myself, this is where it starts to hot up.Kisses and cuddles from the family and I was ready for the next section. Just 6 more miles and I was at tower bridge. The moment I’d been so excited for. “We’ve got this Hewitt, we’re doing good.” Mile 7, 8, 9 and 10 were horrid. I was starting to feel deflated. Empty streets, a very lonely race and I started to question if I could do it. I turned to Tim and thanked him for doing this with me. He confirmed we were in it together and he would have stopped by now if I wasn’t here because it was soul destroying. I needed to carry on. I needed to do it for Tim.As we crossed mile 11 I knew we were almost at tower bridge. I told my friends back at home I would Facebook live my experience and I convinced myself I could hear the crowds screaming. We passed the mile 12 marker and I knew just around the next corner would be tower bridge. The moment I had trained so heavily for. This was my moment.It was empty. A few hundred people at best had stayed to cheer us along. It was the first moment we really had any crowd support since cutty Sark. I stuck to my promise and I went live. I was so embarrassed. I was so upset I had hyped this part of the race up and I got a few cheers at that. Not the moment I was hoping for. No official photographer for my iconic bridge shot. No wall of noise. How disappointing. I knew just after the bridge was one of the hardest parts of the race. The road is split and the runners on the other side of the barrier are running at mile 22 whilst we were approaching 13.One thing I have learnt from the running community is that no matter if you are a 4 minutes a mile runner or a 20 minute a mile runner everyone supports everyone. The amount of people clapping us as they were running in the opposite direction was wonderful. They were still supporting us at the back.A few miles past us by and I started to cry. I was hurting. I was absolutely down and out. I wanted to stop and I’d had enough. If Tim had not been with me, mile 15 would have been the end of my marathon journey. I felt so lonely, so isolated and so insignificant in this race. I had hit the wall and I was in flood of tears.The support Tim gave to me throughout this period was amazing. He was my rock and I owe him a thousand thanks and apologies for having to pull me out of this rut. His reassurance of how proud of me he was and we could do it kept me going. Only 10 miles to go. We could do this. We were hero’s and we would be getting a hero’s welcome at Buckingham palace. We had earnt our places and there was a medal waiting with my name on it in 10 miles. I cried and I cried.Then the worst thing imaginable happened. A van drove past with a sign signalling they were opening the roads and we had to complete the rest of the course on the pavement with the general public. A quick glance at my watch and we had made really good time. We were absolutely smashing it even though we were doing it with little to no crowd support we were well within the time bands. Why were they moving us onto the pavement?? Next a few workmen and their tucks came past and started clearing the blue line off the road with chemicals. Chemicals they would just spray onto the road oblivious to the fact you were walking next to it. The course around us was being dismantled. The showers that we were promised had been disconnected and the water stations had packed up and gone. We were the forgotten ones at the back of the pack. I cried and cried. Actual uncontrollable sobs. The people around me kept telling me I was amazing and we could do this together but I didn’t want to. If they are packing up, how am I ever going to finish? More chemicals sprayed at us and more lorries passing and weaving in and out of us.We were ushered onto the pavements with around 8 miles to go. Meaning my tracker was no longer allowing my friends and family back home to see my progress. I was just another civilian on the pavement of London. I expected to be treated like a celebrity on this day and I was feeling nothing short of worthless. My family were panicking thinking something was wrong. People absolutely oblivious to the fact we were still taking part. Shouting “excuse me” a million times with people ignoring us and just stopping in our tracks. Dogs on leads stopping in front of us and we couldn’t get passed. As I went to cross a road a Marshall told me I would have to stop and wait while they let a convoy of cleaners through. I lost my shit… “If you think I’m fucking stopping so you can let them through you’ve another think coming. I’m in a fucking marathon.” I was fuming. I was absolutely livid. I was finishing this race out of sheer principal of the day I had endured.As we approached embankment and the mall the sight of the marker points being taken down was the final straw.We reached Buckingham palace and I looked like the elephant man. The amount of tears I had produced was enough to sink a small ship. Tim grabbed my hand, “C’mon Downs we are finishing this in style.” We ran down the mall and crossed the finish line together. It was over. One of the worst experiences of my life was over. I hated it. I wanted so much to love it but if only we were given the chance to love it. We crossed the finish line with an official time of 7.29.44 quicker than I ever expected to do it in and well before the 8 hour cut off point. This was a fantastic achievement for us but I didn’t feel proud. TThe smiles hide a 1000 tears. As we approached the Marshall the first comment out of her mouth “Congratulations but I’m afraid we only have XS T-Shirts left. Brilliant. Why did I expect anything more. That summed up the day. My medal was presented and I didn’t feel proud. I wasn’t happy. I was deflated. Everyone talks about the marathon as the best day of your life. Well fuck me if that’s the best day I hate to get a glimpse of my worst. Thank you London. You did disappoint.

Marathon Week Dooms

So, here I am, 6 days left until one of the biggest days of my life. When I agreed to take on this challenge I never expected it to be as bloody emotional as it has been. 12 months ago sitting on my Mum’s sofa watching the start of the mass virgin money London Marathon thinking, “are they mad” … Fast forward 12 months and I’m an absolute bag of nerves and there are still 6 days remaining.

Fundraising target is set at £1700 … Jesus it’s been hard. And I have to thank each and every person who has donated to me, even though I’m annoying myself senseless with the amount of begging I’m doing… Just under £200 to go and my charity will be elated. The kindness that some people have shown to me has astounded me, made me cry and truly grateful for such kind generosity.

So, last time I piped up I’d been suffering with pesky blisters. A well known running shop advising me to go up a size in trainers as my feet will swell. I took the advice and savaged my feet in the process. Actually still able to say I have those blisters still heeling under a foot full of compeed. So I went back to my old trainers. The trainers I started all my training in and that I have now decided I will do my 26.2 miles lap of honour in too.

Since I started my training my stats have been incredible. I never thought I’d be able to do the training … And I imagine others didnt either, but I’ve shown them. Just like I will the actual marathon. Endless trips to the gym, a million tears and mountains of painkillers but since I started training I’ve done 23.7 marathons, so what’s one more??

So I’ve been on my “tapering” journey where you allow your body to recover until the big day. A well know term amongst us affleeets is “maranoia” the paranoia you get before the marathon. My gosh Doctor Google had me in all sorts of problems at the beginning of the week. One thing I will say is I will never take it for granted what people put their bodies through when exercising again and anyone I know doing a marathon in the future or have in the past, gets my up most respect. I’ve had many comments along the way “you’re doing a marathon?” “How long are you expecting it to take?” “You’re ONLY walking it?” “What could possibly go wrong?” These comments make me even more determined. Yes I am going to be walking the majority of the way but not at a leisurely pace like I’m walking the dogs around sale water park. At a speed many others will be jogging. Yes I’m over weight and yes I’m not in the best shape but I’m bloody crossing that line with a medal hanging proudly around my neck. 26.2 miles is not something that happens easily. If anything the 8 hours I’m out on the streets of London actually need planning more carefully, it’s longer that I’m on my feet, longer my body is conserving energy and longer for my heart to be pounding out of my chest. Not to mention longer for the blisters to rub and the chafing between my legs but that’s for another day.

“Walking is like running up to a point, in as much as it works the calves, hamstrings, glutes, shoulders and core, but unlike running it also works on your entire body. The way you use your muscles is completely different – walking is low impact and by following a regular training plan, will build muscle tone, stamina and fitness quite quickly without you even noticing, but at an even pace, and without going through a pain barrier. Walking elongates and stretches out the muscles, whereas running shortens them, and there’s no continual pounding on the knees and ankles”

As I begin to pack my bag for the trip to London with just a couple more steady workouts planned for this week, I take to my stage on Sunday morning. For everyone who has supported me throughout this journey, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I have put my body through some of its toughest challenges and forever will I be indebted to you. It’s because of you and for the fantastic charity that sense really are that I’ve kept going. Please keep up your support and on Sunday I shall have my smartwatch on my wrist. Messages of support will go along way. I will see them and I will be thankful of them. Until then. Wish me luck xxxx

Things they don’t tell you before you sign up for a marathon. .

And so it’s here. The month in which I will participate in the London Marathon. It feels like a lifetime ago since I signed up but now it’s creeping up on me a little too quickly if I’m honest.

With the gym training (if you’ve read previous blogs) I thought I was “nailing it”… How wrong was I. A lovely cushioned tredmill, air conditioned room, I felt I was onto a winner. How hard could transferring to the great outdoors actually be?? It appears VERY.

BLISTERS…. I’ve had enough of these bastards already!!! My foot is currently one giant compeed. I don’t joke. There is more compeed than skin on show at the moment. I had been and had a professional gait analysis carried out to be informed I had ‘netural’ feet and I had a couple of shoes most suited for me.. winner winner chicken dinner… That was until they told me they were £132. Shit. And people say running is “free”. The first outing in my new sneeks I felt like I was Mo Farah… nothing is going to stop me now, I’ve got proper trainers and everything. Mile 7 and I’m literally on my hands and knees in agony. My feet were one huge blister. Cheers New balance, my feet are killing!!

The other thing you’re not told is how old and decrepit your body feels. I would like a new hip, 2 new feet and possibly a new hamstring come to think of it. I feel like a geriatric attempting stairs after years of using a stairlift. 2 weeks ago I unfortunately pulled my hamstring muscle whilst ‘trying’ to be more active playing a hockey match… Again my 90 year old body just cannot hack this athletic lifestyle. Look at me, my body is clearly not a temple. My hamstring had had enough and that was the end to that. Off the pitch I was carried. At this point I thought this was the end of my marathon journey, but in true Vicky Downs style, you cannot keep me down for long. I was back in the gym, back on the roads and I was on the road to recovery.

I also couldn’t participate in another marathon (saying it like I would even want too) because this one has cost me an absolute fortune. From trainers, to the correct sporting attire, to compeed blister pads, to energy bars/gels, to KT tape, to compression sleeves to anti blister socks… You name it, I’ve had to buy it. You’ve also never gagged so much in your life as when you first open a Lucozade Gel thinking “how bad could this be” and pour the first bit into your mouth… It’s like … I can’t even describe it. How do you describe something which is thick textured, so so so sugary, as strong as necking undiluted orange squash and willing yourself to swallow… (Haha, that’s what she said) it’s as hard as swallowing gaviscon and I can’t take that shit. Although 10 miles in, it’s appreciated.

The nicest part of the great outdoors is the scenery you get to view. We have been training in Buxton along the monsal trail. The old train track and its famous tunnels. Hahaha famous, listen to me they probably aren’t famous but it sounds good. On a sunny day, these views are stunning. For the first 2 miles. Then you start to hate the open road you can see for miles and miles ahead.

With 3 weeks and 5 days to go, I am now on recovery. Hoping these blisters go away and giving my body a little bit of recuperation. My hip is in bits, my feet feel like they are on fire and my hamstring is just about holding out. Roll on next week where we tackle some more longer distances before we begin to taper down. Hoping once these blisters heal, the anti blister socks I’ve invested in will finally begin to work. Who knows, I might actually be able to complete a marathon blister free, hahah who am I kidding I’ll be a giant blister by mile 4…. 🤣 But for the next few days, I’m resting. And I feel like I deserve too!!!

Do a marathon they said, it’ll be fun they said… Right now there is nothing fun but I hope the second they give me my finishers medal, that will all change. I am an athlete 🤣.

Asthma and Marathon Training

So, it’s been a while, but I’m still here, still training for this marathon.

When I signed up for this challenge I was extremely unfit, a heavy smoker and suffering with chronic asthma. Yes I know. I’m my own worst enemy you don’t need to give me that look or tell me what I don’t already know. Anyway, I decided to try and change my way of life and I decided to quit the dastardly cigarettes. 4 days after my ‘quit date’ I woke up in the early hours with what felt like an elephant sat on my chest. I had been training hard and putting my body through more than it possibly had in the whole 30 years I’ve been on this planet. Asthma. I can never try to explain to people what asthma feels like and trying to explain to someone how it feels to not be able to breathe just doesn’t actually give the real feel. It’s terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. I’ve been lucky enough to only have a few asthma attacks during my life but this one was different. It hurt.

Lonnnnnnnggggggggggg story short, 2 asthma attacks, what felt like million nebulisers and a 3 night stay on the respiratory ward and I was back to breathing unaided again. (There is a whole story around my hospital stay but I’m trying not to bore you)

Yes this is a “please feel sorry for me” picture. I mean, if you have to be shit at anything in life, try and make it something less important than breathing. Who needs to breathe anyway. (Joking aside I’ve never been more scared in all my life)

4 weeks later I was back to my training. I will not let my asthma stop me achieving one of the biggest achievements of my life. I want to complete this marathon for the remarkable charity that is Sense for all they do to help deathblind people but also to prove living with a chronic illness such as asthma shouldn’t stop you achieving your dreams. Asthma aside my legs and body are killing me at the moment and I’m having more hot baths with Epsom salts than I’ve ever had in my life before. I smell like a dream.

I will complete this challenge and I’m sure my asthma will try and prevent that or at least make it more of a challenge (if 26.2 miles isn’t a big enough challenge in itself) but it’s not going to stop me. I promise you that.

Please support me in this challenge. My just giving page is linked to my Facebook, you can’t miss it. Any amount will mean the absolute world to me 🥰💕

 

 

“Join a gym” they said, “it’ll be fun” they said.

So Marathon training… I still die a tiny bit inside when I say that but part of me also smiles as I am (believe it or not) determined. When I last decided to spill my recent shenanigans onto a screen I ended with gym day number 1. Failing on the stepper and almost putting myself into an early grave. I’d like to say it’s got a whole lot better but I don’t think anything I do in life is without injury to myself in one way or another. After my epic fail and my humiliated (not so little butt) leaving in the quickest way possible, I decided I had to go back as I had to conquer the gym one way or another. So 7.15am the following day I was back for ‘Pure Fat Burn’. Perfect. If anyone has fat to burn…. It’s me!! ..

Fuck me I almost died …. “Now everyone let’s warm up” shouted the man at the front (I’m assuming he’s a personal trainer).. Warm up??? I was ready to go home after the first 48 seconds. I know I’m unfit but I was scanning the room for a defibrillator just incase I comatosed and died or something. I was seriously blowing out of my arse. The best words to come out of his mouth all morning were “Do what you can..” well in that case, I’m done 🤣. I persevered as my team spirit didn’t want to let the side down and make everyone in the room feel uncomfy with the fat kid dying in the corner. I was running. I was planking (well I think I attempted it at least, others possibly thought I was having some sort of asthma attack the amount I was shaking). I also did a ridiculous and unecessary amount of Burpees (these should be illegal, FACT). We did other bits and bobs inbetween but safe to say, I completed my first gym class. Smelt like the inside of Matt’s cricket bag however but, I completed it. Bit gutted to look down and see I was still fat but I guess Rome wasn’t built in a day. To top it all off I had to go to work too!!

After I had recovered from the mornings escapades and a few boilers quoted at work, I decided (don’t ask me why because I don’t know,) but, I decided I would pop back later that day because band had been cancelled. Only this time I was going alone so I could take it at my own pace, die without the whole of Offerton seeing me in a class and just get a better feel for the place on my own accord. So I walk up to the door and get my phone out to enter my pin. When you sign up to pure gym they give you a ‘unique 8 digit code’ which you enter into the pod keypad every time you enter and leave the gym. Obviously I’m never going to remember an 8 digit number so I saved it in my phone as the easiest option. These pods are quite cool but also not very generous in size, bearing in mind I have come to the gym to lose weight and get fitter. I think the idea of these pods are to make you feel really uncomfortable that you don’t actually fit in them so you go to the gym more to lose weight to fit in them. 🤣. I get your game PureGym. I’m onto you!! How they work is that you enter your code into the keypad, the door opens like a space shuttle, you enter and the door closes behind you. As the door behind you closes the one in front of you opens. Or that’s what’s supposed to happen. Because I am me, that clearly was never going to be the case.

As the door behind me closed the one in front of me failed to open. Brilliant. Here I am, stood in a bloody test tube, space pod, thingy majig, stuck. Looking like a complete knobhead, again. A very kind human alerted one of the personal trainers to the fact there was someone (me) stuck in a pod. He came running over, entered his own unique code and pops himself out of the gym.. walks to the side of my pod, bends down, and picks up an ‘out of order’ sign that had fallen off my pods keypad and stuck it back on. He was as blase as you could be.. He looked at me and said “Shit sorry it fell off, it’s just taken me 20 minutes to get someone out of there”. Ever get the feeling somethings in life are just not meant to be. At this moment in time me and the gym were far from friends and I just wanted to die. After a few minutes another personal trainer came over to say she had reset the pod so it should allow me in, she popped her code in and low and behold the door opened… Thank fuck for that.

Finally got myself sorted. Set myself a little camp up on the treadmill, water, towel, phone, earphones and I put Love Island on the ITV hub and ran my little socks off to the whole episode. Pah who am I kidding I ran for like a little bit and walked for a lot more but every now and then I’d have an urge to run and I watched the whole episode whilst working out. I could get used to this. I was looking Peng 🤣🏃‍♀️

Because I’m clearly now a fully fledged gym addict I decided to go again the following day and you’ll be pleased to know there were absolutely no dramas. Nothing. Nada. Well apart from the fact I thought I was Billy big bollocks and I decided to see how far I could run without stopping and after 10 minutes and that’s no word of a lie I had died and had nothing left. I attempted other machines but I was exhausted. I’d literally run myself into the ground. Home time and tomorrow I was having a rest. I’d deserved it.

So obviously I’m not going to tell you about every gym visit I’ve done as I’ll only put you to shame and make you feel shit about yourself 🤣 so I won’t go on about it. But obviously I’ve been lots more times and I’ve attended lots of different classes (bootcamp, purefit, pilates) and I’m pleased to tell you all. Me and Gym are mates now …. He was a twat to me at the beginning but we get each other now. We’re working at it.

The one other huge change in my life, is a pretty big one I reckon… After taking Champix tablets for 11 days I finally had my last cigarette after 15 years of heavy smoking. I am now 9 days nicotine free and I’m absolutely over the moon. I don’t sound like Darth Vader when I sleep anymore so that’s a bonus. My smell and taste has improved and I am using less perfume everyday so saving money not trying to mask the smell after each one. I’ve even conquered the night out on alcohol and didn’t cave in. Im clearly just a machine. 😁 Thanks for everyone’s support in this lifestyle change. I can’t wait to be mistaken for some sexy blonde bombshell avoiding the grids on the roads in case I slip between the cracks as I run the London Marathon in 2019. All I will say is… Watch this space. 👍

A marathon? Ok, go on then.

Ok, so I’m not great with words but I’ve decided it’s time to ‘blog’ or is the cool term nowadays ‘vlog’ (oh no thats video isn’t it, well anyway) I’m going to blog my marathon training. Yes you read that right, me, marathon, two words even I didn’t expect to hear in the same sentence. But it’s true, Vicky Downs has signed up for the 2019 London Marathon…

So back to where it all began, sat in front of the TV one Sunday afternoon. I spoke to a friend on the phone and I mentioned I was watching the London Marathon on the TV… 5 minutes later he asked if I was up for it… Haha imagine, me doing a marathon. I’ve never even completed a 10k nevermind a bloody marathon. I do like to surprise myself every now and then and I (some would say stupidly) agreed. I paid my £100 signing up fee, answered the qualifying questions and that was that, I had my 2019 London Marathon Charity place. This is me who used to hide behind parked cars on our 2 mile pre training run at football and wait until the girls were on their way back round and I’d finish with them. Never once completing the exercise. I don’t run. Ever.

I’ve always lived life for each day and I’ve always done what I’ve wanted even against the doctor’s advice. At 29 years old I’m heavily asthmatic and also smoke 20 a day. Ironic really how healthy I am 😂. But for me, I’ve always said I live for today anyway so it doesn’t matter what’s happening to my lungs, I could be struck by lightening tomorrow. Hit by a bus. I could just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve always had that same thought process. Until recently. A trip to the Asthma clinic where I was assessed the same way I normally am but with a new and improved machine. A machine that was to tell me at the fruitful age of 29 my lung age was infact 50 and I’m not far off developing COPD. Shit. This is not good news. I know I’ve always struggled with Asthma but I didn’t realise it had got this bad. This was where reality struck and I knew I had to change. I couldn’t continue to be the rebel I’ve always been.

Sitting with the Asthma nurse I began telling her about the London Marathon I had signed up for. I remember her writing something as I told her this and she almost froze, stopped writing and looked at me. With those eyes thinking “You can’t run a marathon you stupid cow”. She was, well for what of a better word shocked and proceeded to tell me I wouldn’t be able to complete a marathon with my lungs and health the way they were. No shit shirlock… Time for big changes. We sat and talked about my smoking and I mentioned I’ve tried stopping many times before but with NRT (Nicotine Replacement Therapy) and that clearly worked as I continued to smoke. She asked had I ever heard of the tablets Champix, a course of medication to aid the stopping smoking without replacing it with a different habit. I won’t bore you with exactly how it works but you choose a stop date you want to quit by and continue to smoke whilst you start the course. Around day 8-14 you begin to feel sick when you have a cigarette and it makes you not want another because of how ill you feel. I have spoken to a few people and it really has worked for them although they have warned me how sick they make you feel and also they make you have ‘Wacky Dreams’ which I’m really looking forward to as I have the most bizarre dreams anyway without the added fucked up versions. I’m currently on day 8 and my dose has just doubled… So here’s to feeling sick and being cranky for the next few days. (I apologise to my loved ones now, I know how grumpy I can be normally, so just bear with me it’s the medication 😂.) I’m determined to do this though. Really determined, I might actually have some pennies in the bank, I’ll be wedged not buying fags everyday!!

After I returned home that afternoon I sat pondering over the amount of money I could potentially save, and what I could do with that said cash flow. Holiday, new clothes, treats. I am a bugger when it comes to money as I have to spend it. Again, ever the pessamist … “You can’t take it with you”. I then decided to finally adult, I don’t often adult but with my stopping smoking imagine if I got fit at the same time too?? If I started to lose the timber I’ve put on over the last few years I’d look ok. I love a good double cheeseburger and I am very partial to a chicken nugget or 20 but I’m starting to look like a bloody cheeseburger. So off I went googling into the night for gym membership. It was like it was meant to be as finishing at midnight was a bloody fandabidozi offer of £10 a month for 3 months at my local gym. “That’s 2 packets of cigarettes and a month of fitness paid for”. I was having it. I had a few things coming up so I decided I would purchase the membership and delay my start date until I could actually go. I also needed to psych myself up as I’m clearly a whale and I thought that when you first entered the gym it would be like you had a flashing neon sign above your head saying “I’m a newbie, handle with care”. It was a very daunting thought and one I needed a bit of motivation to actually do.

And so it began… “Gym Day”.. fuck. How can someone that’s always played football and takes everything in her stride be this nervous about walking into a gym for the first time? I’d arranged to meet my friend who would show me the ropes and be my gym buddy for the evening but she texted me later that day to say she couldn’t workout with me as she had done a class earlier that day and was dying. Shit. I was on my own! She then said she would still come with me to show me the ropes but then leave me too it (she just wanted to watch Love Island really) hahaha. So 7.30pm I started to get ready and dig out my gym clothes. They clearly needed the cobwebs blowing off them as I’d not done any form of exercise for a good 12 months. One thing I’ve always struggled with is controlling the puppies when I exercise. They like to do their own thing, bounce up when I don’t want them to, jingle side to side making my whole workout a nightmare. The only way I’ve ever controlled them is to wear not one, but two sports bras…  I own 3.. could I find even one in the house, could I buggery!! Shit. “Well that’s that then I can’t go.” Little demons getting at me already… No I will look again and I WILL attend the gym what’s the worst that could happen? Famous last words. I eventually found one so I improvised and wore a normal bra followed by a sports one, not the most comfortable I’ve ever been but I know how hard they are to control when they get going. This is safest all round!! I get in my car and I head to the gym. FUCK.

I waited outside as I arrived before my mate (shock horror, me early, NEVER!) When she arrived I had my gym shizzle with me, you know the normal stuff, water, towel, ear phones and we went inside. She showed me where things were toilets, changing rooms etc and then we were ready, time to actually get this body moving. She decided to stay with me. I must have looked like shit and she felt sorry for me or something but I wasnt complaining I had a gym buddy!!!

We went on a few machines doing between 5-8 minutes on each one, again I won’t bore you with the details. We all know what you do on a cross trainer or what a rowing machine looks like, but if you don’t see pic below 😂

The final machine we decided to go on was a stepper machine, looks almost like an escalator. Really fun concept as remember when you were little and thought you were so naughty running up escalators the wrong way? Well that’s what this is but it’s legal to do hahaha!! I won’t get shouted at! Winner winner chicken dinner. I started and I tell you now it looks easier than it is. “Jesus these steps are steep.. Let’s see if it’s easier quicker”. I started almost running up these ‘steps’ and I could feel my calf’s starting to burn. I had my target of how many floors I wanted to climb and I saw the number begin to rise, only a few more floors. My legs were really starting to hurt and I gave it one final push. Sweat dripping off me (sexy thought I know but that’s what gyms are for, oggling boys, exercising and sweating 😝). As I saw the number on the screen reach my ‘floor’ goal, this is where disaster struck. I went to press ‘stop’ on the machine but I fully missed the button, my legs had turned to jelly and died and my body had given up. With my arms slumped over the arms rests my feet travelling downwards (at the increased speed) there was only one way this was going. A full on faceplant on the step machine. My god I went with a right bang. Every single person in the gym turned to look at me. Yeah just what I wanted. Although I have to admit I ended it as elegantly as I possible could… If that is even possible after a fall as good as that one, but you know when gymnasts are working their apparatus and they do something spectacular followed by a land where they stand still arms above head and the crowd goes wild… Well yep that’s how I finished, in true Vicky fashion. Nailed it. That was enough excitement for the day. I’d attended, exercised (if you could call it that) and embarrassed myself it was time to go home. But before I did I’d booked to return at 7.15am (yes you read that right) for a “Pure Burn” class with my mate the following morning. I was doing this. I will stop smoking. I will exercise and get fitter.. I WILL COMPLETE THIS MATATHON!

A surprise party turned not a surprise party

So my beloved was to turn 30 on 15th September 2015. What better way to celebrate than to throw a surprise party. With little or to be completely truthful, no money, my first port of call was the venue. As some maybe aware I am quite partial to a few strongbows or 5. I occasionally meet with fellow football hooligans to sit and watch the mighty Manchester United at a conservative club not far from where I live. Cheap beer and a venue close to home. Perfect I thought I’ll enquire about the party. “Because you are a regular you can have the room for £25” said the landlady. Wow the perks of drinking has secured me a venue for all of £25. Bingo.

As any party planning begins… a Facebook page is created. Matt has a variety of hobbies with friends from each of these activities. With the help of a mutual friend I comply a list of guests to invite. Brilliant, so far so good and the word is out there that this is in fact a surprise.

Bam… “A date has been arranged for your operation on Monday 5th August.” I read these words and all thoughts rush through my mind. How long will I be in hospital? How long will I be off work? Will I be able to drive? Shit.. if I cannot drive how on earth am I to organise everything for this party. I’ve had a few parties in my time but nothing on the scale of catering for 100+ guests. Chin up I tell myself you can do this. The Internet is a fantastic tool when used correctly and it certainly helped me along the way. Invites were designed, ordered and a DJ had been secured. Operation successful but I was left in a sling and told for 8 weeks I will be unfit to drive and will not be able to remove the sling. Excellent.

A couple of days later the invites arrive. They were fantastic, just what I wanted. Each invitation came with an envelope and I kid you not writing names on these envelopes was like getting blood from a stone. I needed 3 strongbows to get me through the sheer embarrassment of my unusable left arm that didn’t feel part of my body. Here came the floods. Floods of tears as I struggle to do the simplest of tasks. How on earth am I to deliver these invites to all these different groups of friends without driving and making it obvious to Matt what I am doing. How am I possibly going to arrange all the balloons, decorations food etc. Shit… again.. food. 100 people to cater for with 1 arm and no car to transport me to and from the shops to the club and back again. Here come those floods again. I blame the tablets as everything felt like a black hole and there was no way out. All my plans and aspirations to give him the best surprise 30th ever were all crashing down before my eyes. How am I possibly going to cope. A phone call to the mother and after much deliberation, I decided the party will go ahead but it will not be the surprise I had once hoped for. So I handed him an invitation to his own 30th birthday.

He stared blankly at the invite. “Say something” I urged him. I think he was shocked, pissed off probably as turning 30 mustn’t be easy and to top it off you will have 100 guests reminding you of this devastating fact. He smiled and thanked me but asked me why I was welling up. The floods had returned. I explained what happened between the odd snort of tears and snot and he hugged me tightly and reassured me he will be there to help and he was over the moon I was planning him this party.

The party is in 2 days. I have had friends chauffer me to and from the shops for the many items I have needed to pull out all the stops. Matt helped by handing 50 invitations out for me, and he had to be nagged and nagged for this to happen. Hindsight is a wonderful thing because as it stands, I’ve still planned this party alone with the help of my closest friends. Thise tablets sent me into turmoil and made me make this rash decison. If I’d have known how useless and unhelpful matt had been… I possibly could have kept this a surprise. Hindsight really is a wonderful thing. Wish me luck!!!

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