“Your dreams can come true, if you have the courage to pursue them”, Walt Disney

A year ago, the furthest that I had got in my running career were a few medals. I had heaps of cups, stacked up on my shelf tops, gathering dust, which made cleaning my flat a pain and I had no idea what to do with them.

I had taken up running fairly late on. As a teenager I won races without training and often beat the boys, but no one pushed me, there were few opportunities in the centre of London and so I gave up. At University I was more interested in the pub and partying than training. In my mid to late twenties I started to run a little but kept consistently suffering from tonnes of injuries, wiping me out for months, even years, plantar fasciitis, agonising sciatica, perostitis, tendinitis…. I knew that I had potential yet every time I got anywhere a time out injury card was flung at me which was highly frustrating.

In February 2019, I turned to mountain running. With no background or training in trail running I signed up for won the Madrid championships, a 30km race, which was my third trail race ever and double as far as I had ever raced before. By May, I was 4th in the Spanish open and then at the end of that month I was 3rd in Europe in my Masters 35 year category.

A magical two month summer of pure training ensued, where I combined my passion for travel, and my ravenous adventure spirit with my running goals. First of all, I ran 100 crazy miles from the continental divide of Costa Rica,through the luscious, exotic jungles to its windswept Western coasts and national parks, with a group of five men including intrepid guides Pablo Rodriguez and Sergio Sanchez. I was the only woman and this was by far the longest distance I had every run, it was an incredible challenge and so much fun! Secondly, after a quick detour to the Grand Canyon and insanity of ‘Sin City’ or Las Vegas, was a spell spent in the majestic mountains of Boulder, Colorado training with a group of serious and strong athletes, who mixed their passions with full time jobs, all aiming for the Olympic trials, under the watchful eye of the wonderful coach and ex Olympian Kathy Butler, who very kindly adopted me into her group. My days were with early morning sessions training with the group followed by hours of trekking in the mountains. If this wasn’t enough, the summer holidays ended with Chloe Lanthier’s inspirational Running festival in Chamonix, and cheering on the incredible UTMB runners.

Then it was back to reality, welcoming in a lively bunch of three and four year old children into Reception class. This is a full time job which I dearly love but which also leaves me barely able to stand at the end of the day. Many a session that month ended with my collapsing onto the park floor in total exhaustion.

The 29th of September arrived. The mountain World Championships were held in the pretty whitewashed housed coastal village of Gagliano del Capo Italy, where the sun pounded down at 30 degrees heat. Everything seemed to go wrong. I had problems with my accommodation. For some reason I wasn’t signed up for the race. I spent the night before being pursued by a mosquito, sleeping for a mere hour and hopping from my bed to the sofa, then being bitten on my lower lip which had swollen up massively. I arrived at the race late, with little time to warm up and then was told for the third time that I wasn’t on the starting list. As I lead the group up and down the coastal rocks and heard my name on the loudspeaker several times, I realised that I was in a chance for the win and hoped that I would really be counted despite the inscription issues. As I flew into the finishing line, I screamed in sheer joy and disbelief. Never had I imagined that this could ever happen. On the podium, I didn’t even know the national anthem. (I was brought up in England, but run for Belgian to follow with family tradition, my aunt was an Olympic skier and my grandfather waterskied and bobsleighed). Still, 3 months later I am in shock.

Following Italy, my body was ravaged after 9 months of no injuries and full on training (I had never had such long spell of training) and I succumbed to sickness various times and the dreaded sciatica card. I got a few sessions in but had no choice but to stop several times and to listen to my body.

Now I am writing this from Iten, Kenya, the Mecca of running and ‘Home of the Champions’ where I have just arrived. Here I will begin training again and will end this extraordinary year in a beautiful paradise, where I can run, eat and sleep amongst athlete friends. 2019 has been very kind to me and I am filled with gratitude. Whilst I take nothing for granted, I will give 2020 my all and have new ambitions and dreams to work and fight for.