This post, this introduction, is intended to provide a brief overview of the who, what, and why of Gritty Runners. It’s the starting point, the basis, the foundation for everything else written on this blog. As I write, a newcomer to the world of blogging and in fact writing for entertainment, it’s 01:47 on a Monday morning. I make a point of this to emphasise that this isn’t, or at least wasn’t, the norm.

Usually by this hour, as perhaps would be expected, I’d be fast asleep, preparing both mind and body for a long, 12.5 hour shift working with adults with complex mental health illnesses and learning difficulties. For the past couple of weeks, however, the late nights have become the new norm.

Two weeks ago, I underwent an Anterior Cervical Discectomy and Fusion (ACDF), a type of surgery where a small, approximately two inch incision is made in the neck region, providing access (after a little digging) to the front of the spine. Once the spine is reached, the surgeon is able to delicately remove the prolapsed disc(s) from between the vertebral bones, inserting in their place a cage containing bone graft, secured to the levels above and below with screws akin to the ones found in B&Q. It’s a tricky though common procedure, done with the intention (in my case) of decompressing the spinal cord.

Back in April, while climbing in Albarracin, Spain’s premier bouldering destination, I took a fall off a highball boulder. For those that don’t know, bouldering is a type of rock climbing where the climber is protected only by crash pads below them. Typically, bouldering takes place on reasonably small bits of rock. But occasionally, and as was the case here, boulders can be upwards of 15 to 55ft in height.

It wasn’t a particularly nasty fall, landing in a sea of brightly coloured Organic crash pads, guided gently by the Spanish spotters on the problem that day. But a few days later, it became clear that something wasn’t quite right. It began with pins and needles in my hands and a strange, painless, electric-shock-like sensation that ran from my lower back down my right leg. At first, I thought I had just overworked my body. I’d spent the last two weeks throwing myself at and off boulders of all shapes and sizes, contorting the body into strange positions, making use of every muscle in my body. But as time went on, symptoms not only worsened but progressed. Pins and needles were now accompanied by numbness in the right foot, gait disturbances, and severe balance issues. Upon returning to the UK, I saw various physiotherapists who told me everything was OK. Perhaps it was just a pinched or stretched nerve that would slowly heal, or maybe it was whiplash. It seemed nobody really knew what was going on. Dissatisfied with the breadth and disparity of diagnoses, I pressed my GP for yet another referral in the hopes that proper diagnostic testing would provide clarity.

The MRI revealed disc prolapse at the C5/6 level with substantial spinal cord compression, marked signal change, and an official diagnosis of cervical myelopathy. Surgical intervention was the only possible treatment to prevent further neurological deterioration and, in worst case scenarios, paralysis. While the news wasn’t exactly great, it was a relief to know exactly what was going on and how it could be addressed. But the journey didn’t end there. After being on what the orthopaedic department deemed an “urgent” waiting list for three months, and hearing that surgery would likely not take place for a further three to six months, I asked for a second opinion. I was referred to neurology on the Monday, in a hospital bed for further tests on the Thursday, and had been operated on as an emergency case by the Friday.

While having a bit of your spine removed and having a couple of parts fused together isn’t a particularly ideal scenario to find yourself in, the most worrying part for me was the impact on climbing. In the five years preceding the surgery, I lived and breathed bouldering. Perhaps that’s not something I should admit as someone distinctly average at the sport. But far more important than the pursuit of high grades and accolades, it’s an activity that’s brought joy, companionship, highs, lows, and a whole heap of fun.

While I’ve always been active, playing copious amounts of football in my youth, spending days hiking in the mountains, and occasionally joining running groups hosted by Mum and Dad, nothing stuck quite like bouldering. While many sports promote competition between athletes, bouldering, and climbing in general, is mostly about personal pursuit. The only person you’re competing with is yourself as you strive to improve in the art of climbing.

Not only this, but climbing provides a full-body (and mind) workout that’s extremely fun. While buff dudes in muscle-revealing tank tops repetitively lift heavier and heavier weights, climbers use their strength, technique, and problem-solving skills to find the optimal way up progressively harder climbs. This amalgamation of mental and physical challenge leaves little room for thoughts to wander elsewhere, resulting in a meditative, flow-state activity. Of all the restrictions that follow ACDF surgery, not being able to climb is the most detrimental to my physical and mental wellbeing.

At the time of writing, the only physical activity I’m sanctioned to do is walking. I’ve been informed that I’ll likely not return to climbing for at least six months, with twelve being the more probable outcome. These late nights have provided a lot of time to think, and one thing I’ve realised is, in climbing’s absence, there’s a burning desire to challenge myself. Something significant. Something hard.

For whatever reason, I’ve landed on distance running. I’ve ran sporadically in the past, hating every single step. I can’t understand why it’s so popular, why people put themselves through so much anguish in the hopes of a post-run high. But I’m keen to find out.

Despite all the benefits of climbing, there’s one thing that’s undoubtedly suffered – my cardiovascular health. It’s entirely possible, and perhaps common, to be able to climb at a respectable level yet be out of breath walking upstairs. In the past, I’ve absolutely loved that about the sport. It’s been a way to feel fit while maintaining a 20-a-day (or bottle of e-liquid) smoking/vaping habit. But with time in hospital and the acquisition of a Garmin fitness watch, you begin to take your health a little more seriously.

The problem is, as of writing, I’m not even allowed to run. It’s a restriction that will likely be lifted around the 8-12 week mark post-op. Whether I stick to this is yet to be seen. I’m setting up this blog, the aptly named Gritty Runners, to hold myself accountable to the goals I’m about to outline. While accountability is the priority of the blog, it’s hoped that it also provides motivation, inspiration, and support to anybody experiencing difficulties or challenges in their own lives. It’s a way to say, look, if I can do this, so can you.

While I’m unsure of the future direction of this site, I’m going to set some pretty ridiculous long-term goals. I’ll update these as I progress as a runner and learn what it is about the sport that attracts so many people. Hopefully the overly-ambitious nature of these goals will keep people coming back to the site. I’m confident there will be innumerable naysayers and those keen to tell me how stupid I’m being. Please, keep it coming – I thrive from it.

2024 Goals
1. Complete a 10K
2. Sub 50 minute 10K
3. Complete a Marathon
4. Sub 4:00 Marathon
5. Complete an Ultra (50K minimum)

It’s hoped that the 2024 goals are diverse enough to inform where I would like to take my running in 2025. For example, do I get the most satisfaction out of running shorter distances, faster? Do I enjoy the marathon distance and should I be aiming for a Boston qualifying time? Or do I enjoy pushing the body to its limits in ultras, with little regard for pace? As such, the 2025 goals are extremes.

2025 Goals
1. Qualify for Boston (sub 3:00)
2. Sub 40 10K
3. 100+ Mile Ultra

And that’s it! My first blog post, my first ramble to the global audience of the World Wide Web (or just friends and family, I guess we’ll see). As mentioned above, I hope this space provides inspiration and support to others and I hope you’ll stick around for the ride.

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