Through the wettest of winters, I’ve avoided our local parkrun, it’s a quagmire. I worry about the impact of all those feet hammering on wet earth. And, I’ve no desire to lose a shoe in the squelchy bog or for my aging bones to slip and fall headlong into a mud bath.

A weekend visit allowed me to join the Whitley Bay parkrun. We’d travelled north for our grandson’s baptism, a joyous occasion on the following day. There were solid paths, sea views, and grandchildren cheering me on from the skate park as I set a slow benchmark for my running year. The run, followed by a ‘Steam and Salt’ recovery in the sauna on the beach, created a perfect Saturday morning.

It was an exhilarating experience, and I’ll be back for more. A hot steamy sauna, sat on wooden benches in a tent, feet planted firmly in the sand; a run down the beach to cool off in the sea, repeat. The sea was icy cold. Our feet felt the chill. Not elegant, but those with surfer shoes found it so much easier to get into the water, I’ll be wearing them next time.

February certainly made me shiver this year. But…today’s news reports that, worldwide, it’s been yet another warmest month with sea surface temperatures at record highs. We’re all responsible. There’s a tension between what we do and the impact on our world. Global warming’s a thing. It’s not going away. I need to tread more lightly to leave this planet safe for future generations.

There’s been a lot of rain. Hellebores and snowdrops, flowering at the bottom of the garden, stand petal deep in water. Their resilience brings much needed hope into damp, dark days. I’ve struggled, coughing my way towards January’s end. I’m normally a defender of this time of year: three family birthdays is a cause for celebration.

The old year closed and the new one began with a change of routine. As Advent gave way to Christmas, I finished knitting the two new stockings and successfully submitted my first assignment. By the end of the year, Mr A and I were ready for a rest, so we drank an early quiet toast to ourselves; then celebrated new year’s arrival at the town’s watchnight service. At midnight, we lit candles of hope before walking home beneath a canopy of fireworks.

Our now established habit of a mid-January break continued; it was the biggest yet, with last year’s two new babies enjoying the company of their cousins. We’d hoped for a weekend of sparkling frost and bright blue skies; we didn’t anticipate mud and constant rain, nor infectious seasonal coughs.  We stayed in Teesdale, it was a good choice: High Force, filling up and spilling over, provided a perfect destination for our walk and the snooker table delivered an excellent distraction from the rain and a life lesson for me. ‘I can’t hit a snooker ball,’ I said. ‘I’ll teach you,’ said a son-in-law, proving that anything is easier with a little direction and encouragement.

And now, the reminders are popping into my inbox, getting the adrenaline running. Twelve days until the ballot closes for the great north run… thanks, but my legs aren’t running. I’m resisting. Once the rain stops falling, this will be a year of short fair weather runs.

Thisgranny’s still here, just a little lost beneath her diary.

October slipped away marked by my final ‘just ten miles’ on a perfect running day, dry and not too hot. Daughter #one stormed her first marathon, raising funds for meningitis research in memory of her much loved friend. November came and went, marked by the publication of the Scottish Arts Trust short story awards anthology.

The hour fell back, days grew shorter, and rain seemed to fall continuously throughout a wet November. There were days when, filled with good intentions, I dressed in running clothes but didn’t run. I’ve lost that headspace for a while, but I know it will return. Until that time, I’ll wrap up warm, put on my boots and walk. A nice crisp morning for a parkrun might provide some motivation.

And now December’s arrived, blowing in with arctic weather and Christmas lights. Cakes and puddings are made. There’s two new Christmas stockings to complete this year. I began knitting the first in the heat of the summer, then struggled with my hands battered by a heavy encounter with the pavement earlier in the year. With 19 sleeps till Christmas the pressure’s on, but they will be done in time…as will the first assignment for my MA. Technically, that’s not due till January, but Christmas will be better if it’s completed ahead of time.

It’s been a year of great joy with two new grandchildren and much time spent with family. But, this Advent time is heavy with sad news; not least a funeral for a friend taken too soon. It’s easy to lose sight of hope, but it remains. I need to seek it out.

The Great North Run’s behind me.

I’d like to say I ran every step of the way. But, it was a hot and humid day and I have to confess that I walked a couple of uphill miles.

I loved every painful minute. Supporters shouted encouragement for all of the 13.1 miles. They offered refreshments of sweets, fruit, cakes and even beer. Shouts and cheers carried me as I ran every step of that last tough mile and a bit along the coast to the finish.

My declaration that ‘I’ll just change out of this wet t-shirt before we walk to the ferry’ was followed within minutes by sudden torrential rain, flash flooding and travel chaos. Our pre-planned escape from South Shields by boat became the only way out for a while. Granddaughters, who’d waited patiently with their speedy mum to greet granny at the finish, ended the day with a hungry journey home. Granny was grateful for their greetings, but wouldn’t have wished their journey of floods and jams on anyone.

I’ve put my medal with my collection of running bling, I don’t really know what to do with them all and probably don’t need many more. There was a 102 year old finisher at the GNR, I’ll maybe challenge his record if I make it to 103… otherwise, once next month’s ‘just ten miles’ is done, I’ll stick to shorter runs.

On Monday morning, my aching muscles were soothed by a salty dip in the North Sea with youngest daughter. An opportunity to celebrate September as our favourite time for taking stock of life and making resolutions. New academic year, harvest time; autumn equinox, from which there’s still 100 days to establish habits before the turn of New Year’s expectations.

My personal review of 2023 as the year I set myself the goal of failing well: upside risk has rewarded me. I applied for an MA, my studies start next week. I entered the ballot for just one more GNR to reboot my running habit, it happened. I entered the Scottish Arts Trust short story competition, I’ve got my trip to Edinburgh booked for the awards ceremony at the end of this month. This granny’s having fun.

Our town centre garden is usually a tranquil space. That wasn’t the case yesterday as our writing group came together for tea and scones. We shared the jam with a solitary but persistent wasp.  A helicopter buzzed backwards and forwards overhead, rumbling road repairs provided background noise; neither drowned our chatter.

We’d met together to read through Rose’s memoir. She encourages us all to keep diaries and ask questions of previous generations whilst we can.  Appropriately, just a few days ago, the garden had provided the backdrop to our own family gathering. For the first time, our five grandchildren were all together, creating memories and chattering to their Great Gran, Gi-gi.

Meanwhile, I have to confess that I’ve not met my target on distances in training for the Great North Run, but I’ve built in plenty of hills to compensate. Running out of town and up past the RHS gardens at Harlow Carr, I’ve more than matched the elevation of the GNR. There’s not much time left, the last few miles of the half marathon will need to look after themselves. I’ll take it steady, more stamina than speed is always my running mantra.

Earlier this month, we stayed in the gatehouse at Lyme Park. Lyme Hall’s façade is well known as the backdrop to the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice. I’d never watched it, so I’ve been catching up since we returned home. I’m loving it. A streamside path passing our front door made morning runs a real treat. It was on my return from one such run that I received exciting news about my entry in a short story competition… more on that after I’ve run my final half marathon (until the next one).

April began with the safe and joyful arrival of a new grandchild. The tally now of 2 girls, 2 boys gives the next arrival, due in May, a deciding vote in the generational gender balance. I’ve had little time to sit and reflect, I’ve been busily engaged in family life.

My running progresses at a steady pace. I was running by the sea when the news of the birth arrived. The frequency of my runs is lower than I’d planned; recovery times are longer now than when I first began to run two decades ago. With 5 miles safely in the comfort zone, I increased my distance this morning and ran further out of town. I chose my route strategically and headed out uphill, saving the downhill for my return.

It was a perfect day, not only for running but for sightseeing too. Our town is surrounded by grassland; two hundred acres, give or take the bits shaved off over the years for traffic flow. In early spring, the grass comes to life with crocuses, later in the season it is criss-crossed with cherry blossom. In recent years, the trees have become a tourist magnet. A canopy of pink blossom against blue skies creates a beautiful backdrop for selfies and more formal portraits.

It was busy today. Dog walkers, couples, families, office workers with their sandwiches. The ideal opportunity for a granny to trip over the tarmac and crash to earth, skidding along the ground on hands, knees and elbows. My very active fall was no doubt caught in many pictures.

‘No, I’m fine,’ I lied to the young man rushing towards me to assess the damage. With super-granny effort, I dragged myself up and forced myself into a slow jog to hobble the rest of the way home. I’d covered half of the half marathon distance. And the bruises will be awesome.