Vegas Baby!

If you’re a regular Run Verity reader, you’ll know I’m just back from a holiday to Vegas. Now, if you’d asked me 3 weeks ago whether I was looking forward to it I probably would have rolled my eyes and shrugged indifferently… although I of course felt extremely fortunate to be going on holiday, in truth it’s just never been on my bucket list of places to visit and I really didn’t think I’d like it. But since COVID, a group of our oldest friends have started a new tradition of going on a yearly group adventures, and this year they all voted Vegas, so Vegas it was.

Let's Go For It!

My husband Jamie and I have an eclectic group of friends through a variety of connections. I met Jamie through my best friend from school, James. James joined the Navy when we were both 19 years old, and I still remember so clearly James sitting in my mum’s kitchen, eating her chocolate cake, as he told us that he’d been recruited to the submarine service as soon as he’d joined up. He was absolutely petrified at the prospect of having to go to sea for months on end, without having any communication with the outside world, only surfacing when the boat’s patrol had ended. In seemed unfathomable to both of us then.

And so James was duly sent to Plymouth, a million miles away from the comfort of our Yorkshire roots. On one of his frequent visits back home, he brought along one of his new Navy colleagues and already fast friend, Jamie. And just like all true love stories… “when our eyes met across the crowded room, a spark ignited between us as I felt a rush of warmth flooding through me, as if the universe had conspired to bring us together…” Ha! That isn’t at all how it happened, it was more along the lines of “our eyes tried to focus across a sticky dance floor in a dimly lit nightclub, air thick with smoke, clutching a bottle of Ouzo, shouting do you fancy a curry”.

Soon I also moved from Yorkshire to Plymouth and the solid trio of friends extended to include several others as our lives evolved and merged with other Navy families. Submarines submerged and surfaced with new stronger bonds of friendships as shipmates worked, lived and breathed this strange underwater existence. As we shared this unique lifestyle, the tight knit crew and the landlocked girlfriends lived side by side through marriages, babies and separations, experiencing everything that life threw at us. And although we have now geographically disbanded from each other and the lives we all lead then, still we remain a veritable union of a community that has now spanned 40 years of my life.

All this to say, if I had to go to Vegas for anybody, I was pretty ok with it being for and with my oldest friends.

After what felt like an eternity of planning our Vegas trip was finally upon us and, forgive me for sounding like a cliché from a Friends episode, upon arriving at our hotel the motley crew arranged to meet by the Craps table. Seeing them all again I felt such a surge of energy, as time stood still, and the years melted away. Though of course, it could also have been all that oxygen that is silently pumped into the Casino air, keeping you engaged and energised. Either way, I felt excited and truly happy to be there.

Another school friend, Simon, joined us on the trip. He had long since settled in the states with his American wife, Sandra. I knew both were avid runners and I’d promised to bring my trainers so we could all run together in Vegas. With minimal sleep but shed loads of energy (how great is oxygen?!) my first morning in Vegas was a downtown run.  The years melted away as we ran and chatted, exploring the lesser known, not so shiny streets of Vegas.  

Running with friends

What is it about running with others that gives you the freedom to share your stories, and sometimes deep confidences? Why does it so often (for me anyway) become an opportunity to explore conversations that you didn’t even know you needed to have? I do wonder if it’s because when running side by side with someone it simulates the feeling of a “confessional booth”, the lack of direct eye contact creating an invisible barrier that gives the illusion of anonymity. Whatever the reason, I was reminded so powerfully of how wonderful social runs are as we chatted freely, as though running together was a frequent occurrence and not once every 25 years.

The early morning sun was intense as we headed towards the horizon of snow topped mountainous desert, which felt like a direct oxymoron to the hedonistic escapism of the fake Venice city around us, encompassing the traditional gondola on a Venetian lagoon. My brain soaked up the kaleidoscope of images that felt like mirages, adding to the “anything goes” atmosphere that I’d found myself transported in to, and interestingly, now buying in to. The run gave me a whole other perspective on Vegas, and doing it with friends felt like experiencing something old and new simultaneously.

I do have a particular fondness for running on holiday- I love exploring new places, taking in the different smells, sights and the buzz of another city, a different culture or a fresh sunrise. But for me nowadays I operate by a self-imposed rule of only running once whilst on holiday. Over the years, through much trial and many errors, I’ve learnt (or my husband has usually forced me) to relax and let my mind and body heal (yep, there’s another cliché!).  Nowadays, I completely take the pressure off myself and in doing so I can literally feel my body repairing, knitting back together all the worn cells, muscles, joints, and ligaments.

Don’t get me wrong, this is a new-ish skill that I’ve had to develop after years of spending family holidays trying to fit training runs around, well family. In those early days of feeling desperate to cram everything in, I would be mentally exhausted trying to decide when I should go for a run; my thought process went a bit like this “should I run before breakfast? Mmmm, not such a good idea considering I had a couple of drinks last night… What about after lunch? No wait maybe, late afternoon when the sun isn’t as hot… nope that ruins the day if we want to go anywhere… maybe I go tomorrow”

Then tomorrow would be on repeat- no running but I’d beat myself up for not following the training plan to the letter. The guilt would add up, I’d feel fat and sluggish, convincing myself that missing a few days would mean I’d never be able to run EVER again! And it’s even harder if your training plan insists that you need a long run (literally WHO thought Autumn marathons were a good idea?) when you’re faced with unfamiliar routes, particularly as a woman. I’d take forever deciding where was safe to run in a foreign country, it would drive my husband insane. “Just go for a bloody run!” he’d say.

Me when my Dad tells me I should take a training break.....

The final straw came after the following fiasco. I’d not joined the dots together that booking a 3 week late summer camping holiday in France combined with training for the Dublin marathon in October equalled… long runs. I was already physically exhausted from spring marathon training (Paris) but I still, of course, did not listen to the sage advice from my dad about taking time off after Paris Marathon. In fact, I did the complete opposite and ran the day after the marathon (why do runners do that?).

How I wished I’d listened to him (not the first or last time I’ve thought that over my 55 years) as I “made” my husband Jamie put down his plate of brie and bike with me on my French training run.

If you’re a runner, you’ll know exactly what I mean when I say the rhetorical bear not only jumped on my back, rendering any forward movement impossible, but I think this bear got his entire extended family to join in on his free ride. I was done in, I simply couldn’t take another step (I did manage to stamp my feet though) and insisted that Jamie run the *many miles back to the campsite whilst I rode the bike. And he did, bless him. This was the day I officially learned another hard running lesson; if you can, avoid training whilst on holiday (especially if you want to stay married).

*Jamie dabbled in running back then, so in my head, even though it was probably only a couple of miles back to the campsite, it felt like 20! Bonus brie for him.

But back to Vegas…

I will hold my hands up and say I was completely wrong about Vegas. I LOVED Vegas. I felt such a sense of mental freedom that I haven’t felt since, to be honest I can’t remember. Sometimes I feel the mental shackles of life can be suffocating, binding you down so tightly that at times it can be hard to take a breath.

There have been times when I’ve had an overwhelming urge to crawl out from under my own skin, like I can’t stand to be within my own body, like a clawing need to shake myself off from who I am. Where better to do that than Sin City? A place that fiercely holds the reputation of being a somewhere that societal norms are relaxed, an environment that encourages people to let loose and try things they might not do elsewhere.

I definitely didn’t go that crazy and end up with a Tiger in my hotel room, but the anonymity coupled with being surrounded by people I have known and loved for so long allowed me to feel a confidence to express myself wholeheartedly, to not hold any of myself back.

Photographic evidence of me not in a running vest.

I read an article on here last week about buying clothes for the life that you actually live and not the life you think you “should” live and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I have a wardrobe full of clothes for the life I think I have, when of course the reality is I actually live in my PE kit. I so miss the ritual and skill of “getting ready” but in Vegas I wore all the clothes that I’d been saving to be “me”- short shorts with bare legs (don’t tell my mum!).

When I got home I made a reel for my Instagram and one of my friend’s replied, “You look so happy, I had to rewatch your reel again and again because it was so wonderful to see you so happy!”

They were right- in Vegas I was simply happy. I was completely confident, fully immersed in a state of happiness that for me is usually only reserved for running on the trails.  There wasn’t one moment that was the best- although landing on the bottom of the Grand Canyon in a helicopter with the Top Gun theme tune playing in my headphones was certainly a highlight. No wait, hang on though, the Super-Hero Zoom, 114ft up above Fremont Street canopy also really did it for me. But more than the things we did, what made the trip were the old friends who offered nothing more or less than unconditional acceptance of who Jamie and I are. These friends that create a sense of familiarity and comfort, a sense of belonging without the fear of judgment, who can also make you nearly pee yourself with laughter. There really isn’t anything more freeing than that. Until next time, Vegas!

My last cliche...