Flaminky

This weekend, my partner Kyle and I climbed Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon), 1,083m, the highest mountain in Wales, and I couldn’t be prouder. Not just because of the climb itself, but because of what it represented.

Back in May, I was in a car accident that left me injured and with severe driving anxiety. So before even lacing up my hiking boots, I faced another mountain: driving over 5 hours up to North Wales. For Kyle’s birthday trip, I wanted to make it happen. And I did.

Standing at the summit of Yr Wyddfa felt like more than just a breathtaking view. It felt like reclaiming confidence, proving to myself that healing isn’t linear, and that little steps can lead to big victories.

The climb itself was challenging but beautiful, with steady inclines, changing landscapes, and that rewarding feeling of moving closer to the sky with every step. Each moment up the mountain was a reminder that resilience isn’t just about pushing through pain; it’s about showing up for yourself even when it’s hard.

Sometimes progress doesn’t look like huge leaps. Sometimes it looks like long drives, steady climbs, and small victories adding up to something big. And this weekend, reaching the top of Wales’ highest peak with Kyle by my side felt like a victory I’ll never forget.

I’m not going to lie… heading into the Cardiff 10k, I felt totally unprepared. I hadn’t run since the London 10k and hadn’t trained one bit. But somehow, despite all of that, I crossed the finish line with a time close to my pre-crash race times, and I can’t explain how happy that made me.

It felt like a tiny breakthrough. Little by little, I’m getting there. My confidence is creeping back, my pace is starting to resemble what it once was, and for a brief moment during the race, I felt like myself again.

But the reality of my ongoing recovery hit hard afterwards. My neck pain was awful! so bad that I had to use my massage gun, take painkillers, and nap just to ease it. It’s frustrating living with this constant pain since the crash. Sometimes I wish I could just go back to “normal,” to run without thinking about how my body will respond afterwards.

With the Cardiff Half Marathon only a month away, my anxiety is definitely bubbling. I can see the progress, but I’m still nervous about how my body will perform during (and after) the race. Still, this 10k reminded me that I am moving forward, even if it’s slow and messy.

Step by step, race by race, I’m clawing my way back. And that feels like a win worth celebrating.

Just a week after the Porthcawl 10k, I was back at it again, this time for the London 10k 2025. And honestly? This one felt different. For the first time since my crash, I experienced that euphoric race feeling I’d been missing.

The vibes were amazing! Crowds lining the streets, the energy of London buzzing all around, the kind of atmosphere that lifts you even when you’re not chasing a PB. I went into this race with zero pressure, fully aware that I’ve been running in pain for a long time now. And because of that, it became about enjoyment, not speed.

At the 5k mark, I even had to make a quick pit stop (yes, I peed) and then headed to the St John’s Ambulance tent for some Vaseline to battle the chub rub (iykyk, girlies). After that, though, I felt great and just let myself soak it all in.

This was also a solo race for me, but I wasn’t really alone. My good friend Amy was there on the sidelines, cheering me on, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciated that support. Friendships like this make races feel even more special.

Crossing the finish line in London felt like a turning point. I wasn’t chasing a time, I wasn’t running from pain, I was running with joy again. And that, to me, is priceless.

Here’s to more euphoric races, more supportive friends, and remembering why I fell in love with running in the first place.

Just over a month after the Barry 10k, I lined up at the Porthcawl 10k — my first race running completely on my own since the crash. Kyle was running too, but separately this time. This felt like a big step for me: no safety net, no one to lean on mid-race, just me, my body, and my mind.

And honestly? It was a mental battle from start to finish. Not only am I still running through pain, but this week I found out I’m being made redundant after four years at an agency. That news knocked my confidence hard. I’ve been filled with self-doubt, questioning my worth, and feeling like I’m not good enough.

But something shifted during this race. Halfway through, when my legs were tired and my brain was spiralling, I decided to flip the script. I turned my anger, my hurt, and my fear into determination. I pushed, kilometre by kilometre, telling myself: I can do this. I am good enough.

Crossing the finish line at Porthcawl felt bigger than just another medal. It felt like proof that even when my mental health is in the gutter, I can still rise. That even with pain, uncertainty, and self-doubt, I can finish what I started.

This race taught me that running isn’t just physical. It’s a lifeline, a release, and a way to take back control when everything else feels out of my hands.

Here’s to using the hard moments as fuel — and reminding ourselves that we’re stronger than we think.

Just a week after the Paris 10k, I found myself lacing up again — this time for the Barry 10k. If I’m honest, it was almost as tough as Paris. My body was still recovering, and while the pain was slightly less intense, it was still very much there. Every kilometre felt like a mental battle.

But once again, Kyle was by my side. After helping me through Paris, he showed up for me in Barry, pacing me, encouraging me, and reminding me to be kind to myself. I’m still rebuilding after the car crash, still finding my way back to strength, and still learning to listen to my body.

This wasn’t about chasing a PB or proving anything. It was about showing up, trying again, and finding the courage to keep going despite the pain. And in that way, Barry became a stepping stone — a little sign of progress, a small but important victory.

Running two 10ks back-to-back after everything my body has been through was never going to be easy. But crossing that finish line, even slower than usual, reminded me how much I love this sport and how grateful I am for the people who support me through it.

Here’s to healing, persistence, and the slow climb back to where I want to be.

The Paris 10k this June was supposed to be a milestone for me; my first long race with my partner Kyle, and my first race abroad since the car crash. And while it was beautiful and special in so many ways, it was also one of the hardest runs I’ve ever done.

From the start, I knew this race was going to be different. I was still carrying the aftermath of the crash, over a month out of proper training, still struggling with whiplash, and not feeling anywhere near my best. By 8k, the pain set in like nothing I’d felt before. It all seemed to centre in my core, almost like I’d hurt my coccyx bone (though I hadn’t). I’d never experienced pain like it in a 10k, and I was so embarrassed at how slow I was going.

But then there was Kyle. Every step of the way, he reminded me that even showing up was brave. That most people in my situation would’ve cancelled their entire race calendar. That it wasn’t about the pace, but about crossing that finish line, together. And with his patience and encouragement, I did just that.

It ended up being my slowest 10k to date, but also one of the most meaningful. Because it wasn’t just about running, it was about resilience, about love, and about proving to myself that even when things feel impossible, I can push through.

Outside the race, we turned it into a beautiful Parisian trip. Our first holiday abroad together as a couple — full of romance, fun, and memories I’ll treasure forever. If anything, I just wish we had more time there.

Paris tested me physically, but it also gave me a deeper appreciation for support, patience, and the strength that comes not just from running, but from running with someone who truly has your back.