Alice MacGillivray

95 kilometres complete for Dad.

When I signed up for the Heart Foundation's Run to Zero challenge, I knew I wanted to do something that would push me. I settled on 95 kilometres for July. It wasn't a random number. Every kilometre represented why I was there in the first place. In 2014, my dad died suddenly from a heart attack while we were on holiday in Bali. He was just 66 years old.

Losing a parent changes you. It also changes the way you think about your own health.

At 46, I wanted to challenge myself, honour Dad's memory and help raise money for an organisation working to improve heart health across Australia.

Yesterday, I completed the final kilometres of the challenge by running the Hills to Henley Half Marathon in Adelaide.

It was a race I had been training towards for months, and crossing the finish line in 1:57:47.02 meant I achieved another personal goal I had quietly been chasing - a sub-two-hour half marathon.

But while I'm incredibly proud of the time, what I will remember most is everything that happened before race day. There were cold, dark winter mornings when getting out of bed felt like the hardest part of the day. There was my tired body, early alarms and plenty of moments where I questioned why I had signed up in the first place.

Then I would think about Dad. I would lace up, head out the door, and by the time I got home I was always glad I did.

Somewhere over the past 12 months, running stopped feeling like another thing on my to-do list and became something I genuinely look forward to. It has helped me navigate grief, rediscover myself and realise that, at 46, I am capable of things I once thought were well beyond me.

To everyone who donated, shared my fundraiser, sent me words of encouragement or simply followed along throughout July, thank you.

Your generosity helped turn every kilometre into something bigger than myself.

While the 95 kilometres are now complete, the fundraising is still open. If you are in a position to support the Heart Foundation, I would be incredibly grateful for your donation. Every dollar helps fund life-saving research, prevention and support for Australians living with heart disease.

Thank you for helping me honour Dad in the best way I know how.

29km to Go

It is the 21st of July and I now have just 29km left of my 95km challenge for the Heart Foundation's Run to Zero campaign. I'm also incredibly close to reaching $1,000 in donations, on my way to the $1,500 fundraising goal I set myself at the beginning of the month, and this Sunday I'll be lining up for my second half marathon, the Hills to City.

When I signed up for Run to Zero at the end of June, I said the timing couldn't have been better. I'd completed my first half marathon, the Adelaide Half Marathon, in May and was supposed to be training for my second, but somewhere between crossing that first finish line and the depths of a South Australian winter, my enthusiasm had started to wane.

I had proven to myself that I could run 21.1km and I think I'd become a little complacent. I knew I could cover the distance, so perhaps I didn't need to train quite as hard this time around? Then I plugged my recent training into a race predictor and it told me I was on track to run my second half slower than my first.

No. Absolutely not. That stung.

So along came 95km in July at exactly the moment I needed it. 

Over the past three weeks I've run long and I've run short. I've done my usual hill loops, knocked over a 19km long run and endured a very stop-start city run that I didn't particularly enjoy. I've had runs where I've felt strong and others where my legs haven't really wanted to cooperate. I even had to run to collect my car before Skye's footy game after accidentally having a slightly bigger night out than planned. I can confirm that one was considerably less enjoyable.

But every single one of those kilometres counts, and I think that's what this challenge has reminded me. Consistency doesn't mean every run has to be brilliant. You don't need to run a PB every time you head out the door, and you certainly don't need to love every kilometre. You just need to keep chipping away.

Behind the scenes, I've also been applying for a place in the London Marathon next year. Running a marathon is something I would love to do, and London in particular means a great deal to me. Last week I received my first rejection letter. I'm not going to lie. That one stung too.

But I also found myself thinking about the fact that I'm 46 years old and probably the fittest I've been in a very long time. I'm running half marathons. I'm getting up and training consistently. I'm setting myself goals that, not all that long ago, I would never have imagined setting, let alone genuinely believing I could achieve.

So the London rejection isn't the end of that particular story. It's just the first no. I'll keep trying to find my way there.

For now, though, my focus is much closer to home. I have 29km left to complete for Dad, and 21.1 of those kilometres are waiting for me at the Hills to City Half Marathon this Sunday.

My plan from the beginning was for the half marathon to be my final run of this challenge. The maths hasn't quite worked out that way, so I'll need to tick off a few more kilometres before race day if I want to cross the Hills to City finish line having completed the full 95km. And I really do want that finish line to be the moment I can say I've done it.

What has meant even more than the kilometres is the generosity of everyone who has donated. I'm now incredibly close to $1,000, with my sights firmly set on the $1,500 I pledged to raise for the Heart Foundation.

I started this challenge because every 95 minutes, someone in Australia dies from a heart attack. My dad was one of those people. He died suddenly while we were on a family holiday in Bali in 2014, at just 66 years young.

This month has given my running a purpose beyond another race or another finish time. At a point when my enthusiasm for training was starting to disappear, running for Dad gave me exactly the kick I needed to get back out there.

Now I just need to knock over another 8km before Sunday, line up for the Hills to City and run the final 21.1km.

I'm feeling good. I'm excited. And I'm incredibly grateful that at 46, my body lets me do this.

Here's hoping the legs agree with me on Sunday.

Play on.

Why I Run Dressed Like a Highlighter Texta

It’s Monday 6 July and I’ve already knocked over the first 24 kilometres of my 95km challenge for the Heart Foundation’s Run to Zero campaign. So far, I am feeling good. Really good, actually.

I also set myself the goal of raising $1,500 for the Heart Foundation and, as I write this, $812 has already been donated. I am genuinely so grateful to every person who has supported me so far. I’m over halfway to my fundraising goal and not quite a quarter of the way through the kilometres, which feels like a pretty lovely place to be six days into July.

My running buddies are always laughing at me. They turn up for our runs dressed head to toe in black. Black tights, black tops, black jackets. Very chic. Very serious runners. Then I waltz out the front door looking, as everyone likes to tell me, like a highlighter Texta.

I love colour, and my running wardrobe is no exception. Matching colours, clashing colours, colour blocking, bright socks and, of course, finished with a pair of fluoro Hokas. Why would I want to blend into the bitumen when I'm running against traffic before sunrise?

There is, of course, a practical safety argument for dressing like a human traffic cone, although I suspect the truth is much simpler. Colour makes me happy. 

Running with my mates also makes me happy. It is one of the simplest pleasures in my life and something I genuinely love. Our lives are all so incredibly busy. There are children, husbands, work, businesses, sport, school commitments and the endless list of things that need doing. Finding two hours in the middle of the day to sit down together and catch up each Sunday would be almost impossible. But somehow, finding two hours to run together before the sun comes up feels achievable. 

And what a gift those two hours are. There are no phones to scroll, no children interrupting, no one needing anything from us and nowhere else we need to be. We just run and talk. For a solid two hours. We brain dump. We problem solve. We complain. We laugh. We talk through work, family, relationships and whatever else is taking up too much space in our heads that week. Sometimes someone arrives at the run carrying something heavy and, by the time we get home, it feels a little lighter.

I think that is one of the things I love most about running. Of course it is good for my physical health, but the things it gives me beyond fitness are probably the reason I keep coming back. It gives me time to think when I run alone and time to talk when I run with my friends. It gives me quiet roads, spectacular sunrises and a chance to begin the day doing something that makes me feel good.

So yes, I will continue dressing like a highlighter Texta. Because colour makes me feel joyous and happy and grateful to be out there. It also makes me safer on the road, which is apparently particularly important because those bitches always make me run on the outside.

Their reasoning? I'm the one the cars will see first. Fair enough, really.

Play on.

Where my head is before July starts

It's the 27th of June today, which means there are only a few days until July begins and, with it, my 95km challenge for the Heart Foundation.

If I'm honest, I don't think I could have signed up at a better time. I am currently training for the Hills to City Half Marathon at the end of July. I completed my very first half marathon back in May and crossing that finish line was one of those moments I'll never forget. But somewhere over the past few weeks, I've noticed my enthusiasm for training has started to wane a little.

Maybe it's because I know I can now run 21.1 kilometres. The unknown has disappeared. The fear of whether I'll actually make it to the finish line isn't there anymore. Instead, I've found myself wondering whether I really need to train quite as hard this time around.

Then, last week, I punched my recent training into a race predictor. I expected it to tell me I was on track to beat my time from May. It didn't. It politely informed me that, based on my current training, I was likely to run slower.

Ouch.

The funny thing was, I wasn't disappointed in the prediction. I was disappointed because I knew it was probably right.

This morning I was doing my rostered shift in the hockey canteen and ended up chatting with someone about marathon and half marathon training. We got talking about what happens after you've completed your first big race. He said something that has been sitting with me ever since.

He said that once you've put in all the work to build that level of endurance, you don't really want to let it disappear. You've worked too hard for it. So you keep entering races, not necessarily because you need another medal or another finish line, but because having something in the diary gives you a reason to keep training. 

I drove home thinking about that conversation and realised that's exactly what this challenge has become for me. Yes, I am running 95 kilometres in July because I want to raise money for the Heart Foundation in memory of Dad. But it's also become the reason my alarm is still set for 5.30 every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday.

Would I be getting out of bed in the middle of winter if I didn't have the Hills to City Half Marathon to train for and 95 kilometres to tick off during July?

Probably not.

Winter has well and truly arrived in South Australia. The mornings are dark, they're properly cold and, most days, the electric blanket is making a very convincing argument for staying exactly where I am. But I also know myself well enough to know that I rarely regret going for a run.

I regret skipping them far more often.

So in a few days' time, July begins. Ninety-five kilometres feels like a lot when you look at it written down. I'm sure there will be mornings where I question my life choices, mornings where I don't feel like going and mornings where the weather wins the argument for a little while.

But I also know there will be sunrises, quiet roads and that wonderful feeling of finishing a run that I most definitley  talked myself out of.

So, here's to July. Here's to 95 kilometres. And here's to Dad, who is the reason this challenge means so much in the first place.

Play on.

None of us know how many sunrises we get

On Monday night, I signed up to run 95km in July for the Heart Foundation.

Before I did, I said to Match, my husband, "Do you think I can run 95km in July?"

He didn't even pause.

"Yeah," he said. "And the rest."

So naturally, I signed up immediately.

The truth is, I am currently training for the Hills to City Half Marathon and I have hit a bit of a lull. The excitement of signing up has worn off, winter has arrived with a vengeance and getting out the door at 5am isn't feeling quite as romantic as it did a few months ago. This challenge has come along at exactly the right time because it has given every kilometre a purpose.

The other reason I signed up is my dad.

Dad died suddenly from a heart attack while we were on a family holiday in Bali in 2014. He was 66 years young. I'm 46 now, which means I'm only twenty years younger than he was when he died, and if I'm honest, that feels a lot closer than it used to.

There was something clearly wrong that morning. Dad being Dad, he shrugged it off. He didn't want to make a fuss or worry anyone. Twelve years later, I still think about that day more often than I probably admit. My mind wanders into all the different versions of how it could have unfolded. What if we'd been home? What if he'd gone to hospital earlier? What if we'd recognised that something was really wrong?

The reality is that none of us get the answers to those questions. Grief is funny like that. It leaves little gaps that your mind keeps trying to fill, even years later.

One of the unexpected gifts running has given me is time to think about those things. Not in a sad way, but in a reflective one. When you're out running, especially early in the morning, there is nowhere else to be. No emails, no notifications, no one asking where their school shoes are. It's just you and your thoughts.

This morning's run was freezing. The kind of cold that makes you wonder whether staying in bed was actually the smarter option. But as I was running, the sun started to rise over the vineyards. The frost was still sitting on the ground and for a few minutes everything seemed to glow.

I saw meme recently that asked, maybe the people we've lost are up there somewhere, showing all their new friends the people they loved. They create something magical to show these new friends how we laugh, how we smile, how we stop a moment to take things in.

I don't know if that's true.

What I do know is that when I see a sunrise like that, I often think about Dad. I think about the things he has missed, but I also think about the things I still get to experience. Another winter morning. Another run. Another sunrise.

What a privilege that is.

This July I'm running 95km for the Heart Foundation. I'm doing it for Dad, for my kids, for my own health and for every family whose life has been touched by heart disease.

To everyone who has donated already, thank you. Your generosity has genuinely blown me away.