🏃🏼‍♀️A 16-Mile Run. With 3 kids. Are we mad?

Sweat, snacks and steam trains ahoy!

👋🏻 Hello, I’m Anna 👋🏻 An adventurer, author of six books and Restless Mumma to three small humans. Each week I write a post about adventure, travel, daily chaos and the inner workings of my noggin’ 🧠⚡️

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Hello Restless Ones,

I’m going to go right ahead and get stuck straight into the post this week.

Hit the play button at the top if you’d rather listen to it as opposed to read it (and feed the cat / have a bath / do a wee / take a walk at the same time?)

Thank you all for being here, as always. It means the world.

Lorra love,

Anna xx

A 16 Mile Run. With 3 kids. Are we mad?

It’s a warm Saturday evening and Jamie and I are walking through Castle Park in Bristol. Jamie is pushing Rocky and Jupiter in a double buggy and I’ve got Storm in a separate, single one. We have crammed the buggies with everything we need for the next 24 hours.

One packing bag is bursting with nappies and we’ve neatly rolled and stuffed clothes into another. Sun cream, sun hats and pyjamas have been squished into a mesh pocket behind Storm’s back, we’ve slotted bottles into a space beneath the twins seats and jammed snacks (many, many snacks) into any remaining available space.

We’ve just arrived in the city and headed towards our hotel for the night. Tomorrow we plan to run with the kids (two one year olds and a three-year-old) for 16 miles from the vibrant city of Bristol to historic city of Bath.

We’ll be following the path of what once was on an old railway line, now a trail reserved solely for cyclists, walkers and in our case, runners with buggies.

As we wander over a curved, wooden pedestrian bridge that connects Castle park with the revamped, trendy area of Finzels’ reach, I reason that it’ll be easy to find somewhere to eat dinner on the way to the hotel. It’s early, after all — 4.30pm — no one eats at this time except people with small humans to feed.

It’s only when I notice that all the pubs and bars are packed that it dawns on me. People don’t eat at this hour, but they do drink.

‘Errr, it looks busy. I didn’t think about that.’ I say to Jamie.

‘Me either!’ He replies.

‘Okay, change of plan. How about we find a supermarket and just get some bits and bobs for a picnic? We could do it in the park, back there?’ I say.

We aren’t able to get all of us, plus the buggies, into the small aisles of a nearby Tesco Express so Jamie stays outside with the kids while I go in and do a smash and grab of the shelves.

I feel the pressure of him being alone out there with three hungry bears, so I dash around the store like a madwoman, trying to consider who would eat what at breakneck speed, and throwing dinner items into a basket. (If anyone remembers Dale Winton’s Supermarket Sweep TV show. It’s like that. Only with fewer points for bagging a giant frozen turkey.)

I come out of the store clutching a bag that doesn’t seem to be capable of holding everything I’ve bought.

‘Get everything?’ Jamie asks.

‘Sort of’ I say, catching a packet of crackers falling out the top of the bag. ‘I think I got enough, but this bag is so weird! I can’t get anything to stay in it.’

‘Umm, that’s because it’s a flower bag.’ He says.

‘A what?

‘A flower bag. You know one, you put a bunch of flowers in.’ He laughs.

‘Oh god. I wondered why it was so useless!’ I say, and now that I’ve stopped wrestling with it, I can see that it is neatly shaped like a triangle, wide at the top, narrow at the bottom — perfect for holding a bunch of flowers. Crap at holding anything else.

We wander back across the bridge to Castle Park. The world around us is alive with colour and commotion. The bars all have their windows open, or doors folded back so that the inside is spilling outside wherever possible.

I get a waft of sickly sweetness as we pass a chocolate shop, the air fills with the smell of onions and cumin as we stroll by a Lebanese restaurant and then that’s overtaken by freshly cooked chips, burgers and beer when we wheel around the outside of a pub called the Left Handed Giant.

‘Okay, now I feel like we’re on adventure!’ Jamie beams as he looks around, and I can see he’s enjoying the energy. I am too. We’re only an hour from Gloucester, yet it feels wildy different. Ordinarily, at home, we’d be well into the dinner, bath, bed routine by now — and yet here we are, out and about in the world. It’s magic.

When we make it back to the park, we leave the kids strapped in the pushchairs for a moment while I unpack the dinner. The logic being that if I can get food laid out first, then they will sit neatly down next to it and we can begin a civilised family dining experience.

I lay out crackers (Mini Cheddars), raisins, a ham and cheese sandwich, a pack of assorted melon, two salmon poke bowls, a box of sushi and some oat breakfast biscuits with chocolate chips in them.

‘What the heck is that? Jamie asks, as I drop the last item onto the grass.

‘Brocoli and mange tout’

‘What?

‘Yes, well, I don’t know. I just thought that Storm likes broccoli, and we might get some veggies into the kids.’

‘What we just eat it raw?’ he asks.

‘Yes raw. I like raw broccoli.’ I say defensively and then I catch his eye and we laugh. ‘Okay, ‘Okay so I panicked. I have no idea why I picked that up. I’m trying!’

‘Dinner is served!’ I announce as we unclip the kids and plop each of them next to the feast. Rocky takes one look at the food and runs off to chase a seagull. Jupiter grabs a piece of melon and heads off to chase Rocky shouting, ‘Birdie! Birdie!’ Jamie goes to chase Jupiter and Storm hops from one foot to the other.

‘Muumuum! I need a wee! I’m just going to do a wild wee here…’ she says, marching off to a nearby tree. There’s a couple enjoying a picnic by the tree and the woman looks up at Storm.

‘Oh no, not there Stormy.’ I say, quietly.

‘But I’ll take my knicky-knacky-noos off so they don’t get wet’ she shouts, still walking towards the tree.

‘I know you will. It’s not that it’s…’ I chase after her.

‘And it’s on grass. You said I can wee on grass!’ She says, repeating the rules we have for wild wees, which, I’ll be honest, are pretty relaxed.

‘Yes, but there’s lots of people around poppet. Let’s go in here…’ I gesture to a nearby hole in the undergrowth where I can tuck her in and have her do a wee away from our fellow diners.

A few minutes later Storm has finished marking her territory, and Jamie returns with a twin under each arm. He puts them down by the picnic and they run straight off again to chase the birds. Storm joins in too now, shouting, ‘Shoooo! Shoooo!’ and chasing packs of pigeons into other people’s quiet evening picnics.

I put my head in my hands and Jamie laughs. ‘You can tell they don’t get out much’ He says. Jamie takes off again after the kids and I stop for a moment. I look at them all, running around like wild animals in the August sunshine, squealing and laughing, and I exhale a slow breath.

I realise that I’m rushing through everything. I want it all to be neat, controlled. For us to have dinner on time. To get the kids to bed on time. I want them to have fun, but in a contained way.

It’s then I realise that, although this was my idea and not the kids — this is their adventure as much as it is ours. And although it’s only a mini trip in the grand scheme of things, for them — this is monumental. It’s an unfamiliar experience, to be lived and enjoyed, not a set of logistical hurdles to be worked through.

Looking again at the picnic, I decide that the food can wait. They’ll eat when they’re hungry. I take off to chase the birds.

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The following morning we are up an at em’ early doors. By 7.45am we’ve left a trail of saliva coated toast, drips of orange juice and smushed banana in the breakfast room, and are running away from the hotel. I’m impressed we’re actually leaving ‘on time’.

Having been awake since 5.30 am, it makes sense to get an early start anyway, but even more so today because it’s set to get up to 28C. I want to be finished before the heat of the day really hits because grizzly kids are one thing. Hot grizzly kids are entirely another.

The plan is to cover the 16 miles to Bath with three playground stops on route. The first one at five miles. Another at lunch by an old railway station ten miles, and then a final push to the finish line, six miles later at a big playground in Bath.

Even though Jamie and I have collectively run over 20,000 miles on our various adventures, we’re both nervous. It’s been a long time since either of us has run 16 miles, and never pushing three kids. On some days we struggle to cope at home — so to cope on the move is something else.

It feels electric to be underway. All five of us, in motion with our belongings, running through the quiet city streets on a Sunday. It’s like we’re getting a jump on the world because most people are still asleep. It’s liberating, and for a brief moment, I wonder whether it ever really matters to me where I’m going, as long as I’m going somewhere. I just like to be in motion.

Within two minutes of leaving the hotel, Storm announces she wants to run ALLLL the way to Bath. I smile and say OK, then get her out of the pushchair and let her run. After three hundred metres she declares her legs are tired and she wants to get back in the pushchair.

After then, the joy at being underway lasts approximately one mile. When we make it to the official start of the Bristol-Bath bike path, the protests start. I had assumed, wrongly, that because it’s early in that day, the kids would be happy to sit still. I’d forgotten that they have the most energy in the mornings. We can’t run for more than a minute without Rocky shouting.

‘Owt! Owt! Owt! He chants, leaning forward and straining against the straps of the pushchair.

Everything around him is so new — the bridges, patches of blackberries, people walking dogs, cats crossing the path — he wants to explore all of it.

It’s understandable. I’d want to get out too if I were him, but if we stop every minute, we’ll take three days to make it to Bath. Jupiter decides that if Rocky’s getting out, then she wants out too, and so she joins in on the ‘Owt! Owt!’ Chanting.

Storm, who really doesn’t like it when the twins get shouty, is now irritated. She moans: ‘Arrrgh Mum, this is sooo booorrring. When are we at the playgrooooound?’

‘They just need to settle into it’ I tell myself. Although there’s a voice in the back of my head that’s screaming in panic, ‘We can’t run another fifteen miles to Bristol like this!’ Just then, Jamie calls from up ahead.

‘Can I just share something?’ he shouts over the din, and I can tell he’s flustered.

‘What is it, J?’

‘I can’t run the whole way to Bristol like this.’ He says, and it’s as if he’s read my mind. Neither one of us wants the kids to be unhappy.

‘I know. I’m thinking the same thing!’ I say, relieved that we’re feeling the same way. ‘It’s early, but I’ll give everyone some snacks now… then let’s see how we go.’

Life is always better after snacks and soon things pick up. Every half a mile or so, we pass a series of painted patterns on the floor of the path. Swirls, butterflies, snowflakes, hedgehogs, and I convince Storm that these patterns are BOOSTERS!

Every time we run over them, they ‘help’ the buggies to speed up. For the following couple of miles, we talk a lot about the boosters. I whip Storm into a frenzy of excitement whenever I see one on the trail ahead and in between. I talk often about when we think the next one is coming.

The boosters get us into a groove.

It’s 8.45am when we arrive at Page park — a little off the trail and five miles into the journey. In my pre-trip research (always done in the evenings and usually with one eye on some trashy reality TV) I noted Page park had some of the usual playground stuff - swings, a slide, a roundabout.

There was also a ‘teen play area’ which sounded dodgy and looked dodgy-er on Google maps photos, but when we arrive, I discover that there is a whole other play area for little ones and it is LOVELY.

It’s all wooden steps and bark floor and there’s even a giant wooden sculpture of a bird.

‘Nice park pick Mumma!’ Jamie says as we let the kids out for a run around. And I bask in the compliment. I am often the driver of family adventures and so I feel a certain pressure for them to go well. That this park is better than expected makes me feel like I’m not leading the family astray.

We spend an hour at the playground and gradually more and more kids come to join in it so that soon it’s hive of activity. Rocky makes friends with a ginger-haired boy called Harry, who he follows around and tries to hold the hand of, and Jupiter (the daredevil of the group) shouts ‘Reddy steddy j’ump!’ before launching herself from any available wooden platform.

Storm insists on playing tag — which Jamie and I take in turns because it’s lots of running around and adds an extra mile to the day’s tally.

After a pit-stop at the park public toilets, we leave at 10am. As we take the first few strides back towards the bike path, I brace for my thighs and hips to moan. But they don’t. They’re feeling okay. Blimey. Maybe this isn’t going to be as painful as I thought it would be?

We pass the next few miles in a relaxed mood, knowing that it’s not long until lunch and after lunch, the twins will (hopefully) sleep the rest of the way. We stop more often, mostly to pick blackberries, and soon the kids are covered in blackberry juice and very content. So, so are we. As opposed to being on edge (as per the first few miles), I’m now really enjoying it. Feeling grateful that I get to spend my Sunday on a long run in the sunshine.

Jamie and I take it in turns to push the buggies, swapping between who pushes the twins and who pushes Storm. In a quiet moment with Storm, I take the chance to talk about a minor issue we had in the hotel room the night before.

‘Stormy, I wanted to talk to you about last night.’ I say.

‘Mmm Hmm?

‘You know when you kept taking the room key out of the slot, and all the lights would go out and then Rocky would cry because it was dark?

‘Yes.’ she says gruffly.

‘And daddy asked you to stop doing it, but you still wanted to keep taking the key out?’

‘Yes. I did it on purpose.’ She says.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘What do you think we could do when that happens? When Daddy asks you to stop, but you want to keep doing something? I ask, already applauding myself for my collaborative approach to solving the problem.

‘I know!’ She’s got to an answer faster than I expected.

‘You do?’

‘Yeah. We could throw Daddy in the bin.’ She says, nonchalant.

And that stops the conversation dead in its tracks because I am trying so hard to stifle my laugh that I can’t continue it.

Fully fuelled by blackberries, at eight miles run, we approach the most exciting section of the trail when it moves alongside an actual trainline, and then a big green steam train chugs on the past. The kids can’t quite believe their eyes, Storm shouts Mummmmmm!!! Traiiiinnnn!’ As if I would miss it if she didn’t and I am more excited than all family members put together.

When Bitton station comes into view, I am elated. The day has really started to heat up. I’m sweating buckets and am a few miles past being ready to face plant into a packet of ready salted crisps and have a sit down.

We can’t get the pushchairs through the barriers to a small playground opposite the station, but it’s a blessing in disguise. Because instead we find that there’s a small wooden train and a set of large deck chairs in a white-picket-fence area, right next to the railway line, where the steam train pulls in to pick up passengers. It is perfect!

I head off to get some goodies for lunch with Storm while Jamie lays in a deck chair and the twins explore the mini train. It’s one of those places where you can actually relax because the kids have a fenced-in area (winner) and they entertainment (winner-winner).

We dine on a mix of hot salty chips, sausage rolls, Pom Bear crisps and white sandwiches, and I feel slightly saddened that there’s not a bit of raw broccoli in sight, but I can let that go for a day, at least.

‘Oh, I am really enjoying myself’ says Jamie, tucking into a giant Cornish pasty and taking a sip of Diet Coke.

Storm makes friends with a four-year-old called Lauren and they sit in one of the train carriages, eating crisps, drinking boxes of juice and, from what I can gather from tuning into snippets of their conversation… discussing life

The Final Push

It’s just after midday when we roll out of Bitton station and now it’s getting hot. It’s 23 degrees but there’s a strong wind — which is great for keeping the twins cool while they sleep, but not so great for slowing us down.

The sun is now high in the sky and Jamie affixes a mini umbrella to the twins’ pram to keep them shaded — it takes some fiddling to stop the wind catching it and turning it inside out, but eventually we get there. The twins conk out for their post-lunch nap and I settle Storm in her buggy with a set of headphones and her favourite podcast ‘Silly Stories for Kids’.

And so then, Jamie and I just run along, one behind the other, in silence. My legs are aching, my right hamstring especially and where the sweat and sun cream has dried on my face and my neck, it has picked up dust and dirt, but I kind of enjoy feeling grimy.

It’s not often I get to be sweaty and disgusting for an extended period — that is the stuff of adventures off the past and so I revel in the feeling of being just a bit feral.

We hit a sweet state of flow and the miles tick by without me thinking about much at all. Which is crazy because on an average day there is a queue of thoughts, just waiting to burst to the front of my brain, but this afternoon there is nothing — just me noticing how the wind moves through the trees overhead. Listening to the soft pad of trainers on tarmac and the sound of my breathing.

‘I’ve decided that I quite fancy you when you’re running, you know.’ I call to Jamie, who’s running in front of me. And he wiggles his bum and gives me a thumbs up in reply.

I try to ignore the fact that there are some small inclines, and I do my best to avoid checking how far we have to go. But eventually, I peep…

We have made it 13 miles — a half marathon and there’s just three miles left. The twins are still asleep, and I realise that we’re going to make it. That brings about a sweet feeling of relief. And pride.

Storm, exhausted from all the playground playtime and socialising at lunch, has been sitting quietly listening to her podcast for almost an hour now. To the point where I keep checking whether she’s fallen asleep, because how can she be so quiet and content? But she is.

It’s only as we push the buggies up the short incline and into Victoria Park on the outskirts of Bath that I see her stretch her arms up out of the pram and say: ‘Mum. When are we there?’

‘Well, Stormy, I have some great news.’

‘What?’

‘We’re here!’ I say, pushing her into the park and pointing ahead.

‘Is this the end?’ She asks.

‘This is the end. We’ve done it. We’ve run all the way from Bristol!’ Storm looks like all of her Christmases have come at once as I get her out of the buggy.

‘Mum! Mum! This is amazing. They have a sandpit. And a massive swing. And a bus and a slide — OhMyGoodness. They have a bouncy castle. Muuum, can I go on the bouncy castle?!’

‘Of course. You run on down there, I’ll catch you up.’ I say. And Storm takes off down the path. I go over to Jamie, who has pushed the twins into the shade of a nearby tree to carry on their nap.

‘Well done, my dear. We did it.’ I say, giving him a sweaty kiss.

‘We did, didn’t we?’ he says.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I feel battered.’

‘Me too.’ I say.

‘And I like it!’ He replies.

‘Me too!’ I say, giving him another kiss, thinking that it’s lovely to remember one of the reasons that we fell in love, almost 10 years ago. It’s because, given a choice of how to spend a Sunday — we would choose this. Every time.

The sky is a patchwork of clouds as I wander down the pathway after Storm, towards the bouncy castle in the distance and I let out a deep satisfied sigh. It was by no means an epic adventure, but it was massive for us. For me. And I was so present for the entire day. That, in itself, is an achievement.

I have been very patient since the twins were born in getting all of us on the move. And I now feel a step closer to the family adventures I’ve always dreamed of — all of us together, seeing new things, moving our bodies, enjoying time outside.

Today, I’ve had a taster of what it would be like. It was challenging, but the logistics of actually getting to the start were twice as much as the actual effort of being on the move. The running was, sort of, the easy part.

Above all, I realised that in attempting to bring the kids into our world, into doing what we love, we moved into their childlike world of wonder, too.

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Need more reads (or listens)?

Here’s some faves from the archives:

The Overwhelm Episode

Mum’s Wild Night Out: Bike, Run, Home by Midnight

Friendships in Motherhood

Trauma Therapy, Part One

Identity Crisis? Joy to the rescue

Sea Air And Salty Lungs

Let’s go Sleep on a Mountain!