Last week was a good week. I would go as far as to say it has been a great week. Especially Friday, Friday was a great day. For the first time since becoming ill with Encephalitis I can finally say that I am proud of myself.

It was a great day.

Come to think of it, that is not entirely true. I can remember the first time I felt like I had actually achieved something since becoming ill. It was the day that I took my first steps. After spending 14 weeks in an induced coma I managed to shakily get to my feet and make those first steps. Well the ones I can remember anyway.

It was a great day.

Then there is the day that I completed the Great South Run. Just 10 months after being discharged from hospital I organised all by myself to raise money for The Encephalitis Society and ran the 10 lengthy miles along Portsmouth’s harbour next to my then boyfriend. As he dragged me across the finish line I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. I was so thankful for everything and for being able to get to that point that I could no longer hold it all in. As the tears streamed down my cheeks I realised then just how important life is, and how much I should cherish every day that I have been given.

This would have been even more special if my Mum and sister had been able to drag themselves away from the shops in time to meet us at the finish line. The Portsmouth sales are just too good to miss it would seem! Not only had I completed a close to impossible feat, under a year after spending 3 months in a coma; I had completed it not on my own, but with all the love and support of those close to me.

It was a great day.

This was just the start. One challenge was not enough. Next up was the Great North Run, and after being let down just two weeks prior to the run by my so called “friend” who was supposed to be running with me I ran through the torrential rain all on my own to finish my first ever Half Marathon. At mile 12.5 I was shoved over by some stocky guy who was desperate to get a good time but I carried on to the end with blood pouring down my leg and blisters the size of tennis balls. That said;

it was a great day.

Sharing these experiences with loved ones makes it even more special, and so came about the Plymouth Half Marathon with my brother. As part of my £2014 in 2014 Challenge we took to the Devon roads and with his emotional and even physical support (where he literally dragged me up the hills) I was able to cross the finish line just weeks after spending a week in hospital having a plasma exchange.

It was a great day.

Friday was a great day for a different reason. On Friday, for the first time, I went all by myself to a hospital appointment. All by myself. To anyone else this may seem insignificant, but to me it was life changing. I no longer feel completely reliant on everyone around me. I finally feel proud of myself.

It was a great day.