When did you finally know that you could anything?

When I went for my interview the interviewer asked me if I had a driving licence. I said no. She looked surprised and said “well you need a full driving licence and a car for this job”. I really wanted it.   

I looked her straight in the eye and said, “If you give me the job I’ll get my driving license before I start, I guarantee it”. I don't know what came over me. I wasn't even having lessons. I loved the interview. I felt really good about my answers and I felt really confident. I NEEDED this job. I was a single mum with debts up to my eyeballs. I was working in the local comprehensive as a teaching assistant and although I loved the kids and the teachers the money was crap.  

Having all the school holidays off was a definite bonus but I was barely earning enough to cover my bills let alone my debts. I was sinking further and further into the red. This job came up and I thought “well you’ve got to be in it to win it” and put an application in. 

A few days after the interview I rang and asked if they had made a decision. I got the job. I was ecstatic. Shit. Now I’ve got to learn to drive. “How much notice do you have to give on your job?” she asked. 4 weeks. 4 weeks to learn to drive and pass my test. No pressure. Oh well you’ve got to be in it to win it.  

I borrowed ￡500, booked an intensive driving course with the BSM and booked my test. I spent the next four weeks driving with an instructor 2 hours a day everyday and with a friend for another 2 hours a day. The day of the test came. I felt sick. I was so nervous. Everything was hanging on the next 45 minutes of my life. A new job. Old debts. I thought of my little boy. Our survival depended on how I performed behind the wheel for the next half an hour.  

I took a deep breath. I was determined not to cry. This day had been coming for three years. We stood outside the school waiting for Arthur's very first day. He stood there in his little red jumper. I knew it was coming yet I still didn't feel prepared for it. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I bit down on my lip hard to pinch back the tears. Here was my last baby. In school uniform. A little red jumper. Already. How had that happened? Where did the last three years go? I felt a pang of sadness. My baby isn't a baby anymore. What does this mean for me? I thought about my first son. His baby years felt so far away now. I struggled to remember how I felt on his first day at school 17 years ago. Here I was again. Who am I if I don't have a baby anymore? Who am I if my baby doesn't need me? Who am I if no one needs me? Part of me secretly hoped that Arthur with his little red jumper would refuse to go in. That he would turn and reach up to me. We gathered in the school yard. Me, Arthur’s Dad and Arthur. In his little red jumper. The school door opened. 

I stood and took in the crowd. I was at the start line of what I knew was going to be the hardest marathon of my life. 26.2 miles through Snowdonia. With a back injury that was worsening with every step, I knew I shouldn't be running this marathon but I’d chickened out two years in a row. I couldn’t lose face. All my family and friends knew I had entered. They also knew that I’d bailed the previous two times. On those occasions the mind monkeys had won and I hadn't made it to the starting line. 

Months and months of training, hardwork and determination had been leading me to this place, on this day. I was meant to be here. I knew that if I could do this I could do anything. Through those miles and months of training my mantra had become “it is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves”. I told myself this over and over again until I was utterly convinced I could and would do it. I knew deep down I could do it. I just had to believe. “It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves” A thick meaty ball of anxiety sat in my gut. The gun went off and the crowd of runners started pushing forward.  

We. Were. Off. Mile 1. Loosening up. My body is cottoning on to the fact that we are doing this right now. Mile 2. Breathing harder, my brain screaming “what if you can't do this?’. Mile 3 legs moving rhythmically. We are doing this now. I count down the miles. Rolling hills and endless green. Winding, rising roads that fall away at the brow. Mile 6 to 8 I am running alongside a swollen, slow moving river. It is as determined as I am. Nothing can alter its course. The river is running toward its final destination, a great expanding ocean and it will not be stopped. I am that river and I am moving forward pulled by an invisible force. 

As the miles and the hours tick by, darkness creeps over the hill and chases me down. As we approach the 15 mile mark a Safety Marshall tells us that we are in danger of not making the cut off. If we don’t make it to the 19 mile marker in time it won’t be safe for us to continue. My legs moved forward slowly but with dogged determination. The idea that I had come this far for someone to tell I wouldn't be allowed to finish was devastating. They would have to drag me off this course kicking and screaming. I wasn't going down without a fight. Head down I kept running. In the distance I could see the 19 mile marker. I only had 7 miles left. I was in single digits. What cruel monster would pull me off so close to the finish? I looked ahead. All that stood between me and glory was the Safety Marshall parked ahead in the middle of the road.

I had decided that if I talked to the driving examiner non stop throughout the test he would fall in love with my personality and not have the heart to fail me. I also repeated the advice my friend had given me in my head. She had taken her driving test four times. She was an expert. Slow and steady. Take it slow and steady. “Reverse around the corner please Miss Houston”. Slow and steady. “Can you just reverse park here please Miss Houston”. Slow and steady. I check my mirrors. Slow and steady. Stopping at traffic lights. Shit they weren't for me. Slow and steady. We pull up outside the test centre. The examiner checks his sheets. Flips the page and takes in the notes he's made on the second page. As he turns towards me and begins to speak I suck in all the air in the car. “Miss Houston you’ve passed”.  

The door swings open and Arthur skips happily towards his new classroom. The teacher holds the door open for all the new little people who will soon be starting a brand new journey of their own. In his little red jumper I watch him hoping that he will turn back and look at me. He does. He searches out my face and when he sees me I smile. I wave. He smiles and waves back. I march away from the school and towards the car. I get in and break into big heaving sobs. He’s going to be okay and I suddenly realise so will I. 

I swerved around the Safety Marshalls van and avoided eye contact. He calls out for me to stop but I double my effort and force my body to move forward at a faster pace. I step onto the final part of the route. As I step off the road and onto the mountain track. I know he won’t follow me. He is in the distance behind me now. He must have seen that I was a woman not to be trifled with. It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves. I go up, up and up. I feel my blisters burst all at the same time. I mutter every single expletive I know, bite my lip and keep going. I can sit down when I’m done. I make a silent promise to myself to never run again. As I reach the peak of the final hill I know I have conquered both the mountain and my demons. The sound of voices and a gathered crowd rises up to meet me. The darkness and the finishing line growing ever closer. With less than a mile to go I know now, for certain that I can do anything.