Kiran Ghandi ran the London Marathon in 2015 with her period, sans the usual paraphernalia to prevent anyone ever knowing. It wasn’t pre-planned; she’d trained for a year, race day came, and it arrived unexpectedly, as they can do. Pads and tampons and period pants and menstrual cups can bring a variety of discomfort and difficulty, and in all the worrisome problem-solving she thought about all the women and girls in the world who don’t have access to sanitary products, and thought sod it, I’m just going to run.
Bar one person who told her ‘with a disgusted face’ that she had her period (as if she didn’t know), the in-person response was positive. The online trolls had a field day, of course. I was touched to see her with her bloody gusset being embraced by her dad and brother, showing my own dinosaur lineage.
I remember once seeing a woman at the rocks who had bled a bit, and wondering whether to say something. I definitely felt concern for her, which in hindsight, comes from a place of feeling periods are somehow shameful and must be kept hidden.
I’m at the tail end of the menstrual journey (thank god. I don’t want to be negative about it, and I love my son very much, but to have to go through this sometimes painful and inconvenient bleed for 5 days out of every 30 for between 3 and 4 decades is a bit crap. And I’m fed up, because the perimenopause ain’t a celebratory last lap. So I’m putting it out there, in a less visible way than Kiran, but out there nonetheless.
I just did a 30 minute run, with cramps, bleeding heavily. I wanted to lie down with a hot water bottle, but I got out there and did 30 minutes.
Nearly there.