Category: Races

White Rose Ultra 2015

17/12/2015

White Rose Ultra 2015 was my second solo ‘ultra distance’ event. Having place third female at TrailBlaster12 on Summer Solstice this year, running 59 miles in just under 12 hours, it hadn’t seemed a big deal in July to register for the mid-distance race from the 30, 60 or 100 mile White Rose options. For various reasons however, in the weeks leading up to the 1st of November, I began to doubt that my fitness was where I’d like it to be to comfortably meet those miles. Knowing also that I was the only one of five friends who was planning to go out for a second 30 mile lap, (thus also waiving the offer of a lift back to a warm bed for the night), and that I had to spend the rest of the next week packing to move house and start a new job, I had pretty much already decided it would be wise to drop back to the 30 mile run. Come the excitement of race day morning however, and the welcome boost of some unseasonably beautiful weather over the stunning Yorkshire countryside, I had started to have third-thoughts about distance… Maybe I could do the 60 miles after all! On one hand, I might be described as ‘untrained’, but on the other, I may discover myself to be simply ‘well rested’. As it turned out, I did indeed decide to stop after one 30 mile lap, though this was eventually for completely different reasons to those I had anticipated.

Ready to go from Race HQ!

The race HQ was in what appeared to be some converted barn or warehouse buildings down a series of rambling country lanes. It’s lucky I knew a few other people running and had been offered a lift as I’m really not sure how I would have got there by public transport. The registration was straightforward and seemed well organised. The ‘secure storage’ however, was really just an office (which had apparently doubled as a bedroom for some of the 100 mile runners who set off at midnight) and I was happy to trust it but I’m not convinced it was really all that ‘secure’.

Having found a quiet looking corner to dump my stuff and have a final faff about, I was ready to go. I started to queue for one of the two ‘women only’ portaloos but was short on time so decided I’d just use a bush when the time came and headed on up to the start. I think there was some kind of briefing but I didn’t hear any of it; one minute we were strolling up a path and the next minute the people in front had started running! We set off on time however, bang on 8am.
The main difference I expected between White Rose Ultra and my experience at TrailBlaster12 was not the miles per se but the method of encountering them. The focus of TrailBlaster12 was the time period; 8am to 8pm and as many 5km laps of a country park in Burnley as you fancied in those hours. With White Rose, I’d have to commit to more than time on my feet; I actually had to cover a set distance. As such, I’d also have to carry all I needed. Though it was advertised that there would be aid stations every 5 miles, I’d still have to carry all the minimum kit; the waterproofs, space blanket, whistle, torch etc. After a bad experience last year of trying to run with a back pack designed for hiking and ending up with blisters on the back of my neck, I had treated myself to a rather snazzy Salomon running bag (with a built in hydration bladder and a whistle!). I’d started getting used to running with this in the summer though so I felt fairly confident about that. Once I’d packed it for the day however, I almost removed the water bladder and trusted to the aid stations as it seemed too heavy, but by the time I’d put it on my back and adjusted it properly, it was actually barely noticeable. It transpired that there was no kit check so perhaps I could have got away without carrying so much but it was probably wise to comply!

The fuel stops were roughly every 5 miles as promised and pretty well stocked with various sweet and savoury snacks as well as water. With the unpredictably warm weather (I understand it went up to 22 degrees in some parts of the UK and I could well believe it was at least 20 in Marsden!) the water was very much needed. Unfortunately, the stop just after 21 miles had run out when I arrived, so I was ultimately very glad I hadn’t trusted to them and had my own supply. At the top of an incredibly scenic but relatively steep path, in surprisingly strong sunlight, there were more than a few parched looking runners who were waiting anxiously for a fresh supply to arrive by van. Thankfully, I was able to snatch a handful of crisps to replace some sweated salts and just get on with it!

A photographic pit stop at mile 10!

The other critical difference between the natures of the short or longer distance lapped course was the navigation. Once you’ve gone round a 3 mile loop a couple of times, especially one that’s very well marshalled, you’re not realistically going to get lost. If, however, you do you’re never going to be more than a couple of km from the race HQ. Not so with a course that’s ten times the distance. I had studied the route map to a degree but being unfamiliar with the area I found it difficult to translate an abstract map in to an objective landscape, especially when halfway up a hill in the middle of nowhere. We’d been promised a well signposted course, and, to be fair, a lot of effort must have gone in to providing consistent arrows and markers over such a distance. There were one or two marshals about too and, fortuitously, some very helpful spectators who put me right a couple of times when I’d either had too much faith in the confused runners ahead of me or was about to go a bit wrong for myself. If I were to give some signposting feedback to the organisers, I’d suggest a bit more consistency in the signage (the arrows varied in colour and size which left me wondering from time to time if that was a current marker I was about to follow or simply one left from a previous event) and, if possible making them a little bigger. I found I quite often only spotted them after I’d already guessed the way based on something like the number of muddy footprints going round a corner! Whilst I accept a degree of complacency on my part in having gone ‘I’ll just follow the signs, it’ll be fine’, without having done more to plan for navigating the course, I clearly wasn’t the only one. One friend accidentally added two miles to her route having got lost and there were a lot of other people who were very vociferous at race HQ about getting lost too.

Nice day for it...

It was this, in fact which finally swung my decision not to go back out on the course having completed the first 30 mile loop in a little over 6 and a half hours. I had started off enjoying the run very much, and loved pretty much every step, even the fateful ones in the muddy, boggy bits where I finally accepted wet socks. This lasted up until around about mile 22. This was shortly after the aid station that was out of water and I had found the course running off the trail and along the side of one of those windy country A roads where drivers seem particularly inclined to take an opportunity to kick back and enjoy a bit of speed.

I felt physically good by the way, I’d got a little breathless coming up off the path but once I’d got my back to the sun I was fine. My legs felt springy. My feet felt surprisingly good. My brain however, started pointing out that the shadows were getting longer. It politely commented that whilst right now I was simply a bit hot and sweaty, as soon as the sun had drifted below the hills in approximately 3 and half hours, I was still going to be damp and getting colder. It reminded me of the three or four times a kind stranger had nudged me back onto the right course and questioned how many of those there would still be about in say, 4 or 5 hours. I started to imagine myself in 6 or seven hours’ time, running down this same road. With cars coming up fast behind me. In the pitch black. If, it suggested, I got this far without having already got thoroughly lost. I wasn’t listening to any music but I didn’t need to be because my brain decided Mussorgsky’s A Night on the Bare Mountain would be an entirely appropriate soundtrack. It was the day after Hallowe’en after all. I started to think about being cold, lost in the dark, out of food and water, finally finding my way back to race HQ long after any form of public transport had finished for a Sunday night. Maybe, I wondered, I could find a similarly paced runner going out for lap two at the same time as me who was a bit more confident with the navigation and wouldn’t mind a run-buddy. Though I’d have already done the course once, it wasn’t exactly straightforward and would be a whole different challenge in the dark. Daylight, or lack thereof, had been far from my mind in the long summer days when I had signed up for the race and ironically, the only thing I’d thought about the November date was that it might be a bit cold. I do have some experience of running in the dark having completed a 10km trail lap for my team at TR24 this year. I did quite enjoy it but I hadn’t felt at any risk of getting lost and still there were one or two times where I found the moving shadows cast by the head torch quite disorientating. Sometimes experience can make us more confident to do something but I think in this case it rather went the other way.
I started to not enjoy the run for the worry of all these things buzzing about in my head. At about mile 24, a few of us were just commenting on the pleasures of a downhill stretch (famous last words!) when we spotted the bad news that was a pack of irritated looking racers coming back at us. “Wrong way!” they shouted. “Turn around!” When I got back to the top of the path and back on to the right route, I was delighted to spot one of my mates just up ahead. I caught up with her gratefully. She’d already questioned my sanity in considering to carry on alone in the dark and was no less cautious when I mentioned my growing concerns. This was pretty much the point at which I mentally conceded that I would stop early and I realised I had made the right decision when I found I was starting to enjoy the run again. With only 10km of the first (only!) loop left, it was all suddenly over very fast and did all start to seem like a lot of fuss about nothing. It wasn’t without a sense of frustration that I called it a day when we got back at race HQ.
To his credit, the friendly organiser to whom I related my decision was keen to prevent me from dropping back to the 30 and was apparently quite surprised too. “I’ve had runners doing the 100 mile out there in the dark since midnight and they aren’t getting lost!” he encouraged me. Well, that was great, I told him but they must have been a lot more experienced and confident than me! He came and found me a couple of minutes later suggesting, as I had briefly considered myself, that he might be able to find someone to run with me but I’d already made my decision and was half way through a big bowl of piping hot mushy peas, allowing myself the pleasant anticipation of a warm shower at my friend’s house. “But I don’t want you to quit; you look like you could run it!” he pressed. Yes. I could have run it. But November the 1st 2015 turned out to be a day for a 30 mile run, not a 60 mile run. I’ve said several times to friends recently, especially to those for who the 30 mile option of the White Rose Ultra was their first experience of any distance over a marathon, if you can run 26 miles, you can run 60. After a certain distance, it’s not about physical fitness anymore, it’s all in the brain. I’ll be the first to hold my hands up; I was pleasantly surprised to discover that my physical fitness could indeed have done the distance but on the day it was my mind that was found wanting. I simply didn’t have the mental strength to take myself back out there into a cold, dark unknown and I don’t actually consider this to be ‘quitting’. Though it might seem a counterintuitive statement, sometimes it’s easier to battle on physically and subject oneself to all kinds of challenges and abuse than it is to accept a certain amount of weakness and recognise the point at which it’s a good idea for you, on that day, to stop. There’s a lesson learned. There’s plenty more hours in which I will run many more miles and anyway, as my mate said “I’m actually only going to run 30 miles today” is ‘still a pretty badass statement’.

This race report was originally written for and published by MyRaceKit.com on 22.11.2015. you can view the original here.

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TrailBlaster12; The Longest Blog for the Longest Run!

29/6/2015

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Just over a week ago, I ran in my first ultra marathon distance endurance event. Having spent the next seven days with my head reeling from the experience and being pretty busy with various other things, I've only just got round to a full reflection. It's a bit epic...

Following busy weekends at the UKRunChat training camp in Eastbourne and Liverpool Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon pacing duties, finally the scariest weekend in June rolled around. It was time for TrailBlaster12, my first attempt at anything over marathon distance, which would see me finding out how many 5km trail laps I could run in 12 hours, from 8am to 8pm on Summer Solstice round a country park in Burnley. Though I ended up being accompanied by a super-supportive friend which meant catching a lift, I’d already decided to camp as there was no public transport to Towneley Park for 8am on a Sunday.

Chips 'n' Curry! Yes Please!

Still, it was enjoyable to arrive at the site early and after supplementing my packed dinner with chips and curry from the local takeaway we went for a stroll around the grounds. It wasn’t until after I’d hopped on the round-a-bout and almost turned myself upside down on the swings that I realised being unable to run from a kids playground induced injury would be a bit daft, so we cut the evenings activity short and decided to get an early night! As we walked back to the tent, it was interesting to see many of the preparations for the following day, including the onsite physio setting up his gazebo. I noted with interest an inflatable ice bath; I never knew such a thing existed, though I commented that with the cold wind, gloomy skies and soggy forecast, it seemed pretty optimistic!

The morning started smoothly enough; not the best night’s sleep ever but that was only to be expected and I was at least well rested. A substantial breakfast and a couple of painkillers to be on the safe side (no, the pesky ITB still hasn’t totally settled down) and we were off to collect our timing chips and listen to the details of the day in the race briefing. There’s really very little of interest to say about this point in the day to be honest and that’s to the credit of Cannonball Events staff and their organisational skills. It was nice to see some familiar faces at the start though and I caught up with Scott and Nicola who formed the main part of the UKRunChat relay team and who I knew from Anglesey.

At 8am, on the dot, we were off. I had thought I might walk the first lap just to get the lie of the land but of course, with so much pent up enthusiasm that idea quickly evaporated. As I was planning to stick to the 4:45 marathon pace I’d been training to for Liverpool, a warm up hardly seemed necessary and I decided it was best to just get ‘in the groove’ as soon as I could. I was initially rattled by the number of people speeding off like rabbits at the first shot but the tell-tale batons they were invariably gripping soon gave away their alternative aims for the day; they weren’t expecting to be running non-stop for 12 hours and could afford a bit more speed! Shortly after we set off, I was delightfully unsurprised (I was expecting the pleasure!) to encounter Autumn Howard, an inspirational runner whose own adventures in the sport I have been following since meeting her at the first race of the Todmorden 5k series last summer. Her efforts have been impressive but strangely parallel to mine and this would also be her first ‘ultra’. We caught up for a while but she surprised me by dropping back to walk the first hill, telling me to go on ahead as she knew it went on for about a mile. Now, I had been expecting to walk at points myself but having eventually decided to set off running I was surprised that someone whom I perceive to be almost bionic was walking so early on. Nevertheless, we all have our own game plans and I was fairly sure our laps would cross again later when she overtook me!

And so the run continued without much incident, my fantastic friend seeing me over the ‘finish’ each time as I completed a lap and doing his level best to supply me with sustenance and hydration from the bags of snacks I had pre-prepared with notional times. Obsessive? Possibly, but I’m a teacher, planning is what I do best (apart from running and eating of course). There was almost a hiccup when I managed to miscommunicate my ‘please may I have some water now?’ requirements as I legged it through waving frantically on one loop and got a bit dehydrated but this was easily fixed with an iso gel and a liquid top up. This was before I’d realised how many people were stopping to chill out and refuel between laps at the impressive picnic table laid out by the race crew. I really could have done that but I was absolutely determined to keep moving until I had reached official ultra marathoner status at mile 27. With that achievement in the bag at about 2pm, I decided a strategic change of trainers was in order (slightly sore tootsie pegs!) and then awarded myself lap ten as one to walk in entirety as I contentedly munched on avocado and houmous focaccia sandwiches and tried to reconcile myself to the fact that after 6 hours of almost continuous running… I still had another 6 to plod through. As I arrived at mile 30 at a walking pace and a tummy full of solid food that was now beginning to require energy to digest, I began to actually doubt for the first time all day if I could really keep going until 8pm.

“Well…” I told myself mentally “You’ve already run further and for longer than you ever have before. It wouldn’t really matter if you just walked the whole thing now. Or stopped even. No one would judge you. Cut yourself some slack!”
It was also at this point that my stiffening ankles and bruised toes began to politely suggest that perhaps I had been foolish in overlooking the 'trail' aspect of this race in my training. It’s one thing running a gentle 4:45 marathon on reasonably flat (undulating at worst) roads and another thing doing it on a hilly, grassy trail. I’d not stuck to 4:45 pace either and actually did the first marathon distance in around 4:30. Not superfast… on a road… when you are going to stop at 26.2.

A somewhat familiar view...

Thankfully, I then realised just how bloomin’ long it takes to walk 5k. If you think you’d get bored running it, trust me, you’d get a lot more bored walking it. I picked dull legs up into a little jog, spurring them on into more of a trot and then finally back to what passed for running. It wasn’t easy though and I think loops 11 to 14 were probably the toughest mentally. I don’t think I really would have stopped but the fact that it was an option seemed closer to mind then than at any other point. I also realised that those who had walked the hill from the start (she’s not daft, that Miss Howard) had a good thing going, as did the runners whose nutrition strategy was much more about the little and often than my avocado sandwich feast had really allowed. Being flexible is a pretty important life skill in any circumstance but here I think it was actually rather critical. I abandoned the ‘sandwiches at X and Y laps’ plan and opted instead for snatched handfuls of peanuts and bites of banana at the food stall, stopping to drink sips of water and becoming far more relaxed about walking the hills. I also turned to the dark side. So much for real food; I demand ALL OF THE GELS! That only lasted for so long before I started feeling like I was at a children’s tea party, however.

I have long been familiar with the phenomenon that is the relationship between distanced travelled and the enjoyment of food. The more miles you run, the better it tastes. Fact. The inverse is true for gels however, the more you run, and therefore the more you try and consume, the sicklier and more revolting they become. I had to go cold turkey at about mile 40. No more pukey gels after that point.
At mile 42 I discovered that I can officially go for longer than a Garmin battery. They charge fast though and I was only naked for 2 laps while long-suffering friend babysat the re-charging device on an ancient laptop. Funnily enough, by that point I really wasn’t even that bothered that the data would be incomplete. At a shorter distance that might have (sadly) bothered me but given that it was inevitable anyway and I’ already clocked over a marathon and a half, somehow I wasn’t vexed by this. It did mean I totally lost count of how many laps I’d done though and could no longer regale the saintly-patient marshals with my excited ‘I’ve run THIS FAR!’ updates.

That's a fair amount of elevation gain, right?

And when you add it all up... (plus 2 laps) you get 59 miles and nearly 12 hours!

At around 6.30 pm, I judged that I had about 2 more laps in me. With the end in sight the common psychological boost kicked in and I began to feel really quite good. 7.15 and I started my final lap, determined just to really absorb every moment and suck up the experience. It was also an excellent opportunity to make sure I acknowledged the marshals. I know who faced the tougher endurance challenge that day. It’s one thing to jog on for 12 hours, gazing variously at the same 200 trees whilst being showered with increasingly supportive cheers and applause and fed regularly on salty snacks and sugary treats; it’s another to stand in one spot. On your own. For 12 hours. Looking at the same tree. And increasingly grumpy, sweaty runners. Thank you marshals. I don’t know your names, I don’t know your stories and I have no idea how you find the selflessness required to do that job but I do know that you made my crazy hare-brained idea of a good way to spend a Sunday infinitely more bearable by your smiles and your presence. If I had a hat, I’d take it off to you.

Marshals. You Rock. Thank you.

The official dirt!

And suddenly, there it was. The inflatable ‘FINISH’ arch that had lied to me an unknown number of times was suddenly telling the truth. What passed for a semi-sprint finish and I felt good. 19:56 on the clock. I’d been on my feet for nearly 12 hours. I checked around me. Yes, those cheers really were for me. I noticed my friend on the side, accompanied by another who had turned up, a lovely surprise. “Are you going to do another lap?” I was asked. “Haha, yeah right! No way, time out!” I declared.

How could I possibly run 5km in 4 minutes? It wasn’t possible that they were being serious, surely. My timing chip was cut from my shoe and disappeared into the bucket. It was done and dusted. I jogged (I think I jogged. Maybe I walked!) over to the information screen. 19 laps. Not bad. Slightly frustrating that I hadn’t quite made it to a nice round 20 but hardly lacking in achievement. “Why don’t you do another lap then!?” I was asked, apparently seriously this time. “Um… Because… I can’t run 5km in 90 seconds…?” I ventured. It was then that I discovered I really should read the instructions more carefully. The rules, it transpires, are that as long as you start your lap before the cut off time… it’s all good. And no, you can't try and fish your chip back out of the bucket. So there we go. For want of having been a bit more on the ball I could have done 20 laps. That would have brought me to 62 miles, as opposed to my clocked 59. Lesson learned. Still. I shaln’t dwell on it. And you know what? Not one single person has said “59 miles? Why not 60?”

Another lesson learned; scoff not at deflated ice baths. It’s amazing how your perspective changes on that one and no matter how cloudy or grim it might be for June there was little else I could think of that I wanted to do (once I’d eaten the remaining avocado sandwiches) aside from leap straight in to that puffy pool of icy joy. And boy did my leggies love me for it. Many, many thanks to Gary at GW Fitness and Rehab for that one! Good call! As my glutes, quads and calves relaxed (yes, really) into the cooling water, my feet decided to join in the sensory conversation with my brain.

Hell, yeah I'm an ultra marathoner and ice baths is just how we roll, yo.

This little piggy went to Burnley...

“Excuse me, do we have time for an ouch yet? It’s just that there might be a bit of a blister, and maybe a bruise or two, if you’d be so kind as to become aware of the damage, it might be good to take some action, such as, please don’t put shoes back on us. Also, would it be OK to stop running up that sodding hill now? Please?” So yeah. That’s what your feet look like when You’ve run on them for half a day. Well, that’s what my feet look like. The black toenails were historic, and from what I can tell from looking at other photos, I’ve really got off quite lightly!

In terms of recovery, the last seven days have been every bit as surprisingly fine as the race itself. I knew due to my sheer bloody mindedness that I’d batter myself through as much of the race as I possibly could but I was absolutely dreading Monday morning. This time of year is incredibly busy at work and there was just no getting out of it. I had prepared for the worst as best I could, scheduling totally justifiable student one to one tutorials instead of full classroom sessions and I’d even made Monday lunch before I left on Saturday but there wasn’t much else I could do. I barely slept on Sunday night, waking up almost every hour for toilet trips as my body tried to balance my hydration levels and feeling strangely queasy. Bizarrely, I had no appetite for breakfast (unheard of!) and forced down some Weetabix and a sugary coffee (I never put sugar in my coffee!) as the only things I could stomach. Actually, though I did feel a bit odd, almost like I had a mild hangover, Monday was not even half as bad as I might have feared. I didn’t get my appetite back properly for a good few days though and for the first time in I cannot remember how long I actually left dinner on my plate on Monday night! I suspect, the jiggling up and down whist simultaneously putting food in it just didn’t sit well and perhaps I need to practise that a bit more before my next long distance attempt. Aside from that… Not much to report at all. Slightly sore ankles (Yes, I should have trained for the trails) and a blister or two is pretty much the worst of it. A week later and I’ve now done 3 runs, including a not badly timed 10k race and I feel what passes for normal. The only thing I am aware of really now is that the Recovery Advisor feature on my Garmin has been reporting my recovery as only ‘fair’ far more than usual (I’ve rarely seen it ever say anything other than ‘good’). From this I think I can learn that my biomechanical recovery may well be fine but perhaps there are other processes, such as the cardiovascular that are still getting over the beating. Generally though, it seems ultras are much quicker to get over than marathons, a fact I put down to the reduced speed.

Without turning this into a novella, I think I’ll stop there. (If you fancy a much briefer and far more entertaining summary of the day by the way, please do look at Autumn's 'video diary' of the event on her own blog here.) So yes, this is ‘late’ in terms of my usually prompt blog posts but I really think I’ve needed the time to reflect fully and digest what was a uniquely exceptional experience. It also seems timely to reflect on the achievement as I begin my 35th orbit on the 29th of June. I’ve run 1,470.47 miles in the last 365 days according to Garmin. But there were two laps I didn’t clock, right, so you can add 6.2 miles onto that and round it up to 1476.67... So there’s some distance covered, and there’s some lessons learned and in a year where I have been required to accept many of my own weaknesses, coming to know these better than I really might have liked, I have at once discovered depths to my strength that I could never have known existed.

I am genuinely excited about what the next 12 months will bring!

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Thirty Fourth at Platt Fields 10k

28/6/2015

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Those regular Juneathon readers with a keen memory will perhaps recall that last year on June 28th, I celebrated my thirty third birthday at the Clumber Park 10k TrailBlazer. Having had a somewhat busy June 2015 planned out in the diary, I had been reluctant to commit to anything this weekend as I really expected to feel substantially more broken than I appear to be only 7 days after my first ultra marathon (and yes, I know I still need to do a proper blog about that experience!). As a result, everyone was busy, it was too late to register for any races and I was staring at a potentially solitary birthday with far too much in the way of baked goods all to myself. I'd have jumped at the chance to return to Burnley for the Pennine 10k but I had no way to get there. Home made scones and jam was to be the highlight of my day. Fortuitously however, I found out yesterday while chatting after Oldham ParkRun that there was a 10k in Platt Fields; the Manchester Harriers Platt Fields 10k no less(!), and that there was the possibility to register on the day. So Cinderella did go to a race. It was no PB, but it was lovely to be able to continue my rediscovery of running a bit quicker (as discussed yesterday) and gave me the time to ensure I came in at an appropriately placed position of... thirty fourth. What else?
And then I went to eat jam and scones...

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Juneathon 21st. Shortest Blog for the Longest Day.

21/6/2015

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That'll Do, Pig.

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It's the Final Countdown!

20/6/2015

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So here we go then... T minus 19.5 hours to TrailBlaster12! Following the last two days head-pickling in which I couldn;t decide what to do with myself for the best physically, I kicked out a slow 5k this morning to blow the dust of my leggies... And feel none the worse for it. A yoga class this afternoon, maybe a swim... Yeah. I'm good to go. Packed to the hilt with various vegan snacks, including, um, maybe about 17 flapjacks, avocado sandwiches, houmous, protein bars, soya milk, coconut yoghurts, apples, grapes, dried fruit and nut packets, fruity chews, gels, and I probably won't need to eat for the next week.

Four different pairs of trainers, space blanket, whistle (!?) running kit (and spares) for every possible kind of UK weather, tent, sleeping bag, first aid kit, laptop for mid run Garmin charge... What have I forgotten? 6 pairs of spare socks, a towel, toothbrush... erm...

ARGH WHAT HAVE I FORGOTTEN!?

Nope, that really is it. And tomorrow can bring what it brings. It's just gonna be what it is. I might walk. I might sit down. I might hop, skip and boogie. There will be bits where I laugh, bits where I feel like I wanna cry, mind games, giggles and blisters. goodness knows how many laps I'll do or at what speed but I do know I'm gonna have myself one helluva twelve hour running party...

and it's The Final Countdown!

It's a serious business this...

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To Those Who Have Just Rocked; I Salute You!

14/6/2015

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It was an early(ish), coach this morning for the hop over to pacing duties at the Liverpool Rock 'n' Roll Marathon, after a snap decision that if I couldn't have a funky red pacing shirt (Mine went missing in the post, sadly) I'd have to make do with a quick red hair dye job instead. The coach was perfectly scheduled and thankfully exactly on time which reduced any creeping pre-race angst. A minor blip when I arrived at the arena and the pacing team was nowhere to be found (they had moved indoors from the June cold!) was swiftly solved by a very helpful member of the volunteers coordination team and I was then absolutely delighted to discover that I was not the only 4:45 pacer! My 'pacing buddy', Nick, had also paced several times before and so I was instantly relieved to know I'd have some company as well as another, more experienced eye on the clock! He politely inquired if I minded wearing the flag as he had an ankle injury. Seeing as I was expecting to anyway and didn't have an identifying T shirt, I was happy to do that but we did agreed to swap for a bit if I started having the chafing problems I was expecting!

Ready to Rock!

The Pacing Crew! (I stick out a little less today!)

...And we rocked it!

Actually, I was surprised how light and easy the flag and strap was. The flag ended up being simply some laminated plastic on a wooden pole, nothing like as onerous as some of the pace flags I've seen people sport at other races, and way better than the hand held ones I've spotted once or twice too! I'd brought a buff to wear against the anticipated neck-rubbing, so that was no problem and the only times I even really remembered I was wearing it were the occasions that it gently tapped me on the back of the head (thought that would get annoying but it didn't) and when I had to dive into a bush. Getting in was fine. I almost didn't get out again, Thankfully, Nick carried the pace team on and no one got enthusiastic enough to follow me in, though I think I worried one or two of the 4:50's when I legged it past them to catch up!

The race itself was simply a delight and I really enjoyed the whole day. I never realised how relaxed the start line of a race can be, but when you're in the last corral, there's a distinct lack of pressure compared to the faster waves where everyone is desperate to PB or equal faster times. Everyone around us was instantly chatty and I got to hear so many stories, so many reasons for running and so many random facts that had nothing to do with running whatsoever that the miles felt as though they were flying past, despite the fact that we were at a slower pace than I have been used to.

Thankfully, Nick was really on the ball with time, and though I'd take a glance at the Garmin for pace when I remembered, I got caught up in conversations (and other people's speeds!) a bit too often and he did a fantastic job of reminding me to drop the pace when needed (Especially after the caffeine gel stop!). The hardest thing I found near the end, was when we overtook people who saw us and realised they'd not meet their goal times. From my recent experience at London, I know exactly what it feels like to see a pace team sail past, trailing your hopes and dreams with them! As much as possible, we'd hang back a little (we had some time in the bank) to try and help pick them up and I think we probably did help a little, even if they couldn't keep up with us for long. We did drop the pace quite significantly towards the end, so ran a positive split but that just meant we could help a little more towards the end with those struggling I think. There were a few people who ran with us for a good chunk of the way, who we advised, as they were looking so comfortable, to keep up their steady pace and not stick with us any longer as we were going to be slowing down in order to be nearer our goal time. I'm sure they did especially well and got far faster times than they were expecting.

The (Unofficial) Dirt!

After a dip in energy on the course between roughly miles 23 and 25, there was a bit more of a buzz as we approached the finish line, where people realised they were nearly there and dug deep for a little sprint. One of my favourite moments of the day (thought I've not even come close to mentioning half of them, there are just too many!) was the look on one lady's face as she saw me come alongside and realised what her time was. She grabbed my hand and we ran for it; I'd have loved to cross the line with her, but I had to send her off ahead in order to stick a little closer to my team. I did get a big hug from her on the finish though!
Obviously, the Garmin data at the end wasn't perfect (I'm assuming it's not a short course!) but it's absolutely to Nick's credit that we were as close to perfect timing as we were. The official result has me down as 4:44:43, still pretty damn spot on!

So what have I learned? Well, that I love running races. I love running as fast as I can and I love the feeling when I work for and achieve a PB. However, that feeling lasts only as long as it takes me to go 'so can I go just a little faster?' and that's not really very long at all.

If I aim for, and achieve a PB, great, but that's one PB and quite frankly, unless I'm going to invent teleportation, there's only so many times that can possibly happen, especially for a non-professional, almost middle aged 'athlete'. Running slower than my 'natural' pace is just as hard as running faster. It hurts indifferent ways, and I'm looking forward to reacquainting myself with the 'ran too fast' tingly sharpness that comes when you've pushed yourself as opposed to the dull, heavy 'meat leg' syndrome I get from going slow. Knowing I made a difference to a handful of other runner's races though... Now that's something I can feel warm about for far longer than any physical afterburn and doesn't seem to get caught up by the 'can I do it better?' doubts. If I eased the boredom of a mile or two with my inane chatter, helped shave off a few seconds by inspiring a mini sprint, provoked a smile with my stupidity (I felt daft but breaking in to a rendition of Kate Bush as we were 'running up that hill' seemed to at least provide some distraction from the gradient) or even just helped out with the blood sugar (I didn't want to take all those gels home again anyway) then that is time spent far more productively than beating myself up over the minutes. So yes. I love running races, not racing them quite so much. I love the atmosphere and the people and I get way more out of that than my own 'achievements' and I still got a medal!

I've also reinforced my belief that success is all about perspective. I've come away from this race feeling like I've achieved so much more than my goal, despite being half an hour slower than my last marathon, in which I felt like a complete failure. But then, if I stop and compare that to this time 2 years ago, when I was just beginning to train for my first half marathon, having completed just one race... If you'd told me then that I'd have just run over 26 miles as a training run for my first ultra marathon in a week's time... I'd have barely believed you and then politely enquired what an 'ultra marathon' was. I certainly wouldn't have asked you how quickly I ran it.

If you know Liverpool at all, this is where we went!

AND I got a medal!

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Salford 10k and the Last Long One

6/4/2015

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Clearly having far too much fun!

Last year, when I went to cheer on a friend who was running the Salford 10k, organised by Salford Harriers at the Sports Village in Salford, I might reasonably have guessed I’d be running it myself this year but I’d have been mildly surprised to learn that I would also have joined the club! This being so, it was with a sense of slight guilt that I enjoyed participating in the event as a runner while so many familiar faces around me got stuck in to doing a fine job of organising, marshalling, dispensing race numbers and the like. There were a few other Harriers running too of course and it seems many of them did very well with a podium position for the gents and at least one new PB for the ladies. I managed a reasonably acceptable sub 45, which I didn’t think was too shoddy as a chunk of training as I approach my London Marathon taper. I treated it as a kind of tempo session, with a slightly slower 3 miles home (which turned in to 4 when I got a bit lost by the River Irwell!) tacked on the end to help make up the miles! It was a bit gloomy but nice and warm; I even took my gloves off, as you can see from the photo, gratefully, if presumptuously stolen from the Harriers' website!

A rest day on Saturday then preceded a final Long Slow Run, the Sunday staple for many marathoners! Since the weather was so glorious, I experienced no temptation to hop on the treadmill and decided to head out on a route I last ran on Summer Solstice as part of the Longest Day Run virtual challenge. You can see details of the run that day along with a few piccies of the route if you check out the 21st of June 2014 blog post, but I’ll go so far as to share yesterday’s stats too, though I didn’t take any photos. I recalled that it was around 23 miles but I guessed it would be more like 22 as I’d got a bit lost trying to get on to the Mersey. Apparently not. 23.5 miles in the heels!

I’m not going to pretend the last few miles weren’t hard but that was due to two very identifiable factors;

A) I’d underestimated the temperature and ran out of fluids so was probably a bit dehydrated and

B) that pesky old ITB started up a good effort at niggling from about mile 18, possibly exacerbated by aforementioned dehydration.

There was a point, round about mile 20, where I was wondering if I should stop and walk, such was my ‘I’m getting injured!’ maranoia, however, upon deciding that probably wouldn’t really be any less painful and would just take a lot longer, I kept it up, just at a slightly slower pace. It wasn’t that sore… I was probably just being a wuss. I got through it anyway, my leg didn’t fall off and I still did the run on average 17 seconds faster per mile than I did in the summer, which was quite gratifying really as I thought my pace had got slower and my fitness had dropped since my training went out of the window due to illness over winter.

Regardless of the run stats, I’ve always maintained that you’re only as good as your recovery and so I was a little concerned how I’d be feeling, especially in the knee area, the next day. Thankfully, my recovery package of delicious (!?) soya protein shakes, foam rolling, saunas, steam rooms and compression socks seems to have been at least mostly successful and whilst I’ll not pretend I haven’t got slightly heavy and achy legs today, and yes, I can feel it in the iliotibial band, I certainly don’t appear to have injured myself. Woo hoo! Let the taper commence!

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Trimpell 20

24/3/2015

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The main feature of this weekend was Lancaster Race Series’ Trimpell 20 on Sunday. I had actually tried to participate in this last year, however a diary error resulting in a swift U turn on the M…something… and a subsequent clash with another 2014 commitment meant I never did. As such, when I was offered a place as a consolation prize for coming almost-sort-of-but-not third lady on the Lancaster Half Marathon in November (you can read more here on the trials and tribulations of gun versus chip times and the subsequent pitfalls!), I jumped (or ran for) the chance.

As is not uncommon however, both days of my weekend featured running and I enjoyed a slightly more sedentary stroll around the Manchester Run Expo on Saturday. Highlights included catching up with the UK Run Chat guys as well as a (far too brief) ‘hello!’ to Ira Rainey, saying thanks to Joel Enoch at Clif Bar for his nutritional advice in November, which does indeed seem to have made a difference, and waving quickly at fellow Salford Harrier John of Cannonball Events, who introduced a talk from Ultra Runner David Moretta. As David will also be competing in this summer’s TrailBlaster12, I was keen to grab him for a quick question at the end… What do I need to do differently in my marathon training to prepare for my first ultra? Of course I say ‘also competing’ as if I myself will be competing… No, I shall be content to plod round as many 5k loops as I can in the 12 hour race whilst experimenting with exactly what happens to my body and mind as I do so. I’m sure Dave will lap me several times as he bashes miles out of my sorry arse. Self deprecating predictions aside, I was absolutely delighted with his reply to my query…
“Are you following a training plan at the moment?” he probed.
“Er. Not really. I sort of deleted it. But I do sort of have a sort of plan in my head and I kind of know sorta what I’m doing, and, um, er…” I shamefully trailed off.
“Good!” he replied enthusiastically, “I never have done!” before advising that the best thing to do was eat healthily and ‘run happy’. Now that’s advice I can get with and coming from a world record holder in distance running, it’s pretty presumptuous to argue with it! Nothing like someone telling you that what you’re already doing is the best course of action to give you a boost. Selfie High Five for Me!

Of course, the other good thing about running trade shows is that you don’t need to pack lunch for the day as you know you can fill up on free samples of energy bars, protein snacks and iso gels. Yummy. Unfortunately, it would appear that one of my fellow freebie vultures had mucky claws in one of the lavish, oaty platters and come 11pm I was experiencing the effects of some kind of mild but nonetheless pressing food poisoning. Great. Only 12 hours ‘til race day! Not the best start to a 20 miler, Imodium notwithstanding.

Apparently this is what happens when you try and do 'Rock Hands' at mile 19 of 20 with mild food poisoning... Honest!

As such, it was with grim amusement that I collected my number 13 race bib a few hours later! Steeling myself with the assertion that ‘what will be will be’ and the personal conviction that a DNF (Did not Finish) is infinitely more honourable than a DNES (Did Not Even Start) I self medicated as much as I felt sensible, paid particular attention to my hydration levels, managed a surprisingly strong feeling warm up and set off humbly a few runners back from the start line. I’d already said Hi to the Awesome Autumn, who had her own story of success from the Lancaster Half with a stunning sub 90 minute Half Marathon PB that saw her win the ladies race and earn a championship place at London and it was a real pleasure to bob along for the first mile or so with her, finally getting to have a bit of a conversation beyond what can be reasonably fitted into 140 characters (We tweet, yo). That was mile 1 in the bag and barely noticed. I knew I’d not be running the whole race with her as her plan for the first six miles at ‘easy’ 8.5 to 9 minute milers followed by 14 at closer to 7 didn’t float my boat. Any other day I’d have been totally game for that, in fact as far as I had a plan, I had already thought I might plod out 8 minute milers to 13 miles, hit the gel and smash out the last 7, but really given my (in)digestive state, just getting to the end without major embarrassment was a target high enough for me. Seems I finally have learned to adjust my race goals based on how I feel on the day!
Because of that, I sailed on ahead with a new plan for consistent 8 to 8.5 minute miles the whole way. I find changing pace can upset a tummy (Well, my tummy) at the best of times and I really didn't want to risk it. So I hope my gel enjoyed its jaunt round Lancaster as it returned home untouched. Yes, it might have sped up my run but that could have been true in more ways than one.

I’ll stop alluding to poo in a minute, I promise, but just to say aside from a bit of gut cramp and the three necessary bush-stops at about mile 5, 7 and 10, I had a really nice run. The weather was absolutely glorious (too hot for some, I know, but perfect for me) and the scenery was delightful. Of course, as usual, I also enjoyed many mid-run chats, too many of which to list but each and every one of them as important as the others in maintaining that ‘runner’s love’ and community spirit that we all know and cherish. I clearly wasn't the only one enjoying the day either as I discovered when I turned to acknowledge what I thought was someone calling to me; “Sorry!” was the response, “I was just singing!” Fantastic. That really made me grin! I also had a chat with a gentleman who apparently recognised the back of my head (!?) from Stockport 10. I really must get better at remembering the people I've run-nattered to, it’s getting embarrassing. And that’s about that really (she says as she notices she’s already spewed out over 1000 words). Ah, but of course, not forgetting the obligatory ‘and this is what happened on the finish line’ story… During the earlier miles, I’d noticed two ladies in almost matching kit, one with neon pink and one with neon blue shorts, who seemed to be enjoying a comfortable chatty run… Approaching mile 19 or so, you know that point in a run where you realise you really have got it in you to get to the end without any disasters, I noticed pink-shorts-lady running alone. “How’s your friend?” I asked, “I hope she’s OK!?” fearing tales of injury or drop out but happily to be told she’d merrily sailed ahead, which is by far the better story! We chatted a bit more and discovered we were both London entrants, though it wouldn't be her first. “You go on ahead if you need to” I offered, happy in my pace. “I was thinking of saying the same to you!” she responded! Well, by the time I got on to the track for the final 600m, I did sprint off a bit, it’s kinda fun when you just ran 20 slow miles and realise you could still crack one out in 6 minutes… if you wanted to. Maybe I should have realised that at mile 19 but… meh. A medal, T shirt and a banana later (OK, 2 bananas but only because the doughnuts weren't vegan) and there she was again, but this time thanking me for helping spur her on at the end. Cue another sweaty-finish-hug. Ah yeah. That’s why we do it. It means so much more to me when I find I've helped someone achieve a goal than when I've simply plodded over a finish line for myself. (You can see Laura, in her fetching pink shorts, coming to the line in the photo below!)
I guess that’s why I was also rather pleased to be able to join a friend who is now trying to get back into running after a winter hiatus on a sunny canal side 5k when I got back to Manchester, though I hope my sub 9 minute mile pace could be forgiven! And that really is that. My first 50 mile week of 2015 in the bag (53 thanks to the impromptu 5k!) and I’m still standing. Incidentally, despite having refused to reinstate my training plan, I checked the Runner’s World suggested sub 3.30 target schedule for the week and I’m apparently pretty much spot on just by instinct. Running Happy, by Dave’s advice and life’s so much better when you allow it to be simple!

With thanks to Sprint Finish photography...

...and Simon for finding the pictures online!

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A Story of Running Happy

18/11/2014

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If you are a runner, you may be aware of the Brooks Run Happy campaign. I was recently inspired to write this little story up as an entry to their competition in conjunction with Athletics Weekly, in which they asked people what makes them ‘Run Happy’. I thought it worth sharing a bit more widely anyway, so it gets a bit of air beyond the bottom of the Athletics Weekly inbox! I’m not normally much of a brand groupie but I genuinely do like Brooks’ products so I don’t mind leaving in the mildly sycophantic references to my use of their shoes…

What makes me Run Happy? Apart from slipping on my Brooks Glycerin you mean? Well, a Personal Best race time is fab eh? You set yourself a goal, you train for it and you achieve it. That’s a great feeling. Let me tell you though, that ain’t got nothing on the warm fuzzy glow I get from the exchange of mutually supportive advice and encouragement that you find in the running community, be that face to face at events like Park Run or online through forums and chat groups such as UK Run Chat. And do you know what’s even better than that? When you combine the two of course!

Last year, during a long overdue catch-up, a friend tentatively mentioned that he’d started up a bit of running. ‘Hooray!’ I thought; someone else to run-geek with! What with one thing and another, (injury, work commitments, actually having a life, etc.) he didn’t get quite as obsessively into running as I am (to be fair, that’d be a challenge in itself) but earlier in the year, after spending a lot of time looking after his girlfriend who had been working through some significant medical problems, he got back into it and mentioned that she was a runner too. He mentioned that she’d gone for a run a bit sooner after getting out of hospital than perhaps she should have and once or twice, when I was feeling a little low energy, I remembered that tale of determination and it made me think how lucky I was that I could run, spurring myself out of the door on the residual perspicacity of someone I’d never even met. Fast forward to October 2014 and she and I had arranged to run the Lancaster half marathon together! Unfortunately, it turned out she couldn’t run after all, so I prepared to go it alone but (having now run his first 10k!) my friend, saying he knew how much it meant to have friends and family at a race in support, duly booked himself on the same silly-early coach as me, dragging himself from Manchester to Lancaster on a Sunday morning, just because he could. Having set myself a reasonably ambitious goal of shrinking my 13.1 mile PB from 1:37:11 to 1:35 or below, I was feeling OK-ish but also understandably nervous. Having him there genuinely helped me focus on what I knew I had to do though, and stopped me fretting or getting caught up in a bundle of nerves as tangled as the laces of a pair of discarded trainers! As we headed to the start line he passed on her texted message of support, saying “Smash it out of the Park!”

I’ll spare you all the ins and outs of the race; the guy I caught drafting me, the stone in the shoe, the lady who unintentionally paced me for a mile! Generally the race went well but there were one or two of those inevitable darker moments when your tummy goes or your brain rebels or your feet ask ‘WHY!?’ when I remembered that phrase. ‘Smash it out the park!’ I told myself. ‘SMASH it OUT the PARK!’ a little mantra that I timed with my footfall. I ended up bringing those miles in at 1:32:16. Definitely sub 1:35 and a time that hacked 4 whole minutes and 55 seconds of my Pea Bee! I might have achieved a personal best if I’d attended that race alone but I don’t believe for a minute I’d have done it by such a margin if I’d not had that support there on the day.

A couple of weeks later and the Run in the Dark series had swung round; a 5 or 10k run round Salford Quays (simultaneously with other locations in the UK) and the same friends had invited me to run with them. I had been pretty non-committal. An 8pm race on a school night? In the dark? Hmmmm. Not sure. Shortly before cycling nearly 8 miles home from work after a long hard day, already hungry, knowing that I’d have to get home, change, cycle over to the race, not then getting home (again) until nearly 10pm before I could even think of getting some supper… I was beginning to compose the ‘I’m sorry but…’ text in my head. Then, I remembered the story of determination that had got me out of the door before. I remembered not having to sit alone on the early coach to Lancaster. I remembered the ‘Smash it Out of the Park’ text and I thought about how nervous I knew they’d be feeling with the challenge of 10k after respective illness and injuries, this being only his second race! I remembered that, after all, I wasn’t the only one who had to get up in the morning and go to work so I mentally deleted the excuses and cop outs, changed into my trusty Brooks Glycerin, necked an out of date gel I had left over from my marathon training and hauled my lazy bum back out into the night. I found them on the start line; ‘what pace are we doing!?’ I asked, groaning slightly when told the aim was 60 minutes or below. ‘That long!? I want to go home for my dinner!’

If I’m totally honest, I did find it challenging to run a slower pace than I was used to and I found myself having to slow down a couple of times when I realised I’d gone off ahead. Still, seeing their grit and focus, as well as the support they gave each other, was well worth a slight delay in filling my tummy and of course I enjoyed the atmosphere, catching glimpses of a hundred other, similar stories of supportive runners barrelling through the night in their flashing armbands! By the time I shared in crossing the finish line on an impressive last minute sprint, I’d completely forgotten about my grumbly tummy and turned round to deliver a double high 5 as he came in just behind us (ever the gent, it was ladies first!). We hammered that 10k in 58:23 and his time was 58:46. I hadn’t really felt like I’d been very supportive, having grumbled at the start and finding it hard to stick to pace, so I was genuinely touched when they told me they thought they’d brought it in sub 60 because I had been there and helped to push them. The glow was palpable and I immensely enjoyed watching the realisation of a tough goal emerge through such genuinely insuppressible (if slightly sweaty) ear-to-ear grins! Needless to say I shall remember that finish line moment for years to come but funnily enough I’ve already forgotten what I ended up having for dinner.

My after-PB-glow at the Lancaster Half Marathon!

Meg and Guy looking equally radiant at Run in the Dark!

Running Happy, for me is the sheer elation that comes not just from finishing a hard run or achieving a goal but in helping others do the same. I have recently been inspired to complete a Leadership in Running Fitness course and am looking forward to helping even more people discover this joy by achieving goals they never thought possible. I hope to get involved in setting up local running groups for beginners and improvers as well as for a local charity that works with people at risk of or experiencing homelessness. I can’t wait to share how good running can make you feel.

So there you go. That’s what makes me run happy. Other runners. Other runners and the sheer joy they find in not just running but in sharing that run, be that the triumphs, the tribulations or the lack of toenails. That’s what makes me run happy. Well, that and slipping on my Brooks Glycerin of course!

Many thanks to Guy and Meg for letting me use this story.
You can also read a more in depth account of the Lancaster Half Marathon

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Lancaster Half Marathon; Chasing the Elusive Pea Bee

3/11/2014

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Since I ran my first half marathon just over a year ago in Birmingham on a grey autumnal day in October 2013, the challenge such distance represented shrank in my perception and as I recently reflected after completing the Oldham Half, what once seemed the biggest possible physical challenge has now become something that I might hop out of bed one Sunday and decide to do for fun. Having said this, there is a noticeable difference in the results compared to the race I ran when it seemed like a challenge and the race I ran when I did it for fun. Compare the times of 1:37:11 in Birmingham and 1:50:38 in Oldham. Yes, the courses are different but still… That’s the difference between taking it seriously as a competitor and having fun; the difference between racing and running. As I’d never bettered that first half marathon time and begun to question how well my speed and fitness was holding up since my successes in the Todmorden 5k Series this summer, I decided the Lancaster Half Marathon would be a good opportunity to test myself a bit. Could I grab that elusive Pea Bee?

I adopted a couple of strategies in order to facilitate this beyond what has become my ‘usual’ training week of short steady, speed intervals, cross train, cross train, hill reps, swim and long run. First and foremost I took the preceding week very easy. Not a complete taper but getting there. No intervals. No Tuesday track. A couple of steadies but nothing strenuous. That was my physical prep. Rest. I am not good at rest, it seems completely counter intuitive that to prepare for something you do less of it but still, that was the easy bit. Mentally, I decided the best way to kick myself up the gluteals and not find a reason why it was acceptable to just have a nice easy run was to start telling people of my goal. I told a few different running friends that I was aiming to PB, as well as the friend who came with me to the race. ‘if I can hit 1:35:00 I’ll be very happy’ I said. I also went back to using a feature of the Garmin that I’d not really used since the Manchester Marathon; the virtual pacer. I had found it made the run a bit more stressful to have something beeping at me when I wasn’t going fast enough and so I’d turned it off for an easy run one week and just sort of never turned it back on. To be fair, as I have become more experienced I’ve needed it far less and can judge and maintain my pace pretty well anyway but I thought it’d do me no harm to have a bit of an extra nudge. So that was me set, a warm up mile round the track at Salt Ayre Leisure Centre and there I was on the start line. I really wasn’t sure I could do it. I’d got used to running fast for only short distances. Sure, I could bang out the miles but long runs were easy pace only. Could I really maintain eight and a half miles an hour for 13.1 miles? Resolving to put negative thoughts firmly out of mind I recalled a well-timed Tweet I had seen that morning from Runner’s World on mantras. ‘I am running fast and strong’ the article suggested, and I remembered how a similar thought strategy had helped when I first broke 20 on an 18.37 5k and won first lady (2nd overall) in Southport. I took myself to what I judged to be a reasonable distance from the line so as not to get battered by those starting off at a rate of knots and settled into race mode. Note race mode. Not long run mode. There’s a difference. The former is a far more anxious place to be.
After a couple of miles, once the crowd had thinned out, I flicked a quick glance at the Garmin. Now, I hadn’t used the pacer feature on my FR620 before as I’d previously been using a loaned FR10 so I was a bit unfamiliar with the screen. 4.05 it told me helpfully. I was behind pace by over 4 minutes already!? Or was that ahead?

What are we supposed to be so cautious of anyway!?

We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Twice, it turns out.

Not such good news either way. I was either battering it too hard and liable to blow up by mile 6 or I was at a slower pace than I needed to be to even match my best time. It was at this point I decided sack off the pacer and ignore the Garmin. I felt comfortable. I felt good. I really was running fast and strong, not even just telling myself that. No point slowing down for the sake of it but equally, if I was going too slowly, confirming that knowledge might be the thing that mentally tipped me into a downward spiral. ‘Just keep going’ I told myself. Run strong in the rhythm. Keep this pace; it’s the right one for now. Focus on my goal, focus on my running form, awareness of breath and efficient cadence prevented me from fully appreciating all the Lancaster landscape had to offer aesthetically, though I was fully aware that it was beautiful scenery I was pounding through. I kept an eye on the miles clocking past, something I avoid on more relaxed runs, but this time I wanted to know, needed to know. How many more did I have to maintain this pace for?
Round about mile 5 I became aware of what I probably unkindly think of as a ‘grunter’; someone who is clearly working very hard indeed and struggling to breathe normally. Fair play like, you are arguably pushing yourself harder than I am but could you please either a) do it quietly or b) go and do it somewhere else. It’s a sure fire way to lose the rhythm of my own breath and lo and behold, my focus, my breathing and my feeling of strength started to waver. Worse of all, this guy was not working hard enough to actually overtake me. I pulled over to one side so at least he wouldn’t be right behind me, only to find he drifted with me, every time I tried to move away from him he trailed after me. I risked a look back and moved over again, indicating to him to overtake me. He didn’t. ‘Are you drafting me!?’ I demanded in what I hoped was a reasonably friendly way, of the rather well built middle aged gentleman who was persistently less than a foot behind me and making noises like an asthmatic pig that has just inhaled the truffle. For non-runners, ‘drafting’ is the act of using another runner’s slipstream to save yourself a bit of energy. Cyclists do it, birds in flight do it, but when you’re in a pack, it’s fairer and the idea is you take turns at the front. ‘Yes.’ He openly admitted. This surprised me somewhat. Not so much that he was doing it as that he was admitting it. ‘Piss off!’ I responded, by this point not bothered about appearing friendly anymore, ‘You’re twice my size!’ I clearly appeared too friendly for my own good as this admonishment failed to have any effect and he stuck to me like a piece of loo paper trailing a sticky stiletto. All this was using up far too much energy and I’d really had enough. After about another quarter of a mile I became more assertive. ‘Seriously, mate, you’re really putting me off.’
‘Just push on!’ he told me.
‘No!’ I replied, ‘I’m in my pace, it’s all good! I’m where I want to be. It’s not even that windy!’ Finally he took the hint and actually overtook. I was very pleased to let him disappear round a bend into the distance, clearly using all the energy he’d just sapped out of me to do so! I was even more pleased to overtake him again about a mile down the road. I didn’t see him again after that. Never mind, eh!?

Rock 'n' Roll!

Shcexy Photo Finish. What's the deal with those chops!?

Mah new medal. New PB is better though!

I managed to settle back into a reasonable rhythm and was just weighing up whether to use the gel I’d stuffed up my sleeve (energy boost versus potential tummy trouble!?) when my right foot started making that horrible clicky grating noise of cross country spikes on tarmac. Oh great. A stone in my shoe. Not causing me any physical discomfort but making a damned annoying sound. Worse still, everyone else could hear it too and as I carried out my usual unintentional habit of gradually over taking runners one by one, several of them turned around to see what strange creature was lolloping (or apparently hopping!) up behind them. ‘What’s that noise!?’ demanded one guy, clearly as irritated by my lopsided metronomic function as I’d been with Mr Grunt 4 miles back. I could only explain, apologise and get out of his way as soon as possible. 'Sorry! Stone in my shoe!' I called while overtaking. Another one down. See ya!
Then suddenly we were back at mile 10 (I say ‘back’ because this part of the course was looping back on itself). ‘Just 5k left’ I coached myself mentally, belittling the distance. ‘That’s less than 20 minutes if you push it’ Still wanting to be sure I didn’t bonk at 12 miles, I held a bit still in the tank but kept up my pace. Mile 11, OK pick it up a bit. Mile 12, time to push it. Back to the leisure centre, a half loop of the track I’d warmed up on and a glance at the race clock as I rounded the bend. 1:32:33. Bloody hell! So much for 1:35! Still 200 meters to go. ‘Sub 33!’ I started driving myself forward ‘bring it in sub 1 hour 33!’ Of course, that was gun time I recalled as I crossed the line and the Garmin recorded 1:32:18. Seems I caught that pesky little critter alright!. After being dragged back having failed to snatch my goodie bag and orange (kudos to the organisers for using Sainsbury’s carrier bags for these by the way, keeping it real, I like the style!) I located my mate (actually to be fair, he located me) and scanned the track for a particular runner whose race had been almost as far forward in my thoughts as my own. Autumn has been a familiar face at local running events and in the online community since the summer and we’d had a friendly tussle or two in the Todmorden 5k series. I knew of her (far higher) ambition for the day, to achieve a sub 90 minute time and qualify to upgrade her Good For Age to a Championship place at the London Marathon in 2015, something I didn’t even know was possible until she publicised her goal a few months ago. I knew how nervous she was and how much this meant to her but also that her last half marathon hadn’t gone quite to plan. I was confident she would do it this time but I wanted to be sure. I couldn’t see her but knew she’d have come in ahead of me anyway so after briefly thanking a lady with whom I’d had a bit of a ‘leap frogging match’ (not literally) for giving me a reason to push on at mile 8, I headed for a shower with just enough time to hop on the train back to Manchester. Running a race is like making a piece of art or baking a cake; the amount of time that goes into the preparation of it is largely unappreciated and wildly out of proportion to the time it takes to actually consume it, which means it’s often over in what seems like a flash!

I later found that Autumn did indeed smash it, placing first lady and securing her goal with a very healthy margin. You can read her own, far more concise account of the day. My achievement was only slightly dulled when the official results were released later that day and I found I placed fourth lady. Dammit. If I’d have known… What if I’d have pushed mile 11 harder? Could I have placed third if I’d used the gel, shed Mr Grunt quicker or not trodden on the Annoying Rock? Nope! Not letting the ‘what ifs?’ creep in! I ran strong, bagged the Pea Bee and didn’t hit the wall. That’s good enough for me. Of course that attitude became harder to maintain when a friend pointed out after checking the results that though I was 4th across the line, by gun time, my chip time (1:32:16) was faster than the lady who placed third. I refer you back to the decision to start ‘comfortably back from the line’. D’oh. Note to self. Gun times matter.

Nevertheless, it was a genuinely enjoyable day and I really couldn’t have asked for better. I could go on with more diversions and tales of people I noticed, runners I chatted to, the efforts, trials and tribulations that coalesce around such events, the conglomeration of personal triumphs and tragedies, the weight of ambitions, joy of Goals Achieved, distresses of Runs Gone Wrong. The cash raised for causes, the friends, families and marshals who all play their hugely important roles, the injuries sustained, the bananas consumed… But I’ve probably already taken longer to splatter all this onto your screen than I did to run the race so I shall summarise simply by thanking the organisers for a very well managed event on a beautiful course that has managed to rekindle my love for really racing as opposed to ‘just’ running. I managed to bag this Pea Bee back there… If you want it back, you may have to follow me to the next race because you probably won’t over take me…

Look what I caught!

Homeward Bound!

With thanks to Sprint Finish Photography for additional photos

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Glittermouse is a visual artist, educator and practising Buddhist who also likes a bit of a run from time to time. In 2014, she realised others could benefit quite a lot from her reflections on running trials, tribulations, triumphs and trip-ups… so she added another volume to her package of blogging adventures.

You can find out more and source links to other projects on the 'home' page of this site.

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