Round the Tor 10k: Lolly's race report

Ben: My knee injury seems to have come back with a bit of a vengeance, so my running has very much taken a back seat to my wife's lately. Over the weekend, she ran the Glastonbury Round the Tor 10k, taking my place, and she was kind enough to write up her thoughts for me:

This year started really well for me in terms of running.  Training runs got stronger as they got longer, and my parkrun times dropped below the magical 30 minute mark.  So of course, just before my first race of the year I got a chest infection.   Plans were changed, and I found myself watching the 10k on the Isle of Man instead of chasing a new PB.  Thankfully, though, the illness was shorter this time and my strength came right back.  Then the plans changed again.  Ben didn't think his knee was up to racing in the Round the Tor 10k, so it was my chance to go instead.

When I agreed to take part in the race I only really knew 3 things about it:
a) it's 10k
b) it's in the Somerset Series
c) it doesn't go up the Tor
The last one was fairly crucial for my decision making process.  The night before the race we looked up the course to get an idea of elevation.  I'm so glad we did.

Numbers were collected on the morning of the race as they had chips attached.  As a slower-than-average runner I very much appreciate any race that uses chip times!  We arrived at the Town Hall as other races were setting off.  Once we found where to go there seemed to be decent systems in place, but there was definitely effort required to find the right place amongst a mass of people.  Thankfully we arrived just as earlier races were setting off - any earlier and I suspect it may have been more difficult.

Saying goodbye to my support crew, I then followed the snake of people making their way to the start.  It being my first 'local' race I wasn't really sure what to expect at the start.  There were the mats for the chips, and then a couple of people holding a rope across to hold people back.  Not quite what I'd imagined, given instructions about who could stand in the first section.  I walked what I hoped was far back enough, and then hung around at the side until the start.  Which was quite a while really, as we got going at least 10 minutes late.  There were some announcements over the PA, but they were pretty inaudible.

But then there was a shuffle forward and the magic moment of running.  I started my Garmin a few paces before the line and set off at a very steady pace.  Very, very steady.  I got passed by a lot of people round the first corner as we headed down towards the Town Hall.  That was fine though, as I had a much longer game-plan in mind.

Not sure the girl in purple was impressed.

After the Town Hall, the course headed up the High Street.  Up being the key word there.  The support here was amazing - definitely boosted by the large gathering of parents and children waiting to do the fun run.  At the top of the hill I saw my husband and daughter, and started to settle into a rhythm.

From there the course works its way out to the edge of the town, including a slightly random out-and-back down a side road.  Slightly demoralising given the 'out' is downhill.  Around that point I caught up with a fellow running club member, and we ended up staying together for about half the race which was nice.  Once out of the town the setting changed to country roads surrounded by fields.  Taking in the views, I happened to look over to my right at a break in the trees and see Glastonbury Tor.  It struck me at that point that people travel a long way to see the Tor, and I was lucky enough to be running around it.  Possibly a sign of how well things were going that I could think like that.

I'd been watch-watching the whole way.  However much I tried to tell myself that any PB would be a great achievement, in my heart I wanted a sub-60.  So I was looking to keep my average pace around 9:30 a mile (to allow for me not running the optimal route).  After the initial (planned) slower start, I'd got my pace there and kept it until around the 4k mark.  And I'd overtaken a fair few of those people who'd sped past me initially.  Then... hill.

Ok, so it wasn't actually too bad a hill.  Mostly it was the weather.  The day before had been lovely and cold, but this was hot with very heavy air.  So the hill seemed a lot worse.  I passed a couple more club members on the way up, and the mutual support was a nice morale boost.  And the knowledge of a water station at the top helped to keep me going.

Even with the climb and slowing down for water my pace was still where I wanted.  Looking at my wrist at the 5k mark I was excited and nervous in equal measure.  30:03.  It was definitely on, but there was definitely still more work to do.  The rolling country roads reminded me of a recent enjoyable training run.  Somehow the distance kept ticking over and my pace didn't drop.

Around the 7k mark I saw one of our amazing club supporters at the side of the road.  Cheers make all the difference, and combined with another water station I felt ready to face the final stages.  After a little more undulating country road we reached the town again.  My pace had remained on target, and it looked like it would all come down to my time at the 9k mark and the shape of the final section.

Oh look, a big hill. Run around it!

I missed the 9k sign.  There were a few worried minutes, but after a while I realised that I must have just missed it.  Nothing left to do then but to keep up the pace.  What you really want to see at that stage of a race is a sign saying 'Welcome to Heartbreak Hill'.  Oh lovely.

The vast majority of runners ahead of me had slowed to a walk.  My tactic was to break it into smaller hills.  'Run to the red car'.  'Now run, slower, to the next car'.  The hill started to really get to me and I considered whether I'd be better off walking.  Then I saw my husband and daughter at the top of the hill and so I had to keep running.  My husband shouted something along the lines of 'I told you it was flat'.  I had better things to do with my energy than to make a rude reply.

Passing one of the race photographers it was then well-and-truly the last stretch of the race as it headed downhill back towards the Town Hall.  Downhill sections near the end of the race are always great for starting a sprint-finish.  The final part of the course was straight, and so the clock could be seen from a way off.  I'm terrible at judging distances and knowing how long it will take me to run them.  So when I saw the clock time started with 58 I gave it everything I had.

Another of our club supporters was cheering near the end.  I fear I may have hardly acknowledged him.  All those sprint-finishes at parkrun had taught my legs what to do.  Shortly before the line an exhausted wave of emotion hit me.  I didn't need chip timing, I was going to make it on gun time.

This was the better of the sprint finish photos. Honest!

 

Slightly overwhelmed, I stopped my watch a few paces after the line and slowly walked to collect my medal.  It was the shortest finish funnel I've seen, and it took quite a lot of determination to locate the water table further down the road.  If I hadn't been assured it was there I'd have given up trying to get through the mass of people.  The remainder of post-race treatment was better.  Once I actually looked at the medal I realised it's quite a nice one, which always helps.  The results appeared online in a timely fashion, and the official race photos were free to download, making the race amazing value for money.

On a personal level, I left Glastonbury with a slightly surreal feeling of achievement.  Oh, and a new PB of course.  I can now say I have run 10k in 0:59:13.  Yes, I've included the hours - I worked extremely hard for that zero!

Done it!

Isle of Man Easter Festival of Running 10k (2015): race report

Something has changed within me

Something is not the same

I'm through with playing by the rules

Of someone else's game

Too late for second-guessing

Too late to rest and be done

It's time to trust my instincts

Close my eyes and run!

It's time to try

Defying injury

I think I'll try

Defying injury

And you can't stop me now!

Roughly a year ago, I completed the 10k element of the Isle of Man Easter Festival of Running, and this year I had been looking forward to taking part in the full festival, including the hill race and the 5k as well. But this hasn't really been my year for running: prior to travelling to the island, I had completed 35 miles total since 5 January, when I picked up my knee injury. Normally, that would be perhaps a week and a half of training.

So, the ummm-ing and ahhh-ing started. I scheduled in a 5 mile run for the weekend before the race: my longest single run since the injury. It went well, but I still had doubts. After all, 35 miles hardly seems sufficient training for a 10k race. Especially not in such a stop-start fashion. On the other hand, I'd signed up for the Chard Flyer on 1 January, and had to DNS. I'd signed up for the Humdinger Half in February, and had to DNS. I'd signed up for the Bath Half in March, and had to DNS. And those were just the races I had actually signed up for. There were a few others that I'd pencilled in too - you get the idea.

I came to the following conclusions:

• I wanted to run the 10k race.
• Running the 10k race off 35 miles training was foolhardy.
• But I wanted to run it, dammit!
• Okay, well maybe just running the 10k race would be okay, if I took it reasonably easy.
• Hmmm... how about the hill race and 5k?
• Don't push it, stop being an idiot. Look, there are plenty of races in the next few months you can do with proper training.
• But they're ages away. Strop.

I decided to defer the decision yet further, and base it upon a short run once I'd arrived on the island. Coming the day after over twelve hours of travelling, that run went awfully, giving me the indication that perhaps I should follow my head rather than my heart, and give the whole thing a miss. Needless to say, the next day, my head was given significantly less of a say in the matter. At lunchtime I had that well known pre-race favourite: a burger and a beer. An hour before the race, I was still undecided, causing all sorts of strife for my in-laws, who were trying to work out when dinner should be. Sorry about that.

Inevitably, ten minutes before the race started, I turned up. Which was about the same time as four students from Leeds University. They had been scheduled to come over on the ferry, which had been due to arrive at 14:00. Various problems and delays meant that at 17:00, it was still in Liverpool. By this stage, the students had made a dash to the airport, and caught a last-minute flight over to make the race in time, the plane landing less than 45 minutes before the start of the race!

Race plan, mile one: Take it easy, particularly up the hill.
Race summary, mile one: Stood at the back of the pack for the start. Got stuck behind a group of slow runners. Sped up to get around slow runners. Decided I liked speed, kept going. Got to hill, remembered that I like sprinting up hills. Did so, passing lots of runners. Remembered that I liked passing runners. Watch beeped, 7:46 minute mile. Well that's okay, that isn't too fast.

Just under a mile completed, not looking too bad yet. Credit: Dave Kneen.

Race plan, mile two: Actually take it easy, don't get carried away.
Race summary, mile two: Okay, this is the last real chance to drop out and just go back home. That wouldn't go well with the wife and in-laws who have adjusted evening plans for race. Feel fine anyway. Keep going. Still passing people; maybe I should have started a bit earlier in the pack. Watch beeped, 7:34 minute mile. Hmm...

Race plan, miles three and four: Start taking it easy, it's been fine so far, but don't push it.
Race summary, mile three and four: Long gradual downhill stretch to reach the sea. Downhills are fun too, they are easier, and faster! Might as well let my legs free a bit along this stretch as it is downhill. Course then follows the coastal path for a while. Hmm... three miles is about as far as I've run hard lately. Water station: manned by only two people, who only have time to refill plastic cups, not able to hand cups to people. Grab cup, knocking most of water out of it, try to drink the rest of the water from cup, but mostly swallow air. Decide I would have been better without it. Prepare myself for uphill, but discover the course change from last year means that it doesn't happen. Worry about when it will. Watch beeps, 7:20, 7:24 minute miles. Sod it, I wonder if I can beat my time from last year. Hmm... I wonder what my time was last year.

Looking less fresh running along the coast in Port St Mary. Credit: Murray Lambden.

Race plan, mile five: A bit of climbing, definitely time to take it easy, let's just get to the end.
Race summary, five five: Oh God, my calves! Breathing fine, heart rate okay, legs leaden. Every step is a preceded by a small argument between legs and rest of body. Pace drops, but still passing people, including some of the university runners, which is a boost. Try not to be too silly, don't want the embarrassment of watching them all pass me again in a mile. Watch beeped, 7:50 minute mile; slowest of the race, but still far better than I expected at all.

Turning back to home, a rare decent race pic!
Credit: Bill Dale.

Race plan, miles six point two one: Sod it, whatever.
Race summary, miles six point two one: Okay, all downhill from here. Well, except that uphill bit at the end. Damn that uphill bit at the end. Oh, that's my father-in-law in his back garden. Oh, and my wife. (At this point, I think I went a little delusional: I seemed to come to the conclusion that because I was pretty much guaranteed to finish, I didn't have to put any more effort in.) I cruised down the final descent to Port Erin bay. Just the curve around the bay left, time to put in a bit more effort. Can't really be bothered. Don't really have any effort to put in anyway. Just keep running. People in front getting away, being passed. Don't like being passed. Should try to keep up. Too hard. Never mind. Get to finish, 47:07. Still don't remember what I got last year.

Eugh, shouldn't have turned down the offer from my father-in-law to bring me a hoodie at the end, it's cold. Thankfully, my amazing wife soon appeared with the hoodie, and even better, we then headed to the Chinese for a takeaway: clearly the best recovery food known to any runner.

Race analysis: Once home, I checked Strava, and discovered that my time last year was 47:00. I'd done that about a month after a half marathon for which I'd trained pretty extensively. Whereas this year, I was seven seconds slower, despite pretty much no training because of injury. So from that point of view, I can take a massive positive in my "base fitness" being significantly better than this time last year. Another positive was simply being able to complete 10k; it was a risk doing the run, and I'd genuinely started unsure as to whether I would finish. On the other hand, I do remain injured: when I'm running it's fine, but when I'm walking, or even just sitting down, my knee is sore. I'm planning a number of 10k races in the early summer after a few weeks of training, and hopefully that training will work as rehabilitation for my knee. Hopefully.

Brent Knoll: race report

In mid-October, I completed my second half-marathon, Exeter's Great West Run (you can read about how I did here), which was my last major race of the year. However, to end my season, I decided to book in the Brent Knoll race. Brent Knoll is a 137 metres (449 feet) high hill a couple of miles from Burnham-on-Sea. Apparently, one of King Arthur's knights, "Ider son of Nuth", went to the hill on a quest to slay three giants. Or so says Wikipedia. While I didn't spot any giants, I can report that the hill itself certainly felt like a giant one!

The race started at a very sociable time: 11:30. I know that it isn't really a practical time to start a summer race, but at this time of the year, I certainly appreciated the later start. I travelled up on my own, and didn't know of anyone else doing the race, but as I was idling around waiting for everything to get going, I heard a cry of "Ben". I ignored it. Yes, I'm called Ben, and yes, that's what was shouted, but I just assumed it was for someone else. When the shout was repeated, louder, I decided to pay some attention, and saw Rob, Kerry, Chris, Eliza and Louise from my running club!

Louise, Eliza, Chris and me, looking very
clean prior to the race. (Photo credit: Rob Murr)

After posing for a few photos, we headed off to the start line, where I saw a fellow parkrunner, Andy, and had a quick chat to him. Before we knew it though, the (pretty quiet) announcer at the start called 3-2-1-Go, and we shot off. Knowing that Andy tends to beat me at parkrun, I let him ahead of me, but then stuck pretty close behind him. At least, I did until I saw him hopping out of a muddy puddle: his shoe had come off! The route, which heads out from Burnham to Brent Knoll, is flat for the first mile and a half, which I completed in about 7:30 min/mile. The subsequent mile and a half was done at about 10:50 min/mile. That mile and a half included the two significant hill climbs.

The first climb was the smaller of the two, but the terrain made it, in my opinion, much the harder. It was the slowest part of the race, and there were a couple of points that I was genuinely on my hands and feet, scrambling for some, any, sort of grip. More than once a fistful of grass stopped me from slipping back down the slope. To add to the chaos, everyone had their own idea of which route was the best, and this resulted in mass of bodies all frantically trying to just reach the top. Despite my worries that it would only take one overeager person near the top to slip and take us all out, the climb was eventually completed, and the course levelled back out for a while.

I would love to say that the level section allowed me to regain my energy and breath to attack the second hill. Actually, I just ran like a mad person to try and make up for the "time lost" scrambling up the hill, and as a result I slowed to a walk almost as soon as the second incline began. The footing was much better this time though, and after a while there were even steps. Oh, the luxury. Despite this, no one around me looked to even be contemplating running, and I certainly wasn't going to be the only idiot! But on reaching the top, the first stride off the step was back into a run. No time to stop and admire the wondrous views, ya know, this is a race!

Okay, I did have a glance around and take in what I could, and it was stunning, but I certainly didn't have the time to do it justice. A quick half loop of the top, and we were heading back down again. For this section of the race I have to thank the chap in front of me, who demonstrated an effective technique which I shamelessly copied. I'm sure all fell runners are aware of it, but it is essentially to continue to lean slightly forwards, and to zig-zag down the hill. The pair of us passed a number of runners as we descended. In the back of my mind, the next descent was starting to loom large: I'd struggled to scramble up it, how the heck was I going to safely get down it?!

Well, as it turns out, with a commando roll.

My mind began to buzz about the hill as we approached it: I didn't know how people would be attempting it: crawling back down, scrambling, sliding? It turned out, just running. The runner who was now in front of me (not the downhill expert) lost his footing at one point and slid a couple of metres on his bum, and then in the same place, my foot went completely from under me. I have little recollection of exactly how I rolled, but the mud was on my elbow, back and bum. Thankfully, after one roll I was back on my feet, and still running down the hill at pace. Amazingly too, I'm bruise-free!

With that descent safely (ish) navigated, it was just the level slog back to the start/finish, though by this stage, my legs were feeling decidedly tired! With just over a mile to go I was passed by another runner, and after a short argument, I convinced my legs to speed up a little and keep pace with him. I essentially dragged myself along behind him, and then, like the bastard that I am, I found that little bit extra and passed him in a sprint finish.

In fact, I was then told off by Rob and Kerry, as I'd ruined their photos by running too fast. They suggested that I go back and do the finish again to get better ones. I demurred.

I finished with a time of 51:11, which was probably faster than I was expecting to go, although the conditions were probably better than in the past couple of years, which I'd used as my benchmark for times. Andy came in about a minute after me, having lost his shoe twice more during the race: possibly tighter lacing is needed! I was surprised, but pleased, to receive a finisher's medal, as I hadn't seen anything about one in the race information!

So, it might have seemed mad to make my celebratory end of season race a muddy hill climb, but all in all, I had a great time, and will probably be back again next year!

Exeter's Great West Run: race report

After completing the challenge of running my first half-marathon earlier this year at Silverstone, I knew I wanted to do an autumn half as well. Realistically, I had three choices: Cardiff, Bristol or the Great West Run. Cardiff and Bristol are both flat, fast courses, while the Great West, being in Exeter, is on the hilly side. I chatted to a few people, and after enjoying a few undulating 10k courses, decided to go for the Great West Run.

Oh my God, why?

Okay, okay, it wasn't actually that bad.

Race vest: ready!

Much as with the Taunton 10k, I didn't have the ideal preparation: two weeks before the race I spent pretty much the entire week off work sick, and the week directly preceding the race was a six-day week, with Friday and Saturday being taken up entirely with a stock-take. I know, woe is me! All that accounted for, I didn't feel too bad on the Sunday morning. I had spent the previous evening preparing my race kit: club kit with number attached, some food, drink and warm clothing, nothing too complicated. A 6:30 alarm was a little earlier than usual for a Sunday, but not too bad – especially as my 1-year-old daughter woke us up at 6:20 teething anyway!

Breakfast: Porridge and a glass of water, and by five past 7 I was heading out of the door. Travel and parking passed without any trouble, and I was glad to have parked in a legal place, as walking back to my car afterwards I passed plenty of cars with fixed penalty notices on them. A short walk got me to the race village, where I met up with a friend from Twitter, Matt (@MattUpston) and discussed some race strategy: he knew the course pretty well, and I was happy to take on all the local knowledge that I could!

Heading over to the start, I met up with Al, who I often run with at parkrun: we tend to finish around the same point. I probably have a slight edge at 5k, but he’d run a 1:38 half-marathon earlier in the year, so I knew if he was in that sort of form I wouldn't have a chance of keeping up! That said, we had decided to head out at around 1:45 pace, i.e. 8-minute-miles, and then see how it felt.

As you can see, we didn't really stick to that plan. The first mile was downhill, so running a quicker time along that wasn't an issue, and actually it felt good. After that we settled into a slightly slower pace, and although it might not meet the official definition of "conversational pace", we did (perhaps stupidly) proceed to have a conversation for more or less the first seven miles of the race. This did get us a few odd looks: apparently chatting is frowned upon at that pace.

Splits courtesy of Strava!

I struggled with the Little Miracles energy drink, which was at seven miles: it was sweet and sickly, and with the lid removed, the hole to drink from was the size of a milk bottle top! I took two gulps, accidentally spilling it all over my top, and then gave up on it. 

There had been a few ups and downs during the first half of the race, but with the exception of a couple of sharp hill at around the three mile mark, they had been pretty friendly. This changed as we approached eight miles. This hill I already knew about: around 150 feet up towards the university. My wife studied at Exeter, so I had plenty of experience of this part of the course, and while that didn't help physically, it was nice to know what I was facing. It was especially nice to know that after reaching the university entrance, the road drops and then climbs again, something that had a few other runners around me cursing.

I think it's fair to say that at this point Al and I both felt we were holding the other back, but amazingly we had managed to hold our pace at around 7:40. Strava suggests this was a "grade adjusted pace" of 7:19 and 7:09, and that might have contributed to my later struggles. Despite being a warm morning, from around this point I started to feel quite cold; the hairs on my arms stood up and I shivered a few times. I knew this was likely due to a fuelling failure of some kind: whether I didn't have enough sugar, water, or just energy I don't know, but it clearly wasn't a good sign. I opted for the not-very-sensible tactic of ignoring the chills and continuing along with Al.

I started to really struggle over the next two miles: I was shocked when I looked at my splits after the race and discovered that they remained around the 7:40 mark. I had been warned that the out-and-back leg along Pinhoe Road was hilly, but I had relegated it to "undulating" in my head. I managed to keep running the whole of the out leg, but as we climbed back up a hill approaching 12 miles, I told Al to head on, and dropped to a walk. After about 20-30 seconds, and spurred on by a passing runner, I started running again, but dropped down to a walk twice more over the next half mile. Another runner, whose top announced him as Paul, also walked bits, and we geed each other along for a while. Amazingly during all of this, I managed to keep Al in sight, and after taking on some water I thought I might be able to chase him back down before the finish. 

I didn't manage it: he kicked on for the final sprint after the 13 mile marker, and although I did similar, I didn't have enough to close him down. For the first time at the end of a race, I threw up within a few steps, but thankfully after sipping at the offered water, I was feeling pretty okay again within a couple of minutes. I obviously looked in a bit of trouble, as one of the marshals at the end hovered over me, asking if I was okay, and if I needed a medic. Thankfully it didn't come to that!

My time was 1:41;52, just five seconds behind Al in the end, and over ten minutes quicker than my only previous half-marathon attempt. I had mixed feelings at the end, the massive PB was obviously great, but I'd been quietly hoping for a sub-1:40 time, which I'd been on track for until those final couple of miles. That said, it was a hilly course, and I'd clearly messed up with my preparation somehow, so I was glad that having ignored my chills, I hadn't ended up in an ambulance. 

I'd like to experiment with gels before my next half, as that might provide a decent alternative to relying on race-provided energy drinks during a race. Similarly, a slightly shorter and less stressful working week leading up to the race would be nice! This morning, looking back, I'm really happy with my time on that course. 

Have you ever had the chills during a race, even when it wasn't cold?

How do you fuel before and during a half marathon?

Taunton 10k: race report

I came into the Taunton 10k without too much expectation. I'd only entered the event because my wife was running it, and she'd been forced to miss it due to ongoing chest problems. About a month earlier, I'd smashed my 10k PB, dropping it from 46:40 to 43:44, and in all honesty I felt like that run had been a bit of a flash in the pan. I certainly didn't feel at all confident that I could reproduce it on the undulating course in Taunton. To add to this, I'd done some canoeing on the Friday night, and my legs felt all kinds of awful on Saturday. So it came as something of a surprise when I turned into the final stretch of the race and saw that the timer read 43:32, and I should get a move on. But I jump ahead of myself...

My own training had been a little haphazard for the month between the Battle of Sedgemoor 10k (BoS) and this one. I'd felt really sore for a few days after the BoS, and hadn't got back out running until the following Friday, and then after only a few days of training, I picked up a nasty stomach bug which put me out for another week. That out of the way, I managed to get back into some sort of rhythm with my running, but wasn't feeling as strong as I had before BoS. With a half marathon coming up in mid-October, I was worried about my long runs, and had considered squeezing this 10k into the middle of a longer run, sacrificing a good race time here for some valuable mileage. I managed to get a 10 mile run in the weekend before the race, and decided that gave me confidence enough for the half-marathon, and I could focus on the 10k as it deserved.

Running Forever RC were out in force for this race! *

I completed 5 one-mile reps at the track on Monday, at just slower than my intended race pace, and then went for a relaxed club run on the Wednesday. I skipped my normal Thursday run, and intended to go for a very relaxed parkrun with the buggy on Saturday morning. Canoeing aches scrapped that plan! Sunday morning I still felt pretty sore, but decided that I would go out and try to consolidate with a morale-boosting sub-45 time. Despite being my home 10k, I didn't really know the course very well, having never managed to take part before (but with a couple of DNSs).

The undulations started almost immediately, and my confidence took a bit of a hit: with my sore legs, even the relatively mild inclines were burning, and it was only the first mile! I slotted in behind a couple of guys I knew ran around my pace from parkrun, and just focussed on not letting them get away from me. The first three kilometres went through residential Taunton, before a climb over the motorway and off towards the village of Stoke St Mary, which was roughly halfway around. As always, my pacing could do with some work: my first mile was the quickest of the race: 6:52, but then I settled into a pace just over 7-minute miles.

The support around the whole course was incredible, even through the country lanes there was a surprising number of people out to cheer us along, and being a member of a Taunton running club, Running Forever RC, I gained benefit from the "home support". I won't pretend that I knew even half of the people who cheered me on with cries of "Go Running Forever!", but they all helped. As we rose over the motorway for the second time, I was buoyed by both the knowledge that this would be the last incline, and encouragement from club-mates Nadine and Dave: although the suggestion that I made it look "effortless" might have irked, I was certainly not finding it such!!

Effortless? Effortless?! Okay, I might like a little more relaxed than I felt... *

All that was left was a drop down the other side of the motorway and then a flat run for the line: but I couldn't get too excited, there was still most of a kilometre left! I pushed on, pulling away from a lady that I had passed going up the hill, and soon found myself in no-man's land: I couldn't see any runners ahead of me, and there was no one close behind me. I hate that situation at the end of a race: I like a bit of a personal challenge: to either chase someone down, or to keep ahead of someone, so it was only when I turned that final corner and saw that I was on course for a PB that I had incentive to push on and actually sprint the final twenty or so metres.

I stopped my watch at 43:40, four seconds inside my previous best, and the following day it was confirmed as 43:39. So, despite not really feeling too positive about it before, either mentally or physically, it went pretty well! It has definitely given me a mental boost, knowing that my time at BoS wasn't a one-off. I don't have any 10k races scheduled for a while now, so this PB will hang around for a bit, but I now have confidence that I'm continuing to strengthen and improve as a runner, and hopefully by the next time I race the distance I can take a bit more off again!

In the mean time, I've got Exeter's Great West Run (half marathon) in the middle of October, which is dominating my training for the next couple of weeks, and I'm taking part in a winter 5k series in Street, where I'm hoping to go sub-20 by the last race.

* Photo credits: Lainey Whitworth and Nadine Prouse.

Battle of Sedgemoor 10k: race report

In many ways, my last five months have been spent gearing up for this race. I didn't necessarily have a specific training plan laid out for it, but this was my focus race. During that time, I raced four other 10k events, and set two new PBs, inching my best time down from 47:25 to 47:00 to 46:40. But the Battle of Sedgemoor is known as a PB course, and I had my sights set on a significant new record: sub 45 minutes. Of my three resolutions for 2014, this was the only one I hadn't yet achieved.

Things started badly: a month or so ago I re-sprained my right ankle playing football, and I still haven't completely shaken the niggles off. A fortnight before the race, I hurt my left foot on a tempo run. Neither was particularly major, but between them they caused me to severely drop off my mileage in the couple of weeks before the race. I even considered taking painkillers for the race itself, but decided that I really didn't want to start down that road.

Onto race day: despite being my fifth 10k of the year, this race represented something new for me. This was the first time I would truly be racing as part of my club. Although I had done two other races since joining, there were no other club members at those races, so I was still on my own. This race had a new feel: at 9:30 we were meeting up in Taunton, to head over to Langport in convoy. This meant that at about 9:15 I had to frantically go to the petrol station to make sure I could make it to Langport!

Still, it wasn't that different: park, find race number, pin race number on, idle around, have club photo taken (okay, that was a bit different), wander over for pre-race briefing, head to start line.

So... I have a tree growing out of my head... (Photo: M. Lomax)

At the start line, disaster two struck. (To recap, disaster one was a couple of foot injuries.) Disaster two had the potential to be much, much worse. My Garmin simply would not find any GPS. This was an issue: on the back of my hand I had written pacing notes, but they would mean nothing if it didn't get some satellite signal. It's safe to say I was in a bit of a panic. Thankfully, another member of the club, Andy, was also aiming for 45 minutes, and another wasn't far behind, so I was able to initially judge my pacing off theirs to an extent.

I'd looked at the course profile before the race, and knew that the first mile to mile and a half of the race was a gentle climb. My plan had been to take this gently and then push on, but with no pacing data, I think the first kilometre was at sub 7 minute miles, and the second not much slower. Finally, about 2.5 km into the race, my Garmin started! It was useless as a stopwatch, but it allowed me to keep an eye on my pacing. I was still running with Andy, though typically one or the other of us was a few paces ahead. At the 4 km marker, I asked for a time check: 17:30: about 30 seconds quicker than I needed to be for 45 minutes. And looking at my pacing, I was still running quicker than I needed. I figured I was either doing pretty well, or was about to crash and burn.

At 4.5 km was the first drinks station: I took a plastic cup, just about managed to avoid spilling the whole thing. I then took a tiny sip, more to wet my mouth than actually drink anything, and dunked my hand into the water so I could splash my face. The next drinks station came up far too soon afterwards, at around 6 km, and I opted not to take another drink; a decision apparently shared by more or less everyone around me, as we all arrowed straight through the middle of the offering arms.

It was around this stage that I started to pull away from Andy; I knew that I was still running ahead of my target pace, and I was still a little worried about that, but I felt good, and let myself be dragged along by the other runners around me.

I must admit, I had forgotten about the incline at 7.5 km. I certainly wish the course had forgotten about it too: that hurt. Still, it is a fact that on a course that finishes more or less where it starts, any ups have corresponding downs, and the last kilometre was mostly downs. Although I hadn't had a real time-check since the 4 km mark, I knew my pace had been good since, and I could cruise the last kilometre, but on the other hand, I was still feeling pretty good, so I notched the pace up a little, which brought me close to the chap in front as I approached the finish funnel. Always one for a bit of a fast finish, I pushed to pass him through the funnel: unfortunately the cheering crowd let him know what was happening, and so he sped up. I ended up in a flat sprint; perhaps not the most sensible thing, but brilliant fun! I pipped him to the line (though our times were identical).

In all the excitement, I hadn't actually looked at the finishing clock: having crossed the line and been handed my medal, I'd found a spot in which I didn't think anyone would mind too much if I threw up (I didn't, as it turned out) and then got a cup of water. By the time I glanced back, it showed 44:05. I'd done it!

Looking at this, it's possible that the other chap didn't put quite
as much effort into his finish as I did. (Photo: M. Lomax)

I returned to the finish line in time to see Andy come through in just under 45 minutes, which meant that I didn't have to feel guilty about possibly dragging him along too quickly at the start! From there, our club runners came through regularly, and set a dizzying array of PBs.

As the photo shows, my time was actually sub-44: 43:44 in fact, almost a three minute improvement on my previous 10k best, and significantly quicker than I was aiming for. Maybe running without any pacing information at all for those first 2.5 km, and then only limited information helped me: I've suspected for a while that the mental aspect of "But I can't run that fast!" when I look at my pacing might have been holding me back. Recently Sarah (@littlerunnergal) posted, or at least re-tweeted, something about running "naked", and maybe there is some benefit in it. That said, I'm still planning on taking my Garmin along to my next race.

Shiny medal!

But for now, there are four months of the year left, and I've achieved all of my targets for the year already. Should I relax a bit and just run for the fun of it, or should I set new targets and go about hitting them?

Guest Post - The British 10k London: race report

Editorial comment:
At the weekend my wife, Lolly, ran the British 10k London, here are her thoughts:


2012 was the golden year of running for me.  Although I'd completed a 10k in 2010, it was the year that things finally happened.  In May I did the Bristol 10k without stopping to walk, and in September I set a PB of 1:07:43 at the Cardiff 10k.  But it wasn't without its difficulties.  Such as two chest infections.  By the start of 2013 I was struggling to get out running at all.  And then I found out I was pregnant.

Fast forward to the end of 2013 and I knew I needed a big motivator to get me back up and running in a timely and positive manner.  A couple of years earlier I'd read about this 10k that seemed to be a sightseeing tour of London, and this seemed to fit the bill as a target.  It seemed exciting enough to get me back out and prove that I could still do what I'd done before having a baby.

My training got off to a bit of a rocky start (really, they mean it when they say not to start running too soon) but I soon got into my stride.  With a training plan written by my lovely husband, and the immense help of weekly Buggy Fitness sessions, I was getting stronger and more confident every week.

On the morning of the race itself I was woken up by the chattering sound of a 9 month old baby, but mercifully only at 6:45.  This gave me plenty of time to get ready and head out on the bus and tube to Piccadilly Circus.  From there finding the baggage bays was easy, and there was then a well signed route to the start, ready for the much publicised opening ceremony.  I assume the ceremony took place, as when the race started I saw the Military Wives up on a balcony, but there were no loudspeakers where we were waiting and so we didn't hear a thing.

The British 10k operates a wave start on a first-come-first-served basis.  I think I was in the 3rd or 4th mixed-ability wave to start, and was very excited to cross the start line.  The mix of paces actually suited me, as it allowed me to run my own race rather than try to match others.  And because I was prepared for the situation, I wasn't fazed by faster runners from later waves overtaking me.  Not sure I'd have enjoyed it as one of those faster runners though.

The support from spectators along the route was intense, particularly near the start and finish.  Actually, I kind of found it too intense and was quite glad when it eased off around the 3k mark.  I settled into a nice rhythm and tried to ignore the increasing humidity wreaking havoc with my asthmatic, cold-affected lungs.

I knew Ben was planning to stand and watch somewhere between the 4k and 6k markers, and so I kept an eye out during this time.  A short rain shower provided a blessed relief, but running through a road tunnel was horribly hot and stuffy.  Not to mention the smell of sweat.  Shortly before the 5k marker I, for some reason, decided to check the time and so looked at my watch.  It, of course, showed my stopwatch time instead and a realisation dawned - I was on track for a PB.

I eventually decided I must have missed my supporters and was just trying to not be disappointed... when I saw them.  It turned out I'd already run past them once and just not noticed.  Smile planted firmly on my face I started to focus on the rest of the race.  Looking up I realised we were now running back along the Thames, and all those landmarks I'd expected were right in front of me.  It was pretty spectacular.

Unfortunately things started to unravel around 7k.  The humidity really got to me and, despite respite from the superbly organised water stations, I had to slow down and felt it would be a struggle to get to the end without walking.  Running over Westminster Bridge in bright sunshine compounded this issue, particularly as I knew we were just going to turn around at the end and run back.

The run back, though, was one of my favourite stretches of running ever.  There was a breeze in my face and I was running straight towards iconic buildings.  Just several winding roads to go and the end would be in sight.  I missed both the 8k and 9k markers (they weren't exactly hi-tech or very prominent) and was just thinking what a very long kilometre this had been when we turned the corner and I saw the finish.

A generic photo of Big Ben from 2009. But it's still there!

Approaching the line I was amazed to think I'd almost done it, and somehow managed to summon up the energy for a small sprint finish.  A few paces past the end I started to walk and stopped my watch.  A few paces further I dared to look at it and, if I'm honest, a few tears appeared.  In my first 10k since having a baby I'd beaten my PB by over two minutes.

From there the race experience went somewhat downhill.  After a bit of walking I was handed a bottle of water, and from there the runners seemed to merge into the general public.  I followed lots of other runners, in the hope that they knew where we were going, and eventually one of them found an earlier finisher who helpfully pointed us in the right direction.  Just as well really, as there were no signs at all pointing us back to our bags.

Back at the baggage bays there were lots of long queues.  It seemed that during the hour that the bays were 'closed' no sorting had been attempted, and so there was lots of shouting about descriptions of bags.  Our guy seemed particularly useless, unable to even master "it's by your left foot".  The baggage guys were also giving out the medals.  Mine didn't give me one, but another runner managed to reach into the box and get one for me.

If there were goody bags I never saw any sign of them.  With my bag finally on my back I headed back to the tube to meet my support team back at the hotel.  The complete lack of organisation had put a real downer on the end of the race.  It didn't end there, with the race results page producing random timing information for random runners.  Thankfully someone posted online where to get the results from the chip company, so Ben was able to look up my actual time.

Despite the issues, and the fact I felt uncomfortable with the number of people, I really enjoyed the race and am glad I did it.  I'm just glad I don't have to do it again now.  It's always important to look at why you did something when you evaluate how it went.  I signed up to this race to help me to get out running, and to prove that I can still do what I could do before.  While the first criteria was passed with flying colours, the second one failed.

During the course of my training I ticked off the longest solo run I've ever done - 3 times.  I fitted training around looking after a baby, my husband's training schedule and, right at the end, going back to work.  I ran on days when I felt I could barely open my eyes.  The truth is that I have changed.  Things aren't the same as they were before.  Because, before I had a baby, I couldn't run 10k in 1:04:50.

Chew Valley 10k: race report

After doing the Bridgwater 10k a couple of months ago, I was a little down: I'd messed up my pacing royally, and completely misjudged the course. I ended up slower than my PB which I knew I should have been able to beat. As a result, I looked about for a race to do to "make amends". Weirdly, despite all the information about the race, and all the Twitter hype, talking about the big hill on the course, I opted for the Chew Valley 10k. The few weeks before the race were not the ideal preparation: I had a bad bug which severely limited my mileage for a couple of weeks, and the heat only compounded the issue.

On the morning of the race, I was up early: a 6:45 alarm on a Sunday?! Still, after a quick breakfast I gathered my last bits and bobs together and headed off on the hour's drive. Although the early start was a little unwelcome, I knew that the resulting lower temperature would be a Godsend in the race. I arrived, got my race number and went to sit outside in the shade.

About half an hour before the race, a PT jumped up on stage (okay, a small lorry) and led a warm-up. I'm sorry? A warm-up? Despite the time, it was still really hot. I continued to sit in the shade. The warm-up lasted about 6 minutes I guess, and then people began to wander over to the start line: again I opted to resist the flow, and remained in the shade, waiting a bit longer. After all, the start was only just round the corner.

When I did finally amble around, I was impressed by the start. Marshals were holding boards with finish times on, and had created pens for the start. Quite common in larger races, but in a race with a field of 600, this was a nice touch. Given my... how to put it... predilection for... Okay, given that I tend to sprint away from the start like a shoulder trying to escape Luis Suarez, I decided to start a pen back to try and control myself. It worked! Mostly. My first mile clocked in at 7:13, almost exactly what I needed for a 45 minute finish. That was unlikely with the hill, but I had decided to pace myself for 45 minutes until the hill, and then just see what happened with the hill itself.

Over the next two miles, my pace dropped back a little, 7:30 for both miles, and then I had reached the bottom of the dreaded hill. I'd done a little research, so I more or less knew what to expect: long, and pretty steep in places. Problem was, Taunton had little to compare, and I'd hardly been in a state to be running hills. So, as much as I might have had an idea, it still killed me. I slowed to a walk twice, maybe three times, but didn't really lose much time doing so. In fact, the third time I was actually keeping pace with the woman running ahead of me.

A 100% accurate* altitude graph of the course.

Before the race, the heat and the hill had set me thinking of last year's Wellington 10k, but in actual fact it was not that similar at all. The heat wasn't too bad, a combination of the early start time and high hedges which allowed me to stay in the shade most of the time. Wellington had been up and down, whereas this course really was just the one massive hill around the halfway point. And the hill down later... that made up for it somewhat...

The worst of the climb was over after about a kilometre, but the course continued to rise gently, and my fourth mile clocked in at 8:50. I recovered slightly after that, doing the fifth mile in 7:46, but at this stage I knew that 45 minutes was nowhere near, and a PB (47:00) was highly unlikely. But I hadn't counted on that drop back down again. As bad as the ascent had been, the descent was equal to it. Strava tells me that I set a new best estimated 1 mile effort of 5:58. I believe it, even though I can't believe I can run that fast.

Being honest, I was out of control: my legs just kept turning over, I was flying. If I'd touched a loose bit of gravel, or a slightly slippery bit of tarmac... I shudder to think. But I didn't, I'm still here, I'm still in one piece. And being even more honest, I loved it. I'm a speed freak when I run. I don't like pacing myself, I like running FAST. This definitely ticked that box. Now, I just need to get fit enough that I don't have to be more or less falling off a cliff to manage it.

This might actually be the best race photo of me there is...

The course levelled off again slightly at the end, but I had adrenaline, and a surprise chance at a PB, so I managed to maintain my pace reasonably well to finish in 46:40, a new best by 20 seconds, despite the horrible hill.

In conclusion, I enjoyed the race and the challenge that the hill presented. I probably won't race it next year, which isn't really a reflection on the race, so much as the distance from home and how many other races I have yet to do in Somerset. But I'd definitely recommend it for a go. Just do some actual training on hills.

* The hill is only actually about 220 ft, or thereabouts.

Tin Tin Ten: race report

Yesterday I ran in my first real multi-terrain race. I did not have ideal preparation for it: a week before the race, I didn't own any trail shoes. The night before the race I went out for a meal, drank half a bottle of red wine and ate a spicy pizza. The day of the race, I ate another pizza for lunch, and then spent most of the afternoon lounging on my bed, reading, with indigestion. All of these things are my own fault. Not so much my own fault was that I had been ill the previous week, meaning that in the nine days leading up to the race, I had run 3.1 miles: one parkrun.

I remedied the lack of trail running shoes with spot of shopping the weekend before the race, picking up a pair of Brooks Cascadia 9s. I say "picking up" as though they were cheap, but even after a reduction for being in the sale, they were more than I had intended to spend. But then, aren't running shoes always? My bug meant that I didn't get a chance to try the shoes out before the race, and opinion was slightly split as to whether I should still wear them in the race. I'm glad I did!

Shiny new shoes!

I arrived in Tintinhull about 45 minutes before the race was due to start, which gave me plenty of time to wonder whether the race existed because someone found a decent looking course there, or (in my opinion) someone thought 'Tin Tin Ten would be a good name for a race, I wonder if there is a decent course there?'

Having never raced properly off-road before (Bridgwater had a farm track that was bad enough to ruin my road race, but certainly not enough to qualify it as a proper multi-terrain race) I was unsure as to what time I would be able to run. Although our parkrun course has a "muddy bit" I didn't think it was quite the same as a race that featured stiles, fields and sleeper bridges. I was right.

It rained most of the week leading up to the race, and more or less all day of the race itself. At the start line, most of the runners huddled under three trees to try and stay as dry and warm as they could before the race, but it was an exercise in futility. The race director mumbled something into a loud-speaker, I really don't know what, and then all of a sudden, we were off. A few quick twists and turns along the road, and within 100 metres we were off into the fields, and more to the point, climbing a hill. I settled into a rhythm, albeit at what felt like a painfully slow pace, and slowly passed runners as we continued to climb. It felt like a heck of an ascent, but actually it wasn't much at all, the terrain, and the fact it was right at the start, just made it feel like more.

Roughly half a mile in, I had found my pace, and was slotted in behind three other runners; a lady from Taunton AC, a chap in a yellow top, and a lady from Minehead RC. I say "found my pace" as though I was happy with the pace. In actual fact, little could be further from the truth. Most of my recent faster runs have been parkruns, and so I've grown somewhat accustomed to running at 5km pace on ground with good footing. In this, I needed to run at a pace suitable for 10km, on some pretty horrendous ground. I spent the first two-and-a-half miles thinking: "Argh, why are we running so slowly?" Our first mile split was 7:30. Our second was 8:50, but this included by far the muddiest parts of the course, and a couple of the stiles. In fact, at a couple of points during this section, I was worried that either myself or the lady from Minehead RC would end up splodged in one of the really muddy bits: the places where our feet dropped into the mud over our ankles.

We both survived, but by now the other two runners had dropped us, while there weren't any other runners for a distance behind us. This remained the case until the last kilometre. I've never really been one to talk while racing, but we exchanged a few words. I'm sorry to say that I sat just behind her throughout, using her pacing to get me through. After the first half - when the pace felt too slow - she dragged me through the second half: particularly when we reached the 7km marker, and I felt like I had nothing left to give. That said through the road section of the course, we ran 7:28 miles splits for two miles, before heading back off-road. I managed to cling onto the heels of my chosen pacer until the last kilometre, when mentally I picked myself up. With about half a mile to go I somewhat guiltily passed my "pacer" and pushed towards the finish. I perhaps pushed a little too early, but I managed to mostly maintain my pace to the finish, although the lack of anyone immediately before or after me meant that I didn't push quite as much as I perhaps could have done.

Not quite so shiny shoes.

Nevertheless, I was shocked to discover that I'd finished in roughly 48:20 (I'm still awaiting the official results). That's only 1:20 slower than my road PB. After a sip of water and a quick "well done" and an apology to the lady from Minehead RC, I headed back to the car to clean up, dry up and head home.

I was shocked to realise quite how muddy my legs were - although not actually that shocked now that I come to think about it! I had worried that the fact that a PB wouldn't be on the cards would take the shine off the race, but it didn't matter in the slightest. Despite the fact that 99% of people might have considered the experience pure hell, I loved it. There was mud and there was rain. But that was the fun of it! I thoroughly enjoyed my first real off-road racing experience, and can't wait to repeat it.

Isle of Man Easter Festival of Running 10k: race report

When my wife discovered that there would be a 10k on the Isle of Man, over Easter, with part of the route going along the road past her parent's back garden, it would have been rude not to take part. After all, we were already booked to go to the Isle of Man, over Easter, to visit her parents. It was ideal!

The views were pretty good - not that there's much time for sightseeing during a 10k!

A little bit more research did reveal some slightly less ideal statistics: the race route included nearly 400 ft of elevation: maybe not a huge amount, but given that Taunton is pretty flat, and on a normal 6 mile run, I would possibly do about 150 ft of elevation, it was a significant increase to what I'm used to. Secondly, looking through the results from the past few years revealed that this was a race that traditionally had a very fast field. My personal best 10k time of 47:25 placed me 111 of 324 during the 2013 Stoke Stampede; it would have placed me 183 of 254 in the 2013 Easter Festival. It didn't take much research to determine that this was due to the large number of university clubs that came over for the Festival.

Still, despite being slightly daunted by the hills and my fellow runners, I decided that I wanted to do it anyway. The Festival also includes a 5 mile hill climb on the Saturday, and a 5km relay on the Sunday, but I opted not to do these, as it would probably disrupt our holiday too much. Oh, and the whole hill thing.

We arrived on the island on Wednesday, after a full day's travelling, and the following morning I went for a quick reccy around the Port Erin half of the course, getting an idea of how bad the hills really were. And actually.. they weren't too bad at all. In fact, I actually ended up running the reccy, which was meant to be doubling up as a pre-race recovery run, in 7:39 min/mile.

Race day itself presented me with another new challenge: the race was on Good Friday evening. Although I typically train in the evenings, I'd never raced in the evening before, and so I was a little unsure about my preparation. I opted for taking it easy, having a decent, but not too big lunch, and then a top up of some toast mid-to-late afternoon. My wife and her family had arranged that they would sit and cheer me from the back wall, but just as I was about to leave, I realised I had a small issue: although it wasn't too cold, I didn't want to be standing around at the start line in just my vest. A short deliberation later, and it was arranged that I would wear my wife's university hoodie, and my father-in-law would accompany me to the start to take it away again. It turns out that mostly everyone else just decided to stow their bags and layers in and around the boats on the harbour front.

Given the hills, and my result a couple of weeks earlier in Bridgwater, my race plan had been to start off around 8 min/mile, and see how I was doing halfway through. However, my pre-race run had given me some more confidence, and I'd done a little bit of maths and decided to go for 7:40 min/mile, which would put me on pace for somewhere around my PB. But my main focus, after flying off too fast in Bridgwater, was to pace my start.

Knowing that the field was likely to be pretty fast, I placed myself basically at the back for the start. This had the intended result, and I was pretty much bang on pace as I hit the first kilometre marker. Up until this point, the course had run along the lower promenade, and the first, sharp, incline followed, taking the route up to the upper promenade. Amazingly, I climbed it without a problem, and I might have even managed to smile for my father-in-law, who was halfway up with his camera. (I don't recall actually seeing the result - but I might have done?)

The side glance at the camera doesn't work, does it?

The course remained reasonably flat for the next couple of kilometres, before dropping back to the sea on the opposite coast, on the aptly named "Shore Road". In fact, during the race I ran along roads called "The Promenade", "Shore Road" and "Bay View Road" in both Port Erin and Gansey/Port St Mary - imagination is clearly not a Manx trait. After a short scenic run along the coastal path around Gansey Point, I passed a chap dressed in a tiger onesie who was clearly struggling with the heat, and then tackled the second sharp incline on the route, once again taking from me a lower to an upper promenade. I felt this climb much more, coming around around 6 kilometres into the race, and I spent the next couple of hundred metres catching my breath back.

The run then weaved its way through the middle of Port St Mary (I think?) and I ran this part of the route alongside a chap who must have been a local, because everybody, and I mean everybody, that we passed greeted him by name. It was quite surreal! I pushed on away from him as we started to climb up towards the back of Port Erin once more. This part of the course had been in my reccy run, and so I knew what to expect from the long drag up past the back of my parents-in-law's house. Along this stretch I fell into running-synch with a fellow runner, which really helped me with my pacing towards the end.

My sprint finish - followed more closely than I realised by my "pacemaker"!

After receiving the boost of seeing my wife, daughter and in-laws, all that remained was the last kilometre, which featured a drop back to the shore. I upped my pace to keep up with my own personal pacemaker - even though she didn't realise that was what she was! The hill down to the shore was a little steep, and actually forced me to consciously slow my pace in order to stop myself being a bloody mess at the bottom! We reached the bottom (one of the two "Shore Road"s), and I started to push the pace myself, accelerating away from my "pacemaker". Unfortunately, what I had forgotten at this stage was that the finish line was further along the coast than the start line had been, and so my sprint finish had been a little premature. I slowed somewhat as we climbed a short hill, but pushed on again when I could see the finish line: the digital clock tantalisingly displayed 46:5? as I approached: it would certainly be a PB, but could I crack 47 minutes?

I thought so.

The provisional results revealed I was wrong. I was timed at 47:00.0 - dead one, even to the nearest tenth of a second, to 47 minutes. Couldn't the timer have pressed their watch that tiniest bit earlier, for a 46:59.9? But no, sub-47 is yet to be cracked.

Still, this was by far the best race that I've taken part in. The course itself was a delight to run, my fear of the hills was completely unfounded. The scenery was amazing, with stunning sea views of both coasts. We were admittedly blessed with lovely weather, but this race is already in my diary for next Easter. And you know what... so are the hill climb and the 5 km.

Bridgwater 10k: race report

My main challenge this spring was to complete my first Half Marathon, something I achieved in Silverstone at the start of March. However, I wanted to make sure that I had something to work towards afterwards, and so I registered for the Bridgwater 10k, which was four weeks later. The idea was that this would firstly keep me training, and secondly, give me an idea of where I was so that I could start to focus on achieving my second big target this year of running a sub-45 minute 10k.

The course was advertised as being PB friendly due to being almost completely flat, although there was a note that 300 metres of the course was off-road, making it a multi-terrain race, rather than a road race. Having seen significant improvements in my parkrun PB since my last 10k race, I went into this race full of confidence that I could take a decent chunk off my previous time (47:25). My rough target for Bridgwater was around 46:30, something that I felt should be within my capabilities given my parkrun times.

Unfortunately, the run started badly, and only really got worse. For the first time in a race, I wore a Garmin, but it only really served to confuse me. While my Garmin told me that I had charged off, and was running somewhere around a 7:00 min/mile pace, I reached the first kilometre marker at around 4:50, which equated to around 7:45 min/mile pace. I had two options: either my Garmin was telling me porky-pies, or the marker was in the wrong place. Unfortunately, I couldn't really tell which: I felt like I was running pretty quickly, and so was inclined to believe the Garmin, but on the other hand, I knew that GPS watches can't always be relied upon. So I sped up.

This, on reflection, was a BAD IDEA. By the end of the second mile, my Garmin pace was still around 7:00 min/mile, and shortly after this I reached the off-road part of the course. This was described to us before the race as being about 150 - 200 metres. It wasn't. I tried to push hard to keep my pace on track, thinking it would be a short section, but as it dragged on, I realised that all I was really achieving was tiring my legs out. I reckon that this section went on for about 500 - 600 metres, and (as we'd been told) it was heavy going; slippy mud, jumping over puddles, very uneven surface with occasion rocks. My legs, already suffering from my bad pacing over the first couple of miles, were wrecked during this bit. The rest of the race became an annoyed trot home, during which I ran around 7:50 min/mile, generally a comfortable pace.

I completed the race, pretty dejectedly in 48:25. When I posted after the race that I was disappointed with this, a few people pointed out that it was still a good time, and looking back there is an element of truth to this. I felt that I had run an awful race, and so to end up being only one minute outside of my PB, and two minutes behind my target, I was clearly able to maintain a reasonable pace even after the poorly paced start. Still, it can only be a positive that my reaction to my disappointment was to start looking for another 10km during the summer to target for a PB. But before that, the Isle of Man Easter Festival of Running 10km!

Silverstone Half Marathon: race report

Running the Silverstone Half Marathon has been the focus of my life for the past four months. (Well, that and raising our daughter, who is currently just under five months old.) The first - and not the simplest - challenge was packing. Despite only staying away for one night we ended up with a pile of stuff that looked like we were surely going away for a month, or maybe even two. I blame the baby, although it might have helped if I hadn't taken almost all of my running kit with me! In my defence, the weather has been so changeable lately that I wanted to cover as many eventualities as possible.

With a 5-month-old, there's no such thing as travelling light!

We stayed at a Travelodge that was only a couple of miles up the road from the track. The hotel was accompanied by a Little Chef, in which the menu, if I'm completely honest, was not ideal race fuel material. The closest I could find to some last minute carb-loading was a very greasy beef lasagne with chips and garlic bread. That counts, right?

After a night in which my wife tired herself out trying to keep our daughter quiet so that I could get as much sleep as possible (which as it turns out, was quite a lot), we headed back to Little Chef for a slightly more appropriate breakfast of porridge. I don't think the staff had really counted on the effect a run would have on their breakfast supplies: as I was leaving the diner, I heard one of the staff comment to her colleague that they were running out of porridge. Oh, I had a bacon sarnie too. I uhmmm... needed the fat and salt?

Having heard about all of the parking trouble there can be at Silverstone, we did not delay in heading straight over to the track: I figured that I'd rather spend an hour sat in their car park annoyed at getting there so early than 30 minutes in the hotel and then 30 minutes queueing in traffic, stressing about arriving in time. As a result, we drove straight in without trouble, and were parked: 2 hours and 20 minutes before the start of the race.

So, yes, a little bit of time to kill.
 - Sat in the car listening to the radio for a bit: check.
 - Slow walk over to the start area: check.
 - Identified key points of interest, such as bag drop and toilets: check.
 - Looked around the spectator areas to work out where my wife and daughter could watch the race: check.
 - Wandered slowly around the "charity village": check.
 - Stood around shivering: check.

Look, it was cold, okay?!

All this procrastination completed, and still there was over an hour until the start of the race. Luckily, as the MC pointed out over the PA system, "this is no small local race with 400 competitors", and as a result we were been chivvied to the start line a full 45 minutes before the race was scheduled to begin. Which, given how long I had been killing time for, was no bad thing. The start area was very well labelled, with signs indicating which area you should start in, based on your predicted finish time. Given that I was aiming to finish in under 2:00 hours, but didn't really know much more than that, I positioned myself towards the back of the 1:50 - 2:00 section.

Thankfully, the location of the start, and the sheer number of runners around helped to protect against the vicious wind during this last 45 minutes. My plan for the race was pretty loose: stick around the 1:58 pacer (thanks Runners World!) for the first bit of the race and see how I felt. So it was a bit of a relief when the pacer, along with his nice big obvious flag, arrived. I positioned myself about four rows back, although by the time we had all been compressed to the start line, I ended up a little further behind him. Just before the start, predictably, but still enjoyably, the DJ put on Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain" (the BBC's Formula 1 theme music), which did add to the atmosphere significantly. And was a definite improvement on S Club 7...

And then the race. The start, as with all races, was a bit manic. But for a change, by the time I reached the first mile marker, I was a little bit down on my 9 mile pacing, though I wasn't too worried, as I was still only just behind the pacer. The first couple of miles were a little difficult just because of the sheer number of people. I'm more used to little local races, so I found it a bit tricky having to avoid stepping on people's heels and having huge groups that involved significant sideways movement to get around.

Still, I successfully negotiated the crowds, and made it to the 3-mile water point. At this juncture I have to make a confession. On my training runs, be they 2 miles or 11 miles, I never take water with me, and never fuel during my runs. Ever. Therefore, 3 miles in, I certainly didn't feel like I needed any water (and possibly more to the point, did feel a little like I needed a wee!) So while everyone else made their pit-stops, I continued down the middle, picking up positions like a driver attempting a one-stop strategy (sorry, obligatory Formula 1 analogy.)

Just over a mile later, I was filled with dread when my left knee started to hurt. Throughout my training I've had problems with my knee on longer runs, though never before quite so early. Thankfully either the pain subsided, or the adrenaline of a race just overtook it, and within half a mile it was out of my mind again.

The next drinks stop was just past the 5 mile marker, and this time I did take a bottle of the offered Lucozade. I figured that being a long time since breakfast, the energy would be useful, even if I didn't need the hydration. Unfortunately, I did ignore the shouts of "there's more further on, keep going" and lost precious seconds waiting for a bottle to be ripped out of a new bag.

Definitely the highlight of the course.

Shortly after the Lucozade, the race took us down the "International Pits", and for me this was unquestionably the coolest part of the course. We'd already ran along the racing straight around 2 miles in, but actually running down the pit lane itself was awesome. It was around this point that I decided to kick on, and I started to ease away from the 1:58 pacer. This gave me an amazing boost: because most of the other runners had settled into more or less the right pace, I spent more or less the last 6 miles of the race passing people. Despite the fact that all this actually means is that I started in the wrong place, what it felt like was "Wooo, go me, I'm sooooo fast!"

I again opted against taking any water at 8 miles, and by this point of the race, there seemed to be toilets every few hundred metres. Although my bladder was really starting to feel quite full, I wasn't willing to sacrifice any time unless things got really urgent! The course felt like it was one long uphill from roughly 7.5 miles to 9.5 miles, although RunKeeper claims there was a drop in the middle: I don't remember it! I took on some more Lucozade at 9.5 miles, and taking stock, realised I felt pretty good.

From the look of the course, I realised that I was coming around towards where my wife said she would probably be. My eyes were scanning the crowds for quite a while along the straight, and I was concerned that I might miss her (she really is quite short), but then I spotted her bright blue rain-coat. Although I was feeling good in the race, seeing her, and my daughter in her buggy, gave me a huge boost for the last 3 and a bit miles.

As I ran past the 10 miles marker, the gun-time flashed to 1:30. Just a parkrun left: 3.1 miles, 5 kilometres, I run that almost every week. I consciously upped my pace again, and passed the next mile marker at just outside 1:38. I continued to push, but my pace dropped a little over the next mile, I simply didn't have as much left as I thought I might. Despite that, as I passed the 13 mile marker, I hit a flat sprint. Actually, it was a little bit after the mile marker, as initially I was confused that no one else seemed to be speeding up much. The gun-time as I passed the finish line was just over 1:55, meaning that I had ran the last 5 km of my half-marathon in 25 minutes, which I was pretty happy with. More importantly, I smashed my target, finishing in an official time of 1:52:58.

I know she doesn't look impressed, but she is really...

The medal is unquestionably the best in my small collection, but the t-shirt, whilst decent enough, was a little bit of a let-down for me personally. In general, I really enjoyed running around the Silverstone course, but although it was great in places where the course was particularly recognisable, the parts of the course away from the spectators were very, very quiet for a race of that size. The course, which was advertised as "very flat", actually had some quite significant hills in places, especially where it rose to a bridge over the track. The weather was pretty awful, but although I've read a fair bit complaining about it, I didn't find it too bad once we got running. But then, once I'm running, I tend to be in a world of my own!

As a final thought, the copious amount of runners that I saw peeling off for a quick toilet break were put into some context when we were walking back to the car park. The marshal driving the tail-car stopped, jumped out, and made use of a nearby tree to relieve himself. Runners: you are not alone!