Heaton Harriers memorial 10k

Oh how my heart sank when I saw the rain this morning. That was definitely not forecast. And Saturday had been such a gorgeous day. I listened to it lashing against the windows for a while as I snoozed and started pondering wet weather gear.

The main dilemna going through my mind was glasses on or glasses off. I usually run with them on, but that can make things a bit tricky when it’s lashing it down. I can see well enough to run without them, but again it’s a confidence thing. Going to have to invest in some contact lenses methinks.

Porridge, banana, blueberries and honey for breakfast, bag packed with a variety of wet/cold weather gear and off I go. First stroke of luck was finding a parking space and a nice lady with her kids offering me her ticket for the day. Next was bumping into one of my work pals Kathryn who runs for Wallsend Harriers as I arrived looking lost and wondering where to go. A short bimble around by the cafe showed me parts of the course would be wet and muddy – a first for me.

I also spotted Ian and Kelda thanks to the huge blue umbrella she was carrying. I think Kelda may be my lucky charm as she’s been there waiting patiently at the end of all the races I’ve really enjoyed.

The line up at the start was surprisingly busy. One woman asked if I’d run this race before and told how she’d fallen 800m from the end of this year’s Great North Run, so this was her first race back. I sensed she was nervous and wanted to share that for some reassurance. We wished her good luck.

The crowd of bodies on the start line were a welcome warmth as we stood in silent remembrance.

I didn’t have a plan for this race – just run and enjoy it, with no eye on the clock. Ian was soon away. At the first sign of space he was off like a rabbit over the muddy grass and out of sight. I spotted Kathryn and another Wallsend Harrier as I rounded the lake and determined to keep them in sight for as long as I could. My first kilometre was a heck of a pace for me as a result. But I felt good, wanting to be moving to warm up cold hands, breathing easy and feeling strong.

I lost Kathyrn just after the 2km mark and settled into my own run. I wasn’t really taking in anything much. I started to get confused with the distance markers – was that distance to go, or marking the distance it would be on the next lap? I settled for the reassuring beep of my Garmin and ran my own race.

After the first initial surge from the start line I just kept feeling people going past me all the time. But I was happy, in my zone, running well, stretching out. Finding my own space.

A couple of times I felt someone on my shoulder. The first, a guy wearing a yellow Blaydon race shirt. He’d drawn level with me and then fell back. “Keep it coming”, I said. And he replied, “I’m tired already”. I think we were about 3.5km in. Then a blonde girl in black. I encouraged her past me, then overtook as she slowed for drinks at the half way point. Because I felt generous today. It was part of taking the pressure off. Still running, yes. Still trying. But enjoying it. And sharing that.

This is a nice flat course, but in parts there were huge puddles and muddly leaf strewn corners that could have you sliding if you weren’t carfeul. After giving my right foot a real soaking in an unexpected pothole at the gateway back onto the town moor on the first lap, I just piled on through the puddles, figuring my feet couldn’t get much wetter.

Don't think I'm going to take up cross-country anytime soon

I’ll use waterlogged shoes and socks as a convenient excuse for slowing down a little between 5 and 6 km. I struggled a bit, felt my concentration going and my pace slipping. A short runner in a blue top that I’d passed on the first lap overtook me and I couldn’t match her again. I dug into my shorts pocket and treated myself to some dried mango, telling myself to hang on until 7km.

There’s a spot on my regular long running route that’s about 15 mins from home (so around 3 km, roughly). I mark it everytime I pass it. And from there it’s just running home. So that’s what I imagined as I passed the 7km mark.

I determined to keep in with the group of runners I’d been with for a while and try not to fall back any further. A runner wearing a Welsh dragon vest was my marker for much of the last few km.

By now I was completely confused by the distance markers. I thought I’d see the 1km to go and then kick in, but either I missed it or it wasn’t there. Because it came as almost a surprise to be heading for the finish. My kick in lasted about 100m and I stopped my watch at 51:55.

1. 04:50
2. 05:08
3. 05:08
4. 05:02
5. 05:11
6. 05:31
7. 05:31
8. 05:19
9. 05:15
10. 04:54

So a shiny new PB and a comfortable run – that’s a pretty good early birthday present to give yourself isn’t it?

Race results

Thanks to all the organisers and marshalls.

Resting…

Four root and coriander soup

One load of washing – done. One load of brochure copy – done. One trip to the shops. One pot of soup simmering on the stove. And now I’m off to hoover the stairs.

Things I do on a gorgeous day when I’m not running…

Soup recipe – courtesy of David Hall:
http://bookthecook.blogspot.com/2008/12/still-ill.html

I stopped and walked today

I can’t remember the last time I did that on a flat run. It’s probably been almost a year. But today I stopped. There was nothing wrong with me. I simply stopped because my head wasn’t right.

My training plan target had been for a much longer run at something like what I hope to be race pace come Sunday. But mentally my efforts and thoughts were a scramble, a bit defeatist and doubting to be honest. Within the space of an hour I’d gone from checking out half-marathons for next year to stalling on a distance I cover week in week out. Normally I can talk myself out of those ’slow down’ moments, but today, I don’t know, I gave in.

As I picked myself up again and convinced myself to run back, I imagined what I’d write in this blog. In a strange way it helped, because as I ran and thought, I answered my own questions.

More experienced runners than me have spoken of the flat feeling after a big event or race. And, although lining up a 10k to keep me in training after the Great North Run was a good idea, I think I’ve got a bit too swept up in the competitiveness.

For so much of my running experience it’s been a release, a chance to clear my head and escape busy thoughts. It’s important to me that I keep that. So instead of adding more pressure to go faster, to target a time, I just need to give myself a break and fall in love with running again.

I’ll still race on Sunday and give it all I’ve got. And I should do a fast time, hopefully faster than I’ve done in training so far. But I’m going to enjoy it. That’s my focus. Not some target time.

And after that, well, I think I’ll run off plan for a while. Run without targets or times or artificial pressures. Maybe run a little less and focus on something else, like improving my swimming for example. And hopefully that way I’ll be able to find my precious moments of running zen, when it all comes together perfectly.

Where’s my certificate?

Today I swam 100m front crawl with correct breathing technique. My inner 7-year-old is pretending to be embarrassed but secretly covets a certificate of achievement and a round of applause from the class. My pretending-to-be-a grown-up self is celebrating with a hot chocolate and thinking let’s make it 200m next week.

Lagging behind

I’d been threatening with a cold, but ‘just wasn’t having it’. To prove it, I ran a nifty 5k on Tuesday, another on Wednesday lunchtime and went on to sweat it out at a tough boxercise session.

Thursday morning saw me up bright and early as usual ready for the best bit of my week – a tough kettlebell and total body work out on the beach with Ian. Any fogginess in my head cleared in the early morning sunshine.

But after a day in an overheated office I felt a little differently. The promise of a hot bath and an early night kept me going through a long afternoon.

I dosed myself with paracetamol and kept the cold at bay until Friday afternoon, but I was flagging. My head felt heavy and I was struggling to piece my thoughts together. I had a brief nap when I got home and considered my options for Saturday’s run.

My Nike Human Race T-shirt had arrived, the date was set. I knew I wasn’t in the best form, but chose to ignore it and put myself through the regular wake up and run routine. Gear on, porridge in and off.

Positive thinking and common sense told me to take it easy. Steady, steady, steady was my mantra. I didn’t look at my watch, just clocked the welcome beep as I clocked up another kilometre.

Kill or cure. The sweat burnt from my face, my legs over-toasty in new winter tights. Not so bad, not so bad I told myself as I took the easiest options, the flatter routes. It doesn’t matter if it’s slow.

A stalling headwind on the return leg had me gasping tear-blind, trotting out tiny steps, searching desperately for shelter where there was none. I considered walking to get through the buffetting menace, but pride wouldn’t let me. This was about endurance, sheer bloody-mindedness in the face of the elements and my own body.

Focus on what’s right – the breathing mostly. Roll out my feet, lengthen my stride. writing the story in my head before I reach the finish line. Distracting myself with tales of an heroic run.

I see myself, red T-shirt blazing out through the greyness. But I don’t feel like I’m putting on a good show. I’m lost and anonymous. A solitary runner with no smiles to share today.

Taking the easy option, I run the Nike distance, knowing I’ll come up short on the Garmin. A voice counts down the metres and I bumble to a stop. It’s an achievement of sorts.

Even Paula Radcliffe agrees as she congratulates me in my headphones on a new PB for 10k. It feels disengenious. My Nike+ flatters to deceive, measuring those tiny wind-stalled steps as if I was really stretching out. But today I’ll take anything I can get.

Bam! As the adrenaline fades out, the pain rushes in. A sharp pinching headache and the bridge of my nose feels like it’s being attacked by a jack hammer. Sinus pain ringing as dizzily I reach to remove my headphones, then realise I’m not wearing them anyymore. I stumble a little on the, thankfully short, walk home.

A hot shower brings relief to my cold swollen face, but for the rest of the day I’m capable of nothing more than reaching for another tissue and pressing play on the remote control. I toast my heroic run with a hot chocolate.

Catching up

So my early morning fretfulness disappeared after a good sleep and deciding not to put so much pressure on myself. And I return to my routine of running and training and enjoying the adrenaline buzz. It’s definitely a sanity saviour as well as a physical boost.

Wednesday boxercise is always a good marker. Half way through the week and a time to sweat it out, punch it out. I always come out smiling.

Thursday training
Thursday morning is damp and grey. A fine wet early morning mizzle delays the daylight as the sea retreats far from the shore.

Ian puts me through my paces. Double kettle bells, deadlifts, swings and clean to press. Then the long walk with them lifted high. Soon I can’t tell whether I’m just wet or sweaty. My glasses join the discarded hoodie on the sand.

It’s tough and challenging. There’s one point where I stop then try again. Push ups, burpees and the plank. But I’m in more control this week. Core braced tight and feeling strong.

It’s a race to get back in time for work. My hair stays slicked back and damp for the rest of the day.

The intervals I would like to fit in on Thursday or Friday have to wait. I have a friend to wish goodbye to and want everything to be right for this parting.

Saturday intervals
By Saturday I’m itching to run – even though it’s intervals and I haven’t chosen the best Friday night supper. You can just hear the excuses already, can’t you?

It’s chilly as I venture out. I wonder how many more days I can manage short sleeves and capri tights. But after a quick stretch I’m on the move. Struggle to settle on the warm up. Realise I’ve forgotten my heart rate monitor, but get going anyway.

The plan is several sets of 1 min run, 30 secs recovery with a warm up and cool down to take me to 30 mins. On the second sprint I come to an awful choking stop. Scratchy panicked panting for air, tears in my eyes and all hope abandoned.

I jog through the next interval set as my Garmin beeps like an excited puppy. I pick up the ball and try again. Better this time as I find my rhythm. But it’s still hard.

I let myself off another sprint around half way through, trying to control my breathing, then push on for another few sets before the relief of a cool down run.

Patchy and not glorious. But I’m pleased I didn’t let that first panic stall me. I stretch and head home for a shower.

Sunday run
Sunday is a glorious day for a run. Well rested and well fed I’m eager to be out again. This time it’s a 10k target and how much closer can I get to that magic 50 mins?

I’m off and the pace is good, smiling at the runners who are out in force today. Running my old familiar route, not shirking the inclines.

I’m a bit flat footed. I keep trying to roll my feet and stretch out the pace, rather than faster, shorter strides, but again it’s a bit patchy.

I run along the nice flat promenade on the way back and have to do some serious talking to myself not to stop. It’s all in my head. Nothing hurts, I can breathe. Just that evil little voice has filled my head with black doubts. I push on, knowing I’ve beaten this before.

Somewhere later it starts to feel good again. Not brilliant. Not quite that wonderful euphoric sense of everything working perfectly in time. But better, more positive. The evil little voice defeated once more.

I know I’ve slowed, but still feel like I’m putting the effort in. My Nike+ counts down the metres to go and I try to ignore it, clinging on until the Garmin lets me know I’ve really finished with a welcome beedily boop. 10k in 54.41 – faster than last week, but still quite a way short of where I want to be. Putting the miles in is the only way I’ll get there.

3am blog

I’m wound tighter than a twister. Dancing on my toes, guard up, ready to explode.

A fried blue metallic sizzle. Circuits in overdrive, neurons pinballing. Magnesium fizzes, burns sharp bright white and leaves a round black hole.

Forgetting and remembering too late. Frustrated thoughts stranded like cracked spaghetti.

Bile creeps to my breastbone, binding me in impatience. To do, to please, to act my part. Conscious that one wrong move could send me spiralling. My gut a burning cauldron.

I close my eyes and see the calmness of a sea breeze. The smoothness of a gliding movement through the air. The easy rhythm of breath and feet. The emptiness of mind.

But this too must wait.

Tuesday’s run

Tuesday was busy. A flit from meeting to meeting, discussing new projects, whipping up energy at the thought of starting something new. And in the middle of it all, a good, ‘feel like I’m alive’ run.

A good run because the weather held. The bouncing rain that earlier threatened a wash out shrank back to grey skies and damp air, slick and cool.

A good run because I had company. My favourite running companion.
A good run because I kept pace with him without too much coaching.

Good because we kept up the chat, talking training and triathlon, races, holidays and future plans.

Good because when I felt I was flagging, I largely ignored it and pushed on up the hill onto the final straight where I got my groove back.

Good because I emerged red-faced and wet through, then slept soundly that night after stretches.

Today I sit at my desk, sun blazing at my back and the outdoors calling. But I must serve my time and await my escape. I settle for writing, not running to raise a smile.

So what’s next?

My great big challenge, the Great North Run, is over (for this year at least). I’ve had a great week’s holiday full of sunshine, good food and relaxation. And now it’s time to think about the next thing.

It’s not just me. Lots of other people have been asking me “What’s next?” too. And I’m weighing up my options. I think the right thing will come along at the right time, and I’ll just go for it. Like I did that January day driving along the Central Motorway, when I thought, very clearly, ‘Is this the year to do the Great North Run?’ and as soon as I thought it, I knew it was right.

So much has changed for me in the past year. If this was a reality TV show, this is the segment where they’d show ‘my journey’ – no doubt with inspirational music by Westlife or Take That – ‘Today this could be the greatest day of your life…’.

Running’s been a big part of that change. It’s helped me physically and mentally. But there have been other things too, all connected. Like making new friends through this common interest, and astonishing old ones. Reinventing myself a little I guess.

Because this feels like something I’ve always done. And yet I know it’s not. I have only been running for just over a year, and only seriously building up the mileage since January 2009. I didn’t go to the gym so often, or lift weights, or do resistance training with kettlebells and medballs or go to a weekly boxercise class. And now those are all things I do, and miss when I don’t do them. So I hope to continue all that.

But I’m also a writer, a copywriter by trade, and I’ve made my living from writing in one form or another for a long time. So I’d like to reflect some of that on this blog too.

Right now, I’m not completely without plans. I’ll be running 10k as part of the Nike Human Race on 24 October and I’ve signed up for the Heaton Harriers 10k in November. And I’ll no doubt pick a couple of other events to keep me focused and give me an incentive to keep training as the days get shorter and colder through the winter months, but I plan to bring the distance down to 10k.

I’d also like to improve my swimming technique. I’m strong and confident in the water, but my breathing is pretty useless, and I don’t really like putting my face in. So that’s a challenge to overcome.

I’ve loved writing about running and about my journey. On good days, it’s been a reminder that it doesn’t always come easy, and on bad ones, it’s kept me going, remembering those moments of joy, when everything just clicks into place; the freedom of the road and that precious liminal space in my head.

The nicest compliments I’ve had about my running posts have been when other runners have said they were reminded of their experience. That gives me a nice warm fuzzy feeling as a writer, and I guess as a runner too. Both can be pretty solitary pursuits, but you always hope for that special moment of connection.

The Great North Run

Me with my Great North Run medal. I finished in 2 hours 4 minutes.

How to make sense of this overload of sensations? How to describe the sights, sounds and feelings? It’s a blur, a jumble, a carnival of noise and colour, swirled in with feelings of excitement, and pride, fears and doubt, joy and fellowship.

What a race! What a day!

Nervous excited in a good way as I walked through Exhibition Park back from the start. Spotting celebs at the front and making my way back to the white zone. How glad am I that I managed to get my start zone changed – it was a long way to the back of the field.

Runners meeting and greeting, relaxing by the sides of the road. Was it too early to head to the pen? Picking a spot and stretching, looking around. Here they’re all wearing serious running gear, charity vests and sports watches, well worn-in trainers. Not so many costumes or craziness apart from a couple of punky hairdos.

I chat to Nick from London – he’s on his sixth Great North Run and says it’s the only one he does because it’s so well organised and the atmosphere’s brilliant. I try to conserve my energy, eat my banana, nervously sip at my water and wait.

Watching the big screen it all seems to go so quickly. There’s a warm up and music to make me smile and sooner than I think we’re walking forward – edging to the start line. And there’s room, there’s space, hit the watch, start running and we’re off.

The welcome cool of the overpass and the resonant shouts of ‘Oggy oggy oggy’. Pumped up and excited we reply and wave to the crowds on the bridges. Up towards the Tyne Bridge – about to be part of an iconic moment. Remember this moment in the crowd in the sunshine – behind the girl wearing a brthday cake hat.

The red arrows roar over.

And there’s a hill, pulling on my calves. I’ve gone off fast, ease it down a bit, find my usual pace and just keep moving forwards, forwards.

All these people, it’s amazing, but I’m still running my own race. I smile and talk to myself in my head. Checking I’m okay. Checking the watch and the pace band – and I’m on.

Everything blurs. I can’t take in landmarks or signposts. I miss most of the mile markers. Where am I? I don’t know. I’m on a road runnning and it’s hot. The sun beats down and surges up from the tarmac. I need water. I never need water when I’m running – but today I do.

I stick to the left hand side, find my space and just keep going. Where the ground heads up there’s a sea of bobbing colours, but mostly my focus is just a few feet ahead.

Miles pass and I acknowledge the half way point. Feeling good, feeling strong. Enjoying the sunshine. A shower from a fire hose cools things down a little, dousing sticky sweat from my face.

It’s hot. It’s hot. I reach for water again and look in vain for shade. I stick to my plan and tear off a gel pack to keep me going.

There’s a roundabout, but by now I have no sense of the route. I’m just running, following, unable to do anything more. I pass 10 miles and I know I’m slowing. I try to hang on to a couple of runners in Cystic Fybrosis shirts for a while, but start to drop back and they’re gone. A couple of black fairies bat me with their wings. And I’m starting to struggle in my head.

Plug in my headphones for some focus and direction. Treat myself to another gel pack, barely even registering the taste. Just body craving the sugar.

And finally there’s shade. Trees line the road and families have gathered with picnic mats and chairs to watch the runners. They hold out cups of water, bananas, ice pops. I grab a slice of orange and it bursts in my mouth with welcome sweetness.

That’s what I needed, just to settle and gather my thoughts. Just a little further, just a little more. You can run for another 20 minutes, easy. But it’s not so easy as it has been in training.

And here’s the hill. The one everyone talks about. But it’s okay and suddenly I’m running down, down towards the sea and I’ve never seen such blue. Turn onto the sea front – remember there’s still a mile to go. The soft breeze revives me.

All I can see is faces. People crowded four deep by the barriers, clapping, shouting “Not far to go, keep going”. I pick up speed. I can do this. 800m and trying to decide when to sprint. And I see Gary – one face in the crowd that means something to me and I call out.

400m – it still seems a long way. I can see the elite finish now. But where’s the end? How much further? My legs don’t have enough for a real sprint, just a brief spurt and head in a blur I remember to stop my watch. It’s over. I did it!

Can I call myself an honorary Geordie now?