I felt like a runner today

I’d watched the weather forecasts that warned of a heatwave and decided Saturday looked a better prospect than Sunday for cooler weather. I woke early, ready to beat the heat. I must have been the only person on the North East coast delighted by the sound of the fog horn.

Peering through the blinds, the dense grey mist hid the houses on the other side of the street. That gave me time. Time to get ready, to get some fuel on board and to stretch ahead of my longest run to date.

The damp air brought a welcome coolness to my arms and neck as I set off. Sounds muffled, the waves shush unseen. Familiar landmarks smudged into obscurity, my focus drawn in and onto the grey pavements.

Passing another runner on the way out, we share a mutual sign of recognition. A nod, a wry smile. The runners’ greeting says so much: “I saw you, so I kept on going”. “Yes, I’m daft enough to be out here too”. “Hope you have a good one”.

A brief shared moment. Passed before it’s begun. Because we’ve been there. When it’s been tough; when the sun’s beaten down; when we’ve been soaked to the skin. When we’ve felt the muscles tightening and the blisters creeping. When we’ve been red-faced, gasping for breath. And we’ve been there when it’s felt easy; when our bodies have been taken over by the flow. Everything reduced to the simple action of putting one foot in front of the other.

It’s not all smooth running this time. I need to remember that.

For the first few minutes my legs are tight. My pace heavy and laboured. I have to give myself a bit of a talking to as sharp bright thoughts of stopping, slowing down, taking it easy fire off in the centre of my brain. I find a way through, distracting my mind from thinking about what my body is doing.

And somewhere along the way, I get my reward. Hitting the sweet spot where the run and the breath and the mind work together. And I smile.

The same runner passes me as I turn at the half way point. This time we wave and grin. Running the same route from different directions.

The sweet explosion of euphoria at the finish. Realising, not only had I made the time, but the distance too. 75 mins and 13.3k. That feeling carries me through the rest of the day. My aches are honest ones, a reward for hard work, not symptoms of injury. And they give me confidence, absolute surety, that I can keep on training and reach my goal.

The Blaydon Race

Racing through the working day. Meetings, emails, phone calls. And all the time counting down the minutes until it’s time to shut down and tuck away the day-to-day. For tonight is race night.

Changing in the ladies loos. Squashed in, swapping smart for sporty. Hair gripped back. Watch set. Bus ticket and emergency pound coins tucked in the back pocket. Then off into town.

Sauntering self consciously through the city centre to the place where the runners gather. Young, old, tall, short – all shapes and sizes and ages wait on the cobbles.

My friend is quiet. This time, I’m the one with experience. Not this race, but others. There’s a chill in the overcast skies and we just want to be off and moving.

Spotting friendly faces in the crowd, we chat about nothing, glancing at watches, ready for the off. Wishing each other luck.

Gradually, casually, we begin to move. Shuffling forward in the narrow space between the pubs and nightclubs until we hit the main road and the sound of the bell. And we’re running.

Tight packed, slow to start, my legs yearn to be stretching. Dodging elbows and curbstones I find a route through, trying to keep pace with a runner in black. I soon lose him in the crowds as we turn onto the Scotswood Road – a welcoming wideness where I can run my own race.

One by one I spot them. Choose my next target and move forward. Past the man in the green top, past the tall guy in the black shirt; past the doctors discussing heart valve replacements and the girl in her pyjamas. I smile as I go through, feeling fast and strong.

Remember to check myself. How’m I doing? Feeling good? What’s the pace? That’s good, stick with that. And on my shoulder a running veteran smiles at the daft girl talking to herself in the middle of a race. “Just coaching myself” I tell him. And we’re ‘gannin’ alang the Scotswood Road’ to the sound of a band playing.

There’s a bridge and a slope. At the side people stop and walk, but I push on up and through, my veteran buddy still at my side. Over the top and down, the route narrows to a walking pace and I want to be through the gap and moving on.

Along the Derwent the runners flow upriver and down again. Friends wave and shout as they pass each other and I scan the crowds for a familiar face, knowing he’ll be long gone. How far, how far before we turn and head back along the same stretch? I cannot see the end.

Another bridge, another slope and my pace has dropped a little. But I spot my unknown running buddy and spur myself on. Over the top and you can see the runners below, heading for the finish. Use the downhill slope to stretch out, pick up some speed and push on.

The crowds at the bus station surprise me. Kids reach out over the barriers, hands held out for high fives. And, I’m smiling, grinning, beaming at the joy of running. At the simple pleasure of moving one foot in front of the other, feeling easy, totally in the flow.

We wind round and down and I can feel it’s close now, stretch out. No longer focused on the next one to pass, just running for the sheer joy of it. The final straight and my anonymous pace maker is still there at my shoulder. I look across and say “Go for it”. We sprint for the finish and he lets me go in front like the gentleman he is.

I stop my watch and show him the time – 51 minutes. Shake his hand and say “It’s been a pleasure running with you”. I still don’t know who he was, but we shared this race.

Not, my unknown race buddy, but the man responsible for getting me running - Ian Turrell

You know you’re hooked when…pt 2

You completely forget you bashed your hip going through a gate somewhere during your 7.5 mile race and only remember when you spot the bruise in the shower the next morning.

Pier to Pier race

After the brilliant buzz of my first race, I knew I wanted to do it again. I already had my place in the Blaydon, but 9 June felt like too long to wait. I spotted a couple of 10k runs locally, but then one of the other runners at work mentioned the Pier to Pier.

It sounded a bit barmy. For a start, the distance is approximately 7.5 miles. Approximate because there’s no set route. It runs from the pier at South Shields to Roker pier in Sunderland. Once you get to the cliff tops you can take your own route over paths and fields before heading back together for the beach finish.

Barmy too, because they say you might get your feet wet. The race starts and finishes on the beach. And this year they had to put the start time back to make sure there was enough sand to run on.

But it’s a nice spot, it’s a coastal route, and my friend in the changing rooms assured me it wasn’t that barmy. So that’s why I found myself shivering next to the fairground in South Shields this morning, set to take on my longest race to date.

Unfortunately, no matter how I may be feeling about a race, my bladder definitely gets nervous. I don’t think I need to worry about how to pass the time at the start of the Great North Run. I’ll be spending it queuing for the portaloos.

This time, I met a nice runner called Hayley, and we chatted away, passing the time quickly before the start of the race. Then we all lined up along the beach at South Shields. No gate, no megaphone, just a line in the sand and a whistle to start us.

And it was great! Quite a bit more challenging than the North Tyneside 10k, partly because of the longer distance and partly due to the changing terrain. Although it was mainly flat, with only one slope and one set of steps on the route I took, I ran over sand, gravel trails, grass and earth. That kept things interesting. It was actually quite nice to feel the difference, so the path came as a nice relief from the sand, then the grass was a softer surface than the paths.

It was confusing to see runners splitting off and heading over the grassy banks to take one route or another, but it was a good way to split the field. I’m sure regulars have their preferred route. I just decided on the spur of the moment which way to go, but it did leave me with the nagging feeling that I had picked the longer path.

At times the paths were narrow and I became very aware of the runners close to me. Sometimes we were in single file, following the line of flattened down grass. I was most comfortable when I was on my own following a group just a little way ahead. I like my own space when I’m running. That will be a challenge in larger races.

Once again I spotted runners I thought I could keep up with, to keep my focus just ahead. My competitive spirit kicked in a couple of times as I over took them. It’s just annoying when you recognise people you passed earlier overtaking you on the final straight.

I ran pretty much the whole race without listening to my music. It was just nice to enjoy the fresh air and seabirds. But after realising I hadn’t started my stop watch for the first 10 minutes, I spotted my pace was a bit slower than I wanted. So I plugged in the headphones to help me find the right pace. And I picked them up again when I felt I was flagging. A burst of music to get me smiling and enjoying myself again.

It also helped that I only used my watch to keep an eye on my pace and heart rate. I had no idea how long I’d been running for, I just knew that I felt okay. I kept reminding myself of the coaching points: breathe into the ribs, stretch out the stride, push off the back foot, keep the arms efficient and hips pointing forward.

No sprint finish this time, but I did have enough left in the tank to tackle the leg-sapping last hundred yards or so over soft sand. 12.28k or 7.6 miles in 64 mins – that’s a result!

Race results

Wonky feet

Yes, it’s official. I have wonky feet. In medical terms, both my right and left foot pronate. I’ve had them checked and measured and everything.

The good news is that I can get some special insoles (orthotics) that will encourage my feet to take a more balanced view of the surface they’re resting on. I’m hoping that will allow me to keep on training without any more injuries.

This running lark has introduced me to a whole new world of specialists and language. I’m starting to learn the names of the major muscle groups in the legs and certainly understand a lot more about how I’m put together mechanically. I never used to have conversations about orthotics before.

It’s also good to know that the training I’ve been doing, not just the running, but working the muscles with weights and circuits and resistance training is also paying off. The podiatrist who measured up my mismatched feet reckoned I would have hurt myself much earlier and harder had I not been building up strong leg muscles.

So, all those sessions on the beach with the shuttle runs and kettle bells? They just saved me a whole lot of hurt.

You know you’re hooked when…

You take your trainers, stopwatch and running gear on holiday with you, just in case…
All you can think of on a random working Tuesday is getting out for a run. And when you do get out, even though you’re running on dead legs and determination for the last 15 mins, it’s still the best part of your day.

Getting to the bottom of things

I’ve visited Ros at Blue Soul Feeling twice now for treatment and she’s brilliant. Not only does she take the time to understand which bits of you hurt and do her best to make sure you leave feeling better, but she’s also happy to talk things through on the phone, to try and help you out when you’re having a bit of a panic that those niggles are never going to un-niggle themselves.

She was recommended by a work colleague – isn’t that the best way to find someone to help you? And I really feel like she understands us daft souls who develop a passion for some kind of activity and put our bodies through stress to try and reach our goals.

I first went to see her in February, just after the ‘ouch‘ incident and she sorted me right out with a good deep-tissue massage and a prescription of rest with a side order of ibuprofen. And, lovely and helpful as she is, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see her again. But I did.

About a week after my triumphant race I went out again on a glorious summer day, feeling brilliant and ran further than I’ve ever run before. I was strong, really got into my stride and kept on going for 12k, proud of myself for building up the distance, focusing on the next goal of the half-marathon.

Should have known that pride comes before a fall, and the following day I was feeling it in the arch of my left foot. I iced it, took the tablets and determined to take it easy for a couple of days. But it left me hobbling. I could limp along on either my heel or my toe, but moving my foot through a natural walking motion was incredibly painful. So time to go back to Ros and get some more advice.

Once more she worked her magic, breaking up the build up of tension in my foot and leg and reassuring me that I hadn’t done anything too horrendous.

Trying to get to the root cause of the problem, she took a good look at the way I stand. And it seems like I pronate. This is something I’d heard runners talk about. It basically means that your foot doesn’t hit the ground straight on, but tends to veer to one side or the other. In my case, it looks like I invert with my left foot – that means I lean in towards the inside of my leg. And it would explain the series of niggles I’ve had all down that side. At least I hope it does.

Now I need to go and get another expert opinion, from a podiatrist. I’m hoping it will be something that’s easily fixed with insoles that will make my feet behave themselves. But I’m also a bit nervous in case it’s severe enough to prevent me training for that longer distance goal.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m chuffed to bits at what I’ve achieved so far. And I wouldn’t have believed I could get to running 10k so comfortably in three months since I really started focusing on that goal. But I started this with the aim of completing the big Geordie race. And I’d really like to do that. Just once.

I don’t intend to go on and start training for a marathon. But, having seen and felt the unique and wonderful atmosphere of the Great North Run so many times, I would like my story to be part of it too.

I’m still running and training and so far, not bad. But my fear is that this underlying problem will come back and bite me again. So, I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed when I go to see the foot expert and hope to put it down to just another learning experience.

The Race

There will be other races. But never another first race.

I’m excited nervous. Just a bit twitchy, like a small child anticipating a treat, but knowing I’ll have to be good to get it. I wake well before the alarm and go into my preparation plan, kit laid out the night before.

The sun is shining and there’s barely a breeze when I look out the window. But it was like that yesterday and still chilly when I ventured out. I opt for long sleeves, but change my mind after less than half an hour. All the kit’s been tried and tested, so I know it’s comfy. Today is not a day to try something new.

Porridge and banana – the breakfast of champions. Yello’s ‘The Race’ on the CD player puts the butterflies in my stomach to flight. A good round of stretches and some breathing focuses my attention. Kit in my bag ready for the finish line and it’s time to go.

Driving part of the way along the route, watching marshalls in fluorescent vests set out cones, it all becomes very real. Seeing runners in coloured vests and shorts filing towards the sports centre and I start wondering if they know. Can they tell I haven’t done this before?

Looking for a familiar face among the assembled throng. Starting to identify club runners. The green vests, red white and black bands, the bumblebee stripes. All this lot are pros. They greet each other like old friends as the distinctive hot tang of Deep Heat spikes the air. I feel alone in the crowd.  

I’m kidding myself I’m not nervous, but my body says otherwise. Queueing at the portaloos is an odd way to pass the time, but it does. And with less than 10 minutes to go I walk to the start. Here there are smiles, and laughs and chat. I bounce up and down on my toes, just wanting to be off, wondering what it’s going to feel like.

It’s all quite low key. A short countdown, a few strolling steps to the line, hit the start button on the watch, a bit of a verbal gee up, and I’m away. Amazed to be surrounded by so many people. Shirts of all colours stream away into the distance. It didn’t look like I was that far back at the start. Stick to the plan, don’t go off too quickly, keep it easy.

Down the hill to the quayside, stick to the left, stretch out the stride. The crowds start to spread out. The first mile goes by in a flash. I’ve got my pace, got my space. Away along the promenade all I can see is runners, stretching out into the distance.

Approaching the hill, you can sense it. We all know it’s coming. We’re all facing it in our own way. Beside me I hear a girl coaching her friend, “Small steps, keep it coming…” I listen and dig in a little, moving past bodies up to the Spanish Battery. The hill beside the priory is no threat now. I know I can tackle this one. Just a little extra effort. A minute’s worth, that’s all. The trick is just to keep moving at the top.

There are people along the course now, watching and smiling and no doubt thinking “What fools!” Beside the surf shop a small boy calls out “You’re nearly there”. The three mile marker shows we’re just under half way.  

I’m now on familiar ground, the route of regular runs. But hearing other runners beside me panting and struggling for breath is distracting. And now my watch keeps showing me the time, which I don’t want to see, and won’t show me my pace, which I do.

I focus on a runner ahead. A girl in a red vest with white blonde hair. She doesn’t look like a club runner. Can I keep up with her? I unravel my headphones and decide to run my own race. The music kicks in and the coast goes by in a blur. Just focus on the runner ahead. Stick to the right hand side away from the traffic and enjoy the tunes.

Dodge a couple of lampposts and benches. Avoid the people crossing from the beach to the road. Find the space, find the rhythym. Extend my stride and smile. Approach the sandcastles by Spanish City – another marker tagged. There’s a bit of an incline ahead, but I know I can deal with it.

Along the Links more people clapping and urging us on. I’m really enjoying it now. Pass the girl in the red vest and focus on one in orange and black stripes. Can see the lighthouse clearly now. Running my own race, leaving a couple of squaddies behind me and feeling strong. Passing the buses. Seeing the runners who have already finished making their way back and cheering us on.

And there’s the finish line. Turn from the Links and it’s just there. Only a couple of hundred metres left. And I’m grinning, smiling. Take the headphones from my ears to hear the buzz of the crowd, watching and running. Ready to sprint now a couple of hundred metres.

And there’s Ian and Kelda, standing by the barriers, watching me sprint to the line, big daft grin on my face.

What a buzz! Gary captures me on camera as I cross the line. I stop the watch and check the time. It looks good. I barely register anything beyond the finish line, pick up my goody bag on auto pilot and head back in the sunshine to find the car. And I’m surprised at how good I feel. Not stiff, not achey, not particularly out of breath. Like I could do it all over again.

Great North Run? No problem…

Race night

So tomorrow’s the big day. My first ever road race.

At 10am tomorrow I’ll be hitting the road with around 2,000 others following a route along the coast to the finish line at St Mary’s lighthouse.

So, I’m excited and a bit nervous. But more excited, nervous than worried, nervous. I know I have the distance in my legs, and I’ve already achieved so much, anything else now is a bonus. So I just plan to get out there and enjoy it.

It seems to have come around so quickly. If you’d have told me back in October that I’d be running 10k or 6.6 miles on Easter Sunday, I’d have thought you were crazy.

This week has been about preparation. After getting myself back in the groove, following a bit of a stumble from the training plan, I’ve actually taken it quite easy this week. My last run was on Monday and that was only 20 minutes. But I managed a great training session on Thursday morning, so I know I have the strength and endurance. 

Ian finished the session with a gentle warm down run along the sand, picking up some running coaching points.  It was a great reminder of how far I’ve come since I first started training with him. My first couple of sessions, that run felt like the end of the earth. I was lucky if I could make it half way. Now it’s a gentle jog at the end of a good hour of resistance and cardio.

And tonight we have pasta on the menu, fuelling me up for the morning. Then a bowl of porridge and a banana and I’ll be set. The weather looks set fair. Not too windy, which was my main worry, and hopefully not too wet either.

Of course, I have a time in mind. I’d like to do the distance faster than I’ve done it before. But I’m not going to tie myself to the stopwatch. Just go out there and run my own race and enjoy it.

First 10k

It was a strange Tuesday. A day of disturbed patterns and disrupted routines. A day to front up and be bold. A significant day for a number of reasons.

The reason I choose to remember came with the mid-afternoon sunshine, in the freedom and ease of putting one foot in front of the other, gently rolling out the miles.

Finding the pace, not forcing it. The breathing rhythmic. Key markers passed in conversation with my red-shirted guide, keeping thoughts from the anchor of the stop watch. The steady unwatched tick of distance.

Reaching out beyond boundaries. The breeze cooling, not dragging. The clouds looking kindly on the return. And the home straight. The approaching nearness. Knowing with absolutely certainty, saying out loud, “I can do this”.

And the feeling that I could do it again.

A good day to reach a milestone.