This post originally appeared on Ben’s old blog, Running From the Physio.

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.

This post originally appeared on Ben’s old blog, Running From the Physio.

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.

This post originally appeared on Ben’s old blog, Running From the Physio.

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.

This post originally appeared on Ben’s old blog, Running From the Physio.

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.

This post originally appeared on Ben’s old blog, Running From the Physio.

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!

This post originally appeared on Ben’s old blog, Running From the Physio.

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!