Racing like a Pro now – Page 2

How to run a 10k race and actually enjoy it

10k is my nemesis distance. Too long to be short, too short to be long; it’s running kryptonite.

This is one reason why I haven’t attempted a 10k race since September 2011, the others being 2) pregnancy, c) wine.

On Sunday our friend Brian was staying for the weekend and we decided to run one of the Regent’s Park Summer 10k series – you can just turn up 15 minutes before the start, pay your £16, tie on your timing chip and off you go. Spontaneity is not usually my middle name, but in this case I think not booking in advance gave me some psychological advantages: I didn’t obsess about it beforehand, I didn’t really* train for it, and I didn’t have a pace in mind. There were no hopes to be dashed – I was just going to turn up, give it a go and see what happened.

What happened? Some flippin’ excellent things! I paced it sensibly, ran a negative split, and got a new pb of 43:04. Best of all, I didn’t even feel like death at the end so there is room for improvement.

Now that the race is over and I no longer need them, I have come up with some useful tips on how to run a 10k.

1. START SLOWLY

The Regent’s Park 10k is a 3 lap course, which I have previously found to be soul destroying, but this time I used it to my advantage. Rather than starting at maximum pace and trying in vain to get faster each lap, I started at a pace that felt way too slow and really did get faster each lap. Aiming for a 45 minute finish, I actually came in a lot quicker as I felt so good in the second and third laps.

2. STRUGGLING? SLOW DOWN

I wasn’t aiming for a pb so I tried a crazy thing: actually enjoying the race. Every time I started to feel uncomfortable in the lungs, legs or stomach, I slowed down a bit because I didn’t want to feel like that. Then, once I felt better, I found I sped back up to pace without really trying.

3. GET TACTICAL

The Regent’s Park course is billed as “flat”, but really it has a couple of slight inclines and declines which shouldn’t be ignored. If you try to run them all at the same pace, your perception of how hard you’re working gets skewed and you end up ruining yourself. Slow down a bit on every incline, and you will reap the rewards on the downhills.

4. SAVE IT FOR THE END

This is a version of 1. Pick a point at which you are willing to give it everything and save your heroics for then. I picked 8k, but it ended up being 9k, then really just the final straight. Things do even out in the end, though. I used to peg it for one lap, die in the second and end up jogging it in. How much better to end on a sprint finish in front of your husband and child?

Like any tips, these seem really obvious. But, given that I’ve managed 20 years of running without following them, I hope they’re worth sharing.

* Ok, I have done some training, but nothing specifically 10k focused other than two interval sessions during which I nearly threw up. (6 x 800m with 1.5 minute recoveries, pain fans)

Me, daughter and 38 minute 10k-er Brian post-race. Plus plastic cup.

Underpass, Overpass: Milton Keynes Marathon 2014 Race Report

Behold! Warrior woman, striding it home in 3hours 41 minutes at yesterday’s Milton Keynes Marathon, with a grazed knee but a big smile. How strong I look! How fresh!

I love this picture, taken by my sister who so brilliantly came to see me at the end of the race. I love it even though it is a massive lie.

The thing about a stadium finish, I discovered, is that it forces you to (MK) don your gameface and power home like Paula. This is a good thing, but the scene in the Arena, behind the stadium, was the true face of marathon running. Everywhere runners were prostrate in exhaustion and pain. The St John’s Ambulance medics were running out of chairs. There was a distinct whiff of vomit.

My sister and her boyfriend found me on one of the chairs having a piece of metal prised out of my knee. The St John’s medic was keen to know if it hurt. “Hurt?” I said, “compared to the race, no, it does not hurt. At all.”

I fell over at some point in the last six miles of the race. Where, I could not say. It was a bit embarrassing, spinning onto my back whilst cornering one of Milton Keynes’ 96,000 roundabouts, but my main feeling was one of relief not to be running for 10 seconds. That and appreciation for the blood now dripping down my leg. A war wound!

This race is an odd one. A city marathon that starts on empty dual carriageways, as if the zombie apocalypse had left only an army of runners on the streets, it then has a long succession of cycle paths with one child and his gran waving you on, before heading towards IKEA and ending up in a proper stadium. It has many out and backs – oh, so many out and backs – where you are cruelly faced with other runners who look better and faster and, most importantly, nearer the finish than you. In a mean piece of planning, most of the out and back sections are down and up the same hill.

This section destroyed my pacing. I wasn’t wearing headphones, so couldn’t hear the Strava lady giving splits and had to rely on my poor maths to work out mile times. I thought I was doing ok on 3:35 pace (and in fact I was) until I got overtaken by the 3:45 pacer group at 7 miles. This really threw me. I put in a couple of sub-8 minute miles over an uphill section. I shook off the 3:45 pacer but sweat was now stinging my eyes – it was too warm for heroics, and I would pay for them.

I enjoyed the race after the half-marathoners disappeared at 11 miles, but I knew pain was on the way. At 19 miles everything started to hurt: stomach, knees, quads, neck (neck?!). I promised myself to slow down but never never walk. Even on sharp underpass inclines (of which there were about 937) I ran the slowest I possibly could without walking. At one point I felt like the only person who wasn’t, it was really surprising, and I think the weather and course must have been to blame. I didn’t do it to prove anything to anyone, but because once I started walking I wouldn’t be able to start running again.

So, I went from 8:15 miles to 9:30 miles, but I made it home before that bloody 3:45 pacer.

Race Report: North Dorset Village Marathon

I ran the North Dorset Village Marathon in 3 hours, 28 minutes and 15 seconds! It was a GOOD DAY. I don’t often write long posts but I can feel one coming on now. If you would like a summary, just read this and look at the pictures: 10 miles of joy, 9 miles of doubt, 4 miles of arrogance, 3 miles of pain, 0.2 miles of relief.

10 Miles of Joy

What a lovely race. 400 people and their friends warming up in a school hall, with bacon butties for the supporters, enough portaloos, and a handbell for a starting gun. No chip timing, no queueing, no crowds.

As soon as we started running the sun peeked out from behind the clouds for the first time in a month. Everyone was smiling. I tried not to worry about sunblock. The next 9 miles were perfect – good pacing (just under 8 minute miles) and good conversation with two people who had just run the London marathon. There was a sharp hill at 8 miles, but it was much shorter than the hills of Crouch End and I conquered it with ease.

At 10 miles some friends were going to be waiting, and I was really looking forward to seeing them. I waved like a mad woman and felt really excited. It was going so well!

9 Miles of Doubt

Running away from my friends, I felt like a switch had been flicked. Not in my body – that felt fine – but in my brain. I didn’t know if I was going to see anyone again until the end, which was still 16 miles away. I had pulled away from the London marathoners and was pretty much on my own now. The lanes were quiet and flat. There were cows, horses, pigs and lambs for company, but they weren’t doing much for my motivation. I spied a buzzard soaring overhead. Maybe I could stop and go for a nice Sunday walk in the sunshine?

I was getting distracted from the matter in hand. My times were creeping up. I went through 13 miles in 1 hour 43 minutes, 2 minutes faster than planned, and I was gaining 15 seconds a mile. I was restless. I needed to take control, so I decided on two things – to start listening to music to calm me down, and to split the race up into sections from here on out.

I decided to run three races; a 5 miler to 18 miles, trying to slow my pace down; a four miler from 18-22, taking it easy over the hills I knew were coming then; and a final four miler from 22- 26, hopefully a bit faster if I was feeling fresh.

4 Miles of Arrogance

It worked. I had got to 18 miles feeling good, better than on my long training runs. There was a lovely flat mile from 18-19 and I was thinking that the penultimate four mile section would be a doddle. Then came the hills. I knew they were coming, they weren’t that high or long, they were just there. I attacked them, probably a bit too hard, but I was feeling so good. It was great to pass people on the way up and I got a bit addicted to doing it.

At this point, someone told me I was “fourth lady”. I ignored the use of the word “lady”, and started dreaming of glory. I could totally catch that third woman! On a rare straight section, I caught sight of her. It was on.

3 Miles of Pain

I had been thinking that the final section would be one of the easiest. It looked flat on the course profile, what could possibly go wrong? I forgot that this was a marathon. Marathons hurt. Bodies are not supposed to run 26.2 miles as if it were a walk in the park. They are hard.

Once I passed the 23 mile marker, another switch was flicked. This time it was in my legs, and I couldn’t do anything to control it. Throughout the race I’d been conscious of my hamstrings and calves. At 23 miles they hurt, but they were a mere twinge compared to the pain party going on in my quads. The lactic acid was squeezing through them like lemons in a juicer.

It wasn’t like any pain I’ve experienced before in running. It made me feel sick, like I might faint. I grimaced. I shouted to myself. I turned up the power ballads really really loud. I kept running. I crept up slowly on the third place woman, and edged past her apologetically. It wasn’t the triumph I had hoped it would be. We were fellow sufferers.

The feeling came and went in waves. I hoped that if I ran through a terrible patch, a good patch would replace it. The last mile was a whole bad patch, however, and I have never been so grateful to see the number “26” in my life.

0.2 Miles of Relief

Supporters lined the track for the last 0.2 miles. I’m really glad they did or I’m not sure I could have kept running. I knew I was going to to make it home in under 3 hours 30 and the temptation to walk was really, really strong.

I didn’t walk. I half ran, half stumbled over the finish line and bumbled incoherently to Mr N about how hard it had been. He was gleeful, and it was infectious. The memory of the last 3 miles was fading. I know that by this time next week I’ll have forgotten about it completely.

This is the joy of marathon running – the pain is part of the joy. What would be the point of running 26.2 miles if it didn’t hurt a bit? Who would be impressed by that, and what would we be proving?

Another joy of marathon running is below. Nothing tastes sweeter than a post-race pint.

CHEERS!

Girl Racer

I was terrible at sport at school, but when I was 10 I was picked for the Windsor house relay team on Sports Day. I was shocked and terrified, but a tiny bit pleased.

Maybe they knew something I didn’t? I still run the same way now (including lip biting), though not in the same shorts.

Race Report – A view from the sidelines

I am back!

Sadly, not back running (give me a week or so, then we’ll talk), but I wanted to write about Mr Notajogger’s amazing PB-smashing 10k performance on Sunday.

As he has mentioned, he’s been training for the last 8 weeks to try to improve his 10k time: 43 minutes 57 seconds. He followed the same schedule that I started, but then had to abandon. Mr N is very good at following training schedules. I tend to use them in the same way that I would a recipe, adding a handful of raisins here, changing the oven temperature there. He uses them in the way that he would a recipe, to the absolute letter. As a result, he knocked 54 seconds off his PB, and I am sitting on my bum eating cakes.

It was surprisingly fun to be watching a race, rather than participating in it. I particularly enjoyed waiting at the start line, watching 350 runners shivering through the announcements, whilst dressed in a parka and boots. Despite the grey weather, there was a lovely atmosphere – it really is a friendly race and my hands ached with constant clapping. There are three laps, so from the leader’s first appearance at about 11 minutes (!), there is always someone passing who needs to be cheered on.

Dan (Mr N) looked good at the end of the first lap, bang on time to break 43 minutes, which was his goal. The second lap is the killer in this race, it’s really hard to maintain motivation and not let self-doubt creep in. He dropped off the pace a bit, but was still looking good. I gave him a few choice words of encouragement (I may have shouted) at this point, which obviously did the trick as his final lap was his fastest and he finished in 43 minutes and 3 seconds. Whoop!

What is Dan doing to celebrate this great achievement, you might ask? Is he joining me on the sofa with the cake? Not quite. He is starting a new 8 week plan to knock off those 3 seconds.

5k Challenge – Parkrun Edition

This weekend Mr N and I did our first parkrun in Finsbury Park. I’ve been meaning to go along for ages, it’s such a great idea – a 5km race, measured and timed, running every Saturday morning and, best of all, completely free.

It was a beautiful morning, but I am in two minds about how it went:

On the one hand, I was the first woman (none of this ‘lady’ nonsense please) to finish, I ran 21.36 on a hilly course (43 minute 10k pace), I ran hard but didn’t kill myself.

On the other, Mr N beat me; I thought I could run under 21 minutes, I thought this training plan might help me run a 42 minute 10k, which seems really unlikely if I can’t run a 21 minute 5k. Did I mention that Mr N beat me?

I have always known that this day would come. The circle is now complete, he was but the learner, now he is the master. My powers are weak, the force is no longer strong with me. I have gone over to the dark side.

“Race” Report

So it turns out that 7 hours of gardening, no proper training and 4 slices of pizza don’t help you run a good 10k race.

Yesterday I ran the lovely Regent’s Park 10k, which happens on the first Sunday of every month. I am proud of myself for turning up, but not much more than that. I knew I wasn’t in for a pb – see above for my extensive preparation – but I vainly supposed I could finish within 44 minutes.

At the start line the threatened rain clouds dissipated promisingly. It was a big field but I kept up a decent pace over the first couple of kilometres. By the end of the first lap of three my legs felt tired but 44 minutes was still possible.

BUT THEN. As I passed the start/finish line and smiled at Mr N, it was as if the world had turned from technicolour into black & white. Immediately, everything hurt. Slight inclines were mountains, breathing was laboured. People running alongside me were suddenly running past, at an impossible pace, like the Keystone Kops. All I could think was, “I have to stop, I have to stop”.

I will stop at 5kms, I thought. At 5kms I slowed down to a morbid jog. I kept this up for 200 metres. There was a slight downward hill. I felt a bit better. I will make it to the end of the second lap, I thought. I picked up a tiny bit of pace. On the approach to the start/finish, through loud-hailed encouragements from the race director, I glimpsed Mr N waiting for me to pass. I knew I had to finish the race. “I’m just going to jog the rest”, I wheezed.

I started the third lap, stopped to drink half a cup of water, and finished the race. My jog improved to a steadier run as the finish line got closer, but was never less than painful. The only positive thing I have to say about this race is that it made me want to train for another one to expunge its memory. We’re signing up for the December 10k and I am going to crack 43 minutes.

And that, my friends, is an absolute promise.

Surprise Race Report

Did I not mention I was going to run a race today?

I ran the June one in the Regent’s Park 10k summer series, which are organised by Mornington Chasers and a really friendly and low-key set of races. They happen on the first Sunday of the month and although I have free entry* to them this year, this is the first one I’ve made it to. I didn’t do any specific training, but I’ve been running regularly, so this was really an experiment. They take entries on the day, so it’s a good race to know about if you’re feeling similarly experimental.

Conditions were great – not too hot, no rain. The field is always a mix of regular runners and newcomers, who quickly spread themselves out along the course: three laps of the North-East corner of the Park. By the second lap I’m usually overtaking a few walkers and by the end it’s hard to judge which lap people are on. The only way to run it, as every race I suppose, is to stick to your own plan and not worry too much what other people are up to. It’s chip-timed, and although the three laps are a bit tedious they give you a good picture of how you’re running.

I ran an ok time for me: 43 minutes, 44 seconds. I was just happy to make it under 44. I would love to run a 42 minute 10k, but I’m not sure it’ll happen this year. Or maybe ever. Anyway, focussing on the positives, my split times were quite heartening, and accurately reflect how the race went for me:

00:14:29

00:14:38

00:14:34

A less than 10 second difference between the fastest and slowest third of the race, with the middle section the longest. The middle of three laps is always the worst, psychologically. Physically I was making a bit of an effort to reign it in and not tire myself out as I knew I didn’t have the legs to put in a fast finish on top of a fast mid-section. As it happened I was then able to do a little sprint finish, which is always good for the ego.

A good start to the day, and I might actually do some training for the next one. Sub-43 minutes is the aim, which would be an official PB, as I’ve never run that in a race before.

*Hilariously, I came 3rd in the series last summer in my category and so got given free entry to the races. I have now gone up an age-group however, to LV35, so oddly now have no chance of placing anywhere – all the good runners are over 35.

Race Report

Hurrah, it is over! I am really enjoying the post-run endorphins and feeling pleased with my performance. I ran 13.1 miles in 1 hour, 36 minutes and 7 seconds, which I think is my third fastest time and only a couple of minutes off my best.

I felt good at the start, so attempted a few miles at target pace (7mins, 15 secs). I knew that my cold would tell towards the end though, and at 8 miles I decided to slow down rather than speed up over the last few. To be honest, that made it a bit more enjoyable. I was hanging on, but not really pushing myself too hard. My main concern was to keep going, not have to stop and not kill my lungs.

It was a good race, I thought. Lovely scenery, fast field and totally flat. On a better day I could have smashed my Pb, but it feels good rather than disappointing to know that. Next time!

Here’s a pic of the medal and my time (my watch is so advanced it can’t measure hours).

Be Prepared

I’m writing this on the train to Richmond, where we’re staying the night before the race. I still have the cold, my legs ache and I haven’t run a decent mile all week, but I’m carrying on as if none of that mattered, in the hope that it won’t (it will).

Whatever, in 15 hours the race will be underway and in 17 hours it will be over. I’m as prepared as it’s possible to be. I have vaseline, sticking plasters, tissues, jelly babies, foam bananas (secret weapon), real bananas, pasta for dinner and my race number.

Wish me luck!