Sheffield Half Marathon - 25 April 2010

Sheffield was the first in my 'Year of Half Marathons'.  I entered on the basis that it would be a better introduction to the distance than the suicidally hilly Leeds, and that the weather was likely to be more reliable than Alderney in September.

I woke up at 6.15 having slept pretty well (considering it was the night before the race).  I had my usual pre race breakfast of porridge and tea, stirring in a square of dark chocolate to give my legs a little extra something.  I'd woken up to the sound of rain falling on the velux window above my head.  It got harder as I ate, and with a heavy heart I packed my shorts in my kit bag and left the house wearing tights, a hoodie and a ski jacket, resigned to the fact that it looked like I'd be running in the rain.


The weather gods seem to love runners though!  By the time I got to Sheffield the rain had eased off and it looked as though the worst had passed.  I parked and wondered down to the Don Valley stadium, arriving and hour and a half before the start.  I took advantage of the lack of crowds to have a sports massage - satisfyingly I felt the nagging tensions I'd had for a few days in my glutes and hamstrings release as the masseuse did something to my back.  Then, seeing that the weather was clearing, changed into my shorts, club vest and rand new go faster sunglasses.

I warmed up on the track and then made my way to the sub 2 hr pen.  Following some helpful advice from Helen, I'd settled on a target time of 1:55.  My plan was to run the flat opening miles at 8:47, slow down on the hills between miles 4 and 7 in order to maintain the same perceived effort, open up on the downhill section between miles 7 and 10, and then pick up the pace at 10 if I felt comfortable.  I subdued my nerves by rehearsing my strategy in my head.

As soon as the race started a deep sense of calm came over me.  I had been worried about finding my pace as I'd struggled to run at race pace the week before in training, always going out too hard.  But I ran through the first two miles in 8:46 apiece, bang on my target time.  After that came the hills.  Although I slowed a little on them, they really weren't that bad.  Given that Sheffield is a city built on seven hills, it was practically flat!

The course was very inner city: it involved going through underpasses, running up ramps and through shopping precincts, and at one point into and out of the ground floor entrance of a multistorey car park.  Because it was in the heart of the city, the crowd support was fantastic!  People lined most of the streets, and different bands, cheerleading squads and charity teams had set up by the side of the road.  I particularly appreciated the support on the run up to the turn around point.  It was the longest uphill stretch of the race, and you could see the runners coming back in the other direction but didn't know how much further it was until you turned.  I was running behind a man in a chicken costume with a Kentucky state flag tied around his shoulders (geddit?) at the time so the cheers for my section of the pack were particularly encouraging.

Once we'd turned around there was a 3 mile downhill stretch and I ran some good mile splits, opening up a little but keeping within myself.  I had been moving steadily forward through the field for most of the race and was encouraged by the fact that unlike the people I was passing I wasn't out of breath, which told me that although my calves were feeling a bit tired I had plenty left in the tank.

I got to mile 10 in 1:26:29, taking 8 minutes off my 10 mile PB, and per my race strategy stepped the pace up a little bit.  It felt like more of an effort, but a comfortable effort.

In the eleventh mile, I was approaching another runner who had 'in memory of Alan Carsdale' printed on the back of her shirt.  It wasn't a charity vest, she'd just had it printed on the back of one of her normal running tops.  I started to think of my aunt, Julia, who died in 2009.  I started running in memory of her and decided when I get my new club vest I would get her name printed on it in the same way.  Thinking about about her reminded me that if she was still alive she would probably have come to cheer for me in a big race like this and it reminded me how much I missed her.  Suddenly, in the middle of the race, I was crying.  Only somehow it manifested itself more as an inability to breather, as though I was having a panic attack.  Not the most convenient moment to be oxygen deprived.  I spent a couple of minutes working quite hard to force myself to breathe in and out deeply and slowly beofre it passed.

Earlier in the race, I had calculated that if I could get to the 12 mile marker in 1:45 something I could comfortably finish just under 1:55.  I ran through the marker bang on target and began to pick up the pace.  Normally the last mile of a race is deceptively long, but this one if anything felt shorter than it was.  As we approached the stadium, ran around the top of the seating and then back out to the marathon gate I had to work quite hard to weave through people who seemed to be slowing down, but I managed to progressively pick up my speed and managed a fast run through the marathon gate and down the track to cross the finish line.  With a massive smile on my face.  I knew I'd come comfortably under 1:55 and I still felt like I had something left in my legs.  I was on top of the world!  (My chip time turned out to be 1:53:42).

I took full advantage of Erica, the sports masseuse, and had her do some work on my calves before heading back to Leeds.  And it was still only noon.  How do you follow that?  With a big bowl of pasta and a Lush bubble bath of course!

So, it's only April and I've bagged both my time targets for the year.  What's next?  To be honest, I'd quite like to rest on my laurels and take it easy for a while.  I've got a trail race and the Leeds Half coming up in the next fortnight, but psychologically racing for a time is demanding.  I don't want to do any more PB bagging for a few months.  Instead I'm going to get these two races out of the way and then focus on building another key running skill: consistency of training.  Earlier in the year, I went out too hard in training and got quite worn down.  I want to spend a few months with no big races in mind, exploring what a solid training base looks like for me.  And if that happens to involve knocking a few seconds off my 5k PB at Parkrun, I won't complain... ;-)

Pennine 10k

I approached the Pennine 10k in an bad frame of mind.  My running's been all over the place recently.  I've had a few good weeks, clocking 25 - 30 miles, and a few terrible weeks where life and feeling glum has intervened.  This week, for example, I didn't run at all between Monday and Saturday.  That's right: nothing at all.  I've been circuit training and made a feeble attempt at cycling, but running - zip, nada, a big fat zero.

Earlier in the year I was hoping to break my 10k PB of 53:32 in a spring race, spurred on by running through 10k in 52:34 in training.  But after a month of feeling rubbish, I was worried I'd be lucky to even equal my PB.  So I had very low expectations for the Pennine 10k, which I had been warned is what race organisers euphemistically describe as 'undulating.'  Or, as Kay put it 'too hilly.'

I was debating not going at all, but Rona was determined to spectate so I couldn't let her down.  Plus I'd heard that the momento is a rather nice engraved glass and I'm a bit short of glasses.  So up I got at 6.50 (boo) to knock back my porridge.

The Pennine 10k is one of those races that sums up what local races are all about.  Respect to the Halifax Harriers, who showed out in huge numbers to marshall and cheer on the runners (as well as fronting a few favourites to win).   The roads weren't closed, but the marshalls skillfully controlled the traffic and a lot of locals were sitting in their gardens or standing on the pavement to watch the race.

Deciding I needed all the help I could get I did a good mile warm up and stretched at the start line.  I knew that the big hilly section was from about mile 3 to mile 5 and could see from my warm up that there was a steep downhill mile at the start.  I decided to pace myself according to the terrain, legging it as fast as I could downhill and chipping away at the uphill.

So when the race started I really did peg it, running through the first mile in 6:56 - my first sub 7 minute mile - and the second flatter mile in 7:17 - still much faster than I normally run.  I was terrified at this point that I would blow up on the hill so tucked in behind another runner and went through the next mile, a gentle incline, in 8:22.

I hit the 5k marker in 22:19, knocking 1 minute and 41 seconds off my 5k PB.  It suddenly occured to me that if I could hang on through the hills I could still PB.  But I realised that I had to have the guts to run my own race.  That meant no trailing other runners and no watching the watch: I was going to run on perceived effort.

The first half mile of hill was pretty harsh.  I was unnerved when a very fit looking female runner had to stop for a walk break (she never caught me up again).  But I tanked on, keeping my stride short and resisting the urge to surge for the crest.  A couple of times I heard another runner coming up to my shoulder and told myself 'let him pass.'  This was my race, and I knew that what I lost running uphill I could gain back running downhill if I held something back for the last mile.

Two miles of running uphill felt pretty rough but as the course started to level out at about mile 5 and I began to overtake other runners I knew I'd made the choice in not hitting the hills too hard.  I stepped up my leg turnover when I saw the 8 kilometer marker and made sure I attacked any downhill sections.  At 9k I was pretty tired but I knew from training that I could hold a hard pace for a kilometer so dug in.

Unfortunately it was the twistiest last kilometer of a race imaginable.  Every time I turned a corner, imagining that the finish line lay just around it, there was more to come.  And then when I did turn the final corner, what was I faced with but a fairly steep uphill to the finish.  Gutting.  There was no question of sprinting for the line, I just had to hang on.

I didn't feel quite as bad as I felt after the last PECO cross country race, but that was possibly only because my legs were so tired that my stomach didn't have enough energy to feel nauseous.  I hobbled away from the finishing chute and sat on the grass.  A kind hearted Halifax Harrier handed me his water bottle, evidently taking one look at me and deciding I needed it more than him.

But I knew the truth.  This sweaty jelly-legged heap wasn't slumped in defeat.  Oh no.  This jelly-legged heap had crossed the line in 49:18, knocking a massive 4 minutes and 16 seconds (count them!) off her PB.  That's 8%.  That's over 40 seconds a mile.  That's a whole lot of awesome!  This jelly-legged heap who had come thinking she'd be lucky to run 55 minutes had just achieved, in all likelihood, the biggest margin of PB she was ever going to get over 10k.  As one of the runners said afterwards, 'we need to find you a flat course quick!'

But, when the results were published online it got even better.  I was 3rd in my age category.  My age category being senior: that meant I was third in the women's race!  This really was the race of my life!

Massive thanks to Gill and Rona for acting as my personal cheer squad.  Between them they popped up at four places along the course, and lied through their teeth about how good I was looking.  Exactly what you need to hear when you feel like your lung in about to pop out of your rib cage and your calves are on fire.  And I knew that the lone voice in the crowd calling out 'Come on Woodhouse Whippet' could only be for me.  Class!