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!