The accidental runner

As I turned up my iPod, I knew I was making 'The Face', the one where the eyes narrow and become fixated on a goal they, as yet, can not see. It is a look of steely determination and betrays every bit of my natural tenacity. I was thirsty, the juice in my water pouch now tasting like syrup, and nothing seemed to make my legs move faster and above 6 mins/km, no matter how hard I tried; but there were only 3.5 kms left and I was going to complete this race, as quickly as I possibly could.

Eyes on the prize. (c) Woodentops.org.uk

But perhaps I should rewind. In 2012, having damaged my Achilles tendon and a ligament in my left ankle, I could barely walk, never mind run and, in spring 2014, seriously unhappy with the person I had become, it was with a great deal of trepidation that I set forth on a short lived attempt to get fit again. But, by Christmas Eve 2014, I had had enough, and for reasons that almost no longer matter, I started training regularly again. It was winter, it was cold, usually there was a gale blowing, but I stuck with it, determined, I think, to prove a point to no one else but myself. But I was afraid of injury, I remembered the pain of 2012 and I actively avoided hills. 

A grumpy selfie from run number 2, December 27th 2014  - You'll just have to believe there were pretty snow covered hills behind me...

I thought then, that to even suggest the possibility of running a 10K race was silly, an impossible goal, far beyond the ability of someone like me. 5K, I thought, was my limit. But as I kept running and began to get fitter, 10K did not seem so unachievable, I had, after all, run further in my previous life. But there is nothing like a goal to focus your mind and with the Hardmoors Saltburn 10K (I still maintain it is more than 10K!) entered, and following the advice of one in the know, I embarked on a regimented schedule of training distance, speed and hills, with about 50% of my time spent off road.

And so there I was, just shy of 7 months since I started with week 6 of Couch to 5K, 11.5 km into a 15 km race. 

Dragging myself to the finish line (Photo: The Simple Chick)

The last couple of Ks were hell and as I crossed the green bridge, the sight of a sign pointing right to the finish rejuvenated me before the seemingly endless run across the meadow to the line. Try as I might, there was no sprint finish, there was just nothing left. Although 1:30:57 may have been 57 seconds slower than I would have liked, I ran the whole route (including the larger than expected hill) and as the Simple Chick has just reminded me, this was only my second ever race and my first at this distance. Sometimes, I think, I forget the bigger picture!

For the last couple of weeks, I have been along to the very friendly Queensbury Running Club on a Thursday night. Eight club members ran the race and I was made to feel very much part of the club on the day. I think this Thursday, I will have prize open my (Scottish) wallet and become a proper member! Should you be interested, you can find the full race results here and the club results here.

There are now just under 3 weeks until the Saltburn race, which I am running to raise funds for Upper Wharfedale Fell Rescue Association, so if you need me, I'll be running up and down some hills somewhere! 

https://www.justgiving.com/MaryKSaunders/

Team Queensbury and associate (c) http://www.queensburyrc.co.uk/

Into the unknown

The Simple Chick rolled her eyes in exasperation as I said, for about the 2865th time, 'Maybe I should go to the toilet again?'. She held up her right hand, thumb tucked in and her four fingers spread apart, 'Four times you've been, four! And you haven't even drunk anything since 7!'.

Feeling very apprehensive

It was 9 am on a Sunday morning and I was lining up for my first proper competitive race. And I was bricking it. 

With my number pinned on, standing in the Green holding pen, I had no idea what to expect. My training had been (and still is) focused on my trail race in mid August, not tailored for a fast, flat road race along the straight roads of Leeds. And it was warmer than expected. The mizzle and cool weather anticipated, replaced by the sunny spells and high humidity which characterise the British summer. 

Although, ever since signing up, I have had a target time lurking at the back of my mind, I was not sure it was achievable and the last thing I wanted to do was to burn out after 4 or 5 km. So for once in my life, I thought I would be kind to myself and set my pace alarm for 5:55 min/km, with my main aim to come in at under an hour - anything else I would regard as a bonus. This was, after all, my first attempt at a 10K and I really had no idea how I would perform. But me being me, I also wrote all the splits for 5:50 min/km on my hand, just in case...

Shy and reserved in everyday life, I am at heart, fiercely competitive and I had elbowed my way to the front of the green group (people running an hour or over) to ensure a good start. Flying out of the blocks, I was plagued by stiff and sore quads but there was nothing to do but keep running, my carefully created drum and bass playlist pounding in my ears and driving me on. At times people coming to a halt in my path was frustrating and there were the obvious bottlenecks at the water stations, but in the main, the event was extremely well organised, with the wide roads allowing me to run at a speed of my choice.

And so, that's what I did, I just let myself run. Occasionally the pace alarm vibrated but I told myself that getting round was more important than anything else. Kilometre 5 to 6 up Kirkstall Road was a real grind and the final couple of kilometres really unpleasant in the heat of the sun. A small uphill section, followed by a narrowing into the final straight, killed my speed a little, but again, I forced my way through the bodies and ran as hard as I could towards the line, hitting stop on my watch as I sprinted under the white and blue gantry.

Charging for the line

Crossing the finish line (if you can spot me!)

After picking up my goodie bag, as we funnelled out of the finish area, I found the Simple Chick on the steps of the Art Gallery. A text message had already arrived to tell me my result - 56:59. Having donned the finishers t-shirt and put on my medal, we set off in search of coffee and cake to celebrate. Not only had I smashed my 59:10 target, I had actually achieved the unachievable and unspoken aim of 57'. I really couldn't believe it.

Feeling, to adopt Mark Cavendish parlance, 'super happy' as I tucked into some strawberry gateau, I couldn't help but feel that I had had a very good start to my 35th birthday celebrations.

Birthday cake number one

Birthday cake number two - made by the Simple Chick using the colours my climbing gear is taped in!

Freakishly Flat

I had been looking forward to this run for ages. Week in, week out, I had been slowly incrementing my long runs, starting at 10 km and building up by 6 to 10% each time. I had run over the moors, up and down hills and in ever decreasing circles until I had reached 19.13 km with somewhere between 296 to 326 m of ascent. Now I was ready to tackle half marathon distance and I was (perversely) excited. By strange coincidence, it is also almost exactly that distance between Shipley and Leeds, along the canal, and so, as a special treat to myself, I thought I would try running the longer distance on a flat route - because canals don't have hills, right?

'Oh look - a hill'. Somewhere near Armley Gyratory.

At the last minute I decided it made more sense to catch a train to Leeds and run back to Shipley, so, at 10.38 am I set off from outside Leeds Station. Soon I settled into my stride but a comfortable slow pace seemed rather quicker than intended and I tried hard to slow myself down, knowing how much further I had to go. But there was something odd about this run, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Then I realised - I had run several kilometres and I hadn't run up a hill. Weird.

It transpires that canals do have to tackle hills and I was somewhat amused, when arriving at the first lock, to realise I had chosen, unintentionally, to run the route the way round that went up them all...

Eventually, I reached 12 km and realised my hip was hurting from the regularity of running on an even surface, but I refused to give up. Painfully slowly the kilometres ticked by, as I passed through places I had never been and, in several cases, did not know even existed. By 16 or 17 km my hip really hurt and my pace felt like it had dropped considerably - it was hard to know though, as my GPS watch does not deal well with cities or woods!

Uncharted territory near Rodley

Finally I recognised the edge of Shipley and hobbled on for an excruciatingly slow final kilometre, desperate to reach my target distance, but also desperate to stop running. Finally Ellis Briggs' cyle shop honed into view and I pushed on up the path and onto the bridge, where my legs finally said 'no more' and I ground to a halt.

But as sore and stiff as I was immediately afterwards, I had done it - 21.11 km, 13.12 miles, 2:19:07. I'm pretty chuffed with that!

Ever decreasing pace!