10K

Well, blow me, I just about did it. I ran slowly for a full 10 kilometres. I didn't stop, cry or throw up. I just kept at it and the kilometres gradually went by and eventually, after the longest 1.5 km of my life I got to the end. When it came down to it, the hardest thing was still how bone-grindingly, mind numbingly TEDIOUS running is.

For something so dreadful, the day taught me a great deal.

Firstly, it taught me that 20,000 people is a lot. If you end up near the tail end of 20,000 people, waiting to get to the start line, and you can see about 19,500 people in front of you, you really do start to properly worry that when you start running, 499 people will immediately overtake you, tutting, and you will, officially, be the last person to cross the finish line.

Secondly, it taught me that if you run all the way very slowly, you will probably not be the very last person over the line, but you probably will be in the last 1% (estimate - can't face looking online*) which is still quite embarrassing and also means that if you could only learn to run a bit faster, not only would you feel less self-conscious, but you'd also get the whole miserable thing over with more quickly.

Thirdly, it taught me that I can do it. That if I grit my teeth and just keep going I can run a fairly long way. Longer than I have ever run my life before. Given another 12 weeks, I can probably run further. 13 miles, perhaps.

Fourthly, to my surprise, it taught me that my lungs are stronger than I realised. In fact, my lungs gave the performance of their lives. Steady, even breathing, no burning pain and a really quick recovery. Given the terrible drugs, radiation and whatnot that has been chucked at those poor organs, never mind the whopping great tumour they shared chest space with for almost half a decade, I am enormously proud of them. Well done lungs.

My legs, on the other hand (and fifthly) are useless. Even before I had started running, they were feeling stiff and achy and nervous. Yes, I had nervous legs. From the 6k point onwards they were really very grumpy and between 7and 9 they begged me to stop. I refused and they grudgingly put on the wimpiest final performance ever. Today, they are not speaking to me.

The sixth thing I learned was that if I don't know my route very well and therefore don't know when a hill (well, a slope, it's not exactly fell running) is about to appear, I deal with it far better than if I know it's coming.

This is because (seventh) I barely look up when I run and so quite often don't realise I'm on a hill 'til I'm half way up it and think "God, this is hard" and by the time I've worked out that I'm actually going up hill, I'm nearly at the top. I think my posture is very poor indeed when I run.

That posture thing not only matters because it means I have bad technique, it also matters because I learned, eighthly, that if you are towards the end of the pack you are a really easy target for the zillions of official photographers who line the route. In a few days time I have no doubt that some hard sell official photo agency is going to be filling my email inbox with dozens of links to pictures of some revolting, overweight, stooped, sweating, red faced plodder who looks like she might fall headlong into the gutter at any second. Next time I read an article of racing tips that smugly advises, "Remember to smile so you have a super momento of your wonderful day!" I shall track down the writer and cut their fingers with the sharp edges of the paper their piece was written on.

Eight learnings....let me see if I can make it ten...one for each kilometre.

Yes, I can. Learning nine is that it's great to have supporters. I saw the little group of Brook cheerleaders, including Lucy and Dave, twice and each time it gave me a boost and I loved them for standing in the rain and cheering me on. At one point, where the run loops back on itself, I found myself desperately scanning the faces running the other way for Steve because I'd have liked to cheer him on. In fact, I passed a decent 10 minutes doing that which helped take my mind of the run.

And learning 10...Oh, that's easy, I learned that even if someone has only done four training runs on the road in the lead up to the race, you still feel fantastically proud of them when they charge round in less than 55 minutes *and* pick your medal up for you so that you don't have to faff around in the disorganised chaos at the end but can head straight for a slap up celebration lunch.


And, by the way, THANK YOU to everyone who has sponsored me. Don't worry if you haven't yet, though, I've still got months of work to do and my next goal is another 10k in September followed by the dreaded half marathon in October. There is still plenty of time to sponsor me at www.justgiving.com/hilliershitthetarmac



*Ok, I looked. I was in the last 4%. And a full 200 people didn't finish.

151.22km

151.22 km. That’s how far I’ve run in the last 10 weeks. I have been on 42 runs, for a total of 20 hours and 22 minutes. Small runs that add up to quite a lot and I’m pretty proud to have stuck to it.
Or at least I was. Then I had this conversation:

Me: How many times have you actually been out and done a road run in the last ten weeks?

Steve (evasive): Oh, a few. Ummm. I’ve been to the gym quite a bit. You know. Treadmill

Me: Sure, but not for ages. And anyway, treadmills are different. How much street running have you done?

Him (still evasive): Yeah, some. <Sigh> Ok, about 4

Me: 4?? Long runs?

Him: ‘Bout 30 minutes.

Me (bit worried about his knees): I really think you should go out today and see how you go – we only have a week left

Him (resigned): Yeah, good idea. I’ll go now

50 minute pause

 Me (Shrill): “9k in 50 minutes? After 4 training runs and the odd trip to the gym? I HATE YOU” <Sobs>

Him (Like a man drowning): “Wow, your legs have really changed shape, you know, they look lovely.”

It really doesn’t seem fair that after 10 weeks of grinding misery with flashes of only a bit awful to keep me going I am still not 100% sure that I’m going to be able to run the full 10k whereas the git I’m married to does a few half-hearted jogs around town and somehow retains a level of running ability that I am unlikely to see in my lifetime.

And don’t give me any tortoise/hare shit because although it’s true that Steve could sleep on a fencepost if he wanted to, he isn’t likely to in the middle of the 10k and will prance happily over the finish line a good 20 minutes before I do.

Mind you, considering how much I’ve hated the training so far, the 10k has come round mighty quick and I find myself wishing for a few more days to prepare.

It’s next Sunday. The longest run I’ve done in my preparation (and possibly the best run I’ve done, if it’s possible to rank 42 horrible things to find a best) is 67 minutes. Although I’d dearly like to achieve my target of 1 hour 15 minutes, I’m not expecting to do it on this occasion – I shall be happy with 1 hour 20 and have signed up for a second 10k in September that I hope to do faster.

And I guess, despite the misery and the fear that I’ll fail and the grinding boredom of the training, it has actually helped to take people’s advice and look at how far I’ve come.* I began my training with Walk/Run of 3 minute intervals. When I started, I had never in my life run for longer than 30 minutes. 5 weeks ago, a 25 minute run had me puking in the gutter. Today, 25 minutes is my ‘short’ run. I am a little bit faster. I can run for a lot longer.

And there was this one time....just one.... I was 45 minutes in to a 67 minute run about 10 days ago, and I suddenly realised that I was on autopilot. I realised my breathing was steady, my legs were fine and I was just getting on with it. I only about 67%** hated it, I could probably keep going for a very long time*** if necessary and I was actually…well…reasonably comfortable****.

Of course every run since that point has felt worse than ever, because running appears to be a bitch that way. But I hold on to that moment and I think I can do a 10k. I’m nervous and anxious and feel a bit sick. I’m stressed about the fact that I still don’t have my race pack because the ‘organisers’ of the Great British 10k would struggle to organise their way out of a paper bag (“Powered by Nike” my arse, powered by two idiots in a basement without a clue about customer service is more like it) but I am not going to give up and hide under the duvet.*****

And if I can’t run all the way this time, I will try again another time. And again, until I do. And then I’ll do the half marathon. And if I don’t get that right the first time I’ll keep going  til I do.

And, incidentally, my legs are looking bloody great******

PS Thank you so much to those of you who have sponsored me so far - I really appreciate it. I'm running for Brook - more info in the top right corner there - and you can sponsor me at www.justgiving.com/hilliershitthetarmac

 

* You see, Steve, Anna, Penny, Huw, Vicky, Dave – I do listen.
** 98%
*** A bit longer if I really had to
**** Not weeping
***** Probably
****** Apparently