Sunday was spent celebrating a very special eight year old's birthday. Her party involved consuming vast quatities of food and home made banoffee pie. I may be on the petite side, but I can pack away a fair amount of that banoffee pie.... Mmmmmm!
I had an hour's run planned for Sunday. I'm not a morning runner, all of my morning runs have been incredibly tough. This may be something to do with me generally being an absolute grumpy cowbag first thing in the morning. My family know to ignore me until I have had caffeine and carbs administered. It is a real shame that I'm not a morning person, because there is something beautiful about the lightness of the morning air, and the sun just peeking up promising a good day ahead.
After much deliberation, my running kit was thrown in the car so that I could run home from my friend's house. In mileage, they don't live too far away. But our homes are separated by a stretch of notoriously busy road which is the bane of my life. A 6 mile, 12 minute journey can often take upwards of 45 minutes on a bad day. Although the birthday party was great fun, the prospect of running home loomed over me. A couple of things were bothering me. I have only recently 'graduated' from running in full length, body concealing clothing to shorts and a vest top and presenting myself in proper runners kit to my closest friends was daunting.
The biggest issue I had was running from one town to another. This is another journey that I would never consider NOT taking the car for, and suddenly I am contemplating running it. I don't think for one moment that one person at the party doubted my ability to at least give it a go, or even gave it that much thought, but what they think of me matters. My husband had been his ever supportive self (read he nagged me a lot) and reminded me that I could do this. I set off with the well wishes of people who mean as much to me as my own family, and with a hopeful 9:20 minute per mile pace I start making my way home.
My family passed me in the car, with encouraging cheers from the girls, another reminder of why I am doing this. It isn't just about me, or getting fit, or running for fun. It is about fundraising for GOSH, it is about determination and being a good role model to four growing girls. They will never know how much their support lifts me and carries me through the most negative, dark thoughts while I am running through the feelings of 'I can't do this'.
I was worried in the first mile that I had set off too fast. Race for Life was a brutal lesson in pacing myself. I was already running at just under my best 5k pace, and it entered my thoughts that I wouldn't be able to maintain the pace. I hung back a bit, tried to slow down, but with another runner approaching me I subconsciously picked up my pace again.
As I neared the notorious traffic lights which seem to delay my usual car journey home by a lifetime, I had a little chuckle to myself as I had definitely just completed that distance in a better speed than I can drive it on a Friday afternoon. That felt good. Still aware of my reasonably-fast pace, I carried on going feeling really positive. Another runner approaching me, and again I subconsciously picked up my pace. Although I am slightly uncomfortable at this pace, I knew I was OK and could carry on. Stopping to cross the road was irritating, and I impatiently jiggled while waiting for a gap in the traffic to get over.
At the next junction, I have two ways to go home. Whichever way I choose will involve a hill at some point, going one way is shorter in distance but the long hill is there straight away and will inevitably slow me down. I am not ready to slow so I select the flatter route for now. Another runner, another pace increase. Something is working well, and I have an unfamiliar confidence in myself.
As the hill home approaches, I feel the pull of the incline and feel myself slowing, and my breathing getting harder. I remember these times at school, running in to the finish feeling like I couldn't take another step, but still managing a smile for the PE Teacher. I give myself a stern talking to and dig deep.
My road is soon there and I checked my watch; I am just short of 6 miles. There is no way I am stopping now, and I get an inkling that I am probably going to be running 10k faster than I did in London. I get back on to the flat, find a bit more strength and picked up the pace again. The flat path is a relief after a long, shallow incline and I knew I was doing well. I've got more so I push harder and pick up the pace again. I let my legs break into almost a sprint and watch the last of the 10k disappear. As soon as my Garmin hit the 10k I stopped, eager to know my time.
58minutes 09seconds.
The stats flash up one by one: Fastest 10k. Fastest 5k. Fastest mile 8:26. Longest run 6.22.
My heart was thudding with excitement, and I needed to catch my breath before I jogged home. Looking at my watch in amazement, I dropped down into a crouch to compose myself.
I was vaguely aware of the vehicles around me, one passing close by and parking. I hear a voice "You alright love?" accompanied by the chirrup of a short siren. I looked up at the ambulance crew beside me, then around me wondering who on earth they were talking to. "Are you ok?" I realise it is me. I probably do look a bit of a sight to be honest, and now I am not only red with exertion but red with embarrassment, too. I reassured the friendly crew that I am fine, yes thanks and no, I don't need oxygen.
With a giggle and a wave, I am off and running again to complete 7.32 miles in 1:11.11 and to start the celebrations all over again.
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