When I plan my race schedule I try to make sure there is a mix of important races that I want to be at my best for, and lesser races that I can train hard before, and use to keep my racing brain in gear. I always plan well ahead for the bigger races, entering months in advance, telling myself I have weeks ahead of me to get into top shape. So far for me, it has very rarely worked out that I have towed the line for a big race and felt in top form, both physically and mentally. Possibly it's a bit more of a mental problem. When you think back on the training you've done, (one, two three weeks before), it's the missed sessions or the below par runs that you tend to remember, not the days of double sessions and quality workouts. But leading up to the Great South Run on Sunday I was actually feeling very positive. I knew that I was in good shape, that I had missed or changed very few planned workouts recently, and had set myself a realistic and obtainable goal for the race.
My weeks’ training was fairly relaxed. Having felt so good on Sunday's long run I allowed my body to dictate my pace on my two Monday runs, rather than my watch. It worked well as I again felt really fast and strong, but unbelievably relaxed. Tuesday's track session involved a fair bit of sandbagging by me. I didn't want to push myself into any sort of difficulty, especially as it was a freezing cold night, and there was little to gain and much more to lose. I went straight to the back where I stayed for the entire session. Happily ploughing through the session of six, one kilometre repetitions, I felt ok. The cold was slightly affecting my breathing, and taking in less oxygen meant that the times were slower and the session harder. But I was not flat out on my back at the end of the run, and was beginning to feel more comfortable training in the cold conditions.
The rest of the week was my usual pre-race diet of steady runs, cold baths, stretching and vast amounts of sleep. If there is an opportunity to sleep I’ll grab it. (A blossoming career as a mattress tester I'm sure is beckoning!)
I was feeling confident and excited about the challenge of racing ten miles. I haven’t raced a distance more than ten kilometres for a while, and knew that it was important to hit my target pace early on, as there is a long way to go if you get it all wrong. And as if the pressure of competing well wasn't enough, I’d entered into a big stakes bet on the outcome of the race. It was a battle of the couples, having taken on the might of Mark and Emily Alden (two close friends of mine from my athletics club - both very keen runners), along side my girlfriend Vicky, who to my disgust describes herself as a jogger not a runner, and who in the last four weeks had run only four times! The pressure was on!
Having woken all week to bright sunshine I was disappointed to wake up to rain. Annoying for the race, but more of a pain pre-race. With twenty thousand people running it's hard to get a proper warm up, as you need to be in position in your starting pen well ahead of the start time, and dressed ready to race. So standing in the pouring rain was going to be a very unhelpful. A couple of designer bin bags made sure I was dry on the start line, and a dodgy old t-shirt helped ensure I was reasonably warm.
I managed to turn myself into something of a nervous wreck before the race. My nerves always grow on route to a race, and I never settle until I'm at the start. Then I know what's happening and when it will happen. With only one main road into Portsmouth and thousands of cars wanting to get in, the traffic was horrendous. I got worried - I needed a pee - I got more worried. Thankfully we pulled into a multi-storey car park just in time, as my bladder and head were ready to explode. I was reasonably calm, and faffed about as normal, before we set off for the start. We soon took a wrong turning and my nerves grew!
I needed the toilet again and we were in the middle of some housing estate and my nerves grew again. I just wanted to get to the start. I knew I wouldn't be happy until I was there, so I valiantly ditched the girlfriend and my two mates and ran for it! With every step that I got closer to the start, the less nervous I felt. I think it's probably the most wound up I’ve ever been before a race, probably not the best start, but now I felt calm and had enough time to finish my warm up and get focused.
Getting focused was easy. The scale of the event does it for you. TV cameras and helicopters were buzzing overhead and then Paula Radcliff and Co came out ready to start the elite women's race. You feel part of something special, which focuses the mind solely on what you’re there to do, and seeing such great athletes naturally inspires you.
Ten minutes later and it was nearly start time. I'd kept reasonably warm, but due to being hemmed in I was unable to finalise my normal warm up routine, but being a ten-mile race I knew that I could ease into it slightly.
The front of a mass participation event is something of a scrum, but I'd expected that. Everyone wants to be at the front, it's frustrating when you have to fight for position with someone dressed as batman but I guess it's all part of it. Due to the scrum factor the elite athletes from around the world don't have to join us. Five minutes before the start they file out and are able to finish off their warm up, up the empty road ahead, absolutely fine. What I hadn't banked on was a swarm of 'celebrities' and their running buddies assembling right in front of me. I knew there was going to be trouble! Celebs are great for a race, I guess, certainly by raising the profile of a race and for the various charities they represent. But why oh why do they get put out ahead of everyone who can actually run and who want to post good times and finish well??
The gun went bang, and I went nowhere. I was trapped in by the Port Vale football club manager and his posse of mates. I weaved in and out, and then found myself boxed in by some bloke off Casualty. I was getting very frustrated as they happily waved to the crowd. I began to sharpen my elbows then a chink of light appeared and I was almost free, a quick side step past Ewan Thomas, former European 400 meter champion and someone whom I expected to be a bit quicker off the line, and I was finally able to run in a straight line.
Finally free, I made a massive schoolboy error. Knowing I was behind schedule and way off a number of athletes I had hoped to be competing with, I started pushing hard. For two miles I felt great. I was picking off people and slowly making headway but I was running nearly thirty seconds a mile faster than I had planned. I soon ran into trouble. I backed off to my planned pace, hoping I'd recover. I made it to mile six just behind schedule, but for the next four miles I started slowing. My legs were shot, and I was finding the going tough. I was furious with myself, as I'd lost much more time by pushing too hard than I did stuck behind “blokey” from Casualty. I was gutted at the end, and the workers handing out medals couldn't understand why someone finishing so high up in the field could be so grumpy. But I was, and to add insult to injury I lost my bet, even though my girlfriend ran a nine minute personal best, we finished just shy of my friends combined time. I blame no one but myself. It's a lesson hard learnt in pacing, and from now on I will beg, steal and borrow my way into the elite start. Either that or go on big brother and get into the 'celeb' start. I'll have plenty of time to deliberate my mistakes as I pay off my loosing bet - a three-course meal lovingly prepared by my own fair hands!! It’s one thing after another with me - I HATE cooking!
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