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Race Report – Maverick Original Somerset Trail Race – Saturday 1st August 2015.

Racing the Maverick Original Somerset Trail Race coincided with a short break with the family to see my parents, sisters, and other members of the family in Minehead. Normally my runs there consist of at least one climb up North Hill and the surrounding area, or a trip up to Dunster Castle and a beach run. This time around I looked in advance to see if there were any races on locally and I stumbled upon this half marathon trail run, taking place on a Saturday morning in the Quantock Hills for the first time in Kilve.

I’m not a trail racer normally but this race appealed. A relatively low-key event that would test the legs and allow me to take in some of the stunning countryside I usually drive past when on the A39. After opting not to race in the Lincoln 5k on the Tuesday (sinuses still an issue and it was very windy) I went into the race relatively fresh, albeit having replaced the race with a solid 11.5 steady state run among other run and elliptical trainer sessions.

A mission of military precision meant my family and I were out of the house just a handful of minutes later than planned, light traffic meant we arrived at the Kilve Educational Center 90 minutes ahead of the race start. I went to register and to have a quick summary of the surroundings. Hilly was the word that came to mind. It was also rather dreary, heavy cloud and light rain spoiling the idyll of the countryside around us.

The pre-race routine was much as any other – I got changed, went for a mile or so easy paced warm up on the opening section of the course (on road, thankfully), and generally fretted for a while waiting for the race to begin. Thankfully the rain stopped shortly before the start of the race, the sun tried to make an appearance during the race but it was a largely cloudy affair, and temperatures were pleasant at around 16C. I’d opted to race in my regular Nike Pegasus trainers – I took a calculated gamble based on terrain I’d run on regularly at North Hill that the Quantocks would be a similar affair (An email to the organisers beforehand appeared to confirm this) and therefore fine for regular trainers, which I prefer over my rather average multi terrainers.

I’d planned to race with a GPX track of the route on my Garmin. At the last minute I changed my mind when, at the pre-race briefing, we were assured the course was well signposted. I took a chance and went without the course, mostly because the watch becomes very annoying when it is constantly telling me I’m about a metre Off Course, which it told me for most of the warm up, when I was very much On the course.

The race began with as little fanfare as I just gave it there. 3-2-1 go, said the chap who had just given the briefing. A small pack of us hurtled off at a silly pace – I took time to wave to my family, then went to the front of the race to try and control it (slow it down). As we took a couple of tight corners and onto a narrow road, beginning to head uphill, I looked at the Garmin – we were averaging 5:32 for the mile. This was insanity and I was relieved when the breathing around me got heavier and the pace slowed somewhat.

The first mile (which would be the last mile of the race too) was a harsh introduction to the race. The hill was gradual at first – around 3-4%, but  in the last third of the mile it ramped up significantly to around 20%. I shortened the stride and attempted to keep the heart rate under control. I found myself  moving away quite quickly from the three others in the lead group. By the time I left the road and onto the first footpath and gate to tackle, I found myself already with a 20 second or so gap – a 7:34 opening mile calculated with the Strava GAP as a too quick 5:29.

As I reached the top of the opening climb I was already thinking that victory was nothing but a formality. That thought was soon wiped firmly from the mind on the first descent of the race. Mostly on-road and again with a section of 20% + descent, I was feeling comfortable when, without warning, both quads cramped in an alarming manner. It was the same sensation I had at the Melton Parkrun (again on a downhill section) and more recently coming down Minnett’s Hill on a training run. I was fairly devastated, fearing another Bronte Sportive style early calamity where my chain snapped in the opening 5 miles or the same results as a post Christmas run where I was reduced to walking the final 2 miles home (after just 15 minutes of running).

I stopped at the bottom of the descent and performed a quick calf stretch, allowing the lead group to catch me. I went with them, stopping again a minute or so later at a drinks station, when I gulped a cup of isotonic drink. I carried on running, a little relieved that the pain wasn’t quite as severe on a flatter section, and knowing that if the pain got too much I could take one of several shorter race routes on offer. The lead three asked if I was okay and I explained my predicament. Too quick too soon came one opinion, which was quite possibly correct. I hoped I hadn’t ruined my chances of winning with a silly rookie error.

After a mile of fairly easy trail running through woodland, we began to climb again. I was pleased to fell that, if anything, the cramp residue pain in my quads lessened on the uphill section. I stuck in second place on a technical section for a while, but when I felt the pace began to slow I didn’t hesitate to take the lead and drift away from the pack. We left the woodland and onto the more exposed hills. It was steep but not so steep here that I ever felt the need to walk.

It was over a mile to the top and once there it was a sharp right off the dirt track and onto a more grassy, narrow, and, at times, rocky path. I had around 15 seconds on the second placed runner but, very nervous of my quads cramping again and generally not being a great descender, the second placed runner slowly began to catch me on the mile long descent. He did actually briefly catch me, I used the narrowness of the path to prevent him from passing, slightly sneaky tactics but legitimate I felt. Our feet got quite wet as we crossed some small streams – it was here I wished for the first time for some multi terrain shoes.

Having survived that descent intact, it was straight into the third climb of the race. This was a mile long and very steep in places – perhaps touching over 30%. I soon began to pull away from the second placed runner but was consigned to walking two brief sections of the hill, which actually proved to be no slower than trying to run. If I was finding it tough the second placed runner was suffering more than I. By the time I reached the top there was no sign of him. The quads were now nearly pain free, confidence was beginning to soar as I plunged down the other side of the hill on a near two mile long descent. The quads showed signs of wanting to cramp, but they resisted the urge thankfully.

At the bottom of the hill came the second feed station where more isotonic was taken on. It was here I began to pass runners who were tackling one of the smaller courses. This was a mixed blessing – it was a boost to pass runners, but a pain when they inadvertently held me up on narrow sections. It also became increasingly hard to determine who was in what race. I would look behind and wonder whether I’d just past them or whether they were catching me. This alone inspired me to keep the effort relatively high, although I was consciously trying to keep it under control to minimise the risk of the cramp returning.

The fourth climb was a real beast – two and a half miles long, although the hardest bit was at the beginning and just over half a mile long where, even though I stopped to walk a couple of times, I was pretty much the only one on the climb attempting to even run it slowly. At the top of this cliff face I was met by a runner who clearly hadn’t run up the hill and was asking me which way he should go as he was lost. I took a quick look and saw some orange markers and said it must be that way. He looked a bit confused but followed me, his pace reasonable. A half mile or so further on and there was another split where the long and the medium course went different ways. I took the long course and to my surprise so did the lost runner. I queried whether he was doing the long course and he said he was. I knew there was no way he’d caught me and knew he’d taken a wrong turning somewhere (Strava flybys confirms this).

He decided seemingly he was back in the race and began to chase me. My comfortable victory was now less so, and I was forced to work pretty hard on the remainder of the climb and the subsequent long descent to eke out a gap where we could no longer see each other. Thankfully the descent from 1100 ft to around 400 ft was over three miles long and for the most part not steep, so the quads weren’t overly troubled.

A quick drink from the final feed station and I was heading to the finish, now on familiar track tackled at the beginning of the race. This was a double edged sword as I knew there would be a tough final climb and, more worryingly, a very steep final descent on road. Comfortably in the lead I allowed myself the luxury of walking for a few seconds on the ascent before bracing myself for the descent.

Within meters I found my quads beginning to cramp severely. I stopped and tried walking but that hurt too. I then remembered a pieced of advice from an ultra runner who had explained why they often jog backwards down steep hills to lessen the stress on the quads. It looked daft but I gave it a go and to my relief I was able to jog on the steepest section at around eight minute miles backwards!

As soon as the descent steepness diminished it was back to forwards running and ignoring as best I could the cramp in my legs. This became easier as I saw the 1km to go marker and then, not long after that, the final turn into the finish, where my family were there to cheer me past the finish line for my first proper race victory! In the end it was a relatively comfortable victory – 2:41 clear of the second placed finisher who took a wrong turn and 4:05 clear of the third placed runner.

After congratulations I was whisked off for a podium photo with my prize – a pair of £140 Newton trainers. Not a bad return for an hour forty five’s work! The legs by now were totally shot with cramp, but the joy of winning helped lessen the pain. I chatted a while with quite a few runners, a friendly bunch these multi-terrainers certainly are, before showering and heading off for lunch with the rest of the family. A good day had by all!

The winner's podium!

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Notts AC 5 – Wednesday 22nd July 2015.

Not feeling totally refreshed from the Bronte Sportive, thoughts turned to the Notts AC 5 mile race which took place just three days after the 88 miles of torture. It was at this race last year I ran a 27:53 PB and saw the beginning of a good run of unexpected form that ran through to late September.

It was also that race where I woke up with really tight hamstrings that jeopardised my participation until literally after the warm-up. Alas a similar predicament struck this year, although the malaise came in the form of a mild sinus infection, which may or may not be late season hay fever, which may or may not be post Sportive fatigue syndrome. Whatever the cause it left me through the day feeling lethargic and stiff limbed. Like last year I waited until the last minute before deciding to head off to Nottingham, a check of the resting heart rate revealing nothing too alarming made it plausible to at least turn up and jog I reckoned.

The delights of Nottingham in its continued pursuit of a working tram network causing traffic chaos meant I finally made it to the start a bit later than planned but not dramatically so. I changed into my running kit and knocked out a distinctly uninspiring two mile warm up. There was nothing particularly amiss, just a real feeling of lethargy.

My spirits were hardly raised when I then attempted to use the pre-race toilet facilities. At a new start venue near a pavilion, the organisers were apparently let down by the council who failed to open the ladies toilets. The men’s were in a frankly disgusting condition, a rusted urinal and just two toilet blocks, one of which was leaking profusely and had it’s sole toilet roll sitting in what I hope was a pool of water. I queued patiently with a number of ladies who had the delights of watching 200 or so men using the urinals in front of them before walking into the toilet cubicle and promptly walking straight back out. Trainspotting’s “Worst Toilet In Scotland” immediately came to mind and I decided I wasn’t that desperate to use the facilities. I pity the ladies who had no choice – a sadly unacceptable state of affairs.

All this didn’t leave me in the best frame of mind for running, and as I took my place on the start line I felt a little disinterested in racing, so much so I placed my self five or so rows back from the front of the race. It began with little fanfare and we were soon into our running. Thankfully from the first hundred meters or so I knew that I wasn’t feeling quite as bad as I had first feared. Legs were a little stiff but otherwise okay. I decided I would limit my efforts on the day to something around half marathon heart rate, which would be a solid workout but nothing that would likely stress the systems too much.

I found myself overtaking a few people quite early on and feeling comfortable, passing Philippa Taylor in the opening mile, who would go on to win the ladies race. Much of that opening mile was run into a head wind, which wasn’t as much a feature as last year’s race, but was still noticeable. I passed through a mile on the Garmin in 5:33 – solid, but ten seconds slower than last year. The Garmin is by no means the last word in accuracy but it was better than the erratically placed opening mile marker, which I went past in excess of 6:10….

With the wind behind me along the Embankment I settled into a comfortable pace, one I felt very assured in being able to maintain until the finish. The race unfolded in an undramatic manner, mile two was passed in 5:32 (the mile marker more or less tallying with the Garmin this time); the third mile which took us into the second and final lap was run in 5:28, with 5k passed on the Garmin in 17:12, which would have been PB territory a year ago, but today felt easy.

The fourth mile, back along the Embankment, saw me pick off three other runners, leaving me in 12th position, where I would end up finishing. That fourth mile saw another 5:28, had I realised how close I was to a PB I would have made a larger effort in the final mile, but my still relative disinterest in the race saw me instead maintain steady pace – so much so that I passed through 5 miles on the Garmin in another 5:28.

Unhappily the beep on the watch for the fifth mile didn’t mark the end of the race – another 0.09 was required, taking us off road onto the grass finishing chute. It was there I glanced at the official clock and saw that a narrow PB was a possibility. I put on a sprint finish and came home on my Garmin in 27:54 (rounded up to 27:55 on the official results). A little frustratingly this was two seconds outside my PB set a year ago to the day.

So despite going home without a PB and not feeling particularly healthy it was a largely positive race. To finish two seconds outside my five mile PB feeling sub-par beforehand and therefore having run it at half marathon heart rate is good indication that form is very good at the moment as thoughts move towards the Chester Marathon in October. The only frustration is knowing that had I given it full gas I could have gone a lot, lot quicker. That though will hopefully come on another day.

 

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Sportive – Bronte Monster – Sunday 19th July 2015

Quite a bit like a parkrun, sitting a sportive in as a race report doesn’t entirely sit properly. To get around prohibitively expensive and quite probably impossible to attain road closures, sportives are at pains to stress that they aren’t races but merely events that are timed. Some offer medals based on your finishing time. To make the event even less like a race than a parkrun, finishing times are often not even displayed in a time based order.

The reason this fits in to the race section is that, unlike the handicap bike race I took part in a few weeks ago with Witham Wheelers, the Bronte Monster Sportive was undoubtedly one of the hardest sporting events I have ever taken part in. Its quiet unassuming nature; hardly any fanfare at start nor finish, belied the sheer enormity of the challenge packed into 88 miles.

It’s by no means the longest sportive on the calendar, most like to come in at over 100 miles to make the sense of achievement seem more significant. It’s not even that large an event, with only perhaps a couple of hundred taking part. What makes the event so tough is that in the heart of Yorkshire, it packs in over 22 hills (or Cotes as they are now more familiarly known in the area thanks to the 2014 Tour De France Grande Departe), most of which have percentages that average 8% minimum, many of them considerably steeper. Thanks to the Vale of Belvoir I have a fair few hills on my doorstep that could be used as a test run, but as it transpired the vast majority are mere mole hills in comparison to the sheer abundance of lung busting, leg breaking climbs in Yorkshire.

The sportive was based in Keighley and proceeds were going to the local Sue Ryder hospice – over £4000 was raised on the day. As I drove up from Grantham the poor weather became progressively worse. As I tried to navigate Bradford I could barely see out of the car windows the rain was falling so hard. I pity those who had chosen to leave at between 7:15 and 8:15, they would have experienced terrible conditions, apparently a fair few chose to abandon.

As it was when I arrived at 8:15 the rain chose to stop and the sun even attempted to make an appearance. I took around 45 minutes getting changed, making decisions on how much clothing to wear – I went nearly full spring spec, at the last moment electing to carry the long gloves and knee warmers in case the weather really deteriorated –  and set off at just gone 9 o’clock.

The first couple of miles were easy enough as we left Keighley – I recognised the roads from our family holiday a year earlier when we made a couple of tricks to the Eureka! museum in Halifax. The issues I’d had with the gears not shifting properly I’d seemingly fixed with some lube and gentle manipulation – the changes were crisp and smooth – I felt quite proud of myself for this very small piece of mechanical proficiency. The first climb on the Halifax road was 1.6 miles long and a Cat 4 climb according to Strava. I felt comfortable up this, aware that I wanted not put in too much effort too early on.

A short downhill followed then we climbed up Bridgehouse Lane at Haworth (Famous for the Bronte Parsonage Museum) and took a dogleg left turn onto Main Street which is not only very steep, but cobbled. Despite the severity of the climb I was feeling fresh and making good progress. I was just passing two other riders on the steepest bit near the top when…. SNAP!!! I lost all drive from the pedals. I nearly went over the handlebars, my Garmin dismounting from its mount and onto the floor – thankfully without damage. A quick look down and I saw the chain, under considerable strain, had snapped at a seemingly weak link. Luckily I was able to unclip from my pedals and avoided a low speed topple. I walked the short distance to the top of the hill and thought the game was up. A long way to travel for just under four miles of cycling.

Eerily calm, I had a quick chat to the photographer at the top of the hill (Apparently the shot from that vantage spot was front page of The Times when the tour passed through twelve months earlier. I’d bought equipment for a puncture, but not for a chain snap (It has never happened to me before). There was an emergency number I could call, I assumed in this instance it would be to pick me up so I could make it back to the start and head home for an early bath.

To my great relief the voice on the other end of the phone stated that someone would be on their way and would try their best to get me back on the road. Around 20 minutes later salvation did indeed turn up in the form of one of the race organisers, complete with a large white van. Not safe to park at the top of this very narrow hill, he drove me a couple of hundred meters to a nearby car park – he said he wouldn’t report it to the commissaire, which was quite topical, as a rider in the Tour De France had been disqualified from the race the previous day for the exact same offence when his chain too broke.

It was not a quick fix, the broken chain link proving very stubborn to come out. However after 15 minutes or so the job was done and I waved the van off out of the car park. Ten seconds later I was trying to hail him back for after two pedal strokes the chain had snapped again! Slightly bemused I rang the organisers again and I was told a few minutes later my mechanic would be back just as soon as they’d rescued a rather lost competitor. Not too long after he returned; a few more chain links were removed and fixed. We made the wise decision to do a test lap of the car park to decide the chain was in good order. Thankfully it was and, after an eighty minute delay, I was back in the game.

After a few miles I almost wished the chain had been too damaged to fix. The climb out of Oxenhope (A third category climb on Strava, was very hard thanks to a stiff headwind. What made the ride more bearable was the plethora of hand written messages to Tour De France riders from the previous year, still clearly visible from the road. Indeed for 21 miles we followed last year’s stage two route and even if it could in no way compare to twelve months earlier, you could almost feel the fever still lingering a year on.

Having reached the high point of the Sportive early on (a shade over 1400ft) The long descent back down to 360 ft was fairly hairy thanks to some blustery winds. Indeed the wind was quite a factor during the ride – the next long climb up to over 1000ft, the well known Cragg Vale, which is apparently the longest continuous hill in the UK, was into a stiff head wind, which made the relatively shallow gradients feel all the harder. It was here I began to pass fellow competitors, I was no longer the last man on the road.

After the drop down from Cragg Vale we came to the first of three check points which doubled up as feed stations. I took on as much flapjack and chocolate I could muster, and with me also came a banana, half of which literally fell out of my mouth as I tried to eat it on a descent which quite quickly had me at 45mph.

Incidents were thankfully few and far between on the ride. We were warned at the checkpoint that at one hill the road had actually been closed at short notice for resurfacing. Thankfully we were permitted to use the footpath and after a short delay were back on our way. Miles 30 to around 65, which included another briefly visited checkpoint, were just a relentless succession of steep ascents followed by steep descents, the kind of which you can’t relax on as you hurtle out of control possibly just moments from imminent disaster.

Thanks to my chain issues I’d lost my two lowest gears on the big chain ring. Not a huge deal, but useful gears to have on some sections of the ride and a pain to accidentally engage at points and find the chain jamming. Despite this I felt I was riding quite strongly, indeed on Strava I was typically in the top three on the day for most of the climbs, but some way down on the descents where I was being quite cautious. There were even a couple of hills where I made the top thirty, and one the top ten, which I was quite proud of.

That said, by 60 miles I was beginning to suffer badly. Having the route loaded on Garmin was very useful in terms of navigation and the elevation profile handy for letting me know when hills were coming or if they were coming towards and end. By the 16th or so hill – each one marked on route at the beginning and end – and with a series of large spikes still to come, I wondered if I was going to make it, especially as my left knee was beginning to ache quite a bit thanks to a tight IT band. I would definitely have had to stop were it not for it being pain free when I stood on the pedals to cycle – which ended up being most of the way up the latter hills.

Shortly before the final feed station at around 67 miles, there was an option to cut the ride short and ride 72 miles. It was severely tempting – quite a few apparently had and many more were likewise enticed by the prospect of an early end to what had now become near misery. The stubborn fool that I am meant I decided I’d entered the 88 mile Monster and the 88 mile Monster was what I was going to finish.

A quick stop at the final feed station (only four or five more steep climbs I was cheerily told) and I was back on my way, only to be hit by a bout of severe stomach cramps which, if I was running would have been disastrous, but on a bike merely at times very uncomfortable. Still, I battled on. The third from last climb Netherghyll Lane was a 20% bastard – the cadence dropped to a point where pedals were barely turning, those ahead of me had given up and walked. I made it to the top only to be faced a couple of minutes later by the fourth category Dick Lane climb. At 1.8 miles and averaging 6%, on most rides for non Yorkshire folks it would be the killer climb. But after 20 or so of Yorkshire’s finest for practice, somehow I found this one relatively easy.

Climb finished and 80 miles into the ride, I’d thought we’d tackled all the climbs as we dropped down into Sutton-In-Craven, narrowly avoiding taking a wrong turn and returning to the correct route, even seeing a welcome sign post for Keighley, which we disappointingly were signposted to ride in the opposite direction from. A couple of miles later and we took an innocuous looking right hand turn into what looked like any modern day housing estate. This housing estate though was built on Burrows Lane which, leading to Redcar Lane, forms a 1.8 mile climb which Strava has classified as a third category climb.

According to my probably dodgy Garmin elevation data (but gives an idea of the climb), the initial ramp was around 12-15%, followed by a short section of 3-6% where I thought the climb was coming to an end. However a left hand turned revealed another ramp, this time more severe, with a short section over 20%. I’ve never had to climb off my bike on a hill before, but here I had to briefly admit defeat. I walked for 15-20 meters to a point where the hill’s severity lessened a touch, came to my senses and got back on my bike. Happily, although the climb continued for another mile and had a section of only 12%, I was able to recover sufficiently to make it to the top, bizarrely setting the 43rd best time out of 391 riders for the hill segment on Strava. I can only assume that walking was barely any slower than riding at the moment where I climbed off.

That hill done and with 86 miles covered, I knew now it would be downhill to the finish – and indeed it was. In a very understated way I came to the finish to be greeted by the man who came to my rescue when my chain snapped. He congratulated me on my efforts. I thanked him not only for helping me in my hour of need but for creating a truly brutal course which pushed body and mind to the limit. They offered a barbecue at the finish. My stomach overdosed on energy drinks, bananas, sweets, flapjack, chocolate bars and malt loaf, I politely declined the offer, but welcomed a nice cup of Yorkshire Tea.

My official finishing time, including the time taken for repairs and the small amount of time at checkpoints, was 6 hours 59 minutes, earning me a bronze medal. My Garmin time (which discounts any stops) was 5 hours 40 minutes, which was five minutes inside the time limit for a silver medal – which I would have come close to attaining had I not had the mechanical issues. The time though was largely irrelevant, it was an achievement just to finish. Each of the people I spoke to at the end said it was the hardest sportive they’d ever done.

I wasn’t going to argue with them.

Publishing my data - putting the doubters to rest ;)
Publishing my data – putting the doubters to rest 😉
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Race Report – 2015 Long Bennington Summer Solstice 10k

Fresh from the Woodhall Spa Sprint Triathlon I was certainly not in the days following my first ever triathlon. Monday saw a session at the gym on the stepper and the elliptical trainer with an easy paced recovery run in the evening which felt not too bad. Tuesday however saw me by mid-afternoon in a state of near exhaustion (Perhaps slight exaggeration – very tired is closer). I was contemplating doing nothing at all, but with sunny warm conditions and – for the first Tuesday since 2015 time trials began at Witham Wheelers, – there was barely a breath of wind.

Sensing opportunities to ride windless time trials are going to be at a premium I had a strong coffee and lackadaisically headed to first the cricket club to sign on and then onto the TT start. The lure of a PB appeared to do the trick, for although I rode mediocre at best, I came home in 25:41 – a new PB and first sub 26 clocking. Wednesday saw me feel a touch fresher, but still tired on a gentle, mostly off road 11 mile run around the very pleasant Belton House Estate. Thursday was a day off, which would hopefully see me revitalised for the Friday evening race.

Evening races when there is an F1 race on is always a touch of a risk in terms of being able to participate; thankfully Friday was a quiet day in Spielberg which enabled me to arrive in Long Bennington just shy of an hour before the start of the race. Being a member of Grantham Running Club, the hosts of the race, there was no shortage of familiar faces at the race HQ, all doing a fantastic effort to make this one of the slickest and well catered for evening races I’ve ever attended.

Gravity FM were putting on an outdoor disco and warm up show which, I must admit, didn’t think would work, but actually was really uplifting. I left it though to perform my usual warm up – a 1.5 mile out and back affair, with the return being a series of race pace strides. Everything felt good – aside from a touch of hay fever making breathing a little wheezy, and I went about final preparations.

Helping Scott set up his camera.

Jogging to the start line I felt a twinge in my left glute. I tried to ignore it but was a bit concerned – random aches like this have led to sacrum stress fractures in the recent past. I ran a couple of practice starts and the ache appeared to disappear. After helping Scott on the start line with his camera settings I lined up at the front of the race. This time last year I was at the same start line barely caring less how the race panned out – today I had my race face on and I was keen to do well.

Lining up at the start of the race.

The race gun fired at dead on 7:30 and for a few glorious seconds I actually led the race! For a brief moment thoughts of actually winning the event flooded through my brain. Then Shane Robinson of Lincoln Wellington remembered he is a 31:34 10k runner and swiftly disappeared into the distance, setting a new PB and course record of 31:30 in the process.

 

The start of the race. Image © Graeme Reynolds
The start of the race. Image © Graeme Reynolds

After the initial frantic dash ‘downhill’ where Garmin was throwing up sub 4:40 pace alerts, we collectively settled down into something more realistic. I found myself third, the orange shirted Daniel Page of Clowne Road Runners ten meters or so up the road and Grantham AC’s Adam Madge sitting on my shoulder in fourth, with a gap growing to the fifth placed runner. On the long flat run on Valley Lane out to Grange Lane there was a slight, but definite, headwind, and I didn’t fancy being a wind break for Adam. I did a deliberate pull out and tuck in behind Adam. I stayed in his slipstream for around 30 seconds but twice I clipped his heels, forcing me to apologise profusely and pull out to retake third place.

At this moment second placed Daniel thought he should play the tactical game and eased up to allow us to catch him and sit behind me and Adam. I was now second, and with the first mile covered in a potentially PB shattering 5:18 I decided to scrap the tactics and just run as hard and fast as I could. The second mile was a fair bit slower in 5:34 but it was then as we turned left and towards Staunton I pushed on again in a bid to try and drop Daniel (Adam by now had dropped off our little group and was fading fast). With the wind now more behind us Daniel took the odd turn to take the lead but I repassed him on several occasions. This battle meant we sped up in the third mile (5:24) and as we passed the official 5k marker I glanced at my Garmin, which read 16:47 – inside my 5k PB!

At this point I was still feeling comfortable and felt I had every chance of finishing second with a sub 34 clocking a real possibility. Then the little ache I’d felt minutes before the start in the left glute reappeared and quite quickly became quite a severe ache. It didn’t really slow me but it was disconcerting and, frankly, a little worrying. The discomfort reached it’s peak as we hit Staunton and turned left again to head back towards Long Bennington. The race’s main drag uphill began and it was there that Daniel was able to eke out a small gap on me. I wanted to push on and go with him but the ache in the glute was just too much to do so.

In third place chasing Daniel Page.

What was reassuring was that once it reached quite painful the level of discomfort stabilised and I was able to run at a fairly decent pace. The fourth mile was 5:31, and the fifth, where I had mentally settled for third place and was thinking more about fending off the rapidly approaching fourth placed runner, was the slowest of the race (5:41). As we began the final mile I could see Daniel ahead making more and more turns of the head, an indicator in most races that he was tiring. I picked up the pace, not only to try and catch him, but because there was the small matter of a PB that was still within my grasp.

We came back into Long Bennington (5:28) and as we hit the finish straight I put on as good a sprint I could with the left glute tightening rapidly. Unfortunately for myself Daniel was wise to my efforts and sprinted at least as effectively as myself (probably more) With a final spurt I crossed the line third.

Sprint to the finish – Third and new PB Image © Graeme Reynolds

The official time would take some time to materialise, but eventually it was given as 34:10 – a new 12 second PB! I was thrilled! I also hurt quite a bit and was relieved to see my regular massage therapist David McKee on hand to help release the back, glute, and Piraformis.

He did a good job of averting a full lock up, but there was no thoughts of a warm down. Instead it was catching up with plenty of other runners and waiting for the presentation where I would receive just my second ever prize (My first came at the Taunton Marathon in 2011, where I also finished third). £25 the richer and with a new PB – a very successful evening’s work!

Third place prize, presented by Ruth Dunstan.

 

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Parkrun Report – Peterborough parkrun #106, Saturday 11th July 2015

The first thing to state is that I’m very much aware that to post a parkrun report in Race Reports is something of a faux pas, the free to enter timed 5k run is very keen to stress that it is not a race – no matter how similar it may feel like being one from the moment you arrive at one to the text message you receive an hour or two after the event telling you your time and finishing position.

From the onset however mentally I was treating my participation at Peterborough parkrun, if not as a race, as a very serious time trial, a serious stab at beating my very old parkrun PB of 17:20, set at Coventry back in 2012. The week’s training had been moderately easy – an 80% effort at an intervals session on the Tuesday, which confirmed I was in good shape and the other session of note a 13.5 mile club run on the Thursday which saw us neck high in crops at one point and then tripping over a poorly dumped roadworks barrier late on in the run.

That last incident very nearly saw me not take part in the parkrun. The Friday saw the right shin quite sore and when that cleared up on Saturday morning I found myself limping a touch with a very tight quad. Thankfully some last minute foam rolling before setting off appeared to alleviate the limp. The drive down to Peterborough was rather blissful, the fact I had the sunroof open and windows down pointed at the temperatures already being warm.

I arrived a little later than planned, which meant after the customary call of nature I only had chance to do a short 1.5 mile or so warm up – which was one loop of the course. The legs felt a bit stiff and the sun pretty warm, but in the last minutes of the warm up I felt the body loosen off and feel ready for the assault.

After the customary parkrun briefing we headed to the start and I made my way to the front, having a final brief chat / excuses tick off with fellow GRC runner Rob. A couple of minutes late and we were on our way. I was pleased to have just in front of me a couple of runners who were willing to take the early pace, and another runner just behind as we eased away from the field. I felt comfortable sitting in third as we completed a mini lap of the lake and headed off on the first of two larger laps. I was chopping the stride slightly but there was none of the inadvertent tripping I was doing at the recent Solstice.

We went through the first mile in 5:10, which is one of my fastest ever miles but felt comfortable – especially as I’d covered 800m earlier in the week during intervals at sub 4:40 pace. We then went over the only real climb on the course in the form of a pedestrian bridge. The climb is just a few seconds but it was enough to cause a slowing on the descent. I decided that this was the moment to push and I took the lead and didn’t look back. We were already passing backmarkers, who had been instructed to keep to the right. Most did but there were occasions when I did have to shout quite loud to get someone’s attention. Thankfully there were plenty of runners who were also shouting to others to keep right, so at no point was I held up.

If this wasn’t a race it still continued to feel like it. The Peterborough parkrun course is held on nigh on exactly the same course as the 5k race held there as part of a summer series, albeit I imagine the parkrun has significantly more crowd support, especially with the enthusiastic cheering of the Peterborough Sweatshop Community Runners, who risked wearing bright yellow t-shirts (And in so doing became a magnet for all sorts of insect life) to give the run a race like feel.

As I completed the first large lap and headed for the final tour, I worked out from the applause of spectators that I had a comfortable gap on the second placed runner – and it was now a time trial to the finish to try and get that PB. Mile two was covered in 5:19 and I still felt fairly fresh. I then hit an exposed bit in terms of the sunshine and wished I’d worn a vest rather than a t-shirt. It was over 20C (40 minutes later when I got in the car the temperature was 23C) and I was having to play mind games to convince the body it wasn’t hot.

The second climb of the bridge numbed the legs and the final mile began to feel like an awful long way. It was here the crowd support and the generous enthusiasm of lapped runners really helped me to the finish. As I took the final left hand bend and began the final 400 meters or so I glanced at my watch and saw it had only recently clocked 15 minutes. I knew a sub 17:20 was assured, it was now a question of how quick I could go. I didn’t register the third mile split at the time (it was a 5:15, but it felt slower) it was an all out effort to the finish chute.

I crossed the line and heard the official shout 16:36 which, to a tenth of a second, tallied with my Garmin time. The tiredness soon flushed out of the body with the elation of a big new PB – 44 seconds for parkrun and 19 seconds for 5k (the Peterborough parkrun course is certified as accurate, apparently).

The fact I finished first didn’t really matter at all – my effort was true to the parkrun ethos that it is a run against the clock and to better yourself rather than necessarily others. That said I couldn’t help feeling that I’d been to many races that felt less like a race than Peterborough parkrun, but today I wasn’t complaining over the rights and wrongs of parkrun. It was a good day.