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Race Report – Worksop Halloween Half Marathon – Sunday 28th October 2018

The training run following the Great Eastern Run two weeks prior to Worksop very nearly spelled disaster! Leading a Grantham Running Club evening run, I was paying more attention to keeping pace with my watch and chatting to friends then looking at what was heading towards me. I saw the railings protecting a pedestrian crossing too late to avert hitting them full on and with unabated speed (Around 8-9 mph). I missed squashing the boys in the barrack by about a centimetre, instead the pubic bone took the full brunt of the blow. A bit stunned it took a minute or two to regain composure. Sensing nothing was broken but plenty was very sore I continued the run, hoping to run off the injury. Nothing seemed totally amiss but things became increasingly painful in the right hip and thigh, and the left knee (which I think took a glancing blow) as I ran the six miles or so back to the Meres Leisure Centre.

A few minutes inactivity stiffened things up considerably. Thankfully one of the runners offered me a lift home rather than having to run another two miles; he had done something very similar on a identical set of railing some weeks earlier so could empathise with my discomfort.

When I woke the next morning I knew running was out of the question for a few days. The inflammation meant I could lift my leg more than a few inches. Luckily I was able to cycle with a minimum of discomfort and took solace in Zwift for a few days, testing the leg with a brick mile on the Friday with no ill effects.

The next day however and I was pretty sure I was feeling ill with something, a suspected chest infection was the reason why a reasonably routine 10 mile run on the Saturday felt like a slog and a 12 mile run the next day felt particularly arduous. The family and I were heading to Carsington Water on the Monday, I felt too lethargic to consider running. On the Tuesday I forced myself out for a lap of the man-made lake. The eight mile loop was particularly undulating but the return of the quad cramps early on in the run, becoming too severe to run by the end, were surely a sign of feeling unwell rather than unfit. I took the Wednesday off to allow me to run around the water again (this time in a clockwise direction) on Thursday morning before we left back for home). The relatively laboured pace (7:19 per mile) was exactly the same as Tuesday’s; the cramps coming on again but this time less intensely.

Friday saw a 10K effort which, to paraphrase my Strava entry, would have been easy were I not feeling so wheezy. I took Saturday off with the half on the Sunday in mind. Working on the Mexican Grand Prix meant working some late evenings, although the clocks going back on the Saturday night meant I could enjoy a fairly fully night’s sleep. Before drifting off I sensed as if the malaise that had enveloped the body for the past week may just have left the building.

I woke on Sunday morning just after 6 am and made myself breakfast, experimenting with peanut butter and banana on toast after the bad experience with cereal and milk at Peterborough. I left not long after 7 for the 50 minute or so journey to Worksop, finding the same car park I found 12 months earlier and enjoying the same 10 minute walk to the start venue that served to loosen the legs a touch.

I was happy to see on arriving that the race organisers Worksop Harriers AC had clearly listened to some of the criticisms of the race village setup and acted on them in an almost wholly positive manner. The school that they used had been converted into a one way system to avoid all the bottlenecks and congestion with number collection and baggage drop that delayed the start of the 2017 race. In particular the baggage had been moved outside and streamlined and this did wonders in minimising the congestion as best you can with around 2000 runners confined in a relatively small space.

I changed slowly into my running kit at the tables in the canteen, stretched, dropped off my bag and headed for a warm up of just over 1.5 miles. It was an unspectacular warm up – the legs felt okay, I was coughing a fair amount but didn’t feel any of the wheeziness or lethargy of previous runs in the week. Off the back of this I decided that for the race I would take a cautious approach, not going off too hard and seeing how I felt as the race progressed.

Warm up done and with 40 minutes to the start I made one last trip to the toilet which is the only area where I still feel this race could improve, there not being anywhere near enough toilets (But then again I would levee this criticism at almost every race). I ended up using the ones in the men’s changing rooms, queuing for around 10 minutes, which wasn’t too bad. Slowly exiting the school building, I lined up at the start with ten minutes to go and thanked the weather gods that the temperatures were perfect for racing. Indeed, aside from a breeze that was on the moderate side of gentle, the conditions were nigh on perfect with weak autumn sunshine and temperatures around 10 Celsius.

We had a minute’s silence before the start of the race, if memory serves me correctly, for a former chairman (perhaps President) of Worksop Harriers who had recently passed away. After a short countdown we were off. I made a comfortable start, not feeling particularly good for the first mile and sitting well outside the top 20 as we soon hit the first climb less than a mile into the race. I really took it easy up here, the effort made less hard by the steady breeze blowing into our backs.

Mile 1 was clocked at 6:01, which was five seconds down on my opening mile in 2017. The rest of the opening 5k is on the undulating B6034 taking us towards Clumber Park. Mile 2 was 5:51 which was six second slower than in 2017 but mile 3 saw me begin to come to life, 5:36 pretty quick, even if it was wind aided, and three seconds quicker than 2017.

Mile 4 saw us turn left off the main road and head through Carburton. I was beginning to pick off runners now, only in ones and twos as the field was pretty well spread. 5:39 for mile 4 matched my 2017 split. Mile 5 is mostly uphill and was possibly the hardest mile of the race – 6:00 one whole second slower than in 2017. Mile 6 is the first half of the fish as it appears on the Strava map and inevitable Strava segment. This mile saw me tuck in behind a runner for most of this section – the scenery stunning in autumn as we headed into the heart of Clumber Park, the going underfoot a little tricky in places with significant leaf fall.

5:45 for mile six was three seconds slower than a year earlier but I remember feeling particularly good at this stage back then. Mile 7 has the first of two long uphill drags – I felt sorry for the wheelchair competitor I passed who was really struggling at this stage. 5:55 was six seconds slower than in 2017, but I turned things around in mile 8, which was again mostly uphill, 6:02 was four seconds up on 2017 and I passed two or three more runners in this section.

Mile 9 is my favourite of the race, mostly downhill and as we approach a totally unnecessary sponge station (surely an in house joke from the organisers?!) we are bombarded with a plethora of amusing signs, many of them fresh for 2018 and indicative of the clear love and passion that the organisers have for putting on a really good race. As in 2017 I found myself feeling really strong, my 5:36 mile just one second down. Mile 10 had the last real hill of the race and as such I slowed to 6:00 (matching the 2017 mile) but was still catching and passing runners. It was here I saw in the distance the distinctive tri-suit of a runner that looked familiar. Approaching him I realised it was Tom Marshall, the triathlete who had beaten me in September’s Stathern Duathlon.

Catching and passing him gave me renewed enthusiasm, as did my watch which was predicting a finishing time very similar to what I achieved in 2017. Considering I had felt so poor in the build up was greatly encouraging and, feeling relaxed and pain free, I pushed on. Mile 11 was 5:42, five seconds quicker than 2017, mile 12 through Worksop College was three seconds slower at 5:49 but I was running now into a headwind which we didn’t have twelve months ago. This made the slight uphill drag out of the college particularly tough, but I had time to make things look easier for the Mick Hall photographer who I knew would be in the same spot as in previous years.

Mile 13 – Mick Hall Photography in the usual spot!

The thirteenth and final mile is mostly downhill, albeit tempered with a headwind this time around, which made 5:34 four seconds slower than in 2017. Turning the corner into the Outwood Academy Portland and sprinting to the finish I knew from my watch it was going to be a very similar time to last year. I finished matching my time of 2017 to the second, the official results gave it as one second quicker in 1:16:23, the difference being this year my Garmin measured the course 0.05 mile shorter and so the final yards took 23 seconds less.

Whereas in 2017 I finished fifth overall I knew this year I hadn’t done quite so well. The results were not long in being published and I was eleventh and not first V40, despite just about bettering my 2017 time. I was partly relieved as I didn’t feel obliged to hang around for the presentations and after seeing a few club mates after they finished, I headed home to begin work on the Mexican GP.

It wasn’t until a day or two later I realised that, such is the generosity of the race organisers, they offer prizes for the first three in the younger veterans’ categories. I was third V40 and, a couple of weeks later, I received a Lincolnshire Runner voucher in the post for £20, which is £5 more than they had quoted in the prize list, which just about summed the race up!

Shy of a few toilets I cannot praise this race enough. They had worked really hard to iron out the issues pre and post race. They worked really well: I had goose bumps as I received warm applause as I walked through the gymnasium to collect my goodie bag, and t-shirt to add to the funky Halloween themed medal I had already received. The good weather helped, but standing around at the finish with cake stalls, coffee stands, music from the local radio station, gave the impression that this was a race put on by professionals rather than a large number of volunteers. I have heard they make very little money out of the race, which makes it all the more praiseworthy. It is one of the cheapest half marathons in the region, and certainly one of the best.

I didn’t have too long to recover for it was the Leeds Abbey Dash 10K in just seven days time!

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Perkins Great Eastern Run – Sunday 14th October 2018

I left Peterborough at around midday on Sunday 14th October and drove home, cold wet and pretty miserable, caring for little other than a warm shower and to try and move on from what had just taken place over the past one hour and fifteen minutes or so. I should have been close to euphoric. I’d just my second fastest ever half marathon (fastest if you go by what Power of 10 reckons I’ve raced…) and claimed my best ever age grade race result by pretty much one whole percent yet all I could think about was what could and should have been the best race of my life.

The Perkins Great Eastern Run (GER) had been my target race for the autumn pretty much as soon as I’d self inflicted a prolonged summer break from racing with injury at the Woodhall Spa 10K. This half marathon in Peterborough has a reputation for being the fastest in the region; what it lacks in beautiful scenery and rolling countryside it makes up in near pancake flat roads as it takes you through a sometimes dizzying tour out of central Peterborough and to the outskirts of the north of the city and back.

The summer holiday 21 10 mile+ runs had seen me in great shape and ever since I’d clocked a surprise 17:00 at Belton House parkrun it had been a case of trying to just do enough training to prolong the form. As the race approached I felt perhaps I’d lost perhaps just the tiniest amount of pace (Not helped by some tough weekends of F1 work) but still in decent enough shape to be looking to at least crack 75 minutes at the GER and hopefully beat my HM PB (set at Grunty Fen) of 1:14:46.

Given that 2018 has been undoubtedly the year of racing (or not being able to race) in extreme weather conditions, it should have come as no surprise that the GER would be struck with some pretty inclement conditions. Driving down the A1 not long after 7am with the rain battering my windscreen did not fill my heart with joy, especially as the forecast had predicted this weather and was very confident indeed that it would remain wet, at times very wet, all through the morning and well into the early afternoon.

Some people would rejoice at some conditions – the rain after all does do a great job in keeping the body cool so if you are a runner prone to overheating then if you can live with the discomfort of being wet then these conditions could be seen as close to ideal. The wind, although not still and at times noticeable in the race, was barely a factor and the official temperature was 14C, although it was most likely around 10C when the rain fell at its strongest.

History has suggested that I don’t race that well in very wet conditions. I don’t necessarily mind running in the rain – a bit of light drizzle is perfect in my eyes (not literally though, that is a bit of a nightmare). It’s when I am racing and I am struggling to stay warm in heavy rain that I feel I am losing out to the weather, especially when it is cold. The worst case was the Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon of 2017, so cold and wet it was that my quads all but locked and led to me now always racing in my compression shorts. Even the race I won in the rain (the Stilton Stumble 10K) I suffered badly from quad cramps, and it actually stopped raining not long after the start.

I arrived at the race venue two hours ahead of the race start. The car parks were already starting to fill. I had a little panic over which car park I was allowed to be in having booked it online. I don’t think it made a difference but the little panic as I moved car parks hoping I wouldn’t violate obscure T&Cs kept my mind occupied for longer than it should have. Walking to the the race village it soon became clear that the race wasn’t really geared up for preparations in heavy rain. There were no official changing facilities, people huddled under any place they could. I, and many others, sought sanctuary in the information tent, where far too many people in too small a space tried to keep warm and / or get changed into their race kit.

Kit changed and the first trip to the portaloos done, I returned to the car to sit around for a bit. I hadn’t seen any of the 40+ Grantham Running Club members taking part in the race, I can only assume that they, like me, and many others, were waiting in their cars until the last possible minute before making their way to the start or a queue for the toilets.

An hour before the start I went for a one and a half mile warm up which did little to warm me up, especially when I was soaked to the bone by a large car that went through a very large puddle at undiminished speed, putting my already questionable mood into a state of near gutter level gloom – gutters that were struggling to contain the volume of water that was falling. Back at the car I stripped out of the soaked tracksuit bottoms and top, deciding as it was still not actually that cold to go with the GRC T-shirt, rather than long-sleeved top, and gloves. I also opted to keep on the racing cap I’d worn during the warm up. The last time I race in this I think it was the last really warm London Marathon (Not this year’s the one before, years ago). I think it was a smart move, although I did struggle to keep it on at times!

I returned to the race village and queued again for the portaloos, shivering quite uncontrollably, spending longer on the toilet than I needed to just because it was somewhere warmer and drier. I then returned to the car (again!) as I’d decided that the gloves I was wearing, now soaked as though they had been in a washing machine that had forgotten to spin, were as useless at keeping my hands warm as no gloves at all. The car park was now fairly flooded, I made my way carefully to avoid the worst of the puddles, which was fairly pointless really as my trainers were already saturated.

I made one very last trip to the toilets, making my way to the start line around ten minutes before the start. I got myself pretty close to the front, not with the elites, who had their own pen to warm up in, but up and close with runners who looked pretty serious in their club vests and very flat racing flats. Me in my Hokas, t-shirt, shivering uncontrollably, could not have looked more out of place, frankly.

Five minutes before the off we were walked to the start line, trying our best to skirt the small pool that covered the road. The start should have been at 10:30 but it was delayed by five interminably long minutes as I assume they were ensuring the roads were closed and cleared. I seem to recall some small talk with a fellow runner who also appeared to be suffering a bit with the cold. I think we said the usual cliche of we’ll soon warm up once we get running, before we were finally called to our starting orders.

I think I made a terrible start, one of the worst I’ve made in recent years. It was terrible in that it was tardy, very slow to pick up the pace, feeling so cold and stiff, then having to work really hard to get into a decent rhythm. Looking back with the benefit of a few weeks’ hindsight, it may have actually been quite a good start, easing myself gently into the race rather than trying to hit race pace from the off. The mile split was 5:48, but given that I was well over six minute mile pace for the opening minute or two it showed I had to run a fair bit quicker than that in the latter part of the mile to bring the split time down.

Mile two was a little better (5:44), but still the HR struggled to get up to what I’d expect it to in a half marathon. I did though benefit from some advice to hug the inside of the road on a never ending left hand bend around Central Park, which saved me several seconds over those who were taking the go-kart line (that’s the outside of the bend) perhaps because it was so wet and rainy.  Mile three I began to get into the race. I’d got into a group of around eight runners, one of whom (Portuguese I think) was keen to get a rapport going between the runners, very eager to have the pack share the pace making, but annoyingly appearing to slow down in front of me when he took the pace.

Mile three was 5:35 and I felt warmed up and ready to race. Not enjoying tripping over the runners in front of me, as we hit a little rise crossing over the A47 (probably the biggest climb in the race), I pushed on the pace to see who would go with me.  Around four did, none of whom were willing to help share the pace. So, having run a 5:34 mile four I deliberately eased up to force someone else to take the pace on. This they did and for another mile or so I continued to run well, strangely enjoying the numerous twists and turns as we ran from one housing development to another.

Mile 5 was 5:39, mile 6 slowed to 5:47, but it was the most uphill mile of the race (Barely uphill though to be honest) and I recall we faced the worst of the headwind as we went along the seemingly never ending Lincoln Road, with the rain falling heavier than ever. As we went through halfway I seem to recall the official clock had us going through just ahead of schedule to break 75 minutes, but a few moments later a runner I was with asked me the question ‘are we on to break 75 minutes?’ My watch (Again running the awesome Peter’s Race Pacer app) said we were due to finish in 1:15:20.

He seemed to heed this warning for as we turned right into David’s Lane (Which felt more like a footpath, covered with fallen leaves) he pushed on the pace a touch, taking with him most of the remainder of the group (including the Portuguese runner). Had I been in a more fighting mood I think I would have gone with them. But I was cold. I was wet. I was looking at my heart rate. The average had barely gone above 168, which is right at the lower end of what I’d expect in a half marathon. It was beginning to drop. Mile 7 averaged 166, then miles 8 through to 12 averaged 165. That’s my marathon heart rate. I can only assume that the cold weather was seeing my body divert resources from the act of running fast to the act of trying to keep warm. As the rain continued to fall hard, there was little I could do but try as best I could and ignore the fact that I was feeling really cold, my trainers were dying, and I was still on target to finish just outside 75 minutes.

Mile 7 was 5:41, miles 8 and 9 5:37 and 5:42. In hindsight these aren’t bad miles but I felt like I should have been running quicker. By now I was more or less running alone, just one guy who I traded places with on a few occasions without actually helping pace one another, who I remember because he was wearing a lurid fluro pink t-shirt for a charity which appeared to have a lot of local support.

Mile 10 was 5:44, mile 11 5:43 – it was here we ran back on the roads we went out on at miles 3 and 4 although I can’t say I really recognised them – there are very few memorable features on this course. The only reason I knew we had run on them was because there were backmarkers heading in the opposite direction, culminating with the sweep vehicles, one of whom almost literally did sweep me up as I took a right hand turn into the path of a street cleaning vehicle.

It was at around this stage that I caught what I believe is the second placed woman, who I quickly made the effort to pass and pull clear of, not because I have any sense of needing to beat a female, but because she had an awkward running style that appeared to have her knees twisting at all sorts of funny angles and given that I’m pretty screamish about knees, I knew I couldn’t stick behind her.

With her passed I set about making it to the finish, constantly looking at my watch which resolutely predicted that I was going to finish in 1:15:20. Mile 12 was 5:40, the final mile appeared to last an eternity as we sploshed through near flooded roads. I latched onto the back of a runner who, wearing a black and white striped vest, I assumed, wrongly, ran for Shaftsbury Barnet Harriers (The colours of the pacers at the London Marathon). He carried me from mile 12 almost to the end, except he was able to put a sprint on from the 400 meters to go sign and I simply wasn’t able to, the problems this time were feet that were beginning to go numb from the cold and a stomach that really didn’t like the cereal that for some unfathomable reason (I have a bad history with cereal and racing) I’d decided to have for breakfast.

I crossed the line in 1:15:17, I made three seconds up on the time my watch had predicted I would finish in since halfway. I must have been annoyed/cold as I totally forgot to stop my watch for around half a minute after I crossed the finish line – the first time I can ever recall doing this (It’s an action more autonomous than breathing). Annoyingly the Portuguese runner crossed the finish line in 1:14:57, I think all the other runners I was with at halfway broke 75 minutes – if only I’d just been able to keep with them at mile 7. I think I would have stayed with them to the end.

I picked up my medal, bag, and other bits and bobs then hot-footed it as quick as possible to the nearest portaloo. From there it was straight to the car and home. I had left before 1:24 finishers had crossed the finish line. I felt bad that I wasn’t around to cheer home the 35+ GRC runners, but I was very cold, very miserable, and wasn’t willing to stand around in the rain for a second longer than I had to. I think I made the right choice to head home – my lips were still purple two hours after I had got home….

A few weeks to reflect has eased the disappointment a touch, but I am still full of what if?  and if only? The fact it was my highest ever age grade (83.92%) eased the disappointment a little but if I’d run what I think I was capable of I think 85% was on the cards. It was my second quickest half marathon but I’ve waited years to be able to run the quickest half in the region and I am still a bit gutted that I couldn’t quite perform to the level I think I was at, possibly because, once again in 2018, the weather has consigned to be against me.

I didn’t have too long to feel down because my next race was in two weeks time – and it was one of my favourites!