Run Josie Run

On Sunday, I ran a local race here in Savonlinna.

It was during a particularly vicious hangover that I learned it even existed, and once I felt more human and my friends pointed out that it would be a lovely way to mark my time here in Finland, I was sold.

The website for the event still had all of last year’s dates and times on it, it mentioned something about collecting your race number and registering the day before, but provided no address for this collection point, or any indication of the route, other than to mention the ‘uphills, which are common in the region.’ I fired off a quick email (thanks, Google translate!) and three days before the race a lovely chap called Timo furnished me with all the information I needed to know.

I had the choice between the half marathon and the 10.6km. Given that whilst I’ve been following a loose training plan since I’ve been here, my weekly mileage hasn’t been more than 22 miles for the last 4 months, the shorter distance seemed much more manageable and (hopefully) pleasant.

The weather here has been changeable to say the least, sometimes covering all 4 seasons in a day. Race day was boiling. Well, 10 degrees hotter than any other day we’ve had in the last month. Suffice it to say that by the time I’d walked the 45 mins across town to the start, I was slightly more than glistening.

There were runners tackling the 10.6km, the half, and Nordic Walkers all starting at the same time. There were probably 250 starters in total, gathered in a dusty field between two wooden boxes, plunging down a gravelly footpath, trainers, walking poles, children, all together!

Savonlinna in the sun is a beautiful town, and for the most part we hugged the coastline, taking in the sparking lake on the one lap run that turned out to be a slightly elongated version of a 5 mile loop I’ve run many times since I’ve been here. Because the sun was out, lots of tourists were also out enjoying the day and the support was lovely! The relatively small field meant that quite soon we were spread out, so I felt very grateful for the cheers directed my way, particularly from a very enthusiastic lady sat on a bench on the final 600m climb before the drop back into the dusty field and the finish chute.

I’ve been struggling with my asthma during tempo runs lately, speed work usually involves some sort of recovery, but threshold type runs have been tough. Because of that, I wanted to run somewhere around ‘comfortably hard.’ I thought it would be my breathing that determined my pace, not my legs, and I was right. My second mile was a bit quicker than I’d have liked (I saw more of my friends than I was expecting and got a bit overexcited!) but for the most part, I’m really pleased with how it all went. Yes, I’ve run much faster, but I’m not in that kind of shape right now. I crossed the line in 62 mins. Despite it being hot and hilly, I’ve rarely enjoyed a race more – I really had a great time. And when there is a lake within staggering distance of the finish line, it’s rude not to get in, right??

With just 5 days and three shows left here in this magical place, the weather is (naturally) forecast to be rubbish, but I’m determined to try and get in the lake as much as I can. I’ve been so, so lucky to swim in such a beautiful place, it has slowly been warming up – I actually have no idea how cold it is now, but I don’t go numb after ten minutes any more, and some hardy Finnish children are also playing it for a while when the sun comes out - and today I swam an easy 1600m with my wetsuit, and then 400m without it. And then an ice cream. 

Now, I love my wetsuit. I feel like it’s my superpower. I have always thought that I swim better in it, and might sink in open water without it. I have instead been surprised by how much I’ve enjoyed swimming in the lake without it. You feel the water differently – it’s a much more sensual experience, for want of a better word. I think swimming with it on, then hopping back in without it might heighten the sensation. Whatever it is, it’s great!

“There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat,

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.”

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Julius Caesar

I haven’t blogged in ages. In all honesty, I haven’t had much to say. I was meant to run a marathon but had a bit of poorly-timed surgery, so that 26.2 didn’t happen.

I am currently (somewhat unexpectedly) in Finland working on an opera. In a castle. Yep, a castle. Yes, that one below. 

All a bit last minute, and when I came across the passage above from Julius Caesar, I thought it summed up this experience perfectly. I didn’t plan to be here, but the opportunity popped up, and I decided to go with the current and jumped on board.

It is daylight almost all the time here. The town is a beautiful, peaceful place, and after a few false starts, I’ve discovered some wonderful running routes.

Also, the swimming!

I have it on good authority that it was snowing here last week, so despite warmer temps this week, this lake is COLD, even with wetsuit. I’m not sure how cold, but it hurts a bit to get in and there is only a brief window of pleasant numbness before I start getting too cold. I’ve managed 2 x 15 minute swims this week and I’m aiming for a 20 minute one this weekend. Any cold water swimmers out there, please send me your tips! I’m usually happier around 13/14 degrees, this is tough!

In recent weeks, without a race to train for, I’ve struggled to maintain some structure to my training short of a parkrun, an easy short run and occasional 6 mile run commute each week. Today, I headed out with renewed focus and motivation, ran 4 tempo miles plus warm up and cool down, and am excited about my next run. I might even write a little loose training plan! 

So. Here’s to being fluid and good things coming from going with the flow. 

I’ll try not to leave it so long next time.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was a great idea after it was finished.

A few weeks ago, I stood bundled up on the sidelines of the Met League XC race at Parliament Hill. It was freezing, and I was there to cheer on my friends as they represented their club, Serpentine Running Club. It looked brutal, there was no denying it. Starting just above the Lido, the first 600m were straight uphill. And these women weren’t messing about. The gun went, off and collectively, they charged. It was thrilling to watch.

By the time they’d looped around the course and passed us again, the field was a bit more spread out, everyone working hard, and it became more obvious that there was a real mix of abilities present. Yes, the majority of runners were speedy, but there were other runners putting in the same effort, perhaps covering the ground more slowly, but showing up for their club and being counted.

I think that’s what I found the most appealing. Yes, the mud was a massive draw, the hills were a bit off-putting and the uniform of vest and short-shorts seemed mildly terrifying, but the thought of having to be part of a club, a team, to race here meant that you were representing something and they were supporting you. That was exciting.

I said at the time that it was quite likely I’d be close to the back of the pack if I were running, and decided that even the idea of bringing up the rear was better than standing on the sidelines, wondering. So I went home and joined Serpentine RC.

I  christened my spikes on a little jaunt up and down a small but muddy hill near home, with the moral (and physical) support of Laura  and then put them back in their box and sort of forgot about them.

The Day arrived. I was genuinely nervous. Everyone getting off the tube at Cockfosters looked very professional, and I felt more than slightly out of my depth. I was grateful to have my friends well versed in racing seasons of XC to talk at me on the way to the start line. As I explained to them, I was worried about coming last, I was worried about falling on my face, but mostly I was worried of the unknown. I had never done this before, so I didn’t know what to expect, and that made me nervous.

Let’s be clear. I had joined the Serpies because I wanted to run cross country. I wanted to be here. I was scared but I was excited too, and I have a habit of doing things that scare me because I really believe that fear shouldn’t be the only reason you don’t try. (Perhaps not swimming with sharks…). So here I was, toeing the start line with the shortest of shorts and the longest of spikes.  

The gun went off and guess what? It was just like any other race. Here we were, all running along together. Yes, we were racing, and yes, there were hills and mud, and yes, I went backwards after the first kilometre. Yes, my first mile was 2 minutes faster than my last, yes I wanted to walk, to stop, but I didn’t, and finishing last didn’t seem too bad if I was out there doing my best. And I was doing just that. And some of it was awful and I loved it.

Thanks Laura for the photo above, and all the moral support!

On the tube home, I was thinking back to when I first started swimming. I couldn’t comfortably manage a 33m length of front crawl. But I kept showing up, going back, trying my best, and I swam the length of Coniston last summer.

I’m glad I showed up and tried my best today, both despite and because of the fear. This isn’t the end for my spikes.

‘Enter the lake here, it will be a calm walking entry as you’ve got a long way to go, keep swimming until you reach the blue matting, don’t stand up too soon, try to beach yourself. Like a whale.’

Colin was standing in the rain at the start of the ChillSwim Coniston End to End. As the name suggests, it’s a swim from one end of Coniston to the other. 5.25 miles away.

A week before, I had been stood on the shores of Loch Lomond on a crisp, chilly Saturday morning with a glass-like loch in front of me. 

This body of water was looking quite different. Well, what I could see of it through buckets of rain was, anyway.

But here I was. On the start line of what I’ve been working towards all summer. Torrential rain or not, I was ready. I knew I was. I’d done the training; I’d endured, I’d raced, I’d strengthened. I definitely wasn’t the same person who had signed up with my friend Liz, months ago, not quite sure if we’d actually go through with it. I was a swimmer now.

I’d taken 17 minutes off my 4 month old 5k time at the Great Scottish Swim the weekend before without pushing hard, and that had prompted the decision to start with a faster wave on race day. The conditions at Loch Lomond had been perfect, the Loch had been flat and calm, there had been no wind and I had eaten three breakfasts. As I tried to spot the first buoy from the shore of Coniston I was wondering whether that decision was wise, but there wasn’t much I could do about it now. My green hat was on and my wave 5 start time was rapidly approaching.

There was chatter and laughter as we pottered down to the waters edge, straight in to the tropical 16 degree water amidst smiles and well wishes, and we were off.

Sighting for that first mile proved tricky (it’s tricky for me at the best of times). I set off a little bit too fast, trying to go with the people in the front of the wave. I found myself dropping back and as I breathed to both sides, I couldn’t see any other tow floats around me, only those pulling further ahead. Convinced I was now last, I tried not to panic, or to cry into my goggles (I had an irrational thought that they’d make me stop if I got too far behind). I had a quick word with myself, and deciding that 5.25 miles is an awfully long way to swim trying to play catch up, I concentrated on swimming at my own tried and tested pace.  Allowing myself to look back only when I’d reached the first feed boat, I saw a sea of tow floats behind me and realised I’d just been swimming between the first and second pack. Panic over. Energy drink consumed. Deep breaths taken. A giggle shared with the feed boat crew and off I went. The next few miles passed uneventfully. I settled into my stroke, passed 5k around the time I had hoped for and began to allow myself to get excited that within half an hour I’d be entering the final mile. 

And then the swell came. 

There wasn’t loads of it, and it seemed to come and go, but it was definitely there. Hello chop. It just made everything a bit more difficult at a point in the race I was starting to get a bit fatigued. Still, ploughing on, I gave up sighting very much as all I saw for a mile was what seemed to be waves and tow floats.

A quick time check at the last feed station (which I had taken to stopping at for a quick chat and a laugh more than needing the edible goodies they had on offer) showed me that there was a chance of reaching my 'A’ time goal, but I’d lost a bit of focus and energy in the last half a mile, and I’d need to get a wiggle on to make it.

Head down, off I went. My shoulder had started to grumble and there may have been a bit of shouting* (*quite a lot of swearing) into the water and a slightly peculiar adaptation of my stroke, but I wasn’t losing too much time. After fighting through the reeds at the finish, I emerged 2 hours and 57 minutes after I started like a boggy swamp monster to my family and friend Laura who were excellently positioned right on the finish line. So well positioned that it meant I didn’t even have to cross the actual finish line or timing mat to see them. Very glad they were paying attention to usher me the right way.

It wasn’t quite the race I had been expecting. I think Scotland had spoilt me with perfect weather and conditions the week before, but it was definitely worth the rain, the chop and the fight. Reaching the shore at the end of the swim was pretty special. Not for the first time, I almost had a little cry into my goggles. Sharing the achievement of my longest swim with the people that have followed the ups and downs of training was ace. One ahead of me in the lake, one behind, and one on the bank. Doesn’t get better than that! 

Covered in lake and wearing all the layers, I headed straight to the pub and the rain and the celebrations continued well into the evening.

And the next morning, when our arms didn’t work, we left the last of the hangovers on a 7 mile hike. 

All in all, a brilliant weekend. Thank you, Coniston. Thank you, Team Rainbow. Thank you, arms. 

Coniston, the morning after the swim. Calm. Still. Typical. 

I’m sorry @this-incredible-journey! I saw this, and promptly forgot about it! So, here we go!

Relationship status: Single.

Favorite color: Blue! Or yellow... Probably yellow. Or both.

Pets: None right now... but I want 2 english bull terriers someday. (Named Cabbage and Teabag). 

Cats or dogs: Dogs. Dogs. Dogs. Cats just don’t NEED you. They’re hilarious, but dogs win. 

Coke or Pepsi: Actually, neither. Really not a fizzy drinks person. Aside from sparkling water which is just the BEST. 

Chapstick or lipstick: Chapstick. And one very red lipstick for grown up special occasions. 

Last song listened to: Hozier, Take Me To Church.

Favorite TV show: I have terrible taste in TV. I love Catfish. And reality documentary type stuff. But the Olympics closing ceremony was the last thing I watched.

First fandom: Take That. Enough said. 

Hobbies: Running, swimming, reading, writing (new thing!) going to the theatre, baking, and CHEESE. (Yes, it is a hobby).

About 2 months ago I ran a 10k race, I used that result as a guide and set the intention of trying to beat that time by more than 90 seconds. Sub 50 was the goal. Because I’m swimming so much, I wanted to give myself a reason to keep running, and a focus to avoid just doing easy runs when I felt like it. 

And so began about 7 weeks of structured training; mile or km repeats at goal pace or a bit quicker, then I moved on to 2 x 15 mins at goal pace, and 2 x 20 mins (I put that one off for weeks - for some reason the workout sounded terrifying and intimidating to me). The weather here made it tricky for me to run outside -  a high pollen count, asthma and speedwork aren’t really good run buddies, so I stuck to the treadmill for those workouts. I ran 2 speed or tempo sessions a week, and one longer easy run. Add in between 6 - 9 miles a week in the water, and I was feeling pretty strong. 

I knew that my goal was at the edge of my capability right now, but over the weeks I found the pace not exactly comfortable or easy, but the first few reps got easier, the recovery I needed got less and instead of panic-running, my body learned what an 8 min mile felt like and kind of settled in. I picked my race and was ready to go.

I juggled my swim training for the week and did the long one on Friday after work, so I would have Saturday to recover, ready to race on Sunday. 

Spoiler: I didn’t achieve my goal. 

No excuses, no reasons. I just didn’t have it in me. And I really tried. I committed (doesn’t happen often). I set off at 8 min miles, I came through halfway in 24:00 flat, I wasn’t giving up on myself the way I do sometimes, but I didn’t have it in me to do the same again. I ran as hard as I could, but the goal was beyond me. On that day, I wasn’t strong enough. 

I could have burst into tears when I crossed the line, but some very wise friends offered some very kind words, and in hindsight I am proud that I showed up and I tried. Running and I had a falling out yesterday. It kicked my ass, but it showed me what it will take to achieve that goal and I’m still hungry for it. 

Training for a long swim (well, long for me!) has a lot of similarities to training for a marathon, I’m discovering. 

There are the first couple of weeks where short distances seem uncomfortably long, and hitting a certain pace is difficult, and you wonder how you ever think you’ll be able to run a marathon that fast when 4 miles of it reduces you to a sweaty mess... All that happened in the pool too. And then the lake, and the docks, and the reservoir once I stared taking 2 swims a week outside. Then the tiny niggles started, and there was a bit of panic, (and dramatic overreaction when you refuse to realise that you may only discover where the inconsistencies and weaknesses lie when you put your body under a little bit more stress than before), and then I took some action, strengthened the weak bits and took out one swim for 2 weeks, then the breakthrough happened, and now I’m facing the biggest mileage weeks of my swimming to date and I am in a place I never get to with my running; in this sport I haven’t found my limits yet. 

This weekend I was planning to swim with my friend who is tackling the same race as me at a new lake, about 2 hours travel from my house. We had wanted to go somewhere new together, as well as to give her some open water experience, but we had picked this lake mostly because the amount of time we needed in the water was greater that any open water facility was open for any closer to home. 

My lovely friend is fighting off a chest infection that hasn’t quite disappeared yet, so with the start line at the forefront of her mind, she is resting hard instead of swimming this weekend and I’m suddenly quite apprehensive about travelling out to Surrey at daft’o’clock and swimming in a new place by myself. It will be my longest swim to date, and I’m really excited to be in the water and doing it, but nervous about everything else surrounding it. (And yes, I’m aware that for a lot of people, the actual swimming would be the worry!).

One of my favourite phrases from my rather excellent and very wise friend Laura is, “Start where you are.” (You should read her blog - she just got her BQ marathon time after a lot of patience and hard work).

We all have goals, dreams and things we want to achieve. What we sometimes lack is patience. Or discipline. If you set a huge goal, that’s ace! But be honest about where you are now, so you can be realistic about what it’ll take to get you to your accomplish your goal. Aiming high and not following through honestly, just leads to disappointment. We’ve all been there. 

I’ve set a pretty big swimming goal for September, but I also really wanted to capitalise on the endurance I’ve built up from marathon training this spring. I said about 2 years ago that I wanted to run a sub-50 10k, but I got distracted by swimming and triathlon and marathons and beer, and so it was shelved whilst I worked on not drowning, and other things. But this seems like a good time to revisit that goal. Running a 10k time with a 49: at the front seems very fast and bit intimidating, but I recently ran a 23:35 5k, so whilst I know it’ll be really hard, I think it might just be achievable. 

I had signed up for a 10k today to use as a benchmark, to see where I am now, to help me to put together a plan moving forwards. I wore black tape over my watch, so I wouldn’t psych myself out over the time or pace, and I really wanted to run it on feel (but I wanted the stats for afterwards, that’s why I ran with the watch at all!). 

The heavens opened pretty much on cue with the starting gun, and didn’t let up once. I went off too fast, the wet weather and humidity played havoc with my asthma and I had to take a brief walk break at about mile 4 to take my inhaler, something I very rarely need to do any more. It was a hard run. I really enjoyed it.

I was confident crossing the finish line that I had run as hard as my lungs were capable of on this day, and that there is definitely more in my legs. 

“Let’s do a swim relay!”

The logistics were a little bit more complicated and involved a 5am start, a long bus journey past people still very much enjoying Saturday night, a train and then a bus from race HQ, 6 miles out to the race start. 

We arrived on the banks of the Jubilee River in good spirits (full of coffee) and cheered the first wave off on their way. After our briefing, we bundled Helen into her wetsuit as the air temperature started to rise, and winced with her as she put on a brave face upon entering the ‘refreshing’ water. 

As a relay team, the three land-bound members would walk alongside the swimmers for the most part, but there was a slightly hairy moment when we were directed onto a footpath seemingly away from the river and toward the main road, and we realised that the river had a bit of current to it, so our swimmers were travelling slightly faster than anticipated. As I was swimming the 3.5k second leg, and wasn’t in my wetsuit yet, I put in a bit of a trot to make sure Helen didn’t get to the changeover point ahead of me! 

As Helen clambered victoriously up the banks, we were ready for her! Changeover completed in true dramatic fashion (see above), I confidently and speedily headed for what I thought was the entry point...only it wasn’t. A 3 minute hobble over a stony footpath later, and I was in! After a sweaty wrestle trying to get into my wetsuit in record time, the cold water was quite refreshing and I merrily set off, using a fellow swimmer on the horizon with a large orange tow float as something to sight. Sighting in a river is tricky as it bends, but I was doing OK, until I passed the swimmer... So I used the bridge. And then the next bridge, and the next bridge and the....(you get the idea). 

I have never done a point to point race before in the water, and 2 things struck me in particular: 

1) You have no idea how long you’ve been in the water. I was wearing my watch but I didn’t want to look at it because I really didn’t want to stop. Also I was worried that as I was starting to feel a bit fatigued, if I looked at it and saw that I had only covered 400m, that might be less than motivational. In order to keep pushing forewards, I used a tactic that never works in running races, but seems to in swimming - I started using the people ahead of me in the water as targets, trying to reach and pass them one at a time. 

2) Swimming under footbridges is really fun. Swimming under motorway bridges is less so. 

I looked up (not really paying attention to what was ahead of me as usual) and suddenly and I saw the weir a hundred meters ahead. These were the changeover points and the feed stations for the swimmers tackling the 10k as a whole (as mentioned in the briefing, “It might look like fun, but no, you cannot body surf over the weirs....”). Try as I might, I couldn’t see the exit point from the water, and it appeared that the swimmers ahead of me were also having trouble. There was a lot of breast stroke in those final few meters, and bobbing heads, trying to see if we’d missed it somewhere. It wasn’t until we were practically ON the weir itself that the flag came into view on the far right, well hidden behind some trees, and I gracefully beached myself on the dirt and had to be hauled upright. I legged it up the steps, like a mud sodden Bambi, and stood there grinning with numb cheeks, cold toes and a silt beard saying something like, “I love rivers...” over and over again. 

Luckily Helen was there to listen to me chatter away whilst I got changed and we meandered down the banks alongside Krista who had taken to the water, and behind Laura who was charging ahead to get ready to bring us home on the final leg. 

We all made it to the finish to cheer Laura up the bank at the end of her leg, and the sun shone down on us as we met up with friends who had tackled the race in it’s entirely, and snacked on a well deserved picnic!

Excellent company, swimming and organisation, (helped by wonderful weather) made for a really ace day! I might have said something about signing up for the whole 10k next year, but that may have just been the banana bread and cheese straws talking...! 

This weekend, London was hotter than Ibiza. At 27 degrees, it’s safe to say that glorious as it was, it wasn’t really ideal for a race. A lot of my friends had signed up for the Hackney Half marathon, and since I haven’t run all that much since my marathon, I ummed and ahhed about joining them, last minute places inevitable becoming available left right and centre. I decided that I probably wasn’t quite in the right place mentally or physically to race again so soon, and settled upon an easy 7 mile run there before the heat got too ferocious, and picked a cheer point at about halfway to yell support at the sweaty masses as they ran past.

I arrived just in time to see the leader whizz by in 28 minutes, and then settled in to cheer all the runners that followed. It was very hot, and by the time some of them reached the 6 mile mark, they were walking. I was pleased to see my friend Laura looking so strong and happy when she ran past, and by adjusting her pace to make concession for the heat, she had a great run!

I was on the look out for my friend Hannah and some others, when I felt a tap on the shoulder. Hannah had missed me, doubled back and come to say hi! The heat was taking it’s toll and she wasn’t having the most fun time, so I decided to run with her for a bit and distract her by talking at her about pigeons, and force feed her water that was about bath temperature. I left her 500m from the line, and she went on to a storming finish, whilst I was marooned on a traffic island amongst a sea of runners starting their sprint finish. Excellent cheering spot.

Both Laura and Hannah helped other runners who here suffering from the heat at the end of the race, and we passed lots of runners receiving medical aid during the race. St John’s Ambulance had their work cut out, but were wonderful and I’m sure many runners and their families were grateful for their care. 

Or sometimes, don’t. We all do it. You have a session in the diary, and for whatever reason, you’re not feeling it. So we try to trick ourselves into running/swimming/hula-hooping for say, 20 mins, and we tell ourselves that if we are still not feeling it, then it’s OK to stop. Nine times out of ten, we arrive at the time we set, or distance we decided we could call it a day at, and we keep going. Not last week. Last week I swam a mile, disliking every moment of it, and upon reaching 1600m, I got out. And I regretted nothing. 

The pool was busy, the water was pretty grim, it was one of the first hot days London had had this year and everyone obviously fancied a dip that evening. There was a man swimming up and down the centre of the lane, obviously too speedy for the medium lane but refused to get in the fast lane because it was ‘too busy,’ Right.

I am training for a 5.25 mile lake swim in September, and at the moment, the furthest I’ve swum is 5km. In that same pool a few weeks earlier, in fact. (Evidence below). I know I need to start upping my distances and spending more time in the more water more frequently, but on that day, at that time, it wasn’t worth the fight. It was a beautiful evening, and I spent it in the beer garden of the pub instead. I’ll try again this week. 

How many kilometres did you swim, ladies?

Manchester Marathon, tick.

I got to run the streets of an awesome city, a little bit faster than my fastest and I toughed out the difficult bits with some brilliant women by my side.

When I nodded off last night I couldn't shake a little niggling feeling of disappointment in my finishing time time yesterday. I knew I was in shape to run a bit faster. We do that to ourselves sometimes. I've realised that whilst the marathon might not be my distance, I love the training and I seem to keep going back for more. It always poses a challenge, whatever your history with it, nothing is a given over 26.2 miles.

I've woken up with a fresh perspective (after a massive breakfast). A lot can happen over the marathon distance and looking back, I'm proud of what I achieved yesterday. It really is a journey and I was lucky enough to be surrounded & supported by so many ace people, including cheer squad extraordinaire my mum, and an incredible local running club who took me in as one of their own for the day and who’s cheers in the final kilometre lifted my feet off the floor and carried me over the finishing line.

The Saucony Cambridge Half Marathon is a very popular race. I learnt this the hard way. It sold out within 2 hours of entries opening, and despite having agreed with friends we would race it together, it looked like it wasn't to be. In the interests of full disclosure I emailed the lovely PR folk at One Step Beyond and asked if there was any way they could squeeze me in, and they very kindly agreed.

It had been a long time since I'd raced. Maybe almost a year. I have entered swimming races and the occasional triathlon, but hadn't popped my trainers on in pursuit of a medal in a while. I've still been running, I was training for the Marathon Eryri before injury struck, yet I haven't raced - put a goal out there and run towards it - for a long old time. Marathon training for me means having an eye on the end goal, not wanting to push too hard for fear of injury, or worrying I need too much recovery time when I'm still in the middle of a training plan. To put it bluntly, it’s been a long time since I’ve gone out hard and hung on. I was apprehensive. 

With a marathon on the horizon and having spent more days than I hadhoped full of a rotten cold, the goal for Cambridge was to run comfortably-ish and strong for as long as I could, whilst ideally maintaining a goal marathon pace speed. To use it as a tempo run essentially, without having to stop for traffic lights and the like. 

It's a beautiful course, and so well organised, you can see why it's popular. A 20 minute walk from the station makes it commuter friendly for those of us not wanting the expense of a nights accommodation beforehand, and I must give a shout out to the volunteers at the bag drop, one of the best organised I've ever come across! A slight course change this year took us on a one lap route through some idyllic villages and rural countryside, with the first and last few miles through the centre of the city, meaning there was great support when you needed it most! The marshals and volunteers on the course were so friendly and happy, it must have been a bit on the chilly side for them, their enthusiasm was greatly appreciated. 

A prompt 9:30am start meant by 9:34 I was across the start line and racing. There were different starting pens for different paces, so you were evenly matched for speed with those around you and there wasn't the pushing and shoving that can happen at some road races.

  I started a few seconds ahead of the 2 hour pacers, and at mile 3 made the commitment (quite suddenly and out loud, to the surprise of some runners around me) to stick with them as long as I was feeling good. They were great company and we were treated to some local knowledge and a tour of the city's historical landmarks as we passed them by. 

Around mile 7, we reached the one incline in the course. I don't think it qualifies as a hill, but I treated myself to a gel at the top anyway and whilst I wasn't quite paying attention, I found myself ahead of the 2 hour pacers. I had a quick panic that I shouldn't be running that fast but the sun was out, the air was crisp, and I was having a really nice time. 

The top of the ‘hill’...

I made friends with a fellow runner, Charlotte (who I had been following for ages) at about mile 10, and a little voice in my head told me I’d probably done enough, a 10 mile tempo is as good as a 13.1...but I was within a parkrun of my second ever sub 2 and so I put my head down and stuck with Charlotte and it was at that point I had to start to focus on keeping the pace. I did some maths (that kept me occupied for longer than it should have) and once I'd worked out I was well on target, I waved Charlotte on, eased off the pace and trundled the last half a mile to the finish with a very big smile on my face. I’d run a bit too fast, but I had felt pretty good almost all the way. 

The medal for this race was huge! Coupled with a pint of alcohol free beer (followed by a 'real' pint in a local pub soon afterwards), an efficient bag retrieval (that meant I had warm layers soon afterwards) and some great friends (old and new - thanks Charlotte!) I would recommend this race to anyone looking for a spring road half marathon. There's a reason it sells out so fast, keep an eye on the website for pre-registration details.