Addendum

The results list for my stage today. Me and Johnny Mellor in the same list. Wow.

The view from the back

Slog of a week this week. Set myself a target of 40 miles and as of Saturday I’ve done about 25. Got a 17 miler planned in the morning to reach my target and I don’t feel too bad :) .

Today has been all about the North of England Road Relay Championships, held locally in Sefton Park. I came, I took part, I learnt a lot. It’s not often you find yourself running in the same race as the likes of Johnny Mellor and Michael Rimmer, both no strangers to a GB vest. The cream of Northern Running descended on Liverpool to battle amongst the trees.

I knew this was going to be tough after hearing that top Liverpool PT and all round good guy Lee Siemaszko (@leesiemaszko on Twitter) said that he wasn’t in Liverpool Harriers ‘A’ team. This is a guy who can run a HM in about 1:15. Crikey. Still, as a part of the Striders ‘B’ Team aka the Captain’s Select aka TeamPasty, I put on my vest and headed to the park.

I was down to do leg 7, a long leg of 2 laps coming in about 4.9 miles. Being there from the start was a strange experience, usually you rock up, race and go home. There were still a couple of hours till I was needed. We watched the first leg set off in suitably speedy style. “Shit, that’s fast” I thought to myself. This then continued. For those with body issues, I don’t recommend hanging round a decent level running event. There was ‘nary an ounce of body fat in sight *sigh*.

People also saw my pre-race ritual of increasing nerves, muttering, pacing and general grumpiness. With Rowing it was easier; I could go and fiddle with my riggers and footplate and be left alone. Luckily, Steve arrived with his oasis of calm ( and my Garmin which I’d left at home). All too soon it was my turn and I headed to the start.

The first lap of the race went quite well, had a little bit of a stitch (due to a hot cross bun I’d eaten – bad Mitch, but I hadn’t had any lunch). But it was nothing too terrible. I turned this particular corner and went to see who was behind “Stop looking around!” this random old-school coach bellowed at me. Eeek!

Soon enough the speedy athletes starting passing me with ease. Now I know how the Europeans feel in the distance events at the Olympics. They just look so effortless and seem to cover about 5m with every step. But I tried not to concentrate on them too much, I had my own race to run.

The cheer I got as I went past the Striders was Awesome, in the proper sense of the word. I hadn’t expected it to be so loud! Put a smile on my face (on the first lap at least. The second lap, not so much…I did try guys, honest)

The second lap was a lot harder than the first, but I zipped up my man-suit and got to the finish. Final time was 31:19, 49^th out of 51 for that leg. At first I was really disappointed by that, but really it’s not too bad.

This wasn’t a ‘fun run’, it was a serious competition with the best runners in the North. I realised that I may have been running for a couple of years, but I’m VERY MUCH still a novice when it comes to running/racing and I have a lot to learn. It was my first experience of racing at that level and it was exciting. I didn’t stop on the course and was suitably knackered at the end. Also, I’ve got a target of sub 30mins for next year.

So a good day all round really, and another proud day as a Strider.

Towing the Line

There is something quite unique about the atmosphere of a start line. All the months of training, suffering, hard work and sacrifice condense into a single knot in the pit of your stomach.

It can affect people in different ways. Some aren’t affected by it in any way. They’ve trained heard and are there to do a job. But for others, it will slide them into the pit of despair that is pre-race nerves, a place I have often frequented.  I used to get horrifically nervous at races. If fact, I’d go so far as to say often if someone had said I didn’t have to race I’d have been relieved. Sounds silly thinking about it now, but I much MUCH prefer the rigours and routine of hard training than it’s eventually purpose, race day.

It must be said that at this point the two sports of rowing and running can be poles apart. The raw feeling of a start line at a sprint regatta is horrible, truly horrible. Waiting for the umpire to say “Attention…”  (I bet every rower who read that felt that feeling right there). Your sole purpose in life for the next couple of minutes is to crush the opposition. All thoughts of “just having a good row” disappear and will only re-appear in the post-race analysis. Mindful Animalism is probably the best way to describe it. The fact that one must usually win a number of races on the same day, only adds to the tension. The stakes are raised every time. A couple of rounds of wins and a final still amounts to a loss, acutely so at Novice Level. I truly feel sorry for those crews who enter the massive regattas and have 5 or so rounds to a win. Of course, if you know you can crush all in your path then your psyche maybe different. But it’s a feeling that never got any easier. What did get me through was the fact there were usually 3 or 7 other guys sat behind me feeling exactly the same (Peterborough Final anyone?). The quiet contemplation and stillness that makes up a rowing start line often belies a torrent of emotion and thought going on beneath the still faces of the rowers.

Blatent excuse you use this video again – It’s us. Winning. Yay!

The atmosphere at a running start line could not be more different, most of the time. In order to diffuse the nerves of the collected throngs, it is often quite a jovial, almost carnival, atmosphere. People joking about Pies on the Start Line, needing a wee within 300m of the start and listening to the (usually god-awful) tannoy waiting for the countdown to the start. I suppose, once the honk’s been honked, you’re on your own. The result you get out will be down to the effort you’ve put in before race day and no-one can run that race for you.

However, a different sort of madness can affect the feckless runner. All of a sudden, that PB seems an easy target and a couple of minutes are mentally knocked off. The runner darts out of the traps like a man possessed, only to regret it a couple of miles later. Alternatively, that slight niggle in a left knee can mentally turn into a leg about to explode in pain.

It’s a lot harder to keep your cool at times like this. In both if not all sports, it is those who succeed in shutting it all out and concentrating on the task at hand that will reap the spoils of the battle about to commence.

Attention….Go!

Mucky Pups

The last couple of weeks have been a bit of a wake-up call. I’ve tried a few new things and it feels like I’ve been experiencing running in 2D for the last few years and all of a sudden have found depth and perspective. It blows ya mind man!...

First up, I decided that next year, I was going to give Cross-Country racing a go. It’s something that had escaped me so far in my life. At school I can only ever remember doing XC once, and that was just the road around school and the playing field. I also remember it was one of the few sporting exploits at school I didn’t give up on (very proudly giving my time of 18:23 finish, after the winner had done it in 9:00). But since then, it had been alien world to me.

After announcing my intention on FB (I should have known) I was quickly reminded that the last race of the season was coming that Sunday. Various Striders suggesting I ran made me think “why not”. So, a pair of XC spikes was purchased, and I lined up at the start on a grey morning on the outskirts of Warrington.

I can sum up the race as disastrous but fun. Four laps of Birchwood Country Park.  Muddy Birchwood Country Park. Within 250m of the start someone called out to me that my laces had come undone. So stopping to sort that out meant that I was well down the field, but I slowly started working my way forwards. Running on the grass, and in spikes, felt completely different to road running. Any kind of bounce one gets from your trainers and the tarmac goes, the ground absorbing all the energy. Hard Work! Then, there were the HILLS! Wow, I had to pause at the top of each one, unsure if my spikes would hold me upright. But of course, pausing loses you time so if future I’ll have to get some proper XC training in.

Then, about halfway round the third lap I felt a stabbing pain in my side. “Dear god, I’ve got a stitch”. It was no good, I had to stop. The pain was hideous – I haven’t gotten a stitch in years. I tried to remember what you did. Tried to slow my breathing down and carried on (slowly). It was almost a full lap before it went away. I was about 800m from the end at this point. There was a hill and then final dash from the finish.

Me, dashing.

I came down the hill with someone from Liverpool Running Club (my old club) hot on my heels. I decided to sprint for the line. There were lots of people crowded round the finish, old club mates, new club mates all shouting. As I got to the finish, he hadn’t past me.  I saw the race marshalls and headed in their direction.

Then there was a cry, I stopped to see what had happened. It seems I had been in such a sprint that I had sailed straight past the finish funnel. Thing is, I’d never done proper XC before so didn’t know I was supposed to go into a ‘funnel’. The LRC guy slipped in and got the place before me. I won’t lie; I was gutted and also quite embarrassed. With so many people I knew there I felt like a right donkey.

But we live and learn, onward and upward. I’ll be a lot better prepared next season and am looking forward to it.

Looking at the length of this, I’ve realised I’m going to have to split these posts!

Northwich Part 1

I've been on the verge of posting this article for a while, before the blog was even created.  This was a novice race, although I write as though it was an Olympic final, but to us, or at least to me, it was as important.

April 2011

We'd recently raced at the Head of the River Regatta in London and in all honesty hadn't done very well. I think the race could have been summed up as Great 2K, shocking 4.8K finish. However, a this was rowing, we'd all had a hard winter together, racing in temperatures of minus 10 degrees Celsius, suffering the continual 'encouragement' of our coach. We were a crew and in this together. Northwich was to be the last head of the season, a last hurrah before the sprint regattas started.

The release of the draw the previous week had generated a buzz in the squad. We had one opposition, my old club Mersey. We had traded blows over the winter, one winning over the other at different races. We would be racing an 8+ in the morning and splitting into two 4+s for the afternoon. Northwich is only 2350m, a 'sprinty' head race, only one or two real turns to speak of. 

We lined up at the start, Mersey were to set off first. I was stroking the Grosvenor boat. I loved the stroke seat, it could be a bitch at times, but there is nothing like the feeling of the power of 8 being laid down behind you as the boat sails through the water. I think there's a bit of mother hen in there as well -  I like to make sure everyone was okay.

The stroke of the other boat, Andy was/is a very good rower and was/is of very similar temperament to myself. More so than either of us will probably admit. Someone once asked "Is he your Moriarty?" I shall leave that unanswered. He would be setting a good rate and had the extension of the famous "Coyne Go-Go-Gadget Arms".

At the start line you try and eliminate everything out of your head in preparation for the race. As stroke, I was there to set a good rhythm and rate and not worry about anything else. Mersey set off, once they sailed away, it was our turn. Just like in practice, we wound up the strokes to get to maximum speed at the start of the clock, ready for lengthening into the race. 

About halfway along the course, I remember thinking "Hmph, we haven't passed them yet. They must be having a good row". But of course, that didn't matter and I was in the middle of doing what I had to do. Also, Mersey had the advantage of being able to see us. I scotched the thought as soon as it appeared.

We came alongside some boats that were moored at the side of the river; I knew at this point we were about 500m from the end. All of a sudden there was a cry from behind, something had happened, I wasn't sure what. The speed suddenly seemed to drop from the boat. There was another cry. In the panic I thought about turning round for a split second.

"Mitch, look at me. Don't you dare"

Being barked at by the cox was just what I needed. In all the races she coxed us, Gemma knew exactly the right thing to say. The value of an experienced cox is immense, especially for a novice crew.

We carried on and finished the race. There was an eerie silence at the finish. We hadn't passed the Mersey boat so we didn't know what the gap was. I don't remember asking Gemma. We all stuck our heads down. In hindsight, Mersey were very quiet as well. We got the boat out of the water and took it back to the trailer. Hushed conversations were had about the race. It turns out that someone had come off their seat and crabbed. It's something that could have happened to anyone, and indeed had happened to me in the past.

But over the course of the morning, the rumours started. Had we done enough?...It filtered through to us that Mersey had thought we'd one. The fact that they had sight of us counted a lot to back that up, but it was still rumour.

About lunchtime, word came though. We had done it. We'd won.

It was our first win as a crew. The sense of relief and euphoria was immense. It's true that all those hours of training and hardship melt away in seconds. We had done it.

But we couldn't celebrate too long; there was still a coxed four to race.

ParkRun Report - 03/03/2012

In an effort to build some tenacity into my racing, I've resolved to race more often.IThe reasoning being that the more start lines I can tow, the less of an unusual experience it will be. Start lines are very unusual places. The hours and weeks of training tend to lay very heavy on my shoulders as I stare into the middle distance as the gun goes off.

The weather this morning wasn't great and I wore a t-shirt under my club vest (I tend to fid more veteran runner scoff at this - but it was cold and rainy!). Thinking "This wasn't in the brochure!", the race started and we clattered off around the 5Km course. The ParkRun course in Liverpool is held at Princes Park, on the edge of Toxeth. Having raced it a couple of times, I tend to think of it as quite a tough course. If you took a flat oval and raised one end 30 degrees, run round this two and a half times and thats the sort of course you've got. One resonably long downhill and a corresponding uphill.

I set off at a reasonable pace, without my iPod which I really stuggle to justify wearing when racing. I find that I like to hear my breath, something that has changed from when I started. After negociating the first couple of slopes, I hit an effective stride. I was determined to push myself in this race, a sub-20 in my sights. I had heard one of the racers at the start line saying he was looking for 20, so I kept him close and in my sights. 

Towards the end of the first lap, the invietiable fatigue started to come, but I pushed through it and seemed in control of my faculties. The slopes seemed a tiny bit harder, but the pentiful support from the marshalls was a big benefit. A lady wo had been running by me had sprint past on the long decend of the first lap, I'd tried to respond but she had some extra bounce in her legs that I couldn't find. 

I tucked in behind her and stubbornly sat there. A difference I found in racing todaywas that on the hard bits, mentally I started telling myself "its just as hard for everyone else". I noticed that my fellow runners weren't pulling away unless I did something silly. This was a big confidence boost and something to remember for the future.

It's been a big change in my recent racing, I'm much more aware for my surroundings and other runners. I'm not sure why its changed but I'm aware of how they are affected by conditions and occurrences. Cat-and-mouse sections become just that, mentally I'm able to judge places to hold back and places to kick off.  I find it quite fun.

A guy came up along side me, nothing was said, but we carried on round the second lap together.

Then something in my brain kicked in, and I let him go. 

I'm going to be completely honest in this blog. I could say that I felt my hamstring go, or I got a stitch, but that would be untrue. I just stopped. My brain decided I'd had enough. Of course I got going again, but that's not the point. This is becoming a worrying habit, and something I really need to work on. How I do that I'm not quite sure, and would be grateful for advice. 

I think I need words with my Central Governator. 

It feels weird talking about it 'in the third person' but that's how I feel about it - my body seems willing to go on, but my brain says No.

I carried on the final section, at a steady speed and sprinted for the line. No one else was going to pass me.

I crossed the line in 21:10, 3 seconds of my ParkRun PB. Without my wobble, I would have smashed that PB. 

Positive though - learning experience, and I was 12th Person home (the guy I ran with was 9th). My split for the first mile were faster than sub-20 pace so maybe a little more measured start is in order.

I know I've got a lot to learn, but with a bit more racing - hopefully I'll be able to judge things better.

Now I've got a Cross- Country to prepare for tomorrow...