Race Report - Bristol HM

Ship Shape and Bristol Fashion

Well it seems the summer is finally over for me. The running of the Bristol Half Marathon at the weekend marked the end of an extraordinary couple of weeks in which I challenged myself more than I ever thought possible, and I don’t just mean the time on my legs.

Bristol is the first time in a long while that I’ve been focused on a particular race. It wasn’t a stressful as it could have been, but when you’re telling people you’re looking to do about 1:32, they immediately jump on the sub-90 train, and you try in vain to convince people that’s not what you’re after. Maybe I was a little, but in order to do that I was going to have to run further and a greater speed than I ever had before. The threshold work I’ve been doing has been broken down into 20-30 minute blocks. This would be running at that pace for an hour and a half. I tried, but couldn’t reconcile that in my head. This was what made me nervous more than anything else. I had visions of getting to 6 miles and dying a horrible slow death on the course, in front of all the spectators.

We travelled down on Saturday, enjoying the hospitality of the official Race hotel. There was a meal and presentation for the elite athletes to which Steve and I went along. Usual runners grub of chicken, pasta, vegetables and APPLE CRUMBLE NOMNOMNOM, although I steered clear of the wine on offer *gasp*. It was great to see the RWU crowd again, and it calmed my nerves a lot chatting to Carl and Agata at dinner. It brought it all home to me when Carl said “Just think, the winner of the race is sitting in this room right now” *GULP*. Amongst the assembled athletes was Steve Way, my running idol. I kick myself now, but I wish I’d gone up for a hello, autograph, anything! But my mind was on other things.

After the meal, the RWU crew gathered downstairs for a last briefing with Nick and Phoebe. If you thought Fawcett’s speeches were inspirational, blimey this was something else! Just the right amount of quiet fire building in the belly, to make you think “I can do this”. 

Basically, he told us to smash the race’s back doors in. I *may* be paraphrasing slightly.

*snigger*

I didn’t get the best night’s sleep. I woke up at 4.30am and struggled to sleep after that. I realised I was starving hungry and so at 5.30am I was sat on the end of my bed eating a banana. Steve had commented that I hadn’t eaten a lot compared to some others. I think the nerves had suppressed my appetite, but it’s something I need to remember for the future. After a rather subdued breakfast – earlier risers than us had finished off the porridge, so I had my usual muesli and toast; it was time to make our way over to the course. 

We dropped the bags off and it was then time to say goodbye to Steve and head over the start pen. Via 3 loo stops – nervous, me? I had a white number which meant going off in the first wave, probably near the front. However, my first thought on arrival at the start pen was “There must be some mistake?!” as everyone in that pen looked VERY fit and fast. It was club runner-tastic all round, and I wasn’t used to standing in such a clearly defined set of (dare I say good?) runners. However fast you think you go, everyone around always seems to be much faster! There was that usual start line aroma you get in the pens – a heady mixture of sweaty bodies, nerves and sprinkling of pent-up aggression. The time ticked round slowly to 9.30am and it was time for the off.

The gun went and everyone shot off as usual at blistering pace, I got a shout out from Nick over the tannoy as I passed the start line which was nice. I knew the first mile or two would be about warming up and settling in so it didn’t bother me that people were passing me at this point. Someone behind shouted “Come on you sub 90 runners, pick it up”, but I was in it for the long game. Cracking off 6:30s at this point wasn’t going to help anyone and so I concentrated on my own race. At the end of the first mile I regret not having one last safety before the start, there was a light pressure in my bladder and I had to get rid of it. Luckily, as we passed the two mile mark there was a little side area I made a dart for. It must have been the signal for others as I got going again, as loads of others had the same idea. My original plan was to split the race up into 4 lots of 5k, with the first 5k being easy. I had two gels for 30mins and at the 1 hour mark, and I was going to use the water stations for cooling, without taking too much liquid on. I remember thinking to myself “Have faith in your plan, you know it worked in Portugal”. After the second mile marker was past I found my stride and settled into what felt like a race pace. I know what my Threshold feels like and this was close. It felt comfortable, but I had no idea how long I was going to be able to keep it up for.

Seeing the elites coming back the other way was so inspirational, they were flying and being able to cheer Simon and Carl on gave me an unexpected boost. At that moment I realised just how good I felt, my body was relaxed and didn’t feel like it was working too hard. It was only slight but heading out of the city it was a slight uphill, I was banking that in my head as it would be downhill on the way back and I could use it to my advantage. 

The first big test of my plan, ignoring the first water station, had gone without any kind of mental hitch. I knew I didn’t need it at that point and it would be in just the right place coming back. Now I was ignoring the Gel station. It was MY plan and I was in control. 

Heading back into Bristol I noticed I was running well, upright and relaxed just as we had been taught in Portugal. I noticed others were sitting back on their hips and acting as their own brake. I love learning stuff like that! I also noticed I was passing people quite comfortably. Usually I pick on a vest and then watch it slowly go further and further into the distance until I have to pick another. This time, I was having to pick out other vests as I was passing them, a great feeling. I felt my watch beep a mile marker and I had a quick peek at the pace (my first I might add Nick!) 6:50-something looked back at me. I couldn’t escape the fact that I was on 1:30 pace and feeling good, but I took the info for what it was, just a bit of info and nothing more. I continued on, cooling down at the water station just as we were taught in the Algarve.

Not long after that I saw Agata coming the other way and gave her a shout. It was great to see her running strongly as well, although I berated myself a bit of enthusiastic cheering as it was when I did that in London that I started to tire! But it was worth it :-D

We headed back into Bristol and the miles kept ticking off. I was reliant on my watch for them as there weren’t many mile markers on the roads (something for next year Bristol?). After a couple of up-and-overs on the roads we were heading back to the city centre. Around the hour mark I felt my effort level start to increase, but it was gel time soon enough and I got a boost from that.

Once back in the city centre, I wasn’t so sure of the route we were going to take, but the size of the crowds was immense in places. “Quick, Spectators, Look Good” thundered in my head, nod to the Rowers. We weaved and ducked around the streets and it was all a bit disorientating. I was keeping my pace up but it was becoming hard work. At the briefing they had mentioned a hill near the end so I knew I had to keep something in reserve.

About 10 miles in I head two blokes behind me:

“Looks like we’re on for sub 90 here”

Me - NOOOOOOOOOOO!

I really didn’t want to hear that. You know the drill; about 50 miles of effort added themselves onto my legs. And that’s when the hills started.

 

I can only describe the last two miles of the course as a complete mindfuck. I didn’t have a clue where I was or what was coming up. Maybe my definition of a hill is different to others but there were a lot more than one! My mind was starting to unravel and I was desperately trying to keep back on course.  I know the marshals are only trying to help, but shouting “only a mile and a half to go” when there’s still over two miles left on your watch, really doesn’t help matters, not when you are staring over the abyss. I know it’s a case of mind over matter as when I pulled myself together and got motoring again I was back up to full speed, so its not like there was nothing left in my legs.  

Eventually the finish line came and I crossed the line in 1:31:07 – a 5:30 PB. But to be honest the time doesn’t matter. It was the way I raced on the day that is most important to me. For the majority of the race I felt INVINCIBLE. A feeling I haven’t had since…well...Northwich. If it’s a sign of times to come, I can’t wait. Something fundamental changed that day, I was able to put the final nail in the coffin of thinking of myself as a shit or at least also-ran runner. I can start to believe in myself and what’s possible in the future. 

It blows my mind.