Throughout the day of the race, I was still debating whether I should attend the race or not (see post for context). I was now feeling well enough to run, and I was certain that doing the race wouldn’t make my illness worse, but I was also very aware that there was no way my pre-training target of sub-40 was a possibility. Does it really matter though? One of the reasons of wanting to move away from road running is because of the whole obsession with times and the need to constantly run faster. Just because you’re not going to PB, is that a good enough reason for not showing at all? That said, Milton Keynes, 19:45, weeknight, could I really be bothered?
My family had arranged a cheese night in my planned absence, and once my girlfriend had arrived from work, along with my step-daughter, I found myself dressed and eating a pre-race bagel without even giving it much thought. It looks like I’m going…
I arrived in Milton Keynes, picked up my number and set off on a warm up to see how things felt. It was laboured. Breathing wasn’t difficult, but with my nose still partially blocked, and my throat still producing lumps of phlegm, it also wasn’t exactly comfortable. I threw in a couple of strides and noted the high level of effort of trying to hit race pace. HR was also shooting up quicker than it would normally. Expectations were dropping.
I ditched the HRM when changing into my club vest. I didn’t want to glance down at my watch mid-race and be frightened by the reading. Ignorance is bliss. I trotted over to the start line and engaged with some of the club members. A guy I often see at the track outlined his ambitions for a PB. A PB for him being a sub-41:45. Despite everything, I still felt like a 41 was possible so I vowed to stick with him.
It was an abrupt start. I don’t think many were entirely ready when the gun went off. A frantic pressing of watches and we were away. The starts for these East Midlands Grand Prix races are always congested. Similar to parkrun, there is no chip timing (except for at Silverstone), and the starts are always narrow so everyone wants to start at the front. The standard at the front is really high though, so it’s difficult to know where to position yourself. Anyway, off I set, with no clue on how the next 40-odd minutes were going to go.
The club mate that I vowed to stick with set off fast. I stuck with him but maybe 20m or so behind. It was hard to overtake on the narrow path, and the grass either side of it was still wet given the recent rain. So, while I couldn’t get to him, I could still see him. Once the field opened up, I briefly debated a short sprint to catch him up, but a check of my watch showed that I was running within sub-40 pace. I knew this wasn’t sustainable, so I refrained from potentially ruining my race further and decided to settle in rather than chase. Besides, if he was on a 41-minute schedule, he would start to come back to me soon. Spoiler alert, he didn’t.
The first kilometre buzzed in at 4:02. The second at 3:56. The adrenaline at the start, and being dragged along by other runners gave me a much better start than I expected. I wasn’t even sure if my legs could run that fast given the previous week. Still, I was under no illusions. At no point did I think “actually, maybe, just maybe…” OK, the thought may have crept in for a brief second, but I was very quickly back to reality at the first sign of the most modest ‘hill’ you have ever seen. Kilometres three to five were more like it, with a 4:06, 4:04 and a 4:09.
As we went past the half way mark, I was really feeling it. The effort was akin to the end of the 3 x 3 km session that I did into the wind. My legs were heavy, sucking oxygen in was an effort, and I still had another half race distance to go.
As I’ve mentioned many times before, 10km’s are hard. In my opinion, they are the hardest distance to race. It’s not too far off from 5km effort, but for twice the distance. In a 5km, you can set off hard and try to hold on. That’s much more difficult when you’ve got double the distance to run. Another modest hill was on its way so, not wanting to risk a complete blowup in a couple of kilometre’s time, I decided to back off slightly. Live to fit another day. Or rather, live to fight another kilometre. A 4:16, but then I was back on it again with a 4:03 and a 4:06. I felt justified in my decision, and confident of a strong finish.
However, that confidence was short lived. I hadn’t noticeably slowed down, certainly not purposefully anyway, but slowing down I was. The 9th kilometre was a 4:16 before picking the pace back up and giving it everything I had for the final stretch. I made a move to overtake someone with 500m left and, if you do that at that stage in a race, you have to make it stick. There was no way he was coming back past me. The 10th kilometre ticked over in another 4:06, but the finish line was still a few more strides away. I eventually crossed the line in 41:19. Far from what I originally wanted from this race, but understandable given the circumstances. I’m disappointed, but I’m aware of the reasons behind the result. The fellow club runner, who I vowed to run with at the beginning, sneaked in just under 40 minutes, with 3 seconds to spare. I’m very happy for him.
Sub-40 still eludes me, but I still refuse to get a carbon supershoe to help me achieve my goal. I set my time goals before these shoes were a thing, and I want to meet them without the artificial boost. I’m wondering what to do next. I’m not deviating from my longer distance plans, but I’m wondering if I can squeeze in a 10km race somewhere along the line, and a proper attempt at a sub-40. It’s very different training though. The Stratford Big 10km is in September, so let’s see how training is going around then, and I may just enter for another bash in 2024. For now though, it’s time to hit the trails…