Category: My Runs

As seem’s all too common in these posts. I’m nursing an injury and worried about how it’s going to affect my next run. There’s some kind of stretchy thing in my leg behind my knee that seems to have done maybe a little too much stretching. It became awfully painful at last week’s parkrun so I’ve been taking it steady ever since. I can feel a little bit of bad stuff going on there but it’s not particularly painful any more.

Last year I didn’t get to run the St Ives 10K due to injury but this year I’ve got as far as the starting line and I’m good to go. It was last year that the chap there who was doing massages gave me some splendid advice about injuries and the way they mend. He advised me to keep stretching it as it mended so that you wouldn’t get scar tissue healing it up in a contracted state (that’s the way I interpreted what he said anyway). I’ve since followed his advice and I think it has really helped my recovery from injury.

Anyway – countdown done and the massed hordes edge toward the starting line. No hurry here as we’re chip timed and the green matting and some RFID will monitor our progress.

We start downhill which seems good to me and then veer left through the streets. There are so many of us that we fill the streets. I suspect that these roads haven’t been closed as there seem to be several cars that have pulled over and are waiting for us all to pass before they move on.

First water station is at 2.5 kilometres. There’s a temptation to keep moving on here as it seems too early to stop for water. However, I realise that there isn’t another water stop until 7.5 kilometres, so probably best to wrangle some liquid down my throat especially as gallons of it seems to be trying to escape from my forehead. I stop, drink some water and move on. I’ve never got the knack of drinking from a cup and running at the same time.

We start to go up some hills now toward the airfield. I hear good natured grumbles and groans around me, “this is the Fens, we’re not supposed to have hills.”

We turn right onto the airfield and the wind gives us a good buffeting. Fortunately we soon turn back left and that mighty headwind becomes a lovely cooling breeze wafting across our path. The road stretches before us forever and looking back at my split times I see that I’ve slowed down a little here. So much of the battle of running happens inside your head. Here I’ve decided that I’ve already been running for some considerable time and I don’t seem to have got very far. I’m also looking off into the distance and seeing that there’s quite a lot if it out there. I don’t really notice at the time but looking at my Strava statistics it is all too obvious that my mojo is taking a bit of a break here.

Further on we start to see the front runners appear on the other side of the road. They are heading back down the track toward the finish. I see one of our Cambridge parkrunners right at the front of the field following the milk float. It’s Chris Darling and he’s motoring on well. I shout encouragement but he’s concentrating and doesn’t hear. This part of the course is quite fun as I can see all the people in front of me and we shout encouragement at each other. Andrew is the first of our usual gang, then Richard a little further back and then I’m looking out for John but don’t see him.

We arrive at the halfway stage. It’s a strange little triangle that turns us around and sends us back in the direction from whence we came. Yet again we turn into the wind and myself and the person running beside me are brought up short by the power of the wind. I give a sharp intake of breath and she exclaims, “that was a bit harsh.” It doesn’t last long though and as we turn back along the long straight the wind is transformed once more into friendly gentle wafting action and I find that I’m really quite enjoying myself. I start moving up through the  field. I can tell whether I’m having a good run or not by whether I’m passing anyone during the second half of a 10K. It’s all too common for me to get tucked in behind someone and just be content with following them for the rest of  the run. I feel more like I’m hanging on in there rather than pushing myself. This time I pushed on a bit and it felt good. I checked my phone at 7K and realised that my time was fine. As long as I kept going at a decent pace then I should definitely get home in less than an hour. Unfortunately this discovery coincided with another turn into the wind and then an uphill stretch. This slowed me down a little but I kept going and kept myself on target. Soon 7.5 kilometre drinks were upon me (quite literally) and I was pushing myself toward the finish. The aches and pains were upon me but I gritted my teeth and kept going and once I saw the finish line made some attempt at a bit of a sprint toward it. Another chap did too. I fought him off but then found that he’d beaten me for chip time anyway. Drat!

Soooooo – I now have a new personal best time for my 10Kruns.

57.52.5 and I’m very happy.

 

This one was worrying me a little.

If you’ve read the previous post you’ll know that I was struggling a little with injury and hadn’t really prepared as much as I would have liked to. I look back at my training for the Cambridge Half Marathon and remember carefully ramping up my distance until I was confident that I could complete the distance.

This time I had been laid low by a mysterious and irritating pain in a ligament behind my knee. Every now and again it would cut in and cause me immense amounts of pain. I took the decision to ease waaaay back on my running and see if it would heal. This isn’t an approach I often take. More often, I will stupidly soldier on and just assume the pain will eventually just go away .

Carrie and I turned up to the Histon and Impington recreation ground and looked for somewhere to fasten our bikes. This was a difficult process as a forest of bikes had already sprung up throughout the village and were attached to anything that looked like it may stay still for a few hours. We managed to find a fence and went in search of the registration tent. Richard met us just outside the tent and showed us the way. He too was a little worried by his lack of preparation for the run but still excited to see what the day would bring. Lloyd arrived a little later and hurriedly ran off in entirely the wrong direction to get his race number too. I must assume he zoned in on the correct location eventually as he returned some time later with a race number pinned to his chest.

About 15 minutes before the race we were all led away through the streets to find the starting point. We looked like a herd of migrating wildebeest as we mooched across the roads in search of our temporary home.

The first wave of the fastest runners were all lined up and given vital pre-race information (run in that direction and don’t wander into the busway tracks to get mowed down by rampaging buses). They all nodded sagely, were counted down and sent on their way. The next wave went a few minutes later and then we slower runners were given the same pre-race talk and released onto the course.

I set off slowly. I always set off slowly. I hear so much, when I listen to running podcasts such as ‘marathon talk‘ that everyone sets off too fast on longer runs and inevitably pays for it later. I think that because I usually start with fairly slow runners that I have no choice but to set off quite slowly, as I’m usually following a whole bunch of other people. We meandered through the streets a little and then headed out onto the busway. A couple of kilometres in, I have a bit of space around me and am beginning to settle into my own regular pace. I’ve just got settled into the long straight of the busway when we are directed off into a bit of cross country. There was a little dash toward Girton and then we nipped back onto the busway. Then the course took a long shambling meander out and about, veering off toward Oakington. Some of this was quite a tough trail to run. The grass was high and we were often running in single file. I was quite grateful here that so many people had run in front of me and trampled the grass down a little. Nine and a half kilometres in and we’re back on the busway. I’m partly relieved in that it’s easier running on the flat ground. I’m also aware, however, that it’s easy to get lost in the relentless plodding along on this type of surface. I tend to slow down on sections like this. I just float off into my own little world and can hear the hypnotic thump as my feet hit the floor, over and over and over again. I check my phone and the time is pretty good. I’m at about an hour for 10K so everything is going well. We turned right near Rampton along Reynolds Drove and then right again along Cuckoo Lane. I was a little mystified here by a group of wild hairy people cavorting along in what looked like the wrong direction. Some of them were blowing trumpets and others were shouting ‘On, On.’ I eventually figured out that these must be Hashers doing their own crazy running thing.

We’re running along Cuckoo Lane and there’s quite a bit of uphill here. We’re at 13 kilometres and the tiredness is beginning to tell on my legs. They tell me that they would be awfully grateful if I would perhaps stop for a bit and bathe them in warm water whilst covering them in soft soapy suds. My plan for them was quite different. The order of the day as far as I was concerned was that they still had eight kilometres left to run. My legs thought that this was a ridiculous idea.

At 15 km I’m running along Gun’s Lane and my legs are threatening to go into complete revolt. They tell me that I haven’t trained for this and I shouldn’t expect them to sustain this kind of punishment. I try to close my ears to their bitter criticisms.

At 16 and a half kilometres we’re back into housing estates and there’s lots of marshalls about yelling encouragement. I must pay tribute here to the vast number of people who give up their time to volunteer for these events and help us all to have such a good time. There are all the wonderful people who dish out the drinks at the water stations and all those people who point out the right way to go on the course. At 16 kilometres in this incredible heat my brain isn’t really up to orienteering so I’m extremely happy to have people point and shout that I should go that way.

At 18 kilometres we are back in Impington and I am beginning to get excited about finishing. Unfortunately my body is trying to close itself down. It has already decided that we’ve run far further than any sane person should do so and the legs are refusing the next stride in the way that a horse might refuse to jump a high fence. I’m reduced to walking for a few paces while I try to talk my body into moving again. Eventually I manage to spur it once more into action and I’m on my way. I totter onto the recreation ground and spot the finish line waaaaay over there. I try to make a sprint for the line but it’s more an ungainly wobble. The time isn’t great at getting on for 2 and a half hours but it was incredibly hot and I did finish without dying so I call that a good result. Many others didn’t and the St John’s Ambulance group were extremely busy tending to those who had collapsed along the course.

Richard finished well and Lloyd did a pretty good time. Unfortunately I think that the heat got to Lloyd a bit and he felt quite unwell for some time after finishing.

Here’s me taking it easy in the sun with my finishers medal on the ground behind me.

 

 

I intended to do an early morning 10K or so. One of my regular routes takes me along the A10. Then I turn right through Waterbeach, past the station to the River Cam and then right turn along the Cam, back to Milton. It’s a lovely route that has become one of the favourites among my Sunday morning runs. This morning it didn’t go entirely to plan.

I set off feeling fine. The first bit along the A10 is the least pleasant section of the run. I think the only joy of this section is that I know the scenery gets a lot better further along. I had travelled around 2 kilometres when I started to feel a slight pain at the back of my right knee. It felt like some kind of stretchy ligament thing. I’ve had this pain before and it keeps re-occurring. It does sometimes go numb so that I can carry on. This time it just kept getting worse. At 3 km I was gritting my teeth and wincing. I turned off the A10 toward Waterbeach and the pain became unbearable. I staggered along a few yards more but I couldn’t cope with it any more.

I checked my phone and found that I had only completed 4 km of my projected 10 k run. I was frustrated and upset. I felt that I could have wept. I was thinking about the upcoming Flaming June half marathon and that this injury might prevent my taking part in that. Alternatively the injury might heal but only if I rested it completely and then I wouldn’t be fit enough to take part in the half marathon.

Woe is (was) me.

I was staggering about and looking up at the sky. I felt distraught. I turned around to limp back home. I looked up at the sky metaphorically shaking my fist at the unfairness of it all.

Then I actually saw the sky. It was a delightfully clear day. I was outside, in the sunshine on a beautiful day, in the village of Waterbeach and not so far away from the glorious scenery around the River Cam. The injury would heal. I may not be able to take part in the Flaming June half marathon but that’s just one run. There would be many more.

It’s a strange reaction when you find you can’t finish a run. I’ve seen it before in myself and many others. The reaction seems massively disproportionate to the circumstance. When you consider the sort of tragedies that can hit us, all too often (friends or family suffering illness or death or being the victim of a violent crime or being put in prison) and compare that to the tragedy of not finishing a run then it doesn’t seem to fit. There must be some kind of competitive thing going on. It’s a striving for goals. You invest quite a lot into attaining these goals and if you don’t achieve them, then it feels like that investment was wasted. However, when you step back and see what’s really going on (especially in the case I’m talking about here) it’s only a run. I know, I know. A heretical view indeed. I expect to be stripped of my running shoes and drummed out of the corps in disgrace. However, it’s only a few weeks out of training. I can always get new goals. I can sign up for a different race and ramp up the training for that one. Meanwhile, I’m out in the sunshine and it’s a beautiful day. I can walk the rest of the route so I’m still getting some exercise and take a few photos too.

The first thing that prompted me to whip out the phone and take photos was the fantastically impressive St John’s Church, named for St John the Evangelist.

I’m often amazed at the sheer scale of these churches in quite tiny villages.

I walked down to the train station across the level crossing. Then through the station car park toward the river.

I was walking a path I’d run often but I had a little more time to look around. I noticed to my right a kissing gate and a sign. It said ‘Mouse Gate’. It seemed a quaint sign so I went through and saw some more signs. These said ‘Living Bridge’ and ‘Explorers Hangout’. Excellent thinks I.  There’s some exploring to be done here.

 

I walked back and forth along the trails finding several other similar signs and hidden treasures. Not all of them amazing, I will admit. The explorers hangout is a bench.However, I suspect the idea is to spark off children’s imagination so that they have the beginnings from which to create something magical. It was a lovely little woodland area called Cow Hollow Wood.

I continued onwards coming back out onto the river. I tried to run again and managed to get a few hundred yards before the pain returned.

I distracted myself by taking a few more photographs.

and finally

Despite the disappointment of the injury it was still a delightful morning. I did manage to run a little more but it was quite painful. I’m now here a couple of weeks later. I’ve been resting the leg as much as possible. I did parkrun yesterday and it didn’t hurt. So, I’ll be running the Flaming June half marathon tomorrow. I think I’m unlikely to get a good time but it should still be a lot of fun

I made it!

I’ve completed 100 parkruns and my results status will now proudly show a bold 100 in the end column.

I can still clearly remember my 1st parkrun. I was incredibly unfit but determined to go the distance. 5K seemed so far back then and I saw it as a one off event just to try and prove to myself that I could totter along for 5K without collapsing in a heap and vomiting over myself..

I went along to the Cambridge Parkrun and met Lloyd and Richard there. They were asking if I felt that I might do a personal best for my 100th. I wasn’t hopeful. I felt rather old and creaky and in no fit state to beat my recent surge forward in my 5K time. Only a few weeks earlier I’d knocked an entire minute off my 5K time but had now dropped back a little. I was still doing far better than I used to do but the personal best was looking a long way away.

I set off well and was feeling fit and strong. I noticed a 25 minute pacer and thought that if I could hold on to the coat tails of that runner then I might do reasonably well. I passed the 1K mark at about 5 minutes and thought I was on course and doing fine. Weariness hit me at about 1.5K and I think I slowed a little around then. I was looking around for the 25 minute pacer and didn’t see them anyway. Could I possibly be still ahead of the 25 minute pacer. Surely not. I didn’t feel that I was running fast enough. However I ploughed on thinking that if maybe I could hold off the moment when the 25 minute pacer passed me then my time would still be quite reasonable. 3 and 4 kilometre markers passed by and still no sign of the pacer. Wild illusions started to buzz around inside me. Maybe I was running an amazing pace and possibly I could finish even before the 25 minute man. That would be astounding, stunning, amazing and incredible all wrapped in one bundle of delightfulness.

I surged toward the finish line feeling that it couldn’t possibly be true but possibly, maybe, it just might be.

Then I looked up and saw the 25 minute pacer relaxing by the finish line.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

I don’t know when he passed me. Maybe it was right at the start and I’d been fooling myself all the way around.

However I’d run 26:33 which, even though it wasn’t a personal best (it was 40 seconds outside my personal best) was still a pretty good time AND I’d just completed 100 parkruns. I’m thrilled to bits with how far I’ve come from that first 5K of pain. It’s still all pain and struggle but I can now think of myself as a runner. I’ve done 100 parkruns and feel fit and strong enough to do 100 more.

I was feeling a bit creaky and unfit for this one. However, the day dawned bright and fair and it looked like it should be a wonderful day to run.

Registration was quick and easy and we were soon hustled away into pens at the far end of forever away in a small and fogotten piece of Cambourne.

Stand here if you’re going to do 35 minutes say the signs.

Stand here for 45, and 55 minutes.

No sign of anything after 55 minutes. We galumphing fools trotting home after everyone else are beneath notice, it seems. Oh dear, oh dear.

It was a tough course with a lot of ups and down and a diabolical breeze but I enjoyed the run. I finished in just slightly over an hour and very much enjoyed myself. I bought a Cumberland sausage in a bap afterwards and it was the most delicious thing ever.

The course was very well marshalled and was completely off road (except for one small residential street) so no worries about crossing traffic. I still had some energy left at the end so if I do this run again next year then I hope I’ll know it well enough to push myself a little harder.

The times have just been published – As I thought – it was quite a slow time.

1:01:25 for me

49:17 for Lloyd in the Saucony shirt in the picture above.

51:32 for Richard in the yellow shirt in the picture above.

I felt strong this morning.

I hadn’t managed to fit in a run all week but the Cambridge half marathon run last weekend had left me feeling strong and confident. I did a little warm up and had a sneaking suspicion that today might be a very good day indeed.

I set off faster than usual. It’s always difficult trying to work your way through so many runners at such a popular Parkrun but today I slipped through nice and easy.

I came past the 1K marker feeling that things were going well so, as we turned left back under the cover of the trees I decided to speed up a little. It twists and turns and that slows down your average pace but it’s all part of what makes it such a delightful run. The trail around the park is quite a narrow track and I’ve often found myself just falling in behind someone and moving along at their pace. Today felt different though. I had strength in reserve and so started moving out to pass the person in front and then chase down the next runner. It was a fantastic feeling. There was something almost predatory about it as I moved through the field picking off runner after runner. I came around for the next lap and I found tiredness taking its toll. My brain is telling me to just take it easy. There was a noise in my head going tick-tock tick-tock just counting off the paces to get through to the end. My pace dropped and I stopped passing people. I’m breathing quite heavily now and my lungs are gasping for air. It’s not until I pass the 4K marker that I start to think that perhaps I’m being a bit lazy. I ran the Cambridge Half Marathon last week and here am I feeling sorry for myself on a piddling little 5K run around Milton Country Park. I look up and see a long straight path down by the Cambridge Evening News building. I move out to the right and start to pass other runners yet again. I turn at the bridge and the chap there mentions something about the time being 23:35 by his watch. I look at him in disbelief. I knew this was a good run but we were less than three minutes away from the finish line. My personal best was 27:07 so there was no way I could be beating that by thirty seconds. I was sceptical but thought maybe it’s a possibility. I dug in and surged forward and as I turned right toward the finish cone I let out a roar of delight and piled on a last great effort to reach the end.

I took my finish token and checked my phone. It said I’d done a time of 25:49. I still couldn’t quite believe it. Surely I can’t have knocked off over a minute from my personal best. Over the last couple of years I’ve been chipping off a few seconds here and a few seconds there.

Richard is certain I must have done a good time. He’s finished and is waiting there to cheer me in. He hasn’t been standing there long so feels that my time must be something extraordinary.

I checked my time on the website and it was 25:54. It was true. I’d knocked off more than a minute from my previous personal best time of 27:07.

I’m still slower than the rest of the crowd that I run with but I think I’ve turned a corner. I’m definitely stronger and fitter than I was and I’m really looking forward to my next 10K run. I think I can improve my personal best at that distance quite considerably.

I am a very happy chap indeed.

I was so anxious the night before the half marathon. I just couldn’t sleep. It’s my first half marathon race and although I know I can do the distance I’m still ridiculously nervous about it.

I gave up trying to sleep at about 5 o clock and got out of bed and ate some weetabix. The cats looked at me askance. They thought that all this moving about stuff was a silly idea and I should be laying down in bed stroking cats rather than pacing restlessly from one side of the room to the other.

Richard collects me at about 08:30 and I start to relax slightly. We’re on our way and it’s going to be great.

We park up and jog down the hill to Midsummer Common. The sun is shining and we’re surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of runners all making their way to the start. I’m still feeling desperately anxious but also tremendously excited.

We meet with the rest of our running gang near the Fort St George. Lloyd is there as is Darryl from the Cambridge running shop, ‘Up And Running’. John joins us a little later. It’s really good to see John there. He’s been suffering from so many injuries this year that we had seriously doubted whether he would be able to run today.

Eventually 09:30 arrives and we split up to go to our separate pens. I’m in red pen which is the folk who expect to finish slower than 2 hours and 15 minutes. This seems to make a lot of sense as my best time so far is about 2 hours and 25. The idea is that you run with people who run at a similar pace to yourself. that way you are unlikely to be held up by people slower than you. The rest of the gang are much faster than me so they are all in different pens nearer the start.

A great cheer goes up but we don’t really know why. Several minutes later we start to move forward, very slowly. Eventually we’re moving fast enough to begin a gentle jog. We cross the start line but still the pace is very slow. There are so many people all around me.  I know I should be starting reasonably slowly but it’s frustrating not to be able to run at the pace I would like to do. We turn left along Elizabeth Way Bridge. We have an entire chunk of road to run along but still it isn’t enough. We spread out across the pavement and fill every possible space. Turning left on to Chesterton Road there is slightly more space. It’s starting to feel a little more comfortable now and I’m beginning to relax and enjoy myself. I suddenly hear someone shout “Go Jim”. I’m confused for a moment. I look around wondering who it is that has recognised me. I see someone that I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen before. I’ve forgotten that my name is on my chest and assume that she must know me. I nervously wave back at her.

We turn left on to Bridge Street and then right on to Trinity Street. There are a lot of spectators here but also some early morning shoppers who are more than a little bemused (and possibly slightly irritated) at thousands of runners swarming down this tiny street. We turn right and head out across the bridge toward the Backs and Queen Street. We arrive at Silver Street and do a weird little up and back down this street. Then it’s onwards to the Fen Causeway. There are beautiful art deco apartment blocks to the left here and the green where Charles Darwin used to catch butterflies to our right. We then turn left past the Fitzwilliam Museum toward the glorious Kings Parade. I grab a bottle of water here and a gel. Both are very welcome indeed. The gel is a nasty sweet sticky thing but it’s got a lot of energy bundled up in a small package.

The noise on Kings Parade is absolutely astounding. There’s so much screaming and shouting. It’s just an incredible atmosphere and I’m really loving it.

We keep going along Market Street and soon we’re back by the Round Church and yet more cacophonous noise. I hear my name again many times but I’ve figured out what’s going on now. People pick out a name and shout randomly to cheer you along. It may be random but it does feel really good.

We turn on to Jesus Green and it feels good to see the river. It looks absolutely gorgeous. I hear the words “Go Jim” yet again and I hear the same woman who had shouted to me on the other side of the bridge on Chesterton Road. I’m not as surprised this time and quite delighted that I seem to have a supporter of sorts. She’s taken the trouble to cross the bridge to cheer me on once more. It feels really good.

I’m just leaving Jesus Green when a motorbike comes roaring past asking us to move out the way. Soon after, the lead runner follows the bike moving at an incredible speed. Aaron Scott came in first as he did last year. His 2015 time was an incredible 1:08:49. Second was Chris Darling who we see regularly at the Cambridge Parkrun several minutes later at 1:12:28.

I’m now into the second lap and am feeling strong. The field has strung out a little and I have room to run at the speed that I’m happy with. Back on Elizabeth Way Bridge I hear someone saying my name. John is here and we run together for a little while. He tells me that he had intended to just run until Bridge Street on the second time around but he’d managed to run 14K the previous week so was hopeful that could actually do the distance. We chat for a while and then I move on. I’m feeling absolutely great along Chesterton Road and have increased my speed a little. Further down I hear a manic cry once more. “Go Jim” she cries. It’s my supporter again. I smile and wave back. It feels great to have been picked out as someone to cheer on.

Soon after this I arrive again at Fen Causeway. My energy just suddenly flaps its wings and callously departs leaving me staggering along the road feeling distraught and desperate. John catches me again and sweeps past. I stare at the ground watching it lurch back and forth. My sense and ability to reason have suddenly left me.

I don’t know how far I have left to run and this seems to me the most tragic thing in the world. I feel helpless and hopeless. How on earth can I possibly finish. I stagger on to Kings Parade, looking forward to another gel and a bottle of water. They have water but they’ve run out of gels. In my disoriented state I take this as a personal slight. I’m very miserable and very upset. It doesn’t make any sense but I was completely incapable of anything like rational thought at this time.

I battled across Jesus Green and on towards Midsummer Common. I can see the common but there’s all sorts of weaving about seems to go on before I get to the finish line. We wind around the common and I’m beginning to despair that I will ever see the finish. Eventually I turn the corner and there’s the great inflatable Saucony finish arc. I keep pushing on and hear Richard off to my right hand side cheering me on. I cross the finish line and stop running. My legs have ceased to function and I stagger from side to side. I’m channelled through a tent thing and someone leaps out and hangs a medal around my neck. A plastic bag is thrust into my hand as is a bottle of non-alcoholic beer. I look at it with what must have been a very confused look. “There are some folks just around the corner who will open it for you.” I still can’t think straight and certainly can’t walk straight. I wobble forward like a drunken sailor outwards and onwards. Eventually I find Richard and we exchange stories of pain and triumph.

Later we meet up with more folks and stagger up the hill. The Castle Pub is waiting for us where we will drink Adnams Ales and eat Castle Burgers.

Life is good.

This was my first half marathon race and I was aiming for around 2 and a half hours. I actually managed 2 hours, 12 minutes and 42 seconds so was absolutely delighted.

 

I have a somewhat odd relationship with this half marathon. It’s going to be my first and emotionally it keeps doing the roller coaster thing to me.

A year ago I stood on the street, cheering folks on for the 2014 Cambridge Half Marathon. I joined a bunch of friends in the pub afterwards to congratulate them on their run. I was greatly impressed with their feats of speed and endurance but couldn’t imagine that I would be able to run that kind of distance. However, as the year progressed I ran a few more 10K runs and thought well, maybe it might be possible. I just need to run 10K twice and then a bit more. That doesn’t sound too much does it? Well of course it does and I vacillated endlessly between a whiff of hopefulness and oceans of despair.

The pendulum swung back toward the positive just before Christmas (2014) when I went out one day, felt good and so just kept on running. By some miracle I had managed the 21K so knew that the half marathon couldn’t frighten me anymore. The dark despair would be vanquished and I could skip happily on my way to a triumphant finish in the Cambridge Half Marathon. A couple of weeks later the pendulum has swung back and so I set off out once more to see if I could repeat the feat. Sure enough I did manage it (as detailed in this blog post ) but suffered for several hours afterwards from what must have been either water or nutrient deficiency. I’d done the distance twice but still wasn’t sure I could do it again so had to strap on the running shoes and prove that it wasn’t just a couple of flashes in the pan.

I prepared myself for the cold (running tights, long sleeved top, jacket and hat) and ventured out. There was a bitter cold wind and occasional flurries of rain. It was anything but a cheery day but I was a man with a plan. I had my map of the Cambridge Half Marathon route so intended to run down to the city centre, once around the route and then back again. It felt rough at first but it always does. I went over the cycle bridge cursing the biting wind and preponderance of grey and dismal clouds. I was also cursing the nagging pain from the hamstring injury at Parkrun yesterday and hoping that it didn’t get any worse. I trotted down the other side down the road and turned left toward Chesterton. I was trying to decide whether to cross the river at the Green Dragon bridge or the new bridge further down. I decided on the one further down and then looked up and found myself by the Green Dragon pub about to cross the bridge. Oh well. Down the side of the river there are lots of people running even now at 08:30 on a  dismal Sunday. They are all going much faster than me. I try to kid myself that maybe they are not running as far as I am but with the Cambridge Half Marathon only a few weeks away it’s a good bet that most of the people I see are also training for the same run.

I run on to Cambridge and stumble across what will be the start of the half marathon at Victoria Avenue. The route stays quite close to Cambridge City centre. It’s 6 miles long and we’ll be doing it twice on the day with an extra twiddly bit at the end to get the extra mile. I’m feeling good and eating up the miles. I hesitate as I run up Kings Parade. Do I turn right at the Senate Building. I pull out the map. It looks like I do. Running toward Jesus Green I decide to try out the gel. Richard has given me a gel to try. These are the ones that they will be handing out at the drinks stations during the half marathon. I rip off the top and suck down the contents. It tastes incredibly sweet, sticky and fairly unpleasant. I know there needs to be a lot of sugar in these things but surely there’s some way of disguising it a little. Ah well – I’m pretty sure it’ll provide the energy I need but during this run I’m wishing that I’d brought along some water with which to wash it down.

I finish the 6 mile section around Cambridge and head for home. I’m flagging a little now and I know my pace has dropped quite considerably. I’m still confident I can get home.

Several kilometres later I arrive home and it’s much less of a drama than last time I did over 21 kilometres. I ran 22 and a half kilometres but I’m still standing and have enough energy to do my stretches and then go to soak in the bath. For now I’m happy and confident as regards finishing the half marathon but I strongly suspect that those doubts will creep back in once more.

Footnote – The hamstring injury didn’t bother me much at all during this run. I kept my stride short and the pace was fairly gentle. I must do a little searching on the net to find out how to look after this injury and hopefully strengthen it to stop it happening again.

You can view the details of this run on Strava

There were many balloons, lots of fancy dress and, of course, cake.
This was January 31st 2015 and the 5th birthday for Cambridge Parkrun.
I had completely forgotten about it so that my state of dress was far from fancy.
The large number 5 balloon strapped to a speaker amplifier combo alerted me to the fact that there were goings on going on. We all sang happy 5th birthday to the Cambridge Parkrun. Weirdly, we were asked to sing it in the style of Marilyn Munroe singing to the US president. Various chaps had dressed up in sequinned dresses and blonde wigs to lead us in the singing. Strange as it was, it kinda made sense somehow.
It was an icy day and the course was muddy, mucky and downright treacherous. Undeterred we surged on and skidded our way around the park. I was feeling good and making great time when I landed awkwardly in the middle of a puddle. I yelped and then hopped and hobbled out of the way. ‘Orrrible pains were stabbing away at the back of my leg. It was about half way between the back of my knee and my bum. I strongly suspect it was a hamstring thing. It was certainly jolly painful. I limped disconsolately all the way back to the start and took a few photos of the excellent costumes and  other parkrunners who had managed to make it all the way to the end without straining/spraining/breaking anything.

For your delight and delectation, I offer you a few of those pictures here.