A week of falling asleep at the cricket, running off Mexican food uphill, pacing & then a rather special 10k.
A Canterbury Tale
With six weeks left at work I’ve got quite a lot of annual leave left to burn. I’m yet to buy into the holiday for one idea so have been finding other things to do with my time. My recent history of watching cricket has been pretty poor. Last year four of us had plans, a trip to Black Park parkrun in the morning, then a jaunt up the M40 to the picturesque Wormsley ground to see the last day of the women’s test between England & India. At the end of the third day it was clear we would see no more than two hours of cricket so we ditched the plan. I then had tickets to the women’s T20 at Chelmsford, only for work commitments to get in the way.
2015 hasn’t been much better. In May I did see Essex struggle against Gloucestershire, although a further trip to the fortress in June didn’t materialise due to horrendous weather. An evening with my club mates at The Oval saw Essex defeat Surrey convincingly.
Buoyed by England playing again like they cared, I decided to pick up day 5 tickets for the Ashes test and book a day off work. Unfortunately the England team also fancied a day off and crumbled 1990’s style as I watched, from the sofa on day 4, unable to turn away, unable to utter anything other than a full range of expletives!
Worryingly I have day 5 tickets for The Oval as well. At least if it makes it to the final day we’ll get to see the Ashes lifted by a slightly surprised England team.
So fast forward to August and I find myself in Canterbury for the only test in the Women’s Ashes. I was already planning to make a visit for day one. After seeing some of the ODI highlights & the batting of Australian captain Meg Lanning, I decided to extend the visit to a second day. I’d not seen a batter with a range of shots or composure. My ideal scenario was that Australia would crumble around a century by their skipper, meeting both wanting to see the best in the world bat & patriotism!
As I had two days planned I swapped my Monday plans from seeing Essex lose at Colchester to a full on lazy day. I got some chores done around the house, but the day hit a wall productivity wise from about 10am! This culminated in me waking up bemused from a nap at about half five, wondering quite when I’d fallen asleep & deciding to wander out for Monster Munch as I had a sudden craving for them!
My trip to Canterbury didn’t start well. The Alfa needed unleaded and combined with roadworks this led to me facing a full car park at Epping and a drive onto Debden, plus phone calls to change over my pre paid parking. One high speed train from Stratford and a slightly slower train later and I was in Canterbury for the first time. The cricket ground was walkable and I made my way there with time before the start of play.
The day was enjoyable, even overall, with England bowling well in places, Australia then counter attacking. As for seeing the best batter in the world today? Meg Lanning made 3, a very assured 3 though!!
At the end of play I wandered back into town and to a sushi restaurant I’d found when researching the day before. Unfortunately their stock was low and with only one chef on they’d be a 30 minute wait. Thankfully I’d passed an alternative on my walk around the city. Club Burrito, hidden down one of the many lanes might not have allowed me a sushi did, but Mexican food would be a welcome second place (maybe that’s another off piste blog post for the future).
Three tacos, a Jaurito Mexican Cola and a chocolate brownie in a meal deal, what’s not to like? I couldn’t decide on the filling, the menu was almost designed with my love of run bling in mind, the server suggested the gold option. Their gold special was slow cooker lamb, I was sold, taking every topping on offer except the jalapenos.
I saved the brownie for later, as the tacos had hit the spot nicely and eating more would mean employing someone to roll me to my bed for the night.
I had chosen one of the university rooms, seemed like a good (and darn cheap) option over the summer break. By the time I’d walked the mile or so out of the city I was questioning my decision making, though I had found an option for my Wednesday morning run, more of that in a moment.
The room was nicer than my old digs at uni, en suite, breakfast included for £41 (didn’t try the breakfast as I wanted to get to the cricket).
As for the second day of the cricket? Rain delayed the start until 1230, reducing the amount of play I’d see as I was due in London for the evening to see Ben Folds. Jess Jonassen missed out on a debut century, LBW to Katherine Brunt. A deserved wicket for the angriest cricketer in the world (Kohli & Stokes make up the top 3) after some skillful bowling the day before. It was impossible not to feel for Jonassen though, her first innings in test cricket had got her team out of a hole and now she owns the statistic of being the first debutant out for 99 in women’s international cricket.
I left the ground at the tea interval and England were struggling along. It had been a captivating two days though. The men’s game has become a battle of brute strength over skill, watching these two teams was to see subtle shot making and precision be the key to success, rather than a bit of biffing.
Hill Sprints
So what did all that have to do with running you might quite rightly ask? Diddly squat really, other than providing me with some much needed rest and relaxation.
I’d packed my running kit, deciding that a Wednesday morning lap of Canterbury would be a nice idea. Perhaps there was even a parkrun I could do a freedom run around. As I walked up a seemingly never ending hill from the city to the university I could see why the accommodation was advertised as having a city view (it didn’t). The uni was at the top of a damn hill!
A seed had been sewn. Why not some speed work, some hill sprints in fact? Now after the fact I can think of many reasons why not! I’ve not actually entertained hill sprints in this training cycle. They are rewarding but with my tendency for injury hills specifically had been shelved. I felt good at the moment and the confidence (although upon reflection it could be stupidity and delusion) that seems to accompany me currently persuaded me that just this hill was too good an opportunity to pass.
I’d set the alarm for 7, but was up soon after 6 and changing into my running kit as the patter of rain was audible outside. This was bad on two counts, firstly cricket doesn’t function in wet conditions. Secondly, I much prefer being a fair weather runner.
I made my way out of the halls of residence and towards the main road where this delightful hill was waiting for me. Yep, I’d be flogging myself alongside a steady stream of traffic!
My normal hill sprints usually last for about 40 seconds (I held a Strava segment record for a while in Stansted, until someone discovered it and nonchalantly beat it in a time I can’t even aspire to). The most I’ve done in a session is 10, mainly because without going barefoot I’ve run out of ways to count.
With this in mind I set a goal of 10. After the first climb this was halved! By the second I wondered if two would be just fine. The section of hill that in my mind naturally worked for a sprint was 250 metres long! I was cursing my inner idiot as I made it to the top of the hill at the university turning. Never have I felt myself breathing heavier, a full audible wheeze as I walked back down hill to recover. I felt horrendous after every climb, which appeared to include a marginal increase in angle as the finish line hung elusively out of reach. It was like I was the cartoon villain, Sylvester chasing Tweetie Pie, almost with one hand on the prize, but a tonne of acme weights attached to his ever extending tail as they plummet down the Grand Canyon.
By the time I had reached the summit for the fifth time I was well and truly done. 1250m of climbing, total ascend around 90m. That was payback for all of the beige food consumed over two days of cricket! The instant groin and abductor pain a reminder of why I need to be very careful with speed. A continual stiffening of the glutes a nod to pain only hills and squash seem to bring to me. A sensible person might opt for stretching instead of a day sat in the cold at the cricket, then an evening sat like sardines at the Royal Opera House.
Dinton Pastures 5k
On Thursday & Friday I was working out of Hampshire. My running kit was packed as my last summer evening race in the area was set for Thursday evening. Kendra, my colleague who had recommended this and other races would be running the 10k. I’d be pacing her son Callum in the 5k.
Another evening race, so another case of me trying to eat a bit more sensibly during the working day. This probably didn’t please other South West Trains passengers as I chomped on chicken legs rather than slightly stale sandwiches.
It was another day of horrendous weather, wellies might have been a good idea. To our relief the evening turned out fine, underfoot conditions were pretty solid. The plan for the 5k was to pace Callum to 26 minutes. His best 5k on his last visit to Dinton was just over 30 minutes, but at the 2nd Yateley race he’d passed halfway in 28 so felt it could be possible. Kendra gave me a knowing look of just look after him.
I was fairly relaxed. A 26 minute pace would be reasonably comfortable for me given recent progress. I’d paced at 5:12/km for Emily at last year’s HBO, although this time I was in better condition. For me the race was a tune up. Rid the body of the DOMS in my glutes from the hill sprints and get ready for Pride a mere 36 hours or so later.
We started well, the course was indeed flat as previously advised, though slightly trail like underfoot so I took it easier around ninety degree corners. The kilometre markers didn’t feel to be in the right place (more on that later) so according to the Garmin we were a bit behind on the pace. Callum appeared to be running well, so I didn’t try to force the pace too much.
Through the second kilometre we were again a bit behind, though if the course was measuring as per the markers, less so. It was clear that Callum was tightening up a bit, at the very limit of what he could run. My job was to provide a bit of drag and make sure he didn’t drop back from me, adjusting my pace accordingly.
The third kilometre was predictably the slowest, a 26 wasn’t going to be possible, but I was confident we could finish strongly. I assured Callum the fourth would be the toughest of the race and that if he got through he would be able to enjoy the last, unleashing his sprint finish that as a perennial sprint finisher myself is something I’m a fan of!
Callum was impressive, continuing to push himself and determined not to drop back from me. He picked up in the fourth and I guided him through the final kilometre, encouraging a gradual acceleration as the finish line got ever closer. Winding round a lake meant I didn’t have line of sight to the finish, having to trust the Garmin and advise Callum on when to kick for the finish. I’d told him from the start of the fifth kilometre that whatever he did, keep running and a PB was his. There was just enough energy in the bank for a sprint finish & a chip time of 26:50 meant a colossal personal best.
We had some time to wait until Kendra passed through so I jogged back to car to pick up cash, for Dinton were trying to shimmy their way to the top of my favourite races list by employing an ice cream van at the finish line. This meant Kendra got to cross the line to the sight of Callum & I polishing off 99 flakes!
Callum had a look I’ve come to recognise of late, the PB grin. From ear to ear he was beaming, around four minutes taken from his PB & a proud mother to congratulate him. I dropped them back home & headed to my Partidgesque accommodation for the evening, satisfied with a good job done. I even managed to upgrade my food options from the week previous, swapping a McDirt takeaway for a Wagamama instead. In a further revelation I managed to not order ginger chicken udon as well, opting for a few smaller menu items rather than my usual. And to think I was becoming predictable!
Pride Run 10k
There are two races that are firmly etched into my running calendar. The first is the Hatfield Broad Oak 10k, my local big 10k & even once I move I’ll be making the drive across having participated for the last 5 years. The second is the Pride Run 10k. This was to be my 4th appearance, only 2012 was missed after sports day in Stratford meant the event was moved & clashed with a trip to Stockholm. Pride is a special event to me as it is a true test of speed. Three laps of flat, wide & sheltered tarmac.
In 2011 I set a PB by 3:30, dropping under 52 minutes in a time that astonished me at the time. 2013 brought one of my favourite running photos as a time just 5 seconds over PB. The race that year brought vindication, I had made a big change to training from April 2013 & this proved I’d made the right call. Last year I broke fifty minutes for the first time, a 1:58 PB bringing my time down to 48:20 when targeting a 49:30.
In summary, this was a race that had always been good to me. On top of being fast the organisation is excellent and informal at the same time, the give away and bling always decent & they’ve never given in to temptation to make the event too big.
On this occasion my target had got more ambitious. At the start of the marathon training all I’d put on the plan was T=48:00. Aiming for a PB seemed sensible. Then the Yateley races happened. After the first, I changed the target to 47:00, after the second brought me under 48 for the first time, I decided that the target was very achievable.
I was the first to arrive from Team Um Bongo, loitering near the finish area waiting for the rest to arrive. Sean arrived soon after & was eager to show off his fresh out of the bag Um Bongo vest. Lee from BSRC passed us & we said hello momentarily, then Rowan a fellow instagram runner joined us. The time before the run passed quickly as we swapped stories with Rowan, were joined by Joel & company, obligatory toilet queuing, bag drop & then a wander to the start line. Joel wasn’t certain on how he would run, despite some gentle cajoling & borderline bullying from Sean & I. His best 10k to date was a mid 58, set earlier in the year before the marathon training had started. So we started discussing pacing, perhaps a 58:00, maybe a 57:30. We left Joel with 57:30 in mind as it was a simple pace to remember, 5:45/km.
Suddenly there was a countdown & I was definitely not ready, arsing about on my phone, GPS still scrambling. No one moved & I gave a sigh of relief, it was the wheelchair race starting before us. That focused the mind & I put the phone away, started thinking a bit about the run ahead. My pacing was simple, 4:41 splits, scrawled in my best wannabe doctor’s handwriting across my left arm.
After another minute or two we were off. The great news is that for the second year in a row my GPS watch (different model this year) decided to chop a different starting route, meaning every split was off. As it beeped for a 4:32 first kilometre when I was already past the sign, I had an inkling that I was definitely under pace. The story continued throughout the first lap, by the second marker I knew from my previous experience that it was definitely the watch & not the course so was mentally checking off the splits & using my watching to confirm pace.
Although my pace was excellent & I was seemingly under target, the run itself was not much fun. My delightful pair of achilles were voicing their displeasure in a Stattler & Waldorf manner. This run was indeed horrible & my fifth kilometre was my slowest, at nearly 5 minutes. This was despite me passing the marker at about 23:00, making it a 5km personal best. To accompany my achilles pain, both feet were starting to get numb, another problem I appear to suffer with at times. Numb / Encore by Jay-Z & Linkin Park appeared on the iPod at just the right time!
So I was in pain, feeling it, watch being as accurate as a Chelsea match report & yet still running faster than I was expecting to. I didn’t need to talk to myself on this occasion, I was well aware of what I needed to do. The numbness was going to lead to one of two things, either it would eventually wear off & I would finish the race, or I’d fall over & effectively finish my own race. It’s better to burn out than to fade away (Oasis covering Neil Young), I resolved there was nothing to be gained from slowing down, my race was going to end one of two ways, faceplant or glory.
As we passed through 5km I was also passed by a familiar figure. Rowan was hoping for a sub 50 when we chatted beforehand, so either he was having a good race, or my pace and watch were even less accurate & I was falling apart. As feeling in my feet was probably over rated, I decided that he wouldn’t be leaving my sight, even if my pace did slip towards five minute kilometres from this point, I’d banked enough time early on to still make a PB probable.
I just had to get my head down & run. Having a bit of music helped to distract me, with a slightly new playlist put together specifically for the event. The music would only last 49 minutes, run any slower & I’d be in silence! My pace was still slightly over rather than under target, though the bank of time never got into single figures. Rowan wasn’t getting away from me either & as we started the final lap I attempted to take on some water. One huge gulp that was soon spat straight out, a colossal beard soaking & the rest thrown over me was the result!
Whatever woes I was feeling physically, my mind wasn’t going to let me give up. I kept pushing & the eighth kilometre saw me back to target pace. I told myself there was just 9:30 left to run now & drew level with Rowan. It was time to open the legs up to whatever they were still capable of. Through the last unshaded part of the lap, past the 9km marker & the reason for the new playlist kicked in. I couldn’t help but clap along to Nick Helm’s (You Gotta) Believe in Yourself. The numbness had all but gone by this stage & although not feeling great, I had four minutes left to run, I could recover afterwards.
Once the final turns were negotiated just half a kilometre remained & I had the empowering feeling of knowing that just finishing meant a PB. I wasn’t interested in just coasting home though, the target was going to be broken & I kicked to see by just how far. Looking at the Strava data I dropped down to 4:00/km then 3:41/km by the end of the run! The finish line, resplendent in a rainbow of balloons was now in sight, I took off my sunglasses & threw my arms out (one day I’ll work out another finishing pose, maybe that should be the 2016 goal).
I crossed the line & applied the breaks, stopping the Garmin as I was handed a medal, making my way out of the finish funnel towards the new finish area. Sean was waiting for me, upon seeing my now well known post good run gurn & grin he asked what I’d done. Disbelievingly I showed him my watch, an unofficial time of 46:43! Rowan soon joined us & was celebrating his best time for a while. I thanked him for dragging me around, giving my race some impetus when I was struggling. My official time was 46:42, 1:11 taken off of my personal best!
After collecting goodie bags we headed back to the finish to look for Joel coming in. After my result I gleefully predicted a 55 for Joel, which Sean nixed as a nice idea, but unlikely. It wasn’t soon after that a man sized carton of Um Bongo did start to emerge though. He probably heard us before seeing us as I bellowed encouragement, he appeared to be smiling & crossed the line as the gun time was midway through 57 minutes. Not managing to stop his Garmin as he made his way out of the funnel, he would be waiting on the official timings to decide his fate.
Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to achieve something. Joel sacrificed his nipples for a PB of 56:57, taking over a minute from his best, alongside several layers of skin!
We basked in the glory as a team for a moment. Sean was satisfied rather than enthralled with a 43:55, he’d heard so much from Joel & I about the PB potential of the course that he was hopeful of a better return on his birthday. I’d just about wiped the smile from my face & the sweat from my beard (no one had warned me about that). Joel was still grinning, but at least he was changing into some less slasher film-esque clothing. As a group we were pretty happy & said our goodbyes to Joel as Sean & I headed back to Westfield in search of some well deserved food.
The Eat
After scoffing on the bagels provided post run, a celebratory feast was still in order by the time we’d arrived at Stratford. The two previous Pride 10k have resulted in pigging out at Wahaca. Though very much an option, the ever changing landscape at Westfield meant our attention was diverted elsewhere & into Cabana, a Brazilian restaurant. We ordered a few of the sharing plates, discussed running, cricket, the merits of Coldplay (Sean is still trying to persuade me that such a thing exists), the usual par for the course stuff as we slowly polished off the food. The food was reasonable, followed by a Salted Caramel Pretzel frozen custard from Shake Shack for the journey home!
Once home I got on with the world’s largest pile of ironing & realised that I should consider preparing dinner. Into the slow cooker went some ribs, marinating in Crabbie’s Ginger Beer, sriracha, maple syrup, wasabi, garlic salt, Worcestershire sauce & fennel. Served with sweet potatoes, asparagus & halloumi, after the ribs had been given a nice 2 & half hours at a high heat in the slow cooker. The marinade was a complete throw together, it worked reasonably well though, the meat was juicy & tender as it fell away from the bone.
To say I continued to dine out on the success for the rest of the weekend would be entirely accurate. For my post race soak in the bath I treated myself to the finest gin on the shelf, Monkey 47 Sloe. Sunday began with Eggs Benedict (well Royale or Norwegian as I used salmon instead of ham) & ended with an Eton mess, the meringue making use of the leftover egg whites from the morning. Run like a champion, dine like a king, that’s the idea isn’t it?
The Music
My mini break from reality concluded on Wednesday with a visited to the Royal Opera House. For some reason they had allowed Ben Folds to play at the venue!
His work with an orchestra is something I’ve enjoyed since his WASO album & got to experience it live at Barbican last year. My partner in crime that evening was Suz, the only other Ben Folds fan I know. So we were reunited for this show, where new material alongside NYC 6 piece YMusic was to make it’s debut. The show did not disappoint, the new music worked & the show ended with Army, probably the perfect song to send a crowd home with.
The Cricketeering
Sunday, a day of rest, no long run for me. Instead though I was scheduled to play cricket down in Kent. We’d managed to put a team together after 6 weeks off & even if I had prescribed rest, eating sandwiches & cocktail sausages after hiding at slip for a while didn’t seem like a bad idea.
Sean & I had seen a potential issue with the team over lunch on Saturday, we appeared to have no wicket keeper. I emailed Dave, our captain to ask who was due to keep, realising that I was likely to be asked, I prefaced with I would prefer to not keep as the marathon training was going well & didn’t want to mangle my quads. This left Sean being asked to take on the gloves, something he’d not done for over a decade.
When I arrived at the pub on Sunday lunchtime I had started to have a change of heart. I’d woken up with tight hamstrings & suddenly the idea of having to bowl or chase the ball around the field was losing it’s appeal. I knew keeping would hurt my quads, but that was surely better than further strain on the hamstrings? After a tactical discussion in the pub beforehand, I donned the gloves for some fielding practice. Having not kept since last year I wanted to make sure I had just enough hand eye coordination to catch a ball. Practice was a relative success, Dave confirmed he had enough bowlers to do without my utter filth so I was keeping.
We fielded first, more out of nerves for our own batting after the 27 all out last time than knowing what Brasted, our oldest opposition had in store for us. This meant I had no time to think about keeping & was straight into action. What I lack in competency I make up for with volume! After surprisingly holding a catch & showing more commitment than on previous occasions with some diving around, I assisted with getting the team some more marginal decisions due to the ferocity of my appealing!
Younger brother John stepped up to the plate to deliver filth on behalf of the family Holt. He gave up his Brett Lee styled fast but loose bowling when a lack of fitness (though he claims it was intentional) forced him into bowling a bit slower. As a tearaway fast bowler in my youth (as if that is the first slight variation of the truth this blog has contained) that had to slow it down a bit, I was proud to see the results as he claimed 4 wickets to finish off the opposition. With Sean showing practice over rated with a first knock of the season being a not out 79 I wasn’t required with the bat as LMS won with ease. Apart from the ball hitting my helmet twice in the field & conceding penalty runs, my time behind the stumps was relatively successful. In cricket you only a notice a bad wicket keeper, on Sunday I wasn’t as noticeable as normal!
The Conclusion
I am still utterly flummoxed by the Pride 10k result. Even with the previous results at Yateley, I felt going in that 47:00 might be too ambitious. Just because I didn’t know if it was possible wasn’t going to stop me from trying to make it a reality. I’m in better condition physically than at any time during my adult life. Sure I’ve been a bit lighter at times, but I’ve certainly never been fitter.
Even more importantly, my mind is clear & strong at the moment. Marathon training has taught me more about myself, I’m learning that I’m more capable than I’d ever thought, able to push myself further & faster than I have done in the past. The marathon has come at a perfect time for me, I can be completely selfish at the moment, run at whatever time suits me, stay away with work to race, take whole weekends away if I want to. Going through a divorce certainly has more troughs than peaks understandably, but now that life is moving forward I have found the experience has provided me with a more positive outlook, a more determined nature.
Without this I suspect when the race got tough, in the past I would have scaled back my ambition. Simply accepted that it wasn’t to be & written off the race. On Saturday I wasn’t going to be denied. I believed I was good enough to hit the target. Turns out I was better than good enough.
Off course the alternative reason could be the beard. After all, three personal bests since the world’s worst beard was started……..
Run for the Eat 