Run Like Duck E-Book

Mark Atkinson

• Herausgeber: Sandstone Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

The 2019 Running Awards: Best BookA guide to running for the unathletic, told by a man who fell into the sport almost by accident. Progressing cautiously on a reluctant and unexpected journey to 100 Marathons (and beyond), he learned the hard way from years of getting it wrong. Unlikely to break any records or become a national figure for the standards he sets, he nonetheless has enhanced his life and fitness, taking his long-suffering family along with him. In this witty account, he writes about his unsteady progress while knocking the stuffing out of running pomposity.

Leseprobe

Praise for Run Like Duck

‘Witty, funny and informative. Great for someone starting out in running!’

Dr Margot Wells

‘A hilarious tale of one man’s obsession, packed with advice for runners from beginners to aspiring marathon competitors.’

Sean Conway

‘Thanks to Mark’s brilliant self-deprecating humour, Run like Duckwill have you laughing up out of the couch, into your trainers, and running a hundred miles with a smile on your face before you know it.’

Moire O’Sullivan, author ofBump, Bike & Baby

‘This book will inspire you to stop reading and run more. Better than the Bible – if you’re looking for a running book!’

David Hellard, Bad Boy Running Podcast

‘God-like, majestic, awe-inspiring are all words. Buy this book.’

Jody Raynsford,Bad Boy Running Podcast

‘I haven’t read this book but how bad can it really be?’

Robbie Britton, Team GB

Mark Atkinson is a husband, father and engineer. After a lifetime of inactivity and ballooning weight, he decided at thirty-two to improve his health for the sake of his kids and tried running. He is now a member of the 100 Marathon Club and can typically be found running around his home town of Milton Keynes or searching the internet for his next race.

First published in Great Britain by

Sandstone Press Ltd

Dochcarty Road

Dingwall

Ross-shire

IV15 9UG

Scotland

www.sandstonepress.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.

Copyright © Mark Atkinson 2018

The moral right of Mark Atkinson to be recognised as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The publisher acknowledges subsidy from Creative Scotland towards publication of this volume.

ISBN: 978-1-912240-31-9

ISBNe: 978-1-912240-32-6

Cover design by Mark Ecob

Ebook Compilation by Iolaire Typography Ltd, Newtonmore

To Cloë for unwavering support through my thick and thin(ner) stages. Seldom has a wife spent longer stood in the rain waiting for a brief glimpse of a tubby husband living out a midlife crisis.

To Charlotte and Billy, hoping you one day find the interest that makes you tick and that ‘sweaty, stinky Daddy’ has shown when everyone and everything says you ‘can’t’, sheer bloody-minded stubbornness will change that to ‘can’.

Lastly to Dad, who gave me that stubbornness in abundance and a love for the outside.

Contents

Title Page

Introduction

Act 1 - Where It All Began

1. I Blame Dave

2. I Still Blame Dave: Stepping Up to 10K

3. 13.1 Miles Ain't Half of Anything

4. Marathon Man

Act 2 - If Something Hurts, Keep Doing It

5. 26.2 Miles Again

6. Milton Keynes Marathon 2012 - Number 3

7. And Then Some More Marathons

8. Making Up the Numbers

9. Feeling Dizzy

10. The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

11. Nearly But Not Quite 3:30

12. Finally Breaking 3H30M?

13. Running Away (Or Abroad)

14. Bonjour Paris!

15. Milton Keynes 2016 - Becoming A Legend

16. Sing When You're Winning

17. Abingdon Marathon – Third Time Lucky? – Marathon 80

18. Complacency – Bournemouth Marathon Festival 2016 – Marathon 81

19. Back-To-Back Marathons

20. Marathons 82 and 96

Act 3 - If A Marathon Doesn't Kill You...

21. Beyond Marathon Distance – Ultramarathon

22. Team Relays: Endure24 – June 2016

23. Stepping Up Again

24. Accidental Ultra

25. I Would Walk 100 Miles (I’m Not As Fast As The Proclaimers)

26. Running 100 Miles, Or Attempting To

27. Race Series

28. The Magic 100

29. What’s Next?

Introduction

If you’re reading this and you’re either a friend or relative, I’ll save you having to read it all: I was fat, I started running, I got moderately good, I got carried away, the end.

Anyone else, I presume, is reading this book with an interest in starting running, or as some form of inspiration for your own running. If so, thank you for picking it up. I hope you find some of it useful and at least moderately funny; a sense of humour will be essential when you’re hopping across a forest because the last puddle was deeper than expected and decided to keep your shoe.

For me, running happened largely by accident, and the course my running has taken is as much due to luck and chance discussions as any overall plan. I’ve somehow become a regular marathoner, dabbled with races up to 100 miles and plan to go beyond. All this is despite having very poor posture, no athletic ability and a running style that’s been likened to a waddling duck, my feet pointing off into the bushes like they’d rather not be seen with me. Even more flattering is my approach to ascending hills, where I resemble a silver-backed gorilla striding off for a fight.

This is not the story of a natural athlete who turned his attention to marathons and retired on prize money and sponsorships. This is the story of a fat bloke trying to be less so. I run to avoid being fat again and to keep healthy for my family.

I have on many occasions taken the support of my wife Cloë for granted. Since walking down the aisle, she’s never complained about the increasing waistline and even now seldom mentions the faint aroma of sweaty trainers coming from the boiler cupboard. She’s stood at the side of far too many races trying to guess whether I need a drink, some food, or just a bloody good talking-to.

Of course the best thing Cloë has provided has been our two kids, Charlotte and Billy. It was the realisation when they were toddlers that I would need to get fit to keep up with them that kick-started all this. I’d like them to grow up thinking people who don’t regularly exercise are the odd ones, not the other way around.

I want the running to stick, not gradually fade like previous attempts at gym membership, so I race to keep me running. I can be overly competitive and the desire to maintain or improve times or distance forces me to keep training.

Much like ex-smokers being some of the most sanctimonious preachers on the evils of tobacco, I’m overly keen on boring non-runners with the myriad physical and mental benefits of putting one leg in front of the other multiple times in the pursuit of pointless and worthless shiny metal things to hang around your neck. Somewhere through my journey I started to realise people were asking me for advice and listening to my random thoughts as if I knew what I was on about. Although it was frightening, I came to accept that in many ways I did, due not to any heroic or God-given knowledge or skill but to extensive trial and error. I messed up a lot. Even when told what not to do I still did it, compelled by the same inner demon that wants you to touch anything with a ‘Wet Paint’ sign on it.

The engineer in me that likes to take items apart to see how they work also leads me to experiment on racing strategy, pacing, nutrition and countless other areas. I’ve monumentally messed up more races than I’ve run well but I’ve always learnt in the process. This prompted me to start to write some experiences down as a guide to running for the rest of us; the tubby, sweaty, last-to-be-picked-for-sports-teams. I’m also hoping to keep a copy of the book by my bedside when I’m dribbling into my soup at a nursing home to prove to the carers I wasn’t always the weak, wizened, wrinkly apparition before them. I often looked far worse.

This book is therefore a combination of advice for new or aspiring runners, and a recounting of my own personal progress. Don’t look at my current times and discard the book, presuming it is as relevant to you as MasterChef is to someone that struggles to make a sandwich without injury. I am not a natural runner and not very good at making sandwiches. Everything I’ve achieved, every race I’ve dragged myself around has been done on pure bloody-mindedness and effort. I’ve come a long way over the years and may one day even manage a ‘Good For Age’ marathon time to enter London or Boston. When I first started, even running 5k seemed laughable. Running is open to all, we all start somewhere and for most of us that is rock bottom. Or wobbly bottom in my case. As the motivational posters like to remind us ‘the only person who can say no is in your head, and you don’t have to listen to them’.

1

I BLAME DAVE

Having never enjoyed running at school, I was as surprised as my friend Dave when I accepted his offer to go for a run around Furzton Lake in Milton Keynes on a wet and cold February evening. It was an awful experience, and I was undoubtedly terrible. But I kept at it.

I’m still not sure why.

Although I enjoy playing sports, I am universally bad at all of them. With little innate capacity for endurance or speed I’m not a natural sportsman. I’m slow to react and have poor coordination. As I progressed through school I was increasingly rubbish. Never being picked for the team, or only allowed on for a token five minutes, is not ideal for building experience or developing talent. The only exceptions were rugby, where my early growth and width were ideal for smacking smaller kids out the way, and badminton, where I rose to the dizzying heights of being not a complete embarrassment.

The rest of my fitness and health followed the typical adolescent and teenager arc where a love for junk food, video games and drinking led to a largely inactive lifestyle. Playing sports as an adult is tricky when you’re unequivocally awful. Any team that would have accepted me would have been so bad I wouldn’t have wanted to join.

Despite some initially successful forays into gym membership my weight gradually crept up and by the time I was thirty-two, I was tipping the scales at more than 100kgs, well into the fat git category.

If you’ve ever checked the user instructions for most home exercise equipment it’s typically rated to 100kg. Over that you’re in the ‘too fat to help’ category. Nothing like kicking a person when they’re down.

With two small kids and an expanding waistline I was not unusual. Still, I realised I would have to do something. So, on the fateful day in 2011 when I was asked by Dave if I fancied going for a jog I heard my mouth saying ‘Yes’.

Dave had entered for a 10k race in May and was keen to start training. I was only looking to shed enough weight to see my feet. Ironically, after too many miles and the loss of umpteen toenails, I now have feet I’d rather not see.

Like most new runners I started with a run/walk approach and gradually built up. Training on my own, I largely ran in the dark so as not to scare people with my heavy breathing, waddling, sweating mass. A stretch of footpath close to our house ran across an empty field that would eventually be filled with houses and a branch of Waitrose but, for the time being, was an illuminated, flat, deserted path going nowhere. It became my own private training ground. I’d take a slow jog over a few nights each week and then start running, aiming to reach one lamp post further than the previous visit before my burning lungs and aching legs forced me to stop and take a walking rest. It was hateful, lonely and typically wet.

Unwittingly, I was undertaking my own ‘Couch to 5k’ programme, pushing myself a little further and faster each time.

The only advantage of training on that isolated section of path was an easily measurable improvement each week. As an engineer I appreciated the direct feedback of information, and kept at it. I now know there are many better ways to learn to run and would recommend anyone starting the journey to look for a local beginners’ class or use some of the podcasts or apps for building up distance safely (Search for ‘Couch to 5k’ or ‘C25K’). Every new runner has to start somewhere, and club coaches have seen dozens if not hundreds of newbies, each hiding whichever part of their bodies they wished looked different, in baggy clothes. Beginners may feel intensely nervous, embarrassed and unsure whether they fit, but there is really nothing to fear. Everyone is in the same situation and the moral support they get from each other can be like a ‘keep going’ drug.

Back at my solo running anonymous group, I found gradual performance improvement and would run along the redway footpaths into the next grid square, turn by the church in Woughton on the Green and run back. It was mostly deserted and suited me well as I figured that, in the unlikely event of a mugger attack, I was too fat and sweaty to tackle and could sit on them until they surrendered or asphyxiated.

After a few weeks I was able to run to the church and back without stopping. It felt like a real achievement that I was now, possibly, able to outrun a fairly tired three-year-old at the weekend. I could almost hear the Olympic selection committee calling.

By chance I heard of the amazing and awesome organisation that is parkrun: free weekly timed 5k runs that originated in the UK but are now spreading across the world, having been promoted by the likes of Chris Evans and other celebrities. When I first discovered them, they seemed like an almost secret club. Every Saturday, volunteers set up and hold a 5k run, pack up and are gone without trace before most people are out of bed. They are the SAS of running events with no road closures, signage or piles of discarded bottles awaiting collection.

Dave and I decided to run the free event in Milton Keynes, both feeling slightly sceptical as it all seemed a little too good to be true. Nothing in life is free, surely? One Saturday morning we showed up with respective wives carrying and pushing the children to have a go at our first ‘race’.

Anyone familiar with parkrun will know that it is a timed run and not a race but, for Dave and I, running around a course with several hundred others certainly felt like a race. After listening to the briefing, we set off with barcode in one hand and a sports drink in the other. Like most early runners I’d got into the mindset that any form of exercise must be accompanied by a sports drink. I was still to learn that there are more calories in the bottle than I was expending. Water is more than sufficient, or even no fluids at all, for such a short race in early spring in the UK climate.

The Milton Keynes parkrun course has changed more times than I can remember. Popularity has grown, and new start and finish locations have been required to cope with numbers and minimise disruption. My first run started by the hotel at Willen Lake and followed the canal before heading back to the lake up the infamous zigzags. These are a relatively minor climb by most standards but, for MK dwellers, represent a serious elevation gain since anything steeper than an underpass or drop kerb amounts to a hill.

The climb starts at around the 2k mark where a stitch forced me to take a walk break. The good nature and attitude at parkrun is such that I started running again as so many people stopped to help. I didn’t want to inconvenience them any further. I finished the rest of the course well behind Dave, taking another few walk breaks as I tired.

Crossing the line, I was given another barcode on a plastic tag. Now I had two barcodes and no real idea what to do with them. Joining the scanning queue I peered anxiously forward, trying to work out what happened next. The barcode system of athlete barcode and finish token is brilliantly simple, although a little confusing at first. Once processed, our two families made a visit to the café and undid any health benefits of the run.

My first parkrun struck a chord with me. That something so great and attended by so many (at the time attendance of 200–300 seemed massive but it now stands at 500–600 most weeks) could be so unknown was surprising. Why were people paying significant sums of money on travel and entry fees to races when most had one on their doorstep every week? Why weren’t people shouting about it from the roof tops? I resolved to attend every week I was able, and eventually reached the landmark achievement of running the full 5k without walking breaks.

While panting and dry heaving in the scanning queue one week I physically bumped into a local runner who (after wiping off whatever gross sweat I’d transferred) explained that she’d not only run there from home but was running back as well, covering over twice the 5k distance just for fun. To someone barely able to stand after a relatively pedestrian paced parkrun this seemed an almost suicidal idea. Sure, I was aware people ran long distances, maybe even ran marathons, but they were superhuman athletes, surely? This lady looked perfectly normal.

Maybe there was hope for me, even if I would never look normal.

Your First Run

The advice below is for average humans with no underlying health issues. If you feel this doesn’t apply, check with your doctor before starting. This might sound like a cop-out but if only two people ever buy this book and both die on their first run I’m going to feel guilty, not to mention get some pretty poor reviews on Amazon from bereaved relatives.

Unlike many sports, running can be for everyone but it’s worth checking medical advice. Some doctors may warn you that running is bad for your knees. That said, you know what else is bad for them? Being so unfit and large you can’t even see them without a mirror.

The beautiful part of running is the simplicity. While there are countless magazines and shops trying to sell you products to do it better, easier or faster, the essence of running is that you need very little. If you’re starting from zero, like many of us, then it’s likely you have suitable gear to hand for your level. If you’re a keen player of other sports then most of the kit can be substituted for what you have already, unless your sport is diving. No one wants to see you running around the park in your Speedo.

FEET: Once you progress and start to increase distance it’s worth investing in some proper trainers, ideally with help from a running shop that includes gait analysis. Don’t let that put you off though. For the first few runs you’re likely to be covering short distances relatively slowly and, with a lot of walking breaks, you can get away with whatever trainers you have kicking around the house. While specialist running socks are available, with twin skin (two layers to prevent blisters) and fancy fabrics, any socks will get you started.

LEGS: Depending on weather, any combination of shorts, yoga pants, sweat pants/jogging bottoms will do. It will take a few runs to get to know how the heat or cold affects you so don’t rush to buy technical running tights as you might find them useless for all but sub-zero winter.

BUMS: Underwear is a matter of choice. Some swimming shorts will have an inner mesh for the gents and be ideal for the first runs, mirroring what’s on offer in proper running shorts. Some runners go commando, most don’t. Stick on your most comfy undies and you’re done. Unlike in the office, no one is going to care if you have VPL. Specialist running pants can wait.

TOP HALF 1: A lot of magazines will chastise runners for running without a moisture-wicking technical top. While these manmade fabrics are great for drawing sweat away from the skin and marginally reducing chafing, they’re also unnecessary for beginners. Stick on a cotton tee. It may show sweat, and prolonged use might lead to the odd bit of chafing, but you’re unlikely to find that an issue for a few runs. Depending on weather you may need another layer like a fleece or hoody. Stick on what makes you feel comfortable. You’ll generate more heat than you expect once you get going but, for beginners, feeling too warm is less off-putting than freezing your arse off on a winter’s day.

TOP HALF 2 (for the ladies): You’ll need to consider sports bras, if you don’t already have one. Cloë tells me these are expensive and hideously awkward. Some women have recommended doubling up on normal bras should you not be ready to brave the shops and commit your cash to an ungainly item of underwear which you will need assistance to escape from.

TIMING: There is no initial need to fork out for an expensive GPS running watch. These are fancy devices that track distance and pace and can monitor heart rate and countless other data fields, allowing you to scrutinise your run in minute detail. Don’t let the lack of a watch stop you when a free running app on your phone or a normal stopwatch will do.

The only other items you might need, depending on weather and time of day, is a head torch (can be purchased from most pound shops) and hat or gloves (these don’t need to be run specific). Assemble your gear from around the house and go and run a bit. Don’t let the magazines and TV adverts full of ‘essential’ running apparatus put you off. If your ancestors could chase a gazelle in bare feet wearing a loin cloth, you can manage to get to the end of the road in trainers and tracky bottoms.

Good starting points are either to run with a friend or a local beginners’ group (often free for the first few sessions). Check your local running clubs or local running shop as they normally offer courses. If, like me, you’re too embarrassed to be seen huffing and puffing in public, this may seem too much but don’t be put off. These courses are put on by passionate runners specifically for beginners. You will not be the biggest, slowest or sweatiest runner they’ve ever coached.

If you still wish to hide from humanity, then the ‘Couch to 5k’ programme is a great beginners’ resource and available as a podcast to use on your phone or MP3 player. It’s designed for the absolute beginner and is largely walking based to start with, allowing for short sections of running. These increase over the weeks in a gradual and proven manner to minimise risk of injury. You’ll finish the course running a full 5k. It may seem ludicrous that you might run a whole 5k when you can barely run for the bus but trust the plan and progress will come. If any week seems too hard then repeat the previous week until comfortable and move up when ready.

Building Up To 5K

Do not increase your weekly mileage by more than 10 per cent at a time. This is to avoid injuries from any sudden jump in distance, and holds true throughout the development of a runner whether moving up to 5k or 100 miles. Other sports activity may have made you cardio-capable of running in excess of what your legs and lower body can support.

You may well hear tales of runners, such as Rob Young or Steve Way, who stumbled into running and were amazing from the start, covering marathon distances within weeks. These are the exceptions to the rule. If under the guidance of a coach or running club, or simply following the Couch to 5k, you’ll be guided slowly through a natural progression.

I’ve gradually increased weekly mileage over the years and have been largely injury-free. Some of this is luck, as on any run or even walking to work you could twist an ankle or pull something but, overall, I believe that slow increases work.

Ultimately, the best way to improve as a runner (and to get to the point where you feel like you deserve the title ‘runner’) is with consistent, uninterrupted quality training. Pushing through an injury will likely see it get worse, or incur other injuries as your body compensates for a stiff calf/dodgy ankle. Ramping up the distance too fast will see you prone to injury, or too tired to perform, and your next run will be so slow and awkward you’ll feel like you’ve taken a massive step backwards and should never have started this whole stupid hobby. Don’t stress. Go home and rest. Try again next session with fresh legs and a clear head.

The First 5K – Parkrun

Most running clubs use a local parkrun as a graduation run at the end of their beginners’ sessions, holding to the core values of parkrun, namely making running accessible for all. The events are free, held every Saturday at 9am, and you’re seldom far from one in the UK.

The day is a big deal for first-time runners, but try and keep calm. No matter what pace you go, even if you are reduced to a walk you’re still doing it. Each event has a tail runner (recently renamed tail walker to encourage more participation) that accompanies the last participant around the course for safety, irrespective of whether this is a 45-minute or one-hour walk.

Although parkrun is a run not a race, it will certainly feel like a race to first-timers. People will limber up and shed layers in anticipation of getting hot, listen to the safety and course briefing and then assemble by the start line ready for the countdown. If you have no idea of your expected finish time then start near the back as it’s far better to pass people than be up front and passed by hordes of runners. Make sure you have your printed barcode (the scanners won’t read a barcode from your phone) and you’re good to go.

Parkruns can be as social or competitive as you want them to be. There will be runners fighting it out at the front and parents with buggies, dogs or young kids bringing up the rear.

When you cross the finish line, stay in order through the funnel to receive your finish token barcode. This isn’t yours to keep; it merely has your finish position on it. The timers will have logged you so the system will know that runner 198 finished in 36 minutes. Take this and your own athlete barcode to the scanners and they’ll scan both your athlete and the finish barcode, with them keeping the finish token for next week. The system now associates your name with the finish position and time and you’ll be emailed your result later that day. It’s a brilliantly simple way of managing the results and, barring any technical hitches, makes the run director’s life easy.

At this point you can congratulate yourself on completing a 5k run, something that likely seemed impossible at the start of your journey. Parkrun can be very addictive, and the striving for a better time next week, or just to complete 50 events and earn a free tee shirt, is a strong motivator.

Some runners are happy to stick to 5k. Others wonder if they have more in them.

Running Phrases

Although I’ve tried keeping them to a minimum, there are some inevitable phrases included in this book (and in one case excluded):

PB / PERSONAL BEST: To beat your previous time for a particular length race. ‘I smashed out a PB on the 10k race yesterday.’

DNF: Did Not Finish. The three letters next to your name that signify you didn’t manage to make it around. Whether due to injury, illness, or missing a time cut-off for a longer event, some runners take this very badly and react with self-anger and loathing. Ultimately it really doesn’t matter. Dry your eyes and try again later. If you’re pushing the distance of your races, or terrain, this will happen. Some of the more extreme ultra-distance events are designed to have a high dropout with only a handful of finishers.

DNS: Did Not Start. You entered the race, paid the fee, forgot to turn up.

DFL: Dead F*cking Last. Someone in every race is DFL so although nobody ever wants the honour, someone has to have it. A frequently heard phrase reminds runners that ‘DFL is better than DNF which beats DNS.’

NEGATIVE SPLIT: Running the second half of a race slightly faster than the first half. This is meant to show supreme pace control and mental application to maintain a steady pace throughout, and push at the end for the home straight. It is the more enjoyable way to run a race but can leave you feeling you kept a bit too much back and didn’t make the most of the race.

POSITIVE SPLIT: Running the second half of a race slower than the first half, typically as a result of setting off too quickly and paying the price. Some runners accept a slight slowing of pace as a sign they’ve given their all. If the split is too big it’s likely you’ve gone off far too hard and suffered on the final sections.

To chick or not to chick?: ‘Chicked’ is commonly used in running to refer to a male runner being beaten by a female runner. There are some lesser used versions such as ‘Yoofed’ (to be beaten by someone far younger) or ‘Olded’ (by someone far more senior in years).

Some sportswear companies use the phrase so you might well be passed by a lady and as you watch her saunter past, read ‘You just got chicked’ on the rear of her top to rub it in.

Given the accepted figure that females are typically around 10 per cent slower than their male equivalents (generally confirmed by world records) then all things being equal, a bloke should be faster than a female runner in the same age group – except that we’re not all equal. Some are better runners, train harder, or just want it more. Many runners of both sexes are just trying their best to get to the end without wearing their stomach contents down their top, and are barely aware of the gender of the hundreds streaming past.

In the first draft of this book I used chicked a few times to reference races where I’d been relatively high up the finishing list but outrun by a female. On proofreading, my loving wife pointed out that it came across as deeply sexist. It’s a phrase I’ve seldom considered but after conversation with female runners I train with (most of whom are far better than me and beat me in most races) I decided to remove it. As they explained, the tone of the phrase is important: ‘Ah man, I ran so badly I even got chicked’ is derogatory while ‘I was on for a podium finish until I was chicked by a runner from a rival club’ is (hopefully) more a comment on the higher standard of the other runner.

2

I STILL BLAME DAVE: STEPPING UP TO 10K

After completing a few parkruns, and successfully avoiding collapse on the finish line, I improved to the point of thinking that, maybe, I could join Dave on his attempt at the BUPA London 10k. It was a daunting thought but, reflecting that I had already gone from zero to 5k, I decided it was a target worth aiming for, and duly signed up.

As an incentive to prevent myself backing out, I contacted a bowel cancer charity and asked whether I could run on its behalf. My father had recently recovered from this illness, which sadly returned a second and eventually third and very final time. Once others had put their hard-earned cash on me to complete the distance there could be no backing out.

Unfortunately, due to work and life commitments, Dave and I rarely managed to train together so were largely preparing separately towards the same goal. We’d check in with each other for reassurance and to see if either party had come to their senses and called it off. Other than the occasional parkrun together we had no indication of the comparative progress either. He’d trounce me around the Milton Keynes parkrun but the gap was decreasing. There was the outside chance I might actually give Dave a run for his money on the day.

The jump in distance has become a common theme in my running. The engineer in me would infuriate my parents as a boy by taking stuff apart and tinkering to find out how it worked and if it could be improved – or more often than not, broken beyond all repair. The same applied to running. 5k seemed impossible but I managed it. Would 10k break me? If so, what could I improve to manage it on a subsequent attempt?

For the following months my training continued much as before. Lonely sessions in the evenings led to an attempt at a parkrun personal best on Saturday. The PBs were coming thick and fast in that early period, and I became even more determined to manage another on following weeks. Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

As race day drew nearer I started running the mile from home to the lake as a warm-up, ran the event distance then slowly shuffled back to cool down. This felt like a big jump as I was now running as a means of getting somewhere I wanted to be rather than simply completing an arduous chore. These useful miles saved parking charges, which appealed to the miser in me. Sometimes though, my optimistic approach to time got the better of me and, on more than a few occasions, I would arrive to see the tail runners disappearing into the distance knowing that I would have to chase them and that there would be no PB that day.

In April, my work took me away from home to live in a hotel. Not knowing any local running routes, I tried the dreaded treadmill in the gym. After a comedy performance that demonstrated how not to run in a straight line at consistent pace, and posed a danger to other gym users, I managed to instead complete 10k on the cross trainer for the first time. This is not equivalent to running the distance, as there is less resistance and no impact from repeatedly hitting the ground, but it was my longest period of sustained exercise for many, many years and convinced me I was ready for the big day.

Once home, I gradually lengthened my weeknight runs, still running on my own and in the dark. I didn’t know any longer routes, so completed laps from our grid square into the next, back and forth until I hit the magic 10k once and, eventually twice, a week.

Training for my first 10k was now complete and I looked forward with no small amount of trepidation to race day.

BUPA London 10k – 30th May 2011

It’s a measure of how seriously Dave and I took this race, our first 10k, that we travelled to London the night before and stayed in a nearby hotel (or pub with rooms, as it turned out) to ensure we didn’t get caught in travel chaos and miss the start. Dave had sorted the venue, an expert at finding pubs from both his work in the brewery industry and from a misspent youth. We went out the night before with the intention of carb loading on pasta (the food of the elite runners) but had both chosen pizza (the food of the ninja turtles) instead. We’d also risked a beer before returning to the hotel for last-minute kit checks and to pin on our running numbers.

Over the years the excitement of fixing a bib to your running top fades, with the possible exception for the big events like London, but that night felt akin to hanging our stockings up for Santa. We didn’t know what would happen, but we’d been looking forward to it for months. Hopefully, we’d both been good boys and St Nicholas would look out for us. Dave, being meticulous, took great care to ensure his bib was pinned perfectly level and square on his top. I mostly just stuck myself with the pins repeatedly. Taking turns to ring our loved ones for mutual reassurance we pored over the event magazine, reading and re-reading the final instructions and event layout to ensure we didn’t make a mess of the whole thing.

We slept sporadically, having drunk far too many energy concoctions and too much water, and wore a path across the carpet as we rolled out of our respective beds and shuffled to the toilet to vacate overly full bladders too many times to get a decent sleep.

After a light breakfast (after all we were going to be running a whole 10k!) we rang our wives to assure them we weren’t going to die in the undertaking, and made our way to the start.

The scale of the race blew us away! Ten thousand runners looks a lot different to 300 at your local parkrun.