Run no 5: Abbey Dash 10k

The alarm went off at 7.30. I was awake, my mind in planning mode already. After a quick tidy around the house, a last minute bunging of stuff into my back-pack, and a cup of tea for Jem, we set off into town in the car along Burley Road, cloaked in a thick fog. Every so often, as we approached Leeds town centre, runners became visible, some with race numbers already pinned to their chests, some running, some walking. I began to get very excited. In fact, last night when Jem had picked me up from work and we'd driven home along Kirkstall Road, I nearly caused her to crash the car with my excited hand gesture, intake of breath and cry of "LOOK!" when I suddenly sighted the 5k sign outside Abbey House Museum (I must remember not to distract her when she's driving).

From the Art Gallery down, the Headrow belonged to runners - approximately 7000 of us - and I walked through columns of sprinters running in short circuits up and down by the Town Hall, clusters of people using every railing, statue and wall to bend knees and stretch legs out before I found Nell McAndrew leading the majority of the crowd in a mass warm-up. I joined them late, so got stuck into my own usual routine in a little corner.

With so many people taking part, they needed to organise us into categories of expected speed, so I walked back to the 60min flag, and joined a few seasoned veterans, and we talked about some of the long runs they've done, and how this race usually goes, the places you can edge ahead, and what to do with the hills. I discovered that it is poor etiquette to mention, when one is on the starting line, that one would like to go to the toilet. Apparently it was just nerves, but saying it is like yawning, and the urge is infectious.

Hundreds of people were ahead of us, and it took some time to get to the start line, but I saw Jem waving and blowing me a kiss just before I got there, so when the pace picked up and we crossed the line, I did it running and with a smile on my face.

Outside, as the course took us down onto Kirkstall Road, the temperature dropped and the fog seemed much thicker. I could barely see the sides of the road, and not much beyond a few feet ahead, and the footfalls and breathing of the runners around me sounded close and confined. We were running close together, not more than a pace apart sometimes, as everyone in the pack kept moving forward together in search of a space of their own. Fairly quickly, I found my spot, and was able to swerve and overtake every-so-often to find a more comfortable speed or space.

Not being able to see where I was turned out to be a good thing. I just ran. Strangely, I don't remember much, my memory is like the fog - images come floating out of it, then blend back into it. When the lead runners passed us, we cheered. At 5k there was a sign saying "WATER HERE", or something similar, and I decided not to bother. An ambulance came screaming down the line of runners along by the roadworks, and we all pulled over to the side, the unspoken feeling being that of knowing one of us was in trouble. I got angry when I noticed the Final Runner pace-car already had a long stream of slow moving and stationary vehicles lined up behind it, all with their engines revving, their exhaust pipes blowing pointless fumes out into the air we were breathing in vast gulps. We waved our hands in front of our faces to point this out, and made grimaces at the the drivers, but I don't think it helped. A car crossed the line of runners to climb up a side street that should have been cordoned off, and I was amazed at the selfishness. One man veered sharply to the edge of the raod ahead of me and vomited horribly, clearly overdoing something. A number 63 bus had managed to get out of the depot onto the road before the main pack even reached it, we all swerved around it, incredulous as to why it was there when the roads were closed.

Under the viaduct, the 8k mark caused a few tired runners around me to either slow their pace, or slow to a walk, and I heard encouragement for those flagging coming from their friends next to them. At that point I do remember realising that I had been happily running at a fairly fast pace, and that I didn't have far to go. Along the roadside, people had started to gather to cheer their runners on, and I heard shouts coming to the woman next to me. She asked them what time it was, and her people didn't understand, they thought she wanted her personal race time, which they didn't have. I didn't hear the rest of the exchange, or the time when they finally got the idea, and that annoyed me, but at the same time, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I'd left my phone with Jem, and had no idea of how things were going. The frequency of groups of cheering people along the pavement increased as we got closer to town, and I began to think of my Support Crew, hoping they'd found each other, and that I'd be able to see them, and I began to smile. I realised my glasses were steamed up as the fog cleared at the bottom of the Headrow, and put them back on my face just in time to see my parents' shining faces on the other side of the railings. I was beaming with pride, and waved 2 arms at them, bringing them down just in time to hear Jem yelling on the opposite side of the road, I blew a massive kiss to her, and heard her yelling as the finish line came into sight. Then I heard my big brother Dan's voice, and my sister-in-law Mim yelling and cheering, and my nephews shrilling away and I found one last burst of speed and got across the line. Dan came to the railings just after the line to say that the clock time was only 1hr 07mins, and he knew it had taken me a few mins to cross the line, so I already knew I'd probably beaten my PB. I accidentally swore in front of the boys, but in the circumstances I think I got away with it.

My Support Crew - Mim, Dan , Mum, Dad and my nephews the Large One and the Masked Boy Wonder. Jem's taking the photo, but she should be in it.

I collected a t-shirt (accidentally got the large one, when I could have done with a medium these days) and a bottle of Lucozade which Oldest Nephew decided he might like (until he didn't really), and we made our way to the war memorial to meet up with Mum, Dad and Jem. I enjoyed lots of lovely cuddles from everyone, did a few stretches, and put on some warmer clothes to avoid freezing up. We decided to go for a coffee, and the first cafe we found was Costa inside Waterstones on Albion Street. Desperate for a wee since the start line, I discovered I wasn't the first to have this idea, but that they use a code on the receipt to limit access to their loos. We decided to cheat, and waited to tailgate another runner as she went through, and then Jem and I waited while she did a quick change and emerged much more comfortable, and happier. I checked my phone and was ecstatic to read the text message from the race chip: Gun time 1:07:13. Chip time: 00:57:43. I did a quick lap of the cafe, telling my whole family, raving, surprised, delighted, and chuffed to bits at knocking 7 whole minutes off my last measured race time in Scarbrough, so when, as Jem and I got into the cubicle, my brother squeezed his way in too, I barely even noticed the raised eyebrows outside!

After a coffee and a bun, and lots of post-race nattering and cuddles, we all came back here for a hasty but tasty Sunday lunch, and now, after a bath, I'm finally getting chance to post.

I want to say thanks to everyone who has sponsored me, supported and encouraged me. I'm amazed at the progress I've made as a runner, and the vast improvement I've seen to my health, both physical and mental. I've lost nearly 3 stone since February, and it has improved every aspect of my life. I've poured myself into this challenge, in memory of Mim's sister Sadie, and I'm well and truly ready for the next one to continue raising funds for Macmillan. Chatting to one of the women next to me at the start-line this morning, the seed was sewn - I could even do a half marathon by March if I keep my training ticking over through the snowy months, so the 1st of December might mean that against all previous plans, my trainers won't get hung up for 2 months.

Here's a couple of photos of me in my Macmillan shirt. One is from the Jane Tomlinson 10k in June, and the other was taken today. The change is far from dramatic, and I've definitely still got fuel to burn, but I'm happy to see I'm approximately 80% of the woman I used to be.

With my little Mummy in June

Spot the large nephew, hiding...

This time next year.... the spare fuel tanks will have been streamlined and the grin will be even bigger!