I Submit

I tried to be sensible. Responding to a challenge set by a 7 and a half year old and his rather naughty grandmother is not the ideal way to make such a big decision, so I've taken a full month to think about it. I've talked to friends and family and people who really should know better, and no-one has talked me out of it. No-one even tried. Even when I mentioned it to my manager, who has done one herself and knows how much work it's going to be, she didn't bat an eyelid. I told her I was trying to decide, and she said "You don't have to do it, but I think we all know you're going to, and you'll love it."

In earlier entries to this blog, I predicted that 2013 would be the year, and despite leaving the idea as a sketch, never making serious plans about it, and just seeing what happened, it now seems like a solid inevitability.

When I saw the route and read the technical details a few days ago, it hit me like a punch to the gut and another wall of my reasoned defences fell down, leaving me almost ready to decide but still holding out for common sense to step in and bring me back to Earth.

After completing 100 miles of races in 2012 at the Abbey Dash on 18th November, I've managed 10 whole days without a run. I was itching to get out after 2 days. Only the fact that I've been immensely enjoying meeting up with old friends, eating out, drinking, and seeing some great music, and have therefore not really been in the best condition first thing the next day has kept me from acting on the urge. This morning, day 10 after the last race, I went out for a pleasant little trot in the early winter morning, just a poke around my usual 5k route.

When I came back, I realised the decision has been made. I've found a plan on Runkeeper. I start 4 months of planned out training on 7th January.

For some reason, I was overcome with emotion. Floods of tears escaped before I could stop them, and I'm unsure whether they were tears of pride or relief. I imaging this is what it feels like for someone religious to submit to the will of God. My religion is running, and I know I'm going to do it. I will be a marathon runner.

I'm doing the Greater Manchester Marathon on 28th April 2013.

Welcome to the Great Church of Running

I am an atheist. I am comfortable with there being no God.

I took GCSE and A Level Religious Studies all those years ago, and having examined the arguments, I came to my conclusion and stuck with it. If there is an all-powerful and beneficent consciousness in our universe, it is not invested in an external deity, it rests in every human beings' conscience, and works through individual and collective actions.

Whoo. That's pretty deep stuff for the morning after a great night out with a very dear and long-loved friend. Considering that we split 2 bottles of white wine over a couple of pizzas and spent 4 or 5 hours putting the world definitively to rights for what felt like the first time in years, I'm in a pretty good shape this morning. A few years ago, there would have been more wine, probably some dancing, and a much later night, but we're older now, and we almost always know when to stop.

However, I am in no shape to go for my now-customary very long Sunday run, and I'm trying to balance a mild feeling of guilt with enjoying the luxury of a Sunday morning alone, in my jamas, drinking tea, with a catch up of the latest installment of The Walking Dead and the cat. I suppose, now that I regularly like to get 10 or 12 miles under my belt before breakfast on a Sunday morning, that I am a serious runner. Not the fastest or the best, but that's not what I'm out there for. As I've hinted at in previous posts, there is something spiritual that I find in running which is acceptable to me, where in any other form I would be uncomfortable. 

My understanding of religion, learned as a subject in school rather than being brought up as a believer, comes through the filter of a Western Christian cultural background and leads me to conclude that all religions are based on early attempts to make sense of and explain the physical world. These early, and usually logical assumptions (based on limited scientific knowledge and empirical observations) then became encoded as rules that would help to build sustainable identities among, and sometimes in opposition to, disparate groups of people. By observing certain customs and performing specific behaviours, one distinguishes oneself as a member of one culture, and not another. Most of my life though, has been spent refusing to be defined and resisting belonging in any category. In Groucho's words, "I don't want to belong to any club that will accept people like me as a member". I am the only example of myself, and I do not wish to be like anyone else, but it's part of the human condition to seek out people who share your experiences, values, beliefs, interests. People give you strength. We achieve together.

In accordance with the Zen of Running, lessons for life can be extrapolated from things learned through learning to run. On my long runs recently, I've realised that what I do when my body clicks into autopilot is as close to meditation as I've ever been. My mind is free and it wanders, flits, picks, circles and dances and does things it's not usually allowed to do. I can come back from a run with no real idea of what I've been thinking about, but with a new knowledge of my opinion of a subject I'd previously not given a thought to. My favourite was a realisation that the film "28 Days Later" was a different type of zombie movie because the thing that made people like the living dead was a disease called Rage, and represented the mindless spewing of intolerance which can infect society, where most clever Zom-flicks use it as a representation of relentless and unthinking commercial consumption. Not ground breaking, but not bad for a 5k on a cold morning, and it coincided with a pretty quick time too.

I've come to decisions about difficult situations I've been unwilling to tackle, and I've run through every emotion it's possible to have. Embarrassment runs are awful - you are running from whatever it is you did that makes you cringe. They need hills and speed and still the memories are there. Broken-hearted runs are the same - there's occasional angry outbursts as thoughts spill into spoken words when no-one's around. This week I've very much enjoyed 2 "I DID IT!" runs, with a great big smug smile on my face. Sometimes I have a good argument with myself about whatever's on my mind, giving a voice to each of my mixed emotions and allowing my head to be an impartial judge, instead of sticking with what I "should" do or think. All of these thoughts are sometimes used to distract myself from the physical act of running, blocking out the messages coming from the rest of my body. Occasionally, I encourage these voices too. I think of myself now as less of a single monolithic entity and more as the speaker of a parliament of emotions and sensations, and I address the parts of my body separately - "Feet! How are you feeling? Left one's a little tight, eh? Ok we'll see what we can do. Knees! You ok? Heart, you ticking along alright? Shoulders! All good? Nice one guys, lets keep going. No, bladder, you do not need a wee, we went before we set off. Besides, you can hold it for another 40mins, til we're home, can't you?"

And when I do get home, I always feel better. I know I've achieved something. Sometimes it takes a while to set in, but it comes. This is what those good hormones do, soothing and fixing sore muscles and rewarding the brain, the body's own thank-you for all that exercise.

My long runs are my meditative time to reflect on everything, and I suppose that this is what prayer feels like. I release my worries to a higher power, but in my case it's not God, it's a less inhibited thinking. Usually, the longest runs are on the weekends, with Sunday being the usual, as I don't generally have work to do. When I'm out, and I encounter other runners, we nod and smile at each other. Walkers and cyclists get the same. Being out there gives us a shared experience and identity.

Last week, it eventually occurred to me what the start of a race reminds me of. Lots of people are gathered in one place, all appropriately dressed for the task of performing a collective ritual. We are addressed by someone with an inspiring message, and then we all go out together and do our best. We all believe in the power of running to do good. It is first of all good for us - we are slimmer, healthier, happier and more relaxed, but the vast majority of runners raise funds for charities through sponsorship - asking other non-active believers to contribute. At the finish line, we all recognise the effort each of us has had to put in, and strangers dispense heartfelt congratulations, without prejudice or reserve. If you've struck up a conversation on the route with someone, the support you each draw from the other can be essential, and although you will probably never see each other again, a hug is often necessary, acknowledging the fleeting closeness and unspoken understanding.

Last Sunday, I ran the Leeds Half Marathon: the longest and fastest run I've achieved yet. I am still quite high on the numbers - 2hours 13mins 40secs; an average pace of 10.08mins per mile. I have a medal and a t-shirt that tells everyone I did it. It would appear that I am now a fully paid up member, even an evangelist for the Church of Running (or other physical exercise). Freely available and welcoming, open to all who approach. You will find no judgement on who you are, or whatever you've done before, as long as you accept that you are a body which needs to move. Respect and love your fellow man, eat wholeheartedly and share your life with friends and family, but ensure you put on the lycra and burn calories afterwards. Smile at people as you go past, and do not point out their wobbly bits lest yours become pointed at too.

Running is a religion, and it's the only one I'm happy to be part of, but this morning, I'm dodging observance of one of my worships and indulging in a different ritual.

Now - where's that big fat Sunday breakfast? 

End of November.... Reckoning Time.

At the beginning of this year, when I started running again, I had few simple goals in mind. I wanted to run in 5 official races; I hoped to reach and be able to maintain a regular 10k run up to the end of November; I wanted to get healthy and lose some weight, and I wanted to raise some money for Macmillan.

So, how have I done?

Well, lets have little look shall we?

Races - In order, I ran:

Pants in the Park, 5k, 12th June

The Jane Tomlinson Leeds 10k, 19th June

Temple Newsam Cancer Research Race for Life, 25th June

Then there was a lapse, during which I sort of switched off.... and slowly got back to training, and got myself together for the

McCain Scarborough Yorkshire Coast 10k, 30th October

And then the Abbey Dash last weekend, which was always going to be the last one of the season for me.

Weight - Here's a photograph which chilled me to the bone when it was taken. I don't usually like pictures of myself, but this was the most terrifying I've ever seen. The occasion was Jem's 28th Birthday Party, in the first week of April. I was about 15 stone.

There are more. They're more graphic, but this is the one I hated most.

As usual, I've spent more time behind than in front of the camera this year, although I've seen myself in some of my business partner's shots where she's caught me at weddings and events, and I posted a couple of me as I am now after last week's Abbey Dash.

But it wouldn't be fair not to post one of how I look today, what with this being where I intended to finish the challenge.

I'm somewhere between 12stone and 12'6, at the lower end more often than not. My scales are temperamental, but they agree most days that I've lost the best part of 3 stone.

Distance - When it became apparent that 10k was not quite enough, and that I was wanting to run further in my training sessions, I adjusted my target to be to reach 10miles by the end of the season, and today, I've run 10.2miles. My speed has increased in the last few weeks, after discovering what amazing effects a few small changes can make, and improving my running form. Despite running most of the route against strong winds and uphill, my average speed today was 5.7mph. Until 2 weeks ago, it was closer to 5.3.

Sponsorship - I've been very chilled about the whole thing, and allowed people to contribute as and when they feel like it without much bothering at all, and I'm on just under £250. I think that's pretty good, but next year's project will deserve much more!

I am delighted. I've loved the whole thing this year, and can't wait for the 2012 challenge to start.

This time next year I'll be writing a blog entry looking back on a whole year of serious races. That thought is almost as exciting as the thought of running them all.

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!

Almost the end of the long slog....

What a difference new running gear makes!

I can think of no other explanation for the sudden increase in my pace for the same 9.2 mile run after a week of doing nothing.

I missed my Saturday morning long run because I woke up with a proper headache and really didn't fancy it. I also felt totally justified in having a break and a rest after months of training.

However, by Saturday night, when I realised I had absolutely none of the happy feelings that usually accompany thinking about running, I began to worry about whether my switch had just flipped to off at the worst possible time.

Even when I was buying a new running bra and some proper fitting running pants, I didn't feel the now customary pride and happiness of being a runner. This should have been a moment worthy of acknowledgement, because I've finally decided to buy proper kit, and not just make do with my old stuff. This means I am committed to running. My old running bra has been threatening to fall apart for the last few weeks, having survived 5 years, including several runs with the high pressure of 15 stone of bouncing boobs inside it. The tracky bottoms I've been in are also 5 years old - bought before my first ever 5k race, and largely un-fit-in-able until July this year, when I could only just squeeze into them... and on my first run in them the drawstring at the waist carved cuts into my stomach which have scarred. They needed hitching up on my last long run. But this was just .... stuff. I was not excited. Meanwhile, Jem was in raptures of happiness at buying her kit - tights and tops - because she's finally had the all clear to get back to training after her knee injury.

The last few days, while I've been waiting until my shift pattern allowed me to get out for a long one, have been a little anxious. What if I got to this morning and just felt... nothing? What if the urge had left me? I've only got to make it through the last 10k at the Abbey Dash on Sunday, and I'll have done what I set out to do. But what if I can't be bothered?

I allowed myself to wake up without an alarm this morning, and took my time getting ready. I was still fairly unsure as I pulled on my tight new shorts, and figured out there are no baggy side pockets for my keys and phone in these. Through my warm up, I still didn't feel like I was really going to go out. I did some last stretches out in the backyard, laced my back door key to my trainer, and ended up putting my phone in the little tiny pocket sewn above my right buttock. And I still didn't really know what I was going to do as I set off, but I knew as soon as I cleared the end of the street and saw a bright yellow Sun low on the horizon, rising into a clear cold white and blue sky that this was a good day to run.

I had the Runkeeper app on my phone and it was giving me readings every 5 mins, and it confirmed my suspicion that I'd set off a a fair old lick, much faster than I normally start out at - but I realised that although my breathing was fast, I wasn't uncomfortable, so I decided to keep it up as long as I could. I'd read a blog on myfitnesspal about running form - the correct positions to look for and how to get more out of your muscles - so I set my thumbs into the Fonz position, and swung my hands "from nip to hip", leaning slightly forward and throwing my feet out underneath my hands. And that took me all the way down the canal path. At the 30minute mark, the voice readout came up from my back pocket, and I was at the 5k mark. I was amazed, and grinning (I'm usually a 33-34 min 5k). The workmen who are rebuilding lock number 5 and have greeted me politely all week on my morning walks, shouted Hello to me as I passed, and I Morninged them back, and then when I heard the 45 mins call, I was almost at the canal basin, my half-way mark on this route - 4.56miles. The readouts kept telling me I was averaging 9mins and between 7 and 50 seconds per mile. That's far faster than usual. At the bridge, I turned on my heel and decided to see just how fast my 10k would be. With the Sun still low and rising behind me now, my long shadow was lurching slightly lopsidedly, infront of me and to my right as I turned the bend of the canal, and I noticed that the curve of my bum was totally ruined by the square phone shape - the first time I've ever noticed or been bothered about what I might look like on a run, and this thought kept me going for a while as I followed the shadow up the path. The 1hour readout came just as I got above the goit on the river, and it told me I had done 6.1 miles, so I pegged it (Yorkshire for ran as fast as I could) to the Kirkstall marina bridge, knowing my 10k would be about 61 minutes. It was - 4 minutes faster than at Scarborough. With a massive chuffed grin, I let myself relax to a comfortable jog, and at the 65 mins readout, the app voice told me I was still averaging 9mins 55secs per mile overall.

THAT last hill was hard, as it always is, but by that stage I was running on pure pride. When I turned the last corner into the back street I found 2 of my neighbours having a morning natter, and they yelled "Morning Caroline!'" to me as I wrestled the phone out of my back pocket to press stop on the app outside my back gate. I had a good catch up with them both (Yes, thank you! I have lost weight, and I feel great!) as I did a few stretches and warm down exercises. The screen said 1hour, 32mins, 50secs, 9.18 miles, 1145cals, average pace 10.07mph (but this changes when you upload it to the site, and when I checked the route, it thinks I've done something impossible and taken a weird detour along the canal basin, so I'll stick with what was on the phone when I got back).

I am not only very relieved that the switch hasn't flicked, and proud of myself for knocking so much time off, and now determined to do my 10 mile run before the end of November, with certain knowledge that I can not only do it, but do it well, but I am really really REALLY looking forward to Sunday morning and the Abbey Dash 10k. I ran on the route, but inside out, last week, starting from home, all the way to the Art Gallery and back, which is exactly 8 miles. I had been worried about the hill up from Kirkstall Road/ Wellington Street, to Burley Road/Headrow, but in practice, it's dead easy! I can't wait to be lined up at the Town Hall ready to go. And it's only 10k!

But the best thing will be passing the finish line, having finished the race, hopefully inside 64mins, and having completed my 5 race challenge. If all goes well, my parents, my brother, sister-in-law and nephews, and Jem will all be there to see me come in, and I have every expectation of bursting into happy, proud tears.

And a little bit longer...

http://runkeeper.com/user/Carolino/activity/58754393

It's the morning after Mischief night, the day of Bonfire Night. Typically, for this time of year in Leeds, I was woken up by the rain falling on the roof above where my bed is in the loft. I know I have changed the way I think about running because, seriously, I actually thought "Perfect day for a good long run." This is only the second time this year that I've been out for a run in the rain, the other time being for the Jane Tomlinson 10k, because generally, I can find an excuse not to go. This morning however, I checked outside and it had blown over for a bit - still damp on the ground, but not actually raining, and if I didn't go today, I would have to wait until Wednesday, and that is now unthinkable.

I took my time in getting out, making sure my new trainers were laced properly so my foot didn't get too tight like last week, and having an extra drink of water (I am not fond of the idea of carrying anything with me when I run - what if I fall over and my hands are full?). Being as how it was past 9am, I opened the living room curtains and I suspect some of the neighbours may have seen for the first time my not very elegant warm up routine. Then, most excitingly of all, I set up the Runkeeper app on my new phone. I am very new to smart phones, and I don't really care about flash features or anything. As I mentioned before, my new phone's great, but the stopwatch isn't, so all I needed was something that would time my run, but if it could tell me how far I've gone, and save me half an hour of tedious maths by telling me what my pace and speed were then so much the better. There's a few apps out there, but I thought I'd try Runkeeper.

And off I went, and to be honest it was not a very remarkable run. Wet underfoot, wet leaves on the ground, people with wet dogs, other wet runners. Straight down to the canal basin and back up again. I'm pleased to be able to say that 90% of the other runners I met smiled or nodded at me.

I couldn't check my time at Lock #1 at the basin, because I couldn't unlock my phone while I was running (clumsy fingers) and the app doesn't show on the locked screen, so I decided to just power on. I did check my rough time when I got to the 10k mark and was amazed to find I'd equalled my time last week, roughly 65mins, and so I kept on. I remember the first time I'd had an inkling that one day I'd run the whole 9mile route, back in summer, but I don't think I really thought I'd do it this year.

The only really tough bit was knowing THAT HILL was waiting for me at the end of it all, and there have been days where that would be enough and I'd slow to a walk at the bottom having given in again, but not today. I'd like to say I came striding comfortably up the last 200m, but that would be a lie. I was virtually crawling on 2 legs, but I did it. My new hero is the last runner from Scarborough. She's an inspiration.

As I collapsed onto the wall, I stopped the app, and couldn't believe the numbers. 1.39mins, 10.54min/mile. 9.2 miles.

Whoo-hoo!

Run no 4: McCain Yorkshire Coast 10k.

This morning Scarborough woke up to beautiful sunshine, with a little mist left on the ground from a cold night. It might even turn out to have been one of the last good days of the Autumn. I checked out of my B&B and ambled down the winding path to the Spa complex, and found I was in a converging crowd of people wearing various amounts of lycra, and more often than not, an athletic club vest or t-shirt. There were many of those people I wrote about earlier - the long-legged beasties with vast lung capacities, the impossibly fast runners. It occurred to me that I might be slightly out of my league - this was a proper race. For runners. Not joggers and plodders like me. Not for people with wobbly bits.

I climbed up the steps from the promenade and checked my bag in at the Ocean Room of the Spa, and got my timing chip to tie onto my left trainer, then went to find the toilet, and found myself at the end of a very long queue. Everyone seemed to be in one club or another. Then I noticed that there were a few more normal looking people who were wearing club tops: people with wobbly bits, and ordinary length legs, and my revelation today has been that ordinary people join athletic clubs. It never occurred to me that improving runners might join for encouragement, development and companionship rather than to always be the winner, and it's given me some food for thought.

On the terrace above the Sun Court, people were doing all sorts of warm ups and team photos, and going through their statistics and what they wanted to achieve from the run. Silly times kept wafting towards me - 45mins, 50. The winners were expected to be in within 31 minutes: impossibly fast. When I was asked, in the application process, what time I'd complete it in, I optimistically put down that I could do it within 65 minutes. My calculations took into account all sorts of variables: the course was supposed to be flat, out and back, and I've been training on a circular and fairly hilly route. My last 10k race time that counts, the Jane Tomlinson in June (because I walked for a substantial amount of the Temple Newsam 10k) was 1.08.57, and I was probably around 14 and a half stone at the time, so I reckoned with a fair road and a following wind, at 12 and a half I might shave a few minutes off. I knew I was being hopeful though. In training for the last 2 weeks, no matter how far the course, I've averaged 1.09 at the 10k mark. Surrounded by the athletic clubs, I thought I would probably be left trailing at the back.

The crowd moved down towards the start line, where a band was playing, and local press were bothering people for quotes. Eventually someone with a microphone addressed us. We had a brief clap in remembrance of Sir Jimmy Savile who died yesterday at the age of 84. He was famous for was his love of running, years of fundraising through marathons, and his love of Scarborough (here is not the place and now not the time to air my true feelings about this man). The warm up was pretty rubbish. The crowd couldn't see the demonstrators legs because she was up on the terrace, and we were on the promenade, so as far as we were concerned she was just waving her arms around and squeaking at us to do things we couldn't quite understand, thanks to terrible amplification. I'd gone through my usual routine on the terrace, and so I just kept topping it up with a few stretches, and most people around me just got on with their own stretches instead of paying attention. When Perri Shakes-Drayton, up and coming Olympics competitor, came to set us off and give us a few motivational words, we couldn't hear her either, and so stood mystified while she giggled down the mike at whatever she had just said. And then, at last, we were off!

As always there was a crunch and a hustle to get to the start line after the timer had started, and it took a minute or two to get on to the official course. Crossing under the start banner, I pressed go on the stopwatch on my trusty old phone (my fancy new one has a stopwatch function but it's not as good). We could still hear the band up to about 1500m out, then there was an almighty racket which turned out to be 3 blokes in halloween costumes, with a drum, a guitar and a theramin. I like theramins, they're cool, like stetsons and bow-ties, but for all that's good in the world, if you're going to get one, and play with it in front of other people, then PLEASE learn how to use it! Some members of the Beach Boys were turning in their graves. I think the pack speeded up at this point, maybe that was the idea?

I don't recall much as we continued out along Marine Parade, through the crowds of morning seaside tourists, out along the sandy promenade, where the team of guys dressed as firefighters overtook me, until the pace car came into view coming in the opposite direction. It was displaying a sign with 20minutes and a few seconds in lights, and the first few runners, all genetically more similar to giraffes than humans, came pounding after it. There was swearing and disbelief at first, between me and the lass I was running next to, then we yelled encouragement at them. We chatted for a bit, and then I realised that I was finding it difficult to hold a conversation, and that I was running faster than I would normally, so I slowed my pace down for a bit. The sun was hot, it was later than I normally run, I was hungry, my team night out with work on Friday was still lurking, I'd not slept as well as I should... there are any number of reasons why I wasn't feeling as comfortable as I usually would at around the 3-4k mark, and I began to worry about making it all the way round.

I grabbed water from the table at the 4k mark at Peasholme Park, and ran through the grounds, and then back out onto the promenade, running parallel to the beach until a hairpin bend doubled us back on ourselves. Mentally, now I was on the way home, and I felt a little better. I could also see that although it had felt like it, not everyone had overtaken me; a few of the people I'd overtaken were quite a fair distance behind me. I'd only seen one or two other people in Macmillan t-shirts, and when I saw a young lad bringing up the rear of the pack (although by far not the last in the field) wearing his, I yelled "Come on Macmillan!" at him, remembering how much that had spurred me on in June, and his tired red face broke into a grateful smile. I hitched my pace to match that of an older woman with white hair next to me, and we were level for most of the beachfront, with me eventually breaking ahead of her as we came back into the harbour front. Although that felt good, I wondered if I could keep it up. Clusters of people were still watching and clapping on the pavements, but a few people ahead of me had slowed to a walk, but seeing them giving up opened the way for me to question my own motivation. I began reasoning with myself about how I should listen to my body, and that if I really did need to walk, then that's what I should do. However, these last few months, I've learned to engage my inner voices in a discussion, and reason back that I've done this distance loads, and that I wasn't really tired, and that I've had really long runs where I've been sure I wasn't going to make it from the minute I've got out of the door. Usually the run finishes before the argument does.

Just as this was happening, the pavement took a sudden but mild incline and a bend, and the slight change was coupled with the 7k marker. For some reason it hit me really hard and I noticed I had a stitch, and that my right foot was feeling too tight again. My head went down and I heard my inner voice ask for help. I needed something to kick me. Despite the fact that I could now see the Spa again, out around the curve of the bay, I was flagging. Exactly at this point, a woman who had been running behind me came alongside, and then overtook me. As she came in front of me, I noticed her top, a pale salmon pink long-sleeved cotton thing. With a sweat mark on the back. And it was in the shape of a perfect heart.

"Thank you Sadie!" I thought, and grinned, picking my knees and feet up, finding a little more energy from somewhere. I realised how far I've come this year, and why. Too far to give up.

The theramin group were still making me wonder why they were bothering, and as they faded out behind me, I noticed that the band at the Spa were now mangling one of my favourite songs, New England (Kirsty MacColl was turning in her grave too), and I started singing it under my breath. The lady with the white hair, who I thought I'd left behind, suddenly passed me and settled about 30 seconds in front of me, and we were onto the last 1000m. More people were gathered towards the finish line. I heard the cheers first, and felt my spirits rise and my pace pick up before I noticed that the clock said 1.05... and that that's the fastest 10k I've ever done. At the same time, I realised that I crossed the line a while after the official start: I would actually be faster than 1.05...! Some kids had their hands out to catch hi-5s off the runners, and I let myself take 4 of them, grinning, knowing I was on for my own little record.

I stopped the stopwatch in my pocket to confirm it - 1.04.49. I got a text message from my chip time a few minutes later that confirmed it as 1.04.48. My personal best 10k time. I felt fantastic, and narrowly avoided tears by immediately joining the queue for bananas and race t-shirts.

Immediately in front of me when I got there was the lady with the heart on her back, although it had changed shape by now. I told her about it, and we got talking about races and running as we caught our breath. I went to pick my bag up and get changed out of my sweaty stuff, and the white haired lady turned up next to me. She was talking with a couple of her friends, an older man and his wife. I caught her attention and told her she was amazing, the way she'd just put that spurt on. She said how hard she'd found it, but said she'd enjoyed it, and they told me how old they were: the man was 76, and had come in at 57mins, and she was 69. I want to be racing in those times when I am their age.

As I left the Spa to walk up the hill towards town for my bus home, I saw that the last runner pace bikes were coming in, and noticed the band were now putting undue pressure on "It's got to be Perfect" (it wasn't). The clock by now was counting for the family fun run that had started on the same route 10 mins ago, so I checked the time - 11.38. The last runner was an overweight but utterly determined woman, running painfully in. As she came down the last few metres, the crowd was going crazy, clapping and cheering her on. I hope she revelled in every second of it, because everyone seemed so proud of her, and for her. 1hr and 38mins. She was a purple faced struggler, as my Dad would've said, but she bloody well did it.

I left Scarborough on the bus, with a massive proud grin on my face, and settled down to demolishing the bananas and the veggy sausage sarnie I had talked my lovely host, Derek, at The Esplanade Gardens Hotel into packing up for me. He'd seemed bewildered when I told him I was running in the race, and that I didn't generally eat before a run so wouldn't be partaking of my breakfast with the other guests, but did me the honour of building me a butty anyway. I was delighted to find he'd slipped a couple of sachets of brown sauce in there too, lovely man! I nodded off a little on the bus, and was pretty much fully recovered when I got off in Leeds.

So, that only leaves the Abbey Dash on the 20th November to complete this year's 5 Race challenge, and I'm already wondering if I can beat my personal best time?

Dad's response to my text message about my time was "This is getting serious!"

I think it might be!