Race Day Musings - Sheffield 10K

So much for the dire weather forecast earlier in the week.  The Sheffield 10K went ahead in perfect conditions and what a race it was!

Now, I know I've done a half marathon this year and I've another one coming up, but in some ways the Sheffield 10K still feels like the big running event of the year for me.  I don't know whether that's because it was the 'biggy' last year, our first official 10K race, a sort of rite of passage and therefore it holds a special place in my heart, or whether it's a way of making up for my disappointment over the York 10K.  I loved York but I think, being honest with myself, I was perhaps a bit more frustrated by it than I've been prepared to admit.  Don't get me wrong, I think I did pretty well at York, given the atrocious heat on the day and we know that finishing times alone rarely tell the whole story, but there's nothing like getting a fast time to put you in a great mood for days.  So, I felt I had something to prove at the Sheffield 10K.  I set myself a target of beating last year's time and told myself I would be happy with anything around 55 minutes.

The first dilemma of the day was what to wear.  Ror convinced me that it was a 'long sleeves and long trousers' kind of day.  This meant I dressed in a horrifying clash of colour, the only reliable leggings I have being black and orange and the only clean long-sleeved running top being shocking pink.  I did at least have the sense to abandon my initial plan, which had been to wear my rain jacket.  I would've been way too hot in that.  Fortunately, the forecast was no longer showing thunderbolts and lightning, so I thought I would take a chance and hope I wouldn't need rainy day gear.  (As it turned out, the gods were smiling on us because we didn't see a drop of rain all day.)

Sometimes I think the whole dress issue is as much a challenge as the actual run itself.  You have to juggle so many factors in your mind.  You need to be warm enough so that your teeth won't chatter in the starting pen, which can feel like an eternity on a nippy day, but you don't want to be roasting by kilometre 2 either.  Race days bring with them the added complication of numbers pinned to clothing.  If you wear a zip-up top, the usual option of unzipping and stripping off when you get too hot just can't happen, because you've got about a dozen safety pins imprisoning you.  You just have to grin and bear it.  The other point that the vainer amongst us will have in mind is the race photos.  These can be unflattering at the best of times, a split second making all the difference between a gazelle with flying feet or a tortured-looking, exhausted wreck in sagging leggings. Race photos need all the help they can get and you aren't exactly making it easier for yourself if you go for a pink/orange nightmare.

We took the park & ride into Sheffield and it seemed like the entire running world was on the tram.  We got chatting to a couple who were doing their first 10K.  It reminded us of how we were last year, nervous and excited, wondering if we had bitten off more than we could chew.  This year we almost felt like experts.  When we got to the city we headed to the Peace Gardens where there was a meet-up planned by the Big Shiny Balls with some of the lovely ladies in my online running group.

We had a coffee in Nero's.  (I'm convinced a pre-race coffee gives me a burst of energy.)  The downside of coffee though is it is a diuretic, which is of course another source of race day angst.  There are some runners out there who arrive at a race and get straight-on with their pre-race warm up, doing a few circuits around parts of the route followed by a range of impressive stretching exercises.  Then there are the ones like me, whose main focus is "having a wee before I start."  This was why I was a bit perturbed when my husband decided on Nero's rather than McDonalds for our pre-race coffee.  I know for a fact that McDonalds has a generous amount of toilets, but I wasn't sure about the situation at Nero's. So many coffee places of that ilk seem to think that providing one loo for its entire clientele is perfectly satisfactory.  "But you've just been to the loo" Ror tried to reason with me.  "Yes, but I'm having a coffee.  It'll go straight through me", I said.  For some reason -- and maybe it's a man thing -- this pre-race wee obsession isn't something he understands.  Fortunately, the queue for the Nero's loos -- yes, that's 'loos' plural.  They had two -- wasn't as long as it could've been, so off we went to find our starter pens.

The official pre-race 'warm up' began and, as usual, a few people enthusiastically partook in this ritual, a few started out with the best intentions then realised they felt a bit stupid marching on the spot and star jumping in such a limited space and some didn't even start at all.  I was in the latter group, a race day party-pooper through and through.  I tried to calm myself by people-watching, always a favourite pass-time of mine.  I read people's charity vests, I checked out the patterns on their leggings, I tried to guess the stories and 'journeys' that had led them to that particular race.  For some, no doubt, it was just another race, just another medal to add to an already huge and impressive collection.  To others, it represented a massive personal challenge, or perhaps something done in the memory of a loved one, a fund-raising mission.  How would they all be feeling in an hour's time?  Who would be elated?  Who would be disappointed?  Would we all make it round safely?

At 9.30 we were off.  The crowds in Sheffield are absolutely fantastic and you feel you're running the London Marathon at times.  There had been lovely spectators at York too but I think Sheffield takes it to a completely different level.  It's quite humbling really to think that so many people are prepared to get up early on a Sunday morning to support a bunch of runners.  I remember running down Ecclesall Road, where hi-fives and jelly babies were being supplied a-plenty, and hearing 'Wake me up before you go go' blasting out of someone's boombox.  Who needs a Dextrose tablet when you've got Wham putting a spring in your step?

I took the first half of the race quite steadily, because I remembered that long slog up to Endcliffe park, which felt like it went on forever.  I just focused on the first 5K, telling myself that as soon as I saw the water station, the worst would be over and then that lovely descent back into the city.

When it felt tough, I employed my usual distraction strategy of playing the Alphabet game.  Now, this has to be the dullest game on earth and I wouldn't recommend anybody try it for more than five minutes at a time, but it's quite good for distracting you if you've got, say, a kilometre to go or if you're chugging up a short but brutal hill.  Basically, you just go through the alphabet from A to Z and think of a girl's name and a boy's name for each letter.  I tried to make it marginally more interesting by thinking up significant people of either gender who had featured in my life in some way - old school friends, family, work colleagues, ex-boyfriends, etc.  I had to admit defeat when I reached 'X', but by that time the finish line was in sight, so one last push and all would be fine.

I hadn't really checked my watch through the race, so wasn't sure how I was doing time-wise.  When I crossed the line and stopped my watch, I did a bit of a double take.  I hadn't expected to be so quick. I turned round and glanced at the clock and broke into a big smile.  My official chip time was 53.20, nearly three minutes faster than last year's,  All in all, a job well done.

Ror beat his last year's time too, so he was happy.  There was a bit of a palaver meeting up after the race.  He texted me to say he was outside The Crucible.  The trouble was, so was everyone else.  Eventually I found him though and we headed off for food.  We changed into our finisher T-shirts (I was so glad to get out of the pink/orange combo) and wore our medals with pride.

Back at home I managed to terrify my cat, Charlie, by walking into the house wrapped in a space blanket. I'd forgotten that he is afraid of anything that makes a swishy or rustling sound - bin liners, carrier bags, crisp packets etc.  (Either that or it was just the sight of me in what looked like something from Gary Glitter's wardrobe.)  I suggested we keep it in the boot in case the car ever breaks down in the middle of a snow storm and we need an insulating, emergency (glam rock) blanket.

Now we've got to start preparing for our Halloween half.  I can't say it inspires me at all, but I need to give it my best shot and I will.  For now though, just a little more basking in a feeling of achievement is allowed, I think.

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