Worksop Halloween Half - It ain't half hilly
The last Sunday in October sees the Worksop Halloween Half, an event established in 1982 which seems to have found its way onto just about every runner's wish list. It's undoubtedly scenic, with the route going through Clumber Park, which is particularly attractive at this time of year.
As I scrolled through posts on my running group forums, I tried to get some idea of how hilly it was likely to be. One person, to my amazement, said they had heard it was "fairly flat." I can only assume they were mistaking it for a different race. Others spoke of a biggish hill in the first mile but then implied it wasn't too bad. The general term being used was that slightly mysterious runners' adjective, 'undulating.' Now, I love words and to me 'undulating' is a nice word. It trips easily off the tongue and it suggests gentle ups and downs rather than steep, back-breaking climbs. It suggests that the route will be a little bit winding and country road-like but nothing too terrifying.
The elevation on Strava doesn't lie though. I am kind of glad that I didn't look at this until after the race was over, because it might well have sent me into panic-mode.
I was already feeling quite nervous in the days leading up to the race. It's not my first half, but the halves I have done to date have been on as flat a route as you can get in Yorkshire. I haven't put in any serious hill training. My idea of practising hills is to do parkrun at Barnsley or Dewsbury once in a blue moon. That's enough hills for me. So, I knew that I was going into this half a bit undertrained. In terms of long runs, I had got up to 10 miles but that was weeks ago and since then I'd been a bit bothered by niggly pains in my hip, a virus that had zapped my energy, some dental-related stress, the usual work-related stress, and all in all October hadn't been a particularly enjoyable month.
I was trying to approach this half in the spirit of fun, which is after all what the Worksop Halloween Half is supposed to be about. I decided I would pretend to myself that it wasn't a race, just a Sunday morning long run with a few more people than normal (approximately 2360 in fact) and fancy dress. It was also my husband, Ror's first (and only) half, so I kept reminding myself it was his day really and that I was there mainly to support him.
So, off we went on a chilly Sunday morning after the clocks had gone back. All the usual pre-race nerves kicked in for me, whilst Ror as usual seemed totally unfazed by it all. I worried that I'd not had enough breakfast. I worried that I'd be too hot in my long sleeved top, or not warm enough. I worried that the chip tag would fall off my trainer. I worried that I hadn't brought enough gels. I worried that my hip would give me grief. You name it, I worried about it. But we had a jolly meet up with some online running friends and this helped put me at ease. The music played and there was a good party-type atmosphere, so we got into the spirit of things.
At 10 o clock we were off and I began to discover just how hilly this run was. It was in a different category to any run I've tackled hitherto. People always say, "what comes up must come down", which of course is logical, but the trouble with running is that the downhill bits are over in seconds whilst the hilly bits seem to go on forever. So, whilst in a strict sense there are equal amounts of uphill and downhill, it doesn't feel equal at all when you're trying to run it.
It became obvious to me that as far as my three previous halves were concerned, I just wasn't comparing like with like. I needed a completely different strategy for this one. In my races to date, I've always had a slightly stupid rule that I should only stop and walk in the most dire circumstances. I usually carry a bottle of water with me so I can take a quick swig without slowing down. But for this half, as I was already carrying a bottle of sports drink, I didn't want to be weighed down with water as well, so I decided to rely on the water stations. When I took a cup from the water station, I realised that it's not possible to run and drink from a cup at the same time. So, I slowed to a walk while I had my drink and in an instant my stubborn 'you must not walk' rule was relaxed. And once I had told myself that it was okay to walk a bit through a water station, I didn't take me long to decide that I wouldn't be failing myself if I needed to walk for any other reason. It's kind of obvious really, but for months I've been giving myself a hard time by defining a 'run' in its most literal sense.
I made it to 10 miles, possibly 11, before I had my first, non-water station-related walk. It wasn't long before I started running again but I actually feel that this little break helped me, sort of like pressing a reset button that got me out of my tired, jaded mode and meant that I could run more efficiently again. I thought about ultra runners and how they always walk the hills. Who are we to disagree with them? It's a great way to conserve energy and you certainly need a lot of energy on runs as 'undulating' as Worksop.
I was beginning to understand something that I hadn't fully grasped before, that on some occasions, with some runs, just completing the course is a feat worthy of a medal. Finishing times, whether you run the entire thing or walk bits, it becomes irrelevant. You reach that point where you don't care how you finish as long as you do finish and you will do what you have to do.
Finally, as I ran along the home straight (I actually felt I was sprinting at this point, but I probably wasn't!) I can remember saying out loud, "Where's the finishing line?" I couldn't believe it wasn't there yet. People were cheering and saying "well done" and it was obviously very close, or at least it seemed close to the spectators, but to someone who has been on their feet and scrambling up hills for the past couple of hours, something just round the corner might as well be another mile away.
Oh, the relief to get across that line though! As soon as I came to a halt, the jelly legs set in and I managed to somehow stand still long enough for someone to remove the chip tag from my shoe (no, it didn't fall off en route!) and then I kind of weaved and wobbled my way back to the hall, pausing to have my photo taken and amazing myself at how fresh and relatively unscathed I looked in it.
I wore my medal and I picked up my long sleeved Halloween themed technical T-shirt, which I changed into straight away. I felt a bit uncoordinated and slightly light headed. Even an apparently simple task like getting myself a cup of tea from a stall seemed to take forever as I fumbled with the change, trying to put it back into my running belt, then trying to carry the cup of tea and an armful of sweaty running clothes with a random box of 'breakfast biscuits' balanced on top. (These had been handed out along with the T-shirts and bananas.) I sat down and waited for Ror to finish - which he did, feeling triumphant despite a last minute tumble on the finish line.
My chip time was 2.03.46, which is only a few seconds slower than my personal best (flat half) time, so I was pleased with that. Sub-2 was never even a consideration and I was really expecting to take longer than I did on such a tough route, so getting in around the 2 hour mark was a result.
Here's just a few random memories of race day:
Parking, rather fittingly in bay 13 and saying to Ror that I hoped it wasn't a bad omen. It should've been bay 13.1 of course.
A dog doing a poo at the road side at mile 1. The stench was almost enough to floor me before I'd really got going.
Trying to put a used gel wrapper back into my running belt, missing and accidentally littering Clumber Park. (Sorry, National Trust. I really should have gone back and picked it up.)
Realising heaven is a place on earth, otherwise known as a sponge station.
Seeing men stopping at random points to wee behind trees.
Catching my hand on some brambles/holly bush and watching an alarming amount of blood appear. Quite apt for a Halloween run really.
Discovering that nothing tastes better than iced water when you've been forcing down disgusting, lukewarm sports drink for miles.
Realising Elton John's 'Electricity' makes me emotional when it comes on my playlist during the first few kilometres of a run, because I feel I am 'flying, flying like a bird" even though I'm not. Singing/warbling along on the move isn't a good idea though.
Walking back to the car park on shaky legs, a long way. Feeling like I was getting hypothermia and being so thankful for heated car seats and the space blanket I saved from the Sheffield 10K.
Limping into Lush, Meadowhall, in a medal and finisher's T-shirt to buy a bath bomb suitable for knackered runners.
One thing I hadn't expected was how much I would ache afterwards. I don't remember aching this much after my flat halves. In the night I didn't know where on earth to put my leg. Every time I bent it or straightened it, I would feel the muscles around my hip spasm. It was as if my body was broken. I can walk/hobble around today and it eases when I keep moving, but after sitting or lying down, I just seize up and I feel like an octogenarian.
It's made me question things a bit. Do I want to keep doing halves? It seems a hell of a lot of stress to put your body through when you can get the same feel good endorphins from doing a 10K. When I finish a 10K I feel invigorated, strong, fit and athletic. I feel like I'm defying the ageing process. It defeats the objective, surely, to finish a race and be walking around like your grandmother, flinching in pain. How is that empowering? How is that good for you?
I wanted to know I could run a half and now, with four of them under my belt, I know I can. Sure, I could, with practice no doubt get a lot better at them, faster and more confident, but do I need to? That's what I'm asking myself. I love 10K as a distance and there are so many races to choose from, I'm sure I could keep myself busy for a whole year.
As runners we always seem to feel that we have to keep pushing ourselves, that we must progress from 5K to 10K to half, to marathon and then even to ultras. But the most important thing here is to enjoy your running. I'm sure there are many who do enjoy the challenge of the longer distances, but equally there are many who feel that you need to master every distance in order to consider yourself a 'proper runner.' It's not so.
Maybe I'll feel differently when the aches and pains wear off. As with childbirth, it's easy to forget and you sign up for it again and again. But will I? I feel it's a bit like saying to my body - "Now, body, I know you've done a few halves but I want you to prove to me again that you can do another. And another. And another and another." Perhaps its better to say to the body, "You've achieved some awesome things, body, and I know it wasn't always nice. But now I'm going to just be kind to you and let you have some fun."
As long as I enjoy my running and it takes me to some lovely locations and as long as it keeps me fit, physically and mentally, then that's exactly why I started to run in the first place.
So, at this moment in time I don't plan to return for another Halloween Half. That's not to say I wasn't impressed with the organisation and the supportive nature of the event though. I'm glad I did it because it taught me a lot about myself and what I want from my running. And, I should add, the medal and T-shirt are pretty cool too.
As I scrolled through posts on my running group forums, I tried to get some idea of how hilly it was likely to be. One person, to my amazement, said they had heard it was "fairly flat." I can only assume they were mistaking it for a different race. Others spoke of a biggish hill in the first mile but then implied it wasn't too bad. The general term being used was that slightly mysterious runners' adjective, 'undulating.' Now, I love words and to me 'undulating' is a nice word. It trips easily off the tongue and it suggests gentle ups and downs rather than steep, back-breaking climbs. It suggests that the route will be a little bit winding and country road-like but nothing too terrifying.
The elevation on Strava doesn't lie though. I am kind of glad that I didn't look at this until after the race was over, because it might well have sent me into panic-mode.
I was already feeling quite nervous in the days leading up to the race. It's not my first half, but the halves I have done to date have been on as flat a route as you can get in Yorkshire. I haven't put in any serious hill training. My idea of practising hills is to do parkrun at Barnsley or Dewsbury once in a blue moon. That's enough hills for me. So, I knew that I was going into this half a bit undertrained. In terms of long runs, I had got up to 10 miles but that was weeks ago and since then I'd been a bit bothered by niggly pains in my hip, a virus that had zapped my energy, some dental-related stress, the usual work-related stress, and all in all October hadn't been a particularly enjoyable month.
I was trying to approach this half in the spirit of fun, which is after all what the Worksop Halloween Half is supposed to be about. I decided I would pretend to myself that it wasn't a race, just a Sunday morning long run with a few more people than normal (approximately 2360 in fact) and fancy dress. It was also my husband, Ror's first (and only) half, so I kept reminding myself it was his day really and that I was there mainly to support him.
So, off we went on a chilly Sunday morning after the clocks had gone back. All the usual pre-race nerves kicked in for me, whilst Ror as usual seemed totally unfazed by it all. I worried that I'd not had enough breakfast. I worried that I'd be too hot in my long sleeved top, or not warm enough. I worried that the chip tag would fall off my trainer. I worried that I hadn't brought enough gels. I worried that my hip would give me grief. You name it, I worried about it. But we had a jolly meet up with some online running friends and this helped put me at ease. The music played and there was a good party-type atmosphere, so we got into the spirit of things.
At 10 o clock we were off and I began to discover just how hilly this run was. It was in a different category to any run I've tackled hitherto. People always say, "what comes up must come down", which of course is logical, but the trouble with running is that the downhill bits are over in seconds whilst the hilly bits seem to go on forever. So, whilst in a strict sense there are equal amounts of uphill and downhill, it doesn't feel equal at all when you're trying to run it.
It became obvious to me that as far as my three previous halves were concerned, I just wasn't comparing like with like. I needed a completely different strategy for this one. In my races to date, I've always had a slightly stupid rule that I should only stop and walk in the most dire circumstances. I usually carry a bottle of water with me so I can take a quick swig without slowing down. But for this half, as I was already carrying a bottle of sports drink, I didn't want to be weighed down with water as well, so I decided to rely on the water stations. When I took a cup from the water station, I realised that it's not possible to run and drink from a cup at the same time. So, I slowed to a walk while I had my drink and in an instant my stubborn 'you must not walk' rule was relaxed. And once I had told myself that it was okay to walk a bit through a water station, I didn't take me long to decide that I wouldn't be failing myself if I needed to walk for any other reason. It's kind of obvious really, but for months I've been giving myself a hard time by defining a 'run' in its most literal sense.
I made it to 10 miles, possibly 11, before I had my first, non-water station-related walk. It wasn't long before I started running again but I actually feel that this little break helped me, sort of like pressing a reset button that got me out of my tired, jaded mode and meant that I could run more efficiently again. I thought about ultra runners and how they always walk the hills. Who are we to disagree with them? It's a great way to conserve energy and you certainly need a lot of energy on runs as 'undulating' as Worksop.
I was beginning to understand something that I hadn't fully grasped before, that on some occasions, with some runs, just completing the course is a feat worthy of a medal. Finishing times, whether you run the entire thing or walk bits, it becomes irrelevant. You reach that point where you don't care how you finish as long as you do finish and you will do what you have to do.
Finally, as I ran along the home straight (I actually felt I was sprinting at this point, but I probably wasn't!) I can remember saying out loud, "Where's the finishing line?" I couldn't believe it wasn't there yet. People were cheering and saying "well done" and it was obviously very close, or at least it seemed close to the spectators, but to someone who has been on their feet and scrambling up hills for the past couple of hours, something just round the corner might as well be another mile away.
Oh, the relief to get across that line though! As soon as I came to a halt, the jelly legs set in and I managed to somehow stand still long enough for someone to remove the chip tag from my shoe (no, it didn't fall off en route!) and then I kind of weaved and wobbled my way back to the hall, pausing to have my photo taken and amazing myself at how fresh and relatively unscathed I looked in it.
My chip time was 2.03.46, which is only a few seconds slower than my personal best (flat half) time, so I was pleased with that. Sub-2 was never even a consideration and I was really expecting to take longer than I did on such a tough route, so getting in around the 2 hour mark was a result.
Here's just a few random memories of race day:
Parking, rather fittingly in bay 13 and saying to Ror that I hoped it wasn't a bad omen. It should've been bay 13.1 of course.
A dog doing a poo at the road side at mile 1. The stench was almost enough to floor me before I'd really got going.
Trying to put a used gel wrapper back into my running belt, missing and accidentally littering Clumber Park. (Sorry, National Trust. I really should have gone back and picked it up.)
Realising heaven is a place on earth, otherwise known as a sponge station.
Seeing men stopping at random points to wee behind trees.
Catching my hand on some brambles/holly bush and watching an alarming amount of blood appear. Quite apt for a Halloween run really.
Discovering that nothing tastes better than iced water when you've been forcing down disgusting, lukewarm sports drink for miles.
Realising Elton John's 'Electricity' makes me emotional when it comes on my playlist during the first few kilometres of a run, because I feel I am 'flying, flying like a bird" even though I'm not. Singing/warbling along on the move isn't a good idea though.
Walking back to the car park on shaky legs, a long way. Feeling like I was getting hypothermia and being so thankful for heated car seats and the space blanket I saved from the Sheffield 10K.
Limping into Lush, Meadowhall, in a medal and finisher's T-shirt to buy a bath bomb suitable for knackered runners.
One thing I hadn't expected was how much I would ache afterwards. I don't remember aching this much after my flat halves. In the night I didn't know where on earth to put my leg. Every time I bent it or straightened it, I would feel the muscles around my hip spasm. It was as if my body was broken. I can walk/hobble around today and it eases when I keep moving, but after sitting or lying down, I just seize up and I feel like an octogenarian.
It's made me question things a bit. Do I want to keep doing halves? It seems a hell of a lot of stress to put your body through when you can get the same feel good endorphins from doing a 10K. When I finish a 10K I feel invigorated, strong, fit and athletic. I feel like I'm defying the ageing process. It defeats the objective, surely, to finish a race and be walking around like your grandmother, flinching in pain. How is that empowering? How is that good for you?
I wanted to know I could run a half and now, with four of them under my belt, I know I can. Sure, I could, with practice no doubt get a lot better at them, faster and more confident, but do I need to? That's what I'm asking myself. I love 10K as a distance and there are so many races to choose from, I'm sure I could keep myself busy for a whole year.
As runners we always seem to feel that we have to keep pushing ourselves, that we must progress from 5K to 10K to half, to marathon and then even to ultras. But the most important thing here is to enjoy your running. I'm sure there are many who do enjoy the challenge of the longer distances, but equally there are many who feel that you need to master every distance in order to consider yourself a 'proper runner.' It's not so.
Maybe I'll feel differently when the aches and pains wear off. As with childbirth, it's easy to forget and you sign up for it again and again. But will I? I feel it's a bit like saying to my body - "Now, body, I know you've done a few halves but I want you to prove to me again that you can do another. And another. And another and another." Perhaps its better to say to the body, "You've achieved some awesome things, body, and I know it wasn't always nice. But now I'm going to just be kind to you and let you have some fun."
As long as I enjoy my running and it takes me to some lovely locations and as long as it keeps me fit, physically and mentally, then that's exactly why I started to run in the first place.
So, at this moment in time I don't plan to return for another Halloween Half. That's not to say I wasn't impressed with the organisation and the supportive nature of the event though. I'm glad I did it because it taught me a lot about myself and what I want from my running. And, I should add, the medal and T-shirt are pretty cool too.
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