I Hate Running in the Heat

Sunday was our local 10K.  Even if you're lucky enough to get a cool day for it, it's still not for the faint-hearted, an extremely hilly, punishing route at the best of times.  On a warm day, however, it becomes a whole other test of endurance.  I'm not someone who tolerates hot weather well.  I can't even sit out in the garden for more than 10 minutes without feeling uncomfortable , so exercising in the heat is not something that brings out the best in me.  I wouldn't normally sign up for races at this time of year but as I was at a bit of a loose end that weekend with other family members off doing their own thing, I thought it would be good to do something just for me.  I last entered the race a couple of years ago when the weather was much cooler and I put in quite a decent performance, so I was hoping that the weather-gods would be kind again this year and I could do myself proud.  Sadly, it wasn't to be.

When it became clear that we were in for 'glorious' weather at the weekend, I tried to set myself what I considered a modest goal of finishing the race under the hour.  I think I have only once taken longer than an hour to finish a 10K in all the years I've been running, so I thought that wasn't an over-optimistic plan.  But when the day came, I very quickly had to adjust those expectations.  After a brisk first kilometer, which takes you round a housing estate before you head off onto the quieter backroads - pretty much a gentle warm up for the undulating horrors to come - I began to feel the effects of the heat as we tackled the first hill and I dropped my pace accordingly.  It didn't take me long to realise that if I was going to get round this course, I needed to take it very steadily.  Thoughts of poor Dr Michael Moseley came to mind a few times during this run.  I did question the wisdom of taking on an arduous run on such a humid day, but I kept telling myself that if I could just hang on until the 7K mark, the hills would be done with and I would be descending onto the lovely flat Trans-Pennine Trail for the last section of the race.  My hope was that I might be able to make up some time on that final section.  Alas, this wasn't the case.  In fact, by the time I hit the trail, I was pretty much spent.  It was a struggle just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.  I seriously had to focus hard just to stop myself from keeling over.  The prospect of a DNF had loomed largely throughout and even in the last few kilometers when the worst was over, I wasn't sure I was going to make it.  I have a history with this race.  The first time I did it back in 2018, when I was still quite an inexperienced runner, I went off much too fast on a scorching day, and ended up collapsing and having to be escorted to the finish line in a truck by the rescue crew.

But this year somehow I made it to the finish line.  There were no feel-good endorphins.  In fact, the whole race had been a joyless experience for me.  I just felt old and unfit and an idiot for believing I would be able to complete it in a decent time.  I just wanted to go home, so after collecting my goodie bag and having a quick drink of water, I did.  But getting home wasn't the simple exercise it should have been.  In some ways that short walk home was the hardest bit of the day.  It was as if my body just stopped working.  Every footstep felt like a massive effort.  Nothing ached or hurt.  It was just pure exhaustion.

After a shower and a change of clothes (and the discovery of a lovely big 'Sticky Toffee Sensation' cake in my goodie bag- that's a first) I began to perk up a bit and as the day went on, I started to feel a bit less negative about the whole experience.  Yes, it was my slowest 10K ever - 2 minutes over the hour - but I had got it done.  Perhaps, instead of thinking of myself as useless, I should try to see myself as gritty and determined, someone with incredible stamina.  I wasn't fast but I ran this whole, brutal race even when the voices in my head were telling me to stop, to walk, to go home.  I know from experience that crossing the finish line on foot, whatever your time, beats finishing it in a rescue truck.

Now that it's done and dusted, I am finding it easier to be more charitable to myself and get a sense of perspective.  Just to have taken part at age 57 is pretty amazing for me, someone who always hated P.E. and felt intimidated around 'sporty' people, someone who didn't start running until she was nearly 50 and has got to where she is without the support of a regular running buddy or a running club.  What would the 'me' who walked the Race for Life with Ann all those years ago think about that?  I know I should be grateful (and I am) that I was healthy and fit enough to be on that start line, never mind cross the finish line.  So many people are not so lucky and we shouldn't take our fitness for granted.

We all know that you can't compare a flat 10K on a cool day with a hilly 10K on a hot day, so perhaps I need to think of this event as a 'one off'.  It's not a reflection on my ability to run a 10K in general.  In fact, I could think of this as my personal best for a horrible hot & hilly 10K (the last one being a DNF!)

It's worth remembering that all runners have off days, even the elites.  The magnificent Paula Radcliffe had races where she never got anywhere near winning a medal and she even had some DNFs.  But she also had incredible triumphs and nothing can diminish those.  I mustn't let this one disappointing run define me.  One bad run doesn't make you a bad runner.

I think one of the ways we mature as runners is by learning to approach races with a more flexible attitude, to appreciate that it's not always about getting a fast time and that expectations are not set in stone and can change in the blink of an eye.  You have to make judgment calls on whether to go for steadiness or whether to push it, how to find a good balance between the two, how much of a risk you are prepared to take and how much you are prepared to lower your expectations yet still come out of this feeling positive.  Every race will pose different questions, present different options.  I am still learning, even after eight years.