Next weekend I will put my toes on the start line of the 5000m of the BMC Grand Prix at Solihull. I’m really looking forward to it and am very grateful that my entry was accepted despite my season’s best being outside the entry standard, but it’s going to be predictable. This is what will happen: the assigned pacemaker will stand near the starter and say something like ’68s OK boys?’ referring to the target time per lap. Someone will say yes and that will be it. The race will string out in single file ahead of me whilst I hang on for dear life at the back, either until I get cut adrift or until people whose early pace was too optimistic start coming back to me. No tactics, no thinking, just running as hard as I can from the gun. I will either run a PB or blow up trying, and limp home in a time I’m disappointed in. I know this because it happens every time.
Last Sunday I raced for my club in the final fixture of the Midland League season. I was in the 1500m and then the 3000m half an hour later, a tricky combination at the best of times, but even more so when you’ve only got back from holiday the day before. The wind was up so I suspected the race would start slowly. Sure enough, by the time we got to the first bend, we were in a tight pack, all looking to see what the others were doing. Jogging, it seemed.
This didn’t really suit me because I’m no sprinter and didn’t want it to turn into a 400 metre race. I wanted to get to the front and make a long push for home but was boxed on the inside of lane 1. We went through 800 outside my 5k pace and shortly after we did so a small gap appeared to my right. I stepped out, darted through the gap and ran as hard as I could, trying to distance myself from the field. I knew that this probably wouldn’t get me the win, but would at least take the sting out of some of the faster athletes. I was third in the end, a pleasing result, and probably better than I would have done if the pace had stayed slow for another lap. Half an hour later in similar coniditions, the 3000m went out slowly and we only really got going in the last km. Heavy legged from the 1500 I let two guys get away who I knew to be significantly faster then me, whilst making sure I did just enough to hold off the runners behind.
In both races I was constantly thinking, judging my effort, making decisions about what I should do to maximise my position. It was thrilling, and certainly added a dimension to the races. When watching athletics on TV you often hear commentators talking scornfully about tactical races, as if anyone who doesn’t run an ‘honest’ race is a disgrace to the sport. I disagree. These are the races I enjoy the most. They are less predictable and more exciting, both to watch and to be part of, and often throw up nice surprises. At the level I compete at, races where you have to make tactical decisions are rare and therefore even more interesting.
Time trials have their place, but give me a ‘dishonest’ tactical race anyday.
This year’s firsts are two new events on the track, namely the steeplechase and the 10,000. The steeplechase is not an event I had really considered before this year, but the club’s promotion to division 1 means we need all the points we can muster in order to stay there. So I offered my services.
Until only a few days before the race I had been blasé to the point of arrogant about it, and far too relaxed. That all changed when I went to the track on Thursday evening before Sunday’s race and returned home grazed and bruised down one side after coming off second best in an altercation with one of the barriers.
After this I went from a state of not worried at all to, frankly, shitting myself. The barriers are actually much higher than they look on TV and I still hadn’t done a water jump in training. Still, I’d promised to do it and it was too late to back out now, so after more stretches and drills than I’d normally do before a race I made my way to the start line. Once I’d worked out where it was of course.
The first fixture of the season was a 2k rather than the full distance. Good news: fewer barriers to jump over. Bad news: you have to negotiate the water jump 100 metres into the race whilst there is still heavy traffic.
The gun went and I let the Birchfield athlete go. There was no way I was going to let myself go off too fast. I slipped into lane 2 next to the guy from Stoke to give myself a clear run at the first barrier. Cleared. Good.
We hit the water jump side by side and leading with my right foot I made a clean clearance and pushed out of the water pretty well. This was the thing I was most worried about before the race and my nerves were calmed immediately. Just do it like that again and you’ll be fine. Just get round. Nothing silly now.
I ticked off another few barriers, and coming round with 3 laps to go I was now in 2nd, 20 metres or so behind the leader. It was difficult to judge my effort level accurately as it was a completely new feeling for me. Whilst I was working hard to accelerate away from the barriers, I still felt I could go a bit quicker between them so with about 2 laps to go I pushed on and soon found myself on the shoulder of the leader.
I now had a decision to make: do I tuck in behind him or do I take the lead? I was reluctant to go to the front in case I had misjudged it and got passed again, which is one of the most demoralising things that can happen late in a race. I stayed on his shoulder for a few more barriers and tried to give myself enough space to clear them smoothly. I landed awkwardly off the penultimate water jump, jarring my left foot, but had made up the lost time by the next barrier. Just before the bell I went to the front, not wanting to leave it to a sprint finish. I pushed on and opened up a small gap. He was still just behind me going into the last water jump but I made my best clearance yet and got away from him. I knew that all I needed now was to clear the home straight barrier cleanly and the win would be mine. I did. I pumped my fist in the air and I crossed the line, a celebration more of having actually finished the race rather than having won it.
I am under no illusions that the field was a strong one – the steeplechase is notorious for being an event of lower standards – but I was still really happy to have come away with the win. What’s more, Richard won the B race in an entertaining last lap duel with his rival from Stoke. Maximum points for the club!
Next time (yes, I said next time) I will train to clear the barriers more smoothly to lose less time on them. I also need to work on pushing further off the water jump so my landing foot falls just short of the edge and I can push off onto dry land. Oh, and I won’t do a 1500 an hour later. The less said about that race the better.
My first first was great fun and very successful. My second first is on Saturday and involves 25 laps of the Parliament Hill track at the Highgate 10,000m night. Let’s hope I enjoy it as much as this.
The well, as some runners call it, is the metaphorical mass of water from which your extra energy reserves are drawn during a race or session. It is completely fictitious of course, but refers to a very real phenomenon: the ability (or sometimes lack thereof) to push yourself to the limit.
I certainly pushed myself to the limit two weeks ago in trying to win a half marathon race in my home town. I just about managed it, by a whopping seven seconds, but used a huge amount of mental reserve in doing so. I went to the well, in other words. Last week, as nothing more than a fun day out, I took Mark’s place in the Ashby 20 mile road race whilst he was back home in South Africa. Shame to let the race number go to waste, after all. I had a reasonable run, ignoring the fast starters and working my way through the field from 15th after a mile to 5th after 20 in a completely solo effort. Despite being in fairly good shape I just didn’t feel like I could push myself hard during the race. The well, depleted the previous week, had not been replenished and offered me nothing when I tried to go to it in the last few miles. The incentive of a bit more prize money and of just finishing the damn thing sooner wasn’t enough to spur me on to run faster when it started to hurt. When the well is empty you accept pain rather than defy it. You let it beat you rather than beating it. You just don’t run as well.
This makes sense, though. Looking at it objectively I am glad that the human body has evolved to have such safety mechanisms. You can’t push your body to the limit every day, every session and every race. Yes, you would get very fit but you would also put yourself at risk of injury. The well is shallow for a reason. Tomorrow afternoon I am racing at the Midland 12 Stage Road Relays. I’ve been pouring water in the well all week. Hopefully I can draw some out this time.
It took several days to recover from the half marathon. In fact, I was feeling the soreness from very early on in the 20 mile race. I just about held it together but wouldn’t have if the race had been any longer. Midland 12 stage next week then no races for a while.
Monday: ran home, easy pace (14)
Tuesday: AM 10km easy / PM 17km easy (27)
Wednesday: 16km easy (16)
Thursday: AM 10km easy / PM 16km with 10×200/200 (26)
Friday: rest (0)
Saturday: 13km easy (13)
Sunday: Ashby 20, 5th in 1:55:39 – 57:38/58:01 (34)
This morning I lined up, for the 9th time in my life, at the start of my home town half marathon in Berkhamsted. I had won this race for the last three years and was hoping to do the same again. Accompanying me on my mission was Dan, who had agreed to run with me for as long as he could to try and help me out. We had no idea how the race would pan out; my first win was a solo time trial, my second a man-to-man battle in torrential rain and my third another solo effort but a painful one after a needlessly fast start.
The 2014 edition proved to be a tactical race in very windy conditions. Within half a mile a group of 6 of us had formed at the front, soon to be whittled down to 5 after the first big hill. Dan was doing a great job leading it out and blocking the wind. It was hard to tell what pace we were running as some of the mile markers seemed to have been moved from their usual spots, but I did hear someone’s Garmin beep as we passed the 3 mile point in around 16:45. We exchanged the lead like a hot potato over the next mile , no one really wanting to push it on and do the work. I decided that if I was going to break the group up it might take a couple of moves and it would definitely involve taking the race by the scruff of the neck and pushing the pace. After a sharp right-hander in the 5th mile I went to the front on a downhill section and started to put my foot down. I suspected someone would try and go with me, but it wasn’t the two runners I had raced here before, nor was it Dan, who was tucked in at the back of the group. A gap opened up briefly but it was quickly bridged by someone I didn’t recognise. We pulled away from the others and reduced it from a five-man race to a two-man one.
My new companion was running well but seemed unwilling to do any of the work. I led him past the half way point and up the steep hill in the 7th mile. He stayed on my shoulder. I went to the middle of the road. He stayed on my shoulder. I went to the very edge of the road. He stayed on my shoulder. With a strong wind in my face I really didn’t fancy carrying passengers so I slowed the pace down, only for the other runner to pull along side me but not take the lead himself. I didn’t want to slow it down any more and let the others catch us up so I continued to drive my passenger for another couple of miles, exchanging neither glances nor words with the man running directly in my slipstream.
Somewhere between the 9th and 10th mile markers, I made a plan to drop him on an uphill stretch away from the wind. I pushed off the top of the hill and round the corner but it wasn’t enough. By this point my calves were aching, sore and stiff, but I took a guess that his probably were too. I realised that if I was going to get away from him it would require a big move rather than a gradual injection of pace, the kind of surge that can break an opponent but also potentially break you. I knew I needed to take a risk. As we rolled over a speed ramp I swung out to the middle of the road and put the hammer down. This time, it was enough. In my 3 wins on this course I had been running solo by this point and had the race wrapped up. This guy had made me work much harder. All I needed to do now was jog it in, safe in the knowledge that my opponent had fallen out the back door.
Or so I thought. I put in a big effort to increase my lead in the 11th mile but could still hear footsteps behind me. Shit. Not wanting to look back I listened to the time gaps between the shouts from the spectators at the roadside. The gaps were pretty short. One helpful driver even wound down his window to announce that “he’s not too far behind you.” As if I didn’t know already. We were approaching the final climb of the course, a tough 300 metre hill before the downhill finish. I knew that if I let him get back on my shoulder up the hill I would have no moves left and would probably finish second so I ran as hard as I could, whilst trying not to give away the fact that I was in pain. I got to the top still in the lead and began filling my head with every cliche in the book: “he’s hurting more than you,” “stay focused,” “only 6 more minutes to go,” “only 5 and a half minutes to go.” And so on. It seemed to work; as I turned the corner to start the descent into the town I could no longer hear footsteps. I stole a quick glance over my shoulder and estimated my lead at 50 metres. I still had to work hard down the hill but suspected that if I did the race would be in the bag. With calves, quads and hamstrings all screaming at me I covered my ears and ran. As hard as I could. I looked back at the last right-hander before the finish and had a winning lead. Patrick was standing on the corner and high-fived me. This was about all I had energy for. I had a half-hearted attempt at lifting my arms aloft in celebration but this was asking too much of my tired muscles.
I turned around at the finish and shook hands with the man who had pushed me to my limit over a tough course. We exchanged pleasantries and of course, these were the first words we spoke to each other all day. This was by far the hardest I’ve ever had to work to win a race, by far the most focused I’ve needed to be. The battle today was half physical and half mental and I did just enough to come out on top. By eight whole seconds.
One day I will lose at this race. This is inevitable. But I really am glad it wasn’t today. I don’t want it to be next year either. Or the year after…