I had a panicked shuffle through the crowd to get to my place. With no speed training or running of any real kind since the 7 Valleys I set myself the target of running a 42:30. This would be a small PB and I felt it was within my abilities.
I started a little too quickly, seeing my watch show a 3:40/km so I reeled myself in and fell into a more appropriate pace of between 4:05-4:15/km. I allow myself the first few kilometres of a race to settle and find my rhythm for the day, and did I find it!
I slowly began taking places, overtaking through puddles and enjoying the undulation of the course. I waved to Steve as I passed The Nags Head and flew up the short hill before the dam. At least I haven’t lost the hill legs. At the end of the dam wall John Burkhill, more famously known as The Man With The Pram, was coming back the other way. In 2023 he reached his long-time goal of raising one million pounds for Macmillan Cancer Support. He starts well before the rest of the competitors to collect donations. Runners from all clubs shouted words of encouragement and thanks.
The road’s conditions were wet but far from the swamp that was last year. The organisers were right in postponing and then cancelling the 2023 race. When Connor and I ran our unofficial NOT Percy Pud the puddles swallowed ankles and branches littered the road. I can’t imagine the chaos of three thousand people attempting to navigate that kind of minefield.
Along the reservoir’s edge I continued to maintain my stride. I had vaguely stayed within a similar pack for a few kilometres, and I could see a couple fellow striders ahead. One I recognised, not in name but knowing from previous events that she was faster than me. I got a bit worried that maybe I was running beyond my abilities. The 42:30 target for the day was plucked purely from it being a bit faster than my pneumonia ridden 10k pb and nothing more. It didn’t account for the fact I’d averaged about 10k a week since the 7 Valleys.
The lead runners passed me on the return around the first houses on New Road at a blistering pace. Hallamshire Harriers were set to dominate as a sea of red passed by. It was only a short time later that Tom, and quickly after Connor, did the same. We acknowledged each other and powered on, enjoying the thrill of the race.
The gradual descent towards The Bradfield Plow pulled some more speed from my legs and I had to do some creative pathfinding through patches of those that were already flagging. You cannot miss the turnaround point. A set of cones in the middle of the road indicates the 180 degree turn, and if that wasn’t enough a wall of strider volunteers blocks the road. Within this human barrier was Nick, and we said a quick hello as I turned heel and legged it the opposite way. Pushing back up the slight hill we had descended didn’t feel too difficult and I again moved up through the field. This is where confidence and self-belief is important in a race. I could’ve gone one way and slowed down, believing that I was pushing too hard. I knew that I was capable of maintaining this pace, and so I did. I grabbed a cup of water and drank maybe 3% as the rest spilled on my hands and down my front before I even managed to get it to my lips.
I knew Fi would be passing by anytime now and I ran forward whilst looking right, scanning the hundreds of faces as they passed by. As the seconds passed I worried we had missed one another but then I heard a little voice calling from the throng. A beaming face stood out from the sea of pained expressions, encouraging words were exchanged, and then we continued on.
From that point on I started digging. There was no one else to look out for and only running left to do. My eyes were unfocussed and I wasn’t really looking anywhere, just running forward. Surprisingly this helped detach me from the struggle until I noticed black creeping in at the edges until the world snapped back into sharp focus. Probably for the best lest I steamroll straight into the back of a shorter runner outside my shrinking periphery. Concord parkrun a few weeks before was the only hard run I’d done in a long time, and now I had to do twice as far. Let me run all day as slow as I like any day!
I kept taking places as others fatigued, not listening to their bodies and overreaching, or simply the sprint start lactic finally withering their legs. Many of these overtakes came on the climb from the dam wall. The group I caught up to slowed massively and I had to traverse to the opposite side of the road to pass, not slowing despite the sudden incline. I knew I had two kilometres from here. That was no more than eight and a half minutes if everything went to plan. I felt good and almost imperceptively increased in speed. I didn’t want to push too much this far out, but knew I had a little more juice to squeeze from my anaerobic threshold.
The final climb is mean. You can see the crowd lining the road thicken, you know the finish is nigh, but you can’t see it. A runner had stuck to my left shoulder as we closed in the last kilometre. What are you up to? I thought. With a few hundred metres to go he pulled away, having used me as a pacer. I kept back, feeling happy with what I was doing and knowing that I would know when to mount my final push. It came quicker than expected. He had gained about five metres before I kicked in the afterburners, overtaking with about ten metres to go and finishing strong before sputtering out. If I say so myself, I paced it incredibly well.
I finished in 41:25, 01:05 faster than my target and a pb of 01:41.