96, 97, 98, 99, ONE HUNDRED!!!

100 parkruns: I made it! I did my first parkrun on June 30th 2012 and managed my 100th on 2nd May 2015. It took me a while to get going with them, coming at them initially from the standpoint of 'why get up a stupid o'clock on a Saturday morning and travel 13 miles each way just to run 5k?' Back in 2012, I never even went out of the door for less than 6 miles, and even that was a rare recovery run! How times have changed since then!

As I reflect on my progress with running since June 2012, I mainly feel that what stands out most is a lack of progress! My Run Britain handicap chart offers a nice graphical representation of a steep and swift climb up a sheer mountainside in 2010, but which has since hit a a plateau and virtually levelled out since early 2012, with only some very minor contouring in between. Blah. I'd like to think this is natural, but the truth is, my string of injuries are the root cause of that plateau as I know that, given the chance to train properly, to the levels I used to, I have so much more in me. Frustrating.

So, whilst parkrun has not been great for my endurance - it's left me feeling like any race over 5k is a bit of a slog, when it used to feel like an 18 minute asthma-attack-inducing sprint! - they have been great in terms of enjoyment, pressure-free adrenaline-charged fun, and for meeting people.... chiefly, helping me to get to know my imminent husband-to-be, Matt.

I didn't know Matt at all when I did my first parkrun on 30th June 2012. I had just, one week previously, moved to Devon from Sherborne, Dorset (go back to beginning blog posts for this!) and didn't really know anybody in the Exmouth / Exeter area. Like me, Matt didn't go to parkrun every week at this time; however, as fate would have it, he was there on June 30th and my Mum managed to capture us both in the same photo at the start of the run! It would take us another 7 months to meet each other officially and actually talk, but I think it's kinda nice that he appears in my first ever parkrun photo memory! (Below).

A lucky capture! Matt likes this photo because he's ahead of me in it! My first ever parkrun, at Killerton, June 30th 2012.

It was around February time, when parkrun moved to Ashclyst Forest on a temporary course due to flooding on the Killerton estate, that a small but keen band of us began to go on a weekly basis and stay behind for coffee after. This is how I met my coach, Gordon, my close friends Adam and Carly and John and Alison, and, of course, my future husband! Parkrun likes to emphasise the friendliness of the scheme and always tries to push the post-run coffee and cake, and you will only hear good things about the parkrun coffee posse from me!

At this time, there were only 3 parkruns in the (deep) South West: Killerton, Barnstaple and Plym Valley. The latter two were too far to trek to at that ungodly hour of the morning (9am starts - I guess you get used to them after a while!), and so we found ourselves converging on Killerton on an almost weekly basis. There was a nice number who regularly attended in 2012 / 2013 and you could soon get to know all the faces. Fortunately or unfortunately, however you want to look at it, the parkrun phenomena has seen a massive boom in past couple of years and Killerton now regularly sees fields around the 300+ mark (a far cry from the 40 hardy souls who lined up every week in Ashclyst Forest!). Whilst it's great for the sport, it does take the intimate feel out of the event a little, and makes getting our favourite seat in the tea rooms after that bit more challenging: humph!

Luckily, several other parkruns have started up to take some of the strain, chiefly for us, Exeter Riverside parkrun, which is directed by our good friends John and Alison Caswell; Parke parkrun at Bovey Tracey; Montacute parkrun near Yeovil; Longrun Meadow parkrun in Taunton; Tamar Lakes parkrun on the Devon / Cornwall border and Lanhydrock parkrun, near my home town of St. Austell, in Cornwall. Weymouth and Blandford are also within driving distance. So we now have choice! Horrah! We have flat, fast courses (Exeter, Taunton, Barstaple), we have hilly scenic courses (Parke, Killerton, Lanhydrock, Montacute), and we have flat trail courses (Tamar Lakes, Weymouth, Blandford).

I have now completed 101 parkruns (snuck an extra one in whilst on holiday in Eastbourne last week!), on 16 different courses, and each course and run has its own very unique atmosphere and feel to it. Aside from the obvious fact that they are run over different terrain, the people that organise the event, the people that attend the event and the weather can all make a massive difference to the feeling you get on the day. I chose to run my 100th run at Killerton as that is where I started out and where I have run most of my parkruns; however, due to the scale of the event now, it has become difficult for them to keep tabs on all the runners comings and goings and so, unfortunately, my 100th run sadly didn't get a mention in the pre-run briefing or in the post-run write-up. Most of the runs I have done try to give acknowledgement to first time parkrunners, visiting parkrunners and parkrunners completing landmark runs (10, 50, 100 etc), but this is easier to manage when you have fields of 100 runners or less. Of course, one only has to look at Bushy, the founder run in 2004, to see how the popularity of parkrun has boomed: its numbers have swelled from a handful to over 1000 runners each week!

Enough parkrun waffle; now for some photographic memories of my parkrun journey from 1 to 101! (NB; It's also a visual documentation of how much my hair has grown in 2 1/2 years and, post wedding, it'll be getting the chop!)

My 2nd run at parkrun, and at Killerton, in autumn 2012: a course PB of 19:36.

First spot of parkrun tourism: running the Harrogate parkrun whilst visiting my Gran, in November 2012, in a time of 19:22.

In February 2013, Killerton celebrated its 101st run whilst the run was relocated to Ashclyst Forest. Compliance with the '101' theme was only adhered to by two of us!

Ashclyst forsest; a tricky 3 lap course with half  a mile downhill, then half a mile back up again each lap! Julian (orange top) and Tom have since become friends and Tom has even bailed me out at the Bicton Blister race by giving me a gel when I was struggling. Love the camaraderie that running, especially parkrunning, generates.

The coffee posse! After a parkrun in Spring 2013, when it was still easy to bag our favourite corner table by the log burner as not that many stayed for coffee! Left to right: Gordon, my coach; Carly, Adam, Dave Tomlin and me. (Matt's taking the photo!)

Second bit of parkrun tourism: after Mile End parkrun in London, on London Marathon weekend. I had started my spell of injuries that spring so couldn't run London, but went with Carly and Adam to support Adam. Also met up with Vicky, my flat mate from uni. Vicky used to think me bonkers when I did so much exercise, now she's a runner too: shows how the sport has taken off! 18:55 on a scenic course that included canal towpath! 

Patriotic red, white and blue theme to celebrate Killerton's 2nd birthday on 27th April 2013. Also a course PB for me that day of 19:20.

One week later, 4th May 2013, and I ran my Killerton PB that still stands today (see, lack of progress!) of 18:50.

June 2013. Parkrun isn't just about the running; it relies on volunteers for it to go ahead. They ask you to volunteer 3 times a year; I usually aim for about 5 times as I run so much. Gordon, my coach and regular Killerton timekeeper, has taught me how to timekeep: so you can also learn new skills at parkrun!

Parkrun tourism again! This time at the inaugural Montactute parkrun, near Yeovil. We went with our friends Adam and Carly in September 2013, it was hot but a stunning setting around the parkland in front of Montacute House.

Being a new parkrun, I got the ladies course record here, running 19:36. A year later, in June 2014, I lowered it to 19:23. It still stands as the ladies course record. I now gold 3 course records: Montacute: 19:23, Parke: 20:29 and Tamar Lakes: 19:33.

Winning the Killerton Christmas fancy dress competition in 2013, dressed as a fairy, complete with flashing halo!

My highest overall placing at Killerton, in January 2014: 1st lady and 3rd overall, just outsprinted for 2nd by John, next to me here approaching the finish. It was muddy that day and so my time of 19:19 wasn't too shabby!)

The inaugural Parke parkrun at Bovey Tracey, late March 2014. Probably my favourite parkrun course to date. It's also the hilliest, but you can't get bored! I hold the course record here (20:29), but I think that could be broken and someone could go under 20 minutes, if the conditions are dry and they are good on hills!

My favourite photo from Killerton: the tree lined avenue, with multi-coloured running tops, me leading the men up the path!! Spring 2014.

Bettering my course record and PB at Montacute, to 19:23, in June 2014.

Christmas fancy dress parkrun at Exeter Riverside: I seem to be the only participant, but there were others dressed up out of shot... but none with flashing tree lights like mine!! December 2014.

1st run of a New Years day double in Bristol. This was Chipping Sodbury parkrun, where I ran 19:10 on a flat but exposed, windy course.

And New Years' Day 2015 parkrun number 2, at Pomphrey Hill. 3 laps, 3 huge hills. Time 22 mins something!

My course PB at Exeter Riverside is 19:03, also ran a 19:07 and 19:15 here. Not got under the 19 min barrier yet as glandular fever saw fit to wreck health and hamper my running performances for the entire winter!

Plaits swishing! Like this photo from Killerton in March 2015.

Killerton parkrun's 200th run was celebrated by running the course in reverse (think starting low and finishing high, more hills!). I would prefer the course to stay this way, but I fear I might be in a minority!

And my 101st run was celebrated at a new event for me, Eastbourne parkrun in Sussex. A lovely flat course around some lakes and a nature reserve. A sedate 19:58. 

Sadly no photos of my most treasured parkrun memory of all: Tamar Lakes in October 2014. I set a new female course record there, which still stands, and had my highest placing overall at a parkrun: 2nd, just missing out on first by 1 second in a sprint finish. However, it is special because immediately after, Matt and I headed to Port Isacc and he proposed to me on the cliff tops there, in my home county of Cornwall. Aaaaah :-)

Looking back at the above photos reminds me of how much fun I've had and of all the the great friendships that I have developed as a result of parkrun; not least, my biggest friendship of all, with Matt. None of this would have been possible without parkrun and so I guess, despite it's downsides (like it being massively addictive to the point that I have frequently run on injuries as I have not wanted to miss out!), I think that parkrun and I will be buddies for a while to come yet! Here's to the next 100!!

D. N. F.

DNF: those three dreaded letters no runner wants ever to see next to their name. Well, on Monday 6th April I accrued the dubious honour of having them appear next to mine, registering my first ever DNF at the Yeovilton Easter Bunny 10k. So, how did it come to pass that the same someone who completed the Plymouth Hoe 10 mile race in 64 minutes on a torn calf; who hauled their butt around the Guernsey Marathon in searing heat in 3h07m after a summer of injury niggles and hardly any marathon-focussed training; who ran the Snowdonia Marathon in the pouring rain, driving wind and freezing temperatures whilst on antibiotics for a kidney infection, and who has completed the 32.5 mile Dartmoor Discovery hilly ultra-marathon with a stinking cold and whilst on a truly nauseating, stomach cramp-inducing concoction of nasal decongestants, Sudafed and ibuprofen, saw fit to throw in the towel in what, on the face of it, was a totally benign, flat 10k on a beautiful Spring day in Yeovil? A very good question and one which I personally feel the need to address, for my own peace of mind and sanity. Let the DNF post-mortem begin!

I would first like to put my hands up to having openly and emphatically declared my total lack of respect for people who DNF. I have even stated in a previous post on here that DNFing for any reason short of actual, bodily collapse is totally unacceptable! Whilst, of course, I wrote that and meant it as slightly tongue-in-cheek, there is no denying that I take a dim view of people who throw in the towel mid-race simply because things aren't quite going their way. Failing to finish a race was something I thought I would never do. Getting used to clocking up several DNSes over the past two years has been a bitter enough pill to swallow; once of a day, if I entered a race, I would be on that start line, come hell or high water, and I would run the thing to the best of my ability. So, what's changed? Have I lost my steely determination and turned into a soppy softie who can't handle the going once it gets tough? Have I lost that inner grittiness that has always been my biggest strength when racing and which has often enabled me to compensate for any injuries, lack of fitness or lack of speed that might otherwise have held me back? I really hope not, and I really don't think so.

Have I lost my competitive edge? It is true that doing parkrun every week has taught me to rein it in somewhat. I have used parkrun to experiment with pacing strategy and, doing them every week, I don't always feel like racing it, eyeballs out. So, some weeks I push hard, some I take it easy, but most weeks, I run it at a comfortable and controllable tempo pace; enough to give the lungs a work out without putting the legs under too much stress. Have I gotten to like running at only 90% effort? Has this made pushing for that last 10% seem more uncomfortable and subconsciously made me back off pushing myself to my limits? After nearly 5 years of competitive running, has my hunger for success and victory waned slightly? Again, I hope not, and I really don't think so. I am still ridiculously competitive; I still go out with a desire to win everything and perform to the best of my ability. Parkrun is one thing, but racing is a whole different level with a much higher adrenaline boost that helps to lift you that last 10% and dig in for a good performance.

Was it due to injury that I bailed at Yeovilton? Yes, my achillies was niggling, but then, it almost always does. I have recently had the results of an MRI scan on it and, aside from some minor swelling in the area, there is no scaring or tearing of the tendon to be seen, even after 4 years of running with achillies niggles. The consultant says that, at this time, it is insufficient to warrant any intervention. I have raced with achillies stiffness at most events, I have raced on calf tears, so did that really play on my mind sufficiently to make me pull up at Yeovilton? Again, I don't think this was the culprit.

Were my legs tired due to having run hard at Parke parkrun two days previously? We had gone to Parke this week with our friends, Adam and Carly, as it was the one year anniversary run and I intended to enjoy it with a controlled tempo effort, but somehow this went flying out of the window from the off and I got caught up in racing it, running harder than I had planned. That said though, it was only 5k and unlike most weekends when I run parkrun on the Saturday and then race on the Sunday, this time I had a day in between to get over it, so I'm pretty sure this wasn't to blame either.

Finishing the 1 year anniversary parkrun at Parke Estate, Bovey, in 20:46. 1st lady... but should have saved some back for Monday and Yeovilton!

The bottom line is, I just felt rubbish. I have felt rubbish or somewhere close to it ever since my bout of glandular fever in November. I have been left with a much higher resting pulse rate (it used to be around 48 BPM, it's now hovering between 56 on a good day and 62 on a bad; 60 BMP being average). Every hard effort, whether it's racing or a training session, feels sluggish, uncomfortable and lacking. I managed to avoid my biannual February calf tear this year, and so, with 7 months consistent training now behind me, I would have expected to have sharpened up and be back in PB shape by now. But I'm not. I'm nowhere near it. I'm not getting slower, but I have definitely plateaued, as my recent 10k results all show.

My comeback 10k, at the Stoke Stampede at the end of December, saw me run an encouraging 38:42. At the time, considering I was getting over a bad illness, I was pleased with that and saw it as a benchmark from which to progress. One month later, I tackled the First Chance 10k, hoping to find an extra 20 – 30 seconds, but I clocked another 38:42, precisely. Two months later again, toeing the start line of the Age UK 10k in Exeter, I would have hoped to be dipping under 38 minutes and getting near to my PB (37:43), but I clocked 38:39, on a slightly downhill course, so no progress whatsoever. At Yeovilton, I would have hoped to progress to PB shape and, if the conditions came good on the day, maybe run a 37:30. The problem was, even on the start line, I just wasn't feeling fired up for it. I still had the remnants of a cold and cough combo that I've had for weeks: that's another legacy the glandular fever has apparently left me with, an even more depleted immune system that has ensured I have picked up absolutely every germ and bug going this winter. I strongly considered not going to the race, but I had had to make a case to get the day off work from Killerton – the bank holiday Monday being our busiest day of the year, so not an easy request to make! - and so to not go and waste the day seemed wrong. In hindsight, I shouldn't have gone: it's mentally so much more tolerable to not start a race than to not finish one!

I went through the first mile, feeling knackered already, in a slightly ambitious but not suicidal 5:52. It all went downhill from there. Mile 2 in 6:15 and, into the third mile, I was really struggling. Aside from the physical discomfort, which, let's face it, when you're running at threshold pace in a race, you are always going to experience to some extent, I was also feeling intensely negative and I decided that, once I got back to the end of the first loop, near the start where my parents would be watching, I was going to bail. I didn't in fact even make it that far; a short, sharp incline just after the 2.5 mile point totally finished me off and I pulled up shortly after. I just couldn't face carrying on; mentally and physically, I had nothing to give. A couple of women had come past me in the opening miles and I tried to go with them, but my body didn't want to know. The weird thing was, once I stopped, I wasn't frustrated, angry or upset, I just felt nothing. I was quite happy to have stopped and not be forcing myself on. The only positive thing I have to say about the experience was that the support and enquiries as to my well-being from every other runner who passed me was heart-warming.

Mainly, I was worried; worried why I should still be feeling the effects of an illness so many months on and worried that I seemingly can't do anything to control or prevent it (yes, I am a control freak, I freely admit, and so not being able to influence my recovery deeply bothers me!). I was also worried that, now I had done this once, the floodgates may well be open to me playing the old DNF joker card again in the future. There will always be moments, in any race, when you feel uncomfortable, as that is the nature of racing. But what sets apart people who win races from people who just complete them is their ability to push through that discomfort and for the strength of the mind to override that of the body: this is something I have always prided myself on being able to do, so it petrifies me that my mental strength might have deserted me somewhat.

In the end, I think the answer as to why I opted to DNF on this day, of all days, in this race, in these circumstances, is simply because I wanted to; both mentally and physically, it felt like the right thing to do. The figure of eight looped route that took you almost back to the start/finish area just after the halfway mark further opened the door of temptation for us wannabe drop-outs! Would I have found that extra something to carry on if it was a one large-loop course and I was as far as I could get from home, meaning that I had to get back regardless? Maybe I would. There have been numerous points in other races where the thought has flashed through my mind – go on, stop, just pull up, walk for a bit, it will feel nice, all this pain will stop – but I have never given into those thoughts because, whilst my body was sending out the signals to stop, my mind was having none of it: there was no way that it wanted me to give in. In this race, however, it was more my mind than my body that made the decision, otherwise I would indeed have forced myself to continue until I was physically unable to do so.  I am glad I did not; chiefly because this would have no doubt ended in a highly dramatic and bloody embarrassing way and I have had enough of causing commotion after my little episode at an SWRR training night back in November when I decided it would be a good idea to train through glandular fever....

I DNFed because I wanted to; I made a conscious choice based on my circumstances at the time, and I believe in my heart that I made the correct choice; I think that is why I didn't overly berate myself about it after. Carrying on would have got me nowhere: 4th place, if I were extremely lucky, no PB, no SB, possibly caused further aggravation to my achillies and further delayed my recovery from this latest cold. No point.

What I now need is to forget about chasing times and PBs on the road for a while and just get out there, enjoy some lovely easy off-road outings in the lovely spring weather and learn to love running again. A few trail races may well feature as I feel I need to put the memory of the DNF to bed sooner rather than later and prove to myself that I can complete a race. In fact, I have just returned from parkrun, where I ran a pleasantly sedate 20:56, and afterwards, my coach Gordon joked, 'At least you managed to finish today'! He is not unduly worried, so there's no reason for me to be either. Glandular fever can apparently take upwards of a year to recover from, and I infamously do not have the greatest of immune systems to start with, so I just need to be kind to myself and give myself time. No reason not to enjoy some nice sunny trail runs whilst doing so :-)

The Three Tenners

I like ten mile races. 10 miles is just a nice, raceable distance. It allows you time to get into your running, it's long enough to play into my hands as an endurance specialist as opposed to a speed merchant, but it's not too long: just as you are starting to hurt and wish it was all over, it is indeed all over! Racing half marathons is hard, in fact, it's probably the distance I have mastered the least well of all the major distances. It feels like it should be run fast simply because it is half the distance of a marathon, and yet, invariably, from approximately 9 miles in, it becomes a survival game and you feel as though you just trying to hang on. Also, the fact that it was a half marathon (the Exeter Half in February 2013) that started off my spell of injuries probably doesn't help to endear me to its cause. A 10 miler is manageable, enjoyable and doesn't leave you broken and in need of several recovery days after. I like it.

With that in mind, I have decided to make this distance my main focus for 2015 with a view to using a series of 10 mile races as a springboard for an Autumn half-marathon. This is easier said than done as there are actually very few opportunities to race this distance, particularly in the South West. Devon's one big 10 mile race, the Plymouth Hoe 10, was axed last year due to increasing difficulties in obtaining approval for road races at an affordable cost. Cornwall and Dorset don't seem to have such a problem with this, but in Devon, for some reason, good quality road races are few and far between and multi-terrain events, invariably licenced through ARC as opposed to UKA (now, there's another blog post in itself!) are taking their place. I have nothing against a good trail race – I love them! - but I would rather they were not at the expense of good quality road events. Choice and variety is a good thing!

I therefore jumped at the chance to run a new 10 mile race whilst on a Valentine's weekend mini-break in the New Forest. The Lytchett Manor 10 took place on February 14th and so I lovingly dragged an ever-tolerant Matt along as chief bag-holder, calmer-downerer and supporter, and left him hanging about in the cold for an hour whilst I raced 10 miles on an undulating route around the Dorset countryside: if that ain't love and devotion, I don't know what is!

My main concern for this race was that my left leg would hold up okay. February has become my “nemesis month”... well, one of two nemesis months, the other one being June. For the past two years, since February 2013, I have torn my left calf at clock-work intervals, every February and every June, four times in total. I was determined to get through this February without a repetition of that to reassure me that I am now on top of the problem and finally progressing again with my running. After forking out well over £1000 this past year on physios, podiatrists and on orthotics, I should bloody well hope to be!

The Lytchett 10 race was celebrating its 25th anniversary and, in order to mark it and try and assemble a really strong field, they invited all the previous male and female race winners back, offering them free entry to this year's event. I did not know this until after the race, and just as well, as it would have made me unnecessarily stressed about over doing things and getting caught up in racing all these other ladies when I should really be running my own race. It's totally ridiculous, but I have to admit to studying published entry lists prior to race day and pre-calculating my likely finish position based upon whose names appear on the list! Due to my chronic lack of self-confidence, my calculation is usually several places lower than where I eventually end up, but I still go through this tired routine before most races. That's why it's also nice to race out of the county, because you don't always know the other names and faces and so that takes the pressure off somewhat. And yes, I know it shouldn't always be about placings; it should be about racing yourself, racing the clock, and being satisfied with your own performance, etc etc, but I am ridiculously competitive and so it is hard to quash that racing mindset!

My aim for this race was to try and run a consistent effort that delivered me at the finish line in one piece, feeling as though I could go on for another couple of miles if I needed to. This meant allowing other women to go off if they started at a pace I didn't feel comfortable with, even if it meant that I may not be able to reel them back in later: easier said than done, remembering my competitive mentality! It was an impossible race to pace off the garmin as the hill profile was all over the place! Undulating would be a slight understatement; mildly hilly, with 700ft of climb over the 10 miles, would be a more fitting description. So I decided to base my run on perceived effort, and, with miles 1 – 5 being a constant uphill grind, that perceived effort level was mighty high and the pace, mighty slow in the first half of the race! I did, however, manage to work my way through the field, picking off several men and three women as I went. I was rapidly closing in on 2nd place in the last 2 miles, but just ran out of room and finished 3rd in a time of 65:25. This was only 1m20s slower than my PB, set on a much flatter course, so better than I could have hoped for considering I haven't been doing any form of speed work or even running any farther than 10 miles at a time in training. Onwards and upwards from here!

Upwards being a rather apt description, considering what I was about to face on my next ten mile race just one week later. This one was in fact a multi-terrain race, the Dalwood 3 Hills Challenge. It was one of the first races I ever did and my first ever race as an Exmouth Harrier, back in February 2011. I remember it well at the time as it was the first race that managed to reduce me to a walk in places! 3 hills doesn't sound much (and it is in fact 3.5 hills!), not compared to the 10 hills in 10 miles that the Full Montycute 10 boasts, but these hills are beasts! 1500Ft of climbing over the ten miles: half the height of Snowdon! The second two hills in particular go on and on and on.... or maybe they seem to be worse as you are knackered by then. This year some of the worst weather conditions I have had the displeasure to race in – freezing cold, driving rain, howling wind, swollen river levels etc – were thrown into the mix, and the race really did live up to its name of being a challenge. 

It's a classic Axe Valley Runners low-key affair, in which the benign nature of the picturesque Devonshire village setting, with its snowdrop-framed village hall HQ, bursting at the seems with jolly locals offering you good priced tea, cakes and soup, beguiles an absolute brute of a course. Talk on the start line seemed to follow a common theme: “Last time I did this race I told myself never again. What am I doing here?” Mud, mud a plenty, combined with knee-deep puddles – some of which still had an icy crust on them that you had to break through as you ran – jagged rocky trails, and 4 river crossings make this race far from benign. Oh, and I also still had the lingering remnants of a cold I picked up the previous week to deal with. I know, I know, I said I wouldn't run in future with a cold, let alone race, let alone let alone (?) race a race like this in these wintry conditions. I knew it wasn't a great idea when, approximately half way in, I went to thank a marshall and all that emerged from my mouth was a pathetic squeak. From half way in, this race became something of a survival game. My hands were numb with the cold – I stupidly hadn't worn gloves – and were bright red and badly swollen; I made a good call to remove my precious engagement ring before the race as they were so swollen by the end, it would have likely been reducing my circulation. I dug in to finish as second lady but it was far from being one of my best performances. I finished it cold, wet, knackered, and talking with a croak. The cold I picked up on the weekend of the Lytchett race returned with a vengeance – surprise, surprise – and is till with me now, 5 weeks later. Herein surely lies a coded message: DO NOT RACE WHEN ILL.

4 miles into the Dalwood 3 Hills Challenge, still level with Helen at this point, but she went on to annihilate me in the second half of the race!

One of 4 ice cold river crossings at Dalwood.

My bling for finishing second: champagne, crystal champagne flutes with Swarawski crystals, and a trophy that I was told to have my photo taken with and then had straight back!

With that in the mind, and with the thought that I might quite like to be cough and snivel free this side of summer, I have decided not to run the third 10 mile race I had put in for, which is the Granite Way 10, due to take place this Sunday. Yes, it's annoying as it's a club championship race and it represented a rare opportunity locally to set a new 10 mile PB. Had I not been ill and in my present form, I estimate I would have run between 62:30 and 63 minutes; but, as I keep trying to tell myself, no one race is ever worth making yourself ill for. In myself I feel fine, and I can train, but pushing myself for an hour in a race whilst simultaneously coughing up half the contents of my lungs will do nothing to help my cause. There will be other 10 mile races and other opportunities to set PBs, but only if I am well. I am taking courage from the fact that I can actually be sensible and have seemingly learned not to fly in the face of age old wisdom by thinking that the rules of Joe Public just do not apply to me. This is progress; maybe not progress in the running performance sense, but that will follow later.... hopefully!

... to the heart of the matter

Heart problems and long distance running are somewhat uncomfortable and yet seemingly increasingly frequent bedfellows. I have decided to broach this topic on my blog now as, for several reasons, it is one that has recently become quite pertinent for both myself and for many other members of the South West running community.

An extremely talented ultra runner, based in my home town of St. Austell, Cornwall, tragically and unexpectedly passed away two weeks ago. I would like to stress that the cause of his death has NOT as yet been confirmed, but there has been much speculation amongst his friends and fellow runners that it could have been heart related. It is not difficult to see why people might come to that conclusion, following recently published findings about the relationship between high mileage training and heart problems, as this man regularly put in 100+ mile training weeks, often running 70 miles every weekend, and had done so for many years. The effects of running high mileage on weakening the heart muscle over time are now well documented; the scary thing is that, invariably, it is a sudden and silent killer that gives no pre-warning as to when it will strike and the first and only warning is that the heart spectacularly gives up. Sometimes pre-existing heart conditions are at the root of sudden heart failure, but not always. Sometimes the heart can become damaged as a result of what we ask of it.

Another runner I knew, who was a member of my one-time second claim club, the Teignbridge Trotters, passed away last summer due to a sudden, massive heart attack whilst out on a regular 10 mile club run. He was a fit man, who took care of himself, participating in triathlons, duathlons and marathons, and so did not present himself as your classic coronary candidate.  

Thirdly, and I have already mentioned this, way back in a previous blog post in December 2013, there is the case of another talented runner from Wells City Harriers. This guy had represented GB at races and, in his latter years in the sport, had dared to venture into the murky waters of ultra running. Fortunately for him, his problem was diagnosed before it led to a life-threatening event; unfortunately for him, he was told he can never run again as the risk is just too great.

These are three runners who were all fairly local and who I know personally, having trained or raced with them. They all looked after their bodies and did not lead over-indulgent life styles that were prone to excess.... the only excess in their lives was running. In the case of the third athlete, from Wells, I remember heeding his situation as a warming at the time as he had explained in an interview that his condition had likely been brought on by continuing to train through coughs and colds: something of which I am extremely guilty. I knowingly ran the 2011 Snowdonia Marathon whilst on antibiotics for a urinary tract infection. Result? I came third.... and a week later, for my efforts, I found myself in a high dependency cubicle in Yeovil Hospital, hooked up to an antibiotic drip, fighting off a severe kidney infection. It took me the best part of a month to recover from this, having to take 3 weeks off work and it was a long time before I had sufficient energy to run again. In March 2012 I had been training hard to target a sub 3 hour marathon and I aimed to try and improve my half marathon time along the way and defend my title at the Yeovil Half Marathon. The day before the race I got struck by the dreaded norro virus. This was horrendous and I would not wish it on my worst enemy. I spent the entire night being violently sick at 10 minute intervals, got no sleep, couldn’t even keep a sip of water down.... and yet, the next morning, I dragged myself out of bed, head whirring and pounding, seriously contemplating still doing the race. It was only when I nearly passed out through exhaustion whilst simply trying to assemble my running kit that I realised I was being a tad unrealistic. Go figure! However, I still ran the Taunton Marathon just 7 days later, and 7lbs lighter, still not having regained a full appetite and having spent the week trying to force Build Up drinks and soups down my throat. I did get my sub 3hr, just, but it was a massive risk.

Since then, I have tried to be good to my body, to “listen to it”, and to back off when I am feeling the effects of a cough, cold or virus. That said, I’m not the most patient of people and I invariably resume  training after a maximum of two days rest, regardless of whether the illness has left my system or not. However, I got a rather stern wake-up call recently and, now that I know everything is okay and I have had the all clear, I feel able to talk about it, in the hope that it may prevent others from being as idiotic as I have been. You’d think that being hospitalised for a severe kidney infection brought on by my own refusal to respond to the crystal clear warning signs my body was giving me when it was screaming at me to back the hell off and let it rest would have been warning enough, right? Apparently not for me. I seem to operate according to my own peculiar, erroneous set of rules; rules which show a total disregard for commonsense and which, at times, tend towards the masochistic and self-annihilating.

In my last blog entry I mentioned an “incident” (as it was tactfully referred to in the SWRR committee meeting minutes!) that befell me whilst out on a club run with my new club, South West Road Runners, in November. I did not know it at the time, but I was actually coming down with glandular fever. What I did know at the time was that I did not feel well and had not felt well for several days, but I had continued to train through it regardless, accusing myself of being lazy for not feeling like going out and of being pathetic for feeling the cold and shivering so much. The result was that I keeled over approximately 4 miles into an 8 mile club run, causing much worry and hassle for my fellow club runners, not to mention for my fiancé, Matt, and much embarrassment for myself. What I did not make public is that, as a result of a little visit to hospital following that “incident”, it was discovered that I have a heart murmur. You can either be born with a heart murmur, and these generally tend to be quite harmless, or you can develop one in later life, which can be more worrying. Reasons for developing a heart murmur can include – but are not limited to – prolonged periods of starvation and/or continuing to exercise through illness; both of which I am guilty. A rather worrisome time passed before I got an appointment to have the murmur checked out, during which I agonised over whether mine would be of the ‘harmless’ variety or of the ‘go to jail, proceed directly to jail; do not pass go, do not collect £200’ variety, whereby you are told that you are a heart-attack waiting to happen and that you have to stop all forms of strenuous exercise immediately. You can well imagine the thought processes that raged through my mind at the contemplation of this latter. I can now thankfully say that I have had my open access echo done and that all is well. I have a harmless murmur that has settled down considerably now that I have recovered from the glandular fever. The doctor explained that often, with people who are extremely fit, the heart pumps at a much higher pressure and, if it comes under extra stress – for example, when you are fighting an illness – this pressure increases all the more and manifests itself in harmless flow noises. For once in my life, I was damn grateful to be told that my case was devoid of excitement and that, as a medical specimen, I was quite quite dull!

Nevertheless, the episode was yet another reminder of how fragile the body can be and so, if I choose to ignore this one, I would quite frankly be an idiot. Ignoring it would also add an element of futility to the situations of the three people I have referred to above, who have not been as lucky as me, so I owe it to them to take heed of the warning. Being so content and settled with Matt has shown me that running is not the be all and end all and it is certainly NOT worth risking your health and happiness over. Yes, it can and does make you healthy, and certainly for me it has helped me to arrive at the healthiest place in both mind and body that I have yet experienced during adulthood, but it’s like everything in life: you can definitely have too much of a good thing. I am finally starting to learn that moderation is the key and that moderation does not equate to mediocrity: that dispiriting state of being that I have strived so hard to avoid all my life!  

2015 has started well. I am healthy, happy and, dare I say it, injury free. I am finally starting to put some good training together and, just this afternoon, I have sat down with my coach and started to make plans for the rest of the year and into 2016. This scares me somewhat as, in the past, every time I have made plans I have subsequently got injured. However, I think that I now have 4 years of running knowledge, in addition to knowledge of my own body, to draw upon. I now have a better understanding of what works for me and what I really need to avoid. I just have to be sensible and stick to my plans, not getting led astray by the suggestions of others. It can be hard sometimes to say no to things, as you feel like you are letting people down: my club mates who might like me to form part of a team for a race that does not fit in with my schedule, my Dad who would rather I only target races in picturesque, quaint Devonshire villages where good bacon butties and cheap cups of tea are on offer! You can never please everyone. I need to learn that the person I need to please with my running is myself and keep focussing on that!

And now to close on a high with a few pictures from recent races:

Wellington Monument 10k, 21st December (hilly!): 2nd lady in 40:59.

Stoke Stampede 10k, 28th December: 2nd lady in 38:42.

First Chance 10k, 18th January (windy!): 3rd lady in 38:42.

Fulford 5 mile, 1st February: 2nd lady, just losing out to Serane Stone of Tiverton Harriers in a sprint finish, but we got given the same time of 30:35. Good race!

Why run?

Below is a copy of a blog post I wrote for the running website, City-runs.co.uk. Enjoy!


It is common, on the 1st of January, to make new year's resolutions. People may resolve to drink less, eat more healthily, do more exercise, etc. For some, this can lead to discovering a new sport, such as running. For me, my love affair with running did not start in this way, but the arrival of another new year with new running goals to be set and personal targets to be met has got me wondering, why run?

I quiver in horror at the recollection of secondary school athletics. I remember finishing in the top 5 in my year group at cross country every year and this endowed me with the dubious honour of being selected to represent the school at various cross country and track and field events throughout the year. The memory of lining up in sub-zero degree temperatures, on a bitter winter's morning, in an exposed muddy field at St. Austell Rugby Club, clad only in a pair of briefs and a crop top, and being made to run multiple laps to the sing-song chorus of hundreds of pushy parents cheering on their offspring, has been etched into my mind for all eternity. Even back then, my talents must have lay in the longer distance events – much to my annoyance – as I was invariably picked for the 800m and 1500m races in the summer. I hated them! My best friend, Shanna, was a sprinter, and I used to be envious that her discomfort was over after a 14 or so second burst, whereas mine went on for up to 5 minutes! I recall, on more than one occasion, arriving at Carn Brea or Newquay and Par athletics track and spinning a yarn to my PE teacher that I felt sick in order to duck out of competing. So, how did I get from being someone with a modicum of fitness and aptitude for running and yet a complete loathing and fear of doing it competitively, to someone who simply cannot get enough of it and who readily embraces the associated pain of pushing her body to the limit in a race? It's an interesting question and one which I am not sure I have an answer for.

I know that I spent most of my teenage years using and abusing running as a part of an unhealthy exercise and weight loss obsession, and thus, as a result, grew to hate it even more. Running became something that I had to do in order to justify eating. I would run (outside, if the weather wasn't too atrocious, or else up and down my staircase for hours on end if it was) morning, afternoon and evening. If I missed a session, I would panic that my fitness would suddenly and dramatically plummet and that I would turn into a lazy, loafing layabout with no self-discipline, and would then have to double my routine the next day. There was certainly no such thing as a “rest day”. When I finally managed to free myself from this obsessive routine, the last thing I felt like doing was signing up to a sport that might reignite the same compulsive behaviours. I did go for the occasional jog or run on the treadmill at the gym to keep fit, but my main sport during my university years was horse riding. However, not having taken this up until my twenties, risk awareness and a resulting lack of nerve always held me back from achieving what I might have done had I taken up the sport as a fearless youngster. I dabbled with many sports throughout my childhood and teenage years but invariably quit after a few short years, finding myself in some way unsuited to them: ballet (not graceful enough), tennis (not coordinated enough), swimming (not buoyant enough), and yoga (not “zen” enough). Running is the only sport I have found that I feel so strongly about, I cannot imagine getting bored of it. The reason for this, I believe, is because it suits my personality; running and I just 'go'. I am mentally tough enough for it, I am dedicated enough for it, and it doesn't require me to be elegant and graceful and poised. It does, however, require an element of patience, and my lack of this commodity has thus far been my downfall. It is my impatient want-it-all-now-right-now personality that has led to me having experienced a string of injuries the past couple of years. When I fixate upon something, I want to achieve it as soon as possible. No biding my time, no chipping away at it slowly, methodically working towards a long-term end goal.

In May 2010, I decided I wanted to run a marathon. I was 26 years old, living in North Wales, and the 26.2 mile Anglesey Marathon was due to take place on 26th September: it seemed like an omen. I signed up, threw myself headlong into training and I ran the marathon 4 months later in 3 hours 19 minutes. I was worried beforehand that I would come last, that everyone would be waiting for me, and that it would be hugely embarrassing. As it was, I finished as 2nd lady, it had felt quite comfortable, and I was convinced that, with more training, I could go faster, further. Whilst my legs were still like jelly and the post-marathon euphoria was still coursing through my veins, I signed up for an ultra-marathon. I was hooked.

After my first marathon on Anglesey, 26th September 2010: the start of my running journey. Colin Jackson was the patron of the event, he officially started it and presented the prizes every year.

It is now widely recognised that regular exercise makes you feel more positive, No scientific mysteries here: exercise releases endorphins and endorphins are hormones that make us feel happy. Simples. I know that since taking up running I am the happiest I have ever been. I have more energy and more motivation towards life in general. I feel more confident as a person: after a good run I regularly feel as tough I could take on the world and emerge victorious (I would say that anyone who has completed an ultra-marathon will have experienced this feeling to an extent!) There is something about running marathons and ultras, and achieving times in 5ks and 10ks that most of the non-running population could not even comprehend, that entitles you to feel just a little bit smug and superior. I can vaguely recall my reaction, during my pre-running days, when someone told me they had run a marathon –  A marathon! 26 miles? (“26.2 miles”). Are you insane?! Why? – but now I get it. Now I get the lady who lived down the road from us when I was growing up in Cornwall, who I'd see out running almost every day, in almost every weather; at whom my parents would scoff, insisting that she must have “issues” as no sane person should willingly put themselves through that on a daily basis. This was the eighties, and whilst the running boom had hit the male population in earnest, women who participated seriously in the sport were still a rare commodity. (Not forgetting that the first time women were allowed to run the marathon distance at the Olympics was not until 1984, in Los Angeles). I was born in 1983: things have come a long way for females in the sport since then. Nowadays, on occasion, women even outrun men, particularly in ultra-distance events in which our testosterone-devoid, more measured approach to racing and pacing regularly pays dividends. Furthermore, luminous yellow and pink lycra clad ladies are now a regular sight, pounding pavements the length and breath of the country, come rain, come shine. I am proud to be one of these women and proud to be a part of such a friendly, supportive, all-inclusive sport.

I cannot, at this time, envisage a life without running. I know that when I am injured or ill and cannot run, I stress more; I worry about silly little things: Did I lock the front door when I left the house this morning? (yes, always do). Did I leave my watch behind in the locker at the pool? (Oh, wait, it's here on my wrist). Will I make it to work without filling up with petrol? (Easily; I have a quarter of a tank left). Running definitely balances me. I will never be sufficiently “zen” to reap the benefits of a yoga class (I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking, upon emerging from the class, 'well, that's an hour of my life I'll never get back'), but, so long as I can run, I am as close to zen as I am ever likely to get!

So, if I were to push myself to answer the question 'why run?', I suppose it would be because I cannot imagine what I would do with myself or what I would be like if I didn't run. Running and me are now intertwined; impossible for me to extricate myself from it without losing a part of me in the process. Running is me, I am running. But that is me: why do you run? Why should anyone run? Indeed, why run?

Slogging up the 10th hill (of 10) at the Full Montycute 10 race, December 2014. Four years on from taking up running and still loving it. There isn't another sport in the world I'd rather be doing!

In sickness and in health

I like the titles of my blog posts to have a duplicity of meanings and this one certainly does not disappoint. The most obvious reference, and the most negative one, is to me having spent most of November ill with glandular fever. A more positive spin on the title is that it represents the words you utter during a marriage ceremony, which is quite befitting given that Matt and I just got engaged at the end of October and are currently planning our wedding for July next year.

I wasn’t feeling great before half term, in October. If I had rested early on, I’d probably be fine now. But I didn’t. I carried on training and racing through it. Since then I have picked up cold after cold after cold; four of them, in as many weeks. I know the sage advice is to rest when you are ill, and I do try, but I have to confess that my patience for resting starts to wear thin after day two of doing nothing. I didn’t feel great when I ran the Templer 10 and after doing it I got much worse: crazy huh?! Who’d’a thought that racing 10 miles on a head-cold doesn’t top the list of the best recommended cold and flu remedies?! I started to improve after a week, no doubt because I was forced to take it easy as my legs were so wrecked, but then, a few days later, I got yet another cold and just in time for the Drogo – terrific. Flying in the face of wisdom, I decided to run the Drogo on this cold. Even as I type this I can see my mistakes; I can hear myself telling other people in my position to listen to their bodies, to rest, not to race etc. I do tell myself the same stuff; the problem is, in the next breath, I sooth myself with flattering unctions in order to believe that it will be alright: it’s just a snivel; hell, if I back off every time I don’t feel 100% I’ll never run; I’m tougher than this; staying in bed with a Lemsip and day-time TV is for lesser mortals. Back and forth, back and forth, this internal debate rages in my head. Do I run? Don’t I? It nearly always ends up being the former. 

Unfortunately, and much to my annoyance, in the end, the body always gets its own way. If I keep trying to placate it with pseudo promises of rest that are never delivered, it eventually wizens up to this and realises that if it wants the rest, it will have to do something drastic to ensure it gets it. It is around about this point that my body tends to give up on me, in an alarmingly spectacular fashion: ‘screw you; I ain’t takin’ any more of this crap’. It did it to me after the Snowdonia Marathon, which I decided to run whilst on antibiotics for a urinary tract infection. Its way of paying me back for this particular bout of abuse was to turn this into a full-blown kidney infection that landed me in Yeovil hospital on a drip for four days. This time, its revenge for making it run with glandular fever was to make me go ‘splat’ whilst out on a club run; an evening which also culminated in a little trip to the hospital. I must add in here that I don’t go out of my way to inflict abuse on my body like this; I’m not a masochist! I didn’t know I was suffering with glandular fever when I decided to run. I thought I was just a little "under the weather", and other such platitudes. Just a soppy-southerner who always feels the cold. I genuinely believe, every time, that I’ll be alright and that I can get away with it. I am invariably shocked to discover that, actually, I’m not as invincible as I might like to think. In all seriousness, I’d like to say a huge thanks to the SWRR 8m/m group who looked after me so well, particularly to John and Jim who stayed with me. I was lucky it happened when I was out with them and not up on Haldon on my own, in the dark, with a head torch. That could have ended very differently…

The past few days I have finally started to feel better. I’ve managed to get through the day without needing to put the heat on in the house – a miracle in itself! I’m not needing to go to bed at 8pm and have 12 hours sleep simply in order to function the next day. I’ve got more energy; I’m looking slightly less like a walking-talking corpse. It’s all good. NOW is the time I need to be careful. NOW is the time I risk starting to overdo things again. The internal debate – ‘you still need to take it easy; if you want to have a successful 2015, you need to rest now’ versus ‘you lazy sod, you haven’t trained properly for weeks; how are you going to hope to be competitive in the races you’ve planned for the New Year by loafing about on the sofa swilling tea all day? Get your arse out there’ – has started in earnest. To try and assuage the guilt that comes with being on light training, I have deleted myself from Strava. That site might be good for a lot of things but it isn’t good for an ill or injured and yet still fiercely competitive runner who needs no encouragement to overstep their limits. I don’t need to know that my rivals are putting in 70 mile weeks, including intervals, hills and tempo sessions right now. I need to do my own thing and not be influenced by any external forces: my internal forces are virulent enough!

I am trying to stay positive through all of this. At least I’m not injured. I have a wonderful new fiancé and our wedding to plan; a lovely new house to make into our ideal home; a big family Christmas to look forward to and a lot of good friends around me. I have much to be thankful for. I will get better, and sooner rather than later if I am sensible. Can I be sensible? I can but try.

No running pics this time round, just a happy memory: Matt and I on the cliffs in Cornwall, just after we got engaged. :-)

Getting back on the horse!

It’s been a long while – by my standards – since I last raced. I’ve been doing parkruns a plenty as they are a fun, pressure free, yet motivating way to get in a tempo run and to measure my fitness… or, rather, current lack of it. Due to my recent string of injuries and the resultant drop in fitness due to interrupted training, my appetite and nerve for racing have somewhat deserted me. Sometimes, though, you just have to take a deep breath and get back on the horse: feel the fear and do it anyway! (And I say this as a former horse-owner, addict and general equestrian nut who has taken her fair share of tumbles!)

If you are going to get back on the horse, it might as well be a horse that you like and know well. On this occasional my horse was the Templer 10 – an event I love and in which I have participated more than any other race. It is a scenic, 9.5 mile, flat off-road route along the Templer Way and through Stover Country Park and Hackney Marshes nature reserve. Having won it the two previous years, the pressure was most definitely on for me to perform again this year. That said, winning it the previous year had granted me a free entry to this year’s race, so at least that took the financial pressure off: if I had a disastrous race, at least I wouldn’t have to pay for the privilege and could look upon it as a free training run.

This was another Teignbridge Trotters organised race: always well staged events that usually culminate in top quality cakes and refreshments! The last time I raced properly was also at one of their races – the Totnes 10k in August – and that did not go so well. Again here, I had a free entry so I thought I might as well give it a go, but having had a month off with no running to rest my posterior tibial tendon, I had lost masses of fitness. So I wasn’t exactly expecting a scintillating performance, but neither was I expecting the whole thing to be a game of survival from about one mile in until the finish. The impromptu fartlek burst about 2 miles in, to escape a herd of stampeding cows, pretty much finished me off and I puffed and wheezed my way around the rest, actually being reduced to a walk in the uphill wooded section. I eventually dragged my out-of-condition body over the finish line 5 minutes slower than last year’s time and several places lower, to the sound of the finish line announcer trying his best not to sound patronising and referring to it as ‘a brave effort’. Not my finest hour and a definite confidence knock.

Struggling already, barely 1 mile into the Totnes 10k in August 2014

Since Totnes I have got my head down and got back on the training waggon. I am only now up to 25 miles per week, and haven’t touched any speed work or structured intervals yet, but I have been cross training hard and swimming a lot. I have recently joined the Exeter Triathlon Club and have benefitted from some proper coached sessions to improve my technique and breathing pattern, which I’m sure will help me with my running. Running-wise, I’ve been hitting the trails at Haldon Forest on the way home from work a couple of nights a week. That place is a labyrinth of narrow, twisty, technical trails and wider, straighter, compacted forest access tracks. You could easily fit 15 miles in without retracing your steps and it has options for a totally flat run, if you stay up on the ridge, or a mega hill that is 1 mile long if you drop down to the base of the forest. This will probably be my last week of being able to run in the light after work, but fortunately I have got to know it well enough to feel confident navigating a route in the dark, so I think the head torch will be making an appearance soon.

Back with the Templer 10 though, and I loved it! I have always liked this race, it’s just the perfect mixture of different terrains and scenery, which makes it go really quickly. My time was down on last year, to be expected, but I was utterly amazed, given the strong line-up in the ladies race, to come away with another win. I knew I had some strong ladies behind me and I don’t have any endurance to fall back on at the moment. We also managed to retain our Harriers’ team prize for a consecutive year, which was an added bonus. I had told myself that if Templer went ok and my legs came off it ok, I would run the Drogo. Unfortunately, between times, I picked up a stinking cold that was still bothering me on race day and so I had a dilemma as to whether or not to run. In the end, I decided to give it a go as it was actually quite comforting to know that if it went badly, I had an excuse to fall back on!

Start of the Templer 10, in Kingsteignton.

Tackling one of the many wishing gates on route, no time to make a wish as I went through!

Another 10 mile multi-terrain race, but, unlike the flat terrain of the Templer 10, Drogo is hills, hills, hills. 3 of them, all whoppers! 1800ft of climbing in total along uneven, stony and, this year especially, very wet and muddy tracks around the Teign Valley, starting and finishing at Castle Drogo. The start of this race always scares me as it’s a mad dash up the drive to get a good position, then try and hold onto it down a seriously steep set of steps, hoping that you don’t get shoved from behind by the lunatic fell-runner types who throw themselves down past you, hurtling down to the valley floor. If you don’t start fast you end up getting stuck in a queue for the bridge over the river 1.5 miles in; however, this doesn’t play to my strengths – I prefer to start steady and work my way through, but as the opening 2 miles are so narrow, this is not possible and you would struggle to make up all the time lost whilst waiting to cross the bridge.

Flagging and full of cold, having just climbed the final killer hill - Hunter's path - at the Drogo.

It was a pretty close race on the ladies side, with a competitive line up. The positions chopped and changed from the start. I was jostling for 3^rd and 4^th place for most of the way, overtaking a girl on the uphill climbs, only to be overtaken by her on the descents: she was fearless on the downhill and descending has never been my strong suit. Then, on the long flat stretch back along the river between mile’s 6 and 8, I managed to overtake her and another woman and made my way up to 2^nd. However, the last hill – Hunter’s Path – is a killer at the best of times, but especially so when you don’t have the miles in your legs (I have only been running 6 – 8 miles on training runs and Templer 10 was the only time I’ve been over 8 since June!). Today, what with feeling a bit under the weather anyway, I was a spent force by the time I got to this point; I got overtaken by a fast-finishing female from Haldon Trail Runners and had no way of hanging onto her: back down into 3^rd again! I had to dig very deep into my mental reserves to retain my podium place, just managing to hang on in there to cross a very welcome finish line! So, no, I didn’t win it – despite being given race number ‘1’ by the organiser (the ultimate kiss of death!), and yes, I was slower than the last time I ran it in 2012, but only a minute slower, so maybe the situation is nowhere near as disastrous as I thought. And once again, as at Templer, us Harriers ladies won the female team prize - smiles all round!

With my fellow winning Harriers teamies and our prizes. :-)

The best thing is that my legs have come off the race unscathed. Well, no, quite so; I have been experiencing that familiar and much-missed feeling of DOMS these past few days, on a truly epic scale. I guess without the miles in my legs to withstand it, those hills took their toll! But it’s a nice feeling and good to have it back: up until now my injuries have put a limit on me actually pushing the rest of my body to the point that DOMS is able to set in. It was nice to stretch out in bed on Sunday night with that satisfying feeling of having done something.

So, what now? Well, I have another hilly, off-road race coming up in December – it’s a new one for me and that comes with the advantage of there being no expectations on myself. Well, no, correction: no expectations in terms of a time; I would, of course, still like to podium if possible! And then, thinking ahead to 2015, I have a couple of races booked in, a 10k and a 10 mile. My main aim for next year though is to be ready to run a marathon again by the autumn, so lots of long, slow distance stuff over the coming months to get the miles back into the legs and to try to get them to the point that a marathon is a reasonable ask of them again…. like it used to be!