50 Shades of Sweat...

As Dr Griffiths pulled it out my mouth after what can only be described as a four minute gag-fest, I hurriedly wiped my mouth and asked him if everyone reacted in such a way... "Not everyone", he smirked, "it's usually the younger ones that find breathing with a full mouth difficult..." He allowed me a few moments to get my breath back and I suddenly felt very vulnerable.....

HAHAHA sorry, of course I am talking about my 'stomach biopsy', and not anything else that anyone else may have been thinking of. Naughty Dr Griffiths. No no, yesterday I was put through the pain of having a camera shoved down my throat to try and solve my eating problems once and for all. Despite asking for a numbing spray, none was given (I have a feeling that they forgot...) and I was subject to 10 minutes of extreme pain and the feeling of being continuously sick. It reminded me a lot of one drunken moment in a toilet cubicle at uni, ahhhh the memories.

Knowing there was a 1 mile relay on at Eastville Park yesterday evening, I was determined not to miss out and had the whole afternoon off work to recover from the pounding I received from Dr Griffith. I was very flattered to get messages from a few fellows runners asking if I was running, so OF COURSE I had to make an appearance - can't let down the team now can I?!?

A nap on the sofa and a lot of sympathy from my dad (who has probably stopped reading this already) meant I was welllll up for a good time. I'd never done a mile race before so either way I'd get a PB, aka I could brag and be really smug and my friends would send me cute well done texts (Rosa, Mott, Simone - you are always babes). I was paired (tripled) up with Hen and Tracy, two of my favourite running ladies who - handily - are both speed demons. I put my journalism degree to good use and came up with the innovative team name of 'Best Buddies', whateverrrrrr everyone's got to start somewhere haven't they?!? To avoid running against my mother, I was put in the first leg, followed by Tracy second leg and Hen third. A quick trip to the loo and we were PUMPEDDDD. And I really wanted a medal and was hoping for wine (no wine, but free ice cream, chuffed).

The dream team...

Lining up for the 7.15pm start I noticed there was a distinct lack of women and a lotttt of men who looked a lot faster than me (and not like they'd had anything shoved in their mouth that morning). In my head I was just like YOLO - my dad was there so I knew he'd be cheering me on in the classic Steve Jolliffe BOOOOOMING VOICE so really, I was already winning. Also I didn't want to let my team down, these 'fun' relays are not actually fun; they are extremely competitive and I didn't want Tracy and Hen to resent me forever when I crawled in at last place, having picked up my free ice cream on the way round. No wayyyyy.

The gun went and I have to admit, I suddenly turned into a hybrid of a pitbull terrier and some sort of steam-roller. I was all over the place - it reminded me of a particularly cocky moment in year 8 when I elbowed three girls off the track because, well, they weren't very fast anyway. I was a very twatty 13 year old... I nearly knocked a fellow Bristol runner into a tree (sorry, Jane!) and clearly thought I was doing the 100m sprint. Definitely new to this distance hahaha... Such an amateur. Luckily the first bit was downhill so I kind of flopped down it, ran past mum ("NOT TOO FAST EM" - helpful in a race, calls herself an athlete) and concentrated on not thinking about my stomach being full of air (cheers Doc). By the time I'd looked at my watch I was going back up the other side of the hill and was starting to wish I'd listened to mum... But it was on 4 mins 30 so I just told myself to push push push, ignore that back sweat and WELL even if I do really shit I bet no one else was crying on a hospital bed this morning so I don't care. The twattiness has never really left me...

Entirely different race but there we go...

I got to the last 300m before the finish, where Tracy was waiting to take over from me. As I rounded the last corner I heard the trusty 'GO ON EMMMMM' from my dad so put in a bit of sprint (although 'running in treacle' came to mind) and slapped Tracy's hand like a good'un - my watch said 6.40 and we were in third!

Unfortunately the course wasn't great for spectating so I didn't get to see much of my team during their legs, but as seasoned athletes I was sure that no one would overtake them. Already dreaming of our third place glory, I told Hen to 'DO A SPRINT' (literally the most annoying thing to ever hear when you are blowing out of your arse hahah, I'm so sorry Hen) and of coooourse we ended in a blaze of glory as third ladies team. Obviously the running mums did one better and got silver, with Jane in their team as well - thank god she survived the steamrolling start line, and we all got medals, tshirts and ice cream. OH and I got to tell people about my traumatic and innuendo-filled morning at the hospital, which made me sound like suuuuch a trooper.

Mum, Sarah and Jane

Another good evening race put on by Sri Chinmoy (again, what a man) and although I am a competitive little shit, there were actually people there who run genuinely for the enjoyment and obviously the social side of it is wonderful. Sounding so soppy, but the people at running are SO lovely - it makes giving up my evenings for my quest of glory a lot easier.

We won the championship!! Bristol and West AC

Gloucester 10k breakdown bitchesssss

Being a cool, hip and happening 22 year old lady, I went to bed early on Saturday night and set my alarm for FIVE FOURTY FIVE AM. 5.45am, yes, on a Sunday. When it came down to it, I actually snoozed it until 6.25, but the thought was there. You see, my little doves, there was a race to be run! (run, ran? whatever). The Gloucester 10k started at 9am this morning, meaning we had to leave the house at 7.15.......... Oh why do I do this to myself?! Mother Jolliffe kindly gave me a lift, and double-kindly wasn't running, which meant today was all about me. Me me me.

WAAAAHH

Anyway I felt quite good, having passed up on a chicken burger yesterday lunch and opted for a 'gluten-free sandwich' instead - as yummy as it sounds, for those wondering - and we got to Gloucester at 8.15am. Thanks to my as-yet unresolved gluten problems and my nerves (and breakfast banana) kicking in, I headed straight for the loo. The line was akin to something you'd find at Glastonbury (plz see previous posts) and it soon become clear that the porter loos hadn't arrived. Ah well, two toilets for 500 nervous runner, SHOULD BE FINE - anyone ever heard of 'runners stools'? hahahah sorry... Not the fault of the organisers obviously, but it did mean the race had to be pushed back by 10 minutes to allow for everyone to dump their loads. I was in and out rather quickly (GROSS) and headed over to the start line. I positioned myself quite near the front, next to the 'sub-50 minute' sign. Andddddd GO:

The queue for the toilet                  *not really

0-1km:
'WOW EMMA YOU ARE FABULOUS!!! Check you out, running with all these skinny running men. Oh hang on, no one else seems to be putting in that much effort....'. I made that classic mistake of thinking I was going to break the world record for 'worst pacing ever' and went off a bit quick. In fact, one man behind me said to his mate "oh shit, we've just done a 4.10min kilometre. Let's try and hang on until we die". Great tactics, I'd say.

1-2km:
The men who were planning on dying were running right up my ass. This was annoying but kept me going, as I was wearing really short shorts and therefore felt like I should run fast enough to justify wearing them. DRESS FOR THE JOB YOU WANT, NOT THE JOB YOU'VE GOT, as they say... Lots of cutie 'mature' people were out and about, strolling through Gloucester, which was nice. I made sure I smiled at them all really aggressively, to dispel any bad thoughts about the youth of today.

2-3km:
My legs were notttt feeling wonderful or loose and I was mentally having a go at myself for not warming up properly. Coach Dave will not be hearing about this slight mishap on my behalf... There was a water station at 3km but I pretend my throat isn't drying up like Ghandi's flip-flop (haha, classic joke right there), sail on past and check my watch. Under 14 minutes, not bad for an old gal.

3-4km:
This was a bit of a blur, probably because I refused some life-saving water, but I trundled on like a depleting hippo (I remember feeling very slow at this point, questioning if I should be allowed to even own a pair of shorts). The man behind me nearly got hit by a car and shouted 'prick' at the diver really loudly. I turned around to make sure he was okay, obviously he chose that moment to overtake me... arguably he was also a prick.

4-5km:
'OH FUCK THIS' - this was me at around 4.3km. I stopped and walked (sad face). I don't really know why as I was going quite fast and was on for a 23ish minute 5km - maybe I just fancied a rest? I am so lazy. A man who looked like a walking (running) advert for protein shakes and fake tan gave me a pat on the back and told me to keep going. This was surprisingly helpful and I started running again, before being overtaken by three ladies at once!!! It was a mass takedown of the small little blonde girl in the Bristol vest :(

This was me at 6.30 this morning

5-6km:
Hmmmm, I want to say this is where we ran along the canal? I really can't remember, I'm sorry. Nothing to report here.

6-7km: 
AH!!! During my 6th kilometre, I realised that some of the markers were in the wrong place. It took me 7 minutes to get from the 6th to the 7th marker... Now I don't want to be a twat but I really, really don't think it would take me that long... okay I sound like a twat BUT it's true. Also I ended up running next to a man who was wearing a Garmin, and his watch beeped for 7km around a minute and a half before we reached the marker. No biggie and all that, but it was quite hard on my self-esteem as I started thinking maaaaybe I was running that slowly? 

7-8km:
Thanks to the earlier marker cock-up, it was a mere 3 minutes before I reached the 8km marker. EXCELLENT WORK EMZ. My legs were really aching at this point and I was a bit delirious. We had to run past Costa Coffee and TGI Fridays, where the workers all cheered us on. I was also running with a big group of men and a marshall shouted 'GO ON GIRL!!!'. What a babe, this made me feel like Paula Radcliffe in a sea of Mo Farah's. Obviously not the case, but my self-esteem was back in balance.

Cuties

8-9km:
I hit 8km in 38 minutes and didn't really have an excuse to do anything too horrendous time-wise. Fully aware that I'm an extremely unattractive runner already, I gave my best 'determined' face and tried to put in a bit of a sprint. With two kilometres to go. This was poor judgement from my part and I had to walk just before reaching the 9km marker... Luckily a really sweet 'mature' man was running just behind me and said 'come on girl, it's all downhill from here'......

9-10km:
That sweet elderly man was lying. As we turned the corner he looked at me and said 'oh, apart from this bit'. One last hill up through Gloucester High Street meant strange looks from the public (three women drinking coffee said 'why would you want to do that', I was asking myself the same thing). I hate hills and this one felt like a forever hill, would I ever reach the top? I did (obviously) and just had to make it down the long road to the finish. I'd buddied up with another Garmin-wearing man, and as we got to about 400m before the finish, his watched beeped for 10km. Never one to miss a trick, I took note of my time - 48.23 - and then heard my mum screaming at me to keep going. LOVE HER. I couldn't even manage a sprint finish, which I usually love (always a crowd pleaser) and crawled over the (400m too-long) line in 50.07.

This was after I cried for a bit

Mum then ran over with a piece of paper brandishing 'my number' and a time of 46.20. WHAT WOWWWWW I am amazing. We then realised that I was 233, not 122, and hadn't in fact smashed my PB by 4 minutes. Anti-climax if I've ever had one. Well done to 122 though, you speeeeeed machine. I actually came 12th senior lady, 23rd lady overall and 158th out of 500 runners. So not as bad as my immediate cry-on-finish indicated. 

After talking to other Garmin-wearers, and going by my running buddy's watch, the course was too long. And in the interest of making myself feel better about myself, I'm going with the Garmin... Controversial, maybe, but it means my 10km PB is now (kind of) officially 48.23. WOOOOO. I'll take that. Considering its only the 2nd time Gloucester have done this race, it was pretty well organised (apart from being a bit too long) and I will definitely be entering next year. Also the medal is really pretty........

YAY MEDAL

EFFORT

WARNING: This blog post is a bit 'dear diary', I apologise. It was meant to be about putting in loads of effort, but it turned into a bit 'me me me', shocker........

As I have the Gloucester 10k coming up, I thought I should probably fit in a session of mile reps... Wow that sentence makes me sound super fit. Mile reps are probably my favourite but least favourite session in the week, mainly because running my tits off for a whole mile is actually bloody hard, but also really liberating and it makes me look faster than I actually am....... You'd never catch me going that fast on a long run.

After my week of debauchery at Glastonbury (PLEASE SEE PREVIOUS POST, SLACKERSSSS), my face (and heart) dropped when coach Dave said to me "so you're doing your mile reps this week?". UHHH DAAAAVE. Why does he do this to me? Run-guilt took over though, and I sweetly replied "yes Dave, how many would you like me to do" (so dedicated, back in ye olde day I would've told him to shove his mile reps somewhere else...). With the Glos 10k looming, he decided that four reps would be an adequate amount. Not toooooo bad.

Evidence for the h8rs

I have a mile route that I follow along the main road by my house - for those Keynshamers among us, I run from the Cadbury's site to just past Londonderry farm. According to Google maps it's exactly a mile, although it could be a bit less - I don't know how accurate it is and I'd rather say its less than more innittttt, don't want to get ahead of myself. Usually when I do my reps my eyes are pretty much fixed on my watch. NOT THIS WEEK SISTAAAA. I decided I'd probably be slower so to just run as fast as my little legs could take me, and accept the time when I got to the finish. I have a 3 minute rest between each mile, which is more than enough for me to get my breath back.

The last time I did these miles I was running at around 6.55-7.05 ish for each one, going flat out. This week I set off well fast, and finished the first one in 6.48. This week I also decided to dress as a pink flump and was attracting quite a lot of attention (oi oi, white van men) so I really had to get my ass in gear. CRAZILY the next three times went like this: 6.42, 6.44, 6.42... and I was running wellllllll out of my comfort zone and my face was clashing with my on-point outfit. On my third mile I wanted to give up and lie at the roadside, panting like a dog, but luckily my best friend Rosa drove past at the optimum moment and I couldn't let my babygirl down now, could I?

Flump

All in all, I was pretty chuffed with my effort on a FRIDAY EVENING (for christ sake Emma, get a life). I think it's my favourite session because it makes me work really, really hard and proves to me that I can run faster if I put my mind to it. I also noticed just how much effort I have to put into running, even on my warm down I was sweating like the pink little pig I was dressed as. I wish I could glide along looking effortlessly, a la my bestest running buddy from back in the day, Sophie (HOLLAAAA), but I have come to accept that I am not a pretty lady when it comes to exercise. But that's fine, as long as I'm not caught on camera...........

OH WAIT. Sorry to post this again #fugly 

*my boyfriend, Nath, has requested a mention in my blog. So to shoehorn him in: My boyfriend always notices how when I have a particularly heavy weekend of drinking and little sleep, I tend to run realllyyyy well the next week. This seems to be true post-Glasto. MAYBE I should just get drunk and race? I'll ask Dave about that one.

Glastonbury: the best rest

I couldn't decide whether to make this post about my actual time at Glastonbury, or whether to try and link it to running (easier than you might think), orrrrrr just to briefly mention how drunk I got for 5 days straight and move on. I've gone for the latter - mainly because my parents like to read this blog and I don't want to burden them with images of their youngest daughter being an absolute DEVIL in a field with her friends. So...

Everyone knows that Glastonbury is 1000000% the best festival in the entire world and tickets sell-out in a matter of minutes. I was lucky enough to get a ticket this year, as did looooads of my friends and we've been pretty bladddy excited ever since. I was very, very sadly a bit worried that I would get fat while I was there (LOL, christ I have something wrong with me) but walking across a mini-city of musical madness everyday did just about enough to keep my thighs from merging into one solid piece of flesh. Details shall be spared from the internet as there are too many tales to tell, but we drank a lot of wine/vodka/beer/pre-made mojito (Simone) and personally, I ate a LOT of shitty noodles and we all danced around like maniacs for the best part of five days. We all loved each other like never before and hugged and kissed each other lots. Total hippies...

FRIENDS!!!!

As a side note, the only time I was slightly below the line of 'happy' was when Simone saw the 'glastonbury running club' forming one morning by our campsite. Now, I know that I would've definitely politely declined, but to NOT EVEN GET AN INVITE was truly heartbreaking. Apparently the men were all very skinny and looked super professional, and bloody hell HOW DEDICATED?!?! But still, must promote my blog far and wide so I get invited to these little festival get-togethers. Even if I was still a hungover mess...

The two reasons for my hangovers...

So, back to the running. After a triumphant 45 minute 10km the day before I packed my life into a rucksack, I was feeling excellenttttt. My head may have swollen slightly, especially as I have the Gloucester 10km in a fortnight. Despite still feeling a bit sleepy today (I got back the early hours of Monday morning), I whacked on my trainers and decided to head out for a run. I dropped my glasto-depressed boyfriend at the train station so he could go back to London and went straight out. 

My aim was to do a good 4 miler, but as soon as I started running I felt the backlash of Glastonbury hit me like a train. It was 23 degree heat and I was wearing full-length, black leggings. As a definite fan of being as naked as possible, this was a huge faux-pas that I've vowed to never make again. I knew my legs were going to take a while to get going so I made it to Bitton cycle path, where they have a 5km route marked out - if I couldn't do a good 4 miles, I would at least do something good. Dramatically rolling up my leggings so I looked like I had fat knees (YAYYYY), I set off at quite a speed (for me, I still got overtaken by a 65year-old on a bike) and managed the first mile in 7 minutes......

Included this purely because my legs look long...ish

Approximately three minutes after this I lobbed my fingers down my throat and threw up what I can only imagine to be the vast amount of shitty noodles that I ate at Glasto. Weirdly, while this was happening, a reaaaallly old man walked past me and wolf-whistled. CHEERS MATE, super helpful. This spurred me on - I needed to earn that wolf-whistle - so I told myself to stop being such a pussy and 'its only 5 bloody km'. The route has every single 100m marked out on the floor - quite annoying when you're feeling like you've hiked across the Sahara Desert - but, being the thrifty optimist that I am, used them as 'sprint markers'. Hahahah, these were definitely not sprints, but they did make sure I kept moving. 

It seemed like a realllllly long time, but I made it to the end of my 5km route (there was a lot of spitting along the way, does being hugely hungover make other people spit?! what does it all mean!??!), I'd say in a 'respectable' time of 23.48, not too bad considering I genuinely thought I was close to death at more than one point... When I finished I was sick again (this time it was those really yummy beef 'space raider' crisps) and had an audience of three lycra'd cyclists - those bloody male cyclists. 

These photos are getting more and more irrelevant...

I did a VERYYYY slow warm-down back to my house, like slow as in I might as well have been walking, and then my sister picked me up in her car before I'd even got home. RESUUUULT. Overall it was about 11km (I think?!?!), and during my lower points (lol, like I was trapped down the Grand Canyon) I decided that WHO GIVES A SHIIIIT if I'm running like an elephant today - Glastonbury was one of the best times of my entire life, and if you're going to have a rest, it may as well be the best rest in the world. TA DAAAA

What more could you want in a weekend?!

OH and thank you to everyone who's Facebook photos I have stolen for this post...