Me and this particular race have something of a 'strained relationship'. It's one of the most popular annual events in Bristol and always attracts a lot of local people and quick club runners. Anyone who has read my blog before/knows me at all will know that the Bristol 10k in 2015 was the start of my downward spiral into low confidence, bad races and terrible diet/training obsessions. In 2014, I had entered, trained EXTREMELY hard and pinned all of my hopes on a sub-48 minute run. I finished in 49.57 and - to be honest - felt a bit robbed of a milestone time that I thought I fully deserved. The year BEFORE that (2013 for those of you who can't keep up with counting backwards) I was still in the throngs of my 'live fast die young bad girls do it well' phase and, although had weirdly signed up the Bristol 10k, decided to throw myself down a flight of stairs* the week before and was nursing a fat ankle. (*just to clarify, this wasn't on purpose - I was just full to the brim with vodka, fags and regret and could no longer handle walking).
But this year would be different. After the disappointment of last year I had already told myself that this race didn't really matter at all. My new positive mental attitude has taught me that there are SO MANY races that I can do, so my soul would not be crushed if I didn't run as I wanted. The 2015 Bristol 10k was such a hard slog and I wasn't going to let it beat me this year. I have been training consistently hard, laying off the social fags completely and halving my gin intake. Also I've stopped living in the gym and ruining my already broken body. Everything in moderation, innit?
Of course these chilled out and super coooooooool dreams came crashing down around me as I twisted my ankle not once, but TWICE in the two weeks leading up to it. Once was at the Ashton Court parkrun as I was hurtling myself down that bloody bastard hill, and the other time was on a run home from work. The second time left me in agony and I'd like to apologise to my dad for scaring the life out of him by ringing him in tears and acting as if my ankle had been snapped clean in half. #SuperSteve.
So while I've spent the past two weeks with a bag of frozen quorn chicken (shoutout to my main man Mo Farah) strapped to my foot and only running when ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY (e.g. 4 times a week at least, lolz), my brain has been doing some training of its own. I feel I need to mention my boyfriend Ben here, and also my wonderful friend Simone, for their unwavering belief in my ability and making me truly believe that a bit of rest will do me good, and that I actually deserved to run well so probably would. THANKS GUYS. After a steady (and ankle-strong) 4 miles on Friday lunchtime and a relaxing day on Saturday I was 10000000000% buzzing to get going - it's just a long Sunday run, after all...
I won't do a kilometre-by-kilometre report because wellllllllllllll I've done that before and my page views went down so maybe it was a tad boring and didn't set the world alight as I'd have quite hoped. Instead I'll just give you a bit of a rambling run-through of the day and hope that's enough.
THE GREAT BRISTOL 10K - 15th May 2016
Weather: SUPER sunny. Like, cheese sweating weather. Not a cloud in the sky. High chance of a very dry mouth and a stinky set of armpits.
Dress code: OMG SHORTS AND CROP TOP ALL THE WAY. Had a minor breakdown this morning over which shorts to wear, but went for the ones that gave me less camel-toe than the others (of course there was still slight hints of the toe - there's just no getting away from it). Fake-tanned at 6am on race day morning, debated drawing on a set of sick abs.
LET'S GO...
The course is slightly different to previous years and started a bit further down Hotwells Road than we were used to. This led to much panic and flapping from me and mum as we tried to weave our way through the crowds and get a good spot in our pen. We both had orange numbers so were in the first wave, and found ourselves standing bang smack in the middle of the 40 and 45 minute pacers. PERRRRFECT. There was literally no shade at all and everyone in the start pen was making small talk about the weather conditions. Honestly, British people are never happy, are they?! After mum offered her bottle of water to everyone within a 75 metre radius and I made awkward and unfunny jokes to as many people as possible about my fake tan, we set off right on time at 9.30am. Mum gave me quick instructions not to go off too fast (those classic pre-race tactics) and off she went. See you at the finish you RIDICULOUSLY FAST AND TONED MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN.
My first 3km sailed past in a bit of blur. I was slightly ahead of the time I wanted to be on, hitting 4.10 for each km (howzzzzzzat for consistency? I am a fabulous athlete). The majority of the first 5km is along the Portway and under the Suspension Bridge. Thankfully most of it was under shade and it was at least 9 minutes until I realised fake tan mixed with sweat would NOT make the world's most perfect perfume. The U-turn on The Portway came a lot sooner than it did on the old course - at about 3.5km. This was an absolute dream in my eyes; I have a mental block when it comes to that road so I was more than happy to turn around sooner rather than later. I saw the lovely Chris Elson on my way up and the equally lovely Keith Brackstone on the way back down (who I am pretty sure forgot my name but gave me a massively enthusiastic cheer anyway hahah...). I hit 4km at 16.40 and miraculously stuck to my 4.10 per/km pace. OOOOWWWW YEAH. No twisted ankles for this sassy and extremely tanned woman.
I knew that the we would hit 5km just as we got off the Portway and headed back along the river to the centre of town. Between 4 and 5km I guess I drifted off a tiny bit - I was trying to spot my manager running up the Portway in the other direction (WHERE FOR ART THOU PENNY?!?) so was concentrating on scanning faces. This was kind of good as it distracted me from my sandpaper mouth and sweaty elbow creases. I also got really angry during this part of the race... The boys giving out water (who have given up their own Sundays to do this so I am extremely grateful and thankful) were leaving the caps on top of the bottles, with the seal unbroken. I realise that they had LOADS to give out but I just thought it was a bit silly not to undo the bottles, or at least take the cap off so we could pull the sports lid up with our teeth. I couldn't get mine undone and had to lob it back at them. I also told them off for not having common sense. SOZ BOUT ME.
We came off the Portway (going through 5km at around 20.55 - a new PB!) and straight down the river to St Mary Redcliffe Church. I don't actually know what this road is called, and I should because I used to live right next to it, but basically it goes past Spike Island, Bristol Marina and the Louisiana pub before heading up to Redcliffe Hill. I think it's about 3km altogether. This was 3km of pure grit and focus on my behalf (hahaha, such an inspiration I am). For at least 5 minutes my brain flicked between 'I really want to walk' and 'Think of how happy you're going to be if you get a PB', and by the time I had reached the Louisiana I only had 2km left to go and walking seemed like an absolutely ridiculous idea. I was going to leave my entire soul out on that course. LOL, joking not joking.
My AMAZING friend Connie had said she was coming to cheer me on and I wasn't sure whether she was going to be by Redcliffe Hill or on the finishing straight. This uncertainty was a GODSEND. I've done parkrun with Connie a few times and she has gotten sooooo much quicker over the past few weeks so there was no way in hell that I would let her down by running like a little slug. I powered up Redcliffe Hill just in case she was there and rounded the corner to Thekla with determination in my heart and Connie on my mind (owwwww yeeeea - or is that weird?!). Before I knew it we had reached the Bristol Hotel - the holy spot of spectatorship (not a word). It's Dad's favourite spot for the Bristol 10k and him and Ben were hanging over the railings as if they wouldn't spot the golden girl glowing at them in the distance. I spotted them as Ben mouthed 'IS THAT EM?' and felt SO HAPPY!!! I had 1km to go and my watch was on 38.10ish. Go go gooooooo.
The last 1km went by a in a bit of blur. I saw aunty Bridget (not a real aunty) and Connie was also in the centre but I was super in the zone and completely missed her :(. The same happened with Beck and Dylan but I saw them alllll at the end and gave lots of sweaty hugs. We ran past Quigley's (top quality chips, cheese and gravy for anyone after a bit of posh grub) and I nearly didn't believe it when I saw the '400m to go' sign. I didn't dare to look at my watch for fear of completely overcooking it and twisting my ankle again, so concentrated on finishing well and overtaking as many people as possible. I looked at my watch with about 50 metres to go and smiled the entire way through the finish. In true attention seeking/'make a Hollywood film about my life' style, I punched the air as I crossed the line and had to hold onto my very on-trend French plaits for at LEAST 10 seconds to get over what had just happened...
I clocked the finish time as I ran over the line - BLOODY 42 minutes and 42 seconds!!! I haven't had a PB for nearly 18 months (despite the hours and hours of training and huge amounts of effort put in) so to knock a whole 53 seconds off of my previous 10k best was an amazing feeling. I even did a cheeky smile for the camera man, who seemed completely bewildered when I shouted 'PB! I GOT A PB' in his face and tried to high-five him. Crazy orange lady. Mum had waited for me at the end - she finished in a speedy 40.19 and proved once again that age is just a number and that she is utterly fabulous. Well done Mumsy. We had a massive hug and were both smiling our sweaty little faces off as we walked down the finish tunnel and collected our medals. What a moment - LITERALLY, JUST MAKE A FILM OF MY LIFE.
So, there we have it. While the title of this blog post may be sliiiightly misleading, I did in fact win the Bristol 10k in my own special way. I ran my own race, paced myself well, won the battle against my brain, enjoyed myself, got a PB and most importantly, looked like a completely different ethnicity while doing it. As I write this, I am full of burgers, gin and joy - winning indeeeeeed.
