A basic girl's guide to racing

RACE RACE RACE RACE RACE (to the tune of Rihanna's 'Work', of course).

I've written before about my love of racing but the build-up to an 'A race' (e.g. one that you're really after a PB for) can sometimes mess up training, mess up social plans and mess up my bed sheets...

The week before:
I've done a few half marathons but don't intend on doing any more for a while (they are HELL), so the longest distance I'd be racing is a 10km. I like this distance as it's manageable to fit into my life and doesn't require me to pull back my training very much in the weeks before racing. BUT the week before (and this applies to any distance really) I'd probably change my training a bit. Monday would probably be a paced session (e.g. 4 x 1km at race pace/quicker), Tuesday I'd do a normal long-ish run but Thursday's track session would DEFINITELY be planned with the race in mind (thanks Dave) and - if racing on a Sunday - Friday would be a 4 mile easy run and then probably nothing on the Saturday. A 'light jog' as Simone would say won't hurt though. So yeeeeah, the week before a race is quite enjoyable but also a bit stressful because if you don't hit your pace then people start to shit themselves that they are totally slow etc etc etc.

Probably from like Thursday onwards I will try to eat healthy (sweet potatoes, stir fry, bananas etc) and not drink alcohol - although I've had a couple of drinks before races in the past and it's been fiiiiiiine. NEVER enough to feel drunk though (or even tipsy), I've done this too (obviously) and it did not end well.

 
Friday/Saturday eve:
Depending on when the race is/how many photographers are likely to be there, the day before I race I'm likely be found with bottle of fake tan in hand, fucking up the gaff. The pre-race tan is a vital for most of our training group, even when it's cross-country season and is absolutely shitting down with rain. 90% of us will finish with very fetching orange streaks running down our shins and gathering at the ankle but we stay committed to the tan nonetheless. The other bonus is that you can draw on your own abs, hahahha. My favourites are the Garnier Instant Tan (only use when you know it's going to be dry weather!) or St Moritz Spray Tan (this stays on for like a WEEK and looks really natural).

Race morning:
The morning of a race is always super hectic. Even if it's not hectic, it is very hectic in my head. I always set a really early alarm but am pretty much guaranteed to wake up before it anyway. Ben can sleep through anything so just lets me get on with it until Sunday Brunch comes on the TV and he has something to do other than watch me flap around the room full of nerves.

Breakfast:
A BANANA. Every single time. Bananas are my babies. I eat one every single day without fail and once drove to Tesco at midnight because I' didn't have one to eat before my race the next morning. I used to religiously have banana chopped up on 2 slices of GF fruit loaf and a Petit Filous yoghurt, but now I branch out and sometimes have banana chopped up in a bowl of 'toasted buckwheat' (as middle-class and wanky as it sounds on paper) and some almond milk (again, middle-class and wanky. I'm not middle-class, lol). Always accompanied by a green tea and constant sips of water just in case I'm dehydrated (which I won't be).

Other things in my mouth:
I have coeliac, am a female, run lots and have the contraceptive injection so I have low calcium and iron levels and am at high risk of osteoporosis and anaemia. YAY. Everyday I take two MASSIVE calcium tablets, one iron tablet, one vitamin C tablet (to help absorb the iron tablet) and Ibuprofen throughout, just in case anything ever starts to hurt... I always make sure I take all my tablets BEFORE a race, with my breakfast. It probably makes no difference whatsoever but mentally it makes me feel prepared so THERE.

Outfit:
Sometimes I lay my kit out the night before, but me and Ben don't have a massive space to live in so recently I haven't bothered doing that. What I wear to race in is also unlikely to make a difference to my time or position but again, it's a mental thing innit. Comfy pants are KEY. Also, no VPL plz as I'll of course be wearing a tiny pair of Nike shorts and don't want quadruple bum-cheek action going on. I have a few bras that I wear to race in, they are mainly just the ones that don't dig into my ribs - this is so I can breathe properly and also to give my abs the best chance to shine on their big day. From about March onwards I'll wear my Bristol & West AC crop top - hence the healthy eating a few days before - but for horrendously cold winter races I'll wear my B&W long vest. I always wear ankle socks to race in because I think they make my calves look less big.

On top of my racing outfit I will chuck on leggings (2 pairs in the winter), a t-shirt, long-sleeved top, hoody and a coat. I get cold sooooo easily and would rather be safe than sorry before we get to the start line...

Face:
Some of my friends are amazing at doing their make up for nights out etc but I don't really have a clue... I tend to look the same no matter how long I spent doing it, but sometimes I wear eyeliner and sometimes I don't (heheheh). For races I do wear a full face of make up though! I know some people think it's pointless but it makes me feel better about any photos being taken and stops everyone from seeing my ridiculously red race. This is the standard foundation, powder, highlighter, bronzer then OBVZ I fill my eyebrows in, whack some mascara on and if it's a super special occasion I'll put on some lipliner and lip balm. I used to wear lipstick for races but it made my mouth really dry and gammy (GACKY MOUTH, YUCK) and I have quite dark lips anyway so can get away with some baaaaalm. Hate the word balm so much, how do you even say it properly?!?!

Hair:
PLAITS. FRENCH PLAITS. NORMAL PLAITS. HALF HEAD PLAITS. PLAIT AND PONYTAIL. Sometimes I do just whack it in a ponytail but recently I've fallen in love with a good braid or two.

FINAL PREP:
I think Ben can confirm that the morning of a race I am so irritable and angsty. I usually pace around the bedroom like a mad woman before we leave then chuck my entire life into a bag 'just in case'. I have a BEAUTIFUL velvet rucksack that I got as a birthday present (shoutout to Mone & Mott) and I take it to all my races. I used to take a huge sports bag but I'M A LAAAADY and my velvet backpack is just so much prettier to look at. In this bag will be spare socks, a spare t-shirt, more bananas, some sort of snack bar, more Ibuprofen, my iPod and my purse in case I need to reward myself after a craaaaacking race and buy aaaallll the running gear. Once we get to the race its just a 20 minute warm up, all extra clothes off, iPod on and GOOOOO!

RACE RACE RACE RACE RACE

The proof is in the PB

'Why do you run?' people ask, 'Do you not find it boring?' 'Is it like, for a club?' or my personal favourite 'Do you get paid to run?' (I did once win a £5 gift voucher and a crate of ale but I don't think that counts...). To be honest there are SO many reasons but one of them is TO RACE. I turn up to training week in, week out in the hope that I can better my times and realise that it's aaaaalll been worth it (and for the Facebook likes, of course). A PB is concrete proof that you're getting better and all of the training is actually working - so yeah, it's a big deal.

I've always been a competitive gal and I think this is the reason I've stuck with running for so long. Bristol is an amazing city for running and you could probably do 2 or 3 races a week if you wanted to (but this would majorly fuck up my knees, my training AND my entire life so I tend to choose the ones that don't coincide with a hangover) and there is usually something to aim for maybe once or twice a month. I'm never going to be at the front of the pack so these local races are perfect for me. You get to know roughly who's going to be around the same speed as you and if they're spotted at the start line then you can GUARANTEE that you'll get the nod from your mates to stick with them like glue and attempt to glide past them at the finish. Generally this is someone you know (and actually quite like) so it's a bit odd to want to destroy them but HEY life is a competition and all is fair in love and 5km PBs...

When you're not the best runner in the world (or even in the training group), having a little competition with yourself is helpful as well. While my times are a little bit wanky compared to other people's from my club, it reaaaaally doesn't matter. My PBs are exactly what they say on the tin - personal bests to ME, and my main motivation to race is to beat my own times. Not improving can be a bit disheartening and if you've ever seen me after a cross country race where I finished 40 places lower down that I wanted to, then you'll know that 'a bit disheartening' is a massive understatement. On the other hand, getting a PB is one of the most rewarding things ever - liiiiike you've never ran that fast over that distance ever before in your WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. Your life has basically peaked at that moment (until you get another PB). So this is what we're dealing with here...

 Not sure if you've heard (you definitely would've heard) but before the Bristol 10k I didn't get a PB for 18 MONTHS! That's a whole year and a half of training, trying and racing to be disappointed every single time. If we tally that up, it's approximately 18 races. Eighteen whole races of what I would call utter shite (and I did call them that, out loud, every single time).

BUT my life seems to have turned a corner. I'm not going to apologise for the rest of this blog post but I will warn you that it's basically just one massive brag. Me me me, I'm the best.

I expect you'll all have seen my ultra-braggy Bristol 10k post at the end of May? I maaaaay or may not have got a huge PB but whatever. In the 2 and a half months since that I've got another FOUR! Owwwww yeah...

 

800m, Bristol Open Meeting, June
When I was a young chav I was quite good at the 800m. I represented the school and the county in the distance but bloody hellllll it is not an easy one to run - and it's even less easy when you're a 24 year old woman in a race against several 13 year old boys... The nature of an open meeting means you're literally chucked in with all ages and genders depending on your previous PB. Last year I ran 2.46 for my 800m (fairly average) so was in with a lot of younger athletes, probably racing for the first time. FANTASTIC! Can't bloody wait. The boys were full of puberty and very excitable so went off like absolute loonys. Being the mature woman I am, I let them go and ran my own race - literally ON MY OWN, AT THE BACK. Ah well. I felt really strong until the last 120m when I thought my organs were going to fall out of my ass - Alexa told me after that I looked so terrible she was worried I would drop out - but I made it to the finish line in 2.45! A one second PB two weeks after the 10km, I'll take that. NEXT.

1 mile, Bristol Open Meeting, July
Another open meeting, another mish-mash of runners. This one was a bit more horrendous as there were only 4 girls entered (I knew I was at least the 3rd slowest) and the rest were all proper fast blokes. A bit intimidating but all of the men were lovely and said if they thought they might lap us that they'd go around us, and not to worry too much. Last year I had ran 6.24 at a mile race in Eastville Park but I really wanted under 6 minutes... Bit of a tall order innit?! Again,  I let the blokes run off at their own speed and stuck to my pace plan (ish). Coming into the last lap I knew it would be a bit close to get under 6 mins so tried to put in a bit of an effort. This was clearly too much for my body and bladder to handle and I started to wee a bit (hahahha, I kid you not, this is a true story). The wee continued to trickle down my leg for the last 300m and as I crossed the line in 5.59 I collapsed on the floor to hide my exhaustion and very attractive wet patch. Who cares that your boyfriend has just seen you piss yourself when you've just got ANOTHER BLOODY PB?! Not me.

5km, Bitton, July
The dreaded 5km. Having ran 20.58 in January 2015 and progressively got slower ever since, the 5km has been the biggest mental barrier for me to get over. I've tried SO hard over the past year to get my time down but it just wasn't happening - and not even close. A few 22 minutes, some 21.30s etc etc but nothing that screamed 'YOU'RE AT PEAK FITNESS'. I ran the Bitton 5km in June and somehow ran 21.02 - my fastest 5km in years! This made me so determined to get back under that elusive 21 mins.... July's Bitton 5km was my target and to be honest there is little to report on. I started off with a great group of women (including my mate Lisa Newing - HI LISA) who were all sticking to a good pace and meant I didn't go off waaaay too fast and die in the later stages. I got to 2.5km in 9.54 so knew I just had to get under 11 minutes for the 2nd half to get a PB. This was probably the most comfortable I've ever felt in a race. I didn't panic, kept to a consistent speed and picked off a couple of the women ahead of me. I was 100% concentrating on Lisa - not only was she going at a good speed but she also had a FANTASTIC tan so she was very easy to see haha... I saw the '500m to go' mark and frantically tried to work out if I was on for sub-21 (I was!). I crossed the line in 20.30 and don't think I've ever been happier after a race. FINALLY!!!!!

800m, Avon League, July
After good runs in the 800m and mile at the open meetings, I decided to take the plunge and put myself forward to run for the club (rather than just myself) at the Avon League. The Avon League is a series of meetings between clubs in Avon (duh) and each competitor scores points for the club depending on their race position. The points are then added up at the end of the season and we either go up to the next league, stay where we are or get relagated. It's basically the Premiership.

ANYWAY I put myself down to run the 800m and as mum was coming along with me she put herself down to race as well. Bit weird to not have mumsy screaming at me from the finishing straight but whatever, we train together now so I'm used to staring at her sweaty back. I had been training well so really wanted to better my time from the open meeting back at the beginning of June. There were 11 women in the race and the first 2 girls were in a different class so shot off like little rockets. I was getting a bit stuck in the outside lanes and couldn't get round people so mum (in 3rd place) shouted at me over her shoulder to 'GET IN!'. Instructions noted, I moved ahead into lane 1 and settled into 4th place. Ended up running with another lady which was veeeery helpful as she shielded me from the horrible wind on the back straight. I basically used her (SORRY HUN) and then went past her on the last 150m, willing the finish line to hurry up. I stuck my head down in 4th place and ended up 4 seconds behind mum. She was 2nd A team runner and I was 2nd B team! Excellentttt points for the club. We had to wait a whole 12 hours for the official time but............. 2.43!!! A whole 2 seconds quicker than my time from June, and not a puddle of piss in sight.

So there we go, 4 PBs in 3 months. We could pretend that I'm being really chilled about this but I am absolutely chuffed. I've been training really well but not obsessing - aka have actually been enjoying my life - and it seems to be working. I think I will always be one of those horrendous people that thinks a little competition is extreeeemely heathly and am 100% going to be be a pushy mother when I have children, but it's probably my favourite part of running and when it goes right it does feel gloooorious.

My next race on the track is 3km at the Midland League next weekend. I've never done one before so technically it'll be a PB by default but OH WELL you can still be sure that I'll be bragging about it on Facebook.

'What's that coming over the hill?' Frenchay 10km - nearly as impressive as the marathon

The London Marathon - arguably the most famous race in the whole world - took place on Sunday. Tens of thousands of absolute heroes took to the streets of the UK's capital to run an unimaginable distance in what will probably be one of the highlights of their life, and the biggest race they'll ever have the pleasure (and pain) of finishing.

I, on the other hand, could be found sulking my way around the Frenchay 10k - not too much of a dissimilar achievement, you would probably agree...

WEATHER WATCH:
Despite a shitter of a weather forecast in the week coming up to the race, it turned out to be a glorious morning. Sunny but not too hot and breezy but not too windy, the weather even had the bloke on the microphone labelling it a 'PERFECT day for running'. OH GREAT. Nothing strikes fear into my heart more than hearing that phrase - that's at least ONE of my excuses out the window if I have a rubbish run... Luckily for me, the weeks prior to this race had been spent discussing whether the course was 'hilly', 'really hilly' or 'an absolute bloody bastard', so at least I had that in the bag if my legs gave way at 3km. The general consensus was that it definitely wasn't a PB course - instructions were to not go off too fast and to 100% pace myself properly so I could power up the aforementioned hills. We'll see how that went, shall we?

WHO WORE WHAT:
Before I get started on the actual event, you'll all of course be dying to know how far up my ass my shorts were willing to go. I sensibly went for some comfy and very cheap shorts from Asda (£8!!), that were high-waisted enough to cover the gunt area, loose enough to give the impression that I have actual real-life abs, and jazzy enough to distract from the inevitable camel toe. Obviously I went for a crop top because HELLO it's basically summer and it's always good to put off the opposition with an intimidating belly piercing/mole combination.

Let's get started...

Start-1km:
The start had helpful pace-time markers in the 'tunnel' so we all felt a bit professional and more like were running the actual marathon. Mum and Sarah were fannying around near the 40 minute mark and peer-pressured me into joining them. I was quite happy to hang around with my 45 minute buddies but apparently this just wouldn't do. Pushy mothers... To be fair, where I stood didn't make much of a difference as the race spread out quite quickly once the gun went off. The first kilometre was a nice, flat loop around the UWE grounds (Glenside campus, for any keen Bristol tourists) and my legs felt pretty weightless. Always a good sign, although this WAS only the first km...

1-2km:
Getting the first part out the way, we ran out onto the road and straight into a huge downhill - WEEEEEEEEEE!!! Completely forgetting we had to run back up this beast at the finish, I was loving life. It's was a properrrrr downhill as well - I mean thighs were wobbling, boobs were going in a figure of eight and my legs were going a tad faster than I was really comfortable with. Totally fun, yah? An added bonus was seeing Fleur at the bottom - not only did her hair look truly amazing, but she also gave us all a huge cheer and made me feel like a real runner. Fleur - we love you.

2-3km:
After the downhill we turned a corner into Snuff Mills. I'd say Snuff Mills is kind of like a forest/woody area? In the summer it looks magical and I run through it quite a lot, but there are always loads of dog walkers and they all looked super confused at the mass of lycra-clad people interrupting their Sunday walk. The positions were quite drawn out near the front, I was maybe in like 50th or something?! I managed to tuck in with a few men, who were no doubt finding my flicky ponytail very irritating but I've heard that a good hair flick is the mark of a true runner, so there we go. Soz bout me. I got a bit confused at how long we ran through Snuff Mills and completely missed the 4km mark so was slightly disorientated. ALREADY bad thoughts had started creeping into my head: 'if I just went up this pathway then it would take me straight to Ben's house and I could just drop out...' WHAT? WHY? Dickhead Emma. Onwards and (literally) upwards...

3-5km:
Coming out of Snuff Mills I was greeted with the first of three killer hills. I wasn't expecting this one and it really battered the shit out of me. For any Keynshamers who may be reading - imagine Willsbridge Hill, but longer and with more corners. YES OUCH, YES HELL. In the post-race debrief, a lot of people said this was the worst of the all the hills, and I'm inclined to agree. It flattened out into a field (A FUCKING FIELD! Hellooooo new running surface, here to ruin my energy levels are you?!). Fields zap your energy way more than roads do, and being the big wimp that I am, I decided to stop and walk for a bit. It was literally about 3 seconds before a lovely lady marshall gave me a bit of encouragement and I started to move again - and SHOCK HORROR, felt absolutely fine to carry on.

5-6km:
I had done two practice runs of this course - once on my own, and once with my mum. My terrible sense of direction clearly meant I had gone the wrong way both times, and I hit the 5km marker in a residential area that I had never seen before in my life. Were we in Downend? Were we in Kent? Who knows. Fortunately there were marshalls swarming the streets and I didn't end up lost down a pothole - instead I managed to get my head down and pick up some speed as we ran past people stood in their front gardens, again looking mildly confused as to why we were wasting the nice weather by not downing several pints of cider. It was a bit weird being lost but also a bit fun. WHAT AN ADVENTURE!

6-7km:
A life-saving downhill section followed from 6km onwards, taking us down past the exit of Snuff Mills, giving me a false sense of relief and allowing me to overtake lots of skinny (e.g. GOOD) running men. A bit of advice - a 'heavy' set of thighs will carry you down any hill a lot quicker than those genetically blessed with skinny legs, but often the svelte legs are hiding a killer pair of calves and a good uphill climb. Strong is the new skinny, etc etc.. And OH what a twat I felt for bombing past those blokes when we rounded the corner to find Frenchay Hill. Now, Frenchay Hill is NOT a hill to be fucked with. At a pretty much vertical gradient, I basically ran into the side of it and would've stopped dead had it not been for seeing a few people I knew spectating and, never wanting to get caught on camera looking like a sloth, managed to reach the top without walking. I felt a bit sulky as all of the men flew back past me, but the joy I felt when I made it to a flat road was how I imagine a new mum feels once her 12-hour labour is over and her lady bits can have a rest. So much happiness, so much pain.

7-8km:
The 7th kilometre went across Frenchay Common and past the White Lion pub. This is a pub I'm very familiar with - Ben took me here on our second date and we got smashed on wine and BOSSED the pub quiz. Hiiiiiya. I also train on the Common sometimes so know that I can get round it in under 3 minutes (NOT after running 7km first, may I add). I really started to die here - my legs were feeling it from that bugger of a hill so I stopped and walked AGAIN (it's just too easy, I'm sorry). At this point a man I'd been running with told me to keep going, but all I could muster was a pathetic 'help me'. It goes without saying that no help was offered - this bloke had a bloody 10km to finish. Get on with it...

8-9km:
Out of the Common and onto the main road - 100% gagging for the finish line by now - and I knew that Ben would be waiting at the 9km mark. I needed at least a kilometre to get back into my stride and make it look as if I find running the easiest thing ever. Oh yeah, this is a breeeeeze. I cannot tell you how helpful it is to know that someone will be at a certain spot, it gives life some sort of purpose when your mouth is really dry and you know that you've started to smell a bit. Thank you Ben for giving my life purpose (LOL I am so sorry, he will hate that). I managed to stick with my group of men again and as I saw Ben in the distance I made a mental note to try to look seductive. What a lucky bloke. I managed a smile and a wave (usually he gets neither) so maybe I had been slacking earlier in the race. Oopsy. Fleur was just around the corner shouting her head off again - so quiet is our Fleur - and seeing them both gave me what is known as 'second wind'. Nothing to do with shitting yourself and everything to do with suddenly feeling fresh halfway through a race, 'second wind' is one of the best feelings, like, everrrrr.

9-10km:
HOMEWARD BOUND. Feeling like Paula Radcliffe on acid after seeing my fan club, I was ready to take on the last hill. This was the huge hill we ran down at the start - slightly more daunting having to go back up it. The acid feeling sadly only lasted a few minutes and I had a TINY walk. A woman powered past me at that exact moment, which was all I needed to give myself a kick up the ass. I'm actually quite keen on a hill or two (comes from the tree trunk legs) so managed to push on quite hard up the steepest section. I got to the top a lot quicker than I had anticipated, and just in time for my mum to run back and shout '200 METRES TO GO! AND IT'S ALL FLAT'. Yessssss. Back in the day I used to finish a good half an hour behind mum in long races, so the fact that she had to run back to get to me before I finished is a good sign, I reckon. I ran towards the finish line, first hearing Sarah's voice echoing across the whole of Frenchay (and possibly Bristol) and then tried to find my dad in the crowd (probably should've been concentrating on finishing, but I do love to spot my dad during races!). I managed a bit of sprint but really should have caught the man in front. Damn that three seconds of walking. I finished in 45.20, which wasn't tooooooo bad. In hindsight those hills were an absolute bugger but my walking probably cost me about 20 seconds altogether.

FINISH:
We all got commemorative mugs and an actually GOOD goodie bag (Haribo, fruit bar thing, banana, water) and I'm pretty sure they were playing some sort of SUMMER ANTHEMS complication CD over the tanoy. Classic.

If there was a team prize we definitely would've won it. There was a great team of Bristol & West ladies out on Sunday - Jessie, Mum, Sarah, Me (lol, I'm great), Christine, Isobel and Nicola (and Jamie - but you're not a lady) and we all finished well inside the top two thirds. We deserve a trophy. All in all, despite the horrendous hills, the whole day had such a happy, community-spirited feel to it and I will definitely be back again next year. That is, of course, if my London Marathon entry doesn't get accepted...

Brain training

At school I was desperate to be cool. And I succeeded, I suppose, if being cool means getting told off every single day for wearing too much make up, kissing boys and being hated by the girls in the year above... But I was also desperate to be clever, to be THE cleverest and coolest person, and also be really good at sports too. OH and have loads of money so that I could buy the best clothes from Jane Norman and wear my chavviest H.Samuels earrings with pride. So basically, I was a bit of a try-hard.

I don't know what it was like in every other school, but running was NOT cool in my school. We used to wear bottle-green uniform in my school, so you can imagine how uncool it was already... Our annual cross-country was just an amazing excuse to have an afternoon off, jog round with the girls and put muddy hand prints on each other tits (and I'm still suffering from severe FOMO flashbacks), but for some reason, that ONE day of the school sporting calendar, I allowed myself to become uncool. I would win that race, and I would run the fastest I could possibly run, even if it ruined my pink eyeshadow/blue mascara combo or made me a bit sweaty. I didn't even think about it either - racing my hardest wasn't something I thought about really, I just did it.

Running is quite a personal thing, I think. I've read articles that claim running performances are down to just 20% physical ability - with the other 80% made up of mental strength. I don't know how accurate this is REALLY, I mean I don't reckon I could beat Mo Farah even if I thought about it loads and loads, but there's definitely some truth to it.

When I first started running again after university, I was 'training' (a term used very loosely here) to lose weight, get a bit fitter and for the genuine love of the sport. When my fitness picked up, I started doing parkruns or local 5km races and (this is no word of a lie) I would get a new PB EVERY SINGLE TIME. By like, 20 seconds or more, sometimes only a week later than my previous 5km. Like most people, I tend to enjoy the things that I think I can excel at - hence why, when I wasn't very good at science in school, I just stopped going...

When I was getting faster with every single run I was doing, I was on a 10000000% runners high. Much better than weed, a runners high is the adrenaline that rushes around your body after a run or race. Endorphines, or something? (Remember: not good at science). This left me with a huge confidence boost, LOADS of belief in myself and meant I was bounding off to training at every opportunity, eating properly and making sure I had enough rest. I was doing really well at something I enjoyed, and was getting faster every time I ran...

And then I stopped.

It all started with the Bristol 10km last year. I was training really well, my abs were looking SLICK and I had very high hopes of getting under 43 minutes. I didn't really have any doubt in my head, apart from the fact I was going to a festival the week before, but I thought I would be able to power through and ignore the inevitable horrendous hangover. WELL - anyone who has me as a friend on Facebook probably doesn't need to be reminding of the infamous Love Saves The Day photos. I 'went in', as the ravers say.

I had an absolutely amazing weekend and regret NOTHING (apart from spending £13 on the world's most minging mojito - Natalie Mott you know what I mean hahah), but it did leave me a rather broken woman for the next week. I was still on a daily vom ting up until the day of the Bristol 10km, and probably shouldn't have ran. Imagine your morning shower before a race being interrupted by a projectile chunder over your naked body. MMMMM. Anyway, the race was a shambles, I ran just over 45 minutes and was SOOOOOOOOOOOO hard on myself. Dave had to hold my hand and pull me along for the last 400m to make sure I actually finished.

I couldn't really forget how disappointed I was in myself, and started picking faults in basically my entire life. I managed to (and still battle with this daily) convince myself that I was overweight and my extra flab had stopped me from running a few minutes quicker (I am 8 stone, so I know that my thoughts were absolutely ridiculous). My next race went just as badly - I was on to run 20.40 for a 5km when I thought I had period leaked. Firstly, OMG PERIODS GROSS. Secondly, how bloody annoying (literally) to stop to check your flap area and be overtaken by women double your age who you should 100% be in front of. Again, I was super hard on myself and decided to give up on the summer season, instead concentrating on cross country.

AND EVEN THAT WAS SHIT. My beloved cross country; the very races that had got me into the sport in the first place had started to let me down. I had a few shocking races - one that can be blamed on a hangover - but the rest were just awful. I felt like I was training more (and trying harder) than ever but just not seeing any results. I cannot tell you how hard it is to dedicate a large portion of your life to something and then have people assume you aren't putting in any effort because you are 20 people further down the field than you should have been.

This is where my brain came in...

For the lucky ones amongst you who have seen me up close and in the flesh, you'll know that I'm built like a small male rugby player. My legs earned me the lovely nickname of 'tree trunks' by some PARTICULARLY friendly girls in the year above (see, I said I was cool) and swimming competitively from the age of 10 has give me a set of shoulders that can only be described as 'very broad'. I'm pretty strong for my size and I am occasionally both amazed and grateful for the things my body lets me do. SO, I knew it wasn't my physical fitness that was letting the side down, it was (and still is) my brain.

***STRONG NEARLY-NAKED PHOTO WARNING*** (abs are all about the lighting and nothing to do with the gym)

Every single time I was running I would tell myself that I couldn't, even though the year before I was flying round the track like a distant relative of Usain Bolt. I would look at my strong thighs while I was running, and resent them for being double the size of my faster team mates. I told myself that I was weak, everyone else was far superior to me and I couldn't even count the times that I've text my training partner Lucy (BRISTOL MISSES YOU LUCY) and told her that I was quitting. Being the angelic woman that she is, she would usually reply and tell me to stop being a twat - which is what I needed, really. It's a really strange feeling that's so hard to explain to my friends, who mainly think my running exploits are wonderful, but they listened to my moans anyway and told me I was still great (thanks guys, LOVE YOU SO MUCH). It got to the point where I was basing my own self-worth on how fast I could run around a field and everyone was thinking the same thing: 'come on Emma, don't be a bellend'.

Thanks to coach Dave, who has put up with my shit for nearly 10 years now, he has gradually got it back into my head that I CAN do it. I genuinely am stronger and fitter now than I've ever been, despite my best efforts to drink alllllll the gin and steal fags off of people on nights out, so there is literally no reason why I shouldn't be able to run as fast as other people think I can. I am very inspired by my mother, who claims that she was never spectacularly fast in her youth, and is now reaping the rewards of sticking at something that she loves, and has somehow ended up as a member of the England team. You go girl.

I haven't ran a 5km PB since January 2015 (apart from when I ran 20.20 in the first 5km of a 10km in March 2015, but that's not official), but on a good brain day I believe that in the next two years I can run around 19 minutes. My recent races have been really good - I've finished feeling genuinely happy and actually ENJOYED it. And, as I've possibly said a million times before, running is an absolutely brutal hobby to take up, so if you don't enjoy it, what's the bloody point?!

So yes, although I am a very fit woman (hahaha, sorry but technically it's true), my brain has been through the shitter as well and is probably the hardest part of my body that I've ever had to train. I've gone from wanting to be the coolest, cleverest and best gal going, to realising that you don't have to be the best at EVERYTHING. As long as it makes you a very happy woman, then that's a resounding success in itself.

#deep