15 miles

[Charliecat5]

This is where it starts… this is the beginning of a new obsession.  

This morning I ran my first proper race.  An off-road 4.5-mile blast through the West Sussex countryside.  The last race of the West Sussex League session, a league that the Herd won this year -grabbing the trophy with some ease.  Obviously my intervention today had little to do with their success.

I’d had a tough week workwise.  Late nights, early mornings and heavy drinking.   I then ran 5 miles on Friday morning over the Downs and had a little jaunt with the Goat yesterday morning – trying out his new heart rate running malarkey.   Last night was Lewes Bonfire night, so more drink and another late night. 

I am not making excuses for my performance today – It was alright for someone popping his race cherry, IMO.   I mention the week of gluttony and greed to make a point later on.

So why enter a race?  I was bullied (for good reason) by the Herd to enter… in fact I was asked to run last week as they were short of numbers, but had other plans… so agreed to run today instead.

Being a good running citizen I offered my services as a driver this morning and very quickly had two people take up my kind offer.  Two people who are beyond the usual Crazy runner status.  These guys enter races and WIN them.  These guys run upwards of 80 miles a week and do the secret Wednesday night track session that is only mentioned in hushed tones.   These guys were lovely, but spoke a different language to me.  A language that muttered about 5 and 6 minute miles and running not twice a week… but twice a day!

We arrived at the race site and I was feeling very, very nervous.  I joined a few runners for a brief warmup heading up the field, and found nothing in the tank which I put down to nerves.

The 10-minute warning sounded, then the five, then we were off.  Big steps, small steps as a mass of people tried to find their way through the pack.  The lead guys had already cleared the top of the field before the rest of us had really found any sort of pace.  I decided to relax and enjoy the run… just as I had yesterday with Sweder (albeit a little faster).   The first section was uphill so I managed to clear a bit of space by overtaking a few runners before getting into a steady pace on the tops.  We soon cleared the fields and headed into beautiful woodland and a lovely long downhill.  But sadly a downhill I knew I was going to have to climb again shortly.  I looked at my watch and was pleased with the time – the first two miles were cleared under 16 minutes.   We exited the woodland and set off across a few fields and a bit of tarmac before turning back into the forest to follow our footsteps back to the finish.  

This was a mile and a half of uphill running.   Similar to the Snake for those that know that particular bastard.  I realised then that I had overcooked the first half of the race.  The pace fell… my usual ability to power up the up-hills deserted me as I just dug in and concentrated on putting one foot ahead of the other.  

After what seemed like an eternity the wood was behind us once again and we were on the last mile home.  I dropped in behind another runner to hold the pace before we turned the last corner to see the end in sight, half a mile a head.  One downhill and one short-uphill section to go.   I let rip and pushed hard, arriving over the finish line to the cheers of my fellow Herd members (some who had already been back for 9 minutes!).

I am not sure whether I enjoyed it.  I enjoyed the bubbles to celebrate winning the season, but appreciated the fact that I was a bit of a fraud joining in.   I enjoyed crossing the finishing line, but the lack of oomph in my legs at times was very frustrating.   Will I do another one?   Well putting Almeria to one side as I see this as a run with some good mates, the answer is probably yes.  And this is where the problem starts.

All the way home I picked my passengers brains about getting faster. What they eat before a race… how they get faster… how they manage the mental anguish.   My brain was rattling about, wondering how much faster I could have run if it hadn’t been such a torturous week, if I’d eased back on the beer, if I hadn’t sprinted up Blackcap like a loon yesterday.  

These are dangerous thoughts… as its these kind of thoughts that lead to obsession in my strange old world.  But as my new Crazy friends pointed out… as obsessions go, it’s a pretty healthy one.
 
4.5 miles in 36 minutes.  I'll take that for a first race.