Two weeks ago to this very day, I achieved a life time's dream. I regained my Scottish National 100k title in a comfortable personal best time that has earned me qualification to represent Great Britain at the World 100k Championships in Belgium.
The facts are there, medals in my hand and yet I still do not feel the achievement in my body. I say the words, hear the words and yet do not seem ready to accept what I have done, I do not feel the emotion that I know I will. It almost feels like I am in denial - I thought it was only bad things that sent me into denial. This dream is most definitely a good thing! Five years ago I was told that I would never run again because of my ankle injury, five years later I am still running and destined to compete with the world's best endurance athletes. And I have earned the right to be there.
THE RACE
I started the race with no big expectations. I wanted to finish, and wanted to finish sub nine hours. The memory of my last 100k fresh in my mind. Memories of the emotional pain that I struggled with during the race, and memories of my journey as a result of the experience. Although the past few weeks have been physically exhausting (new job, 4 hours daily commute), mentally I am stronger than I have even been. I believe in me fully now. Believe that I can achieve all that I say I will. This belief is a powerful force. As physical energy seeps from my body it waits in the wings and then surges forward gives me extra charge...
I was a little concerned about how my mind would cope with the race course, which was fifty laps up and down the sea front. Not an exciting course, completely flat, but exposed and if there were any substantial sea "breezes" they would take their toll on body and mind. There was also the inevitability of constantly being overtaken by all the faster runners!
I started the race very conservatively, almost felt like jogging as I pottered along all on my own near the back and was soon being overtaken by all the other Scottish ladies. I was keeping an eye on the clock and knew roughly what my lap times were, and so I was surprised by what others were doing in the race - I actually kept thinking that I had my timings wrong and must be running slower than I thought. It worried me a little, but I felt confident and decided that I was going to run my own race and save myself for the later stages when pain normally kicks in. I wanted to try and run as equal splits as possible, and wanted my last mile to be sub seven minute mile pace.
I started eating inside the first hour - good old Freddo the chocolate Frog was the first to fuel me, followed by some gels, mints, bananas and even some baby food. Later in the race I had flapjack and mini rolls. I had an intense craving for carrot cake but there was none - must remember for my next race. The baby food was amazing (strawberry rice in a sachet that I could squeeze easily) and I felt the energy from it very quickly. P.R.N. tried eating it one afternoon this week - yeauch, only tastes nice when you really need it as fuel, not one to eat for pleasure!
When running for nine hours (0k 8.5 hours this time), I have the opportunity to think a lot without any interruptions. No phones, no email, no one demanding that you answer a question or solve a problem. No dogs that need walked or fed, dishes that need washing.... It is an amazing free time that does not come round very often.
People ask me regularly what I think of when I am running. I have shared many of my thoughts through this website. During this race I thought of me, myself and I. Where I have been and where I am going...
I felt extremely comfortable until just before half way, and then disaster. Due to the tight turns on the course my ankle started objecting, pain ensued and I started limping heavily. I started fearing the worst, those words from the doctor of five years ago fresh in my mind. Was it now time to plan my retirement from running? Stop before I have gotten properly started on my racing career? I could feel gut wrenching sadness deep in the pit of my stomach as I considered pulling out of the race. To pull out now would be detrimental to my confidence and I did not want to consider the implications of that. I stopped at the feeding station and put heavy strapping on my ankle in the hope that it would be enough. I also took Ibubrofen, which I have never taken during a race before (I do not like taking any medication under "normal" circumstances), but I had to try anything just to keep running.
The next few laps were extremely tough, physically and mentally. I ran very wide on all the turns to protect my ankle, almost hopping at one point to ensure no unnecessary pressure was placed on the "injury". The pain did settle and I knew that I would be able to continue.
I soon started picking up the pace again, gaining on the people that had lapped me in the first half. As the laps started counting down, (in my world they go up in the first half, down in the second) I began lapping people and was soon in front of all the Scottish ladies. I do have to confess at this point I did get a little buzz. The pull of regaining my Scottish National title was strong. I wanted it back, wanted to go into the Commonwealth Championship as the Champion of my Country. This pull gave me energy, combined with my belief in me and my dreams strong in my mind I felt good. I was a little concerned that I felt too good, was the crash just about to come....? Pride before the fall...
Nine laps to go, then eight, seven, six, five - whoa hold on, I only had five left and yet the lap recorders told me I had six to go! I screeched to a halt and refused to continue until it was resolved.... Ok, that bit didn't really happen but the vision is quite entertaining!
I did question the count, but couldn't really argue and just assumed that I had gotten confused at some point. I did want to stop, but knew that the end was far too close for that. And I was going to earn those two free pints of Guiness!
I had known for some time (by my calculations) that I was on schedule for 8.5 ish hours, even if I had one more lap than I thought it would still earn me a convincing personal best time. My biggest concern at this point was that Izzy (second Scottish female) appeared to be gaining on me and I didn't have my one lap ahead advantage anymore. I have Izzy to thank for my time as she really did push me on, I was so determined not to lose my crown and kept digging every time I saw her on the course. I am so pleased that she achieved such an amazing personal best (knocking off about 50 minutes I think) and has achieved the qualification time for the Commonwealth Championships - well done Izzy!
With two laps to go, everyone suddenly appeared very interested in my time. If I could pick up the pace I would be very close to 8:40, which was GBR qualification time for the World Championships. I had been "pain managing"my entire body for the last two hours and picking up the pace did not seem a possibility, but somehow I did it and managed to finish in 8 hours and 38 minutes. I was so time conscious that I did not even have time to hold the flag properly as I crossed the finish line, I just grabbed it and ran home!
I had finished another 100k, regained my Scottish title, a personal best time and achieved the qualification time to represent Great Britain.
At the prize giving, the GBR team manager said some lovely words about my run and my excellent time of 8:28. I got really embarrassed and flustered as I tried to explain that it was actually 8:38 when I finished.
I then turned to someone else to ask them to remedy this error, to be told "oh yeah, you ran an extra lap - once we checked your lap times it was obvious!"
I have to say, I was not cross in any way. Nice to know that I can actually count during a race though!
The final icing on the cake was on Sunday morning when I was told that I had been selected to represent Great Britain in the team event of the World Championships in Belgium in June 2009. My first GBR vest and the realisation of a dream held ever since I knew who Seb Coe was!
At the start of this post I said that I had not yet felt my achievement. I feel it now. Tears are rolling down my face as I read the words and relive the race. Tears flow as I remember all my dreams as a child, hours of inspiration watching Coe, Ovett and Cram and the races they ran. Sebastian Coe my first ever hero, idolised as a child and my reason for running 800 metres. Little did I know that I would have to run 125 of them in succession to earn my vest!
