What a sporting year

I'm just watching the Sports Personality of the Year awards and looking up at my half marathon medal. In case you hadn't noticed it's been the ultimate sporting year.

Dear grandchildren,

I was in London for the olympics, and I went to them and saw Federer playing on Wimbledon centre court, Ellie Simmonds winning a gold medal, and the prime minister handing out medals. 

Ellie was here

And a girl who came from a city I will always love, my university town, won the heptathlon with style and grace.

Jess Ennis in Sheffield

It was incredible. The atmosphere in London became so joyful and united that people actually talked and smiled at each other on the tube [they definitely won't believe that bit!] and I got to walk passed the olympic rings and then paralympics agitos on Tower Bridge every single day.

I even made friends with the creepy mascot!

In the same year, Andy Murray won the US Open and I stayed up with my sister in a sports bar to watch it happen...then I crawled in to work the next day still grinning.

My favourite sport, my favourite player

And before the Olympics even happened Bradley Wiggins (Wiggo the great) had already won the Tour de France, something people said an English man would never do. And Andy Murray had got in to the Wimbledon final. We cried when he made that final and we cried with him when he didn't win. 

The other hero in yellow

Finally, dearest grandkids, that summer I ran. I stuck to a training plan and I ran until I could run 13.1 miles. Then I did what every fat girl dreams of, I got a half marathon medal and I became a runner.

In my own yellow vest, hands off Wiggo

Run to the Beat half marathon round up

So five whole weeks ago tomorrow I got up in the morning and ran a half marathon.

It was one of the toughest things I've done and I still feel a bit burnt out when I think about running, mainly because every agonising second still remains crystal clear in my mind....

(warning, this is a long post!)

The 28th October came round and it was cold. Today was the day winter decided to declare itself and I wasn't really ready. The only running leggings I have are knee length (I've since bought a full length thick "winter" pair!) and I had to wear the thin, and oh so attractive, bright yellow t-shirt the people at Nike had sent me as my top layer. Although I had a long-sleeved t-shirt underneath it was still cold enough that I made the journey to The Dome wearing my baggy old yoga trousers and a thick jacket over the top.

After taking off my outer layers and dropping off my bag as late as possible (badly organised bag system considering this is a £45 race, but I'll come back to that) I made my way to my start pen - the 2:00 - 2:30 time group. I can honestly say I wasn't nervous at this point, just cold, SO cold. My biggest worry was that I would have to have lots of toilet stops if the cold kept up - for the science fans when it's cold your blood vessels contract to get away from the skin surface which increases the pressure of blood filtering through your kidneys = you need the loo more!

Anyhow our group shuffled across the line to some pounding music (this was Run to the Beat after all). I (sadly) made a mental note that I was the largest (heaviest) looking girl there, because I like to torture myself with such thoughts (bad habit), although it kind of made me feel proud that I knew I was just as fit and prepared as any of these slim ladies.

The first 3 miles really went something like this in my head:
"So cold!"
"Must speed up, feel very sluggish."
"No, can't do speed, too cold."
"Ok let's just hope it gets warmer."
"Keep moving, movement makes warm."

There wasn't much scenery and the music stages were far enough apart that there wasn't much to think about apart from the cold between. But I got to just passed 3, started to warm up and there was a hero-lady cheering her head off with a sign reading: "GO RANDOM RUNNER!" which brought a massive grin to my face.

From there the run got a bit more interesting (and warmer) as we did a U-loop into the old Woolwich docks and passed some nice old buildings and the Woolwich royal artillery museum. However, as we came back to the 4 mile sign I noticed something...a hill. I'd faced a couple of hills in my Moor Park 10k the last two years so I knew I could get up it at a steady pace, but little did I realise this hill was a  mile-long hill! In the end the only thing that kept me going was repeating the mantra "earn mile 5, earn mile 5".

At mile 5 we reached the top of the hill and had a water station and another stage with some bhangra drummers at the top. The sixth mile was blissfully flat and I managed a great 10k time of 1:05:31. From then on things got, erm, orange to dark orange....as the map of my pace shows...

the wind down

I got to nearly mile seven and turned the corner to a lovely steep downhill...and then turned the corner to a horrific, again steep, uphill. A woman next to me at this point just went "SH*T". Following that I plodded on but honestly never really felt comfortable again.

At the mile nine marker we entered Greenwich Park and the music got significantly better, as well as the stages being closer together. This got me to the mile 10 marker, where I walked/hobbled a bit, then I saw the 2:30 pacers run passed and thought OH NO YOU DIDN'T, there was a hill and I ran flat out down it to get passed those pacers, fortunately at the end I saw my work cheer team (there to cheer people running for the charity I work at) which massively lifted my spirits. My colleagues were just before the 11 mile marker and I yelled "hi!", grimaced grinned and waved at them all as i went passed.

A few minutes later and there was another no-stages, no-scenery stretch and all my energy disappeared. This was probably my lowest point. I felt tired, hungry, cold, I just wanted to bloody finish, I thought I would cry, then I thought I didn't have the energy to cry, so I just walked. Half a mile later and I saw the 12 mile marker coming up and realised this was it, this was the last mile, and I had to run it. 

Forcing myself to run again was just horrible pain, but as I turned the final corner and saw the crowd around the finish line I knew I was going to make it. Next thing I knew four of my friends jumped out in front of me and I high-fived them as I used every last bit of energy to keep running to the finish line. At this point I was just floating in some other place.

Is that a finish line or am I hallucinating?

Finally, 2 hours and 33 minutes later, I crossed the finish. A sense of disbelief flooded through me as I got my medal. I wanted to cry, I wanted to hug my friends! However I wouldn't be seeing my friends for another hour or so (don't read on if you want to avoid grumpy Katie)...

Nike error one - getting timing chips that runners have to reach down and unlace their trainers to give to you - I hate to think how many runners nearly fainted reaching down to do this minutes after crossing the finish line, I thought I was going to.

Nike error two - totally understaffing the bag drop so that runners have to stand still for 30 minutes, queuing in a cold shed to wait for bags. I actually saw a girl faint in the queue, she came around quickly but then sat there clutching her head for several more minutes, luckily her friends were with her because the St John's ambulance crew took some time to get through - I really hope she recovered ok.

Eventually I got home, and got to the restaurant near my flat where my friends were waiting and ate some AWESOME food.

Since the race I have done two things:
1. Bought warmer running kit
2. Decided never to enter a Nike organised race again (their British 10k was also badly organised)

However I want to finish on a positive note and just say how proud I am of myself and even though it was painful I know it is something I want to do again, and do better (maybe even a marathon one day? We'll see).