“I got a full-on robot chubby”

Evil Ted, Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey

And so we arrive at the final race of 2025. It’s been quite a year. I’ll be reflecting on it all in the Christmas Special. The perfect read for when you need to hide in the bog and avoid Uncle Flagshaggers’s 17th monologue about ‘the boats’.

It seems only fitting then that I finish the year with my favourite race on the calendar – Brampton to Carlisle. Not only is it a well organised 10 mile road race through rolling countryside, it’s also a club trip piss up.

So I’m treating this one as an end of season celebration. Enjoy the day and the run, with the only real aim being that I would like to match or better my time from last year.

First off though, a couple of days before, it’s the Club’s Presentation Night. I always get myself a ticket for this. Despite sitting firmly marooned in the mid pack when it comes to races, with zero chance of winning anything but plaudits, I do like to go to this for the buffet and the craic.

And the alcohol.

Ok, mostly the alcohol.

After several trips to the bar, and only a couple to the buffet (honest), it’s time for the business part of the night – 20 minutes of award giving with polite applause. Then I can get back to the drinking. And whatever hasn’t been eaten.

My daydream – making a chip butty from whats left- is broken by something quite odd.

My name being read out.

That’s right. I’ve won an award. A Coach’s Award. I can’t decide whether I’m delighted or mortified. It’s overwhelmingly delighted by the way.

I know I’ve had a good year. In fact, 2025 has been the year of records. Fastest everything, furthest everything. But still, I’m not in it for the glory, so this is a lovely surprise. It also gives my 5 seconds in the Crystal Maze.

So, being an AWARD WINNER, I stay longer and drink more than I had planned. Eventually staggering home at around midnight, waking my wife, as I stumble into the bedroom wafting a crystal in the air whilst mumbling ‘iwonaaward’. Popular, I wasn’t.

The next day, I’m a tiny bit rough. It’s a rest day thankfully. Well, it is now.

36 hours or so after my night of glory, it’s race time. I mentioned at the start that I was going to approach this as a celebration. Well, now I’m an AWARD WINNER, let’s fucking celebrate.

It’s an early start on the Sunday. There are 40 odd of us from the club getting a coach to the start – Brampton is around 50 miles/just over an hour away.

It’s not a great start. Our coach doesn’t turn up on time. In fact, it’s 40 minutes late. ‘Technical Issues’ apparently. The way it splutters over the first roundabout we get to doesn’t bode well. However, it soon gets its shit together, and we’re at the start with about 35 minutes to spare.

Just enough time to dump my crap on the baggage bus, do a warm up, take a piss in a random field, and have the obligatory ‘why are we all up so early on a Sunday in November’ group photo.

I feel great on the warm up and – WANKER WEATHER KLAXON – it’s text book running weather. No wind – about 7 degrees. Beautiful.

It’s a perfect storm to smash the shit out of this race – I feel great, the weather is spot on, it’s my last race of the year, and I’m an AWARD WINNER.

So fuck it. Let’s go for it.

Last year I did this in 1:19:35. It was my 10 mile PB, the first time I’d ever run a double figure distance at sub 8 min mile pace. After my sub 1:45 half marathon in July, I’m confident I can easily beat that.

I’m not a cocky twat though. I may be AWARD WINNING, but I’m not the kind of idiot to go out there gung ho.

Until the Starter Pistol goes and I fly out gung ho.

Last year, the non-AWARD WINNING and far less confident version of myself popped himself near the back at the start. This resulted in being caught in congestion – meaning the first mile was slow going.

Not this year. I get myself much nearer the front and find far more room from the off. So much so, that mile 1 is a 7:43.

The first 4 miles follow this pattern. Two 7:46s then another 7:43. I feel great. Really loose, full of energy, like I can handle this pace no problem for the last 10k.

I’m really enjoying this. I said in last year’s review that I like this course a lot. It’s pretty much flat, give or take a couple of climbs, nice countryside running without having to do anything daft like go across a field of mud. I don’t do that Cross Country nonsense. I might have mentioned it.

I’m at the half way point now, and rather than starting to tire, I’m feeling stronger. My mile 5 is a 7:38, my fastest so far.

I notice that I’m also passing quite a few runners. This spurs me on even more. Whether it’s psychology or adrenaline, it’s amazing the energy boost you get from moving up the field in the latter parts of a race.

I take a gel at the halfway point, and it may as well have been spinach to Popeye. Miles 6 and 7 (sIx sEvEn!) are both 7:35s. I’m getting faster and feeling stronger as the race goes on. AWARD WINNING.

I’m aware we have a couple of those gentle climbs coming up near the finish, but the way I’m feeling at this point I couldn’t give a toss. Only injury is going to stop me now. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

I attack the two climbs at miles 8 and 9 whilst hitting a 7:25 and a 7:24. Honestly, I feel like this race could go another 5 mile and I wouldn’t get tired (I have no doubt though that isn’t true, and I’d be blowing out my arse on mile 11).

Mile 10 involves one last climb into Carlisle, before we drop over the other side for a lovely downhill sprint finish.

There is someone in front of me heading into the finishing straight, so I decide to try and catch him. But the gap is too big and he also finishes like a beast, so I accept defeat. However, just the thought of me trying to ‘attack’ the line makes me chuckle. You’ve come a long way baby.

I do cross it in 1:15:56. Knocking a whopping 3 minutes 37 seconds off my 10 mile PB – set in this same race last year. Well, I did say I wanted to better last year..

I’m absolutely delighted. And what better way to celebrate, than a trip to the Pub. Which is exactly what the 40 of us do. I find an All Day Breakfast washed down with several pints of Guinness is great for recovery.

3 hours later, we zig zag back to the coach ready for our journey back home. It’s fair to say the bus is a lot more ‘excitable’ than on the way out. Music, more drink, and jelly shots help keep the mood high.

Three pee stops and a couple of hours later, we’re dropped off. At the Pub. Hey, one for the road and all that.

Eventually, I head off home. To wax lyrical to the family about my awesome run, before spending an hour stroking my Award. That is not a euphemism.

On reflection in the days after, I come to two conclusions. The first is, I can’t recover from day drinking as well as in my younger days. The second is this is now officially my favourite race of the year.

My racing in 2025 is officially done.

The blogging is not however. See you for the Christmas Special on December 24th.

Tally Ho!