“When you grow up, your heart dies”

Allison Reynolds, The Breakfast Club

What do Dolly Parton and running have in common? This is not a boob joke, by the way. The answer is – absolutely nowt.

Until now.

It’s Cookson 10k time again. The most local race to me, organised by my running club. First run waaaay back in 1921, it’s had a chequered history, including a few years off and a complete change of course. But the current incarnation is flying. Every year, the feedback is the same – it’s everyone’s favourite race. People love it. I love it.

It’s also famous for having a music-themed finisher’s T-shirt that’s kept secret until the very last minute. I think you’ve guessed where the Dolly Parton connection comes in. In the past we’ve had Joy Division, The Happy Mondays, RUN DMC, The Velvet Underground, to name a few.

While nobody knew exactly what this year’s T-shirt would look like until the race was over, we did get a hint the week before. Race numbers were posted out and, unless you were born and still living on the moon, it wasn’t difficult to guess this year’s artist.

When I say this race is local, it really is. The start and finish are less than a mile from my front door.

You could probably catapult me there. Sadly, I’m not currently in possession of that particular piece of medieval weaponry, so I settle for a nice walk instead.

It’s a lovely evening for it. It’s late May, so we’re finally getting an increase in temperature. It’s going to be a balmy 17°C when we set off, which I’m not too bothered about. The biggest issue tonight is going to be the wind. There’s a fairly decent headwind when we hit the hill. Twice. Have I mentioned we do the hill twice? Well, I have now.

On the plus side, it’s a warm wind. And it doesn’t have rain in it. Or sleet.

As this is a race organised by my club, there are a lot of us running it. Red vests scattered everywhere, lots of faces I recognise. I’ve been at the club long enough now to have reached peak wanker status. As in, I seem to know who loads of people are now. Although there are still quite a few I’ve never seen before in my life.

These are the people you never see at any of the training sessions but who are quite obviously club members. They also tend to be the really fast people. I imagine this is because they’re off doing far more hardcore stuff – kicking trees, hanging upside down for six hours, that sort of thing.

I’ve got two slight equipment changes being tested this evening for the very first time.

Firstly, I’ve moved down to a medium-sized running vest. I know – skinny queen. It feels a tiny bit weird, as I’ve always gone for big and baggy, but it’s definitely not too tight. It’s right tight, if that makes sense. Although I do have a feeling it may emphasise my moob bounce, giving off very much a Baywatch vibe when I run full pelt.

Secondly, I’ve recently purchased some running shades. I got these primarily for my summer marathon training. I’m going to be out on long runs through June, July and August, so they’ll be a must. I also look cool as fuck in them, which is all that matters.

It’s time to head to the starting pen. I say “pen” – it’s really just a path outside a school. It’s always a bit of a squeeze at the start. There are around 500 people running this (I’m bib 502, as I’m apparently being alphabetically discriminated against), and that’s a lot of people to squish together on a pavement.

A brief safety message from the Run Director about potentially having to give way to cars on one section of the course (fuck that – I’m commando rolling over the bonnet if it means a PB), followed by the usual “good luck and enjoy” to my fellow club runners, and away we go!

Talking of PBs, I’m unashamedly after one tonight, which is quite rare for me. Normally, I’m not really bothered about them and then end up getting one by accident. Not tonight though. Tonight, I’m after my first ever official sub-45 minutes.

I’m running quick and feeling good at the moment. I also start marathon training in three weeks, so this will probably be my final shot at one for a while.

However, I’ve already mentioned a couple of factors that might royally screw that goal up: those hills and that wind.

Now, the hill I can handle. I grew up at the top of it. My mother still lives at the top of it. I’ve walked, cycled, run, and staggered legless up this hill probably a thousand times. Okay, maybe not a thousand, but you get the wildly exaggerated gist here. So I’ve got no fear of it.

But I hate wind. It’s a motherfucker.

We’re about to find out anyway, because you pretty much start right at the bottom of the hill and then spend the next mile running up it. I’ve done some ducking and weaving through the ‘masses’ at the start line, but it still feels a bit more crowded than usual.

Just because I said I was used to getting up this hill doesn’t mean it isn’t tough. That headwind is also pretty strong, but I proved recently at the Grand Prix and the NT10K that I’ve found a way to battle through it and still hit a decent pace.

On the final stretch, I actually get boxed in a bit and feel like I’m being slowed down. Mile 1 is down though, and it’s an on-target 7:20.

As soon as we hit the flat, I feel a sudden burst of energy and put my foot down. I’m now heading along the street I grew up on and past my old house. I give my old gatepost an acknowledging slap as I pass it and get a sharp ping of nostalgia. Always better than a sharp ping from a hamstring.

I’m feeling really good now, even though there’s still a headwind. We soon get some respite though, as we take a right turn into the Lonnen. I mentioned the Lonnen during my review of this race last year, but it’s basically an old road that’s still unspoilt by development and surrounded by fields.

As I also mentioned last year though, not for long. It’s being slowly encroached upon by “progress” in the shape of 5,000 houses. My nostalgia bubble pops. Or was that my kneecap?

Anyway, at least we’re going downhill now, with the wind on our arses. As predicted, the field has opened up and the old “I got boxed in” excuse is now down the kazi.

Part way down, my watch flashes up for 2 miles and informs me I’ve just done a 6:50. That’s obviously excellent, but also quite frightening on the second mile of a 10K.

I… er… might have gone off a tad too fast here.

We’re now out of the fields and back into civilisation. As in, we’re in a housing estate. We’ll cut through here and then be back to where we started.

I’m back on the flat and still feeling quite good as I complete Lap 1. Our club coaches are stationed at this point, so I compose myself and try to look as unfucked as possible as I pass them. I think I got away with it.

Lap 1 done, Mile 3 completed – it’s a 6:58.

Piece of piss this isn’t it?

Well, not necessarily, because it’s time to do all that again. Lap 2 of the Cookson is always sink-or-swim time.

I’m back on the hill and back into the headwind. This time round, I’m definitely feeling both. I’m not boxed in either, which, now I think about it, might actually have helped me the first time round as I got a bit of protection from the wind. Now I’m completely exposed to it.

It’s hard graft, but I’m battling through it. Later, I find out from someone I know who was marshalling at this point that they had a few spewers. I’m definitely not going to be hurling chunks, anyway.

As this is Lap 2, the top of the hill is also where we hit Mile 4. This time round, I clock a 7:28, which, if you’re keeping up, is 8 seconds slower than the first time round.

This doesn’t worry me though. I’m not struggling, and these are by far the two fastest times I’ve ever done going up here. I’m also not regurgitating my lunch, so it’s all positives.

However, this time when I hit the flat at the top, I don’t have that previous spring in my step. Who knew a second sprint up a hill would start to tire you out a bit?

I’ve been running pretty much side by side with one of my club colleagues for the last mile or so, and we had a bit of mutual motivational chat on the way up, which helped ease the pain for both of us.

Well, he might not agree.

I know he’s faster than me, so the plan for the final two miles is simply to try and stay with him.

We’re back on the Lonnen now, hitting the downhill and enjoying that arsewind again. I feel like I’m in a good place and realise that, unless something catastrophic happens in the universe right now, I can get my PB without absolutely caning it.

Mile 5 is a 7:09 – 19 seconds slower than the first time round – but I’ve got plenty in the bank. Plus, I need to remind myself of this: that’s massively quick for me in a 10K.

I’m now firmly locked in behind my club colleague and just making sure I stay with him. I let him know I’m using him to pace, but not to worry – his young son could outkick me in a sprint finish, so he’s guaranteed to finish ahead of me.

Self-deprecating bantz. Always a winner.

Mile 6 is a decent 7:05, and I know I could probably limp the last 0.20 and still get a PB. I do not want to test this theory.

As we hit the final straight towards the finish line, my colleague, as predicted, sprints away from me.

Hey, he’s done his job – paced me in exactly as agreed. I do manage to catch a straggler from another club on the way in though, which is always a good feeling, I won’t lie.

I stop the watch and it’s a 44:36, so 7:07 pace. Yup. That’s a PB.

Later, my chip time comes in as 44:32. Even better. Success.

I can now officially call myself a sub-45 10Ker.

Get me.

Now comes the coup de grâce, the crème de la crème, the pièce de résistance, and any other sexy-sounding pigeon French you can think of: the finisher’s T-shirt.

Look at it. It’s a beautiful thing.

I share it around Instagram and Bluesky that night and people rave about it. Quite right too – it’s superb. Dolly would approve. And if she doesn’t, there’s a lawsuit coming.

I think we can call this a good night’s work. Race plan executed perfectly, a new PB, a beautiful T-shirt, and I can roll myself home in 15 minutes.

Not before I’ve bought some cake though.

I’ve earned that cake.

Next up, the Blaydon Race. Oh, and 16 weeks of Marathon training.