”Be Excellent to Each Other”
Bill S. Preston, Esq, Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure

Right, it’s Race Review time. No messing with this one, no delay of many months. I’m going to be spewing this one out like a student on Freshers week. I’ve vomit blogged before with great success, let’s do it again. People of all genders and races, I give you the Brampton to Carlisle 10 Mile Road Race review..

Now this is a race I’ve been looking forward to popping my cherry to for quite a while. I love a 10 mile run. Who doesn’t? It’s got all the double number achievement of running a Half but without that pesky last 5k bit. We’re in danger of stumbling into humble brag wanker territory here, but I do a 10 mile run ever weekend and it’s my favourite one of the week. I can pat myself on the back for a job well done, before eating a breakfast the size of my cat.

I was also looking forward to this race as it involved a Club day out. Brampton, where you start, is about 60 mile west. I’m all for a warm up run, but not a 60 mile one. Therefore, the Club have put on a bus to take us to the start and bring us back from the finish. And what do British people do when they go on a coach trip? That’s right, they get pissed. 

So the plan is thus. Coach to the start, run the 10 mile race to Carlisle, go to the pub for a couple of hours, get back on the bus, drink more, go home. I mean, this didn’t take much selling to me I’ll be honest. 

So, here we are, at 7:30am on a cold Sunday November ready for the off. It’ll take us about an hour to get there. There’s lots of good-natured chatter and pre-race prep. Bananas, Gels, people pinning their Numbers on, very civilised. We’ll compare and contrast to the return journey later..

We arrive at the Race HQ, a local school, in plenty of time. We’ve got a good hour before the race starts at 10am, so just enough time to get into one of the massive toilet queues, hoping and praying you don’t get performance anxiety once you get to the front. Baggage popped on bus, warm up completed, time for a team photo before we begin. I’m what we call round these parts a ‘short arse’, meaning I am lacking in the height variety. For some reason, I stand at the back for the photo, head stretching out like a turtle. What a bell end.

On the Start line and it’s decision time. This is a race. Judging by a lot of the runners I’ve seen milling about, it looks like the vast majority are going to treat it as such. There are tonnes of club runners here, from places I’ve never even heard of. I’m sure some of them are just made up. Arsecrack Strollers, you aint fooling no-one.

My 10 mile PB is about 1:23 ish. I honestly didn’t give any thought or have a plan for a target time today. I’ve just come for the day out, the beer, and the craic. As I stand here surrounded by some absolute beasts in club vests, I realise now might be the time to decide. Ok, let’s go with running in the low 8s shall we? If I can dip in under 8:10s, that would give me a nice sub 1:22 PB. That would be a nice achievement, without leaving me hanging out of my arse at the end. Right, we’re all agreed, let’s go with that for a plan.

This is very much a rural run. Brampton, the start, is quite a small village. So once we’re off, it’s only about 800m before we’re out into the Countryside. We’ve got the usual congestion that you always have at the start when you’re a mid packer like myself, but this isn’t too bad. Over 800 eventually complete the race, so there’s plenty of room. I mentioned earlier that it’s cold, around 5 or 6 degrees, but there’s no wind and it isn’t raining. Perfect running conditions really.

I’ve gone with my club vest without a base layer, but it’s not all hardcore. I’m wearing race tights under my shorts as a comfort blanket. Here I am about 400 metres in. What. A. Specimen.

Another great thing I’ve been told about this run is that it’s pretty flat. I mean, a couple of small climbs here and there, but nothing horrendous. This knowledge has also helped talk me in to trying a PB. The first 5k down, I’ve activated the sub 8:10 mile plan. I hit an 8:04, an 8:08, and an 8:01. I feel fairly comfortable at this pace. I’ve latched on to one of my club colleagues who I know is a cracking runner, and for the next 2 miles running alongside her we hit 7:58 then a 7:54. Wowsa.

5 miles down in 40 mins 5 seconds. Repeat that for the second half and never mind ducking under 1:22, I’d be sitting at a comfortable 1:20. It’s therefore time to ponder that golden question a lot of us runners ask ourselves during these moments – How do I feel? Well, you know, pretty good as it happens. Fuck it. Let’s go for it.

The field has opened up quite a bit now, there’s loads of space, so there really is no excuse for slowing down, unless it’s under my own wind. It’s live by the sword, die by the sword time people. I’ve also noticed over the last couple of miles that there is another runner who’s been stride by stride with me. We now seem to have accidently broken away into a team of two.

We’ve become very much aware of each other, and I hate an awkward silence, so we start some small talk. As you do during a 10 mile road race. He’s Greg, he runs for Low Fell (big up da Gateshead massive) and is looking for a 1:20 finish. He’s planning on running the last 5 miles at 8 min pace, if I want to tag along? Thus, a bromance is formed.

Greg is as good as his word. He’s a veteran of the course as well, so he knows where the climbs and downhills are, where we should and shouldn’t push. He’s talking me through the course and what’s coming up. He’s like a running version of The Chase. We do a 7:57 and a 7:54 mile 6 and 7. I think I’m actually spurring him on as well, as he’s committed himself now, so the pressures on.

Greg warns me that there will be two slightly testing climbs before we finish, but that once we get over the last one at 9.5 miles, the half a mile remaining will be a glorious downhill. I could roll myself to the finish if need be.

We’re starting to hit a bit of civilisation now, leaving the Cumbrian countryside behind. I’ve probably been too pre-occupied with getting a time, so haven’t taken in the surroundings as much as I should have. When I did though, the scenery is stunning, even on this cold November morning. I imagine this would be a cracking spring or summer long slow run.

Mile 8 involves one of those aforementioned hills. You can see it coming well in advance, but I’m ready for it. I even attack it. My Coaches will be proud. The hill brings our pace down, but even then, only slightly, coming in at 8:02. I don’t feel like I’m slowing down or tiring. I’m now massively confident that I’m getting that 1:20 and that gives me even more of a second wind.

We go over the M6 Motorway, a sure sign that we’re almost there. Greg is great. He’s also looking strong, and I think he knows he’s going to hit his target time. We’ve just done a 7:49 Mile 9. Just one last mile to go, past the University, up one hill, then over the Bridge into Carlilse and the finish line.

We hit that last hill. It’s hard work this one, bur Greg and I spur each other on to get up it. Teamwork makes the dreamwork. At the top, it’s half a mile left and as promised it’s a drop. We both turn on the burners and Greg is off. One thing I have never and will never be blessed with is a ‘kick.’ I couldn’t care less though, I’m flying down the hill on Mile 10 and feel great.

Over the line, it’s a 1:19:34 finish. For once, my eventual official Chip Time will match that. That last mile was a 7:38. I was looking for 8 minute pace, I ended up with 7:57. Winning. Greg is at the finish, and we do the runners fist bump. I thank him for helping me knock off a good 3 minutes from my PB. Thank you Greg, I will never forget you. 

Even better, and surprising but not really surprising when you think of my pace, my watch also buzzes to tell me I’ve PBd my 10k. 48:58 to be precise. Honestly, you wait all day for a bus and two come along at once. I know that runners sometimes talk about a ‘perfect race.’ This might have been mine. I was in control the whole time and pushed myself harder than ever before over this distance, rewarded with some quite substantial PBs (my 15k PB also went, but who counts that?)

Into the Sports Centre to pick up my finishers top and my bag. It’s a well-oiled machine in here. Someone goes off and runs to get my bag and runs back again. Impressive. What’s also impressive as I catch up with my fellow club runners is that everyone has had a good day. It’s PB tastic. From first timers to veterans of this, everyone has enjoyed it and posted great times. The mood is good and we’re off for Phase 2. The Pub.

12pm and I’m sitting in the William Rufus public house in the centre of Carlisle supping a well deserved Guiness and awaiting my All Day Brunch. The bus isn’t picking us up till 3pm, so for the next couple of hours 30 of us take over the corner and celebrate a great morning’s work. Boy do we celebrate. At one point the Sambucas do the rounds. By the time we head for the bus, we’re all several sheets to the wind.

But it doesn’t stop there. Once on the bus, it’s party time! There’s a huge cooler of drink, more Sambuca being poured, and at one point we all get Vodka Jelly shots. The journey back takes twice as long, as we have to have three piss stops to empty our bladders by the side of the road. A line of us, in club clobber, peeing in full view on the A69. Honestly, the club are going to get emails.

By the time we get back to the drop off I’m stotting as we say up here. Some of the group are heading to the local pub, but aware I’ve spent the whole Sunday away from my family and am now half pissed and two hours late, I take the safe option and go home. 

What a day though. A well organised trip by the club, a great course and event, PBs galore, Vodka Jelly. It’s like a cheese dream I once had. Let’s do it all again in 2025.