Race Review

The Blyth 10k (Sort of)

notbuilttorun, , 1 Comment

“I hope I give you the shits, you fucking wimp”

Spoon, Dog Soldiers

As you’ve probably noticed, the movies and quotes I pick for each blog post have absolutely fuck all to do with the content. Well, maybe apart from the War Games one.

I just pick them out from my favourite films. This one is from Dog Soldiers. If you haven’t seen it, it’s an underrated gem and I highly recommend you seek it out. Spoon, the character quoted here, is from my part of the world. So as an aside, if you want to know what I sound like in ‘real life’, I sound like Spoon.

Anyway, Dog Soldiers, it’s brilliant. Watch it and thank me later.

The reason this is ‘sort of’ the Blyth 10k, is that it isn’t the official one. That happens in May, starts and finishes somewhere else, and is mass participation. This one forms part of my clubs series of races, so is more of a closed shop.

The official title of this one is actually ‘The Blyth Links 10k.’ Add the word Links, avoid a legal case. There used to be a shop quite near me called ‘Singhsburys’. Which I thought was very clever. Sainsburys disagreed. So he changed it to ‘Morrisinghs’. Genius.

I digress.

This is Race 1 of 8 in our Winter Grand Prix. I’ve talked about the Grand Prix before, so I won’t bore you with it again, but in essence it’s a great way to keep everyone motivated during the dark shite weather months, by making us all race against one another for points.

I’ve also mentioned before that I’m hugely uncompetitive. So I just check the handicap they’ve given me, turn up, and try to run as fast as I can. I never look at what points I scored or where I am in the standings. Run against yourself, that’s always been my mantra.

Technical and philosophical bollocks aside, it’s time to kick off the Grand Prix season with this 10k. This first one is also an anomaly in itself. It’s the longest one we’ll do for a start – the next six are the same 3.4 mile course – whilst the final one is a 5 miler.

Also, this is the only one that’s a proper old Skool race. No handicaps, everyone lines up at the start at the same time and lets rip.

I also quite like this course. It’s about 5 miles up the coast from where I live, but a route I’m hugely familiar with. When I was training for my first half marathon, nearly 20 years ago now, I used to drive here to get a 10k in.

Since then, I’ve ran through here more times than I care to remember – as part of 10, 13, 16, and even 22 mile training runs. It’s a much quieter part of the coast compared to where I live – a few dog walkers here and there is about as busy as it gets.

Tonight though, it is busy. Around 230 have turned up to race. It’s a ‘balmy’ late August evening. Still don’t know what balmy means, but someone told me that’s how it felt. It’s been quite a warm day, with a slight westerly breeze. Seeing as we’ll only be running North or South, I don’t mind.

It’s down as a 6:45pm start. I’m getting a lift and we all agree that if we get there for 6:30pm, that’s plenty of time to pick up our numbers before the start. It really should be. If the car park wasn’t full.

Therefore, we have to park around a mile away and leg it to the start. Thankfully, we’re not the only ones with this problem. As a result, they delay the race by 10 minutes to 6:55pm. Sorry not sorry.

I had heard through the grapevine that this isn’t the usual course. I’ve not seen what the new course is and, as usual, it’s completely impossible to make out the race instructions at the start (megaphone or PA system or it’s just pointless tbh). So I still don’t know.

But you know, it’s not like I’m going to be winning or owt, so I’ll just follow the crowd and the instructions of the marshalls.

Even the start is different. I mean, we’re facing the wrong way just for starters. This new course is either going to be an adventure, or highly annoying. Let’s see.

We’re off. No gun or horn goes, but the fasties at the front start running, so we all do. We’re right on the prom with the sea to our right. We’re not here for long though. We take a hard left, then another left, and we’re into the Dunes.

Dunes? How do you run through Dunes? Well, you don’t really. A number of years ago, they very cleverly built a multipurpose path right through the middle of them. Perfect for cyclists, walking your dog, and running.

It’s a bit up and down. We are in Dunes, but nothing major. I really like running through here, it’s a bit different, although it may be a mixture of nostalgia and familiarity kicking in.

Now, on the usual route, we’d follow this Dune path all the way to its end, where it pops out at the Village of Seaton Sluice. Not tonight though. Around half way, we’re ushered off to the right by a Marshall.

This takes us on to the main road and heading back towards the start. Interesting. I smell laps. We’ve only run 2 of the 6 miles, and I’m actually quite happy with how it’s going so far. Both are 7:24 miles, which is in and around PB territory.

As predicted, it is laps. We’re directed right and back on to the Dune path. This time though, we’re going to stay on it longer. My mile 3 is a 7:20, and I’m feeling it a bit here.

The field has spread out a lot though and I’m practically running on my own. I have noticed however, that I’ve passed a few fellow club runners who are usually faster than me.

Now, before I get too excited, I did expect this to a certain extent. It is the end of August. I know quite a few in my club who wind down their running over the summer. In fact, I know some who stop all together.

People go on holiday at this time of year, many of whom aren’t sad fuckers like me, who takes his gear with him and runs up ridiculous French hills at 7am in 32 degrees..

The point is, these are great runners who are just out of form. Next race in a month’s time, they’ll be flying past me like I’m not even there. I may win this battle, but I won’t win the war.

Back in the trenches of the Dune path, we’ve gone past the point we were directed off before, and carry on for around another mile. Here, the Dunes flatten out for a little bit. They’ve built a children’s play park here, which is the point at which we hang a sharp right again, off the Dune path, and back on to the main road again.

We hit mile 4 here, which is a 7:26. Again, this is in or around 10k PB pace. We’ll now be heading back on the straight, flat main road all the way back to the finish now. With 2 miles left, I think I’ve worked out the remaining course in my head, and it won’t involve any more of the Dune path.

I now have no one around me, save from 2 runners 20 yards ahead. For the next mile, it feels like we match pace. I never lose nor gain ground on them, despite getting quicker and posting a 7:18 mile 5.

This is also the point of the race where the only photo of me is taken. Aaaand, it’s shit.

Absolute state of it

I now definitely know what the remaining mile is going to be. Keep going on this straight road, until we get to the Bandstand at the end of the beach, right onto the Prom, then straight onto the finish.

Knowing the end is nigh, I get a second wind. I’m now gaining on the two runners in front, passing them both just before the 6 mile mark. My mile 6 is 7:14, fastest one of the night, and I get the Tom Cruise arms out for a sprint finish over the line.

10km down in 45:30. It’s a PB.

Or is it.

Because it looks like we haven’t done 10k. That’s right, the course is short. Everyone coming over the line complains that their watches are saying 9.97km…or 9.98km..or 9.99km. One thing is for certain – no bugger ran 10km. Including me.

That’s right, I was a 9.99km. I’ve been robbed. You know what? I’m not arsed. No really. I’m not bothered. I’m delighted with the run. When the results come out the next day, I’ve finished 85th out of 229. For a race full of absolute club beasts, that’s a win.

6.21 for a true 10k. Allegedly.

I stick about at the finish to clap in all of my club colleagues. Also, let’s be honest here, I got a lift here so I’ll need a lift back.

It’s after 8pm before we head back to the car and it’s noticeable darker. A reminder that this is Race 1 of the Winter Grand Prix and, well, Winter is coming.

Brrrr.

Brampton to Carlisle 10 Mile Road Race

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”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.