Thank heavens for baby robins

How does that saying go? It never rains but it pours? This week, it seems to apply both actually and metaphorically.

Whilst Eastbourne parkrun itself was run in dry weather today (it always seems to be a warm, muggy, sunny/cloudy combo), the course had been hit by the most heaviest of heaven-opening, overnight showers. Standing water lapped gently on the grass in the start-finish straight.

It was almost mini-me triathlon conditions and had I brought me some wheels, I could easily  have undertaken a one mile paddle, a one mile pootle and a one mile pedal on my tricycle (stabilisers not required).

Alas, as I had not brought my striped woollen bathing costume, or my tricycle elbow pads, I was going to have to run (and I use that term very loosely) the whole way.

Last week was, of course, my personal worst time of 25:47, some 3 minutes off my usual 5k pace. That was my benchmark to beat for today.

But, there were other aims today too.

On the must-listen parkrunshow podcast (Epsiode 44), the most refined and, I believe, only pregnant member of the presentation team, Nicola Forwood, recounted how she came across a baby robin at her local parkrun last week.

A baby robin! Could there be anything cuter in the world? Perhaps there is, but would you find it at your local parkrun? I couldn’t let Nicola have ALL the fun, so I made it a mission to not only beat least weeks’ time, so as to start heading back in the right direction pace-wise, but to ensure I also spotted a baby robin on the way round.

So, what are the chances of spotting two of them? Oh yes, TWO baby robins…

We set off at 9:00am prompt.

Last week I covered mile one in a predetermined 8:30. This week I was aiming for 8:25 - that should be more than comfortable enough for me, even accounting for the extra-high knee lift required through all the splish-splosh.

We trotted on our way, splashing through the standing water on the grass. I felt good, my pace felt comparable to last week and all seemed well so far.

And then, baby robin number one appeared. I encountered this one after about 600 yards. I heard it more than I saw it, but, as I ran past, mummy robin came to placate it by stuffing something in its mouth:

With much excitement, I continued my journey, picking off a couple of runners. I gave a big grin and a thumbs-up to the guys at the start/finish as we ran past it for the first time and headed off into the distance.

Mile one completed  - 8:25. Spot on.

How was I feeling compared to last week? Still bloody knackered, but I’ll plough on regardless.

Into the second mile and I sensed my pace  was slipping. I tried to concentrate, to loosen up as best I could, to concentrate on my form and relax. Result - I felt like I got even slower. I could barely lift my feet off the ground.

But, this lifeless form was suddenly brought to life by baby robin number two. I smelt this one, before I saw him and I think mummy and daddy robin might have a bit of cleaning up to do:

Robin encounters for the day over, I struggled on.  Through the second mile marker in 8:25 - exactly the same as the first mile. Well, I was running consistently, if nothing else and even though I felt like I was slowing, the evidence disproved it.

There were a couple of guys ahead of me and I knew I could out-sprint them in the run to the line, so I tried to pick up the pace as best I could and hold with them.  With half a mile to go, they were winding it up and I found I couldn’t go with them this time. They slowly pulled away as I pushed to try and keep up.

Into the home straight. Here comes my trademark sprint.

Yep…. here it comes…..  in a moment….  it should be coming just about now…… where the heck is it?…… come on, sprint man…… SPRINT!!!…… not today?....... no?.......... oh well.

There was no sprint finish to be found….. anywhere!

I stumbled through the chute, grabbed my token and fell to floor, an exhausted wreck. I thought to myself that I should have beaten my personal worst time from last week. Anything better than 25:45 would do…… just something to show I’m heading back in the right direction.

I had to double take at my watch.

26 minutes and 29 seconds. Final mile split of 8:36 - my slowest of the three. Final time almost a whole minute slower again than last week. A new personal worst and now a whole three minutes behind my personal best pace of 6 weeks ago.

I have no explanation, no answers, no rhyme and no reason.

It’s mildly frustrating, but the most important thing for me to understand is that whilst my performances are going backwards very quickly, at least I am still able to go out there and run - and enjoy the feeling of pain and exhaustion for 23-26 agonising minutes. 

That really is the most important thing. Well that  - and the existence of baby robins.

This is what a baby robin really looks like. Cute? I'll leave that up to you...

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ps - more blog entries available and please do share/retweet if you want to spread the parkrun love. I don't come up with this literary rubbish just for my benefit you know...

Poodle-pacing my way to a new record

Running really is a pursuit of vicissitudes. So many positives and negatives in the same experience of the moment. I never get down about running, despite my recent unresolved problems, but it doesn’t alter the fact there are high and low points almost by the second.

Anyone who has been following my blog - is there anyone - there may be a couple of people, perhaps - will know that I have been off my usual 5k pace for about 4 weeks.

I’m not talking marginally slower - I am talking tens of seconds and even minutes slower (at full effort), to the point that two weeks ago, I was a spent force after just one mile and I pulled out altogether with about 500 metres to go.

Anyone who is motivated by times and PB’s would probably be crying into their isotonic sports drinks at the thought of getting progressively slower with each run. It’s a hard thing to accept if you have a competitive edge and want to get close to a personal best, or at least run consistently, as I had been doing for years.

But, not me. If I may go idiomatically clichéd for one moment, once the wheels have fallen off, I just change the goalposts!

I just had three aims to day:

1)    Completion

2)    Enjoyment

3)    Beat the poodle* (see postscript)

I had set myself no time to achieve and I was going to run at no faster than 8:30 pace for the first mile. Remember - this is bang on my usual 10k pace, and not my usual 5k pace of about 7:50.  After that, I would see how I felt.

There were far fewer people this week. Not sure why, as it has been dry pretty much all week, there was a bit of cloud cover but the sun was beginning to burn through. It was much like it had been for the past six weeks.

I was telling myself at the start not to throw all my plans into the air and go off too fast and kept reminding myself I only had three aims - complete it,  enjoy it and take out the poodle (even if s/he is so, so cute!!).
Said poodle on a previous run: 

      The starter told us the course was looking fast today and wanted to see some quick times.  Cue, minor heart sink.

We were off and I was a good little boy for the first mile. I held right back and kept calm.  I let most of the others thunder on ahead. I picked a few people off through the first mile and I was certainly guilty of excessive clock watching (or is it watch-watching?) as I was trying to make sure I kept to my pace.

One mile - beep - 8:30. Perfect.

How was I feeling? Bloody knackered, but keep going….

We turned in to the long back straight. I could see the 24 minute pacer as a speck in the distance. Little demons were telling me that that was my usual pace and I should be way up the road. But I quickly malletted them on the head and plugged on.

Could I just up the pace slightly? I focussed on a number of backsides (scientifically, not pervertedly), and I ticked them off one by one. My pace had definitely improved a touch.

I plodded through halfway and I could spot the next backside. What a wiggle on that one...

Ah, it was the poodle. Unfortunately, s/he appeared to be flagging a touch and its mind seemed to be elsewhere. As the pacey poodle popped for a private poodle-piddle, I pootled past the piddling poodle, pronto.

It was very hard work at this point. Don’t think for one minute that by slowing it down by some margin, it was somehow easier. It was exhausting and as I approached the end of mile two, it was the usual conversation with myself of ‘just one foot in front of the other’ and ‘every step taken is a step closer to the finish’.

The mile two sign beeped on my watch. A quick glance showed 8:17. Blimey, I managed mile two 13 seconds quicker than mile one. When you’ve got very few positives to hang on to, I was grabbing that one with both hands and running with it.

The final mile was as hard as any before. I had to slipstream a lady for a while, just to try and get air in my lungs and keep my feet turning, trying to match her leg turn with mine,  just to take my mind off the exhaustion.

We passed the finish area to the right and I heard the most welcome sound. One of the organisers, Graham, shouted, ‘Well done, Martin’ (or something similar). I acknowledged with a hand wave and dug in for final loop of the field.  I have never ever heard anyone cheer for me in a run or race before, so it was so very, very welcome. Those three little words are so uplifting when you hurt like hell.

I powered on as best I could. Down into the ditch for the final time and that leg-wobbling feeling as you come up the bank on the other side and over the field towards, Barbara, our final marshal. Then, it’s a right hand turn, through the ever sinking branches of the willow tree (parkrun may have to provide machetes next week) and back onto the grass again for the finish straight.

I upped my pace a touch and passed the lady I had been slipstreaming and a chap. There was also a young boy just ahead and I focussed on getting past him. We hit the final straight and all the crowd were urging him on.

I smiled and eased off my usual sprint. I didn’t have the heart to pass him on the run-in with so many people cheering him. So, I just took the foot of the gas and let him through the finish chute before me.

I checked my finish time.

PB = 23:33

Average = 24:00
Previous worst = 24:49

Today = 25:45 (official parkrun time of 25:47)

Completely smashed my personal worst by almost a whole minute.

But, I had completed it, I had enjoyed it for the most part, I had stuck to my 8:30 pace for mile one and I had beaten the poodle!!

Moreover, when I got home, I saw that I had achieved something I had never achieved in all my previous parkruns. I had run negative splits - just!

Mile 1 - 8:30

Mile 2 - 8:17
Mile 3 - 8:16
(plus the 10^th of a mile)

From now on, I am forgetting that a 21:50 actual personal best, a 23:33 parkrun personal best, and 24:00 minute averages ever existed. They are times gone by. They are ex-times.They may be times of the future again one day, but they are most definitely not times of the present.

My new benchmark is 25:45 and that is the time to try and beat next week. If I do, great. If I don’t, at least I can celebrate another personal worst.

But, have I sunk to new depths when my running ability is now based on whether I can beat a cute curly-haired pooch? Running really is a pursuit of vicissitudes, isn’t it?

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Postscript - in previous reports, I have referred to the poodle as a labradoodle. I wish to apologise unreseverdly to Mr/Mrs Poodle for my inaccurate reporting and for any hurt or distress I may have unintentionally caused him/her. I did make a 25p donation to an RSPCA charity collection on my way home to partly atone for my shabby journalism.

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Handicap winner!

Wow. I'm sooo chuffed. This week was the final week of the Conkers handicap spring league and before this final week only 5 of us were in the running for winning but we could have finished in 12th position as 12 people could take runners up!
The week before the handicap started I had taken 1.5 minutes off my best time which became my handicap time, so at the start I thought I had no chance but went for it anyway. Each week I chipped away at my time gaining vital points. The highlight was last week when I went sub 25.
This week was tough - we were all gunning for the best time possible. I went for it and crossed the line taking another 5 seconds off my best, it  nearly killed me! One of the others had taken over 10 seconds off his best .
The waiting game began - some didn't wait and tried to work it out - I didn't want to do this and give myself false hope.
Sunday morning (this morning) the results were posted on Facebook - I'd done it!
Shows anything is possible and that belief and determination is key. That and having fun - this has been a great addition to our parkrun and bring on the autumn handicap. Thanks Peter Speechley for organising it.