When I say ‘it’s been a funny old year’, it’s not been funny at all. For the first couple of months of 2025 I was struggling to shake off the effects of a bug I’d had over Christmas and New year and it just felt like I wasn’t making any progress at all. Running was no fun whatsoever.
By March I’d managed enough training to complete the Wakefield 10k in a reasonable enough time to keep me happy. It went better than I’d imagined it would and that was more than enough. I resolved to get out training and get my fitness levels back up to where they’d been a couple of years before. This had been around the time of having my pacemaker fitted, when strangely enough I’d been the fittest I’d been in decades and was running well, producing faster and faster times week in week out.
Sadly, as this year has progressed, things didn’t particularly change. There was little or no upturn in fortune or fitness and injury followed illness followed injury. If I got really lucky I’d be ill while carrying an injury!
Since March I think I’ve managed to run less than ten 10ks. Only one was in a race; the Leeds 10k which as ever was thoroughly enjoyable. The ones I’ve managed to complete in training have been slow and gruelling. Mostly though, I’ve been restricted to shorter distances with the odd bit of strength work thrown in for good measure. But even the resistance bands have fallen by the wayside. It’s been hard to stay motivated when I’ve been full of cold, feeling sick or nursing my back through a week at work, hoping that it doesn’t just ping and leave me in a world of pain. This happened in August and left me struggling to walk, let alone run! Not content with feeling that it had strained a little in the morning, in the evening I thought that it would be a good idea to start moving heavy bags around only to find that the ‘ping’ happened with the first attempted lift. Absolute agony!
I managed to find renewed motivation going back to work in September as I trained hard to be ready for my local 10k. I’d started off trying to run some quick 5ks before building up distances. Towards the end of September I realised that I hadn’t had my race number through for the 10k that was taking place at the beginning of October. Checking my emails revealed no confirmation though and then the penny dropped; I hadn’t actually entered. I took it as a sign. Still struggling to gain any momentum or fitness I decided just to take my time and train steadily towards the next 10k at the end of November, giving me loads of time to get sharp and ready for a race that is relatively flat and known for the chance it gives for personal bests.
Even then, things just wouldn’t go right. A couple of weeks ago I injured my foot and still have no idea how I did it. One minute I was walking along fine and the next it hurt to put my foot on the ground. That lasted a week before gradually getting better!
Over the last week I’ve been able to get in two runs; a 4 mile and a 5 mile. Neither was hugely quick, but I’m happy to have miles in the legs and on my 5 miler I have to say, I felt strong.
Hopefully, this is the start of just being able to get out running regularly. I managed to get out for a run on our recent holiday in Mallorca, even though I’d planned to go out twice…illness again. I love the change of scenery though and the fact that I can get straight into the pool once I’ve finished, so even just the one run is a bonus! Now, back in chilly England, I’ve got around a couple of weeks to get myself race ready. Maybe there can be a decent ending to my running year yet!
For a while now, ultra running has both appalled and fascinated me. We’re talking ridiculous distances and conditions – running 100 mile races is fairly typical and often involving mountains and other such treacherous terrain. The idea of putting myself through such torture, despite my love of running, appalled me, but the idea that people chose to test themselves to the limits in such events absolutely fascinated me.
‘The Rise of The Ultra Runners’ had been on my ‘to read’ list for a while. It had sat there in one of my book boxes idle, occasionally popping its head up and briefly grabbing my attention before losing out to something shinier. And then one day, I decided that the time was right. It turned out that I really should have picked it up earlier!
The book plots the rise in popularity of ultra running; basically the pursuit of running ridiculous distances over many hours, sometimes days and often in ridiculous conditions. It would seem that there are now plenty of perfectly sane humans getting bored of the shorter distances, you know, like a marathon! For the uninitiated this means that ultra runners are taking on anything from 50k to 160k. In fact, the longest ultra is actually 3100 miles!
As with the last book of his that I read, ‘Running with the Kenyans’, Finn immerses himself in the world of endurance running. In order to write the book, he doesn’t just search out ultra runners, he becomes one and it’s an interesting read. Finn not only runs the races, at one point he even moves in with one of the world’s best ultra runners living in a cabin on a mountain, training with him and generally just trying to absorb everything he can about this world that he’s joined in with.
The adventures of ‘The Rise of the Ultra Runners’ take us all over the world in the pursuit of the ultimate test. Finn talks us through each agonising step in a world where things can change from one minute to the next. It seems that as an ultra runner you never quite know when disaster might strike.
However, these athletes, Finn included, are ridiculously dedicated to their craft. So whether, it’s an injury, the terrain, the weather or just the fact that the climb just doesn’t seem to want to end, these people just don’t seem to ever want to give up. Given that the distances can stretch into the hundreds and sometimes thousands of miles, this is an illuminating read, to say the least. And there was me congratulating myself on keeping going for the final mile of a particularly tough uphill 5k the other night!
‘The Rise of the Ultra Runners’ is a fantastic read whether you’re a runner or not. If you run, it’s about our world, but multiplied by 100 in most cases. If, like me, you often struggle to drag yourself around a 10k then you’ll be amazed at the physical and mental feats described here. The fact that not only can humans push themselves to their physical and mental limits over what feel like obscene distances, but also while they’re literally climbing mountains or battling with ridiculous extremes of temperature will never not fascinate me. But it’s not just that that’s so interesting. With this book, the devil is really in the detail in terms of exactly what we’re capable of.
The further I got through the book, the more fascinated I got. And the more fascinated I got, the more I thought about trying an ultra marathon myself. The reality is that I most likely won’t ever have the time, but it’s an idea that I still can’t shake and I’d love for there to be a time where I was able to train for one and make it happen.
And for me, that’s the genius of the book. It tackles something that will seem utterly ridiculous for the majority of us and yet, we’re still compelled by what we read. This reader, despite the onset of middle age, a pacemaker, asthma and a terrible habit of eating crisps and chocolate and drinking red wine read it and genuinely thought he’d be able to run a 50k race. And let’s not get started on my genuine fascination with a 100 miler in South Africa!
Sometimes life’s just not fair. When I first looked at the projected weather forecast, 5 days prior to this race, it told me that it would be relatively cool and that there might even be a chance of light rain. So, in many ways ideal conditions for running. But as the day got closer the forecast changed and Sunday brought temperatures in the 20s and no cloud cover. Just what I would have wanted to avoid!
A year ago, the Pontefract 10k was my first race after having surgery to have a pacemaker fitted. Obviously, it brought its own challenges and in the end I was happy to finish in just under an hour. This year, with a lot more runs under my belt – albeit often taking two steps forward to then take two or three back – I was hopeful of a much better time. And then the hot weather decided to put in an appearance.
Last year’s race was meant to be the final one ever, but then late last year someone told me that Pontefract was on again and following a quick online search I found myself entering once more. I’ve ran this race for the last four years now and absolutely love it. There’s always a friendly, welcoming atmosphere, it’s well organised and despite the undulations of the course (so many hills!), it’s just a really enjoyable run.
I do feel a little bit guilty about doing runs like this. In the grand scheme of things it’s not that long ago that I was collapsing in front of my family and scaring the life out of them, so insisting on running these races might be a bit much. However, they in turn insist on coming with me and I know they’ll spend the time between seeing me start and seeing me finish worrying, but at least they can hopefully see that I’m getting stronger and stronger. However we all feel, I’m very grateful for their love and support and it’s always a boost when I see them near the end. Or hear them before I see them as is often the case!
We arrived early this year as we had to pick up my race number, but despite my fears of an enormous queue, it only took a minute or so to sort out. So we found a sunny spot and stood chatting in the sun for a while, with me doing the occasional bit of half-hearted stretching. All the while, at the back of my mind was the thought of exactly how hot it was going to be out on the run, meaning that my usual pre-race nerves were ramped right up.
Before I knew it though, we were shuffling forward and a local DJ was counting us down. And then, we were off! I gave a quick last wave to my family and began to run and gather my thoughts.
Pontefract starts with a long, long hill and every year I have to concentrate hard to pace myself as otherwise I go too fast and then suffer for it in the middle of the race. Today though, I’m still shaking off a bit of a cold and so as a consequence I’m running fairly steadily and hoping that it’ll pay off towards the end when I can really up my pace. Fingers crossed! Even this early though, my mouth was beyond dry, so while I’d half-heartedly told myself that I could run about 51 minutes, the heat was going to make that a tough ask.
Pontefract is a lovely run. It’s largely rural, so for most of the race you’re in the middle of the countryside and I used that a bit today in order to try and forget about the heat. The one problem with this rural landscape is that the chances to run in the shade are few and far between and so while I was slowly baking I tried to take my mind off things by taking in the views. I was kidding myself if I thought it was really going to work though and it wasn’t overly long before the heat was beginning to take its toll.
However, by around the halfway point I had ran for 25 minutes, meaning that a reasonably quick run was in sight. But oh, those pesky hills! There are a number of steep climbs on the way back towards the finish and so, combined with the heat, the second half of the race began to feel quite brutal quite quickly.
I kept checking my watch for both speed and distance covered and stayed really focused, even though I was slowing down with every climb. And then as we reached a hydration point I completely lost focus and slowed right down while trying to grab a bottle of water and then take a few big gulps without throwing the whole thing down myself. It was only when I threw the bottle to one side that I realised that I was jogging and that I should have tipped the remaining water over my head!
As we got close to the finish two things happened – firstly, I could feel a numbness in my wrist and left hand as my hands swelled up (again) in the heat. Off putting to say the least! Secondly though, I managed to find a last bit of energy in order to speed up significantly for the last mile.
As I turned into the final straight before the finish line I just decided to sprint. I knew that my time wasn’t going to be exactly what I’d been aiming for, but I was still well inside the 55 minutes that I’d told my son to expect for me. My legs were like jelly and I was far too hot, but I managed to pass a couple of people before just about staggering over the line!
It’s always a weird feeling finishing a race. I got a little bit emotional after this one last year as it had been the first race since my pacemaker and I was genuinely a little scared about doing it. At other times I’ll feel fairly fresh and be able to wander through the finish enclosure smiling and looking halfway alive still. Today, I revert to what is more or less type for me; shattered. I know I must look an old vagrant and like I might just fall over, but I don’t much care. I’ve done it and I’ve got a huge grin on my face.
So now it’s back to training for me. I’ll have a look at whether there are any other races to enter in the coming months, but in the meantime life outside of work and family will just be about running and recovering. I’m still fully aware that I’ve had a major scare and with the reasoning being that the fitter I am, the stronger I am, it’s just about more of the same.
I’m still here, I’m still able to run and I remind myself of this kind of thing every day! So however shattered I might feel after something like this, it’s still something to smile about.
If you’ve read my blog for any amount of time you’ll already be aware that I love running. It’s something I’ve done for most of my life and the older I get, the more kind of evangelical I can feel about it. Running clears my mind while also testing me to my limits. There’s a lot to love about that, as far as I’m concerned.
I’ve written quite a bit about running; from tips, to accounts of races and even reviews of books on the subject. Recently though, I got to thinking about motivation; what gets me out, what I enjoy the most, what keeps me going when I’m exhausted or even just not feeling quite right.
I didn’t come up with a whole host of factors, to be honest. In the main it’s sheer bloody-mindedness that keeps me going. I set a goal and refuse to give up. However, one thing I have realised is what a difference a change of scenery can make.
Essentially, I’m a creature of habit. I’m usually happy just running around various routes where I live. However, I’ve come to realise that the odd change of scenery can be quite inspiring too and nowadays it’s the kind of thing that gets me genuinely excited about going for a run.
I’m lucky with where I live. There are plenty of places where you can go for a reasonably quiet run and not have too many obstacles – gangs of teenagers, yappy dogs – to avoid. And if you like hills, then you’ll find plenty where I am! I can’t say I’ve always been a fan, but the more I put myself through it with those hills, the more I enjoy the challenge. But sometimes, the same few routes can get a bit monotonous.
A few years ago I started to do Parkruns and I enjoyed the change of scenery, even if the trails weren’t the most fun for me. It was at a local country park called Oakwell Hall, which I knew well anyway. But even though there are a few Parkruns local to me, I’ve still only ever done the one. I think it’s just the thought of getting up early on a Saturday and the drive to get there that keeps me away.
What really inspired me to seek out different places to run was taking my running gear on holiday when we went to Majorca about 6 years ago. Again, I knew the place fairly well. It was Puerta Pollensa and we’d been there a few times before. Having watched loads of cyclists setting off from our hotel every morning, I got to wondering what it would be like to get out and explore a bit, rather than just sitting around the pool. And so, one year I took my gear and went out midway through our week there.
It was an absolute game changer! I remember that it unusually hot and that the sky was incredibly blue with not a cloud to spoil it. It was April, but felt more like a hot summer’s day. I only ran for about 4 miles – in the end the heat got to me – but it felt wonderful. I could gaze up at the mountains as I went and take in the early Spring flowers that were out in force. For the first few miles I didn’t give a single thought to pace or how my body felt. And so I decided that I’d make this a regular holiday thing and subsequently managed a couple of more runs in Puerta Pollensa.
Since then, I’ve tried to add some occasional variety to my routes both at home and on holiday and it always inspires me. I’ve been to a few different places locally, exploring bits of other towns and villages and I always find that the change of scene concentrates my mind a little more. I often take photos on the way though, so it also slows me down a bit.
Further holidays have meant different runs too, some more challenging than others!
We usually head down to North Wales early in the summer holidays and running there is always a test as it’s just incredibly hilly. The scenery is amazing and there’s the added bonus of ending up on a beautiful beach, but when I’m dragging myself up those hills it’s hard to reconcile the sense of challenge against the feeling of liquid legs and a pounding heart. Heading off the roads and on to the beach; hearing the noise of the waves, passing the sand dunes and feeling the slight give of the sand under your feet is pretty special though.
I usually run 6 mile loop when I’m down there. It takes in 6 big steep hills (I so want to call them mountains!) as well as the downside to a few of them too, which is always a blessed relief. On the route there are views of some mountains, a golf course, some beautiful houses and even a llama farm! Believe me, there’s nothing quite like the sight of grazing llamas on a remote Welsh hillside to wake you up on a morning!
We took an Autumn break in October 2022 and I was really looking forward to going for a run. We were heading to Alcudia in Majorca and not only did it look beautiful, but it looked flat too. I couldn’t wait to get out there and follow any runs up with a long dip in the hotel pool! And then I collapsed in the airport which eventually led to me having heart surgery less than a month later! So, running in Alcudia remains on the ‘change of scenery’ list!
In the latter part of last year I managed two more runs in very different places. Firstly, on a trip home to Newcastle to see family and friends I got up especially early, having plotted out a route along the edges of a local industrial estate and ran a 10k. Not the greatest scenery ever, although there was a brief view of the Angel of The North, but it was the flattest run I’d done in ages meaning I could really have a go at a good time. It was also reasonably quiet, presumably because most of the factories and businesses had started work, so that was also quite nice – none of the usual fighting for pavement space or avoiding rogue dogs!
My last ‘away’ runs of the year came once again in Majorca. Following last year’s troubled break we went away again in early November determined to make the most of the break and knowing that I’d be able to take part much more than last time!
I managed to find a street map via Google and so planned out a route that I could take, looking it over several times in order to try and commit it to memory. It took in some of the quieter parts of town and some of the outskirts and more rural areas as well as a good portion of the sea front, so I was sure to have plenty of sights to take my mind off those aching legs!
As you’d expect, running in Majorca was hot, even in November, and so it made it fairly difficult, but the change of scenery worked its magic. In fact, it worked so well on my first run that I actually managed to get lost, running down what I thought was the right road before discovering it was a dead end after about half a mile and styling it out by turning round and running up the other side of the road as if that was what I’d intended all along!
The mistake meant that I was determined to get back out later in the week, just so that I could check out the bits of the route that I’d missed. And so, a couple of days later I set out again and managed a slightly quicker 5k while keeping the pace low enough to be able to take in every last one of the sights. So, not a serious bit of training, but a lot more interesting than my usual routes!
This year I plan to add more changes of scene to my running routine and have already signed up to a new race, with more to come. We’ll definitely be off on holiday too, so I’ll be making sure to take my gear with me. Aside from that I’d like to explore a few more places and have vague plans for some very early starts that will enable me to drive out to a few places and go running there. I haven’t settled on anywhere specific yet, but I won’t leave it long.
So, if you feel like you’re stuck in a rut with your running or just a little bit bored, try a change of scenery. It really can make all the difference!
As lots of you know, I suffered a bit of a health setback in November of last year when I was admitted to hospital and had to have a pacemaker fitted. It was a shock, but not in terms of feeling unwell. The truth was that I’d been struggling with heart ‘episodes’ since around May last year. I just made a really stupid choice in trying to manage it and hide it from everyone. My distinct lack of medical training allowed me to have faith in the fact that it would probably just go away.
Despite all of this, I’d kept on going out running, striving to build fitness while all along fully aware of the palpitations and dizzy spells I suffering on an every more regular basis. I never felt bad when running though, so I kept going.
On Sunday 15th May last year, I ran the Pontefract 10k in West Yorkshire, finishing in just over 51 minutes. I felt great.
By May 28th I was a complete mess and was forced to reveal a little bit of what was going on to my family when I had my worst episode of the year. The palpitations got so bad that my whole body was shaking. This lasted for around 6 hours and for almost all of this I managed to hide what was happening. I was forced to confess as we were due to go out to a gig and I was worried I may well collapse. Miraculously, I didn’t end up in hospital as, with a bag packed, I suffered a dizzy spell that shook me from the feet up and levelled my heart rate back out. I was exhausted, but fine, so no need for a doctor. It couldn’t and didn’t last though.
In October I collapsed in Manchester Airport as we were heading off for a break. Again, fate intervened as the ambulance was unavailable, so we went on holiday, took things easy and vowed to visit the doctor when home. But my ‘luck’ was about to run out. It was while waiting for an appointment at hospital that I ended up being admitted to a ward anyway, a month later. The rest, as they say, is history.
To cut a long story short, I set myself some goals in hospital. One of them was to get fit and run the Pontefract 10k in May of 2023. Despite several setbacks along the way, I achieved my goal a couple of weekends ago. Here’s how it went.
Having only been able to manage three full weeks of training, I was beyond nervous on the morning of the run. I hadn’t actually ran a full 10k since the previous October and knew that once I got to 5.5 miles (8.85km) I was in unknown territory as far as my heart – and actually more importantly, my legs – were concerned. With a minute to go, standing on the start line, I felt a little bit sick and more tired than I’d hoped for. My previous training run had gone well and I’d felt stronger than I did now. Talk about bad timing! Surely all I had to do was start running and keep going though?
The Pontefract 10k course is affectionately described as ‘undulating’. In truth, it’s tough and hills seem to dominate. So, even though I knew what was coming as I took the first turn out of the park that it starts in, I allowed myself a wry smile as my heart sunk (metaphorically, don’t panic) at the sight of the first long climb. If I’m right, it’s about a kilometre long and really a lot steeper than you’d like as you set off on a 10k race.
Around about 5 or 6 minutes later, as I finally crested said hill, my legs felt wobbly to say the least. However, knowing that there was a stretch of flatter running to come calmed me a bit.
The course feels like it takes you up more than it does down, which as it starts and finished in the same place can’t be true. But as each hill appeared, I began to feel doubts seeping in. I covered the first couple of miles in around 18.5 minutes, so although I was going slower than I’d have liked, I was steady. My goal was to run it in under an hour, but I was more hoping that I’d be close to 55 minutes as this had been what my training had indicated I was capable of.
I ran a focused race. Just telling myself to shorten my stride and keep plodding along for hills or lengthen it for flat sections or downhills bits. When heading downhill I was careful not to get too carried away though as the course has a nasty habit of following a lovely downhill section with a punishing climb. I tried not to look at my watch too often in order to check times and distance, but as the race went on and I got more tired, it proved too much and I was making checks on a far too regular basis, which didn’t help me.
Turning at halfway, I was greeted with the usual big hill, which then takes you left and up another one. During these climbs I started to doubt myself a little bit, but was spurred on somewhat by the fact that some people had began to walk. Despite being encouraged to do so by my family, walking was never an option for me, but although the sight of others doing this lifted my spirits a bit, it did nothing for my legs! I’d also started to feel sick by this point too, but I knew there was a water station a mile or two ahead, so just hoped that I could reach that point incident free.
Underpinning every step I took, both in training and the race itself, was the fact that this was a major goal I’d set while lying in a hospital bed feeling very sorry for myself. In short, I was determined that I’d finish, on my feet, running. And I’d finish in under an hour!
The hills just seemed to keep on coming though and despite the fact that I’ve ran the race twice before, I still couldn’t work out when they’d end. Every time I dragged myself up one, it felt like there was another in the distance and I’d lengthen my stride for the flat section before steeling myself for the energy sapping climb to come!
The water station came and went and I grabbed a bottle, being careful just to sip some in order to avoid being sick. Lots of runners take a swig and discard their bottle pretty quickly, but I decided I’d just keep mine until I saw my family near the end. I’d be able to just keep taking regular sips in order to keep going. Those hills didn’t want to stop though!
Every so often on the route, people had come out of their houses to cheer the runners on and the support was invaluable to me this year. It’s naturally quite encouraging and people say the loveliest things as you run past, although not the most accurate. Whoever called out, “looking good” as I ran past in the last few kilometres clearly needed an eye test! I was also struck by one old man’s generosity of both thought and gesture as we approached the last sections of the race. He’d bought a few crates of bottled water and was using his Sunday morning to help people out. It was a lovely gesture and although I was clinging on to my water station bottle and didn’t need any more, it distracted me for a little while and took my thoughts away from how tired I was.
The race ends on the same stretch that it begins with, meaning the uphill start is reversed. I’ve never been happier to be at the top of a hill! I’d checked my watch and knew that the 6 mile mark (almost 10kms) was approaching, so I lengthened my stride once more and ran faster. I knew that my family would be somewhere on the hill, waiting for me, but as yet I couldn’t see them. Knowing they were there really helped though.
About halfway down the hill I spotted them and I knew they’d be able to see me. It spurred me on that little bit more and I picked up speed once again. The last thing I wanted was to worry them and I knew I wouldn’t look too good, so moving faster was my only hope!
Passing them, I knew that the final bend, leading to the last straight was about 30 seconds away. Time seemed to be moving faster than I would have liked though and the clock was getting uncomfortable close to the hour mark.
Two runners passed me at the very start of the final straight. I told myself out loud to let them go – normally I would have kicked on again and tried to catch them. But now, I was exhausted and my only goal was just to get over the finish line.
I was aware that I was moving fairly quickly though. Somehow I’d found the strength to not quite sprint, but to move a great deal quicker than I’d been doing in the last few miles! At this point in the race people are lining the road and everyone cheers the runners on loudly; but not as loudly as my family. My wife, daughter and son had cut across a field to get to the final stretch and I could hear them shouting encouragement as I got close to the finish. The trouble was, I couldn’t see the finish. Normally, there’s a big arch, but this year just a small sign, so for far longer than was comfortable I was unaware of exactly where I was.
By now my competitive streak had kicked in and I checked over both shoulders, sensing that other runners would be finishing strongly too. To my amazement, it seemed like no one was close, so I turned my head around briefly to check. The nearest runner was at least 20 yards behind me. No one else would pass me now. But then I noticed that up ahead, one competitor was walking. It was a club runner that I’d been close to for the last half of the race, but he’d gotten away from me while I was flagging. I sped up – fractionally – feeling that he was sure to hear me and run, but he didn’t and I was able to make up one more place in the finishing order.
Just when I thought it would never come, the finish line was mere yards away. I could see the clock ticking on. 59.50. My watch was reading a minute less, but that would be my time over the start line, not my gun time. Again, I kicked. I could just dip under the hour mark. Using every last bit of energy, I made it, crossing the line in a time of 59.58!
In amongst the feelings of sheer joy, I must admit that I welled up at the end. Having set this as a goal 6 months previously and nearly not made it, it was a little bit overwhelming. But I wasn’t going to cry in front of hundreds of runners and spectators, so I gritted my teeth, covered my face a bit and took some deep breaths. Job done!
By the time my family located me, I’d picked up my medal, grabbed a bottle of water and was waiting in the queue for a t-shirt. As I stood, my legs were rapidly cramping up though. I knew I hadn’t been able to train enough and was fully aware of what the last 10k had taken out of me. I was so tired that I didn’t have the strength left in my legs to stand still and stretch in order to get rid of the cramp! My wife had to hold onto me, so that I could balance and stretch. Later, when I had to go and take a match for my youth football team things would get worse as I kept getting cramp in my feet, but couldn’t balance in the stretch position needed to alleviate the problem!
So 6 months on from my operation and I feel like I’ve finally achieved something tangible. I certainly feel a great deal more like my old self, even if it’s been a long road to get here. I guess there’s nothing else for it than to keep moving forward. So, where and when is the next race that I can enter?
Bright sunshine, blue skies, a chill in the air and a slight breeze. Some – including me – would say these are perfect conditions for running.
And so it was that on Sunday 9th October, 2022, in bright sunshine, myself and my family left our house at just after 8.40am to make the short walk down to the start line of the inaugural Morley 10k.
Despite my usual case of pre-race nerves and self-doubt – usually put down to having hairy skinny legs and combining them with shorts while other people are around – I had an inkling that this was going to be a good race as soon as we arrived. As I’ve already mentioned, the weather was lovely, but it was the atmosphere that struck me more than anything.
Whether it was because I’d never seen this stretch of road so busy, I don’t know. But there was an unmistakable buzz about the place. As well as race officials and over 700 chattering runners there were lots of spectators at the side of the road, people in their gardens, others just sitting on their front step with a cuppa, all combining to make for a really positive atmosphere and sight.
As 9 o’clock struck, the race was started and off we went on the steady climb up Middleton Road that would mark our first kilometre. Spectators continued to line the road, some out of curiosity (probably just to find out who in their right mind was out running so far on a Sunday morning) and many there to support relatives and friends that were out there having a go.
Personally, as a keen runner, I’d ran the course a few times and so I was able to make a steady enough start, easing my way past a few slower runners as I went, while allowing others to pass me by. After all, at my age there’s no point whatsoever in a fast start when I know that there’s an enormous hill at the end of the 10 kilometres!
Morley town centre marked the start of the second kilometre and there were more people milling around and clapping our efforts. The course then swooped down a big hill where I was careful not to get too carried away for a couple of reasons. Firstly, these big hills can see a runner topple over, unable to handle their own momentum and secondly, with a while still to go and a long uphill section ahead of me, energy preservation was at the forefront of my mind!
At the bottom of the hill lies Morley Bottoms, so named because…well, you can work it out, surely? We would cross this point a further couple of times but there were already plenty of people around, which again was a lovely boost. Every so often there’d be a friendly marshal telling you how well you were doing too, which as someone who’s generally a solo trainer was a nice change. Normally I just have people like dog walkers staring at me, no doubt wondering why I’ve chosen to make myself look so knackered, sweaty and red!
Around the next mile or so would be spent running uphill and while this was a steady rise for the most part, I knew that it was going to be quite challenging. When you possess legs like mine – imagine a stork in trainers – then hills are going to be an inconvenience at best! However, I must admit today surprised me and when I got to the top of the climb and we turned to head back down – hurray – I was still feeling strong. The nagging injuries I’d taken into the run weren’t troubling me, which was a relief, but I was still careful to take things fairly steadily back down the long stretch of hill to the 3 mile point.
I knew that my family would be waiting for me back down at Morley Bottoms, having walked round from the start. And given I’ve lived in Morley for around 25 years, I thought I might see someone I knew too. In short, this meant that as I got there I was running at a pace of a minute quicker per mile than I would have liked as excitement got the better of me!
Emerging at the bottom of the hill my eyes darted everywhere, searching for my wife and children or even just a friendly face. But at first, when I couldn’t find them, it was the noise that hit me. It felt like half of the town had come out, all armed with bells, whistles, tambourines and anything else that they could make a racket with! It felt fantastic running through! And then as we ran through the crossroads I spotted my family – I heard my kids first, in truth! – and now, having ran just about half of the route, I was flying! That is, flying in terms of a tall thin, 50-year-old man flying…so probably moving at a fast jog to those who saw me!
The next part of the route took in a stretch of road where I regularly run, so I was comfortable here and began to try to move through the runners as best I could. However, as we turned to head down Middleton Road towards MacDonalds, the fact that this was a long hill that I’d be running straight back up, was at the forefront of my mind! I knew that this was the place on the route where I would probably begin to feel it in my legs…and of course the rest of my ageing body, lucky me!
Heading back up towards Morley was very much a case of trying to stay smiling and keeping my pace somewhere near respectable and I tagged on to the back of a much younger, much taller runner on this section just to give me something to concentrate on. Then, as we turned again to head up Albert Road and I knew I was close to the final mile, I realised that my legs still felt reasonably good. I got myself to the 5 mile mark and decided that with just over a mile to go, I was going to pick up the pace, while still keeping in mind the mountain that we’d have to climb near the finish!
As I approached Morley Bottoms again for the final time, I’d increased my pace and although my legs were now understandably a little shaky, I was confident of a strong finish. Morley Bottoms was still completely alive with noise and I must admit to feeling a little bit emotional as I ran through, listening to cries about how well I was doing and encouragement to keep going. As the road curved left though, I allowed myself a little look up, just to confirm how steep this final hill was. Sadly, nothing had changed…it still looked huge!
I’ll confess to feeling sick as I got close to the top of the main part of the hill. And, as I suspected they would, my legs felt a great deal more jelly-like! But, with the magnificent town hall now in my eyeline and the finish only a few hundred metres away, I knew I needed to grit my teeth and finish as strongly as I could.
My family were stood opposite the Town Hall – there’s a video where my son shouts, ‘You don’t even look tired’, bless him and his terrible eyesight – and again their support gave me a massive, timely boost. In fact though, there were people everywhere at this point and the support was wonderfully loud. It was at this point that I realised that I was completely on my own in the race. A quick glance over my shoulder showed the nearest chaser about 50 yards back and the next runners on from me were slightly closer.
I pushed myself to what I’ll laughingly describe as a sprint finish, almost catching a few people in front of me on the line. It was a blessed relief to get there though, so gaining one or two extra places didn’t really matter. I’d done exactly what I’d set out to do, finishing in 54.34, almost a minute quicker than I’d ran the course before. The winner finished in 34 minutes, but let’s not dwell on that too much…
It was wonderful to see so many people come together on the day. Hundreds came out to shout themselves hoarse and encourage a load of people that they probably didn’t even know, to run a distance that must have seemed like some kind of madness, so early on a Sunday morning! The race was a victory for community spirit and I’m really thankful for those that had the idea and then put all the hard work in to make it a reality. I really hope that the race goes from strength to strength, year upon year. As we try to forget a pandemic, isolation, austerity and the fact that everything in our lives may just be getting harder and harder to afford, this was the type of thing that the town needed and maybe the kind of thing that we all – runners or not – needed too.
Huge thanks to @morleyrunningclub and Morley Town Council (and anyone else involved that I don’t know of) for all of their hard work. The inaugural Morley 10k was an absolute triumph!
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