https://www.strava.com/activities/10777592252
Confidence is fragile. You convince yourself you’re confident until you convince yourself that you aren’t. I was a bag of nerves during the warm up. I arrived to the start in plenty of time but still felt a little flustered. I warmed up around the park and there were a lot of people doing the same thing, going in both directions beside the start line. It was a little manic, or it felt like it was, but maybe that was just me. Barry arrived with Rizelle and I changed my shoes, did some strides and headed to the start line. The announcer was speaking Spanish only (obviously) so I didn’t have much concept of what was going on, but there was a delay in starting and this just added to my feeling off. I know that if I was more confident then the delay wouldn’t have bothered me at all, but alas, we are where we are. At 9:05, the announcer stopped annoying me and the gun went – we were off.
1st kilometre – 3:08
There wasn’t as much quality in the field as I expected and I positioned myself on the second row. There was even a legitimate child, I would say no more than 13, who was in the front row. The moment before the race started and I was thinking what in the world is this kid doing here? He’s going to get trampled on! Once the gun went, everyone (including my child friend) went out like a train and it was a little chaotic. After 100 metres, there was a left turn and then a right turn out of the park and onto the road. I settled into a little pack of 5 and was just focused on effort, on being comfortable. Unfortunately, the effort was telling me I was uncomfortable and I knew I was on the road to the hurt locker after 500 metres. My mind started wandering slightly when I seen the kid up ahead and the group went past him. He had done well to this point, I thought, so fair play young man. Seán and I had discussed the race plan a few days before. I was to go out conservative for the first two kilometres and slowly start to get quicker, work through the pack and close hard. The 5th kilometre was to be the fastest. The watch split at 3:08 and I knew I had gone rogue and was going to have to pay the piper.
2nd kilometre – 3:16
The group I was in began to noticeably slow and although there was respite on the pace, the effort was still very high; way too high for this point in the race. Over the next couple hundred metres, 2 of the guys dropped back and we were now 3 people. The course took a hard left and then soon after another left and I got a smack of wind in the face. The group was a little strung out but they tucked in behind me and I was now leading. I didn’t want to be setting the pace for the group but didn’t have any choice at this point. I was trying to keep the pace around 3:15’s but was also apprehensive looking at the watch. I just kept the head up and kept going and I knew that if I were to slow, then the guys behind would go ahead and that would be that. And slowing I was. The effort felt like I was doing strides but I still had over 3 kilometres to go. This is not the place I wanted to be. The world of hurt was descending when the watch beeped for a 3:16 2nd kilometre.
3rd kilometre – 3:20
As promised, the group made somewhat of a move and a big burly man in a black and orange singlet moved ahead of me and took the pace. I doffed my metaphorical cap to this saviour, this guardian angel. I was sad that I was slowing but I was happy that he was now leading and I hung on to him. I had a small bit of a reprieve at this stage because even though the pace had slowed by a few seconds, it was now at the pace (although an increased effort) that I had done so many reps at and I had convinced myself this was familiar and ok and that I was not going to die. I was working hard but I know I can work hard at this pace. I toyed with the idea of making a move and pushing the pace on again but this would have been a solo effort and I just didn’t have the confidence (that word again!) to take on the pace solo. I was at the red line from the jump and I was en route to the hurt locker so a solo run to the finish chasing a PB that was quickly slipping away from me was not the best idea. The group was also now just myself and the guy leading. Or so I thought. Right on my shoulder was the child I had silently chastised for his positioning at the start line and for how fast he started the race. We had sufficiently slowed that he was now drafting off me. The boy wasn’t even making a sound – he was comfortable! I felt like a fool. I felt even more foolish when the watch beeped for a 3:20 3rd kilometre.
4th kilometre – 3:23
The short respite with the pace was now over. I was toast. The child had now overtaken me and was in between me and the big burly pace setter. I was in the ‘hanging on for dear life’ realm and was not enjoying a second of it. I can’t really remember much of this kilometre, only that it was sore. I could feel the wind. I felt like I had no pop in my legs at all. I felt like I was not wearing a pair of carbon shoes. I felt like the ground was swallowing my legs with every stride. Each stride was becoming increasingly more difficult and made even more so by the watch telling me I was running at 3:25 pace. The watch is a truly awful piece of tech when things are going bad in a race. You can’t stop looking at it and, every time you do, it reinforces how poorly things are going. The only saving grace of this kilometre was that I knew the race was coming to an end. I had already made peace with there being no PB and it was now all about survival. I was mentally preparing myself for trying to wind up the pace for the finish but I couldn’t even contemplate doing that before I was in the 5th kilometre. I didn’t have to wait much longer as we took a hard left and the watch beeped for a 3:23 kilometre (hahaha).
5th kilometre – 3:08
It was time to roll. The child and the burly pace setter also had the same thoughts and there was a noticeable pick up in pace. Again, the effort had me pushing against the red line, but the pace was approaching something more acceptable. Reaching the last kilometre in a 5K is akin to getting a mushroom in Mario Kart. There is a tangible uptick in your speed and it is largely your head telling you that you can go faster, it’s psychological, knowing that the finish line is coming and you’ll make it home. The last kilometre of this race was a bit circuitous and took in the Plaza de España, going around a large fountain on a cobble locked road. Barry was there to scream encouragement and capture me drafting off the child, showing all the signs of being in the hurt locker that I was most certainly occupying. After we came out of the Plaza, I checked the watch and we had 400 metres to go so I decided to just burst. The child had the same idea but the burly pace setter had fallen away. The child and I were both pushing hard as we took the final slight right towards the finish line. With the gantry in sight, we were neck and neck striding down the home straight. I was able to out kick the child to the finish line and finished a couple seconds ahead of him. Lest it be said that I am petty but… I was stoked. Not with putting the child to the sword but with actually being able to finish strong and in a respectable last kilometre of 3:08. Technically this was the joint fastest kilometre of the race so let it not be said that I do not follow my coaches plan.
After the race, there wasn’t too much disappointment, and there still isn’t. I was happy with the Trim 10 Mile and I am happy with this. At times, racing might not give a true reflection of where your fitness is at but I can’t really have any complaints here. I am over the hill of the anaemia and that is two decent races in two weeks. Race practice is something I need to do more of but I am also keenly aware that I need a solid, uninterrupted training block leading into the autumn to perform well at Dublin Marathon. I have some more races coming in the next few months to lock in that side of things and I am really excited to race more soon.
When discussing his marathon on the Sunday, Barry had made a comment about when you’re pushing up against the limit, when you’re at the red line and about to go over it, what is the point in slowing down? Why not just keep going at the limit? Oftentimes when you do slow down, you’re still at the limit so… fuck it and keep going. I had thought about this since, in relation to my own race, and wondered if I could have just kept going and rode it out. Would I have had the endurance? Could I have PB’d? The answer, unsurprisingly, is no. Not for me. Hopefully that will be different in Dunboyne 10K in 5 weeks time.
Buckets of Rain 