Warrington Half Marathon

I stand, with a fluttering stomach, watching the runners file past behind their pace banners. My warmup has been to jump up and down on the spot. The random Insta influencer who suggested this said that sixty seconds was enough, but I flag at around twenty. At least I’m very warm. The sub 1hr:30mins lope confidently, the sub 2:00s stride with intent to break into the hour. My older sister is in that group, and I wave as she walks by smiling. She wants to beat her personal best of 1:59 from last year. I wait for quite a while until the sub 2:20 banner comes into view, and I slot in.

The irony is not lost on me that I did a similar thing in March. The Liverpool Half was my springboard, and the dream had been for me to progress by this point so that I would be in the group my sister’s in. Or at least with the sub 2:10s. Clawing away at these minutes is not the sole purpose of running but that was my stated goal for this year, and it hasn’t turned out quite as planned. Ten years ago I got my PB here of 1:56, but that was a long time ago. This year, I have had an awful lot of little trips away which have been wonderful but not conducive to consistent training. Then there has been the emergence of some perimenopause symptoms, terrible sleep being the biggest annoyance. Finally, there is my right hip/glute/hamstring/Achilles problem which began to rear its/their head in the summer. 

These are the reasons I merge with this second-to-last grouping. We’re a mixed bag of size and age, a little more relaxed perhaps than the ones ahead. I have decided that my re-imagined goal is to not lose sight of this pacer and as we go out of the golden gate of Warrington’s town hall, I stick to him like glue.

Initially, it feels a bit too comfortable, but I stay with him, as I know that the last time I managed double-figures in a training run was a ten-miler was two months ago, and I’ve done barely more than six miles at a time after that. I’ve paid attention to the elevation and know that there is a long hill just around the halfway point. If I can stay with him until the top of the hill then there is the possibility of giving it some welly in the second half.

I’ve had my shot of espresso this morning, and a few beetroot extract tablets (I bought them online about two years ago, and, well, they might help). Alongside this I had a bit of porridge and ham and cheese croissant that I’d pulled out of the freezer as we’d run out of bread. And we’d run out of bananas. Although my pre-run nutrition was somewhat ad-hoc, my ‘per’-run nutrition was well planned. I intended to take a gel every half an hour. I had brought three along and planned to grab a free one from the mid-point water table.

I’ve read a lot about taking in carbs on a long run. And I think, being as slow as I am, that the fatigue sets in much quicker if I don’t take the gels/chews/sweets regularly. But there is a fine balance between stuffing your gob and getting dodgy stomach complaints. Despite my random breakfast, the gels go down comfortably, although at mile six (ish), when the big hill in the middle begins, my right leg begins its complaining. This is right around the time where the 2:20 pacer, with his metronomic rhythm shoots off into the distance while I slow down to climb the hill at a manageable pace.

That is disappointing, but I know that the final third is mostly downhill. It takes a lot of effort to keep going up though. I keep going at a slow trot. This is the first time where I actually chat to someone as I realise that for most of the race so far, I’ve been concentrating on keeping calm and steady. Which takes a lot of work. We help each other up the hill with light banter (apparently the Great North Run is phenomenal), and when we finally get to the crest, I shoot past him. Which is cheeky, I know, but I had to try and resurrect my sub 2:20 aim.

Ironically, with the downhill pounding (Nigel says it is because my stride opens up) the pain in my right leg reduces massively. My legs are tiring, and again, I’m wondering if I can hold on to this increase in speed for the final five miles. It’s not all out by any means but it’s on the edge. With just over two miles to go I spot and catch the 2:20 pacer. That gives me a boost. I allow myself a little walk as I take my final gel and drink the water at the final water station here. Then I push.

If I squeeze under my Runcorn Half time of 2:18 I’ll be pleased. But perhaps I can get a 2:17 to match my Liverpool Half time. My Achilles are burning, and my legs are turning into jelly with each step and still I push. I daren’t look at my watch as there are no more calculations to make, I just need to get to the end. Where the hell is that finishing line already? I have almost nothing in my legs but suddenly the gantry appears with the red numbers ticking away. A final effort that feels like a sprint but probably looks like a slo-mo video and I’m over the line

The beautifully sunny but crisp morning had given the most perfect conditions for a PB and my sister got hers with a marvellous 1:54. I also managed a little gain and a 2025 PB of 2:16:24. Under the circumstances I’m very pleased. I’m particularly pleased that managed to get effort right. I didn’t shoot off too fast at the start. I had prepped on the elevation. I had held on in the final miles. This result made me feel that despite the setbacks, the year has not been in vain, and I can keep building on this. Keep doing the exercises and fix my leg too perhaps, but all in all it has been a good job done.