A Few Extra Pictures from the Day

I wanted to share a few extra pictures of the Bath Half that were taken by other people. These help to illustrate what a full, fun, exciting day it truly was and capture some of the excitement felt by everyone taking part and those watching from the sidelines.

Firstly, here is a lovely snap of Scott and myself at the TeamRUHX tent, preparing for the kickoff:

Representing the team.

It was really great of the organisers to bring a photographer to capture the high spirits ahead of the run. Everyone was smiling and happy and eager to get going. All those pre-race jitters seemed to melt away in the face of such relentless enthusiasm.

Speaking of the wider RUHX running team, here we all are:

Here we are - at least, those who managed to get through the heaving streets in time.

And an action shot. "Team RUHX!"

In my raceday report, I briefly mentioned the team bus, situated around mile 2/ 8, depending on the lap. The photographer on board managed to snap some wonderful photos of everyone running past in those distinctive blue vests, including the two of us:

Early in the run, mile two. I'm still chilly enough to have my sleeves down.

And this one is at the eighth mile when we're red faced and absolutely knackered.

Having the support of a dedicated team who seek you out and make noise just for you is a wonderful feeling and a great part of running in aid of a charity.

Also, I want to share a brief glimpse of the incredible atmosphere from all the supporters on the day. This is the amazing scene that greeted the runners as we reached the urban areas toward the end of the Lower Bristol Road and returned to the centre:

That moment alone made the proceeding miles worth the effort, I can tell you.

Finally, here's a hilarious and weird coincidence that was shared with me the day after the run. A group of lads who work in a different department of the same company took this group picture at the start line as they were waiting to set off. Look who happens to be standing right behind them:

An unbelievable coincidence.

That's all for now. Massive thanks again to everyone involved in organising and planning and executing the Bath Half, including the amazing volunteers who worked tirelessly on the roadsides. You all made it a truly spectacular day.

The Bath Half 2025

The atmosphere in Race Village is wonderful, unique, and filled with excitement. There's a crackling energy in the air as runners arrive and start preparing for the race ahead, meeting up with friends and chatting to strangers. Everyone is here for the same reason and nobody can wait to get started. There are tents set up all around the field for each of the many charity runners, plus a warm up area in front of a small stage with a DJ, and a huge tent for storing baggage. That's not forgetting the enormous array of portaloos that quickly attract long queues as runners go for several nervous pre-race wees.

Race Village in all its glory. People, tents, excitement.

There are twelve thousand people taking part in the Bath Half today and the park crackles with energy. Scott and I arrive a full two hours ahead of time and make our way to the tent for Team RUHX. There are eighty-four of us running in aid of the Royal United Hospital and everyone is eager to get on the road. The team organisers have spoiled us today; there are bananas, jelly sweets, croissants, drinks - anything that a runner might want before setting off on a 13.1 mile trek.

Our heroes, prepared for battle and ready to go.

The temperature in the park is low this morning, with the occasional bitter wind that blows across the open plain and sends us scurrying back into the shelter of the tent. This is punctured now and then by the sun emerging and basking everyone in its lovely warmth. Quite a contradiction. Looking around at the other runners, it seems that nobody can agree on the best gear to wear. We choose to layer up - I'm in long trousers, an undershirt, a loose top, and the RUH vest, while others wear a vest and shorts. Initially, I've made the right choice, but I'll get warm soon enough.

During the wait (which is not as bad as I feared, there's lots going on), I meet up with Ed, a friend and one hell of a runner. He's an incredible athlete. In a few weeks, he's taking part in the unofficial Reverse London Marathon - running from the finish line the night before the event, ending at the start point in Greenwich. He's aiming to do that in three and a half hours. We ask Ed what time he hopes to get today. He says, "I'm hoping to take it quite easy. Maybe an hour and forty-five?"

Our hero and Speedy Gonzales.

Before we know it, the time has come. Runners begin moving toward their start lines in wave order. We take part in a short warm-up to get the blood moving, then it's our turn to filter out of the park and onto the main road.

Follow these huge arrows and you can't go wrong.

Thousands of runners huddle up together, trying to make as much space as possible. We're in wave seven, with wave eight directly behind us, watching with eager eyes. The tension reaches a fever pitch as the final minutes count down and then - we're off. The crowd starts moving forward. At first, we're walking slowly, then we're able to start a gentle jog. Finally, we cross the start line and the 2025 Bath Half is on.

The vague black archway in the distance is the starting line.

The route around Bath is a pretty good loop. We start by running downhill and heading past Royal Victoria Park, then out toward the dual carriageway heading to Bristol, before turning back and entering the city again. We'll do two loops of this area in total, but the first lap has an extra section where we continue past the centre and out past the Rec Ground, until we turn a sharp hairpin and come back on ourselves.

There are worse ways to see the city.

Runners on their second lap are kept to the left on the roads, while those of us just starting stay to the right. It's quite a shocking sight to get on the road at the beginning and already spot the elite runners tearing past, going hell for leather at seven miles deep. I later learn that the men's winner, Jake Smith, smashed the course in sixty two minutes, with Abbie Donnelly representing the ladies at sixty nine minutes. meaning that they were almost finished by the time we set off!

The atmosphere from the spectators is absolutely bloody amazing. They shout and scream and cheer and clap and hold up signs and blow horns. It's impossible not to smile and wave and soak in the vibes. It's equally impossible not to want to push hard, spurred on by all the support and encouragement. Everyone is having a great time and the crowds line up almost every part of the route. There are even the odd handfuls of people watching on that long trip back toward the city on the leftmost portion of the map.

A few miles deep and still smiling.

The sun comes out almost immediately. Within two miles, I've rolled up my sleeves to try and cool down. Now and then, a cold wind blows through the streets, but the majority of the run takes place in lovely crisp sunlight. We're toasty and warm, although the same can't be said for the spectators, all of whom are absolute troopers and keep up their energy despite the chill.

Once we turn back toward the city and start following the wide road into Bath, the landscape changes. Industrial buildings give way to small businesses. The huge railway bridge acts as a tall, dark barrier to our right, and it's a relief to finally get past it (seriously, it goes on for far longer than you realise). Crowds of people become more and more frequent, until the pavement is completely taken up by cheering spectators again and the energy hits a new high. Brass bands play at the roadside, radio stations have set up special booths to play music and commentate on the run, and the roar of constant support is beyond fantastic.

So. Many. People.

To our left, the elite runners continue to file past at a steady clip, now over nine miles into the circuit and still moving at a cracking pace. As for Scott and myself, we're doing really well. I can feel that our pace is quicker than usual, but we're keeping up and overtaking other runners now and then.

Every so often, we pass someone being attended by a paramedic on the side of the road, probably around five or six in total. Their faces are contorted with pain and devastation and most of them look to have pulled something in their legs. I consider myself very lucky to not encounter such a scenario in my runs.

Finally, our route diverges with those on the second lap. While they veer to the left and cross the river toward the centre, we continue straight and carry on. Now the left side of the road is filled with people who have already finished the hairpin turn and are running back on themselves. I was prepared for this moment from looking at the map, but I had no idea how long this section truly is. It must be at least a mile and a half, but feels so, so much longer, made worse by passing people who have already done it. Every time I see a junction or a roundabout ahead, I assume we're coming to the end, but - nope! - the course keeps going, Eventually, we turn onto a wide street lined by those familiar massive Georgian-style houses you always associate with Bath and turn the hairpin at long last. Now we head back on ourselves and run down to the river.

There are a few runners in costumes here and there. We see a classic Rhino Runner, a man dressed as a postbox, and a guy wearing a full disco glitterball. The runners supporting a breast cancer charity all wear a single large boob. I said to one guy, "I bet you feel a right tit." He laughed. There's another man in an amazing get-up, who I will talk about later. He deserves his own mention.

By now, we're making our way up an incline and following the road back into the city. We've crossed mile seven and are still going strong. The path splits off again, with the elites on mile twelve continuing ahead while we turn to the left and run back towards Royal Victoria Park for the second loop.

Lap two is much, much harder. The crowd's energy keep me going for most of it. We pass the same sights again, waving to the supporters on the Team RUH bus, high-fiving kids on the side of the road, grabbing jellied sweets as they're offered and even tapping the signs bearing Mario power-up mushrooms. Anything to keep going and stay strong. As we reach the dual carriageway and veer around for the long, long straight, I confess to Scott that I don't know if I can maintain this pace much more. He agrees that we can ease up a little, so we do - but not by much.

Now we're running on the left hand side of the road, but there's nobody to our right. It feels like everyone is now on the second lap. Somewhere around mile nine, I get a message from Ed. He's finished already and his time is an incredible one hour forty.

The quieter end of the loop, far away from town.

We press on. Past the radio stations and brass bands and swelling spectators. Past the railway bridge and the industrial buildings and the small businesses. Past the river and the water stations and the bridges. Finally, we follow the elite runners from earlier and turn left, crossing the river, heading into the city once again. This the only time I have to slow to a walk - I can't breathe and run and drink at the same time anymore. We follow the path around the river and pass the twelve mile marker. This is it. We're approaching the end now.

But the Bath Half is hiding one final, awful, nasty trick up its sleeve. As we draw closer to the finish line, the road starts to incline. It didn't feel as bad before, when we were seven miles deep. But now our legs have turned to rubber and our knees are creaking in complaint. It becomes harder to draw breath. The higher we climb, the steeper the road becomes, somehow getting to an absurd angle. It feels more like mountaineering than running. At one point, I get caught behind someone moving much slower, forcing me to walk, sidestep, and start running again. That one moment hurts more than anything else.

Now we push through the gates and into the park, still running uphill. The cheering reaches a crescendo. Spectators are going wild from both sides, screaming the names printed on our vests, yelling for us not to stop. This is about the point when I spy two familiar faces - Hayley and Suze from work. They're screaming for me and jumping up and down and their encouragement helps me get up the last bit of this awful hill. Now the road finally flattens out and our goal is just ahead.

There it is! The finish line!

All the struggle is worthwhile. Scott and I cross the line together, barely able to get enough breath for a cursory cheer. It's over. We've done it. Not only have we finished the Bath Half, we've managed a time of two hours and twenty minutes - a full nine minutes faster than our previous best in Chippenham! We're elated and thrilled as we collect our shirts and medals and wind back to the Race Village.

Survivors. Champions. Heroes.

And that, finally, is that. We completed the race, ticked a massive target off our bucket lists, and had a blast doing it. Even when things got tough, the atmosphere kept us moving. I cannot fault the amazing spectators for everything and all their wonderful support during those thirteen miles.

There is one more thing I want to mention. There was a man we passed at the starting line who was running for Great Ormand Street Children's Hospital. Not only was he older than us, he was running with a cement mixer on his back and pushing a loaded wheelbarrow. We saw him one more time, as we we making our way back down the hill toward the train station. The man was pushing the wheelbarrow up the final hill and still bloody running.

Cement mixer man.

This is what these events are all about. This is an ordinary man doing something totally superhuman. Yes, the elite runners are impressive physical specimens, but this man is an absolute hero. He was only about forty minutes behind us and still moving at an amazing pace, despite the hill and the weight on his back. What a champion.

With that, the Bath Half 2025 comes to an end. Now we have six weeks to prepare for a challenge that's double the length. Next stop: Manchester.

Squeaky Bum Time

At the time of writing, it is Friday 14th March 2025. The Bath Half is just two short days away. In fact, this time in 48 hours, I will be running through those familiar streets. I'm excited to get underway and also pretty dang nervous - but not just for the race. There's something looming ahead that's far, far bigger and more daunting than the upcoming half marathon.

There really is no experience like race day.

The 2025 Manchester Marathon is just over six weeks away. This is the last month where I can train to the fullest before it's time to taper off and slowly wind down. I feel ready - or as ready as I'll ever be - for this coming Sunday and the steady 13.1 miles that comes with it. But I am absolutely nowhere near physically primed and pumped for Sunday 27th April.

There have been a lot of frustrations lately. When I signed up for Manchester, my life was in a different state. I worked from home five days a week and had the luxury of closing my laptop and getting straight out on the road for a quick run. It was easy to get to the gym and I could enjoy all the lovely open spaces nearby at my leisure.

But things are different now. I have a new job (a great new job with lovely colleagues), but I'm in the office Monday-Friday. I don't work anywhere near home. If I want to run along familiar roads, I have to drive thirty to forty minutes home (more if the traffic is against me) and then get changed. Sometimes I don't get out there until after five thirty; at that time, the sun is setting and the temperatures are plummeting, as if mocking me for daring to train at this time of year.

Working back in an office also brought an unexpected new dimension to long distance running. I felt guilty about being away from home for so long. It was bad enough leaving the house at seven thirty and returning after five; adding at least another two hours to that, twice a week, was unthinkable. I struggled to find the ideal new balance. If I drove home first, I wouldn't start running for an hour after work. If I ran straight after work, I'd feel bad and miss my wife.

I don't say all this just to gripe and moan. I've always intended for this blog to be an open and honest recollection of my experiences as an amateur runner. With all these huge changes and adjustments, running has taken a backseat to everything else for several weeks.

Just to complicate matters further, I came down with a horrible illness for over two weeks, just when I intended to kick my training into high gear. Instead of reaching goals and smashing distance targets, I was sat on the sofa, struggling to breathe through my face. So now I'm in the final, exhausting crunch period, and I'm pushing myself - hard.

This week, I've managed to cross the ten mile goal twice, setting me in a good position for Sunday. After that, the real challenge begins. I have just two short weeks left to push myself and prepare as best I can. By the end of next week, I need to be back to at least fifteen miles (and just writing that sentence made my stomach turn). By the end of the month, I need to hit twenty miles again. After that, I can slowly ease back, back, back through April.

All my previous worries about finding balance and being away from home don't matter any more. I have six short weeks to get to ready and those weeks are going to fly past before I know it. Now I don't have the luxury of time. I need to be ready and, dammit, I'm going to get there. The road ahead is a long one, but it'll get shorter soon enough.

Until then, I'm going to enjoy a lovely tour of Bath this Sunday. Scott and I are running in support of the Royal United Hospitals and we're smashed our £200 donation target. I'm thrilled to raise so much money for a worthy cause and I can't wait to cross that finish line on Sunday.

After that, the real work begins.

My Greatest Triumph Yet

In October 2024, I get a call from my brother. He sounds excited. He says, “Have you seen that they're doing a Christmas version of the Chilly 10k at Castle Coombe?”

Like me, this jolly fat man will travel great distances in exchange for food.

I tell him that, no, I haven't heard about this. But we've already done the race a couple of times now - and my last visit to the track wasn't exactly a fond memory for me. But Scott won't be easily dissuaded from his prize. He says that people are allowed to run in fancy dress, that there’s also a children’s Santa run later in the day, and that there will be mince pies given out on the finish line. I um and ah and hem and haw for a few moments, trying to find the politest way to decline or think up the best possible excuse – perhaps I’m having my leg hair permed or maybe he’d believe that running is against my newfound religion. But then Scott says the only sentence that could possibly change my mind.

“If you do it, you get a flashing medal.”

 With those words still echoing in my mind, we once again find ourselves on the starting line at Castle Coombe race circuit. This is my fourth visit to the course and apprehension is filling my heart, clouding me with bad memories of my last visit. As with the first time I ran the circuit, we’re in the middle of a horrendous storm with winds reaching sixty miles an hour in various parts of the country. The temperature is bitterly cold, made even more unbearable by the wide open space of the circuit and the relative lack of cover. So far it’s business as usual. All we have to do is complete three laps of the track and get back in the nice warm car.

But this time, there’s an added wrinkle in our run. We have the pressure of a goal. Back when we mentioned to our family that we were running this circuit again, Scott said that he wanted to finish it in under an hour, a small personal goal of his. I laughed it off – after all, one hour two minutes was my best time in the 10k for the last several years. Then my uncle spoke up and said, “If you can do it – both of you – in under an hour, I’ll give you a hundred quid each.”

Suddenly it wasn’t such a light-hearted jog around a racetrack. Suddenly it was a huge personal milestone to conquer.

Scott and I share a few pre-race jokes together, shuffling from foot to foot in the cold. We glance around and spot the pacemakers, positioning ourselves closer to the fifty five minute runner and putting the one hour pacer at our backs. There are a few hundred runners at the circuit on this cold Sunday morning in December. Quite a few of them are in fancy dress. I can’t help but wonder how many of them are doing this for that promised flashing medal or if anyone else’s uncle has promised them a hundred smackaroos for the privilege.

My view of the starting line and all the runners ahead.

Yes, I’m nervous, for a multitude of reasons. Firstly, I know that Scott has worked hard on his pace. He’s sent me the odd screenshot of his training in the last couple of months, showing that he’s able to smash 5k in thirty minutes easily. For him, finishing this course in less than an hour should be a simple enough task. Secondly, I’m remembering all the mental struggles I had while completing this circuit the year before and how much it has weighed on me ever since. Thirdly, we won’t win the money unless both of us finish in less than one hour; I can’t let my slow pace spoil things for Scott.

The race begins with a huge cheer. A bubble machine blows foamy “snow” across the start line, splattering everyone as we cross. Unlike all the other races I’ve completed, this time we’re running in an anti-clockwise direction. I assume that this is because of the strong winds blowing across the tarmac today; at times, it hits us from the side with such force that it’s hard not to stumble.

But we begin well enough. Scott and I keep a close eye on our pacer in front. We make good progress, moving up the pack and finding a good spot among the throng of other runners. Some – like us – decided against wearing fancy dress and opted for (comparatively) warm running gear. But there are still a fair few people wearing a variety of amusing costumes. I see giant wrapped presents, elves, snowmen and women, the odd Santa, a couple of fairies, and one man in full Grinch-Santa getup, complete with neon green face paint that somehow doesn’t drip down his face by the end.

About halfway through the first lap, I find myself getting too hot. I end up taking off my thick Christmas pudding hat and warm gloves, letting a bit of cold air cool my bare skin. It takes a good long while to find a decent setup that keeps me at the right temperature – I end up rolling my sleeves partway and using my chin-covering snood as a headband. 

 Halfway around the first lap, Scott glances behind us and points out that the sixty minute pacer is nowhere in sight. So far, we’re doing good. We’re going strong. I’m still feeling good and breathing well. Everyone around us has hit their stride and I’m using a few people ahead to keep my pace consistent. There’s a good vibe, with a couple of people cracking jokes and chatty casually as we go.

As the first lap ends, we run past a table of water and grab some plastic cups. This is where I start to fall behind. I have to slow down to drink. Scott doesn’t slow down, so he ends up chucking half the cup in his own face. But once I’m finished drinking, I can’t accelerate to catch him. Scott is now several metres ahead of me.

Now he starts to pull away. I tell him to keep going and do his best. I’m the middle of a group of people running at a good gallop and the last thing I want to do is push too hard and burn out during the second lap. I watch my brother get further and further ahead until I’m not sure which of the distance blobs is him. It doesn’t matter. All I can do is forge ahead and give it my all.

The second lap turns into the third. Casual chatter has dried up by now. My wife waves from the small crowd of chilly-looking people at the start line. I keep going, putting all my concentration into maintaining a good, consistent pace. I don’t need to be the fastest, I just need to keep going.

Professional runners start to lap us more and more. The fastest have already finished, turning in a final time of just over thirty-odd minutes. If I was that fast, I’d do these events more often.

Around halfway through the third and final lap, I glance behind me and see a sight that makes my heart skip a beat. The sixty minute pacer is in view. It’s a blonde woman with a determined smile and she’s gaining on me.

I push faster. The final corner snaps us back onto the last long stretch toward home, complete with a few dips and valleys. My lungs still feel good – not burning or bursting. I’m breathing well and managing a good intake. Even my thighs aren’t screaming in frustration. I have that David Goggins quote echoing through my mind once again: “Finish strong!”

People around me start to fall behind. I want to yell at them – come on, we’re almost there, don’t slow down now! – but instead I lower my head and push on. As people get slower, I get faster. I’m working my way up the pack now, getting quicker and quicker as a distance smear draws closer and transforms into the finish line.

Friends and families line up along the final tunnel, clapping and cheering us all home. My wife is there, whooping and hollering for me. My brother is there, yelling, “You’ve got this!” I push on, on, on, determined to beat the bloody course and I race to the line, closely matched by a man dressed as a Christmas tree.

Finally, it’s over. It’s done. I stop running and catch my breath. I collect my medal and eat a miniature mince pie and check my time. My jaw drops.

Fifty eight minutes and fifty seven seconds.

My fastest 10k in almost five years.

I couldn’t be happier. We both smashed our target goal. We did it.

Two bros, finishing in 56 and 58 minutes respectively.

One year after my worst run of all time, I returned to that circuit and enjoyed my greatest triumph to date. What a wonderful feeling. I set a new personal best, had a great time, and won a crisp hundred pounds into the bargain. Oh – and the medal? It’s very cool and it lights up.

Worth every metre.

My Worst Run Ever

I've been running on and off (mostly on) for around six and a half years now - where the time goes, I cannot say. Since the first time I laced up my trainers, I've had plenty of good runs and more than a few sessions that were less than fun. I'm thinking about the time I ran thirteen long, tedious miles in constant drizzling rain, or the time(s) I forced myself to go out even though it was near-freezing, or the times my body couldn't get into the groove.

They can't all be good...

But even with all those under my belt, I can confidently say that my worst run ever was the November 2023 Castle Coombe Chilly 10k, as I touched on briefly before. It wasn't the coldest. It wasn't the wettest. It was nowhere near the longest. But it was the run I will always look back on as the single hardest and most frustrating.

What was it that made the run so damned difficult? In a nutshell, it was entirely mental. Nothing more, nothing less. I allowed the day to get inside my head. No, I couldn't honestly say why. Maybe it was because I'd taken time off after the Chippenham Half Marathon (perhaps too much time?) and struggled to get my head back in the game. I had only gone for a few runs between the two events, and most of these had been brief jaunts on the treadmill. At the time, I believed that I was doing well; I set the machine for an hour run and gave it my all. Indeed, I was delighted to watch the distance climb higher and higher, and when it reached that magical six with plenty of time to spare, I was elated. A 10k run is roughly six miles and I firmly believed that I was not only ready for the race, but that I was in better shape than ever before.

Oh how wrong I was.

It wasn't until a week or so after the Chilly 10k that I learned the sad truth about gym treadmills. It turns out that they are all set to record distance in kilometres, not miles. So when I believed that I'd smashed the six mile target in less than one hour, in reality, I was still around 3k short. This definitely became a huge factor on the day.

It also didn't help that this was my third time taking part in the Chilly 10k. The excitement of running on a real race track was long over by this point. It was also my third time running with my brother and I fully understood that he was so much fitter than me. The awful weather only caused my mood to slip and get worse as the kilometres fell behind us. The more I struggled, the more I started to doubt myself and the harder it became to keep going. Of all the runs I've completed, this was the worst, by some considerable distance.

At the time of writing, it's been almost a full year since I endured that particular run and it still plays on my mind. I still think about it when I'm lacing up my trainers or looking out the window to check the weather. It haunts me like a specter. Any time I'm struggling to find the motivation or looking for a reason not to go out there and train, this run returns to my mind and fills me with poison. Remember how much it sucked? Remember how you hated every minute of it? Remember how you couldn't keep up with your brother for the last sprint and looked so out of it at the finish line?

It's far too easy to let that voice win. So while I do recall how awful that run was and how bad I felt at the time, I also remember the other points, the more important facts. It was cold but I wasn't shivering. I was slow but I didn't stop. I ached but I kept going. And, most important, I remember this:

I still finished it.

Yes, we all have bad runs. Yes, sometimes they can act like mental roadblocks. But the key thing is to always push through and focus on the good side. I had a bad run and I finished it. The others will always be so much better.

A Quick Pause to Reminisce

Hello! Still alive. Still running. I'm doing well. To be honest, I keep intending to write little blog posts and keep track of my attempts to get fit again, but usually forget by the time I sit at the computer. Let's fix that today.

After ten thousand years! A blog post!

Back in 2021, after moving to Chippenham and making a running buddy, I started to get better at running again (again), (again). Tracy and I got on well, we made good progress, and started pushing ourselves to go further each time. We never worried about our pace, only about meeting our goals. It was probably the best way to run with a partner. As the year drew to a close, Tracy said the immortal words, "We're going to make 2022 the year we run some events."

And we did. Let me use this space to reflect on the few "proper" events I've completed and the medals I've earned along the way.

1: The Castle Combe Chilly 10k

Tracy and I tackled our first organised 10k together in February 2022. It seemed like a great idea when we signed up some months before, but fortune was against us. This run happened to coincide with not one but two massive storms sweeping the south west part of the country. We faced huge gusts of wind and cold, drizzling rain throughout. But that's not the part that sucked the most. Look at this:

Castle Combe Circuit, a real, legitimate race track.

As cool as it was to run on actual racing tarmac - complete with tyres piled up at the corners and raised red and white ridges along the edges of the road - this track has zero cover. There are no trees, no shade, nothing to block even the gentlest of breezes. That makes sense for high-powered vroom-vroom cars whizzing around at high speeds, but for us bipeds, it didn't help.

I'll be honest, spending most of this circuit running into the wind and rain was a miserable experience. The total length is three laps of the course and by the time we began lap two, Tracy had started pulling ahead. I think she was fed up of the weather and I couldn't blame her one bit. By halfway through lap two, I couldn't even see her.

My mind was on other things, namely trying to finish at a good time. Like most running events, there were pacemarkers scattered throughout the pack wearing flags indicating their estimated finishing times in five minute intervals. Ahead of me were the faster times - 35 minutes (!), 40 minutes, 55 minutes, etc. The 60 minute pacer got ahead of me and started to pull away. My heart sank as the 65 minute pacer soon followed.

I had one goal in mind for this run: I wanted to finish in under 70 minutes. When I was a regular runner, training for London, I could do 10k in just under an hour. Those days were long behind me by this point, but finishing in 70 minutes was a matter of pride.

Thankfully, I did it. Despite the wind, the rain, the cold, and the general laugh-in-the-face-of-it-all attitude of the day, I managed to finish this challenge in one hour nine minutes. I was delighted with myself. 

Wet and soggy, but triumphant.

2: The Bristol 10k 

Undeterred by that first experience, Tracy and I dived headlong into the next 10k, the official Bristol run. This was something I had originally intended to do back in 2020 with some guys from work, but then covid happened and the event was cancelled (or so my memory tells me, I could be wrong).

Unlike the Castle Combe event, this one took place on a dry, bright, clear Sunday in May 2022. Thousands of people gathered in the harbourside, being released in large groups to begin the winding trail around Bristol. The half marathon was held on the same day and that course merged with this one toward the end. The route was tremendous, with people lining the course for almost the entire stretch. Local brass bands blared out bass-laden beats as we passed and most of the course was relatively flat - aside from a sharp incline next to Castle Park on the way back toward the centre.

The Bristol 10k course map.

As the course went on, Tracy and I started moving up, winding through the pack, making excellent pace. As some runners started to flag and fall back near the end, we were still pushing ahead and going strong. We even managed to finish with a good sprint to the line. To top off this excellent day, I managed to finish in one hour and three minutes; a much better pace than my first attempt some months before.

3: Langley Lightning Bolt 10k 22

Fast forward to October 2022. Tracy and I maintained a decent schedule and managed a few longer jaunts as well, even breaking into double figures on a couple of occasions. When the opportunity arose to compete in a 10k that takes place just down the road from home - literally using the same roads we run every single week - I couldn't turn down the chance to sign up.

While Tracy wasn't able to make this event, I did at least have one familiar face running with me: Mark, one of my wife's work colleagues. Thankfully, his pace was close to my own, so we remained within talking distance for the first third of the race.

The course map around local country roads.

After a while, everyone found their groove. Mark and the 60-minute pacer began to gradually pull ahead of me. I ran next to the sixty-two minute pacer for a short while, having a casual chat about the various local events weve both run. It seems that the people who choose to run as pacers tend to do it with surprising regularity, heading to different races and wearing a big flag for their own amusement. Eventually the pacer began to pull ahead, leaving me alone for much of the second half of the loop.

This track was good. It was nice and flat, the roads were intimately familiar, and I enjoyed myself. Because this is one of the flattest 10k courses in the country, runners tend to come from all over to try and set me personal best records. Nikki told me later that the first finisher crossed the line at around thirty three minutes, an unbelievable time. For me, I managed to catch up with Mark toward the end and finished at around one hour three minutes again. I counted it as a new personal best and rang the special bell by the finish line.

4: The Castle Combe Chilly 10k

Yes, back to Castle Combe. This race is held twice a year, in February and November, just when the weather is at its worst. Tracy, remembering how rubbish conditions were back in February, decided not to come along this time, so I ran with my brother, Scott, who had been taking up the hobby for a few months. It was our first time running together in a race like this.

The event could not have been more different to the one in February. Blue skies, sun, warm air - I ran in a t-shirt and shorts. Scott, however, didn't take off his hoodie before we started and pinned his tracker to the front, forcing him to get way too hot before we'd even completed a single lap. If my first visit to Castle Combe was a miserble experience, this one was a genuine delight. The morning could not have been more pleasant and enjoyable. 

 

As the finish line loomed, Scott and I started sprinting, yelling David Goggins quotes at each other ("Stay hard!", "Finish strong!"). We crossed the finish line side by side at one hour two minutes, both thrilled at our pace.

5: Chippenham Half Marathon 2023

There was a fairly long break between this and my last "official" race. During this time, I continued running with Tracy both outside and in the gym, and we started work on increasing our distance again. Every September, my local town hosts a half marathon. I'd ummed and ahhed about taking part in it before, but this time Scott was eager to give it a go. We signed up and began working toward achieving the fabled thirteen mile distance.

The Chippenham Half Marathon course.

This a lovely route. It begins at the local sports ground and sees everyone run through the centre of Chippenham, before we head down the local country lanes and around those familiar flat roads once again (they get used a lot, it seems). At least ten of the thirteen miles take place along lovely flat, leafy roads alongside open fields. I knew the route well and enjoyed this trek.

Scott and I kept up a good pace and remained side by side for the entire length, making the turns and waving at people who stopped to cheer us along. We were still going strong when we ran past my home estate and waved at Tracy (who was ill with covid and cheering from her bedroom window). The route brought us back to the sports ground for a lovely fast finish on the grassy field, where our wives were waiting and cheering.

Exhausted and triumphant at the end.

We set ourselves a goal of finishing within two and half hours. Our official time was two hours twenty-nine minutes. Victory!

6: The Castle Combe Chilly 10k

One more time! November 2023 wasn't anywhere near as nice and pleasant as the previous year. A bitter wind blew across the track and seemed to put up an invisible barrier of resistance. Some people didn't seem bothered by this, but it caused me no end of difficulty.

Scott and I tackled this one again, but it was a tough challenge. We took our training more slowly after completing the marathon and I only managed a few practice runs on the treadmill in the gym prior to the event. In fact, the weather was pretty naff for most of 2023, adding another level of challenge to this run.

I later learned a surprising fact about the gym treadmills: they are calibrated to measure distance in kilometres, not miles. I thought I was managing an effortless six-mile run in less than an hour, but in reality, this was barely half the distance required for a full 10k.

This run was memorable for all the wrong reasons. It was a struggle. It was difficult. The bitter wind and the empty landscape worked against me, sucking the life out of the run. I felt gassed by the halfway point and could not get my head in the game. Usually I manage to enjoy the act of running even if the weather is poor, but this was different. There was nothing fun about this one.

At the end, Scott began the final sprint to the line, but I couldn't keep up. He finished a short distance ahead of me, yelling David Goggins quotes at nobody. My final time was still a decent one hour three minutes, but I was disappointed with myself. That's not how I like to feel at the end of a run.

Since then, I've continued to run and have some further adventures, but these are the official races I've tackled and the various medals I've won. They're all in a special box in my loft now, waiting for more victories and triumphs in the near future. I'll tell you all about that at another time...

Running Buddies

I have been fortunate enough to run with buddies before in various training sessions. In the early days of 2020 BC (Before Covid), I was intending to run the Bath Half with Nikki and Jodie. We enjoyed a comfortable mixture of sessions, running loops outside on the hilly roads of our old streets and meeting up at the gym after work for some treadmill action when the weather turned sour. It was nice to have company and certainly changed the dynamic of my runs.

Running? With people?

However, while we ran together, we still had our headphones firmly in place to allow us to concentrate and not listen to any pained wheezing or grunting. Running with others was a nice experience but it didn't really change how I felt about the activity or enhance my perspective. It was simply nice to have others along for the ride and share the suffering. Plus, watching Nikki and Jodie achieve new personal best distances was a fantastic experience.

For most of the time I've been an active runner (or a reasonably active runner), I have been doing it solo. Nothing but me, my headphones, and a goal in mind. I didn't mind it. Good tunes and zero distractions let me get lost in my own thoughts. I could set goals and focus on what I needed to do to reach those targets. I listened to plenty of Iron Maiden, and even a few audiobooks. For all I knew, this was how running should be.

But in the summer of 2021, I made a change - and a new friend. It began simply enough when I posted on the local community social page, asking about the nearby Parkrun and if anyone on the estate wanted to tackle it together. There were one or two interested responses and we got to talking.

That was how I met my friend and running buddy Tracy. We decided to try and tackle some local roads together and see how we got along. It was weird at first. Neither of us had much experience in running with other people, but we stuck with it and made awkward small talk. Initially, I struggled like hell to keep up. Tracy is in good shape - she runs, attends local workout classes, and eats healthy foods. I, meanwhile, have just scoffed three Christmas chocolates while writing that sentence.

This is quite accurate.

But we slowly fell into a good groove together. The first few sessions, we took our headphones and ran together, but separately. After that, we started chatting while running and within a few weeks, we became those annoying runners that hog the path and loudly talk without a care for anyone else. It's actually really nice to have a buddy out there with me. We motivate each other, push ourselves to do better, and refuse to quit.

This, I've learned, is the best part of having a running buddy. Now that someone is relying on me for regular jaunts, there's an added incentive not to give up or make excuses to stay home. Even when we run at the crack of dawn, or plan increasingly long Saturday morning sessions that seem to encompass the entirety of Chippenham, I'm more excited to do it because someone is willing to go through it with me.

As 2022 draws to a close, I'm looking back on the things Tracy and I achieved this year. We managed to get out before work several times a week during the summer. We ran the Bristol 10k together. I ran several 10k circuits throughout the year and managed to bring my time down a little more with each medal gained. It felt incredible.

Now I'm looking at 2023 and wondering what interesting new challenges lie in wait. Will we sign up for a half marathon? Maybe even a full 26 mile run? Who knows. All I know for certain is that running is fun by yourself, but it's even more enjoyable with a buddy.