Smashing It At Shoreditch

Quite frankly, I'm not entirely sure where that performance came from. I wish I did, really. It'd be nice to be able to point to a dramatic change in my training regime, or an ingenious high-protein diet, or a fancy new bit of equipment, and say "Aha! That's what helped me smash my personal best" - and then keep on using it.  

But I can't. All I know is that the Shoreditch 10k run last weekend was an absolute blast. To begin with, it's a lovely course twisting and turning through the back streets of the area - flat as a .. well, I've had pancakes with more inclines.
It's the first one staged by Adidas in their "City Run" series, so they were determined to impress as a host and they did a pretty good job. Although forcing everyone to wear the same T-shirt emblazoned with the City Run logo was a little strange - and I could have done with some free water bottles before the start.
I was determined not to repeat mistakes made in the 10k I ran in May, and settled into a nice easy pace from the off. I started alongside Roger, a friend from my local Parkrun, but he's a much faster runner so I was unsurprised to see him head off into the distance after the first 200 metres. 
I think I mentioned in my last blog entry that I'd have been pleased with any time under 55 minutes, which is an average of 5.30 minutes a kilometre - easily achievable in theory as long as my stamina holds out. In contrast to the May 10k, I was - I thought - keeping it steady in the first few km, so I was quite startled when I checked my time at the end of the third. 15.05. I was running about a minute and a half faster than I'd thought.

Two possible outcomes. Either I was going to blow up spectacularly like I did in May, or I was actually on course for what would for me be a ridiculously fast time. I mentally checked how I was doing. Felt fine. No aches and pains. Breathing well. Legs not feeling heavy yet. Not much of a sweat. It might not last, but I could keep this pace up for a least a little longer.
Then, just in front of me, I caught sight of my Parkrun buddy Roger - a very good sign. If I was within catching distance of him, then I knew I was running well. I resolved to keep him in my eyeline for as long as I could. Not so easy, mind, when everyone's wearing the same T-shirt - it's hard to keep track of individuals. Luckily for me, Roger was wearing a very bright pair of lime-ish green shorts, so even in the sea of Adidas blue, he was difficult to miss.
At halfway, I was still OK. Didn't even slow down at the water stop. Could still see Roger's green shorts. At one point, I even caught up with him and overtook him (for about one stride before he restored the natural order of things). I'm still running at about 5 minutes per km, and I'm getting to the stage where I'm actually believing I can keep this going. As usual, half (if not more) of the battle is psychological rather than physiological, so that belief is vitally important.

Finally the turn for home, and the last couple of kilometres. I start feeling that ache across the thighs as your body tries to tell you it's done about all it can. My pace dips to about 5.20 and, most, importantly, there is no longer a pair of lime-green shorts in sight. I've lost Roger. I'm going to have to get to the finish on my own. I start mentally counting down the distance, in little parcels of 100 metres ("1200 to go, just 12 more of these, you can do this"). I start to up my pace, knowing that it's nearly finished. With about 300 metres to go, I start sprinting - too early, I think to myself. I pass a trio of fit-looking young women who are playing some banging tune out loud while they're running. I hear one say "Right ladies, 300 to go, let's kick it up" and the beat seems to increase a notch. Well, if they're going to start sprinting, I can't slow down, I'll just have to go faster. By now I'm flat out and I have no choice except to keep it going to the end.

I round the last bend and there it is. The finish line. Paradise. I'm practically falling over my feet now and I sort of half-sprint, half-stumble my way over it. I look down at my Garmin and I can't believe the time. Two minutes faster than I've ever run a 10k before. That's unreal. That can't be true. But it is. 
I look up and there's Roger, who's finished about 15 seconds ahead of me. And I think to myself, you know, Rob - maybe you actually can run after all.