Sunday, 6th September 2015 (10:00am)
The Cardiff 10km was a home-comfort. Only an hour away from my local Swansea, I got up at a reasonable time and caught the hour-long train to our nation's capital.
I was a little overwhelmed when I got there. I underestimated how popular it was going to be. As it was celebrating its 30th year, I shouldn't have been too surprised. Over 4000 competitors crossed the finish line and there were undoubtedly more still with spectators, officials, etc.
The base camp was large with a number of charities on show; Diabetes UK among them.
It seemed to me however, that the base camp was not large enough. With thousands of people teeming around the camp, there were massive queues for portaloos and a steadily moving line for the bag-drop. In all the time it took to prep, I didn't get the chance to meet up with the Diabetes team before the race. This time there were a very large number of people who were wearing the silly hat that I'd been solo-ing for the first few runs.
At the starting line I bumped in to an old colleague and we did some catching up, did some stretching, and talked about running times. He was trying to get back in to running and was essentially training for the Cardiff Half Marathon. His time was not too far below my own. I kept this in mind and we both went under the mentality that we would say farewell at the start and run at our own pace.
Once the race kicked off, I noticed that my former colleague was storming ahead, while I was barely keeping up, weaving in and out of the throng that always accompanies the beginning of a popular race. In fact, for the first 3 or 4 kilometres, I found myself struggling to keep up and I'm very grateful (in hindsight) that he unknowingly pushed me during those first few kilometres to keep up with him.
The story goes like the others, as I pushed on I began to realise that I had been running quite a good time and to continue to do so could mean I'd beat my PB, or at least come close.
In Bute Park, at about 6km, I started to experience stomach cramps. It is very infrequently that I'll feel pain at running and truth be told I don't often push myself too hard. I ran at a pace I know I can maintain. However, I wanted to get a good time so I really pushed myself hard. I panted and puffed and grunted and ran. Eventually, the stomach pain subsided though this wasn't until about the 9km mark.
As I approached the finish line, I noticed that the clock had 51 minutes on it. I had remembered crossing the start line after 5 minutes, or I thought I had. Pushing myself that much harder had confused me, so though I was certain I hadn't beaten my PB, I knew I had done well - I just wasn't sure how well.
The run, despite the physical pain, really was a very good course. Flat and scenic, it seems like it could be a good run (were someone in peak shape) to beat a PB.
After the run, I asked a random stranger to take my picture at the finish line and the lady I asked turned out to be the daughter of the regional fundraising manager for Diabetes UK. This led me to meet all sorts of people associated with the charity and chat about what I'm doing, how they got involved and really learn about people who are doing amazing things for the charity.
Though I am but a small cog in a big machine, it's gratifying to know that I'm doing my part to help and that every little bit makes a difference.
The Cardiff 10km was a home-comfort. Only an hour away from my local Swansea, I got up at a reasonable time and caught the hour-long train to our nation's capital.
I was a little overwhelmed when I got there. I underestimated how popular it was going to be. As it was celebrating its 30th year, I shouldn't have been too surprised. Over 4000 competitors crossed the finish line and there were undoubtedly more still with spectators, officials, etc.
The base camp was large with a number of charities on show; Diabetes UK among them.
 |
| There were more people here than this photo does justice to. You should've seen the toilet queue! |
It seemed to me however, that the base camp was not large enough. With thousands of people teeming around the camp, there were massive queues for portaloos and a steadily moving line for the bag-drop. In all the time it took to prep, I didn't get the chance to meet up with the Diabetes team before the race. This time there were a very large number of people who were wearing the silly hat that I'd been solo-ing for the first few runs.
At the starting line I bumped in to an old colleague and we did some catching up, did some stretching, and talked about running times. He was trying to get back in to running and was essentially training for the Cardiff Half Marathon. His time was not too far below my own. I kept this in mind and we both went under the mentality that we would say farewell at the start and run at our own pace.
 |
| It took 5 minutes to get from here to the start line once the starting gun went off! |
Once the race kicked off, I noticed that my former colleague was storming ahead, while I was barely keeping up, weaving in and out of the throng that always accompanies the beginning of a popular race. In fact, for the first 3 or 4 kilometres, I found myself struggling to keep up and I'm very grateful (in hindsight) that he unknowingly pushed me during those first few kilometres to keep up with him.
The story goes like the others, as I pushed on I began to realise that I had been running quite a good time and to continue to do so could mean I'd beat my PB, or at least come close.
In Bute Park, at about 6km, I started to experience stomach cramps. It is very infrequently that I'll feel pain at running and truth be told I don't often push myself too hard. I ran at a pace I know I can maintain. However, I wanted to get a good time so I really pushed myself hard. I panted and puffed and grunted and ran. Eventually, the stomach pain subsided though this wasn't until about the 9km mark.
 |
| Happy and sweaty! |
As I approached the finish line, I noticed that the clock had 51 minutes on it. I had remembered crossing the start line after 5 minutes, or I thought I had. Pushing myself that much harder had confused me, so though I was certain I hadn't beaten my PB, I knew I had done well - I just wasn't sure how well.
The run, despite the physical pain, really was a very good course. Flat and scenic, it seems like it could be a good run (were someone in peak shape) to beat a PB.
After the run, I asked a random stranger to take my picture at the finish line and the lady I asked turned out to be the daughter of the regional fundraising manager for Diabetes UK. This led me to meet all sorts of people associated with the charity and chat about what I'm doing, how they got involved and really learn about people who are doing amazing things for the charity.
Though I am but a small cog in a big machine, it's gratifying to know that I'm doing my part to help and that every little bit makes a difference.
