A very wet but really fun first 10k

(Photos in this article are my own, or taken from google image searches, from the GEAR website/facebook page, or from the official race photographer - they are included with copyright watermarks intact.) 

This year, I had elected to spend the early May Bank Holiday weekend attempting to be ridiculously energetic by entering my first ever 10k wheelchair race: the Grand East Anglian Run in King's Lynn, Norfolk. My mum and I drove up to Norfolk on the Friday evening so as to make a weekend of it. Saturday was a beautiful day. We went to visit a farm which was in the midst of lambing, and as it was the same day as the birth of a new princess the village church was ringing a long peal of bells. 

How could you resist that little face?!

We wandered around, playing with piglets, lambs and goats, enjoying the sunshine and the lovely noises from the church. It was idyllic! 

Meeting a goat (suspicious sheep, who had run away from my wheelchair, in background)

Sadly, of course, the good weather was not to last until my race on the Sunday. In fairness, it was forecast to be chucking it down, but there was still a little part of me that had hoped that God would spare me the misery of a long race in the rain. On waking up, looking out of the window, and checking the weather forecast on my phone, it became apparent that I would just have to grin and bear it. 

Well, it was wet.

Early morning race preparation was slightly disrupted when my mum suddenly realised that we were an hour behind, as she had misread her clock (this is the last time I will go to bed saying, 'I'm not going to set an alarm, you can wake me up, can't you?' - never mind!). This meant we didn't have time to go to breakfast, but - ever resourceful! - I had packed rolls and peanut butter, so after a very hasty packing of the car and returning of the hotel keys, we made our way into town and I did my best to avoid scattering crumbs all over my mum's nice new car. 

Driving into central King's Lynn, the rain worsened and worsened and worsened. It got to that stage where you can't actually hear anything above the noise of it hitting the car... I vaguely remember my mum shouting that I didn't have to do the race, and that nobody would mind if I backed out. I distinctly remember telling her not to be so silly and that *I* would mind if I backed out. Once we made it into the centre of town, it became obvious that I was not the only one unfazed by the weather - it was busy and full of people in running kit! Fortunately the joys of blue badge parking saved us a lot of time as we managed to skip a very long queue into the main car park. We decided that Rosie would be better off staying in the car with the windows down - she HATES being wet and would just have been miserable outside, whereas inside she gets to do one of her favourite things (sleeping). (Sure enough, when we got back to the car a couple of hours later it was to a VERY sleepy and yawny little dog). 

She was very tired on the way home after her busy morning asleep.

Weaving through a busy town centre with a racing wheelchair is not easy. I was in my normal chair, but my poor mum was pushing the racing chair for me, and was beginning to realise just how difficult it is to steer those things even when you're not sitting inside them! Eventually, after only taking out a few hundred people, we made it to the market square where the race would start and finish. 

My mother inadvertently getting caught up in the race with my day chair...

I must say at this point that everybody I encountered in connection with the race was exceptionally helpful and very kind and encouraging. I had marshals running all over the place in their attempts to help me and to make sure I knew where I was going, where the disabled loos were, where I could leave my day chair, and so on. They even waited patiently as we (/my mum, because my hands aren't strong enough) painstakingly applied klister to my gloves and the pushrims of the racing chair. (Klister is unbelievably sticky stuff without which pushing in the rain simply isn't possible!)

Sticky, stuck, get it?

One of the advantages of running a bit late from the moment I woke up was that I didn't have to wait around too long in the rain. Once my wheels and gloves were klister-ed, we headed over to the place where the wheelchair racers would be gathering before being set off ahead of the runners. Here, I met a chap called Gary Donald, who holds the current record for wheelchair racers aged 50-59. Despite only having been wheeling for a few years, he is very experienced in these events. I was coming into the 10k thinking it was a long way; he had spent the previous weekend completing the London Marathon (42.2km!). Gary was really friendly and we had a great chat whilst waiting to see if any other wheelies would come and join us (they were there somewhere, but didn't start with us in the end).

Final 'Good luck!' before the start...

After sitting in the rain a little bit more and wondering whether I should have 'de-kitted' so early, we finally were called to the start line. This was the point at which Gary informed me that we were 'expected to showboat' (it's 'what the people want!') and that doing so would ensure lots of photographs of us. I must admit that he was rather better at this than me; my early attempts to enjoy the crowd were marred by the sure belief that my athletic performance would not match my confidence! 

I gave it a go, awkwardly...

...then vaguely remembered to try and make my left arm work, and was a bit more successful!

Eventually, we finally got going. Gary sped off ahead of me, as expected, and I just aimed to have a good strong start then settle into a good rhythm (just like rowing!). The early part of the course was a doddle - there were so many spectators cheering us on that I think I grinned all the way along! There were quite a few enormous and deep puddles, but fortunately I was so soaked through that I didn't feel the need to steer around them. After getting out of the main part of town, I eased off a little bit from the pressure and settled in for the long haul. 

Just after the start - photo from epicactionimagery.com. Looking at this, maybe 'grimace' is a better word than 'grin'...

It's a very strange thing to do a race in a town that you don't know at all and on a course for which you have seen a map, but hadn't really taken in how far away everything was. It almost felt as if I were racing blind - I had no idea how far through I was. I knew that I was beginning to get tired already, but the numerous wiggly turns backwards and forwards through the town had really disorientated me. I had no idea how long I'd been pushing or how far I had gone. If ever there were an argument for a trip computer this would be it! I knew that there would be markers for each kilometre, although I felt sure that I must have missed a few already. From my vague memory of the course map, I began to feel that I must have passed the halfway point.

Making my way out of town

Then I saw a sign saying '3km'. 

...and a photographer caught the moment.

3km! I wasn't even a third of the way through! This sign was quickly followed by a steep but brief incline (the main incline of the entire course; I remembered this now from the race information) which in turn was followed by a pretty but narrow path along the estuary which eventually leads to The Wash. The path was quite hard work - not because it was sloping, but because at this point I was in the midst of a lot of the runners that had been sent off just one minute after us wheelies, and on a narrow path which was just slightly wiggly I was having my work cut out not to get in their way. By the end of the path, my hips and back were aching enormously from the minor adjustments that I kept making to my steering. The worst thing of all was that by the time I had reached the end of the path, I had only just gone past 4km. Not even halfway!

Elusive.

Because of the danger of knocking someone down a steep bank into some very cold water, I hadn't really enjoyed the waterside path as much as I had initially anticipated. I therefore took full advantage of the section between 5km and 6km - a bit that I actually recognised from having driven along it earlier in the morning. At this point, you go through an old gate into the old town, and it feels really fantastic to be powering along down the middle of quite a wide and entirely traffic-free road. (I say 'powering', in truth I was assisted in no small part by a gentle downhill gradient...)

Through the pretty gate and down the welcome slope!

The next meaty part of the course went through some very picturesque gardens, but again, I found it quite hard to enjoy the scenery whilst also staying out of the way of runners (it was also quite hard to see through the rain). As we were now coming back into the main town centre, the number of spectators doubled, then tripled, then there were just so many you couldn't really hear anything but general encouragement, cheering and clapping. It was amazing how they kept that going for all 2000-odd people to go past! This was also roughly the point at which I realised that my copious amounts of klister were being worn off the wheels. Quite a lot of it had worked its way onto the steering mechanism, and as a result it became increasingly difficult to remove my hands from the 'handlebars' every time I steered! Given the amount of rain, though, it was pretty good going that I got 7km through before really thinking that I was struggling in the conditions.

Shortly after 8km you re-enter the market square, and at this point I began to think, 'oh, only a short loop round until I'm finished!'. You could hear the commentators shouting out times, and I began to think I'd get an amazing time.

What I had forgotten in my enthusiasm, of course, was that I still had roughly 20% of the course left. The last little bit was quite hard - it was uphill, on a vaguely cobblestoney surface, and on a bend. It's very hard to steer with the 'handlebars' whilst going uphill, because they suck out so much of your speed that you eventually just start rolling down again. I struggled a bit on that last big push, but other competitors from all around me were shouting encouragement (this was something that happened throughout the race, from members of my own club and from complete strangers - such a good atmosphere!). 

Finally, we had the last push into town and towards the finish line. Having had no idea how long it would take me to finish, I had vaguely hoped to be done in under an hour. I ended up under 50 minutes (48:36) so was very happy! Going across the line, I must have built up some speed, because despite doing my best to stop the chair as quickly as possible I did manage to crash into a couple of runners who had just stopped after the line and had not heard me shouting 'Please move I can't stop!'. Fortunately, I managed to steer between them not into them, and they didn't seem to mind too much...

After that, we were funnelled through to collect our goody bags and finisher's medal. This year's race was the 10th they have done, so they had invested in a particularly impressive and weighty medal.

Drenched, tired, but happy - this time I really was grinning and didn't stop for ages!

After gently extracting myself from the shell of the racing chair, I plonked myself down in my day chair with some relief and put on as many warm and dry layers as I could manage. My lovely mother had been to Primark to buy me some spare dry clothes, which were very welcome! Next it was the presentation ceremony. As the first female wheelchair finisher (and possibly only? Who knows?! Since Gary and I started separately from the rest of the field, I don't know what the others did) I had won a trophy and £30!

Even if there weren't any other female wheelchair entrants, I felt justified in receiving a prize - the times read out for the other male wheelchair entrants meant that I would have come second, after Gary, in the men's race. I was also only 4:23 behind Gary, and the difference between me and the next man was 34:43!

Celebrating (and drying off) with a rather nonplussed Rosie.

One thing which was a bit of a shame about the weather was that I had hoped to go round all the stalls in the market place, but by the time I had finished and had recovered a bit they had all packed up. I was hoping to look out for an RDA stall (having been very excited when I saw a sign for the centre out of the car window on Friday evening!) but didn't have a chance. Instead, after the presentation, we headed off for a big and warming lunch and then made it back to Cambridge just about in time for my rehearsal for Evensong. A very busy day and I had a very early night after it!

I was raising money for the RDA - you can donate here.

All in all I had a fantastic time and really enjoyed my first 10k. Here is a list of people I should thank for helping me to get there (both figuratively and literally):

• the coaches and fellow wheelchair athletes at Cambridge and Coleridge AC. They have taught me a lot in just a few months, and although I still have a lot to learn it's amazing that, because of their support, I've been able to do my first big event already. Thank you to Neil for helping me to fit some extra sessions in and for supporting me so much.
• Sport England, for funding the purchase of C&C's racing chairs in which we train, and one of which I borrowed to do the race.
• John, for getting me to and from the training sessions.
• My mum, for getting me to and from King's Lynn, and providing a lot of practical support on the day - and Rosie, for cuddles!
• Everyone involved in the organisation of the Grand East Anglian Run, for their help in the run-up to the event and on the day itself.
• All spectators and fellow racers for encouragement, and in particular Gary for all his advice and friendliness.
• My physio team for not being draconian and stopping me from racing when I got stress fractures in my fingers.
• My friends back in Cambridge (wheelies or not) for all their support.