Etonia

In July, after a cancelled trip to Switzerland (you can read this post to find out why I’ve not been training as much), I did Google search of races I could travel to from London. I have decided that when I’m not feeling so great, to run a race somewhere local-ish, so I can run without having to stay somewhere alone in a strange place. This time I had a choice of St.Anns in Cambridgeshire, High Wycombe in Buckinghamshire or Eton in Berkshire; and I kind of cheated a bit and chose Eton and the Dorney Dash 10k.

The last time I was in Eton was in 2012, when I attended the rowing at Eton Dorney during the Olympics. I was incredibly lucky to be given a job working at the Olympics Games, looking after the health and welfare of the NBC television team from the USA. Presented with an access-all-areas pass, I made it a personal mission to get to as many sports as possible- including the 6am wake-up call to get the free media bus out to Eton to watch some boat action.

This go around I was five days clear of a boyfriend break-up and had been having a pretty poor week. I didn’t want to get up at 7am for the train, I didn’t want to go outside into the sunshine, I didn’t want to speak to smiley sporty strangers and I especially didn’t want to run 10km around a lake on a blisteringly hot day.. However, the same force that inspires me to make these stupid resolution and gets me through the Emotional Mile made me get up, get outside, get on the train and get around that course.

I arrived early into Windsor and faffed about thinking about walking out to Dorney Lake, without much idea of how far it was from where I was. Turns out it was far. So I got a taxi, with not quite enough money and not quite enough time left and headed out to the race.

I made it to the Boathouse in time for a quick bag-drop, pee stop and to change into my glittery metallic gold shorts. Yes. The other resolution that has developed throughout this year is to wear fabulous outfits and not just the usual gym gear. Anything with a bit of neon, sparkle or crazy pattern is strongly encouraged.

The Datchet Dashers are the running club who run the race every year and they are an incredibly well-organised and cheerful bunch. We were ushered the starting line by various people with megaphones and microphones, and we were off!

The race route goes a little something like this, basically two loops round the Lake:

 

As usual, I set off slow and steady, and this time a bit nervous about how hot the day was. I do not do well running in the heat. All my worst running moments have come about on horribly hot days. The route, although picturesque, has very minimal shade and I was grateful I’d thought to slap on a bit of sun cream before I’d set off that morning. The Dashers were also ahead of the game, with water stations every 2.5km, to keep all as hydrated as possible.

Despite it being a fully flat and fast course, I found the race really hard going in the heat (and probably the emotional exhaustion too!) and stopped several times to walk for a wee while. Although I’m not a big speed racer and I only keep loose track of my times, it is still frustrating to stop. However, sometimes you’ve got to be sensible and listen to what your body needs. Listening to my body is one of those lessons I’ve learned the hard way, after ignoring many a niggle that became a serious injury, the worst of which was in 2013 when I was training for a marathon.

I spent most of the race following a girl with a big butterfly tattoo on her shoulder, choosing her as my pacer. I found her again at the end and thanked her for the help in keeping me going and she told me she’d been pacing herself off my running too!

I made it over the finish in a little over an hour and swiftly downed a two bottles of water straight and then lay down in the shade for a bit with my medal.

When I felt recovered, I got up and started to make my way back to Windsor. Deciding I didn’t have quite enough money for another taxi, nor would I expect one to be easy to pick up so far from anywhere, I thought I’d give hitch-hiking a go. Now, before my mum panics, it wasn’t real hitch-hiking- everyone in the vicinity had just run or supported someone running the race. After a few false starts with people going in the opposite direction from me, I got picked up by a Mini-Cooper convertible with two guys in it that were heading the same way as me. As things went, I’d been stopped earlier to take a photo of these guys with the running club team and they “couldn’t forget those gold shorts!” and decided to return the photo favour with a lift to the train station. Runners are a nice bunch.