In September I headed east, to czech out the Birell 10k night run, through the historic city of Prague. Part of the Birell Prague Grand Prix series of races, the 10k race is a sort of double-looped there-and-back run, criss-crossing the River Vltava and avoids the heat of the day.
Waking up bright, early and refreshed on Saturday morning, I headed out of Prague for a day of sight-seeing in the countryside. After a few hours happily wandering around quiet villages I realised I should probably be heading back to Prague, so that I could get out to Petr’s apartment for my change of clothes, trainers and bit of rest and refuel before the race. Simultaneously unfortunate for the runner in me and fortunate for the storyteller in me, this bit didn’t pan out quite as I’d planned. I got a bit lost on the way to the bus station and missed the bus back to Prague by five minutes, so I headed to the train station and missed the train by five minutes too. Then I passed four hours in the train station, with only half a bottle of water and a pack of cheesy biscuits for sustenance, and my travel guide. I read that Rough Guide cover-to-cover, I felt like I travelled all over the country from that bench in the station.. Around 5pm a train finally rolled in and I jumped aboard, and then that train got delayed and I missed my connection by five minutes, and I ended up on another, slower train back to Prague. It took me an hour to get out of the city and twice as long on the return journey.
As I travelled, I first realised that I probably didn’t have time to go back to the apartment for my change of gear. Then that I probably didn’t have time to get a hearty meal eaten and digested. And then that I didn’t even have very much time to get to the race-number collection point, which was (un)helpfully on the other side of the city from the race starting point. As I dashed across the city to the race-number place I kept getting diverted by closed roads- roads closed in anticipation of the soon-to-be-starting race. Ha! I made it there and was told that I was too late to get my proper international entry number (who knows why), but I could have a local entrant’s number as she hadn’t turned up. I had less than ten minutes to make a ten minute journey to the starting line, so I grabbed the number and pinned “Lenka F2255″ to my playsuit. Yes, my playsuit. The one I had unthinkingly thrown on in the morning, my bare feet shod in plimsolls, before heading to the Church of Bones.
I got a lot of raised eyebrows and a few compliments for my “cool running suit” whilst waiting at the starting line and smiled at my well-wishers. Meanwhile, internally I worried a lot. I worried about twisting my ankle on the cobbled streets, in the dark, in my stupid shoes. I worried about not having eaten anything other than a pack of cheesy biscuits since my semolina porridge in the morning. I worried about chaffing myself in some undignified places by running in a playsuit. Most of all, I worried that I would get dehydrated, which has significantly and nauseatingly affected me in races before. I decided things were pretty desperate so at this point, as casually as I could manage, I picked up discarded, half-full water bottles and tried to increase my hydration levels as much as I could before the race began.
The Birrell 10K starts in the centre of the shopping district and there were lots of stag parties, tourists and well-wishers along the route out of town and over the River Vltava. The first bit of cobbles is covered by a thin carpet, which was sort of helpful but also sort of deceptive and I found I was constantly having to revise my falls-risk analysis (one of many transferable skills I learned at nursing school). Thankfully, over the river it was straight out east along a duel carriageway and out around the streets of a housing estate. Not exactly picturesque, but I was too busy looking out for water points and grabbing sugar cubes to think much about the scenery.
Doubling back on ourselves, the route then headed west, following the river towards a park area. It was dark by then and I enjoyed a good view of Prague glittering alongside the river before plunging into the park, where our path was only sporadically floodlit and started worrying about tripping up in the dark and how I would find sugar cubes when I couldn’t really see.
The route then turned towards the city streets again, up through the same tourist district to where it all began. This time lots of waiters and well-wishers from the bars and restaurants lining the route had come out to watch, and were offering water and beer, to give a thirsty runner like me a boost to get the finish line. And I made it. Against all the odds. I know I don’t have a great track record when it comes to meticulous race preparations, but even I was surprised to have made it through this one unscathed! I may have been a bit9 delirious when I asked for this photo to get taken,
After races its nice to hang about, chat to other runners and generally soak up the good atmosphere. Travelling back home is always a bit melancholy. The further you travel, the less other runners you see; and slowly being red, sweaty and having a medal one becomes a bit uncool when you’re the only one on the train looking dishevelled, yet triumphant. In due course, I grabbed my bag from the storage area, bought a MacDonald’s milkshake and took the subway back to my apartment in the suburbs, with a foil blanket rustling round my legs.
RUNNING RACES, IN DIFFERENT PLACES 