I ran a 10k.. 🏃🏻‍♀️

Back in September, I took on the River Ness 10k. It’s a race I’d been looking forward to for months, ever since I’d signed up at the start of the year. As a new-ish runner, I’m still getting to grips with the world of organised races, but this one felt special: it was in my home town, and I was running to raise money for Parkinson’s UK - a cause very close to my heart. To add to the excitement (and pressure), my mum was going to be there at the finish line, cheering me on.

In the days leading up to the race, I tried to convince myself that I was ready. I’d been running regularly since January, slowly building up my distance. Still, there’s a big difference between a relaxed jog around the local park and an actual race, with bib numbers, timing chips, and a crowd of other runners who look suspiciously like they know what they’re doing. There’s something about pinning on a race number that makes everything feel just a bit more serious.

The day of the race was cool and crisp - the perfect autumn weather for running. I arrived at the starting line with a mix of excitement and nerves. I couldn’t help but notice the number of sleek, Lycra-clad runners doing elaborate warm-up routines that I definitely did not recognise. I stretched my calves awkwardly, hoping it looked convincing, and took a few sips of water, trying not to overthink it.

When the starting gun went off, the first kilometre felt surprisingly okay. I managed to get into a decent rhythm, even with the occasional jostle from the pack. But, as I should have known, that optimistic feeling didn’t last long. By the third kilometre, I started to realise that perhaps I’d been a bit overconfident about my pace. My legs felt heavier than expected, and I started to regret my choice of a slightly-too-cheerful playlist, which was now aggressively upbeat for the pace I was struggling to maintain.

By the halfway mark, I was beginning to doubt my sanity. The course wound its way along the River Ness, and while the views were stunning, I was mostly focused on not tripping over my own feet. Every now and then, I’d catch a glimpse of the fast runners who were already on the opposite side of the river, looking far too fresh for my liking. My own breathing was now bordering on desperate, and I had to resort to some stern self-talk to keep my legs moving: “You’ve trained for this, you’re doing fine, and you will NOT walk this bit.” Spoiler alert: I did, in fact, walk that bit.

The last few kilometres were a true test of willpower. My pace had slowed to what I generously referred to as a "determined shuffle," and I knew my goal time of an hour and ten minutes had sailed away somewhere around the 7km mark. I was hot, tired, and thoroughly regretting the decision to down the water at the 5km station as I really needed to pee..

But then, finally, the finish line was in sight. I could see the cheering crowd, the bright banner, and - most importantly - my mum, waving frantically with the biggest smile on her face. She’s always been my biggest supporter, and knowing she was there got me through those last painful strides. With a final burst of energy (or what felt like a burst, but was probably more of a slow-motion hobble), I crossed the finish line.

1 hour and 14 minutes. Not quite the speedy time I’d dreamt of, but I’d done it! I felt a strange mix of exhaustion, relief, and a smidgen of pride. My mum gave me a massive hug, and said, “You did brilliantly! How do you feel?” I gasped out something about needing a pint and possibly a new set of legs.

Once I’d caught my breath (and downed the alcohol-free lager gifted by the main sponsor), I had a chance to take it all in. The atmosphere was incredible - other runners were smiling and chatting, and volunteers were handing out medals with a cheerfulness that should be bottled and sold. And best of all, I’d managed to raise money for Parkinson’s UK, which made every sore muscle absolutely worth it.

I may not have set any records that day, but I learned a lot - mainly about pacing, the importance of proper hydration (i.e., not downing water half way through). Running the River Ness 10k was hard, but it was also a reminder of why I love running in the first place. It’s not about speed or looking like an athlete; it’s about pushing yourself, having a laugh at your own struggles, and being part of a community.

So yes, I’ll be back next year - hopefully a bit faster, but just as happy to see that finish line.