On 25 June 2023, I ran my first ever 10k race, the Run for the Diamond Uxbridge. Hanno also did the 10k run, and my mother (visiting from the US) did the 5k walk. My official time was 1:02:44. Given the terrain and the conditions (both external and internal), I am happy with the result, although there is certainly room for improvement.
Winter was merciful this year. Aside from the blizzard that had me stuck in the US for a few extra days over the holidays, snowfall was tolerable and temperatures reasonable. And so, after the high of my first half-marathon, I continued running long and regularly all through January and half of February. January, in fact, was my most intense running month ever, totalling to 100km (plus another 22km cross-country skiing). But winter always catches up. Once the snowpack and ice set in on my regular trail, I took to running on neighbourhood streets, with hillier but shorter routes. Conference travel in March interrupted my streak again, and by April I was lucky if I could meet my weekly 16k minimum. As always, there was a mental component to this too: my burnout reached totality somewhere around this time, and I forgot yet again to resist the compulsion to run at all costs. Even the shorter runs left me exhausted. My spring activity log looks busy, but the running stats don’t lie: some good weeks, some bad, and the runs were predominantly 5k or 6k, 7.5k at the most.
I hesitated until almost the last moment to sign up for an official race. I did not feel ready and did not want to make a fool of myself. I was comfortable with the 5k ParkRuns, but 10k was a different beast, and an official race, I reasoned, would bring out a different kind of runner: this was not a place for amateurs like me. Less than two weeks before the race, Hanno and I decided to scout out the course. The race would start at Elgin Park; roughly half of it would be road surface before turning onto a wooded trail until almost the very end. Our local ParkRun director told us that the key to the whole thing was tackling the large hill, followed by a smaller hill, in the first third of the course. The first attempt was brutal — for me, at least. I was quickly out of breath and had to walk those hills, but still managed to overheat and exhaust myself. I pushed through to my first 10k since February, with a time of 1:06:12. To think that I used to do those in under an hour! Never mind that just about all my 10k runs to date were on mostly flat ground. Still, three days later, I signed up. I couldn’t let that first try be for nothing, and had to give the real thing a go.
Beginning with the scouting session, I ran every day for a week straight, sticking to shorter but — crucially — hillier runs in the neighbourhood. I eased off a little in the week before the race and gave myself a couple of rest days before the big one. I read up on tips and tricks for a first-timer, most of them commonsensical: pace yourself, don’t start too fast, leave something in the tank for the finish. One thing that had not occurred to me, however, was food. Multiple articles recommended something rich in carbs, along with some protein and salt. Dairy (my usual) was a no-go. Bananas and peanut butter kept coming up, so that’s what I ate, and I’m never going back: this simple change has all but eliminated my post-run headaches.
On race day, I was nervous. There were over a hundred people running, fitter and more experienced runners than I. I tried to keep my expectations low and set myself a goal to do better than 1:05:00, with a pace of 6:30/km. Under an hour was out of the question, given the terrain and my insufficient training. The start was overwhelming, though, and despite my best intentions I probably went too fast: it is difficult to pace oneself while also jostling for space and figuring out where I belong as the crowd gradually stretches out and thins. I still could not run, or even jog, all the way up those hills, but I walked less than last time and was not as beat afterwards. The day was warm and humid. As the road turned, runners — myself included — moved over to the shady side. I made use of the two or three watering stations, slowing just enough to take a gulp of water or Gatorade (or whatever that sugary drink was). The turn onto the trail was most welcome, and somehow I felt faster despite the less springy surface. The course marshals shouted encouragement: it was all downhill from here! The terrain was familiar, too, as I had walked some of those trails on my birding outings.
After the eighth kilometre, I caught up to and passed several other runners. This was encouraging, and I was running more freely despite the occasionally rough and rooty ground, narrower path, and more frequent turns. That was a mistake: I had let loose too soon and emerged out of the woods to face one last uphill stretch of road in full sun. My legs and I groaned in unison. One runner I had passed proceeded to pass me right back. The last kilometre was literally the longest: the earlier markers were all a little off, but the last section made up the difference. Crossing the finish line, I was spent; I had left it all out there. Hanno — with an awesome time of 55:25 — was already waiting for me with water and Gatorade. The first I poured over my head; the second I drank. I refuelled as fast as I could: some chewy oat and berry breakfast rounds (perfectly vile, but I was hungry), followed by fries. Carbs, fat, salt.
One peculiar thing about the whole experience was that despite my focus on the race — breathing, cadence, surface, pace, and time — I also found my senses wandering. Approaching that monster hill, I caught sight of some gorgeous orchids growing in a ditch by the side of the road. I came back later that day to photograph them. On the trail sections, my birding brain was somehow still active: here is where I saw the two field sparrows, and here I heard the oriole; there’s an ovenbird singing now, and there an eastern wood pewee. These moments are what I remember most, more than the sweat and struggle.
As the 61st finisher, I came in very much in the bottom half. I would have liked to be closer to “middle-of-the-road,” but perhaps that was not realistic. Still, I had pushed hard and did better than my own target time. I plan to do this again next year, and this time start training (especially hill training!) quite a bit earlier. Perhaps, if conditions align, under an hour might not be completely out of reach.
Yulia Ryzhik 
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