Race the Train

I do love a good race. There is just something so addictive about race days.

Often though, during races, despite the fact I'm surrounded by thousands of other runners, I'm not actually racing anyone, the battle is purely between me, myself and time.

Training runs are a bit different and to make life more interesting I’m constantly inventing little races. It could be a against a passing cyclist or a rower on the river, I just have to get to a tree in the distance before them. A recent recovery run turned into a short race against a mobility scooter when I just had to beat it to the next lamppost. Anything or anyone becomes fair game for a race, it's just that the others involved don't know they are actually racing.

What makes the race I'm about to start a little bit more exciting is that I have an official opponent. In something resembling a cut price Top Gear challenge I'm going to see if I can run faster than a steam train.

Runners taking on the train

Hundreds of us now stand on the bridge at the start overlooking the railway.The smoke drifting across the road and the occasional whistle lets us know the train is right below us, limbering up, ready to take on the pack of runners.

All the talk at the start is about if we can beat it. Some are confident, others say they have no chance. I'm one of the group in the middle who think it may just be possible.

And so off we run with the usual crazy abandon at the start of the race. Through the drifting smoke and the crowds that line the course in the town centre. As usual I've been sucked into going off way too fast but I just can't help myself. Ringing in my ears is the sound of the trains whistle and the time I need to beat it, 1 hour and 47 minutes.

The first mile entices us into running too fast. It's along a gloriously smooth tarmac road offering us no clues as to the treacherous paths we will encounter. I should probably save some energy, but this is perfect to make up a bit of time on the lumbering steam engine.

As usual I started off way too quickly. Thanks to Presteigne Pacers for the picture

I'm wary of going to quick though, after hearing stories of what's to come. Fourteen miles of the finest Welsh countryside are in front of me and everyone has been only too keen to tell me how tough this race is going to be.

I arrived at the campsite only to be told by the owner about the biblical amount of rain the day before and how a boat rather than a train may have been drafted in for the race. Then whilst pitching the tent my neighbour for the night told me about last year's carnage when the race which took place in the tail end of a hurricane. His wife had just run the 10k. I asked her how the course was, her reply was "boggy" with an expression that said "you don't know the half of it mate!"

The final summary came from another 10k runner just as I was walking to the start. He appeared to be suffering from some kind of shell shock, unable to string sentences together. He kept on glancing nervously at my pasty, white, but for now, perfectly clean legs. It's just so muddy he kept saying over and over whilst shaking his head. I decided to get to the start before he made me any more nervous.

Clean for now. Wondering what I had let myself in for at the start.

We've now left the safety of the road and head over a bridge into the first of many fields. It's just a tad wet. After rather daintily skipping over the first few puddles, I quickly realise I'm fighting a loosing battle and start careering straight through them.

Before long I pass the first of many runners frantically searching for their shoe in one of the many boggy sections, this must have been what they were all talking about, we are knee deep In the stuff now. I was soon to realise though this was nothing, it was the little aperitif of mud before the main course later on.

All the while we are chased by the train, it's constant chug and occasional whistle, driving us to run (or splash) faster. Suddenly it's alongside, I had been concentrating so hard on staying upright that I hadn't realised it was right behind me.

Passengers lean out of the windows shouting encouragement, I'm now multi tasking, trying to keep pace with the train, waving at it whilst also trying not to fall victim of the mud. Then it dawns on me, if it's alongside I'm not winning.

MUST RUN FASTER.

Over the first little hill the valley opens up ahead of us, the train line neatly dissecting the two sets of lush green hills that frame our view. It's a stunning scene, one so crystal clear, as if the whole world has suddenly gone HD after years of being broadcast to you in standard definition.Thirty seconds later it starts pissing down with rain, and the view disappears into a hazy cloud.

It's ironic that many trail runs take you through the most stunning scenery, yet you get little chance to see it as you are concentrating so hard on the path trying not to sprain an ankle. After a few seconds of gawping at the view I'm back staring at stones and mud again.

So far it's been nice and flat, then we hit the first proper hill, I try to run up it, wondering why everyone else is walking. About a third of the way up, I’ve been transformed into an aching, wheezing wreck and I realise that everyone else knows exactly what they were doing. I start to walk and attempt to get my breath back.

One crazy decent and a rampaging herd of sheep later we hit the halfway mark. At this point the words of the course description start to haunt me.

This has been the easy part of the course and you must be well ahead of an estimated half way time as the second half is much tougher....... it then delivers the killer blow.....Good male runners can normally BEAT THE TRAIN

I've been told I need to hit halfway in forty five minutes and I'm just behind. With the taunting course description at the forefront of my mind I charge up the next hill and start the more extreme section of the race.

The course map which made the course look deceptively easy!

The once wide paths have narrowed and each misjudged footstep threatens to send you very quickly to the bottom of the hill.

We are forming a train of our own. With the path being so narrow there is nowhere to overtake. I start to get frustrated, feeling that I could run so much faster. As soon as we are back on a wider track though this is proved to definitely not be the case. I try to push on and overtake only to be met with legs that stubbornly refuse to go any faster. I guess this pace will do just fine then.

Back into the woods we go, and I discover where most of yesterday's rain has ended up. One wrong move and you are up to your thighs in mud. A slippery downhill section follows with a jolly marshall screaming at the top of his voice "Be Careful....I DO NOT WANT ANOTHER BROKEN LEG!"

All thoughts turn from beating the train to just surviving.

If I do die though at least it's in a stunning part of the world. As we slide, stumble and squelch our way under the trees we come across a waterfall in full flow. I make a mental note to come back here when I don't have a pesky train to race

Back out in the open we are greeted by the inevitable head wind. Gradually, ever so gradually we are getting closer to town. We just have to make it through a few more fields that I swear have been designed to break runners ankles

Before long the tracks become familiar and I realise we are going back along the route we ran earlier. Marker miles tick off. The train station getting near.

Finally we hit the farm track and then we are back on the main road into town and something I dreamed about in the woods. TARMAC.

Sprinting for the station, I have no idea whats going on with the guy behind me!

It's so strange to be running on the road again, after everything we have just been through this almost feels too clean and ordinary. It's just too civilised and clinical. It doesn't really fit in with the rest of the race

Still though there's a train to beat, back through town, the massive crowds and then finally the finish line. I've done it.....I survived.

Ok, so I have to be happy with survival as I didn't quite beat the train. The hulking great mass of steel and steam came in just under two minutes before me. I guess I can't be too unhappy though, trains were invented to be slightly quicker than the average human being.

                        

Muddy Legs at the end but a rather cool finishers medal

This though, has been a proper race, one in which the whole town seems to take delight in. As I delve into the goodie back devouring anything that's edible and probably a couple of things that aren't I'm already plotting my revenge. I guess the one good thing about missing the train is that I’m going to have to come back next year and try again. I can’t wait.

Midsummer Murder Mile

It's only a mile, one sodding mile. I run loads of them. So why, at this small race in a Welsh valley, am I standing on the start line more nervous than I would be at most other events?

The mile is a hellish race, one which many non runners don't really understand. "But you run further than that all the time.” They say slightly perplexed. “A mile is easy!". Except that it’s really not.

Happy faces before the start, at this point I think we were in denial about what we were going to do!

A mile is a hideous distance to run. You start off at sprint, by one hundred meters you are ready to stop, keel over and quit running forever. By half distance you would give anything to feel how you did at one hundred meters. Your whole body is filled with searing pain, there are no other feelings, no emotions except a panic about how long you can keep going and how far away the finish line is. The last half is just plain torture, it’s a fight between you, your body and the messages it’s sending your brain, telling you to stop this madness.

At the finish you are reduced to a quivering wreck, unable to remember your name, unable to say it if you could remember. If you can stand you are reduced to a hobble, that's if you are lucky. Most people after a mile are unable to peel themselves off the road. The worst thing though is your lungs. In the space of a few minutes you have been transformed from a relatively fit runner to someone who sounds like they have been smoking forty a day from their early teens. In short, a mile completely breaks you.

And that was a normal mile on a pancake flat piece of road. This mile is slightly different, hence the rather menacing name of the Murder Mile. The tarmac lane in front of me disappears from view as it goes up, then up again and up some more before going up a bit further. Yep, this mile is up the side of a rather large hill.

In case we had forgotten just how steep that hill was, the organisers provide us runners with a couple of reminders. First of we have to drive up the course to get to the car park, which is hard enough in itself. After a lot of revs in first gear and probably burning though most of my clutch we make the summit, to then be told we have to walk back down to the start. We leave the smell of clutch wafting on the summer breeze and head all the way back down to base camp. 

It's so steep even this is hard work and we are left standing at the start with Jelly legs even before the race has even begun. These gentle reminders of how difficult the course is bring back the nauseous feeling from the finish last year. I remember now, it's all coming back to me, this race is bloody horrible, it's self induced torture! I'm starting to have second thoughts but then I guess there is only one way back to my car which is perched on top of the hill.

We were less happy after the walk to the start and realising just how steep the hill was!

I've done this event twice before. I can confidently say that last year it was the worst I felt after finishing a race. It took me a while to realise I wasn't going to collapse and then lot longer before I was confident I could keep the contents of my stomach down!

So why do it? Why put myself through this pain? As I'm contemplating this along with why I run, the meaning of life and other such questions, the race director, in the brightest of bright hoodies steps into the lead car and in one of the most understated starts I can remember simply shouts go! A count down would have been good with maybe a hooter or klaxon but then that doesn't really fit with the slightly random nature of this race. Other races have starts like that and this, most definitely is not like other races.

So off we run through the now familiar burning smell of clutch as we start the ascent back up to the finish and salvation. No backing out now then. It's only a mile.

The first part of the run is deceptive, the adrenaline of the start takes over and you feel good, the first third doesn't seem so steep. Past the locals sitting on chairs with their bottles of wine everything still feels ok. It's tempting to stop and enjoy a tipple of Chateauneuf du Taff but this section of the course feels fairly flat and besides, I'm already a third of the way in, this really ain't so bad.

And then it hits you, at about half way the road really ramps up, we are now running up something that Eddie the Eagle could have used it as a training jump.

The ironic thing for such a steep run is that it's actually the flatter bits that get you. Just before the ski jump, the road flattened out a bit, tricking you into running quicker, sapping the precious energy you need further up the hill. Just as you start the main traverse you find your legs are no longer able to do what you want.

The first year I was determined to run the whole thing. This turned out to be a stupid idea. I found this out the hard way when, with my lungs pretty much exploding, other competitors started walking past me. At this, the steepest point of the climb, walking is definitely quicker!  

And so the run walk begins. Walk for most of it then a short run past any crowds on the side, just to try and look a little more respectable for any pictures.

Putting on a sprint of sorts past the camera!

The worst thing to do is to look at the Garmin, it seems to be stuck in a time warp, numbers click over so slowly. I have to be going quicker than this, it has to be broken.

And still the road goes up, in the distance though there is a sign, on which the organisers have rather amusingly scrawled 200m to go now sprint! Ha, I wish!

Finally you get to the turn that signals the finish. Mercifully the farm track that takes you there is flat, oh so flat. I could stop and kiss this rather muddy concrete but that will probably affect my finish position so maybe later.

With fifty meters to go I try to do what the sign said and fire up my best Usain Bolt impression, except there's a problem. My legs no longer seem attached to my body. No matter what I do, what messages my brain tries to send them, they don't want to go forward. Far from Bolt my sprint looks more like Brains from Thunderbirds.

Finally though I cross the line. The usual jubilation of finishing a race has got to wait for a few minutes while I first piece myself back together again.

Happy its all over

An hour later, now sat in the pub with a drink and some grub I'm starting to feel a bit more human again.The mind is a rather amazing/slightly stupid thing. Already it's blanking out how much pain I was in during the run and trying to convince me that I actually enjoyed it. Endorphins start to dance around my body and I'm already in complete denial. That was bloody good fun, I do love the mile. Same time next year then people?

The view from the top almost made the run worth it!

Every Cloud...

I've not been injured for a little while now. If you look at my Strava it shows what looks like a reasonably healthy mileage chart. I've actually been running quite a bit, but it's not really been running like I used to know it.

This year my running is probably best described as injury management. I've just been happy to get back through the door in one piece, ready to try and go a little bit further the next time.

Gone are the Fartlek (I still laugh every time I say it) Interval and Tempo sessions, replaced by evenly paced, slower runs, designed to get my body and more specifically my ankle used to going just that little bit further each run.

For much of this year, every time I tried to run faster or further, I would get a horrible twinge of pain in my ankle, as my body let me know it couldn't quite keep up with what my mind wanted to do. 2017 has been a long plod up to this point. Gradually though, the mileage has started to increase and now I can enter races I thought may pass me by. So far, I seem to be successfully passing my injury management training course. I'm still running, it’s just not quite how I would like to be running.

It’s not been all bad these last few months, it's just been a different kind of running. I've had to forget about PBs and goal times. Initially it was hard giving that up but if anything it’s going to make me enjoy the upcoming races more. For once, I can forget about setting targets, I don't have to put any pressure on myself. I can soak up the atmosphere and take in the crowds. it’s a far cry from last year, when I became involved in an obsessive race against myself, constantly trying to achieve challenges my mind had created.

After my first marathon I had struggled to decide what to do next. Part of me suddenly realised that running could never be new again, the fast flowing river of self discovery had steadily meandered into the flatlands. I could never re-discover the sport and, once again experience the fresh, spring like feeling of the new and unexplored. This, I have now realised, was the marathon blues. So what could banish them?

The answer came in one five letter word. SPEED. The next challenge was to get quicker. Every run became about repeating and trying to improve on some goal I had already completed. Running became like Groundhog Day. Running became like Groundhog Day. Running beca....you get the point. Actually, running became like Groundhog Day in fast forward.

No caption needed, any excuse to use this pic from the film

There was the pressure of trying to constantly improve, if I wasn't quicker or faster than I was yesterday, this time last week or last year then I had failed. Don't get me wrong, I was enjoying seeing how far I could push myself, but this goal centric style of running was exhausting. I guess it was only a matter of time before something broke. That something being me.

I only had a short time off with the injury but the frustration quickly became unbearable. I couldn’t help but taunt myself by thinking how much fitness I was losing, how much pace was ebbing away the more I sat around. I had to get back running, I had to keep on chasing the goals.

That PB hungry, time chasing runner of last year now feels like a different person. It has to be this way, If it wasn't, I would get injured all over again. Actually it's the reason my injury was so much worse than it should have been. I just couldn't give running up. I had to get back out as quickly as possible. My goals were running away from me over the horizon, I couldn't help but try and chase them. A few painful hobbles around the block later and those targets disappeared from view. My running year was starting to look very different from the one I expected.

It took time to let that previous version of myself go. To see potential P.Bs disappearing into the distance was unbelievably frustrating but the first parkrun back convinced me that running is so much more than just trying to be quicker than some number in my head.

parkruns have been slow this year but I've still loved running them

It was a slow amble around the course but I finished it relatively pain free. I was halfway down the field running a time that I would have been disgusted with only a few weeks before but I was running again and I couldn’t stop smiling. It was so damn good. The runners high was back and I had't had to beat any time to enjoy it. It's amazing how not doing something makes you realise how much you love doing it. I just needed to run, no matter how short and slow those runs were.

Of course I want to be back to how I was running last year but, you know what, it’s actually been rather nice to forget about pace and to go running just because I fancy a run.

Ok, so I still take my watch out on the runs. To run without my Garmin would feel like running naked and as the saying goes if the runs not on Strava then it didn’t happen. The difference is that I’m not glancing down at it every few seconds worried that I may be falling behind my training plan. It’s a less stressful run, one where I can look around and enjoy the view a bit more.

My runs last year were ruled by this thing

My most important goal this year has been to keep on running, so far I’ve just about managed that. Whilst it’s strange not to actually race, races, I’m still looking forward to running them. They will just be slightly different to what I have become used to. It will be a new experience to actually take in the crowd and see the sights, free from the pressures of a self-induced time goal. In the run up to the marathon last year I was unbelievably nervous. This year, most of those nerves are replaced by excitement. I’m looking forward to actually being able to remember a race for once.

The goal based runner is still there though, hiding just underneath the surface. As my fitness improves and my pace gets better, I know I won't be able to resist chasing targets again. My competitive streak just won’t let go that easily.

Hopefully though, injury has taught me that rather than struggling to reach some end goal or constantly trying to better myself, running can occasionally, just be about running.

Silverstone Half Marathon

1 minute 29.287 seconds. That's the amount of time it took for Lewis Hamilton to claim pole position for last year's British Grand Prix at Silverstone. Somehow I fear today's journey at the home of British motorsport may take a little longer than those of Hamilton, Alonso, Vettel and the rest of the Formula One grid. For years I have stood the other side of the fencing on the spectator banking, watching cars flash past at impossible speeds. Today, I finally get let loose on the track, it's something I've dreamed about most of my life.

F1 cars were replaced by a herd of runners.

But what exotic vehicle will propel me around these famous bends? A nimble little single seater you ask? Wrong. Maybe one of the Aston Martins from the driving school? Wrong again. Today rather than a racing car doing the work, my own two feet will be providing the power.  

The Formula One legends who usually lap this old wartime airfield have over 900 horsepower propelling their backsides around the billiard smooth tarmac. I have one manpower, which, by using simple calculations, (two legs vs four) I reckon, is worth half a horsepower. This means Lewis and his Merc had 1800 times more power than me and my two legs. Fact!

Also, just to get all the excuses out of the way now, my one singular manpower has, for most of this year been struggling with injury and fatigue, unable to get out of first gear.

As the very typical British Grand Prix style drizzle descends, the flag drops and we all struggle to put the power down on the now rather damp surface. We charge off the line all aiming for the same apex in the first corner, in front of the now packed grandstands. Ok, so I may not be driving a car today but at least let me pretend.

The old bridge corner, 160mph for an F1 car, maybe a bit slower for us

The sounds of Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain fill the air as we all head through the start line, at least I think they do, if you asked me now I can’t actually remember if the song was playing out over the P.A or if it was just in my head. We scramble out of Copse corner, usually 160 mph in the dry but today slightly slower and floor the throttle down to Maggots and Becketts. As I pass people on the next straight I just about resist the urge to make engine noises.

It's busy at the start with everyone jostling for position. We have a wide expanse of track at our feet but unsurprisingly everyone wants to stick to the racing line, taking the shortest route through the first few turns. I overtake a few people, before getting pinched on the kerb. After a great exit from Becketts, I slipstream a gaggle of runners down the Hanger straight and fly past the first mile marker. I'm coming for you Lewis. By now of course Lewis would have lapped me about 5 times.

Not a bad place for a run

After the hectic start through the first few corners the race starts to settle down as we come to the fastest part of the track. Cars hit 200mph here, it's where my childhood hero Nigel Mansell slipstreamed past Nelson Piquet to snatch the lead with two laps to go in 1987.

On to Stowe and then after that it’s hard breaking into Club where in 1997 we cheered our world champion Damon Hill after he was fastest during a wet morning warm up. Later that day on the following straight we looked on as Mika Hakkinen lost what would have been his first win when his Mercedes engine went up in smoke.

Into the new complex now, tight second gear corners and the perfect place for me to make up a few positions, the 1.45 pacer now disappearing in my rear view mirror.

Lewis loosing the 2013 race with a blowout

Next it’s the Wellington straight, where Hamilton lost a win in 2013 when his tyre exploded and then onto the final couple of turns to complete the lap. A quick drink of water round Brooklands and into the never ending Luffield where I first had my seven year old mind blown watching F1 cars for the very first time.

This really is the perfect race for the runner/F1 geek. Each turn has its memories, the run brings them flooding back.

Sunrise on the morning of my first Grand Prix. Later in the day we watched Damon Hill win the race

Out of the final turn we get on the power ready to blast down the old pit straight, today however the marshals signal for us to come into the pits.

We have a little further to travel than Lewis on that pole lap. 13.1 miles as opposed to the 3.2 of a single lap to be exact. Silverstone management have had to get inventive with the route to squeeze it into the circuit limits. Rather than continually lapping the track we get to visit both pit lanes, hopefully without stopping, before winding our way around many of the access roads that criss-cross the site,

Round and round and round, just a few corners on route then!

Now is time to concentrate on the run, to get my head down and watch the miles tick by. Today will be four miles further than anything I've run this year. I've just got to pace myself and hope I get through them. Ironically considering today's setting my race has nothing to do with speed.

Those miles gradually disappear and as we head back on the track to run the wrong way round to the finish, the sun even comes out, lighting up the still damp surface, reflecting off the mirrored glass of the new pit buildings.

I can't help but push on for the last couple of corners, the excitement of being back on the circuit getting the better of me. Into the final mile and I speed up, still taking the racing line back to where we started what seemed like ages ago now.

Just before I cross the line I hear the commentary. "In six weeks time during the London Marathon these guys will only be at half way, they will have to run this all over again." Just what I wanted to hear. For now I'm going to try and forget that fact, today I've finished, I've done exactly what I wanted. The first proper long run of the year is in the bag and, for now, the marathon plan is on. There is just the small matter of having just six weeks to double my mileage but I can worry about that another day. Anyway, I've always liked a challenge.

At this home of speed I've run my slowest half marathon ever, but this is just one more training run for the marathon, at the moment speed it not important. It’s been amazing to run the circuit, next time though I may just use four wheels to get around the track rather than two rather exhausted feet.

With my CDF club mate Gareth after the finish

What I Talk about When I Talk About Running

What am I doing? I talk about running a lot but it’s always just in one-on-one conversations or with a group of friends. Usually my victim(s) will show a split second of interest and off I go, endlessly going on about pretty much anything to do with the sport. Most of my friends know every single detail about the marathon I ran last year. Tonight is different though, there’s a stage, a crowd and a microphone. As usual I'm talking about running but it’s a little bit more organised than my usual ramblings.

Midway through the talk. Thanks to Jason Aspinall for the pic. Pics from all the Ignite talks can be found here https://www.flickr.com/groups/2813093@N20/

I try and listen to the speaker before me but the words seem miles away, I just can't concentrate. I know in a few minutes time it'll be me in that spotlight, up on stage in front of all those people. What the hell have I got myself into?

This is something just a little bit beyond my comfort zone. It’s called Ignite Cardiff. Speakers have five minutes to talk the audience through twenty slides on the subject of their choice. The room in front of me is filled with people, many of whom may well have no interest in running. They are expecting something at least half entertaining over the next few minutes, rather than just an incoherent ramble.

The first slide of my talk

For some reason the paper I’m holding with my talk on it won’t stay still. I’m trying to stop my hands from shaking but I just can’t. Oh god I'm nervous.

I've felt this feeling before but I just can't place where and when. Then it dawns on me, this slightly nauseous, nervous, feeling of dread, the mixture of fear and excitement is exactly what I feel at the beginning of a race. It's what I felt before the start of the marathon, it's what I have felt stood on so many start lines over the last few years.

So what if I treat this talk like a race? Maybe I can use a few of the same tactics I use in a run to help me get through it.

In a way the marathon and the talk were always linked. Even before I had run the marathon I knew I wanted to talk about my experiences and about my M.E, it's the reason I set up this blog. I had been to Ignite a couple of times and thought that the marathon may make a good talk. So once I had finished the I just needed to figure out how to talk about it. The trouble was I didn't know if I could, speaking in front of that many people scared me.

Both the marathon and the talk had been aspirations that seemed almost out of reach but the idea that I might just be able to achieve them kept on niggling away at me. I had completed one of my goals so why could't I now accomplish the other.

Signing up to both had felt very similar. To start with it didn't feel real, I would tell people that I was doing these things but often it felt like I was talking about someone else. Early on I’m pretty sure I was in denial about what I was actually trying to do. It was only when I started training or writing that the reality of what I had signed up for hit home.

I tried to pretend like I was calm and I had a plan I knew would work. If I made it seem like I was confident and that I could achieve what I had set out to do, then hopefully I may actually believe it myself.  Inside though, I was bricking it, unsure if I could achieve my goals and at some points unsure if I still wanted to go through with them. 

At first I think I was in denial this would actually happen!

There was one crucial difference between the marathon and the talk. The marathon date was inflexible, it was written in stone. If I wasn’t ready for it the race would run without me. For the talk I could choose the date, if I missed one event there would be another along in a month or two. It gave the opportunity for doubt to win, it offered me the chance to bail if I wanted. And how I used that chance.

Originally I was going to do the talk soon after the marathon but I decided it was too soon, so bailed once. Two months later I tried again but work suddenly became busy and I was just too shattered to give the talk the time it needed. The truth is I was scared. I could have easily used those two months to start writing.

So third time lucky, this time I was determined not to bail. I had to think of it like the marathon, this time the date had to be set in stone, it was now or never. Either that or I would keep on putting it off, kidding myself that I was going to do it at some point in my life.

So now I had the date I had to put in the training. Night after night I would return home from work, first of all writing what I wanted to say, then constantly editing my initial ramble so I had something that would just about fit the required five minutes and twenty slides. I would constantly read it through, making changes, learning and re-learning the words. Any spare time would be consumed by the talk. Whilst walking or driving I would recite paragraphs, desperately trying to memorise as much as I could. I had a long suffering test audience made up of my wife Bernie and the Cat. In the end I'm sure they knew the talk almost better than me. If I messed up I made sure it wasn’t through lack of preparation.

The cat loved it....honest!

So it's almost time, I just have to repeat the same mind tricks I would on the race start line. I know I've done all I can to hopefully enable me to pull this off, I just now need to believe that I can actually do it. It's only five minutes, just imagine the feeling when I've finished, the relief and that adrenaline rush, I do love a bit of adrenaline. I can't wait to get to the other side, to that finish line.

It's now my turn. Deep breath. Steve the compère says something, I'm not quite sure what but it has my name in it, here we go then. I walk up onto the stage, Christ those lights are bright, bloody hell there’s a lot of people. I guess I had better get started then.

So many people, there was about 450 in total

For those first few seconds I’m so nervous, that bit of paper is still shaking. A few slides in though I have a slight Stars in Their Eyes moment, and start to relax. For those of you who claim never to have watched the Saturday night televisual entertainment extravaganza I had better explain. After making their way through the smoke filled doors, every singer would always start off looking like they were about to face a firing squad. After a few lines though, when for instance, it turned out that Janice from Croydon wasn't completely tone deaf the audience would burst into applause. All those nights spent hogging the karaoke down the pub had paid off and she could do a passable impression of Cher. The relief all round would be obvious.

Ok, so I don't get a huge round of applause but people laugh at a couple of jokes and I manage to time the first couple of slides right, without tripping up over the words too much. I relax and the nerves disappear. Actually I'm quite enjoying this, why does it only have to be five minutes? I'm sure everyone won't mind if I go on a bit longer!

To people’s relief I stick to the five minutes. It has been a bit of a blur but before I know it I’m off the stage, sitting down in the safety of the crowd, I’m done. Bring on the adrenaline rush, and that familiar high that I get from finishing a run. It takes a few minutes to sink in but finally I realise I’ve actually done it.

Relief after I was done, for both me and my wife Bernie.

I will be the first to admit I'm not the most outgoing of people. I haven't got that natural confidence that a lot of others seem to possess. Only a short while ago, I would have given into the doubt, I would have listened to the voices in my head saying there was no way I could talk to that many people. Often just speaking to a few people in a group would make me nervous, I would doubt myself, unsure if what I was saying had any value. Running has changed me, it has given me belief in my own abilities, the confidence to try new things and to challenge myself. The inferiority complex that the M.E gave me is now starting to disappear.

Running has brought me so much more than just the activity itself. It has helped me deal with life in a completely different way. I can use what I have learnt whilst running to help me with new tasks. By treating new challenges like a run and using the tactics I am so familiar with in a race, I can do things I previously didn't think possible.

I've gone on enough, have a watch of my talk below

For those of you who have thought, even for a split second you might like to do a talk like this I would say, just go for it.

Yes it was nerve wracking, stressful and scary but Ed, Steve and the rest of the Ignite Cardiff team were just awesome. At every stage they put me at ease, making me believe that speaking in front of a big audience would be not just something I (and anyone else) could do, but something I would actually love to do. I can’t thank them enough. It's been an amazing experience. If you want to sign up or just fancy going along to watch others talk about their passions then have a look at the website.

http://ignite.wales

Also thanks to Murakami for the blog title!