July, much like August, but let’s stick with July for now, was another smug month of running. I book-ended the month with parkruns in opposite ends of London; temporarily found myself getting up to run at 6.30am, pre-work, in order to allow myself uninterrupted post-work Wimbledon watching (this, of course, has now ended); and, after several weeks of running regularly, achieved the sub-30 PB time I’d been working towards – but then forgot to take a photo. Fail.
Fortunately, I’ve become that person who records every run they do on Strava. If it’s not on Strava, it definitely didn’t happen.
Now Strava told me 5km. It also told me 29:22. If it had just been me running that day, I would have taken great satisfaction in this PB. However, that day in Peckham Rye – a delightful, varied, relatively flat 3-laps of a route featuring Japanese garden – I was running with uni friends Gribben and Crowther and Crowther’s girlfriend Eleanor. As we walked towards brunch, sweaty but satisfied after the run, we were browsing through our respective Strava stats like the trendy, runners-in-their-early-30s that we are. Gribben then made the shocking announcement that his Fitbit equivalent, renowned for being the more accurate device, had actually only recorded a 4.8km distance. Every Parkrun route is supposed to be 5km. Whether or not Gribben’s stats meant that I’d run the same distance as him, my new PB was now tainted. Sure, I still bragged about it on Instagram, my pace was certainly a PB, but this wasn’t the PB that, for me, meant that I’d achieved my goal. Now, I’d have to do it again.
The problem is, life gets in the way. Especially in Wimbledon season. Following this Peckham “PB” I then didn’t run for the next three weeks, for one reason or the other, and it was only because I’d made a social running date with Dani to do the parkrun at Finsbury Park, that I forced myself to start running again. I mean, sure, I’d have started running again in August, but this was late July, I’d already done a parkrun in July (just), and I was about to go on holiday to Scotland. Did I really need to do another parkrun?
I almost didn’t make it. The morning of, I arrived at Brixton station, thinking I’d just zip up on the Victoria line to Finsbury Park. However, that weekend, to my horror, work was being done on the Victoria line between Brixton and Victoria, and Brixton underground station was closed. After a few text exchanges with Dani – “I don’t think I’m going to make it”/”We can just go for brunch instead” – I remembered there was an overground train that went from Brixton to Victoria, and embarked on a faff of a journey that I would end up doing more times than I’d care to remember that day. The good news is, as you may have already guessed, I made it. Not without a frantic panic run from Finsbury Park station though!
The Finsbury Park parkrun route is two laps, roughly around the circumference of the park. There are two very contrasting inclines – one that lasts for at least 1km but is very gradual, and another which is very short but very steep. As I approached the steep gradient for the second time, one of the volunteers, a lovely grey-haired woman, called out “That’s a great, steady speed you’re doing there, keep it going up the hill!”. I remember being very short of breath, wondering how much longer I could keep going for and the words of that volunteer motivating me to grit my teeth and carry on, as slow as it may require. And once again, thanks to that extra push at the end, I completed another 5km without stopping. Sure, my final time was 33:46 – a far cry from my Peckham “PB” – but it’s still 5km without a break; my fitness levels must be doing alright!