10km is an interesting distance to run. Or perhaps a better way to describe it is as a particular form of torture. It’s not a short race like a 5k, where you can push yourself as hard as possible, knowing that there are only 20-odd minutes of pain to get through. And it’s not a long race, like a half or full marathon, where the focus is on pacing and strategy (as much as there is every strategy in running). No, a 10k is at the intersection of the two. Not long enough to settle, not short enough to sprint… what fun!

And it’s not as if I’ve never run 10k before. I often do - as a training run. I’ve used the distance for tempo or threshold runs, or as an easy recovery run. But today, for the first time ever, I’ve run a 10k race. And I still can’t quite decide how I feel about the distance, or if I want to go back…

The 10k race in question was a fairly low key one: The Fuller’s London Pride 10K for Cancer Research UK. The course follows a very familiar loop for me, over ground that I often use when training, which was both a blessing and a curse during the run itself (nothing worse than passing a landmark and knowing exactly how far there is left to go before you can stop running!). It was mostly flat, except for the two bridges we had to cross. And I ran it a lot faster than I was expecting to.

With Manchester marathon now just over two months ago, and having taken roughly a month to recover, I’d only devoted five weeks to properly training. And that, plus the low key nature of the race, and the fact that it was 10k instead of 42k, meant that the whole thing felt a little odd, somehow. More like a parkrun than a race. Which is probably not the worst way to approach my first attempt to run a fast time over that distance. On the morning itself I felt relatively well prepared – I’d slept alright, I’d eaten breakfast, I’d had a decent warm up jog to the start  - but I struggled to get the adrenaline up the way I do before a longer race. I was nervous, but only the way I am before a parkrun, because I know I’m going to run as fast as I can and that it’ll probably hurt.

After a little faffing at the start line (mainly to do with waiting for marshals to be in place) we were called to the start. My mum and brother were also racing, and, urged forwards by my dad, we were more or less at the front of the field when the order to start was finally given (a 3-2-1 count down, with no order to go and a slightly fumbled attempt to start the clock…). And then I found myself somewhere I’m not used to being: near the very front.

Whilst I know I’m relatively speedy for my age, I’m by no means fast enough to be at the front of most races. So when we set off, and I found that initially there were only two people ahead of me, I was convinced that I’d made a huge mistake with my pacing and was going to blow up spectacularly a short distance in. Glancing at my watch, I confirmed that I was running at a faster pace than intended – I’d been aiming for 7:13 minute miles, which would give me a sub-45 minute finish. I ran the first mile of the race in 6:45 – but it didn’t feel too fast. And, because I’m me, I decided to stick with it and see what happened.

What did happen? Well, the runners ahead of me pulled gradually further and further ahead (one, my brother, managed to finish a ridiculous four minutes ahead of anyone else!). I lost a couple of places on the overall ranking by the 5km mark, but then nothing. One other runner sat on my heels for a while in the last 2km, but I managed to pull away again. And I finished in a ridiculous 5^th place overall. And 2^nd woman. And in 41 minutes and 29 seconds. A time of which I am inordinately proud.

So with that result…I’m left with a quandary. I didn’t particularly enjoy the distance as a race. It hurt, a lot, the whole way round. I didn’t hugely enjoy the race itself, partly at least because I didn’t enjoy running on my own so much. I know that sounds silly, almost, but I think it made the whole thing a lot harder and a lot more painful. I love parkrun because I’m running in a crowd, and that pulls me a long. This felt like trying to do a long training run at race pace without much of the race atmosphere. On the other hand, I was happy with my time, and I feel like, in the right circumstances, I can go faster. And it was a challenge – and I do love a challenge. The question then: do I sign up for another 10k?

It’s not a decision I’m going to make yet. I’m sure, at some point, I’ll run another 10k race. Whether it’ll be this year – who knows. The next even on my calendar is the Ealing Half Marathon, which is 14 weeks away. I know I could fit in a 10k race as part of my training, if I decide to. Equally, I could wait and try and race one afterwards. We’ll see. If the right one comes along...

Oh, and just to make it clear - I'm aware that a local 10k is never going to be organised like a bit city marathon. And the organisers of the Fuller's Pride 10k did a great job. The atmosphere was great and really friendly. It felt like a local race, with people happy to chat to one another and cheer each other on, and great support on the ground. It's easy to see my parents convincing me to sign up again next year. And hey, it's always nice to pretend I'm winning material!