47 minutes 20 seconds

A and I took part in the Scottish Gas 10k race on Sunday morning. The start was a little chaotic. We didn't seem to be the only people who didn't know the route. In fact, as people began lining up for the start they had to be told they were pointing the wrong way.

The starter gun went off and the runners around me sprinted away. The first 50 metres, or so were actually quite intimidating as people pushed past. Some of the people looked like pro's, some looked like fat, old men, and there was at least one seriously underweight runner. I don't think my lungs would have fitted inside her torso.

By the first kilometer mark we were passing the early sprinters and I was already recognising we were setting, for me, a tough pace. The route was basically flat: east from the Scottish Gas HQ, turning around through an industrial estate to head west along the coast, returning from (what I'm told is) the Crammond Pumping Station. About 100 meters from the finish we turned onto a narrow, uphill dirt track. I was down to near walking pace as I went through the barriers at the start of the track. The hill looked too steep, but A wouldn't give up.

We crossed the finish line and joined a very short queue to have our numbers read. The world started to get fuzzy and I tried using the ropes to steady myself. They didn't do a particularly good job, but I managed to keep upright. Why should I feel faint when I've finished the run rather than during it?

My goal had been to finish in under 50-minutes. Thanks to A I did it in 47 minutes 20 seconds.