Twenty Seconds

I’ve never entered a fitness event before.

Not a 5K, not a 10K, nothing. If you’d asked me ten years ago whether I’d ever voluntarily wake up early on a Sunday morning to run 10 kilometres around Edinburgh, I’d probably have laughed.

Yet there I was, arriving at Dynamic Earth just after 7:30 in the morning for a race that didn’t even start until 9. I was ridiculously early, but I didn’t really care. I was excited.

Looking around, it felt obvious that thousands of other people had done this before. They knew where to go, where to stand and what to expect. I didn’t. I wandered around for a while, watched the event slowly come to life and eventually went for a short warm-up run before making my way towards the starting area.

I wasn’t nervous, which surprised me. I’d thought about the race a lot in the days beforehand, the same way you think about anything you’re looking forward to, but once I was there it just felt good. Breakfast had been a banana and an energy gel, which probably isn’t what you’d call ideal sports nutrition, but my diet is still something I’m working on gradually. Like most things over the last few years, it’s been about getting a bit better over time rather than trying to fix everything at once.

The Edinburgh Marathon Festival uses colour-coded starting groups based on predicted finish times. I was in yellow after putting in 49 minutes when I registered. The red group started ahead of me, so before we’d even crossed the line I’d already decided my race strategy.

Find someone in red. Try to keep up.

It was surprisingly simple.

As we stood waiting to start, music was blasting, thousands of runners were packed together, and there was this strange feeling that everyone around me had arrived with their own story. Some were chasing personal bests, others were running for charity, and plenty were probably just hoping to get through it. I was somewhere in the middle. I knew I could run the distance because of the training I’d done over the previous months. My recent runs had all been around the 52-minute mark on similar elevation, so finishing wasn’t really in question anymore.

The question was whether I could find another two minutes.

When the race started, everything settled quickly. For a good stretch I followed a runner in a red shirt, convincing myself that if I could just stay with him, I’d sneak under fifty minutes. Eventually he drifted away and disappeared into the distance.

Somewhere along the route I had to stop and tie my shoelace after it came undone. Such a rookie mistake. Afterwards I couldn’t help wondering whether those few seconds mattered. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. I’ll probably keep blaming that shoelace until I run another 10K.

The course wasn’t flat either. There was enough climbing to make every fast kilometre feel earned, and by the closing stages the comfortable training pace had completely gone. This was the part where you stop thinking about splits and pace charts and just ask your legs to give you whatever they’ve got left.

I gave it everything I had.

I glanced at my watch in the final stretch and thought there might still be a chance. My Samsung Watch Ultra had been brilliant throughout training and the race, but even then I knew it was going to be tight.

Crossing the finish line felt brilliant. Not because I’d hit my target, but because I’d just completed my first ever organised running event.

Everything afterwards was well organised. Volunteers guided everyone through the finish area, medals were handed out, we collected a race t-shirt, water and a flapjack before slowly making our way out. I didn’t stay long. I grabbed a few photos, including one overlooking Arthur’s Seat with my medal, and headed home.

I never took the medal off.

On the way back I stopped at a shop to pick up some Pokémon cards for my daughter because I knew she’d like them. That ended up being my celebration.

Later that day the official results came through.

3,752 runners had started.

I finished 476th.

My official chip time was 50 minutes and 20 seconds.

For a brief moment I’d actually received a text saying 50:22 before the official result was corrected. Imagine if those two seconds had been the difference. Instead, the gap stayed exactly where it belonged.

Twenty seconds.

It’s funny though, because those twenty seconds aren’t really what I remember now.

What I remember is booking the event on a random evening because I felt motivated and wanted something new to work towards. I remember months of NuRox classes, gym sessions and slowly becoming fitter without really noticing it happening. I remember realising that running, something I’d never really cared about before, had quietly become something I actually enjoy.

The biggest surprise wasn’t missing my target. The biggest surprise was wanting to do it again.

I’ve already tried another sub-fifty 10K since the race and somehow ended up almost exactly the same time again. Apparently that’s just where I am right now, and that’s fine. It’ll come.

One thing I do regret is not realising there was a children’s race as part of the festival. Afterwards my daughter told me loads of kids at her school had the blue EMF shirts from taking part. She’s already done brilliantly in school cross-country, something that makes me ridiculously proud considering how small she is and how well she does against everyone else.

Next year we’ll sort that. She can run hers, I’ll run mine, and that feels like a better memory to make than any finish time.

When I was younger, I wasn’t someone who looked after myself particularly well. My habits weren’t great and exercise wasn’t really part of my life. As I’ve got older, that’s slowly changed. Not through one big decision, but through lots of small ones that added up. Now it’s NuRox classes, gym sessions, hiking, camping, running, and just generally moving more. Less alcohol, better routines, more consistency. Not because I’m trying to be perfect, but because I feel better when I do it.

Looking back, missing my goal by twenty seconds doesn’t feel like failure. It just feels like where I am right now. I know I can find more, and I will. Those twenty seconds are just the reason I’ll show up again.