by Jo Pavey
When I rejoined my teammates wheeling a pushchair with Emily in it, they burst out laughing. I soon met up with my parents, too, who were also on the flight to Exeter. On the flight I enjoyed going straight back into ‘mum mode’, entertaining Emily. It was her first experience of flying but she didn’t seem to worry. On arrival at Exeter Airport, we were met by my brother Matt and sister-in-law Lorna, and my nieces Olivia and Tessa who had dressed up and painted England flags on their faces. They drove us back to our house, where I found they had decorated the outside of the house with England flags. It was so sweet of them to surprise me with this celebratory home-coming.
We had a few days at home to turn ourselves around before it was time to head out to Zurich. During the championships phase of 2014, I felt extremely fortunate to be able to have my family around me. Getting the balance between total focus and extra rest when needed, yet still having family time too, helped me enormously. With ten days between the two events, it was actually a tricky period of time. If the events had been a bit closer together, then in some ways it might have been simpler. I would have needed to focus on recovery and getting my legs fresh enough to race again. But ten days meant that, on top of the business of travelling back from Glasgow and getting organised to travel out again to Zurich about a week later, I also had to fit in a couple of track sessions to stop my legs getting ‘rusty’ for the European Championships. And of course my local track was still closed so it was back on the road for that long round trip to Yeovil.
Again I would be travelling out to Zurich with the team, while Gav would follow the next day with the kids and, this time, my parents. There were further logistical challenges. I had a track session to do on the same day that I needed to be at the hotel near Heathrow Airport, ready to catch the flight the next morning. With the Exeter track shut, I would again need to use Yeovil – an hour away in the direction of London – so the sensible option was to do a track session en route. Gav’s parents came over to look after Emily and Jacob while Gav drove me to Yeovil all packed up for the European Championships. I hopped out, did my final crucial track session, then we continued on our way to the hotel.
In the morning I met up with most of the team, who had travelled on a coach from Loughborough, only to find our flight was cancelled. We were given food and a voucher for further refreshments to spend in the airport shops, so it became a competition among us: who could buy the most food with their £10? Our rescheduled flight was to depart from London City Airport. Luckily the coach that had brought athletes from Loughborough was still there and we all boarded it to be transported to the other airport. We sat around the small airport for hours. Despite arriving in Zurich nine hours late, I hoped to still run through my normal preparations. I was touched that physio James Davies had waited around to do my treatment and I’d asked whether it would be possible to have the ice bath I’d planned and I duly got into it just after midnight. An inflatable bath had been set up outside the hotel with just a fence partitioning it off from a section of the car park. I sat there outside in the dark in the rain. Through narrow slits in the fence I could see parked cars and hear the merriment of people returning from a good night out. I sat there hoping they couldn’t see me, not for the first time thinking, ‘What am I doing?’
By the day of my race I felt pleased with my fitness levels, but I wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence, and even after that unexpected bronze in Glasgow, I certainly wasn’t assuming I would be in the medals again. My concern was that I had been tapering for the 5,000m event at the Commonwealths while my rivals had been focusing on final preparations for the 10,000m at the Euros. So it was quite an unknown scenario and I missed my fellow ‘OAP’ Helen Clitheroe. When I looked around the call room at Zurich, I saw lots of girls in their twenties. My teammate Beth Potter was only five years old when I made my international debut in 1997.
While I wasn’t assuming I’d be in reach of the medals, the race in Glasgow had definitely shown me more tactical options. Without that race, I might have been tempted to push the pace, but I had found unexpected speed at the end of the race and that gave me more confidence to sit back and race economically, knowing it might be possible for me to put in a burst at the finish. There are particular challenges in running 10,000m on the track. For a start, because of the distance, it is run as a straight final. Other events have heats and a final with eight to twelve athletes on the track, or a maximum of fifteen in the 5,000m; but in the 10,000m there seems to be no limit. They do set a qualifying time given the statistics from rankings, but if lots of people get the time you can end up with a huge field of runners to negotiate. On a road, you just get on with running your 10k, but on a track you have to weigh up the option of running on the inside lane so you don’t end up running further or of running wide to keep out of trouble. You could sit on the inside lane at the back of the pack but with so many athletes in the race it can sometimes be impossible to monitor what is going on at the front. If the pace surges, or someone makes a move, you can miss the moment and be too far back to respond. In the early laps, it’s important to try to be economical and not waste energy, but also to be in a position to see how the race is developing.
Beth Potter and I caught the bus from the team hotel to the stadium. It was a bit worrying when the bus got quite delayed in traffic on the way. Beth and I were both receiving texts from team management wondering where we’d got to. We tried to remain relaxed, though; getting stressed would not help the situation, and we thought we would at least get there in time to race, even if our preparation time was cut a bit short. When we finally arrived at the track, it was time to warm up – no real time to sit and settle in. For some reason during my warm-up I started to faff about which shoes I wanted to race in. I did a stride in one pair then I changed and tried another. John Bigg, an endurance coach and also the husband of the great Sally Gunnell, was amused at me being a prat about my shoes at this crucial time. It was rather ridiculous. ‘Just wear those!’ he said, helping me out as I seemed in no state to make a decision for myself!
Lining up at the start, I took a moment to think how lovely it was to know that both my children were in the stadium. It felt like a very special occasion. I was struck by the usual flutter of nerves but also a feeling of calmness. After the weeks and months of preparation for this race – and all the loo trips during the warm-up – I couldn’t do anything now except race. I’d been at this point so many times before, channelling my nerves to use them to my advantage.
The gun went off. There were two, staggered start lines, which is normal when there are a lot of athletes in the field. After the first bend, all the runners headed for the inside lane and it became messy. The pace wasn’t particularly fast. As everyone jostled for position there was a lot of unintentional pushing and barging and athletes getting spiked. Initially I tried to find space on the inside lane. However, it was really rough there, runners were getting spiked, legs bloodied. I was cutting my stride short to avoid running into the girl in front of me and that’s an awkward and uneconomical way to run. As the pace was slow, I made the decision that I was better off running a bit wide to avoid getting cut up or spiked or even falling. Boxed in, I felt like I could fall any second and that would be game over. On the outside, I could simply run, rather than watching my every step.
It was a lovely, cool evening – perfect running conditions – but the first 8,000m of the race were pretty sedate. If the 5,000m race in Glasgow had gone by in a whirl, the same cannot be said of the final in Zurich. At double the distance, the 10k can seem like an eternity at the best of times. I do remember when we’d done nine laps and the lap counter said sixteen laps to go thinking, ‘You must be joking. This is such a long way!’ I felt reasonably comfortable, though; but it took such an immense amount of concentration to keep out of trouble, trying to avoid getting tripped or barged or boxed in. I kept in touch but decided not to get involved with what was going on right at the front until the final stages. As the closing laps approached my
legs started to feel tired due to the impact of running so many laps in spikes on a hard track, not because of the distance. I remember thinking, ‘Actually, my breathing is all right’, and I could hear some of the athletes around me breathing hard.
With around 2,000m to go, the speed gradually picked up. At 1,400m to go, I got nearer to the front to make sure I was in a better position to cover any moves if they occurred. With three laps to go the Portuguese athletes Sara Moreira and Ana Dulce Félix injected some pace, but this was met with an immediate response from the French athlete Clémence Calvin, who took the lead and pushed the pace. With 1,000m to go, Calvin pushed harder, putting in a brave, determined effort. I was aware of not covering this sudden surge too quickly. With 800m left, I moved into third and maintained this until around 550m to go when I surged and ran past Moreira to move into second place. Just before the bell signalled the final lap, I moved into the lead.
The crowd noise rose in a crescendo as the final stages of the race begun to unfold. Spectators may have felt nervous, but I also recall a high intensity of nervous energy on that last lap. Calvin was still right behind me. Could I do it? Could I finally get a gold after all these years of trying? I didn’t know, but I was in the zone, concentrating on the track in front of me. I focused on running a controlled last lap, trying to be in tune with the perceived exertion I was putting in, thinking and gauging things while I was running. I was in front, ready and waiting to put in a further boost of speed if needed. I wanted to ensure that I still had something in the tank. I focused so hard on controlling my pace, trying to prevent blowing up on the finishing straight. I didn’t want to get it wrong and have athletes flying past me at the end, leaving me with nothing left to give, and legs feeling like lead weights. I needed to judge it right. At around 240m to go I surged a bit more as I felt Calvin trying to make a move. I didn’t know whether she would come past me in the closing stages. But I found I still had something in reserve and I felt good. I kicked hard at 120m to go, then gritted my teeth and with about 80 metres left I put in my final kick. I didn’t look around; I just ran and ran and ran. I gave it all I had, knowing that I wanted to wake up the next morning with no regrets. I gave it absolutely everything and left nothing in reserve. I focused my eyes on the finish line, willing myself towards it as if I had blinkers on. I was unaware of anything else apart from crowd noise and the finish line.
And then I crossed that line, teeth still gritted – and I’d done it. Or had I? I put my hands halfway up, not above my head. I didn’t want to go mad with my celebrations in case I’d got it wrong. That would be embarrassing! But hands halfway up would be okay, as I figured I’d got a medal of some sort. I couldn’t believe no one had sneaked up the inside and passed me. I couldn’t believe I’d won. Surely not. Gold medals don’t happen to me. I tried to look up at the scoreboard waiting for the result to flash up. But when I saw the pack of press photographers gathering in a crowd around me, I started to realise that yes, it was true, I had crossed the line first. I had won a gold medal, the very first in my long career. And I’d won it just a month shy of my forty-first birthday!
Did that truly happen to me? Yes, it did. I had the cheers of the crowd to confirm it. I was hugely moved that night by the reception I got. I’m told there was an announcement – I don’t remember – that I was now the oldest ever female European Champion. I had tried for so many years to win a gold medal and to win it when I had two lovely children, both in the stadium to watch me, was so special. It was worth the wait. I ran round the back straight holding the flag on my lap of honour and finally found my family. I ran round the barriers to reach them. I hugged Gav and Jacob, and Gav handed Emily to me for a cuddle. Obviously I had not planned that moment. It was lovely to have my parents there too. I didn’t think I would be doing a lap of honour as European Champion, not at my age! But it felt wonderful and the spontaneity of it was so surreal.
This was an amazing moment for me in every sense. I had enjoyed the best moment of my career at a time when I had my longed-for little family to help me savour the moment. It was such a surprise, and it was amusing in a lot of ways. However much I had always run, and tried to lead the right lifestyle for an athlete, to beat my personal bests, to run for the sheer love of it, winning this gold medal was the ultimate prize. It was something I’d presumed would never now happen. I thought the days of a gold being a possibility were long behind me. And when it finally happened, the circumstances were so far removed from what I had expected. It showed me that being happy in life, having that balance, was what led me finally to achieve something that I thought would never be possible. All the setbacks I’d fought against, the injuries I’d had to overcome, the disappointments I’d experienced – it had all been worth it.
Without this surreal experience, though, I feel I still wouldn’t have looked back on my career with regret. I never wanted to mull over the ‘what ifs’ and the medal misses. I’ve been so fortunate to have had so many memorable experiences – the places I’ve been, the people I’ve met. I think that is how I would have viewed my running career even if it had ended a few years earlier, but I cannot deny that winning that gold medal was a truly satisfying experience, unmatched by anything else in my career. Celebrating with the Union flag around my shoulders, in that supportive stadium atmosphere with my parents watching, with the family I’d always dreamed of . . . Nothing can ever beat that.
It was busy at the track after the race and when I finally got back to the team hotel at 1 a.m. I sneaked back into the room, planning to sleep in my kit rather than showering because I didn’t want to wake my friend and roommate, the javelin-thrower Goldie Sayers, as she still had a final coming up. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, it didn’t work, and I think I woke poor Goldie. I apologised and she was so lovely about it, saying ‘Well done’ and claiming she was already awake.
I only became aware of the extraordinary level of interest in my achievement the next day when I saw my picture plastered across the newspapers and was informed a host of TV crews wanted to speak to me. I was so surprised. It was so much more attention than I would have expected. Gav was taken aback by it, too. When he returned from the stadium, he and my dad were having a drink in their hotel bar while mum looked after the children. Out of the corner of their eyes, Gav and Dad saw my image on the TV screen. It was Sky News’s slot reviewing the next day’s newspapers. I was on the front pages for being old and a mum! I was so thrilled to be able to do a radio interview and mention my childhood coach, Tony. He could no longer see, but I knew he’d be listening to that particular programme. To think it was in his group that my distance running career started all those years ago.
We wanted the children along with Gav and my parents to see my medal ceremony, which was scheduled for the following day and the always-helpful Liz Birchall from British Athletics sorted out tickets for us all. When I met up with them all on the street outside the stadium, I had just been informed that the ceremony would probably be postponed until the next day because of weather delays to the schedule. We were told that if it was to go ahead that night, then it would be much later than the original allocated time slot. We waited and waited. I was so pleased to see Jacob and Emily again, I stayed with them and we all headed to a pub-cum-pizza-place. We couldn’t make up our minds whether or not to order some food. We hummed and hawed, but still no confirmation call. Eventually we ordered food, only for me to receive the summons for the podium ceremony. Classic! We had to cancel the pizza order, which we’d only made seconds earlier, and leave for this huge moment in my career – when a gold medal was going to be placed around my neck to the sounds of the national anthem – with the words of an angry restaurateur ringing in our ears.
Standing on the top of the rostrum felt even more emotional than I thought it would. I’d heard the national anthem so many times, but it felt truly unbelievable that this time it was being played for me.
I arrived home to find that my brother Matt and his family had this time de
corated our house with British flags rather than the England flags they’d hung after the Commonwealths. It was so lovely of them – and they’d looked after our guinea pigs throughout this whole championship phase! I also received lovely cards and messages from my other brother Jon, his fiancé Deb and daughter Alisha, and all of Gav’s family, our extended family and my friends. I was so grateful and overwhelmed by the goodwill and warmth, but a little shocked (and flattered) by the level of media attention. The support of the public meant so much to me, but it became a very chaotic time that I hadn’t bargained for, and kept us busy juggling it around the kids. I can see it was a rather funny storyline for a forty-year-old to be confirmed as ‘the best in Europe’. We tried to keep everything as normal as we could for the kids, and we weren’t sure initially when BBC Breakfast asked if they could do a recorded interview with Jacob. The lovely Sally Nugent was so great with kids that we ended up having no problem in agreeing. ‘What does Mummy do?’ she asked him. I loved his answer: ‘We go to the track. She runs about a bit, then she wears a flag and then we go home.’
