Beyond5k

A Personal Best at 62

Six weeks ago, I ran my all-time personal best at parkrun – 21:36. Interestingly, when I set out on that run I somehow knew that I would get a PB, it was never in doubt. My strategy was simple – sit on the shoulder of the 22 minute pacer and give it everything I had left over the last 500 meters. Clearly, to gain 24 seconds on the 22min pacer over the last 500m I must have had loads left! It was a time I’d always believed I could achieve, indeed I am convinced that if I am brave enough to “red line” all the way I will go under 20 mins one day! At 62, it felt like I’d unlocked a new chapter. All the early mornings, the strength work, the endless easy runs – it had all come together. That moment, fleeting as it was, felt like proof. Proof that age hadn’t yet written the last word.

The Pressure That Follows Success

What I wasn’t prepared for in getting that personal best was the weight of expectation it carries afterwards. There’s a subtle pressure that creeps in – an assumption (at least in my mind) that I should now always run at that level. Every run should feel good, every parkrun should be close to that number. And when it doesn’t, the questions begin.

When Progress Pauses

And then, the pause.

An injury. Nothing dramatic (I thought) – just a hamstring niggle that crept in and refuses to leave. A tightness with an unmistakable message: slow down. After six weeks (as I am writing this), all the metrics are heading in the wrong direction – my heart rate is too high for the pace, my lactate threshold pace is dropping, my predicted 5K time (from Garmin) is a minute slower.

Imposter Syndrome

It’s hard not to slip into that imposter mindset. Maybe that PB was a fluke. A one-off. A lucky day with perfect weather, fresh legs, and a good pacer. Maybe I’ve seen “peak Tim” and the performance curve is bending back down.

Also, in those slower runs, there’s a strange kind of embarrassment. I’ve run 5K at 4:19 pace, yet here I am, trundling along at 6:30. I feel like I have something to prove – even though, deep down, I know I don’t. I forget that running slowly isn’t a failure; it’s part of the deal. It’s the grit between the glorious peaks.

The Reality of Progress

If you’ve been there, you know that feeling. The temptation to catastrophise. To turn one niggle, a few off weeks, into a narrative of failure and decline. It’s an easy script to follow, especially later in life, when all around you the world subtly tells you to expect less of yourself.

However, progress is never linear. We love to think it is orderly, predictable, and fair. The truth is far messier. Peaks and valleys. Surges and stalls. Setbacks that teach, and comebacks that surprise. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, the body simply says “not now,” no matter how much the mind pleads otherwise, no matter how much it frustrates us.

Coaching Through the Uncertainty

So, where does that leave me?

Right now, it means being patient and listening to my coach, Kat. Not just for the training plan, but for perspective. A good coach sees the bigger picture when all you can focus on is the missed runs and the slower pace. They hold the line when doubt creeps in. They remind you that one result, good or bad, is never the whole story. They help you stay steady when you lose confidence, and they know when to push and when to pause, even when you don’t.

Returning to the Why

It also means remembering why I run. Not just for the thrill of a fast parkrun finish or the Strava stats, but for the sheer joy. For the peace that comes with a quiet run, for the fulfilment of running with a first-timer at parkrun, for the communities around social runs, no matter what the pace.

Still Moving Forward

I don’t know when the next PB will come. But I do know this: I’m not done yet!