This weekend I headed back to my hometown half marathon – the Great Eastern Run. Being two weeks after The Gauntlet  and two weeks before Frankfurt marathon, my legs were in no position to be attempting to run fast. I had no plan for the race, so when a friend said they were looking for a PB somewhere under 1:55 I offered up my pacing services – more for my enjoyment than theirs – which were graciously accepted.

This wasn’t my first foray into pacing friends. Back in spring 2012, I found myself with a spot in the Brighton marathon. I’d run only once a week for the past four months thanks to some gallivanting around the world and I had another marathon six weeks after Brighton. A friend was running Brighton as her first marathon and looking for a sub 4:30 time, so I offered to run with her confident that I could pull that out the bag on limited mileage.

I learnt two very important things about pacing during that race: 1) It’s pretty satisfying helping your friend achieve their goal and being the first person to high-five them at the finish, 2) It’s really stressful when you realise your legs might not be up to it. We did, however, make it to the finish on target with an official time of 4:29:45.

My pacee for the Great Eastern Run had requested a negative split with a couple of slower miles to start, some 8:45s in the middle and a last push for home from around mile 11. This is not the way I like to run races. I’m like a human metronome – pick a pace and I’ll stick to it. But I was there to do what I was asked. There’s lesson 3 – you run the way they feel comfortable.

We stood huddled at the start both wearing a bin bags and sheltering from the wind as I had a flashback to Venice marathon. A few rows behind us stood a guy dressed as a chicken and his mate who’d come as Superman. I envied the chicken’s plumage keeping him warm better than my black bin bag ever could.

The gun fired and we were off. I let my pacee dictate the speed for the first few miles. The chicken swiftly ran past us – I was not happy with this situation.

We got to mile three and it was time to pick up the speed so I tore off my bin bag so I could finally move my arms. Half a mile down the road the chicken came back into view – now I was torn: stick with the race plan or catch the chicken. If I’d been on my own I would have hunted it down like Colonel Sanders.

Lesson 4 – it’s not about you, it’s their race. Don’t let your ego get the better of you.

We saw my parents cheering a couple of times in the next few miles. After four years of supporting this race they’ve got it down to a fine art and a woman running alongside us asked if she could adopt them for the duration of the race.

Coming up to mile six we’d started to close down the gap between us and the chicken. I looked at my companion and, knowing what I was indicating, he gave me the nod. We ran past the chicken at the same time as we went past The Cock Inn – you couldn’t make this stuff up.

As we got to mile 10 it was clear that our negative split was going to have to be more negative than I’d hoped. We needed three 8 minute miles to make it back in under 1:55. My legs really didn’t want to run that fast but I was there to do a job. We weaved through the field and clocked up a couple of 7.30-something miles.

Now my pacee may be slower than me over 13.1 miles, but when it comes to a sprint finish he will beat me every time. We hit the last 100 meters and he took off – that’s gratitude for you. He finished a few seconds faster than me in 1:52, the proud owner of a new PB.

In two weeks’ time I’m pacing Liz Goodchild round Frankfurt marathon fueled by German beer and positive vibes. Let’s hope we can make it a hat trick.