Race Report: The St Neots Half Marathon

Today, Sunday 20th November, was the St Neots half marathon, one I’ve been really looking forward to since I entered way back in June. I’d heard what a great race it was - nice scenery, extremely well organised and great PB-potential (see what I did there, put PB potential third as if it wasn’t the most important thing, yeah right!).

In time honoured running fashion, I told everyone beforehand that I’d be happy with 1.42 and that anything better would be a bonus. After all, 1.42 is a full two minutes quicker than last week and another PB. Secretly though, I know I’ll be gutted with that as my training suggests I can do 1.40 whereas the Runners World time predictor (I’ll have a pint of whatever that’s drinking) reckons I can do 1.37!

To add some context, I was running this one with my brother and he’s a far better runner than me. I’ve never beat him and I don’t imagine I ever will. So I convinced myself long ago that getting close to him would be an achievement in itself. When he then turned up at mine on Saturday complaining of feeling unwell, is it wrong that my first thought  was that maybe I’ll beat him at long last? Or is that sibling rivalry stemming from many a football / cricket / tug of war / computer game / anything contest when we were growing up? Either way, I should know better than to think it’ll ever happen - he turned up looking half-dead at Watford in February and still beat me by a good couple of minutes.

My Dad and brother’s boy Tyler decided to come along to watch, in what can only be described as one of the most foolish decisions made by anyone in the UK this weekend. It’s freezing cold and so foggy you can’t see further than 30 yards. By the time we’ve picked up our race packs, we all beat a hasty retreat back to the car for an ‘unconventional’ race warm up of putting the heaters on to regain the feeling in our hands rather than loosening the muscles.

Off to the start and I decide that keeping up with my brother is my best chance of a good time.  We pass through the first mile in 6.57 which quite frankly is suicidal for me - so I reluctantly say goodbye to my brother’s heels yet again to prevent a hideously painful next hour and forty minutes.

Mile’s 2 & 3 pass quickly and we get to the first hill. Fortunately for me, being from the Cotswolds, I’m quite used to hills. I don’t mind them at all. In fact, I’d almost go so far as to say I quite enjoy them in a sadistic kind of way. So I'm pleased when I get up the hill with the minimum of fuss and pass a few people on the way. The course is a figure of eight so it does this hill again at the 8-9 mile mark. Hmmm, if that’s as tough as it gets, you could be on for a PB, says one side of my brain. The other side quickly tells me to stop being an idiot, and that engaging in such crazy talk will lead to blowing up at mile 10 and lead to an excruciating final 25 minutes.         

Fortunately the next few miles go through in a bit of a blur and, feeling fresh as a daisy I go through half-way at 49.59, so bang on for 1.40, but I know that my second half is always slower, so I don’t get carried away. I like following people as it takes my mind off of the running. So much so, that at times I’m guilty of not bothering to overtake people when I probably should. I’ve settled in behind someone for almost four miles now, but I motor past him back up the hill through to mile 9. I look at my watch and, knowing the last three miles are gently downhill, tell myself to keep it tight until 10. Then, and only then, should I think about going for it.  

Scenic St Neots...



The good news is I get to 10 and still feel good, so really put the hammer down (all things being relative, obviously) for a big PB. The only other thing going through my mind is that I keep expecting to see my brother in the distance. If he’s ill, he’s surely gone off too fast and I’m going to catch him, right? Wrong. The miles pass by and there’s still no sign of him, until, having spent half an hour scouring in front for anyone in a blue top, I see him in the distance at 12.8 miles. But alas, it’s way too late and I can’t catch him.

I do the last three miles in 7.33, 7.20 and 7.07 and, after giving my nephew a big smile and wave, I get over the line in 1.38.57. A PB by a whopping five minutes and twenty seconds! And better still, I’m only 6 places behind my brother.  

Once we’re recovered, I ask my brother if he saw me coming. He denies point blank that he turned around, saw me and put more effort in at the end. I deny point blank that I spent the last four miles scouring the distance for him, and that I put more effort in at the end in the hopeless pursuit of catching him. Unsurprisingly, my wife later tells me that we both confessed to her that we did, indeed, see each other and start to try harder… good to know the sibling rivalry goes both ways.

A final word on the St Neots half-marathon. I’ve no idea about the scenery as the fog was so bad I couldn’t see any of it, but it is a cracking course and one I’ll definitely do again. My mate Chris (not he of last week’s no show) knocked two minutes off of his PB too in a massively impressive 1.24, just to prove the suspicion that he’s taking part in completely different sport to the likes of me.  

All that’s left is to get back home, eat a lovely lunch prepared by Clare, and then settle in to watch Bristol City beat Millwall on Sky in the afternoon. With a glass or two of red wine thrown in for good measure.

If Carlsberg did Sunday’s they’d almost definitely be like this (thanks for that line Anthony!)

And I’m telling you this because…

I’m running the 2012 London Marathon for the Hertfordshire Community Foundation (HCF).

They issue grants to a whole range of charities and groups, helping people across the county. For the equine / animal lovers amongst you, here’s a story to tug at your heart-strings:

One of the grants the HCF made last year was to the Riding for the Disabled Association (RDA). They exist purely to deliver opportunities for therapy, achievement and enjoyment to people with disabilities. When the Hertfordshire branch of the RDA lost one of its ponies due to ill health and old age, the HCF supplied a grant to help them buy a new one – thus ensuring continued enjoyment and riding opportunities for disabled people in the Welwyn/Hatfield area.

If you feel inclined to sponsor me to help the Hertfordshire Community Foundation continue their great work, you can do so here:  http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/BenWood2  

Race report: The Grand Union Canal Half Marathon

I’ve taken in a couple of races in the past two weeks so I thought I’d give you a glimpse into how they went as a nice gentle introduction… 

First up was the Grand Union Canal Half Marathon, which took place on 13th November. I signed up to do this run with my mate Chris. He’s doing a Masters and I’ve got a baby daughter so we don’t see as much of each other as we used to. It’s fair to say that you know you’re getting old when you view running 13 miles as the lesser of two evils when the other ‘catch up’ option is skulling 8 pints of strong continental lager.

At this point I should say that I’ve also got the St Neots Half Marathon next week, which makes me sound like some kind of keeno. I’m not, I’m just incapable of performing a task as simple as checking my diary before agreeing to do something. That or I’m just plain unlucky / stupid – in March I put my name down to do the Norwich half as an excuse to watch Bristol City play there – I signed up at lunchtime, then checked the City website to catch up on the latest news, which was that they’d moved the game to Monday to put it on Sky. Cue a weekend in Norwich, no football and not a drink in sight thanks to running 13.1 miles the next morning. Thanks Sky. Anyway, I digress…

The Grand Union half is a picturesque point-to-point course, following the canal from Uxbridge to Watford before finishing in an autumnal Cassiobury Park. The aim was to take it easy, have a chat with Chris, and use it as a training run for next week. So far, so good. 

My alarm goes off at 6.30 on Sunday morning, having had barely any sleep. My daughter Evie contracted hand, foot and mouth over the weekend, and spent the entire night screaming the house down. Not an ideal start. I then drive to Watford to get a coach from the finish to the start, and have to make small talk with a stranger on the bus at 8am. I did this whilst mindful of the fact that the only reason I signed up was to go for a run with my mate Chris, the same Chris who’d text me at 11pm the night before to say he could no longer make it. I console myself that I am a good person for still doing it, when the easy option would have been to stay in bed.   

When the small talk with the stranger runs dry, I peer down at my watch and notice that my Garmin has frozen. Out the window goes the nice pacing strategy of taking it easy, as I’m no longer going to ensure I keep my heart rate down. I’m not good without sleep and can sense myself getting thoroughly annoyed – a sure fire way to run far too quickly in a bid to release some frustration.

We arrive at the start and I pick up my race pack. The world seems a bit better and we have a nice minute’s silence for Remembrance Day before the start. I say nice, but the bloke in front of me seems more interested in talking to his mate through most of it, despite looks of horror/annoyance from all of the people around him. (I’m never quite sure what the etiquette is in situations like that – I’ve been to football many times where I’ve heard people shout at the top of their voice at people to shut up, but I don’t know whether that makes you as bad as them?). More about our friend later…

The race starts with a nice lap of the park to space you out before getting onto the canal tow path. I was determined not to push very hard but the problem with this is that you know you can run quicker, and your competitive spirit is watching people stream past that you know you can beat. It’s really difficult not to give in to your ego and go after them – fortunately for me this is where being inherently lazy definitely helps.  

I saunter through to 10 miles, letting people pass, and the only thing of any real note is that I run past a water station, pick up a drink, and then hear a woman behind utter an expletive as she’s got it all wrong and missed out. Instead of giving her the dilemma of stopping and going back, I offer her half of mine – which she gratefully takes, without even so much as a word of thank you. Charming.

The leisurely Sunday morning jog

I decide to push the last three, especially given the last one is uphill, to see what shape I’m in ahead of St Neots next week. I really go for it in the last mile, and close in on ‘rude drink woman’, who I tell myself I have to beat. I cruise past and stick a metaphorical two fingers up to rudeness. Next up, and by sheer coincidence, I spot ‘Mr I can’t observe a minute’s silence’, way ahead in the distance, and tell myself the disrespectful urchin needs to be taught a lesson. I strain every sinew to get up to him but just as I get alongside he kicks for the line and I end up just behind him. I’m bitterly disappointed with myself, even though he has absolutely no idea how much he’s just annoyed me. Is running the only sport where complete strangers have the ability to impact your mood for the day without even realising it? At least in football if someone kicks you then you can kick them back.

I finish in 1.44.17, which is a PB by a minute and a half, without really pushing myself. I’m reasonably happy with it, but you always have a nagging doubt in your mind – the last mile was pretty painful so have I really got a much quicker time left in me? My other main thought as I walk through the park back to the car is that I’m glad I gave up Sunday morning football - I walk past three pitches and on each one they are screaming at the ref for being incompetent, when the standard of football suggests they ought to be looking a bit closer to home.    

I get back home and it’s clear Evie is quite ill, giving me one of my many ‘is it really fair that I go out running?’ moments. I conclude that no, it isn’t, but then if I don’t exercise I’m a grumpy bugger so it’s probably better for all concerned that I do. As the afternoon disappears and Evie goes to bed, it becomes clear that my enduring image of the Grand Union half won’t be of the run itself. It will be one of sheer exhaustion, lying face down on the sofa, wishing, begging, Evie to stop crying.  Clare, who has had to put up with two days of this already is in a worse place than me.

As the clock ticks by and the screaming continues, we are both a bit on edge. I know I’ve had no sleep, have run a half-marathon, am heading for the uncomfortable bed in the attic, and am going to have an interrupted night’s sleep ahead of a busy day tomorrow. But I also know I have the easier side of the bargain. Clare is going to be up all night trying to console an inconsolable soul, and will have pretty much the same for the next week.  When people question why on earth you’d want to run 13 miles, I can assure you it’s an absolute doddle compared to full-time child care.

And I’m telling you this because…

I’m running the 2012 London Marathon for the Hertfordshire Community Foundation. Four of the main areas of social welfare they issue grants across are;

·         Disadvantaged children and families

·         Activities and opportunities for young people

·         Access to education, training and employment

·         The quality of life of older people

An example of this is that they made 133 grants totalling £25,813 to the Hertfordshire Children’s Fund last year. This was distributed mainly for beds for disadvantaged children and their families. A really worthwhile cause if ever there was one.

So if, at any point when you’re reading my drivel, you feel inclined to sponsor me to help the Hertfordshire Community Foundation continue their great work, you can do so here:  http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/BenWood2  

The reason for these ramblings...

I’ve signed up to do the London Marathon in 2012. I appreciate there’s nothing out of the ordinary in that, especially as I’ll be lining up alongside 35,000 other people, many of whom will have infinitely more inspiring stories to tell.

As anyone who has completed a marathon before will know though, it isn’t the actual running of it that’s the story. It’s the training at stupid times of the day (hence the blog name), in horrific weather or whilst hungover and the mishaps and sacrifices along the way that make it such an achievement.

So I’ve taken the decision that to keep myself committed, and to raise as much money as possible for the charity I’m running for, I’m going to keep a diary of my training. And (hopefully) publish it for your entertainment.

I should just add that I have zero journalistic skills, and have never written anything in my life apart from marketing copy, so you’ll have to take this as it comes. Sorry about that. On the plus side for you (unless it's mind-numbingly boring of course, which is a distinct possibility) I’ve never given anyone an insight into my world before. The main reason for that is my West Country upbringing, where we’re taught that ‘son, talking about feelings is a sign of weakness’…  

The West Country leads me nicely on to the reason I’ve chosen my charity. When I left home to have the time of my life, I was definitely a country boy. I got a job in London and had the great fortune of settling on the Hertfordshire border, and have been in the county ever since. I’ve spent pretty much every single weekend playing football or cricket in a different part of it, and I’ve made some great friends and loved every minute. I’d also wager a small bet that I’ve sampled a far higher than average amount of the drinking establishments it has to offer, so it stands to reason that it’s about time I give something back.

The charity I’ve chosen to run for in 2012 is the Hertfordshire Community Foundation. I’ll tell you more about them as we go along, but here’s an interesting fact to start. The word Community leads most people to think of a small number. 30 maybe? 100 at a push? 1,000 at the very most? Well, not when we’re talking about the C in Hertfordshire Community Foundation - they helped a massive 228,000 people in the county last year alone. That’s a pretty large number, and over 20% of the population. So you know a donation to them will be finding its way to a very good cause.     

If at any point whilst reading this drivel you feel inclined to sponsor me, you can do so here: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/BenWood2  

And with that, a new blog is born…