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
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