Having had a busy few months I’ve been unable to enter any
of the main races people have been off doing and I’ve watched races come and
go, and people produce great runs, personal bests and more as the sun has
(generally) shone. Two curry nights have now come and gone where I’ve had to
turn up medal-less and feeling a bit of a fraud as I hadn’t earned my Keema
Naan on that particular evening.
So, it was with a certain level of excitement when I signed
up for the Celtic Trail Half Marathon at Margam Park on Saturday. My first half
of the year, the first of three, planned to build up towards what will
hopefully – injuries permitting – be a 1:40-something personal-best-smasher in
Cardiff on October 1st.
That was months ago. In the meantime, I forgot the date
slightly when signing up for a work social trip to Chepstow Races Ladies
Evening. That was Friday night and it wasn’t just a few races and home, early
to bed. Oh no…this was a 2pm coach to get there. Home at midnight after a Rod Stewart
tribute act had performed (I know!).
Ah well, with the run the next day I thought I’d just go
easy on the drinking, mix up the cider with the soft drinks and be fresh enough
come the Saturday morning. Wouldn’t I?
Well, no. The sun was out, beating hot and there was
prosecco on the bus. With some classy camping champagne flutes. By the time we arrived in Chepstow I’d had three glasses. We arrived before the gates had even opened and then there were nearly three hours until the first race so the
natural thing to do was sit in the sun with a few pints. And, of course, the
traditional carb-loading pre-race evening was replaced by a jumbo sausage and
chips as that was pretty much all there was. And a donut (that’s how they
spelled it!) for a late-night treat.
So a fairly significant number of pints later, with greasy,
fatty food sitting in my stomach, I got back on the bus – had an obligatory final
glass of Prosecco of the evening, and got to bed around 12:30 – seven hours
until the alarm was due to wake me up.
To ensure I don't get a ticking off, I should add that it's not big and it's not clever and I advise you not to try it!
When the alarm did eventually go off, I felt surprisingly fresh. Lying there for
a few moments to gather my thoughts, I actually felt OK so a ripple of
positivity went through me. A beautiful evening the night before, what a lovely
day it will be to run the hills and climbs of Margam Park.
The rest, as they, say, was history.
The wettest, darkest, most miserable day we’ve had in months
was awaiting. It was truly horrible. We gathered around the start, huddled
under trees to try and stay dry and retain a slight bit of warmth before the
start. That failed and a ten-minute delay (as one of the Marshall’s Jeeps had
slid down a bank) didn’t help either.
There’s a lot of talk about race envy. I’ve had plenty this
year as race days have arrived. Saturday was definitely not one of those days. In
fact, quite the opposite. I think I would have given up and gone home if others
hadn’t been there – and that’s one of the benefits of being part of this great
club.
Once the race started – as it often does – things got
better. Once you’re running and getting warmed up, it felt OK and the beastly climbs
of the first four miles became the main focus of the mind.
However, as we climbed,
visibility became dreadful and then got worse. Running this race in July there had been the
prospect of being able to look across the 20 miles or so towards Swansea Bay at the top and perhaps even stop for some pictures. 20 metres was more like it. For much
of the higher part of the route I could only see one person in front of me,
even though I wasn’t that far behind others. I had to hope he/she was going the
right way or Mountain Rescue would have had an extra call to make.
It was slippery, muddy and boggy. I must have run an extra half-mile
darting diagonally sideways across the paths to avoid the worst of the puddles,
but that only worked to a certain extent.
Downhill sections were bordering on
dangerous, with muddy puddles of the type Peppa Pig would have loved, hiding
the stones and rocks which – if you landed on them wrongly – could have sent
you tumbling down the hill. You literally couldn’t slow down at certain points
without risking injury.
At the end, pre-race plans to grab a bacon bap and watch the
others come in were abandoned due to the sandy mud covering every inch below
the waist and the rain which continued to sheet down and seemed to be getting
colder once the running had stopped. It was thoroughly miserable and after a
brutal race we all just wanted to get home as quickly as possible.
So bearing all that in mind, I had a rubbish day, yeah?
Well, no. Because I still did a half marathon. In a
none-too-shabby time considering my unadvisable preparation and a toilet stop
halfway around. I did the full race in a minute or so over two hours (I’ll have
to practice weeing on the move!!) and my
half-marathon time – given the course was 13.5 miles – was just five minutes
off my previous PB!
So, what worked? The cider? The late night? The mud and the
rain?
Who knows – but what I do know is that despite everything I
have just written, I came away with a very satisfied feeling of contentment,
proud of myself for the race I had run, delighted with the time and what that
means for my preparation for Severn Bridge and Cardiff. The medal was superb –
certainly one of my favourites – and ultimately it was all worthwhile and,
nearly, enjoyable.
And I was delighted for the others too – the few who finished
in front of me in amazing times, and those who I’m sorry I couldn’t see finish
behind who give their all to every race – because being part of the club means
you are always looking out for the results of others too, almost stalking – tracking
their times and progress over time. It’s the first proper race I’ve
genuinely felt part of a group for – I’ve historically been a solo runner – and
it was great to share a lift, gather and chat over a cup of tea at the start and
find out the times and positions of others at the end.
And ultimately I gave a huge sigh relief – sorry Tim and
Vicky – but I felt unbelievably relieved that I wasn’t doing the marathon!!
The ultimate message is, I guess, even if you're not 'feeling it' on a race day, don't give up. Go out and try your best - your training will help you through and you may just surprise yourself!
Paul B