March 2005 - Episode One: A New Hope

[Sweder]

Time of day: 10:05 (delayed until 10:35)
Course: Reading Half Marathon town course
Distance: 13.1 miles
Duration: 1:52ish – to be confirmed via Championchip timing
Conditions: Dashed cold, breezy, dry, some sunshine
Companions: Andy RC, Andy SP, Antonio & Kev

A rude awakening, and the portents from Saturday were not good.
I warmed up for this Half Marathon by adjudicating throughout Phoebe’s sleepover party – 11 x 10 year-old girls, high on pasta and sugar, ‘sleeping’ in our living room. I’ll spare you the details; suffice to say my final gambit was to offer any post-midnight noise-Monsters a night camping out on the trampoline. This had the desired effect, and I managed at least 5 hours slumber before rising to put the coffee on.

SP arrived at 06:10 sharp, bleary-eyed and anxious in equal measure. His mood reflected my own perfectly. SP is carrying an unpleasant calf strain; I have my well publicised hamstring to worry about. We escaped without waking the monsters. I felt a twinge – not the leg, but guilt as I abandoned my dear Wife to the clutches of the fearsome brood. All this on Mothers’ Day, too. The journey to Andy’s, a hefty stones’ throw from Reading, passed without incident or delay. Not surprising, as most sane people were still snuggled up in warm beds, dreaming about the first coffee and croissants of the day.

On arrival we met El Gordo, Antonio and EG's mate, Kev. Kev immediately announced his ailments and affirmed that he had no idea if he’d finish the race. We laughed, and assured him he was the second fittest member of our quintet. Antonio still bears the injury he exacerbated during the Almeria half at the end of January, and this morning he was prepared to ‘see how things go’. Armed with this extraordinary excess of confidence we set off for the start, though not before Andy recited a small but perfectly formed text from Niguel wishing us well.

Discussions on route turned to clothing strategy. Despite being a beautiful day – clear blue skies, the promise of strong sunshine and light, easy winds – the morning air carried a deep cold rarely felt in these parts. I decided to keep my layers and in particular old sweatshirt until the last possible moment before stuffing Old Faithful into my bag and hurling that onto the bag wagon. This I did without counting on the race organisers dreaming up a 30 minute delay. There’s enough whining in this post to gain honorary citizenship of Australia, so I’ll keep it brief; we were bloomin’ freezing.

Finally underway, sans Antonio who had, in a wonderful cameo of Spanish prevarication, waited until the last possible moment to seek the gents just as we set off toward the start proper. Despite our best efforts we would not meet up again until the finish. My early pace was gentle, but in no way leisurely. The constant dodging and slipstreaming through the impressive field (around 10,000 entrants) required fierce concentration to avoid collision. After a few minutes I settled into a loping rhythm, finding some personal space amongst the Lycra and discarded plastic bags. Anxiously I sought the first mile marker, but to no avail. I was worried – it’s one thing to protect an injured leg, another to take half a day to complete the course. Then, relief, and a feeling of quiet confidence as ‘MILE 2’ hove into view. I’d missed the 1st marker, no great shock with all the bobbing and weaving.

The first incline had me throttle back and shorten my stride, all the while keeping tabs on the back of my right thigh. So far, so good. I chugged on, still comfortable, running within myself. Through 3, missed 4 and then ‘MILE 5’ appeared – and so did the familiar glow from the back of my leg. Bloody hell! OK, stay calm – let’s see how this goes for the next mile. My inner selves, Mr Macho and Captain Sensible, began to bicker.
”YOU said if it started hurting you’d . . .”
“Awww SHUT UP you big Jessie. I’m just going to see how it goes for a bit . . .”

I thought of my Physio, and I knew what she’d say. But it really wasn’t too bad, just a warning, a slight tightening up. I focused on relaxing (sounds contradictory, but it can be done), re-checked my stride and plodded on. ‘MILE 6’ and the sensation had subsided a tad. Other than the obvious I felt very good – comfortable, breathing easily, still passing a quantity of early speed hounds – so I kept on. Half way at 01:00:06, a respectable time, but to be honest I had no idea (still don’t) how long it took for us to cross the start line. I knew I was on sub 2 hour pace, and that was just dandy.

Miles 7, 8 and 9 cruised by – Andy RC remarked later how this race seemed to fly by, and it really did. Often Half Marathons can drag, but not this one. Perhaps it was the number of runners, or the surprisingly good support along the route, but the miles were dropping at regular, short(ish) intervals and I still felt ridiculously comfortable. Just after 9 miles an impressive young lady flew by, clad in figure-hugging grey running suit with a red bobble hat set at a jaunty angle. I grinned and stepped on the gas . . .
ERR – ERR – ERR – ERR warning: system overload, reduce speed immediately! Red lights everywhere. The Hamstring from Hell, quiet since mile 7, reminded me that any lapse of concentration, or delusions of athleticism, would be severely dealt with. I settled back into a gentle lope once more, suitably chastened.

Past Mile 10, and the mighty Madjeski Stadium rose from the horizon. Of course we still had 3 miles to go, so this must be some ugly, sadistic horror from the organisers. ‘Here’s the finish, so we’ll have you run right up to the stadium entrance and veer off at the last minute for a 2.5 mile lap of the local business park.’ Charming. Once again I felt the urge to press on a little quicker. I had no clue as to my time. Time was not relevant – I wanted to run, I mean really run, flat out hammer time. My internal conversation was like a classic episode of Star Trek.
Captain James T ‘Ego’ Kirk, bellowing dramatically for more power.
Scottie ‘Hamstring’ Scott, screaming back that without more dylithium crystals (or at least, Ralgex) ‘She cannae take anymore Cap’n: She’s gonnae blow!’.

I pressed a little. Nothing. Pushed again, no reaction. Lengthened the stride by a foot - ERR – ERR – ERR . . . damn! OK, let’s forget it. Just finish, be happy to finish, and enjoy the knowledge that you could have gone a lot quicker. Despite holding back I still passed a few runners, many walking, as we once again approached the home of Reading FC. This time we were not to be denied, and just as in Almeria a month before, we dropped down an access ramp into a packed and vibrant sports stadium. Happily, on this occasion, there was no final circuit required, just a straight run for the line.

One side of the Madejski, adjacent to the finishing straight, was packed with cheering friends and families of the local participants. The MC, maintaining an admirable degree of enthusiasm nearly an hour after the winners crossed, whipped up regular cheers and applause for the incoming athletes. Most welcome it was, too. In spite of everything I kicked for home, although it was a pretty modest kick! The race clock, clearly displayed above the finish, showed 1:57:35 - somewhere around 1:52 nett (to be confirmed); under the circumstances pretty good. On past the finish line, through the marshals, into my foil blanket and towards the medals, goodie bags and chip retrieval. I reflected calmly on finishing a race I perhaps should have withdrawn from, on the possible damage I’d inflicted on my poorly leg, and on what might have been if I’d been fit.

Back at the trailers, hastily pulling on my sweatshirts (plural) against the strengthening cruelty of the icy wind, I reflected further. Despite the injury I realise I’m in pretty good shape. For the first time – ever – I feel I could have happily gone on and finished a full marathon. Not really surprising, as, in reality, I’ve been tapering, albeit enforced, for the last three weeks, and today I was pretty much at optimum performance (barring the lame limb). The trick now will be to nurse the leg through March whilst keeping a ‘holding’ training pattern, a neat trick; I’ll need a considerable amount of help to pull off.

Everyone of our stricken group finished and, apart from SP who had struggled with his calf strain from mile 6, all seemed pretty happy with our performance. Kev managed a sub 2, Antonio finished without a major reaction (although he was getting fairly intimate with his hamstring when SP and I departed). EG was a little unsure but thought he may have achieved yet another PB (something to do with his Garmin shutting down temporarily when he took a mid-race detour into a bush).

Reunited we escaped the growing madness enveloping the Madejski, heading for the nearby car park, EG’s house, and ultimately a well-earned pint. It was great to see M again, and I should apologise publicly for not accepting EG and M’s offer of what smelled like a fabulous luncheon. In mitigation I had a White Knight act to perform, making up for lost time with my girls.