31st Henley Half Marathon
So, a return to an event that I
last ran in 2007 (and
didn't in 2006). I was slightly surprised when the Great Spreadsheet informed me that I hadn't run a half marathon at all since 2008 - preferring to concentrate on the full distance, and then on putting my feet up for the rest of the year.
Dawn brought rain, and it carried on steadily through the morning. After much sartorial to-ing and fro-ing I stuck with my original plan of singlet, despite the conditions, on the basis that I've almost never set off for a run and been too cold. It was a good decision; I warmed up as soon as we started and stayed warm all morning.
The race plan was simple: a 9 minute first mile, then up the pace to 8 minutes and see how long I could hang on. What wasn't in the plan was the loo queues. Two lines of 50m or or so, each for 5 cubicles. Two minutes before the hooter, with about 10 ahead of me, I bailed from the queue in search of a bush. Not so simple though. There was one secluded area nearby which had been exclusively taken up by ladies, many invoking the name of St Paula, and I didn't think they'd appreciate me turning it into a unisex facility. The far side of the field was too far, and in between were the front gardens of a plot full of retirement bungalows, many with senior citizens watching proceedings over their early morning cuppa. Nothing for it, I would indeed have to see how long I could hang on.
I joined the back of the pack and shuffled over the start line. This was my first event with my personal trainer, Malcolm, in tow, so I would have access to a lot more data than usual. The course started with a lap of the playing field, and I could see I was already well ahead of my target time. As we circled, I noticed that the Ladies Al Fresco Convenience was now free. I could just nip round there and probably I complete my first mile on schedule... and so I did. What a relief. You can see the detour on the
Garmin route map.
So, off we went. It's a picturesque town and country course, mixed terrain, and generally a pleasant place to be, even in steady rain. The country lanes were a little congested early on, and I soon realised that large puddles were an opportunity to overtake, a margin where less hardy souls feared to tread. The early miles passed uneventfully - a couple of water stops, me steadily making up ground, one grumble point in mile 4 where we came to a standstill for 30 sec or so to pass through a single file gate. It was all tickety-boo, and I was wondering when the pace would start to slide. I was also aware that there was a bit of a hill around here somewhere.
Into mile 8, and there it was. I seemed to recall that it was a bit of a toughy, but frankly I was a lot less experienced back in 2007 and so this time it might not be such a killer. But one thing missing from my training recently - i.e. in recent years - has been hills. And so off we went. The rain abated. Oh no, sorry. The rain a-beated, on our heads, as we trudged up the hillside in and out of tree cover. I was pleased with my effort though - none of the old head-down-arse-up grim pummelling; this was controlled, steady and upright. OK it wasn't fast, but it was steady, and within myself. The steep part went on for a mile or more, and I was starting to tire by the top. I do feel for you guys and girls doing 13.1 of those next month.
After the steep climb, I wasn't really sure what the elevation was doing - turns out it was still a slight incline - and then all of a sudden, the ground fell away beneath us. And with no plan whatsoever, I let rip, arms out, channelling the great technical descenders of this parish and trying to keep my road shoes in full contact with the wet tarmac. I've never thrown myself down a hill like that before, I passed dozens and certainly no-one passed me. In the old heel-strike days it would have been impossible, as my joints would already be shot, but with most of my steps taken on the midfoot now, there was plenty of shock-absorption left in the quads and knees.
And that slingshot - taking a leaf out of Sweder's book - set me up for the last 3 miles. Again I couldn't really tell now if I was going up or down, but it turns out that the run-in was a generous if gentle descent. The end game was afoot; I was feeling good and could up the pace a little. I did a little mental maths - always a good way to distract the mind towards the end of a race - and realised that 1:45 was out of the question, but that 1:47 was now a possible target. My right Achilles was now making itself known, and I knew that, like my recent Parkrun max effort, it would be pretty well buggered for a week after the race. But for now I could keep it under control.
At 11.8 I decided it was time to go, and started reeling in runners one by one. As we passed the 12 mile post the guy in front jumped in the air and kicked his heels - asking for a muscle strain if you ask me. I eventually caught him and congratulated him on his stunt - apparently he'd done it at every mile.
Heading back towards town now and I continued to reel runners in - not a feeling I'm used to. As we approached the entrance to the field, a tall woman that I'd passed earlier appeared at my shoulder, and I matched her stride for stride. "Well done," she said, a little patronisingly I thought, and it seemed we might be on for a sprint finish. We rounded the field shoulder to shoulder, then with around 100m left she said "Come on, let's go," and I prepared to do battle. But suddenly, eyes still straight ahead, she yelled "Go! GO!" and was away. Now I'll admit that in certain situations I rather enjoy a woman speaking to me assertively, but I wasn't really in the frame of mind to appreciate it. "No chance," I chuckled out loud, but she was already in the distance, mud spraying from her heels. I still managed a decent sprint, passing several more, and finished with Malcolm reading... 1:47.
A later text confirmed my propensity for narrowly missing the cut (after my 4:00:02 marathon) - official time, 1:47:01. No matter. It may just be so long since I've done a half, but I really, really enjoyed this race. I felt in control all the way, and probably the strongest I've felt at the end of a race for some time - although the handy downhill for the last couple of miles undoubtedly helped.
24 hours on, and the Achilles is indeed buggered again - just stiffness, but I'm hobbling heavily and it will take a week to loosen up properly. This is all the result of the new midfoot gait - all of the stress previously visited on my other joints now seems to be focussed on these two little strips of sinew. I'm sure the new style is giving better results - over a minute faster, 6 years on - but the big question now is whether these tendons will survive training for and running a marathon. Rupturing one of those chaps could be the end of my running career. But maybe it's just the fact that they've been chronically underused for 25 years. We'll have to see how it goes. It's never quite as simple as just putting one foot in front of the other.
