Yesterday within a bar
I met a man who wasn’t thar (sic)
He wasn’t thar (sic again) again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away
….with apologies to Hughes Mearns
It’s been a while since I’ve written a race report, longer than it’s been since I’ve done a race.
I did write something about my exploits in Hobart, but never finished it as…well I didn’t know how to finish it. And seeing as no one has ever asked for it, it remains a dotdoc on my desktop.
But this is different. Almeria is different. It’s the annual Andalucian pilgrimage, a RC institution if ya will, that makes me want to write something.
I went to some lengths to ensure El G wasn’t aware I was going. I chuckled to myself whenever he posted about his lack of preperation, his calf or whatever the latest ailment was because I know (although not injured) my preperation had been non-existent, and I also know that over a lemonade or two the evening before the race I could convince the old bugger to run/walk the course with me, helping each other to a dramatic Stadium finish.
And so it was. Around 10.30 on the night before the race LR and Cam wisely decided to call it a night and had gone to bed, Sweder stayed with us on the water for a while before slipping off, which left El G and I with the perfect opportunity to fine tune tactics.
I cannot remember who it was who decided to order the second bottle of Rioja, or the third….but by 2 am we were well and truly hammered, but extremely happy that we had had (see what I did there Antonio?) ample opportunity to catch up socially, discuss race strategy and generally convince each other that neither would blast for the line from 20 metres out to claim the spoils……..and that was pretty much the last anyone ever saw of him, during the hours of daylight anyway.
I telephoned his room 5 minutes before the off, but he wasn’t there. Some old duffer answered who sounded like he had just come around from a very large anesthetic, mumbling something about not being able to find the door.
I was not exactly in fine form either. When you prime objective for the race is to make sure your head doesn’t explode, you can be pretty sure you won’t be the first through the tape.
Sweder, Antonio and I started race together. It was certainly larger than previous years and we didn’t see the Girls, but they were there. We were off and pretty soon my running partners left me to plod on alone at the back.
The 9K 'run' and the Half share the same route for most of the 9K as it loops out then back to the stadium. The Half runners come tantalisingly close to the stadium before they swing off out to the town, leaving us 9K’ers to run down the slope and into the Stadium.
Well when I say us 9 K’ers, perhaps I ought to explain something.
Another manifestation of my previous evening’s pre-race Rioja-fest with El G, was that I had left my shoe chip back at the hotel. Hell I couldn’t even pin my number to my vest (thanks LR). My name would not be adorning the race stats. It was hot, I cursed my lack of any sort of training, and I was concentrating on just keeping my breakfast down….So when at about 3.5K out Sweder spotted me heading down to the seafront as he was heading back, I err…
Ok I turned round and ran with him.
Wow that feels better! I was jeered in Spanish from those who saw what I had done but instantly I felt better. Only 3.5K to go and suddenly I was in amongst a group of far skinnier competitors – athletes of both distances, runners I suppose would best describe them…and me. Ploddey run/walk me.
It was an instant decision and one that I had a small pangette of regret over immediately afterwards, but it was done, and it would have been worse to turn round again.
I reckon I covered about 7 or so K and crossed the line in 51 minutes something. I collected my tee shirt and set about scarpering as quickly as possible before some zealous official strode over to wrench the luminous orange finishers shirt from my grasp.
I waited in the car park for the others to come in. LR, Cam, Sweder in that order, and a while later Antonio. He'd pulled a hamstring at 5K and had hobbled to the finish. I really do feel for the guy. His home race where he knows so many fellow runners, and he gets injured.
We drove back to the hotel to get changed and don our erm.. finishers tee shirts before having a couple on Mollys (El G was still nowhere to be seen). He did finally appear from somewhere and we met up with a few of Antonio’s friends for a most excellent meal of around six courses complete with..well you can guess.
The next day I don’t think anyone saw “That Ex-Pat Chap” as he was by then being referred to. He was undoubtedly extremely relieved that he missed our swim in the cold Med. Thankfully I personally have no photographic evidence of this bright-green mankini that Sweder wore, but the girls didn’t know where to look and a couple of locals out for a shoreline stroll collapsed with laughter at the sight of a lilywhite arse. So wrong on many levels.
I was reminded of the above poem when we did finally see “T E-P C” later on in the day. We had planned a return to El Quinto Torro for some tapas and beer, but when we stumbled upon a wonderful tapas bar just around the corner from our Hotel…well we didn’t leave.
…….another late night followed.
I am finally reminded of the Rock Bar we frequented on the last night. Last year the RC troop spent some time there and Sweder, Julie and Cam were all keen to return, all in-ya face loud rock on vinyl was promised.
Thanks to our local guide Minolo we wove our way through side streets to find this onimous black doorway. Not much was going on in the tiny interior and we seven doubled the clientele, but there were hundreds of vinyl albums on display and the place was all posters and spirit bottles. It was (by Rock afficionados’ standards) early so we settled in to further Anglo-Spanish relations.
At some point later in the evening Cam and I discussed Meatloaf. His early stuff, musicals, the godawful Bat out of Hell 2, his foray into classical, right up to his recent comeback tour. All this talk whetted her appitite for The Big Man. The barman understood enough and proceeded to flip through the albums for some Meatloaf, which he then played at around 15 decibels.
I leaned over the bar at him….excuse me old chap would you mind cranking this right up? "We cannot signor, there is a little old lady living in the flat upstairs and she will complain". Priceless…
As per usual we did not see T E-P C on the morning of our flight so no goodbyes were possible, but as we four piled into a taxi and headed for the airport we all once again raised a virtual glass to Andy, without whom (well frankly pretty much without him at all this time), none of us would grab a slice of winter sunshine in this wonderful Spanish town.
L - R: Antonio, Julie LR, Sante, Sweder, SP, Cam, That Ex-Pat Chap.
I started reading this and immediately realised my mistake. A race report from El Plodder Poderoso requires the proper preparation. I therefore repaired to the kitchen, constructed a massive bacon sandwich and returned with it to the man cave. Choosing a suitably appropriate timeless classic from the LP collection (The Eagles' Hotel California) I settled in for a good read.
And wow, what a read! Intrigue, mighty deeds, seedy bars and blatant daylight criminal activity (if only morally) with its Andalusian backdrop - worthy of Hollywood (or at least Glaconman-wood). Even the mysterious photo with half-ex-pat-man at the edge highlights this as perhaps the most enigmatic race report to ever grace this forum.
It also explains the ... reticence of Sweder's posts about the expedition.
Nice work SP - this immediately goes into my Timeless & Classic RC Writings collection!
When we started reciting 'the man who wasn't there' - in some bar or other - we immediately thought it was one of Edward Lear's offerings. Of course it isn't, yet I know rock all else about Hughes Mearns.
EG in Almeria was a bit like David Bowie in The Hunger. Whenever you glimpsed him he looked, impossibly, many years older than he had just a few hours before. And what the hell were those god-awful shots we had in Molly's (Sunday) and Vertice (Monday around 3am)? It was good to have our rehydration specialist back in the fold.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Every year I read these reports and think I really must go one year even though it's impossibe! It's a bit like one of those things that you must do once in a lifetime. There's a saying around here that everybody should one day plant a tree, have a child, write a book and meet Seafront Plodder, not necessarily in that order. OK, I made the last one up. Next year, next year...
(01-02-2012, 06:16 PM)Seafront Plodder Wrote: but extremely happy that we had had (see what I did there Antonio?)
yeah, that's a familiar one for english teachers....
Apparently the missing man has a website. But even that's been taken down. Intriguing...
Thanks for the report SP. It's amazing how these accidents can happen right up until a few hours before the gun, and totally scupper your race. Anyway, glad you had a good time, seeing as you'll be barred next year!
I´ve really enjoyed the report, SP. Congratulations for the race. Doing 7 km in 51 minutes without having trained for it, after drinking so much and sleeping so little is really amazing. It´s a pity that the man who wasn´t there wasn´t able to keep you company and do the race together.
(03-02-2012, 10:20 AM)Sweder Wrote: By the way I for one would really like to read that Hobart piece. Your writing style and unique viewpoint are sorely missed here IMO.
ok, now I really wish I had been there! Hate missing out on fun times...and sounds like this one was; even with the mystery surrounding 'the man who wasn't there'. Love it!
The trip was as always, a lot of fun. If only I could nail down the prep!
I looked through the Google Translate history on my phone last night. Man what were we talking about? And what conversation needed me to translate the word 'hedgehog'?
The Spanish Swindle...
