Graet North Run 2003 - Who's doing it?

[El Gordo]

Three weeks to the GNR and I still haven't run more than about 5 miles in months.

Who else is doing it?

[Ian]

Ok, so I'll throw my hat into the ring too. I have had a pretty ropey preparation for this one, but am sure that the crowds will get me round and the thought of a beer at the end on the sea front will be a big enough incentive.

[Nigel]

I'll be there. Likewise poorly prepared with nothing over 5 miles for the past couple of months.

Greatly looking forward to it - and see you for that beer on the seafront afterwards, Ian ?

[El Gordo]

sniff sniff...

beer?

sniff....

Did I smell that most beautiful of words..?

If there is any beer to be consumed after the GNR, please count me in.

The only problem is whether I'll be able to wait that long for you both to finish?

[Nigel]

I've been greatly enjoying Andy's reports from Tel Aviv, having just returned from travelling myself. Firstly to Newcastle, where I experienced the Fog on the Tyne whilst helping to mobilise a seismic vessel for a North Sea survey. I managed to squeeze in a brief walk to the Baltic Gallery and back across the Tyne Bridge in salute to the Great North Run route, as well as in homage to its younger sister, 'the Old Coat Hanger' in Sydney which I likewise trotted across some 20 years ago. Four decades without ever visiting Tyneside, and now twice in a fortnight.

After squeezing in a slow ten-miler on Monday before my taxi to Heathrow, I spent the remainder of the week in Ghana. It was a fascinating and thought-provoking visit perhaps in almost as many ways as Andy's to Israel. Memorable certainly for the speciality roadside coffin shop in Teshie, where they will make you up a sarcophagus in any shape you order, including lion, fish, eagle, elephant, aeroplane, outboard motor, or even beer bottle. And yes, running shoe can be arranged. Just do a Google image search on coffin Ghana for full details.

From there to Tema, 'Planned City at the Centre of the World', recently celebrating its Golden Jubilee in its setting just north of the Equator and astride the Greenwich Meridian. There I met some fellow geologists, one of them born in the same year and on the same line of longitude as me, the only difference being that whilst one of us had opened his eyes to see the reaches of the Upper Volta, the other had been destined to gaze in awe upon the vast wastelands of Romford. We shared a common training, but whilst mine was gained through the comfort of a British university and European fieldwork, my colleagues' had been carved out through the toil of six year bursaries to Romanian or Russian universities, having to learn a new language first and only then getting down to the Ceaucescu- or Brezhneve-sponsored rocks. Lives different in every respect, separated only by an accident of 50 degrees of latitude, and destined to cross in bizarre circumstances for a lunchtime Chinese in the Gate of Asia just outside Accra.

Needless to say, there was no training involved. The terrain outside the hotel included a congested dual carriageway and a beach of rolling breakers populated by hordes of bothersome hawkers, totally and enthusiastically committed to selling everything from sunlounger space to the devoted attentions of their closest female relatives. Both the road and the beach led directly onto a military firing range where the generals were shot after the last failed coup some years ago now.

Everywhere we went, and in whatever setting, we were unfailingly met with great courtesy, warmth and respect, and most notably I did not meet a single Ghanaian without a huge smile, as well as an uncanny interest in the Premiership. The scarcity of West Ham fans in the country could only too easily be implicated here, but finally I was left reflecting on the fundamental problems of our own society with its unrealistic and overwhelming expectations of health, wealth and contentment. It was a valuable lesson to be reminded that where life is so much harder, people just get on and make sure they enjoy it.

The humid weather and my personal attempts to energise the local economy through the consumption of local beer may also arguably have had something to do with the Ghana-sized gap residing in my training log. Although finally the only runs I experienced were of the African variety, it could definitely have been much worse, as illustrated by the overnight delay on our return flight from Accra, the 'compelling operational reason' on this occasion being the BA co-pilot's unwise consumption of the local lobster at lunchtime.

Since returning, I have struggled for condition and from the difficulties involved in running with tightly clenched buttocks. But at last the worst seems to be behind me...., and after a tense 8-miler yesterday and a breathless run-walk 5 today, three more gentle miles tomorrow should see me back on track at least to finish on Sunday. My unconventional preparation and the company of 47,000 Geordies should put paid to any thought of a PB, and I am decided that this should be one of life's joyous and unique experiences to savour. My goals, then, are above all to enjoy the day, naturally provided that I can give Paula a good run for her money, and, of course, Andy a good run for his hat.

[El Gordo]

Great stuff, Nigel. That must be the most elaborate excuse in history. I wouldn't worry -- I daresay there'll be several thousand in your wake as you cross the finishing line. Almost certainly including me...

Thanks for your mail. Yes, it would be good to meet up for a beer afterwards. I'm staying at the Premier Lodge in Gateshead over the weekend, including the Sunday night, so I won't be hurrying away after the event. I presume you're returning the same evening?

From the discussions on the RW forums, a lot of people are planning to meet up at the Sand Dancer pub afterwards. Does anyone know if this is a reasonable place to rendezvous, or will it be way too crowded?

I'll be wearing the NEW, bright yellow, "V-Team" Hal Higdon cap, ready to award to the slowest runner from our group. It arrived this morning, as did my ticket for the Newcastle v Bolton match.

How naff would it be to wear my special marathon singlet with ANDY on the front? I wouldn't get away with it in an Olympic trial, but I thought the GNR might be more forgiving about these sartorial indiscretions.

Ian - what are your plans? Anyone else around here doing the GNR who fancies a beer at the end?

Let us know.

Cheers

Andy

[Nigel]

Ian's suggestion to meet after the race at the beer tent on the seafront sounds the only sensible solution to me.

Speaking of sartorial indiscretions, I'll be wearing a turquoise Cancer Research UK tee-shirt this time. Somewhat unwisely perhaps, I eschewed the iron-on letters in favour of a more strikingly rustic font in red marker pen. It may not be elegant, but it's all in an excellent cause which is very close to my heart.

And the more post-race beer spilled on it the better !

[El Gordo]

Just leaving.

Hope to see Nigel, Ian, Paula and anyone else at the beer tent. Look out for that yellow cap!

Hurrah!!

Andy

[Seafront Plodder]

Just like to wish all you guys best of luck for Sunday.

I intend to get up ridiculously early to get my pre-Dublin long run in before you set off, so I can sit smugly in front of the telly with my gatorade and look out for the yellow cap! Oh yes, and Paula.

Break a leg........err...........or not.

Andy.

[Griff]

Just watched a fantastic morning's coverage of the GNR. Couldn't spot you Andy, but I'm sure you finished in a record time. I'm looking forward to reading your race report on this site in the next couple of days.

Giving serious thought to doing it next year myself.

Well done, again!

Cheers
Griff

[El Gordo]

Thanks guys. I've only just got back (very early Tuesday morning), and haven't written a report yet.

In a nutshell, the Great North Run is a good event, though probably not an ideal place to go for a PB as it's very crowded all the way through. I was aiming just to get round, and did a lot of chatting as I did so, hence a final time of (wait for it) 2:40. It really didn't matter. In fact I was pleased. After a very patchy six months, with only one long run in that period, my target was to finish and have some fun, and I achieved both those things.

Will describe the weekend in more detail in the log.

[Ian]

I think you have summed up this event quite nicely Andy. It is great fun and for me it gets better each year as I refine my travel/accommodation/race plan.

I am sorry I wasn't able to meet up with you after the race, but with the rest of the family suffering with colds and coughs it was impossible to persuade them to watch me drink myself under the table.

[El Gordo]

No problem Ian, that seems very reasonable.

Hope the family are better, and that you avoid getting the lurgy yourself.

I did enjoy the occasion and would encourage anyone who's not done it to give it a go. But for the reasons mentioned, I think I'll wait another 2 or 3 years before going back (assuming I'm still doing this running lark by then...)

Well done on a great time, in the circumstances.

Cheers, Andy

[Nigel]

It’s 7am on Sunday morning as I drive into Durham. The massive Cathedral is rising through the mist as I join a ragged assembly of runners awaiting the early train. There’s a wonderful view of the city as we pull away, and I have to quash the spontaneously rising bars of Roger Whittaker’s “I’m leaving old Durham town” resolutely from my brain. That’s one song I don’t relish reverberating round my mind on the long run later today.

A quick glimpse of the Angel of the North atop a frosty field, and then we’re into the southern outskirts of Newcastle, passing Billy Elliot back-to-back terraces, desolate factories and empty parks, before the view opens up to reveal the fog lifting over the lined bridges of the River Tyne. A metro train scurries just below us into Central Station like some cheekily overgrown Lego set.

There’s time for a quick raid on Costa Coffee for a latte and lemon muffin. You won’t find this combination in any of Hal Higdon’s advice on pre-race preparation, but each to their own. Already it’s feeling like a special day and I decide to celebrate with a second muffin, which on this one day tastes just as good as the first.

I take the Metro to Haymarket. The offered destinations include a tempting journey ‘from Cullercoats to Whitley Bay’, a trip immortalised by Dire Straits on ‘Making Movies’. It’s an intriguing thought now that guitar front man Mark Knopfler will be running today, but sadly he’s nowhere in sight as I leave the train. I’ve no idea where to go, but there’s no problem to follow the straggling line of runners as we head through the deserted university.

A crowd is gathered on a bridge ahead affording the first view of the blank motorway cutting north of the city which forms the start. It’s hardly picturesque, but strangely it’s by far the best start-line of any race I have ever entered. Above all, there’s plenty of space, a sunny bank to rest on and some handy trees for the inevitable pre-race pit stops. For once in my life I am ridiculously early, and I have time to mill around, soak up the atmosphere, and meet some of my fellow runners. And there are hordes of them, as the announcer confirms that this will be a world record half marathon, with 47,500 runners from 28 countries.

This is, above all, a race for the masses. And amongst the usual crop of lean-faced and thin-legged club runners are the office teams of giggling first-time ladies, all in matching white named tee-shirts and brand new trainers. Nearby I find a whole troop of squaddies celebrating their recent return from Iraq, half a dozen fairies, a startlingly life-sized and bronze make-upped replica of the Angel of the North, and a pantomime lion. I get pictures and talk to them all, as well as the guy with the tee-shirt which reads ‘The older I get, the better I was’. A start-line truth if ever there were one.

Spirits are high, and this is the best party I’ve been to in years. Then the road and massed numbers fall silent for the football hymn ‘Abide with Me’. An old couple with glistening eyes hold hands in front of me, and I turn round to see tears pouring down the cheeks of a whole group ‘Running in Memory of John, 1968-2002’. Like me, they’re in the colours of Cancer Research UK, and there are 3,000 of us amongst the throng today. Together we’ll raise £ 750,000, or around 50 grand per mile. Then the reflective mood lifts as the music changes and I join Animal, Pete, Spider, Sue and The Fly for another photo, our turquoise tee-shirts matching the brilliant early Autumn sky above us.

We’re reminded that Paula Radcliffe has left the start by now, accompanied initially at least by some of the world’s best athletes, whom she will soon leave 4 minutes, that’s almost a mile, in her wake. But from here it seems remarkable, if not impossible, that we are actually taking part in a race. This is truly a celebration of just being alive on such a fantastic morning, and fast running seems a very distant concept. But for form’s sake I line up towards the back of the 8 minute milers, and start to think about the journey ahead.

Finally we’re off, but it takes a good 10 minutes for anything to happen at all, and another minute to cross the line. We jog promisingly the first few hundred yards, down into the pits of an underpass. There’s some walking here too, and it’s 10:26 for the first mile, making this probably the slowest mile I have run in my lengthening but devotedly undistinguished career in international athletics.

Then we emerge again into the sunshine, with a massed crowd high above us lining the pavements and bridges. Something is wrong, though, for strangely we’re running in complete silence except for the patter of trainers on the tarmac. Somebody has forgotten to tell the spectators here that they’re supposed to clap, or cheer, or just do something. They just watch us, and we run. It’s an eerie experience, and for the first time I get the feeling that unlike the London Marathon, where the million-strong crowd dominate the whole day, here quite simply all of the atmosphere is from within the race, and from the runners themselves.

I’m reflecting on this thoughtful discovery, when I look up to see we’ve run the 2 miles to the Tyne Bridge. Older sister and design prototype for the Sydney Harbour Bridge, she boasts the same sweeping design and green web of girders as the ‘Old Coat Hanger’ herself, but is seemingly on about one tenth of the scale. It matters not, for this is one of the highlights of the race, and it’s hard to see the Tyne below for the spectators. That’s more like it, and I phone my own older sister to mark the moment.

The road rises ahead, and we enter Gateshead as I dodge to avoid two walkers ambling contentedly down the middle of the road. 47,497 others are likewise forced to navigate around them. More weaving ensues around a mobile roadblock of five runners in Leukaemia tee-shirts, doing a respectable 12 minute mile pace. That’s fine, but what are they doing in this part of the stream? Dual carriageways, roundabouts, traffic islands, smiling policemen, a long straggly crowd. More uphills. It doesn’t really change for the next four miles or so.

There must have been some short downhill patches in that stretch, but somehow I don’t notice them. The road rises relentlessly ahead. I run slowly, taking photographs now and again. But at 59:07 to 6 miles, that’s almost 10 minute miling, and I’m aware I’ll have to pick it up considerably to get inside 2 hours.

We run through Jarrow, home of the 1930s hunger marchers who famously walked to London during the Great Depression. The indomitable spirit of the North East. There are more crowds here, schoolkids and families waving and smiling as we pass. Toddlers in pushchairs, dressed in the black and white stripes of Newcastle United with Newcy Brown Ale logos on the front. I try a few high fives and hesitant ‘Why aye, chicken pies’ in what I hope to be a respectful Geordie tribute.

Nine, ten miles go by with innumerable forays onto the pavement to pass those of the slower runners who slalom most effectively ahead of me. Mile eleven is sternly uphill all the way. I pass a lady giving out ginger biscuits at her gate. I decide to miss the last water stop for the sake of my time.

Then suddenly, the road falls away towards the slate blue North Sea, and we dash down a steep descent to be greeted by a roar of spectators lining the seafront ahead. The sight of the home straight lifts the pace all around me, which is just as well, since with 1.1 miles left there’s just 8:23 to go.

It’s a flat and fast last mile to South Shields. The finish gantries creep nearer as I burn elegant parabolas onto the tarmac. I’m breathless for the first time in the entire race, but it’s the mental effort of plotting an efficient course that is most tiring. It’s like running in blind panic down the moving walkway in the airport towards your plane. You know your flight is about to leave, but you’re stuck amidst a gaggle of strolling holidaymakers headed aimlessly towards the Malaga gate ahead of you. Exactly like that, but it goes on for 1.1 miles.

I decide not to look at my watch, just keep going, keep concentrating to avoid a collision or a fall. I cross the line in 2:00:19. A full minute a mile outside my best, but who cares when there are so many smiles all around me.

I find the beer tent, and chill for a while watching the BBC coverage and Paula’s finish in an unbelievable time of 1:05:40, destined to be termed an unofficial world best. Not because it was an unfair contest of speed, but because the course is nominally downhill. I digest this plainly ridiculous and astounding fact along with a mountain of pasta, five cups of tea and a suitcase-sized slice of cheesecake. Then I head to the Cancer Research UK hospitality tent and do the same all over again.

It’s 2.30pm now, and time to start my long homeward trek. I’m blissfully unaware at this stage that I’m about to follow the Great North Run with the Great North Metro Queue, (likewise over 2 hours) and then the Great North M1 Traffic Jam. I’ll finally reach home in over 10 hours’ time. But none of this can do anything to wipe the memory of what has been a fantastic day, and a wonderful event. The Great North Run – yes, it’s more about the human race than a running race, and it’s even better for being just like that.

I’m leaving the finish as the live band are playing their final number, the Great North Run's theme. And corny or not, Lindisfarne’s lyrics keep me going through the next 300 miles south to London in a way that Roger Whittaker’s never could:

I've travelled the land
With a guitar in my hand
And am I ever open for some fun

And I've made some mistakes
Had my share of the breaks
Seen the boys on the make and on the run

And I run for home, run as fast as I can
A running man, running for home
I run for home, run as fast as I can
A running man, running for home.

[El Gordo]

Well done Nigel, great report as always. Unfortunately, I seemed to have spent all my writing energy on the journey up to the north-east, and precious little on the race itself.

I'm beginning to feel that I've been a bit mean-spirited about the race. I don't know what it was, but I felt strangely unsatisfied by the experience. This isn't a critiscism of the event - at least not one I can easily identify. I know I keep saying, along with everyone else, that it's not about running a fast time (and of course I mean that relatively - 2:15 would have been fast for me), but perhaps that gave it an air of unreality that undermined the usual battle with myself.

More than that. I'm beginning to think that I'll never be any good at this, and perhaps the GNR just hammered this home. If this had been 18 months ago I'd have prepared much better, which makes me wonder whether I'm beginning to lose a bit of enthusiasm.

Hmm. I'm just off to the pub to watch Arsenal v Newcastle, so I'd better do a bit of ruminating about this.

But anyway Nigel, well done on a great run and a great account of it.

(I just entered the Brighton 10K on Nov 16th. Anyone who wants to enter has to do so before Tuesday. http://www.activeeurope.com for an online entry.)

[Seafront Plodder]

Excellent report Nigel!!!

I'd like to do it one day, even though it's one helluva way.

I've just had a shufty at the Brighton 10k website, only because the race is on my doorstep even though it may be too soon after Dublin for me.

The course will be very flat! but I doubt whether it will be pedestrian free, which, for Brighton seafront will mean dodging a lot of lardy ice cream lickers and erm.........

May see you there!

Andy.

p.s. was there no championchip timing at the GNR?

[El Gordo]

Hi SP/Andy

No. No champion chip at the GNR. In some ways it would solve a lot of problems -- in other ways it would create problems. It all comes down to the GNR schizophrenia about what sort of event it is trying to be.

Come on, do the Brighton 10K. It's a full 3 weeks after Dublin, so it's a great opportunity to get running again. Just treat it as a pleasant communal jog with a medal at the end.

If you're going to do it, let us know -- and look out for the yellow cap!