|
We Arrived Late....
Yet again, we arrived late. Today, sunday was the Ordes 'carrera popular'.
I was a little uncertain what time the race started as I could not find the time on the council's website, but I remembered it being around 11am. So Bea and I agreed to leave home this morning at around 8.30 - 9.00 to have time to pick up the race number, have a coffee and warm up afterwards.
We left home at 9.40 and then seemed to be constantly stuck behind delivery vans for the whole journey ( I seem to remember that Andy had a similar timekeeping problem a year or so ago).
Arriving in Ordes, it was surprisingly easy to park. I went in search of my race number, and found a 6 deep throng on the steps of the town hall. The team distributing the 'dorsales' had a list of entrants, and to my surprise I was listed as being a runner from the United Kingdom, which was rather strange as I only mentioned that I'm from La Coruña on the application web page. I can only assume that one of the organizers remembered me from two years ago - another stange chap, from New Zealand.
Armed with race number, we headed for the nearest cafe for a quick cafe con leche and use of the servicios. OK, I also helped Bea with her 'churros'.
Back to the car to change, then to warm up a bit. I ran up the hill a little then everybody started to congregate at the starting line. So much for the warm up. I grabbed a quick slurp of my sports drink and managed a quick sprint up the hill again before settling amongst the assembled runners. And as luck would have it I settled next to Sampedro, who told me that he's been recovering from a cold this last week and only decided the other day to enter.
As we were talking Ivan Raña, the european and world short triathlon champion (a local lad) fired the starting pistol and off we set............... downhill ........... and very fast.
There was a little jaunt around the villiage, with an up hill bit, then back past the start/finish line. All that flew past as such a rate of knots until we had just passed the start line. I was on the outside of the field, watching Sampedro disappear into the distance, when for some unknown reason, some old boy decided to push one of the crowd control barriers out into the middle of the road.... right in front of me. Naturally, I screamed, and naturally he cacked himself. And more by good luck than anything else, I managed to swerve a little to my right just as he managed to pull the barrier half a yard to the left. I felt the hairs on my left arm brush the barrier as I passed.
We were on a longer downhill stretch now, and the pace was far too fast, not just for me, but I suspect for most of the runners. I remembered from two years ago that after passing the sports centre we would be more or less running uphill for about 4km. Sampedro must have regained his senses before me, as I passed him close to the swimming pool, and then we started to hit the hilly bits. The legs were feeling OK, I have to say. I was puffing a bit, but looking at the HRM, I thought I could up the pace just a bit. So I upped a bit, and the 'churro' that I had eaten earlier with the cofee decided that the pace was too fast. so I slowed down a bit and things were fine again.
We then came to another downhill part and I sped up again. And again my stomach started to complain. There was at this stage a little group of us running more or less together. Three customers from the shop, one of their clubmates, the girl who beat me in San Sebastian, me and my 'churro'.
We undulated our way to 4km or so, by which time the leaders had turned round and were on their way back. My 'churro' decided that he had had enough and I felt able to find a rhythm. The rest of the group had decided that they didn't want to hang around for me and the 'churro' and were now about 50m ahead of me. I grabbed a bottle of water at the 5km mark and hung on the heels of a Cambre Cycle Club runner who decided to pass me.
For the next 2.5km I basically tucked in, concentrating on my running style. Concentrating like this helped me out in Ferrol in December, my theory being that if I concentrate on my stride, what my arms are doing, my breathing etc, then I don't notice the pain. It seems to work, and I seem to be able to maintain a fairly good speed. Then on a downhill, just before the swimming pool, Sampedro came alongside. Fresh as a daisy, although he grumbled that it was tough. But no.... fresh as a daisy. We rounded the corner, along the main road until there was a short climb again. I told SP to push on if he wanted, and not to wait for me. I knew that I would bugger myself on the final uphill section before hitting the finish.
I pushed hard on that last uphill bit. I really did. It's the closest I've been to throwing up in a race since a 400m when I was about 16. As I rounded the final bend, and into the home straight, the crowd started to cheer, so naturally, I thoght there was somebody close behind. So I sped up and the crowd noise increased so I sped up again, thinking that the bugger was closing in. I held him off till the finish, looked back and there was nobody. Pah...
It was 9.something kilometers and I stopped the watch on 38'47". The girl who beat me in San Sebastian and Vigo-Bayona, but who I thrashed in Ferrol (probably by all of 15 seconds), was 10 seconds ahead of me and about 6 seconds in front of her was Sampedro.
It was a tough race, especially starting off so fast. Especially with my late breakfast. I enjoyed it though, enormously. I ran here two years ago, and as we came across each hill I was thinking 'oh no, I remember this hill...' or 'ah yes, this little downhill bit was good last time'.
The showers were cold, but the day was fine, sunny and warm. 10 out of 10 for the organizers aswell, a race that I enjoyed immensely (although it may not seem like it when reading this).
|
