Last weekend I ran the Brighton half-marathon. Less than 6 hours later I was on a flight to the godforsaken hellhole that I find myself in now. I am sitting in the airport lounge, (although the term lounge is used in the loosest sense), my flight home is six hours from now, and it's snowing. This will therefore be a fairly lengthy entry, probably until either battery dies or I hear the calling of the bar. At this point, both are extremely likely! I am on standby for a flight that goes in around 3 hours time I've been told not to get my hopes up.
I awoke last Sunday morning to the news that there was a stiff north-easterly wind of approx. 20 mph, Oh joy! That meant running half the way into headwind. Still, I surmised that my recent hill training would stand me in good stead.
There was a large entry this year, and with just the one toilet the queues were snaking around the corner quite early on. The guy on the tannoy probably knew he was was fighting a losing battle even before he started trying to tell everyone to use the toilet provided and not the back of the beach huts! Nature overcame modesty for me and many others. With baggage dropped off and tape applied I joined the throng at the back. Last year the organisers managed to get Steve Coogan to start the race. Sadly this year there was no celebrity, just the bloke who played the crooked insurance broker in Coronation Street. As we all stood around in the cold waiting for the off I managed to bite my tongue and avoid sympathising with the local big-wig from the council over the lack of celeb. He looked as cold as I felt, standing there on the scaffolding with a bit-part soap actor.
An air horn signals the off. The first 3 miles are on the flat
with the wind, but my vast racing experience taught me not to blast off too quickly, and I ploded beside my training partner for a while just getting warm. The race starts where it finishes and the route is essentially a large loop. I did therefore expect to see the race leader at some point as he (as all decent athlete's appear to do) silently and swiftly loped, gazelle style past me on his way back. I genuinely believe none of the crowd I was running with could believe how soon he had completed 6 miles, roughly at our 3 mile mark. It was at about that time that I started to realise that it wouldn't be my name that they would be engraving on to the winners trophy! I think he finished in around 69 minutes.
Despite telling my mum that I wouldn't be able to stop for a chat she still made the effort to see her little boy run for all of the 15 seconds or so that it took me to pass. She was, (as is usual with mothers) gabbling on to a friend of hers so didn't actually see me until I drew level; she therefore ended up driving 10 miles to stand in the icy wind to see my arse for short while as I plodded off into the distance. Mothers eh?
Back past the start line into the wind and the pleasant flat pavement gave way to grassy unpleasant hills as the route took us past Roedean and along to the outskirts of Rottingdean. It's the sort of gradient that race organisers prefer to call 'undulating', but at least this time I was prepared and genuinely believe I made up a fair few places passing walkers on these hills.
Water stations were a laugh. Paper cups half full with icy water and it resembled something from
It's A Knockout as we all tried to drink on the hoof. That Stuart Hall laugh comes to mind but at least, unlike last year I did complete the run without walking even through these stations!
The last 4 miles or so were with the wind, and until the descent onto Maderia Drive by the Marina the challenge is definitely to try not to twist your ankle in a rabbit hole. I remember thinking at the time that there seemed to be a plethora of St Johns ambulances at this point, perhaps they knew what I suspected.
It was at about the 11 mile mark that I started to think of a PB. Conditions were far from ideal but I was feeling strong, had taken no walk breaks and had overtaken a fair number of lightweights on the hills. Perhaps the only advantage of starting at the back thanks to whoever in the forum suggested it. I resisted the temptation of asking those with watches for the time, but at 12 miles I tried to up the pace to a faster plod. With the finish line looming closer I broke into a sorta decent pace run, and come the line I was doing my version of a sprint.!
I crossed the line, and ran straight into the back of the poor guy who had finished ahead of me. This time I did remember to glance at the clock on the line and was delighted to see it say 2:07.11. A PB by some 5 minutes!
With hindsight perhaps I did leave too much back for the last quarter of the race, but with the headwind and hills I really can't complain. All I've got to do is train harder, find a flat windless course, and 2 hours may be possible. There's a thought.................Now, where's the bar?
Just to ad that I wrote the report some 11 hours ago!I;m still at the airport and it's still snowing! In fact the only thuing thats changed is that I'm now pissed. That said, Easyjet are great. A massive hour delay, and they give us a 3 quid voucher, just about enough for a bottle of ckoe, they're all heart...
When (or if) we finally get back to Stansted I'll have to find accommodation and get home in the morning. Can you tell I'm less than happy?
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Update: In true
Trains, Planes and Automobiles style, I arrived home at 8:30 this morning having travelled throughout the night. Flight landed at 04:20 am, train down to, and across London as soon as they started running; taxi from the station. *yawn*
As long as the battery lasts!
