For a man who doesn’t race, I’ve just completed my second half marathon this year, and it’s all the fault of the Moyleman. In the euphoria following March 12th, someone suggested that we, as in the Moyleman committee, should enter the Seaford Half. What fun we all thought, and sped off to navigate the complex entry procedure to bag ourselves a place. March 12th is quite a long way from May 15th, 63 days to be exact. So, nothing to worry about.
The trouble is at my age 63 days pass in the blinking of an eye. The 63 days had also bought with them some other issues; namely some ‘orrible niggles in my butt cheeks (glutes) and a tightness in my IT bands that just won’t go away. I blame MLCMM for all of this… his recent spell of good running is a direct consequence of passing his aches and pains to me.
With a week to go, I had almost talked myself out of running, deciding to do the sensible thing and listen to what my body was telling me. This was helped in part by three of our original party dropping out, two from injury (Tom and David) and one from… well I don’t know what… but the Big Man announced in very clear terms that he wasn’t doing it.
However, in my heart of hearts I didn’t want to give up before I’d even arrived at the start line, which meant I was there on Sunday morning at 9am, lining up with the rest of the nutters, including OATR and Radar (who only decided to enter the day before). Having taken the decision to run, it seemed sensible to have a ‘steady as she goes’ game plan. Success marked by finishing in one piece, rather than going for a sub 2-hour foray into the abyss.
The result? Well it was relatively slow, not quite a slow as planned, but slow enough. The first half went ok, crossing the halfway point in exactly an hour, but a long flat section following the river took its toll. Silly really, given the terrain, but I started to suffer, each step sending a shock of pain from my left hip to my calf muscle, just as though I had touched an electric fence. It was almost a relief to reach the final hill, the infamous Seaford Head. As I crested the hill I could see the finish a mile away in the distance. With eyes straining to find OATR and Radar ahead, I managed to run it in, picking up the pace for the last half a mile, overtaking runners to cross the line in 2 hours 13 minutes. The two of them had come in 5-6 minutes quicker.
As for the race… it’s a great run over hills I am not that familiar with. The valley section is surprisingly tough for a trail runner like me, but as Radar pointed out… rivers are her running nemesis… perhaps mine too. I would like to do it again with legs rested… as I know I could do it in under two hours.
This morning I have done the sensible thing (I know) and emailed a physio to set up an appointment to sort my legs out. The Twitten Kitten will be very surprised to hear this.
