Well, I didn’t win… but it was close. Had I shaved around 60% off my time, my name would be up there in lights in Reading this evening. Instead, the luminary in question, and the 2nd and 3rd finishers, are all Kenyans – two of whom didn’t turn up to receive their prizes at the post-race presentation. I happened to be limping past the makeshift stage at the time, and stopped for a minute to see them not be there.
The day got off to a bad start. Had no trouble waking and debedding at 0630. Over a breakfast of toast, banana, cereal and a pint of Lucozade Sport, I decided to check my email – as one does – and got a bit carried away. After a last minute rush I found myself setting off on the 75 mile journey with less than an hour to get to Reading for the planned 0845 arrival. I’m not a motoring anecdotes specialist, so I’ll skip the gory details of what happened next, suffice to say that whatever it was, it happened very quickly.
After some panicky parking, I jogged off to the sports centre for the start. The plan was to casually drop off my bag at the main hall on the way. However, I found myself joining a static queue of around a thousand people planning to do the same thing. I felt like a voter in Harare.
All this talk of disorganisation and queuing is pretty dull, so let’s press on. I’ll just say that the start was delayed and everyone got off at the same time – eventually.
There were around 7000 participants in the Half Marathon. I slotted in where I saw a space, and as we waited to start I noticed that I was standing in the area reserved for those expecting to run a time of less than 1 hour 20 minutes. This wasn’t me, but I decided to stay where I was, as there were plenty of other displaced porkers in there besides me. A few minutes later, amid great cheering and yelping, the mob began to move. Interestingly, the excitement seemed to produce a great cloud of methane gas from the assembled lycra-ed arses which, for all I know, is still drifting across West Berkshire in a highly unstable state.
It was surreal to be running in a 7000 crowd all of a sudden, having run all my training miles so far on my own. But it was actually quite reassuring, knowing for certain that there were thousands of other weirdos like me. It reminded me of an episode of The Twilight Zone, but I can’t stop to explain as it will delay the progress of the race still further.
It took a few minutes to get across the start line, and the first half mile was slow through sheer weight of human traffic. This gentle warm-up jog was a good thing, and allowed me to work out what sort of pace I should be doing. I didn’t have a hard-and-fast target. My priority was only to finish reasonably comfortably, but decided to aim for 2 hours 30, which meant running each mile at around 11:25.
The first 2 were 11:45 and 12:12 so I had some catching up to do. During this first mile or so, a lot of people passed me. Not surprising, given that I’d started with the sub 1:20 runners. I felt a bit better after noticing a couple of people walking already.
Around the town centre and off through the university area. Entering it we were entertained by a small folky band: an accoustic guitar, an accordion and a drum. It brought to mind the Gary Larsen cartoon depicting Heaven and Hell. At the gates of Heaven, a saintly figure sits playing a harp. At the gates of Hell sits a devilish fellow playing an accordion.
I tried to keep a steady pace for the next few miles, which were: 11:03, 11:10, 11:23, 10:55, 11:08 and 11:18. By now the route had left the university area and meandered off around Whitley Wood. This isn’t the most salubrious part of the town but the support here was probably the best in the whole race. One helpful little boy ran alongside me for a few seconds, grabbed my hand and said furtively: "’Ere mate, I know a short-cut. Foller me…" I declined the offer and he went off to try assisting someone else.
Around this point – roughly halfway, my right big toe started to hurt, as though I had a stone in my shoe. I put up with it for probably 2 or 3 miles until I had to stop and take my shoe and sock off to investigate. I couldn’t find anything wrong though I noticed my feet were looking battered.
At one point we passed a church on the right with its doors flung wide open. A cheery voice was booming through a PA system: "Jolly well done! Only another 4 miles to go. Once you get to the top of this hill it’s downhill all the way…" I was puzzled. What was the source of this voice? And then it struck me. Bugger me, it was God. The Deity Himself was spurring us on to greater heights.
A short while later we ran down a narrow terraced street. On the doorstep of one of the houses sat a guy with long straggly, greasy hair, glugging beer from a bottle and sucking on a spliff. On a plate next to him was a packet of mini pork pies, waiting for the munchies to strike. Did I chortle at the superiority of my lifestyle? Did I hell. Oh how I envied him!
Up to Mile 12, my mile splits were 11:53, 11:59, 11:12 and 11:44. So I was slowing down a bit. The final 1.1 miles of the race was a hard 12:42, leading to a final time of 2:30:36. I wasn’t bothered to have come in on the wrong side of 2:30 by a few seconds. I didn’t run the race as fast as possible; I tried to understand the discipline of running a steady mile pace.
It was a joy to see the finishing line. I collected my medal and my goody bag. Was ever a Mars Bar consumed with such speed and pleasure? I doubt it.
Conclusions: this was a great experience. It gives me a baseline time to aim for in next Sunday’s race in Fleet, and has taught me something about raceday conventions that will come in useful in London. On the running front, while my time was not fast, I was delighted with the fact that apart from the minute or so I spent removing and replacing my shoe and sock, I didn’t stop to walk at any point during the race. For me, that’s remarkable: 13.1 miles without a break.
On the debit side, my toes are ruined. Cut to ribbons. It looks like I’m losing two nails, and I’ve new blisters to nurse all over the place. But I won’t dwell further on these till the morning, when I’ll inspect the damage with a fresh eye.
All in all, a good day’s work. I’m happy.
