That was then, but this is now.
Like anything else worth doing, running is a path of constant learning, and this, I now see, extends to race reports, and to the way they extrude into running itself. Last night, I finally posted my Hamburg stories – the preamble about the Expo, and race day itself. They’d been hanging around me like one of those faint injuries that you can’t quite shake off.
Finalising the tale and uploading it fulfilled two functions that seem paradoxical. On the one hand it was like a stopper, bunging up the Hamburg adventure for good. Putting it to bed, as publishing chaps like to say. Signing it off. On the other, the act meant the simultaneous dislodging and release of something else. It’s allowed me to think about running again, and to make some plans. It was a chore that needed doing, and now that it’s done, I see that it was interfering in other areas, and preventing the return to some sort of normality. The buzzword is “closure”.
I’d not spent a moment thinking about future running goals, yet within half an hour of filing the report, I’d entered the Loch Ness Marathon – Sunday 2nd October, 2005. And just in case this wasn’t resolute enough, I’ve reserved a seat on an EasyJet flight from Gatwick to Inverness for the day before. All booked and paid for. Job done.
Without being conscious of it, I seemed to have reached the decision that it’s time to look beyond the headline urban marathons. Indisputably great events; staggering manifestations of human interaction; festivals of running; celebrations of human endeavour. All good stuff. The urban marathon is the public face of running, the one that attracts the elites and the journos. But there must be more to it than that, and it’s time I had a peek at running’s secret garden – the rural marathon. Not the same as an off-road or cross-country marathon. That’s the hard core, a present to leave unopened beneath the tree for the time being. The rural marathon is one that uses public roads and well-established tracks, but set far from the big city and the hullabaloo.
Loch Ness is a place I have ancient associations with. As a teenager, the second and third times I ran away from home I hitch-hiked to the Outer Hebrides via Glencoe, Inverness and the long Loch Ness Road. But it’s not some maudlin magnet that pulls me back there now – though undoubtedly that may add a pinch of spice to the experience. No, it’s simply that I know the area to be astonishingly picturesque. It can provide the vast emptiness and inspirational beauty I want from a fifth marathon.
Last year there were 942 finishers, ranging in times from 2:27 to 7:15. With the hills and bumpy terrain, I fully expect to be closer to that second figure than the first – but I don’t mind this time. It’s another reason for wanting a change of scene. How nice, I thought, to run for pleasure, and not get too hung up on the pursuit of a time. The chance of a PB wouldn’t be turned down, but it’s not my priority this time.
I’ve run three times in the past week. Only the first – last Saturday – was truly… nearly unpleasant. It was the usual first-run-after-a-layoff. I felt fat and slow and incongruous on the streets in my skimpy running gear. I panted and flapped a lot. 3 miles. Repeated on Monday, but this time felt much better. It was even fast – only the 4th time this year (70 runs) that I’ve averaged sub-10 minute miles.
And this morning, up at 6:30 for a rare early-morning jog. The weather was perfect: bright sun and mild. I took it easy. Early in the morning, without a proper warm-up, muscles cold and stiff, isn’t the time to try speeding beyond your comfort zone. I pulled the run out another half mile today, just to ease myself into the longer distances again.
Good to be back.
