Another race, another deluge.
Was there a time when I ran races in dry weather? I fancy there must have been, but it seems like a very long time ago now. I have distant recollections of finishing a race feeling rather warm. I can recall a towel being used to wipe sweat, and not rain, from my face.
Like last week at Shinfield, the Woodley 10K is a cordial, community event. And like last week, it was almost ruined by the weather. The contest itself wasn’t affected, but the joy of the wider event was.
So instead of wandering around the burger and church fund-raising stalls, I stayed in my car in the supermarket car park, feeling somewhat glum, while the heavy rain obscured the windscreen and drummed on the roof. Sitting there, curtained from the outside world, I was tempted to forgo the whole thing. Why not just hide for an hour, then drive home? I could log a standard race report and no one would know.
Then I got a bit more realistic. The radio was on. I heard an item about the family whose 4-year-old daughter has gone missing in Portugal. Then a piece about another eight soldiers being killed in Iraq. Get real, mate. The true picture presented itself. The fuzzy focus sharpened. My problems are not problems at all. What’s a bit of rain for god’s sake?
While other runners jogged to the start line in hooded rain jackets, leggings, and even under umbrellas, I strolled there in my singlet and shorts. We were going to get wet, so what did it matter?
Beneath the teeming rain we stood while the well-insulated, plasticated race organiser lectured us through the capricious public address system:
“Be careful… the grass is wet… remember that wet grass is slippery… be careful… there are some speed bumps on the road… be careful… you can trip over speed bumps if you’re not watching where you’re going… so be careful… you don’t want to run for six miles with grazed knees…”
The cold rain continued falling as he sermonised to his 700 surrogate toddler-grandchildren.
Be careful about the traffic on the road…
Jeee-sus. Shut the fuck up, and start the race.
And at last, he did. The race began, and we charged out of the park. Sixty two minutes later, I arrived back.
There’s not a lot to say about the intervening period. We ran around the pleasant suburb of Woodley. Some posh people waved and clapped as we passed. Thank you, posh people.
We ran past many side roads backed up with cars containing miserable looking locals, unable to conceal their loathing for this army of semi-naked, rain-loving freaks, splashing through the hood, separating them from Waitrose. Sorry people. Very sorry people.
I had a good run. My splits (9:30, 9:50, 9:59: 10:02, 10:08, 10:27, 8:53) were good by recent standards. It was my least slow 10K in two years. Three minutes faster than Shinfield last weekend, eight minutes faster than Brighton last November.
The improvement is underway.
