Manchester Half
The original sport.
Society has vastly outpaced evolution. Although everything around us has changed, our software has remained stuck in the stone age.
If you went back 100,000 years, picked out a baby human, and transported them to present day, they would grow up exactly the same as everyone else of 2025. Instead of a life of wildfires and fireflies, they would adjust, as we have; to TikTok, KPop and ChapGPT.
But it works both ways. Sometimes I would like to be whisked back 100,000 years. So I could roam the savannah, naked.
I get so suffocated by all these rules, the clothes, the hypoallergenic society we have constructed to keep us safe, and bored.
I just want to get chased by a fucking alligator every now and then.
Running was there at the dawn of humanity. It was the very first sport, and it will be the last. I wonder if that is the real reason millions of people needlessly run marathons every year. A profound calling, back to an age when things were so much simpler.
A to B as fast as you can. That’s it.
Keeps me able to deal with the endless showering, brushing teeth, loading the dishwasher, recycling …
Mile 3: I mistakenly drift into someone else’s lane. He responds with a sharp elbow in the stomach. No words. No time for pleasantries.
Mile 5: I’m trying to hold onto the guy in front. He runs his hand quickly over his shaved head. A big spray of hot sweat hits me in the face.
Blood. Sweat. Snot. Tears. Vomit. Shit. Piss. I want all of it. The dirty, smelly, ugly reality of being a mammal. No perfume or fabric softener lying to us.
That’s why I’m here. Truth. As close as you can get to running free, across the plains.
I can always tell how well my race is going, by how quickly the mile markers appear. Today, joyously, they are appearing quickly. I am in a group of five. They are going too fast, but I am reluctant to let them go. It looks like there are no decent groups behind and I don’t have the confidence in myself to let this pace slip. I’m worried that if I do, it will just keep slipping.
So I hold on. For lack of a better idea. And the mile markers are still coming up quickly. I run past 10k in 32:11, only 1 second off my Season Best.
Mile 7: The burn is rising, but I’m still attached. A few corners, a few tiny hills, and the cord snaps. The group disappears into the grey/white fog. Where is the next mile mark? It’s been ages.
My mentor told me to aim for 69:00, by mile 10 I am on for 68:40. But it is a false economy. I’m going backwards now.
I can do this. Just three miles of pain. I am still ahead of pace. Just don’t die. There is no stitch. No real problem. People are streaming past. I use mental imagery to try and stay positive. I am a push-button spinning top. Every time someone comes past, they are pushing on my button, giving my legs another spin.
Then, from behind, I hear a wave of cheers. It is getting closer. I know what it means. The first woman is closing in. We have a mile to go. When you have lost all momentum, it is so hard to reverse the trend. But I try anyway. I frantically go to my arms. I hate doing this. A good runner shouldn’t need to. But my hips are gone. So I carry on pumping my arms, ridiculously, it’s sort of working.
I cross the line 3 seconds in front of the first woman, Lilly Partridge. And congratulate her.
Three of my athletes were also running. And three of them ran PBs. It is always a privilege to see. Well done Adam, Mike and Nat. I feel nothing but gratitude that I still get to have experiences like this.
I ran 100 miles last week. I also did a parkrun the day before my Half Marathon. The best I ever felt in a half was Lake Vrynwy Half. I was supposed to run 70min as a tune up to London Marathon. I ran 68:53 and felt like I was jogging the whole way. I had done a parkrun the day before, and was on 100 miles a week.
I don’t think the parkrun helped at Manchester. I think I was just very fit, and was running within myself at Vrynwy.
I do, however, think the 100 mile week might have helped. Last year I ran a 10k in 30:50, my fastest in 10 years, whilst on a 100 mile week.
Tapering used to help me. I used to feel like a coiled spring, and could channel all that energy on race day. I don’t feel that any more. These days, when I taper, my heart rate goes up, my HRV comes down, I can’t sleep and I overly worry about my diet. Also, running just feels more clunky. Maybe it’s an age thing, but I feel like running for me now is more like playing the guitar. I have to keep practicing the movement for it to feel fluid and automatic.
It has come to my attention that this Substack has been asking for Pledges, or nudging you to Upgrade to Paid. It was never my intention to get paid for this. I will try and sort out the settings so this stops happening.
I know what you’re thinking;
‘But, Russell, I want to pay you. You are such an inspiration, you bring joy to my very soul. Please, let me pay you, for the light you bring to my life.’
To which I say,
‘No! Dear reader. You must learn to sit with the discomfort. As I must sit with the weight of my heavy and burgeoning genius.’
Always free; Free of Ads, free of humility. See you next Friday.
