Wilmslow Half Marathon

Sunday 5:45am, driving to the Wilmslow Half. On mornings like this, I feel the weight of a thousand races. An old battle axe that has seen better days. Once bright, modern, clean. Now bent, scratched, broken. My whole body is just tired.

I could be sleeping in right now. Could be looking forward to a lazy morning at home. The early sunrays lighting up the steam, as it lifts off my warm coffee cup.

Chatting on the sofa with Nina. Kids having their pancakes. All faces bathed in golden yellow.

No one cares if I do this race. No one is asking me to do it. No one is depending on me doing it.

So why am I doing it? Why do I keep doing it?

---

Racing down the street, locked in combat with another runner, we pass a sign saying 400m TO GO. I increase the pace, but he is equal to it. The burn rises quickly, through my arms and legs. This pace is unsustainable.

And for those next 200m, there is nothing else in my world. No colour, no sound, no Iran. Just me and the guy next to me, breathing as hard as we can.

I know I have one more move left in me. But I have to be patient. Have to get the timing just right.

For that hot minute, I am completely in the moment, body and mind focused on this singular task. Any human could watch us right now, and understand immediately what’s happening. The rules are universal and timeless.

Get from A to B, faster than C.

Totally alive. Hyper-aware.

---

I arrive at the carpark. I see some guys I know, and get into chit-chat. I knock back a caffeine gel, start my warm up, and gradually ease the drive out of my old legs. The blood starts pumping, the tunes start working. Pin my vest on. Do some strides.
And we start the race.

Mile 2. I am sat in a group that is too big. Some guys have an inflated sense of their own ability, they can’t run smoothly at this pace, so there are bumps and barges going on. One of the athletes in my squad decides he’s had enough. He ghosts away and catches the group ahead. We are running at 5:10min miling and he made it look like we were standing still. “Impertinent”, I smile to myself. I know he’s going to have a good day.

Mile 5. Our group has whittled down. Just me and two guys I know well, have raced regularly. They both beat me easily at the Trafford 10k three weeks ago. I feel the burn starting to creep up. It’s too early. We still have 8 miles to go.

I decide I have to let them go.

The course is first half downhill, then back up again. At halfway I have banked enough time to be able to cruise a sub 70min half. The next guy who passes me I also recognise from Trafford 10k. He also beat me easily. So I decide to stop looking at my watch and just race against him.

But he is finding the hills harder than I am. Maybe because I live in hills. My breathing starts to quieten down. I am nearer to Marathon effort than Half. Should I make a break to the group ahead? They are a long way up the road. I don’t have the confidence. Just stay with this guy and relax.

Then, with 10 miles gone, a tall guy streams past both of us. He must be 6“4. I tag onto the back of him and am a bit annoyed with myself by how easily I can do it. I had been running too slow.

When we get to the 400m sign, I make a move, but he covers it immediately. We are both in anaerobic now. These signs better not be lying to us, the finish line is hidden behind a bend.

I don’t panic. Just thinking; try harder, doesn’t work. It leads to tension, extra effort, but not extra speed.

I stay relaxed, fall back, and try to run in beat with his cadence. It is hard, he has a much longer stride, it is more vertical force than I’m used to. But, my mind feels fresh, after the easier miles I’ve just done, and up for the challenge.

I know, if I can keep my torso stacked above my legs, prevent my hips from sitting back, then overstriding, when the moment is right, I should be able to increase my stride frequency quicker than him. I have a lower center of gravity, and smaller levers.

I see the sign saying 200m TO GO and I decide that will be the point I push the button. I hope that if I can make the move decisive enough, it will create a gap instantly that breaks his spirits, and then I can hold on to the finish line.

Seb Coe v Steve Cram. Augustine Choge v Craig Mottram. I’ve seen it done before. And here we go. As soon as I punch it, the crowd responds and I can no longer hear him behind me. I don’t look back. There are no more moves. If he comes past me now there is nothing more I can do. The finish line comes into view. Hold on. Hold on.

I cross the line in front of him. And am rewarded with a time of 69:27, which is 4 seconds faster than my last half marathon. It may not sound like a lot. But it’s massive to me.

When the vision comes back into my eyes, we shake hands. One day, very soon, when I push that button, nothing will happen. But that day is not today!

As my sense of normality slowly creeps back in, and I can just about construct a sentence, I throw myself into my athletes’ stories and how they have done. And, just like in life, their races were are of the good, bad and ugly variety. But I love it. This is the life we have chosen. Where would I rather be? The gloomy drive is a distant memory now.

---

I ran 102 miles last week. One session, one race, as above. Getting further in front of period of fatigue. Easy runs feeling good and enjoyable again.

Next week our tiny club, Meirionnydd, will be going down to South Wales to run in the Welsh Road Relay Championships. The top 3 teams qualify for the National 12 Stage Road Relays. That is our aim.

Running is an individual sport, but when you add the team element, it is like pouring petrol on fire. The heat just goes through the roof. The pressure, the pace. It’s brilliant.

I’ll tell you how we get on next Friday. See you then!