I did what everyone else does, blindly sign up for something in the middle future to give a purpose to my meandering running and general fitness efforts.
That something was the Maverick Buckinghamshire half marathon. An off road, hilly affair, with the difficulty rating of 2 on the rather snazzy Maverick website. It was hard to know how hard the course was going to be and what the 2 actually meant. However it all sounded reasonable enough but since i’d not run further before than 15k and had mainly done Parkruns and the odd 10k hootenanny over the last 10 years I didn’t really know how hard i’d find a half marathon. I’d soon find out, when i’d done it, at the race, in the morning.
Graeme and Ed from the walrus herd signed up too and another two Eds from the local dad network signed up too. Two of the three Eds bailed out the day before claiming they’d got a place in the popular People’s March. So it was just the two walruses who’d keep me company. However as they were both the kind of runners who gobble up this sort of stuff for breakfast they would no doubt shoot off with the front runners breathing calmly through their noses rather than back with me and the Morlocks, breathing like Inuit throat signers. There was hope for some time that lovely Roman was to join us but it emerged that he hadn’t entered, hadn’t done any training and also had no intention of coming along. A classic Eloy.
My training was haphazard. I’d managed to get one long run of 14k in the week before and felt fine, but could manage no more miles or long runs due the fact that all my resources were being used up trying to dodge the illness that had infected every second person at work and my entire household. I staved it off bravely gobbling down vitamin C like they were cola bottles.
A woman next to me was taken down by a loose dog. A horrendous start for her.
Generally I’d been struggling to get in the appropriate miles around my busy schedule of work and family life. All running had to happen after 9pm in the pitch dark with a head torch on. Getting a few runs in a week was ok but seemingly I couldn’t go very far. Anything over 5k seemed impossible and no matter what route I planned I’d always be pretty much home when I reached the 5k mark and it was too tempting to get back inside and out of the gloomy darkness and cold.
The breakthrough came when someone helpfully at work noticed that I was running far too fast and needed to slow down. I’d of course forgotten that it’s not common to run a half marathon at the same pace as a usual 5k bash at the Parkrun shoving prams and dog runners aside. I slowed down my running and low and behold I could run further, but slower. I was quite comfortable in fact and felt confident that I could keep it up for the necessary distance. By god it was boring though. The mind does wonder.
I could have done with another 3 weeks to get some more miles in and get used to the boring boring boring long runs. I’d managed one long run of 14k. I decided not to worry too much. I was certainly undercooked but what would be on the day would be on the day would be on the day. The worst that would happen would be that I’d snap a hamstring on a treacherous descent and head-but a large beech tree knocking myself silly only to wake with no memory at all.
We tried to book in a post race mudding and massage at a local spa. No availability.
Race day. Ed and I arrived to lots of nice flags and a very orderly registration area welcomed us. A nice tent selling coffee and cake and a strangely busy stall selling running shoes. It did feel a little late in the day to be sorting out footwear but maybe the canny store operator from Innov-8 footwear was taking advantage of those runners who had pre race dementia and lost or forgotten their shoes. Graeme arrived and told us he’d left all of his kit behind in London, apart from his shoes which were luckily tied to his feet.
He’d turn his body to a jellied form, letting out a low hum while flying down the slopes at breakneck speed.
Stretching has always been a bit of a mystery to me. I was unsure how to prepare my tight tight muscles for a race like this and so kept a keen eye on those who seemed to know what they were doing. Ed did a little lunging and some jogging on the spot and Graeme, oddly, did zero warming up, stretching or frankly seem to give the slightest consideration to what lay ahead. In the end I warmed up for around 90 minutes taking in every stretch of the human body I knew.
We slotted into the starting pen. We were right at the front. Christ. The whistle blew and we set off clipping off out of the village and straight onto the first climb up the ridgeway on the Chiltern hills. Ed and Graeme were off like whippets, off with the front runners like Strider and Legolas effortlessly bounding along, while I, Gimli, trudged onwards grumbling into my beard.
Most people were attempting to run up the hill with short stubby steps but I decided to walk and even managed to keep pace with those around me. I took giant strides, bent at the hips, keeping my head low, crouched like some sort of hideous Jim Henson creation.
A woman next to me was taken down by a loose dog. A horrendous start for her.
A descent through the woods came next. I decided it was probably an efficient use of energy to descend quickly and tried to emulate Ed who was a renowned descender. He’d turn his body to a jellied form, letting out a low hum while flying down the slopes at breakneck speed.
The route was relentlessly tough. Down and down, then up and up, then down, more down, round the corner a bit, along here, down, then up up up. No chance to get into a rhythm or to have any idea of pacing. A glorious route with only a tiny section on roads and only one small sign of civilisation through a bunch of houses that looked just like they might be owned by my uncle. It felt like I’d run further than I’d ever run before, I was 8k in and there was still 14k left! I was pretty exhausted and slowing down.
An opportunity to turn off onto the shorter 14k course came. Christ. Luckily there were lots of other runners around me at the turn who merrily bundled on and before I knew it I’d missed my chance and I was off for the full route. No turning back now, unless I turned back and slipped off home…
Plodding onwards step by step I think I started to enjoy it. I filled my boots at the feed stations with cola bottles and carried on not daring to look at my watch, nor caring particularly about pace or time. I was pretty sure I wasn’t in last place and so I just tried to keep going. Mentally I was doing well. However my various muscle groups started to noticeably disintegrate. Tightening of the glutes and hams was concerning knowing how long was left but the real issue was the hips. 13k in and I was in considerable pain when going up hill, whether jogging or land striding. The hills had to be walked carefully but also the slightest upward lift in topography was problematic so I had to pick a carful route through the trails, tree trunks and banks to limit the shooting pain.
Suddenly I lost all feeling in my left foot.
I thought that if could get to 17k and 5k to go then I’d make it in one piece, even if I had to walk. The last 5 k was mainly downhill or flat which was a welcome relief from the hip troubles. Suddenly I lost all feeling in my left foot. While the hip was less of an issue on the home straight the descent was indeed treacherous with only one foot to feel the way. Down into the last 2k flat stretch home and I picked up the pace. I felt that I almost certainly wasn’t going to die and in fact managed to overtake a bunch of people, some of who were running like they’d crapped their pants. Like the lady felled by the dog I had no care for them. I was in desperate need of water, partially blind and had convinced myself that I was being followed, which in fact served as a useful final boost leading me into the final few hundred metres.
Crossing the line I was offered beer and the most disgusting protein bar I’ve ever tasted and a nice large medal. My right hip was on fire and I suspect that another 2 kilometres would have seen me off dead. My face was covered in salt and my lips and mouth were covered in sugar.
I saw Ed, changed, looking around at the stalls and race finishers like he was people watching in Paris. Graeme had some coffee and a large piece of cake. Neither seemed to have noticeably exerted themselves or seemed to even notice me at all. In fact Ed had come 7th overall with an impressive time of 1:43. My time of 2:13 was good enough for me.
We had a nice chat with one of the organisers from Maverick who strangely appeared to be stealing bins from the school yard where the event was based and then headed off to the pub for chicken pie. I let myself have a moment in the car to congratulate myself on completing a race of considerable efforts. A quick cry.
Overall it was a great event. Well organised, extremely well sign posted and marshalled and some cracking cola bottles at both feed stations. The route was fantastic with views, woods, fields, hills, descents and everything the chilterns has to offer. My review of the race is: 2