<written 24/09>
50’38”. Over nine minutes better than my target
time. Can’t grumble with that.
Yup, that was my time for the Sheffield TenTenTen. It was a fabulous day – one that will live long in my memory. And not
just because of those 3049 seconds. Everything about it was… well, fabulous.
I’m somewhat concerned that, by writing a traditional blog post, I’ll take up
pretty much the same number of precious seconds of yours to read it – and,
quite frankly, it’s not worth that. So let me try to talk you through my
weekend in a somewhat more succinct manner…
SATURDAY 22/09
Got up and got to Bristol Temple Meads courtesy of
Jon. It still sounds odd to suddenly find myself referring to someone whom I’ve
known for six years as my “running partner” but I’ll make the most of it while
I can!
Boarded the 8:30 to Sheffield. Soon regretted not
getting myself a hot drink on the platform but made do with one of the
over-priced, under-flavoured ones from the trolley. You feel odd without a hot
drink on a morning train – everybody else is sipping one as they tuck in to
their preferred reading… which, on this occasion, for me was Mark Radcliffe’s “Thank You For The Days”.
Pulled into Sheffield on time (11.17). Stepped out
unto the majestic beauty of Sheffield Hallam University, my alma mater. Didn’t
take any photos this time but it’s hardly changed since June. Walked to
the leisure centre were Auntie Dawn was working. Exchanged texts. Within five
minutes of her advising me she was heading out, she nearly headed off without
me. She didn’t. Headed to leafy suburban Ecclesall – so leafy, in fact, it’s
virtually Dore. Had a sarnie and a few drinks, then left Dawn to the housework
and headed down to Jo & Roger’s house to find Uncle Chris. Uncle Chris
lives in Thailand these days, so it’s nice to catch up with him once a year.
Had SkySportsNews in the background for most of the afternoon and witnessed the
videoprinter confirming the mighty Blades had won 1-0 at Yeovil –
hooray! Cousin Joe had actually gone to the match, pretty much making the
reverse trip to mine, chauffeured there and back by his girlfriend Steph.
Tempting as it was to join them, it made sense for me to be in Sheffield today
– for a number of reasons.
Greeted Oly back from Swillsborough, where Bolton
had consigned the other lot to a 2-1 home defeat. Oly’d already been unwell
whilst playing football in the morning and the surroundings of S6 clearly hadn’t
helped. He announced he was pulling out of the TenTenTen, which was
disappointing for all involved. But when your stomach says you’ve got to go,
you’ve got to go… or not, as the case may be. So if you do see his name on the
results page alongside a highly impressive 46’12”, coming in 119th
out of 772, just bear this in mind: it wasn’t Oly. Oly was too busy cheering on
the rest of us – and for that we are grateful!
Anyway – back to Dunkeld Road. Matches over. Time
passes. 6pm approaches. Now come on people, what does 6pm on a Saturday mean
when I’m in Sheffield?
Yup, it means Early Bar! Well, to be fair it means
Early Bar every Saturday, just not for me. Went to The Hammer & Pincers with
Rog and Chris; met Streetsy, Streetsy’s Mum and Dad, Jonah, Andy, Ian and Robin
there. Was introduced at some point as “Gian’s son”, which feels wrong in
Sheffield but actually makes perfect sense – the lucky beggar gets to spend
more time there than I do, and it’s MY hometown! Lapped up comments about my
weight loss as I supped five pre-race day J2Os, although it was pointed out to
me by Andy that I now needed to bulk up a little. Which was always my Winter
2012 plan, as avid readers of this blog will know. I can’t recall meeting Andy
before, but he’s right.
Walked back to Dawn and Richard’s, all five minutes
of it… enjoyed a pre-race bowl of pasta, as kindly agreed by Dawn earlier;
watched some TV with them; headed up for bed.
SUNDAY 23/09
Woke up from a good night’s sleep. Faffed around with my running stuff, in
spite of the fact I’d got it all ready the previous day. That’s what you should
do: it says so in “Running
For Beginners”, plus it makes perfect common sense. Had two slices of toast
for breakfast. I never have toast for breakfast: I always have cereals. But
“Running For Beginners” suggest you have toast no less than two hours before
the race so that’s what I did.
8:30am: headed down nice and early to Endcliffe
Park, where Sean (D&R’s foster son) had been entered in the 2.5k fun
run. Exchanged memories of my 5k
Salcombe “fun run” (apostrophes necessary as it was no blinkin’ fun for me)
as Joe (‘Woody’) pointed out they were scarring him the way they’d scarred me
23 years earlier. Only Sean enjoyed it, to be fair.
Hung around… hugged Nats… chatted… loosened up,
somewhat wondering why some people were spending half an hour doing so…
…spotted MazyMixer
(that’s Simon W’s Twitter ID) who’d alerted me to his presence as his son was
running the 2.5k. I hesitate to call it a ‘fun run’ for the lad because he came
6th in 12’27”, which is proper competitive stuff. Indeed, as a result of
knowing where his son finished in the race and double-checking on LinkedIn I have
satisfied my curiosity and established “Simon W”’s surname – but I won’t out
him here. Hey, when your Granddad was a private investigator you feel compelled
to figure out this kind of stuff! Then…
…went off to have a quiet moment to myself near the
stepping stones. Nearly shed a tear but didn’t, mainly through fear that it
may freeze. I just happened to think about my brothers, as I do at momentous
moments in my life. And this, without being major in the great scheme of things
(so keep those handkerchiefs in your pockets), was momentous: ten months after
being put to (temporary) sleep and had a bit of brain removed, I was running a
10k race. Had things gone badly (highly unlikely but undoubtedly possible) back
on November 22, I could have ended up joining them. As it happens, here we were
ten months down the line and they were joining me to help me through Sheffield’s
green and pleasant land. That may or may not make sense to you and, to be fair,
it needn’t. So I won’t bore you further…
…pinned race number (59) to shirt, which only for
me seemed to require taking off said shirt, thereby finding myself bare-chested
in Sheffield in September… tried and failed to put shirt back on… took off
shirt and adjusted one pin, which had gone through the front and the back of
the shirt, thus making it impossible to wear…
…by the way, number 59 gives you an indication of
how early on in the process I signed up for this… Nats and Joe were 593 and 594
respectively! So they got the first two digits right, anyway…
…rejoined the others, made small talk. Threw my
legs around a bit more as I showed off my loosening-up skills. Joined the queue
for the toilets. Ten minutes and little advance later, left queue for toilets.
I didn’t actually need to go, I’d just read in “Running For Beginners” that you
should go. More small talk and eventually Nats, Joe and I huddled together near
the “40-50 minutes” group. In other words, Joe and I followed Nats to the group
she belonged to and prepared to be overtaken by a few people…
…set off. Ran round the main Endcliffe Park field
before exiting onto Rustlings Road. Natalie was long gone but I could make out
Joe, what with him being tall, blonde, wearing a woolly hat and having a number
5 on the back of his shirt. Caught up with Joe… muttered “c’mon, Lad”… overtook
Joe… kept going. Into Bingham Park, up the grass bank, through the
woods and back out again, back towards Endcliffe Park, past the duck lake,
all the way to The
Monument at the front, back towards the main field, left. That was Lap 1
completed…
…looked at my watch for the first time. I’d been
feeling good about myself and saw no benefit in finding out to what it equated
in terms of time. At the halfway mark, though, I needed an indication as to
where I stood vis-à-vis the half hour mark. I stood (well, ran) at 24 minutes
summat. Blimey, that’s not bad goin’, Lad! Heard Oly cheer me on. Felt good about
myself. Picked up a bottle of water from the drinks station because it’s what
you do. Took a swig, rinsed mouth, spat out water. Repeated. Drank nothing and
kept going. A lot of water was left undrunk or spat out by hundreds of people. Though
about Bob Geldof and kept running.
…headed towards the Rustlings Road gate to hear Rog
shout that Nats “wasn’t that far in front” of me. That meant I was doing OK but
did nowt to make me want to catch up with Nats. Started to question whether I
could sustain the pace. Kept going.
…got to the bottom of the grass bank. Took in
encouragement from Dawn, Rich and Shawn. Headed up the grass bank. Overtook
about four people on the short but steep climb.
…got to top of grass bank. Realised overtaking
people up the grass bank had not been wise. Wished briefly that Dawn had not
been in that particular spot, at the bottom of the hill she’d been warning me
about since April. Wished that I had not felt obliged to step things up a notch
as a consequence of that. Headed into woods. Felt a stitch. Slowed down. Was
overtaken by far more than the four people I’d passed up the grass bank.
Struggled for five, long minutes…
…felt my brothers lift me and carry me on as I made
my way down the woods. Headed out of Forge Dam and back towards Rustlings Road.
Found my rhythm, my pace again. Knew the end was in sight and kept going. Was
no longer struggling as I ran into Endcliffe Park. Started to lengthen stride.
Felt good.
…looked at watch. Given that I had been struggling
in the third quarter of the course, was amazed to see I was around 46’. Briefly
wondered whether a sub-50’ finish was feasible. This was the first time I’d
asked myself this question – ever. Agreed with myself that I’d stick to the
original plan: give it everything and see what time that gave me. Which,
probably, won’t be sub-50’. But certainly felt comfortable about sub-60’.
Indeed, knowing that I could have walked the rest and still clocked sub-60’ was
helpful – and no, not tempting! Seriously!
Anyway…
…crossed the Porter Brook by the Monument and
headed back for the finish. Upon reaching the main field and seeing the line, put in a sprint.
Overtook a few people, all along with a warm, relieved feeling in my heart…
…crossed the line clicking my stopwatch. Looked down:
50’29”. Looked up: blew my siblings a kiss, thanking them for getting me
through the hardest part…
…headed to side of finishing line. Waited for Joe.
Cheered him on. Hugged Joe. Hugged the rest of them. Went off to find my goodie
bag. Went off to find my limited edition t-shirt for which I’d shelved out a
tenner, not realising it was ‘merely’ a white version of the yellow race shirt –
ah well! All charity, isn’t it?
…joined the rest of them outside the café. Drank my
delicious NouriSH Me Now drink. Ate the cereals bar I’d been given. Chatted
with family and assorted friends of. Felt bloody bleeding good at having
recorded the time I had…
…went over to throw my chip into the appropriate
bucket. Went back a few minutes later for a print-out of my official time. Said
official time: 50’49”. Disappointed at extra twenty seconds added to my time.
Relieved time still sub-51’. Ecstatic time still sub-59’59”. Continued feeling
bloody bleeding good about myself…
…finally, headed off for the nouriSHmenow stand. Over the course of the previous few months I’d tried to buy
some of their natural sports recovery drinks online but we hit a few snags so
in the end they kindly offered to let me have them for nowt. Who am I to
refuse?!? Very kind, those folk at nouriSHmenow. And top drinks they make, an’all.
Don’t ask me how much credit they should get, but I did feel nourished after
the drink and my bones don’t ache today. I do look forward to their drinks
being available in Bristol stores! In fact, on that note, let me get back to you
next week: if I feel nouriSHed and non-achy after the half marathon, I’ll give
them all the credit in the world! And, regardless of how nouriSHed I feel, I
wish them all the very best in their quest to get their business… er, up and
running.
So, that was that, race-wise. Purely for the
record, out of 772 Natalie
came in 146th in 47’47”, I came in 228th in
50’38” (yes, bear with me) and Joe came in 339th
in 54’20”. I am solely outlining these results for posterity, to save myself
the hassle of looking them up on the results page should I ever
wonder about them again. This was never a race for me: not a family race, not
an all-out race. This was always about me proving to myself that I could do it,
proving the training had been worthwhile: I was aiming for sub-60’ but I’d have
not cried had I gone beyond the hour because I knew it’d done my best in
preparing for race day. I’d trained hard, I’d turned down the bevvies… I’d
given it my best shot and that’s all you can do. As for Nats and Joe, they were
also pleased with their respective times (more Joe than Nats, mind) so
everybody was happy.
What I have done, of course, is laid down a marker
for myself. Because I do want to be back in 2013 when I will no longer enjoy
the benefit of any time being a PB. Just like this year I wanted the first
digit on my time to be a ‘5’, so next year it’d be nice for it to be a ‘4’.
Anyway – one race at a time! Back to this one: so,
I’ve run, I’ve stopped, I’ve sat down – what did I do next?
…got a lift back to Dawn&Richard’s with
Joe&Steph. Dad taught me from a very early stage that, after sport, you
shower as soon as you can. Did what Dad had instilled in me. Spent a lifetime
packing what actually wasn’t a lot of stuff, swapping it from one bag to
another. Left race number on shirt…
…got a lift down to Jo&Rog’s with
Dawn&Richard. Watched the end of the Liverpool-ManU game.
Got a lift up to Midge&Albert’s with Jo. They’re Rog’s parents and I always
have a lovely chat whenever I can make it there. Got a lift to Jo&Rog’s
with Rog. Chatted some more, had a sarnie courtesy of Jo-Jo. Collected my
belongings (including bag of Decathlon gear which Oly had gone out and sourced
for me), including a packed lunch courtesy of Jo-Jo. Headed off towards train
station with Rog. Stopped off at Decathlon for
a couple of items Oly had inadvertently left off the list. Got to train
station. Went to the nearby Sheffield
Tap to meet up with Darren. Had two lovely pints of real ale and a really
fantastic time with Darren. Walked over to Platform 6. Headed home. Booked a
cab. Detoured via South Wales, making the return journey almost an hour longer
than its Northbound counterpart. Waited for cab. Got into cab. Got out at home.
Unpacked.
That’s as concise as I can be… not least because
it’s hard to put into words how good it felt to record 50’49”. I’m still
buzzing now. If you’ve ever run a race and exceeded your objectives, you know
what and how I felt. If you haven’t, no essay of mine is going to convey that
feeling.
But be not mistaken: the race was only one
component of thirty fantastic hours in Sheffield. Truly, seeing Daz was the
highlight. This is someone I’ve not seen in two and a half decades, since
Dawn&Richard moved out of 43 Ranby Road. Daz and Andy lived at 47 and I
spent many happy hours playing cricket, football or summat on the ZX48 with
them. But we’re talking 1983 to 1985 here… yet, having finally found Daz (and
subsequently Andy) online, we agreed to meet up and we picked up where we left.
OK, so there was no ZX48, and any conversation related to such groundbreaking
technology was replaced by chats about our kids. In Sheffield, just like in
Santa Margherita, I actually can meet up with someone I’ve not seen in such a
long time and just have an easy, free-flowing, heart-warming conversation, like
friends do. That is a luxury the South does not afford me, for I have no
connections here with whom I can start by saying: “Hey, remember thirty years
ago…”. Anyway, on that note I… well, left Sheffield.
And headed back down here. Where friendships are
younger, not steeped in anything like that history. At the cost of winding up
half the global population, that kind of history matters more to blokes than
lasses. But that’s OK: you’re allowed to hang on to the good things from the
past whilst making new friends wherever you are. And I’m getting there, you
know? I thought long and hard before and after publishing the
post I published back in June. I still stand by what I wrote, but I also
acknowledge that, as I share experiences with folk darn’ere, I will be able to
use the F-word more freely. Just look at Jon, my running partner. For five
years now I’ve known him, chatted, danced to his CD with the kids in
our living room, stolen lifts… but there comes a point where you can only go to
the next level by sharing something memorable. That 22km
training run to Pill and back was a start… that high-five and manly hug at the end of it, those tangible gestures, did as much to strengthen our friendship (from my perspective, anyway – for this is how my heart and mind work) than any conversation we have ever had… and just you wait till next
Sunday and the real thing.
Hey, hang on… just checked… on the site it says that my “gun
time” was 50’49” but my “chip time” was 50’38”… so 50’49” is from the moment
the gun went, but 50’38” is from the moment I crossed the line… hey, then 50’38”
it is!!! Seriously, that’s how it works!
So there you have it, good people of
icantstandrunning. So much for the “succinct manner” promised, eh? Ah well – sorry. And no, I can’t stand running: but I ran my first 10k yesterday
and did so in 50’38”. It wasn’t fun, of course not. But I’ll admit this much: it
felt bloody good. And it still does.
Oh, the shirt’s ready, by the way. Same shirt as I wore in Sheffield. Same safety pins, for that matter – thanks Uncle Rich! I’ll be wearing the same shorts and possibly the same socks, too. Superstitions? No, I just want to take something from Sheffield and from my first ever race with me as I step out for my first half-marathon. Oh, the shorts haven’t actually been washed, by the way. Which has been kind of intentional, even though it does sound gross, not least since they had to travel down from Sheffield stuffed away in my bag… anyway, let’s not mention that, eh? Shhh…
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