Today was the day! My alarm went off at 7:15, though I’d already been awake at least an hour (desperately trying to get back to sleep, as I’d fallen asleep close to 1:00). When I turned over and saw that there was no light coming in through the top of my bedroom curtains, I asked myself the obligatory question about sanity of such a planned event on a Sunday morning. Still, I pulled myself out of bed, got everything together (silently cursing myself for not having done all this last night), sent a text to Kate to see if she was still coming to jeer—I mean cheer (turns out she couldn’t make it), and was in my car by 8:10 and heading to Marlow. The roads were beautifully quiet, with just the usual old boys walking down the shops to get their morning paper. A typical British Sunday morning. Oh, and the weather was starting to turn unpleasant. It varied between rain and spitting all through the 14 mile trip, and was forecast to get worst pretty quick and last all day.
Tarkwin and I had originally planned to meet in the carpark on the A4155 opposite Sir William Borlase’s Grammar School (where I studied French at night school), but we changed plans on the way and parked in the Marlow Sports Centre carpark. This made more sense, as that’s where the run was based. Tarkwin and his wife (there for moral support) arrived 10mins after me, and we got dressed and steeled ourselves for the new experience.
While getting ready a woman came up to us, peered at my race number, and cheerfully introduced herself as ginntonix, one of my fellow Runner’s World UK forumites! I was aware that she and couple of others were going be there today, so on the thread for this event I posted my race number and invited anyone recognising it to say hello. ginntonix did, which was great – it’s always nice to see someone you recognise. Then we got separated during the registration process, met up again at the starting area, and promptly lost each other again. I felt a little bad about that, as the person who was supposed to be running with her did not show, so was alone. But then she runs much faster than we do, so it wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.
When we were lined up in the starting area we could barely hear the chap on the megaphone. It sounded like the PA – tannoy if you’re British – at railway stations in the old British Rail days. It turns out the chap was saying those who expected to finish in the top 20 were to make their way to the front. A few minutes later there was a cracking sound – presumably the starter’s gun – and the crowd started to surge forward. I had decided I wanted to do the race in 45 minutes, which is by no means unreasonable at 9:00/km or 14:24/mile, which is just a lightly brisk walking speed. Albeit consistently.
It was a minute or so before we crossed the start line and then we were only able to slowly jog for the next quarter of a mile due to having to pass through the park’s gate and then cross the roundabout over High St onto Station Rd. It wasn’t until we passed Mill Rd that the crowd had thinned out enough to not be bunched up or squeezed by the soon-to-be sweaty masses. We did the run at Tarkwin’s pace, which was fine with me – I’m not that much fitter than him, and I didn’t want to push him too far.
It was amazing how many people were standing out the front of their houses, standing on the street or walking along the paths who were there just to wave you on and wish you well. It’s a part of this society that I thought was long gone – I’m pleased and moved that I was wrong. This includes people driving their cars – just about everyone one of them tooted their horns to all the runners they passed. We were running in the rain and wind, wearing largely uncomfortable or unwieldy costumes, and for many it was our first race. You’ve no idea how much of a boost your encouragement was. If you were one of those people: my sincere thanks.
Then we went along Fieldhouse Way on the southern edge of Globe Business Park. All pretty straightforward and flat so far, then it was up Parkway (runs parallel to the A404) which is a steady but gentle incline to the A4155 junction, which marks the halfway mark (there was supposed to be water, but all that was left was a table covered in plastic bottle caps) where we turned left. By this point Tarkwin was having serious trouble with his Santa suit leggings, so we paused so he could take them off, and he mentioned that his ankle was starting to hurt. He had tracksuit bottoms underneath – no wonder he was miserable! We slowed a little, which also gave me time to reaffix my race number, which had come off as the Santa suit jacket didn’t have a closure so was only held in place by the belt. The plastic stage-prop belt it came with was useless, so I was reliant upon my water belt to hold it in place, but it still required occasional adjustment and re-pinning.
After a short stretch on the A4155 it was left onto Newtown Rd, right onto Newfield Rd, through the alleyways behind the allotments and just before we reached Claremont Rd, Tarkwin found his ankle was causing him even more grief. And in true war movie style, he told me, “Save yourself – go ahead without me!” As they say here, bless…
So after making sure he was serious and that he was okay, I did just that. I turned left onto Beaufort Gardens and picked up my pace, ever mindful of my desire to beat 45 mins. It was a right onto Institute Rd at which point I began to pick up my pace, knowing it was the last kilometre (I know I can run over a mile non-stop now), and it was also where the townsfolk had begun gathering to cheer the runners on towards the end mixed with those who had finished the run and were walking home or back to their cars, who also heartily cheered everyone on. It was a mixture of elation and embarrassment for me, really – I wanted to thank everyone who cast well-wishing in my direction, but there just wasn’t the time or energy for it, so I limited myself to group thanks, smiles or waves.
The best part of the race for me happened along the last part of Institute Road. A young boy of perhaps 3-4 was walking along the path, holding his father’s hand, and as I approached he looked brightly up and me and said clearly, “Come on, Santa… you can do it! You’re nearly there!” I said a very convincing “Ho! Ho! Ho!” and just seeing his little face light up made the whole event worthwhile for me. We’d seen plenty of young children on the route, usually standing with their parents outside their houses, each agog at that many Santas all running past their house – but this young boy was a perfect moment, and just crystallises the event for me. For some stupid reason it’s bringing a tear to my eye while I type…
Then it was a left turn onto High St and my lungs were starting to tell me it’s walk time, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The street was packed with people there for us crazy people dressed in red, putting ourselves through an ordeal for fun and for charity. Then I crossed over the zebra crossing (which I nearly missed), back to the first roundabout, through the park gates and the last stretch to the finishing line.
I’m told that this last stretch to the line is supposed to imbue some supernatural strength or power. While I did increase the pace still further (it was the finish line!), my muscles were complaining, my lungs were screaming, and my heart was pounding. I crossed the line with an extraordinary sense of satisfaction while some chap told me my time (40-something, I didn’t hear him properly) as I hit stop on the Forerunner, I moved off to the side and bent double, sucking air into my anguished lungs. As I stood up, a lady from the finisher’s desk came up to me and placed the medal over my head and told me congratulations. Then I quietly moved through, found a quiet space and began stretching to cool down.
I had hoped that I’d have enough time to do that and make it back to the barrier to see Tarkwin over the line, but he’d beaten me to it. He looked shattered, too, but just as happy as me. It was a taxing, but fantastically fun event. We’re both doing it next year, and possibly the Reading equivalent as well (this year’s takes place next weekend). Over 400 people participated today, compared to 250 last year. An outstanding success, considering 50% of all sponsorship money goes to the organisers’ charities and the rest goes to the runners’ chosen charities – mine was the Royal Masonic Trust for Girls and Boys.
While I’ve run 5K before during my solo Sunday runs, I’d never done it in this time before and obviously never in a race, for Tarkwin it was a massive accomplishment. I’m not sure that he’d even covered that distance in run/walk before. Couple that with the extra weight he’s carrying and the fact he’s a smoker, if I had a hat it would be doffed to him. He has my respect for what he put himself through and finishing it.
An interesting fact to end with… A simple rule-of-thumb for working out one’s maximum heartrate is 220-age, though there are plenty of other ways, so I’d assumed mine was ~185. My heartrate reached 196bpm as I crossed the finish line today, so this is my new MaxHR. It’s quite a notable change, and will affect how I work out my best target training zones and where my lactate/anaerobic threshold occurs.
