6am, Sunday morning. The alarm
goes. This can’t be right. There must be some kind of mistake.
As nice as it was to have the
Southern Road Relays on one day for the first time in living memory, the
wake-up call to Bedford was a brutal reminder as to what in reality this
actually meant. The unknown location of Bedford Autodrome was a;so a worrying factor. Was the venue up to scratch? Was it going to be any more forgiving
than the short sharp painful hills of Aldershot that always kill me off? These
worries would have to wait. The more pressing issue of getting there on time
was far more important, and as such the meeting for the coach was 7.45am. I was
extremely worried that some of the group would miss it. I was sadly proven
correct.
With two members of the team
going to be far too late, we had no choice but to leave without them. Never an
easy choice that, but if we’d waited the Under 13 Girls would have missed their
race.
As you could imagine I was cool
calm and collected in this scenario, if by calm you mean spitting feathers and
collected you mean banging my head against my all weather clipboard. Having (wrongly) written them off, the call came through that the two of them had met up and paid for
a train to Bedford. Fair play to them, many others would have gone home back to
bed. They later tried to walk to the venue from Bedford station…that’s nine
miles. Thankfully we sourced a lift for them.
Arriving at Bedford, it wasn’t
long before I was pining for this event to be back at Aldershot. For a start the
toilets were a country mile away from the actual start-line. I glanced at the
portable loos as we sprinted over to get the numbers…it would be closest I would
get to them for the next three hours. Add to that the lack of catering (an
overpriced burger van doesn’t count), audio PA system and as the day wore on
actual results, it was easy to see why so many people complained about this
event afterwards. Jess Judd is on record as saying it was a terrible event and
that Chelmsford wouldn’t go back if it was ever held at Bedford again. It was
hard to disagree.
When the young athlete’s races
were over, I rewarded myself with a one-mile hike to the loos. And perhaps all
too predictably, there was a massive long queue. If I'd waited any longer I would have been pissing in wind (Boom tish, here all week…).
The discussion of said wind was
proving a popular topic. In a completely unsheltered field, it had played havoc
with every single race so far. At least it was the same for everyone then. In
fact when we were discussing said element, a heavy gust scooped up Cambridge’s
tent next to us in the air where it proceeded to nearly decapitate half our
team.
Some of our team helping with Cambridge's runaway tents |
Come 4.15pm, six hours after I’d
arrived at the venue it was my turn to race. The mass start for those who
hadn’t yet set off on their last leg awaited. An official popped over and drew
on my number.
“THE CROSS OF SHAME” one of my fellow mass starters shouted.
Lining up, I was hardly
confident, I normally get thrashed in this event and today would be no
different. The gun went and the rest of the field were extremely
unsporting….they all ran off into the distance. I’d be on my own for the entire
run.
The wind was the most outrageous
I’ve ever experienced. My number was clinging onto my vest for dear life, while
my eyes watered trying to see where I was actually going. It was also peculiar
running in the vastest most cavernous space you could ever wish to see. It was
like Omar Sharif’s introduction in Lawrence of Arabia…but in reverse.
At 2km I could barely see the Chiltern
runner in front of me so small he was in the distance. Thankfully another team
member Kieron had walked over quite considerable distance over the fields to
cheer me on and indeed up.
“Got ‘em on the ropes now
Kieron!” I spluttered. He laughed. Thank God he did, it was just about the only
thing keeping me sane by this point. The rest of the run remains a painful
windy blur. I gained no ground on the Chiltern runner, who was 2nd
to last out of our group of a dozen last leg runners, despite him being a 2:55
marathoner. Peter cheered me on at 4km that was about it in terms of the
capacity crowds. In truth, it wasn’t the greatest spectator course. It was an
odd feeling knowing I was the last one out there. Memories of being stone cold
last in school races came to the forefront of my mind. Anything to distract me
from the pain. A similar thing happened in 2012, when I was lapped in this race
which was also the first competition my now wife saw me run at. Needless to say
she hasn’t returned to spectate since.
After what seemed like an
eternity, I finally entered the home stretch. Barely anyone batted an eyelid.
Although having said that, there could have been rapturous applause, it was
hard to tell in the hurricane conditions. The time to my complete shock for the
6km course was 24:37. So roughly a 20:06 5K which is about right for me. A ParkRun this certainly is not.
As I knelt on the floor wheezing and being consoled by my team’s young
athletes, an official approached me.
“I don’t mean to be rude Matt, but were you the last one out there?”
“I don’t mean to be rude Matt, but were you the last one out there?”
“Yes” I mustered, and then I fell on the floor. The young athletes were so concerned with this development they went
off for a selfie with Andy Vernon.
It is nice to know for a change
where I finished in this competition. Never before has there been an actual
list of times in ascending order as hard as that is to believe. It must have
taken forever to type up. Scrolling down to the last page, I was 365th…out
of 380, one second slower than my teammate on 5th leg. On the plus
side this now means I can ask him “Have you got a second?” every training
session for the next year.
One of the people that I was
ahead of, is one of my all-time running heroes namely Ian Graham of Bournemouth.
Things didn’t really click for me in my running until I went to Uni. I remain
so grateful to Bournemouth for everything they did for me. The sessions were
arduous, I was often at the back, but was always involved and made to feel
welcome. Ian was always supportive, telling me politely to “put in some effort”,
my usual response being “I’M DYING”. Rob McTaggart, was also very supportive while
I was there. He is an incredible athlete, today he was 43rd. It was
nice to catch up with them and grab a pic. I’ll never forget the support they
showed me in both racing and training.
As for this competition? Bring
back Aldershot, all is very much forgiven.