2015 Surrey Road Relays

Ah the Surrey Road Relays, a staple of the County fixture calendar and an ever popular competition for local clubs.

This would be my fifth outing at these Champs having been oddly absent in recent years due to being too busy being lapped in a steeplechase race (BAL Qualifier circa 2012) and falling flat on my face over hurdles (BAL Qualifier circa 2013). Twelve months ago, I spent approximately £200 in total to run in the Great North Run purely for bucket list purposes. As a result, I missed out on seeing my club’s men get a medal for the first time in yonks (technical term). Sitting at Newcastle Central station on an empty platform, the very much welcomed texts started arriving telling me what they’d achieved. I punched the air in a Henman-esque manner...hopefully no-one saw. As I sat there exhausted, alone and my wallet considerably lighter after the festivities...frankly I knew where I’d rather be.

Fast forward a year then and there I was standing on the start-line ready to begin the fourth leg. The B team in which I was a part of was safely in the middle of the pack. I glanced over to my right to see a Collingwood Master limbering up with his incoming runner was coming in at the same time as mine. I wish him luck. I can’t think of a time when I’ve beaten him (turns out its nine nil on head to heads to him...in 17 and a half minutes time it would be ten). My teammate tags me...and I’m off...

I find relays incredibly hard to judge. The combination of a rush of blood from the tag and a few cheers from the supporters can often be enough for me to overcook it significantly in the opening kilometre.  I can’t decide whether this is better or worse than the alternative I can often implement which is to trot off very gently and let everyone within striking distance swarm past me with gusto. So somewhere in the middle of these two extremes would hopefully be the target. 

500m gone, out of the park and onto the main road and the Collingwood chap was already rapidly disappearing. With no-one behind that I could hear, this could be a very lonely run indeed. Luckily for me, there were a few backmarkers on a previous leg to target ahead of me who were nicely spread out as we approached the tennis courts. I certainly know how they feel, that’ll be me at Aldershot in two weeks time...

Then of course came THAT hill. The infamous hill, which although not the most challenging you’ll ever face,  is still discussed in hushed tones and at great length by everyone involved both before and after the event. Needless to say that despite it not being the most difficult of hills to the top guys in the field...it always without fail most definitely conquers me. Running up said beastie is very much like having a hangover without the fun part of actually drinking. Once having dragged myself to the summit, it is like the morning after a night out...being falsely lured into thinking that all is well. But a few footsteps later and the knees begin to buckle, the dizzy spell returns and I mostly want to be ill at the nearest convenient spot. Today was no different.

Mercifully a downhill followed which gave me just enough time to see the Collingwood runner in front disappear for good into the distance. I was alone. Into the park I went (roughly halfway) and the legs are gone....the breathing already close to bursting....a good look this was not. A few more backmarkers reeled in, anything to keep going at this point as the stadium comes into view. Its a shame its 2 long left hand turns away and not as the crows flies diagonally across the field which would put me out of my misery.

And then something odd happened. All the marshals begin raucously cheering as I ran past.  Clearly they were bowled over by the slow tortuous way I was struggling past the 3rd leggers. And then the winning women's team flew past me. When I say flew, I mean ferociously sprinted past like I was standing still. Imagine in Mario Kart using the mushroom (not of the magic variety) to overtake your opponent, it was very much like this, which is apt because I felt like that I was on banana skins. Said runner would run 15:50 nearly 3 minutes faster than my best around this course.

600m to go and the last turn for the long run to home. No one in front to catch, the fastest lady was long gone. No one behind to try and keep at bay, that was until the 2nd women's team who I hadn't seen glided past me. Like a silent assassin, the runner floated along without seemingly breaking sweat. I had no answer. I was spent, gone, cream crackered and any other phrase which successfully describes treading on water.

Into the stadium, 300m to go. The arms flapped, the legs were spinning furiously, but there was no change of pace, just one painful slog for home. I sprinted for the line, tagged my partner and promptly collapsed. The agony.

To my surprise, the time for the 4.6km course was 18:19, a course best by 15 seconds...I guess that would be why it hurt then. It would rank me 181st out of 450 odd. Not bad in the grand scheme of things. My team were 22nd. Nice to be in the middle of the pack at events like this, and I'll have to enjoy it for all it's worth now...after all...it won't be like this at Aldershot...