The SEAA Road Relays – The long and windy road

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 2^nd 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?”

“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 365^th…out of 380, one second slower than my teammate on 5^th 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 43^rd. 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. 

Sparrows Den Relays - Being Attentive...

Week two of the cross country season and another set of relays beckon in the form of the Will Bolton Memorial race at Sparrows Den. 

With the calendar so busy, it's great to see that the local open races like this one still survive and are well supported by the surrounding area's clubs. It's also great practice for the fast approaching South of England relays - which are in Bedford of all places.

This event immediately presented a problem for me in the form of our newly purchased gazebo, which seemed like such a good idea at the time of fundraising. I mostly have a hate relationship with our team tents. In the past, we've had a mini festival pop up version which is just about big enough to shelter a pair of spikes. Inevitably the tent meets its demise where is ceremonially lobbed into the nearest skip normally at the end of the season. 

National Cross-County 2015...

Or sometimes it doesn't even make the start-line. I infamously once tried to save the club money by purchasing one from a retailer that rhymes with Warts Pearled. Rather unfortunately, I had failed to notice a slogan on the side of it, which was deemed ill fit for purpose by the young athlete’s parents.

http://www.sportsdirect.com/gelert-quickpitch-2-pop-up-tent-783366?colcode=78336693

They had a point.

That tent is now in Calais.

Or how about the time in Sunderland after the National Cross in 2012, when I couldn't feel my feet, any of my face or indeed my hands. I nearly lobbed it into a nearby field after a meltdown, all the while egged on by colleagues David and Martin who were just as fed up as I was.... 

Tents to me then, are not like Clare Balding and her Olympic trolley…

This time, I'd parked in the wrong car park and had to lug the thing single-handedly about 400m. That could be fun at Parliament Hill...

This of course was quickly forgotten when it started raining and the team quickly took shelter.

"It's a nice tent this" said one of the kids, blissfully unaware of the effort it took to get it there.

After the young athletes relays, it was my turn to race, by which time I’d almost forgotten that I actually had to run. Sticking myself on last leg (slowest on last you see), my team were somewhere in the middle of the field. As my incoming runner approached, South London's John Foss (arguably one of the best Masters runners in the UK with medals to match) wished me luck. It is tradition for me to belt off at a pace I can't maintain and be quickly caught by Foss no matter what the distance we run. Perhaps with a head start I could just about hold on. 

400m in, it was clear no one in front of me would be coming back to me any time soon. They were quickly vanishing specs on the horizon. I glanced back to see John about 300m back. I'd have to cling on.

The course at West Wickham is short but tricky with two sharp hills which basically kill me off every time. Halfway through, the race also runs adjacent to a road where I failed my driving test on three occasions. This was apt as I was struggling to get out of 2nd gear (boom tish I'm here all week...).

Approaching the final field, to my complete shock I caught a Blackheath athlete down a narrow path. So narrow, I couldn't get past. I could feel a queue forming behind me. Into the final field I braced myself for being inevitably caught by the masses. Thankfully it was just one Tonbridge lady, proof that their conveyor belt of athletes is still very much functioning. I clung on for as long as I could, while overtaking the Blackheath guy but it wasn’t long before she got away. I ran past my car…400m to go then and still no sign of John - maybe I’d just hold on this time.

Kill me now...

The final stretch was a blur. I’d be interested to know what other athletes go through in the final stretches of races, mine tends to be a pained fog.

I crossed the line, a grand total of one second faster than last year. Not quite as disastrous as the Surrey Relays then. John followed in shortly after me having run significantly faster than I had mustered so really he was the real winner. The team were tucked away safely in the middle of the field in 18^th out of 55.

Not feeling treemendous

Right on cue on the heavens opened, and with us all being completely shattered, our final task of the day was to put away the flipping tent. It may well be the death of me. Thank goodness for Keith helping me to drag the beast to my car.

A small step in the right direction running-wise…now I’ve just got to get to Bedford...

The Surrey Road Relays - The struggle

This is my 12^th cross-country season with the club. The race which traditionally signifies its start, is the County Road Relays in this case the Surrey incarnation. I have a love-hate relationship with this course which runs adjacent to the Wimbledon tennis courts. I’ve made just about every mistake you could wish to on the five previous occasions I’ve run here. There’s the old chestnut of sprinting up the hill too quickly which is approximately 1K into the 5km course.  And then there’s the running too quickly down the hill faux pas, which is on the other side of the incline. I go to great lengths to warn any newcomers not follow in my footsteps.

Encouragingly however last year I, rather out of the blue, ran a course best of 18 minutes and 19 seconds on a 5K course which is probably 300m short. Hope indeed then, going into this time round.

Training in the build-up has been modest to say the least. Strava reveals very few weeks in excess of 20 miles a week this year. This ranks me just above a recreational jogger. Realistically I’ll have to try and sort this out if I’m ever going to improve this season, or at the very least do some quality interval sessions.

Today I was in the club’s B team. The weather was cloudy, the temperature was mild, it was essentially perfect running conditions.

After the remarkably straightforward task of sorting the teams out (everyone arrived on time and no drop outs….a team manager’s dream) I found myself in the packed changeover zone on the 2^nd leg. After 12 and a half minutes the first athletes charged onto the track for their final 300m spurt. Seeing these guys sprinting up close (having already done 4.4km) was a timely reminder as to just how good these guys are. If I quit my job and trained twice day six days a week, I’d bet that I still wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near them.

Pottering around pre-race

Pleasingly, third home was our A team runner Ben Savill, who is undoubtedly the most improved athlete I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. In 2010 I remember pacing Ben, then a teenager, through a scintillating 3,000m in ten minutes and 42 seconds. I trot this anecdote out every time I see him, and will continue to do so until the end of time. Just a few years later through his sheer hard work he is winning County medals. Quite incredible. On a side note, he is in the latest Strava advert.

My team’s first leg runner, Dan, would be in at a very solid 17:12, again a time well out of reach for myself. Within moments of tagging a women’s team flew past me. Good start.

From the outset I felt sluggish. A lack of training immediately took its toll. The female runners soon disappeared into the distance up the initial incline. Once at the top I was a goner…I was 1.5 kilometres into the 5km race.

Setting off...

It’s a horrendous feeling when you know there’s no gas in the tank so early in the race - every wobbly stride becomes a struggle. Every breath an absolute pain.

The downhill brought some rest-bite but it’s when you are back in the park that is the real killer of this course. I was a sitting duck and two teams shot past with ease. I was clinging on for dear life, before a few familiar marshals raised the spirits temporarily.

Mike Fleet, ever the legend, screamed some encouragement from his marshaling point. I wish I could work out what he said, everything was a blur.

Entering into the stadium with 300m to go I was in no man’s land. I was too adrift from challenging anyone in front of me but with no-one (mercifully) closing in on me.

One of our supporters shouted some encouragement from the stand. But it was no use. Everything had gone and when I crossed the line I was in a dire state. I managed to drag myself to the nearby railings where I sat for 10 minutes while concerned teammates kindly tried to cheer me up. That’s the great thing about this sport -the friendships and camaraderie are absolutely unrivaled.

On death's door.

Once recovered it was great to take in some of the other racing. Often I miss all of the action when it’s just a straight race because I'm so far back in the field. It was particularly nice to see Rob on my team do well. Having known him since he was a young athlete, it is great to see such progress.

The teams got stuck in. The A team were 7^th and mine was 16^th out of 22. When I first started doing this race nine (!!!) years ago some of us had to do double legs just get a team home. Now we had two teams and a masters and half a women’s team. Again, progress!

On a personal level a time of 18 minutes and 48 isn’t much too write home about. Half a minute down on last year’s effort and behind most my local ‘rivals’ if it is possible to have such things at my level. It’s also in the mid table mediocrity of my previous attempts on this course.

2015:18:19

2011:19:05

2010:18:41

2008:18:34

2007:20:47

But the disappointment will soon subside. If anything it’s a wake up call to pull my finger out and do some actual running. And some yoga. And some core. So you know….everything.

And it starts tomorrow with a long run…

Some of our B team. The camera takes off a foot don't you know...

Pics from Linda and Richard