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.
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| 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.
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
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| 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 18th out of 55.
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| 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...
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