I have had quite a nasty cold for the latter part of this week. Not enough to lay me low, but enough to make me tired and miserable and feel a bit sorry for myself.
This was doubly annoying as today was to be my first proper running race and I was worried that I might not be able to take part (and would look like I was crying off with a spurious excuse).
The race was 10K, essentially three times round Victoria Park in East London.
I had to get up at around eight and couldn't work out how I felt. I was certainly coughing and light-headed, but was that enough to stop me running? Would running make me worse or better?
I had also been sleeping fitfully and dreaming about the race all night. In my dreams I had turned up late and was trying to run to the starting line, but all the other runners had started the race and were in my way. Then when I finally got going my legs wouldn't work properly and I was having to use one foot and one knee to propel myself forwards. I feel this will be the first of many such anxiety dreams.
I decided that I would go along and attempt the race. After all if I had to drop out that was not a problem. No-one was sponsoring me for this race and it is merely the first step on the ladder to the big one. So if it became painful or impossible or I found myself running on one foot and one knee then I could always stop and no harm would be done (except to my pride).
I walked to the park from the tube station and it seemed very big. I was getting quite nervous about the race. I had a friend running in it too and another watching and I realised that it would be humiliating if my dream came true and I couldn't even do the first hundred metres. When I had filled in the form for the race I had had no idea how loing 10K would take me and had tentatively suggested 1hr 20. Subsequently I realised that this would be an incredibly poor time. Anything over an hour would be a bit rubbish. If I had been fit and well I would have hoped to come in under 50 minutes. Tony who has run a marathon before and done a few races was hoping to get round in 45 minutes.
As it turned out although it wasn't pleasant running with a cold it didn't hold me back too much. We set off at quite a pace. Inevitably having other people around you makes you run faster than you would when you were alone. At the 1K mark I took my first ever cup of water from one of those people who stands giving them out. Tony had warned me that the natural inclination is to gulp it on the run and you end up choking, so I sipped carefully, but still managed to spill most of it. I had done the first kilometre in 4.50. If I kept that up I was on course for an under 50 minute run. I knew I wouldn't keep it up though, but was at least confident that barring death or accident or illness I would not be taking over an hour.
Things did get a little gruelling at time, but by the time I had done 5K I knew that I was going to finish. As I had guessed every time I passed a little throng of cheering spectators I would pick up my stride a bit, usually to regret it around the next corner.
As I completed my second lap in around about 36 minutes the man who was coming in third was just finishing. I was quite pleased that I had only been lapped by two people, but realised I had to push things a bit if I wanted to finish in under 50.
When it got to the last 1500 metres I decided to pick up the pace a bit. This was much harder than I expected and I don't know if I felt so lousy because of the cold or because I'd already run over five miles. I decided to try and come in as high a position as possible, so every few strides became a race against whoever was near to me.
With a burst of speed I overtook the bloke in front of me, but the exertion took a lot out of me. "Fuck" I exclaimed, almost instinctively. The man I was passing laughed at this.
But for that last kilometre I was stricken by a strange form of Tourette's Syndrome. Every few metres I would find myself cursing and shouting at myself. It made the people I was passing laugh, but the first bloke who had found it amusing was keeping pace with me and I think he must have thought I was a bit odd by now.
I had accidentally stopped my stopwatch so didn't know how much time I had taken, so I really wanted to push myself to get the best time possible. But my body was resisting and my mouth was swearing. "C'mon" I said to myself out loud, "C'mon!!"
On the last stretch there were two women ahead of me and my macho pride dictated that I couldn't be beaten by a woman (even though I had clearly been beaten by many). I overtook them in the last twenty metres and then felt someone else advancing on me at a pace from behind. I didn't want to lose my place and with the cheering crowds and my friends offering encouragement I sprinted the last few steps and maintained my ranking (I am hoping I came in above my race number which was 450, but I'm guessing that I won't have been far ahead of that)
My time was 51.36, which I am very pleased with. It would have been nice to get in under 50, but beating the hour was the main challenge.
I was a bit dazed for quite a while after and didn't have the expected sense of triumph. I didn't really feel anything much, except that running another 20 miles on top of that would be difficult.
All in all though it is very encouraging. It's six and a bit miles in 50 minutes with a cold. The support was very helpful, so I hope that if you sponsor me (or even if you don't) that you will come down to watch the London Marathon and shout at me as I pass. Even if, like the little boy who was standing at track side at about 3Km, you shout "Hurry up, you lazy people!"
Oh and I forgot to say. I saw my first two 118 men. They were hilarious! I am sure that they will be the only ones to come up with this brilliant idea though. I've got their number! Ha ha ha.
