OTHER RACES

20 Jan 2018

BibNo: 277

Time: 113:23

Place: 232

RESULT

I was naïve. Encouraged by the fact that tickets to this sold out within 9 hours of going on sale, I assumed that this must be a great, great thing. So when one became available on the secondary market, I lifted it, quick.

I knew nothing about the race. I’d cycled up Box Hill in the Pru100 before, so didn’t think that doing the same by the sole of my foot, would present too much trouble. I didn’t even know what a fell was.

And so it came to be that on this day, in sheets of rain, I stood alongside my fellow runners on a muddy footpath waiting for the English eccentric in front of us, to call ‘on your marks’.

Early indications were not good. From a cursory glance around me, it would seem I was the only person not in trail shoes. An unnecessary expense I thought. “How much difference can it make?” I thought.

Quite a lot, it turns out. Particularly in cases of biblical rain.

Without any more time to be any more pensive, we were off. And I immediately learnt how to combine skating with dancing – around puddles and through sinking mud in the driving rain, before meeting the first mountain they used the euphemism ‘hill’ for, in the description. Through sheer will – and a genuine concern that any respite would leave me trampled by the thundering herd behind me, I pelted like prey chased by predators to the summit. Straight off the bat, I’d had enough of it. I was about 500m in.

Through a miracle of footwork – or perhaps just a miracle, I had managed to stay upright and not be taken out by the mud-ski surface. Though this was to change in the descent that immediately followed. I got only a quarter of the way down before the combination of wet grass, mud and wholly inappropriate footwear conspired to swing my legs out from under me and launch me into an incredible ass-toboggan that took me about another 10 meters down. Likely faster than I could have run. Hm.. probably why it’s called a fell race, then. This happened a couple more times – providing a frequency that meant it was no longer even embarrassing to me. Though both were also less spectacular than the first – a point proven by passing runners who would slap me on the back when running by, and congratulate me on my initial feet-first dive.

This was not the only hurdle. The rain, the mud and the hills are the detail to the orienteering task that this race also requires. Run by an enterprise called SLOW, this moniker stands for South London Orienteers. I did not know this. Nor do I know how to orienteer. Or where the W in their acronym comes from. Confident by this point that I was not going to make it to the front, I was happy to use the people ahead of me as a guide. Unfortunately, it soon transpired that those I was following were as skilled with maps as I was – and 2 miles off course, we had to turn and retrace our steps. My ability to keep running was entirely motivated by a desire to catch them, and kill them.

The end could not come too soon. I finished but felt no success. All senses overridden by cold and bruises.

I was not last – but only just. In a mildly pleasing statistic, I was 3 seconds off being exactly double the time of the winner, to complete.

15 May 2016

BibNo: 1007

Time: 45:26

Place: 1

RESULT

Modesty aside, I won.

With that out of the way, I’ll try and give you as unbiased a review as possible of the run itself.

About 600 people participate (given the nature of my placing, I may be rounding up, not down) and it’s a very broad church. A great race for runners of all ages and standards, those aged 11+ are able to choose either a 5 or 10km distance and those younger, can participate in a 1km run. So my godson and I were able to have our first head-to-head by the sole of our feet. I did not let him win.

The course itself is *tough*. In the rolling hills of Surrey, the course takes you through steep slopes that prove a challenge – in both directions – and is conducted almost entirely on narrow footpaths, making it important to start at the front, if you want to place.

It’s a beautiful little race and has a real village-fair feel about it. The local radio station is there, the Mayor wants to have a chat with all the winners. And it’s under an hour outside of London. There’s not that much more to say – it’s only 10k. But totally worth a Sunday morning.

10 April 2016

BibNo: 55

Time: 3:49:52

Place: 5

I’ll be honest going to North Korea wasn’t really about the marathon. But it was a great excuse. It’s also one of the best guises to enter the country under because it provides foreigners with the only opportunity they will experience, to travel through the city without a chaperone.

It’s also the only marathon I’ve ever run, where they ran out of water. Seriously. No effective adjective exists to describe what it’s like running towards a checkpoint, dehydrated as a raisin, to see the person 5 meters ahead of you snatch the solitary remaining water bottle from the table.

Starting in the Kim Il Sung Stadium, the run takes you on 4 laps around the capital city of Pyongyang which, while it might sound unimaginative, is an excellent route for a number of reasons. From a practical perspective, it’s flat and the predictability of the distance once you complete the first lap, allows you to pace yourself accordingly. It’s also North Korea. That fact never really escapes you and even when the sights become familiar from the second lap in, they don’t get any less special. The route is evidently designed to showcase the best of  Pyongyang’s culture and construction efforts and you pass a confetti of enormous edifices which – while evident vanity projects, remain indisputable feats of engineering that pay handsome testament to North Korea’s ability to get sht done, all on its own. Among them, The Kim Il Sung University (you’ll notice his name pops up quite a lot out there), The Friendship Tower and The Arch of Triumph (a blatant copy of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris – but 10 metres taller because.. North Korea). There’s plenty more but even with your 4x passing, it’s quite an onslaught of information to take in. There’s also handsome distraction from the crowds that line the route. Adults and children alike lean over the barriers to high-five runners, take selfies and – in the most wonderful charming cut-glass English accents, ask us our names and how are we? Wow. Wasn’t expecting that. So it stopped being a competitive race from the start as I became more enchanted with taking pictures of the people, the route and responding “very well indeed, thank you”, multiple times.

Mention too, can be made of the on-route facilities which – after discovering we had a micro-brewery in our hotel the night before – I was deeply grateful for. No more offensive than a standard portaloo, for those that prefer to know what to expect: expect the type that you stand astride, rather than settle on. As an aside, micro-breweries are an unexpected – but huge, burgeoning industry in North Korea and despite never considering myself a natural beer drinker, I really found favour in what they have to offer out there. Seriously. Worth it, just for the beer.

Back to the race: for those that elected for the 10km or half-marathon distance, you cross a line in the road at the end of your objective, and you’re done. For the full-marathon runners, your course completes in the May Day Stadium which – despite the fact that few international teams will ever compete here – is the largest stadium in the world. So delivering one of the most glorious moments I have ever experienced. My time was nothing to brag about, this has nothing to do with that. And everything to do with crossing the line, with a capacity crowd cheering. The closest I will ever come to feeling like an Olympian. Or rock star. No marathon I ever run again will finish in such an amazing fashion.. sincerely, I may struggle to subscribe to another one.

I came 5^th among the female foreigners – but truthfully, that statistic over-sells my talents. The trick here if you want to place highly without too much training or ability, is to compete as a foreigner, in a closed-border country.

19-20 July 2014 

BibNo: 172

Time: 23:27:42

Place: 504

RESULT

This did not go well.

An ultra that can be completed as a 50km or 100km race, I did not enter this one, to place. It was my intention to walk the first half with my aged-70-but-sprightly godparents and – after they completed their intended 50km – to then run alone, to complete the full 100km.

However a picnic at 50km, a bit (too much) wine – and a total lack of planning, meant that simply completing the thing, was a battle I barely won.

The race itself is pretty well organized. In just its second year, there were some 1,500 participants for a journey that takes you along the Ridgeway, the oldest path in Britain – so delivering a nice cultural-points lesson, to boot. And despite the rural backdrop, you never feel like a race-arranged sacrifice to nature. There are multiple water and snack stations on route – and plenty of portaloos, so you don’t have to make like Tarzan and either eat tree frogs or compost the fields.

It’s a beautiful route and you run/amble along a footpath that takes you through forests and fields of the North Wessex Downs. Meaning too of course, that there are some big climbs (total elevation 3,700ft) – and a lot of bugs. Pro tip: do not wear bright primary colours. Yah, might save your life if you get lost, but the bugs will leave you covered in welts. Make your choices.

Starting at 8am, we completed the first 50km in 10 hours and settled into a well-earnt picnic. From where, after a decent clip of sandwiches and Sancerre, I started back up at about 7pm. With a slightly higher ABV than I’d planned but still perfectly capable of running.

The following hour was great – really enjoyable. I had a good pace and was still enjoying my surroundings as the sun started to set. At which point I pulled out my headtorch and discovered that not checking the battery beforehand, had been a gross oversight. Running basically blind was not an attractive option and I was soon reduced to walking along the path alone, until I met up with 2 other women at the next checkpoint. This meant at least, that I was no longer a solitary walking target. Rather now a part of a musketeer bounty of 3, for any predator nearby. Strangely comforting.

However, this peace of mind did not last long. Even with headtorches, this is a narrow steep (downward) and rugged path that it would be foolhardy to run along, at night. So we resigned to walking.

After another 10 hours, things started to get tricky. I had expected to be running and finished well before this point. Meaning I had no pack, no jumper and no options. My bones were cold and I was miserable. The exertion of the day already, the bleakness of the night – and the rain that had started to attack, took its toll on all of us, and our unravelling ambitions soon became completely unhinged. One started crying – although this was the least of our problems, when the other started hallucinating. I don’t know if she spent too much time in the poppy fields or if this is something that happens under extreme stress and physical duress – but really. Just really.

Finishing was a blur I barely remember. Soaked to the skin and fighting an almighty fight to stave off the cusp-of-coma I felt through sleep deprivation, I crossed the line and phoned my godparents to let them know where the merry hell I’d been. Then despite being a vegetarian with Jewish suspicions about my earlier ancestors, I had a sausage. And then a roll with bacon.

If you run it, you’ll probably be happy enough with the stones at the destination. But I can’t really sugar-coat it: they’re just stones. And if it’s taken you over 23 hours to get there, it’s pretty anti-climatic. So don’t do it just for that.

16 November 2013

Day Race

BibNo: 6308

Time: 00:58:38

Place: 1101

RESULT

Night Race

BibNo: 13121

Time: 00:36:18

Place: 385

RESULT

This is a fun, fun race. So much so, that when I finished the Day Race, I tried to dry off (failed), had a couple of beers (success) and hung around for a further 2 hours, so that I could do it all again in the dark, when the Night Race started (another success).

Held by the masters of racing bonkers Rat Race – in partnership with the taskmasters at Men’s Health, my career in banking had already primed me for the gender split. Bring your own tampons and an open mind, and you’ll be fine.

To the race itself – think Tough Mudder, but with more crazy, and less electricity.

The distance alone, is only about 10km – but that’s a side-story to the urban obstacles that this is really all about. Among others, you will climb over 8ft+ walls; through skips filled with muddy water colder than you thought physics made possible, and (my favourite) through the rear windscreen of a car, to scramble over the seats, and out of the front windscreen, onto the hood and back onto the ground.

It’s not about winning, it’s about finishing. Which I should mention will be discernably harder, if you are of a shorter stature. As someone shorter than most people aged over 11, this was a particular challenge. You must rely upon the goodwill and good spirit of the people ahead and behind you – and abandon any sensitivities about being manhandled from both directions in order to surmount the height hurdles. It was awesome.

There’s also an uncommon comradery among competitors because – because you’re not really competing at all. I’ll say it again: it’s less about a battle to beat the next man, and more about the challenge of completing. A refreshing ‘just for fun’ event. Just make sure you finish, that’s the punchline.

When you’re done, in a wonderful middle-class festival fashion, runner’s facilities are minimal (if you want to change your clothes – be ready to share the sight of your pale British body with everybody) – but there is a wealth of gastro treats on offer. Really, it’s like a Kenwood House concert without the grass and the harp. Artisanal beer, decent wine – and burgers where you know the name of the unlucky cow used to create it. All against a Battersea Power Station backdrop. Epic.

7 March 2010

BibNo: 8569

Time: 1:33:31

Place: 37

RESULT

What started as a bit of banking bravado with a counterparty, really only settled in mentally as a reality, when on the Eurostar over, the day before. So naturally I and my esteemed counterparts in this trade, decided that the best way to handle our lack of preparation and growing trepidation, would be a final supper of indulgence. This is important for later. 

The other thing to mention is that Paris this time of the year is cold. So, without mention of any stereotype behaviour, be ready too, to wait in your insufficient clothing for up to an hour after the scheduled start, for the start to occur. Not believing in stereotypes myself, is thus how I came to spend about that amount of time in only a strip of lycra, colder than I’ve ever felt before and triggering a brain freeze that meant I forgot all French. Fortunately my spirit animal must be one that’s rather good at survival as through a comical demonstration of communication-charades and a desire to stay alive until at least the start of the thing, I ended up convincing a Frenchman to let me hold him, to keep warm. 

To the race itself – it’s flat. But any further similarities to the London full marathon, end there. The indifference of the French (that makes me want them more than if I was wanted), is in full evidence. There are no crowds. There are no facilities. And, to the latter point – there are also no trees. This is a very urban-based race so if you’ve had a big night out the night before and need to use the bathroom, recognize that you will have a problem. One that presents itself early on, as a biological suggestion – that will later become an all-consuming demand that causes you to breathlessly rap on a civilian’s door and ask them in broken French to avail yourself of their bathroom. I have no more to say about that.

Facilities at the end of the race, are also rather thin on the ground so if you find yourself waiting for the rest of your crew to cross the line, make advance preparations for a recovery snack that extends beyond a carton of orange.

26 April 2009

BibNo: 49149

Time: 3:46:29

Place: 1101

RESULT

On no preparation and having never previously covered this distance, I was relying on my youth – and boundless optimism to get this done. Fortunately, unless you couple this with delusions of running grandeur and competitive stupid this, it turns out, is enough to suffice.

There are so many people there it feels like a running theatre and the encouragement of the crowd is quite unlike any I’ve experienced at any race elsewhere.

Every meter of the course is lined several people deep, with an omnipresent roar of support and offerings of generous assistance and supplies. Throughout, you will find many in the crowd leaning over barriers with trays of jelly babies and banana slices so, unless you have a particular attachment to the chemicals you get in energy gels, you don’t need to do this race with the Batman-belt of them, that is often seen. Less salubrious is the thoughtful-but-gross kindheartedness in Vaseline that is also in the offering. Seeing the runners ahead of me swipe great gobs of the jelly and apply it in motion to their nips and their nuts, is not something I was expecting to be seeing. I consider it my public duty to tell you this happens.

It’s a very flat course and – save for the bit where you must double-back on yourself coming out of Canary Wharf (which introduces a certain hamster-wheel futility to the journey) the combination of flat terrain and incredible crowd support, make it a very nice starter marathon.

Unfortunately my lasting memory of the day will forever be of the gift my other half granted me. Arriving with a John Lewis bag the size of me, I assumed (correctly) that this was his congratulatory philanthropy. However, my excitement in receipt failed to cause me to pause and reflect on gifts granted previously (a torch and a phone battery) before opening my new thing publicly. To reveal.. an undersheet. To this day I don’t know why but I’m sad that it became about questions of continence rather than celebration of running competence.