Run Review: The Great North Run 15/9/2013

Here's one I prepared earlier. I took this shot a few years ago in Hull, but the Red Arrows fly over the start of the GNR each year

It's a big race, you might have heard of it

Sunday the 15th of September 2013 brought with it Britain's largest race and the second largest half marathon in the world; The Great North Run. Starting in Newcastle Upon Tyne and finishing in South Shields, the iconic GNR is now in its 33rd year since the inaugural event in 1981 when 12,000 runners took part. This year, close to 41,000 people crossed the finishing line after David Weir won the wheelchair event for the 5th time, Mo Farah had been out-sprinted by Kenenisa Bekele down the final straight and Priscah Jeptoo had lolloped through the tape with her painful looking gait. In a wonderful performance, Haile Gebreselassie broke the world record for the over 40s.

Sometime later, I crossed the line too. Mo Farah, was not looking over his shoulder worrying about me.

Last year the GNR was my first ever half marathon and, at the time, represented the furthest I had ever run by 2 clear miles. Before the event I had been very worried that I might not make it to the end still running, the only thing that allayed my fears was knowing that I had walked much further than 13 miles on many occasions, so if the worst happened I could get there. In the actual event, the amazing north east crowd carried me along so well I surpassed all my expectations and finished in a shade under 1 hour 35. Since then I have only completed one other half marathon in a much slower time as it was my first event after a major face-planting injury. I was forced to not start the other two halves I entered due to injury and illness. I was beginning to think my half marathons were cursed. Thus the GNR this year would be only my third ever half marathon.

Dear Runner, go f**k yourself, yours unfaithfully, the GNR

This year's GNR didn't start well for me when I discovered that they had managed to send my number to the wrong address. Apparently, there is a ten week cut off before the race to tell them of a change of details. This seems a phenomenally long time. A decent printers would be able to knock out 54,000 race numbers in a day or two. But anyway, this was irrelevant as I had told them way before the cut off. When they sent out an email asking entrants to check that their details were correct as the numbers were being printed soon, I went on line to check that I had already changed my address; I had. Informing the GNR via email of this did no good at all. In each intervening 3 day period it took them to answer my emails a different person would answer and would not accept their mistake, telling me I would need to pick up a new number on the day. Considering this is their mistake, not mine, I consider this particularly poor customer service. I told them to "intercourse away" in no uncertain terms.

Further North

Last year I had stumbled on a pretty good way of dealing with the logistical problems of the GNR. The route is linear, so if you go alone you need transport to or from the finish, so I organised a lift instead. I was dropped off just south of the Tyne, out of nose-shot of the bacardi breezers and avoiding all the traffic. I walked across the rail bridge and through the centre to the start of the race. This was about a 20 minute walk, a nice little warm up. I decided to do this again as it worked well last year. The only problem with this is you are left, at least an hour before the race, with only what you will carry on the run and I don't carry anything when I run. Should anything go wrong, I would have to mug someone for a mobile phone. As I walked across the highly exposed bridge, the north-east wind attempted to slice my legs in three and I began to wonder about the wisdom of my choice, so I decided to run for a little bit to warm up!

The Regular Toilet Section

Just because the GNR is the biggest race in the UK doesn't, of course, mean they will provide adequate toilets. The main toilets are in a car park close to the start line. The queue for these toilets starts somewhere near the Guatemalan village of Panajachel in South America. If I had entered the queue where it passed my house in Leeds I would reach the front around Christmas 2042. Luckily, I had found something slightly better last year. At an intersection of roads, where the crowds of people seem to meet from every direction there is a small bank of 12 or so toilets. For some reason the queues here are shorter. Last year it had taken about 20 minutes to use one and this year was similar. Result! Hundreds and hundreds of other people didn't know this and queued up at the main toilets, some dying of old age while they waited.
As usual, I got chatting to someone in the queue. Turns out he was running his 14th and last GNR. Travelling from Coventry(!) and staying in a hotel was costing £500 each time. Something must have kept him coming back each year, but he had now decided the expense was enough. I knew the feeling.

The Start: High-Five A Celebrity (If you spot one)

At the start of the race the runners are cordoned off according to expected race time and this is enforced completely. Unfortunately, each runner puts in their own expected time when signing up, so there is nothing to stop you lying like a  politician filling in his expenses sheet to gain a spot further forward than your real time would allow. 

As I made my way towards the front of my cordon I passed a row of- sorry about this- not very fit looking women pushing a row of wheelchairs, lined up side by side. IN THE FASTEST CORDON.

I honestly couldn't believe this. 40000 finishers and even if I am being generous....20000 of them would need to get past this rolling road block. The danger this represents to the runners passing them was pretty substantial, not to mention the people in the wheelchairs! Major pile ups have been caused at large races before by people picking up dropped MP3 players etc; I am VERY glad I moved past this potential disaster. 

I got as far to the front as I could until the crowd was too dense. Judging by the amount of people in front of me, I was probably in the right place. Last year I had missed out on high-fiving Mo Farah, so this year I was keeping a look out for the celebrity hand-slappers, Graham Swann (A favourite cricketer of mine) and Christine Ohuruogu.

I missed them again.Turns out they were on the left side of the dual carriageway.

Heavy rain had been forecast for days before the race, so standing waiting to start wearing a £3.50 charity shop fleece, I was really hoping the rain would hold off, so I didn't have to find out exactly how much water it would hold. Thankfully it would be around mile 8 before the rain set in.

A couple of minutes before the off and we were walked forward towards the starting line. I took off the fleece and attempted to throw it in to the central reservation. In a totally girly moment my throw went horribly awry; the fleece opened up like a parachute and hit another runner in the face like the alien on John Hurt.
Sorry!

Last year the GNR had been my first experience of a really big, well supported race and I think this had tinged my memories somewhat as I had remembered that there were lots of supporters along the whole course or perhaps what had happened is that the promise of heavy rain this year quelled the crowds a little, but  I noticed plenty of blank spots. That said, as we got further into the city centre the crowds appeared thick and loud. Every possible vantage point was taken. People hung off the bridges and the slip roads making a fantastic noise. I defy anyone not to have goose pimples when you experience this for the first time. A smile spread across my face and I felt like a real athlete, like an Olympian. What a feeling!

Into the famous tunnel and the cries of "Oggy, oggy, oggy... OY, OY, OY" rang out.

I saw the 2 mile marker about 3 minutes after we set off. Not really, but that's what it felt like. The start had seemed much more of a scrum than last year and I found myself jumping around many, many selfish, ignorant runners who were clearly a lot further forward than their running speed suggested they should be. I really cannot understand why people don't notice just what *rseholes they're being when they push to the front of a race when they are slow runners. To lose a potential PB after months of training because some arsehole lied to get close to the front must be hugely frustrating. But anyway, the crowd carried me and the first 2 miles were gone in a flash.

Marathon photos have put their prices up so here's a picture of a birthday card I got instead

The first part of the course is downhill, so as ever, I took advantage of some free speed, covering the first 3k in 3:55, 3:48 and 3:49, the crowd helping immensely as we crossed the famous Tyne bridge. After the bridge the course itself is, well...very, very boring. I'd like to cover the highlights, but there really aren't any. It's a long, straightish road through, what seems like, endless industrial areas, until you hit South Shields seafront 10 or so miles later.
Of course, this is where the amazing north east crowd comes into its own. Constant cheers, small children holding out their hands for a low five, the kindness of strangers holding out orange segments and jelly babies and of course, the bands!!!! The bands are truly fantastic. Each time I came upon one my chest swelled and I suddenly found myself running much faster. It's amazing just how much a steel band playing pop songs can affect me.
The charity buses are also good for a laugh and a boost too. I was lucky enough to pass the Oxfam bus as someone in an Oxfam shirt passed it and let me tell you.....They went BAT-CRAP CRAZY. Serious kudos to the people on board as they were making a brilliant effort! The runner in the Oxfam shirt was visibly moved and pleased.

But back to my race, said the narcissist. 

I had settled down in to a good and comfortable pace which, to my total amazement was under 4 minutes per k- sub 40 minute 10k pace (My brain always converts everything into 10k pace as that's the distance I do most and was the first races I took part in) I worried for a second that this was too fast, that I would blow up before the end, but I listened to my body and it was uncomplaining. Well, best not give it reason to complain then! Carry on McDuff...

As ever, the race now became a mental and physical challenge to maintain my pace. Even though the race was still young, I resolved to keep the pace under 4 minutes a kilometre and as the course gently climbed and descended the hills, the bands passed by, time ticked away and each time I looked at my watch, it showed a 3:59 average. I wiled away the miles trying to calculate what a 3:59 average would mean as a finishing time.

And then the rain

It started slowly, but before long it became a downpour and within seconds I was drenched. It was at that moment a funny train of thought got on my track and blew its horn.
At mile 8 my pace hadn't dropped and I felt good, but the God of the GNR was trying to stop me, He was throwing rain and wind at me, but it wasn't going to be enough. I began to smile. I rounded yet another roundabout and really began to enjoy it.
I put my face up to the sky, closed my eyes and held my hands down and out to the side, breathing in the awful weather and loving every minute. I must have looked ridiculous but it drew a cheer from the crowd.
The God of the GNR changed tack....One of the bands was playing "Everybody wants to run the world" I decided to sing it in my head as a motivational aid. I tried in vain to think of the first line, but the GNR God kept putting the first line of Go West's "Don't look down" into my head. A great song and perfect for distraction. In your face GNR God!!

At about 10 miles I glanced at my watch and I had dropped to 4 minutes per k. Oh HELL NO!! I put down the hammer and speeded up. (Re- the hammer- for these purposes, you need to remember Andy Dufresne's rock hammer in the Shawshank redemption- tiny and worn down to the nub) For the first time ever mid-race, I found that I was able to accelerate and the next time I looked, I saw 3:58. I tried not to think about it too much, because if I did, I felt I would break the spell and suddenly I would see the reality, that in fact, I was running 5 minutes per k...

Last year I had hungrily grabbed a slice of orange from a stranger as I had reached about 11 miles, and it was one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten, such is the my mind works entering the final stages of a race. But this year, as I ate up the miles, I daren't slow down. I was desperately trying to do race-maths as I ran. My brain told me I could break 1:20. This wasn't true. It was never true, but as I got closer to South Shields, I managed to work out that I was close to 1:25, although my brain informed me that I would break that easily. Stupid brain.

Just before you reach the final straight along the front, there is a steep downhill section of tarmac. Once again my brain was fooling me; last year I had been terrified as I flew down it, worried that at any minute my trainers would lose purchase and I'd land heavily, shattering my coccyx. In reality, the section really wasn't that steep and there was absolutely no danger of slipping. At the top of this slope a group of guys that had been running close to me began to gee each other up with some shouts. "Come on!! we're flying!!"
Sad as it is to admit it, I love this sort of thing at the end of a race. I joined in, "COME ONNNNNN!!!" The crowd responded through the falling rain with a huge cheer. I felt spurred on again.

I bit the bullet and bought the photos

The last mile is a sprint along the flat seafront to the finish: expend any remaining energy you have. The rain was falling, but the crowd was thick along the course, cheering us on.
"COME OOOOOOON!!!" Once again there was a big cheer from the crowd. I glanced at my watch: 1:23. That sub 1:25 was definitely on.
By now everyone around me was hitting it as hard as they could. At this point the crowd is crucial and they don't come better than at the GNR.
The countdown signs seemed to take forever. 800m......600m......400m.......
At 200m I looked at my watch, it said 1:24. SH*T.  Before the race I would have been happy with anything under my 1:34 PB, but it had all changed during the race. I was amazed with the pace I had run; but sub 1:25 was on and I wanted it bad.

I gave it everything I could in those last two hundred metres and crossed the line. I stopped my watch and looked down. 1:25 had passed.

"B*LLOCKS!!"

This drew a loud laugh from the various marshalls and people around and it was made even funnier by the runner next to me celebrating wildly having achieved pretty much exactly the same time as me. Such is the different perspectives of individual runners. He turned to me, "Were you the guy doing the war cries?" I had to sheepishly admit I was. He looked at me, "Mate, those were amazing! Every time you shouted my chest swelled and I powered on. You got me that 1:25 time" I have to admit, that was my favourite bit of the race. To know I had helped another runner to a time he was really pleased with was brilliant.

I walked through the giant finishing area, telling myself that I HAD to be happy with that time, that if you'd offered me it before the race I would have snatched your arm off. Now time has gone by, I am really very pleased. Incredibly, I finished 403rd out of 40721 finishers, a result beyond my wildest dreams!

The Summary:

Personally, I knocked 9 and a half minutes from my half marathon PB. I had only ever run 2 sub- 40 minute 10K's before, but on this day, I ran two of them, back-to-back. Nothing suggested that I would be able to do this. In retrospect, I'm ecstatic.
But from an objective point of view, the GNR is the most expensive road race, mile for mile, that I know of. I don't think there are any more expensive in the UK. The customer service is pretty much zero, because let's face it, they don't have to try too hard at all. Sad really. The course is very boring apart from the first and last miles, the only thing that makes this race worth doing is the amazing north east crowd. And they shouldn't be underestimated. Other than being an elite athlete or the London Marathon (So I am told) this is as close as you are going to feel, in the UK, to being a professional.
The t-shirt is cheap and cotton and very annoyingly, it has a major manufacturers name on the front, but is anything but one of their products. For £56 I expect a tech material shirt from a name manufacturer. The medal is cheap looking and a bit tinny in my opinion. It really isn't good enough. The GNR is now feted as being all about charity, which of course, it isn't. People raise millions for charity doing the race, but a large corporation makes a lot of money from this race,  and I am thoroughly disappointed that the race's original organiser has sold it out in this way whilst still remaining involved.
As races go, I would say this is terrible value for money. It's worth doing once, for the crowds and nothing else, but don't be gullible enough to go back for a second time as I did, stick to just the once.

Race Review: The Wetherby 10k 8/9/2013

Apologies to the people that have commented on my blog that I have only just replied to. Google have a major problem where using certain blog templates mean that comments are hidden! This is why I have reverted to an old-style blog; so I can see the damn comments!

You can also tweet me: @scott_leach

Last year's mug; something I have often been called

A Cracking Little Yorkshire Run

Last year, after I had got over the disappointment of finding out this race wasn't actually run on Coronation Street, (apparently that's Wetherfield) I thoroughly enjoyed the Wetherby 10k put on by the Wetherby Runners AC and so decided I would enter again this year despite a choice of several races. The route is an undulating mixture of good, solid trails and road, setting out and finishing at the racecourse. The atmosphere is friendly and welcoming and it was one of my favourite races on last year's calendar. Seriously, who wouldn't want to get their hands on the beautiful and ma-hoo-sive Wetherby 10k mug that all finishers receive?! It's been used almost daily ever since I got mine last year. I plan to defend myself against burglars with it should one ever break in while I am home as I'm pretty sure it could easily fracture a skull.

The 2012 event had been run on one of the hottest days of the year and the heat had taken its toll on the runners, slowing the field down considerably. I had been just about holding 40 minute pace last year when mammaries went skyward at about 7k and I finished in over 43 minutes. Last year, my time placed me 94th, this year that same time would have moved me down over 40 places.
When Sunday dawned; slightly chilly and overcast at times, it felt like a great improvement on last year's soaring temperatures. Unusually though, this race starts at 2pm and by then it had warmed up a bit to 17C, perfect race weather and no chance of ending up a sodden puddle on the A1 from either sweat or rain.

I think they deliberately made it in the shape of a saddle...

Thinking about the race in advance it was difficult to gauge what time I was likely to do. I inconveniently forgot that I had run the twisty, turny, undulating, York 10k which is fairly comparable to this race in many ways, in just over 40 minutes only a few weeks ago. Consequently my brain told me I had no idea of whether I would get near 40 minutes on a predominantly trail race. As ever, I planned to gauge how I felt as I started running.

Race Day:

Enjoying a rare sleep in on a race day, I followed it with a leisurely breakfast of fresh ground coffee, bircher muesli (oats soaked in apple juice, greek yoghurt, grated apple, squirt of honey, banana and pecan nuts) and drove the short distance over to Wetherby. The racecourse is used to handling far more people than 1000 runners and friends so parking is very easy and as close to the start as any race I've ever done. Rebecca and I arrived in good time with around 45 minutes to the race and remembering last year's toilet situation, made use of the ample bushes around the car park instead. The excitement of race day had started to kick in as I drove there which I was pleased about; a bit of adrenaline can only help you on race day.  Numbers had been sent out in the post, but the race chip needed to be picked up at race HQ and there was no queue for this at all.

The race "village" was a bit larger than last year with a bouncy castle and a few stalls. The atmosphere felt like that of a small village carnival.

So I will have my usual quick grumble; it's my only one about this otherwise fantastically well organised race. And you've guessed it: the toilets. Last year the start had to be delayed due to queues at the loos and sadly that situation hadn't been rectified this year. I think there were 8 portaloos for over 800 runners and the many spectators; less than 1 toilet per 100 people. I guess I must be missing something because this happens at every single race I do. Maybe portaloos are really difficult to book? Perhaps they are incredibly expensive? Maybe someone who knows can let me in on the secret?

Ok, enough of that as I really have nothing else bad to say about this wonderful little race.

My quads have been feeling like planks of wood recently and I made sure I warmed them up with a short run and felt them loosen off nicely. Off we went to the start. I left Rebecca a little further back and made my way to the front. The atmosphere was jovial as the MC made friendly banter in between announcements,"Don't step on the timing mats; you will be electrocuted!"
I resisted the urge to step on them and pretend to be electrocuted. Mainly because I knew it might activate my chip and wreck my race timing.

Standing on the line I reflected on the fact that I had broken rule 1 of race day preparation: Never use anything new on race day.
And yet, there I was, wearing trainers bought only one day before and sunglasses I had never run in. I began to worry that the God of running would smite me with a thunderbolt for this terrible sin. I justified my decision of course; I had run 5k in the trainers yesterday and they felt great, My old sunglasses didn't fit me well and would sit on my forehead which would then cover them in sweat. The new ones had an adjustable nose grip. If worst came to the worst I could run with them in my hand. Anyway, it was only 10k, what could possibly go wrong in 40 minutes?

Nike Flex 2012, £45 from the Nike shop at Junction 32, Castleford, since you didn't ask.

HONK! And they're off!

The inflatable race arch stayed up this year (shame, it was hilarious when it collapsed last year) and on the sound of the horn, off we went. The start of the course is downhill along the road into the racecourse. As usual I used the downhill for some free speed and covered the 1st k in only 3:39. The road became track and I settled in to a comfortable pace. Then it became a physical and mental battle to hold that pace. The first few kilometres passed and my pace remained steady at 3:50. I was on for sub 39 minutes. The bridge over the A1 passed for the first time and I managed to maintain my speed across it. At 5k, the traditional(!?) bagpiper welcomed us and I grabbed a cup of water to wet my dry mouth. I glanced at my watch and realised I had broken my 5k PB.

At 6k I began to feel good. My pace quickened and I started to chase down  runners. In front of me was a Knavesmire Harrier who I recognised from other races and someone shouted out encouragement to her calling her Emma. As it turns out she has been first woman home in many local races and in fact had finished first woman at this very race last year. I didn't expect to catch her, but I started to inch closer with every step. It must have taken at least a couple of k, but I eventually caught her. Later I found out she finished a minute behind her time from last year despite the better weather conditions, so I can only assume that illness or injury have curtailed her training lately. Still it was pretty satisfying to 'beat' her. She even genuinely looked pleased when I passed her after the race and said it was the first time I'd ever beaten her. Perhaps it was just a reflex smile or maybe she felt happy that a man would be very pleased to beat her.

People think I'm mad, but my unicorn disagrees

At this point in the race I was expecting the usual debate with myself. Would Good Scott (GS) or Bad Scott (BS) turn up. I really didn't want to have to put up with too much BS on this run. GS had been in my ear all the way up until now. Not exactly confidently, but quietly keeping me going. BS was still trying to wrestle her gag off in the corner.
We came down off the A1 again and soon the worst part of the race arrived. A short sharp sprint up and down a small hill with a 180 degree turn at the top. GS began to shout at me, telling me to keep it going, push hard, don't let it slip now with only a mile and a bit to go. GS punched BS in the face and she slumped to the ground. (I'd like to point out that domestic violence is only acceptable inside my own brain between the imaginary folk in there and nowhere else!)

I could see the race course now and it still looked a depressingly long way away, but the track through the trees was there before I knew it, signalling the final stretch before turning on to the racecourse road for the sprint to the end. GS was doing all he could to keep me going. BS suddenly tore off her gag and informed me that I could walk it in under 40 from here, which was a terrible lie! Luckily GS drowned her out and I managed to put in a final spurt. The track turned sharply left up a steep, short incline and a sign informed me there was 400m to the finish. The young guy next to me that I had been trading places with sprinted away from me like a young gazelle. I went as hard as I could, but there wasn't much left. Glancing down at my watch I saw I had 30 seconds left to reach the finish and go under 39 minutes. I had no idea if that was possible, but every second I saved now was another off my PB.

Crossing the line, it was all I could do to keep up-right and once again, I forgot to turn off my GPS meaning I wasn't sure what time I had finished in. I would have an agonising wait to find out my time when the official results came through. My lungs burned as I forced my legs to walk around the finishing funnel. I bumped in to the race director and we said hello as we have talked on facebook before. He took a picture of my GPS watch and congratulated me on my time which was 4 and a half minutes quicker than last year.
Rounding the corner I picked up my trophy: A second Wetherby 10k mug, my favourite race souvenir of this, or any, year. I held it above my head like the FA cup and did fake cheer sounds, much to the amusement of the lady handing them out. I really wish other races would take a leaf out of this book and give out usable race souvenirs instead of ugly/garish t-shirts that end up stuffed and neglected in a drawer before ending up in a charity bin.
The goody bag was as good as any I have ever got and included a banana and a bottle of water. One of the many lovely touches from this race, and new for this year, was a small flannel tucked in to the mug. Brilliant!

I jogged off to the car and back dabbing my brow with the new flannel and waited for Rebecca with my cheap compact camera after deciding not to take my pro camera to the race. In she came finishing strongly with a chip time just under 52 minutes, her fastest time for a while.

After the race, leaving the racecourse was easy although we chose to forego the discounted fish and chips for competitors at the local chip shop.
Back at my house we wasted no time in in using our winnings.

Later that evening I learned that I had finished in 41st position out of 765 finishers in the race but had failed to break the 39 minute barrier coming in at 39:07, a PB by 20 seconds. I had also shaved 8 seconds off my 5k PB in the process! I had to be pleased, on a difficult course I had run only my second ever sub 40 time. So for the first time this year I had run " A good time" not "Good, with all things considered" I doubt I could have gone any quicker on the day than I did.

So will I be back again next year? Of course! I have to keep collecting those mugs! A Cracking Little Yorkshire Run? Aye lad, tha's reet about that.

The mug remained virginal at this point. The cup, not me. No fake tan was used in the making of this photo, honest!!