Robin Hood Half Marathon 2005
Alun's Race Report
For some strange reason, every 2 years I get the urge to compete in the Robin Hood ½ marathon. Every time, I am unable to walk properly for a week afterwards and have to go down steps backwards. I then vow that next time I will train and do it properly.
This year ¼ of my training was completed during the race. A personal best.
Having consumed significant amounts of alcohol on the Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings before the race, I concluded that my preparation was complete and set off for Nottingham.
At the start I met up with the 2 people I was going to cross the start line with. We had the usual conversation, each trying to outdo each other with stories of absolutely no training – apparently Tom had spent the previous 2 months virtually tied to his desk and the only steps he’d taken had been either to the bar or to the pie shop. He had done one gentle trot of about 3 miles. Admittedly his rugby shorts, faded black t-shirt and worn out old trainers with bits falling off did add to his story. This being his first ½ marathon, I gave him the benefit of my vast experience and lectured him on the perils of going off too fast whilst vowing silently to drop him in the first mile.
At the gun (which was so loud I nearly had a coronary – the marines taking their job very seriously) we trotted off and immediately started weaving our way through the idiots who had lined up at the front with the Kenyan professionals and were aiming at finishing in about 4 hours. Passing the 1 mile mark in 7 minutes, I was feeling the after effects of 3 nights of heavy drinking, Tom however, was chatting amiably and inquiring if we’d started slowly enough and perhaps we should start running now. I thought to myself how enjoyable it would be to see that silly little grin wiped off his pace. I gritted my teeth and surged forward. The next mile was completed in 6:50 and by this time Tom was a mere speck in the distance – in front. A 6:40 mile followed and Tom was completely out of sight (and probably still chatting to some poor unfortunate). I then started to hang on for the finish, tongue hanging out and eyes rolled up somewhere very high. I went through 5 miles in 34:00 and contented myself that in a bit I’d be halfway (Tom probably was). On the climb up through Wollaton park a very nice gentleman started chatting to me, remarking that he hadn’t remembered the hill being quite so long and steep, I questioned his parentage and he retreated to the other side of the road. I then passed some very scantily clad ladies who were discussing their shopping (IKEA apparently does some nice food now) and sped off leaving them to their inane chatter.
After 9 miles, they came back past me, still chatting. At this point I was struggling to maintain a straight line and was using this tactic to block the whole road and prevent the multitudes from sprinting past. I was starting to count steps now but my mood was not improved by 2 old men who passed me, chatting as they went about how they’d maintain 7 minute mileing to the 13 mile mark before dropping to 7:20’s for the second half.
Somewhere on the embankment, I was passed by a man who I swear should not have been able to walk. He looked as if he’d just been dug up (but then, so did I) and was scuttling crablike along the gutter. I silently hoped he’d survive to the finish as he sped off into the distance – probably to do the whole marathon.
Then joy of joys, the finish, and I raised a miserable sprint to pass 1 person. The first person I’d passed since the 8 mile mark – I lost count of those passing me after the first hundred had charged up the road. An official time of 1:32:48 and line to line of 1:32:24. The St Johns Ambulance were very concerned but I summoned all my energy and stumbled through to collect my medal and malt loaf.
Tom was waiting for me having breasted the line in a very creditable 1:27:11 (1:26:47). As the photos show – I was not looking particularly athletic on the run in to the line.
Never again (not till 2007 anyway).
