Something for the weekend
Yesterday I participated in the North West Road Relays. As the name suggests, it's a relay race. Teams of 3 women and 4 men from clubs all over the north west were taking part, and I was really curious of what it would be like to go to a real race again.
The race was run over a distance of 5.4Km (presumably because that's the closest they could get the loop to 5Km) in a place called Marbury Park in Northwich, Cheshire. I didn't have a clue of what it was all about, to be honest. The combined championships of Greater Manchester, Lancashire, Merseyside and Cheshire, it turned out. All very exotic and a little bit scary, actually, since I hadn't taken part in a real race since I was 13.
We were in the Seniors category. That's anyone over the age of 17. Everybody - apart from this one woman in a long white ponytail - looked young, fit and full of life. I just wanted to make sure I didn't finish last. I volunteered to take the second leg pretty much for that reason. When my time came, I went off and tried to be vaguely scientific about it. Don't go off too fast, ignore the other runners if they're out of your league, all the sensible stuff. However I thought I had a good chance of maintaining 7' miles, so I tried that. A woman in a yellow Liverpool Harriers crop top - one of the real clubs - streaked off and started disappearing into the distance. The only thing that was going through my head at that point was "OMG these are going like the clappers".
Hey ho, I thought to myself, it's not like they didn't know I don't do fast and furious. Then two more went past me, and that was it, really. Enough is enough. I still kept an eye on the watch, but used the girl in the orange vest from Blackpool as a pacer. The other one, someone in a red vest and no club name was in between us, but she seemed to be getting slower. I went past her just before the end of the first lap, which made me feel a bit better. I was getting into it now. 5K speed hurts me, but after a while I remembered that going a little faster does not increase the pain in direct proportion, if this makes any sense. So I speeded up a little. The girl in the orange vest got a lot closer. And the Harriers woman all of a sudden was right in front of me, clearly in all kinds of trouble. I kept my sights on the Blackpool girl and ran past the Harriers one. A small, childish part of my brain couldn't help giving it some "Ha! Harriers my Arse", but there really was no time for idiocy. Besides, it's not nice. And it was hard enough trying to keep on breathing properly. A bunch of men from other clubs, out on the course warming up, gave us encouragement. A couple walking a dog nearly tripped me up. I caught up with the Blackpool woman, who clearly had trouble with gauging her speed with no-one in front. But every time I got close she went off again. Fine by me, I hate being in front unless I'm sprinting for the line. I work much better with someone to chase down.
In the end she was too fast for me. I gave it all I had, but she kept on getting away. I was beginning to feel a bit dizzy, which tells me a great deal about how hard I must have been working. I hadn't sprinted properly for years, it seems. I was a bit cross that I couldn't catch her, but I knew I'd done a decent enough time. When we got our results I found I'd done the fastest leg in our team, 23'02". I was really impressed. I did manage to keep 7' miles up for the whole distance.
Later on, while we were standing about chatting to the men who were still waiting to go - the second one was out on the course - a little old man with a clipboard came up to us. Hadn't we heard we were up for a prize? Er, no. Turns out we got bronze for Merseyside, but we never heard them calling us. So we ended up on the organisers' caravan, shaking hands with more minor officials and getting medals round our necks.
A proper medal. One for getting there before the rest, not just for finishing. It was like the Olympics, I tell you. Only in Cheshire. Call me Muttley, I was grinning like a loon all the way home.
And today I went into the city centre to see the Tour of Britain come home - probably for the last time since they're making all sorts of noises about getting it to finish in London from now on - and Petacchi win another stage. Only I didn't really see anything because I was late and people were 9 or 10 deep all the way down the Strand. I never got to wave my tricolore, but never mind. Garmin Chipotle gave me one of their bottles as a souvenir.
The race was run over a distance of 5.4Km (presumably because that's the closest they could get the loop to 5Km) in a place called Marbury Park in Northwich, Cheshire. I didn't have a clue of what it was all about, to be honest. The combined championships of Greater Manchester, Lancashire, Merseyside and Cheshire, it turned out. All very exotic and a little bit scary, actually, since I hadn't taken part in a real race since I was 13.
We were in the Seniors category. That's anyone over the age of 17. Everybody - apart from this one woman in a long white ponytail - looked young, fit and full of life. I just wanted to make sure I didn't finish last. I volunteered to take the second leg pretty much for that reason. When my time came, I went off and tried to be vaguely scientific about it. Don't go off too fast, ignore the other runners if they're out of your league, all the sensible stuff. However I thought I had a good chance of maintaining 7' miles, so I tried that. A woman in a yellow Liverpool Harriers crop top - one of the real clubs - streaked off and started disappearing into the distance. The only thing that was going through my head at that point was "OMG these are going like the clappers".
Hey ho, I thought to myself, it's not like they didn't know I don't do fast and furious. Then two more went past me, and that was it, really. Enough is enough. I still kept an eye on the watch, but used the girl in the orange vest from Blackpool as a pacer. The other one, someone in a red vest and no club name was in between us, but she seemed to be getting slower. I went past her just before the end of the first lap, which made me feel a bit better. I was getting into it now. 5K speed hurts me, but after a while I remembered that going a little faster does not increase the pain in direct proportion, if this makes any sense. So I speeded up a little. The girl in the orange vest got a lot closer. And the Harriers woman all of a sudden was right in front of me, clearly in all kinds of trouble. I kept my sights on the Blackpool girl and ran past the Harriers one. A small, childish part of my brain couldn't help giving it some "Ha! Harriers my Arse", but there really was no time for idiocy. Besides, it's not nice. And it was hard enough trying to keep on breathing properly. A bunch of men from other clubs, out on the course warming up, gave us encouragement. A couple walking a dog nearly tripped me up. I caught up with the Blackpool woman, who clearly had trouble with gauging her speed with no-one in front. But every time I got close she went off again. Fine by me, I hate being in front unless I'm sprinting for the line. I work much better with someone to chase down.
In the end she was too fast for me. I gave it all I had, but she kept on getting away. I was beginning to feel a bit dizzy, which tells me a great deal about how hard I must have been working. I hadn't sprinted properly for years, it seems. I was a bit cross that I couldn't catch her, but I knew I'd done a decent enough time. When we got our results I found I'd done the fastest leg in our team, 23'02". I was really impressed. I did manage to keep 7' miles up for the whole distance.
Later on, while we were standing about chatting to the men who were still waiting to go - the second one was out on the course - a little old man with a clipboard came up to us. Hadn't we heard we were up for a prize? Er, no. Turns out we got bronze for Merseyside, but we never heard them calling us. So we ended up on the organisers' caravan, shaking hands with more minor officials and getting medals round our necks.
A proper medal. One for getting there before the rest, not just for finishing. It was like the Olympics, I tell you. Only in Cheshire. Call me Muttley, I was grinning like a loon all the way home.
And today I went into the city centre to see the Tour of Britain come home - probably for the last time since they're making all sorts of noises about getting it to finish in London from now on - and Petacchi win another stage. Only I didn't really see anything because I was late and people were 9 or 10 deep all the way down the Strand. I never got to wave my tricolore, but never mind. Garmin Chipotle gave me one of their bottles as a souvenir.