Running in a Yellow Vest - Zig Zags 12KM Race Report

It was a cold, irritable morning when I made my way to the bus stop
to catch the early bus to Bournemouth Pier, but my spirits were immediately enlightened when I saw the crowd already waiting. They looked at me with no idea about the world I was travelling to, the world of addiction, of running your heart out for personal glory and pride to contrast the bleak nature of an otherwise depressing morning. It gave me no small satisfaction as I made my way onto the coach and found a seat, to think that they were all missing out on something beautiful, of an event, an atmosphere unparallel to anything else. It was that mixture of excitement and race nerves that made the experience so intoxicating. I thought about some of the looks I was greeted with when I used to run alone, the flying feeling as I did mile efforts down the promenade.
I could see their faces etched in what could only be described as concern, thinking, wondering, what is he doing this for. Why do I run? Why don’t you?
I was dropped off in the square so that I could make a small trip to the newsagents and quench my ever present hunger and thirst with a Twix bar and a can of red bull. I immediately felt rejuvenated as I made the small walk towards the race start. When I mention that it was a small walk, it could have been around 3KM which some would consider normal exercise for a day in its own right, but I like other competitive runners do not consider myself to be a normal man.
After signing up, I did my customary warm up, though feeling strangely paranoid as usual that people might think this was my actual pace, I sped it up a little towards the end to show off the fact that I was a runner, not someone who simply moves one foot in front of the other. It reminded me of the time when I was running through my hometown in Belper and how I would always pick up the pace when I approached the sign for Nottingham Road as this was the spot where lots of students and friends and if I’m honest attractive girls might be passing by. On this occasion I probably set off too fast because by the time I was about halfway up the road, and approaching a slight incline I was out of breath and was rapidly losing speed to a slow jog. It was only then that someone I knew happened to pass by. I haven’t been on that route since. I finished my warm up and went through an extended stretching motion and was just about to line up when before the race start I noticed that there were three medals on the table and I decided immediately that I wanted one of them. A minute later the gun had blasted and thirty, nerve-ridden, competitive driven road runners were on the way to making themselves proud and their day worthwhile. Before I give a direct account of the race, I should probably tell you a bit about the route, but the reason I haven’t is because at this stage of proceedings I hadn’t really thought about it myself. I knew it was roughly 7 and a half miles and went up five zig zags along the promenade so it was obviously going to be tough but I was just trying to focus my attention on staying at the head of the race.
As it was, I was half expecting seeing as this was a low key race, for the pace to be pretty slovenly at the start and during a restless night’s sleep I had visions in my mind of staying with the lead group until attacking from a mile out. Which was why I was quite taken back when a tall, confident looking runner strode his way to the head of the pack and took off at a good pace which some other man tried to stay with for about a second before jogging his way backwards to a group that was emerging behind. I wasn’t about to give up so easily however and I surged by his side to let him know I was there. As we ran together in glory at the head of the race, my mind enjoying the sight of passing the everyday families who stared in awe at our exploits whilst my body felt on the verge of collapse at any second, I knew this was why I raced.
My rhythm was uneasy and as I was trying to figure out whether he was one of these plucky athletes who always seemed to go off at a suicidal pace and then die a slow death towards the finish, my thoughts were disturbed by his sudden attack about half a mile in. I reacted immediately, knowing that being a potential sub 5 minute miler, it’s going to be pretty tough to get rid of my presence through speed in a long distance race. He seemed surprised by my instant recovery but no sooner was I beside him again then he took off once more, his long strides meaning that I had to work about twice as hard to get back. I was starting to wonder what this guy’s issue was, I didn’t see why he wanted so desperately to get rid of me this early when there was still a whole gruelling 6 and a half hilly miles to endure. It can’t have been time issues because you’d have to be pretty paranoid to care about your 12KM PB. I would have thought he might enjoy the company at the front but he answered this thought with another attack, this time more convincing and I struggled to make my way back to him. I was tempted to just let him go and hope that he tired but my heart wouldn’t give in and I surged slightly ahead of him this time to let him know he had a rival in this race and it was not going to be easy to get rid off me. I wondered again if maybe he was worried I was an exceptional hill climber and was trying to build up a lead because he thought, like I did that as soon as the hills arrived I would be off and away. I hold the 2nd best time on Queens Park Hill among BAC athletes and have always considered myself to be a good climber. If that’s what this guy’s plan had been however, he and I were both wrong, because as soon as we hit the first zig zag, he breezed up the slope without effort, like the physical demands of the hill meant nothing to him. I was stunned in defeat and made no attempt to burst my lungs by following him. Had I died? I wondered, and this thought became more prominent when after touching the tape at the top I saw him make his way downhill when I still had a quarter of the way to go. I flew downhill and as I was about halfway down I saw a pack of three negotiating their way up the climb. I was suddenly worried that they might catch me and so I gave it some real pace on the flat, not willing to even contemplate the thought of not being treated to a medal. It wasn’t often I got the chance to be a star of the race and I wanted to be rewarded for not just this effort but for all the hard races I had ever pushed myself to the limits in. I felt strong uphill on the 2nd zig zag and in the mist of intense concentration and trying to steady my breathing, I took the time to enjoy the applause of the unwilling audience. After touching the tape, I didn’t see another runner until I was nearly at the bottom of the hill but I was still worried I might be caught so I kept up a fast pace on the flat again. At a certain stage of a race it all becomes about sheer concentration and determination. At the beginning you have the curiosities about the other runners and how strong you feel but as soon as that has all been established, it is all about survival, maintaining pace, keeping your legs flowing and your mind confident. The only time you take to exit this focused world is when you see a kind applause or a marshal offering support and you feel thankful that your efforts are being accounted for. Other than that it’s all about reaching the final KM or final mile and knowing that all that’s required is the final bit of effort to end the pain and suffering.
Not daring to look behind, I had no idea how far ahead I was of the other runners but I assumed the runner ahead was quite a way in front. I took my time up the steps, knowing there was a long flat section coming up which I wanted to let rip on before a downhill where I could recover again.
As it was I lost a little pace on the flat which spread out besides the pier on a long and everlasting path where unfortunately you can see just how far you have to travel. I was starting to tire due to the relentless hill work that had already gone before me but that silver medal kept me going and I was relieved with the sight of the arrow pointing towards the downhill mark.
When I came down there was the daunting sight of the final zig zag which I gave some hammer before pushing myself on the long flat section to the end which was on the same path as the beginning.
I expected at any point to be overtaken for fourth place but it was with great satisfaction that I sailed to the line with my trademark finishing sprint and to the wild cheers of the marshals who probably hadn’t expected any decent runners to turn up. As an attractive girl placed a medal over my neck, I genuinely felt like a superstar in the mould of Sebastien Coe or somebody and although I played it cool, inside my heart was raging with joy as I collected my fifteen pounds vouchers and free banana and drink. The mood was only slightly dampened by the fact I was 2nd but when talking to the winner I discovered he was a 31 minute 10KM man who was also the World Duathlon Champion. Well not everyday you can say you came second to a world champion is it?

Running in a yellow vest - Weymouth 10 Mile Road Race - Report

It was a tired group of four who woke to a nervous beat in their hearts that had somehow found some rest during the night. With a mixture of excitement and panic we drove to a small village where we would be undertaking the hilly, long distance course on a chilly morning. Warming up for the race, the BAC quartet of John Sharkey, Laurent Kelly, Cherry Sheffrin and Matthew Kiernan were met by long standing club members Ian Graham, Tony Chutter and forever injury proned Will Thames, who didnt wait long to tell everyone about the latest Dorset pub that he had encountered during the week. Anyone who had been a member of the Bournemouth Athletics Club for a year or so and had just happened to encounter Will so much as once, was well aware of his love of 'ale' and claim that he tried every type of the classic Dorset drink that it was possible to try. With breaking news that he might have discovered another, the majority of the BAC runners took the hint to leave and start their warm up, leaving Tony with the short straw, left to discuss or rather listen to the merits of this new beverage.
It was during the apparent warm up that John Sharkey left everyone behind, perhaps echoing the manner in which he wished to drop his opponents during the race. As I caught up with him however, he had a discouraging look on his face and one which I had grown used to when it was apparent that he wouldn't be in the running for the overall victory.
Without breaking stride during his six and a half minute mile warm up, I learnt that Ian Cardy had arrived and that John saw no chance of beating someone of such a high quality. What with Weymouth hardly representing PB course potential, I knew John had specially picked this race for the win and he now looked slightly disheartened as we approached the start line.
Mu own thoughts about the race as I found the gaps towards the head of the pack, were one of apprehension. It had been a while since I had done a 10KM race let alone one of 10 miles and I was quite concerned that I would tire during the later stages of the run. As it was I found my way up to Tony Chutter, a good athlete but one who I knew and indeed had beaten over 10KM and decided that I would try and stay with his pace. After tackling a sharp, nasty incline that seemed to take the sting out of my ryhtm and by the look on the faces around me, much of everybody elses, we soon found ourselves striding downhill with two Poole Runners.
Although we exchanged pleasantries, everyone was aware of the tension in the air as the rivalry between our teams was ubound in its ongoing loyalty. Although this was not a league race, the fact that a team prize was on offer was enough to set hearts racing. Knowing that John Sharkey and Poole Runners' Mike Grist were enduring their own battle up ahead, our little pack of four contained its own importance in the overall ambition of team honours. Which is why after seeing the discouraging 3 mile split of 18:36 and realising that breaking the hour mark was probably out of the question, I received a further blow when Tony dropped off the back leaving me with two members of the rival gang.
The encouraging vision of John Sharkey leaving Mike Grist for dead up further along the road was soon dampened when John Towner from Poole Runners surged ahead from our little group and I reluctantly gave chase. I caught up to him with relative ease but then it was the turn of his team mate who wasted no time in doing the same. Again I chased while Towner hung behind to save energy for another attack of his own. I knew I was being played like a worm to a fishes bait, but like a fish can't avoid the scent of what he loves, so I was the same and it was the lure of the team prize that kept my mind focused on chasing each attack down.
Eventually however, whatever dreams you may harbour and however mentally focused you are on your goals, your mind will eventually fall prey to how strong you are physically and in this sense I was begining to weaken.
After around 5 miles, they had both left me behind but although I was annoyed that I couldn't stay with their pace, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I settled into a more comfortable running motion.
After a while I begin to find my pace quicken but I was annoyed to see that my 6 mile split time was only 36:41. It meant that I had done the last three miles a lot quicker than I had the first three but I still knew I had a lot of work to do if I was to accomplish the Hour Dream.
With both mind and body focused I endured a lonely four miles to the finish but I kept pushing myself and found myself needing a 5:23 final mile to crack the hour.
Being along the seafront for the final two miles, I could see one of the Poole Runners in the near distance but the closer I seemed to come to him the closer the finish line seemed to appear and as much as the encouraging crowds offered their support I could not find it in myself to sprint to the line, as had become my trademark for races in the past.
Instead I trundled home 8th in a highly respectable time of 60:32. In light of the demands of the course and the fact I was running mostly alone for the majority of the race I was happy with the time but annoyed that we had barely lost out on the team prize.
I spoke to John Sharkey who had somehow managed to take a huge chunk of his 10 Mile PB to come to the line second in an awesome time of 56:34.
So with swollen legs and and humble hearts we jogged along the seafront, looking out for more Bournemouth runners.
The presentation turned out to be the most tense moment of the day when I won the hardly contested, Male Under 20 award presented with the slightly unusual prize of a ten pounds Debenham voucher. The accolodate was nice as I consoled myself with the fact that not many under 20's could have beaten me for this prize today had they turned up. With John Sharkey grabbing his free massage for 2nd place, we took off to the pub where we knew out time in the spotlight was over as it was one of Will's regular spots as indeed most of the places in Dorset are.