It's taken ages to get round to writing this up, I'm entirely useless just now. TL;DR I did nine laps of the Meadows, got increasingly bored, got a blister, hit a wall (figuratively) at 16k and then ate a sandwich at the end.
I don’t think I’ll ever have a more relaxed start than this race! My house is a mere twenty metres from the starting line, and as my regular training ground—and where I started all my running in the first place—it would be silly to ignore the Meadows half, I’d have itchy feet if I could hear the PA from the sofa.
The half marathon was due to kick off at 12.30, so I woke up late, had a coffee and some muesli with himself, and caught up with a bit of Masterchef. At 11 o’clock I popped over the way to register and collect my number, and then came home to investigate the timing chip—which needed attaching to my shoe with some cable ties—whilst scrunching my rumbling cat’s head a little and watching Pointless Celebrities with another coffee, Lovely.
I wandered casually out of my door again at 12.20 and joined the gathering crowds. It was exceedingly windy still with Storm Freya buffeting the crowds with some coy sideways gusts. Luckily she had also blown all the clouds away with her efforts, so there was a really beautiful clear, blue sky too. Whilst we waited for the starting klaxon we were especially exposed, and my Reynaud’s kicked in hard. I should have guessed, this is exactly the kind of weather that triggers it—the inbetweeny days when I enthusiastically shed outer layers at the expense of my core temperature. Too late now! I hoped once I started running I would warm up a bit.
Then HOOT! We set off, crowding over the cobbled roads round George Square so that we could feed into the Meadows circuit. Ouch! Running over cobbles is no fun at all.
Lap one
Down the hill! Woohoo! Everyone else was being very sensible, slow and steady, so I snuck round the side of them and bounded down the grass like an out of control spaniel.
I decided to take a selfie at the same point on every lap, pretty much where I took my very first running selfie well over eighteen months ago, then with shiny new shoes on my feet and gasping for air after my first minute of running. Things have certainly changed.
Lap Two
There was not much sign of the live music and entertainment we were promised, but all the squirrels and tiny birds were out in abundance, not to mention dog walkers with their happy hairy friends of all shapes and sizes, tongues lolling, firing about after balls and toys. Who needs a band when you have dogs in the sunshine.
By the time I got round to the far side of the circuit this time my fingertips and nailbeds had gone from white to a concerning zombie-blue. I stopped briefly to wave them about and try to get a useful amount of blood flowing, but I become very conscious of wasting time flapping my arms about. I put my water bottle at the base of a conspicuously knobbly tree so I could more easily wiggle them about as I go, and take off once more.
Lap three
I take some Ooho water cubes as I run past the volunteers. They have strong novelty factor—they look like washing machine tablets—but the idea behind them is sound. They’ve got a tasteless seaweed-based wrapper, like solid bubbles if you will, and are entirely biodegradable in a couple of weeks. This pleases me, as the litter carnage at these events is always really awful to witness, runners can be a really selfish bunch and just chuck bottles and gel wrappers all over the place. Supposedly you can just put an Ooho straight into your mouth and bite, but I’m clumsy at the best of times and have visions of suffocating, so just nibble a corner as I run and squeeze the water out. Easy! They are great. Thumbs up for Oohos.
I check my hands, they’re pink! Hooray!
Lap four
Is it lap four? I think it’s lap four. I unsuccessfully cast my mind back and then resort to counting my selfies, yes, it must be lap four. I had forgotten to utilise what I thought would be a foolproof Clif-Blok-per-lap counting system, because I’d basically been sidetracked by looking at dogs and taking photos of myself.
I pick up my bottle on the way round this time, take a few sips and then pop it in a convenient tree stump as I run by. Laps are very convenient for squirrel-stashing all your stuff! What laps are not good for is keeping your mind entertained. I am getting pretty fed up. I feel physically strong though, and my pace is still steady so I knuckle down and just keep going.
Lap five
I think… I’m hopefully just over halfway, so I decide to eat (drink?) my gel. But in a fit of clumsiness and over-enthusiasm I squoosh too much out and it goes down my leg. Arg! Now stickily wearing one half of my gel, I thankfully manage to get the rest in my mouth. It’s cherry flavoured for a change, and actually surprisingly tasty, in a gloopy way.
That ice cream van on the corner looks so inviting right now. If I had change I would stop for a Mr Whippy for sure.
Lap six
And then…what's this. A blister?! Surely my leukotape can't have failed me! But there, on the arch of my right foot, a tell-tale tender feeling. I try to push it from my mind, but when there’s not all that much to look at it is hard to forget something that is getting increasingly sore.
Lap seven
It’s definitely a blister. And it’s all I can think about. It’s made all the more sore by weaving in and out of the sudden increase in bodies with the 10K joining us, the arch of my foot burning and stinging with every step.
Dead Oohos litter the path like tiny, stranded jellyfish. It’s a little disconcerting, but a good deal better to see than dead water bottles!
Suddenly, it’s as though a switch has been flipped. I think I have hit some sort of wall. I’d been feeling good up to this point, but now I am bored, I am tired, I have a very sore foot. I feel ten times heavier than when I started. I’m not sure which lap I am on, I have no idea how many laps I have to go. There are too many people, I can’t see any dogs. I try to quell the rising toddler tantrum and steel myself and keep going.
Lap eight
This is a recollection I'll omit when I later tell my tale of triumph to friends and colleagues, but we are all runners here so I know it will ring true with many of you...if anyone thinks I'm some sort of athletic, glamorous gazelle (!) please skip onto lap nine, because I don't want to ruin that illusion! I'm not going to lie, this is the first time I've ever feared I might need a Paula Radcliffe style trouser stop. It was pretty imperative at one point, I panicked and mentally considered my options whilst, well, really, really clenching. As it occurred at literally the furthest apex from the comfort and safety of my house (ain't no one getting me in a portaloo during a racing event) my only option seemed to be to carry on going, whatever happened. Thankfully although I remained feeling a bit swirly inside to the end, the terrifying, blood-draining imminent fear did not grip me again..!
Lap nine
I genuinely have no idea if this is my last lap. Looking at my watch it seems like it has to be, Garmo reads 18km as I start the circuit. But surely if it is the final lap I’ll end up a bit short? I decide to just treat it as my last one regardless, if I do another lap after this one it will end up being about 23km and that really can’t be right. I doggedly get round and then pare away into the finish lane, I can see the flag!
Come on feet.
I cross the finish line with a time of 1:58:12, about a 30 second improvement on my last half—and something of a surprise as I’ve only done about three long runs since September (shameful). Garmo is showing 20.6km, but everyone else seems to have the full distance so I think my GPS must have blipped somewhere.
I wander aimlessly for a moment, before spotting a sign saying MEDALS pointing into a university building full of stairs. Grey-faced, weak-limbed runners gather pitifully at the base of the stairwell, wailing and pulling pained expressions as if at the Gates of Hell depicted by Rodin. I take a deep breath and will my legs to get me up, at the top I find a lecture theatre covered in ethereal light and trays of sandwiches, and at the far end a student bestowing medals upon the strongest runners, the ones able to fulfil the final Herculean task of four flights of stairs. I receive my medal, grab a sandwich and am home and in the bath within five minutes. Brilliant.
Addendum: I had stuck the corner of the leukotape to my sock when I put it on, so it hadn't failed me. I had just bodged it up 
Moral of the tale: Always check your tape application.
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