Before taking a place in the London Marathon I was given one in the Oxford Half marathon ballot. So, having completed London, with 2 weeks recuperation time, full of bravado with my new 'Marathon Runner' badge, I thought I may as well still do the Oxford Half. I'd paid my money and How hard could it be, right? Quite hard, as it turned out.
My downfall was perhaps in the preparation. On the night before the run a much anticipated gig that I had originally booked in c. Feb 2020 was finally happening. I'll go along, see the gig, have a pint, maybe two, I said, kidding nobody. Still I had diligently packed my bag, had my race number in hand, knew where I was going etc. I went to the gig, it was brilliant, deserving of several more than two pints as it turned out.
Consequently I left the next morning on my bike, arrived in plenty of time, went to lock up bike only to realise I'd brought my door key but not my bike lock key! Phoned home, a quick cycle homewards to collect the key half way, turn round, cycle back, now lateish, lock up bike, trot round to bag drop, which was about half a mile away from where I locked the bike.
Bag drop was fine but by now adrenaline meant the next port of call was the toilet. Queues which were huge, and did I ever pick the wrong one. Turned out it only went to half the number of cubicles of the others. Still when I went in there were literally thousands of runners queuing and milling about.
Inevitably at this point several pints of real ale the night before kicked in and wanting to make sure I was running as light as possible, when I emerged the queues had gone. As had the runners - all of them! Only a few marshals, looking at me a little bemused. They pointed towards a gate saying 'Starting Pens' and suggested I might need to hurry.
I started trotting (gentle warm up I thought) but as I followed the signs it became apparent that my pen was a long way away and in fact as I was trotting along the pavement, from the opposite direction very fast runners started appearing and flashing past. They had started without me! On and on I trotted until I finally arrived, at least a mile later, at the back of the queue for my pen, the very last to cross the start line, with me very near the back.
After that the adrenaline of the cheering kicked in and I started off at a reasonable pace but noticing my heart rate was a good 10 BPM above where it would normally be. The rest of the race was uneventful, pleasant, but when I got to around 12k I suddenly felt way more tired that I expected to and had to 'Jeff' it home from there.
Whether that was the one mile unexpected 'warm-up' the pints of the night before or the residual effects of London I'll never know. I finished 10 minutes slower than I had hoped to, but I've got the t shirt and medal, the miles in my legs and the experience. And who knows, perhaps I will learn some lessons here.*
(*Reader, history suggests Snail Male will not learn any lessons here.)
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