Another day ...

... another running race

Like many runners, I love a challenge. And when I decide to enter a race, I always fantastise that it’s going to be my greatest achievement ever. The nearer it gets to the date, however, the more I wonder what was going on in my head at the point when I pressed that “Enter” button.

The Omagh half marathon which I did last Sunday was no exception. By the time the deadline was looming, I was dreading it. Not only had I been told by some running club buddies (after I’d entered) that it was very hilly, but it was also going to require an early start as Omagh is not exactly round the corner. And like all half marathons, it involves running 13.1 miles.

So for about two weeks before the deadline, I started to think about how I could maybe get out of it without losing face. I wasn’t injured so there was no mileage in that (sorry for the awful pun). Nor was I ill.

Although I could have given my place to someone else in the club (there are always people who crave the punishment), I decided in the end to hold firm and just get on with it. I reasoned with myself that if the worst came to the worst, I could just walk.

The prep started on Saturday evening with some carb loading. That makes me sound like I know what I’m doing but it just really involved stuffing my face full of pasta. Then I prepared my food for Sunday morning as I had to bring breakfast with me because of the early start - a boiled egg and a couple of bananas. Hardly the dream of a gourmet, but then again I’m pretty transactional when it comes to food.

The final part of the preparation involved laying out my kit - shorts, club top, sun hat (the forecast was for warm weather), socks, shoes and bib number which had been sent out to us in advance.

Then off to bed for what I hoped would be a good night’s sleep. But because I was so anxious about the race, that was always an unlikely wish. Although I usually doze off fairly easily, it just wouldn’t come to me on Saturday. Once I did get to sleep, I woke up again shortly afterwards, following which I tossed and turned for another few hours, becoming more and more annoyed about the fact that I couldn’t sleep. I finally got up at 10 to six and was on the road half an hour later.

And what a beautiful drive it was. The satnav took me the scenic route which involved skirting the edge of the East Sperrin mountain range, fronted by fields of grass and sheep. There was not a cloud in the sky. En route, I noticed a sign advertising a dark sky park and observatory at a place called Daragh Forest which I’m going to go back and visit.

As there was virtually no traffic on the roads at that hour of the morning, I arrived in Omagh in plenty of time to park, have some food and do a little bit of limbering up before the race started at 9.30.

The weather could not have been kinder. It was warm (about 13 degrees) and although there was a bit of a cold wind which made me shiver while I was standing about at the start, I was thankful of it later on. As runners are generally friendly people (well the slow ones at the back are), the young woman standing beside me started to chat. I think I endeared myself to her when I said I wasn’t worried about being last - I just wanted to finish and still be upright.

I explained to her that I was going to “jeff” the race, a system whereby you run for a specified time and then walk for a bit. In this case, we ran for two minutes and then walked for a minute. According to Jeff Galloway, the guy who devised this method of running, it helps to make longer distances feel more manageable. It also helps to stave off injury as runners are not pounding the ground with the same impact for the entire race. And although people assume that it takes longer to finish, that isn’t necessarily true as the walking helps to reset energy levels, thereby maintaining a steady running pace the whole way. Otherwise, there’s a tendency to slow down after a few miles.

We set off together and, unusually, stayed together for the entire run. I say that because most people are faster than me so take off at some point. This young woman, on the other hand, just kept telling me how grateful she was to find someone running at a similar pace to her. But the gratitude was reciprocal as running with her seemed to make the miles shorter and the time go faster. Strange, but true.

We completed the 13.1 mile route (which was quite hilly as I’d been warned) in just over 2 hours and 41 minutes. Hardly Olympic standard but then again we weren’t last. Out of the 3,042 runners who took part in the half marathon, I was finisher number 2976 and my new friend was 2977. In other words, we weren’t last.

As we crossed that finishing line, we received a medal and a goodie bag full of … well, goodies! Two chocolate bars, a bag of crisps, a couple of small bags of oats, a lovely top which actually fits me and a rather useful black woolly hat.

Although the organisers had billed the race as “leaving no trace”, I doubt that the residents of Omagh will forget us in a hurry. There was litter everywhere - along the roads, on the footpaths as well as in the hedgerows and ditches.

I was pleased that we were given paper cups at the water stations rather than single use bottles, but I watched runners discarding their own bottles along the way as well as the wrappers from their energy gels. There really is no excuse for it. It’s not hard to put a wrapper back in the same pocket that it came out of, nor is it difficult to carry an empty drinks bottle to a bin.

Apart from that, it turned out to be a really good day. The sun shone, I ran the distance and, just as importantly, I finished upright. Mission accomplished.