12miles - finish!
The large flashing '1 mile to go' sign was a welcome sight, but one not to be reached before negotiating the steepest - and by virtue most painful - part of the course. 400m of serious incline which after twelve thirteenths of the race very nearly knackered my knees (kneeckered?); and the surprise?....it was downhill.
Suddenly subjecting the joints to movements which were essentially the complete opposite of the previous twelve miles were a bit much. The body was suddenly under strain to stop myself from going too fast instead of not fast enough. It was unpleasant to say the least; but as I said, the slide ended at the glorious notice telling me the last thirteenth of the race had begun.
Fortunately I had been warned about the final stretch, that it literally did seem to stretch (some of the more evil of my acquaintances told me that if you are doing to die of a connery it is usually at that point....that was good of them wasn't it?!!) for miles. I kept my head down and tried hard not to think about the finish, just one step at a time. Lots of 'come-on!'s as the half mile mark hoved into view, a yell from the sidelines where my brother was waiting to cheer me home, and an all-encompassing thought released from deep within, a thought which had kept me going in the gym for those hard months of training; that I was actually going to do it.
The ecstatic crowds were deepening, a sure sign that the finish was not far away. Finally there it was; a simple fibre-glass and steel structure with digital clock at the top; nothing much to look at, but passing under it would mean the two-thirds fulfilment of a now not so impossible dream. Emotions took over; however as soon as I realised how difficult it is to cry when you are completely out of breath. I pulled myself together!
Fists clenched, grimace-smile on my lips.....I crossed the line.
The Aftermath
The next twenty minutes or so were a bit of a blur; punctuated by bouts of pain! I have seen marathons where people are teetering about with rubber legs that look like they are about to buckle, and often do. I now totally understand how that feels. You are told to keep moving, both so that your body can adjust to the fact that you are no longer running, and to avoid clogging up the finish area with collapsing sweaty bodies. It is strange that after running for just over two and a half hours, the simpler act of walking is such a challenge; the legs don't feel like they belong to you, and the adrenaline wears off to leave you with.....well.....pain basically.
We queued up for our goody-bags (tee-shirt, power bars, medal, leaflet entitling you to one bacon sandwich free when you buy five......kidding). As the rain started to pour down, and I started to feel the chill I made for that plastic, tin-foil lookalike blanket (don't think that is the actual name for it!) which you see so many runners wearing. Very effective at keeping you warm, and not only that you can pop me straight in the oven four eight hours at gas mark 5.
The charity village was stacked with tents for every worthy cause you could imagine. I made straight for the British Heart Foundation. On reflection it did make me laugh as the rough statistics within the tent were that there were forty chairs, twenty sat on by runners looking somewhat the worse for wear, and twenty sat on by their supporters.....while more than twenty runners were staggering round the tent looking for a sit down!! I never did enjoy musical chairs at our school parties!
Finally I found a place to take a load off, and not before time as my legs were giving me not unsubtle hints that it was time for a sit. It was then that the nausea started; about ten minutes of really bad seasickness. It did pass, and it was only then - sipping on a cup of tea and chomping on a ham sandwich which one of the volunteers had shoved into my hand - that I could reflect on what I had just achieved; but to be honest I still couldn't process it. Still a bit dazed by the whole thing.
Dom (bruv) came along and it was then that I realised how important it is to have support with you; or at least with me! Someone who can bolster you when you are nervous about the run, and more importantly share in the joy of completing it. It was his honour - in Olympic stylie - to don me with my medal, not forgetting the official clasping handshake (no national anthem). It now stands pride of place at home next to the Great South and Great Manchester......how good does that sound?!!!!
After the Aftermath
Getting home was extremely tricky. The choices were either to get back to the car by the Newcastle Metro (tram) system (a mile queue) or by the ferry from South Shields (half a mile queue). It was after about ten minutes waiting in the latter that I realised an hour of standing up and shuffling forward every fifteen minutes was not for me. I wasn't particularly bothered about getting home quickly, just getting home safe and sound. So a convenient bench came to my rescue and there I sat, watching the queue grind forward to a stage where it was making real progress, and I felt able to make it to all the way to the front.
As luck would have it, I ended up just behind Elaine and David; what a terrific couple. They were there supporting their son, and we inevitably shared much of our respective stories. We must still have queued for quite a while as in addition to the Great North, we covered our respective home towns, our footballing proclivities, the Ryder Cup, holidays, and Davids love of real ale!
What touched me more than anything was that as we neared the front of the queue, we were in that cut off zone which meant the difference between getting on the ferry, and a twenty minute wait for the next one. Elaine and David were in front of me, and I was the last one through before the metaphorical barriers went down. David turned to me and said 'that was lucky; if you hadn't have got through we would have had to swap places.' Something so simple; he didn't have to do it, the right thing to do? absolutely; but people doing the right thing is all too often a rare commodity. We parted as old friends, and Elly and Davie baby (like I said, old friends) said they might even dip into this blog; I replied that they may even get a mention!
I am reminded of a line from Michael Palin's 'Round The World In 80 Days' on leaving a dhow and its crew that made him feel like part of the family.....'as I wave goodbye to them it is almost impossible to believe that I will never see them again'. Elaine and David, if you do read this; I hope that our paths cross again.
The rest of the trip went without incident, and I was home, watching the BBC race coverage and tucking in to my Big Mac meal, McChicken Sandwich meal and McFlurry (not one smidge of guilt) by about half past nine. Watching it on the screen it was again difficult to accept that I was in there, that somewhere within that forest of bobbing heads, was my bobbing head. When you are running, all you see is your little area, the people around you, the few yards ahead; the enormity of it all passed me by. In the days that followed, in addition to the general stiffness, was a slow realisation of what I had accomplished; tying in my own personal images with those seen on the screen. It felt good, and may I tell you it still does. I dip into the memory every so often when I need inspiration, encouragement, positivity; I am not one to live in the past, but if I ever visit, I will never get tired of reliving that day.
The Great North Run 2012, one of my finest hours to date........
0 comments:
Post a Comment