So I am Good at Running after all
I have been running for many years but that doesn’t make me
good at it, not if your definition of “good” is to break 20 minutes for a 5K (or
even 25 minutes these days), run an ultra-marathon, or even actually look like
I’m running. Sometimes, however, I am good at it, if your definition of “good”
is to enjoy at least some part of it or to (normally) be able to walk the next
day regardless of distance, terrain or pace.
And last Sunday, I was good, really good. Better than I have
been in a long time. Why? Because I absolutely loved every single one of the 210
minutes I was running for. The smiley faces, welcoming shouts and friendly
abuse from the organisers, marshals, fellow runners and public along the way.
My biggest pre-race anxiety, once I’ve actually got there, is always whether
the loo will flush, but on Sunday I accounted for the clocks going forward and
else everything worked just fine.
I knew the route would be lovely. Windsor Great Park is home
turf, I know it like the back of my hand and even know when the Queen will be
driving through on her way to church. But what really made it good, was that it
was organised by my running club and I was running with a friend. At least for
the first fifteen miles anyway, then I needed a pit stop and her superior
training paid dividends as she pulled away. We occasionally spoke, but not
often and I don’t think we did at all after ten miles. Comfortable, relaxed
silence interspersed with banter from the marshals (“there’s a downhill bit
that way somewhere” – thanks Ron!!).
This run wasn’t a race, it was a 20 miles training run for
the marathon season organised by my UK club, the Datchet Dashers. We had marshals
so that if it all went to pants someone could get us home, and we had race
numbers so the marshals could identify us from the other runners. It was a
safe, secure environment for those needing a long run. And of course, the
camaraderie of being with others. We did have a briefing (respect the other
park users, don’t drop litter and don’t get run over crossing the road), we did
sign in and out and there was an amazing lady on a tail bike who had a pocket
full of chocolate and laughed all the way round with the folks at the back. But
there was no clock, no official start line and no actual finish line. It was
just a bunch of slightly crazy people going for a run with wonderful volunteers
who had given up their Sunday morning.