Feeling a need to write.
The Tour of Tameside is a local running event. It takes place over four days, and each day is from a different location. The first day is a 10km trail run after work on a Thursday evening, the second a 6 mile (I did not make up the units) fell run Friday evening, the third day a half marathon off road on Saturday morning and the final day a 7 mile city style run around Hyde on the Sunday.
My friend Glyn, on hearing that I'm aiming at a half marathon in October said something to the effect of "hey, are you doing any of the Tour of Tameside events? I'm doing the 10km". Before I knew it, I'd checked it out online and booked on the whole lot. I think he was taken aback by what he'd started.
Having booked on just ten days before, by way of preparation, the previous weekend I thought I'd better see if I had the wherewithal to run on two consecutive days. That didn't go too badly. 10km a day seemed do-able. By way of further preparation I thought I'd better buy some suitable trail shoes. The Tuesday of the week of the event I was the proud owner of new trail shoes. On the Wednesday I got off the train two stops early and ran home in them. They seemed fine.
Thursday night I collected my number from a trestle table set up in a local rugby club HQ. Carefully pinned it on, as per instructions, four pins and made my way to the start line. Read the instructions, had a moment of total horror as I realised that they were expecting the race winners to finish just 30 minutes in. That about equals my best ever 5km time. Then discovered that the award ceremony had potential to take place before I'd finished running. Hmm, I thought, what have I done?
So, made my way to the start line, with the confidence of someone who has never even done a 5km park run but has somehow entered something which includes the word "race". There they were. The other runners. They looked like they knew what they were doing. Their clothing yelled out, I know what I'm doing, their warm ups betrayed their less than casual approach. Some of them had their names on their numbers. Things were not looking good for me. Very wisely, I aimed for somewhere near to the back of the pack so I didn't get in the way of the fast people. I didn't warm up. I am used to spending the first 2km of the run warming up. There was an announcement and a gun and we shuffled towards the start line, and strava at the ready, off we went. Having never run in a group before, it was improbably confusing trying to figure out what my normal pace actually was. Other people upset my rhythm, and as I overtook people, I was worried; had I set off too fast? I hadn't expected to have to go round anyone after all. As things went on, we seemed to settle down, by about 4km I found myself staring at the same rear views, admiring the vest top race back of the woman in front with the swishing dark brown ponytail and wondering what the odd harness thing was on the guy in front. Being an out and back, we were relieved of any running boredom by being able to see the elite guys and gals coming back past us. Briefly. Then there was more running, more and more running. Eventually we had some bounding down through woodland trails, up and down steps, alongside canals and general change of scenery. Then round a corner was a mahoosive descent and there ahead, the finish line. Bounded down trying to look like none of it had been any trouble at all, whooshed past the finish line with the nice touch of the announcer welcoming me in by name. Turned out I'd actually made it through just under the 60 minute mark, and there right on my tail was my friend Glyn. Go us.
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