Sunday October 8th, 2017
We’re 3 miles into our marathon now, leaving the city behind and out into open country. After the mass start the field has thinned and there’s space, room to breathe. I’ve settled into a comfortable easy rhythm, but how fast am I going? I don’t need to worry about colliding with other runners now, so I can afford to look down at my watch and check my pace.
6:56
Wow! Less than 7 minutes a mile — around 30 seconds a mile faster than my marathon pace in training! I’m not really surprised though. Somehow my legs always seem to respond to the thrill of a race. When I’m just taking them out for a training session, they’re always moaning and complaining about how fast we’re going or how far, or that it’s too hot or too cold or too windy. But when it’s competition-time, they just go.
Should I hold those legs back? Do they know this is the big one and we still have another 20+ miles left to run? They’ve done a few half-marathons at this pace, but this is only the second time they’ve gone the full distance. The first time was 6 months ago, the Manchester Marathon, when I ran fast enough to be selected for the England over-65s … but nothing like this.
Suddenly there are feet pounding up behind me and I’m back in the bunch. It’s a little tribe of around 30 runners easing their way around me, left and right, all in hot pursuit of a guy running under a placard — ‘3:00’ — he’s the 3-hour pacer.
Sub-3 hours! That’s been my dream for the last year or so, ever since last year’s half, when I broke 90 minutes for the first time. I’ve been checking the records, and only a handful of Brits in the 65-70 age-group have ever gone under 3 hours for the full marathon. Based on my recent times for the half, I ought to be able to do it — but it was never my plan for today’s race. Chester’s not a fast course, with a few hills. And I’m still a novice at this distance — I probably need a few more marathons under my belt first.
But still … What if?
I tag along at the back of the 3-hour group, falling behind a bit on the rises, catching up again as we go back downhill.
Never miss a thing
A few miles down the road I become a true international runner, when we cross a border:
Welcome to
WALES
Croeso i
GYMRU
After Chester we’ve been running mostly empty country lanes, but now as we come to the first village in this new land I can see a crowd of people up ahead, waiting to welcome us. But … I’m wearing an England vest. What kind of welcome am I going to get? I’m the opposition.
But as I pass, I needn’t have worried. They yell and they whoop for everyone, including me. That’s the beauty of running: we’re all there to support one another. Spectators too. And anyway, for all they know, my shirt might just be another of those fancy-dress outfits runners wear for these events. Like the guy just behind me, representing a team the village kids know and love:
— Look, it’s Captain America. Go Captain America!
Coming out of the village, there’s a drinks station, but I give it a miss. I’m doing fine, and don’t need water yet. Besides, I’ve never been able to master the art of drinking from a bottle on the run. I usually end up choking and spilling the stuff everywhere.
But I don’t miss out on the next opportunity to refuel, just a couple of hundred yards further on. Offering it is someone I can’t miss, face-painted and cloaked in what looks like a ragged black curtain, set off by an impressive top hat. His hand-made cardboard sign says:
HIGH 5
FOR
EXTRA ENERGY
I veer across the road to make sure I slap his hand.
Away from the crowds, out on the open road again, the 3-hour crew are still in sight, but some way ahead now, maybe half a minute. Let’s get real: I’m not going to finish with them. But this still feels like a very good run.
I can do this!
+ + + + +
Other episodes from my Chester Marathon run:
