Racing Taz and the tide
My plan for my first race since my injury was to go slowly. It worked, for a while
This weekend I was back standing on the start line of a race for the first time in many months. It was a “long” half marathon (about 15 miles/25km) called Race the Tide, a race I once listed in Runner’s World magazine as among my five favourite races in the world! Well, it is a beautiful race, and includes a run right across the Erme estuary, which is the tide we needed to beat in order to make it across before the waters rose.
Given my five months of injury woes, I was determined not to go off full-blast like my usual lunatic self. Partly that was to avoid aggravating my delicate achilles, and partly because it would no doubt lead to a very painful final section given my complete and utter lack of fitness.
I still had to give myself a good talking to, though, before the race, and Marietta and my friend Nick were laughing at me as I told them how I planned to only go at 80%, and not to get caught up chasing the likes of Taz (a friend of mine who was in the race and who was quite fast).
By the time it came to gather around for the start, my pep-talk seemed to have worked. Usually I wouldn’t be able to resist edging to the front, wanting to be part of the “serious” group, the lean, mean machines, glancing around at each other with fight in our eyes. But not this time. Instead I hovered around near the back, joking and chatting. I didn’t even rush once the hooter started, instead allowing people to run in front of me. The further back I got, I figured, the slower I would run the first section. After half a mile, I was virtually in last place.
Gradually, I started moving past people. This would be how it would be, I thought, slowly reeling people in, no rushing. It was a long way. Today I’d be that guy still looking strong at the end, while everyone else was bent over double with the effort of just moving.
About two miles in I caught Nick. I had thought he’d perhaps beat me today, so it gave me a bit of a boost to run by him. I probably should have stayed with him for a while, had a chat, taken my time. But it was like a hit of adrenaline slungshot me onwards. He waved me on my way.
The race was thinning out now and I was moving easily after my gentle start. The achilles was fine. “Maybe I was fitter than I thought,” I thought, as I slungshot past a few more runners.
I was telling myself to hold back. “Just catch up with them and then run with them for a bit,” I told myself. But each time I caught someone, and they glanced across at this fleet-footed warrior charging up behind them, I found myself shooting straight by. Why did I keep doing it? It felt good, sure. It made me feel like I was flying. But we were still only about six miles in and I could feel my heart-rate rising. This wasn’t the plan.
Then we dropped down to the water and, across the estuary, I saw Taz. I really didn’t think I’d be anywhere near him today, but there he was, within sight, and I was feeling good. “Let’s go!” my little inner devil shrilled.
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