Battle

I ran my first race for about a year yesterday, despite not being particularly fit.  I just wanted to see if my knee was comfortable with that kind of punishment, as well as just feel the odd thrill of pitting my legs against someone else's.
So, the Two Bays Tough Ten in Weston-super-Mare it was.  Bizarrely the race HQ was in the college where I work, and the race took place along the seafront to Sand Bay; an area I know pretty well.It was strange mixing up my work and play identities, and chatting to the caretakers was very odd.

The weather was cold, and I flapped about trying to decide what to wear; whether a merino under my top was necessary, or whether my rather clingy running top would be sufficient to keep the chill out.  Actually, in all honesty, what was really important was whether I looked sporty in my kit - I hate the idea of being regarded as just a regular runner and want people to see me as a real contender.  On top of that I knew the race organisers had photographers out on the course and I have a surprisingly small collection of pictures of me racing - a legacy of rarely hanging out with other runners who may be wielding a camera and also having a wife who isn't a visual communicator.  I rather fancied a picture of me looking trim, flowing along sweetly despite my Robocop leg brace - maybe it would make it into one of my blog entries.

Luckily my leg brace marks me out as someone who could be fast but is clearly injured; that's fine as that image hides a multitude of sins, mostly age-related.  I toyed with the idea of starting in the elite group; after all, that is my place, but sensibly opted for a more gentle start.  Until the race started.  On the horn, I was off.

The race went pretty well - 90th out of 800 odd; not at my usual level, but running 10 miles per week isn't going to get me past the recreational jogger level.  My knee was fine the whole way round, but by the end my left foot was really sore; a reflection I suspect of my left leg having to compensate for the poorly functioning right leg.
I got home and was very excited that evening when the results came out and I could see where I fitted in among the people I knew.  I read all the way through so I could see who I beat, and who I might beat next time.  I looked forward to seeing the photos and was disappointed to see that they wouldn't be posted until the end of the week - surely they haven't anything else to do?

Then I remembered.  I remembered watching the fun run before the main race that went along the promenade and returned along the rocky part of the beach.  The runners at the front were young and fleet, and in the middle were sporty parents coaxing their kids along.  But at the back was a lady with a large zimmer frame with a teddy in, and heavy oedemal legs; walking very steadily alongside her partner who looked somewhat more athletic.  I had seen them at the start and wondered without thinking why they were there, as 100 metres into the run they were so far behind everyone else was out of sight.  So twenty minutes later, here they were, heading toward the finish; long after everyone else had collected their medal and cup of water. The ground was so rocky she had to pull her walking frame along behind her; it must have been really difficult.
To his very great credit the announcer suddenly drew everyone's attention to the couple slowly approaching the finish line.   He told the crowd her name, and despite confirming her last place announced that it was a huge achievement to complete the run, and we should give her the applause she deserves.  I was up on the promenade looking down on the finish and the people around me seemed too busy with their family to hear what was going on, so I started clapping, quite loudly.  Like a mexican wave, a swell of clapping grew out of the beach until smiling, the last placed fun runner stepped over the timing mat and she finished.

That evening I was struck by the vain, narcissistic approach to running I had shown - it was all about me; me against my injuries, me against the clock, me against the hills and the other runners.  The big story was that lady and her run.  The difference between what I did and my capability was close, so no significance there; the difference for her was much greater - that was an achievement.