Race Review: The Oslo Marathon: 21st September 2013

This blog is a bit of an epic, so surely you'll want to leave a comment at the end should you make it there, or even tweet me @scott_leach

Oslo!

My brother married into a lovely Norwegian family a few years ago and so I have become a little acquainted with Norway and the people over a few visits, whilst getting to know my sister in law and her family.
Norway is a stunningly beautiful country with gorgeous rolling hills giving way to incredible fjords, spectacular mountains and the famous midnight sun in the north. In the cities the buildings reflect the rugged and attractive people. In the countryside pretty wooden buildings pepper the landscape making Norway feel traditional yet ultra modern, stylish and up-to-date. So what could be better than spicing up a trip to see my brother and his family than by running the Oslo marathon? Genius plan! Sometime back the thought had entered my head that I would do a marathon abroad each year and Oslo could be my first.
However, as it turns out, as great a country as Norway is and as great a city as Oslo is, they haven't really got the hang of a big city marathon just yet...

I mentioned the Oslo marathon to my brother's brother-in-law whilst chatting on facebocks one night and two minutes later he had signed me up. I had no excuse now! Somehow, I had managed to get signed up for 3 marathons, before I had even run one. Oslo would be my second after Manchester in April, which went very well.

So I was really looking forward to the visit. Then disaster- my sister-in-law got a job in Malaysia and would be moving before the marathon! I would have to sort out my own travel plans and accommodation....in one of the most expensive cities in the world. Whoops.

I know how to pack for a marathon abroad ;)

Fail to prepare; prepare to fail

As the marathon came closer I periodically checked the website of a certain budget airline- you know the one; they treat you like cattle and don't put enough fuel in the planes- waiting for the price of flights to come down from over £200. Eventually they hit £30 and I booked it, along with an ultra budget hotel in the heart of Oslo. So far so good- it wasn't costing me too much money.

One thing I need to do is keep my race diary a bit more carefully in future as I suddenly realised that September was going to be one hell of a mad month. If I did all I intended to do, I would be racing every weekend throughout the month, starting with The Wetherby 10k, then The Great North Run, Oslo and finishing it up with either the Sheffield 10k or The Horsforth 10k, both of which I've done for the last 2 years. Crazy.

The weather report for Oslo looked great as I set off for Liverpool airport. The cattle handlers herded us around whilst constantly trying to sell us rubbish before we eventually landed at Oslo Torp. I was just glad to avoid the electric cattle prods. The budget airline being the budget airline, Torp is actually about an hour and 45 from Oslo by the Torp Expressen bus which, to my horror, was £42 for a return ticket. And it got worse. I had been on the bus no more than 10 minutes and in Norway no more than 30 when I received a text message from my mobile provider (Orange or EE, depending on how you think) telling me that I was protected by a £42 data limit on my phone whilst abroad......and I had already reached 80% of it from less than 20 minutes on facebook!! Apparently they charge 8 POUNDS per MB. Maybe this trip was going to cost more than I imagined....

Leaving the airport: It's not easy being the world's best photographer you know

The wonderful scenery passed by the window and before I knew it I was at Olso bus terminal, a place that I was soon to become very well acquainted with...

As I looked out of the bus terminal I discovered my next mistake- printing out a very basic google map of Oslo to my hotel wasn't really adequate for finding the marathon expo to pick up my number. I had thought I would be able to get a map in the terminal but I was wrong. I had about an hour before the expo closed otherwise I would have to get up earlier the next day before the race to get my number. Right- route march through Oslo to find the place! Eventually I resorted to using up even more data with google maps, but I managed to find the place.

I realise that marathons make you pick up your number from an expo for a reason, rather than send it to you- so you can be herded around sponsors stands, which was exactly what happened. I have no real objections to this- except, as it was a Norwegian expo it wasn't really very relevant to me and they had set it up so you had to pass every stand before you could pick up your t-shirt on the way out having picked your number and chip up at the entrance. I would have liked to have opted out of this really, but then I might have wondered if I was missing anything. When I reached the end I asked for a small t-shirt only to be told that they had run out, which in this case was lucky as the medium fits me brilliantly! I also rather liked the boot bag it came in:

Using my terrible printed map, a couple of maps on bus stops and the magnets in my head I managed to find my hotel. I had to snigger when I realised the whole place looked and even smelled like an Ikea.
The room was tiny, which I knew having read the reviews, but it was stupidly cheap for Oslo and very neat and tidy with clever touches. The bed was fitted in to a corner and was comfortable. All I needed was a bed to land on so this was perfect. I was distressed to find that the payment hadn't gone through when I originally booked it and so another £110 fell screaming from my account.

How much? Do you accept body parts in payment?   (Not yours though mate, they look knackered)

After a nap I had my next challenge: to find a meal in Oslo without bankrupting myself. Just around the corner from my hotel, I got lucky; beer at only £5.40 per 500m. I supped a jar with a large bowl of carbonara pasta with a very confusing raw egg sitting in half a shelf and a small bowl of pesto. Then back to the hotel for a good, long night's sleep before the race in the morning.

The marathon booklet wasn't a massive help to me as I barely speak English, never mind Norwegian.

 Now I know just how childish it is to laugh at other languages when some of the words are a bit rude in English, but well.....I'm childish. So there. Norway provided me with lots of  "Sorry, come again" moments, or in the American vernacular, the slightly more punchy "Wait...what now?" And on that note let's have a closer look at that marathon booklet....

Wait...what now?

More of that later....

Marathon Morn

In the morning I had to endure a Yorkshireman's nightmare: an expensive buffet that I couldn't take advantage of. I paid nearly £12 for the breakfast at the hotel to avoid having to find a place and whereas I would normally have stuffed my face fit to last for at least until the evening, I had to stick at a bowl of cereal and a coffee so as not to feel too full during the race. I now realise I should have stuffed my pockets full of whatever I could carry. Amateur mistake!

My hotel was only 5 minutes from the race start and I wandered down there in plenty of time.

Way to fill us full of confidence.... (Only in Norway would the Ambulance be a modified Mercedes!)

Really oddly, they were setting us off in 3 waves, despite there only being 3000 doing the full marathon length. I had been put in the back section and I messaged the organisers on facebook slightly panicking- I really didn't want to set off at the back! They assured me I could move forward and there wouldn't be any problem. In the event, they were right and I started close to the front with no problems.

On the day of the "Oslo Maraton" there would be 23000 people running, but only 3000 of those were in the sold-out marathon itself. In what I found a very odd state of affairs, the marathon was to start first, followed by the half then the 10k. Some of the 10k runners not starting until 6pm. So essentially, they shut off large parts of Oslo for a full Saturday!

The start had a large scaffolding over it and the MCs and warm up people bounced around on it trying to gee people up as usual. I wasn't waiting around too long in the slightly chilly air before the hooter went and we were off through the sparse crowds. A quick left turn and we were on the harbour front. "Harbour" is the best word that I can think of to describe it, although it is far too grand for what it was. Depressingly, less than 200 metres in to the race, we passed this point with the 29km marker.

We would go on to pass this point a further 2 times before the sign was correct. I hadn't realised just how bad that would be for my moral.

As usual I had thought about what I expected from the race in the days before. I had raced the 2 previous weekends and broke my PB for 10k, then took 9.5 minutes off my half marathon PB the following weekend. I knew that these two hard races would mean that the marathon would be very tough. Luckily, I picked up a good tip from the terrible book on marathons that I started to read when I got in to Norway; to set myself more than one target time: One I would be satisfied with, one I'd be very pleased with and one I'd be ecstatic with. Respectively I set them as: Breaking my PB; The London marathon good for age time of 3:05 and  Less than 3 hours.
I know it seems odd to have my lowest target as a new PB but I knew that I was in much better shape than at my only other marathon in Manchester in April, so it seemed very reasonable to assume that that would be a relatively easy target.
I also came up with a tactic that might seem odd; I was almost certain that I would blow up between 18 and 20 miles. I just hadn't managed to get enough distance training in in between the races. With this in mind I decided to go out reasonably quickly and just try to get as far as I could before I would have to slow. I was certain that it wouldn't matter at what time I got to that point, I would still hit the wall. In hindsight I still stick by this slightly odd logic although I had to wonder if I was setting myself up with a self-fulfilling prophecy and that maybe I wouldn't blow up at all.

The Oslo opera house

Round and round and round and round and round and round and round.........

So around the headland we went for the first of three passes and soon to the opera house. I've had a look around this wonderful modern building the last time I visited Oslo and it really is a great piece of architecture. You can just see from the photo above that you can walk right up on to the roof. Alongside the opera house they had set up a small stage with some ballerinas dancing to europop- a nice touch which I enjoyed a lot. But definitely not in a dirty, pervy old man way, oh no.

And so it started to go downhill, although not literally. The opera house itself is a fantastic building, but right now, it's sitting in the middle of a gigantic building site. Unfortunately, the organisers had decided to run us through it more than once.......in fact, the route was a loop through the giant building site, so we actually made 6......SIX passes through it. With not a single supporter to cheer us. A small stage had been set up in the middle of it however, and a drummer was doing a great job along to a sound track. It didn't make up for the building site. To paraphrase an old joke- Oslo is a really nice city, it'll be brilliant when it's finished...
The 6th and final time I saw the opera house, my fantasies of vandalising it had become huge on a grand scale and involved explosives and tanks.

From the building site the route went over a flyover and then around the bus terminal, around another loop and then...............back past the bus terminal. As the route was a fantastically confusing multi lap route (Although not the same lap!!) we actually passed the bus terminal SIX times. Think I'm joking? Sadly not...

The grey building; that's the bus terminal. 6 passes didn't improve it

At the expo I had studied the marathon route. The map was criss-crossed with varying coloured lines in a terribly confusing way. I couldn't for the life of me work out how the marathon was going to work. Post-run, I think, think, that it happened this way- 2 laps of the 10k route, then a lap of the 1/2 marathon route, then a final lap that included most of the 1/2 marathon route again, with a couple of extra bits to make it up to marathon length. Bearing in mind that the 10k route was part of the 1/2 route and 2 x 10ks plus a half plus another half is 60-odd-k-ish; they cut off some chunks somewhere, I'm just not sure where. Confused? I was. I have to admit though; the staging was remarkable, for instance, when we came to the loop in the building site for the third time, the barriers had been moved and the loop extended. I had to wonder how they made sure everyone did the correct route?

So back to my race. I knew that to go under 3 hours I would need to average under 4:16 per kilometre. Last week at the half marathon I had averaged 3:59, so it seemed possible and for the first half, I sat at 4:12. I was constantly working out the race maths; how much time was this giving me in hand? How far did I have to get before I could afford to slow down? During a race my mental arithmetic goes entirely to pot so the answer changed lots of times, but it's a good way to pass the time. I tried to settle in to a 4:12 pace, but it was hard from the start. I quickly realised that the last couple of races had taken a lot out of me.

I'll skip ahead a little. The route was, in the main, phenomenally boring even without taking the building site in to consideration. Lots of running through deserted areas of town and even in the populated areas there were few people around.

The route, in all its erm...glory

A couple of nights before I set off, Jauntyhippedgirl had asked if I had looked at reviews of the race, I admitted I hadn't. As I was running it as part of a planned trip to see my brother, I hadn't bothered. And when I looked, it made grim reading. I couldn't find all that many reviews, but the ones I could, gave the same opinion of the marathon- repetitive and boring. One said that he always did the race as it was close to where he lived, but he couldn't understand anyone flying in to do it. Whoops. I guess the organiser's response to this was to add the music stations. Or more of them. The google translation of the emails telling me about the planned entertainment provided me with some yucks.

I was looking forward to focussing on carpet and seeing how they invited life around the course. Another email translation claimed they would "create life" around the course. The mind boggled at that one!

The music stations, frankly, were a bit crap. Bored looking marshals stood on their own next to sound systems pumping out generic euro-pop. I can't say they were especially motivating. The large areas of deserted city, though pretty enough, it being Oslo, were quite dispiriting. A few areas right in the centre and around the start area (We passed through the start area 3 times) had some modest crowds. In a couple of places people were banging away on cow bells, which was great, it made me really feel that I was running in Scandinavia. If that atmosphere was extended around more of the course the atmosphere would have been amazing. As it was, a few people shouted out "Heia" (to sound like hey ya!) which means "go on". Sometimes it was shouted with more vigour than others and occasionally in such a dull monotone that it was comical. At first it sounded great to hear it, but like anything that is shouted out during a marathon, by around the 35th k, people could be shouting out "Free naked models and money" and you'd still want to punch them in the throat, or maybe that's just me?

The Balloon B*stard

Several pacers had been provided for the race. The forums kept mentioning "following the balloons". I wonder what the hell they meant, until I saw the pacers had large helium balloons attached to them. The fastest pacer was 3 hours, so I had a target- stay in front of  "balloon b*stard" (BB) as I had named him.
At the first loop through the building site the I caught sight of BB as the field looped around the same road. He was a fair way behind me. Cool. The race went on; opera house, bus station, ghost town. Opera house, bus station, ghost town. Opera house, bus station, ghost town.
And we were at the halfway point. I was flagging. Badly. I was already experiencing discomfort in my leg muscles; way too early. We rounded the loop in the building site again, and there he was. BB. I knew I would see him soon as the average time on my GPS watch told me I was slowing and there was nothing I could really do about it. The sight of him spurred me on. He was surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of people all trying to break the magic 3 hour mark. The thought of all these people having to pass me, all of them judging me for what they will have thought of as "some idiot who went off too fast", and who knows? maybe they were right. It kept me going for a while, but I knew it couldn't happen. I had to make the decision to let the sub 3 hour time go. I didn't debate with myself for long, I knew it had been a looooooooong shot. Not long after, I knew I had to let the good for age time go too. For a while I entertained the thought that I should aim for last year's good for age time of 3:10, but then realised that was just pointless.

Time for some not-so-pretty pictures

Ok, let's break this up for a bit, here's some of the sights we passed, sometimes multiple times and some better than others

The 3rd and final time down these cobbles was at about 40km. Not nice!

One of the museums, sorry, don't ask me which one

Yep, a lot of the buildings looked like this!

Oslo's Hard Rock Cafe

Well, maybe not in a marathon....

I think this guy was on the marathon committee 

Yep, the building site was pretty huge, and this is just a small part of it

The stunning dock area we ran through. Erm...

We passed this point 6 times too...

This photo probably doesn't do justice, but these were really amazing buildings

This was the turn around point that they miraculously moved at the third pass, pretty, huh?

Someone liked playing with lego when they were a child

Skip To The End

Now my expectations had been rounded severely down, I was just trying to keep going at a reasonable pace. I was pleased that I seemed to be holding at around 4:30 per k. In a discussion with Jaunty, I had mentioned that I had actually managed to up my pace in the middle of the Great North Run for the first time ever during a race. She said that she had read in one of the many running books she's read, that one runner said that sometimes, when they felt tired, rather than slow down, they would speed up. During the last half of the race, each time I felt myself flagging, I tried it and to my amazement, it worked. I would be able to run faster for quite a bit before slowing down again, but I wouldn't slow back down to the original pace for a while.

I remembered at the Belper Rugby Rover feeling much better each time I stopped and stood still at the checkpoints, drunk a couple of cups of water and ate a jelly baby or three. When I set off after each stop, I ran off much quicker feeling refreshed. With about 15km to go, I decided I would stop at each water stop. Because of the multiple laps there were a lot of water stops but they were spaced quite randomly. Annoyingly, the water was being handed out in small cardboard cups. Try drinking from these running at speed without throwing most of it over your face...I tried lots of times, but didn't manage it. Since then I have heard the technique is to fold a slight lip into the front of the cup. I'll have to practice that one. In all honesty, I think a major city marathon ought to give out bottles, or even the squashy pouches that we got at Manchester- those were good and much more difficult to turn an ankle on a discarded one.

There was one section of the route that was part of the marathon only. It headed west out of the city. We passed through some seriously expensive, beautiful housing. With no one there. No one. Zero. None. And then to a marina. The marina was gorgeous and I found it the most enjoyable part even though it wasn't cordoned off and cyclists rode down the same path we were on in the other direction. The path took us past a huge moored ferry. Amazing.

No Really, Get On With It, Scott

The water stations couldn't come quickly enough; I started chugging the proffered sports drinks (in the small cardboard cups) but declined the banana halves. And so I edged closer to the end. Speeding up and slowing down. Sometimes moving at sub 3 hour pace and sometimes much, much slower, trying to regather myself at each drinks station until we headed down the cobbled stretch with the Royal Palace in the distance (Thankfully they didn't make us run up the sizable hill to it) and the 41k and 42k markers passed. So at least I knew I was going to make it whilst still running. Sometime around there was the previously promised belly dancers. If you can manage to appreciate belly dancers 41k into a marathon you are a much better man than I! We also barrelled straight down the centre of one of the main shopping streets which had been impressively cordoned off with 6 foot-tall barriers meaning the fairly plentiful shoppers were trapped in tiny rat runs whereas we runners trotted down a wide thoroughfare which was hardly necessary given the sparse volume of runners. The shoppers looked at us with bemused bewilderment.

Finally the finish line appeared again and mercifully for the final time. I speeded up enough to try to look impressive as I crossed the line, I failed of course, and crossed the line looking like my usual drunken monkey.

The Nobel Building

The finish line was right in front of the Nobel prize building which it would be entirely inappropriate to say was appropriate. The medal was placed around my neck and I hobbled off to find beer, but before that I took off my shoes and socks and bathed my feet in a beautiful cold fountain, to the amusement of some of the onlookers.  The search for beer took me a while as it seemed that the organisers had either not put on a beer tent or had hidden it well. I thought I had read that there was a beer tent somewhere but my search was fruitless so the exciting after party never emerged. However, I did find a beer eventually.

The very beer I supped after the marathon; and what a snip at only £7.40......

I positioned myself with a view of the finishing straight and watched some of my marathon colleagues finishing. By now the temperature was perfect at around 20 degrees. A couple of Norwegians next to me started chatting and were surprised when I confirmed that I had finished my marathon half an hour ago. I asked them if they knew the German word -Schadenfreude-?
They looked perplexed. It means, I told them "To enjoy someone else's misery" I explained-Positioning oneself to watch other runners coming in having finished ones own marathon.

Ok, let's break it up again for some more, "Wait, what now?" moments...

Erm, thanks for pointing it out....

Wait, what now? Is that a giant silver ball sack and misshapen cock?

Never chase after children in your digger...

My Norwegian isn't great, but I think they don't want us to go any further AND *snigger* Hi-5!

A what hall now?

No, these pants are just a bit tight

Erm, no thanks, I'll have salt and vinegar 

It's been said before

And here are my winnings

The only "selfie" I've ever taken, about an hour after finishing. Glad to say I look just s much a twat as everyone does in a selfie

Finishing the marathon by myself with no one cheering me on or there to meet me was a slightly lonely experience and I probably wouldn't recommend anyone to fly in and out so quickly when doing a marathon.
Later that evening, after a shower and a nap (A hotel room with  bath wouldn't have gone a miss) eating alone wasn't much fun and I headed back to the hotel pretty early.

The view from my hotel room

Summary

I'll reiterate that Oslo is a great city, clean, metropolitan, stylish and modern mixed in with the traditional and Norway is a wonderful country, but unfortunately, they've some way to go with the marathon.

They've obviously been trying; they put out a lot of music stations for example, but in the end, the people of Oslo just haven't taken to this event. If you watch any skiing you'll know that Norwegians are capable of making a lot of noise and creating a great atmosphere, but sadly, not for this marathon yet.

There are some really major problems with the race:

Lack of crowds

Repetitive, boring route

No energy gels etc (Although the bananas were a nice touch)

Cardboard cups instead of bottles or similar
Multi-lap route
Really average t-shirt and medal that I am not even sure was specific to the marathon
Nothing is set up for international runners

I really do want to be positive about my first marathon abroad, but, well.....there's not a lot

The boot bag is very nice
Oslo and Norway are lovely
The few spectators that were enthusiastic, especially those with cow bells
What they did do was well organised
The ballerinas at the opera house
*Addit* A tracker system for the runners was live on the internet and Jaunty managed to follow it
I'm really struggling now.....

And one huge, annoying bug-bear. A marathon is 26 miles 385 yards or 42.195km. Exactly. That's it. Not a yard less, not a metre more.
What it isn't, is 3k, 5k, 10k, 13.1 miles or anything else for that matter.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand breathe.

So all in all, no, I wouldn't do it again, but did I regret it? No, not at all. I've now got my first marathon abroad out of the way and learned a lot of useful lessons along the way.

A lonely pair of gloves I spotted discarded on the route the next day. The left one may or may not, be giving me the finger

Chocolate milk with a picture of a moose from Torp airport. What more could you want to aid your marathon recovery?

And the link to my garmin http://connect.garmin.com/activity/380214469

Did you really get this far? Well, I broke my PB by 6 minutes or summat, coming in with an official time of 3:11:09

Run Review: The Great North Run 15/9/2013

Here's one I prepared earlier. I took this shot a few years ago in Hull, but the Red Arrows fly over the start of the GNR each year

It's a big race, you might have heard of it

Sunday the 15th of September 2013 brought with it Britain's largest race and the second largest half marathon in the world; The Great North Run. Starting in Newcastle Upon Tyne and finishing in South Shields, the iconic GNR is now in its 33rd year since the inaugural event in 1981 when 12,000 runners took part. This year, close to 41,000 people crossed the finishing line after David Weir won the wheelchair event for the 5th time, Mo Farah had been out-sprinted by Kenenisa Bekele down the final straight and Priscah Jeptoo had lolloped through the tape with her painful looking gait. In a wonderful performance, Haile Gebreselassie broke the world record for the over 40s.

Sometime later, I crossed the line too. Mo Farah, was not looking over his shoulder worrying about me.

Last year the GNR was my first ever half marathon and, at the time, represented the furthest I had ever run by 2 clear miles. Before the event I had been very worried that I might not make it to the end still running, the only thing that allayed my fears was knowing that I had walked much further than 13 miles on many occasions, so if the worst happened I could get there. In the actual event, the amazing north east crowd carried me along so well I surpassed all my expectations and finished in a shade under 1 hour 35. Since then I have only completed one other half marathon in a much slower time as it was my first event after a major face-planting injury. I was forced to not start the other two halves I entered due to injury and illness. I was beginning to think my half marathons were cursed. Thus the GNR this year would be only my third ever half marathon.

Dear Runner, go f**k yourself, yours unfaithfully, the GNR

This year's GNR didn't start well for me when I discovered that they had managed to send my number to the wrong address. Apparently, there is a ten week cut off before the race to tell them of a change of details. This seems a phenomenally long time. A decent printers would be able to knock out 54,000 race numbers in a day or two. But anyway, this was irrelevant as I had told them way before the cut off. When they sent out an email asking entrants to check that their details were correct as the numbers were being printed soon, I went on line to check that I had already changed my address; I had. Informing the GNR via email of this did no good at all. In each intervening 3 day period it took them to answer my emails a different person would answer and would not accept their mistake, telling me I would need to pick up a new number on the day. Considering this is their mistake, not mine, I consider this particularly poor customer service. I told them to "intercourse away" in no uncertain terms.

Further North

Last year I had stumbled on a pretty good way of dealing with the logistical problems of the GNR. The route is linear, so if you go alone you need transport to or from the finish, so I organised a lift instead. I was dropped off just south of the Tyne, out of nose-shot of the bacardi breezers and avoiding all the traffic. I walked across the rail bridge and through the centre to the start of the race. This was about a 20 minute walk, a nice little warm up. I decided to do this again as it worked well last year. The only problem with this is you are left, at least an hour before the race, with only what you will carry on the run and I don't carry anything when I run. Should anything go wrong, I would have to mug someone for a mobile phone. As I walked across the highly exposed bridge, the north-east wind attempted to slice my legs in three and I began to wonder about the wisdom of my choice, so I decided to run for a little bit to warm up!

The Regular Toilet Section

Just because the GNR is the biggest race in the UK doesn't, of course, mean they will provide adequate toilets. The main toilets are in a car park close to the start line. The queue for these toilets starts somewhere near the Guatemalan village of Panajachel in South America. If I had entered the queue where it passed my house in Leeds I would reach the front around Christmas 2042. Luckily, I had found something slightly better last year. At an intersection of roads, where the crowds of people seem to meet from every direction there is a small bank of 12 or so toilets. For some reason the queues here are shorter. Last year it had taken about 20 minutes to use one and this year was similar. Result! Hundreds and hundreds of other people didn't know this and queued up at the main toilets, some dying of old age while they waited.
As usual, I got chatting to someone in the queue. Turns out he was running his 14th and last GNR. Travelling from Coventry(!) and staying in a hotel was costing £500 each time. Something must have kept him coming back each year, but he had now decided the expense was enough. I knew the feeling.

The Start: High-Five A Celebrity (If you spot one)

At the start of the race the runners are cordoned off according to expected race time and this is enforced completely. Unfortunately, each runner puts in their own expected time when signing up, so there is nothing to stop you lying like a  politician filling in his expenses sheet to gain a spot further forward than your real time would allow. 

As I made my way towards the front of my cordon I passed a row of- sorry about this- not very fit looking women pushing a row of wheelchairs, lined up side by side. IN THE FASTEST CORDON.

I honestly couldn't believe this. 40000 finishers and even if I am being generous....20000 of them would need to get past this rolling road block. The danger this represents to the runners passing them was pretty substantial, not to mention the people in the wheelchairs! Major pile ups have been caused at large races before by people picking up dropped MP3 players etc; I am VERY glad I moved past this potential disaster. 

I got as far to the front as I could until the crowd was too dense. Judging by the amount of people in front of me, I was probably in the right place. Last year I had missed out on high-fiving Mo Farah, so this year I was keeping a look out for the celebrity hand-slappers, Graham Swann (A favourite cricketer of mine) and Christine Ohuruogu.

I missed them again.Turns out they were on the left side of the dual carriageway.

Heavy rain had been forecast for days before the race, so standing waiting to start wearing a £3.50 charity shop fleece, I was really hoping the rain would hold off, so I didn't have to find out exactly how much water it would hold. Thankfully it would be around mile 8 before the rain set in.

A couple of minutes before the off and we were walked forward towards the starting line. I took off the fleece and attempted to throw it in to the central reservation. In a totally girly moment my throw went horribly awry; the fleece opened up like a parachute and hit another runner in the face like the alien on John Hurt.
Sorry!

Last year the GNR had been my first experience of a really big, well supported race and I think this had tinged my memories somewhat as I had remembered that there were lots of supporters along the whole course or perhaps what had happened is that the promise of heavy rain this year quelled the crowds a little, but  I noticed plenty of blank spots. That said, as we got further into the city centre the crowds appeared thick and loud. Every possible vantage point was taken. People hung off the bridges and the slip roads making a fantastic noise. I defy anyone not to have goose pimples when you experience this for the first time. A smile spread across my face and I felt like a real athlete, like an Olympian. What a feeling!

Into the famous tunnel and the cries of "Oggy, oggy, oggy... OY, OY, OY" rang out.

I saw the 2 mile marker about 3 minutes after we set off. Not really, but that's what it felt like. The start had seemed much more of a scrum than last year and I found myself jumping around many, many selfish, ignorant runners who were clearly a lot further forward than their running speed suggested they should be. I really cannot understand why people don't notice just what *rseholes they're being when they push to the front of a race when they are slow runners. To lose a potential PB after months of training because some arsehole lied to get close to the front must be hugely frustrating. But anyway, the crowd carried me and the first 2 miles were gone in a flash.

Marathon photos have put their prices up so here's a picture of a birthday card I got instead

The first part of the course is downhill, so as ever, I took advantage of some free speed, covering the first 3k in 3:55, 3:48 and 3:49, the crowd helping immensely as we crossed the famous Tyne bridge. After the bridge the course itself is, well...very, very boring. I'd like to cover the highlights, but there really aren't any. It's a long, straightish road through, what seems like, endless industrial areas, until you hit South Shields seafront 10 or so miles later.
Of course, this is where the amazing north east crowd comes into its own. Constant cheers, small children holding out their hands for a low five, the kindness of strangers holding out orange segments and jelly babies and of course, the bands!!!! The bands are truly fantastic. Each time I came upon one my chest swelled and I suddenly found myself running much faster. It's amazing just how much a steel band playing pop songs can affect me.
The charity buses are also good for a laugh and a boost too. I was lucky enough to pass the Oxfam bus as someone in an Oxfam shirt passed it and let me tell you.....They went BAT-CRAP CRAZY. Serious kudos to the people on board as they were making a brilliant effort! The runner in the Oxfam shirt was visibly moved and pleased.

But back to my race, said the narcissist. 

I had settled down in to a good and comfortable pace which, to my total amazement was under 4 minutes per k- sub 40 minute 10k pace (My brain always converts everything into 10k pace as that's the distance I do most and was the first races I took part in) I worried for a second that this was too fast, that I would blow up before the end, but I listened to my body and it was uncomplaining. Well, best not give it reason to complain then! Carry on McDuff...

As ever, the race now became a mental and physical challenge to maintain my pace. Even though the race was still young, I resolved to keep the pace under 4 minutes a kilometre and as the course gently climbed and descended the hills, the bands passed by, time ticked away and each time I looked at my watch, it showed a 3:59 average. I wiled away the miles trying to calculate what a 3:59 average would mean as a finishing time.

And then the rain

It started slowly, but before long it became a downpour and within seconds I was drenched. It was at that moment a funny train of thought got on my track and blew its horn.
At mile 8 my pace hadn't dropped and I felt good, but the God of the GNR was trying to stop me, He was throwing rain and wind at me, but it wasn't going to be enough. I began to smile. I rounded yet another roundabout and really began to enjoy it.
I put my face up to the sky, closed my eyes and held my hands down and out to the side, breathing in the awful weather and loving every minute. I must have looked ridiculous but it drew a cheer from the crowd.
The God of the GNR changed tack....One of the bands was playing "Everybody wants to run the world" I decided to sing it in my head as a motivational aid. I tried in vain to think of the first line, but the GNR God kept putting the first line of Go West's "Don't look down" into my head. A great song and perfect for distraction. In your face GNR God!!

At about 10 miles I glanced at my watch and I had dropped to 4 minutes per k. Oh HELL NO!! I put down the hammer and speeded up. (Re- the hammer- for these purposes, you need to remember Andy Dufresne's rock hammer in the Shawshank redemption- tiny and worn down to the nub) For the first time ever mid-race, I found that I was able to accelerate and the next time I looked, I saw 3:58. I tried not to think about it too much, because if I did, I felt I would break the spell and suddenly I would see the reality, that in fact, I was running 5 minutes per k...

Last year I had hungrily grabbed a slice of orange from a stranger as I had reached about 11 miles, and it was one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten, such is the my mind works entering the final stages of a race. But this year, as I ate up the miles, I daren't slow down. I was desperately trying to do race-maths as I ran. My brain told me I could break 1:20. This wasn't true. It was never true, but as I got closer to South Shields, I managed to work out that I was close to 1:25, although my brain informed me that I would break that easily. Stupid brain.

Just before you reach the final straight along the front, there is a steep downhill section of tarmac. Once again my brain was fooling me; last year I had been terrified as I flew down it, worried that at any minute my trainers would lose purchase and I'd land heavily, shattering my coccyx. In reality, the section really wasn't that steep and there was absolutely no danger of slipping. At the top of this slope a group of guys that had been running close to me began to gee each other up with some shouts. "Come on!! we're flying!!"
Sad as it is to admit it, I love this sort of thing at the end of a race. I joined in, "COME ONNNNNN!!!" The crowd responded through the falling rain with a huge cheer. I felt spurred on again.

I bit the bullet and bought the photos

The last mile is a sprint along the flat seafront to the finish: expend any remaining energy you have. The rain was falling, but the crowd was thick along the course, cheering us on.
"COME OOOOOOON!!!" Once again there was a big cheer from the crowd. I glanced at my watch: 1:23. That sub 1:25 was definitely on.
By now everyone around me was hitting it as hard as they could. At this point the crowd is crucial and they don't come better than at the GNR.
The countdown signs seemed to take forever. 800m......600m......400m.......
At 200m I looked at my watch, it said 1:24. SH*T.  Before the race I would have been happy with anything under my 1:34 PB, but it had all changed during the race. I was amazed with the pace I had run; but sub 1:25 was on and I wanted it bad.

I gave it everything I could in those last two hundred metres and crossed the line. I stopped my watch and looked down. 1:25 had passed.

"B*LLOCKS!!"

This drew a loud laugh from the various marshalls and people around and it was made even funnier by the runner next to me celebrating wildly having achieved pretty much exactly the same time as me. Such is the different perspectives of individual runners. He turned to me, "Were you the guy doing the war cries?" I had to sheepishly admit I was. He looked at me, "Mate, those were amazing! Every time you shouted my chest swelled and I powered on. You got me that 1:25 time" I have to admit, that was my favourite bit of the race. To know I had helped another runner to a time he was really pleased with was brilliant.

I walked through the giant finishing area, telling myself that I HAD to be happy with that time, that if you'd offered me it before the race I would have snatched your arm off. Now time has gone by, I am really very pleased. Incredibly, I finished 403rd out of 40721 finishers, a result beyond my wildest dreams!

The Summary:

Personally, I knocked 9 and a half minutes from my half marathon PB. I had only ever run 2 sub- 40 minute 10K's before, but on this day, I ran two of them, back-to-back. Nothing suggested that I would be able to do this. In retrospect, I'm ecstatic.
But from an objective point of view, the GNR is the most expensive road race, mile for mile, that I know of. I don't think there are any more expensive in the UK. The customer service is pretty much zero, because let's face it, they don't have to try too hard at all. Sad really. The course is very boring apart from the first and last miles, the only thing that makes this race worth doing is the amazing north east crowd. And they shouldn't be underestimated. Other than being an elite athlete or the London Marathon (So I am told) this is as close as you are going to feel, in the UK, to being a professional.
The t-shirt is cheap and cotton and very annoyingly, it has a major manufacturers name on the front, but is anything but one of their products. For £56 I expect a tech material shirt from a name manufacturer. The medal is cheap looking and a bit tinny in my opinion. It really isn't good enough. The GNR is now feted as being all about charity, which of course, it isn't. People raise millions for charity doing the race, but a large corporation makes a lot of money from this race,  and I am thoroughly disappointed that the race's original organiser has sold it out in this way whilst still remaining involved.
As races go, I would say this is terrible value for money. It's worth doing once, for the crowds and nothing else, but don't be gullible enough to go back for a second time as I did, stick to just the once.

Race Review: The Wetherby 10k 8/9/2013

Apologies to the people that have commented on my blog that I have only just replied to. Google have a major problem where using certain blog templates mean that comments are hidden! This is why I have reverted to an old-style blog; so I can see the damn comments!

You can also tweet me: @scott_leach

Last year's mug; something I have often been called

A Cracking Little Yorkshire Run

Last year, after I had got over the disappointment of finding out this race wasn't actually run on Coronation Street, (apparently that's Wetherfield) I thoroughly enjoyed the Wetherby 10k put on by the Wetherby Runners AC and so decided I would enter again this year despite a choice of several races. The route is an undulating mixture of good, solid trails and road, setting out and finishing at the racecourse. The atmosphere is friendly and welcoming and it was one of my favourite races on last year's calendar. Seriously, who wouldn't want to get their hands on the beautiful and ma-hoo-sive Wetherby 10k mug that all finishers receive?! It's been used almost daily ever since I got mine last year. I plan to defend myself against burglars with it should one ever break in while I am home as I'm pretty sure it could easily fracture a skull.

The 2012 event had been run on one of the hottest days of the year and the heat had taken its toll on the runners, slowing the field down considerably. I had been just about holding 40 minute pace last year when mammaries went skyward at about 7k and I finished in over 43 minutes. Last year, my time placed me 94th, this year that same time would have moved me down over 40 places.
When Sunday dawned; slightly chilly and overcast at times, it felt like a great improvement on last year's soaring temperatures. Unusually though, this race starts at 2pm and by then it had warmed up a bit to 17C, perfect race weather and no chance of ending up a sodden puddle on the A1 from either sweat or rain.

I think they deliberately made it in the shape of a saddle...

Thinking about the race in advance it was difficult to gauge what time I was likely to do. I inconveniently forgot that I had run the twisty, turny, undulating, York 10k which is fairly comparable to this race in many ways, in just over 40 minutes only a few weeks ago. Consequently my brain told me I had no idea of whether I would get near 40 minutes on a predominantly trail race. As ever, I planned to gauge how I felt as I started running.

Race Day:

Enjoying a rare sleep in on a race day, I followed it with a leisurely breakfast of fresh ground coffee, bircher muesli (oats soaked in apple juice, greek yoghurt, grated apple, squirt of honey, banana and pecan nuts) and drove the short distance over to Wetherby. The racecourse is used to handling far more people than 1000 runners and friends so parking is very easy and as close to the start as any race I've ever done. Rebecca and I arrived in good time with around 45 minutes to the race and remembering last year's toilet situation, made use of the ample bushes around the car park instead. The excitement of race day had started to kick in as I drove there which I was pleased about; a bit of adrenaline can only help you on race day.  Numbers had been sent out in the post, but the race chip needed to be picked up at race HQ and there was no queue for this at all.

The race "village" was a bit larger than last year with a bouncy castle and a few stalls. The atmosphere felt like that of a small village carnival.

So I will have my usual quick grumble; it's my only one about this otherwise fantastically well organised race. And you've guessed it: the toilets. Last year the start had to be delayed due to queues at the loos and sadly that situation hadn't been rectified this year. I think there were 8 portaloos for over 800 runners and the many spectators; less than 1 toilet per 100 people. I guess I must be missing something because this happens at every single race I do. Maybe portaloos are really difficult to book? Perhaps they are incredibly expensive? Maybe someone who knows can let me in on the secret?

Ok, enough of that as I really have nothing else bad to say about this wonderful little race.

My quads have been feeling like planks of wood recently and I made sure I warmed them up with a short run and felt them loosen off nicely. Off we went to the start. I left Rebecca a little further back and made my way to the front. The atmosphere was jovial as the MC made friendly banter in between announcements,"Don't step on the timing mats; you will be electrocuted!"
I resisted the urge to step on them and pretend to be electrocuted. Mainly because I knew it might activate my chip and wreck my race timing.

Standing on the line I reflected on the fact that I had broken rule 1 of race day preparation: Never use anything new on race day.
And yet, there I was, wearing trainers bought only one day before and sunglasses I had never run in. I began to worry that the God of running would smite me with a thunderbolt for this terrible sin. I justified my decision of course; I had run 5k in the trainers yesterday and they felt great, My old sunglasses didn't fit me well and would sit on my forehead which would then cover them in sweat. The new ones had an adjustable nose grip. If worst came to the worst I could run with them in my hand. Anyway, it was only 10k, what could possibly go wrong in 40 minutes?

Nike Flex 2012, £45 from the Nike shop at Junction 32, Castleford, since you didn't ask.

HONK! And they're off!

The inflatable race arch stayed up this year (shame, it was hilarious when it collapsed last year) and on the sound of the horn, off we went. The start of the course is downhill along the road into the racecourse. As usual I used the downhill for some free speed and covered the 1st k in only 3:39. The road became track and I settled in to a comfortable pace. Then it became a physical and mental battle to hold that pace. The first few kilometres passed and my pace remained steady at 3:50. I was on for sub 39 minutes. The bridge over the A1 passed for the first time and I managed to maintain my speed across it. At 5k, the traditional(!?) bagpiper welcomed us and I grabbed a cup of water to wet my dry mouth. I glanced at my watch and realised I had broken my 5k PB.

At 6k I began to feel good. My pace quickened and I started to chase down  runners. In front of me was a Knavesmire Harrier who I recognised from other races and someone shouted out encouragement to her calling her Emma. As it turns out she has been first woman home in many local races and in fact had finished first woman at this very race last year. I didn't expect to catch her, but I started to inch closer with every step. It must have taken at least a couple of k, but I eventually caught her. Later I found out she finished a minute behind her time from last year despite the better weather conditions, so I can only assume that illness or injury have curtailed her training lately. Still it was pretty satisfying to 'beat' her. She even genuinely looked pleased when I passed her after the race and said it was the first time I'd ever beaten her. Perhaps it was just a reflex smile or maybe she felt happy that a man would be very pleased to beat her.

People think I'm mad, but my unicorn disagrees

At this point in the race I was expecting the usual debate with myself. Would Good Scott (GS) or Bad Scott (BS) turn up. I really didn't want to have to put up with too much BS on this run. GS had been in my ear all the way up until now. Not exactly confidently, but quietly keeping me going. BS was still trying to wrestle her gag off in the corner.
We came down off the A1 again and soon the worst part of the race arrived. A short sharp sprint up and down a small hill with a 180 degree turn at the top. GS began to shout at me, telling me to keep it going, push hard, don't let it slip now with only a mile and a bit to go. GS punched BS in the face and she slumped to the ground. (I'd like to point out that domestic violence is only acceptable inside my own brain between the imaginary folk in there and nowhere else!)

I could see the race course now and it still looked a depressingly long way away, but the track through the trees was there before I knew it, signalling the final stretch before turning on to the racecourse road for the sprint to the end. GS was doing all he could to keep me going. BS suddenly tore off her gag and informed me that I could walk it in under 40 from here, which was a terrible lie! Luckily GS drowned her out and I managed to put in a final spurt. The track turned sharply left up a steep, short incline and a sign informed me there was 400m to the finish. The young guy next to me that I had been trading places with sprinted away from me like a young gazelle. I went as hard as I could, but there wasn't much left. Glancing down at my watch I saw I had 30 seconds left to reach the finish and go under 39 minutes. I had no idea if that was possible, but every second I saved now was another off my PB.

Crossing the line, it was all I could do to keep up-right and once again, I forgot to turn off my GPS meaning I wasn't sure what time I had finished in. I would have an agonising wait to find out my time when the official results came through. My lungs burned as I forced my legs to walk around the finishing funnel. I bumped in to the race director and we said hello as we have talked on facebook before. He took a picture of my GPS watch and congratulated me on my time which was 4 and a half minutes quicker than last year.
Rounding the corner I picked up my trophy: A second Wetherby 10k mug, my favourite race souvenir of this, or any, year. I held it above my head like the FA cup and did fake cheer sounds, much to the amusement of the lady handing them out. I really wish other races would take a leaf out of this book and give out usable race souvenirs instead of ugly/garish t-shirts that end up stuffed and neglected in a drawer before ending up in a charity bin.
The goody bag was as good as any I have ever got and included a banana and a bottle of water. One of the many lovely touches from this race, and new for this year, was a small flannel tucked in to the mug. Brilliant!

I jogged off to the car and back dabbing my brow with the new flannel and waited for Rebecca with my cheap compact camera after deciding not to take my pro camera to the race. In she came finishing strongly with a chip time just under 52 minutes, her fastest time for a while.

After the race, leaving the racecourse was easy although we chose to forego the discounted fish and chips for competitors at the local chip shop.
Back at my house we wasted no time in in using our winnings.

Later that evening I learned that I had finished in 41st position out of 765 finishers in the race but had failed to break the 39 minute barrier coming in at 39:07, a PB by 20 seconds. I had also shaved 8 seconds off my 5k PB in the process! I had to be pleased, on a difficult course I had run only my second ever sub 40 time. So for the first time this year I had run " A good time" not "Good, with all things considered" I doubt I could have gone any quicker on the day than I did.

So will I be back again next year? Of course! I have to keep collecting those mugs! A Cracking Little Yorkshire Run? Aye lad, tha's reet about that.

The mug remained virginal at this point. The cup, not me. No fake tan was used in the making of this photo, honest!!