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A passion ... needs to be fuelled - January 29, 2006
History repeated itself neatly last night. On September 12th, 1998 I turned up at a ball to celebrate my cousin Emily’s 18th birthday, in deepest Cumbria, flustered and breathless, a mere seven minutes early for the sit-down dinner, having raced earlier for an incomplete Belgrave team. Last night was another ball at the same venue, this one to mark Emily’s wedding. I was only four minutes early this time, and even more flustered. Oh yes, and I’d come straight from racing for another incomplete Belgrave team. You’d be forgiven for assuming that the in-a-rut Bels of ’98 hadn’t exactly progressed much in seven years… but your assumption would be deduced minus the small matter of some 40-odd titles won in the meantime.
... someone, somewhere's having a laugh ...
Do I have any regrets about the crazy stunt I pulled yesterday of trying to partake in the Southerns in Exmouth and a wedding bash in Cumbria? Of course not. Granted, having to nail 329-miles in 4 hours 53 minutes got a little hairy, but when a man has a passion for something, it needs to be fuelled. And I guess I have a passion for running. However, quite whether I have a passion for the examination that the SEAA set us yesterday is another matter. They got their wrists slapped three years ago for providing a sub-distance course, so they made absolutely sure we ran every last inch of the 9.4 miles this time. But did it all make for a pleasant course? No, not really. I, for one, am unconvinced that Bicton College is an appropriate venue for a major championship. The endless switchbacks, the rutted farmland and a mind-numbing four-and-a-third laps are an unhappy mix. And as for the £4 car park charge… someone, somewhere’s having a laugh.
... barged around 6 or 7 runners out the way ...
I immediately knew the race was going to present difficulties with lapped runners. The problem with our ‘back-marker’ comrades is that their judgment of what is an accurate, efficient ‘racing line’ is just as expert as the front-runners. And they have every right to hold their line and not respond to calls of “traaaack!” But this does lead to nasty snarl-ups. I’ve only roughly barged around 6 or 7 runners out the way in my career, but about five were yesterday. We’re all fighting tooth and nail for every precious place, whether it is the back-markers, myself, or the men up front; for whom the whole thing must have been a real test in the art of slalom. Four lap courses trigger too much congestion.
... the inimitable John McFarlane
A special mention to the inimitable John McFarlane, one of the hardest trainers in the country, and a medal contender yesterday. When his spectacular capitulation occurred, I submit that around 95% of runners of that quality would have stepped off the course. Johnny considered it, but refused. What a courageous piece of running I thought, and one of the great pieces of team spirit I’ve ever seen. John quickly dismisses me when I put such a notion to him: “Rubbish, I gave up, which is just as bad as dropping out. I only stayed in because I was furious it had all gone wrong and felt the need to be punished. I set out to humiliate myself as much as possible.” His humiliation was thus complete when my lithe frame flashed by, but whatever John’s somewhat macabre slant on things, I, for one, take my hat off to him.
My best of luck to our boys at the AAA 10k next
weekend – we’re counting on you to get our season back on track.
For the rest of ya’ll, Happy Valley, Coulsdon awaits.
