13 or 14 of us from my running club signed up for the Shakespeare half, a couple of us keen to use it as a marker after our spring marathons, others just always up for a new race and the all important medal which goes with it.
It had all the potential to be an excellent run. A lovely, scenic yet challenging course, decent crowd support and half the distance I'd dragged myself through a couple of weeks earlier. But some days, it's just not your day.
It started well, the sun was shining and the buzz of having Des and loads of our friends there meant the early start and long drive were all but forgotten by the time we reached the start line and took some obligatory pre-race selfies. As the starting horn sounded accompanied by the clapping of spectators who were lining the streets, I felt good as I got moving, excited even.
The first couple of miles were alright, the course fairly flat and nicely scenic with the spring sun not yet too exhausting. I felt fairly strong as I hit the 5km mark and into the second quarter of the race. I was trotting along the countryside roads of Stratford quite happily enjoying it about as much as one can enjoy a half marathon.
Then around mile five or six, things started to turn a bit. Despite feeling quite good, I got a bit too hung up on the numbers on my watch and realised I wasn't really running very quick at all. At this point, I completely fell out with the race. I don't really know why but I just went into a complete strop with it. I couldn't get my head around how, when I felt like I was trying really hard and running really well, I was still so bloody slow.
On reflection, it was probably a combination of the heat, the undulating course and the fact I'd barely done any miles since the big day a few weeks earlier. Thinking like that would have been far too rational and sensible though, so instead I just carried on in a huge huff.
Despite being able to look back on it now with a bit of humour, I was the closest I've ever come to giving up that day. I really let it get into my head that I was a 'rubbish runner' and I really struggled with the thought of how much longer it was going to take me to get across that finishing line. Half crying, half-running half shuffling down those county lanes which had seemed so lovely just a little time ago, I decided I had to keep on going because either way I'd need to get back to the finish line and if I gave up I knew I'd be fuming with myself by that evening.
So I carried on. Plodding along determined to get to the end, thoughts of running a time to be proud of out of my head and just focusing on keeping going. I made little patterns for myself run for a bit then walk for a bit... just get to that tree then you can walk etc until I got to about mile 11 when I'd settled quite nicely into a run half a mile walk quarter of a mile pattern. Not ideal but at least finally the distance was starting to melt away.
I feel like I have to mention at this point the fantastic runners who started to come past me. Along with the half marathon, there was a full marathon option and just after I reached the 11 mile marker the first runner ran by me. Followed minutes after by the second and third etch, all people who'd ran twice as far as me, twice as fast. Despite my own struggled I couldn't help but shout words of encouragement, bloody brilliant effort.
Back to my own run, I was nearing the end now and flipping heck was I glad! Carrying on with the little pattern I'd formed through miles 11, 12 and into the final one down a tiny narrow path and back into the park I'd left behind all those hours earlier. I could hear the crowds starting to build as I made my way through the final twists and turns and finally the finish line and familiar smiling faces were back in sight.
Feeling more relieved that it was over than anything else as the town's mayor put my medal round my neck I was so glad to be done! Des was waiting for me right next to the line and as it happened a toe accident a few miles in meant he's had a pretty bad run too. It was hard as we reconvened with the rest of the running club to find some pride in what I'd done rather than annoyance at how badly it had gone.
But it was done, half marathon number 4 in by far my slowest time of 2:53:58.
On a positive note, I would definitely recommend that Stratford Half Marathon! It was extremely well organised, a good level of support along the picturesque route with plenty water stations along with way. I definitely can't say that I won't be back to give it another go...
