When I completed the Whitley 10k back in April it brought to an end four solid months of training. At the time I couldn’t believe that I’d managed to run for so long and so far. After Whitley though I felt empty. I didn’t have anything left to aim for. The race was run and I wasn’t the only one to feel this way. Even though we entered more 5 and 10k races, many of our running group still felt they needed a new challenge. I’ll happily admit know that I was incredibly sceptical when the girls started talking about a half marathon. The word marathon just brings dread to my ears. Even putting half in front of it doesn’t really help. It is still more than double the distance of what we had taken so long to complete and it felt to me to be far too soon to be jumping so far ahead. We were all told that it was doable, of course and Bryan drew up a training programme for us. Even at this early stage I could see the excitement building in my friends. There were nerves there as well but I kind of felt a little left behind. Not in terms of training but in the excitement. You have to remember that I was never a runner. Swimmer, yes but never a runner. Others in the group had done it before. Some had done small distances, others longer. I had not done it, except from on a rugby pitch, since school.
The thought of running 13.1 miles all in one go is one thing. Knowing the exact date of when you are going to run 13.1 miles all in one go is another. The English Half Marathon in Warrington. 17th September 2017.
Strangely, there were no nerves on the morning of the race. Nic dropped both myself and Bryan in town on her way to work and we headed down to the start/finish line. It was half seven in the morning and people were still setting up their stalls. We had a little look around and then headed to our prearranged meeting point. Not the classiest of places but the back of the Town Hall outhouse gave us enough room to gather 20 or so runners from the club for a group photo. Naturally, we were the first ones there and even hiding behind the thinnest tree in the world couldn’t stop us being found.
I’ve written about how many times my female friends seem to feel the need to powder their noses before a race. This time they had a plan. There were more portaloos on Sankey Street than I’ve seen at music festivals. There were also larger queues to use them too. No problem. We had a key. The key allowed us entry to a church just around the corner from the start line. This church, by the grace of God, had toilets. Half an hour before the race a few of us made our way to the church, unlocked the door and relieved ourselves. We weren’t the only ones. Another group of runners also had a key. It was busier than expected. I headed up to the next floor and did what was necessary. I wasn’t in there long, I promise, but then I heard a voice. It was a woman from the other running club. The other key holder. She was about to lock up. I called out as I washed my hands to let her know I would only be a moment. I presumed she heard me. I finished up and headed down the stairs and back to the door we had entered through. I’m sure you all know where this is going and if you don’t then maybe you should watch some more dated 90’s comedy. It was locked. Fuck. I almost cried. Full on tears. I ran back up the stairs where a large window looked out onto the street below. Predictably there was no one there. Everyone had made their way back to the start line. From where I stood in the church, behind this really, really large window, all I could see was a fucking brick wall and some commercial red bins. It was Sunday morning, before nine and a road race had shut off all the roads into town. Would there even be a Sunday service this week? I banged on the window. I wanted to break it. I was going to miss the race. I was resigned to it. I realise that it is incredibly cliché to say that time went on forever but it really did. My brain went into overdrive trying to think of a way out. I’d left my phone with our support crew (one person, Nic, not that one) and even if I had had it I doubt anyone else had theirs. Could I break down the door. Probably not. Firstly, this is a church! Secondly, the door only leads straight onto a metal gate which I could definitely not break down. I was fucked. Properly fucked. Then voices. A woman. The same woman who I had heard before. I was back at the big window, waving and banging like one of those people you see in disaster movies. I was saved! I was seen and the lady started to open the door. Except she couldn’t find the right key. Bugger me this is infuriating. Open the door! Nope. She walked off. I didn’t hear what she said to me through the door but I guessed she was going to get more help. Moments later the door was open and Jon stood there with the broadest grin on his face. I was saved! Everyone laughed. Literally everyone! I did see the funny side but I was really fighting off a black cloud in my head at the same time. Depression really does suck. I’m glad everyone found it funny and chose to express that to me. It helped. I still don’t plan on going to church again though.
The start of the race was delayed due to inconsiderate traffic on the Bridgefoot roundabout by about 15 minutes. Bloody good job too after my incident with God. We made our way on to the start line and pushed our way through the crowds to position ourselves in between the 2 hour 20 pacer and the 2 hour 30. We were right amongst it. The music was high tempo and got me and the group in a fabulous mood. We were surrounded by hundreds of people. The only race that has come close to the Manchester 10k for me is this one. The amount of other participants was fantastic to see and even though we had our own race to run it was hard to net get swept away by the occasion. On our way over the start line myself and James both gave the Mayor of Warrington a High- Five. No idea why but it seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. James certainly learnt his lesson on why such lowly peasants such as ourselves shouldn’t do such a thing when he tried to High-Five him again as he crossed the finish line of his 10k and promptly fell flat on his face much to the amusement of all of us but not so much to his poor knees!
Back to the start though. Warrington was at a standstill and it was all just for us. As we made our way onto the Bridgewater Roundabout it was empty. All the cars that usually cover this notorious part of Warrington’s town centre were being held back by the police and it was just a weird sight for me and probably most of the runners taking part. The course took us through Latchford and up towards Appleton where I tend to run with the club most weeks. It was when we hit Stocks Lane that I truly thanked Bryan and the club for all those hard training runs we had done before. The first time I ran up Stocks Lane I hated it. It’s not a very long climb but it is pretty steep when your new to running. We got up Stocks Lane relatively quickly but then we hit our first issue. Carolyn felt good. Too good for us. She kept drifting off in front of us and even though I caught up with her with the intention of reigning her in she was being stubborn. We had previously lost both Bryan and Kate to early necessary pit stops and now we were going to lose Carolyn because she was too fast. When Kate and Bryan caught back up I told Bryan where Carolyn was, ahead of us, and he pursued her with intentions of bringing her back to us. It didn’t happen and Carolyn and Bryan finished almost 10 minutes ahead of us. A fantastic achievement for both of them but especially Carolyn.
There were quite a few hills (or Bryans, as we call them!) along the way so we were very grateful for the numerous water stops that had been set up. It wasn’t just water that they supplied either. Both Lucozade and gells were thrust into my hand at several points in the race.
The best part of the race for me was when we headed back in to the town centre. The route took us through the Halliwell Jones stadium (home to Warrington Wolves RLFC) before taking us right through the middle of the town centre. It was great to be running through these streets knowing that we were at the end of a gruelling 13.1 miles. As the finish line appeared before us we all joined hands and crossed the line together. We had achieved what only a year ago was completely unachievable. We had completed a half marathon. I was pretty overwhelmed if I’m honest. Tired too of course, and my nipples hurt. They hurt like hell! All I wanted to do was hug all my friends and get a cold alcoholic drink down me. I deserved it!
My finish time was 2 hours 28 minutes and 51 seconds. I had finished in under 2 and a half hours, my goal time. All I need now is to set myself a new goal…
Oh, and I’m never setting foot in another Church again!
charles will run 