Before I unveil this sorry tale of vain delusion, I must first of all pay homage to Britain’s finest city. Thank you, Bath, for your resplendent vibe, energy, and enchanting beauty. If God was ever to find himself on a dating app, he would no doubt put Bath as his hometown.
Right, homage paid. Now for my tale of misguided confidence. They say pride comes before a fall, and on this morning of Tuesday 18th October, I can categorically say that I’ve experienced this particular proverb first hand.
It’s been a year of one PB after another, ranging from improving my 5k PB from 22.40 to 21.10 during a three-week purple patch in July/August, to reducing my previous best half marathon time of 1hr and 48 mins to 1hr and 46 at the Hampton Court Palace half marathon, not to mention a new 10k PB of 48 minutes, which I bettered again during Sunday’s race.
I woke up on Sunday morning to see a message from my good friend Martyn, who I must thank once again for helping me beat my 5k PB earlier this year. The message read, ‘ Run Hard, Be Strong, Think Big’, further fuelling my confidence, self-belief, and quite possibly my idiotic arrogance. As a result, I approached the starting line of the Bath Half in absolutely no doubt that not only was another great feat about to announce itself in all its delightful glory, but my previous PB would be unceremoniously trounced by at least fifteen minutes. I was faster, stronger, and fitter than I’d ever been. I should also point out that after being unable to give June’s St. Alban’s half marathon my all as a result of only recovering from covid four weeks before the race, the Bath Half was my revenge run.
Just before the race began, I found myself needing to pee. Can you imagine? I’d already been three times in the runners’ village. How many times can one pee in the space of forty-five minutes? I glanced around to see whether there were any portable cabin thingies nearby, but nothing. Another glance to assess the possibility of taking a sneaky one in some corner somewhere, but oh the shame of it; and besides, I didn’t want to lose my place and get stuck at the back with the slower runners. I was on a mission; getting caught up in a melee of slow runners was definitely not part of the plan. I had no other choice but to hold it and hope I would quickly sweat it out. Nothing was going to obstruct my day of achievement.
And then we were off; first mile – 7.41, second mile -7.40, third mile- 7.53, at this point, I told myself to slow down and save energy, and I was fairly sure I did; fourth mile – 7.45, fifth mile – 7.52. By then I was thinking, ‘actually, sod this, I feel great, why hold myself back? I’m obviously even faster and fitter than I thought I was. Go for it, Segs, you’re astoundingly amazing!’
At mile six, I was on track to hammer my PB by fifteen minutes. I was invincible! And then the sixth mile – 8.08, seventh mile – 8.24. Actually, scratch that, I’ll give you a temporary pass into the halls of the somewhat scrambled matter that posed as my mind during that period. Well, come on, don’t just stand there gawping, come on in, take a seat. Actually, no, don’t take a seat; just stand and listen, then leave as soon as we’re done.
‘That sixth mile was a little slow, Segs. Naa, not to worry, I purposely slowed down. I’m well ahead of schedule, loads of time in the bank. Just stay level with the woman in the yellow top. Hang on, where is she? Ahh, she’s a few meters behind me. She’s obviously taking a little breather. Nope, she’s level with me again. Right, just stick with her, she’s going at a good pace. Stick with her then overtake and stretch away in the final three miles. Hang on, she’s now a few meters ahead of me. No biggie, I’ll catch up with her later. Just take it easy for a couple of miles. Wow! She’s really stretching away. And why are so many people overtaking me? Step it up, Segs. Come on, Segs, step it up. Why am I struggling? And why do my legs feel so stiff and heavy? My God I’m thirsty! Damn! I forgot to put the gummy bears in my pocket. Mile 8. Only mile 8??? How am I going to finish? I am so screwed! You idiot, Segs! Why the hell did I set off so fast? I did an eighteen-miler three weeks ago, what the hell’s wrong with me? This should be easy, why am I struggling? Water and sweets, I need water sweets, sweet water and sweets and water. Did someone just shout my name? Ahh, thank God, there’s a woman on the other side of the road with water and sweets. But that will seriously slow me down, and if I stop, I might not be able to get going again. But if I don’t stop, I’ll collapse. Right, I’m crossing over, don’t have a choice. All that matters now is getting to that finish line.’
Needless to say, by this point, I resembled a hopelessly delirious rodent, clamouring for air, sweets, water and whatever else might keep me upright.
Not until half-way through mile eleven did I start to feel stable again, and before I knew it, I was hurtling down the final long stretch like star reborn. By then, I was just relieved that I would make it to the finish line. And then the final corner – I love you Bath, but how could you? A 100-meter uphill climb???? Come on!
How did I feel when I crossed that finish line? Three words: Relief – Despondent- Elation. An abysmal time of 1.50, but hey, I finished, and at mile nine, finishing the race was wishful thinking.
Some minutes later, whilst chatting with a fellow finisher (yes, that’s right, I said ‘finisher’. On this occasion, the achievement was getting to the finish line), I relayed my painful ordeal. His response – “Ahh yes, that’s a mistake we all have to make at some point; and is a lesson one never forgets.”
So, it seems I have another reason to be grateful to Britain’s finest city – ‘a harsh but necessary lesson in how not to run a half marathon’.
Lesson learnt, and already looking forward to Bath Half ‘23.
