The so called early 9am start was a good idea, it's not even early and it gave me a bit more leeway on an event that I knew was going to take a very long time even in a best case scenario. The first 10 miles went ok actually, in terms of the running. Anticipating grumpiness, and wanting to accept responsibility for my own route finding, I wanted to do this by myself so was rather put out by a Kraut who tucked in behind me, ran when I ran, walked when I walked, and was so obviously using me as scout that when he asked me where we were he got a pretty short reply. Worse still was some idiot in terrible purple shorts who popped up from the wrong direction with a mobile glued to his ear. No water, no gels or food, just a mobile and the route description. Well prepared then.
I'd reached a long downhill that I booted down to drop the Kraut and managed to get a bit of space, however, there was a gappy bit in the directions shortly afterwards. I went to investigate one path, only part convinced it was the right one, and Mobile Junky decided to tag along. When I realised it wasn't and turned back, he had the cheek to pause his conversation and ask me "are we lost then?". I said "it's your own responsibility mate, we're not running together" to which I got a (somewhat justifiable) mumbled reply of "f*****g snotty cow". But, jesus, if you do these events then you have to be able to find your own way. It's not a bleeding guided tour.
A few miles later I was still going ok until I tripped over a root or something and went arse over tip. Entirely winded, bit shaken, re-busted toenail, grazed, bruised, dented pride, and busted confidence. Mentally I'd reached a total block. If I cared more about trail, I'd get therapy or something but there is something subconscious and very determined that I am Not Going To Run Off Road. It just wouldn't happen. The body was fine, energy levels were ok, nothing was hurting, but something was stopping me. It felt like I wasn't fit enough to even jog a mere half mile and no matter how often I tried, the dials were in the red zone and sirens were sounding and men in boiler suits were rushing around with fire extinguishers.
So I could walk it. But that's not a marathon to me. This is a deeply personal and subjective view of course and I recognise one that is harsher than that held by the 100 marathon club so I'm going by the 100 club rules until I've got my 100, and then I'm going back and doing it my way. To me, you should be able to run the whole damn lot of a race (you can on this one), it should be an actual race with a start line, proper timing, a finish line, an incentive to finish on the podium, a course where the front runners are busting a gut, where the middle packers are competing with their club mates and where the back of the packers are still involved in a race. Not just a test to see who's got the biggest balls / most obstinacy just to get round. So the next chance I got, I was going to drop out.
That chance never came and, christ, was I fed up by it. The few roads we crossed were too small for buses and were nowhere near towns and I was in a very temporary period of just-get-on-with-it at the penultimate checkpoint at 21 where there may have been a chance of a lift. At the final checkpoint, I really had had enough, all the walking had tightened up my right hip flexor and my feet were killing but mainly it was the CBAs. However, the promise of transport back to the start/finish for retired runners didn't stand. I could either wait until 7pm when the checkpoint closed (contrary to the 6pm stated on the route description) or I could carry on. Only in the case of injury requiring medical attention would they help. So they didn't know about any buses going past near by? That would be a No then.
It's not my intention to slag trail off, lots of people really enjoy it and it has its advantages. However, I can't see the point of shuffling up and down rooty tracks for the best part of a day when I could have covered 26.2 miles on tarmac before lunch. According to my garmin, I covered the 31 miles in a shade under 8 hours, that's about 12 miles running and about 19 miles walking. And it's officially number 76. But it's not a marathon. How can that be a marathon? The only good things about today were the fabulously warm weather, some lovely views, and all the Fetchies and 100 Club friends who passed me, some keeping me company for a while and all with a friendly greeting. That definitely restored some faith. But other than that it was appalling.
To top it all off, I almost got into a fight at Waterloo station on the way home. I was ordering at a sandwich bar and got confused by the offer of trading up for a meal deal. The girl behind me told me it was only a penny or something more for the drink. I said, "ok, I'll have a bottle of water then thanks" to the girl behind the bar. Customer offered to take the water if I didn't want it to which I replied, "er, no, otherwise I wouldn't have taken it". She says "yeah, I thought you looked like a bitch anyway." What? I'd had a long day, was fed up anyway and certainly didn't need any uninvited insults so told her to go screw herself. "Thanks, but you're really ugly, so no thanks." I'd had enough by now (round two) so said "Look, sweetheart, if you're after a punch in the mouth you're going the right way about it." Trouble is, if she'd squared up to me, I would have done it. I already had my own blood on my knee, palm, elbow and shoulder and I was more than ready to get someone else's on my knuckles. Fortunately for me and my as yet non-existent criminal record, she'd been served by now and buggered off. It was a stark contrast to the journey out of London where I got chatted up on a train platform (declined). What's the opposite of ring composition?
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