Glen Clova Half Marathon 12/11/05The thought of a long drive home in the dark had been dissuading us from Glen Clova; then Fen in her Multipla came to the rescue, volunteering to give Mary and I a lift along with Teresa and Fen's pal Dom. We had done Glen Clova a couple of times and always enjoyed the picturesque route that snakes around the glen; for although it rises and falls with nearly every turn, the hills and dips are never so long that they grind you down and the worst you can anticipate is bad weather adding a handful of minutes to your time. There is always a warm welcome in the hotel afterwards where (free) soup and stovies are the reward for your endeavours.
Over the first mile I found the pace easy and, dodging puddles, worked towards the front and 2nd place. I went past the first mile marker in 6.03 - which seemed as long, as the
second (5.30) was short. I was thinking about reining myself in to save something for the 2nd half (when we would be running into the wind) when Tom Scott went past looking strong, despite the Paula Radcliffe socks. I watched him ease up to, and pass the leader who was wearing what looked like a yellow cotton t-shirt. It was challenging weather to dress for; cold with a breeze. I wore an extra tech vest under the normal Porty top to keep my front warm from the worst of the wind. It worked well.
A couple of miles later and a longish hill about mile 5, and I went past the yellow shirt. This gave me a boost - I was back in second place - but it was no time till I heard the folk behind. There was a water stop about 6 miles and then we turned down a pleasantly steep incline that crosses a bridge and begins the second half up the other side of the glen. This was the last time I saw Tom Scott out ahead as he steadily pulled away. Possibly less undulating but now we had the wind in our teeth. You felt it as soon as turning but given the gales the day before I think we got off lightly. The footfalls got nearer and I thought, “...well at least I held second till halfway.” But they didn't go past. I felt it was only a matter of time. I tend to go out fast and then fade. Good runners hold a steady pace. Since they didn't sweep past - I could hear it was more than one - I tried to hold the pace. After a long haul, up came the 8 mile marker and the thought “well at least I held it till now” was beginning to give way to “so far so good.” Every
mile was a battle though, and the 2 of them ran just behind my shoulder, forcing the pace. I was impressed they weren't tucking in behind, to get out the wind, but running their own race. Agonies came and went, then by mile 10, when they still hadn't gone past, I realised we were all probably enjoying a similar torture. I decided to act rather than be acted upon, so despite my body saying this was a foolish idea, picked up the already punishing pace. I concentrated on holding good form, pretended I was having a lovely run and set off down a particularly grim looking stretch into the stiff wind. By the end of the long straight I was really done in but to my disappointment hadn't lost 3 and 4. Then we arrived at some down-hill and I gave it everything. No dice. I was gasping but through the red mist remembered Mary talking about a hill near mile eleven. First came a small rise and I heard the guys drop back just a yard maybe. This could be it. The road rose ahead and as I started up the hill I pumped my arms, shortened my stride and breathed so fast I nearly passed out. By the top I had lost them, or at least couldn't hear anything over my heartbeat thumping in my ears. One remaining thought, “Mustn't lose my advantage.”
I recovered my breath going down the other side and by 12 was still ahead. Every now and again I heard the occasional footfall but felt I had maybe dropped one of the two chasers. After what seemed like ages I finally realised I was looking at the stretch of course I had warmed up on and knew the finish was 400 yards around the next corner. Knowing relief was so close, I tried to speed up, to let the guy behind know there was no use in him trying to sprint past. The last dash seemed to go on and on
, all the time waiting for the figure at my shoulder to re-appear but to my enormous relief I crossed the line unchallenged.
After stumbling around in a brainless daze for a bit I went and shook hands with John Osbourne and John Thom who had come in 7 and 22 seconds behind. I wasn't as appreciative as I might have been that they had encouraged me to run so fast.
I felt done in for ages after and thought I might pass out in the close and humid atmosphere at prize-giving where I was generously given some Tesco's tokens and a voucher for a free meal at the splendid Glen Clova Hotel. I wonder if they deliver?
Peter Buchanan 81.27
Willie Jarvie 85.31
Scott Jarvie 89.37
John Pickard 91.33
Mary Hunter 102.36
(Dom Hawthorn 106.33)
Teresa Cleary 108.00
Fen Parry 110.17Full results here
Report and photos Peter Buchanan
