South Downs and LIttle Downs Marathon medals

Dropping out of my first marathon (Part two)

Well, first off, that South Downs medal you can see in the picture was begged for me out of pity by my lovely fiancé. My misery at having dropped out of the race was compounded when I saw my running buddy with a fresh looking new technical shirt:

“Why did this have to be a race pack with a running shirt? I love running shirts. It’s not fair.”

Such was the extent of my feeling sorry for myself and wanting a race pack I hadn’t earned.

I wanted it.

I didn’t want it.

In the end, the decision was taken for me, possibly just to shut me up*.

So now that we’ve cleared that up, the other medal is for the Littledown marathon, which I did complete. It wasn’t pretty, and I walked up to 40% of it by my estimation but this is my first marathon medal I can wear without feeling like a fraud.

The Littledown marathon is an excellent event, 26 laps of a flat one mile course, plus a little 0.2 add-on at the start. This is one to go for if you’re attempting a PB, and the support of the running community there is amazing.

That said, to start with I thought they were going to be mega-serious, and I mean MEGA-serious. When we arrived and registered, we were all given two timing chips, one for each shoe. We’d never seen this before so we asked why there were two. With a completely straight face, we were told that when there is only a chip on one shoe, it could skew the timing if the foot without the chip were to cross the finish line first. Wow! If that kind of split second timing made a difference to my runs, I certainly wouldn’t be writing a blog called “the half arsed runner”.

Settling into the realisation that I would almost be the last finisher in a race of about 60 people, I hung back, trying to pace myself as the pack bolted. My running buddy was aiming for a marathon PB of 4h45m and my plan was to try and keep pace with him for as long as I could. I blasted my most upbeat tunes and tried to stay positive as another hot day suppressed my energy. (The last three races I have done have been sweltering.) There was no way I was dropping out of this one unless I collapsed.

It was around mile fifteen that I started walking a good third of each lap, a ratio that increased right up to nineteen or twenty, when it was pretty much walking laps with little bouts of jogging when I felt up to it. (Ok, let’s be honest, it was when I was too embarrassed to walk past the spectators.)

Around mile nineteen something else happened. I started chatting to another runner (walker). Disaster! Now my walking was legitimised. If she was walking, then it was okay for me to walk. (I probably should have sussed that she wasn’t taking it too seriously when she stopped to do a little dance for her supporters each lap; she was the very spirit of half arsed running – not caring too much about your time but loving getting out there.)

By mile 22 I had made peace with the fact that I wasn’t actually running anymore, and I saw yet more competitors walking, defeated by the heat.

And so it was that I came in at 5h28m, a time I only achieved by laying a fast fifteen mile foundation with my running buddy (who lapped me twice later in the race).

The dancing runner fell short of the six-hour cut-off point but they kept it open for her, and for two other ladies who were really struggling with the distance. In the end, they stayed on for an extra hour and were very gracious about it. (It really was a good event.)

Two full days on and I’m still aching. I have no money for a massage and I didn’t get any food in, so I’ve been eating crap and seizing up behind my office desk.

But the marathon remains the benchmark of distance running, the completion of which serves as an entry point, a way of being taken seriously and of being accepted into the community. And if someone whose idea of a recovery meal is a Maccy Ds drive-through can do it, then pretty much anyone who puts in the training should be able to shuffle their way to the finish line.


*(Yes, I have realised that the wording at the bottom of the medal means I could legitimately wear it as a half-marathon medal, but how low would that be?)

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I love running, but don't always train in the way that I should. I started my blog in between my first successful completion of a marathon (although I wrote the first post a few days prior to that) and my first ultra marathon, which was the first half of the 100k "Race to the Stones". Maybe part of my reason was to publicly call myself out on my own stated goals. I chose the name "half arsed runner" because I wanted to show that my motivation levels are far from perfect, and that it's OK to be human.

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