The Longest Mile In History

The Loughborough Half Marathon starts and finishes in the Market Place in the centre of the town. As it’s a Sunday, street parking is free, so we can also park really close but despite this we leave the dogs at home. The weather might get hot, although there’s not much sign of this at 7.30am, at which time we are asked to be 'prompt' and to check in. If anything it’s a bit on the chilly side.

It was even chillier in March when the race was originally scheduled and snow forced a postponement. This also kicked off quite a bit of resentment as people who could not make the new date were refused permission to transfer their numbers to others. Odd, as this could have pocketed the organisers a bit more revenue in administration fees. Instead I imagine there were quite a few people running under numbers that were registered to others.

We guessed the 7.30am instruction was probably unnecessary but abided by it any way, yet registration does stay open right up to the 9am start. This does though give us plenty of time to pose with the Sock Man. 

The race route takes us through the University, both on the way out and on the way back. Then through the Garendon Park Estate, which means a lot of gravel tracks which are not really to my liking. We emerge from there the other side of the M1 and somewhere near Shepshed. At least we now have tarmac back under our feet as we start on a long slow drag up a hill to Hathern. Now I like hills and this would have been a chance for me to gain many places but we were on a single track pavement with high grass on each side. So with no scope for overtaking it was just follow my leader up the hill, very frustrating. If only somebody could have persuaded the council to cut the grass we would have had room for a bit of overtaking.

After going through Hathern itself there’s another uphill section, this time on the grass, which also wasn’t very me. I felt a bit ill around about this point, which I put down to the gel I was quaffing rather than an aversion to the grassy section. So I changed to my spare one and promptly felt much better.

Around the course there were a fair amount of spectators, so the atmosphere was actually pretty good and it was well marshalled. Sadly, the drinks were in cups.

I enjoyed the run but throughout I had no idea what sort of pace I was running at due to the worst case of mile marking I’ve ever seen. As I religiously took split times at each marker, my watch’s assessment varied from my worst half marathon pace ever to my best. After only four miles and what I thought was a solid start, it appeared I was on for a sole destroying 1:50 yet a few miles later I was on for a life affirming sub-1:40 as I clocked up my ‘fastest’ mile so far on the ascent of Hathern Hill. Eh?

I reached mile 12 in 1:33, indicating a time of 1:41 could be mine, so I upped my pace and powered through the last mile. Which just keep coming and coming and coming. There was no end to it. Finally, after the longest mile in history and a massive eleven minutes later, I crossed the line.

To be sort of fair, they did warn us beforehand that the mile marking was not accurate but is there any excuse for them being so far out? It would not have surprised me in the slightest had I come across mile nine before mile eight. 

So in the end I was three minutes slower than Sheffield, which sounds about right for this sort course.

The T-shirt had the original date on it, which was to be expected of course. The cardinal sin was printing everything on the back. The medal was ok but will go in the box with all the others. The goodie bag though was just full of leaflets and special offers which expired in April and May. You really would have thought they’d have refreshed the goodie bag after the cancelled race, if only to take a marker pen to the expiry dates.

We head home to the boys, chill out as usual and then eat at the former Willougby Arms in Wollaton (calling it the Wollaton in Wollaton just sounds daft) before crossing to the Wheelhouse where the beer is better.

(Sunday 9^th June)

Child Related Shocks

There are only so many child related shocks one can take in a year. One of them is talking of opening a savings account... while the other has taken up walking. Perhaps the enforced hard labour that we subjected them to as children has paid off after all and one day we’ll be embarrassing them as we bump into them at a Lakeland watering hole after a day out on the fells...

Today Daughter invites us up to walk with her. She has planned a hike from Bolsterstone on to the edge of the Peak District nor far from Sheffield. We assume that our attendance isn’t required too early, what with student sleep patterns, so we have a leisurely morning at home before heading up after lunch.

The dogs are confused because I commit the cardinal sin of feeding them before they’ve been out. This immediately makes Doggo suspicious; whereas I’m sure MD thinks it’s simply a bonus meal.

They willingly leap into the car as we head up to Bolsterstone via Daughter’s Sheffield lodgings and a trip to a walking shop to get her some boots. This just gets weirder and weirder.

The walk is an 11km circular affair to Midhopestones and back. Although we don’t actually get to Midhopestones because a group of cows form a road block and make us take a short cut. This should have made the route shorter but L’s Garmin records nearly 12km, so somebody’s measurements somewhere are clearly amiss.

The dogs enjoy themselves, particularly MD who decides to chase a bird that low flies above him, whilst chatting to him in a mocking tone. He takes the bait and, with the red mist fully descended, chases it around several fields before thankfully giving up when a wall and a stream block his path.



I manage to grab him, now mud splattered and soaking wet, just as the bird comes back for another go at him.

Walk finished we leave the boys to dry off in the car and take sustenance at the Castle Inn.



Food wise both my menu choices - starter and main course are off. So it continues... this vendetta.

(Sunday 17th June)

It’s All Relative

Well first we lose an hour in bed due to the clocks going forward and then we head to Stafford for their half marathon. Though again, due to my injury, only L will be competing.

That said, I leave the dogs to howl in the car while I watch the start.

Then as the course does a loop away from the town centre before returning, I wait for L and join in. I’m not sure exactly how far I run but it was over a mile, maybe one and a half and it goes ok. No reaction in my calf. It’s at a slower pace than I usually run at but it’s a pace that actually doesn’t feel too bad at all.

L did tell me to take it gently. Unfortunately, I was doing my sort of gentle when it went in the first place. She quotes me, that I was ‘on for a good pace’. It’s all relative. Good = Gentle. I was about to wind it up when my leg fell off.

Then I leave L to it and run the same distance back to the start, extract the howling twosome from the car. We go to watch the winners finish and then the rest of the race from the pleasant surroundings of Victoria Park.

I’m not sure how L felt about me running with her. I either paced her or annoyed her. I’m not sure which. Her time though is eleven minutes up on last week and her second best of the year but then such wild swings in her performance are not uncommon.

Today I don’t have to request a t-shirt as they were handing them out before the start, along with the race medal. This is of course a cardinal sin of the highest order by the organisers and a massive tempting of fate by anyone who takes one. It also causes unnecessary congestion in the race village. That said it’s a brilliant t-shirt, which I shall wear with unearned pride and a little embarrassment.

Back home, we hit the pubs for the first time since Switzerland, covering pubs supporting Nottingham’s Stout And Porter Trail. We visit the Borlase Warren, the Gooseberry Bush and the Lincolnshire Poacher before at L's suggestion we finish at our favourite cheap and cheerful Indian, the Noor Jahan.

(Sunday 25th March)

All Is Quiet On New Year's Day

After a very windy and wet night. I have to stand and applaud a very impressive performance from our tent, which barely batted an eyelid in the conditions.

Talk of flooding that was abound in the pub last night seem unfounded, although lots of tents do depart today. Whether this is because they just came for New Year’s Eve or whether the weather saw them off I’m not sure.

We have a relaxing day and take the car to Grasmere. Which is a bit of a cardinal sin in such a walking area. Taking the car that is, not the going to Grasmere.

In the evening, L is eminently sensible, AF and clearly taking tomorrow’s race seriously. Even I’m restrained, well I keep off the strong dark stuff and only have a couple.

(Sunday 1st January)

PW Potential

Our second trip to Huddersfield in less than a week. We drive past the Uni, and therefore get to see it in daylight this time, on the way to the start at the rugby club. Yep, another race.

The Huddersfield 10k starts in the large shadow cast by the Lockwood viaduct, not that there's any sun, and which thankfully they don’t ask us to run over. I’m sure L would have refused anyway, she doesn’t do bridges. I daren't ask about viaducts.



It may not take us a train dodging route over the viaduct but the course is still testing. It is, as advertised, undulating. Bloody undulating. It is a course with considerable PW potential. That’s 'personal worst' by the way.

There are three very challenging (and I’m being polite there) proper Yorkshire hills and several shorter ones. I manage the first with relative ease but struggle on the next two and even resort to a short walk near the top of each, which isn’t going to do much for my time.

They have promised a 'fast' finish and the last mile or so is easier but there’s not enough left in my legs to make it anything like fast.

The marshalling was good but overall I think the organisation could have been a lot better, the start and the finish were both chaotic, and they put out the dreaded mile markers. Which for a 10k is a cardinal sin.

So yes, a PW is achieved and with some ease.

I let L drive home and sulk with the Sunday paper in the passenger seat, which is where I stumbled across an interesting bit of trivia. Apparently today is the 12th anniversary of the last time a Premiership football team fielded an all English line-up, which was Aston Villa by the way in 1999 and they lost.

(Sunday 27th February)