Club midweek run

The Midweek Club Run May, England

May 13 2014

I checked out the meeting venue, the Kings Arms in Portesham, beforehand, just so I knew exactly where to go. I did not want to be late, or make an embarrassing entry. I arrived early, the sun still very much in the sky but starting to sink and turn a vivid orange. Struth. Was this a race? Had I missed something? I ran past the madding runner crowd, and headed straight for the toilet. Nerves. Not had this for ages. Whats going on? I sat, pondering. There must be in excess of 30 runners out on the Kings Head pub lawn, all limbering up. This was supposed to be a midweek training run. Soft, downplayed, fun, social even.

I trotted outside, trying to look relaxed. Breathe. The scratching on my bottom was really irritating me, but the organizer was giving instructions to eager ears, and twitchy feet. Where to put my keys? Pocket. Where is it? Uh oh. (read second sentence please). A nervous smile crossed my face, as I realized the folly of my situation. I was doomed to failure. My low key entrance was about to come to a crashing stop. My shorts were back to front! I ran back into the pub, searching eyes following me wondering if I had a medical problem. I dashed out to join the group to be asked “Long course? Extra long?” Without hesitation, deviation or repetition I calmly said ‘Extra long’. We were off.

Now, it’s been a fair number of years, decades maybe, that I have run with a running club of any description, let alone an English one. Time may heal, but time also forgets. I was told to stick with ‘the bright orange shirt’. Up a narrow lane, I was in a full out sprint. Not last, but certainly at the back of the pack. Orange shirt, orange shirt. There he is.

Competitive spirit kicked in, and I stayed with Orange Shirt Man. I also noted that there were two Map Men. I was sweating, out of breath, mouth dry, running solo. Welcome to the midweek running club training run.

Remember, time forgets. We ran along a ridiculously narrow path, with fresh stinging nettles taking the opportunity for maximum spring strikes. Crikey they hurt. My legs are still stinging four hours later. We reached a gate. We stop. Stop? STOP! Of course, the running club midweek run. We wait. Regroup. I jokingly asked where the aid station was. Not so much as a snigger. I decided to change tactic. Upon starting (who actually gave what signals to start I never did discover) I started to chat. Chat? Well, between breaths I muttered a few words, inaudible to everyone but me. Race pace, or pretty close to it. And a steep long hill. My chat stopped. Back to heavy breathing and laboured running. My legs hurt! A stupidly long grassy hill. Of course, running club midweek run. We followed the pattern of seemingly random stops, and equally random starts right through the entire training run. At the top of the grassy hill, I looked down. Carnage. Bright shirts scattered in amongst the cows. Social? Easy? Low key? Each man and woman for themselves, a ‘take no prisoners’ approach. Very funny and I was loving it.

Anyway, I struck up a conversation with Map Man #2. I lost sight of Map Man #1 – I have no idea where he went to. Following a very bizarre visit to an ancient stone circle, with the obligatory run round (which entailed a diversion of course), it rapidly transpired that Andy knew Canada. He like myself, had done a teacher exchange in ‘89, only three years prior to me. He had loved it. As we continued to chat amongst sweat and deep breathing I suddenly noticed that some runners were coming back against us. Some were sprinting past us as if the ‘Grizzly run’ on someone’s T shirt was indeed a race living up to its name. Pandemonium, just as I was getting settled into my running club midweek run. We duly stopped, regrouped and the pattern evolved over the duration of the run. People would use the hills for their efforts, or the long straights, or the masses of ancient earth work lumps. Very funny. But we always regrouped, to a fashion.

The route was simply fabulous. Ancient forts, earth works, stunning seascapes, full moon rising, orange sun setting. Abbotsbury was quintessential England, with its abbey, ruins, old cottages, thatched roofs. My mind flashed back to that superb Far Side cartoon, the one where the cows are in a field, standing on two legs, being normal. A cow on watch suddenly announces ‘car’ and the rest of the cows duly drop to four legs. For when we hit Abbotsbury, someone shouted ‘car’. Well, the car turned out to be three, but none of the runners gave way. With about 20 or so sweaty heady runners launching from a muddy path onto the road, the cars drove seemingly skillfully through the unrelenting crowd. Very funny, and welcome to the running club midweek run.

It turned out that Andy was attempting his first ultra, only weeks before mine, in June. The Lakeland 10 (Peaks). Sounded hard work to me and brought back memories of my Lakeland 3000’s peaks run when I was 18 yrs old. To complete the coincidences with Andy, he lives only doors down from my mothers flat. Hopefully we will run Friday.

The last mile was a full out jostling sprint. I had clearly cast away any thoughts of a laid back run, and was determined to put in a good showing. I finished tired, sweaty, muddy, incredibly thirsty but immensely satisfied. No one really knew how far we had run, no one seemed to care. An excellent route, and a good old English running club midweek run under my belt. I hope I passed the test.

Check them out

http://www.egdonheathharriers.com