The race

And so the big day is here. 

I slept OK - which had been a worry - but we woke up on time, had coffee and water and porridge, and, before you knew it, it was time to catch the bus from the car park opposite the cottage up to the start of the race. Not, of course, that I was ever actually racing; it's always been about finishing. (Well, and doing it in four and a half hours, ideally.)

It was a longish ride from Drumnadrochit down to Fort Augustus in the coach full of runners. There was another coach in front and an escort vehicle in front of that, which felt oddly special but that was all I felt, really; I didn't feel nervous, just wondered how it was going to be. 

My main concern about the run - apart from finishing! - was the hydration. I have a pretty time sensitive routine at home and I wasn't entirely sure how that was going to work given that the bus picked me up an hour and three-quarters before the race. But as soon as our coach pulled up at the rear of a trail of other coaches and double-deckers, it seemed like everyone jumped off for a pee, so I joined them. This must have been around twenty past nine. 

After that, I wandered up to to the mass of people queuing on the road. I wasn't really sure where to position myself so I stopped in sight of the start near a bunch of people who I sensed might be of a similar fitness level to me. Despite having had a (big) pee already, by twenty to ten I felt I might have another. "It's just nerves" I thought but in the end it was simpler just to go again. And then I did the same at ten to.

I wonder if I might have just spent the morning peeing if the run hadn't started promptly at ten. And then, indeed, we were off. The first two or three miles passed quickly enough although the field didn't really thin out for a while after that. A man dressed as an elephant - a full, padded costume - passed me and then pulled away. That was a bit discouraging. In fact, everyone seemed to be overtaking me. I realised I'd started too near the front. 

After a few miles, we joined the road that runs alongside the loch. This was the first point of dismay; from here I could see for miles and miles up the loch but no sign of Inverness, our finish point, at the top. I gave myself a bit of mental encouragement and pressed on. People continued to overtake me, often in groups of five or six, trotting along, chatting, as if they'd just joined the race. 

Soon after this I stopped for another (thankfully final) pee and then the heavens opened. Heavy, cold rain, non stop for maybe fifteen minutes. I can't remember the last time I was cold on a run but I was now. When the sun reappeared, I realised that I could be happy that it wasn't raining.

Seventeen miles was a low point: nine miles left to go. By then, my legs were beginning to feel a little heavy and lacking in energy. But, of course, I pressed on. The hills at around eighteen miles cheered me a bit; lots of people were walking but my Cumbrian training meant I was, for the first time, able to start passing other people. Plus I overtook the guy in the elephant costume. Thank God!

It was interesting that there were so many disparate people running: wildly varying ages, builds and (apparent) fitness. There was a woman maybe fifteen or twenty years older than me in a '100 marathons' t-shirt. I overheard her chatting to another runner: this was her one hundred and twenty-fourth marathon!

At twenty miles I had expected a little lift but six miles suddenly seemed like a very long way. I just kept on. Twenty-two miles - the furthest I'd trained - came and went. Four miles to go. Suddenly a long way. But it was around here that we encountered the kilometre signs: ours had merged with the Minx's course. And when I remembered just how much of a challenge she'd taken on, I found a little bit of extra oomph in myself. (Really, just a little bit.)

Three miles.

Two miles.

The last mile: most of this was along side the River Ness. The Finish was on the other side but we had to run along the river to the bridge and back along the other side. It was here that I first saw the Minx. We had a brief chat, her jogging alongside me. She'd finished! Run all the way and five minutes faster than hoped. 

This inspired me most of the way to the bridge and then, having crossed the river, I was on the home straight. But what a long straight! Keep going, keep going. There was the Minx again, perhaps a hundred yards from the finish. I pressed on. 

And then it was the finish. No fists raised above the head, I just stopped running and started walking. I was given my medal and a t-shirt and a goody bag and suddenly I felt I was going to burst into tears; I had that sudden lump in my throat that I quickly swallowed down. I'd done it. Four hours, thirty-two minutes and forty seconds.

The Minx found me and we walked back to the car, which was back over the pedestrian bridge and maybe another quarter of a mile. I don't think I really wanted to walk but at least no one was asking me to run. 

We got back to the cottage and bathed and then I curled up on the sofa and passed out for maybe an hour before waking up feeling great and very hungry. We'd promised ourselves a feast so we went next door but one to the Fiddler's Dram for a drink and then a three course meal with a bottle of fizz. 

It was when we went for a post-meal drink that I think we realised that our plans for a post-run bender were going to be scuppered by tiredness. We were in bed and asleep by eight-thirty!

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Reading: Bill Drummond's 'How To Be An Artist'.