A Cheeky Half - Cardiff

06.00 - It started with a shiver, as these things usually do.  Although dark, there was movement in the house.  The alarm on my digital watch finished sounding, and it was time to rise.  I was kindly put-up by Ed, an old school friend in Bristol, who was running the Cardiff Half Marathon too, along with his sister, and her two friends.  Wrestling like a feather weight in a sleeping bag, I managed to get myself off the camp bed to the light switch without tipping the whole thing over into a redundant cot.  Quite an achievement and I took that as an omen for the day ahead.

After a continental breakfast, and plenty of bananas, 5 of us, plus the camp bed bundled into a Polo as the dawn broke.  Warming up, the chat turned from jolly banter, revelations and excuses for slow race times to the car-parking strategy.

I kept quiet, because I had failed to squeeze out a No.2 during the reveille.  Now this worried me because throughout my training, there came a point during longer runs where I had to guess whether I would make it home or not.  On each occasion, the situation got the better of me, resulting in a dash for cover.  This happened so often that it had become part of the training!  Effectively, the body had been successfully conditioned to eject on the hour mark.  And this worried me greatly.

After parking the car, grabbing bags, water bottles, and the blimnin’ camp bed, we joined the other runners and who were funnelling to the Start.  35 minutes to go and I concentrated hard.

The Start was well organised, with a festival-facility setup in the County Hall car park.  Runners poured in behind us as Army cadets took our bags, admired the ‘retro’ camp bed, and pointed to the small city of thunder-boxes, which was the next destination.

Panic set in; it was cold, the queues were long and limbering, and the expectation to perform mounted, as I stood in one of the tens of queues.  The clock was running down fast, the mind manifesting for the nth time, until I just could not take it anymore....  I bolted.  There was no-way it was going to happen.  The others would just have to make their own way to the Start.  Yes, the warmth of County Hall was my destination!  Now, there are some who are a little cynical about overheated, empty County Halls across the nation, but I was truly thankful.

Sprinting back across the car park, passing the odd superhero, I bumped into Ed by chance.  A few minutes to go...  We followed the rest, and even spotted 3 guys dressed as babies, braving it in just bonnets and nappies.  This amused Ed.  I said nothing, realising their genius!

We vaulted the barrier, congratulated ourselves on making it, and being so close to the Start as well.  We then noticed the lack of fancy dress, and signs behind us saying ‘sub 1.30’.  At least we could say we knew what I felt like to be a sub-1.30 runner, albeit briefly!  The Start was suitably smooth, with a judder before the line as the mass fingered their stop-watches, and we were off.  Jostling for a pace we were comfortable with, we said our farewells, and the lonely journey amongst 12000 others began.

Now, a few notes about this race if you are considering it.  The route passes through the city centre into green parks in an anti-clockwise direction, then encircling the estuary of the river Taff at the barrage.  It passes through residential areas, the attractive marina and sea-front thus avoiding tedious industrial areas.  The sun was shining and crowds were out of their houses en mass to support, which included an astonishing number of handsomely tanned women (a truly sun kissed city!)  This was going to be an enjoyable run.

Pace setting was tricky initially, because it was easy to miss the mile markers, on the left, at knee level.  It was in the Park, where the path narrowed, when I spotted Mile 4 and was able to judge my pace.  However, there were ‘pace-setter’ runners amongst us, identified by flags marking 1.30, 1.45, 2.00 etc. positions.  These narrow sections were tight but okay in 1000 or so front runners, but got chaotic further back at water-points.  The debris of 1000’s of half full water bottles caused runners to slide and trip.

That said, it was fantastically well organised, water-points at 3 mile intervals and crowds cheered us on through-out.  It is also flat as a pancake, making it fast and one for PBs.  However, I did see one runner ahead come a cropper on an unassuming ‘speed hump’ at Mile 11, where he slowly unravelled into a tired tumble.  The Start/Finish approached remarkably quickly.  Better ‘wind up the pace now and give it my’ all I thought, and then the muddled mind calculations began.

Premature congratulations on a remarkable time were quick dispelled as we ran passed the Start/Finish!  Muggins hadn’t read the instructions properly, and my anger turned into envy as I looked on jealously at the collective relief displayed by the runners on our right, passing over the line.  The feelings turned to hurt as we proceeded to run away, towards a distant switch-back beyond sight, every stride to then be repeated into blinding sun...  the games the mind plays!  But the after the switch-back, the Finish loomed large and quickly.  Over the line, I stopped my watch and doubled over to see the time in some shade, clenching my fists.  This caused an official to rush over to see if I was okay, and resulting in a near-miss as I punched my fists in celebration – a PB!

P.S. How short lived this was... the half marathon was 193m short!!!  Can you believe it?!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-11572283