I’d entered the Islay Half Marathon with a view to doing
something a bit different and going somewhere I’d never been before, and of
course with the hope of a decent time – close to or faster than 90 minutes. In
the weeks prior to the race I’d been troubled with a niggling calf muscle, but
it seemed to be under control. Alternatively, being really honest about it, I
was fairly sure I was pushing things a bit and it was only a matter of time before it went ping – but not just yet …
Two days before, we had the Comrie Fortnight race, so it
wasn’t quite the ideal preparation. And then the day before we had a very early
start to get Fi’s Dad into Perth for a train to Newtonmore to visit friends
there. But on the flip side, the drive down to Kintyre was nice, and the ferry
was fine, and the drive across the island was quick – it’s not a very big
island. Having checked into the Harbour Inn in Bowmore, we drove round the
course, and I was happy to see it was quite benign – bit uphill to start with,
bit of a short sharp belt downhill at about the halfway point, and then a long
straight flat bit leading back to Bowmore.
Breakfast on race day was the usual porridge, and then it
was out to registration, and assorted trotting up and down to try to warm up
and get some life into the legs. The weather was turning out to be warmer than
expected, but didn’t seem too hot.
The start leads straight up the main street in Bowmore and
then does a wee diversion round a couple of side streets (to get the distance
up, I guess) before heading out onto the country roads. After about a mile, I
was in the first 15 or so runners, and starting to feel quite good. Maybe a
decent time was on the cards after all. Half a mile later it all went horribly
wrong, with a very sharp pain in the calf which reduced me to a walk. Cue all
the internal conversations – do I stop, do I carry on? How much damage will I
do if I keep going? What does it mean for the Ochil 200s? It’s a bloody long
way to come to run a mile-and-a-half, and I’m sure I can run it off. So I
carried on.
Just to make my mood worse, the water stations (of which
there were lots) were providing water in cups, instead of bottles – I hate
trying to drink from cups and I’d specifically asked the race organiser, to be
told that bottles were used. Oh well…
Considering how sparsely populated the island is, there were
nice pockets of support dotted along the route, but I hate to think how grumpy
I must have looked. Over miles two to five, I was doing sums to work out how
much I needed to speed up get back on track for a decent time. Then I looked at
my watch and realised I didn’t have a chance. The my foot started hurting. Oh,
and my leg was still hurting – run it off indeed! And it was hot.
I really should have stopped and given in, but I didn’t. The
last four miles were as unpleasant as I’ve ever run. Every step hurt. Walking
hurt. Bugger. Finally, a welcome face – Fi had worked out something was wrong
and had walked up the course to find me. I’m not sure I said how pleased I was
to see her, but it was the only decent thing that happened the whole way round.
Not long after, I ran down the main street and hobbled to the finish. The
hobbling carried on for some time – I’ve never been in so much pain after a
run. Despite the pain and the walking, I still managed to finish in the top 25 (although if I'd manage my target time, it would have been closer to the top 10). Not sure I'll be back next year to try to improve - there are lots of alternative half marathons available.
It did put a bit of a damper on the rest of the weekend,
although the Saturday night was enlivened with the Ennis/Farah/Rutherford Olympic
successes. On the positive side, the Harbour Inn in Bowmore does do very good
food – slow roasted pork belly, and a particularly nice chocolate dessert did
help ease the angst.
Need to find some more island half marathons for next year!
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