Six thirty on a Sunday morning is not exactly my favourite time to be crawling out of bed. This is especially true after four ten hour shifts. There was a very good reason for my early start on the second Sunday of July 2014 though. Back at the beginning of the year I’d signed up for the Southampton 10k Race For Life. For me 10k isn’t exactly a stretch but Race For Life is something I feel quite passionate about. Cancer has touched my life more times than I care to remember and raising money for Cancer Research seems like the least I can do. Little did I know back then quite how poignant this particular Race For Life was going to be.
Last weekend we learned Commando Senior has pancreatic cancer that has metastasised to his liver. To say it’s been a tough week would be a bit of an understatement. I don’t think I need to tell you what an interesting and knowledgeable man he is, you’ve read some of his memoirs after all. Despite humble beginnings as the son of a stevedore, he seems to have been born with an unquenchable thirst for facts and no fear of hard work. When he finally retired in 2012 he was actually the oldest plumber in the country!
On Saturday night, when the four long days finally ended, I was delighted to see him waiting on the Boardwalk with Commando, a cheery smile on his face. It may have been a difficult week but that smile made it all worth it. If ever there was a reason to get out of bed on a Sunday morning and go marching across Southampton Common that was it.
Amongst all the race pack blurb there is a sign to pin to your back to say who you’re racing for. Over the years I’ve had many names written on mine, Nannie, Dad, Mum, my friends Diane and Carole to mention just a few. Today I was proud but terribly sad to be writing Albert on mine because I was most certainly racing for Albert Donald James Keates, a man who has been a father to me since I was lucky enough to marry his son.
On a slightly chilly and misty common women were gathering, each with their own reasons for racing, the names of their loved ones on their backs, just like me. Reading them was too emotional so I gave up when I started sniffling. Women of all ages and sizes were gathered with a single purpose, to fight this evil disease by raising money for cancer research.
It was still early so we had a little wander around the stalls, not least because I’d left my water bottle on the kitchen worktop, much to Commando’s amusement.
“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on,” he said.
There were stalls selling t-shirts, sweetie stalls to drool over and, luckily, somewhere I could get a bottle of water. By the time we got to the last stall the sun was trying to come out.
Back at the stage people talked about about winning their own battles. A researcher from the university spoke of the great strides our money was helping to finance. He told us how breast cancer, prostate cancer and bowel cancer were being beaten. Then we had a very emotional minute of silence ended by an explosion of glittery pink tinsel.
For the aerobic warm up I was a spectator rather than a participant, past experience has taught me I find these things impossible to follow and, with so many people, there’s a danger of poking someone’s eye out. Instead I looked around at all the costumes, tutus, fairy wings, Disney characters, pirates, even a power ranger.
Before long they were calling people to the start line.
“Runners, take your place behind the runner’s flag,” and a swathe of the crowd started moving. Commando began to prepare for his own seven mile marathon training run and I looked around for the walkers flag.
“Joggers, take your place behind the jogger’s flag,” Commando was ready for the off and another wave of people left the area in front of the stage.
“If you’re only walking,” the announcer said with a trace of contempt in his voice, or was that just my imagination, “take your place behind the walker’s flag.”
The irony being I usually end up overtaking quite a few of the jogger’s and even the odd runner who decides, after the first mile or so, they’re actually walkers after all.
So, with a hasty goodbye to Commando, I found the walker’s flag and started following the crowd towards the start line. It wouldn’t be the first event he’d supported me at by a long way but I couldn’t help thinking of all the times I’ve watched him go off to the runner’s pens and set off on a walk feeling nervous for him and worried about getting back to the finish line in time. Still, as he was running seven miles and I was walking just over six there wasn’t much danger of him missing my big finish.
As I crept slowly towards the start line Commando found me amongst the crowd and took some photos. At least it’s easier for him to pick me out of a crowd of walkers than it is for me to pick him out of a crowd of runners.
For once there were no photo stops along the way. For the first kilometre I waked beside a lady who told me about all the other Race For Life events she’d walked. She seemed quite determined to beat her personal best and we parted company somewhere along the top of The Avenue. Another lady was looking for her daughter who was running and I kept her company for a few kilometres until she spotted her daughter and stopped for a hug.
After that I walked alone until, somewhere between the 5k and 6k markers, a very familiar face jogged past. It was Ali, a friend from my first ever job at British Rail and my partner in crime from the White Swan days. We’ve kept in touch on and off over the years and I knew she lost her husband to cancer not so long ago. After that we walked together. Neither of us was all that bothered about personal best times and Ali had been jog walking until she met me.
The last few kilometres flew past in a haze of reminiscences. When Commando phoned to ask me where I was Ali shouted out hello to him. He met us on Cemetery Road, making our way towards the finish line. When he ran off to wait for us at the finish Ali said, “he’s just showing off now!”
Despite being a confirmed walker I did let Ali talk me into a quick sprint right at the finish, my one concession to running in the whole six miles. Of course she beat me across the line. I’m just not competitive enough to be a runner!
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After a chat and a lots of hugs commando and I set off back to the car. This time I did stop to take pictures of the fabulous artwork on the underpass, much to Commando’s annoyance. He was eager to get away and get some food after his run. Usually he has a chocolate milk drink to restore his energy but, despite all his laughing about my forgotten water, he’d left it at home on the kitchen worktop right next to my water bottle. Now if that isn’t irony I don’t know what is.
We ended up driving to the Swan Centre in Eastleigh for a not so healthy lunch followed by a latte I’d been dreaming of all through my walk.
The whole 6k walk took about one hour forty minutes which is not bad, given the crowds. With the walk from the car to The Common and back plus a stroll around the Swan Centre and a walk up the Big Hill later it took my total for the day to a more respectable eight and a half miles. Of course it wasn’t about the distance or time it took, it was the taking part and raising money for this very worthy cause. If the money I raise stops just one person suffering in the way my beloved Father In Law is right now it will be worth every bit of effort.
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