the Gosport half marathon – first published 18 November 2012

After my trip to london there was no time for a lazy, restful morning because Commando had a race to run. It wasn’t just any race either, it was the Gosport Half Marathon, the longest race he’d ever run. He’d been training hard and I had no doubt he’d finish but, even so, there wasa little kernel of worry in the back of my mind. What if something went wrong? What if he did t make it in the time he wanted? What if I got lost on the walk I’d planned while he was running? ok, so we all know which of those was the more likely to happen…

18 November 2012

Another early start this morning as we were off to Gosport for Commando’s half marathon. Even though I haven’t had a lie in this weekend at all I’m not complaining, well not much anyway. The weather was freezing, ice on the inside of Mattie Matiz’s window, which was not the best of starts as the heater’s broken. Eventually we were on our way and, although my hands were so cold they were hurting, the sun was bright, so bright and so low in the sky we had a few problems seeing to pull out of Telegraph Road.

Despite this and a little bit of getting lost, we made it down to Gosport in good time and found the school where Commando picked up his race chip and left his bag. In fact we were quite early so we stayed inside the school for a while getting warm. In time honoured tradition I went off to make use of the toilet facilities. I couldn’t help smiling when I saw posters saying ‘if it’s yellow let it mellow, if it’s brown flush it down,’ I’m guessing the school must be on a water meter but I have to admit I peed and flushed.

It was quite revealing listening to some of the runners chat around us. There were a few, obviously part of a runners club, who were loudly discussing previous races and their times. “I won’t be happy unless I get under one and a half,” one very thin girl said.
“Well everyone knows this is the place to beat your PB,” said one of the men with her, wearing the very latest trainers, watch and sports gear, “of course my PB is one twenty five, I think I’ll do this in about one eighteen.”
“I’ll be lucky to get under two, I haven’t done any training for two months,” the other man said.

All I could think was, what a bunch of show offs. Just the sort of runners, with all their overpriced running kit, who look down their noses at me while I’m walking along in my parka and jeans. That’s not to say all runners are like that of course, I saw some wonderful inspirational people taking part today. More of them later.

Eventually it was time for the race to start so we took a stroll down to the starting line, or as near as Commando could get anyway. There were around about one and a half thousand runners apparently, it seemed like more with all the families seeing them off. As soon as they set off I started off walking in the opposite direction. I’d planned to do one of the walks I found on WalkJogRun but I couldn’t work out how to follow the route and track my time so I set off past the school, walking away from the beach for a bit trying to follow it from memory. After about a mile I thought better of it and turned to walk back towards the beach, at least that way I wouldn’t end up getting hopelessly lost.

It was nice to be walking with the sun reflecting off the sea and the sound of the lapping waves accompanying the beat of my feet on the pavement. There were a few other runners widows sitting on benches along the promenade, some reading, some chatting, some with mugs of coffee. I have to say I envied the coffee, it was still freezing, especially with the breeze coming in off the water. I did have my parka and my hat on plus Commando’s fleece tied around my waist but I couldn’t wear my gloves and keep track on the iPhone at the same time so my hands were like blocks of ice and I was seriously worried about losing my nose to frost bite.

In the distance I could see what I thought was the fort I was aiming for and it looked a lot further away than I’d expected. My strategy for the day was to walk one mile at an easy pace and push myself every second mile after that. Mile one came to an end just before I reached the sailing club, I’d averaged 15.23 a mile until then so, after a quick stop to take a photo of the sailing boats being taken down to the water, I upped the pace. Things were going well until I was about three quarters of the way into the second mile and the pavement ran out. From then on it was a lumpy gravel path and patches of shingle, not the best walking surface and, while it may be great for calorie burning, it slows the pace considerably. Mile two ended just before I reached a rather ugly looking brick building with lots of chimney stacks at an average speed of 14.56. Across the fields I could see the Spinaker Tower in the distance.

When I checked the WalkJogRun map I was surprised to see the ugly building in front of me was actually Fort Gilkicker. What a disappointment, I was expecting something very different, more like the old World War Two fortifications I’d seen along the cost of Normandy. I’d had visions of climbing to the top and looking out over the sea. All I got was a big fence, lots of warning signs and an ugly building with a prison like door bearing the name Fort Gilkicker. There was a pretty lake behind it teaming with sea birds and, for a while there was a path which at least gave my legs some relief from the shingle.

The sea was to my right and to the left a golf course filled with Sunday golfers. From my memory of the route I’d been looking at there was supposed to be a path along side some kind of fencing leading to a proper road. It wasn’t long before I came to the end of the short stretch of paving and the fence I’d seen on the map but I couldn’t see any path. It looked like it was possible to walk along the line of the fence but that would mean walking on the edge of the golf course and with balls flying about all over the show I thought I’d best avoid it.

There was nothing for it but to walk back along the shingle the way I’d come. By this time I could see that what I’d originally thought was Fort Gilkicker was in actual fact one of the old sea forts guarding Portsmouth Harbour, a giant stone edifice sitting in the middle of the sea. Since I’ve come home I’ve Googled it and I believe it was Spitbank Fort, built in 1878, which is now used as an exclusive hotel and venue for weddings and the like.

Not long after I’d trudged my way through the shingle past Fort Gilkicker once again my phone buzzed to let me know I’d hit mile three with a less than spectacular time of 16.34. The crunch of the gravel, the way my feet sank into it and the pull on my quads was getting a little old by now and I longed to get back on the path but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to go any faster. The relief when I finally made it to solid paving was unbelievable, by then I was almost half way through mile three and my poor legs were feeling it. From then on everything seemed easy. My pace picked up and I began to enjoy the walk again. There was a brief stop to take a picture of the Inshore Rescue Station and the men on the roof looking out to sea with binoculars waiting for someone to need rescuing I guess.

A little further along the promenade there were a row of strange beach huts, not the pretty pastel coloured wooden huts you’d expect but more like a long terrace of small concrete buildings. An elderly lady was sitting on a deck chair in front of hers, wrapped in a blanket and petting a little dog on her lap, she smiled and wished me good morning as I passed. By the end of mile four I was within sight of the end of the promenade and the diving museum that looks more like the kind of fort I’d expected than Gilkicker. My average speed was 15.24, pretty poor for what was supposed to be a fast mile but I suppose almost half if it was on gravel so I can’t complain.

At this point I had two miles to walk but I didn’t know where to go. At first I walked back up past the school along the road I’d taken at the beginning. The plan, if I had one, was to walk in that direction to mile five then turn and walk back towards the finish line of the race but after a while I looked at the time and began to get a bit worried. What if Commando finished the race much earlier than expected and I wasn’t there to meet him? He wanted to be under two hours but, after listening to all the runners talk back at the school I started to worry that he might finish long before then, or I’d have trouble getting through the crowds to the finish line and miss him. In the end I decided that seeing him cross the finish line was far more important that me finishing a six mile training walk or the time I did it in so I turned and started to walk back towards the school.

Now I found myself caught up in people traffic. There were other people making their way towards the finish line and a trickle of tired runners who’d obviously already Finished coming in the other direction. By now speed was irrelevant, just moving forward was getting difficult, trying to worm my way through larger and larger crowds. Mile five was 16.07. Mile six, which was supposed to be my last fast mile was a joke, the closer I got to the race finish the deeper the crowds got. At times I was at a complete standstill and I was getting more and more worried about seeing Commando cross the line. Even with the finish line in sight I couldn’t see through the crowds lined up against the barrier. I kicked myself for not getting back earlier to make sure I had a good vantage point.

The best plan of action seemed to be to stop the WalkJogRun and walk past the finish line to see if I could find a spot there, at least I would be able to see Commando coming up to the end of the race and, once I did, maybe I could some how dash back through the crowds to meet him. I walked and walked, getting ever further from the finish line but there were still no gaps in the crowds. Then I came to the end of the road, there were great views along the route there and I could easily see the runners coming towards me but I knew there would be no way I could get back in time to catch up with Commando from there, even if I did see him go past. There was nothing for it but to turn back and hope that the crowds had thinned a bit.

In the end I found a spot, just after the finish line where there was a small gap in the crowd. I squeezed myself in and waited with baited breath, phone at the ready to take the all important photo. I didn’t have long to wait. I can’t begin to describe how proud I felt to see him running across the line. He looked quite comfortable and I knew from my watch he’d done it well under the two hours. I managed to snap a photo and shout out so he saw me in the crowd. Then it was time to push my way back to meet up with him once he’d collected his medal and goodie bag.

The last part of my six mile walk was spent strolling back to the school beside a rather sweaty Commando, not the fast mile I’d planned at 15.59 but a very proud one. While he went off to pick up his bag and get his warm clothes back on I went to buy him one of the race t-shirts. They have the names of all the runners on the back so it’s a lovely memento of his first half marathon. His chip time was one hour fifty three twenty one, a very respectable time for a first half marathon and well under the two hours he’d hoped for.

As we walked back to the car park we clapped the people still running. It was probably a first half marathon for many of them and some of them looked shattered. There were a few though who really were inspirational. One woman of about my age, probably about the size I was when I started my journey, was just coming up to the last hundred yards or so when we passed her and looked ready to drop but she was still running which is more than I could do. A woman in her thirties was not far behind, she was limping along obviously in pain, but when she heard the clapping she burst into a jog. The first part of our drive home was along the course and Commando pointed out one quite elderly chap. He was power walking. Commando said he’d seen him much earlier in the race and he’d been walking from the start, that’s quite an achievement for someone of advanced years and he still probably finished faster than I would have. Each and every one of them earned their medals today, no matter what time they finished in or whether they ran jogged or walked. Thirteen point one miles is a hell of a long way!