A very wet, windy Gosport Golden Mile

31 May 2015

When Commando reminded me that Sunday was the day of the Gosport Golden mile and 5k, I was quite looking forward to it. Since the first one, in 2013, Commando has run it every year and, althought it may be short, there’s time enough for me to have a nice stroll along the pretty shore at Stokes Bay while he’s running and still be there at the finish line. It does mean an early start for a Sunday morning but it’s well worth it and, with a children’s mile race before the main event and, this year, a wheelchair race too, it had the makings of a fun morning.

Of course, all this was before I looked at the weather forecast. Even my ever optimistic nature couldn’t put a good spin on rain and wind. The best I could do was hope that the notoriously  inaccurate weatherman was wrong.  First thing on Sunday morning it didn’t look like he had been, it was raining outside and the trees were dancing. The only upside I could see was we had a while before the race and it wasn’t actually bucketing down. The sheepskin lined waterproof coat and slightly leaky old Skechers boots came out of retirement. Did I mention it was also cold?

We left a little earlier than we strictly needed to, mostly because every year until now we have managed to take a wrong turn and get lost but also because Commando had to pick up his race chips and numbers due to an unprecedented number of entrants. Normally the chips are sent in the post but the admin volunteers had been overwhelmed so it hadn’t quite worked like that. Typically, with all that time to spare, we actually found our way this year and ended up in the car park by the Diving Museum super early. It was still raining. If anything it seemed to be getting harder and, being right on the sea front, the wind was blowing the tall, palm like cordylines in front of the Diving Centre about quite alarmingly.

Commando went into the crowded tent to pick up his chips and numbers. Despite the weather I stayed outside because there was hardly room to move and I really don’t like crowds. To take my mind off the wet, cold wind, I tried to take photos of waterlogged flowers in the beds around the car park. This might have been slightly more successful if the fleabanes and convolvulus weren’t blowing about in the wind. Of the dozens of shots I took I ended with three that were vaguely in focus. While I was waiting an announcement was made. The wheelchair race had been cancelled because of the weather. It must have been a terrible disappointment for all the people who’d got up early to take part.

With two races back to back there was no way I’d be able to see the starts and finishes of both unless I could run as fast as Commando, which I can’t. This year the start of the Golden mile was at the other end of the bay by the lifeboat station and the start and finish of the 5k were on the beach near the Diving Museum. The best plan of action seemed to be for me to stay put while Commando jogged to the start. That way, I could watch the junior race, see him finish and watch the start of the 5k. Of course, if I’d had one of those little micro scooters I’ve always wanted I could have seen both starts and finishes. Commando has always forbidden me to get one because he says it would make me look ever sillier than I usually do and he’d die of embarassment. As he was stripping off to his shorts and t-shirt in the howling wind and rain, it seemed the wrong time to mention it.

When he ran off along the promenade I didn’t envy him one bit. It was miserable enough with my warm coat, hat and scarf. For a while I watched him but, once he was out of sight I went back to the flowers. The poor mallows were tattered and torn by the wicked wind and the anise hyssop stems bent this way and that so that I wasn’t sure what they were until I crushed a leaf between my fingers and smelt the familiar mint scent. Everything was rain soaked from the shining droplets clinging to the hairs on the Phlomis sepals to the sodden fleabane petals.

Soon it was time to make my way to the pebbly beach to wait for the Junior race to finish. The flowers had been my way of procrastinating, trying to avoid the buffeting wind as long as I could. It was raining so hard the Isle of Wight had almost disappeared behind the fog of rain on the horizon. The sea was churned up by the wind, white horses as far as the eye could see and I was surprised to see windsurfers on the shore. One was even in the water wrestling with his sail. Whether they were brave or foolhardy I couldn’t decide. It was hard enough keeping on my feet on the shore.

The throbbing beat of the Big Noise Community Samba Band brought me back to the small crowd at the finish line. The first few children had finished and were wandering off clutching their well deserved medals. A mile is a long way for a child to run and they’d had to negotiate the waves I could see crashing onto the promenade at the half way point. Positioning myself in front of a bench with a heartbreaking bunch of flowers and teddy tied to it, I hung around long enough to see the gorilla in a swimming costume I’d seen last year, her grass skirt billowing behind her in the wind.

All around me children were proudly sporting their medals but I couldn’t help wondering about the story behind that bench as I walked back along the beach. The poor battered Samba Band were taking a break before the next race and I crunched my way across the pebbles to the sea. The wind almost took my breath away but watching the waves crashing onto the beach was exhilarating. The storm had washed up lots of clumps of whelk egg cases, like balls of creamy bubble wrap, they were everywhere I looked. When I heard the drums start up again I knew it was time to go back to the finish line and find a good spot to watch for Commando.

At least the rain and wind meant the crowds were thinner than usual and I soon found a good place to stand amongst the waving yellow heads of wild mustard. For a minute or two I watched grim faced, cold looking runners heading for the finish. It wasn’t long before I got my first sight of a distant Commando powering towards me. As I cheered and clapped he put on a burst of speed to overtake a white t-shirted woman and, as he passed me, was gaining on a lad who almost looked young enough to have taken part in the children’s race. If the finish line hadn’t been so close I think he’d have caught him too.

Of course, this was just the first race of the day…