Race two, the Gosport 5k, being a good samaritan

31 May 2015

Of course, once he’d stopped running poor Commando was freezing. There was a little time before the 5k race was due to start but our first job was to remove the Golden Mile race number and pin on the 5k one. Stupidly, we decided to do this on the beach in the pouring rain with the wind tearing at us. When I took the first safety pin out my fingers were so wet and cold I dropped it and had to scrabble around amongst the pebbles in what I was sure would be a futile search. Luckily, by some miracle, I found it again and eventually managed to pin on the new number.Commando was shivering and soaked to the skin so we walked together up to the Diving Museum hoping to find a little shelter from the buffeting wind but it was hopeless. At least he had his hooded sweatshirt because I’d stuffed it into my bag before the first race. I fished it out and he put it on. While Commando fumbled with the changeover of timing chips, I took a few pictures of marigolds, the nearest thing to sunshine available.

After a couple of photos of a very cold and shivery Commando posing by the Diving Museum cannon in the rain we hid around the back of the toilet block in a vain attempt to find a dryish place where the wind wasn’t actually tying to knock us off our feet. We spent a good bit of time directing a stream of lost looking women to the ladies toilet, the entrance to which is hidden around the back of the circular brick building. Earlier I’d had trouble finding it myself so I was quite glad to know I wasn’t the only one.

It was here that we met one of the members of Commando’s running club. It was her first attempt at the Gosport Golden Mile 5k combo and, after being introduced and telling her it wasn’t usually this wet, I tuned out while they talked PB’s and the like. By the time we had to go back to the start line the rain had eased off a little, if not the wind. Commando stripped  off his sweatshirt and disappeared into the crowd and I trotted off to the mustard plants again to watch the start.

Pretty soon they were off. For once I even managed to spot Commando in the crowd. Now it was time for a little walk. To be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to it. As soon as the last runner had passed I set off along the promenade thinking I might make it as far as the cafe by the sailing club and grab a take away coffee to warm my poor cold hands. As it was I made it as far as the place where the waves were crashing onto the promenade before I gave up.

The path turns slightly eastwards at this point and the slight change in direction had me walking right into the wind. Suddenly the thought of a coffee lost it’s appeal and I decided to turn back. Oddly, a lone runner was coming towards me at speed. Maybe he’d missed the start of the race and decided to go for it anyway. Not far behind him was another competitor, this one appeared to be power walking and, as he had a medal around his neck he must have already completed the Golden Mile. How strange. Later Commando pointed out that, as the race is chip timed, even though both men started long after everyone else it’s their personal time that counts and one of them could even have won the race, despite not crossing the line first. Running is a strange sport.

With the wind behind me it didn’t take long to get back to the beginning of the promenade. I did peek inside the coffee shop but they didn’t seem to sell takeaway coffee and the place was heaving with other race widows so I didn’t go in. Outside the Diving Museum a diving suit had suddenly appeared, attached to a lamp post, so I went to have a look. It looked as if they were opening up but, much as I’d like to have had a wander round inside, I knew I didn’t have time.

On my way back to the finish line I had what is possibly one of the strangest encounters of my whole life. A woman wrapped in a semi transparent yellow bin bag was standing behind a large white van, probably something to do with the marshals. As I approached she stopped me.
“Excuse me,” she said, looking faintly embarassed, “I’m having a bit of trouble, could you help me?”
“Of course,” I said, always happy to be a Good Samaritan.
“This might sound a little odd but could you undo my bra?”
“Um…I guess…”
“The thing is, it’s a sports bra and it’s really tight. I’ve just run the Golden Mile and now it’s digging in so much it’s giving me chest pains.”
So, she lifted up the back of her bin bag and her t-shirt. Feeling very peculiar and with apologies for my freezing cold hands I obliged. She sighed with the kind of relief only another woman could possibly understand. It could only happen to me.

As I crunched across the shingle to find a place to stand I noticed someone had pitched a little tent there. Somehow it was clinging on, despite the wind. Whoever was inside I envied them being warm and dry.  In dribs and drabs with grim faces, the first runners were just beginning to come in. There were enough gaps between them to get across the course and sit on one of the benches to give my legs a rest from straining to stay upright. If it was tough for me just standing there what must it have been like for the runners?

It wasn’t long before I spotted Commando in the distance and he seemed to be running with his friend from running club. As they got close I could hear him urging her on. At the last minute he spotted me huddled there under my hat and hood and then they were past, running the last few yards to the finish.

Now it was my turn to run. As I trotted along the very edge of the course to meet them I heard someone shout, “Come on Marie.” For a moment I thought someone had mistaken me one of the runners and was cheering me on but then common sense prevailed. Even in this weather no one would run in a sheepskin lined, waterproof parka, wooly hat and chunky boots. Obviously there must be another runner somewhere nearby who shared my name.

For once there was no moaning from Commando about his time. Early on he’d decided this was more a race for getting to the end than personal bests. Once he’d caught up with his friend he’d run along side her, keeping to her slower pace and urging her on to the finish. She’d hoped to run it in about thrity five minutes but, with a few white lies about time from Commando, she’d made it in under thirty. It wasn’t a personal best for either of them by a long chalk but making it to the end at all was pretty good in the circumstances. Hopefully next year normal service will resume and there’ll be sun.