Last weekend I ran The Scottish Half Marathon. I signed up for it after running The Edinburgh Half in a time of 1:32:45 after next to no training, and I picked The Scottish Half as a chance to get a sub 90 minute time. Spoiler alert: it didn’t happen.
Kata drops me at the start and I'm still smiling
Once again I failed to train (although I am still running EVERY day) and rocked up on the day of the race more in hope than expectation. I was going to try to get a sub 90 minute time, but I was determined not to be disappointed if I didn’t – after all, it’s not as if I worked hard for it or anything. Kata dropped me off at the start and it was at this point that I made the fateful decision that due to the heat (unseasonably warm for September) I would for the first time ever, run in only my vest. You know how Rule 101 of running? The one that everyone knows and only an idiot would ignore?
“Never try anything different on race day”
Well I am that idiot. Suffice to say that on Thursday, five days after the race, I had blood on my work shirt as a result of injuries sustained by running 13.1 miles in only my HBT vest. The chaffing and bleeding was intolerable. My triceps were the worst. I ended up running with my elbows up by my shoulders to try to stop my triceps from rubbing on my vest – I looked like the world’s shortest DJ spinning some tunes at his decks.
Curse this vest that is presumably made from on the finest fibreglass!
The race in itself was pretty dull. We started near Tranent and ran to Musselburgh. The first section, the road we were running on had a vanishing point! Long, straight, lonely, dull. My pacing was decent and I was hitting bang on 4:15 a kilometre which was what I needed to break the 90 minute barrier. I only started slowing when the chaffing became too much and I got super grumpy. With 5 miles to go I really, really, really wanted to quit, but I had to keep going as DNF is much worse than a bad time. Kata had hoped to meet me in Port Seton but she never made it. I realised then that I wouldn’t see her until the end. The highlight of the race was undoubtedly Cockenzie and Prestonpans where the village was out in force to cheer us on, spray us with garden hoses, and generally keep up our spirits. It as hard to keep up my spirits as it felt like someone was holding a match under my upper arms. I was really slow by this stage and running more than 5 minute per kilometre whish is atrocious and a slow training run never mind anything near race pace. There was a guy running next to me for the last 2 or 3 miles that was practically rubbing shoulders with me and this didn’t improve my mood. I felt like running down a side street just out of interest to see if he’d follow me.
The race finished at Musselburgh Racecourse which was actually brilliant. Because there was a bar. And I needed a drink. I sat in the sun with Kata and a fellow HBT runner (the only other one at the race I think) and drank enough to make me less grumpy.
Giant medal. Although the medal and souvenir t-shirt look reusable from last year to next year.
Not a good race. Not just personally, but I think as an event it’s a bit…meh.
This is the first time I’ve ever ran a half-marathon and not got a PB. Next time.
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