Beckham & Me

Well, we both got the bad news this past week: he's nearly 35, has sprung his Achilles and won't be part of the Brit squad at the World Cup. Me: I'm nearing 60, and this running stuff just hurts more than it used to!

But I thought I'd share a few impressions of the 1/2 Marathon last Sunday. 5700 runners finished the 2010 Adidas Silverstone Half Marathon, and I was somewhere in the pack. That's a lotta folks, and we each had an RFD chip on our shoe, so we got an exact time going over the start and finish lines. I heard the gun go off, but it took about 2&1/2 minutes for my crowd to get past the start line.
The race was at Silverstone, which is a huge Grand Prix race track out in north Oxfordshire. It's built for speed, and it must be a real magnet for disabled folks who really want to sprint, because of the smooth surface. That's right: it was 13+ miles of pavement, winding past cavernous viewing stands: sometimes in warm sunshine, sometimes with a cold north wind. I was fantasizing that I could keep to a nine minute pace (nine minutes per mile), and did so for the first half or so. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak, so I eked out a roughly ten minute pace. Disappointing, but still inspiring to be one of thousands of unique shapes, sizes, levels of fitness and pace.

A big "thank you" to all my supporters: I raised 75% of my goal, about £350 (about $525) in support of the Child Bereavement Charity. You would not believe the thousands of people, all wearing T-shirts identifying themselves as running for an amazing number of different charities! Dogs, disease research of all stripes, and social causes without number were among the beneficiaries -- I can't imagine the awareness and the millions raised.

I've done races where one passes through urban grandeur, over majestic mountaintops, and under full moonlight. But the view is pretty much like this most of the time. You run steadily with one faceless lot, evaluating their T-shirts, headbands, and strides. Then you speed up or fall back, and find yourself staring at an entirely different lot.



In any race you can see the finish looming, take a quick internal inventory of your remaining resources, and try to show some speed, style and dignity at the close.

Surely you whimper; sometimes you cry. Over the line your outlook immediately brightens, knowing that you are now free stretch, and to seek the warmth, repose, food, sleep, beer, or whatever else will finish your labours with satisfaction.