Reflecting on my XC race of the day before, I
pulled a random pair of shorts out of the drawer and heaved them on, not
wanting, but needing to go for a run to shake off my aches and pains. I noticed
that these were my CAF shorts and as I gazed up at the grey sky I realise that
this weekend I could have been in California and participating in the Challenged Athletes Foundation San Diego Triathlon Challenge.
A fund raising event for para-athlete sporting equipment, the SDTC is an
inclusive event where you compete either as individuals or as a team with able
and para athletes over a scenic route on the La Jolla coast line. I've done it
many times before, and had hoped to go this year.
Alas, it wasn't to be.
Instead I found myself down in The Carrs on a Sunday afternoon, regretting it
almost immediately, remembering the pledge never to run in the park on a Sunday
afternoon as it's full of people clogging up the paths busy on their phones,
texting and generally getting in my way. I'm so tolerant! I didn't enjoy the XC in Heaton Park,
but I don't want to dismiss the experience out of hand. As I've eluded to
before, it's my least favourite type of running around on two counts...racing
and laps. My overwhelming reccolection of the event is an aural one.
 |
| Senior girls go first |
Starting
at the top of the bank, as the gun went, never before have I heard a sound like
it, similar only to the sound of galloping horses resonating over the soft
turf, the urgent thud of many hundreds of feet pounding the grass down the
first hill made me laugh out loud. It was all elbows, pushing and shoving for
the first couple of hundred meters as the field of gritty northerners and
proper double-hard bastards battled for space and position before the course
narrowed. But next the route crossed a tarmac road...and the second
new sound to ring in my memory...spikes on tarmac.
Like a volley
of machine gun rattle, ratatatatatatatat bursting off the road and bouncing back off the trees. Again, I laughed concluding at this
point I was probably right not to wear my spikes today. It was too dry, or
rather not wet enough and they are still luminous beyond belief. I need to wear
them in private a while before I enter them into this arena. The thing with
laps, is resisting the urge to pull up as many seem to do. It's just so
inviting. Of course, this is part of the mental challenge of racing like this.
I came in behind James, Pete having long sailed off, mixing it with the big
boys near the front. The support was good...I think. It's funny how people stood just
there, right next to you as you pass, you never see and barely hear, yet they shout your name or club.
It's a
kind of tunnel vision and extreme focus. Occasionally a voice or sound makes it
through into your consciousness. "Come on naughty Richard". Naughty
Richard, naughty Richard, I know someone who calls me that. Why am I hearing
that now? Again, a little voice "come on naughty Richard". Ha ha,
yes, eventually I look up and it's little Joe and his mum waving up there on the hill. I
didn't know they'd come. And then another one, "come on Hirons, you look
like you've given up". Ah yes, encouraging words from Louise. Of course
she was right. Well, my legs had given up. Last lap to the finish, I held position
within the club, gained a few overall positions and nailed it on the final hill
to the line. Done. A Wilmslow RC 'C' team counter. Some kind of result. I found James, grabbed my stuff and drove us both home. I
wasn't in the mood to share or listen to stories. James had similar views.
"Well, that was shit" he concluded..."but I kind of enjoyed it"
he added. That kind of summarised it for both of us. And with that we went home
and discussed the merits of slow cooking Pork, good red wine and how everyone else
seems to be discussing Christmas already. Everything in fact, except running
around.
A video
here, from Terry Lonergan. I trundle by at 4.32 and 9.12. Thanks Terry.
