I last ran this race in 2010, when I finished in 2:20:20, and before that in 2008 when it was a mere 20k, so perhaps it was not too disgraceful to finish today in 2:29:53. The organisers had changed the route so that the big climb out of Alfriston now ascends the same hill that competitors in the Beachy Head Marathon tackle, rather than the one next to the clay pigeon shooting range. This is good news for nervous runners who don’t like gunfire while they run.
As is right and proper for any event in the British countryside, dogs and horses played important roles. Some runners were of the Cani-Cross persuasion, and yoked their hounds to their waists with complicated webbings, straps and leads. As the race began, the dogs gave tongue, and their owners uttered strange cries of encouragement.
For the first few miles my main problems were respiratory; I had been recovering from a cold, slept badly the night before, and it felt as if a large weight sat on my lungs. This section is flat and loops around Firle Estate before heading east on the Old Coach Road. I was well behind most of the rest of the field and frequently overtaken, but, apart from the breathing, things went well. By the time we reached Alfriston, about seven miles in, my breathing settled, so it was time for the legs. My troublesome knee twinges from time to time, but I made it up to the escarpment, where riders and horses met us, part of an endurance riding event. The idea of borrowing a horse was attractive. It’s a steady climb, with one or two dips, to the highest point of the course, where I heard one teenage rider exclaim, ‘I think your girth is loose’. I was about to take offence, when I realised she was addressing another rider, not me.
When the path reaches Firle Bostal it’s a headlong dash down a steep tarmac road. This is cruel, because the inescapable illusion is that the foot of the hill is the finish. It isn’t, and I was sent out on a final flinty path. Though there was now less than a mile to go, my legs were shredded, and I only wanted someone to say, ‘you can stop running now’. Then back into the estate, and a short run down to the finish, and all the energy bars I could eat.
And so I ran my first half-marathon for eighteen months. I’ll be back.
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