And girl it looks so pretty to me
Like it always did –
Like the Spanish city to me
When we were kids
Dire Straits – October 1980
La Rambla de Almería. An elegant Spanish boulevard, rising gently but inexorably towards the sunlit mountains of the Sierra de Alhamilla. Just 2.4 km of climb, and yet this one stretch defines an entire race. Twice.
(Images Flickr.com — The Horror, owlhere)
Amongst all of the race distances I run, 10 miles is always my favourite. The Great South Run in Portsmouth is the definitive version, which today I’m sampling for the fourth time.
A ten mile race is a less brutally breathless affair than the 10k, whilst posing none of the recovery problems or tough training demands of a marathon. And whilst the half marathon is fun, there’s nearly always somewhere in that race, around 11 miles or so, when I’m less certain that I’m enjoying it right there.
This, then, is the beauty of a 10 mile race. It’s effectively a half marathon, just without those last 3 miles. And if you’re running regularly, you could run one tomorrow, and still walk again the day after, too.
The famous Victorian engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel was truly one of the Great Britons, always undaunted by a challenge.
It’s just a couple of hours from London to Bristol now, and the train journey is even faster. But before Brunel, the journey could take several days.
Brunel’s dream was to build a railway between the two cities, whatever the obstacles. The Great Western Railway, as it came to be known, heads westwards out of London, making undistinguished progress most of the way to its destination. It is only near its goal, that the real engineering problem was to be faced. Just east of Bath, the route had to somehow traverse the steep escarpment, where the Jurassic Great Oolite defines the pretty escarpment of the Cotswold Hills.
I know it’s out of fashion and a trifle uncool
But I can’t help it, I’m a romantic fool
It’s a habit of mine to watch the sun go down
On Echo Beach, I watch the sun go down.
Martha and the Muffins – February 1980
It’s a cold and blustery June evening, beside a deserted beach somewhere in Northern England. Far out to the west, the sun is setting beyond the receding tides, as the Irish Sea is whipping itself up into a swift herd of white horses. The weather doesn’t look that good for tomorrow, but it’ll be far too late to worry then. For when I see this spot again in the morning, it’ll be at the 23 mile mark of the Blackpool Marathon.
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Posted in 2004, music, racing, the marathon journey
Today is gonna be the day
That they’re gonna throw it back to you
By now you should’ve somehow
Realized what you gotta do
Oasis – October 1995
Play: Wonderwall — Oasis
http://www.musicwebtown.com/roadsofstone/playlists/20008/164233.mp3%20
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supercity in the sky
Oasis – October 1995
How can you make up for a lifetime of neglect ? Certainly neglect is what it had amounted to. Malign intent there hadn’t been, but the effect was the same either way. That was a thought to occupy me, as I joined the motorway at 5 am on Sunday morning, with a very long drive ahead and far too little sleep behind me. But I had to make amends, and this was the only way to do it.
Because for forty years and more, and I’m ashamed to admit it now, I’d just never been to Manchester.
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London calling to the faraway towns
Now that war is declared
And battle come down
Engines stop running
But I have no fear
London is drowning
And I live by the river
The Clash – January 1980
Around the corner, the view suddenly opens up. I see the City skyline first, then the turrets, and finally the bridge itself. Tower Bridge. The London Marathon, 12 miles. It’s the greatest sight in world running – and I’ve no doubt about that.
The crowds here are massive, the roar of noise incredible. Twelve-deep and wildy enthusiastic on the bridge, the line of spectators is even thicker, more frenzied on the other side. If the cold rain has been falling all morning, now it’s cascading. Running beside me is a chef, tossing pancakes all the way. I’m cold and drenched from head to foot, and the crowds must be soaked through, too. My race has just fallen apart, but it doesn’t matter, since this is the London Marathon.
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Posted in 2004, A1 - the best of roads of stone, London, music, racing
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