Back in 2016, I ran a PB at the Brighton Half Marathon, and then six weeks later I ran the Reading Half Marathon. Between those events I tripped over a wonky paving stone outside Higham Hill Park and broke a rib. Consequently, I did not replicate my success of Brighton 2016 at Reading 2016. Or get within half an hour of it. My memories of the event are pure misery: every bounce of my left boob feeling like it would puncture my lung, feeling utterly defeated by that hill at 5k and having 10 miles left to run, wanting to pull out but not knowing any quicker route to the finish line than finish the race, the interminal slog along grey dual carriageways with well meaning “race angels” trying to coax me to run and the anticlimax of the stadium finish because the stadium was pretty much empty when I got there and all I wanted to do was lie on the floor and swear. It took me years to pluck up the courage to give it another try, and then of course as soon as I did I got my mega-injury and had to defer. Maybe this was a sign that I should avoid Reading?
Of course the fact that in 2024, as in 2016, I had smashed my half marathon PB at Brighton helped me relax, because once you’ve already achieved your goal, there’s really no need to achieve it twice. All I needed to do was avoid falling over for the next six weeks and run faster than 2016, which obviously wouldn’t be that difficult. This doesn’t mean that I didn’t set out last Sunday with the aim of getting under 2:30 in mind (or spend some times doing the necessary maths about paces and studying the course profile), it just meant that I genuinely felt that if I didn’t get the time I wanted, it would only be “oh well” and not “this is a fucking disaster I am a terrible runner and must drink fifty-nine tequilas of shame immediately”.
My 2016 memory of the actual route was quite hazy. All I could remember was the effing hill and the effing dual carriageway, and of course the beer stop. I had hoped that perhaps in my damaged state I had overemphasised the bumpiness of the route. I hadn’t, and that hill was even worse than I remembered it. But this time it didn’t defeat me! I was determined to keep running, even if I only moved as fast as the walkers. I was momentarily crushed at the top when the 2:30 pacer shot past me and receded into the distance but looking at my watch, I could see I was still quite a bit faster than 2:30 pace and just tried to ignore him (which was easily done as I couldn’t even see him). The next bit was round the University and mostly downhill and I could see my pace was staying faster than 7 mins per km. Eventually I caught sight of the pacer again, now standing in the middle of the road cheering everyone on. “Have you only just noticed you are going too fast??” I said to him. I don’t know, maybe I am too harsh, I have never paced a half marathon but surely it can’t be that hard to stick to the right pace? Maybe I should give it a go sometime.
Anyway, I was soon distracted by a very pleasant long downhill that takes you into the town. This bit is very undulating and twisty turny so not very fast but there were a lot of people out and about interesting things to look at. And this is where I started comparing 2016 and 2024. It felt like a completely different race. I feel that by getting faster I am getting a glimpse of something that is usually unobtainable. The ability to keep up. To get round while spectators are still interested. Not to be struggling against the tide, hurrying myself along, fearful of missing cuts off and being laughed at or encouraged across the line by someone dressed as a giant weasel. Just to be average. The slow end of average, admittedly. But unremarkably blending in with the rest of the runners. To pass.
I loved the race. The sky was blue and the suburban streets of Reading were full of cherry trees which rained petals on me like confetti. A pub at the bottom of the second big hill was handing out cups of beer. I paused to think whether I should have some, would it make me sick and ruin my performance? Of course I should! I took a big slug and it was the best beer I had ever tasted.
Around the nine mile mark I knew to look out for my friend Sarah and her daughter Beatrix. I’ve not seen Sarah for nearly ten years and Beatrix didn’t even exist then so I wasn’t really expecting them to put in a lot of effort to look for me but apparently Beatrix grasped the task of Half Marathon Cheer Squad with aplomb and even made a poster. To my relief I spotted them easily (the fact that Sarah has bright pink hair helped) and saw the poster which said “Go Suzi Go” and had a picture of a snail and a dog and an “energy rock” on it. This is the first time anyone has ever made me a poster! Obviously I have a wizened heart of stone and am totally unmoved by such kind gestures and any welling up was entirely caused by a bit of cherry blossom in my eye and not actually a rare fit of humanity. There was no time for that because I was still doing well and therefore had to concentrate on not Leyton Orienting it all up in the last 5k.
Ah, the dual carriageway. That bit I hadn’t forgotten, though I had remembered it as being a lot longer in 2016. It was still about two kilometres, and very slightly uphill, directly into the sun too, and it definitely wasn’t my favourite part of the race. My pace started to drop, my legs started to hurt (more than usual), my eyes started searching the horizon desperately for anything that could be the Madejski Stadium where the race finishes. (Seeing a paramedic with a massive Builder’s Bottom going on tending to a collapsed runner was a momentary distraction. Hope the runner is ok and that someone yanked the paramedic’s trousers up before anyone else collapsed with the shock).
And there it was. With less than a kilometre to go, I was still, rather to my surprise, on target for the sub 2:30 finish that I hadn’t, I thought, cared enough about getting to achieve. After all it had taken me eight years to crack my last PB. I anticipated many struggles and injuries and disappointments before I could do it again. In fact I wasn’t particularly sure that I would ever do it again. For all the times I dreamed of the moment where I beat my 2016 PB, never once had I dreamed of beating it again six weeks later. I’d never picture myself crossing the finish line at Reading with a PB. This moment had never even crept into my consciousness. It seems that actually, sometimes you can get what you want without absolutely pouring your heart and soul into it after all.
2:29:05.
So where do I go next? That marathon PB of 6:50:07 is looking like an awfully low hanging fruit right now…
7:07 