2020, what a year. Lockdown, no work, no holidays, no social events, no running events, ...... until the Clarendon!
Crossing the River Test
In 2020 every event in my race schedule got cancelled. And not just the races.
Park run? Off. Trips to the theatre? No show. Foreign walking holidays? Cancelled.
Running on my own was still an option but with no social aspect to my running and no races to prepare for, my motivation for training faded.
Then I saw that the Clarendon Marathon was still on! And the organisers weren’t just ploughing on as before, assuming that the Covid crisis would be over. They were building social distancing and hygiene practices into their preparations – there was a good chance it would survive and actually take place.
In 2019 I ran the Clarendon Marathon, all 26 miles of it. After a 600 mile hiking trip across Spain, I thought: “I’ve got the endurance, so should be OK.”
I was OK, but I had seriously underestimated the challenge. The Clarendon course goes up and down. A lot. Much of it is on muddy trails, chalk and flint paths. I’m usually a road-racer, so it hurt, but the encouragement of my fellow participants and, especially, the marshals got me through. No records were broken, but I made it to the home-made-burger stall in the grounds of King’s School in Winchester. Oh, and through the finish arch!)
So for 2020 I decided to go for the 13 mile half marathon.
Passing through Houghton
There were regular updates by email, on the website and on YouTube to explain the new modus operandi and the measures being taken to help us stay Covid-secure. I trained with renewed enthusiasm. I looked forward to running with others, joking with the marshals, the excitement of competition.
Of course fate hadn’t just put Covid in the way of the Clarendon organisers, but it dropped Storm Alex into the mix, the day before the event. The Clarendon email on the night before said it all: Conditions will be challenging. It will be muddy. Very, very muddy.
It was very, very muddy.
On Sunday morning my wife chauffeured me through driving rain to the half marathon start in Broughton, with deep lug trail shoes, cap, gloves, buff, my newly acquired runners belt to hold my drinks bottle (we all need to reduce the use of those disposable cups, for the planet’s sake, as well as for hygiene) and wearing a mask – for check-in at least. Social distanced registration went smoothly and my bag of warm clothes went onto the bus, to await me at the finish.
To spread out the field, chip timing allowed each participant to choose their own start time, within parameters. So I let a couple of fast looking club runners set off, 30 seconds apart, then I stepped across the timing strip, progressing slowly at first to let everything warm up. The marshals, carefully placed at every turn or junction were encouraging, even though the cold drizzle and forceful wind must have been testing their humour. As a runner though, I was soon overheating.
Lots of Water!
At the first water station I dumped my old gloves into the bin, tucked my buff into my belt and committed myself to the first taxing climb up away from the Test. A few faster runners came past, including some more muddy than me, having started 13 miles earlier. I also began to catch the occasional runner and walker. Overtaking was straightforward for the most part, along the wide bridleways and farm tracks. On the narrower paths, the protocol was for the faster runner to announce their presence and the slower runner to choose an appropriate spot to carefully step to one side and let them through. As overtaker and overtake, I can confirm that this worked well, with plenty of mutual encouragement exchanged too.
Graham Capper with 200m to go.
The descent into King’s Somborne wasn’t as painful as I remembered from last year. Was it perhaps better shoes or, more likely, 13 miles fewer in my legs?! The marshals helped to negotiate me a safe crossing of the A-road. Just a few hundred metres further began the next big climb, on wet, muddy grass. Last year I stubbornly ran, albeit slowly, up the whole climb, and suffered for several miles afterwards. This year I ran until I was slower than walking pace, then walked until the gradient eased. So I continued, running on all but the steepest of climbs.
The ascent towards Farley Mount was very rutted, with slippery wet chalk, criss-crossed with tree roots and occasional lumps of flint. But I was still feeling good. I wondered aloud whether the smiley marshal directing us onto the distance-moderating detour along a forestry track had camped there the night? No. Crazy enough and committed enough to stand in the rain all day directing runners, but not crazy enough to sleep there, apparently. Great work anyway, thanks!
Graham crossing the finish line.
I was passing and being passed by more competitors now. But the worse was over, my feet were damp but not sodden and I was enjoying the longer flat and gradual descent sections. But the Clarendon saved its piece de resistance until the last couple of miles. Several brown puddles straddling the whole trail – six inches or more deep, and each a full Jonathan Edwards’ triple jump long. What the hell? I’m going through the middle.
Now my feet, socks and trail shoes were properly soaked.
The last mile was slower than I would have liked, but I ran it with a smile on my face. Finally, my 2020 running season had started. I had worked hard, was going to finish in under two hours (not bad for a 58 year old) and had enjoyed myself!
At the Winchester finish-line, I reunited myself with my bag and put on a warm coat. The banana, cup of tea and slice of cake tasted of heaven, and I found my wife (despite her parking her otherwise distinctive orange car behind a big orange bus). Once home, the hot shower felt great too!
I can’t thank JJ, his organising team, ridiculously jolly marshals and fellow runners enough. Clarendon 2020 was a socially distanced triumph of organisation and delivery.
See you in 2021.