Running against all the odds

By Lesley Hart

Published:

IN this, the final part of my Stonehaven Half Marathon drama, I can confirm that I did in fact finish the race on Sunday – against the odds perhaps, but not as planned.

It was never my intention to limp six miles like Simon Pegg in Run, Fatboy, Run, or to finish in two hours and 19 minutes, but it could have been worse: I seriously thought I would come last, and that several hours would pass, and it would be dark by the time I reached the finish line.

God knows, there were moments – whole minutes in fact – when I thought I wouldn’t get there at all.

At one point, I confess, I got driven a few hundred yards by the cops to a first-aid stop, which probably disqualifies me, but sod it. It was either that or get driven straight home.

I promised you all I’d finish come hell or high water, and I was running for charity, so that spurred me on – that, and the thought of Simon Pegg limping into the night to finish the London Marathon.

“If Pegg can leg it, my god so can I,” I thought.

Admittedly, I had a wee blub here and there – not just because I was sore, but because I wanted to do my best, and to run, not hobble half the way round. However, having resolved to allow plenty of time to heal my gammy knee, I plan to try again next year, hopefully with two good legs and a chance to do my best.

For those who’ve missed the last few columns, I entered the Stonehaven Half Marathon four weeks before the race.

After two weeks’ hard training, I injured my knee and had to rest out the final fortnight.

Last Tuesday I did do a gentle four-mile run, which was fine, but as I discovered on Sunday, four miles was about as far as my gammy knee could carry me.

Nevertheless, on Sunday morning I was excited about the race, and hoped against the odds that my fresh legs would hold up for most of it, if not all. I made a happy, comfortable start, and even enjoyed the first few hills. By two miles in I could feel a slight nag in my right knee, but refused to believe it would come to anything. As anyone familiar with the route will know, the first four miles are hilly and hard on the legs, so I did begin to tread more carefully.

But at five miles, serious pain set in. For a wee while I tried to ignore it, then to accept it and run through it anyway. I was still making good time, and hoped that if I just kept going it would ease off.

It didn’t. I stopped, took some pain killers, massaged my leg for a bit then carried on. Seconds later I had to stop again. I tried going slower but it didn’t help. The pain got worse. By seven miles, and still under an hour into the race, I had to accept that running was no longer an option.

I reached some wardens and asked about first aid. It seemed like a good time to sit down and get the knee iced and strapped up.

If it hadn’t been too uncomfortable, I would have worn a knee guard from the start. Now that I was in pain and would, at best, be walking, discomfort seemed the lesser evil.

Unfortunately, the next first-aid stop was nearly a mile away, so I blubbed and hobbled on.

A very kind warden shouted my name and offered a lift (he was too far away for me to see who it was – so if you’re reading, kind warden, apologies, and thanks).

I was sorely tempted to accept, but remembering my promise, I shouted back “Nah, I’ll walk for a bit. Thanks.”

Lots of very kind runners passed and asked if I was OK. Some said, “come on!”, but much as I would have loved to, I could barely walk, let alone run. I saw a cop car, hailed it down and let the bobbies drive me to the first-aid stop. Tearful and sore, I sat down while the first-aiders iced and strapped my knee up. Eventually, my big sister arrived. She was running too, and had planned to take it slow, so was happy to stop and walk with me for a bit.

After she went ahead, I gritted my teeth and resolved to stick it out until the end. Moments later, Simon Pegg popped into my mind and I remembered how, in the film Run, Fat Boy, Run he hobbled for almost a whole marathon after twisting his ankle. With a mere six miles ahead of me, I held that thought and soldiered on.

Less than two miles from the finish, I discovered a half-hobble/half-run technique that involved pushing off with the left leg while keeping the right leg straight. It was a revelation, and, having endured the frustration of walking for almost five miles, I sprinted all the way to the finish – past Mackie Academy, down Bath Street, Belmont Brae and into Mineralwell Park.

I am so glad to have got there in the end. But on the day, at the finish line, I felt pretty gutted, and just wished I could’ve discovered the hobble/run method earlier on. But like I say, it could have been worse, and there’s always next year.

In the meantime, congratulations to all who took part, and a big thanks to the wardens, first-aiders, organisers, sponsors, cops, cheering crowds, my mum the massage therapist, big sis, and anyone I may have missed out.

Running is an old flame of mine. I love it, even if it does make me weak at the knees. Next time round I’ll be sure not to fall head over heels into last-minute training, but to build up slowly and steadily. That way I don’t get hurt.

Affairs of the heart and of the knee have more in common than you might think.