Copenhagen Half Marathon - Sep 2016

Ah Copenhagen. The city of The Little Mermaid. The Tivoli Gardens. The Nyhavn waterfront and, er, possibly some cultural stuff I don’t know much about. More importantly it is also the home of the flattest, and hence fastest, half marathon course in Europe. Warren and I signed up, flights were obtained (£24 return, Ryanair) and a hotel booked (Radisson Blu, free, Warren’s points again). This was shaping up to be a good and cheap weekend.

I was disabused of this latter notion in the bar we found ourselves in late on the Friday night we arrived. Scandinavia penalises drinkers, and whilst we could have said to each other that as finely tuned athletes we should abstain until after the race that was never going to happen. That evening we’d wandered around the Tivoli Gardens, admired the feel of the place, listened to a rock band performing there and had a few drinks. Our usual sort of evening on these tours then.

Saturday morning and it was time to get our race numbers and explore Copenhagen. The hotel had run out of hire bikes, but being a massively bike friendly city a shop around the corner was able to sort us out some steeds for the weekend, for around £10 per day. My bike was bright green and red, called Circus Circus. Warren’s an elegant black, called Royale. Go figure.

A short ride later and we entered the athletes’ village to register. Despite there being around 22,000 runners the process took only a few minutes, and we were free to look at the expo. Which also took a few minutes as we were not about to buy any shoes, socks, tops, energy drinks, run watches or register for another race.

properly attired...

We then spent a pleasant day cycling, seeing the famous sights, having lunch on the Nyhavn waterfront and generally taking it easy. We saw the guards at the royal residence, which reminded me of the UK.

We had dinner in a huge warehouse that had been filled with street food stalls from around the world. Apparently it was supposed to have been a pop up type place for a few months, but 3 years later it is still there. And heaving, so I guess it will be there for many more years to come.

At around 9 pm, after our customary gins, and wine, we agreed that we should now taper for the next day’s race and order some water. And that made us feel very professional. And that feeling lasted until we got on our bikes to find that the lights on them were between poor and non-existent. We’d been warned that the authorities are strict on that sort of thing, but with no other choice we pedalled back. And were not stopped.

Sunday morning and with it came blue skies, a little breeze, and mid-teens temperature. It could not be any better for us. The race start was relatively late, at 11.15am, so a light breakfast was had, ablutions made, and once again the trusty bikes were used to get to the start.

I have to hand it to the Danes. As mentioned, this was a race for around 22,000 athletes and the organisation was spot on. We dropped our bags at the tents, and made our way to the start. Where we found a couple tying the knot, both with running kit on under the more formal wear. That is a love of running…….

The race went well. There were 13 bands dotted around the course, ranging from heavy rock, to schools choir singing Abba, to brass bands. My favourite, which I couldn’t stop to admire, was a Brazilian samba band that had a couple of dancers…….There were Power Zones, which meant very loud speakers, flame throwers (pointing upwards, not at the runners) and general mayhem to keep the enthusiasm up.

Running OK with Warren

I had trained decently for this race, and when it got to 15 km I knew that I could stay with Warren until the end which was just another 6km away. There wasn’t going to be a repeat of Marrakech, nor of Lisbon. Yes, it was getting harder, but not ridiculously so, and the last 2 km was a wall of noise from the spectators. This helped us run them in the quickest split times of the whole race, as we were aiming by now to break 1hour 50 minutes. We didn’t quite manage that, both of us finishing in 1.50’48”. Though I think I crossed the line first ;-)

Is this hurting?

After the obligatory recovery intake of a protein shake, an apple, an energy bar and water we wanted a proper celebratory drink. We gingerly walked back to the bikes for the 15 minute ride back to the hotel, and once again they came into their own as it was so easy. Different muscle groups.

A shower and a rest later and we were ready to enjoy Sunday night. The previous night we’d seen a gorgeous square packed with restaurants and people, so we headed there. To find half of them closed and hardly anybody at the open ones anyway. Still we were tired, the Spanish tapas one looked good and we were hurting too much to look further afield. The (rather attractive) waitress came to take our order, and Warren attempted to use the phrase ‘elite athletes’ in relation to us. Her face suggested that she wasn’t fooled.

Food and drink ordered, we settled down to digest the weekend, and to consider our next race. While deciding that after 6 trips we were more than happy to carry on, Warren passed me the “squeaky cheese” to eat. I said to myself ‘either Warren is losing it or I’m getting deaf, as I’m sure he said “squeaky cheese”’. Still, I took it and bit. And yes, it was squeaky. Each bite was accompanied by a little squeak that a mouse would make. I found that far funnier than I should have. I was tired.

One event stood out as a possibility, the Marathon du Medoc. This is a fancy dress themed marathon, with multiple wine and food stops, around the vineyards of Medoc. It appeals to us on many levels. However we knew that Nicola, Warren’s partner, would want to attend even though she’s not a runner. So I suggested that if she came she could hire a car to drive between the umpteen wine stops to join us, give us moral support etc. Warren’s look of derision said “what, drive and not drink while we run and do?”

Clearly I was very tired.

London Run the River 10k - September 2016

Tuesday 6th September at 7pm was the big show-down - me versus a work colleague for the unofficial ICICI Bank running crown. We run around 6k together most Monday lunchtimes, and we seem fairly evenly matched. Sometimes I have bad days (“my legs feel heavy”), sometimes he does (“I went to the rugby yesterday”) and on those days we have what we euphemistically call ‘recovery runs’.

We’ve raced each other twice. For the last two years he’s beaten me at the JP Morgan Corporate Challenge*. Though this year I was the Bank’s fastest runner, he didn't take part through illness. So on to the Teach First Run the River 10k that we had both entered. Could I get revenge over a longer distance? The start is by Tower Bridge, then the 3,000 or so runners go to Blackfriars Bridge, cross it, run back to Southwark Bridge, cross that, go back to Tower Bridge, cross that again and end by City Hall.

We’d agreed that we’d start at the same time, and run together for the most part, but towards the end all bets were off and we would race for the line. Where ‘towards the end’ was was up to each of us to decide.

On the day of the race:

Him: "I haven't run a long distance in ages, been away in India all last week, you'll win, no problem."

Me: "On Sunday I ran 15k in the Swiss hills, not good preparation for a fast 10k tonight. I'll probably be struggling for stamina later on."

The pair of us – mind games or getting in our excuses early?

Anyway, as the race kicked off we ran together comfortably, and I was giving our times at each km marker (we were consistently just under 5 minutes per km, which boded well for a sub 50 minute 10k.).

Then at around the 8km mark I start to think race strategy, as I sense he's breathing heavily. Can I do a long drag at a higher pace to drop him? Shortly after that thought a faster runner passes us, so I latch on to his shoulder and accelerate. My colleague follows easily. I ease off, deciding that that strategy won't work. I'll have to rely on a sprint finish, I think. I play five a side football a few times a week, and that should give me the ability to do a short dash away from him close to the line.

However, at around the 9km marker he decides to up the pace. I react, and follow. We turn into Shad Thames for the final straight, running quite fast but I'm happy at that speed. I know I have a short burst of acceleration left in me.

Then disaster. As we run from under Tower Bridge there is a small turn to the right and I get baulked by two slow runners I hadn't spotted. He gets a 7 or 8 metre lead, and is off. I dig deep. "He hasn't dropped me for speed" I tell myself. "It was an unintentional block. I can still keep up”. I get back to him, but I can feel I'm in the red. For a few moments I try to relax (!) and get ready for the last push.

With less than 50 metres to go there’s a sharp left and then up a small ramp to the finish. I go for it. He's surprised, as he thought he'd dropped me, and he can't react quickly enough. I cross the line in 48'46", and he finishes a few moments later. I was almost caught, as yards from the line I eased up thinking I'd done it.

Almost caught, but not quite.

*This is a 5.6 km race around Battersea park for firms in the financial services industry in London, and for the last 2 years our bank has had over 60 entrants. It is run over 2 evenings, with around 15,000 runners each day.