Rite of passage as right Wright writes

Another race, another gloriously sunny day. It was 19 years since I'd run the Maidenhead 10; this time different course and different weather (it threw it down throughout the race all those years ago). Shouldn't really have run due aching Achilles' and recurring abdominal issues but plans were in place - drop Claudie at Maidenhead station, run the race, drive to London for shopping, beer and food with the girls - at the start of the Easter weekend so it seemed the right thing to do, not least because I didn't want to waste another entry fee.

This was another phase in my rite of passage back into mainstream running. It felt good to be part of the racing scene again as we warmed up around Maidenhead's office park (excellent location to start and finish a big race, plenty of parking and facilities). Because it was chip timing, had to collect number on the morning of the race - more of that later - then sat in the car listening to the Test match from Sri Lanka before deciding which shoes to run in: brought four pairs with me, eventually deciding on lightish trainers that would give me a modicum of support and protection. As fully taped up with Kinesio on both ankles (skin colour not lurid pink, so not too embarrassing), feeling was that I'd done all I could to protect myself.

As is often the case with these big races (1,000 runners), the whole thing started late after interminable speeches by the local dignatories brandishing a London Olympics 1948 torch. As a consequence the start was fast, like a cork popping out of a bottle the runners were desperate to get going. I was thus enveloped by these fast starters but just trotted along in my own way.

Once things settled down I got into a decent rhythm and locked into the same pace as the ultimately 3rd lady, Rachel Tewkesbury, who was down from the Isle of Man (IoM) - many memories there for me, having done the Easter athletics festival there five times ... oh dear, best not to get into that now - and we ran together for a few miles, overtaking many faster starters.

"Is this you?" the lady asked. "Well it has my name on it." I retorted.

After about four miles we caught a Newbury runner (I recognised the vest of the club that pipped Cirencester to the Oxford League title this winter); he looked across at me and said "hello David how are you?". I was rather taken aback but quickly recognised him, his name was David Wright. We then entered into a conversation that must have totally bemused my lady friend from the IoM. "You collected the wrong number ..." he said, "it was mine." He then proceeded to tell me that he'd received a cheque for £100 from the Reading ½ Marathon a few years back, as first V50 in the race. As he is now only 46 it was clearly a mistake and he'd returned it saying that David Wright from Cirencester was the winner (I duly received said funds). We'd met a few times over the years and chatted away for about half a mile before he told me to clear off, which I did with IoM alongside. Trés bizarre.

The rest of the race was truly enjoyable, the course was flat apart from a slight rise at eight miles, I'd got into an excellent rhythm and I just kept picking off runners. A negative split resulted (31:25 / 31:12) thanks to a 6:06 last mile. It's frightening to think that I've run well over a minute per mile faster over 10 miles but I didn't care, this was my first race back when I felt I was competitive.

Tight calves afterwards and for the next few days were a small price to pay for the enjoyment gained from a lovely morning out in Berkshire. I ran 62.37, IoM did 63.24 (I pulled away at six miles) and my namesake 63.49.

Sixth in the National

Lies, damn lies and statistics ... sometimes a headline can be misleading by not quite painting the picture the reader thinks it portrays ...

No I didn't run last month's 125th English National XC Champs at the iconic Parliament Hill Fields in London, although I have many memories of the place, from the sublime (Ranelagh's team medals in the Jan 1976 Southern Junior - yes, 36 years ago!) to the ridiculous (a shuffling road runner like me should never be subjected to the tortures of nine miles hard labour through deep mud as endured in Julian Goater's 1981 National - he glided across the glutinous stuff to win by two minutes ahead of such luminaries as Dave Moorcroft, Steve Jones and Mick McLeod). And I certainly didn't finish 6th there.

Where's the mud?

My National was the Masters National at Bath University last weekend. Why, given my poor state of fitness? Well I knew the course was flat(ish) and bone dry, thus could wear trainers; it was 8km, a nice distance to contemplate; there would be lots of fellow old timers to talk to about the old days and all our current ailments (!); Claudie fancied a trip to Bath; and I'd had it in my mind that at 55 I should start doing some of these events.

The start line on a beautiful sunny day was full of contrasts, eager youngsters (why are V35's now accepted?) at the front and knarled old veterans hiding at the back, most with various bits of tape, knee bandages and supports holding them together: I was definitely in the latter group and felt very at home with Kinesio tape holding both Achilles' together.

The course was dull as dishwater, three laps with an out and back within the lap, all on mainly flat grassland with a couple of drags, but good for spectators. As anticipated, I struggled to sustain a decent pace throughout, sharp turns tending to lose any momentum I'd generated. With age groups pinned on the back of vests it was easy to see one's opposition; I appeared to be surrounded by V55's throughout. I managed to outlast some of them but was taken in the last mile by old adversary Mick McGeogh from Cardiff (lovely man, has run every London Marathon bar one with a best time of 2:17; he often used to run alongside the lead woman in the 80's (usually Grete Waitz (RIP) or Ingrid Kristiensen) so got lots of tv coverage for the most ungainly of running styles - he and I running together must be quite a sight!).

So, as the headline states, I was 6th? Well no, not really. I actually finished 80th (of 159) but if you take out all the fast young boys (at least I have more hair than Adrian) I was classed as 10th V55. Still not 6th, I accept that, but when you get to my age you try to dress things up as best you can ... ahead of me in my age group were three Irishmen and one Welshman (the aforementioned MM), so elimate them and I was 6th in the English National. I rest my case, never believe a headline.