The beauty of our sport seen from a different angle

Running, by its very nature, is an insular sport.  There is no passing of the ball to a teammate; calling your partner for a run; tackling your opponent; or reacting to a volley from across the net.  Just you and the distance to cover as fast as possible and ahead of as many as feasible.  This insularity means that although we chat about each others performances over tea and a bun, or a pint, we are really only interested in our own result and next race.  Being injured and old (maybe even wise now) I've been able to see the sport from a different aspect in recent times.  I've watched races; cajoled willing athletes to train hard, both on Tuesday nights through the winter on the Chesterton circuit and the odd Saturday on the Royal Agricultural College's manicured lawns; helped a few people with some sage advice; and even written some bits & bobs for Cirencester's website and Facebook pages and for Ranelagh (readers, await my piece on how running has changed over 25 years, it will be published soon ...).


Today was a classic example: with Claudie away in France for a week visiting her mother, I had some spare time so offered to support Ed Morris in his annual attempt at the Marlborough Downs Challenge, a 33 miler taking in some fabulous countryside, including the Ridgeway, Tan Hill Way, the famous White Horse, Kennet & Avon canal, Devizes, Avebury's ancient stone circle, and the venerable Marlborough College.  I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.  I first saw the athletes come through after just a couple of miles, by which time they were already well spread out: as well as Ed running with his brother, down from Yorkshire, at this stage, Cirencester fielded Andy Hindson, Rupert Chesmore and the evergreen Liza Darroch ("I just hope I don't get lost" she uttered to me), seen here running up through a bluebell wood.  For me it was an exercise of logistics not of running - at the same time I had a real desire to be out there running in the beautiful surroundings whilst also knowing that I didn't envy what lay ahead - as well as numerous big climbs the early morning sunshine was forecast to turn into squally showers on an already windy day.

Apart from a few strategic arrows, the course is not marked so the onus is on the runner to navigate around (there are nine checkpoints, so no short cuts).  Despite not running in the race and having plenty of time to study my OS map, Wrighty made a navigational error!  I decided to watch the leaders drop down to the canal just north of Devizes, in a village called Horton.  Sure enough I found the village and the bridge on the canal, so parked up, checked my map, filled my pocket with jelly beans and took Ed's water bottle.  It was a mile jog along the canal to the swing bridge where I'd pick up the runners, the idea to be then to run the mile with Ed back to my car.  I waited at the bridge for the three leaders coming through after about 13 miles, they ran over the bridge and turned right along the towpath - I'd run from the path going in the opposite direction!  Had the leaders gone off course?  I almost signalled for them to turn left but thought better of it - good decision Wrighty as I'd picked the wrong bridge, there are two in Horton!

I didn't want to get involved in any traffic in Devizes, so whilst the leaders negotiated that stretch before the long haul home, I took the opportunity to find another excellent spot to watch the others coming through at 12 miles.  Thence to Avebury by car before turning back along the A4, parking up and walking a good couple of miles back up towards the monument atop Cherhill Down.  Eventually the lead runners could be seen as dots on the horizon: despite being 23 miles into the race there were still three runners within a couple of hundred metres, although it appeared that one had gone off course whilst in the lead.  Soon enough Ed appeared over the hill, smiled for the camera (see shot) and we ran together for a couple of miles, his metronomic pace helping him to pick up one runner and close in on another.  I saw him once more with just a couple of weary miles to go - a few jelly beans passed between us - before I departed desperate for the mundane need of fuel for my car, what a metaphor for what I'd seen today compared to the lives we lead.