Race day...

So, it all came down to this: the six months of training, hurting, fundraising, blogging and panicking was all rounded off in just two hours of pounding the streets of Bath in a colourful procession of panting, sweaty bodies all packed together and pushing on with that single objective: get to the finish line.

But was it worth it? 

Oh, yes, it most definitely was.

Of course I could use this post to talk about the feeling of accomplishment, or how glad I was to raise funds for Transition Bath, or the journey I took through my training; but instead I want to get down in hard copy all of those brilliant little moments the that made the day so special for me personally. You know, the little things that are so easily forgotten after the event.

Me (left) and the rest of Team TB

The first few miles of the race were very hard for me; by the first turn my shin had tightened resulting in a very heavy right leg, my sore knee had flared-up and my expectations of finishing had dropped significantly. 

But then I looked up. 

Being on the crest of a hill, I could see all the way down Pulteney Road. Ahead of me the bobbing, vibrant sea of people stretching from curb-to-curb and as far as I could see was truly a sight to behold, and something I imagine that only the runners get to experience. Thankfully, this little lift kept me going on until Churchill Bridge (and my first taste of the really noisy crowds), which was great, but my body was still protesting.

Then came Queen Square. Yes it's an uphill slog to get there, but feeling the samba drums pulsating and bouncing off the walls as you approach and then taking the corner that leads you through that exquisite tunnel of noise was simply awesome – and even more so the second time around.

Then it all went quite again, and I finally stared to find my rhythm. The aches were subsiding and I was actually beginning to feel good. It was at this point some spectators did their job of lifting me once again, but not in the way I expected. On three separate occasions, I heard people muttering amongst themselves sentiments such as, “they must be mad,” or “you wouldn’t catch me doing that,” and as bigheaded as this sounds; I loved hearing this.

So with a slightly inflated ego and a mouthful of Jelly Babies, I crossed the bridge, rounded the corner of Newbridge Road and headed along the most uninspiring part of the race: the first section of the Lower Bristol Road. I was feeling great by this point, though. The aches were gone (but not forgotten) and that boring stretch of road surprisingly allows for some real thinking time, all the while in an un-real situation. A true delicacy in this day and age.

Other moments that lifted me were seeing the man dressed in a fluorescent orange head-to-toe body suit trying his best to be discreet as he had a wee in field (sorry, mate, that was never going to happen); the two runners arguing over a bottle of Lucozade Sport; the girl in front of me with the disappearing thong and nearly see-through leggings; the point where everyone around me was running in perfect step as, for a few seconds, we made a noise like an army on the march; and of course, having my name on my t-shirt was huge – every personalised shout of support took a second off my time.

The lead runners (no I'm not in this photo)

Naturally, though, with this type of endurance race, one also goes through lows as well as highs. The low points were my shock at the wastage of water and plastic bottles as people have a sip, take an impromptu shower and then dump the rest in the bin (or the crowd, which is a tad moody). I also hated seeing one of my fellow team members in pain, but luckily by this point we were only two miles away from the finish and all ended well. And I don’t even want to go into the Great Jelly Babies massacre of the Upper Bristol Road – what a senseless waste. Poor little blighters, just discarded in the road and left to be trampled. No Jelly Baby deserves that.

Anyway, without going on and on about the numerous other things that make a day like this so special, I’ll finish with the finish. Oh and what a finish. That last half-mile (tight hamstring and all) was amazing. The crowds baying you on, the collective sense of “we’re nearly there,” the consequent quickening of pace, and all topped off with that tunnel vision dash to the finish, when Bam! It hits you. That’s it. I did it. Wow.

Last year the Olympics inspired me to get out and get fit, and I’m now totally hooked on running. I am definitely doing the Bath Half again next year and have just literally signed myself up for the Bristol Half. Following this, I am potentially also looking at running a marathon next year and Paris would be my race of choice. Can you imagine running a marathon around the wonderful city of Paris? 

Once again I’d like to thank Nathan for organising this and I hope we can run together again soon.

Just to finish: If you've never had a go at something like this, ask yourself one question: What’s stopping you?

Love and kisses to all who helped me on the first part of this amazing journey.