Making The Qualification Time

I drive in again today to save my legs for tonight's little running event. Despite the rain, the roads are ok on my route but not in Derby itself. Parts of the city centre are flooded and everyone was late in. My colleague from Sheffield hasn’t made it in again. The Mansfield Tri course that I rode the other week now appears to be partly underwater as Warsop is flooded.

My boss was talking to some people at Derby railway station yesterday who were trying to get up to Leeds on their way back from Glastonbury but there were no trains going north. They’re still there this morning.

L says she had a horrid time on the park, two deer chased them. Then the gate was locked and she had to help an old chap who had fallen as he was trying to climb through the fence. It sad that the council are so crap at opening the gates that even old men have to try and break in. Good job she was there, the park attendants would have probably just stepped over him, when they eventually showed up.

I was intending to take advantage of having the car and nip into town over lunch but because the traffic is worse than usual, if that is possible, due to the flooding, instead I lunch in Sainsbury's again. While there I pick up one of L's frequent requests for something cranky. In this case Redbush tea or Rooibos, the Afrikaans word, to those in the know.

Someone has left a comment on my blog. In Portuguese. Translation is difficult but I think that maybe he liked my OMD review.

Drive home battling my way through the stationary traffic trying to get into Derby, until I get on the A52 where it's a clear run home.

Then it's time to make my running debut. Tonight it is part one of the Grand Prix series of running races. This is the one I've not been looking forward to, well apart from the other three, a 10K at Holme Pierrepont. I pick L up from work on the way. L says she's never done Holme Pierrepont without having to dodge the mega-puddles in the mega-potholes. She says one of the potholes is so huge they usually make a marshal stand in it. She's not endearing it to me. It's not going to do my dodgy ankles any good.

First mistake is apparently I have the wrong kit on. L wanted to see me in my lycra and I've just come out in normal shorts. She tells me I won't get sex without the lycra. Bugger and I thought she'd object to me running in it because its so revealing. She adds a get-out-clause; if I run under 45 minutes I qualify for a shag. Well, that was my target time; I'll just have to make sure I go under it.

We get there early, which is a real novelty. Doggo is as excited as usual, probably more so but it's not my job to deal with him tonight. L is the one who'll have to lash him to a tree to stop him joining the race.

We start and I position myself too far back and have to walk for at least the first metre, losing valuable time. Then once we are moving it's so congested that I can't set my own pace. It's frustrating, as I know the quicker runners are slipping away. Eventually I get some space and start to move through the pack.

After three miles which is about the halfway point we come across the one-mile marker. These race organisers think they're so funny. Then after a similar distance the two-mile marker appears. Hmmm perhaps 10K is further than I thought.

No matter, it’s going quite well, my breathing is good, I'm not remotely out of breath; the cycling must be benefiting me there. Also I've passed loads of people and no one had passed me yet. As the race is obviously going to take longer than I thought, it means I have plenty of time to contemplate the meaning of life and other unimportant issues. As I pass a rather well stacked female runner in a Redhill running vest, an article I read recently sprang to mind. The average female chest size, which is incidentally 36C, weighs 300g and jiggles 9cm in a figure of eight movement with every step unless well strapped down in a sports bra. Except in this girl's case, where the sports bra was proving totally ineffective, certainly more than 9cm of movement there.

I run quite a good tactical race, well after the debacle at the start. I tuck into as many groups as possible, sheltering from the wind, which is quiet strong and let others pace me. I stick with each group for a while, then try and push on forwards to the next group, rest in that group for a while and so on.

As I continue moving up through the field, I notice that the further forward I get the skinnier the women get and the older the men get. Skinny women are no fun to follow and old men are no fun to get beaten by, so they all have to be overtaken. Then just to rub it in an old grey haired chap in glasses in a pale blue running shirt overtakes me, the first person and only person to do so. I try and latch on to him but his pace will surely wipe me out and I drop back. His card is marked or it would have been had I seen his number.

I run past Doggo and L, Doggo offers vocal support. Having passed loads of emaciated women, at last I see a woman with a decent shape up front, so naturally I have to have her. Then when I've dispensed with her I see a chap with grey hair in a pale blue running shirt just ahead. Yes. I can have him. Revenge. It takes ages to reel him in. Then when I draw level, bugger, no glasses, it's not him. No rest for the wicked though, there's a chap wearing ridiculous headphones up front. So he's next to be terminated.

We pass the five-mile marker and I start to lift my pace even further. It starts to get hard now, my breathing goes, and my legs start to ache. I'm tempted to just coast to the line but there's another chap in headphones and I've just got to finish ahead of that girl with the ponytail...

Done it. Finished. 42 minutes approximately, don't know for sure as I didn't see where the finish line was. Wow. Quite pleased with that time, particularly as I've made the qualification mark.

I greet Doggo and L; then stagger to get a drink, discovering in the process that my legs are totally totalled. Part of the idea was to see how my legs would cope with the 10k run part of a Duathlon, so now off on a 40km bike. Hmmm don't think so!

We contemplate going for a pint. I could certainly use one but in the end we are sensible.

Get home. L insists I eat before I claim my prize. I have a hot bath, while L does Spam curry. L gets a bit morose after the curry, saying she hasn't earned it and goes off to bed. Suspected me doing the runs when she can't might depress her.

Try and do some stuff on the computer but my aching thighs won't let me sit and Son has used up all our internet bandwidth, even though I trebled the limit in readiness for the school holidays. Our internet is now set to a slow speed until Thursday. I think it won't be the only thing running on a slow speed come Thursday when it's race number two.