Cardiff Half, 2008.

Today I ran the Cardiff half-marathon. If there's one thing I've learned from today, it's not to underestimate the effect of running 13 miles. In fairness, I didn't really underestimate it - I knew my preparation had been hopelessly inadequate, and I was also aware that there are serious consequences to doing a run when you are underprepared. People have been killed as a result of it, and I'm given to understand that one person in his twenties had passed away on the Cardiff half last year.

I was, therefore, willing to swallow my pride and give up if things got too intense. I do a lot of exercise, and my stamina is pretty good, so I had set myself a somewhat throwaway time of 1 hour 30 minutes. As the race approached, however, I realised that that was somewhat ambitious.

Actually, I kept up with the 1-30 pacemaker for about 8 miles before starting to drop off. My legs felt empty. It had seemed, looking at the people around me, as though I had been in reasonable condition for much of that time, but I guess experience makes a difference, and I just felt as though I couldn't cope. I started walking, attempted a jog, walked again, then stopped. I started to experience a very strange light-headed sensation and felt as though my body were numb, and bobbing up and down water. This got me worried - thoughts of the 20-year old and all those you hear who collapse after or during the Great Northern Run dogged me. This was stupid; it was idiotic to expect to do this kind of race without sufficient practice... I almost gave up. It was mostly because I was expecting to see my parents in the park (and hadn't already done so), and I didn't want to worry and disappoint them by dropping out that I tried to continue.

After a while walking, however, I managed to jog slowly for about a mile or so. People around me tapped my shoulder, giving me words of encouragement, and it is, perhaps, only as a result of one particular guy's enthusiasm as he ran past that I decided to keep it up.

Somewhere around 10 miles I passed a man who had collapsed and was being looked after. His face was pale, and his lips grey. By then, however, I had recovered sufficiently to not be put off. I loped along slowly until the 1-40 pacemaker caught up with me. He was also instrumental in keeping me going. His enthusiasm was infectious, calling at the people around him to keep going, that the end was close. The thought of still being able to finish at around 1-40 also spurred me into a fast finish, and I ended up crossing the line with the clock reading just under 1 hour 40 mins.


There's something about putting yourself under that kind of stress that makes you feel extremely emotional. After the race I saw my parents, and spent some time with them, which was great. After they had gone, however, I suddenly felt very alone. All around me were groups of people waiting for loved ones to cross the line, in particular girlfriends. Happy, smiling, waiting for their loved ones to finish. Seeing my parents was very special, but it brought it home to me (yet again) how I also needed another kind of emotional support.

I tried to find some of my other friends who were running, but without success. The clock by now was reading 2 hours 20 minutes, and I joined the groups of people around the finishing straight to cheer and clap others in.

As it happened, this turned out to be one of the most rewarding parts of the event, and a demonstration of how it is possible for people to be kind to others (even if only for a short while). Firstly, it was gratifying to see so many runners who had finished willing to cheer on the others, who were finishing later.

And then, the runners themselves. There were of all kinds. People with mental disabilities, overweight people, older people. All of them, pushing beyond their physical difficulties to complete a gruelling run. I knew: my legs were aching; my feet were hurting, I had almost given up. The challenge was mental as well as physical, and the achievement of these people was certainly no less than that of the runners who had finished the race over 1-2 hours earlier. If anything, it was more. These people, in some cases, must have signed up to this race in a bid to improve their fitness; in others, they were continuing despite any physical problems they had to overcome. They were striving to improve themselves, or else not to be beaten by the course. They crossed the finish line in tears; they crossed it smiling. The point was that they did it. It was truly inspiring; and I thank God for their courage.