My training strategy for my first marathon includes stepping up through the distances using races reasonably local to me in Oxford so having got myself round a couple of half marathons the 15 mile Banbury Run on 8th March was a natural next step. I’d run 15 miles once before in training and not suffered too badly so felt reasonably confident – in fact I was wondering if my predicted 2hr 15m was a little conservative and set out on the morning secretly hoping for 2hr 10m.

The Banbury Run describes itself as a challenging run on a rural course, entries are limited to 400 so not too big a field. The majority of entrants looked more like club runners than fun runners. I was expecting to be in the last quarter of the field. An easy start in the sunshine got me going nicely before the first long but gentle hill at 1.5 miles, I tried not to push too hard and was a bit surprised when I passed a chap I’d been chatting with at the start who wanted to finish in 2hrs. Still I was keeping to my 9m miles so we wished each other luck and I plodded on.

I passed two chaps each carrying at least a litre of water and with rucksacks over their all weather jackets. They were chatting away while running with a deliberate looking style with there elbows held out from their sides. I was getting a bit hot in my medium-weight long sleeve top. They should have been sweltering but showed no sign.

I passed the 6 mile marker and still seemed to be on target, a quick mental review of my body didn’t seem to indicate any bits under strain. I knew there was steep hill around mile 8 so had a gel before the imminent water station. The sun had gone, the sky darkened and the wind was getting up. I thought I felt a drop of rain. I was slowing up a bit and climbed the hill rather slowly.

It was raining at the top, and it was blowing hard – mostly in our faces. Well the forecast had said there might be a heavy shower at midday and they were right. I was soon very wet! My shirt was so soggy there was water dripping from the cuffs, my shorts were soaked and flapping about. The slow procession of young ladies passing me didn’t appear as bedraggled as I felt and I realised that their tight Lycra was a better choice for the weather than my sodden, flapping sails. I was cold! My legs didn’t *feel* cold – they felt like all the blood had congealed in them below the knee and they were as responsive as clay. I kept picking them up and dumping them in front of me – what else could I do! A lot seemed to have changed over the last couple of miles and there were still 6 to go so I though maybe a change of approach was in order along with a revised target time. 2hr 25m was realistic. I was still moving, if slowly, and nothing actually hurt.

A diminutive lady I would guess to be in her early 60s noticed me checking my watch as she caught up with me at the 10 mile marker and observed that there was no point in looking at the time – it was just about getting to the finish now. We ran together for a while, a few runners passed us but we were not yet reduced to lame and exhausted. It rained and blew more but I couldn’t get any wetter and didn’t think I’d get any colder so long as I kept going. I seemed to be going up the hill to Little Bourton at 11.5 miles quite steadily and lost my companion and gained a few places. A bulky chap caught me and said it was also his first time at this distance, he said there was only 2.5 miles to go. I pointed out that 1 mile of that was all downhill, a fact he seemed genuinely unaware of and which perked him up as he trundled off ahead. I was passed by many on the descent as my legs refused point blank to extend their stride from our agreed plod.

The 2 chaps with the jackets and rucksacks passed me, still chatting away. I’m not entirely sure they’d even noticed it was raining.

The last 2 miles were hard work, next time I tell myself it’s ‘just a half-marathon’ with a couple of extra miles I’m going to do them extra miles at the start not the finish. A glimmer of sunshine in the distance? No – it blew harder than ever and rained some more. I said a cheery ‘must be less than half a mile now’ to a chap who seemed to be suffering as I crawled past. He looked back at me like half a mile was a death sentence. The rain had almost stopped. We were back in the park and I could see the finish now – no sprint left in those legs but I managed to keep it dignified. 2hr 23m 317/378. A few die hard supporters managed to make a lot of noise for us. The T-Shirt went straight on over my soggy clothes and I lumbered off back to the start for a change of clothes and a sit in a warm car.

Sometime during the drive home, with the music blaring, and the smell of warm, wet cloth, and the sun reflecting off the wet motorway, I realised that I’d rather enjoyed it. Not just the sunny bit but the whole experience – missed target, numb legs, soaking clothes and all. Roll on the Compton Challenge 20! (Though I’ll settle for a warm, sunny day if I have to.)