What the Dickens? In which I suggest the Amazing Northampton Run might be better than the Great North
It could just be me, but does small equal beautiful - especially when it comes to controlling pre-race anxiety?
It was the best of races, it was the worst of races.
What sort of idiot mangles Dickens at the start of an article about running, half-marathons, the joy and headache of crowds, and anxiety?
This one. But it’s not every day an article’s subject is revealed via a clumsy dropped intro and a reference to perhaps England’s greatest writer, so I’m taking that as a win.
Anyway, I want to tell you about my experiences running in two half-marathons, one of the most popular and famous in the world and one celebrating its inaugural event.
I’m talking about the Great North Run (GNR), North East England’s crown jewel of a race which attracts 60,000 participants and many more to cheer them on their way; and the all-new Amazing Northampton Run, my home-town race which took place for the very first time last weekend.
I had the privilege of competing in both, and before anything else I should mention I was lucky enough to run the GNR in aid of a fantastic charity - The Bodie Hodges Foundation.
The charity was formed in 2013 by founders Nick and Donna following the death of their 10-month old son, Bodie. It aims to support families who have been bereaved of a child of any age and to promote organ donation.
Please check out what they do, and consider backing their incredible work.
But in today’s post I actually want to talk about my reaction to each of these races - and how pre-race anxiety nearly led to me pulling out of the GNR altogether.
Firstly, it’s worth noting my response to the Great North Run was partly due to having to drive four-and-a-half hours up to the event the day before.
I had also heard a host of anecdotal stories about how busy it was at the start, how crowded and crazy things got in South Shields at the finish line, and how long it took to get out of there at the end of the race.
To be fair, I’d also heard tales of wonderful support and the fanfare that comes with a truly big race.
All of those stories proved to be true.
But by the time I got to Newcastle town centre ahead of the pre-run pasta party the night before, I was already a bag of nerves. And I can’t really tell you why. The city centre was busy, but not busier than any other. Any plans for getting to and from the event the following day were sketchy, but no sketchier than usual!
Perhaps it was seeing so many people in such a small space for the first time since the Covid pandemic and anticipating 60,000 of us crammed into a race the following day. I’ve never really felt nervous in crowds, either before or after lockdown, but who knows?
If you’re waiting for an answer, join the queue. Anxiety and answers can be uneasy bedfellows.
The day of the race came and my anxiety had reached peak levels. I just didn’t want to do the run anymore. If I hadn’t been doing it for the charity, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have taken part.
Whatever my reasons, strange levels of self-sabotage kicked in, including wolfing down a full fry-up for breakfast. Sausage, eggs, bacon and half-marathons make for an interesting combo.
Despite it all, I did make it to the start line. And yes, I did stand waiting in a pen for 45 minutes - 20 before the race started and another 25 getting to the start line after Mo Farah and co. finally kicked things off. In 22 degrees heat, I should add.
But actually, by then it wasn’t so bad. I was ready to go - and the actual one hours, 43 minutes and 28 seconds of running was pretty damn good.
The fantastic support was just as fantastic as it had been made out to be, there were numerous water stops, showers on the course to help in the heat, beer at mile 11, and all the bells and whistles you’d expect from one of the biggest events around.
But then there was the four or five hours to get out of South Shields.
Now, this should all be prefaced by saying the organisers couldn’t have expected or planned for the Armageddon of all storms, followed by flash flooding, road closures and the metro having to close.
That said, whatever the reasons, sitting in a car for two-and-a-half hours while moving roughly 100 metres is not fun. And neither is giving up on four wheels and queuing endlessly for the metro. Or then being herded on to a bus only to rejoin the traffic chaos you’ve just escaped.
Then there was the journey home, and a 2am arrival that made the whole thing seem not really worth it.
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Of course, it’s not the fault of the lovely people of the north east that I live in the other side of the country.
But would the post-race chaos have been any better without the storm? I’m not that convinced. There just didn’t seem enough facilities or plain room for all those people in quaint old South Shields.
Put it this way, it didn’t help my anxiety.
A week later, there was the Amazing Northampton Run, taking place in my little old town better known for closed down stores and financially broken councils than as the home of premier running events.
The all-new race, taking over from the old Northampton Half Marathon which had been ‘famed’ for going through an industrial estate and up a slope known to its closest friends as ‘Bitch Hill,’ takes in all three of the town’s sports stadiums - rugby, cricket and football, passes along its canal and finishes in the central high street.
It was a cool route, even though I occasionally felt I was running home and the Rocky-style step climb outside Sixfields Stadium seemed to divide opinion.
And although the support was obviously not as all-encompassing as that found at the GNR, there were cheers to be found on every corner - along with, for me, the bonus of regular familiar faces.
It also benefitted from not being too big. It’s 100 per cent possible that’s just me - after all, give me a chance and I’d probably be happiest on a countryside trail with one or two others, or even on my own.
But it’s some food for thought, certainly when it comes to planning future races and thinking about what I need to do to avoid any potential future glimpses of anxiety along the way.
So, what do you all prefer?
The big, busy, prestige of a headline event?
Your home-town race where friends clap you along the way?
The solitude of the countryside?
Or something else?
And how do you avoid getting anxious in the lead up to a big race?
I’d love to know - let’s carry on the conversion in the comments below…
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