Race Report: Great North Run

The greatest of plans were made for this event. But alas some were dashed late on. As this was a point to point race we booked our accommodation near the finish line, as we had been advised this to be the best plan. Two weeks before the event, this had been canceled by the owners. So our search for a place to stay routed us back to the start. As it turned out this was a fairly good option as we didn't need to be up at silly o'clock to join the masses to travel to the start.

The masses (what an understatement), like ants swarming toward food, was quite overwhelming, some of whom were not so careful about how they pushed in front of you. As Clive could see my angst, he decided to hang back from his race pen and accompany me to mine. I was relieved 😌.

Thinking it would be a smooth process, we dropped our bags to one of the many luggage buses. While trying to remember the number of which bus has your bag, a friendly chap writes the number on your bib no so you can find it later…... hopefully.

Now which queue to join for the toilets? Certainly not enough cubicles for the amount of people (there never is at these events are there). We chatted with some people whilst passing the hour in the said queue. While chatting and waiting, we watched the fog descend and as predicted, it began to drizzle, but then the drizzle turned to proper rain! We huddled together having now joined the hub of runners heading towards the start. We see a notice advising it will be a 25 minute walk from this point..But we hadn't moved for the last 20 minutes (is this part of the 25?).
Inch by inch, shuffle by shuffle, we may as well have been shackled together. Not the best of a warm up, in fact the temperature had dropped and the body’s natural instinct to shiver wasn't generating much warmth..
Another half hour and we can see the road, the dual carriageway of destiny, and see that some privileged contestants were now starting on their 13.1 mile journey to South Shields. Great, we still had almost a mile of shuffling to go to get to that point.
Having hydrated for the last four or more hours our bladders, along with what seemed everyone else’s, decided they needed to shed some excess weight. Many of the chaps headed to the tree lined road side, but the bank was steep and now very slippery from the heavy rain and many footsteps. Our bladders confirmed, we had no choice but to join in with this seemingly reckless abandonment. I overcame the indignation of crouching in amongst the not so protective trees from several thousand participants, such relief but alas we were nowhere near the start..
The shuffling continued but now having reached the main dual carriageway we are barriered in on both sides. Damn my bladder is filling up quickly again, I will need another pee before we get going. Obviously others felt the same too, thankfully a part of the barrier had been accessed and another flurry of desperate desperados claimed the slippery slope of relief.

Eventually, our moment had arrived and not surprisingly this is a fast start with all that pent up energy like whippets out the starting blocks. .Would you believe it, not quite 100 yards having crossed the start line we are faced with the backs of yet more queues of runners as they wait their turn for the portaloos. Who’s bright idea was it to put the much needed portaloos after the start line?

Unfortunately of course, so many had sprinted off too quickly and so were already walking half a mile in - some even came with umbrellas. Now the challenge was to duck and weave the way forward. Crossing the bridge, I was astounded by runners slowing up with phones in hand wanting to film themselves. The first hill arrived early, depending on which side of the road you had taken as the left lane went down and the right went up, and yep Clive and I were on the flyover side. This is certainly not a flat race. More undulating roads ahead. Now these aren't like Cornish hills, but they were steep and long enough to drain the resources quickly and many halted to walk, with no warning signs of this about to happen. Therefore, on more than one occasion I barged into someone's sweaty body or got an elbow in the face. Not knowing what was to come I tried to recall the hill profile on the website. I was hoping that the top elevation was over by mile 5 and we did get a couple of miles that appeared a bit easier. Mile 9 bought me a delay trying to refill my bottle, being clumsy and feeling a bit wishy washy. I gave myself a good talking to, I pressed on with the body dodging which proved quite exhausting mentally and physically.
Mile 11 brings more delays as the width of road is halved and we are pressed together to allow for an ambulance and the incline also helps to slow the pack. A wall of people forcing the pace and I'm now jogging on the Spot until I can squeeze through a gap in the elbows (how many black eyes can one person get?). Not too long before a long awaited swooshing downhill at mile 12 towards the seafront and you would think your on your journey's end, but that last mile is draining slightly uphill, seeming never-ending. 800 metres to go and the race to the finish should be on but so many walkers are ambling along. There should have been a separate lane for these people, but then they also halve the width of the road by half again to filter to the finish line and the timing mats. The final joyous finish line and whoop bloody whoop. Retrieve a medal and goody bag, but honestly, being in the third and final wave, even the finish seems to have lost any sort of atmosphere. Now to find that bus, simple you would think. Logic would suggest that the buses were numbered consecutively for a reason. But it appears the premise of putting the buses in numerical order is lost on either the organisers or the drivers (have they done this for a joke?). Therefore, our bus number 30 wasn't anywhere close to 29 or 31, but of course it would be the furthest bus away from us, we walk in search of our warm clothes.

The after party will begin shortly, and much needed beer and food was first on the list, but yet again, we are just confronted by queue after queue. First we need to join a queue for a beer and food. I am sure the overcast skies and the cool breeze did not help to any sort of party atmosphere, so eventually managing to get some chicken and rice, we headed to find yet another bus to get back to the start and our own comforts. Yet another queue, an hour bus journey and a half hour walk and finally relax……………………….

In short, do it if it’s on your bucket list but there are less complicated and more exciting half marathons to be undertaken.