How Peter Beardsley got me through my first half-marathon

What a handsome man

With my first race under my belt, it was time to decide what to do about Kirkcudbright at the end of May. With two races on offer and me still a pretty inexperienced runner, it made sense to do the shorter one. So obviously I wanted to do the longer one.

There's a fair difference between 11.2k and 13.1 miles. I'd never run as far as that before, the most I'd done probably being around the nine miles I'd managed in Paisley a few months earlier. I remember hearing when I was younger that folk training for a marathon never do the full 26 miles in a training run before the race itself. So obviously I ignored this advice and decided to see whether I could do the half-marathon distance before committing myself.

I worked out a course in Dumfries and set off. I was absolutely done in by the end but managed slightly more than half-marathon distance and within two hours as well. Do that in Kirkcudbright and I'd be delighted. I left it as long as I could before committing to ensure my injuries didn't spring up again and signed up. No going back now - although at least I wouldn't have to cover the event for work. Hopefully I wouldn't end up as a story by collapsing just before the finish line, not that that's happened to anyone I know. Ahem.

A fun-sized (possibly a half) marathon

After signing up, I thought I better do some research about what to eat, how to tackle a half marathon and other helpful advice. This seemed like a good idea but instead had me terrified. The Kirkcudbright course was very hilly. There were a variety of different things you should have for breakfast with no two articles the same and many mentioning things I hate to eat. I went with the one that said you shouldn't change anything before the race and just had my usual Cocoa-Pops with some toast and a banana (which I hate) chucked in for good measure.

If doing some research turned out to be the worst idea since David Cameron thought a referendum on EU membership sounded like a giggle, choosing to car share with other people from the running club turned out to be a great move. As I binge-drinked/dranked/drunk Lucozade Sport I was given some helpful advice from folk who'd done it before, including that if I felt there were times I had to walk instead of run then do it at the water stops and it would be easier to drink. This was ridiculously obvious and yet something I hadn't thought of before. Although they kept saying it was hilly, which was not so helpful.

Jelly Babies - fuel of champions.

Once we got to Kirkcudbright I continued to force as much Lucozade into me as possible and ate another banana while cramming my pocket with Jelly Babies. Even though there was more than an hour until the race started, the time seemed to pass quite quickly. I made several trips to the loo and tied my laces numerous times to make sure they wouldn't come untied during the race. Finally, 1pm arrived and off we all went.

It was warm. It was very warm, to the extent that an extra drinks station was added along the route. The half-marathon course differed to the 11k in that it went round the town's old High Street to start with, which was great with folk cheering you on. Across the bridge out of town, there was a sign encouraging us to wave to race founder Harry Marland who was in the old folks' home (and sadly passed away a few days after the race). And then we were out into the country and on our own.

The High Street - minus the runners and crowds.

I'd started off fairly steadily and for the first few miles it was flat. I regularly found myself thinking I must have missed a mile marker but sadly not. A few miles in we turned away from the coast to head over the hills to Twynholm, childhood home of former F1 driver David Coulthard. Rather than being lots of up and downs it just seemed to be a steady incline, which I seemed to cope with fine.

I was able to pass a few folk including some military types, which gave me great pleasure. Being beaten by some Dutch guys who kept stopping to take pictures did not. The run to Twynholm was also notable for being the only place outwith cartoons where I have seen a pile of dung on a farm with steam coming off it, just what you need when you're gasping for breath.

Sadly I wasn't quite as fast as him...

Runners had to do a lap of the village and it was a bit demoralising getting there, looking across and seeing a host of folk who had already done that and were on their way back to Kirkcudbright. I'd been warned that the hill in Twynholm was the last of them and after that it was downhill and on to a flat run to the finish. It was over in a few minutes and I didn't see what the fuss was about. I opened my Jelly Babies, deciding that managing more than half the race before doing that was a huge moral victory.

What was helping me - in terms of fighting off boredom and ensuring I couldn't hear my breathing - was my podcast choice. I'd found Graham Hunter's "The Big Interview" series handy for running as they were quite lengthy and had chosen one with Peter Beardsley for the race. At an hour and 40 minutes it would take up most of the run, although I did burst out laughing at his tale that Kevin Keegan was thinking of playing new signing Tino Asprilla as he'd only had a couple of glasses of wine.

And not a glass of wine in sight.

My aim was to try to be past the 11 mile marker before the podcast finished. If I could do that, I knew I'd be on course to finish inside two hours. Whenever anyone asked me what my target was, I replied I didn't really have a time in mind and I just wanted to finish. This was a blatant lie. I'd done under two hours on my training run and wanted to do that in the proper race. It was with a mixture of delight and relief I passed the 11 mile mark just as the podcast was winding up.

I'd been warned not to think I was nearly finished just because I was getting back into Kirkcudbright. The finish line was on the other side of the town, a good two miles away, so there was no point in putting the foot down too early. I made my move once I got past 12 miles, putting my foot down as Greenday and The View (who, coincidentally, I was to see a few days later) spurred me on, passing folk all over the place as I closed in on the finish. I was surprised to discover that there were still quite a few folk there and they hadn't all gone home.

So tired I had no idea which way to look.

An even better surprise was in store. I already knew I was under two hours, I just didn't know how much. I managed it in one hour 51.46, which I was delighted with (although soon found myself thinking I could have sneaked under the 50 minutes) and came in 93rd. Making it into the top 100 was fantastic and as there were more than 200 runners I'd sneaked into the top half of the field. I had another hated banana to celebrate.

Some of the other members of the club congratulated me, which was nice considering I was much slower than them to the point they were showered and changed by the time I finished. Me and a few other folk who had completed their first half marathon were also singled out for praise at the Monday session, which I found embarrassing - although not as frustrating as being bursting for the loo all the way back to Dumfries as I'd drunk loads of water and hadn't.. well, work out the rest for yourselves.

The prospect of this is what kept me going!

My motivation was waiting for me at home. Not some loving relative or the knowledge that I was helping out a worthy cause, rather a lot of food for my tea. And I mean a lot, which probably more than cancelled out the calories I'd burned off. After completing such a lengthy race, I thought the following day was the ideal time to finally tell my parents about my new hobby - well, I had to explain the sunburn somehow...