Bristol Half Marathon, 2009. Pants.

Pic caption: Running is hard work. Not a pic from today, but I looked very much the same.

Here's a tip for all you half marathon runners out there. Don't duck out of the start to go to the loo as I did today, as you will find the entire 20,000 other runners have legged it away and left you on your own, plum last, with a lot of ground to cover.
It couldn't have been much of a worse start if I'd broken both my kneecaps and decided to run blindfolded.
I started with the pink numbers, which was the last section in the second wave of runners. For the first time in Bristol they split the start into two waves, the first presumably with proper runners, and the second half an hour later with the rest of us. I was a bit late joining them so I was already quite close to the back, but as we shuffled down to the start two things started to bother me. The first was that all the runners around me looked much fitter than me, which I know isn't hard but this was supposed to be the section for all honorary members of the Fat Bastard's Running Club. Clearly they had taken the whole thing much more seriously than me. The second thing was that I really needed the loo, having drunk several pints of water the night before and this morning. (I somehow also managed to drink nothing but soda and lime all day at my brother's wedding the day before)
I just nipped into a portaloo, and when I came back out, everybody had run off down the road, power walkers included, which meant there was not a single runner around me. I crossed the start line totally on my own, to the slightly ironic cheering of the crowd. It was nice to have all those people cheering for me, and I virtually sprinted away as I felt I had to put a bit of effort into it.
So in the end I started in the unofficial third wave, except it was less of a wave and more of trickle, or possibly even a drip.
Things didn't get much better after that. Just before the first mile was up I started to feel sick, and indeed tired.
I reflected that the bag of Minstrels for breakfast was probably not as good an idea as I first thought.
My legs were already giving way and I had to stop for fear of being sick. After a bit of a coughing fit I felt a bit better and started up again.
The first mile is always the worst anyway and for the next half hour or so I managed to get up a bit of momentum and slowly started passing some of the tail-enders, power walkers that is.
My proudest moment was passing the 'cardiac rehab walkers', which was a group of men who had clearly recently had heart surgery and were getting back to fitness. I know what they have been through as that was me a couple of years ago, but I didn't even attempt anything as admirable as that in my cardiac rehab. I felt a little pang as I went past them, I thought it might have been a stitch but I think it was shame for being so useless compared to them.
The stark reality of the situation soon hit me though, I simply was not fit enough to take on 13.1 miles.
My preparation had been woeful. After the 10K run in May I did really kick on and made some good progress but the past month to six weeks everything had come to a bit of a halt.
I hadn't given myself the best chance as I have been working pretty hard for the past couple of weeks which is good for the business, but not found the time or energy to train.
And I spent all yesterday at a wedding in Birmingham which was also great to be at, but I was back late and this morning when I woke up I just felt knackered.
Had I not started at the very back as well, maybe I would have been carried by the other runners, not literally of course, that would have been asking a bit much.
It took me just about an hour to get to the four mile mark, and at four miles an hour it would have taken me more than three hours to finish, if I'd even managed to keep going at that blistering pace.
And in fact the average walking speed, according to Google, is 3.5 miles an hour. I kept trying to run in bursts of ten to 15 minutes, which I managed for a while but that came down to five or three minutes.
My motivation wasn't helped very much by the amount of bloody cyclists who kept whizzing past. I thought it was a bit out of order myself. I had my tunes on quite loud, and I didn't expect to have to keep looking round my shoulder for somebody speeding up on their bike. Especially the guy who whipped past me gabbling into his phone.
I think I even shouted out, 'it's easy on a bike!', and finished the sentence in my head, 'you tosser'.
And people kept crossing the road in front of me, not that I blame them, but one bloke came so close holding his child, that it felt like he was showing his toddler what failure looked like so he could learn a lesson from it.
Then there is the sympathy clapping. I admire anybody who stands and watches 20,000 or so people running through Bristol and by the time I was coming round the corner they must have been there for bloody hours.
But I almost felt like I wished they would just let me go past and just not mention it, because I was so far behind that they must have thought I had some condition or physical ailment, and was being really brave.
I don't mean it really, any support is very gratefully received. But secretly I'm sure some of the marshals were clapping because they knew I must have been the last in the pack and they could start to pack up and get down the pub.
But I think the final straw was having to compete with the bin lorry that roared up behind me on the Portway to collect the thousands of plastic bottles left strewn across the road by runners.
He kept a respectful distance for a while, but must have got bored and went past me but we were roughly the same speed. I did think about jumping on the back.
I managed to get round the turn at Sylvan Way and ran and walked a bit down the Portway, feeling wrecked by this point.
At seven miles, just before the junction with Bridge Valley Road, I met my girlfriend and I decided I'd had enough by that point.
It was about 10K and that is the distance I have managed to do before reasonably comfortably, but it's amazing how quickly you lose fitness and I just had nothing left.
So instead of running another six miles or so, we hiked up Bridge Valley Road and headed home.
I didn't feel it was worth pushing myself, because I knew I wasn't able to do it. I know I've lost two stone in the last few months, but I'm still five or six stone overweight, and I could really feel that today.
I do have mixed feelings because I know I could have got in shape for it and at least finished it. I have done seven half marathons over the past eight years, and I've always made it over the finish line.
But at the same time this was very much the start of my training regime for the London Marathon next year.
Normally when I run a half marathon it is the culmination of months of training, and an end in itself, but the aim now is April next year.
It has really helped me to focus on what I need to do to get in shape for next year, which is clearly quite a lot.
It's a bit like when England are in the World Cup, they usually start badly, but come good in the end, only to crash out near the end. Obviously I'm not aiming to crash out near the end, so it's not that similar, but I know what I mean.
The good things to take out of today are that I didn't injure myself, and that at least I managed 10K and didn't turn round and go home after the first mile, which was a serious consideration for a moment while I was at the side of the road coughing my guts up. Nice.
But as I said, if anything it has made me more determined than ever to get properly fit for April next year.