Having a giraffe at the Sheffield half 2018

Digested read:  Did the Sheffield half-marathon at the weekend, strictly speaking it’s the Yorkshire half I think.  Which is confusing.  The crowd support was grand, Geronimo my companion giraffe was a hit, and I got to meet the Terrific Tilly along the way.  What’s not to like?  My last long run pre London Marathon.  Now I have maranoia and post event blues.  These emotions are unhelpful, but apparently not uncommon.  Oh well.  Still love Sheffield running and Sheffield runners though.  Hope you get to run here too dear reader, you’ll love it!

Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and medal!  Hurrah.  What’s more, had a giraffe doing so.  Literally, as in I did have a giraffe with me for the Sheffield Half Marathon, and in the not exactly metaphorical, but certainly more obscure British street speak ‘having a laugh‘ sense.  My (and your) appreciation of this dual meaning clearly demonstrates my hip and street wise credentials despite the apparently uncool choice of running with an African even-toed ungulate as my companion animal of choice for the event.  Life in general is full of such apparent contradictions, but sometimes, somehow, the unlikeliest of juxtapositions will work, thus, see below, evidence of having a giraffe in both senses.

Running can be fun dear reader, or at least seeing people you know whilst out running most definitely is, and this can delude you into thinking it’s the running bit which is fun by association.  On reflection, the whole thing is probably one big delusion, like clicker training for dogs.  The poor creatures learn to associate a click with a food reward or other treat, until eventually just hearing the click is its own reward, the food treat being withdrawn.  Oh my gawd!  Suddenly the penny drops.  Maybe running isn’t fun at all?   it’s the positive reinforcement from my running buddies that has led me to believe otherwise!  Cripes.  Let’s not go there. Hang on while I just breathe into a paper bag for a bit.   Hey ho, bear with me, let’s just continue to imagine running is intrinsically fun shall we?  Otherwise a whole house of cards will come tumbling down, and none of us want that, surely?  Look, here’s the very proof that running is fun!  I like this picture, top of the hill, top of the world, and just had the good fortune to see the fine folk of Accelerate proffering encouragement and water and all sorts of other positive reinforcement, plus they took this photo, I believe I claimed a hug at this point too, because that’s what the people who line the route of the course are there for, to provide healing hugs on demand to runners in need.  A very fine job they do of it too.

I’m running ahead of myself though – not something that happens very often when I’m literally as opposed to metaphorically running.  Let’s get back to basic chronology.  So last Sunday was the 2018 Sheffield Half.  I didn’t run it last year, when there was sudden unexpected scorching heat, but did the year before in 2016.  I really enjoyed it, it was my first time over that distance, and the support en route was astonishing.  I ate my body weight in jelly babies and had a lifetime’s supply of high fives over the duration.  I felt invincible at the end.  Even though generally I’m not a fan of road running, this year it was definitely in the diary.  It would be a good last long run pre-London (have I mentioned recently that I’ve got a ballot place for the London marathon this year?), and I’ve run the Sheffield half route a fair few times in training to get the miles in, so I was hoping it would seem straightforward by comparison to doing a full marathon.  Familiar territory, shorter route, blah de blah.

The preparation started the day before, laying out my kit, ironing my name onto my Smiley shirt, agonising over which of my many pairs of socks to wear.  It was important to me to replicate the kit that I’ll be wearing at London.  I did wonder if the name thing might be something of an overkill for Sheffield, plus there was the fear that my amazon iron on letters might not stay put in the wash.  Nevertheless, this was the plan, I would stick to it, and I did, and so did the letters. They even stayed on after washing.  Phew.  Bargain buy actually.  Less than £4 including postage got me these and some!

I had some additional angst when I wasn’t sure if the centre of my body that I laughingly refer to as my ‘waist’ could still accommodate Geronimo. Not only am I the only person in the history of marathon training to put on weight during training, but also I hadn’t fully factored in that I need to wear my running belt with water, and naked bars and other running essentials underneath.  It was a bit snugger than I’d have liked, but doable, ‘this is why I’m having a practice run‘, I tried to remind myself, whilst inwardly weeping at my less than athletic frame.  Also, Geronimo has quite a severe neck curvature, I improvised with garden twine but not sure this is entirely humane.  I managed to get her number on OK, but then had a wave of panic about whether this is allowable under race rules.  I don’t approve of running under other runners bibs.  It’s not fair on race organisers and it does have safety implications – though I can see the temptation if events don’t allow transfers even weeks ahead.  Is it therefore OK for Geronimo to wear my number?  Should we each have had our own?  Am I guilty of race-craft hypocrisy on this score?  It’s an ethical minefield!  Oh well, committed now and at least it means I get company on the way round.  I decided not to share my pre-race angst with Geronimo – no point in stressing us both, and just left her to carb up, whilst I did likewise.

I actually had a friend visiting, which was really nice, but I ate more than I should have the night before a run, and later than was ideal, although it was all very lovely at the time.

I got up crazily early and sleep deprived on the morning of the event, couldn’t sleep anyway.  I am still fretting about being one long run down in my training plan, so decided to lengthen this half marathon distance by walking down to the start.  That added about an extra 3 miles.  This was a fine plan, apart from the fact I stupidly didn’t take it into account in my fuelling scheme, and realised once in the start pen, and just before the official ‘off’,  I was suddenly ridiculously thirsty.  I also discovered accessing my water bottles beneath Geronimo’s midriff is not that straight forward. Consequently, I started the half dehydrated and never really made that up.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Then again, that’s why I was doing a dummy run in the kit I suppose.  Doh.

The walk down to the start was, erm, well let’s go with ‘interesting.’ Contrary to appearances, I do feel an acute sense of embarrassment in fancy dress other than during the actual event.  It was hard to affect a look of nonchalance as I made my way down to the city centre start. To be fair, I didn’t see many people out and about other than dog walkers, and all were friendly, if bemused/amused.  One guy with his beagle was going to be running later anyway, another walker asked cheerily ‘oh, are you up for the fun run then?’ I didn’t like to admit i wasn’t sure it would be all that much fun actually, but thank you for asking.  One asked if I was ‘planning to run with that?’ meaning Geronimo.  This did strike me as odd.  I mean surely, if it strikes you as bizarre that someone would run a half marathon in fancy dress, would it not strike you as even odder if they wore fancy dress on a three-mile walk to the start line of said event, but  with no intention of actually running in it, rather just for the gloriousness of flaunting their outfit?  No?  Just me then.

We took in some sights on the way.  It was fun meeting the lion.  And excitement started to build as we saw the road closure signs nearing the start.   Geronimo hasn’t seen this side of Sheffield before so I was worried she’d be spooked, but she was fine, curious even.  I think she may have been wondering about whether the bus or bike would be the most practical option for the return leg, but we didn’t really discuss it.  Because she can’t talk, and I can’t hum at a low enough frequency. It doesn’t seem to matter too much, we muddle along just fine.

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It was quite fun as I neared the event village, there was that growing sense of anticipation as people arrived, and I got to see the finish arch for the first, but hopefully not last, time.  I nipped into Costa to use the loo, fearing a portaloo would be too much of a challenge.  Strictly speaking you need a code to access this, but loads of runners were using the facilities – and buying pre-event coffee and muffins to be fair – so we just held the door for one another.

I paced about a bit, and found a few familiar faces, so that was good.  I was quite early, and alarmingly, there were relatively few people in fancy dress of any sort.  In fact, at this point in proceedings I’d not seen anyone.  Because of this, I had a brief period of being a media sensation.  I was away chatting to a Sheffield runner / parkrunner who I keep bumping into out and about, and who I discovered is in fact also going to be running London, for charity, and I was mid-way through downloading all her previous knowledge and experience when we were interrupted.  Hilariously, someone from run for all wanted to do a video clip of me and Geronimo.  Unhilariously, the result is painful for me to watch – is my voice really that bad?  (Rhetorical question).  Oh well.  Then someone from polar watches wanted a photo too, (no, I didn’t get a complementary watch for my services, which is a shame as my tomtom is getting increasingly temperamental about synching these days – apparently the manufacturers aren’t supporting their running watches updates any more.  Curses.  I will have such a tantrum if it doesn’t load London) and then a guy from The Star.  I was basically my very own media sensation. Well, Geronimo was, and I got glory by association.  Form a queue paparazzi people, form a queue!  Not seen the other photos, but here is the front of the Instagram video one and my newly identified fellow London marathoner…

Once I’d fulfilled my media responsibilities, good preparation for when I’m an international sporting celebrity which I’m sure is only a matter of time, I went in search of Smilies.  Found some!  Specifically, I found my very favourite Smiley cheer leading squad, tooled up and ready for action.  They were apparently there to support their dad running too, but clearly taking their Smiley support role very seriously too!  Yay.  I explained to them how they were my favourite thing at the 2016 marathon, and this year seeing them cheering wildly en route was a highlight all over again.  Yay!

No rain, uncharacteristically mild.  I was feeling OK about wearing a t-shirt for the first time this year.  Not even exaggerating for comedic effect.  I went in search of Smilies, as there’d been talk of getting a team photo on the steps of the Winter garden overlooking the Lyceum.  I dumped my bag and joined the assembly.  By and extraordinary co-incidence, other running clubs had had the same idea!  Who’d have thought it?  We briefly considered photo-bombing the Totley AC group shot, but couldn’t really be bothered.  Anyway, I was distracted by a) the presence of other Smilies, and b) another request for a film, this time by someone from The Star with a video camera, and by other Smilies.  With the benefit of already having had one go at being the subject of a vox pox, I went on a different tack this time.  Explaining, I was in fancy dress because at the time of signing up my running club buddies had assured me that this was a compulsory part of the occasion, and that they would all be donning their own African mammal of choice for the event as well.  Which they clearly weren’t!  I gestured towards them as they doubled up behind me laughing as I went on to reiterate that consequently I was feeling most aggrieved.  It was very entertaining  – to us.  So entertaining, that the camera operative wanted me to ‘spontaneously’ repeat the account all over again.  That would have been very funny to see, we were most conspiratorial, but possibly also came across as sharing our own joke, which to be fair, we were.  Oh well, it passed the time before the mandatory group shots.

As is also traditional, some Smilies were gathered in the wrong place, or stuck in a loo-queue, so not everyone made it.  Other sub-group shots were taken instead.

So more faffing, found another loo stop, then into the Winter gardens for some warmth, some posing for photos in front of the elephant in the room and some stretching (not by me).

Finally, time to get to the start line.  There was a delay in setting off due to a ‘police incident on the course’ apparently.  I was completely oblivious to this. I was distracted by meeting some camel women – first proper fancy dress contenders of the morning, and they’d upped the ante going for a double act.  Then I was distracted by meeting a fellow Smiley in the line up.  The Sheffield half- marathon is basically one big post-winter reunion for everyone you know in Sheffield who runs.  If they aren’t running the event themselves, chances are they will either be supporting it en route, or volunteering. There is no escape!

The actual start, unless you are a speedy runner in the front pen, was pretty stop start.  Some people did try to jog on, but as  a point of principle I wasn’t planning on running anywhere until my foot went over the starting mat.  I was aware of being really thirsty suddenly, but bit late to do anything about it, and a bit faffy to access my water bottle.  I hadn’t factored in the time and effort it had taken me to walk down to the start.  Must make sure I consciously drink something whilst waiting on the start at London.

We weaved over the cobble streets, and eventually the start came into view.  I didn’t think anything would top the experience of getting a high-five from Harry Gration in 2016, but the organisers had upped the ante this year with green wig pram man. The legend that is  the fund raiser John Burkhill!  No wonder I was so excited heading through the start.  Yes, I did get a high-five, thank you for asking.

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Apparently the front runners don’t avail themselves of this opportunity!  They are in such a rush to get round.  They miss out on such celebrity encounters.  It’s a shame.

I somehow found myself alongside the 2:20 pacers, both striders I knew, so that was cool, I waved them on though, my race plan wasn’t going to reach that speed.  Early excitement was indeed from seeing familiar supporters early on.  I wasn’t lying when I told you I got excited by the pro-smiley mob just near Waitrose!

The next bit of excitement, was getting to overtake someone.  Admittedly, it was someone carrying a solid oak anchor, but it was a start.  How he made it round I have no idea, that was a seriously heavy bit of luggage.  Maybe he was planning to leave it at the bag drop, but it exceeded their size criteria?  I didn’t stop to ask.  Photo nabbed from Steel City Striders Facebook page – hope that’s OK.  Sharing the running love is all for the greater good after all…

Onward and upward.  Well, to be fair, that’s the only available option for the Sheffield half, unless you inadvertently run in completely the wrong direction at the start.  By my standards, which are modest, I was reasonably consistent. Swept along by the crowd I did my slow plod, but kept my rhythm and ran pretty much the whole way up until I got to Knowle Lane. Well I say I kept on running, but clearly there were distractions along the way.  There were many supporting Smilies, and I couldn’t run past them without stopping and claiming a hug, despite one at least telling me I wasn’t supposed to. Well sod that for a game of soldiers, that’s one of the whole points of undertaking this running malarkey. Whilst, naturally, it was grand to see everyone, a particular thrill was meeting this gorgeous trio:

This necessitated not just a photo stop, but a selfie-stop with more than one attempt. Thing is, Tilly the puppy and I have connected on-line, but not had the opportunity to meet in dog and person yet.  I was so thrilled to see her I wasn’t going to turn down that opportunity.  She was fantastically well-socialised and greeted both me and Geronimo warmly . So soft and cuddlesome!  I say she was well-socialised, and that’s true, but I like to think the warmth and enthusiasm of her greeting was because we have special spiritual connection that is unique to ourselves.  I’m practically a puppy-whisperer, and very blessed what with our special relationship.  Hoping this will be but the first of many future encounters.

Onwards.  Hello Runderwear ambassador of Valley Hill Runners.  Had to stop and tell her about meeting Tilly for the first time – only to find she’d beaten me to it the day before.  Fair enough, this was important news, serves me right for not making it to Sheffield Hallam parkrun when Tilly was having her coming out party.  Miss parkrun, miss out.  Fact.  Greetings exchanged, she cheered me on, I could hear her shouts of positivity carrying on behind  me as I ran off.   I’m glad someone was feeling confident on my behalf!

Sometimes it was a bit confusing there was so much support.  At one point at Hunter’s Bar there was a smiley contingent proffering high-fives on both sides of the road, so obviously I had to zig-zag across to take up all available options.  I wonder if the lead runners did this too?  Then a shout out from the 50% of the Front Runner team who was out supporting the other 50% of the Front Runner team who was chasing a podium place and probably didn’t therefore double back insisting on a high-five.  There was further confusion, because I forgot that I had my name emblazoned all over my top and my race number, and some random supporters called out my name, which was great, but it took me a while to realise I didn’t know these people.   Didn’t matter, all support greatly appreciated!  Some supporters I missed, but they got Smiley action shots en route all the same.  Hurrah!

The support going out is pretty amazing.  It was an OK day, perfect for running, but not overly warm for spectating but the road was lined with children holding out trays of jelly beans, or lining up hands poised for high fives.  I got some shouts for ‘go giraffe’ which was grand – though later in the race I started to protest a bit because people weren’t sufficiently acknowledging my own contribution to Geronimo getting round.  At one point a cyclist in high viz came tearing down the hill shouting out ‘Go Geronimo!’ which made me feel like a proper celebrity with my own support team.  Loads of signs offered encouraging support – I was quite taken by one that was ‘go random stranger!’.  It was all very positive and affirming.

I learned the lessons from last time out and desisted from taking jelly babies I didn’t want for fear of disappointing small children.  What I didn’t do though, which was dumb, is stop and drink enough.  I wanted to, I was so thirsty, but with so many people yelling support I was a bit embarrassed to pause and rummage around for my water bottle.  The irony of not being embarrassed to run with a toy giraffe strapped round my midriff but fearing humiliation if I paused to drink is not lost on me. I  was very grateful when outside one of the shops up at Banner Cross some random table was set up offering water.

So many sights and sounds.  The crowds thinned a bit as I headed up towards Ringinglow road, by the time we got to the king of the hill section, I wasn’t feeling very regal.  I was really, really thirsty now, and had a knee niggle coming on which I’ve never had before.  I did a sort of mental check about how I felt, and thought ‘you know what I’m fine, but I need to walk and drink and eat something’ so I did that, whilst plodding up the hill, and it was the right thing to do, just to get some equilibrium back.

Nearing the Norfolk Arms the crowd got denser, ‘is that the finish ahead?’ I shouted, ‘yes, yes,’ mischievous supporters shouted back, lying, but the interaction was fun.   Less fun when people tell first timers it’s ‘downhill all the way’ from the Norfolk arms, because it really isn’t, but that’s OK if you are in the know…  Then there was the Accelerate team out in force.  Hurrah!  I can’t tell you how good it is to see people you know out en route, it’s amazing.  It’s all the fun of socialising with friends, without any of the pressure or awkwardness of having to maintain a conversation for longer than you have anything interesting to say.  The Accelerate people got some good shots of the atmosphere of the half in general and of woodrun folk in particular.  Incidentally, woodrun folk are not really like woodcraft folk at all, but I can understand why you might think they are,  some of whom had made a real effort to scrub up for the occasion.  I do appreciate it when people put the time in to choose the perfect outfit for such an auspicious day.

I claimed my hug and ran on.  Round the corner onto Sheephill road and SURPRISE!  My London Marathon buddy was in situ, fantastic to see her, clearly another stop for a selfie and hug was called for. Weird to think next time I see her could well be in London. Aaargh.  Very affirming to get that support mid way through my last long run.

The next section is definitely my favourite bit, although you aren’t yet half way round, the hard bit is behind, the views are stunning and there is still support around.   Shout out for North Derbyshire runners who had their official photographer out and about taking photos too.  I opportunistically capitalised on the proximity of that lens too – thanks Robert Scriven for use of these photos.  I’m such a natural in front of the camera.  No wonder I could barely move for paparazzi at the start.  Some great shots of other runners though, I’m liking the political satire. Check out that name label  – who’s riding Donald Trump eh?

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Steel City Striders were out in force, and there were some motivational words for them too, but I don’t think they’d begrudge sharing.  Plus they had their official photographer stuck in a ditch as per usual.  You might think they’d show a bit more respect as he takes some grand photos, but then again, maybe it’s a camouflage thing?

On and on and on.  This section was a bit quieter, quite a lot quieter than in previous years.  I wondered if I was just really slow, but I didn’t feel slow particularly.  Granted I’d stopped for a fair few hellos along the way, but in between I felt I’d run more consistently than the first time I ran this route.  Granted, I possibly pushed myself more then, but I finished with less in the tank also.  I paused for the loo, there was a queue, a couple of pink geared runners ran up behind me ‘we’ve been chasing you since the start as our pacer‘ they said. I was again astonished, I never imagine anyone would find merit in aiming for me, but it was good.  After Dore, there were sections where I felt like I was running pretty much on my own, I couldn’t really see anyone ahead, and wasn’t aware of anyone behind.  I saw one collapsed runner lying on the verge, but St Johns were in attendance, so I jogged on by.  I don’t like seeing that though, you always wonder if they’re going to be OK.

The participants had definitely thinned out by the time I was back on Ecclesall Road, so had the supporters.  However, the upside of this, is that those who were waiting were pleased to interact with me in order to alleviate the boredom whilst hanging around waiting for the people they actually were out to support.  I had some hilarious interactions.  People toasting me with prosecco from outside their houses (which I must admit looked way more fun than doing what I was doing); a queue of children who sprang into an orderly line when I said I couldn’t complete the course if I didn’t get any more high fives, and at one glorious point a band of about 15 or so supporters with huge ‘go go go’ signs.  ‘You’ve got this‘ they shouted as I approached ‘I’ve so got this!’ I echoed back and soon they were all running alongside me, punching the air and shouting ‘you’ve smashed it‘ and other such motivational stages laughing uproariously as they did so.  It was great. Not only did I feel like a celebrity (in a good way) but also it was joyful. It was just playing really, like we don’t get to do nearly enough spontaneously as adults.  A sort of shared understanding of the ridiculousness of it all, and the kindness of strangers. What’s not to like?

It was about this stage I started to believe in myself.  ‘You’re the first giraffe‘ someone shouted, others joined in ‘first giraffe, first giraffe’ in a great chorus of recognition.  I could do this.  Finally, I’d win a category in a running event.  Dreams CAN come true!

Onwards I yomped, there was one moment of shallow irritation.  There is a timed 10k section which is marked out.  About this point, three children aged 8 or so, decided to join in, and ran holding hands in a line in front of me, stop, start, stop start.  I kept having to run round them, and as soon as I overtook,  they sort of leap-frogged round me again, determined to stay ahead of me seemingly, and it was quite tiring.  They were there for ages, until I finally put on what for me was quite a considerable sprint to get away.   A few minutes later a police car pulled up and i overheard a conversation about three missing children.  I froze.  I felt so stupid, I’ve got so used to seeing kids running at junior parkrun it never crossed my mind that maybe three young kids running unaccompanied down the half marathon route wasn’t the best idea.  I stopped to talk to the marshal, but it was fine, they’d picked the kids up and all was well. They’d have had their own mini adventure.  To be fair, although they shouldn’t have run off like that they were being quite sensible staying together, looking after each other and having running fun, just not the best time to do so.

Coming back into Banner Cross and then Hunters’ bar, I was amazed to see Smiley supporters a-plenty still out in force. ‘we were waiting for you’ they called out.  I couldn’t believe it.  I mean, it was practically the next day by the time I was coming back through, but smiley solidarity was still in evidence. Plus new faces of people I’d missed first time round. Smilies are fabulous, there is a lot of support for runners in Sheffield, a legacy of parkrun too I’m sure, but it is quite something to be part of a club that genuinely encourages both ends of the running ability spectrum with vocal enthusiasm.    I felt very lucky.  Can’t see how London crowds will be able to top that. Nothing beats the shout of ‘go smiley’ as you pound a race route.  Even Tilly had waited for me.  Honestly, I don’t think it was just that I was still lead giraffe at this point.

Nearing the city centre once again, there were more opportunities to share greetings as people who’d already finished were now lining the route, supping their non-alcoholic pints, so I had lots of reunions with other runners I’ve not seen in ages as I yomped to the finish.

Coming down the finish line was hilarious.  Even if I have a selection of the most unflattering official race photos ever to hit an in-box in the history of digital photography, I had a glorious finish.  Almost as glorious as the first man and woman across the line.  The officials had mislaid the first giraffe banner apparently.  I won’t bear a grudge.

People whooped me and Geronimo in, and as pretty much everyone else had finished by this point, the announcer was able to call my name and acknowledge Geronimo too as I crossed the finish.  Even better a smiley was on hand to greet me – she’d run with a friend for charity and finished hours before, but it was still lovely to see her as I wandered off to claim my medal and finisher’s tee.  Should have stayed with her really though, they knew how to celebrate another run done!  That’s the after party that might have been …

Medal in hand, I wandered round to baggage drop and then joined the queue to get my medal engraved.  Had a bash at doing my own post race selfie…  ho-hum:

I was a bit slower than last time, but happy with the run over all.  Whilst waiting for my engraving I was blessed by the sight of Smiley selfie queen materializing alongside me.  Excellent, guaranteed a decent finish photo that way!  Slightly sinister character lurking in the background aside – is that Darth Vader do you think?

Oh, you want the results of the Sheffield Half Marathon 2018?  For me, that genuinely isn’t the point of running, though I daresay I’d feel differently if I was fighting for a podium place at the front like these guys, every one of them seemingly levitating the whole way round (Photo courtesy of https://www.facebook.com/jamierutherfordphotography):

Bravo!

I was still definitely first giraffe home though, even if, disappointingly, they haven’t yet updated the results to capture that category.  I may have been fastest African mammal too, but I never did find out what happened to the camel…  also, and I accept this may be a technicality which perhaps the race organisers are having to investigate prior to publishing the final outcomes – it depends whether the camel is deemed to be a dromedary (one hump) or Bactrian (two) as that might dictate the region of origin.  I thought dromedary to be fair, so that is direct competition.  Anyways, according to Wikipedia so it must be true:

The dromedary (C. dromedarius), also known as the Arabian camel, inhabits the Middle East and the Horn of Africa, while the Bactrian (C. bactrianus) inhabits Central Asia, including the historical region of Bactria. The critically endangered wild Bactrian (C. ferus) is found only in remote areas of northwest China and Mongolia. An extinct species of camel^[6] in the separate genus Camelops, known as C. hesternus,^[7]lived in western North America before humans entered the continent at the end of the Pleistocene.

First giraffe though, for sure, so definitely a win in that category.  Just sayin’

Then it was of course something of an anticlimax.  I was tempted to get a bus home, but actually I couldn’t because the roads were closed due to some stupid running event or other.  Ultimately this was a good thing as it forced me to walk back and it meant I did 18 miles on my feet in the end, which isn’t equivalent to a long run I know, but is a reasonable compromise.  I haven’t got time to squeeze in another long run pre- London anyway.  I was relieved to be traipsing home uninjured – apart from that weird knee thing, where has that come from?

Walking back, I bumped into people who’d cheered me round on course. One woman on Cemetery Road rather sweetly explained she’d been shouting for me, but her husband had missed me, and could they come and say hello to the giraffe!  It’s very sweet.  Geronimo, like Tilly, seems to be able to inspire instant respectful adoration.  Turns out I don’t need to have any social skills, I can just use proximity to a stuffed toy as an ice breaker in all future interactions.  Result. I  mean it might not quite wash in a job interview I suppose, unless it was say an audition for a ventriloquist, but it’s a start.  Perhaps I should start taking her everywhere, like a vegetarian friendly companion emotional therapy animal, only with less chance of having to flush her down the loo if I need to take an international flight say?

And the next day?  Erm, stiff, but not broken.  However, very tired, on a serious note, it is clear I did let myself get really dehydrated.  Still better to learn from that now, than crash out at London in less than a fortnight.  LESS THAN A FORTNIGHT DEAR READER OH MY GIDDY HAT!

Not going to lie, the screaming humiliation of the official race photos was a bit of a downer too.  Oh my gawd – did I really allow myself to go out in public looking like that?  I take some small comfort that this is a phenomenon sufficiently well recognised that there are apparently whole forums dedicated to uploading runners ‘worst ever race photos‘, where we can presumably take solace by howling with empathetic laughter at the shots of other runners who have suffered worse photographic misfortune than ourselves.  Small comfort say I.  Particularly as I thought the majority were relatively innocuous compared to the horrors that found their way into my own inbox.   They may be funny, but inside we’d all secretly prefer to be outed as our own gender equivalent of the ridiculously photogenic running guy, who you may recall ended up as something of a meme a few years back.  How can I rid myself of all my extra chins and chisel my cheek bones between now and London?  Is a water and cayenne pepper fast for the next fortnight compatible with carbing up during my taper?  It’s just Not going to happen is it.  Sometimes there are no words, I’m never going out in daylight again.  Not going to lie, I did weep at the sight of some photos, but then I have to step back from it and recognise that objectively the shot is indeed hilarious.  This isn’t even the worst one, but it does communicate quite well the full horror of the unflattering race photo as you embark on your sprint finish:

Then, for authenticity, in terms of treating this event as a practice run for the London Marathon, post the Sheffield half marathon I got full on post-event blues.  I am probably somewhat guilty of contributory negligence here, because I stumbled across an article by the New York Times on ‘Plodders have a place, but it isn’t a marathon‘ which ironically, I couldn’t even access as it’s pay to view, but of course i had to torture myself by googling the topic and came across much hate filled rhetoric condemning plodders (anyone slower than a 10 minute mile apparently) for clogging up marathons and so debasing such events.  In my rational moments I believe this to be nonsense, I will be slow, but I’ve worked hard to get to London, maybe put even more hours in for training than some of the runners who are fleeter of foot,  because it takes me so darned long to finish those long runs. Even so, it’s horrible to read such toxic negativity.  Especially, when I’m tired from Sheffield and currently cultivating maranoia – that knee niggle is definitely worse now, and I’m sure I’m getting a sore throat too.

For the record though, even elite runners sometimes have to crawl  across the finish line, and if that’s inspirational, which it clearly is, then my shambling efforts should at least be seen as legitimate too!

Oh well, still going though.  And I’m going to keep on running. Hope you will too! We’ve got this people, nailed it. Totes.

 

Thanks to all the photographers who have generously allowed me to use their photos, I’ve tried to get permission when I know who they are, apologies if I’ve missed you.  Any objections to use of photos then please let me know.

You can enter already for next year 14th April 2019, just saying.

Oh, the Sheffield half-marathon route – blimey, nearly forgot, here you go:

Looking for a challenge? Our Asda Foundation Sheffield Half Marathon’s demanding terrain will provide you with just that! Don’t worry it’s well worth your hard work. The course rewards you with spectacular views of the Peak District and various City landmarks.

Starting on Arundel Gate, in the heart of the City Centre, runners are instantly hit with the euphoria that surrounds this fantastic event. Runners then travel down the much loved ‘Eccy’ Road and take in its selection of bars, restaurants and independent shops.

From there on, they are treated to picturesque views of the Peak District, passing Encliffe Park and Sheffield Tigers Rugby Club. Those views are then left behind as the course heads downhill to the outskirts of Dore and back to ‘Eccy’ Road. Eventually reentering the City Centre, runners finish in front of the Town Hall and an adoring crowd!

Naturally, to take advantage of the best of the Peak District’s incredible views, there will be an uphill ‘King of the Hill’ section.

Here is the course profile:  

Just gentle undulations really, in Sheffield terms, nothing to fret about, nothing at all!

Thanks photographers, supporters, marshals, race organisers and fellow runners all.

Special thanks to Robert Scriven who has a flickr feed of the Sheffield half as well as a good eye for a shot, some hilarious photos as well as a welcome supportive shout on the way round.  Thanks to Accelerate for sharing their pictures and providing a timely embrace as well.  I’m grateful of course to the numerous smilies (you know who you are) for support as well as photos in this post and others, and thanks too, to the many anonymous others from SCS and elsewhere, the official photographers and last, but by no means least Ian Fearne, Race Image photography, who attends events and provides photos in exchange for an optional, modest donation.  Many of his are inspirational portraits of runners giving their all, and captured at their best.  Some pictures from the Sheffield Half 2018 are here so dig deep and consider donating here  https://www.raceimage.co.uk/donations