Race report by Andy Laycock:
Benidorm half report. This is why I don’t do race reports. You’ll need a bottle of wine never mind a brew. Read time about an hourš
Saturday saw ten adventurous Lostockers doing the Benidorm half marathon. The travel arrangements were wide and varied. Five of us were in the Hotel Bristol which was perfectly positioned overlooking the finish line and “The girls”, Bev, Heather, Janet, Lynda and Sally, were travelling as one tight knit unit and were moving accommodation on race day. The hotelers Brian, Chris, Sheila, Tony and myself were all race registered by Friday tea time, so we were all ready to go 24hrs before the late afternoon start time. Now what?
A wander around town, a group decision to make sure we picked one of the worst tapas restaurants, and a lot of should we/shouldn’t we? have another drink before a not early enough night.
Race day meant even after a leisurely, hearty breakfast we had 8 hours to kill before the 5:30 start time. Spot of sunbathing? Swim in the sea? Bit of sightseeing? The rain put paid to that, yes it was lashing down. Due to previous trips I have a hazy knowledge of the geography of Benidorm but I thought it would be a good idea to walk to the far end of the course. Any other takers? Of course, Brian didn’t let me down so after the worst of the rain we set off, glancing nervously skyward at the grey clouds. The plastic poncho shops were having a field day but we weren’t parting with two euros for that kind of nonsense. We made it all the way to the top turn around point before the rain came and had us standing shivering under a tiny plastic roof, in damp Lostock hoodies, for 10 miserable minutes. After that it started to brighten and warm up, yeah!
Team Lostock eventually got together for the team photo about an hour before the start time.
The forecast was good for the afternoon, and delivered as promised as we started to make our way to the start pens. There were 27 different countries represented, with a fair complement of Brits.
The start was well organised with burly chaps in black with “Kontrol” written on their backs making sure no one snuck into the wrong start pen. We had a four lane highway to accommodate 6500 runners so plenty of room and a nervously relaxed atmosphere. The warm up music was right up my street with AC/DC, System of a Down, and Red Hot Chilli Peppers getting the blood pumping. Then a respectful tribute to those who lost their lives in Valencia with a couple of minutes of rousing Spanish trumpet music which set the hairs on the back of the neck standing.
There was only myself and Brian in the yellow pen with the rest of the Lostockers being more modest about their predicted times, opting for the green pen.
Silencia…bang, and they’re off. Wow, what a lot of people. I said over my shoulder to Brian, “there’s not going to be much bobbing and weaving here for a while” and then proceeded to start following all the bobbers and weavers. Maximum concentration while trying not to get too giddy and keep an eye on the 1:45 flag, which I had already lost (Heād somehow crept behind me). Down hill, bend to the right, through a roundabout then start trying to settle. No sign of Brian, but then I wasn’t going to be looking behind, heād be able to sneak up on me. We were on a flat road heading west out of town. The first piece of road furniture had some poor volunteer constantly chirping a whistle waving a flag above his head. After that it was every man for himself, but as usual people looked after each other and pointed stuff out. We dropped down onto the prom at itās westernmost tip to the sound of the first of many drum bands rattling out fantastic beats that you could either run to or set your heart rhythm.
Four miles of flat prom awaited, supported enthusiastically on both sides mainly by the locals shouting vaya vaya. Darkness had descended without me noticing as my brain was doing all the usual; am I going too fast? Can I keep this heart rate? Is it too warm? How long is this prom? that ice cream looks good.
The 10k peel off point soon loomed, there was a man standing with two arrowed signs and another discouraging orange numbered 21k’s going up the blue 10k route. A couple in front of me had changed their mind and went up the 10k with their orange 21k number despite the routemaster’s best efforts to discourage them.
No going back now, we’re out of the razzamataz and into the business end of town, up the hill, oh hang on, there’s a flat mile out and back first. First chance to see how Brian’s doing but I don’t see him, I do hear a shout from Chris and spot Tony. Past the drum band at the turn around and the brain starts again; There’s a hell of a lot of clubs in green, where’s Brian, is he hiding in the crowd? How did I get in front of the 1:45 pacer? Why are my feet so hot?
Left after the out and back and started on the drag uphill. 7 miles or so and now I’m beginning to think I’ve overcooked it, I’m going slowly backwards as people are passing me up the hill. I’m trying to keep my heart rate around 165 so I don’t want to be chasing up the hill, luckily my legs can’t. The second and third females fly past down the other side accompanied by bikes. There’s another band drumming at the top, I think they’re playing a different tune but it’s hard to tell, then I’m going to use the slight downhill to get back on track. I’m still in front of mister 1:45, and seen Chris and Tony again but Brian is still MIA. There’s two more out and backs to navigate, I think there were more drums, but by now I’m beginning to lose the plot. I eschew the last water station thinking it’ll break my rhythm. The 1:45 man passes me with about 2 to go, and I’m just about hanging on but heās slowly pulling away.
We’re now on the last straight through Benidorm’s infamous “strip” with its very stinky bins and very smelly fast food joints all of which are not helping my rising nausea. Even the road is sticky with spilt beer. The straight is, as ever, longer than I anticipated so there are a few runners passing me. I pick one and try to hang on just about finding a drop more in the tank. We round the final right hander to the uphill finishing ramp and Sally, Janet and Brian are hanging over the railings cheering me on but I can’t react. Over the line in 1:46 dead (time and me). They’re very keen on shuffling every one through the collapsing area and another “Kontrol ” man won’t let me sit on his wall. By the time I finally find somewhere to keel over Iāve nearly recovered. I pick up a surprisingly well stocked goodie bag, go through the Coke sponsored tent grabbing a cup full, and find the gang to cheer the rest in.
Chris Baker came in looking pretty fresh at 1:51:28, Tony Maxwell ran a fantastic 1:54:01 and managed to look not quite so fresh. Next up, Heather Soden, in at 2:08:39 soon followed by Beverley Atherton-mckenna 2:10:23 who was on fire, and gave the cheerers the happiest smile. Sheila Garewal at 2:12:31 and then Lynda Hardman 2:20:20 rounded off a very respectable Lostock performance.
Sally McCoy and Janet Rhodes had sensibly switched to the 10k pre-race and both did a surprisingly similar 59:56 while Brian Halton made a sensible strategic decision to run up the 10k lane to post a very good 51:33, when a previous injury was letting him know it didn’t want to do 21k.
Quick showers all round and a chilled recovery meal for 10 rounded off a great Lostock trip with great company. Highly recommended race with great organisation and great atmosphere. Roll on next year.
