Dorset Invader half 2018

After a series of races in heatwave conditions, this was a taste of the wettest and blowiest that the English summer can offer.  The lovely Mrs S and I got up for a horrifyingly early start and drove to deepest Dorset in persistent squally rain.  Our coats got soaked just getting our race numbers.  We huddled in the damp car as long as we could and then stripped down to race wear and headed off the a barn for the briefing.  There was a slightly hysterical atmosphere of 300 runners all volubly wondering what the hell we were all thinking of.

The magnificence of the car park slightly undone by the weather

The forecast was a bit grim

Whose idea was this?

The start was supposed to be a magnificent downhill charge led by a mounted Roman centurion.  No one could see much or hear much over the rain and the wind, and the downhill charge was considered unsafe, so it was a lot less dramatic from the off.  The horse and centurion did look fab, though.

About 1km in, I could make out one or two front runners, then a group of three, then me.  Someone was a few metres behind and kept up a steady pressure.  The landscape wasn't too hilly, but had plenty of long drags, stony, muddy paths and overhanging nettles and brambles.  About 9km in, I climbed steep steps to a disused railway line where there was a flat 2k section, and I managed to put a bit of space in front of my pursuer.  At this point I realised that I was closing the gap on the runner in front... and it was the same group of 3 that I'd seen near the start.  I closed the gap and glided past, but one of them hung on to my tail and stayed just behind me.  I wasn't sure whether to be pleased or dismayed at this new threat, but I kept pushing hard.  We reached the infamous White Star lovestation, where my rival abruptly stopped for a drink (it may have been water, but the pre-race blurb had hinted at peach schnapps), and I was all alone.

I was feeling good and kept the pressure up.  At some point it dawned on me that I was retracing the outward route, which gave a sense of how far there was to go.  The White Star house style is always to make the distances 'ish', and they'd warned that this would be longer than the usual 21k, so it was good to be on familiar territory.

And then quite suddenly I rounded a bend and there was a downhill stomp to the finish line.  There were two soggy blokes in the tent holding beer bottles, and I learned that I was third in - fantastic!

23.88km in 1:49:45... not a fast race by any means, but this was a proper hoolie in properly wild countryside, and it felt like a luxury to be not overcome with heat stress at the end of a race.  Another smashing White Star event.