Chester metric marathon 2018

What on earth is a metric marathon? I hear you cry.  It's 26.2km, or about 10 miles short of a full marathon.  The lovely Mrs S and I were both originally down to run the full monty, but Mrs S in in injury rest-up mode, and I was a bit fearful of the impact of a road marathon just 3 weeks before Beachy Head.  So it was just me, running a new distance in a new part of the world.  What's a good result for 26.2km?  I figured I would be happy with anything under 1:50.

Chester is really extraordinarily lovely.  We drove north through rain on the Saturday and emerged into this beautiful city in golden autumn sunlight.

Central Chester

Sunday started off chilly.  We got to the racecourse in good time and enjoyed generally fooling around before the start.

They cater for the larger clientele here

The marathon runners had set off ahead of the metric marathon.  It was all very laid back and unhurried at the start, with laconic commentary.  You wouldn't have guessed that this was a race of 1000 entrants.  There were about a dozen super-keen blokes on the start line, and I hung back a little behind them.  The local town crier did his Oh Yea thing and shouted out his assertion that a metric marathon is tougher than an imperial marathon because you are not allowed to use feet.  Very droll.

Off we went, over the hill of central Chester and then heading due south.  I reckoned I was in roughly 20th place.  By now it had warmed up and it was mild with a light southerly breeze (mental note - that'll be a help on the return leg).  I found myself next to a guy in a West Cheshire vest, and asked him what time he was hoping for.  One hour fifty-something, he replied, and then glided gently ahead of me.  I think you're going off too fast, pal, I thought.

The terrain was gently undulating and I felt OK.  It was an out-and-back course and I vaguely wondered when I would encounter the lead runners on their homeward leg.  They there were at 9.5km, nearly 4km before the turn.  I couldn't believe it.  As more runners came piling back, it dawned on me that these were the marathon runners on their way home.  They had almost identical numbers on and it was impossible to tell which race everyone was in.  I heard a voice shouting 'Stileman, you bugger'.  It was Andrew Trigg, my old colleague and racing rival (it was Andrew's marathon time that I failed to beat in London earlier this year).

I went around the turn and headed north for home, enjoying the feeling of cruising past the marathon runners, some of whom were really starting to deteriorate in the later stages.  I passed Andrew, with a brief hello, and then overtook the West Cheshire bloke.  Approaching Chester, I kept the pressure on.  In to the old part of the city, down to the riverside and there was lots of noise from the spectators.  I took it up a gear and then really caned it, feeling exhilarated, on the racecourse and appproaching the finish line.

The relief of the finish line

My time was 1:46:39, which was very satisfactory.  Here are my stats.  A bloke approached me and asked me if I was 50-something.  Yes, I replied.  'You bastard', he exclaimed, with proper northern vowels, 'you came sprinting past me in the last mile'.  This was my second-favourite moment of the weekend (the absolute highlight was the teenage waiter in the hotel the night before who dropped a fork from the plates he was carrying and kicked it several times out of the door and down the passageway... priceless).  First M50!  Sorry Chris Yorke - better luck next time.