London Loadup – Week 5. National Cross Country

If I say to you, “master craftsman”, or, better still, “master of craft”, who do you think of? Is there someone you know who fits that bill? I mean someone you know personally. I can think of loads that are in the public eye; Bob Dylan, Meryl Streep, Noam Chomsky, Serena Williams.

But, people in my life, who I know personally? I can think of one or two, perhaps three.

I do not want to run the National Cross Country champs this year. I don’t want to do the 3 and a half hour drive. I don’t want to run around in the mud. I’m tired. I’d rather stay here with my family. But the problem of being an athlete/ coach, is you have to lead by example. I wouldn’t be very happy if one of my athletes said they didn’t do a race that had been in their schedule for months, because they couldn’t be bothered.

So I set off to Nottingham, in the rain and wind, and I really can’t be bothered. I’m in a bad mood the whole way, I arrive at the last possible minute, don’t even bother to check the course map, and away we go.

I’m tracking Kent AC teammate, Jim Allchin, who has been running pretty well recently. We are doing ok, somewhere around 60th place. It’s muddy, windy, hilly, everything you would expect. I’m not feeling smooth and tidy, but then, I doubt many people are. We hit a very thick patch of mud, it’s so sticky it’s hard to pull your feet out. Someone elbows me in the chest, knocking the wind out of me and stopping me dead in my tracks. I’m angry with myself. If you are running confidently, with intent, these little skirmishes are much more likely to go your way.

When we get out of the mud, I’m not too far behind Jim, but then we head straight up a hill. My heart and lungs are not ready for this. I’ve been training solely on roads, treadmill or track this past month. I don’t like my rhythm being so rudely interrupted. I’m suddenly down nearer to 80th place. We come back around to the mud again and I haemorrhage more places. I’m just trying to survive now. I’ve got no watch on, I don’t know what lap it is, or how many are left. I ask a guy running next to me. He completely ignores me. We are running right next to each other. This is strange. Did he hear me? Is he entirely too exhausted to speak? I run ahead of him, I can’t bear the awkward silence any longer.

I hear someone shout “one lap to go”, but we are halfway round a lap, so what does that mean? Is this the last lap? Or one more lap after this one?

It doesn’t really matter anyway. I’m in this shitty position because I have self-sabotaged my race before I even started. I’m coasting along, doing enough to maintain my position, hoping this is the last lap, but trying to save enough just in case it isn’t.

Somewhere, near the end, Ken shouts out;

One Hundred and Third. You can sneak into the top hundred here!

This one sentence, is imbued with so much knowledge, such highly skilled and nuanced craft, I can’t even begin to explain it all, I don’t even understand it all. But let me try;

First of all, it is only because it is Ken, that I believe I am actually 103rd. Do you know how difficult it is to count runners at the National? We are a heaving mass of thousands of runners, over 4 laps, lapping the back markers. It is an incredibly difficult job to count accurately, especially whilst also cheering on and actually observing your entire team, 30+ runners.

When Ken says I am in 103rd place, I believe him.

Then, his positioning. Ken is a master of finding a place in the race where it is quiet enough that he can be heard, but important enough so his words can make a the difference.

Then the way he expresses the line, instantly clears up for me the issue that this is in fact the last lap, and I have less than half a mile to the finish.

“sneak in the top 100”. Well, that sounds like a fun game, not the miserable slog that I have just been enduring for the last 7 miles. A challenge. Let’s see, can I sneak in?!

Ken knows I have enough left in the tank to respond to his words. He knows I still have a change of gear if the mood takes me. He knows this because he has watched me run for 26 years, since I was 12 years old. He has seen me blow up, he’s seen me cruise around in the best shape of my life.

I know that when he says I can do it, I can do it.

All these twitter coaches, with their quick one liners. The coaching courses and qualifications, hacks and tricks. They can’t replicate the deep knowledge accrued through observation. It is immeasurable knowledge. These skills are not transferable. Not even articulable. That is what master craft is. Rising above what can be taught, through a lifetime of observation and practise.

You might think I am talking bollocks. Anyone could have stood there, and shouted those words to me. And you might be right, once.

But Ken does this every time.

My first senior National, 9 years ago. Ken shouts;

Jermaine is right there, RIGHT THERE!

Jermaine Mays, we were rivals since Primary School. I started out faster, but he improved quickly, went on to become British Champ in the 1500m, while I sputtered and stalled. Here was my chance to beat him again, turn back the clock, I woke up to Ken’s words in a frenzy and kicked like hell and beat Jermaine and earned myself a victory I will never forget. I wasn’t even in Ken’s team, and Jermaine was! Ken knew what it meant to me, knew our history.

The following year, I was in better shape, and hoping to improve on 48th. I was sitting comfortably in the top 50, everyone cheering loudly for me, including Ken. I couldn’t shake a stitch, was fighting it, trying to run through it. I collapsed, and lay down. I only started running again when a spectator started calling an ambulance. I trudged around, in pain and shame. All the guys who were cheering  for me suddenly stopped. Silence. Except for Ken. Still screaming for me as if I was in the top 50, when I was down in around 500th place.

I applied to transfer clubs the following day.

The next year, I made it my life’s mission to repay Ken’s faith in me, and finished 38th in the Sunderland snow. Kent AC recorded their highest ever team finish. Ken didn’t need to say much that year.

So now, I wake up again, I change gear, I come past one guy, he offers no resistance. I come past two more, this is getting fun. I end up overtaking 5 people, I finish 98th. I was actually in 97th when I somehow got stuck in a bush 50m before the finish line (anyone else see that?).

The difference it made! Ok, I had run pretty poorly, had prepared terribly, but I finished with a flourish and I can take pride in that. On the 3 and a half hour drive back home, I’m wondering why I’m in such a good mood. It hits me. The difference was that one line. Delivered at the right place, at the right time. That’s mastery of craft; Ken Pike.