You have never put 100% into a race. Because you’re still here. The human brain is way too clever to allow you to run yourself to death. Your unconscious will always find a way to step in and prevent permanent damage.
That lactic acid burn you feel when you run extremely hard? It’s actually your nerves and brain conspiring, trying to force your body to slow down.
I like to think of it like this; Your brain is a tunnel, going deeper and deeper into the abyss. Blocking the way are a series of portcullises. If you are a runner, you will probably have come up against one. It will be completely locked shut. You will think of it as a wall, which no human could possibly transcend. Only through weeks and months of training, butting up against it, again and again, can you start to begin to prise a way through. Then you meet another wall.
As this journey continues, you are getting older. Past your mid 20s, your heart is slowing down, your bones are getting more brittle and your neural pathways are shrinking. These things make it harder to run.
As you find ways to give more, your body is capable of less. Experience is wasted on the old.
Leg 1 (15th place)
One of the ways people can elicit more out of themselves than they ever thought possible, is by running for a bigger purpose. But this is not an easy thing to cultivate. Runners, good ones, have to be a bit selfish. Running is not, by it’s very nature, a team sport. There is no passing the ball.
The National Road Relays is the most team orientated event in the UK.
For one day, everyone has to put aside their own egos and personal ambitions. Building a team of twelve elite runners can be like herding cats.
Cam Dockerill. Quietly self assured. The first leg is always very high pressure. Not only do you start in the main pack with hundreds of runners pushing and shoving, you have to set the tone for the rest of the day. Four plus hours of running all starts here. Cam runs a half minute quicker than expected. His performance lifts the whole team. Fist bumps, and straight out on the course to cheer on the next eleven runners.
Leg 2 (10th place)
Noah, destined soon for the military, muscles way too big for someone so fast. Nearly didn’t make the team after a basketball injury. This is perhaps his final shot at racing at this level. He makes it count. Another twenty seconds ahead of what we predicted.
Leg 3 (7th place)
When Owen Hind first joined Kent AC, he had a lot of talent and no filter. If he got dropped in training he would scream ‘fuck’ as loud as he could. Conflicted, hot tempered, but runs like a Chill Out Soundtrack. All fluid motion, every part in synchrony.
Has endured years of set backs, lay-offs and character building periods away from running. As long held ambitions felt like they were fading over the horizon, he has learnt how to manage his emotions. Gradually reinventing himself to become an irreplaceable part of the team.
In February this year, he was a million miles away from making the A team. But he has trained for months with the sole intent of showing up, and bringing to bear whatever talent he can rediscover.
He channels all that pent up rage into 26 minutes of inimitable grace. The serene cadence masking the burn.
Leg 4 (5th place)
Jake is the young runner who came and paced me in my failed attempt to qualify for the team (read post here). This is his first time in the A team. It’s a big deal. When he sees Owen springing up the hill in 7th place, his eyes are bulging out of his head. His hairs are visibly standing on end. He rises to the occasion and runs out of his skin.
We are so far ahead of schedule that time management becomes an issue. The next runners have less time to get ready than we thought. We are ahead of the most optimistic estimates.
How many times can we keep doing this? Surely someone has to falter. But no. Every team member is healthy and hungry. Everyone lifting their game beyond what anyone thought possible. ‘Career high performances’ as the Team Manager, Chris Busaileh, puts it.
Leg 5 (3rd place)
Max has just transferred from nearby Tonbridge Harriers. A more successful team, previous winners of this event, but Max has been training with Kent AC for so long, the move made sense. However this race was not in his plans initially. He was due to run Manchester Marathon tomorrow. Some behind the scenes hustling, and he got a place in the bigger London Marathon. So he is clear to run the relays. Someone from Tonbridge remarks; if Max ever wants a team medal again, he is always welcome back.
He doesn’t have to look back. Mountain runner Max has been converting smoothly to the roads, and he pulls us into third place. We are in the medals after all. Can we hold it?
Leg 6 (4th place)
Sean is locked in a tight battle with a 1500m runner. Sean may be stronger, but this guy is faster. They are playing cat and mouse. Sean doesn’t want to let the guy hang off the back of him, but no one is taking on the pace. Sean would usually wait and kick at the right moment. But he can’t. This isn’t about him. ‘Every second counts’, he keeps telling himself.
So he surges ahead. Running hard and honest to save seconds for the team. The athlete locks in behind, takes the slipstream, and kicks off in front at the finish. Sean doesn’t give up hope, he sprints up behind. He is handing over to Alex. No one wants to look shit in front of Alex.
Leg 7 (1st place)
Alex Yee. The team’s turbo button. There are some brilliant athletes swanning around today. But none look like Alex. From an early age he has had the same look. But now, with the two Olympic medals, he owns it. He stands at his full height. All elastic energy. One coiled spring, ready to launch.
In the warm up area, as I take his kit and hand him some water, he wants to know one thing;
Where is Ken going to be cheering from?
Ken Pike is the spiritual leader of Kent AC. He joined the club in 1980, 43 years ago. He ran in the National 12 Stage Road Relays in 1996, the first time Kent AC qualified. They finished 44th that time.
Ken never dreamed the team could one day win a medal. Tiny increments. Decades and decades of work. Keep showing up. Until one year, 2018, we had a breakthrough, and finished 5th. Ken started to believe.
Five years later and we have assembled the strongest team in Kent AC’s history. It all started with Alex Yee, Olympic Gold and Silver medalist in Triathlon. He put his name down way back in December.
Once he was in, it was a great hook to get all the other stars to commit.
Alex Yee is a superstar. Triathlon is a sport that has it’s shit together. When you see footage of the global circuit that Alex competes in; the crowds, cameras, money, fame… it is quite different to the Road Relays at Sutton Park, Birmingham.
How do you get someone like Alex to make time in his busy jet-setting life for an event like this? There is no question, it is Ken. He was there when Alex was starting out. He was there when Alex had a career threatening injury age 19. He is there still.
So today, Alex, the best triathlete in the world, is here for Ken.
He wants to show Ken that he cares. Words won’t do. Movement is older than words.
And no one moves like Alex.
I see the runners in front of Alex start their legs. Alex takes off in 4th place. It won’t stay that way for long.
He singes around the roads with the most effortlessly powerful form you’ve ever seen. If form doesn’t matter, then why do the fastest runners look so supreme?
I go straight up to Rob, our next runner, and tell him he will be starting off in front and he’ll need to get his head round it. Alex is irrepressible. He hands off to Rob in the lead but is annoyed when he finishes;
I picked up a stitch. Did they move that cone? Everything felt hard. I might be sick.
Photo courtesy of Kieran Fitzpatrick
Leg 8 (1st place)
Rob is a laid back kinda guy and he runs a great leg, but he feels the pressure on his shoulders.
The wind shifts. Kent AC did not expect to be leading this early. Up until now, we were the young pretenders, never medalled before, never been a serious threat. It was all guns and no glory. Now, two thirds into the race, we are actually winning. It dawns on Rob while he’s running;
Every single runner here wants to be in my shoes right now.
There is a target on his back.
Leg 9 (1st place)
Paul Pollock is a lifetime member of Kent AC. He is a busy man. A doctor with a wife and two young kids, living in Ireland. When Ken tells him on the phone that the team have a real shot at a medal, he’s not sure Paul believes him, but he comes anyway. His flight lands after leg one has already started. He has a mad dash to get to the start line in time. But, watching him warm up, you would never know it. He has always been like this. The bed side manner of a surgeon, who can make you feel totally at peace, whilst explaining how he will open you up and remove all your organs.
Walking slowly around the warm up area, completely self sufficient, his soft spoken Irish accent not betraying any hint of nerves. Then, suddenly, he launches off into a stride with ferocious speed and intent. It takes me by surprise. Where did that come from? And I remember who he is. The power is all there.
He sets off in first place, but even Paul, who has experienced the intensity of the Rio and Tokyo Olympic cauldrons, is feeling the heat. The spectators are playing tricks on him, shouting out that second place is right behind. He keeps looking back, there is no one there. He finishes, and immediately doubts himself. He rues the crowd’s gamesmanship. It becomes apparent, through the calm demeanor, he really wants this. He’s been a part of this club as long as anyone else here (apart from Ken of course).
I was hurting up that hill. I didn’t want to go too hard and blow up. I had to protect the lead.
Running as a team adds a dimension that runners rarely have to deal with. Years ago, it was all one days and maybes. Now the pub dream is becoming real and the stakes are higher, even a two time Olympian can feel it.
Leg 10 (1st place)
Ross Braden is fresh back from the thin air of Kenya. 120 mile weeks at high altitude. He is in flying form and is only getting faster. He finishes with a club record short leg, but he immediately looks back and tries to count the seconds to the next guy.
Have I done enough?
Yes. Yes you have. You can only control what you can do. Why are you worrying about everyone else?
Because I want to fucking win it.
Leg 11 (2nd place)
If Alex is flow, John is fight.
Kent AC are in still in the lead. The team captain for Central AC, who are just behind, is giving me scare stories about the next match up. He tells me the guy chasing John is pretty fast, with some impressive PBs. I smile to myself. I’m not worried. I know how hard it is to get past John Gilbert.
John is a brilliant person and team mate . Except when you’re training with him. Ten years ago, we used to train together in the A group. Every Tuesday night through the winters we would do River Runs. A tough session by a dirty old canal, with some shopping trolleys thrown in. Ken would set the reps, and lead on the bike, trying to protect us from potholes and angry dogs. You would find your place in the pecking order, get through it, go home and get warm.
Not John. He wasn’t there to train. He was there to see what he was made of. Hanging onto the leader for as long as he could. When he couldn’t hold on any longer, and began to fade, I would try to come past him.
We both know what’s happening here. You’ve blown up. Forget about it. Let me past.
But even then, in the black rain of darkest January, when no one was watching, you never get past John without a fight.
But speed counts. John is a marathon runner, this guy specialises in shorter distances. He comes past John like a train, makes a statement. John tries to hold onto him. It’s hurting, he doesn’t mind that. But he realises, if he carries on running this guy’s race, he is going to blow up. He has to make a team decision. As much as he hates doing it, he relinquishes the lead, but he chases as hard as he can.
When he finishes, he stumbles away, as if he’s just been shot in the stomach, and collapses onto the grass. He sits and moans and looks around, confused. There is a cold sweat on his skin. I hesitate. Unsure if I should go up to him. Maybe he wants space. But I’m worried. He is the most exhausted athlete I’ve seen today, out of the hundreds that have finished.
I offer him some water. He tries to say something, but it’s not coming out through the gasping. I tell him to relax, get his breath back. But he’s really keen on saying it. He stumbles and puffs and forces the words out;
I’m
So
Sorry.
He has turned himself inside out to stay as close to the leader as possible. He has run his fastest time ever. And he’s apologising.
Final Leg
Chris Busaileh is the team manager. Responsible for assembling and organising the A and B team. Bringing 24 runners together is a lot of work. But he does it with calm authority and endless positivity.
Chris Bus also has final say on who runs which leg. This is something lots of team managers agonise over, the science of the order. But Chris quietly confides;
‘The reality is it makes very little difference. With the caveat of leg 12. People really underestimate the amount of pressure you’re under. Eleven teammates, every one of them has put their body on the line and, after waiting for four hours, all of a sudden, it falls upon you. Someone who can handle that, and still put down their very best run, is hard to find. Some might go off too hard, plenty of people would just crater, it is white hot pressure. This is a guy who I would back any time.’
Chris ‘Ever’ Greenwood is on the final leg for a reason. He is one of the fastest 49yr olds of all time, having just broken 15min for 5k. I have often asked him how he does it. How he can keep up such a high level for so long. His answers are always disappointing. There is no secret training, no magic recipe. Experience can’t be taught.
There are two types of Vet runner. Good ones I mean. Those that were world class in their younger days, and have been gently sliding into old age, whereupon, they are still good, compared to everyone else their age.
Then there are those that never exhibited the same raw talent. But they keep finding a way, defying the space-time continuum, to get the best out of themselves. Year after year, as their body gradually weakens, so does their mind strengthen.
All the other runners in the team must have done at least half a dozen strides to warm up. Way more than is necessary. But it is something to do, to calm the nerves, during that intolerable wait, before the pain.
Chris does two strides. Enough and no more. Then he just stands there, looking up at the sky. I can almost see him wondering down that tunnel in his brain.
On the face of it, the demands are immense. We have dropped from first to second, and third are right behind. Victory can be sealed or squandered in the final leg. All eyes are on Chris, as he lines up against rivals 20 years younger than him. He is completely unfazed.
He sets off and is immediately overtaken and put into third place. He doesn’t overcompensate, he runs as fast as he can.
Chris smashes through every portcullis, bending body to will. He gives closer to 100% than I ever will, and, as he races up the final hill, we are sent into a cheering frenzy.
We finish less than a minute behind gold, but third place represents the first national medal and finest day in our club’s 125 year history. And what a way to seal the deal.
Owen isn’t screaming fuck this time. He is crouching down and crying a bit.
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I hadn’t seen the result and really wanted you to win.
Great blog and performances all round
Excellent read and a fabulous blog. Thanks for sharing so much.
XXX