‘Normal. Extra Normal.’

Mac MacIntyre

I’ve posted a blog about the Great North Run before. It’s here is you want something to help send the kids to sleep. If you can’t be arsed to read that, and who would blame you, to summarise: I basically run the GNR every year and am a great fan. And there are lots of hipster twats who hate it. Because they’re hipster twats.

You may have noticed that shit loads of things got cancelled in 2020 due to the Panny-D. The GNR was one of them. Quite rightly too, when you think about that time in September it should have been on we were having a second wave big enough to down a Japanese Nuclear Power Plant.

So the big question for 2021, apart from why have we not publicly guillotined most of the Tory Cabinet by now, was if and how the GNR would be on. Early on, it looked a bit ropey. Noises were being made in the local press in the Summer that the uncertainly of the Viralshitshow we were currently in meant no-one was willing to insure the event, in case it got cancelled or hit by a falling Russian satellite or something.

Eventually though, we got the news we’d all wanted. It was on. Usual date. Different course. And oh man did the predictable bed wetting whingers bash their keyboards.

They changed it to staggered start times, with a there and back route that finishes feet from where you start. As a one off. During a Pandemic. And people lost their shit.

‘It’s not the real course.’

‘This is Brendan Forster trying to move it out of South Shields and keep it in Newcastle. The bastard.’

‘My (insert child’s age) year old will be so disappointed, even though they weren’t running it as they’re only (insert child’s age) years old. It’s ruined Christmas to be honest.’

Wankers.

After the year and a bit we’ve had, coupled with the fact that the GNR looked more doomed (spoiler alert) than Bradley Coopers character after the first 10 mins of A Star is Born, then I think the whinges and criticisms probably need a nice cup of shut the fuck up.

Anyway, it was on, and I was ready. Well, I was ready, until potential disaster struck exactly two weeks before. Dog owners, I’m not picking you on here. I come across a lot of Dog walkers on my runs, the vast majority are spot on. But if I ever have any problems out on a run, it’s usually with a dog. And this particular Sunday, I did.

I went out for a gentle recovery run, with my daughter on her bike, where we encounter on one of the paths through the fields a lady talking on her phone with a rather bouncy dog in tow. Said dog takes one look at us, flies full pelt in our direction, and goes smashing into me. I feel my ankle go straight away. As I lie on the ground groaning in agony, it was lovely to see the dog walker lady continue her phone conversation, quickly put her dog on the lead, and scarper away.

Not a ‘sorry’. Not a ‘are you ok?’ Nowt. She was obviously embarrassed by what her dog had done and therefore decided to deploy the tory voter protocol of ignorance and avoidance. I ‘thanked’ her for her concern (‘you absolute arsetwat’) as I lay prolapsed and in pain.

The ankle was not good. I hobbled home and it swelled up. To say I was pissed off, would be a huge understatement. The positives though – I had done the training. Plus I’m a Northern Male. My stubbornness knows no bounds and I would have run the GNR with a limb hanging off claiming it was merely a slight muscle strain.

2 weeks rest, 3 layers of strapping, several packets of Ibuprofen, and prayers to various forms of religion (even Satanic) and it’s GNR day.

The instructions for the day were exactly as I expected. I was in the Orange Wave with a 10:45am to 10:55am start, and told I must get into the new Holding Area part (the Town Moor) at least an hour earlier. Very much military precision.

As I’ve mentioned before, the great thing about the GNR is that the start is just round the corner from my Mother in Laws. Because of the out and back, this year the Finish would be as well. Result. Baggage area? Ha! In I strutted ready to run. I knew I had to head in the direction of Cow Hill and wait to be let on the course, so even though I was 45 mins early, I plodded off (the strut had faded) in that direction.

When I got there it was very Hunger Games, lots of eager folk disgusted they weren’t in the earlier Waves staring at the electronic board hoping the whole thing can just crack on a bit quicker. And wouldn’t you know, my Wave was up on the board. The strut, was back.

Through the gate onto Cow Hill (it’s usually a Hill with Cows on ok?) I hear the familiar dulcet tones of Alan ‘Get to the those phones!’ Robson. Local DJ. Local ‘Legend’. Local Bellend. He’s been relegated from the start line this year, and instead they’ve plonked him on Cow Hill doing his usual shtick of shouting out diseases and looking like he dressed himself blindfolded.

I avoid eye contact and suddenly realise I’m about to get on to the Central Motorway and therefore head for the start line – a full half an hour early. A bloke saddles along side me and asks if this is right. He’s got the same start time as me and he’s worried this is all a trap and we’ll be kettled into a pen and beaten for coming down too early. ‘Fuck it, let’s find out?’ I say, so we head to the Start Line.

On the way I see my family on the bridge above. They take this amazingly artistic photo of me with Trap Guy who keeps mumbling ‘this isn’t right’, so I decide to ditch him by pretending to tie my shoelace.

We get to the start line – like literally at the start line – and it’s pretty strange. There are about 30-40 people sort of hanging around waiting. Being British and unable to think for myself, I hang about for 5 minutes. I then realise this all seems a bit off, so approach a Steward to ask him what the craic is. Apparently, this is going much better than they thought and I can just start. So, at 10:32am, about 15 minutes before I was supposed to, off I fucked.

The course is really quiet. I mean dead quiet. I’ve never had so much room on a GNR. It appears that the start went so well, they just said ‘fuck it’ and let all of the Orange wave just go. So by the time I get on it, it’s just the last dregs of the Wave going through. There are also very few supporters by the side of the road. As the start is staggered, there are still a couple of more hours until everyone goes, so there’s no rush for people to get down here and cheer.

The ankle meanwhile is holding up. I had already decided that I would be slowing the pace down slightly. It was all about the line and not the time. Finish in one piece and pain free were this years GNR goals.

The first 6 miles go as normal as any GNR does. Although, it’s the same route so it should do. I feel great, the ankle is grumbling a little but nothing that is worrying me. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure how far I would get on it, so every mile completed is a bonus. My pace is steady but despite the clear route this won’t be anywhere near a PB for reasons already explained.

We turn at 6 miles and this is where it gets interesting. I know quite a few people who completed this GNR, from the real speed demons to the middle of the packers (current member) to the happy plodders and they all said the same. Christ that last 7 miles was a killer.

Having said that, it was all going swimmingly up until mile 9. I got past Gateshead Stadium, then it suddenly dawned on me. The Felling Bypass has a geet big dip in it at the start. We went down that dip at about 2.5 miles. What comes down, must go up. Now my ankle starts groaning, more like the whining my daughter does when I announce it’s time for bed, but definitely letting me know it’s unhappy.

The last 3 miles are the best and worse part of the run. This year, for the first time ever, we’re actually going to run through the City Centre. But we’re going through it from the River back to the Town Moor and, if you know Newcastle, that’s uphill baby. The last part of the Central Motorway into the centre is a killer and defeats quite a few people, but I battle on despite the ankle pain that’s now getting worse. We then head past one of the City’s most iconic landmarks, Grey’s Monument, and I turn on beast mode for the camera.

We get onto John Dobson St and the ankle is seizing up now, so I pull to the side of the road and stretch it out for 10 seconds then kick on. We’re now coming round the Civic Centre, past Haymarket, past my match day drinking den of the Crows Nest (clamming for a pint) and onto the Great North Road for the last straight mile. My ankle is proper knacking now and I’m running through the pain rather than it being a niggle. I have to slow down but I’m really not arsed, I’m about to hit 13 mile where really I’ve only had to stop once to stretch it, when at 10am that morning I wasn’t sure if it had 5k in it.

As I close in on the finish I spot the family in the crowd. Seeing them at the start and at the finish is usually unheard of. They take another arty shot of me. Sorry, of my back.

Note to the right of me in that photo is the 1:55 pacer. I spot him and can’t believe I’ve managed to sub-1:55 this. And that’s because I haven’t. He started later than me. I cross in 1:58:08 and I’ll take it all day. I note my Garmin says I’ve run 13.32 miles. So technically, if you’re a picky bastard like me, I actually hit 13.1 miles in 1:56:17. Either way, it’s a miracle.

We’re funnelled (although the guy at the start probably thinks this is the kettling he feared) into the Finishers Village and I head to be fed and watered at the wonderful St Oswald’s Hospice tent. Job done.

Can I be controversial here? Of course I want the old ‘normal’ back. All starting together, having the proper course back, finishing at the iconic South Shields sea front. But you know, this had a lot of great things going for it. The staggered starts were great. Although, if you were in a later Wave I imagine it might be frustrating to wait so long to start. Plus, volunteers put in a long shift. The course being less congested was great. To finish where I started and be able to see my Family easily at the start, during, and end was great.

But you know, this wasn’t really the GNR. It was in name, but it wasn’t really. They did a great job to get it on and I enjoyed the novelty of running through the City Centre. Maybe we can have a Newcastle Half Marathon in the Spring?

The point is though, like a lot of things over the past 2 years, I just want Normal back. Extra Normal.