‘You wanted me back… I’m back!’

John Wick, John Wick

God, this review was going to be far more simpler. The Great North Run is back to it’s proper course, I trained for and completed it, we all had shits and giggles along the way. Then things got a bit complicated. Anyway, let’s make a start and see how we get on shall we.

This is Great North Run number 11 for me. I’ve run everyone since 2011. I did it ‘virtually’ in 2020 when it was cancelled, but didn’t sign up for it officially as the amount GNR wanted to charge you for a medal and t-shirt would have left my family hungry and homeless. I’ve written about the whys and hows of running this event in previous blogs, so feel free to go back and look them up. Really, I could do with the clicks.

When the GNR returned in 2021, it was so shit scared of being cancelled or accused of COVID super spreading that it changed the whole start, finish, and route. And you know what, it was excellent. The start was the most chilled and easiest experience I’d ever had at the GNR and I applauded them for it in my review. We’ll talk about the 2022 shit show version of this start a bit later.

Training for this GNR had gone quite well. I’m now working fully remote in my job (side note, remember that twat who wrote in his blog that working remotely was shit and he would never do it full time? Whoops) so sticking to a training plan and routine going into this GNR has been a piece of piss. I was also, for the first time in yonks, injury free. Even my grumbling Achilles has given it a rest.

My biggest pain in the arse this year is probably the same as everyone else; the bastard heat. I live on the North East coast and even we’ve had 30 odd degrees spells, so god help you all down south (which is pretty much everyone to me). I don’t do the heat or humidity. It is my Kryptonite. It is the Tommy Lee to my Pamela Anderson. I’m absolutely shit in it.

I run a half 4 weeks before the real thing and come home in 1:54:19. Honestly, give me the medal now, I’m flying. Then, during the week leading up to the run, something strange happens. The left side of my face starts to hurt and then swells up. Interesting. Being a man, I take the appropriate action – I ignore it and just hammer Ibuprofen all week. It’s not the worst thing to happen that week though.

The elephant in the room. On the Thursday the Queen dies. Now, let’s all be honest with each other. I’m not a royalist. The Queen seemed like a lovely lady and it’s very sad when anyone dies, but I’ve never been a fan of the idea of the royal family and the privilege that comes with it. It’s my Grandads fault I think like that. Bloody socialists. Anyway, we’ll leave it at that. RIP.

Having said that, the GNR then issue an absolutely crazy statement on the Thursday night hinting that the run might be off and an announcement would be made Friday morning. Nonsense, to quote Roy Keane. Sense finally prevails on Friday lunchtime when they confirm it’s on, but it will be a more subdued and respectful event. I’m all for compromise, it makes the world go round. Sensible decision.

Some knacker on my Charities FaceBook page announces he can no longer run for the charity due to ‘events of the past 24 hours’ and bails out. I resist replying on the page out of respect for the charity. I also, after many rewrites of this blog I can tell you, decide not to say anything about it here. Honestly, if you could see the state of my bottom lip being bitten right now. Anyway, I’m many things, but disrespectful I’m not. I’m currently thinking of fluffy white kittens and rainbows and leaving it at that.

Right, if you’re still there, on to the race itself. And well, I’m definitely not biting my lip now. The start this year was a complete change from the norm and if you’re the person from the Great Run company who came up with this plan, you can fuck off into Cunt Corner with my mate from Facebook (shit, I’ve slipped). What a shambles.

This year, they obviously must have run a competition for under 5s to design the start. Yeah, just draw it in crayons and stick snot on it and the one we think is the cutest we’ll go with. I jest but I bet I’m not far off. From the moment I saw the map I knew it was in trouble. Let’s get a bit Poirot and take a look at the evidence shall we.

Clusterfuck number 1. Shut off the slip roads onto the Central Motorway to only certain bibs and make everyone from the Orange and White waves head to one entrance into Exhibition Park.

Clusterfuck number 2. Once in Exhibition Park, make all of the people from the Orange and White Waves squeeze through a tiny gate onto the Town Moor.

Clusterfuck number 3. Once you’ve squeezed everyone though that, stick the toilets in a really bad place just to the left of that whilst also providing far less of them than usual.

Clusterfuck number 4. Get everyone from the Orange Waves to squeeze through a small exit off the Town Moor and onto the Central Motorway. Even better, stick the small exit for the White Wave RIGHT NEXT TO IT.

Carnage. I hope whoever came up with this plan was not only sacked on the Monday morning, but also forced to listen to The Cheeky Girls greatest hits on repeat all week whilst simultaneously made to watch Liz Truzz’s Cheese speech.

Absolute shower.

Due to all of the above, I get into my pen just as it’s about to close, despite attempting to do this 45 MINUTES BEFOREHAND. Honestly, my blood pressure. I am in though in time for two important things. The minutes silence and the National Anthem. I respect both magnificently. Did I really? 1:06 and 1:46 into the below says I did mofos.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/av/athletics/62872029

Basically, here I am.

Fame over with, it’s time to start. It literally really is time to start as I got into the pen so late. I’m in Wave 5, which is classed as being near the front ish, but it seems to take me much longer to get over the line this year. Don’t worry though, he’s back, the dulcet tones of local celebrity and top Accidental Partridge wanker DJ Alan Robson keep me company. As if today wasn’t depressing enough. This years top pick quotes from Alan:

”DIABETES UK! Guilty as charged love!’

“Here come the ladies with Breast Cancer!’

Alan haunts me in my dreams. Back to the race and it becomes obvious very early on ladies and gents that this year I really am going to have a shitter. My face swelling and smashing of Ibuprofen hasn’t helped my last minute prep and from the get go I’m feeling like this is going to be a right leggy slog. And by Christ it is. Even worse, my heart rate on mile 2 is already sitting at 170bpm. What? Am I having some sort of cardiac incident? Normally on a half it splits between the aerobic 150 and the more stressful 160bpm. Today though, it’s like I’ve taken an E.

This really isn’t going well. I settle into it a little bit, but my pace is crap. When I say crap, I mean crap for me. I run the Half Marathon distance in around 8:40-45 pace. Today I’m puffing around at well over 9 minute pace with no sign I can push harder than that. Yes, it’s a bit hot and humid (18C) but I’m bored of using that as an excuse for myself.

At mile 8 I do something I NEVER do. Ever. When I get to the Water Station, I grab a bottle and come off course to drink it. That’s right. I stop. I’ve never done that before. I feel dirty. But you know what? I’m not an idiot. Water and a good talking to is what I need, and I give myself both. After that I’m back on track and whilst I definitely still feel like it’s all far too hard work, I push myself through the rest of the run and finish in 2:03:39.

Am I disappointed? Yes and no. I run sub 2 hour Half’s for breakfast, and here I am struggling my way to one 8 minutes off my usual pace. However, it’s not about me. It’s about the charity. It’s still the 4th fastest I’ve run this course. I soon get over myself and head off to the Charity tent, where the wonderful St.Oswald’s Hospice give me sausage rolls and Vimto and take my photo.

So, a hard but rewarding GNR. In 2011 I ran this course in 2:15. Here I am 11 years later slightly disappointed in a time 12 minutes quicker whilst raising £500 for charity. First World Problems.

The painful swollen face? The day after the run it suddenly went pain free and down to normal size, like a cruel joke. A week later I knock out an enjoyable and comfortable 11 miler in 1:36 – with a normal heart rate. Such is the life of a runner.

I still love the GNR, it will always be my race. But please for the love of all things holy, change the start back for next year.

Hilariously, I leave you with this. I’ve joined a running club. I really am a walking (or running) contradiction. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.