‘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.

‘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.