I am sitting in the bath. Slowly I lean forward, and I find that I can actually touch my toes. But that was just a dream, just a dream.
Ella wanders in to the bedroom and loudly announces that the sun is shining. It is indeed - a perfect morning for a parkrun. Five kilometres around Kings Park beckons.
The clear skies mean a bit of a chill in the air as everyone mingles at the side of the athletics track. I scan around for any familiar faces, but don't spot anyone, so I resort to scouting attire. It's clear that in the future I'm going to have to invest in running tights and and long sleeve base layer if I'm to look the part.
At the start line, 166 runners line up. On the hooter, everyone storms away. It's easy to get carried away with the crowd, so I try to ignore what everyone else is doing and concentrate on finding my normal pace. Before long, I'm at the third corner. Across the far side of the park, the leaders are already streaking away and in danger of lapping the back markers. I look behind, and estimate that I'm about 2/3rds of the way down the field, which seems about right having looked at previous results.
In front of me is a quartet of disparate runners. An older gent, balding, white-haired, bright green jacket, looks quite comfortable, like he's been doing this a long time. A mum, dark-haired bob, fluorescent orange top, is running with her daughter, who can't be much more than 7 years old, and is wearing the white "10 Parkruns" t-shirt that she was awarded just before the start of the race. Given that my kids complain at having to walk from the car to the swings, it's impressive. Completing the four is a young woman, slim, clad in all black. Her ponytail bobs around behind her like a horse shooing flies. Somehow she's looks an oasis of calm, just floating along, and I suspect she could be going a lot faster. I wonder what she's doing back here with the semi-plodders.
We all stick together around the two smaller circuits, before the course cuts through a small wood to pick up the larger circuit. The path heads uphill, which causes some strain on the legs, and by the time we reach the top of the first rise, Orange and her daughter have fallen away a little. I stick solidly behind Green and Black, and we continue that way past Dean Court, around the training pitches and the athletics stadium, until halfway around the final lap. At that point, Green starts to pull away a little. I stay with him, and in the process move past the flagging Black. She is still appearing to have trainers made of clouds and fairy dust, but as I get in front I realise she's breathing quite hard and not nearly as comfortable as she appears from behind.
Green and I continue off down the path towards Harewood Avenue. We turn left, downhill into the woods, when Black suddenly comes flying past like she's unable to stop. As we hit the uphill section once more, we're all neck and neck. Parkrun isn't a race, but my comptetitive instincts have kicked in now. I dig in and get in front of both of them. Green looks like he's struggling a little now. Black is still blowing hard. I'm wishing for the finish line to appear. We reach the sharp left turn at Dean Court, and Black takes it better than I do. We're now running side by side, and clearly she's also not wanting to let the fat guy win.
So she doesn't. She kicks in a bit more, and gradually ekes out a gap. The Garmin reports a 7:30 pace now - fast for me - and it shows as I feel ready to drop as I round the corner to the funnel to finish in 27:18 (interesting stat: 27:18 is the exact average time for Bournemouth parkrunners), number 85 of 166. At least I beat Green, although perhaps I shouldn't be quite so jubilant about beating someone 20 years my senior in an event that wasn't a race.
Overall, the time is pleasing - I was expecting 28-something, and my average pace was 8:48/mi. The 18 seconds above 27 minutes give me a target to chip away at, and another 18 seconds again below that would get me to 50% age-graded.
Thanks Green. Thanks Black.
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