Ealing Feeling - My second half marathon

On a warm spring day in May 2018, the day after the Royal wedding, I completed my first half marathon by finishing the Hackney Half with a respectable time of 2hr 9mins. Some five months later, on a cold and frosty September morning in Ealing, I was about to embark on my second half marathon of the year by running the Ealing Half.

This time I had set myself a target to finish the run in under 2 hours. The training build up suggested that I was on track to achieve this but there were a couple of factors against me. Some of the reviews I read about this run reported that it's a difficult route for those that want to beat their personal best times. This is due to the hills and the sometimes twisty circuit. The second factor, which almost made me quit the event, is I had a very heavy cold/flu the week leading up to the race. I missed work on Monday, Tuesday and Friday. I managed to go to work on the Wednesday and Thursday but it was a struggle and my cough was getting worse. Then on Saturday morning I was on my knees coughing in the lounge and it felt that the cough was never going to stop. When the coughing managed to subside, my chest and lungs felt so raw and sore. Oddly by the afternoon, I was feeling better, maybe the meds were starting to kick-in or maybe the body was in denial.

Sunday morning I woke up after managing to sleep through the whole night without coughing. I did have a mini coughing fit before heading to the shower but it managed to calm down quickly. After the shower I felt fit to run, although privately I felt only 75% fit but I headed off to the event area.

Home Turf

This running event was on 'home turf' with the Start line in Lamas Park, this is a short walk from my flat in Ealing. I reached the park just after 8am, there was a chill in the air, as well as the smell of Deep Heat. After I reluctantly took off my sweater I checked my bag into the baggage area…it was too cold to be in shorts and a t-shirt. Quite a contrast to my runs in the warmer months of May and June.

I wasn't feeling the chill for too much longer, as the pre-race warm-up session was about to start. The routines were fast paced and fun.

After the warm-up it was then time to walk towards the starting pens. Unlike my previous races, you weren't already designated, you could choose the pen for the time you think it would take you to finish the event. I went for the 2hrs pen. As I was edging to the front, there was a non-runner that had accidently got into the pen after seeing off his son. He asked if there is a way out…I joked there was no way out now and he would have to run!!

Ready…Set….

Whilst I was waiting, a couple of guys jumped over the gate to be with their friend. The friend asked how they were feeling…one of the guys replied "I've been for a shit three times this morning, so I'm feeling very light". Thanks for that image!

Go…

The race started on time at 9am, unlike my other races there wasn't a staggered start, everyone could just go. Most people were actually running towards the start line that was about 250 metres away, I chose to save my legs and just walked fast, then I launched into my stride as I approached the start line.

There was a lot of people traffic so I wasn't able to sprint away but this was probably for the best anyway as this helped to preserve my energy. Most of the race was like this. So I ended up running with the pack until I found a gap, then I would run into the gap and speed up until I caught up with another pack, this seemed to work quite well.

Community spirit

Every church around the route was giving out mini bottles of water for the runners. There was also a Gurdwara London Sikh Centre and a Fullers pub The Duke of Kent giving out bottles of water. This pub was the last one on the tea towel challenge, which I completed exactly a year ago with my Cousin Neal….but that's another story.

I overheard an elderly pedestrian ask one of the volunteers if they had any spare water. The girl said that she has about 200 bottles in that box and the guy was welcomed to help himself. So there was a great community spirit all around and this gesture warmed my heart...although it was pretty warm by this point anyway.

Haribo and Jelly babies

I've never seen so many…every street in the residential areas seemed to have kids eagerly holding out bowls of sweets for the runners.

Cow bells

There were a lot of cow bells at this event…made me think of the winter Olympics. 

Greenford Avenue hike

I read that it was highly recommended to include this road as part of the preparation for this event. The road has a long steep climb to the top. As part of my training, I would approach this road around the 3^rd mile mark of a 6 mile run. For the Ealing Half, I knew I would be hitting it on the 8^th mile. However, I knew this was the last of the three hills that the route would cover so I was eager to get it out of the way.

As I approached Greenford Avenue from Bordars Road…it looked a lot steeper than what I remembered. A few people stopped to walk up the hill without even trying to run up it…my legs were sore but I told myself to keep going…as I got to the half way point I imagined pulling myself with two hands up the hill with some rope.

I made it to the summit of what felt like Everest…then thankfully it was downhill to a road called Cuckoo Lane.

Thatched Cottage

Did you know there's a thatched cottage in Ealing? Neither did I. I marvelled at the cottage as I ran past it and thought I must tell Ananya about it. I still haven't.

12^th mile

Friends and family asked me where it would be best to cheer me on from. I suggested around the 12^th mile mark to give me that extra boost for the last mile and I expected to be there around 11am. I don't wear a watch when I run so I had no clue of the time. Every cluster of people I saw I was looking out for some familiar faces. I didn't see any, so I then thought they might be waiting for me at the finishing line inside Lamas Park.

Lammas Park

When I entered Lamas Park I knew the finishing line must be close….but it wasn't. Every corner I approached, I thought it must be around this next corner…but it wasn't. Then I saw a sign that said "500 metres to go"…so I stepped up my pace…but I could only manage this for another 50 metres or so. The legs were tiring…I almost tripped over a couple of times…then I went around the next corner and to my relief I could see the finish line so I started to push again…my legs were screaming at me to slow down but I kept on pushing regardless and finally I made it past the finishing line.

After I collected my medal and a bottle of water, I went off to find some space. I checked my phone and was surprised to see that I completed the Half Marathon in 1hr 48mins. I beat my previous time by 20mins. The time of day was only 10:50am so no wonder my cheerleaders weren't around…I was too quick for them!!

Learning of sad news in a happy place

Two weeks before running the Ealing Half Marathon, I went to Bournemouth for the weekend to visit my auntie Helen and her husband Tim. This would be my last drinking weekend before going on the wagon in preparation for the race. The three of us certainly made the weekend count. I arrived Friday night after work and we stayed up until 4am on Saturday morning. Despite feeling a bit rough when I finally surfaced out of bed around 9am, I was still keen to stick with my plan to go for a 6 miles run along the beach and then go for a dip in the sea.

I ventured down the stairs of my Aunt's apartment and on to the road beside the beach. I did my usual dynamic stretches before embarking on my run. As I was about to strap my phone to my arm I noticed that I had a message from my cousin Neal to say my Grandma had passed away. The news wasn't too much of a surprise as she was in hospital and had some health issues after a successful hip operation. However, it was still sad news to receive. I contemplated cancelling my run but I decided to go ahead with it to help process my thoughts.

As I ran I felt it was quite fitting that I should learn of the news in Bournemouth. This seaside town amongst others such as Dymchurch and Weymouth, are where I have my fondest memories of my Grandma. Every summer for two weeks we would go down to one of these seaside towns with my Grandad driving my uncle's Yellow MK2 Ford Escort…oh and let's not forget Sooty! The family dog who lived to almost 18 years old...as Grandma would often remind us. Sooty would happily sit in the front. In the later years my cousin Neal would join us on holiday too.

As I ran along the beach that morning all the memories from our holidays came back and it was like I was there with them. I could picture Grandma sitting in one of the beach huts we used to rent, she was never a fan of the sun and the hut gave a chance of some shade. But when the weather was cooler, Grandma would happily go for a paddle in the sea, with her straw hat and wearing one of her flowery summer dresses (it's the yellow one I can picture). Grandad loved to swim out deep and I could picture his head bobbing in the background as I worried he went out to far.

My Grandma loved her ice cream. Her favourite being a Knickerbocker Glory. For those that don't know, this is like an ice cream sundae served in a tall glass, with ice cream layered on top of fruit, a sprinkling of nuts on the top and a strawberry sauce covering the inside of the glass. The best bit was when you reached the bottom of the glass…as the melted ice cream mixed with the syrup of the tinned fruit. As I ran back I wondered if I would be able to find an Ice Parlour in order to have one in my Grandma's honour.

As I returned from my run, Helen and Tim were waiting for me on the beach. Tim and I stripped down to our shorts and eased ourselves into the icy cold sea. Once we started swimming we soon forgot about how cold it was. It was very refreshing and relaxing, I could feel my hangover just drift away with the sea's current. Tim and I had a good catchup in the sea as we bobbed about but I was unsure whether to mention my Grandma's passing as I didn't want to put a downer on our weekend.

Amazingly we spent about 20 minutes in the sea. Then the three of us headed to the apartment to have a much needed Full English Breakfast (with black pudding). Over breakfast Helen asked how my Grandma was doing in hospital, I didn't want to lie so I told them the news of her passing. It was a relief to tell them and it felt good to talk about things.

The news of my Grandma's passing never put a downer on the weekend. In fact, it helped to be in a happy place with lots of fond memories from the past and with many new memories created of time spent with Helen and Tim.

Don't run!

This is not about running. The stories revolves around football but it's not really about that either.

My ol' man said be an Arsenal fan…

My first interest in football was around 1984 (Jeez! I sound so OLD!!) when Liverpool won the European Cup beating Roma on penalties with the goalkeeper, Bruce Grobbelaar and his spaghetti legs doing their best to put the Italian strikers off. Back then I was a Liverpool fan, as were most of my North London school just off the Caledonian Road.

I watched my first live game in that same year, it was Arsenal vs Liverpool at Highbury. My Dad and Uncle Joe are diehard Arsenal fans, they were always encouraging me to change allegiance and support my local team Arsenal. I watched from the North Bank to witness my team Liverpool get beat 3-1 by Arsenal….before reaching home that evening I had become an Arsenal fan. 

It was probably around this time when I joined my first football team playing in the imaginary league in my Grandad's garden on the Tufnell Park Road. As I got older and learned more about football, I started to document the scores and scorers in my imaginary games, as well as keep track of the league table. I also kept track of the other imaginary games that were being "played".

Primary School

It wasn't all imaginary. I played football in the school playground at St Raphael's Primary. I wasn't as good there but I slowly learned to be better in goal and would often happily dive on concrete.

High School

In High School, I was surrounded by better players, notably The Gells. Twin brothers with Spanish origins who brought a bit of continental flair to the playground. They were doing step-overs, 360 degree turns and all sorts of wizardry with the ball. I slowly started to learn these skills but was never in the same class as The Gells.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to play for a football team, not just an imaginary one. I went for the school team trials but never got in. Playing in a real match was a lot different to the school playground. In the playground we never had corners or throw-ins as the ball never went out.

Amsterdam

In the late 80s, I went on a school football trip to Amsterdam. I remember having the silver England goalkeeper kit that Peter Shilton wore at the time. I was still keen on being a goalkeeper.

I got a bit of stick for being on this trip. Some questioned why I was there when I wasn't even in the school team. I was probably encouraged to go thanks to my best friend at the time, Martin Hanley, the team's goalkeeper. I didn't care about the stick I was happy to be there.

I was a substitute in our first game, not as a goalkeeper but as an outfield player. I made my school team debut coming on in the second half in place of the team's main striker, Matt Doyle. He wasn't happy to come off for me and was one of the ones who had given me stick. I managed to score in this game, poking the ball into the net from the six yard box after a bit of scramble. I celebrated the goal as if I scored the winner in the World Cup, jumping for joy and then running towards the centre circle with my hand aloft. It was only a friendly warm-up match.

In the second friendly game, I started on the right wing. The only thing I remember from this game is the penalty. A penalty was awarded to us with the scores even at 1-1. The key players were arguing over who was going to take it. I was looking over from the wing, when I heard our manager, Mr Mason, shout "Tony! TONY!"…I snapped out of my day dream and looked up. Mr Mason then said "Tony's taking it". The players stood back as I walked towards the ball.

As I put the ball on the spot and stepped back to take it I wasn't nervous. After all, I had taken many penalties in my imaginary games and never missed! 

I ran towards the ball, pulling my right leg back and releasing the trigger, I stroked the ball straight to the  keeper. The keeper didn't even need to move. Worst of all it was captured on video camera and was later played repeatedly on the coach.

When the tournament started a few days later, I played a couple of games coming on as a substitute. I think we finished 3^rd in the end and we each received a small plastic shield each. I still have mine in a box somewhere. During our team awards night, I received an accolade (a banana from the fruit bowl in the restaurant) for being the most improved player of the tournament.

Later back in the UK, I got called up for the School's B Team. I was so excited to see my name on the list….but sadly the match never happened as it was postponed but never rescheduled. I never ended up playing for the school again after Amsterdam.

Drayton Wanders

The inspiration behind this blog post.

In the days before the internet it was hard to find a football team to join. Your best hope was to find something in the local newspaper or join your friend's team. My friend Martin suggested that we go along to this team after he saw it advertised in his local newspaper. I think I was around 14 years old at the time.

After a few training sessions, a friendly match was set up to decide who would be picked for the squad for the coming season. I played in central defence. I only remember two things about the game. The first being when the opponent's winger got free down the wing and I slid in with a perfect tackle putting the ball out for a throw-in. My other memory from the game was when I directed our captain to mark someone for the corner that was about to be taken. I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't amused but he marked the guy anyway.

After the game, the manager sat us all down in the park and read out the names of people who had made the squad… I waited nervously…and then my name was called to my relief. I had made the squad at the expense of some of the team's friends. I got a bit of abuse from the others as I walked across the field to the bus stop. I was basically told I was shit and didn't deserve to be in the squad.

Just before the season started, there was a five-a-side tournament just off the A40 near Northolt. I made my own way there from Hayes in Middlesex, which is where I lived at the time. 

It was at this tournament where I had a chance to redeem myself after the penalty miss in Amsterdam. The game ended in a draw so it was then down to a penalty shoot-out to decide the winner. I told the manager that I'm not very good at penalties so he got me to take mine last in hope that the match would be settled before it got to my turn. Neither team missed, it was 5-4, with me taking the last penalty. Score, we go to sudden death and we have a chance to stay in the tournament. Miss, we're out of the tournament. I was under a lot of pressure…my team hated me. I stepped up and shot straight at the keeper again!! The other team celebrated the win….whilst my team surrounded me and screamed at me…using this miss as justification that I shouldn't be in the squad.

I turned up for the first game of the season a few weeks later. The first game was at home which I started but I was substituted before the end of the 90 minutes. I don't remember anything about this game. A few more games into the season, I would come on as a substitute or not play at all, which was frustrating because I always felt I played well but I would still turn up every week.

The away trips were the worst. For those that didn't have transport, we would squeeze into the back of the Manager's Vauxhall Astra van which was full of plumbing tools and piping. There were about 6 of us in the back of the van. For the whole journey to the away games the others in the back were throwing balls and boots at my head whilst screaming abuse at me. It was the same for the journeys back to Drayton. All I did was try to defend myself. There was one occasion when we got out of the van, one of the kids swung for me with his boot bag and was caught by the Manager. The Manager suspended him for a month and of course the other players blamed me for it.

In the match that followed, I was in the side in place of the guy who got suspended. Members of the team said that I got him purposely suspended so that I could get picked. However, the best quote came from the captain as we lined up for the game to start. "Don't you dare fuck up!!" he said. I played the game of my life and we never conceded a goal until I got substituted towards the end of the game. Some of the team said I shouldn't have been substituted because I was playing so well. The captain congratulated me for having a good game. Even the guy who was suspended praised me for having a good game. So all was good and amazingly the abuse stopped.

I started to get picked more often but never completed 90 minutes. The manager had a habit of substituting me before the end of the game no matter how well I was playing. However, I still would turn up every week in hope that I would get to play.

Conclusion 

So this blog is not really about running – if anything, it's about not running away. It's about sticking with something, working at it, despite the obstacles and negativity.