(Note: I wrote this on an iPhone. You'll have to wait for links. Not that you'd waste time clicking on them, anyway. I wouldn't.)
It's been a while since I last blogged. Sorry. But then I've had two good reasons...
1) Not had much to say. Nothing I've not said before. True enough, since my last post about my September HMs I've run three marathons (within twenty-two days, a 3:12' in York the fastest but Chester and Bristol-Bath being the most fun) and two 'Christmassy' 10ks (a blustery Christmas Cracker to kick off the season, a New Year's Day PB-equalling outing in Kewstoke all but bringing it to a close). But I didn't truly race any of them, if 'racing' includes meticulous and focused preparation. Since last June I've only had one race in mind and that's Manchester, now just 67 days away. Hopefully the training's proving focused enough...
2) Been working on summat else. Something else of the written form variety, that is. Not sure it'll ever see the light of day, but if it does you'll hear about it. Oh, boy, will you hear about it. I might not talk about anything else for weeks!
Still, I thought I'd check in with you on my way to Gatwick, whence I fly out tomorrow morning, destination Santa Margherita Ligure ('Santa'). "Twenty miles east of Genoa on the North-West coast, in that corner where the coastline stops heading up from France and starts heading down towards Florence and Rome", as I've said thousands of times...
...I'm off to visit my parents and spend three days with them. That and run a HM while I'm down there: start and finish a quarter of a mile from the apartment where I grew up (and where my parents still live), with two out-and-back jaunts to Portofino. Which I've also been known to use to pinpoint Santa, especially with Americans. "Do you know where Portofino is? You can't drive there without driving through Santa". Let's hope there aren't too many cars about on Sunday...
...hopefully the predicted rain and lightning will put them off! Whereas us runners... we'll be there. Why wouldn't you travel a thousand miles by bus, coach, plane and car (thanks Dad!) to get soaked and suffer serious nipple-chafing?
Exactly.
This will be my eighth official Half Marathon. I've had to work that out: I don't keep count. Not of HMs, anyway. Seven maras and six ultras, now those numbers I remember: but, below that, it gets hazy. And that's without counting the training runs: I'm sure I've run 13.1 miles at least two hundred times, given I did so a hundred times in 2013 alone...
...but this one's not like any other I've run before.
Firstly, I've never raced abroad before. That sounds serious, right? And some make international running a means to a holiday and exploring new sights. This may be a holiday (if a short one), but it doesn't feel like one... and besides, "new sights"? I know the route better than I know Down Road, Portishead. And my Strava followers know how often I run along there...
...not that I grew up running along the Santa-Portofino road. I ran along some of it a few times with Dad, when he was maratraining in the mid-80s, but all that did was put me off running for life. Well, until they took a bit out of my brain and I gave it another go, anyway: and that was begrudgingly, to shed some weight... Back then, my blog was "I Can't Stand Running". A few things have changed...
...but no: Sunday's race will be different because...
...well: it's a race.
That's not about my approach to it, whereby sometimes I'll 'run' rather than 'race' an event simply because you can't give your best in all of them. On the day, sure: but you can't focus on all of them in training, so yo accept that sometimes it's wiser to hold something back for the bigger picture. Truth be told, I planned to race this one: flat course on the main (with two notable exceptions - which we'll run twice). Whether I still 'race' it or not will depend primarily on the weather. However, there's no denying that it's a competitive race.
That's because, in Italy, races are split into two types: 'competitive' and 'non-competitive'. Read that in Italian or English: same spelling. As for the translation...
...'non-competitive' would be a 'fun run' in the UK. With that subtle difference in emphasis: in Italy on it not being competitive, in the UK on it being fun. On it being for the family, for those who don't run much but want to give it a try... In Italy, they're for those who aren't dedicated enough to do a proper race. And for families, too.
So, whilst scrolling through the results of any UK HM you'll come across two- and three-hour plus times, knowing that the crowd will have hung around to cheer them on even more so than the elite athletes, in Italy it's different. In 2015, 1,841 ran and 205 sub-90'd. That's one out of eleven runners. And that's clock time, too: you can't sort the results by chip (inevitable lower), even though they're recorded. You just don't sort competitive events by chip.
The 2:30' limit reflects the business and importance of the road it blocks, but also the mental approach:
It's a race: and people race it.
'People' who will include 2014 European Marathon champion Daniele Meucci, World Championships Marathon runner-up Valeria Straneo...
...Santa is a 'pearl', as is Portofino. I couldn't pull out of it quickly enough: but that was as a resident, as someone looking to study and work. It's not a town full of losers: 'margheitin' aren't losers and the town ain't full. In Primary School, I was taught the population was 12,000. Last week I read that number was now sub-10k. There are 20,000 people in Chippenham, where I set my HM PB last September: but no European Champions... Therein lies the draw of these two towns.
By the way, there is a non-competitive run - a 10k on Saturday. A slightly shorter, single, flat out-and-back. Yes, I'm tempted; no, I won't. In spite of Saturday's weather meant to be far nicer.
I should probably also put the competitive nature of Italian amateur sports into perspective. Schools offer but the most basic P.E.: little variation, typically just volleyball. Equally, schooldays aren't as long as ours, leaving afternoons aplenty for 'proper' sport clubs. Where you fight for your place in the team at the weekend, where tables are scrutinised: where winning matters. There is still scope for fun, but I'm not expecting to see anyone in a chicken costume on Sunday. Or in a tutu - mine being at home... partly because of the weather forecast, partly because being overtaken whilst wearing a tutu feels a little worse. And I do expect to be passed by speedy runners on Sunday. It is an out-and-back x2 course, lest you forget... That said, as I boarded the 201 coach I did have a pang of regret, wishing I'd packed it "just in case". And, truth be told, I ended up forgetting it more than intentionally leaving it behind. No going back now.
And on that note, from my comfy bed in the Gatwick North Premier Inn, goodnight all. Let's hope I do myself justice on Sunday, whatever the weather (for there will be some) and my time. There'll be plenty of people who know me lining that long, winding road. They may remember me from school, football, church... Some might remember me as a tad more rotund. Or maybe just as "u figgiu de Squintani", "Squintani's son", just like a fair few people in Portishead know me as "Roberto/Daniel's dad". Regardless, this is my time. Whatever that time may be.
