HOME + LIFESTYLE
AGE IS JUST A NUMBER…
BY ANDREW SOUTHWOOD
It was a new experience
for me. There I was, stood shoulder to shoulder with some of the best XC runners in the UK. I wasn’t nervous anymore, as I had nothing to lose. This was a race I would savour and try to enjoy. When the Coach down at the track first told me I had earned a place in the Suffolk XC team I was excited and worried in equal measures. These things don’t normally happen to old boys like me. However, a couple of years of tough training and an obligatory slice of luck was all that was needed. I was going to Loughborough for the National XC Championships, and I was as proud as a Suffolk Punch. A couple of weeks before the big day I looked up last years results. That’s odd, I thought, no sign of the usual winners from the Suffolk races. Then I kept scrolling, and scrolled some more… Yes, the chaps that comfortably beat me in local races were finishing in amongst the masses.
68 | APRIL 2019
Okay. This is going to be interesting. From then on my mission was simple – don’t finish last! It was a wet and windy day and the 8 of us in Suffolk vests were ready to give our all. On the organised chaos of the start line I found my natural position (near the back!). One of my team mates tried to point out an Olympic athlete near the front. I nodded and smiled knowingly, although I confess I didn’t recognise him, he did look the business. Suddenly the gun fired, the tape was still down and we all took 3 steps forward crushing the front line. A false alarm. A sheepish official looked accusingly at the smoking start gun in his hand, laughter and banter broke the tension and we re-set and focused again. A minute later and we were off. Congestion on the first bends soon eased and I found my rhythm. Within
a couple of minutes it became clear that this was like nothing I’ve ever done before. The leaders were a blur against the treeline in the distance. How did they get that far ahead so quickly? I held my own, heart pounding and lungs burning. Crickey, I wish I was as young as some of these lads. A late surge to hold off an attack by the Norfolk runner who’d been on my shoulder most of the race. I was damn sure I wasn’t going to lose this hard fort battle for 237th place to him now, even if it killed me (which it nearly did)! As I peeled myself off the muddy grass in the finish area I looked around, there were probably about 100 people behind me. Some of these runners have parents younger than me, most won’t even remember Euro’96. Well, I thought, as my grimace morphed into a broad smile, not bad for a 41 year old – mission accomplished.