It's been a long time coming - but I finished the Great South Run | Matt Mohan-Hickson

Let me tell you a story.
Great South Run, the Elite runners and first wave sets off.
Picture: Keith Woodland (171021-0)Great South Run, the Elite runners and first wave sets off.
Picture: Keith Woodland (171021-0)
Great South Run, the Elite runners and first wave sets off. Picture: Keith Woodland (171021-0)

It is January 2019 and I have agreed to do the Great South Run in the autumn.

I had never really been a runner, aside from a brief spell in early 2016 which petered out after a few half-hearted weeks.

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But at least that previous failure to launch meant I was in possession of a pair of barely used running shoes – near mint in the parlance of collectors.

It is a dark midwinter night and I am hitting the streets: my feet crashing down on the pavement over and over.

The going is hard for the first few attempts.

But having learned from my sporadic runs a couple of years earlier, I realise that at least this time I have to try and run each day – otherwise my training will float away on the waves of complacency.

My body is tired and my feet are sore, however the mechanical repetition of simply being in motion is a balm for my mind.

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Ironically I had also spent much of 2018 running – trying to get away from the gaping wound in my psyche that was caused by being made redundant.

I slowly slip into a habit. Get back from the office, put on my exercise gear and run out into the cold.

But then it is March 2019 and I go away for a long weekend.

I decide not to take my running shoes and then forget to put them on again for months.

My old friend inactivity was eager to welcome me back into his embrace.

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The days trickle by, turning into weeks and months and my running gear simply gathers dust.

Now it is the summer and I am hit by a sense of urgency, I NEED to train.

But I am out of shape and utterly unfit.

I try to pick up where I left off, but my body rebels and I am greeted by a sharp pain in my Achilles.

I have to pull out of the race and end up spending the day sat in the office instead, trying to hide from the sense of failure.

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It is October 17, 2021 and I am running along the seafront in Southsea.

I see a sign that says 400 metres to go and the old memories come flooding back to me.

I am redeemed.

Race day is not the time for dietary experiments

If there was only one thing I could tell to pre-race Matthew, it would be – leave those gels at home.

I decided to do a bit of last minute reading up on doing a 10-mile run. Inevitably this turned out to be an absolutely terrible idea, nearly as bad as checking your ‘symptoms’ on WebMD.

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So I got it into my head that I would need to ‘fuel up’ and bought a couple of packs of orange energy gel.

Quite why I decide to experiment with this product on the day of my first ever proper event run, I have no idea.

Now, you might be wondering what was quite so terrible about this idea. Well, it turns out my stomach was not a fan of this new source of nutrition.

Having set off out of the blocks like a madman, carried away by the atmosphere, I ran the first couple of miles faster than I would normally dream of.

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So I decided to wolf down a gel to make up for that mistake – and within moments I felt as if I was about to collapse as pain exploded in my stomach. Thankfully it went away, but what a truly awful time to experiment.

The supporters really did lift me

I heard from previous people who had taken part in the Great South Run about the energy the crowd gives you.

But I wasn’t sure if this was just one of those things that people say.

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Thankfully, everything I was told was correct – in fact I don’t think it went far enough.

Every time a stranger called out ‘go Matthew’, I managed to find yet another wind.

The near-constant sound of clapping and cheering, spurred me on even in the moments when I was feeling it the most.

I didn’t realise how much I was gaining from the crowd until we reached Eastney, when the absence became suddenly apparent.

Luckily that is only a brief section of the course.

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I can’t even bring myself to grumble too much about the man on the scaffolding who was announcing to the runners that they only had ‘two miles to go’ – despite the fact that the eight mile marker was quite a way away.

Even the smell of food being barbecued managed to give me a brief extra burst of energy, since it reminded me that once I finished I could actually eat food.

A message from the Editor, Mark Waldron

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