An Opportunity to Strike

The races that happen within Parkrun, even when you don't mean to.

It always takes time for the pace to settle. At Tonbridge Parkrun on New Year’s Day, there were around 700 runners, and the paths were so narrow it took even longer than usual to find the swing-breath motion I’m always reaching for. Off the start line, I had no choice but to walk in the crowd, and then even at a jog it was dangerous to open up my stride too much for fear of trampling on other peoples’ feet. But I was only supposed to be taking it easy, this was fine, I really was here just to be in a throng of fellow runners and explore a new Parkrun.

We were in Kent visiting his family, him and I, and I’d identified a few local Parkruns to try out for a bit of tourism, a fun way to start the new year (for me) and a structured opportunity to get a run in. Christmas can be like that, can’t it. If you’re up late in the morning, the day rolls into plans and commitments and generally being with others, and any virtuous plans to exercise fall by the wayside, the laces on your running shoes drooping the same way they did four days ago. Not so, this morning: I would be up, washed, caffeinated and on a start line, because Parkrun doesn’t wait for coffee to brew, for birds to visit the garden or for an opportunity to strike.

A bitter chill but a bright sky. A little frost, a little ice. Once I was in a bit of a groove - around the field, along the trail and over the bridge - I saw a man wearing a windbreaker that was the same brand as my top - SOAR Running. This seemed reason enough to tag onto him and his friend. Besides, wearing SOAR essentially marks you out as a proper runner - it’s so much a part of your life that you’re willing to pay a premium for high quality garments. I trusted that he wouldn’t let me down.

I was happy with his pace, so I followed him as we circumnavigated the lake and overtook other runners. Then suddenly, he removed his SOAR windbreaker and I saw that he was just another runner after all. He revealed a different layer of himself and I don’t know why I found this so intimate, so alarming, but still I followed, even as he picked up the pace and separated from his friend. As we threaded back into the woods, the path narrowed again with the back of the pack bringing up the rear, running and walking on the other side of the trail. The elastic between my pacer and I stretched uncomfortably and I feared I would lose him - I kept having to wait for a gap in the oncoming traffic to follow him. I realised how attached I had become to him.

And then the strangest thing happened: he slowed down. I overtook a group to catch back up to him again and ended up overshooting my mark - I was in the lead. I kept up my faster pace as I rejoined the path to make sure I was fully clear of him, but listen! Footsteps picking up speed directly behind me! Had he taken up the challenge I had lay down for him? I didn’t dare look back, I just continued to stride forward. With only 1km to go, I could safely wind this thing up with some real welly without too much bother. Would he come with me?

In the final 800m or so, I was sat behind a woman who had clearly had a similar thought to me - she was striding well and her arms were pumping. I’d meant to take it easy, what was I doing starting a race now? And so late in the game? Be sensible, sit nice, let her go, just take this in elegantly.

I never will. I never would. A zing rushed from my feet to my heart and next thing I knew, I was overtaking her as well as the fifteen or so men and women ahead of her. My whole body rushed with vibrant vitality and begged for more of whatever I was giving it, faster, stronger, further, all the way to the finish line where I slowed to a walk, a slight rasp in my throat and effort in my lungs. A little light-headed, but smiling brightly. It felt nice. It felt nice to push, to try, to challenge, to say, why not? After I scanned my barcode and logged my time, I turned back to look for my buddy. He was only about ten people back. Maybe he had indeed gone with me? Maybe he had indeed been the keen footsteps behind? I hope so. Happy new year.