Bath Half Marathon

Relishing my Road Running Roots

My medal says “finisher” in braille. He told me so, he worked it out, he learned a bit of braille in one of his first jobs. It doesn’t say it anywhere else on the medal itself, only on the ribbon, which feels really special for the blind runners in the race. I now know what “finisher” feels like in braille.

Readers of my previous post, and of this Substack in general, will know I’ve developed a painful relationship with actually finishing races - this has been documented since the very start of this Substack, actually, with Lavaredo 120k in 2024. Hilariously, I paced the Bath Half Marathon until I was only running on fumes, to the point where I worried I would have to death-march over the finish line, or wouldn’t even make it. There was nothing in my legs, I was wheezing, I had tunnel-vision. I’d always laughed at the “hill” at the end of the race, thinking I would take it in my stride, but now I know: it feels very different if you’ve already run a hard half marathon. It is a long and extremely steep hill.

I kept running. I finally caught up to a woman who’d been ahead of me since about mile six, since I’d started to realise I was just going to have to lock into whatever pace I had, and tap into endurance. After that point, I periodically tapped the RSPB pin badges on my vest to remind myself why I was doing this. I just had to hold strong for the birds. The woman drifted further and further ahead of me until the last two miles, when she seemed to slow back down towards me while I sped up towards her. I thought, now it’s time to push, time to rinse whatever I have left, and hope I can maintain it. I think she thought similar, and we both surged, although she was unaware of my race playing out in tandem behind her.

On that hill, I felt a man begin to sprint behind me. That pushed me on. I realised I was suddenly alongside the woman - I challenged myself to dig even deeper and just get past her. A man beside me was also clearly hurting, but then his mate came up alongside him and put a hand on his shoulder, and they kicked into a new gear together, smiling and laughing. I snapped out of my tunnel-vision and smiled too, sped up too, and in the last 100m I found that extra reserve - my absolute favourite, it feels electric, it is the Survival Sprint to get away from a lion, the one your brain holds in the tank - and overtook the men, too.

After the finish line, my legs were very wobbly indeed. I worried I was going to be like one of those runners you see on a livestream, staggering around, unable to hold themselves upright anymore. I worried I’d have to sit down, I realised I might then struggle to get up. I leaned on a railing and gasped dramatically. I saw others doing the same. I realised I was doing so right in front of a portable toilet. Who cares, at this point? We are beyond dignity. We are champions.

I got my t-shirt, I got my medal. A lot of races nowadays give you the option of declining a t-shirt and medal when you sign up, so they can just supply as many as they need to, avoiding unnecessary waste. I really, really like this environmentally conscious push. But I love race t-shirts - they are part of my running wardrobe, I wear them all the time - and medals feel really precious to me nowadays. I used to see them as just a bit of tat, something to put in a box and get a flicker of joy at seeing every now and again. But now, it’s a tangible declaration that I actually finished a race. I dug deep and I didn’t give up. The universe didn’t conspire against me with illness and storms and sprained ankles, I managed to get from the start to the finish on my own two feet and at an honest effort.

For the rest of the day, I run my thumb along the braille on my medal. I try to learn what it feels like. I enjoy knowing what it looks like in a new language. I glow with being one.

I hated the last six miles, I hated the last mile even more, but I loved the beginning and the end. What a feat of endurance. A half marathon is a noble distance, it is to be respected. I envied the elite runners who got it done in a little over an hour: half an hour later, me and many others were still working at that effort, trying to see this thing over the line. Plenty of people were still pushing their personal limits long after that. I’m still in no rush whatsoever to run a road marathon, but a half is manageable. I’m inspired to train harder to suffer for less time. That’s how it works, right?

I see more half marathons in my future. I used to love 10ks. And I haven’t done a 10 mile road race since 2020. I’m inspired to go back to the roads. Why did I ever leave? I don’t even remember. Because it doesn’t have to be either/or, trail or road.

I loved the Bath Half. I want to get my pure road speed back. And 1:36:27 feels like a really wonderful way to start.