The Oxford Half Marathon. 16 October 2022

Tags

Brain Tumour Research, Charity, Marston, Oxford, Oxford Half, Oxford Half Marathon, Oxford Parks, Paula Radcliffe, Running, Spoinsorship, The Bodleian, The Sheldonian

The day had arrived. The 16th October has loomed in the far distance for many months and as you know I have been posting updates about my training and fundraising throughout that time. But when the day became a reality, I seemed to be living in a parallel universe – it didn’t seem possible that by the end of the day I would have (hopefully) completed my challenge. In fact, the16th arrived rather earlier than was appreciated, for sleep left me in the very early hours as my mind was spinning about the realities of the event – not the running specifically for I would either manage that or not, but I was still suffering from a sense of Imposter Syndrome and fearing that when I arrived among the dreaming spires of Oxford I would simply not fit in or know where to go and what to do. I had been reassured by a number of runners that they had all felt the same way in their first big events, but that everything had been fine, and the atmosphere was nothing but friendly and supportive. I had packed a bag the night before and eaten the requisite meal of pasta, so on getting up at 7am on Sunday morning I had little to do. I ate a breakfast of porridge and fruit, followed by some toast and honey (all on advice of my running friends) and changed into my kit: black shorts, a yellow shirt and my Brain Tumour Trust vest proudly over the top, with the number 1391 pinned to it.

It was a slight struggle for Liz and me to encourage our daughters to leave the house at 7.45 on a Sunday morning, but I needed to be in the centre of Oxford by around 8.15 and with the many road closures around the city it may not be easy to achieve. We had devised a route that should get me close to the University Parks, where the race village was situated and indeed Liz was able to pull to the side of the road give me a quick kiss of good luck, and I joined the procession of runners who, like salmon, appeared to be swimming upstream towards a common destination. Some were in groups chatting happily, some seriously adjusted their attire and occasionally stopped at a lamp post to do some more stretches (these reminded me of pet dogs, but it would be unfair to mention that observation outside brackets). On entering the park, the atmosphere was everything that had been promised, it was alive with energy and expectation and huge signs guided me to wherever I needed to go.

I noticed that there was one banner which said ‘Oxford Half Marathon’ and there was quite a crowd around it, which seemed slightly unnecessary as I assumed we all knew why we were here, but drawing closer I realised that it was made up from the names of every participant in the race, so I dutifully found mine, just under the cross bar of the ‘F’ in half (‘the Effin ‘Arf’ doesn’t sound a polite way to describe this fine race), and photographed it.

The next job was to drop my bag off, ready to collect at the end of the race. I took a long drink of water from my bottle, and made for the tent taking belongings from runners with numbers between 1,000 and 1,500. In one corner of the park music was belting out for a ‘warm up’ session, but with a fear that I might pull something or damage something before I’d even started, I decided to give that a miss. Instead, I followed hundreds, maybe thousands, of others to join a series of long queues which culminated in the toilet facilities.

We all had a couple of hours ahead of us, and everyone was drinking lots of water, so this was an essential part of the day. There was much talk throughout the crowds of not wanting to ‘do a Paula Radcliffe’ during the race. I was hopping a little by the time I reached the front of the line, so was glad that I had followed the herd when I had.

The start of the race was carefully controlled, and the runners were divided into separate pens, with the elite runners in A and the novices (of which I was one), in F. Groups A – D had been called already, but in no time the energetic announcer on the PA system announced that groups E and F should make their way to the start – actually this was quite a route march, maybe a mile, but soon we were gathered in Holywell Street waiting for our turn to go over the top.

At first the crowd remained still, but little by little we started to edge forward, emerged into Broad Street with the magnificent Sheldonian Theatre to our left and the gardens of Trinity College to our right. Ahead an arch marked the start, and another energetic announcer sent us all on our way, commenting on various participants, including a yellow submarine, a giraffe and, yes, two men carrying washing machines on their backs. I assumed that these gents had constructed some clever costumes, but it wouldn’t be long before I discovered otherwise.

More useful advice from my various running chums was not to go off too quickly at the start, and this was something that I had worried about, but the crowd was so thick that it was impossible to go off at a great pace, until we left Broad Street and turned into the even broader street of St Giles, by this time I could settle into my normal pace and found that I overtook some runners and was overtaken by others as we all found our natural place in the order of things.

Liz and the girls had found a clever spot to watch from, for the route came off St Giles and double backed towards The Parks, before making another loop to return to St Giles once more, meaning that they could see me pass by twice in quite a short space of time. I gave them all a quick (and rather sweaty) kiss first time past, and then a high five each on the second, before I headed onto the long stretch of the Banbury Road towards North Oxford. It was on this stretch that I saw the reality of the washing machines, the intrepid runners were indeed lugging proper, full-sized metal washing machines on their backs. As everyone ran past, we all shouted encouragement to them as they lumbered on. The expression on their faces suggested that they were somewhat regretting their fundraising decision!

Up to Summertown and past the first drinks station where I took the advice of my good friends Chris, ‘drink whenever it is offered’. Just past the drinks tables was a small battery of loos….and a long queue.

Towards the top of The Banbury Road the field looped round and came back down again, meaning that the elite frontrunners were on the other side of the road. They were going through 5 miles as we passed the 3-mile marker, and their pace and strength was truly impressive, if somewhat disheartening, but on we went.

Having made the u-turn and run half-way back down the Banbury Road, we then turned left and headed off down a very long and uninspiring road towards the little village of Marston and this was where the field began to spread out more. A strange phenomenon occurred in Marston, for instead of a water station there was an energy drink one and everyone eagerly sloshed the red liquid into their mouths and tossed the little cups into the large recycling bins provided. Unfortunately, quite a lot of the drink spilled onto the road, which meant that rather than running becoming easier (with a shot of isotonic drink), it became more difficult because the road became tacky and everyone’s shoes stuck to it, peeling off with the sound of a hundred strips of Velcro ripping apart.

Back up the dull road and towards Oxford again, and into the last few miles. I admit that I began to struggle a little now and, on a few occasions, lapsed back to a walk, as most people around me did at various times too, meaning that the bunch of people with whom I had shared the journey maintained their relative positions to each other. Back to the Parks, back into Holywell Street, around the Sheldonian and Bodleian, turn left and there were two signs in front of me. One said, ’13 Miles’ and just past that (.1 of a mile past it, to be precise), was a large arch saying FINISH!

Maybe in my imagination I had pictured myself bursting across the finish line, arms aloft, feeling a huge surge of satisfaction and pride, but in reality, I just sort of stopped with a sense of relief! I was given a medal and told to keep moving so that those behind me could finish too. I had been running with my phone strapped to my arm and as I checked my time, I saw that I had completed the course in 2 hrs and 18 minutes. Alongside the official notifications were messages of congratulation from family and friends, many of whom had been following my progress on the event’s tracker app.

I made my way back to the Event Village and retrieved my bag, before setting off to find Liz and the girls. Everywhere families were reuniting and hugging, tales were being told, tired limbs were being stretched, water drunk, and energy bars being consumed. Gradually the competitors drifted away to their various homes, where real life would resume, and I did the same.

Although the entire day, in fact the entire 6-month process, had been one of personal challenge, discovery and achievement, the main motivation of my run had been in memory of my sister-in-law, Liz’s sister, Sheila, who died on 16th April as a result of a brain tumour. It was to further aid the struggle to research the terrible disease that my family and friends around the world have been donating so generously to my fund. Towards the very end of the event, as I came back into the University Parks, there was a lady standing at a corner, just a regular spectator shouting encouragement. She was short, had white shoulder length hair and had a beaming smile on her face. I am not going all spooky-ghostly here, but she had something of the look of Sheila about her, and as I ran by, she made eye contact and called out simply ‘Well Done!’ And that was the moment that all of the effort and toil, the worries about injury, the fears about acceptance into the world of running, the fundraising and the eventual success in completing 13.1 miles around the city of Oxford, really made sense.

So, this is my final account of the running, and the last opportunity to donate to the cause. Including the proceeds from my show, the fund is now over £2,000 which is incredibly generous, thank you all so much, and if anyone is reading this who like to add to that figure, then we will all be profoundly grateful.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens

Counting Down the Days

Tags

Brain Tumour Research, Dreaming Spires, Oxford City, Oxford Half Marathon, Runners World Magazine, Sponsorship

Wednesday 12 October.

The week before my very first attempt at a long-distance running event is slowly passing and now, on Wednesday, the week is half over, and the weekend is looming large. Yesterday Liz and I drove into Oxford to do some shopping, and at the sight of someone running through the streets a wave of nerves ran through me.

My journey to this point began way back in 2020 with the arrival of Covid 19 in the UK. With lockdown conditions becoming ever more severe it became necessary, indeed essential, to get out into the open air whenever possible. Our eldest daughter had said that she wanted to run, because one of her best friends did, so together we started using a Couch-2-5K app to help us along. My target, if I had one, was to complete a Park Run event at some stage, as my sister Nicky and brother Ian had done previously, but the thought of running a distance of 5k seemed completely out of my league as I struggled to keep going for the minute or so that the app suggested at the beginning of the programme. Little by little, however, things began to get easier and there was a moment of supreme pride when I managed to run the 5k, a little over three miles, without stopping, for the first time (I never did attend a park run, but at least the distance was achieved).

And so, it continued, and the distances that I was able to achieve went up, and the exhaustion went down. I ran 5 miles, then 6, then 8 and 10, and I began to feel a bit like a runner, although I never felt that I truly compared to those committed folk that pound the pavements every day in their expensive shoes and reflective glasses, and who stop their watches as they pause for cars to pass at an intersection, so as not to skew a potential PB.

In April my sister-in-law Sheila died as a result of a brain tumour, and I really wanted to do something to help the cause of other families in the same situation and try to raise some money towards the ongoing research into the condition. Sheila’s husband Martin had undertaken a charity cycle ride on behalf of Brain Tumour Research so I decided to donate to the same cause, except I didn’t have an event in mind. In a moment of perfect synchronicity, it was at this time that I happened to receive a Facebook notification suggesting that I enter the Oxford Half Marathon, and I followed the link to be told that I would have to enter a ballot. Well, this was perfect! I could tell all and sundry that I had entered and would be fundraising, and then sorrowfully inform everyone that I hadn’t been selected and I would try again next year – then I got the notification that the buggers had accepted me! I was committed.

In life I always need a strong motivation to spur me into action, for example I will often take a booking for a show that I have not yet written, which forces me to get on and create it before the deadline of walking onto an empty stage and facing an audience of expectant people – the thought of being unprepared for them focusses the mind wonderfully. So it was with my running, I somehow had to get myself to a level to run 13.1 miles.

Regular readers will know that I have been training over the last few weeks, and apart from a few niggling injury worries, I have managed to complete my goal…almost…in that on my last long run I stopped at 13 miles, meaning that when I complete the event itself (0.1 of a mile longer), I am assured of a personal best time.

Why am I nervous? It is not about the running, because I know that I can do that. Of course, on Sunday I might pull a muscle. turn an ankle or feel unwell, but I know that I CAN do it. My nerves are much more to do with never having done an event like this before and not knowing how it all works – what do I do on the day, how will it feel mingling with all of the other competitors? Will it be obvious where to leave my bag, and how will the run feel with crowds lining the route? I am used to running alone and being able to control my pace, so will I be able to restrain myself in a crowd of other runners? How will I feel seeing large signs and banners marking the miles, will seeing a 7- mile board create negative feelings as I realise that I still have 6.1 miles still to go? The answer to all of this is ‘I don’t know’, but in less than a week I will have all of the answers for you.

The event organisers have sent a comprehensive pack with all of the details of the day in it, so some of the logistics are clearer to me now and I have no doubt that the other runners will be helpful and encouraging. I have my number (1391) and have details of an app that tracks my progress, so everyone can follow along. There are also photographers along the route and their pictures will be published in real time – again there is a website that anyone can log onto, to view the images.

It is now down to me. On Sunday. At 9.30 am. There is only one thing left to do: to run.

To donate to my sponsorship Brain Tumour Research fund please visit my JustGiving Page at:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens

To track my progress, download the LimeLight Sports Club app on Apple or Android and select Oxford Half Marathon and enter my number (1391)

To view the images, go to Marathon Photos Live: https://marathonphotos.live/

The next time I write will be with the full story of my first running event.

A Week of Fundraising Begins

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Abingdon-on-Thames, Brain Tumour Research, Charles Dickens, Doctor Marigold, Michaelmas Fair, Mr Dickens is Coming!, Oxford Half Marathon, Uriah Heep

As I celebrate my 59th birthday so my week of fundraising began in earnest. Of course, the main event will be on the 16th October with my debut run in the Oxford Half Marathon, and I will return to that story later, but on Friday night I performed in my hometown of Abingdon-on-Thames for the first time in many years.

I had chosen a new venue for me, and that choice had come about through a curious circumstance. My youngest daughter had been invited to the birthday party of one of her classmates at school, and the event was held at the Abingdon Baptist Chapel, where the birthday girl’s parents and grandparents not only attend, but administer too. The chapel is set a little back from the road and is an impressive building, with Palladian columns giving it an Acropolis-esque look. It is one of those buildings that I have driven passed a thousand times and thought how elegant it looks but had never investigated further. On the day of the party, I went to collect our daughter, and on walking through the main door I could see straight away what an impressive hall it was – simple, surprisingly modern and well lit, although the effect was somewhat obscured by a large bouncy castle, complete with an illuminated glitter ball in the centre. I tucked the memory away, ready to be used when next I needed a space to perform in.

The idea to give a benefit performance in aid of Brain Tumour Research came after I had been accepted to run in the half marathon, and I thought it would be a nice opportunity to raise funds by doing what I do, in addition to the terrifying thing that I do NOT do. I approached the Baptist Church and having checked the diary they were able to offer me Friday 7th October, which I grabbed with both hands. There was a slight moment of concern in that the ancient and traditional Abingdon Fair takes place at the start of October and the whole main street is closed for two days and filled with noisy, whirling, garish rides, and stalls selling candyfloss, hot dogs, burgers and other unidentifiable foodstuffs, whilst the Oxfordshire night air is filled with the screams of flirting teenagers. The Baptist Chapel sits on the very road where the fair is held, so not only would my audience be unable to get to it, but the accompanying soundtrack would not have been conducive to Victorian literature. Fortunately, tradition (and law) dictates that the fair be held on the Monday and Tuesday before the 11th October, and it is not built until the Sunday before, so my Friday date was safe. As an aside, the Abingdon Michaelmas Fair dates back to the 14th Century when it was created as a gathering to hire labour in the aftermath of the Black Death.

The next issue was to publicise the show, which was not easy. As I was producing the event, on behalf of Brain Tumour Research, I didn’t have a large budget to play with, indeed I had no budget to play with, so other than printing some leaflets and posters, all I had was good old fashioned leg work, and modern social media.

I had planned to start my publicity assault when I was in America in September, but of course that coincided with the death of the Queen, meaning that not only was I not in a state of mind to shout and scream about my show, but also the country and potential audience would not be responsive anyway.

When the funeral was over and life slowly started to get back to normal, I began distributing leaflets, initially in my own neighbourhood, hoping that curiosity and a sense of neighbourly support would bring in a few sales. After that I picked areas of the town the I felt would house the demographic that usually attend my performances and spent many mornings walking up and down leafy roads, slipping A5 fliers through letterboxes. The art of leafleting is not as easy as once it was in that most houses have highly sprung and insulated letterboxes making it a real struggle to push a flimsy piece of paper through. I had no idea if these operations would bring forth results, I didn’t know if anybody would even read the leaflet but clung to the hope that somewhere in the hundreds of houses was someone who loved either local theatre, Dickens or preferably both. I was startled by barking dogs and avoided the angry glares from people sitting in their front rooms watching me trespass on their properties.

In the town centre many businesses were kind enough to display posters and take leaflets and little by little the word started to spread. I bombarded local Facebook pages with posts about the show, but ticket sales remained frustratingly slow. I emailed large businesses in the town attaching the flier and asked them to circulate the information among staff, and I did the same to all of the local schools.

As the week of the show arrived the sales were still not great, but I could satisfy myself that the show was only part of my greater fundraising efforts, so from that point of view anything that I made would be a success, but I did want the atmosphere in the Church to be good and the evening to be an enjoyable one.

The day of the show arrived, and it was a very odd feeling not to have to pack up the car early and get on the road to some venue far away. The programme for the evening was to be Mr Dickens is Coming! and Doctor Marigold and that combination means quite the car full and, on this occasion, I also had a large box containing various promotional materials from Brain Tumour Research along with two collection buckets.

Naturally as I pulled into the small car park outside the church rain started to fall meaning that I was a bit damp by the time everything was inside!

The space was perfect with a small ‘stage’ at one end, a balcony around the top and a high vaulted wooden ceiling above.

I busied myself setting up the stage for Mr Dickens is Coming, which involves recreating the set that Charles Dickens used for his readings. I erected my red screen (fabric over a simple frame which, although Dickens’ was solid), placing my copy of his red reading desk, complete with the cube for the performer to rest their hand on, a handkerchief, and a small glass carafe, which bears my great great grandfather’s crest, and which is the only item I own that actually belonged to him. Once everything was in place, I started to rehearse a bit of Doctor Marigold and could hear the words echoing back to me, so tried to tone down my volume as much as I could.

There were other preparations too, for I had to make sure that the ticket sales table was in place, complete with a cash float (which I had withdrawn from the bank earlier in the day), and laid out my various items of merchandise, which this year includes the DVD version of ‘A Christmas Carol’, as well as ‘Dickens and Staplehurst’ and a DVD of Doctor Marigold. I also needed to lay another table out with all of the leaflets and publicity for Brain Tumour Research, and in the centre of all of that literature a large yellow bucket in case audience members who had already parted with their hard-earned money to attend the evening should feel disposed to donate further as they left.

When all of the preparations had been completed the audience started to arrive, so I dashed into my dressing room, quickly changed into my costume and then went out to meet and greet and mingle. As this was ‘my’ show I had decided to be present as the audience arrived, rather than theatrically hiding myself away – in this way I became actor, writer, producer, front of house manager and stage manager all in one, which didn’t allow me a lot of time to relax and prepare for the forthcoming performance.

The first arrivals were all from my own neighbourhood, and they gathered in the centre of the hall and chatted busily together, meaning that I could just as well have well given the performance in the middle of our street, and saved everyone the trouble of travelling. but soon others began to appear, and the small hall began to fill. It was by no means a full house, far from it indeed, but my efforts of the past few weeks produced a decent enough audience. Liz was there, with our two girls who have not seen me perform before and who would be staying for the first half, and there was a goodly sprinkling of friends and family, including Liz’s nephew Richard, a son of Sheila in whose memory these events are being held.

At 7.30 I made my way to the stage and began the show. Usually as I wait in the wings I listen as one of the organisers gets onto the stage and explains where the emergency exits are, as well as the toilet facilities, but being my own show, it fell to me to clumsily do that, before launching into the words of Charles Dickens, which begin the performance.

It was a fun half and the old script still got laughs where it always does. I felt slightly awkward writhing and squirming in the rather suggestive manner of Uriah Heep, and wondered what my daughters would make of daddy looking like that (and indeed when I was at home the next day they proudly told me that was their favourite part!), but gave the whole performance as much as I could.

The interval came and I rushed to change into Doctor Marigold’s costume, before returning to the stage to rearrange the furniture (thus adding stagehand to my growing job list!), and when I had completed the task I was able to give the girls a hug and say goodbye to them and Liz, before preparing to transform into Marigold.

The second half went well also, although the slightly boomy acoustics in the hall made some of the very fast paced dialogue difficult to hear, but the response to the ever-changing fortunes of the poor cheapjack was moving and generous as I took the applause at the end. Having taken my bows, I thanked the audience for their generosity once more and reminded them that in just a week’s time I would be running the Oxford Half Marathon for the same cause, thereby shamelessly encouraging them to part with yet more of their cash, and brought the evening to a close.

As the audience left, I stood at the door and thanked them for coming, and signed a few copies of my book, and one of my ‘A Christmas Carol’ DVDs, until the hall was empty with the exception of the staff and volunteers who had helped make the evening a success. As they began to rearrange the seating, I changed and started to pack up my belongings knowing that in the event of leaving something behind (a fairly common occurrence as regular readers will know), I wouldn’t have far to drive to retrieve it. I said my goodbyes and thanks, and set off into the night for my 5-minute drive home, where Liz was waiting for me.

The evening had been a success and added a few hundred pounds to my fundraising kitty. The audience had been incredibly generous and had donated an extra £78 into the Brain Tumor Research bucket. Now the focus will change as I prepare to line up at the start of The Oxford Half Marathon proudly bearing number 1391 and completing a challenge that began on April 16, 2022.

To become part of my fundraising efforts simply follow the link to:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/geralddickens