Fleet Half marathon 2025
by Duncan Burrill
Half a Marathon, is better than half a Snickers, is better than half a Farthing, is better than none, as they say.
Anyway there we were on Sunday morning, bright eyed and ready for the big race. 20 or so FTRC people gathered around our flag to claim our small corner of this Fleet soil as forever Farnham for a few hours.
We were ushered to the start by coloured groups – Green, Yellow and Red. The race began with a mention of the former long-serving race organiser who died and to whom this year's race was dedicated. Then the countdown for the gun began. 10, 9, 8, no backing out now, this was it, shoe laces double tied, check. 7,6,5, watch set to Run, GPS satellites locked on, check. 4,3,2 and suddenly we were off and the patter of thousands of colourful running shoes tapping the ground filled the air, like a flock of colourful Galahs in resplendent fluttering.
Fleet of foot we carried off around a loop and the along Fleet High street, past a Gail's, a Greggs, a vape shop, Mcdonalds, several pubs, and didn't get to stop at any of them. And, to make it even harder, we had to run past them again as if in a Spartan running groundhog day. But the calls from the jubilant crowd made it worth the effort to burst along, and helped by the FTRC people there cheering on from the side (thank you for that – it is great to hear a shout along the way).
After the second loop of the town we finally escape the civilised world and head out into the raw wilderness of the Hampshire countryside, passing under the M3 (that will forever be 50mph), and across towards Hartley Wintney lured by antique shops and country pubs with elaborate roast dinners. But none of these today either as there was serious running to be done. This part of the run is approaching halfway where one questions if this running thing is a good idea, surely something like reading or Yoga is more sensible? The mind is telling you it's ok to slow down, that you can't keep this up for another 11km, it's too hard, you can't breathe. But no, get the breathing rhythm going, stay focused, don't slow down, this is it my friend, lean forward, look up, run like the wind.
There is a switch back part later which divides opinion like Marmite. People either love the switchback or wish them to be cast into the fiery pits of hell. It does give the runner the chance to see those annoying people who are faster than you, which either fills you with respect and admiration, or hatred and jealousy. Then you are faced with the equal dilemma of seeing those coming behind you and either cheering them on encouragingly, or feeling smug knowing that you'll be four bananas in and partially hydrated by the time they cross the finish line. I did get some cheers at this section from fellow FTRC runners and thank you for that, as I couldn't barely muster a thumbs up at this point.
The final return is down long tree lined roads, and the sun was shining. It was a victory parade with the trees like roman colonnades and the cheering crowd welcoming a new Caeaser. This is where the training pays off as the legs either melt like ice creams in summer, or engage like warp drives. Fortunately for me, my legs chose the latter. Beam me up Scotty they said, this is to be your day.
Looking at my watch I calculated that I was about 30 seconds ahead of my target time and needed to push if I was to break the 100 minute milestone. The last 2 kms were tough and I saw Andy from DRC strategically placed with 1km to go and decided I had to finish strong as payback for all the encouragement. I guess running isn't a solo sport after all, I thought. But this wasn't the time for profound philosophy, metaphysics or dialectics, it was the last 500m, and from somewhere unknown, a last burst of energy, gathered up from the bottom of Folly Hill to the top of the Bourne Woods, allowed me to power down the finish straight, Vincero, 200 metres, overtaking stragglers, Vincero, one hundred metres, I can see the clock, so close, Vinceeeerrrrrooooo – Puccini's aria ringing out loudly as the timing chip registered its passage across the finishing line. Would I do it?
Yes. I would. Garmin stopped, run saved, check. 1:39:45 – 15 seconds under my goal time and a PB for me. I came, I ran, I conquered the PB, I got a flat white and custard tart. Thanks again to everyone in the crowd, my fellow runners, and everyone in the club.
