Come on, grandad, they yelled

Press, Volume CXIV, Issue 33445, 29 January 1974, Page 18

Come on, grandad, they yelled

t By

KEN COATES)

Oh the pain and the humour of it all. But fortunately, no-one in yesterday’s veterans’ marathon — like Arisition or was it Pheidippides, who ran front Marathon to Athens to carry news of a victory over the Persians in 4908. C. — fell dead on arrival at the finishing' line. Not that 1 did not feel half dead, but more of that | later. j Presumably three years of lunch-time runs round Hagj ley Park, harrier outings and ■ road runs prompted them to; I urge: “have a go — you can .always run part of the way)

and pull out.” It was cool under the trees at the start at 9 a.m. and there was a light lyThere were chaps from all over the place, including Australia. Some sinewy types wore handkerchiefs around their necks — they looked as though they had been running for years. As I walked reluctantly to the start, a young reporter approached me (imagine it).

“Why do you do it, at your age too?” he asked. Good technique in questioning, I thought. I told him I must be bloody stupid, especially the way the day was turning out. There was joking and* 'cheek given the starter, butj lit seemed to me the morel experienced types were quiet. ,' This was a race ■ for I runners from 40 to 60 and 1 lover. Two rounds in the cool [ under the trees and we were' off on four laps of a six-! ■ mile road course. The village of Marathon is| about 24 miles north-east of!

Athens and, according to the reference books, the "classic Greek distance” owes its present (abnormal) length of 26 miles 385 yards to the British — trust them to add more. ■ The first lap was jaunty. ;The chaps introduced them- ! selves and sorted themselves

into groups according to pace. We waved to other perspiring chaps mowing their (lawns and hosing their gardens. Eric told me I’d better run with him — slow at the [start’s the ticket, he advised. The second lap was fairly good too — although the chaps seemed to have finished their lawns and were sitting on their verandas sipping cool beers. At the beginning of the third lap, a cheery housewife called out: “Good luck Granddad—you’ll need it.” I pre-

sumed she was calling out to Eric. | It began to get hotter as; the cool easterly dropped and' the perspiration glands seemed to have gone on strike. We plodded steadily on—encouraged by thought of the kids with buckets of water and sponges at three-'

mile intervals. At the last lap—they say I it’s the last six miles that ■ spoils every marathon—some- ; one who knew me yelled that ■ if I didn’t hurry up I couldn’t give myself a good write-up. Eric seemed as fresh as a daisy, and crossed the road to have a yarn with his aunt. My legs were turning to rubber and the words heat exhaustion kept popping into my head. At 21 miles a skinny black dog leapt out at me and, so help me, I violated the S.P.C.A.’s aims and objects and aimed a weak kick at it. The dog decided I was hardly worth barking it, let alone

i biting. At this stage Eric forged ahead. I began to take copious draughts of the lemonade my son had brought along—he is loyal but prefers cycling, wise man. The rest is rather hazy—heat, thirst, legs giving out, struggling on. At one stage,■ !a boy at a gate asked: “Why) ■ are you running?” I could; ;not answer.

I’m no hero and iust man!aged to complete the course (in three hours 48 minutes. The world marathon best time is 2hrs Bmin 33.65ec. ; I merely give these impres-

sions to show that even in I today’s world of the watcher i rather than the participant, ■it is possible to gain a little insight into something ofj what will be involved in the; Commonwealth Games marathon this week.