Happily Ever After
Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running
Earlier posts can be found on Adventures of a Lone Bass Player, where this blog began life. Recent entries can be found here.
Carlisle Half Marathon 2025
by Russell Turner - 12:28 on 24 March 2025
A week after 2:14 in Alloa, my modest target for the Carlisle Half Marathon was simply to improve on that. The omens were good: the forecast was no rain, cool temperature and light breeze; the drive down was comfortable and included the scenic route including the Sma’ Glen and Crieff Visitor Centre, where I stopped for lunch with the other old people. Few heads were not either grey or bald.
I made good time to Carlisle, where I followed Mrs Google’s confident directions to my pre-booked spot in the Your Parking Space-run Station Hotel car park. Progress was slowed by the huge amount of city centre roadworks but I didn’t mind as it meant more time to prepare for twists and turns.
The first clue that not all would be well came when Mrs Google asserted brightly “You are here” when I was halfway down Botchergate, one of Carlisle’s traffic-choked boulevards, and no car park was in sight. I continued a short distance along the road (not that I had a choice) where I spied Crown Street Car Park and signs informing me that Crown Street was closed. Not good. After driving in circles I finally found a way into the car park, where it quickly became obvious that this wasn’t my pre-booked place: no YPS signage, just a pay and display machine and a threat of a £100 fine. To be safe, I bought a 30min 80p ticket for £1 (no change given) then set out again in search of Collier Street, which turned out to be a narrow back street, parallel with Botchergate (explaining Mrs Google’s confusion), which I’d dismissed earlier after seeing a car emerge from what I now realised was the wrong end of a one-way street.
At last, I entered the correct car park, eager for my pre-booked space, and found none. Completely full. Fortunately, someone was leaving so I was able to park after all, around an hour after entering Carlisle’s very small city centre. The Station Hotel, where I had two nights booked in a single room, was two minutes’ walk away. Reception staff were pleasant, the room was clean, unfussy and with a creak-free bathroom floor. Things were looking up. I unpacked then ventured into the city for food.
I returned quickly, repulsed by roadworks, crowded pavements, hen parties and a huge number of football fans celebrating Carlisle United’s home win. A hotel dinner would do me fine. Except I’d unknowingly booked one of Best Western’s B&B-only hotels. After wandering around, gazing into packed restaurants (even Pizza Express had a 40min wait for mains), I found a quiet cafe – quiet presumably because of its very limited menu. The best it could offer was a burger, which wasn’t the pre-race meal I’d envisaged. Back at the hotel, via the Spar where I picked up breakfast essentials because the dining room didn’t open until 8am on Sundays, I settled in for a quiet evening.
This was not to be. The room was overheated, which left me with the choice of opening the window to let in cooler air and the merry sound of revellers shouting at each other, or closing it and listening to muffled shouting while I baked. The guy in the next room coughing his lungs out was no help either. The revelry eased after 1am, then ramped up again after 2am, presumably when the clubs turned out. Coughing man couldn’t sleep either, and with the assistance of his partner became bonking man. It was a very long night. If I got two hours’ sleep I’d be surprised.
Race day morning; more bonking at 5am and 6am. Tired, and with no appetite, I prepared to run 13.1 miles by eating an energy bar.
The one-mile walk to the race start at Brunton Park, home of Carlisle United, helped wake me up, especially as the breeze was sharper and cooler than expected and I’d plumped for just a short-sleeved X-Border 10k shirt. (I thought I’d keep it local and expected to see lots of them; I didn’t see one.) The stadium was open, which meant plentiful toilet provision and somewhere to shelter from the breeze, which was useful. I struck up conversation with a guy in a 2022 Yorkshire Marathon shirt. He’d not been impressed – too many country roads. It takes all sorts. I ate a second energy bar.
After the local microphone man had whipped the throng into a frenzy, and we’d all waved at the drone, at 9am we were off, out of the stadium, back to Botchergate, past the Station Hotel and out of town, one girl nearby complaining about the hill which was no more than a mild incline. There were no pacers so I followed a trio keeping to a sensible speed and ignored the runners passing me. We meandered around Bitts Park, crossed the River Eden, then turned up a proper, if brief, hill on to the hardest part of the course: four more-or-less straight miles up Brampton Road with a cool headwind and a slight but persistent incline. Halfway along the straight we crossed the M6 on a bridge that had a few people walking. I battled on, reasonably comfortable, with no temptation to walk, my trio of pacers left behind at the first water station.
Not long after the M6 bridge we began to encounter racing snakes coming the other way, which meant the turnaround was coming up soon. It wasn’t, of course: we’d almost a mile of the main road to cover, then another half mile of minor road before we entered the loop at Crosby-on-Eden and left it at Low Crosby. Almost nine miles done, and now we were the ones watching the slower runners approach.
Shortly after 10 miles we left the main road, crossed another M6 bridge, passed Rickerby and entered Rickerby Park. As there had been in the villages, a few people were there to cheer us on while a few more looked bemused, the half marathon obviously not being high in their consciousness. We recrossed the River Eden at 12.5 miles and sneaked up on the finish, back at Brunton Park, from behind. I finished four minutes slower than Alloa in 2:18 but having run every step; 763 people finished ahead of me, 153 behind. That was fine by me.
Medal, water, banana, shirt, then one mile back to the hotel. More water, Zero tab, High5 Recovery bar, breakfast bits, shower. By then I’d decided to forego my second night in Carlisle and head home via the posh Cairn Lodge services, an hour away, for a welcome late lunch. So it was a shame I missed the turn. Not fancying the Costa/McDonald’s/etc offerings at other services I pressed on another 90mins to Taste of Perthshire at Bankfoot for a very late Sunday roast, which of course by then was sold out. I settled for its top class all day breakfast instead. I’d earned it.
Two-and-a-half hours after that, at 7.30pm, I was home. Pandora couldn’t wait to welcome me; Willow didn’t care; Matchgirl was in Shetland.
My impression of the city was coloured by roadworks and crowds, but the route, although only lightly supported by locals, was a decent one that I’d be tempted to try again (when the roadworks are complete). Free race photos – even some good ones – was a bonus.
That was the last race before virtual London and Edinburgh. Just two long training runs left to do. Wish me luck.
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