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.
Lincoln Half Marathon
by Russell Turner - 12:10 on 08 October 2025
The inaugural Run For All Lincoln Half Marathon proved as challenging as I’d feared. The wind didn’t help, nor the steep one-mile hill, but setting off with the feeling that my body battery was only 50% charged was probably the main problem. Running doesn’t get any easier.
The lead up to The Big Race had gone well, once the horror of the Edinburgh Bypass was behind me. I’d enjoyed a restful night at the Redesdale Arms near Otterburn (the owner turned out to be formerly of Lincoln – surely that was a good omen?) and a stress-free (apart from his squeak) drive south in Grandson of Seat to Damon’s Hotel on the outskirts of Lincoln: a rather soulless hostelry but clean, comfortable and competitively priced.
There I met up with UltraPaul and Ex-triathlon Cathy, running her first race since recovering from a very poorly hamstring, and shared gossip and an Italian feast with them after venturing into the heart of the city. So far, so good.
Unfortunately, next morning Storm Amy (which I’d mistakenly believed had happened a couple of weeks ago) was still in full swing, adding a forceful cold wind to the challenge of running 21.1 kilometres. Although it was dry it would be a long-sleeved race.
We arrived early at the Lincolnshire Showground where parking was no problem in one of its vast, steward-controlled fields. Emerging from the car, I shiveringly reached the decision to wear my post-race T-shirt under the long-sleeved top, plus the hoodie until it was time to run. We sussed out the vicinity, marvelled at proper toilet blocks, then Paul and I returned to shelter in the car while Cathy warmed up her hamstring with a few runs. Not long after that we split up to join fellow runners in our expected finish time groups.
I’d hoped, before the storm disrupted my plans, for a 2:10 finish – 2:06 if I was lucky; on the day, I settled for the 2:15 start where I fell into conversation with a runner (I didn’t get his name) down from Barnsley. He was 64 and swithering about entering his first marathon, in York in two weeks. I warned him about the Dunnington spur but encouraged him to go for it.
Then we were off, beginning with almost 3k of gravelly showground track before emerging on to a long, straight, gently undulating B road that led south to the city. The only drawback was the lack of shelter from the wind that battered us from the side. I battled on, keeping the 2:15 pacers within reach even after switching to run/walk from 6k and hit 10k in 1:01 – a much faster pace than 2:15, so either the pacers were banking time ahead of The Big Hill or their watches were fast.
By now I’d passed the cathedral (which I glimpsed), the castle (which I didn’t), the race leader coming up the other side of the road, and was running down The Big Hill to Brayford Pool and the university. Spectators in the city had been impressive, considering the weather, but they thinned out around the campus which, despite being flat, I found hard going. In a few spots it even felt too warm, then I’d turn a corner and be hit again by a cold wind. Some unplanned walking took place; the 2:15 pacers disappeared into the distance.
After the race (the camera can lie)
Spectator numbers returned along The Big Hill, to see me walk most of it. I picked up a little at the start of the long straight back to the showground but the unimpeded wind continued to sweep in from the side. Such fun. I tottered over the finish line in 2:23:10 – not my slowest HM but possibly one of the toughest.
Paul and Cathy were delighted with 1:43 and 1:56 but acknowledged a challenging course. Celebratory photos were taken with the help of Barnsley man, who wandered past as we were looking for help with a group shot. The race hadn’t put him off entering the marathon. Exiting the showground was harder than entering, thanks to gridlock around the nearest gate. Fortunately, Paul spotted one less besieged by departing runners and we left while gridlock continued.
There’d been talk of post-race sightseeing. That was abandoned. I dozed in my room while the others paid a visit to Paul’s mum – one of their reasons for choosing the Lincoln event. The day ended with a splendid meal in the Five Bells at nearby Bassingham. None of us slept soundly that night, we learned in the morning; aching legs don’t aid rest.
Autumn colours near Stanhope in Weardale
The journey home partly answered Cathy’s question why I’d travel so far. The A1 north of Lincoln is nothing special but handy for a detour to Masham for a late breakfast, a walk to help revive stiff legs, and an ice-cream in the sun. From there it was a back roads bonanza through Leyburn, Richmond, Staindrop, Stanhope, Corbridge and Carter Bar to Bonchester Bridge for the night. Next day found me ambling through Hawick, Selkirk, Peebles, Carnwath and Polmont before joining the M9, having avoided the Edinburgh Bypass. More back roads ensued on the other side of Stirling. The direct route home is faster, but the meander is much more relaxing (apart from the git who wouldn’t let me pass on many miles of single-track roads around Tummel Bridge) and not much different in distance.
There’ll be more back roads in two weeks, when I return to York. The long range forecast shows sun, light wind and no rain. Let’s hope it stays that way.
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