G is for Gran Canaria

?

Race Report - ‘G’ is for Gran Canaria

Billed as Europe’s most southerly marathon, I booked Race 2/10 in April 2023, hoping that it would be warm as the English autumn deepened into winter. The race history was conditions of between 20 to 22 degrees, occasional cloud and word in the marathon community that the ‘merch’ was really good.?

I knew that there would be pathos at the event, because it corresponded to that fateful day 10 years ago when my wife succumbed to breast cancer. A lot had happened in that decade and the run would be part of my epic challenge of 10 marathons in 10 months to honour Anna Verrico.

Fast forward to landing on 17 November 2023 and the locals were enthusing over the Canarian heatwave, which was great for tourism. The mercury hit 30 degrees on the Saturday and was heading North. This was a problem.

I was running with my friend Paul Pugh, a fellow partner at Eversheds. We’ve run Berlin, Chicago and Dublin together in the past; he’s a lot faster than I am and had promised to support this marathon and hang out for the weekend.

Marathon weekends with the boys are not traditional ‘lads’ trips. Little or no beer is drunk. Early bed times are scrupulously adhered to.?

On arrival from different airports, we rendezvoused at the expo to pick up our race numbers. The race t shirt looked a little like a Harlequin jersey - bright, technical fabric and the best looking top from any marathon I’ve done. There was a free rucksack and a hand towel. It was a much smaller expo than a world major, but the organisers were friendly, the wait was short and we were reassured that there were plentiful fluid stops.?

A relaxing beach day on Saturday culminated in a pizza and pasta meal and an early night. Gran Canaria is a small marathon, so getting into the race pen was easy and quick. Waiting time was minimal. An 8 am start line, a burst of “It’s my life’ by Bon Jovi over the PA system and we were off - ?I’d watched Bon Jovi with Anna just 4 months before she died, when we thought she was recovering from the cancer. It seemed symbolic and appropriate, as it’s been a theme since she died that I live my life on my own terms and Sunday was a significant day to do just that.?

24 degrees Celsius before we had managed the first mile. Only the markers were in kilometres and it was hard to work out 42 kilometres rather than 26 miles.

The Gran Canaria marathon starts at the lighthouse in Maspalomas, winds out through the golf course and then drags uphill through the centre of town. The elevation is 45 metres but you undulate a lot. At the half way point, you loop back and do it all again - I find these type of runs tough as you know what’s coming. The drink stations seemed much further apart than expected. Eyes on my watch, the first half marathon was a 2:08 time, all the signs augured well for a decent finish. And then it got hotter. Much hotter. The second loop was run in temperatures of 30 degrees plus. There was a realistic prospect of a DNF (Did not Finish, every competitor’s nightmare) if I couldn’t cool down.

My friend Victor Shirley, the champion runner for his age group, had sagely advised me to soak my headband as often as I could to try and cool down. I tried this at the aid stations and it was bone dry within a kilometre. Water was contained in plastic bottles, so I started drinking one and then dousing myself and my headband with the other, carrying it as far as possible. The mile times started to fall apart - 11 minutes. 11 and a half minutes. The heat was merciless and relentless. ?I text home from the 30 kilometre rest stop - ‘I’m burnt’. Alessandro ‘put the afterburners on, Dad’.?

At 34 kilometres a chap next to me sparked out. One minute he was running, the next full length. His mate called for medical assistance. It was getting hotter. Most people were now walking up the hills.?

Your mind drifts at this point. I thought about what I was doing 10 years before - the desperate attempt to get Anna to the London Clinic and the tragedy of her passing. I thought about my Isle of Axholme friends who lost their wives in the last year. I was walking. I sent a text to both men to let them know I was thinking of them. 40 kilometres sign.?

Somewhat bizarrely, I found myself in conversation with myself. 705 families helped since Anna died. That was a good thing, right? ￡1,249,000 raised. ￡0 in salaries. And then the tears flowed. All the people who continued to support a decade later. And then I shouted at myself to start to run. This wasn’t chemotherapy. It was just a few hours of discomfort.?

Kilometre 41?

A FaceTime call to the family. ‘Who wants to run the last bit with Dad?’ A crazy downhill and an 8 and a half minute last mile. 33 degrees temperature check on the line.?

4:41.29 - definitely not my best time, but probably the hardest sports event I’ve ever participated in. A medal on the line and a beer token completed the experience; contrary to popular belief, there were no sandals as a finishing gift. I caught the plane on time and was home in time to play ‘autumn leaves’ at 11:17, the minute Anna died 10 years prior.?

www.10in10.co.uk if you’d like to donate - many thanks for your unwavering support. I continue to welcome corporate sponsorship and support from schools, colleges and universities.

Anna Verrico - in your honour.?