2013, 3: Coll Half Marathon

At the start of 2013 I made a New Year’s resolution to run four races in the four countries of the United Kingdom, all in aid of Mind– the mental health charity. I had originally planned to run the Edinburgh Marathon in May, but succumbed to summer flu and a bout of tonsillitis two weeks before race day and spent a week convalescing in this pretty cool gypsy caravan instead. Bramble Bield is a collection of three caravans in the grounds of Powis House, near Stirling. I spent my days and nights reading, resting, building bonfires and sipping whisky (called “the water of life” for good reason!).

Having missed Edinburgh, I had to find another race to complete in Scotland and signed up for the Coll Half Marathon. It was running the same weekend as my mum’s birthday, I had some friends visiting Scotland at the time, the idea of visiting a Hebridean island appealed to me, not to mention the promised finisher’s BBQ and ceilidh (I love a ceilidh almost as much as I love medals)- all in all, enough reasons to buy a train ticket north. I even managed to convince some of my family and my visiting friends to come along too and make a weekend of it- best of all, my dad was feeling much better, well enough to come along for the camping trip.

After four hours north on the train, I got picked up by my brother and his wife, who’d gamely agreed to drive me three more hours further north to the ferry town of Oban. It was quite a beautiful journey with Jon’s mixtapes, Marian’s mum’s packed teas to share and the western shores of Loch Lomond rolling past in the evening light. We arrived and met my mum and dad in our hotel, heading to the bar for a drink and a chat. I bought a round and it only cost £11, something unheard of since I moved to London. FIVE DRINKS, ELEVEN POUNDS. That is a good deal. Even if one of them was a pre-race day soft drink.

We didn’t stay up late as the (only) ferry to Coll Island leaves at 5am on Saturday and we had to make sure we got on it. My brother and Marian had decided to stay in Oban with my mum for the weekend, with Dad and I heading to Coll for an overnight in a tent. My visiting friends agreed to meet us at the ferry in the morning and the four of us boarded together as the day dawned.

Upon reaching the island, the rain began to pour. And pour. This charming photo shows my dad and I (left) arguing as we try to put up our tent, inside-out, in the gale force winds and rain; and my friends in their less than ideal kids play-tent (right) with no door to keep the inside from getting soaked and no guy-ropes to stop it blowing away… Needless to say, things did not get off to an auspicious start. With a storm setting in and wholly unprepared for the weather, my friends decided they should probably catch the ferry back to the mainland and a hotel room, rather than stay i their “tent” and catch pneumonia.

Dad and I tried to keep our spirits up as the camp-site filled with many more wet tents and people, as everyone told us “this is the first year its rained”. I went for a nap, did a little carb-loading and faffed about wondering which of my running clothes would keep my the driest in the terrible conditions. Dad read the paper and looked about hopefully for any sign of the rain stopping before bedtime.

With the race drawing near, I headed down to the pier and the start line with the 133 other crazy people who’d decided the best way to pass a rainy Saturday was to run 13.1 miles across a barren and windswept island. The Coll Half takes runners on a mostly circuitous route around the middle of the isle: down the eastern coast, through sand-dunes on the western side and along more than a few lonely roads.

For the most part, the rain stayed off, but the wind never let up. The field quickly thinned out until I was only catching glimpses of other runners on the horizon and couldn’t see anyone behind me for a long way. I’d never run such a small race before and found myself missing the motivation you get from other runners and spectators on races. With miles of mostly empty roads, I became disproportionately excited as each water-station appeared and the chance to be acknowledged by another person presented itself. And the water-stationers did not disappoint. There was a competition for the Best Water-Station, so they were all in fancy-dress and trying to out-do each another with music, snacks and encouragement- mile 7 offered me a whisky shot with my water and the sand-dunes uncovered a woman playing the accordion and giving directions out of the sands back to the road.

Mile 11 found me on a main road, heading back to the village, when a group of boys up ahead spotted me and started shouting and cheering “me” on. “Come on Charlotte! You can do it Charlotte!” they yelled as I approached them and were only slightly discouraged when I told them I wasn’t called Charlotte. They told me they were doing the Half Marathon Walk (there’s the Half run, walk, 10k, 5k and kid’s 1k options on Coll), and had been told to look out for a girl in a white top called Charlotte near the back of the group (she finished 120th, to my 125th). The cans of lager they were carrying may explain why they missed Charlotte before me, but I was glad of the company and we swapped stories as they ran along with me for half a mile. Then I headed on through the twelfth mile, which on Coll was a long, slow, windy and painful incline up to the 13th mile marker, before a delightfully easy downhill to the community centre, a cup of tea and ANOTHER MEDAL!

Thereafter, I took off my soaking clothes and paid my £1 per 5 minute for a hot shower. In the process I uncovered some awfully blistered toes and couldn’t put my shoes back on afterwards. I flipped-flopped around, eating four MarsBars and a piece of cake before the prize-giving and ceilidh. I managed one dance before retiring to spectate and drink from my hip-flask (much easier on my sore toes), whilst my Dad worked the room and stayed out later than me. Party animal.

  

* Just to add, despite the madness and the rain, I would recommend this race- if only for the whisky shot halfway through and the ceilidh.  A true scots race if ever there was one!