Crystal Palace Parkrun 11.2.23

Pre

An ancestral home of sorts, as at one point, the London Borough of Newham Swimming Club (LBNSC) were very much an extended family. I was excited for this one. As soon as we got to the free car park, we made our way to the Crystal Palace Sporting Centre so that I may see what had become of such a childhood sanctum. It was a walk through the park and up a few stairs to be on the same level as the entrance. It had an air of Chernobyl about it as my brother had said. An abandoned Soviet military training camp as Arif had remarked. The hockey pitches were to our left, the strange pyramid things to the right, as well as the main entrance. I remembered fondly the many times the team had left the coach and we would amble down towards the centre to compete in the London Youth Games with our purple and white tracksuits and team bags, chatting and joking as young people do. While everywhere you looked would be a similar group, getting ready to participate in their own sport. I believe the last time I had swum at this pool was in 2012 during the London Regional Sprints in which I won a silver in the 50m Butterfly and a bronze in the 50m Freestyle. 

As I returned to the present, I noticed how quiet it was. Then doors and turnstiles were completely unmanned, and I slipped through an inactive barrier and was in. It looked exactly how I remembered it. The old dark wood panels, the weathered bolts and yellowed walls, the plastic coloured seats and tiled poolside. There were even young athletes who looked to be gymnasts, milling around, carrying their bags and water bottles just as we once did all those years ago.It was all so similar. The poolside was nearly identical except for one stark contrast; the pool was empty.

It was a very solemn looking scenario. I wondered to myself what was the last race the pool had seen? What athlete's accomplishments had been last won before the space had been drained and become as we now saw it. Whoever it was, they would not have known it would have been their last in this place for awhile if not forever. Such is the fate of most sportspeople. I looked and remembered getting on the blocks wearing the Adidas Jet Concept. I gazed at the many plastic chairs and tried to remember or in part imagine, where my mum had sat while watching her young son perform. Where had my team based themselves, engulfed by bags, bottles, goggles and hats.

As any retired swimmer would be, or at least I hope they would as to alleviate my own morose strangeness, I was drawn towards the changing rooms at the far end of the pool adjacent to the diving boards. We went down the stairs much to my surprise as it seemed to be somewhere that would be restricted. Although, the door to the male change was locked. This was a minor disappointment because something else presented itself that was even more along the lines of urban exploration. The passage underneath the pool that had been the corridor to the under pool windows was available. A dank, dark, long, thin corridor of wall buttresses and loose, rusted bolts. I couldn't help myself but begin to venture into the belly of the beast. It was fascinating to see the round porthole style windows granting a view of the barren pool. Some were cracked with spidery lines of impact spreading across them. I felt very much as I did as an adolescent, making plans to explore the Millenium Mills. After we had investigated the full length of the corridor, we made our way back. Before leaving the centre, I made a point of view video from the male changing rooms, traversing the stairs up to the poolside, looking up at my mum in the top stands, and walking along the tiled floor to the competition pool. Memories of competing, my precious young brother, the cacophony of energy and noise. Now all was still and silent.  

The Parkrun

We left the centre and began to jog towards the start line. I felt both a sleepiness and exhilarance at being back. They give quite a chat at most of these briefs and I always give a sigh as I see my heart rate decline on my Garmin and wonder why we even bother warming up. But alas, we were off! It was a hilly course that I think Arifs expression of determination foretold at the first incline. It was also a stimulating route although I did wonder what logistics prevented the course from being plotted around or along the ruins of the palace that rose up, looking over the Sporting Centre, just as the SC loomed above the park. One notable factor of the route was the last kilometre was a downhill highway to hell, cannoning towards the finish. I approached this tentatively as I normally do, However Arif took this route 66 as nature intended and rocketed to a last split of 4.28. I finished with a respectable time of 25 mid which I was pleased with as I had felt under the weather and was on the struggle bus from the start. 

Post 

Once finished we grabbed our coats from the car and sat down in the park cafe, and as far as the Parkrun cafes go, this was fantastic. Not only were they serving hundreds of people as efficiently as possible, they let Arif leave his phone there to charge, and also gave us access to the staff Wifi. The coffee was decent and I even ordered food since it was a rather special Parkrun for me. 

We left the cafe, made our way up and through the park to the second level where we had explored the SC earlier. We hadn't got far before we became enthralled with a hockey match in the arena below us. The masculinity of these harpies startled us in some instances, particularly the testosterone emanating from Paula Scholes who was very much a general of the court. They were all quite skilled for yuppy hargravens and we watched for probably close to an hour, until the match ended. 

As the mighty ducks left the court, we began to ascend to the legendary palace that Arif had longed to see. Again, it was just how I remembered it. A sprawling greenery with the ruins of the aforementioned palace dotted around the area. Steps, pillars, statues, and plinths. Yet still, we ascended. I am not too sure on the geography, and whether Crystal Palace park is very low, almost in a vale, or whether the SC and moreover the ruins are very elevated. 

Once within the ruins, we began a lovely walk around the perimeter. The view from this level was a splendid one. A curious inquiry to a small and ramshackle museum was had, but the fairly decrepit building was inaccessible. No matter, we found ourselves two enormous, pink sphinxes to climb on to like the East London vandals we are. About the size of the Trafalgar lions. each one was at either side of a wide staircase. Although we heard each other fine from across the steps. After chatting for a good while, we began the descent back to the cafe to retrieve Arifs phone and also grab another coffee. By this point, it was approaching 3pm, meaning we had left close to 8 hours ago. But nostalgia lay heavily across my shoulders and before we left, the bespeckled young boy in me needed to take one last stroll around the dinosaur lake.