Gunpowder Parkrun 28.1.23

 Pre

I don't know South London from Southend. Other than one has Peter Pans and people with redder shoulders and more dolphin tattoos. Point is, I don't know what direction this one was in but it was in a fairly opposite direction to those thus travelled.

We got there an hour early and parked. The entrance to the park was very much in the architectural nature of a geometrical submarine. Big and grey. Or quite like the gate that separates the inhabitants of Skull Island from Kong. A kind of hard, man made threshold between the colourless gravel of the car park and the lush, green jungle of the carless park. I had a hot piss in it regardless. Then we passed into Kong's domain and had a little walk around. Amusingly to me, on the reverse of the sacrificial wall, was a woman's fitness class. That must be where he stashes them after collection.

We warmed up and surveyed the course. I had remarked to Arif that Greg Foy frequented this Parkrun but I had not seen him upload a run for awhile. As we milled around at the briefing, I saw a kind looking ginger man having a little stretch. It was Greg. I approached him and we started chatting. He was the same as always, a lovely person. He told me that he had been suffering from an injury lately that he had sustained from Marathon training. I was really happy to see him. I have fond memories of him coaching me at Balaam and he was always so supportive. 

The Parkrun

The briefing was brief and as I attempted to tie my hair, the band snapped. Trivial to some, but this is actually always a small fear of mine. I had no alternatives, so this run was going to be wild and free, hair blowing in the wind. Greg made his way somewhere towards the front while myself and Arif assumed a more modest position. Although, due to the bottleneck of Osterley, I have since taken to starting more towards the front than I have any right to. 

The run was fairly undulating with a peak gradient around 4% and declines of 6%. Slight patches of black ice remained at the crest of the hill. I started off as I always do, tentative but curious. Im asking my legs, how do you feel today? My running has been like my swimming; erratic. It's often for reasons I can't explain.  On this day though, they had a little something to offer and my first split was 4:57. Encouraging as anything under 5 is fast for me, and this sub 5 was comfortable. Although, the first kilometre can often deceive you with false promises. This one did not, and my 2nd and 3rd were 4:58 and 4:54. Now I knew I could push to the end. I was also motivated by Greg being there and did not want to finish lumbering into the marshalls. The final kilometres were 4:47 and 4:34. The last one being fairly on the limit but not flat out. The end time was 24:18 which puts this in my top 5 5km times. I was happy.

Post

We initially believed Arif's time to be significantly slower than he looked finishing. At this was to both our dismay. However, when the official times were published, he actually finished in what I believe at the time to be a PB. As there was no discernable caffeination spot in the vicinity we left in search of one close by. Not before taking a photo outside the compound next to a Gunpowder Park sign (as this was another park bereft of a tourist photo stand). 

Arif drove to High Beech which brought back memories of seeking out Mott Street for a challenging hill. No traditional coffee shop in sight although there were two charming, old school styrofoam cup,strong tea, crispy egg slinging stalls and we decided on one of those. The first stop that we had actually eaten at I think. After eating we went on a delightful walk down into a vale of the forest and had somewhat of a spiritual foray into childhood. Jumping over streams, climbing over felled trees, and making structures out of dead branches. Things that we would have done in the same company twenty years ago and were now reenacting without purposefully doing so. Perhaps I have not described it as eloquently as I would like, although to give it detailed description would almost be against the childlike spontaneity of which the moment was born. 

After the walk we stood and took in the brisk and clean air that only woodland can offer, before a faint smell of petrol punctured the serenity. Two slack jawed yokels and their accursed offspring were having a miniature monster derby. After the adults wished misfortune upon their hot wheels, we stood and watched them, for the children within us, found them very entertaining.