There's just over a kilometre to go of the glorious Hampshire Hoppit Trail Half Marathon and, as I round a tall hedgerow - my thoughts drifting to the finish-line goody bag - a dizzying hill greets me.
Powering up the incline, my legs burn and I can hear myself making some kind of guttural wheezing noise as it takes every ounce of energy I have left to beat the seemingly-vertical pathway.
Reaching the crest of the hill I am greeted, not by the cheers of awestruck spectators, but by the unwelcome site of the race photographer. Perched on a camp stool and snapping away at the passing runners, like a lazy big-game hunter taking a trip to the nearest zoo rather than the Serengeti, I sense that he has me in his sights.
Unsure whether to jauntily wave, smile or give a thumbs-up, I opt to do nothing and instead attempt to look like a serious runner who is nearing the end of a breath-taking race across the Hampshire countryside. Unfortunately, the resulting photograph tells a very different story.
Indeed, if a picture is said to tell a thousand words, then most of those associated with this particular image would be obscene. Far from appearing like a confident runner who is digging deep to finish with a flourish, I look like I am moments from death. Worse still, the angle of the image doesn't even make the hill look particularly steep.
However, this is not the first time I have been captured at my worst by race photographers. In fact, it seems to be standard practice with every race I have entered and has made me wonder whether there is some kind of a conspiracy amongst the snappers to take bad photos of me on purpose. It's either that, or I really do look like I'm about to vomit whenever I run.
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| Exhibit B |
Browsing the vast gallery of images after a race does not help matters. Every other runner appears smiling, happy, waving or powering on with a look of steely determination and the confident composure of a serious athlete striving for a PB. Anyone stumbling across my images, meanwhile, must surely think that I have somehow signed myself up for the wrong race, presumably having ticked 'half marathon' instead of '1km family fun run' and been too embarrassed to back out.
Thankfully the organisers of the Hoppit didn't charge runners anything extra to download the race photographers' output. While having to pay for the offending photos would have felt too much like paying a mugger to rob you, having them for posterity will at least remind me of the painful moments, if not of the brilliantly organised event itself.
In reality, while the pictures may have told a different story, my first race in two years was a joyous and uplifting experience, reminding me of exactly why running is so special. The hours spent on solo runs can be both challenging and rewarding, but nothing compares to the anticipation and rush of endorphins that comes with competing. The thrill of running with others, to achieve an entirely personal time, is unattainable in any other setting and has been missed by us all during these long lockdown months.
Thank God, running races are back.
As for the race photographers, I'm pretty sure I'll be maintaining a social distance from them for years to come!
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