Another DRC
foreign expedition commenced at 4.30am on Saturday morning, as Stuart, Anne,
Jamie, my wife Jo and I gathered before making our way to Edinburgh
airport. We met David and his sister
Rachel going through security, with the Andersons having made their way out
separately on Friday evening.
Amsterdam
was our initial destination, before a 15 minute train journey to the city of
Leiden. My inner child made himself
apparent when I saw that there was an “upstairs” on the train! And he continued his juvenile sniggering when
I saw that our ticket said that a one euro “toeslag” was included in the price!
Our
experience of the train was better than Rhona, Andy and Robbie, whose journey
on the Friday evening was subject to lengthy delays after someone decided to
throw themselves onto the tracks. I know
that you’re probably not thinking particularly clearly if things have got so
bad that suicide seems like your only option, but my view is that that is a
pretty inconsiderate way to go about it – gruesome for the train driver, and
inconvenient for the commuters and emergency services who have to deal with the
aftermath. Although I suppose there is
no nice way to find a corpse.
After
checking in before 11am, we went off for a bit of an explore. Leiden is very pretty indeed, and quite
compact, so easy to get around. Saturday
sees a large and impressive market take over the centre of town, lining the
streets by the main canal. The focus is
on quality produce (think “artisan” cheese and bread, fresh fish, flowers, etc)
rather than crappy knock-off replica football shirts or
threeforapoundthreeforapound sports socks.
This is reflected in the names of the bridges – the buttermilk bridge (the
rather singsong “karnemelk brug”), the flour bridge, the fish bridge, etc. The flour bridge has a roof to stop the flour
getting wet in the rain.
We stopped
for lunch in the shadow of the large city hall, before heading down to collect
our numbers. There was some amusement
that my number for the marathon declared me vak (“wave”) AW, while Stuart and
Jamie were vak B. It looked like I’d
been assigned an elite start on the basis that I’d declared myself as having a
race licence on the Dutch registration site – thinking that that was probably
the same as saying that I had a Scottish Athletics membership. Oops!
I was back in with “the Plebs” for the 5k though.
The small
tented village had a demonstration of bikes that were powered by an elliptical
skier mechanism. It didn’t seem
particularly natural, but was being sold as having a low-impact on joints. As opposed to a regular bike?!
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| (photo: Stuart) |
We then took
a trip through some winding side streets to the town’s castle (or “burcht”). Being Holland (Leiden is in Holland, as well
as in the Netherlands), the locals had to build a hill to which they could
retreat in the case of flood or attack, and eventually got round to putting a
circular brick wall on top. There wasn’t
much to it, but you got a decent view from the top of the ramparts. If it had been in Scotland, you’d probably
have been charged a tenner entry and felt ripped off, but since it was free it
was a pleasant way to spend 20 minutes.
Following an
Italian dinner, we made our way to the 5k, which was due to kick off at
10.30pm. The main action here was
between Andy and son Robbie. Robbie was
targeting a PB, and was also keen to beat his Dad. Andy was (rightly, in my view) not going to
go down without a fight – the passing of the torch from one generation going to
have to be earned/deserved rather than gifted.
David also seemed to be up for giving it a proper crack. For the rest of us who had entered (Stuart,
Anne and me), it was to be treated as a gentle warm up, and a fun way to see
the sights by street/moonlight.
If I hadn’t
been taking that relaxed approach I might have been a little concerned by the
allocation of the pens and the folk that were standing alongside me – vak B was
not terribly close to the front. I
decided it would be good to be forced to go slowly, but that sentiment didn’t
last long. After a mile we were passing
people who had stopped to walk, and were barely moving ourselves. There was also a lot of jostling as people
fought to recover their position – I was worried that someone might stamp down
on my Achilles, or that I’d trip over a kerb through being unsighted. Stuart and I therefore darted for gaps of
clear water where we could find them, and gradually picked our way forward.
David was
first home, with Andy winning his battle with Robbie. All were beaten by a streaker who tried to
race the winner over the line. The guy
on the mic at the finish made to interview Robbie, but “got the eyes” on
account of disappointment at a missed PB, and quickly thought better of
it.
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| (photo:Rachel/David) |
Having had a
surprisingly good night’s sleep (I even managed another hour of shut eye after
breakfast), we left the hotel on Sunday morning to light drizzle and no
wind. Perfect!
There was
time for a bit of dicking around on the podium, and a few other snaps before we
again made our way to the pens.
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| Not a taste of what was to come (photo:Rachel/David) |
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| (photo:Rachel/David) |
Now if there
is one thing that lets this race down it is the start, and specifically the way
they operate the pens. Allocation seems
to be pretty random, and does not accurately reflect the people likely to be
running fastest. This is most obviously
exemplified by the fact that David and Rhona (both looking to do a fast half)
were in vak C, behind a pen
containing the 4 hour and 4:15 marathon pacers.
Anyway, I
didn’t really have cause to complain about it because I waived my spot in the
elite pen in favour of a spot with Stuart and Jamie towards the front of the A
pen. But there was still a lot of
variety in there – including folk who had been allocated slower pens, but were
not terribly rule compliant. Spotting a
Carnethy vest made me chuckle – they get everywhere!
By the time
the gun fired the drizzle had stopped and I tried to stop the doubts creeping
into my head that it was starting to feel quite muggy. That thought took fold hold however when
Stuart removed his cap little more than a mile and a half in, and tossed it to
the pavement. Not just me then.
I settled
into a pretty decent rhythm for the first few miles, ticking along at something
like 3 hour pace. We quickly made our way out of Leiden and into the
surrounding countryside. The pattern was
then set of stretches of reasonably non-descript and very straight cycle paths
alongside fields and drainage ditches, broken up by the occasional village or
hamlet. There was precious little shade
from the increasing sun. The
entertainment in the villages was a bit of a treat though. There was a bit of a competition on to see
which village could provide the best support, and the locals were really
getting behind it. The Proclaimers “500
miles” made me grin early on, and there was a terrific 20 piece brass band
playing a lush high tempo “Only Fools Rush In” by Elvis. Plus, the fact that we all had our names on
our numbers meant that you regularly found people cheering your name and
whooping for you. All great fun. If you didn’t have to run a marathon that you
were patently not fit for!
At around 7
miles we came to a temporary pontoon bridge that the Dutch military had erected
over a canal for the race, and had then lined the banks with their trucks and
armoured vehicles. This was the split
point, with the half runners heading left coming off the bridge, with the
marathoners turning right. I noted that
David still hadn’t passed me, which shows just how much he had been held back
at the start.
On the
approach to the bridge, a guy running alongside me had said something in
Dutch. I said “sorry – Engels”, and he
then translated, “this weather!” I
agreed – it was becoming very warm – and then watched enviously as he turned
left to an earlier finish.
I could
still just about see Stuart at the far end of the longer straights, and my
watch confirmed that I was still on track, but (to paraphrase Mary) the troops
were becoming mutinous. I struck a
pretty poor bargain with myself that I would carry on to half way, aiming to do
it in around 90 minutes, and then see what happened. But everyone concerned knew full well what
would happen. Which represents an
indecently early point at which to throw in the towel.
I got to
half way at 1:31, but almost immediately started walking. Having passed by the first few aid stations
without stopping for anything, I was now going to town on them. Shots of energy drink were washed down by
chasers of water. Wet sponges were rung
out on my head, neck and in the insides of my wrists.
I got into
an ultra-esque routine of walking for 0.1 of a mile, and then trying to force
myself to run the next 1.9.
I noted that
dark clouds were starting to brew on the horizon, and hoped that they would
arrive shortly with bounteous precipitation.
Unfortunately
they arrived all too soon, driven along on a wind that had sprung up out of
nothing and would become a constant and tenacious opponent for the 10 miles
back towards Leiden.
There were
moments of levity though. At Oude-Ade it seemed like the whole village was
dressed as priests or nuns, welcoming us to Heaven. I was fervently blessed by a bishop bearing a
thurible (Nick’s word of the week). But
on leaving, the punchline became clear – a sign pronouncing 10k still to run,
and telling us we were about to enter Hell.
On
re-entering Leiden, I knew that the finish could not be terribly far away, but
there were a number of street parties to pass.
I’d been fantasising about a cold beer for some time, so it was cruel to
see it at such close quarters (mixed with the smell of barbecuing meat), only
for it to be out of reach.
Eventually
it was over. I quickly threw down two
free cups of Amstel, and immediately started to feel more human, despite a new
PW.
It turned
out that everyone was pretty disappointed with their runs, and there was
general agreement about the challenging weather conditions. We retreated to the pub to lick our
respective wounds.
One
surprising observation, from Jamie, was that Dutch ducks sound different to
British ducks – they appear to have an accent!
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| (photo:Andy) |
The rest of
Sunday was a good laugh, and gradually descended into a fog of alcohol. Jo and I stayed out much later than was wise,
eventually getting back to the hotel after 2am.
We’d fallen into a slightly surreal mix of company (after the more
sensible members of the club had departed for their beds) which included a team
of young hockey players, and the Dutch franchise holder for Boots the
Chemist. Mr Boots generously bought
rounds and rounds of drinks, while I tried to counsel the lovelorn Lawrence, an
18 year old who was convinced that kissing the object of his affections in
front of his older cooler first XI friend meant that he had irrevocably claimed
her as his own. She didn’t seem to agree
though…
Monday
morning was sore. So we waited until
mid-afternoon to get up, and eventually went out for a wander. We took a very pleasant boat trip around the
canals – effectively a private tour, as we were the only ones (bar Dan, our
skipper and guide) on a 40 seater. The
boat had a roof that could be raised and lowered on hydraulic pillars, and it
needed to very low indeed to get under some of the bridges. At several points we had to crouch in the
aisle between the seats and duck. Jo’s
squeals revealed that she didn’t think we were going to make it.
There was
lots more interesting stuff to see – possibly not a huge shock, since Leiden is
a very old city. We passed the site of
Rembrandt’s birth place, the university buildings that Einstein lectured in,
the site where in 1807 a ship loaded with 37,000 tons of gunpowder went up in a
massive explosion, the canal where a Spanish siege (which led to the death by
starvation of one third of the population) was finally relieved in 1574, and
more.
Monday
evening saw us visited by Jo’s friend Michelle, who took a train up from Delft
to see us. And it was great to catch up
with her and enjoy a nice meal.
Tuesday was
effectively another full day, as our flight was not until 21:50. We met up with Stuart, Anne, David and Rachel
for a tour around the Hortus Botanicus, the oldest botanical garden in the
Netherlands. Apparently this was the
site where the first Dutch tulip (originally a Turkish mountain flower) was
propagated. A huge early contributor to
the gardens was a German physician named Philipp Franz von Siebold, who spent
many years exploring and collecting samples from Japan. Expelled from Japan in 1829 on charges of
espionage, he was only able to return in 1859, whereupon “he promptly looked up
his Japanese wife and daughter”. Now
that’s devotion for you!
Having
enjoyed the boat trip the day before, we decided to join the rest of the Dunbars
for a second voyage, before spending the rest of the day wandering around
trying to avoid the cold weather.
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| Blankets ahoy! (photo:Stuart) |
The trip
home was pretty uneventful, and so ended another tremendous Dutch trip. Despite never having been to the Netherlands
before 2014, it is now one of my favourite places to visit for a city break. Interesting sights, friendly locals, and a
really nice vibe. Just a shame that all
of my runs there have failed to live up to the same standard.
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| Spot the difference - one is worth 8.4 times as much |
