Location: Bonny Glasgow
Who’s there?: Ally n Tom
When?: 5th-7th October 2024
As part of my training programme for the November Pan Pacs footy in Queensland, I entered young Tomster G & I for the Glasgow half marathon. That was way back in January….and now, after many months of high intensity rollercoaster running-injury sessions, the weekend has finally arrived! Hurrah! Errr, and a big gulp, as training really has not gone well for me. In fact, I’m still carrying a bit of a strain so had to stop running a few weeks ago hoping it’ll miraculously be better by race day tomorrow. Not making excuses, but I’m not 100% sure I can run 🙁 ….but I know I will.
Figure 1: Glasgow is still miles better & I’m now miles slower
We arrive in the world’s best city around lunchtime and soak up the atmos, ahead of race day. There are a few ‘fun run’ things going on for kids and various bits n bobs. Loads of athletic running looking people who were on our bus from the airport, all stretching out in their sporting togs and chatting about PBs, couscous and acacia seeds. I spot Greggs at the corner of George Square. Hmmm. Ye cannae beat a bit of Greggs. We look in silence at the long steep hill we’ll be running up tomorrow, only 100m from the start line, which is right next to said immensio bakery.
Figure 2: Gee, we’re sort of looking forward to the Reat Scottish Run tomorrow
Normally, we’d pay homage to the city on our pilgrimage with a few scoops at a local hostelry, but as we’re professional athletes we understand the importance of pre-race day, so we go see the newly released and much anticipated Joker part deux. We stuff our faces with a bucket of popcorn, chocolates and crusps.
And it’s a disaster film! How come no-one told us The Joker deux was a musical? Absolutely gash – no plot, no meaning, just an embarrassing song fest for Lady Ga Ga fans. We exit the cinema five hours later, drained and flabbergastedly disappointed, but pleased to be back in Glasgow’s city centre.
Figure 3: This one is disappointingly mince, no joking.
Wobbly start to the weekend. Ah well, at least we’re in the city centre, with our wonderful, reliable, home-from-home TraveLodge just around the corner. We wander down a packed Argyle Street, full of the usual hustle and bustle of Saturday avo shoppers, buskers and drinkers. Police sirens are going off everywhere. I shut my eyes and breathe in deeply, taking in all the noises and smell of the city that’s twinned with Gotham. Oh, I belong tae Glasgow, dear Old Glasgow town. It’s good to be back home.
A couple of kids run out from a phone shop, and 10 police persons chase after them from their screeching and skidding van. The boys are fast though, so they’re gone in a flash. Sirens and running police are everywhere, although we find it’s nothing to do with the tear-away boys. Round the corner the road is blocked off at top and bottom. There are streams of ambulances, police vans, barking dogs and officers commanding everyone to stay away, like they should do outside Celtic Park. Nae chance we’re moving, we want our money’s worth. 10,000 Weedgies peer down the road and point to a man conked out on the pavement, being treated by paramedics.
Figure 4a: Peelers on wheelers
Rumours abound from:- ‘bombs gone aff at Central’, to ‘somebody shot that man and he’s a terrorist wi a rucksack oan. I saw him coming ooot ae Marks and Spencers wi a triple pack o’ sandwiches – ye know the prawn wan and the bacon and egg, and the ham and cheese combo?’
‘Aye, ah dae mate. Had it fur ma Christmas dinner wan year.’
‘Well, he hud that and a dirty big rucksack wi a bomb in it.’
‘Oh, really mate. I cannae believe that.’
‘Aye he did.’
‘Ur you sure? Cos the ham and cheese wan is minging.’
‘Aye, right enough, maybe it was beef. Anyway, if ah see him all boot his baws, whether he’s a terrorist or no’. Nae right tae blow up this place. This is oor city. Come ahead ya bas!’
‘Get back!!!!’ shout the police, who have their batons out now, as we all push in further, camera phones raised like the fists of socialist workers, powerful and undeterred, but ultimately futile.
Figure 4b: Ye just cannae mess with Weedgie polis.
We check into the Lodge and head oot to Spoons fur wur dinner. We spend a good 30 seconds or so choosing our night-before meal, ignoring the vast array of tempting beers on offer. As it’s a balmy 10 oC, we join our fellow patrons and take a table outside, just like they do in Milan and other city-of-culture awarded places, including Hull and Liverpool. We keep our eyes on the prize and have durty big burgers and chips, washed down with copious amounts of fresh Irn Bru – tastes so much better in Glasgow. We burp loudly into the warm Glasgow air and are ready for a good kiperoonie ahead of our big day tomorrow.
Figure 5: Pre-run meal of champions.
Figure 6: Glasgow’s magnificent George Square
We wake bright and fresh as daises, with only the faint aroma of stale farts in the air. Tom finishes knitting his t-shirt and before we know it, we’re down on the streets, ready for the big run.
Figure 7: Tom does an all-nighter, knitting his t-shirt; he completes it just in time
I still don’t know if I can run properly, so have loaded with anti-inflammatory pills and pain killers, and slathered most of my body with deep heat and voltaren, remembering to Vaseline my brows to stop sweat in my eyes, carefully keeping my man parts clear of all aforementioned ointments, alongside a strict curfew on nose picking. I decide to carry a tube of deep heat around the course as I might need to stop for a fresh application. Normally, I’d be very confident of running a half mara, having done a few over the decades, including London last year, and solid training – but this time I’m a bit uncertain and I think this one will be my last.
Figure 8: Nervy pre-race tension on the streets of Glasgow
Figure 9: In the queue waiting to start, with the sight of several eager nutters on their way up hilly St Vincent street
And we’re off, with over 30,000 like-minded idiots! Tom and I don’t run together, for obvious reasons, and very soon the wee man is out of sight. The flat bit to the hill feels ok – can’t actually run too fast as it’s so mobbed, but can’t feel any pain. Hurrah! Sadly, 2 meters onto the hill and groin/adductor has gone again – bollocks! This is gonna be a long 13.2 miles. One thing about distance running is negative thoughts are a massive no-no. I do my old trick and count to 100 as I try to make it up the steep road. Just got to get to the top – keep going. There’s an immense drumming band to my right near the summit, which is a great distraction, and keeps me moving forward. Although I’m struggling, I’m overtaking loads of people. Made it.
I just keep going. Playing all the usual mind tricks – like ‘in two mins time I’ll be halfway to one kilometer’; the ever reliable ‘counting trick’; and, if I’m really stuck, I try singing the Love album by The Cult in my head. This all works of course, diverts thoughts of pain onto other matters.
Figure 10: All you need is Love (by The Cult) when running is toooooooo strenuous
It’s great ‘running’ over the flyover, with the Clyde below, and getting a superb view over my home city. Something you can only do during a run, like when the polis are chasing you.
The Km slowly drop off as I make uncomfortable steady progress.
Couple of key highlights…
- Overtaking loads of much younger and fitter looking strugglers going up the hills in Pollock Park. I’ve always got something in the tank on hills. Get in there!
- Spotting Jonathan Thompson (Two Doors Down), who’s a good 5Km behind me, when the road snakes back in the opposite direction. He’s a fellow bluenose as well. Hurrah!
- Finally getting rid of the very annoying lady who is a run-walk practitioner. She’s sprinted past me umpteen times to my great annoyance, then I overtake her when she’s walking, then she sprints again. It’s been going on for a good few miles now. I decide I have had enough of her and this time when she starts sprinting past me, I sprint too, overtaking her. When I drop to my normal pace she’s way behind (I think) and walking – I don’t see her again. If you should ever read this – you know who you are. I present you with two fingers in yer face madam! Do not mess with an angry 54 year old, experienced runner in his home town!
- Catching a view of beautiful Ibrox from around Paisley Road West – we’ll be there in a few hours for the match. What an inspiration for the masses.
Figure 11: The supremely talented Jonathan Watson, fellow blue nose and runner extraordinaire
As the finish line thankfully closes in with 5Km to go, I’m feeling a wee bit knackered but some kind old lady offers me a liquorice allsort. I know my wee mammy told me never to take sweets from strangers, but I feel I need something for a boost. Besides, if it’s laden with crack cocaine or ecstasy that might help my aching body. I haven’t stopped once in over 90 minutes of painful steady running, and I am determined not to ‘walk for a wee bit’ as that could be my downfall. I soldier on, hearing a shout of ‘go oan yersel’ Alexander!!!!’
‘Ah cheers mate.’ I smile back and nod. I feel a million dollars and up my pace to 0.5 mph.
I’m brought back down to earth rather quickly as the comedian continues… ‘ya big auld fanny ye!’
I laugh. Glasgow humour is hard to beat.
Ahead, I spot three guys running alongside each other, chatting and sort of in my way. For some reason I find them very annoying, maybe because they’re laughing and chatting whilst I’m dying. They’d overtaken me a while back but they’re well and truly in my sights now as we’re on the closing 200m.
I round the bend just behind them and onto the home straight. They’ve got their 6 arms raised in jubilation.
Aye that’ll be right ya bunch o’ bawbags! From deep inside, some demonic voice commands me to do a sprint finish. Giving everything, I wonder after about 3 seconds if I should not have done this as my heart is beating like the clappers, my legs like jelly. Somehow, that thought has the opposite effect and I speed up further, overtaking them with 10m to the line. Get it right up ye!!!!
I virtually collapse at the finish but somehow stagger to the bag area. Like a drunk man who’s been in the Saharah without a camel.
Need food and beer.
Wee man probs finished half an hour before me and I know I’ve done my slowest ever half mara, but nonetheless I have done it. Painful and slow but no stops and a sprint finish. Best of all, it’s on my home turf. Good result!
Figure 12: me at the finish- legless already & not even had a beer yet
Figure 13: Fairly pathetic finish time, but all things considered not too bad. I beat 18,000 people
On wobbly legs I meander slowly back to the Lodge, having picked up a few scoops and grub for us to tan in the room. From the finish at Glasgow Green, it’s only about a mile, but the legs are well peed off with me and can’t be bothered moving. Wee man did a good time, well below 2 hours and is barely out of breath. Oh, to be young. Mind you, at his age I could never have run that far.
We find our Rangers match is now kicking off at 8pm and the local council/SNP/fascist dictatorship have decided that the subway will close as a normal Sunday at 6pm. That’s despite the fact 50,000 people need to use it to get to the game. Bastardos!!!!
We make the executive decision to catch the 530pm subway, even though we’ll be there 2 hours before kick-off, with not a lot to do. Indeed, we’re so early, even the players have nothing to do. Tomster G spots Robby Matondo and they have a piccy together. I’d have one too, but he’s pants and certainly didn’t look injured to me.
Figure 14: Great footy talent:- skill, dexterity and left-footedness. Matondo is there too.
The game is a drab affair, with the King’s eleven comfortably winning 2-0. We do well not to fall asleep.
Figure 15: Yawn-fest at Rangers vs St Johnstone match
As the full-time whistle goes, we realise we’ll need to walk back to the Lodge. It’s a good 3 miles away from the stadium. My legs tell me no effin’ way! They’re staying seated. To be fair, it does only take us 90 minutes to arrive, tired and weary outside our home for the night. We make our way to the lift, skipping a traditional Scottish Stella night cap.
‘The lifts are oot o’ order’, barks the receptionist.
‘Whaaaat? You’re joking. We’ve just done a half marathon and walked back from Ibrox.’
‘You’ll need to take the stairs.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake – we’re on the 7th floor!’
I glance at my phone which advises I’m taking more steps today than I normally do. No schectobar Sherlock! It’s on 40,000 already! Ah well, at least once we do these 7 flights it’ll be hello snooze ville.
Figure 16: More steps than an army of centipedes doing a line dance
We shuffle up the stairs in silence and collapse on our beds.
Before I know it, I’m dreaming I’m Ally Wells, Scotland’s number one sprinter – and I’m overtaking Seb Coe and Usain Bolt and Steve Ovette for the gold medal. Yassss! The gun goes off to salute me, World Champion!
Hold on a second, that’s not a gun, it’s an alarm!
Holy moly, it is as well – it’s a fire alarm. There’s a loud knock at the door and we’re told to evacuate immediately!
Oh bollocks.
It’s gone midnight, so we’re both a tad disorientated. Fortunately, our emergency heads kick in and we leave all our possessions behind, aside our most important valuables, our Rangers scarves.
We join hordes of fellow guests – young, old, fat, thin, disease-ridden and healthy, drunk n sober, illegal immigrants and those escaping jail – mostly pyjama clad, shuffling down the flights of stairs.
We’re all hopeful it won’t be too long. Unfortunately, it’s peeing outside, and our assembly point is across the road, behind old cone-head.
Figure 17: High drama in Glasgow – TraveLodge & evacuees, cone-head & MOMA shelter.
It’s half past midnight now and we’re a tad chilly and absolutely knackeroonied. The fire brigade won’t let us back in the hotel until they’ve checked every room. They also don’t know if everyone is at the assembly point. Chances are some people are out on the town or maybe left and gone elsewhere. But until everyone is accounted for, we must stay put. Doesn’t appear to be an actual fire though, so hopefully that’s good news.
At 2:30am our morale is below below. It’s so late even the Blue Lagoon has closed. The Travelodge Manager has been taken from his bed at home and brought to the scene. He kindly addresses us all, giving us a very insightful and empathetic update.
‘Ah don’t know whits going oan. Any questions?’
‘Aye when the eff can we get back tae oor beds?’
‘Ah don’t know. As I said, ah don’t know whit’s going oan. Thanks for your questions. Ah’ll be taking nae mair questions the noo.’
We are all walked down to an adjacent hotel and left to wait in a spare conference room. There’re not enough chairs for everyone, so loads of us crash out on the floor trying to get a kip. It’s chaos, especially for the dear elderly folks, who need to get back to their rooms for meds, teeth, colostomy bags and blue rinses etc.
The wee man koncks out on the floor. He’s an expert floor sleeper.
At 5:30am we are told we can leave but cannot go back to our rooms. The receptionist at our hotel will get our stuff for us.
Aye, that’ll be shining bright. We sneak back to the Lodge and somehow manage to get ourselves back in our room and into bed. We get a solid 2 hours kick before our door is burst open by angry staff.
‘You’re not supposed to be in here! Get your stuff and get out! Now!’
We’re too knackered to say anything so we obediently follow their instructions.
The lobby and breakfast area is like a scene out of the titanic but without the ship bit, people everywhere dazed and exhausted. Obviously, we’re not getting any breakfast, but as an alternative we each receive an ice-cold bottle of water to keep us warm.
It’s all a bit of a disaster.
We realise there’s no point hanging about, so we leave and wander to a Starbucks for breakfast. After that, there’s nothing for it but the airport and crashing there, indulging in the mighty Greggs that’s thankfully open all hours.
Luckily, Easyjet do us proud and are only 3 hours late in taking off, so we arrive at Gatwick around 9pm. I drive us home whilst Tomster G has a much-deserved snooze.
What a marathon weekend that was, and by no half measure.
Figure 18: Nae hope, nae future, nae breakfast. Great success! High five!
See ya soon TraveLodge.
Sources
- Glasgow Live, Craig William, 25th November 2020: https://www.glasgowlive.co.uk/news/history/glasgow-miles-better-advertising-campaign-14987070
- Ally Grant photo, October 2024
- Marca, 12/10/24. The Joker. Folie a Deux.https://www.marca.com/en/lifestyle/movies/2024/10/12/670a69ce22601d21388b456a.html
- Mail Online, Ciaran Foreman/Wattie Cheung 5th October 2024 https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-13927887/Three-injured-major-incident-taxi-ploughs-shoppers-busy-Glasgow-street.html
- Ally Grant photos October 2024
- Ally Grant photos October 2024
- Ally Grant photos October 2024
- Ally Grant photos October 2024
- Ally Grant photos October 2024
- Ally Grant Mr Miaow-miaows, March 2021
- BBC Scotland, 25th January 2018 Jonathon Watson: https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/cD1XrCgY60k0PfQLFJ6P58/why-two-doors-down-is-britain-s-best-kept-sitcom-secret
- Ally Grant photos October 2024
- Ally Grant photos October 2024
- Ally Grant photos October 2024
- Rangers vs St Johnstone 6th October 2024, You tube. https://youtu.be/B6KHgaddTUo?feature=shared
- -18 Ally Grant photos October 2024