Race Report
The Worthing Half
IT’S A BRIGHT, BREEZY
February morning and we’re gathering on the Worthing seafront, on England’s south coast, for a half marathon. Grand Regency buildings with stuccoed porches line the road and the art deco pier juts out over the shimmering sea, where gulls wheel and cry.
With a field of just over 1,800 runners, Worthing is considerably smaller than its easterly rival (Brighton had more than 7,000 runners in 2018), but it’s certainly not short on big-race feel, with closed roads, slick marshalling and well-equipped drinks stations.
The smaller field also makes logistics a breeze – we parked in a spacious multi-storey car park for a very reasonable £3 and walked to the start (where the loos were plentiful) in less than five minutes. A perfect set-up if, like a finely tuned racehorse (or, indeed, me), you require a hassle-free race morning to get in the zone.
When the town crier ‘Oh Yays’ us into action, we set off west along the seafront, with the Salvation Army band playing its heart out on the prom. Before I’ve even had a chance to start stressing about the stiff headwind, we veer off into the relative shelter of the town, where the course twists and turns and doubles back on itself, yet somehow still manages to feel fast. Talking of fast, the Worthing Half’s motto reads, ‘There’s flat… and then there’s Worthing.’ It is indeed as flat as the Netherlands and, without wishing to reveal just how boring my conversations with my husband can be, is run on a surface so smooth and even that we both commented on it after the race. I believe I may have revealed too much…
As we wind our way along the wide residential streets, there’s a nice sprinkling of supporters out to watch our progress. Looking at the route map afterwards, it’s surprising to see what a grand tour of the town we had already taken before arriving back on the seafront almost exactly where we started – but this time seven miles into the race.
We head west again, back into the stony-hearted headwind, but as runners start to appear on the return leg, I reassure myself that I too will soon be coasting along with that same wind pushing at my back. I rally when I hit the promenade and see the finish line up ahead, managing to clock a RB (my newly invented ‘recent best’ – it is too a thing).
An hour later, we’re enjoying an excellent flat white at Small Batch Coffee, courtesy of the voucher in the goody bag, and poring over the results, which are already online. Back on the seafront, the kids’ events will soon be underway – a mile race for those 10 or under, and a 3km for 11-17-year-olds. Sensible scheduling for a family day out.
I’ve always been a fan of seafront races, and not just because of their flat profile; being beside the seaside fills me with a nostalgia as sweet as candy floss. And who wouldn’t want to ease race-weary legs with a paddle in the sea?