Why the Run brings out such a passion every September
I’VE really enjoyed reading the Passionate People, Passionate Places features which have been appearing in The Chronicle and its sister paper The Journal.
It’s comforting to be reminded of places I’m familiar with but haven’t visited in what seems like months.
Take Richard Kirkman’s musings on the North Shields Fish Quay. I was born and brought up in Shields and I was pleased to see Richard give a namecheck to my favourite pub, The Staith House. And I’ve learned some new things. I don’t think I’ve ever visited Sacriston but thanks to Bryn Littleton I’m intrigued, so it’s on my post-lockdown list. When I was asked to put pen to paper myself, I wandered around a bit thinking about where to choose.
My place of birth having been done, I realised the North East place I’m most passionate about is that 13.1-mile stretch between the Central Motorway in Newcastle and the South Shields seafront. The Great North Run.
There are so many things our region does as well as any other. But when it comes to that Sunday morning in September, we do something better than anywhere else on the planet.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the Great North Run recently. It’s usually around about now that work starts on erecting the logo on the Tyne Bridge. I get a little buzz when I see it for the first time each year, again when I drive over the bridge in the run-up to the event, and once more when I and tens of thousands of others make our way across it on that late summer’s day.
But this year, thanks to this awful virus, I’m starting to think it won’t be there. There are unimaginably worse things happening in the world today but I fear our region is going to be deprived of our showpiece occasion– that day when people all over the world look at the North East and think “I wish I was there”.
My first Great North Run was in 1989, the last time the event was held in June. I remember it being a seriously hot day but this fit-as-a-lop 17-year-old who could run for ever without pain or fatigue crossed the finish line in a little over 90 minutes.
My memories of the day include not being sure where to look as men and women whipped off their running gear to have a pre-run tinkle in the bushes by the Central Motorway. “Couldn’t they have gone before they left the house?” I thought to myself, taking great pride in my ironclad teenage bladder. I was pleased with my time but to this day I kick myself for coming second in a two-man head-to-head contest I’d created in my own mind at the bottom of the John Reid Road. No bloke in a Smurf costume is going to beat me today, I told myself. Unfortunately, I underestimated the staying power and sprint finish of my blue-faced fancy dress-clad opponent. Beaten by a Smurf. I vowed it would never happen again and, to the best of my knowledge, it hasn’t.
Twelve months later and my opponent of choice was the future heavyweight champion of the world, Frank Bruno. We slugged it out, blow for blow, for almost the entire second half of the race. Eventually, Frank paid the price for going off too quickly at the start. I recall he was leading before the first underpass on the Central Motorway but, as he tended to in the ring, the big man
Frank Bruno and I slugged it out, blow by blow, for almost the entire second half of the race
John McCabe
faded towards the end. I took him around The Nook with just over a mile to go.
Much to my regret, I then missed far too many Great North Runs before getting back into it in my late 30s.
In my interregnum I was more than a little surprised when the McCabe family mantle was picked up by my mam. Ena McCabe was always a very keen walker but I don’t think she’d ever broken out of a gentle trot until at 56 years young she surprised us all and took part in the 1991 event. To almost her dying day she spoke with justifiable pride of having done the Great North Run.
The 2018 and 2019 runs were particularly special for me. Two years ago, I was joined by a third generation in the family when my daughter Emily took part. I’ll never forget the smile on her face as we met up at the finish, although some of her language was a little disappointing. It surely didn’t hurt that much!
Last year my training was going really well until Mam became quite ill and I had neither the time nor desire to prepare properly. She passed away in August and her funeral took place on the Monday before the run. I always find the Great North Run an emotional occasion and I was proud to pin Mam’s picture to my running vest that day and she got me over the line when my legs were having none of it.
So what of 2020? My plan was to run for The Alzheimer’s Society but cancellation seems inevitable.
It would be understandable but cruel if we lost the 40th anniversary of the first Great North Run. But this too shall pass and when it does, we’ll look forward to the 40th running of what is surely our Greatest North Day.