Valencia 2018 From the inside

Sunday, 8am - We’re running along the former Turia riverbed. Signs denote exactly where we should run. The blue line from yesterday’s race is vivid, but there is little else to remind us that last night two new World Half Marathon Champions were crowned. There are some small rises and our pace quickens. We pass the willowy figure of Sonia O’Sullivan and join the Italian team manager. In the warmth of the morning, our pace slows as we leave the park and join the adjacent boulevard. We will continue for another hour. After all, for this one weekend we are residents of the self-proclaimed Ciudad del Running.

Saturday 14:17 - Our hard-earned press accreditation is finally handed over. We find the necessary booth after a protracted walk around the expansive City of Arts and Sciences in Valencia, which is where, with accreditation in hand, we choose to take a moment to reflect, soak up the atmosphere and grab a coffee. After travel disruptions postpone our arrival to just hours before the starting pistol fires, this feels like the first victory of the IAAF World Half Marathon Championships.

15:32 - The photographer’s briefing progresses slowly and we realise our yellow bib is of little value. More for show than anything else. The teams are already arriving, ducking surreptitiously into the underground warm-up area, where each gets a cordoned-off booth.

The mass race runners – what feels like all 15,000 of them – are keen to spot the favourites. Putting aside thoughts of their own warm-up in favour of an awkward selfie. A popular spot appears to be outside of the elite runner’s portaloos.

15:55 - There’s no shortage of photographic inspiration. The enormous exoskeletal structure of the City of Arts and Sciences is a deeply impressive sight. Over budget and controversial it may be, but today it provides the perfect backdrop. From our shady vantage point under the starting bridge, tensions are high in the build-up to the races – with build-up being an apt term: there are teams of construction workers still erecting everything needed for the live coverage of the race.

16:17 - The wind is building too, and the unsettled air lashes at all present. However conducive this flat course is to quick running, there’s little that can be done to counter such a headwind. Marshals lament the bad timing - the forecast is for calm conditions tomorrow, while camera crews prepare for the predicted rain with a deft professionalism that shows they’ve done this all before. The question on the lips of many in the press centre is whether the wind will permit fast times. It’s doubtful. We swiftly depart the press centre, leaving behind the ransacked snack bar and its bad coffee. Race time approaches.

16:55 - We split up to get more locations as the TV helicopter buzzes into the air. The crowds are building impressively, with locals of all ages thronging the sidewalks. The Cuidad del Running branding is looking more and more credible. The elite women are called to the start line. The usual race-day nerves are discernible in their hops and arm swings, a spontaneous symphony of movement which gets no-one any closer to the finish line. The glowering wind gathers.

17:05 - The gun sounds, launching a wave of the world’s best women off to do battle against each other, the course, and the elements. Fewer than 150 of them, they’re dwarfed by the grandeur of the surrounding buildings and the wide bridge. Many locals have chosen to use balconies to get a better view. With the first 12km being run into the wind the likelihood of personal bests is reduced, but a major tailwind for the final 5km could be a game-changer.

17:20 - Eyes gaze at the screens showing the women’s race whilst ears focus on the commentator building up the crowds ready for the start of the men’s event. The times for the women’s first 5km are reflective of the weather. Groups are already cemented and it’s clear that the final stages will be where the race is decided.

17:30 - Just a few kilometres apart, the men’s race starts under the same sudden shower that soaks the women’s field as they head to the 9km mark. The sharp crack of the gun is followed by the cheers from the crowd and releases a seemingly endless line of runners that marches across the Monteolivete Bridge. With only a few notable absentees, we’re excited to see how this world class showdown will play out. In the mass race, the runners seem more focused on spotting photographers, and almost every third runner waves at us.

17:33 - The women pass 9km. They are visibly battered by the wind and unexpected cold. The eyes of many betray their internal battles, the desire to shut everything out and just focus on their stride. Judging by the size of the groups, it looks like cycling tactics are at play. Just wait until the tail wind, they tell themselves.

17:55 - The shower intensifies into a downpour as the lead men stream around the roundabout at Plaza de Zaragoza. Their arrival at this point of the course is greeted by almost horizontal rain chased into their faces by the spiteful wind. A group of 70 race by. Shooting low, we feel the panic in the group as a succession of turns disrupts the rhythm of the tightly packed mass. In the midst of the national vests we spot a flash of a mass race number that seems misplaced. We reason they must have jumped in and will soon be dropped. We’re not on world record pace, but it’s a testing pace; the gaps that have opened to the groups further back show that. When the race turns towards the finish, those already digging deep will really feel the pace.

Darting across the road and crossing the bridge over the dry Jardi del Turia riverbed we beat the women’s race to their 19km. With seconds to spare they pass by and it’s evident that this wind is now more generous. The groups have disintegrated as the formbook has played out. Jepkosgei, the sensation of 2017, is prominent, but she is headed by the less heralded Netsanet Gudeta [Kebede] who forges ahead. The Ethiopian team coaches are jubilant, rather prematurely celebrating her victory.

18:11 - Not so premature. Gudeta crosses the line in 66:11, a stunning women’s only race World Record and earns herself a substantial paycheck.

18:15 - Tonight the clocks go forward and the light is starting to fade. Even here in southern Spain. Long shadows cloak the race and the headlights of the lead car shine brightly as the men’s race breaks open. With the tailwind now urging them on, the leading men accelerate punishingly and as predicted the huge lead group is decimated. It’s all out from here.

18:30 - Marking a hat-trick of World Half Marathon titles with a wide smile, Geoffrey Kamworor is a picture of Zen-like composure as he strides to the finish. Perhaps it’s a knack picked up from his mentor Kipchoge; certainly it’s sign of true class. He has covered the final quarter of the race at such a shocking, unprecedented pace that his splits cause double takes across the globe. Chasing him in is Cheroben, last year’s Valencia Half Marathon winner, and in quick succession behind him we see the rest of the top 60 flash by in ones and twos.

18:50 - The mass race continues to stream in unabated. International runners seem in awe of the course and great spectators: “Better here than at London”. Inside the press centre the women’s podium are being interviewed. We pick up some snippets that will soon be appearing in the press around the world. With splits in hand, we start to piece together the events of the race - a story that will upload into full focus while processing the images later. Just outside the main press conference we observe an interview with Carles Castillejo, our mysterious mass race runner, who has become the main Spanish story of the race.

Sunday, 7am: We trace our route through the Turia riverbed, still tired from the late night of work. It isn’t your usual city park clientele. The few local joggers (Spanish time, remember) that have ventured out are outnumbered by a significant proportion of the world class athletes we’d watched the night before. Without start places or specific numbers this morning, the markers denoting mastery are still there if you look: the efficient, graceful strides that promise speed - even if we’re all moving rather slowly this morning.