The pre-race build-up

 

So far, I've been traded comments with a gentleman in a vividly coloured spiderman suit, had a selfie taken with a man in a Shrek blazer and stood in a queue behind Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at a hot dog stand. Oh yes, Grand National day wouldn't be the same without its array of fancy dress costumes. With time getting on, it's almost noon; I feel it's time to take my place among the anticipated one hundred and fifty thousand racegoers and sample my first Aintree beer.

The pre-race build-up

I've opted for the Embankment part of the course. I'd heard good things about this iconic Aintree enclosure, which is located over the famous Melling Road, especially the stories about the incredible atmosphere it creates. From the moment I entered the compound, I knew I'd made an excellent choice. Who cares that I didn't have access to the parade ring or the Grandstand when I had access to one of the longest temporary bars in Europe. I took my place at the bar and took in my surroundings. Both Shrek, who I met earlier; heads buried deep in the Racing Post.

I drank the last few drops of my beer and decided to make my way to one of the many betting facilities on the Embankment. For every stroke of my pen on the betting slip, there was a sense of anticipation. I was pitting my wits against the bookies at what must be the most challenging racecourse in Britain.

Was I mad? Probably, but who cares, I was playing my part in an event steeped in history and tradition that has been running for over one and a half centuries.

As I handed over a bundle of twenty-pound notes, the sound of Abba's The Winner Takes It All was belting out of the enormous speakers by the entertainment section, an omen if ever I've seen one. With the first race only half an hour away I got myself settled in front of an enormous T.V. screen, to see whether the first of my seven bets placed that day were going to shower me in good fortune or hang me out to dry.

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The Big Race

Five races down and five betting slips reduced to confetti. Nevertheless, I felt a knot forming in my stomach as the race coming up next was the one, we had all made the journey for, the Grand National. Once a Viking settlement, Aintree's rampaging Danes were now replaced by one hundred and fifty thousand racegoers, eyes firmly fixed on the gentleman with the flag at the starting line. I had read more on the event prior to arriving but now I got to experience it first-hand.

There was an eerie silence seconds before the flag signalled the start of the race, soon replaced by such a roar that I swear for a moment my feet lifted off the ground. It was happening. I was witnessing forty runners making their way to the first of thirty fences stretching over four miles.

Silver Birch, winner of the 2007 Grand National

The knot in my stomach tightened with every stride as my selection Silver Birch made headway towards the front. Approaching the third last, the horse went second and led one from home. The only thing in the way now was the torturous five-hundred-yard home straight to the winning post. As Silver Birch passed the post three-quarters of a length in front, the knot released in my stomach and the breath I'd held in for the last thirty seconds of the race exploded from my aching lungs.

It was at that moment I realised what the Grand National was all about. Looking around, I saw the joy on people’s faces. People from all walks of life, from bankers to florists, from managers to shop floor workers. This is more than just about any race; it's about bringing people together to witness the greatest horse race in the world. It was now time to go home, take off my Batman suit and count my winnings.

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*Cover image courtesy of Door2Tour