The Final Chapter (part 3)

At mile 14, I found myself beginning to lose a bit of ground from those around me. Not a lot but enough to put a halt to any communication between us. Matt was travelling nicely but working typically hard. My pace began to drop marginally – from running 6:40-6:45 pace average, I had slipped to fractionally over 7. More concerning was the amount of energy I was now having to exert just to maintain this effort. My hope of getting to 20 miles with plenty in the tank was fading faster than an equatorial sunset and I was having to dig very deep to keep going. This was not supposed to happen this early on. I expected to tire but this was far too early. By mile 16 I was working my nuts off and while I am not a vastly experienced marathon runner, (this being my eighth), I knew from previous good experiences how I wanted to be feeling at this stage and this was unquestionably not it.

I continued working hard and various thoughts cross your mind. While I was counting down the miles, I still had double figures left. On a good day and fresh that was at least another 70 minutes. The reality was that unless I miraculously got a second wind, it was going to be an awful lot longer. I broke the race down in my mind into smaller segments. Get to 20 I kept telling myself, then it’s 10K to go. That divides into 2 x 5K, in other words back to back parkruns – with support a-plenty. The downside to all the support is that there is no hiding place and your suffering is on full public view. More people were overtaking me than the other way round. In fact, I wasn’t overtaking that many people full stop!

My pace for mile 19 was still a very respectable 7:09 but inside I was gone. All the spare energy I needed for the last 10K had been used up in trying to hold on to my pace between 14 and 20 miles. I dropped to 7:52 on mile 20 and progressively slower hereon in. This is not where the race was lost. It was the six miles prior.

At the start of the race, I had fall-back goals in case the sub three marathon didn’t materialise. Matt had already bettered Dave’s club record so my next goal was a PB (3:12:26). After that it was sub 3:15 for qualification via the good for age ticket in 2017. I worked out what pace I would need to hold but I was moving increasingly more slowly and shuffling along like a man with his bum-hairs tied together trying to hold in a particularly viscous stool. The race was now about limiting my losses. I was going backwards, totally spent and there was nothing I could do about it. I was hoping my support team didn’t see me as I am sure I looked exactly like I felt – terrible! I was determined not to stop. I’ve done this before and found it very hard to get going again afterwards. At 21 miles I nearly stopped. I put the brakes on my right foot on one step with a view to halting. I dug deep and told myself not to give in and keep going. Just get to the next mile point. The countdown from 21 mentally is quite do-able. “At 22 it won’t seem as bad and you’re nearly there” I’d say to myself.

Swathes of people were streaming past me now. I saw Richard and Tricia Bunn from Peel Road Runners, both seasoned marathoners in support at some point, I couldn’t say exactly where because I didn’t need to know and everything was becoming a blur and I was starting to feel delirious. They gave me a cheer but they could see and feel my hurt and there was intense pity in their eyes. They had probably been there themselves at some point but what can you say? I also saw John Savin-Baden from Badgers. Whether this was before or after, again I couldn’t say. All I know is he was mega-enthusiastic in his support and that boosted me (for about five seconds!). I reached 23 miles and I knew I was nearly home. I was still shuffling along and trying to pick my feet up but struggling to find power in my glutes and hip-flexors in order to run stylistically and economically. To my right I saw a man being tended to by particularly anxious paramedics. He was lying flat on his back on a stretcher, unusually for a fatigued runner and was as white as a sheet. It is highly probable that this was the soldier, David Seath, who tragically lost his life at this point in the race. By now, I was hot and tired, I told myself to be sensible in getting home. I was starting to wobble – I took a bottle of water and failed repeatedly to shove the teat in my mouth properly in order to drink. I continued to an underpass where I could seek both shade and refuge from the crowds.

Alone, I took a tactical decision to stop for thirty seconds. Enough time for me to drink my water and pull myself together for the final stint. It was almost like a mini treat for myself being able to stop temporarily as I was desperate to do so and was getting no enjoyment out of my afternoon whatsoever – I couldn’t wait for it to be over. When I reached mile 24 I just had one more mile to go before the last bit so I was nearly there. The stop invigorated me and while my pace was still poor (9 minute miles), at least I had halted the slide and splits were consistent after the break. I was still calculating what split-times I needed to achieve in order to reach my remaining goals. I couldn’t afford another stop and resolved to keep going. With a mile to go, the PB was still a possibility, yet it was almost impossible to impact upon my pace. At 26 miles, you are almost home but that 385 yards is a lot longer than you think. It’s another minute and a half’s worth of running.

I got to the fountain outside Buckingham Palace and had thirty seconds to get to the line. It looked miles away, the PB was gone! Close but gone. I was also gone! Matt told me London always measures long. Following the racing (blue) line is impossible due to the volume of traffic so you will usually cover a fair bit of extra distance. Last year, according to my watch, it was nearly half a mile. This year it was down to a quarter. I clocked 26.44 miles at the end which ultimately cost me a personal best but my finish time of 3:13:01 was enough to get me into next year’s race where hopefully I could right wrongs and do it properly, if I hadn’t successfully chased my sub three hour dream down beforehand. I felt no euphoria crossing the finish line. Relief that I could stop? Yes. Disappointment in failing to achieve a long held goal? Yes. Pride in what I had done? No.

I needed to analyse what went wrong and more importantly how to go about rectifying it next time around. There must be an explanation to what happened. But equally, making important decisions about the future is not best done while emotions are running high. I trudged forlornly towards bag collection, surrounded by other runners all sharing similar but differing experiences but totally oblivious to them. They were all seemed joyful, proud, happy and accomplished. The total opposite to how I felt. I thought I had nothing in common with these people yet I had everything in common with them. I was trapped in my own little bubble of gloom and I felt totally alone. Yet there was nowhere to go to actually be alone. I just wanted my own hiding place where nobody could see me. I didn’t want my photo taken, I had no interest in checking out my goody bag. I just wanted to cry.

At the end of the last lorry dishing bags back out, I found some space to sit for a moment, a few feet away from the flow of athletes pouring through. For about ten minutes, I lay on the tarmac and tried to pull myself together before facing my support crew and team mates. I had some more water and a snack before picking my belongings up and making the final short, stiff-legged journey to meet the others. It wasn’t meant to end like this.

The Final Chapter (part 2)

The first few miles went perfectly to plan. I was very relaxed and very focussed. But the first half of the marathon is the easy bit. Each mile was coming in between 6:30 and 6:45 and it wasn’t an effort to accomplish this. There were a few incidents to deal with. At mile six, my new (only used once prior) Garmin watch beeped at me to notify that another mile had been completed. I looked down at my watch to see the split time to make sure we were still on track, give myself reassurance, massage my own ego, whatever – and then ran into a bollard in the centre of the road. The congestion means that you have to concentrate where you are running and putting your feet. Cutting across to a drinks station can be a bit awkward if like me you don’t like to slow down or break stride to get a drink in. You have to move early to position yourself sensibly. Alternatively, you can ask a fellow runner to grab you one and pass it across, as was the etiquette at times. That said, it sharpens the mind and gives you something else to think about – after all, running for a long time is pretty boring.

At mile seven, a man in front of me took a big swig of water, swilled his mouth with it and gobbed it over his shoulder – right onto my club vest. I was quite angry with him but kept my cool as I didn’t want his ignorance to distract me from the task in hand. I did offer him some succinct advice about redistributing waste water in a busy race, especially while wearing headphones. He did apologise as he indeed should have, the dirty animal. I remember running the Telford 10K and getting tripped by the same woman three times in the space of 400 metres in a far less congested race and how that spurred me on to go quicker over the last bit. With nineteen miles to go, now was never the time to change gear with a drive to the line! Matt was still either by my side or a yard or two in front or behind. I pointed out a lad with Damo printed on his vest who was running but it was not the legendary Damo Taylor and if it was he was having a shocker by his standards.

Ten miles went by and the pace was unwavering. The time was 67 minutes. I felt fine – Matt said we needed to hang left at Tower Bridge as that’s where our support crew were. Kelvin Banbury from Desford Striders joined us. “You’re Richard’s brother aren’t you?” he said. He runs a similar pace to me in the league races and used to work with Karen, my sister-in-law. We ran with him for 10-12 miles. Sam Pole from Fleckney and Kibworth popped up, commenting on how it was nice to see fellow Leicestershire League athletes running here, although he jokingly questioned whether we were actually Leicestershire or Warwickshire technically as we are on the border of the two counties. He was going for a PB and looking relaxed. Bar once, I have always had the better of him in the league races but his marathon PB is better than mine. I told myself to run my own race and stick to the plan, not to get drawn into mini-battles along the way. This would only serve as a distraction.

It was disproportionately congested where we were mainly because the three hour pacer was twenty metres in front of us and as a result attracted a thick throng of people clinging to them like a cripple to a crutch. Ideally, both Matt and I wanted to be 100 metres up the road or fifty further back but we didn’t want to waste energy putting on a spurt to gain ground quickly, nor did we want to slip back while we were running a nice metronomic pace. If we had dropped back, there were two other 3 hour pacers (one from each coloured start) so we may not have been any better off. We crossed Tower Bridge and the noise levels went up several decibels. Crowds both sides of the bridge, thick with people all shouting at the top of their voices. Unless you could spot your loved ones, you would never hear them and we had Rachel Crump in our gang too – that’s how noisy it was! Matt and I ran side by side over the bridge so we would be easier to spot but we passed none the wiser.

Nicki Bowman apparently saw Matt but was typically late in telling the others about it! I was really looking forward to seeing the familiar faces at this point and couldn’t help feel disappointed that I missed them all. I knew they were in there somewhere and they wanted us to do well but I felt slightly flat for a moment. Matt missed them too so it wasn’t like at the Leicester Winter Series where just our wives were supporting (in the dark and cold I might add), Matt went through to cries of “Well done Matt!” etcetera, I was on his shoulder and no-one said a word. Apparently, it was a surprise to them that I’d be that close to him! I was a bit put out by this – I’ll be the first to admit he is a quicker runner than me, but not by a massive margin especially over a short distance like halfway round a 5K!

Halfway was the first major milestone. I reached it in just over 88 minutes. Probably one minute too quickly but over such a long distance that was not a huge worry. I wasn’t planning to “bank” time in the event of fading at the end. All my best times are run even-paced irrespective of distance. I was not racing today (going for a finish position or beating a rival for a place) – the time was everything. A small buffer was acceptable but the second half of the race was upon me and I just had to do it all again – but I would need to work for it. The plan was to get to 20 miles with as much in the tank as possible then graft and work like never before to knock off the final 10K in a semi respectable time. However, unbeknown to me at the time, the wheels were about to fall off. You’ll have to check back later for the final instalment as I need to shower and go to bed. It’s late, I’ve already led a 9 mile social run at Badgers, done a two mile dog walk and not long finished my tea tonight and I’m not 22 anymore!

The Final Chapter (part 1)

Readers of this blog have probably been wondering where the final instalment has disappeared to. My race was April 24th and now it is May 3rd. I cannot even claim to have been busy running. Since the big event, I have been out once, finishing first at Perry Hall parkrun, a pleasant and welcome surprise. Maybe it is the fact that I have enjoyed writing these posts and have put off the last one because by holding off, I still have something to look forward to – not wanting to close the book as it were. I suppose I could always carry on writing a weekly blog – there’s no law to say I can’t, but it’s nice to have a purpose I guess.

Anyway, the marathon. We got on a train from Atherstone along with a stack of people heading down for the FA Cup semi finals that were on the same weekend as the race. Standing up against a door was not ideal but there was no alternative. As an ex-London resident, the role of unofficial tour guide was thrust upon me so we hopped on the tube and had a look round Covent Garden then along to Trafalgar Square. We didn’t want to do too much. It was important to get an early night and conserve energy. It was nice being together as a group. There were around a dozen or so of us staying together and I think it helped relax the runners, especially the debutants having a bit of moral support. I know it did me when I ran my first in 2002. I was like a sponge taking in information from Neil Griffiths, a TNT employee who was a 3:30 merchant at the time. The information I was getting was priceless, yet 10 hours before a race was not the time to start learning new things to execute on race day but I was young and incredibly naïve!

I had lasagne for dinner followed by a sundae type dessert. Plenty of fluid before heading back to my room where I prepared my kit for the next day. Louise taped up my injured foot which helped and I tried to get a good night’s sleep. I was fairly relaxed and of the mind-set that I was not injured and confident of executing my sub three hour race plan which would involve running splits of 89 and 90 minutes. My friend Matt Tonks, a regular marathon runner and consistent sub-three athlete seemed to be trying hard to boost my confidence, yet I felt confident in myself, despite not maybe exuding such thoughts outwardly in the lead up. It was good that he wanted me to do well.

The morning of the race was chilly and drizzly. Early morning rain had left the streets with a wet coating, the four runners from our hotel, Jo Thompson, Karen Missen, Matt and I met in the foyer and boarded the train to Waterloo where we had to change for Blackheath. We had a moment of mini drama when the entire population of the train (who were all runners) disembarked at Charing Cross while us four remained on board. Part of you thinks that everyone else couldn’t possibly be wrong but they were simply following the guide book instructions to the letter. They were based on British Rail travel not the underground so incurred an extra change. They weren’t strictly wrong – just we were more right. I know my way around the capital fairly well having spent five years living down there – thankfully my colleagues trusted me implicitly although I did detect some nerves when the mass exodus occurred.

At Blackheath Park, we met people we knew – I bumped into an old work colleague, Stuart Stafford, who was running for Parkinson’s. Matt saw a fellow 100-marathon club member while Jo was befriended by another MIND charity runner despite her having a gob full of banana! Karen and I headed off to our start via the bag drop and toilet area. Karen later said that it helped her having someone with her at this point – it was her first marathon and her worries over logistics seemed to dissipate rapidly as London is such a well run event. It was good for me too to have someone to talk to. The alternative would have been hanging around in the park for an hour but there’s always someone else in a similar boat with whom you can strike up a conversation. Anyway, I felt I was helping so that was good. I was relaxed and calm – ready for the start.

We found our designated pens. I found my way towards the front of mine. While I find it better to be overtaking people, as I was running for a time it was important not to get stuck in traffic early on as London is a very congested affair. To start with this can help you as it provides a natural brake for when you are full of energy and probably want to head off too quickly but I had my plan in my mind – first mile at about 7:15 second about 7:00 and then knuckle down at 6:45 to halfway. I kept my bin bag on for warmth until the very last moment and a lot of shuffling took place as we edged our way to the start. There was an ironic symmetry in this as the latter part of the race was also spent shuffling albeit less pleasantly! The chap next to me had identical shoes on as I did so we joked about that and how I’d gone out of my way to keep mine clean for the race!

I got over the start line 30 seconds after the gun. The first two miles went to plan. The race was congested and I resorted to walking round tight corners such was the flow of traffic and weaving my way through many of the slower runners who were inexplicably further up-field than their athleticism and body shape would warrant. I don’t mean to come across in a derogatory way here, it is just that 95% of the time, you can accurately gauge a runner’s ability by looking at their physicality – muscle tone, athleticism, body fat percentage, posture etc. It’s obviously not an exact science but it’s right a great deal more than it’s wrong. It’s about being fit for purpose – personally, I prefer folk with a bit more chunk on them – I’m a skinny bag of bones, pretty unattractive really but very fit for purpose.

By complete fluke, the first person I saw in the race who I knew was Matt. He saw me at mile four not long after the two starts merged into one. He was about a minute ahead of me in real terms as he crossed the start line after me but that didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to race him. If he could help me get a good time then that was only going to be a good thing. I ran my own race and pace but as luck would have it, it was almost identical to the one he was ultimately running so we stuck together for a good while.

That’s enough from me tonight. I will continue with the rest of race later in the week so stay tuned to find out how things went from one extreme to another in such a short period of time. Thanks for reading and paying an interest.