Wednesday 16 April 2014

Brighton Marathon 2014

So here it is. My post about the Brighton Marathon. A little later than I'd hoped but I experienced something after the race which prevented me from getting my thoughts on the whole thing out. I will try and put that into words later... I get mindful of rambling too much...

A couple of my friends from work were going to be at the race (one - Colin - as a pacer, the other - Tom - looking after lots of pacers and the athlete who would go on to finish second). I had to tell them that I was taking part in the race as there was no doubt I'd see them there.

I spent the Friday before the big day at work, completely unable to concentrate on anything. The feeling was very similar to how you feel pretty much all the live-long day on Christmas Eve when you're a kid, an excited and more than a little bit desperate churning inside. You know something big is coming, you can't wait to tear off the wrapping paper but you don't know if it's going to be the He-Man Snake Mountain with voice changing wolf head and working trap door that you wanted or just a poo in a box.
Best. Present. Ever
We set off early Saturday afternoon, arrived in a chilly and slightly blustery Brighton around 2pm and pegged it straight to the expo to collect our race numbers. There weren't really any bargains to be had at the expo but I did treat myself to a pair of hot pink calf guards.

Brighton is somewhere we really enjoy spending time. Mostly going to pubs, dribbling over the guitars in GAK, going to more pubs and spending far too much money in Dave's comics so it was very strange to be there and not have those things to do. We sat quietly in a cake shop scoffing carb loading with lemon sponge and milkshakes and watched it absolutely bucket down outside.

We both managed a pretty good night's sleep and woke on time to a very grey and overcast but thankfully dry sky. After a pre-race brekkie of peanut butter and honey bagels, his accompanied by a banana and mine by a nice healthy Mars Bar (I'm allergic to bananas, you know), it was race gear on and out the door. We followed the snake of people wearing running kit up to Preston Park, dropped our bag off at a truck, donned our bin bags and joined the queue for the loos. Someone had left an orange in the one I used. I did not take it with me.

Not entirely sure where time had gone, we had no time to take in the atmosphere (or get nervous) as it was coming up to 9:15am - showtime! As we walked up to the red start pen the gun went off and BAM we were running a marathon. Just like that. Blokey didn't even have time to get his Garmin going... We ran across the line past Paula Radcliffe (amazing hair) and within the first 150 meters or so found ourselves at a bottle neck, which forced everyone to stop and walk. This happened a couple of times but cleared up super quickly and we were on our way.

The route took us round some pleasant residential areas with some nice looking shops I'd never seen before (including a clothes shop selling 'road kill couture') with a couple of gentle inclines before guiding us towards town. The streets were lined with people and as we ran past the Pavillion I heard our names being hollered from a traffic island full. Tom from work was waving and shouting very energetically which gave us a lovely boost. He also very kindly took some pictures (blokey is the chap wearing yellow and a beard).

I can't remember an awful lot about the first 8 miles or so but as we ran up the seafront towards Ovingdean the elite men's field were already coming back towards us. I spotted Colin doing his thing, waved like a loon and he nodded and gave me a solemn fist pump. Past the marina, up a fairly long incline, past a boarding school that like more like a lair for spies and up to Ovingdean. Conversation between us died down so, to lift the mood, I recounted the thrilling tale of how someone had left an orange in the portaloo. He said I should have eaten it. I said I could have eaten it because the skin would have protected the fruit from the toilet germs. A man turned round and I thought he was going to tell us to be quiet but instead he explained how he ran his marathon PB after eating a banana he'd found on the floor in the race village...

We'd loosely planned to go through the halfway point in 1:55 and I decided to keep quiet that we were actually two minutes ahead of schedule. We were both doing really well and I decided not to ruin the atmosphere with facts. Instead we ear-wigged a conversation between three guys, one of whom was advising his friend to remember that either "Charlie might have sh*t the bed" OR "Charlie might be sh*t in bed". Either way I wasn't sure what comfort this guy's friend was supposed to be taking from this. Back towards the crowds and I felt very sorry for the owner of the dog that was nomming on a discarded packet of orange flavoured energy gel.

We ran some more, people cheered a lot and we were suprisingly on course for what my running maths were telling me could be a 3hr 45min finish. Through Hove, past a band of children (whose singer would no doubt soon find himself victim to puberty) playing 'Word Up' and that was when it hit me: we only have single figures left to go.

I had heard that the road leading up to the power station was pretty bleak but had no idea until we were running up it that it had been dubbed the Road to Hell. We ran towards a group playing some awesome tribal sounding drums but, as we went past, they went quiet and, in a strange turn of events, all us runners began shouting "keep going!!" to the drummers. As we ran around what I think was some kind of industrial estate blokey began to flag. I tried to cheer him up to keep him going but he doesn't really respond well to that kind of thing.

At around 22 miles the route starts to head back to the sea front and he took a short walk break but managed to start up again.Then he stopped again and told me to carry on without him. I made the mistake of telling him to dig deep, there was little more than 5k to go and it would all be over, he'd never have to run again if he didn't want to. He told me he'd been digging as deep as he could since half way and had nothing left. I managed to get him going once more but then he stopped a third time and I knew that was it, I was going to finish this thing by myself.

I was terrified.

Off I went; I couldn't look back because I knew that if I did that I would stop for good too and he would be really upset with me. I got back on pace (we'd been averaging 8.27 minute miles for almost the entire way), shut my emotions off and let my legs get on with it. 23 miles, 24, 25... Someone had told me that the pier was the finish line and as I rounded the corner at the 26 mile marker I was literally distraught that the finish was nowhere in sight. For some reason this infuriated me and out of nowhere my legs just took off, desperate to finish. I'd later learn that I ran my final mile at 7:31 pace. I've never done the 'picking people off' at the end of a race before but everyone in front of me I just wanted to take down.

 

I saw Tom waiting at the finish gantry and ran towards him, stopping my Garmin at 3:51:12. He surprised me by yelling "keep going you haven't crossed the finish line!" but by then I had lost 14 seconds, crossing the chip mat in 3:50:26.

Someone put a medal over my head, Tom put his arms around me said "you did it - you ran a marathon!" but all I could think about was blokey and worry about where he was and how I would find him. Two minutes later he ran across the finish and someone put a medal over his head. He promptly took it off. We were given some breakfast biscuits, said goodbye to Tom and made our way to the Beach Village to get a beer. I had to dunk my breakfast biscuits in my beer just to be able to chew them. Classy.

 


After at least three beers (each) and many, many tears (just mine) we walked up to cheer the last few runners home. We yelled for them, we clapped and shouted their names, told them they were nearly there (they really were) and then headed back to our hotel, packed up and went home and just like that, it was all over.

To be continued...





Thursday 3 April 2014

Three more sleeps.

Three more sleeps.

That's all that's left between me, blokey and Brighton Marathon. I say 'all that's left' but in reality it feels as though this week is never going to end. Ever.

I can't say that I'm enjoying taper time. I've become used to running higher mileage and I feel a bit tubby and lethargic from running so much less and when I do run I'm finding it difficult to take it easy. But I haven't truly suffered from taper-madness which I feel truly lucky about and I think there are four reasons for this.

Tapier madness!
The first is that I know I have trained hard. I do think that I could have done some more and I'm sure that's natural but I was there for every single one of those tempo runs, all of those double run days, both of those 20 milers and most of the sessions on my training plan are ticked off. There is nothing left that can be done about the ones that aren't. I am at peace with that. Today.

I have had two episodes of bravery failure, both prompted by the fact that I read the marathon guide. Both times I had a marathon nightmare that night. In the first, the marathon was a three lap race in and around a huge stadium. When you completed a lap you had to do it again but backwards. It was dark by the time I finished and everyone had gone home. Then I dreamed that blokey won a spot prize and we were allowed to start in the elite pen. He went to the front and left me behind and I got trampled by the next wave. Make of that what you will.

Read at your peril!

The second reason is because I have managed to keep this endeavour under wraps. The lovely Katie of Splutter and Roll asked me on Twitter why I am doing this in secret and the question did make me wonder whether I just being a bit precious but my recent 'episodes' have cemented in my mind that I have done the right thing.

I work with some truly amazing honest-to-goodness athletes. The guy who sits opposite me at work is a 2:17 marathon runner. The guy who sits next to me may have retired from athletics now but still thinks, on the occasion that he does run, that 6 minute miles are a bit slow. Where I work, anything under 16 minutes for 5k is considered a bit slow.

Yep.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think that if they knew what I was doing they would think I was stupid. I know they would be extremely supportive and would give me some wonderful advice. And therein lies the problem. Every time I give the marathon proper airtime I just go into meltdown. The reason I can cope with taper is that I don't have people constantly asking if I'm ready for Sunday, no one is telling me nightmare stories about their marathon and no one is being indifferent to what I'm trying to achieve. Quite simply: I don't have to deal with the fact that on Sunday I will attempt to run 26 uncharted miles.

Reason number three is this blog and the subsequent people I have encountered through it both in real life and on Twitter / The Running Bug / UK Runchat. Talk about the kindness of strangers! I was actually very lucky recently to meet ASD and Si from the 100km to Brighton blog. These guys are so full of enthusiasm for the task ahead and have thrown themselves into it so wholeheartedly that you would have to be made of stone not to take on some of their buzz. I'm sure that anyone who reads this (if anyone does at all) already knows of these guys but I urge you, if you can, to sponsor them as they are really earning every penny for their charity, Tree of Hope.

I was also completely rumbled by Tess 'FitBits' Langley. I do hope I get to meet her at the weekend.

The final reason is because ultimately, I know and accept that none of this adventure has really been about me. It's all about blokey. And I say with a heavy heart that I feel like I've failed him in some way. If not for an idea of mine in the pub to conquer his insomnia I wouldn't even be writing this now. Marathon training appears to have no positive effect on this part of his life, in fact the long run days have actually made it worse. Regardless, he has put so much effort into meeting the sessions on the training plan. He looks fit and healthy. He's been so tenacious throughout and has rarely complained about the process and it turns out he's really good at running. He seems quite unfazed about Sunday and if he's not worried then why should I be?

We will do this. We will do this together. It won't be easy but we will get it done, put our medals on and head to the pub. It's what we do.

Funny thing is that secrets must be my thing because he doesn't (to my knowledge) know that I'm even writing this blog...

Photo courtesy of Born to Plod