All’s well that ends well

I’m not really a panicky kind of person, but in the days before the run I’d become resigned to not getting round at anywhere near my best. In retrospect I think my taper was a week too long. I was ready to go the weekend before Marathon weekend, so I really gave it the maximum effort at parkrun and my calf felt tight and twangy all week.

We had a good journey down on the train with Jaz and Tess. They went on to stay with a friend of Tess while we stayed in Southwark at the same hotel as Kay, Nicky, Vicky, Kara and John. I was quite sanguine and a little subdued the evening before the run and the lack of expectation probably helped me to relax. I considered running with Liz (much to her horror), but decided that if we ran together and my calf went then it would become her problem as well as mine and not something she should have to suffer on her first marathon. Also, I’ve not trained to be on my feet for five to six hours so wouldn’t feel confident with that.

I wasn’t chasing the carbs on the evening before, just had a relaxing, civilised meal, including a large glass of wine and an enormous flapjack followed by an early night.

Liz came with me on the train to Blackheath and we walked down to her Red start together. I went through the Blue start. After standing in the loo queue for ten minutes I heard the announcement that the baggage lorries would be going in eight minutes so had a quick dash to drop my stuff off. Bumped into David and Emma who were looking pretty relaxed and confident. When I went back to the loo queue I found that there wasn’t one as everyone had gone to the start. Heard the four minutes to go announcement as I left the loo and somehow got very close to the Blue start.

I seemed to be starting with a large group who were aiming for 3:15 to 3:30 so decided to just give it a go and see what happens. We got off to a decent start with no hold ups, and I settled into a fairly consistent pace to get round in 3:15. At this stage I was just crossing my fingers and hoping I’d get far enough round at a quick pace to be able to walk the rest if the calf did go. I was pretty much “in the zone” right from the start and could have been running anywhere. With a marathon, I’m trying to get round as quickly as possible and haven’t managed to incorporate sight-seeing and looking out for friendly faces. It would be nice to run it at a slower pace and take in the atmosphere and the sights, but I wasn’t ready to do that this time.

I went through half way in 1:38:41 which gave me an outside chance of getting round in 3:15. It started to get warm and I kept telling myself that this is England in April – it really isn’t that hot. I didn’t fully convince myself as I was pouring a fair amount of water over my head to try and keep cool and I’ve not done that before.

I lost it completely between 23 and 24 and walked for five minutes. I always walk up steep hills when I’m racing (and not so steep ones on the Calderdale Way Relay) but this was my first walk on the flat. It seemed to work though as I picked it up and kept running to the line to finish in 3:27:42. They put signs out every 200 metres to the finish starting at 800 metres and it’s the longest 800 metres in the world.

My post race wind down was much better this year than last time. I had my chip removed and eschewed the photo of me posing with the medal on the grounds that I wouldn’t buy it anyway. Picked up my bag and dogged off the bottle of water that was in the goody bag. Ate the Pink Lady (this is an apple, not a euphemism) after getting a passer by to scrape off the sticker ‘cos I was too tired to do it myself. I kept walking and linked up with another runner wearing the Age UK vest. We headed off to a nearby pub which Age UK had taken over for the day. Liz’s brother in law was already there, so I dumped my bags with him while I “enjoyed” a welcome massage. Both calves and both feet kept cramping up, but after a few minutes I was feeling more human. A large plate of chilli and rice with a side order of chips and a pint of Strongbow completed my recuperation.

Went out to mile 25 to enjoy the atmosphere at the Age UK cheering point. Cheered in some very tired runners before Liz came past looking in remarkably good nick.

So, that’s mission accomplished in terms of getting round in a decent time. The “Good For Age” is faster than I can manage, so I can’t see me going out of my way to enter other marathons. The exception would be Chicago, where Liz has some friends.

Splits were as follows:

5k 23:22; 10k 23:08; 15k 23:18; 20k 23:40; 25k 24:04; 30k 25:06; 35k 26:00; 40k 27:17; 42k 11:47.

The second half was ten minutes slower than the first half, so nowhere near a negative split, but not bad considering I had a poor last three miles.

Let the recovery begin.

The time is out of joint

Damned strange place London; some things seem wildly futuristic to my simple Northern eyes while other things seem to be outdated. The newer buildings, the fashions, the speed at which everything moves are most strange, yet I can’t remember the last time I saw the Hare Krishna mob out on the streets of a northern city, but there they were down that London like it was 1970 again.

That’s not the only contradiction either. It’s so urban, yet wildlife seems to thrive. We were sat having a coffee amidst a maelstrom of human activity yet above us a pair of Peregrine Falcons were going through their courtship rituals as if they were on the remotest of moorlands.

It’s so expansive, but I always seem to see familiar faces. If you know as few people as me, you wouldn’t expect to see anyone you know whilst casually wandering around Westminster surrounded by trillions of strangers, yet out of the blue there was Becky Hall.

The big build up is underway now that the registration thing has been done. Liz collected my number last year so this was my first experience of the Expo; it was OK, but nothing special. I used to be pretty good at acquiring freebies at exhibitions, but I came away with very little of any worth.

Travelling across London afterwards was bizarre. Usually everyone assiduously avoids eye contact, but there was a strange tribe out and about today. We identified each other by our red bags and although there wasn’t exactly bonhomie or conspirational nods, there was at least some acknowledgement of other human beings.

Traipsing round London was darned tiring and I’m feeling a wee bit trepidatious. I’m glad to have had the opportunity to collect the race number and chip and then put the marathon out of my mind with another day at work. I should be able to better keep the growing anxiety under control before returning to our wonderful capital city.

The abstract and brief chronicles of the time

A strange thing happened to me on Saturday morning. I was coming down the stairs without a care in the world when I suddenly realised that I was coming down the stairs without a care in the world. This was strange because for the last few months sometimes I’ve come down stairs favouring my left leg and sometimes I’ve come down stairs favouring my right leg. Sometimes I’ve said “ouch” on each and every step and sometimes I’ve said “ouch” only on every other step. Always I’ve come down slowly and made a conscious effort not to exacerbate a minor pull or niggle.

I’m not sure if the carefree descent has been happening for some time and I wasn’t aware of it until Saturday or whether Saturday was a breakthrough. I took it as an excellent sign that my legs had recovered from the overuse I’d given them and that tapering actually works. Armed with this carefree movement I then went out and ran a PB at parkrun in my 114th run taking eleven seconds off my previous PB.

I’m back to coming downstairs very slowly saying “ouch” on every other step and favouring my right leg, but hey, that’s marathon training.

So quick bright things come to confusion

I’ve done my last long run now so along with all the other marathon trainers I need a taper. This marathon training seems very strange; what would I want with an odd-toed ungulate? Doing a long slow run today seemed like a good idea before I set off. The legs were feeling less fatigued that at any time since East Hull, the weather forecast said rain and wind from tomorrow and everyone else seems to have run their last long run at the weekend. So, having listened to Liz and David (and Emma via David) I decided that a run along the canal from Silsden would be a fine way to finish my endurance training. My plan was to run an out and back, turning round somewhere between 10 and 12 miles from Silsden. Within the first couple of miles I’d decided that this would be at 10 miles as the running wasn’t as easy as I’d thought it would be. It’s not as if I was trying to go too quickly as I settled into a nine minute mile pace at the start and didn’t deviate from this the whole way. I guess I’d run hard on Sunday and I wasn’t as recovered from that as I thought I was. I looked for distractions all the way, but there wasn’t much variety; perhaps it was one of those rare occasions when the ipod would have come in useful.

Still, it’s done now – twenty miles in three hours. Finished with a raging thirst. Partly slaked this with a pint of shandy (don’t laugh) in the Bridge Inn in Silsden. One of the distractions along the way was imagining what would be my beverage of choice in each of the numerous canal-side hostelries between Silsden and Shipley. Just my bad luck that the one in Silsden is a pub dying on its arse. Great selection of hand pulled ales (but I don’t drink beer) and absolutely nothing else going for it. That’s not just my opinion either as the place was deserted. Was sorely tempted by the ice cream barge in Saltaire, but it was doing a roaring trade and I couldn’t wait in the queue.

Unless I’m totally confused by the concept of the taper (again) I believe I can just lounge around on the sofa eating buns and just rock up on marathon day. Can’t wait.

An improbable fiction

I’ve had a busy morning; not only did I run a 10 mile race, but while running it I may well have stumbled on key information that will clear up a mystery that has baffled the authorities and the British public since 30th December 1993. At around mile three and a half I made an unconfirmed sighting of Archie Brooks who many people think died in the Beckindale Air Disaster of that date. Of course his body was never recovered and ever since there has been feverish speculation as to what happened to Emmerdale Farm’s only worthwhile character (sorry Tony, but it’s true). The bugger came loping past me bold as brass. I didn’t have the oomph to set off after him and confront him with the evidence as I’d started a bit too quick and had just climbed the only significant gradient on the run. Perhaps others on the run saw him and can confirm my sighting?

One of the side effects of running at various speeds slower than normal is that I no longer recognise the group of people that run at the same pace as me. This is a handicap as with no specific time to go for I like to just join in at the appropriate pace set by familiar runners. I’d decided that a 70 minute run would be OK, but I’d like to go a wee bit faster. The only way I’m going to achieve this is to either run with someone or race against someone.

I’d bumped into Mick before the start and the 65 minutes he was aiming for was going to be too quick for me so I tucked in behind him on the starting line and thought if I kept him in sight then he’d gradually pull away and I’d get round in a good time. Within the first couple of hundred yards that plan is scuppered as he’s away and I’m involved in a mad scramble with a large group. I run the first two miles at 65 minute pace and Mick is so far ahead I can’t see him. A little way ahead of me is a guy with a pony tail who I’m fairly certain finishes races at about the same time as me. He looks at his watch at two miles and picks the pace up. I slow my pace down and settle in behind Liz Wood who stormed past me in the closing stages at Trimpell. James sidles up alongside me; he’s also aiming for 65 minutes but with a negative split. He’s soon away and I spot Frank a couple of hundred yards up ahead and decide to let Liz Wood take me forward, but it’s not working. Frank is just as far ahead at mile 4 as he was the previous mile. I pick up the pace and find myself behind Leopard-Skin-Bra Lady. Go through mile five in 33:30 and we’ve caught up to Pony Tail Boy but we’re no nearer Frank. I push on again and go past him just after mile six. I’ve nobody familiar to run against now, but it’s OK as it’s one of those races where you run up the road as the faster runners run down it. This provides a great distraction looking out for people I know. I see everyone I know who’s in the race but somehow miss Archie Brooks; perhaps someone else has recognised him and he’s had to make a hasty exit.

The last two miles feel tough but are downhill. I’m dragged along by a couple of blokes from the same club who are racing each other and hanging onto them is a good distraction from thinking about how much the legs hurt.

A sharp left and a sprint for the finish and it’s job done in a chip time of 1:07:10.

This other Eden, demi-paradise

I’ve not felt much like running this week so decided to take myself off for a long walk yesterday. The three peaks, but with a cunning twist. I decided I wanted to avoid the long slog across Black Dub Moss that lies between Pen y ghent and Whernside. It’s the least interesting bit of the walk and in weather like we’ve had recently, the only bit where proper walking boots are required. After consulting my Bradshaws it was clear that if I got my timing right, I could “do” Pen y ghent and return to Horton to catch the 9.58 train to Ribblehead. There were several unknowns in the plan including time spent dicking around before setting off and on arrival, the number of slow moving vehicles on the A65 to hamper the drive to the start and the timings for getting up and down Pen y ghent.

I slept longer than planned and was only held up by one slow moving vehicle (trailer delivering hay – Skipton to Hellifield). This gave me sufficient time to worry about whether I was going to be underdressed as the temperature gauge headed steadily downwards.

I parked up at Horton at 7.45 and it was a bit of a route march round Pen y ghent going up the accepted three peaks route and returning on the Pennine Way route. I had 15 minutes to spare to wait at Horton station, by which time it was clear that I was overdressed and it would have been advisable to pack the sunscreen. I must have worn out the sunscreen-responsibility gene by slavering the kids up with factor one million when they were bairns. I’d thought about it before setting off and concluded that only an idiot would take sunscreen for a walk in the north of England in March. Besides, I couldn’t find the sunscreen. Every winter we pack away our supply of sunscreen and by Spring we can’t remember where we’ve put it so buy a new tube. At least twice a summer we get somewhere and look expectantly at each other and one of us says “I thought you were packing the sunscreen” and end up buying another couple of tubes. At the end of every summer I spot a bargain and buy a reduced price tube. When I eventually find our sunscreen it’s like a trip down memory lane with a bewildering selection of half full (half empty?) tubes.

I got back to the car at 3.45 having scaled the remaining two peaks, consumed two litres of tap water, three Mars bars, four clementines and a generous portion of cold chilli con carne and rice (the ambrosia of the walking gods). I’d supplemented this with a pint of ice cold Thatcher’s Gold at the Old Hill Inn. I’d thought long and hard about the nature of genius (at least three minutes) and had at first concluded that the inventor of Zip Offs was the greatest inventor of the 20th century. I wavered later on when considering the inventor of the Spork, but held firm to my earlier conclusion. I tried to do some of that Communing with Nature bollox, but found that nature wasn’t very forthcoming. You see a very restricted range of birds and animals in the wilds and the only ones doing any communing were the frogs. There were zillions of them in all the little ponds communing away like crazy. If there’s a national shortage of frogs then I can confirm they’re all up Whernside having a great time. I saw my first butterfly of the year (small tortoiseshell) and was treated to some stunt flying by some loon in a WWII aeroplane. I spoke to one miserable old git (“I remember when you had to wade through bogs to get here. You could climb Ingleborough in your carpet slippers nowadays”) but saw remarkably few people all day. Although not the full three peaks, I still managed to walk over twenty one miles and climb 6,800 feet.

I have no idea whether my jaunt will have enhanced or damaged my marathon performance; I suspect it will have no effect whatsoever. It was a bloody good day though.

Go home, And show no sign of fear.

Four weeks to go and everything seems to be coming together for getting to the starting line in reasonable nick. I’ve certainly got running distance on roads at about the same time on a Sunday as the London marathon ingrained. I ran my third twenty mile race on successive Sundays at East Hull and for the third time everything went more or less according to plan. I was aiming for 8 minute miles for as long as possible and then going for a burst at the end just to see if I could pick the pace up. Got caught up in the hurly burly at the start and found myself alongside Michael Hern from Pudsey Pacers. He was aiming to run the first five at 7:45, then the next five at 7:30, the third five at 7:15 and the final five as fast as possible. That was too swift for me, but tagged along with him for the first five, which seemed to go in no time. I slowed it down a bit and then fell in behind a group of three who were running at about 8 minute pace and chatting away quite happily. They provided a useful windbreak for the section of the course when the wind picked up and was coming straight at us. I pushed on for the final four miles and came in at 2:36:19 according to my Garmin.

Preparation for the Sunday run was less than ideal again. I ran a little faster at parkrun than was sensible and then hung around to cheer on the kids who were running 2k in the park. A dash across the Pennines for lunch and back for the live performance of Frankenstein’s Wedding at Kirkstall Abbey. For those of you not used to performing live on national TV, I can confirm that it’s not as glamorous as you might think and there’s a load of hanging around. We were standing around for four hours gradually getting colder with the bar, food and toilet facilities inaccessible. If I’d put on an overcoat, packed the hip flask and borrowed a colostomy bag then it would have been an excellent evening as the event itself was top class. It really was a marvellous night for a moondance. A fish supper from Midgeley’s was probably not a feature of anybody’s list of how best to prepare for a twenty mile run, but we were famished.

So where have my three twenty mile races got me? I know I can run twenty miles and not die. From Trimpell, I know I can run twenty miles at faster than marathon pace. From Spen I know I can run twenty four miles at nine minute miles and have plenty left for the remaining 2.2 miles. Nothing much new from East Hull, but the knowledge that I can overcome my in-built Yorkshireness and eschew the free Lucozade gels (which are truly horrible) for the bought-with-hard-earned-money Torq gels (which are delicious). I can highly recommend both the Rhubarb & Custard and the Black Cherry Yorghurt flavours. They also do Strawberry Yoghurt, Orange & Banana, Forest Fruits (with Guarana) and Banoffee (with Guarana). I have no idea what Guarana is, but I’ll give it a try.