April 2009 – The Final Countdown

[marathondan]

I seem to have spent the time since the race doing all those things that I should have been doing in the run-up to the race. So, not running and not writing. Here, belatedly, are my reflections on the day.

Having given premature thanks all week for the impending cool weather, as I left home at 6am it occurred to me that the BBC’s weather forecasters should be considering a transfer to the comedy department. 15 and showers it was not going to be.

A short cycle ride to the station, and I boarded the 0636 to Paddington. There was a tangible buzz among the train and tube passengers. At Greenwich station I met fellow-kids-music-class-dad Will and his running mate Jim, celebrating the 10th anniversary of their first marathon together. Jim hadn’t run for a month due to a groin strain, so they were planning to employ a wait-and-see strategy.

I, by contrast, was leaving nothing to chance. I was wearing a custom pace band calculated for a 3:55 finish, using the Myers pace tables in Hal Higdon’s book (8:50 pace for the first 12 miles, then slowing in steps to 9:17 for the last 3.2). Lemon Squeezy gels were safety-pinned to my pink boxer shorts (the best thing I could find to wear under the tutu) along with a pouch of Vaseline.

I strode off towards the park, leaving Will and Jim to film their anniversary video in leisurely fashion. I somewhat self-conciously peeled off my normal-person’s running gear, pulled on the tutu and wig, and joined the world of the crazy people. Unfortunately I’d missed the Sense team photo by 2 minutes, but later one of the staff got a good picture for my album (and their website). Next to me, a bloke wearing a rowing club top was assembling a 6 ft wood-and-canvas rowing boat, which he planned to wear via shoulder straps. This was only his second marathon, and he was hoping to finish in somewhere between 5 and 6 hours. Incredible.

I applied a little of the sunscreen that I’d packed “just in case the forecast is wrong, you never know”, deposited my bag at the excellent baggage truck service, and made my way to the 4 hour pen. Will and Jim caught up with me on the way over; they had donned bin bags (clearly unnecessary given the weather) to hide their allocated pen numbers, and were going to blag their way to the front. I knew that “sensible” was the watchword of the day, so I took my allocated place and wished them good luck and robust groins.

And so we were off. 8 minutes or so to cross the start line for me. Fabulous atmosphere of course, immediately it was clear that I was getting lots of extra shouts due to the fancy dress. Again, “sensible” was the watchword. In no circumstances was I to get more than 1 minute ahead of schedule, at least until 20 miles. So I forced myself into a relaxed trot, but was a little alarmed to see I was already a minute behind schedule after 1 mile. The traffic was pretty heavy, and I had to resist the temptation to work hard and nip into gaps.

The first half of the race was an absolute joy. I was feeling in top form, running at a gentle pace, getting amazing support from the crowd, enjoying the bands, and generally having a great time. By this point I was around 2 minutes behind schedule; I didn’t want to let that slip any further, and I knew that as the planned pace slowed down I could get push on at the higher pace for a while to catch up. Around halfway the pack began to thin out a little, and it was easier to maintain pace.

The wig was remarkably untroubling. I’d done all my training in a woolly hat, and conditioned myself to forget about the temptation to take it off, but all of that training had been done at night. But it seemed to be enough. Maybe I subconsciously knew that the support benefit from the wig outweighed the discomfort. The only time I took it off was for a dip under one of the showers. I spend the next 5 minutes wiping diluted sweat out of my stinging eyes, and didn’t try that again.

Heading into the high teens I was still fine, hanging in 1-2 minutes behind schedule, but really wanting to reach that 20 mile post. At this point it was hard to keep to the pace while remaining relaxed, but my mantra was that I had to remain relaxed until 20 miles. After that point, I was free to go for it, and try and at least make up the slight delay.

When I did reach the 20 it was with a great sense of achievement. I was still feeling good, but knew that I had the hard hour ahead of me. To cut a long story short, it was a hard hour, but I made it. It was noticeably easier than the end of my first marathon, which I have previously described as “among the worst 5 hours of my life” (although someone asked me to name the other 4, and I couldn’t immediately come up with anything – but “worst hour of my life” sounds a bit of an exaggeration).

It may have been the (slightly) better pre-training fitness base, it might have been the 6 minutes slower pace, it might even have been the more relaxed training regime. But I suspect that it was mostly just knowing what was to come, and that it was achievable. The miles were hard, but there was none of the “I don’t know if I can do this” despair that I experienced last time. As I passed each of the last few mile markers I was punching the air and shouting to myself. There are few better sights in life than the 600m, 400m, 200m and 385 yds signs, and then the finish line.

I had tried to up the pace during the end phase, but whenever I tried there was a tension in my calves and quads that said “back off on the gas”. But there was a bit left in the legs for a gentle push over the line, and I even managed a smile, raised arms and a few high fives with fellow finishers.

Lesley had valiantly brought all three kids (7 months to 6 years) into London, but I somehow managed to miss them at Westminster Bridge (25.5 miles). I’d run for about half a mile, over to the left, staring into the crowd like a zombie, which at least took my mind off the running. But at the crucial moment, I somehow overlooked them. I guess them calling my name didn’t help, as everyone and his dog had been doing that for the past 4 hours. But as I was strolling through baggage reclaim, they were immobilized in the middle of a crowd due to a demonstration in Parliament Square. Not a pleasant place to be on a hot day for half an hour with three young and tired kids. That was the only downer of the day.

I got a text later from Will to say that they’d finished I around 4:30. Jim’s groin had been fine, but the wheels had come off a few times for Will (not least due to a full-on shunt when someone stopped dead [not literally] straight in front of him during the final “I want to stop but I daren’t” miles) and he’d failed to make his hoped-for sub 4. I must have passed them at some point, but somehow we missed each other. Their marathon retirement was immediately cancelled, and talk of Berlin later this year ensued… (not for me I hasten to add).

So we sat in the park for an hour or so with friends, who were supporting me and another runner. I needed a sit-down for sure; I’d had a few light-headed moments in the meet and greet area (fortunately there was a pushchair handy to lean on). But there was no chance of me emulating some fellow finishers and quaffing bubbly. Water, and about 3 crisps, was all I could manage for about 3 hours after the finish. A crowded two-hour train ride, partly standing and with kids to juggle, wasn’t the ideal recovery, but it was all part of the experience. Finally reaching home, just in time to give baby Emma her tea, felt like we’d all travelled halfway round the world.