I was a bit of a wreck in the morning, and had only managed 5 ½ hours sleep so was pretty tired and sore. We had plenty of time at the start as we’d had to pick up numbers at 7am and I was lucky enough to bump into Michael and Selina, both really experienced 100 club members. There’s something about people being nice to you that just makes you crumble, I was just about keeping it together until I saw them. They were great though, I needed people who’d been through it before to tell me it was ok to be in a bad way at this point and to give me a hug and provide a bit of reassurance. Didn’t stop the tears though, I’m quite embarrassed by how much I fell apart yesterday.
At the start, I wasn’t too bad, it was 26 miles to get through and it was on tarmac and mostly flat. I could get onto autopilot and keep the legs turning over. The first few miles felt good surprisingly, probably because of the tarmac, it’s so much easier to run on than trail. 9 minute miles seemed pretty comfortable too and I wondered whether a sub 4 was possible. It wasn’t about times today though, it was about finishing.
I went through 10 miles on 9 minute pace with the light headedness getting stronger and stronger. Michael had told me to expect it so it wasn’t worrying me, but my field of vision was shrinking further and further, from 10 yards ahead of me at the start to only a few feet in front of me. My eyes were starting to close too and the tiredness overwhelming. All of a sudden, I had two spectators catching hold of me and asking me if I was ok. I’d fallen asleep on my feet and run straight into them. Jeez, there’s autopilot and there’s sleep-running. I tried slapping myself in the face and yelling at myself but I couldn’t keep my eyes open at all. There was a St John’s ambulance on the road that looked like an oasis in the desert. The medic was a bit surprised when I asked her to promise to wake me up in 5 minutes but she probably had more serious issues to worry about than a sleepy runner. It felt like as soon as I had shut my eyes that she opened the door with a bottle of water, but it was a full 5 minutes later, I’d been out for the count.
It helped, I shuffled off and was a bit more alert. It wasn’t even half way though so there was still a long way to go. From there at about 11 miles to 16 miles was hell. I had to reach into the depths of my soul to keep going, it was truly awful. It’s not digging in any more, I’d been doing that since about mile 18 on Saturday, this was a serious test of resolve. But I wasn’t going to have come all this way to DNF at this point.
The mile 16 marker was an epiphany, I knew it was possible and that I’d finish. The fog lifted and the endorphins finally started to kick in. Everything was hurting, but no more than it had done since Sunday, and keeping a sort of run/shuffle/stagger going was easier, and quicker, than walking. The miles passed one by one, and not too painfully slowly and the finish was getting closer. If I could keep moving, a sub 4’30 was possible, which would be a respectable time. The last mile was good, I managed to pick up the pace and pass a load of people, and came over the line in something like 4’20 or 4’22, I’m not sure as my garmin had died a few miles back and it had taken either 6 or 8 minutes to get over the start line. It’s not a bad time considering the nightmare I’d had.
I usually try to come to some sort of conclusion, but I’m still thinking about it. I’ve always tried to keep my emotions under wraps, but the exhaustion totally got the better of me this weekend. It’s made me feel so vulnerable and having so many people see me so broken has been pretty embarrassing. I’ve also seen different sides to people, and some have been incredibly supportive and offered great advice. It’s been a hellish weekend, but I’ll be stronger when I recover. It’s super-compensation or something, break something down and it recovers a bit stronger. It’s not a nice process, but I’m going to need the experience of all these tough races in the TiT.
Tuesday 27 October 2009
3 marathons in 3 days: Part 2 - Greensands marathon
I was incredibly worried about this race, because it was organised by Dr Rob of Trionium who did the Picnic marathon back in June. That took in Box Hill and Mickleham Downs no less than 20 times and I was on the verge of throwing up and/or passing out for the entire 6 hours and 35 minutes it took me. This one wasn't going to be much easier, and had the added bonus of having a cut off of 1 hour 20 minutes for the first 7 miles, quite stiff when you consider it's largely uphill all the way.
There were loads of people around that I knew but I was in no fit state for company, and spent the entire race very reluctant to tall to anyone, it was going to be hell and I was better off suffering it alone. We set off, up a hill of course, and it was immediately head down to get the 7 miles done. It was a steady grind up and I would usually have walked the steeper uphills but the cut off was tight so I kept slogging on. I made the cut off point with several minutes to spare but it had cost a bit, I'd had to beast it to get there and now I was knackered. At least the legs weren't hurting too much from yesterday.
It was an odd way to start a marathon, it was just a 7 mile race to that point and now I had to completely change my mindset to think about the marathon distance. There was a water station after a few more miles where the girl cheerfully informed us we were at 9 miles. My garmin said 10.5. This completely broke me, utterly wiped out what scraps of confidence I had and wrote off my race. I did for a few seconds consider pulling out, if this was going to be a 29 mile marathon and I was already knackered, there was no way I'd get round.
I could at least get to the turn around point at half way, so I stumbled off up the hill feeling absolutely rotten. I confess I lost the plot here, I was knackered and hurting and had so far to go still, and I didn't even know how much further that far was. For the first time ever, I cried in a race and felt like even more of a dropout for losing it. After a few minutes, I decided I was being a snivelling wreck, and that I needed to toughen the fuck up. My usual technique here is to belt myself in the face a few times and yell some obscenities at myself, "Move your fucking arse, you lazy bitch, what the fuck are you whinging about", that sort of thing. It kind of works, if moving forward is any result.
By this point, people were starting to pass me on the way back and they did lift my spirits. The atmosphere at Trionium races is infinitely more collaborative than yesterday, most were saying encouraging things and you've got to put on a brave(r) face if people are going to see you. Thank god the half way point was bang on 13 miles, it was a huge comfort that the race wasn't stupidly long. Half a mile or so is ok, more than a mile is too depressing.
The way back was horrible, I was really hurting with a sore left knee and finding it difficult to get any speed up. At least I could keep shuffling, even up some of the shallower ascents. At the water station at mile 20, I think I worried the marshal when I took a bottle of lucozade and tears promptly started falling from my eyes, not because I wanted to cry, it was just someone being nice enough to give me something to drink. I'm such a wuss.
Fortunately the last few miles are mostly downhill and I managed to keep shuffling. For the first time in the race, I started thinking about the time and sub 5'30 was looking possible, and beating my time from yesterday was just about on the cards if I could hold it together. There was a small hill in the final mile but I managed to really pick it up in the last 15 minutes to pass a few people and half run, half fall down the hill to finish in 5 hours 18 minutes, 8 minutes quicker than yesterday. I've never been broken so much mentally and physically, that's two really rough days in a row. I am worried about tomorrow, but I'm hoping that because it's road and flat, my legs will go onto auto-pilot and just keep running of their own accord. And I can't wait for that pint at the finish.
There were loads of people around that I knew but I was in no fit state for company, and spent the entire race very reluctant to tall to anyone, it was going to be hell and I was better off suffering it alone. We set off, up a hill of course, and it was immediately head down to get the 7 miles done. It was a steady grind up and I would usually have walked the steeper uphills but the cut off was tight so I kept slogging on. I made the cut off point with several minutes to spare but it had cost a bit, I'd had to beast it to get there and now I was knackered. At least the legs weren't hurting too much from yesterday.
It was an odd way to start a marathon, it was just a 7 mile race to that point and now I had to completely change my mindset to think about the marathon distance. There was a water station after a few more miles where the girl cheerfully informed us we were at 9 miles. My garmin said 10.5. This completely broke me, utterly wiped out what scraps of confidence I had and wrote off my race. I did for a few seconds consider pulling out, if this was going to be a 29 mile marathon and I was already knackered, there was no way I'd get round.
I could at least get to the turn around point at half way, so I stumbled off up the hill feeling absolutely rotten. I confess I lost the plot here, I was knackered and hurting and had so far to go still, and I didn't even know how much further that far was. For the first time ever, I cried in a race and felt like even more of a dropout for losing it. After a few minutes, I decided I was being a snivelling wreck, and that I needed to toughen the fuck up. My usual technique here is to belt myself in the face a few times and yell some obscenities at myself, "Move your fucking arse, you lazy bitch, what the fuck are you whinging about", that sort of thing. It kind of works, if moving forward is any result.
By this point, people were starting to pass me on the way back and they did lift my spirits. The atmosphere at Trionium races is infinitely more collaborative than yesterday, most were saying encouraging things and you've got to put on a brave(r) face if people are going to see you. Thank god the half way point was bang on 13 miles, it was a huge comfort that the race wasn't stupidly long. Half a mile or so is ok, more than a mile is too depressing.
The way back was horrible, I was really hurting with a sore left knee and finding it difficult to get any speed up. At least I could keep shuffling, even up some of the shallower ascents. At the water station at mile 20, I think I worried the marshal when I took a bottle of lucozade and tears promptly started falling from my eyes, not because I wanted to cry, it was just someone being nice enough to give me something to drink. I'm such a wuss.
Fortunately the last few miles are mostly downhill and I managed to keep shuffling. For the first time in the race, I started thinking about the time and sub 5'30 was looking possible, and beating my time from yesterday was just about on the cards if I could hold it together. There was a small hill in the final mile but I managed to really pick it up in the last 15 minutes to pass a few people and half run, half fall down the hill to finish in 5 hours 18 minutes, 8 minutes quicker than yesterday. I've never been broken so much mentally and physically, that's two really rough days in a row. I am worried about tomorrow, but I'm hoping that because it's road and flat, my legs will go onto auto-pilot and just keep running of their own accord. And I can't wait for that pint at the finish.
Saturday 24 October 2009
3 marathons in 3 days: Part 1 - Beachy Head
I was well up for a long run in the great outdoors today; I'd only managed to run twice this week (although both were brilliant explorations of Copenhagen's cycle paths) and was in need of some good exercise. The prospect of my first triple was a bit daunting, but I knew that taking it easy and trying not to think of the total mileage was the best way to handle it.
After an easy journey down from London to Eastbourse, the start turned out to be total mayhem - changing, loos and the bag drop were scattered all over the place, queues were epic and noone seemed to be in a very good mood. With the teeming rain and the stiff hill to get us going, it wasn't the best start but at least I met a few marathon buddies including a couple of the other "triplets".
The first few miles of the race were pretty congested and I was finding it hard to get into a rhythm even though it wasn't that tricky underfoot. After mooching along for a few miles, Heather caught up with me. It was great to see her and have the company as I suffering serious CBAs today. Last week, each mile flew by and this was really dragging. The visibility was terrible too as we were running through thick mist so we couldn't even see any of the famous views. At times you couldn't even see people 20 yardas ahead of you, even those in high-vis shirts, which got a bit eery, and made you a bit wary of running off the cliff edge... I confess the course was really boring me and I was struggling to find motivation to do anything other than plod round. At least on a boring road marathon, you can switch off the conscious brain and let your mind wander, off road you have to concentrate on every step.
The weather was seriously deteriorating and by mile 10, about 2 hours in (yes, it was slow), the wind was howling and was driving the rain into our faces, stinging our eyelids and reducing the vis through screwed up eyes even more to just in front of your feet. It was horrible. Thank god it was a warm day for October, or I could have been in trouble in shorts and a long sleeve top. We slogged on and Heather really kept me going, as did the wonderful British humour with people coming up with all sorts of variations on "It's a lovely day for a stroll by the seaside".
Just before a truly magical checkpoint with cups of tea and sausage rolls, there was a particularly slippery bit of mud. Heather and I managed to take the boys' minds off the pain for a few minutes by wondering how well-suited it was for mud wrestling, being very smooth and clayey and free from grit. You don't want grit if you're mud wrestling. Oh no. The sausage roll and cup of tea were indeed magical, I've no idea why this isn't the sports nutrition of elite athletes, and the never ending roller coaster of the Seven Sisters sent us slightly hysterical. We completely lost count of how many sisters we'd done, and I missed Beachy Head, unless it was that hill with the horse box water station perched on top, we were too busy lurching up the hills, falling down them and wondering where on earth the giant poos came from. We decided it had to be brontosauruses. Yep, we'd lost it.
The last mile or so was a lovely downhill over grass, with that steep hill to finish it off. I do hope there was a video camera there because it was so steep, grassy and slippy I bet loads of people ended up on their arses. We came over the line in 5 hours 26 minutes, pretty damn slow but I couldn't care less, I've got two more days to go and I reckon tomorrow's going to be even tougher.
After an easy journey down from London to Eastbourse, the start turned out to be total mayhem - changing, loos and the bag drop were scattered all over the place, queues were epic and noone seemed to be in a very good mood. With the teeming rain and the stiff hill to get us going, it wasn't the best start but at least I met a few marathon buddies including a couple of the other "triplets".
The first few miles of the race were pretty congested and I was finding it hard to get into a rhythm even though it wasn't that tricky underfoot. After mooching along for a few miles, Heather caught up with me. It was great to see her and have the company as I suffering serious CBAs today. Last week, each mile flew by and this was really dragging. The visibility was terrible too as we were running through thick mist so we couldn't even see any of the famous views. At times you couldn't even see people 20 yardas ahead of you, even those in high-vis shirts, which got a bit eery, and made you a bit wary of running off the cliff edge... I confess the course was really boring me and I was struggling to find motivation to do anything other than plod round. At least on a boring road marathon, you can switch off the conscious brain and let your mind wander, off road you have to concentrate on every step.
The weather was seriously deteriorating and by mile 10, about 2 hours in (yes, it was slow), the wind was howling and was driving the rain into our faces, stinging our eyelids and reducing the vis through screwed up eyes even more to just in front of your feet. It was horrible. Thank god it was a warm day for October, or I could have been in trouble in shorts and a long sleeve top. We slogged on and Heather really kept me going, as did the wonderful British humour with people coming up with all sorts of variations on "It's a lovely day for a stroll by the seaside".
Just before a truly magical checkpoint with cups of tea and sausage rolls, there was a particularly slippery bit of mud. Heather and I managed to take the boys' minds off the pain for a few minutes by wondering how well-suited it was for mud wrestling, being very smooth and clayey and free from grit. You don't want grit if you're mud wrestling. Oh no. The sausage roll and cup of tea were indeed magical, I've no idea why this isn't the sports nutrition of elite athletes, and the never ending roller coaster of the Seven Sisters sent us slightly hysterical. We completely lost count of how many sisters we'd done, and I missed Beachy Head, unless it was that hill with the horse box water station perched on top, we were too busy lurching up the hills, falling down them and wondering where on earth the giant poos came from. We decided it had to be brontosauruses. Yep, we'd lost it.
The last mile or so was a lovely downhill over grass, with that steep hill to finish it off. I do hope there was a video camera there because it was so steep, grassy and slippy I bet loads of people ended up on their arses. We came over the line in 5 hours 26 minutes, pretty damn slow but I couldn't care less, I've got two more days to go and I reckon tomorrow's going to be even tougher.
Tuesday 20 October 2009
Abingdon marathon - my autumn PB attempt
Everything was perfect for Abingdon: I'd tapered properly with 2 weeks since my last marathon, I was fit as a flea, well rested, and had avoided hangovers for over a week. The weather was perfect too, quite chilly first thing, but dry, bright, and warm enough for my go faster shorts and vest, I hate being weighed down with loads of kit. On the morning, I was full of energy and couldn't wait to get running. The aim was 3 hours 30 minutes. Not just a PB, which would have been anything quicker than 3'42'30, but 3 hours 30. 8 minute miling gets you in with a few seconds to spare, and is a nice easy calculation. It's a quick pace for me still so I knew my best tactic was even splits, I didn't have capacity to run a negative split, or even to run a positive split and build up a cushion. Basically, I can't accelerate much beyond 8 minute miling over anything more than about 5 miles, so I just hoped that my endurance would get me through the distance.
There were a bunch of us going for 3'30 - Peacey had kindly offered to pace me with Mark, and Jo and Sarah were going for the same time too. The first mile was slow with a bit of congestion, but Jo, Sarah and I blasted the second mile, enthusiasm getting the better of us a bit. We settled into about 7'50 - 7'55 pace which kept my mind happy, we were right on 3'30 pace. It did feel a bit quick though, and I couldn't talk much beyond the odd sentence, Sarah seemed to be finding it much easier. We'd already lost the boys by mile 3, and I felt bad about that but I had to stick to the slightly quicker pace if I had any chance of my target. Being in a little group of 3 was great, even if you're not talking, you can hang on their heels or lead from the front depending on who's feeling stronger.
L-R, Jo, me and Sarah having fun at this point
The next miles were completely uneventful, I didn't notice the surroundings much as I was concentrating on the pace and how the body felt (I'd need the head later). Time was passing really quickly, I do like this running as hard as you can business. By mile 12, we passed Fetchpoint and it was just superb - Lee and Jock dressed up as the 118 guys, though Lee looked more like a 70s porn star, unbelievable amounts of noise and cheering and just so much positive energy you couldn't help but be lifted by it. Apparently we were in a boring industrial park, but believe me, there was no point where I was bored in this race, I was working far too hard.
Even by the half way point, I was concerned about the pace, my breathing rate had increased and I could feel my heart hammering, plus my calves were starting to tighten up and my lower back to twinge. I never get aches and pains in a flat road marathon now, so the greater effort was definitely having a toll. Sarah was really encouraging though, so I decided to hang onto her until 16 miles and assess then. Just before mile 15, there's a tight left hand bend and as I came round it, my legs suddenly felt like lead. Maybe it was just a bad patch, so I pushed on for another mile. It wasn't a bad patch however, I was absolutely done in and there was nothing for it but to slow down. Gutted.
It was damage limitation now, I had completely overcooked it and am clearly not fit enough to run 26 miles at 8 minute mile pace just yet. I was still bang on pace at that point, going through 16 miles at 2 hours and 8 minutes. But by this point, I wasn't sure what pace I could sustain to the finish so had no idea whether I'd even PB. I still had 12 minutes' grace, so could slip to 9 minute miles and get a 3 minute PB, but even that seemed a bit stiff with 10 miles to go. The only thing I could do was to keep moving. At least I don't need to walk in marathons now, it's a mind game.
I slogged through the next few miles, with the intention of getting to Fetchpoint again at 20 miles, it's all downhill from there. Fetchpoint more than lived up to expectations, not only did it cheer me up, Harry and Dave gave me an extraordinarily special Vic Reeves-style thigh-rubbing welcome which made me laugh for about 2 miles. Thank you guys, I think you saved my race! I normally pick the pace up from 20 miles, and really enjoy picking people off one by one in the closing stages, but this time I was being passed by loads of people which was fairly demoralising. But I was still on for a PB and couldn't let that slip too. By this point, even if I kept 10 minute miling going I'd be ok.
Harry's special welcome
There was a lucozade point at about 22 miles and I was so low on energy I decided I needed to get a lot down me for the final few miles. I hated walking, but it took less than a minute to neck most of the bottle and it meant I didn't need to slow down for any more water stations. The last few miles were a bit of a blur really, just keeping the legs moving, ignoring the pain in my calves and quads, trying but failing to acknowledge the marshals. The last 400 yards are on the track in Tilsley Park and the atmosphere was brilliant. I knew I had a PB, and I knew I'd tried my damndest for the 3'30 so, while I'm not over the moon with it, the 3 hours 38 wasn't a disappointing result. I could have gone quicker if I'd started out slower, but that wasn't the plan. You have a plan and you stick to it for as long as you can. I haven't run a marathon with such a risky strategy before and it didn't work today, and it bloody hurt. But I know what I need to work on.
I'll get the 3'30 soon, but in the meantime my focus is on numbers - lots of marathons and lots of miles. I've been planning my spring training schedule for the TiT and it's daunting in the extreme - lots of doubles, some monster mileage weeks and some tough double marathon weekends. I'm looking forward to the challenge though, the next 2 months are for consolidation then it's time for proper hard work from January. Brilliant!
There were a bunch of us going for 3'30 - Peacey had kindly offered to pace me with Mark, and Jo and Sarah were going for the same time too. The first mile was slow with a bit of congestion, but Jo, Sarah and I blasted the second mile, enthusiasm getting the better of us a bit. We settled into about 7'50 - 7'55 pace which kept my mind happy, we were right on 3'30 pace. It did feel a bit quick though, and I couldn't talk much beyond the odd sentence, Sarah seemed to be finding it much easier. We'd already lost the boys by mile 3, and I felt bad about that but I had to stick to the slightly quicker pace if I had any chance of my target. Being in a little group of 3 was great, even if you're not talking, you can hang on their heels or lead from the front depending on who's feeling stronger.
L-R, Jo, me and Sarah having fun at this point
The next miles were completely uneventful, I didn't notice the surroundings much as I was concentrating on the pace and how the body felt (I'd need the head later). Time was passing really quickly, I do like this running as hard as you can business. By mile 12, we passed Fetchpoint and it was just superb - Lee and Jock dressed up as the 118 guys, though Lee looked more like a 70s porn star, unbelievable amounts of noise and cheering and just so much positive energy you couldn't help but be lifted by it. Apparently we were in a boring industrial park, but believe me, there was no point where I was bored in this race, I was working far too hard.
Even by the half way point, I was concerned about the pace, my breathing rate had increased and I could feel my heart hammering, plus my calves were starting to tighten up and my lower back to twinge. I never get aches and pains in a flat road marathon now, so the greater effort was definitely having a toll. Sarah was really encouraging though, so I decided to hang onto her until 16 miles and assess then. Just before mile 15, there's a tight left hand bend and as I came round it, my legs suddenly felt like lead. Maybe it was just a bad patch, so I pushed on for another mile. It wasn't a bad patch however, I was absolutely done in and there was nothing for it but to slow down. Gutted.
It was damage limitation now, I had completely overcooked it and am clearly not fit enough to run 26 miles at 8 minute mile pace just yet. I was still bang on pace at that point, going through 16 miles at 2 hours and 8 minutes. But by this point, I wasn't sure what pace I could sustain to the finish so had no idea whether I'd even PB. I still had 12 minutes' grace, so could slip to 9 minute miles and get a 3 minute PB, but even that seemed a bit stiff with 10 miles to go. The only thing I could do was to keep moving. At least I don't need to walk in marathons now, it's a mind game.
I slogged through the next few miles, with the intention of getting to Fetchpoint again at 20 miles, it's all downhill from there. Fetchpoint more than lived up to expectations, not only did it cheer me up, Harry and Dave gave me an extraordinarily special Vic Reeves-style thigh-rubbing welcome which made me laugh for about 2 miles. Thank you guys, I think you saved my race! I normally pick the pace up from 20 miles, and really enjoy picking people off one by one in the closing stages, but this time I was being passed by loads of people which was fairly demoralising. But I was still on for a PB and couldn't let that slip too. By this point, even if I kept 10 minute miling going I'd be ok.
Harry's special welcome
There was a lucozade point at about 22 miles and I was so low on energy I decided I needed to get a lot down me for the final few miles. I hated walking, but it took less than a minute to neck most of the bottle and it meant I didn't need to slow down for any more water stations. The last few miles were a bit of a blur really, just keeping the legs moving, ignoring the pain in my calves and quads, trying but failing to acknowledge the marshals. The last 400 yards are on the track in Tilsley Park and the atmosphere was brilliant. I knew I had a PB, and I knew I'd tried my damndest for the 3'30 so, while I'm not over the moon with it, the 3 hours 38 wasn't a disappointing result. I could have gone quicker if I'd started out slower, but that wasn't the plan. You have a plan and you stick to it for as long as you can. I haven't run a marathon with such a risky strategy before and it didn't work today, and it bloody hurt. But I know what I need to work on.
I'll get the 3'30 soon, but in the meantime my focus is on numbers - lots of marathons and lots of miles. I've been planning my spring training schedule for the TiT and it's daunting in the extreme - lots of doubles, some monster mileage weeks and some tough double marathon weekends. I'm looking forward to the challenge though, the next 2 months are for consolidation then it's time for proper hard work from January. Brilliant!
Monday 5 October 2009
The Great Clarendon marathon
This has to be one of the posher marathons on the calendar, starting at the very smart Godolphin School in Salisbury with registration in the purpose built theatre complete with proper Greek-style orchestra space, and finishing in the King's School in Winchester where the burger van looked rather out of place among the music facilities, sports field and beautifully tended trees. It's not often that you see marshals in blazers and immaculately pressed duck egg blue trousers either. It being a point to point race, we took the bus from the finish at Winchester to the start which provided some amusement when the driver realised there was no way we were going to get under the railway bridge, no matter how much his passengers ducked.
The route is on trail, but largely pretty straightforward trails, so even my tarmac-spoiled ankles could cope with it. It's also pretty hilly, with a mix of long drags and shorter sharper climbs. These were rewarded with some of the best downhills ever, the mile or so at mile 11 was particularly exhilerating, or at least it was to me as I flew down whooping with delight. There's not much to report on this race. It was intended as a final long run before the PB attempt at Abingdon in 2 weeks' time, and a nice relaxed day out in the country, admiring the views and the fields of "high health pigs", walking the ups, running the flats and downs. It worked out perfectly. I wasn't in the least bit bothered about the time after chasing the clock in my 4 September marathons, and the weather was good enough that you didn't get too cold when walking up a hill. And it really was a lovely bit of countryside.
In the final few miles, I was doing my usual thing of feeling stronger and stronger by the minute and the competitive spirit got a bit fired up. Everyone ahead of me turning into a target, and I was picking them off one by one, making sure that as I passed them I did my utmost to appear fresh and bouncy and well in control, just to psyche them out a bit and make sure they didn't chase after me of course! It seemed to work, and my last mile was a belter in spite of the two little hills. Bounded in in 4 hours 34, which isn't too bad for me on a hilly trail marathon, and I even had the energy to chase my boss's 3 year old around the sports pitch afterwards too. Brilliant Sunday roast in a lovely country pub, couple of glasses of wine and a long hot bath, and I was ready for the next one. Hmm, best hang onto that energy somehow, I'm meant to be tapering for Abingdon in 13 days' time..
The route is on trail, but largely pretty straightforward trails, so even my tarmac-spoiled ankles could cope with it. It's also pretty hilly, with a mix of long drags and shorter sharper climbs. These were rewarded with some of the best downhills ever, the mile or so at mile 11 was particularly exhilerating, or at least it was to me as I flew down whooping with delight. There's not much to report on this race. It was intended as a final long run before the PB attempt at Abingdon in 2 weeks' time, and a nice relaxed day out in the country, admiring the views and the fields of "high health pigs", walking the ups, running the flats and downs. It worked out perfectly. I wasn't in the least bit bothered about the time after chasing the clock in my 4 September marathons, and the weather was good enough that you didn't get too cold when walking up a hill. And it really was a lovely bit of countryside.
In the final few miles, I was doing my usual thing of feeling stronger and stronger by the minute and the competitive spirit got a bit fired up. Everyone ahead of me turning into a target, and I was picking them off one by one, making sure that as I passed them I did my utmost to appear fresh and bouncy and well in control, just to psyche them out a bit and make sure they didn't chase after me of course! It seemed to work, and my last mile was a belter in spite of the two little hills. Bounded in in 4 hours 34, which isn't too bad for me on a hilly trail marathon, and I even had the energy to chase my boss's 3 year old around the sports pitch afterwards too. Brilliant Sunday roast in a lovely country pub, couple of glasses of wine and a long hot bath, and I was ready for the next one. Hmm, best hang onto that energy somehow, I'm meant to be tapering for Abingdon in 13 days' time..
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