Apologies for radio silence, it's getting quite difficult to find anything interesting to say about my races. Since Luton-that-never-was, I finished 2010 off with a lovely marathon in Calvia, and have done 2 so far this year. I'm on 98 now, so the journey to my 100th at Malta on 27th February is set fair. This is what I had to say about Calvia.
This was a rather enticing prospect of a marathon: fairly warm for December at 14-17 degrees, a 2 lap course and some good company. Mark and I were in the official race hotel, along with Helen, Riel, Ben and Rosemary who's in next year's 10 in 10, as well as a good handful of 100 Clubbers. The downside was the location, just up the road from Magaluf and, even though the hotel was one of the nicer in the area, it was still chav central, with soft furnishings even DFS would reject and invitations not to steal food from the breakfast buffet. It was the perfect HQ however for pre and post race get togethers over a variety of beer, cava, sherry and the odd mojito, and a short walk from the Saffron Tandoori for an alternative carb-loading dinner. Textbook.
The route was rather nice with some diverting bits of scenery, one herd of goats, one long windy wooden bridge over the motorway and lots and lots of undulation. Nothing too long or steep but enough to put tight PB attempts largely out of reach. I rather liked them but then, with no watch, I couldn't be too fussed about time. The roads were impeccably closed off and policed, even more impressive when there were only 104 marathon runners on the second loop. Guess you get unquestioning police backing when the race is staged by the local municipality.
Mark had kept me company for 10 miles until I wanted to slow down to avoid a second La Rochelle and he wanted to speed up. Bit much to expect a 3'16 marathoner to run 9 minute miles. His company had been great but it was wonderful being by myself - long stretches of open road with hardly any other runners in sight on the second loop, next to no supporters, just me, space, quiet and a very peaceful, relaxing and calm second half. Just what I needed to round off the year.
There's an out and back bit at 26k where I established there were two ladies less than 800 metres behind me. With only 11 of us in the race I didn't want to be passed so that provided a bit of incentive to avoid slacking off. As it was, in the final 12k, I picked off 8 people and was dropped by 1, a favourable balance. A final lap of the track got me a 3'56 finish, very pleasing with no watch, a bit of residual illness and a pair of trashed legs.
I was delighted to see Mark had run a huge negative split in spite of paying the price for some exuberance and even more delighted that Helen had stormed through to win the ladies' race. The presentations were just getting under way, so we didn't have to wait for her presentation, but it was a bit of a surprise to hear my name called out for 5th lady (just over an hour slower than Helen!!) for a ginormous, and ginormously naff, trophy. Lucky really, I'd only just got back in time for it.
Thursday, 27 January 2011
Monday, 6 December 2010
La Rochelle and Luton that never was
In contrast to the last marathon at the Cornish where a marshal declared I was looking very serene at mile 23, La Rochelle was the ugliest marathon I have ever run. Purely for all the yelling, swearing, bad temper, grimacing and desperate lunges for each breath, the town itself is a charming old fishing port and the route a standard city one taking in a tour of the suburbs.
I had the mixed blessing of starting in the second pen with only a group of 100 runners ahead of me. Unfortunately La Rochelle has two starts and there were a few thousand runners in the other one who would run faster than my vague hopes of 4 hours. So the inevitably fast start turned into feeling like I was being trampled by a herd of wildebeest that continued for a good 15k. It was both stressful and unpleasant to feel like I was going entirely backwards, even at just over 8 mm, and even more stressful as I wanted to back right off to 9 mm. The pace was too fast, the field refused to calm down and everyone seemed to be racing. I doubt anyone was out for anything other than a good finishing time.
Mark met me at 10k, he needed a long run and the company was most welcome. The pace didn't settle though, and we were still being passed and by the time we got to half way, I'd gone into a bit of a fog. The route is 2 laps and we were back in the town centre where the crowds had built up. Bloody hell, the noise was unbearable. It was horribly stressful as the wheels had already fallen off, I was already breathing really hard and I couldn't see much. As ever, I express feeling like shit as sounding like I want to punch someone. I'm not proud of yelling at the crowds to shut the hell up and threatening to shove the next whistle I heard up its owner's derriere. I was just hurting enormously and it was only half way. In 1'49, way too fast.
Mark was being surprisingly patient with my bad grace that only deteriorated. He was very good at chatting away even though I could barely hear him, let alone respond. The field had stopped going past us by now and there were patches where it got a bit easier so we held the same pace. The bad bits came and went, there would be a few 100 metres where it felt tough but manageable then it all got hellish again and like it was the final kilometre of a 10k.
Although it was getting even more horrible by the metre, by 35k or so we were taking people back and thanks to Mark bouncing along so comfortably, my legs decided to follow him, leaving my head to fight with my lungs. I barely remember anything of the last few miles other than a fight to stay awake, everything was swimming in and out of focus, but luckily my legs were looking after themselves. So the splits were good, only slipped to 8 40 once. The last few hundred metres of La R are on cobbles and the finish tucked around a corner so you're not quite sure how far it is to go but a last push gave me a 3 40 finish with almost even splits of 1 49 and 1 51, god knows how at that effort level.
Afterwards was horrific as I was in bits, very cold and quite wet from several heavy rain showers. You get corralled into a sort of processing tent and funnelled between 6 foot high metal fencing to help yourself to a selection of food and drink, including most welcome coke and hot chocolate. You are also presented with an enormous windcheater, in white with a garish gold La Rochelle image on the reverse (I wore it, who cares), a backpack that I wore for a fraction extra warmth, a rose for the ladies and a box of fine de clair oysters (Mark later gallantly set aside his revulsion to shuck them over the bath with the freebie oyster knife we were given, never got a knife at a race before). Quite a haul. I'm just trying to forget the vile process of getting back to the hotel and defrosting and juggling all the alarm signals - "Warning! You are dangerously cold, alarmingly hungry, your brain is pulling away from the inside of your skull, you need to sleep RIGHT NOW, your fingers are blue and are going to drop off, oh yes, and your legs are a bit sore. You bloody idiot, what the hell have you done to yourself?"
I totally paid the price for racing La R in such cold and wet conditions and came down with a cold almost immediately afterwards. I despise being ill and consider it, entirely irrationally, as a sign of weakness. Therefore, I am reluctant to sit around under a blanket with hot drinks, especially when on holiday and there are icy streets to wander around. So by the time this weekend's Luton marathon was cancelled, I'd decided I was well enough to run a replacement, in spite of an abortive few miles on Saturday where breathing was almost impossible in cold dry air.
10 in 10er David Bayley had come to the rescue by staging the emergency Christmas Enigma to save those of us on marathon streaks, on countdowns to their 100, keen to avoid wasting Luton training or those just plain addicted. Weather conditions were ok if you don't mind the cold and the field full of friendly familiar faces. I started off feeling ok, but after half way was getting very cold and very hungry. It was 7 laps and as soon as I started the 5th I knew I was too cold, plus my legs were tired as a result of racing La R last week. Normally they're fine in a road mara and look after themselves but this time they were buckling by 18 miles. The loss of speed meant less heat generated plus, as I discovered later, I was sweating like a stuck pig and soaked all down my back, leaving a nice frost pattern. Must be illness related, I certainly wasn't running hard enough to sweat. At the end of the 5th lap, I was unbearably freezing and knew that my legs weren't capable of running much more.
DNFing felt as numb as my hands. It's 1 DNF out of 52 marathons I've started this year so not a bad ratio, but it's funny to think you can still lack the resilience to finish it off when you've done 90-odd of the blighters. I have a bit of a conundrum that several third parties think has a very simple answer. If I count the 10 in 10 Club AGM marathon from back in January, then I'm still on track for 52 this year. My 100th at Malta is fine, I could always find another one in Jan / Feb, but this is my only shot at 52 marathons in a single calendar year, I'm never going to put myself through this again. I counted the 10 in 10 AGM for my 50th and 75th and only recently decided not to, on the grounds that it didn't seem to me like a proper marathon. But then I'll ultimately be doing 100 road marathons and not counting my trail events so, if it counts to the 100 club rules, then surely it's no more and no less valid than my other doubtful events, like the LDWA ones. Unless Roger (chairman of the 100 Club) thinks otherwise, I think I'll count the 10 in 10 AGM, stay on track, and stop trying to find dividing lines in a very grey area. Which would mean I'm still on 52 for the year with Calvia this weekend (I *will* be better and I *won't* be racing) and on 95 in total.
I had the mixed blessing of starting in the second pen with only a group of 100 runners ahead of me. Unfortunately La Rochelle has two starts and there were a few thousand runners in the other one who would run faster than my vague hopes of 4 hours. So the inevitably fast start turned into feeling like I was being trampled by a herd of wildebeest that continued for a good 15k. It was both stressful and unpleasant to feel like I was going entirely backwards, even at just over 8 mm, and even more stressful as I wanted to back right off to 9 mm. The pace was too fast, the field refused to calm down and everyone seemed to be racing. I doubt anyone was out for anything other than a good finishing time.
Mark met me at 10k, he needed a long run and the company was most welcome. The pace didn't settle though, and we were still being passed and by the time we got to half way, I'd gone into a bit of a fog. The route is 2 laps and we were back in the town centre where the crowds had built up. Bloody hell, the noise was unbearable. It was horribly stressful as the wheels had already fallen off, I was already breathing really hard and I couldn't see much. As ever, I express feeling like shit as sounding like I want to punch someone. I'm not proud of yelling at the crowds to shut the hell up and threatening to shove the next whistle I heard up its owner's derriere. I was just hurting enormously and it was only half way. In 1'49, way too fast.
Mark was being surprisingly patient with my bad grace that only deteriorated. He was very good at chatting away even though I could barely hear him, let alone respond. The field had stopped going past us by now and there were patches where it got a bit easier so we held the same pace. The bad bits came and went, there would be a few 100 metres where it felt tough but manageable then it all got hellish again and like it was the final kilometre of a 10k.
Although it was getting even more horrible by the metre, by 35k or so we were taking people back and thanks to Mark bouncing along so comfortably, my legs decided to follow him, leaving my head to fight with my lungs. I barely remember anything of the last few miles other than a fight to stay awake, everything was swimming in and out of focus, but luckily my legs were looking after themselves. So the splits were good, only slipped to 8 40 once. The last few hundred metres of La R are on cobbles and the finish tucked around a corner so you're not quite sure how far it is to go but a last push gave me a 3 40 finish with almost even splits of 1 49 and 1 51, god knows how at that effort level.
Afterwards was horrific as I was in bits, very cold and quite wet from several heavy rain showers. You get corralled into a sort of processing tent and funnelled between 6 foot high metal fencing to help yourself to a selection of food and drink, including most welcome coke and hot chocolate. You are also presented with an enormous windcheater, in white with a garish gold La Rochelle image on the reverse (I wore it, who cares), a backpack that I wore for a fraction extra warmth, a rose for the ladies and a box of fine de clair oysters (Mark later gallantly set aside his revulsion to shuck them over the bath with the freebie oyster knife we were given, never got a knife at a race before). Quite a haul. I'm just trying to forget the vile process of getting back to the hotel and defrosting and juggling all the alarm signals - "Warning! You are dangerously cold, alarmingly hungry, your brain is pulling away from the inside of your skull, you need to sleep RIGHT NOW, your fingers are blue and are going to drop off, oh yes, and your legs are a bit sore. You bloody idiot, what the hell have you done to yourself?"
I totally paid the price for racing La R in such cold and wet conditions and came down with a cold almost immediately afterwards. I despise being ill and consider it, entirely irrationally, as a sign of weakness. Therefore, I am reluctant to sit around under a blanket with hot drinks, especially when on holiday and there are icy streets to wander around. So by the time this weekend's Luton marathon was cancelled, I'd decided I was well enough to run a replacement, in spite of an abortive few miles on Saturday where breathing was almost impossible in cold dry air.
10 in 10er David Bayley had come to the rescue by staging the emergency Christmas Enigma to save those of us on marathon streaks, on countdowns to their 100, keen to avoid wasting Luton training or those just plain addicted. Weather conditions were ok if you don't mind the cold and the field full of friendly familiar faces. I started off feeling ok, but after half way was getting very cold and very hungry. It was 7 laps and as soon as I started the 5th I knew I was too cold, plus my legs were tired as a result of racing La R last week. Normally they're fine in a road mara and look after themselves but this time they were buckling by 18 miles. The loss of speed meant less heat generated plus, as I discovered later, I was sweating like a stuck pig and soaked all down my back, leaving a nice frost pattern. Must be illness related, I certainly wasn't running hard enough to sweat. At the end of the 5th lap, I was unbearably freezing and knew that my legs weren't capable of running much more.
DNFing felt as numb as my hands. It's 1 DNF out of 52 marathons I've started this year so not a bad ratio, but it's funny to think you can still lack the resilience to finish it off when you've done 90-odd of the blighters. I have a bit of a conundrum that several third parties think has a very simple answer. If I count the 10 in 10 Club AGM marathon from back in January, then I'm still on track for 52 this year. My 100th at Malta is fine, I could always find another one in Jan / Feb, but this is my only shot at 52 marathons in a single calendar year, I'm never going to put myself through this again. I counted the 10 in 10 AGM for my 50th and 75th and only recently decided not to, on the grounds that it didn't seem to me like a proper marathon. But then I'll ultimately be doing 100 road marathons and not counting my trail events so, if it counts to the 100 club rules, then surely it's no more and no less valid than my other doubtful events, like the LDWA ones. Unless Roger (chairman of the 100 Club) thinks otherwise, I think I'll count the 10 in 10 AGM, stay on track, and stop trying to find dividing lines in a very grey area. Which would mean I'm still on 52 for the year with Calvia this weekend (I *will* be better and I *won't* be racing) and on 95 in total.
Monday, 15 November 2010
Naomi in 5 mile cross country shocker
A 5 mile cross country race isn't really my bag, however, after 13 marathons in 11 weeks, I needed a break from all the travelling as much as from all the miles. Plus it was Mark's birthday so it seemed a bit rude to wander off to do my own thing, yet again, after he'd given up several of his weekends to keep me company. Plus, the alternatives were the LDWA Steppingley Step (muddy fields, increasingly soggy and disintegrating written instructions on sheets of A4, lots of boredom, lots of stiles, lots of shuffling, negligible running), Gower (the only race I've DNFed purely because it was so blinkin' miserable, hooning down with rain, swamplike underfoot and bound to take over 6 hours), and the triple marathon over the Ridgeway (sleeping on a school floor, cold showers, wet kit, covered in endless mud, most people getting lost and finishing in the dark). I could have gone to France for the Nice-Cannes marathon that looked fabulous but that was a bit much with 2 foreign maras already booked in for November. So it was a marathon free weekend.
Mark had entered his club's Autumn Challenge, saying it was the best race ever for reasons I never quite managed to pin down. Still, I knew that if he went off to run a race on Sunday morning and it was remotely decent weather, I'd feel far too jealous stood on the sidelines cheering him on. So I entered. The Autumn Challenge is 5 miles (too short), off road (too non-tarmac), on grass (too slippy and tussocky), and muddy trails (too muddy and slippy), and hilly (ok, I don't mind this bit). It also suggested the course would "take a short spike". I have never heard this sort of language in any race I have entered before, it was a little intimidating. I wore road shoes and hoped in vain for dry weather in the few days leading up to the race.
It was mild and dry and even sunny on Sunday morning so the back up plan of just ditching it wasn't required. A 20 minute walk to the start plus maybe 5 minutes of trotting about on the grass was a half arsed attempt at loosening up but the autumn challenge for me was concentrating on running hard right from the start rather than ambling off at a very pedestrian pace before taking about 4 miles to realise what I'm doing and to start thinking about running as I usually do in marathons. It passes a bit of time, ok?
The start was up a shallow hill, on grass and quite slippy. Happily, the bulk of it was on varying degrees of muddy trail which was far more tolerable, indeed, I've done plenty of off road marathons on worse terrain, plus none of the hills were very long. Of course, at eyeballs out pace, they're a lot more unpleasant but at least my road maras have taught me that you can run up hills, unlike trail maras and ultras where hills are almost obligatory to walk. I was passed by quite a few people in the first mile as the field shook itself out, by next to noone in the middle 3 miles (where I took a few back) and by only a couple in the last mile. Which suggests that while my top gear is reasonably sustainable, I definitely had no more pace for the finish.
Despite feeling minor dread and perhaps because of such low expectations, I rather enjoyed running to the point where it felt like my lungs were about to explode for 40 minutes. It feels more efficient to know you're covering ground as fast as you can rather than scuffing about and taking forever. I don't like wasting time. It's also quite nice to feel more competitive than usual, it's been all too easy to think "stuff it, I've run 48 marathons this year, I've got nothing to prove" and ease off (see drifting times and abominable training passim) so this was rather refreshing. I had no expectation of time so with the terrain and hills was quite satisfied with 40'59 for 5.12 miles, bang on 8'00 minute miling. Same as my 1/2 marathon pace, same as the pace I've maintained for 16 miles in a marathon. Proof that I don't have much acceleration.
Targets were as follows:
1. Don't injure myself - done
2. Don't hate it too much - done
3. Don't fall over - done
4. Don't embarrass myself - done, I was 46th out of 146 overall, 11th of 51 ladies and 3rd of 17 senior ladies.
5. Don't embarrass Mark by beating him on his birthday race - done, he did himself proud with 6th overall and 1st MV40. And yes, I hadn't a chance in hell of beating him.
Mark had entered his club's Autumn Challenge, saying it was the best race ever for reasons I never quite managed to pin down. Still, I knew that if he went off to run a race on Sunday morning and it was remotely decent weather, I'd feel far too jealous stood on the sidelines cheering him on. So I entered. The Autumn Challenge is 5 miles (too short), off road (too non-tarmac), on grass (too slippy and tussocky), and muddy trails (too muddy and slippy), and hilly (ok, I don't mind this bit). It also suggested the course would "take a short spike". I have never heard this sort of language in any race I have entered before, it was a little intimidating. I wore road shoes and hoped in vain for dry weather in the few days leading up to the race.
It was mild and dry and even sunny on Sunday morning so the back up plan of just ditching it wasn't required. A 20 minute walk to the start plus maybe 5 minutes of trotting about on the grass was a half arsed attempt at loosening up but the autumn challenge for me was concentrating on running hard right from the start rather than ambling off at a very pedestrian pace before taking about 4 miles to realise what I'm doing and to start thinking about running as I usually do in marathons. It passes a bit of time, ok?
The start was up a shallow hill, on grass and quite slippy. Happily, the bulk of it was on varying degrees of muddy trail which was far more tolerable, indeed, I've done plenty of off road marathons on worse terrain, plus none of the hills were very long. Of course, at eyeballs out pace, they're a lot more unpleasant but at least my road maras have taught me that you can run up hills, unlike trail maras and ultras where hills are almost obligatory to walk. I was passed by quite a few people in the first mile as the field shook itself out, by next to noone in the middle 3 miles (where I took a few back) and by only a couple in the last mile. Which suggests that while my top gear is reasonably sustainable, I definitely had no more pace for the finish.
Despite feeling minor dread and perhaps because of such low expectations, I rather enjoyed running to the point where it felt like my lungs were about to explode for 40 minutes. It feels more efficient to know you're covering ground as fast as you can rather than scuffing about and taking forever. I don't like wasting time. It's also quite nice to feel more competitive than usual, it's been all too easy to think "stuff it, I've run 48 marathons this year, I've got nothing to prove" and ease off (see drifting times and abominable training passim) so this was rather refreshing. I had no expectation of time so with the terrain and hills was quite satisfied with 40'59 for 5.12 miles, bang on 8'00 minute miling. Same as my 1/2 marathon pace, same as the pace I've maintained for 16 miles in a marathon. Proof that I don't have much acceleration.
Targets were as follows:
1. Don't injure myself - done
2. Don't hate it too much - done
3. Don't fall over - done
4. Don't embarrass myself - done, I was 46th out of 146 overall, 11th of 51 ladies and 3rd of 17 senior ladies.
5. Don't embarrass Mark by beating him on his birthday race - done, he did himself proud with 6th overall and 1st MV40. And yes, I hadn't a chance in hell of beating him.
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Porto marathon
Porto was a lovely weekend, not just my usual whistle stop trip for a marathon but the chance to relax a bit more, see more of the city and have a very pleasant weekend with Mark. I had slightly conflicting thoughts about him coming along and not running, on the one hand, it was good that he didn't have another marathon as multiple marathoning is a choice you have to make yourself, not one to be influenced into, however unintentionally; on the other, I felt a bit prima donna-ish with my race being the dominant theme, especially as Mark was relegated to supporter, jumper carrier, water bearer and soigneur, roles that he fulfilled very proficiently. I don't think anyone's ever tried to pin my number on for me before. It was, however, excellent to have such good company, and even more excellent when he popped up at 15k and kept me company for the next almost 11.
Portuguese marathons appear to be like the smaller Spanish ones: they're very competitive with a fast field, you're going to feel quite lonely if you finish in much over 4 hours. There are also very few women, 93 of a 1,180 strong field, that's about 8%. It's not so much a social thing as it is in the UK, people are there to race, and I rather like that attitude, it makes you feel part of something a bit more momentous, it's more than a bunch of people getting together for a jolly old jaunt together, stopping off to eat cake and chat. But then I am getting quite purist.
On Saturday, we went, via winding lanes, crooked houses and epic flights of steps, to the expo at the not very Crystal Palace that gave out a cracking goody bag with a race number with my name on it, backpack, technical t-shirt, baseball cap, a few odds and sods like a keyring and samples and, most excitingly of all, a full size 750ml bottle of commemorative marathon port. I was hugely pleased with this, although it represented a further challenge of decimating it before the flight back (it was polished off sitting on the harbour in the sunshine post race). The free feed was pretty vast too, if of school dinner quality, but the included beer made it worthwhile. At the finish was yet more free stuff, ladies were given a rose and we all got a drawstring bag with another baseball cap and a cotton t-shirt, and there was a stall set up doling out more beer. It's one of the most alcoholic races I've done and one of the better value ones. Less said about the flight the better.
As for my performance, I wasn't best prepared for the race, having a minor port headache, chronic sleep deprivation which is short circuiting increasing parts of my brain, and a series of niggles exacerbated by walking up and down many hills and steps in Porto on Saturday afternoon in inappropriate shoes. The current list includes (but is not exclusive to): right ankle, achilles and anterior tibialis, right back of knee, outside of both knees (prob tight ITBs), inside the top of my left knee that tends to give out on sudden inclines, right hamstring and where the deltoids meet the spine. It's all adding to the general feeling of decrepitude and the requirement for a good 6 weeks resting in a sanitorium on the banks of Lake Garda.
However, I was really looking forward to the run, and usually do for marathons like Porto where I get to see lots of a nice city. This is a charming town with a great route down to the coast, along the sea front, then up the Douro river with a few out and backs before heading back the way we came. The start is straight up a hill for 1/2 a k, then downhill for 7k to the coast to tempt you into a fast start, luckily we were spared the long climb all the way back as the finish was "only" 2k up, although this does deposit you a long way from town.
My pacing has gone a bit haywire lately so I've had to run to perceived effort and accept whatever pace that results. This time that seemed like 8'30s which was a rather nice turn up for the books, it's been more like 9'15s recently. When Mark joined me, about 2km before I expected him, it definitely helped keep the rhythm going. He left me just before the hardest bit mentally, from 26 to 30k when it was getting quite warm and I was getting a bit sleepy and lacking in concentration. A Dutch bloke came alongside with perfect cadence so I latched onto him for a bit. The increasing heat was lovely and eased out some of the aches, and after seeing Mark again at 31k, it was a matter of counting down the ks. The legs were very very tired in the last 3 or 4 miles and the pace drifted a bit, but a sub 4 was without doubt. What was very tight was a sub 3'50 but, given I hadn't done one of these since April and I couldn't remember when GFA times expire, I had to go for it. The last 1.5k uphill was pretty cruel..... Finished in 3'49'20, got my rose, bag #2 and beer, then was very lucky to find a cab avoiding a long old hike back to the hotel inevitably getting very lost. Just a shame there was no teleporter to get us back home.
Postscript: I have to name and shame Victor Hutchins from Queen's Park Harrier who we saw peeing on the 25k distance marker, it didn't help that Mark had seen very few other Brits so had given him a cheery wave and shout on at least 3 occasions, to be totally ignored each time. Victor, you are the victor of the most vile runner prize, narrowly beating the portly gentleman running in racing knickers.
Portuguese marathons appear to be like the smaller Spanish ones: they're very competitive with a fast field, you're going to feel quite lonely if you finish in much over 4 hours. There are also very few women, 93 of a 1,180 strong field, that's about 8%. It's not so much a social thing as it is in the UK, people are there to race, and I rather like that attitude, it makes you feel part of something a bit more momentous, it's more than a bunch of people getting together for a jolly old jaunt together, stopping off to eat cake and chat. But then I am getting quite purist.
On Saturday, we went, via winding lanes, crooked houses and epic flights of steps, to the expo at the not very Crystal Palace that gave out a cracking goody bag with a race number with my name on it, backpack, technical t-shirt, baseball cap, a few odds and sods like a keyring and samples and, most excitingly of all, a full size 750ml bottle of commemorative marathon port. I was hugely pleased with this, although it represented a further challenge of decimating it before the flight back (it was polished off sitting on the harbour in the sunshine post race). The free feed was pretty vast too, if of school dinner quality, but the included beer made it worthwhile. At the finish was yet more free stuff, ladies were given a rose and we all got a drawstring bag with another baseball cap and a cotton t-shirt, and there was a stall set up doling out more beer. It's one of the most alcoholic races I've done and one of the better value ones. Less said about the flight the better.
As for my performance, I wasn't best prepared for the race, having a minor port headache, chronic sleep deprivation which is short circuiting increasing parts of my brain, and a series of niggles exacerbated by walking up and down many hills and steps in Porto on Saturday afternoon in inappropriate shoes. The current list includes (but is not exclusive to): right ankle, achilles and anterior tibialis, right back of knee, outside of both knees (prob tight ITBs), inside the top of my left knee that tends to give out on sudden inclines, right hamstring and where the deltoids meet the spine. It's all adding to the general feeling of decrepitude and the requirement for a good 6 weeks resting in a sanitorium on the banks of Lake Garda.
However, I was really looking forward to the run, and usually do for marathons like Porto where I get to see lots of a nice city. This is a charming town with a great route down to the coast, along the sea front, then up the Douro river with a few out and backs before heading back the way we came. The start is straight up a hill for 1/2 a k, then downhill for 7k to the coast to tempt you into a fast start, luckily we were spared the long climb all the way back as the finish was "only" 2k up, although this does deposit you a long way from town.
My pacing has gone a bit haywire lately so I've had to run to perceived effort and accept whatever pace that results. This time that seemed like 8'30s which was a rather nice turn up for the books, it's been more like 9'15s recently. When Mark joined me, about 2km before I expected him, it definitely helped keep the rhythm going. He left me just before the hardest bit mentally, from 26 to 30k when it was getting quite warm and I was getting a bit sleepy and lacking in concentration. A Dutch bloke came alongside with perfect cadence so I latched onto him for a bit. The increasing heat was lovely and eased out some of the aches, and after seeing Mark again at 31k, it was a matter of counting down the ks. The legs were very very tired in the last 3 or 4 miles and the pace drifted a bit, but a sub 4 was without doubt. What was very tight was a sub 3'50 but, given I hadn't done one of these since April and I couldn't remember when GFA times expire, I had to go for it. The last 1.5k uphill was pretty cruel..... Finished in 3'49'20, got my rose, bag #2 and beer, then was very lucky to find a cab avoiding a long old hike back to the hotel inevitably getting very lost. Just a shame there was no teleporter to get us back home.
Postscript: I have to name and shame Victor Hutchins from Queen's Park Harrier who we saw peeing on the 25k distance marker, it didn't help that Mark had seen very few other Brits so had given him a cheery wave and shout on at least 3 occasions, to be totally ignored each time. Victor, you are the victor of the most vile runner prize, narrowly beating the portly gentleman running in racing knickers.
Monday, 8 November 2010
Snowdonia marathon
Mark had been a proper gentleman and offered to drive up to Snowdonia, thus sparing me a really difficult journey plus the expense of two nights in a shonky hotel or B&B plus affording the opportunity to stop off in Crewe to see my sister who you may remember was my lead cheerleader and tea and jam sandwich provider at the 10 in 10. Hence I got to stay in the car and out of the drizzle as long as possible before the start, so didn't spot many familiar faces other than a couple of 100 Clubbers either there or on the route.
It was actually quite nice to set off at a very pedestrian pace with the meagre aims of a sub 5 finish and not too much of a drenching from the local weather. Only one of those was in my control. After a gentle few miles to warm up came the first hill. Now, reports had suggested this race was harder than the Langdale mara so I was very happy to find that the first was quite easily runnable and knew there would be some fabulous views and a delightful downhill reward to follow. Turning onto a shaley track wasn't ideal, didn't like that bit. Once back on the road there was plenty of pretty much flat to half way and, having seen on the route profile that the second hill was shorter than the first, it was easy enough to run up it. Around this point, Gail from Watford Joggers caught up with me and we had a nice chat until we passed Mark who recognised his clubmate well before he recognised me...
Thanks to my steady start, it felt quite comfortable over the last 10 and I passed quite a lot of soggy, miserable looking runners. On reaching the last hill, I knew I ought to break 4'30 and if I kept about 10 minute miles going it would be 4'20, not so easy with the notorious Waun Fawr (sp?) in the way. I really didn't want to walk the hill, not just because of losing time but also because it was already wet and looking to get wetter and I'd just freeze. So I managed a nice steady trot all the way to the top, had a bit of a laugh to myself at all those people who'd said Langdale is harder, I could barely walk the hills in Langdale let alone run them, witnessed a big lightening flash and rumble of thunder, thought I ought to get in before that lands on our heads, then hit trail. For heaven's sake. This is a "road marathon", I can tolerate a bit of low-fat track but this turned into full-fat, extra lard, uneven stony path before deteriorating into muddy, churned up, slippy grass awash with puddles. Not so bad on the flat but the descent was quite dangerous in road shoes. Thankfully the last 2/3rds of a mile were back on road, though now in torrential rain with a good inch or two of water running off the hills, I've never seen anything so heavy outside of Asia. Cleaned my shoes up a bit.
Came over the line in 4'18, only 8 minutes slower than Abingdon, quite pleased with that. Was presented with a cup of cold water (just what I need) and a slate coaster, got gathered up by Mark, had a brief chat to Yin Hai, Fu and Gail and made straight for the car. I like that the organisers are trying to make this an ethical event, including giving you a carbon neutral t-shirt, but it's pissing in the wind when virtually everyone has to drive a blinking long way to get to your race. Overall however, an excellent event, loads of well-stocked water stations, slick start and finish and a grand sense of occasion. Hardly saw any marshals away from the water stations and the traffic could have done with more management but otherwise it was top drawer. I might be back next year, if I can be bothered with the epic journey.
It was actually quite nice to set off at a very pedestrian pace with the meagre aims of a sub 5 finish and not too much of a drenching from the local weather. Only one of those was in my control. After a gentle few miles to warm up came the first hill. Now, reports had suggested this race was harder than the Langdale mara so I was very happy to find that the first was quite easily runnable and knew there would be some fabulous views and a delightful downhill reward to follow. Turning onto a shaley track wasn't ideal, didn't like that bit. Once back on the road there was plenty of pretty much flat to half way and, having seen on the route profile that the second hill was shorter than the first, it was easy enough to run up it. Around this point, Gail from Watford Joggers caught up with me and we had a nice chat until we passed Mark who recognised his clubmate well before he recognised me...
Thanks to my steady start, it felt quite comfortable over the last 10 and I passed quite a lot of soggy, miserable looking runners. On reaching the last hill, I knew I ought to break 4'30 and if I kept about 10 minute miles going it would be 4'20, not so easy with the notorious Waun Fawr (sp?) in the way. I really didn't want to walk the hill, not just because of losing time but also because it was already wet and looking to get wetter and I'd just freeze. So I managed a nice steady trot all the way to the top, had a bit of a laugh to myself at all those people who'd said Langdale is harder, I could barely walk the hills in Langdale let alone run them, witnessed a big lightening flash and rumble of thunder, thought I ought to get in before that lands on our heads, then hit trail. For heaven's sake. This is a "road marathon", I can tolerate a bit of low-fat track but this turned into full-fat, extra lard, uneven stony path before deteriorating into muddy, churned up, slippy grass awash with puddles. Not so bad on the flat but the descent was quite dangerous in road shoes. Thankfully the last 2/3rds of a mile were back on road, though now in torrential rain with a good inch or two of water running off the hills, I've never seen anything so heavy outside of Asia. Cleaned my shoes up a bit.
Came over the line in 4'18, only 8 minutes slower than Abingdon, quite pleased with that. Was presented with a cup of cold water (just what I need) and a slate coaster, got gathered up by Mark, had a brief chat to Yin Hai, Fu and Gail and made straight for the car. I like that the organisers are trying to make this an ethical event, including giving you a carbon neutral t-shirt, but it's pissing in the wind when virtually everyone has to drive a blinking long way to get to your race. Overall however, an excellent event, loads of well-stocked water stations, slick start and finish and a grand sense of occasion. Hardly saw any marshals away from the water stations and the traffic could have done with more management but otherwise it was top drawer. I might be back next year, if I can be bothered with the epic journey.
Monday, 25 October 2010
Abingdon & Brentwood marathons
For the first time in 80 marathons, I couldn't blog a race last weekend. Abingdon was horrible because it was so blinkin' cold but more so because I hurt as much after the finish as I did after my first few marathons. Waking up in the middle of the night because your legs are so painful isn't something that's happened since Hastings in 2008 (setting aside the 10 in 10 ) and the thought of putting myself through that 10 more times was enormously depressing. It also seemed inappropriate to be moaning about a horrible race after so many people, and Mark in particular, had had fantastic marathons, there's nothing worse than someone tainting your achievement by whinging about how miserable they are.
As a result, I was dreading Brentwood. It's off road and the paranoia has started to build that I may get injured between now and the 100th. There have been a few people who've had to get through their last few marathons on injuries and it's not appealing; however, with so many people going out to Malta, the pressure is considerable. I'm also slower off road and wasn't looking forward to 5 hours of shuffling about in the cold. What I expected to be fairly flat, nicely smooth gravel packed paths turned out to be a mix of slippy grass and muddy trail, barely any of it flat, and two long hills on each of the 12 laps. Thank god for the laps, 12 is a perfect, many divisible number to break it up all manner of ways, and it actually felt like a 12 mile race, with each mile being really quite long.
It was lung-shrinkingly cold again (proved by a bit of a coughing fit post race) but the sun was out on a few stretches, which made the frosty grass fairly greasy, contrasting with the ever increasingly churned up mud on the woody sections. Road shoes meant a lot of sliding around, but it was worth it to avoid vile trail shoes (anyone want a filthy, no doubt mouldy, very much unwanted pair of Innov8s?). Lovely to see deer in the park, particularly the buck that crashed out of the bushes and bounded across the path in front of me in the woods. Also very lovely in the last 2 laps to see Mark turn up after his cross country to provide cheers and spur me on through the last few miles.
Having set off at a sedate pace, I was able to run all the hills to the 8th lap, then walked just the top section of the steeper hill, it was quite reassuring to see I could get up them, albeit very slowly. I have a very sore ankle from a totally unnecessary ditch we had to cross and inside of the right hip flexor from the hill running and had no thought of placing at my plodding pace. So when I got to the brow of the final hill, with about 100 yards to go, and one girl just ahead of me, it seemed only right to pick off one more place if I could. I sprinted past her and pipped her to the line by about 2 seconds. With 4'31, it was a very pleasant surprise to be presented with a trophy for second lady but I felt rather guilty for swiping it from under t'other girl's nose right on the line. Sometimes it's worth turning up to races with a small field, you can do better than you expected.
As a result, I was dreading Brentwood. It's off road and the paranoia has started to build that I may get injured between now and the 100th. There have been a few people who've had to get through their last few marathons on injuries and it's not appealing; however, with so many people going out to Malta, the pressure is considerable. I'm also slower off road and wasn't looking forward to 5 hours of shuffling about in the cold. What I expected to be fairly flat, nicely smooth gravel packed paths turned out to be a mix of slippy grass and muddy trail, barely any of it flat, and two long hills on each of the 12 laps. Thank god for the laps, 12 is a perfect, many divisible number to break it up all manner of ways, and it actually felt like a 12 mile race, with each mile being really quite long.
It was lung-shrinkingly cold again (proved by a bit of a coughing fit post race) but the sun was out on a few stretches, which made the frosty grass fairly greasy, contrasting with the ever increasingly churned up mud on the woody sections. Road shoes meant a lot of sliding around, but it was worth it to avoid vile trail shoes (anyone want a filthy, no doubt mouldy, very much unwanted pair of Innov8s?). Lovely to see deer in the park, particularly the buck that crashed out of the bushes and bounded across the path in front of me in the woods. Also very lovely in the last 2 laps to see Mark turn up after his cross country to provide cheers and spur me on through the last few miles.
Having set off at a sedate pace, I was able to run all the hills to the 8th lap, then walked just the top section of the steeper hill, it was quite reassuring to see I could get up them, albeit very slowly. I have a very sore ankle from a totally unnecessary ditch we had to cross and inside of the right hip flexor from the hill running and had no thought of placing at my plodding pace. So when I got to the brow of the final hill, with about 100 yards to go, and one girl just ahead of me, it seemed only right to pick off one more place if I could. I sprinted past her and pipped her to the line by about 2 seconds. With 4'31, it was a very pleasant surprise to be presented with a trophy for second lady but I felt rather guilty for swiping it from under t'other girl's nose right on the line. Sometimes it's worth turning up to races with a small field, you can do better than you expected.
Sunday, 10 October 2010
Leicester marathon
The ancient Greeks has a philosophy that the mind is like a house with lots of rooms, some of which you shouldn't go into. Today, a door opened to one room and, because of a momentary falter, I had a bit of a peek inside. And very nearly ruined my whole race. It was only at 12 miles and my legs had been tired and heavy all the way through the previous almost-two-hours, and were feeling very sluggish. But this seemed to bring things to a head, it was almost certainly psychosomatic (and hence why I shouldn't have gone into the room), but suddenly I felt very spacey, the tunnel vision descended and my legs felt like lead. For half a mile all I could think about was curling up and sleeping but luckily I came up to a 100 Clubber taking his daughter round her first marathon who chatted for a bit. That bit of reality shook me out of my funk, I've no idea where it came from, but things got better from there.
The moral is, there are doors in your mind that you shouldn't open during a marathon. They are the doors to doubt, fatigue, tired and aching limbs ( NB. you should open the pain-that-indicates-you've-done-some-damage door), getting carried away and bombing through the first 6 miles, thinking about the finish until you're certain you're going to get there etc etc. And there are doors that you need to open as you get further through a race: confidence, belief in your training, desire to achieve the targets you've set, a healthy dose of competition, determination to stick through the last 10 miles when you want to walk, the rewards of getting the finish you want.
Now I've stretched that metaphor to its limits, back to the marathon. Or rather not, there's not much to say. The second half was better than the first - the half runners were winding me up big time in the first 6 miles and I have never seen such a shocking collection of terrible running styles, arms flailing, legs kicking out every which way, over striding, scuffing, heads shoved forward. It was extraordinary. That's not a comment on half marathoners, it merely seemed like a convention of runners desperate to injure themselves.
Mentally, I felt stronger the more this race went on, which isn't surprising, it gets easier the fewer miles you have left, and found it quite rewarding to give a bit of encouragement to a few guys doing their first back to back marathon and to a guy going for his first sub 4 (he got it). The last mile is cruelly uphill but my pacing had been a bit more classic today - first half 1'56, second half 1'59 so I just had to keep running for the sub 4. Nice even pacing throughout, after a bit of a speedy start, nice strong finish, not too trashed afterwards, and home by 5pm, not a bad day all round.
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