3 marathons in 3 days: part 3 – Dublin marathon

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.