All I wanted from Seville was a comfortable sub 4 which should have been straightforward. I'd dropped a bit of training during the week purely because I was knackered, so had done 40 miles, far from a taper, but on the other hand, hadn't run a marathon for 2 weeks. (Note to self, don't forget how stupid that sounds to almost everyone, runners included). Preparation has become much more slick now - up, shower, big breakfast, healthy dose of caffeine, race number on, two gels under the bra straps and garmin set. Carb loading had been an indecently enormous plate of pasta the night before which was an endurance event in itself, I reckon it would have fed two hungry people comfortably. As I'd made the comment earlier that I may not have eaten enough for a marathon, the BF challenged me to eat the whole thing which took a very long time but the last mouthful seemed like victory. Restaurants like that must ring a bell in the kitchen if plates go back clean.
Race morning was far far colder than we expected at about 6 degrees, but you get a huge haul of free stuff from this race, including a race vest that was a perfect extra layer. The racing knickers that I was also presented with weren't quite as useful as the wardrobe clothing bag that was just large enough to squeeze into before the start. Happily, P and I found each other before the start so we set off together as we have done a few times before. It's really good to have company for the first few miles and it's perfectly fine when he wants to push off. One day, when I'm having a really good day and he's having a really bad one, I'll beat him, he's been about 5 - 10 minutes ahead of me for the last few. The race starts in the Olympic stadium which is great for facilities (loads of loos, but take your own tissues, and wet wipes if you want to wash your hands. Progress of a sort) and atmosphere but there's a bit of a crush to get out, hence our first mile was 9'23. Beyond that, the roads were wide and spacious, there was bags of room and long straight stretches of glorious tarmac to enjoy. It's not the most scenic of races, going round the outskirts of the city, but it's very fast.
We ran the first 11k together before P drifted off, I was keen to run conservatively for as long as possible for a strong finish so eased back. Well, it felt like easing back, but was just maintaining exactly the same pace. It all passed very quickly and the half way point came round very soon in dead on 1 hour 50. That meant an even split would get me 1 minute off my 3'38'58 PB, slowing down a bit to a 2 hour 2nd half would be a good 3'50, and even crashing to a 2 hour 10 2nd half would get a sub 4. And a negative split would get a PB............ I really didn't want to think about that yet, I blew up a bit in Marrakech and it could happen again, so the decision was parked in favour of staying comfortable and even slowing down a fraction.
By 30k, there was 1 hour 1 minute to run 12.2k to equal my current PB, exactly 8 minute miles. Now I haven't done much speed work lately so that's quite stretchy, and it was only to equal it. I wasn't desperate for a PB but I decided to risk it, if I got it, that would be brilliant, if I didn't, then it was no big deal, I'd be very close, probably get a GFA time and it's better to have had a go than to wonder what if. I took one of my gels that I didn't really need but would probably help and started concentrating. With about 9k to go, I came up alongside a Spanish bloke who was looking very strong, running hard and shouting encouragement at everyone. He was the perfect pacer, as I went past him, I beckoned him to come with me and we stuck together from then on. He was great, calling out how far we had to go, geeing up the walkers, and refusing to let me go when I had a doubtful moment with 8k left and tried to drop off the pace. We were seriously hammering those last few miles and passing dozens and dozens of people, it felt like we were flying. With 3k to go, I knew I'd get a PB of about 30 seconds, hardly worth it, but still a PB. It was hurting quite a bit now, my legs were fine but I seriously need to work on my fitness, however I wasn't going to slow down. Sadly, Mr Motivator dropped back a bit but urged me on. I ran mile 24 in 7'42, mile 25 in 7'45 and mile 26 in 7'38. The last few hundred metres into the stadium, I hit 6'45 minute miling, no doubt helped by the bouncy track, and crossed the line in 3 hours 37 minutes, 35 seconds, a 83 second PB.
I saw Mr Motivator come in shortly after me and was very happy to thank him. Those last few miles are why I love marathons, with conservative pacing, you can coast through the first 20 miles then treat the last 6.2 as a real race. I often think about them in 3 thirds - 2 x 10 miles and the last 6. When you've got the tactics worked out and you have a bit of luck, marathons can be blissful. Those epic struggles along coastal trails seem a million miles away, this is why I love it - open roads, smooth tarmac, a strong finish. Great race!
Miles 1-6 49 min 48
Miles 7-12 49 min 49
Miles 13-18 50 min 07
Miles 19-24 49 min 27
Miles 25-26.4 18 min 05
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
50th marathon in Marrakech
Marrakech was set to be my 50th marathon and 6th of the month. The 50th has come round really quickly, the tally was only 10 a year ago. I've learned that you can run multiple marathons if you ease up on the intensity, learn the difference between a niggle and an incipient injury and get well and truly hooked. It's as much a social thing now too, on Sunday, I saw about 10 people I know from marathons and some of these people are hugely inspirational. 100 club member Danny must be in his late 60s now, but every race I see him in, he comes bounding past me in the last few miles looking fresh as a daisy.
I was feeling ok for this race, if a bit wary. January was a difficult and frustrating month: I'm desperate to get into 10 in 10 training, but two trail maras have caused injuries to my ITB (8 days out) and Achilles tendonitis (4 days out) so the month's mileage was close to 100 miles below where I wanted it to be. On the other hand, I've learned that overuse doesn't cause me injuries, trail running does; now I've proved I CAN run those coastal trail blighters, they're shelved for now. So I was fixed, but only just, and I need to watch the Achilles very carefully over the next few months.
A marathon in Morocco is fairly unique: it produces some amazing distance runners so the winning time was about 2 hours 10, PDQ for a not very well known race. On the other hand, a Muslim country can't be expected to field many women in the sport, only about 10% of the field were female, and most of those were foreigners. I was looking forward to running in a very different environment and the route took us through palm, olive and orange groves as well as down long stretches of dusty road more characteristic of a rapidly growing city though happily there was little pollution to bother you until the final few ks. We were anticipating fairly chaotic traffic control but it was incredibly efficient, it seems that when the chaps in khaki or navy blue with epaulettes and braiding tell you to stop, you do it, immediately. We could do with some of that here in Blighty. The bit I was most looking forward to was running past camels and there were dozens of them, looking as proud and silly as only a camel can.
The race itself was great, after a few days' out with the Achilles I was well rested, though I've lost some fitness lately. My only tactic was to enjoy it, so I set out at a comfortable pace which turned out to be about 8'20 - 8'30 / mile. It was a social day out - running alongside the BF for a few k before he took off, then talking to a united nations of runners - Morrocan Najib, a Mexican chap, a French guy, Scottish Mel, Jerry from Derry (or was it Terry from Kerry?) as well as several English people too. Sadly I didn't get to practise Italian or German which I'm learning at the moment. My lack of fitness was evident in the last few miles, and I dropped to 9'30 / mile, but I was still very pleased with 3 hours 50 on a funny month and not much speed in my legs.
So that's the 50th marathon done and a bit of a landmark. Thinking back at all the uplifting, painful, emotional, soul-destroying and euphoric memories, it makes me look forward to the next 50 with a mix of trepidation and excitement. No matter how many you run, they're still a very long way and never to be underestimated, but I'm looking forward to seeing what's going to happen, especially in the 10 in 10.
Handing over my wannabe 100 club membership tenner to Roger
I was feeling ok for this race, if a bit wary. January was a difficult and frustrating month: I'm desperate to get into 10 in 10 training, but two trail maras have caused injuries to my ITB (8 days out) and Achilles tendonitis (4 days out) so the month's mileage was close to 100 miles below where I wanted it to be. On the other hand, I've learned that overuse doesn't cause me injuries, trail running does; now I've proved I CAN run those coastal trail blighters, they're shelved for now. So I was fixed, but only just, and I need to watch the Achilles very carefully over the next few months.
A marathon in Morocco is fairly unique: it produces some amazing distance runners so the winning time was about 2 hours 10, PDQ for a not very well known race. On the other hand, a Muslim country can't be expected to field many women in the sport, only about 10% of the field were female, and most of those were foreigners. I was looking forward to running in a very different environment and the route took us through palm, olive and orange groves as well as down long stretches of dusty road more characteristic of a rapidly growing city though happily there was little pollution to bother you until the final few ks. We were anticipating fairly chaotic traffic control but it was incredibly efficient, it seems that when the chaps in khaki or navy blue with epaulettes and braiding tell you to stop, you do it, immediately. We could do with some of that here in Blighty. The bit I was most looking forward to was running past camels and there were dozens of them, looking as proud and silly as only a camel can.
The race itself was great, after a few days' out with the Achilles I was well rested, though I've lost some fitness lately. My only tactic was to enjoy it, so I set out at a comfortable pace which turned out to be about 8'20 - 8'30 / mile. It was a social day out - running alongside the BF for a few k before he took off, then talking to a united nations of runners - Morrocan Najib, a Mexican chap, a French guy, Scottish Mel, Jerry from Derry (or was it Terry from Kerry?) as well as several English people too. Sadly I didn't get to practise Italian or German which I'm learning at the moment. My lack of fitness was evident in the last few miles, and I dropped to 9'30 / mile, but I was still very pleased with 3 hours 50 on a funny month and not much speed in my legs.
So that's the 50th marathon done and a bit of a landmark. Thinking back at all the uplifting, painful, emotional, soul-destroying and euphoric memories, it makes me look forward to the next 50 with a mix of trepidation and excitement. No matter how many you run, they're still a very long way and never to be underestimated, but I'm looking forward to seeing what's going to happen, especially in the 10 in 10.
Handing over my wannabe 100 club membership tenner to Roger
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