There was an inauspicious start to the Fleetwood marathon: I arrived in dire need of breakfast but there was nothing to be seen. The next door leisure centre had a cafeteria however, so off I went in hope of a round of toast and a cup of tea, to find three vending machines. Vending machines do not sell anything resembling proper food and Fleetwood at 8.30am on a Sunday morning is bereft of a functioning caff, apart from a MacDonald's in an out of town shopping centre. Low blood sugar loss of temper was increasingly close when I placed an emergency call to my mum to deliver take away breakfast. I felt very guilty that not only had I dragged her all the way to vile Fleetwood early on a Sunday but that it was also a truly miserable morning. So it was that I was stuffing down a barely chewed but very tasty MacD's egg, bacon and cheese muffin and a hash brown 20 minutes before the gun went. My digestive system is fairly robust but this did ensure a cautious start for first 2 miles. Happily, it worked fine and I didn't need any other energy at all during the race. All those recommendations to have porridge 2 hours before the race, then a sports drink 30 minutes before, no need. Just find whatever greasy bacon sandwich you can get your hands on and start out slow.
As for the start, have you ever seen that penguins game on iGoogle? There are a bunch of penguins shuffling aimlessly around a small box and when you move your cursor, they all turn as one and shuffle towards it. Move your cursor to the opposite side of the screen and they all about face and shuffle back. The start was like that. There was no line as it had been covered by sand, and no banner as it would have blown away, but noone knew which direction we were going so there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing with the speedy ones having to shove down the sides to get to what they thought was the front. With very little fanfare, the Mayor set us off. They could have at least given him a chair to stand on, noone saw him.
We set off through Fleetwood which is a total dump with a lot of care homes, a lot of run down small factory buildings masquerading as the set of a Guy Ritchie film, the Fisherman's Friend plant and a ferry to get the hell out of there. Nowt else. The route was unfathomable on the map with lots of loops and a few zig zags but the bulk of it from 7 to 23 miles was on the coastal path, a concrete sea wall. Hence no cover. It was blowing a gale inland that morning so there was no cover from the elements on the exposed coast so when we got round the turn at 7 miles we were full into a monster headwind. It was slap into your face, blasting sand at you in every direction, so much so that I was running with my right arm over my face but still had to screw my eyes up so much that I couldn't see where I was going and earned 10 years' worth of wrinkles in 26 miles. As for all those expensive microdermabrasion treatments they flog on Harley Street, save your money and come to Fleetwood. All exposed skin was stripped red raw by the sand blasting.
The water stations were ridiculously stretched out in this marathon at 3, 7, 13, 16, 21.5 and 24 miles. Two 6 mile stretched between stations is way too far especially when you've got a gob full of hurricane driven sand and you've had a very salty breakfast. I was quite traumatised after less than half way, it felt like I'd done 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and was totally battered and exhausted. What made it worse was the mental fight to keep going, at no point could you stop concentrating on maintaining some sort of straight line or not getting knocked over or blown into the wall. 4+ hours of deafening white noise torture from the gales was also very unpleasant. I like the quiet (in my office, you can usually hear no more than the airconditioning and tapping on keyboards) and this was brutally and unremittingly noisy.
There were some surreal distractions from the louring skies and boiling brown seas (yes, the sea is brown here because of all the mud washed down the Morecambe estuary) - running underneath the Blackpool illuminations was an odd flashback to childhood trips. One evening every September, we'd crawl along the prom in the car and one of us would be sent out to the chippy to get the round in. Traffic moved so slowly, you could get served and back to the car and it had only moved 50 yards. Today, we passed the Jolly Roger, Doctor Who, a haunted house, Humpty Dumpty, plenty of Buddhas and a bizarre Roman temple complete with centurion. No doubt he was after the Vestal Virgin peering coyly out of the window.
After several miles of slogging into the wind, I was a bit fed up of running what felt like 8 minute miles to achieve 12 minute miles, so I walked 21.5 to 24 with some good company from a multiple marathoner on a mighty impressive challenge to run 223 maras in memory of his nephew and another similarly impressive bloke running his first 10 marathons all in one year. I couldn't bear the shame of walking the last couple of miles so ran those for a shame-inducing time of 4'42. Those heady days of effortless PBs and serial sub 3'50s seem a long time ago.
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
Monday, 9 August 2010
Isle of Man marathon
I was absolutely knackered this weekend, having been burning the candle well and truly at both ends. My last job was so quiet that going into the office was my chance to have a rest, but my new one is requiring me to actually work, and work quite hard. The running had swelled to use up all the energy I should have been using in the office, but now I've got the double whammy of keeping the momentum going with the marathons as well as putting some effort into my job.
Hence, last weekend, I ran the Faversham marathon on Saturday, then flew to the States on Sunday for a conference and series of meetings - 8 of them on Monday, conference and drinks reception Tuesday, morning conference and 4 more meetings Wednesday. I'd managed to make the most of jet lag and get to the gym each morning, but my efforts were feeble. Three tiring days were followed by an overnight flight and straight into the office (well, I snuck home for a shower in between) for a full day then the Camra beer festival with the hard core London drinking crew. I was so tired I felt drunk even before I got in, but managed to stay awake for 10 different beers and 2 shots of toffee vodka.
Friday was predictably a write off, sitting at my desk toggling between spreadsheets with the latent horror of how much work I've got on slowly building up. None was possible. I just about managed to remind myself that Saturday's flight was at 8.50am not 9.50am.
Although that was pretty painful, getting to Douglas before noon meant I had an entire afternoon of enforced relaxation. I can't remember the last time I had the chance to read newspapers and have the odd snooze, and the sunshine coming in through the window was delicious. I think it may have been Alcman who used the phrase "limb-loosening" (one of the Greek elegiac poets at any rate, and in a rather different context), anyway, this was proper limb-loosening and restorative relaxation.
That was rather a long preamble to a race report.. The Isle of Man marathon is one of my favourite sorts of race - small field, country lanes, great views, lots of familiar faces. It's over two loops which was perfect, it was good to know what was coming in the second half. There are two mini hills and two midi hills in this, a bit of undulation and some blissful shallow descents, an excellent route all round. For the first time in months, I managed to run the whole of the marathon, get reasonable splits, and finally get under that blasted 4 hours. 3'56 and 6th lady for mara #80. A few hours at the rugby club with a bar and free buffet, watching the other runners come in and the presentations before a lift to the airport generously provided by Selina (who set a second PB in as many weeks) and a return journey that, although it involved a flight, took less time and fractionally less cash than a trip to Salisbury for the 54321 mara would have done. Naturally, I bagged my run this morning in favour of 90 minutes' more sleep.
Hence, last weekend, I ran the Faversham marathon on Saturday, then flew to the States on Sunday for a conference and series of meetings - 8 of them on Monday, conference and drinks reception Tuesday, morning conference and 4 more meetings Wednesday. I'd managed to make the most of jet lag and get to the gym each morning, but my efforts were feeble. Three tiring days were followed by an overnight flight and straight into the office (well, I snuck home for a shower in between) for a full day then the Camra beer festival with the hard core London drinking crew. I was so tired I felt drunk even before I got in, but managed to stay awake for 10 different beers and 2 shots of toffee vodka.
Friday was predictably a write off, sitting at my desk toggling between spreadsheets with the latent horror of how much work I've got on slowly building up. None was possible. I just about managed to remind myself that Saturday's flight was at 8.50am not 9.50am.
Although that was pretty painful, getting to Douglas before noon meant I had an entire afternoon of enforced relaxation. I can't remember the last time I had the chance to read newspapers and have the odd snooze, and the sunshine coming in through the window was delicious. I think it may have been Alcman who used the phrase "limb-loosening" (one of the Greek elegiac poets at any rate, and in a rather different context), anyway, this was proper limb-loosening and restorative relaxation.
That was rather a long preamble to a race report.. The Isle of Man marathon is one of my favourite sorts of race - small field, country lanes, great views, lots of familiar faces. It's over two loops which was perfect, it was good to know what was coming in the second half. There are two mini hills and two midi hills in this, a bit of undulation and some blissful shallow descents, an excellent route all round. For the first time in months, I managed to run the whole of the marathon, get reasonable splits, and finally get under that blasted 4 hours. 3'56 and 6th lady for mara #80. A few hours at the rugby club with a bar and free buffet, watching the other runners come in and the presentations before a lift to the airport generously provided by Selina (who set a second PB in as many weeks) and a return journey that, although it involved a flight, took less time and fractionally less cash than a trip to Salisbury for the 54321 mara would have done. Naturally, I bagged my run this morning in favour of 90 minutes' more sleep.
Catching up - Faversham marathon
It’s interesting that trail marathons that take you across 26+ miles of largely pretty scenery bore me senseless. It’s probably because I’m concentrating on where to put my feet, the time passes very slowly and it feels like I’m out there for the best part of a day. On the other hand, a marathon comprised of 40 laps of a small recreation ground in a small town in Kent passed very quickly and most enjoyably and I was finished by lunchtime, leaving the rest of the weekend clear for other activities essential for a well-rounded life: good company, good wine, and getting on a plane to the States for work (spot the odd one out).
I’d never done more than 5 laps in a single marathon before, though this reminded me somewhat of the 10 in 10. There’s something very soothing about a multiple lap course, once you’ve settled into a good pace, you can get into a rhythm that rocks you into a world without time or distance or distractions, no mobile or blackberry or emails to answer, just the same kilometre of path to cover, over and over and over. Each lap was about 50m over one k, and the clock indicated my pace was really consistent at just under 6 minutes per lap. I was really enjoying this marathon and knew it was a far better race to test my current fitness than my recent events.
The route fell into a sort of isosceles triangle – a long steady uphill, topped off by a short sharp climb, a long descent and a short section of flat. The mini hill was fine for the first 10 laps, ok for the next 10, getting rather like hard work for the next 10, knackering the next 2 and then I had 10k to go so I walked it from then on. As for the number of laps I did, I have no idea. I was very puzzled when I went through 21.1km on the nose according to the garmin and was told I’d only done 19 and my official finish clocked almost 43km on the watch. It’s more likely that running in a fairly tight circle made the garmin go a bit screwy, so my finish time was a shade over 4 hours, indicating some return to form.
I’ve hit the wall so many times in marathons, pretty much every marathon since April, and it was nice to have got a lot further in this before capitulating. Even tripping over my own feet after about 15k and ending up sprawled across the path, causing Roger to full on hurdle me before gallantly offering my a hand up didn’t lose more than a few seconds. Maybe without that pimple of a hill I would have been able to go sub 4, certainly without the extra distance that the watch logged. It was a good day.
Faversham is organised by 100 club Sid. It’s not just for 100 clubbers, but there were a lot of them making up the 60 strong field. With so many laps, you were constantly going past people, and having people pass you and it was a very social day out. I feel a bit spoiled lately after the Enigma and this, it’s lovely to feel like a real part of the marathon circuit and to be treated as one of them. Some of these old boys (and not a few girls) are legendary. Seeing John Dawson keep going after his eye op and Selina set a huge PB after hundreds of marathons among all the other inspiring people is incredibly motivating.
Sid knows what marathon runners want and had set out a very professional event with a bank of lap counters and a station laden with water, orange, ribena, lucozade, electrolyte, flapjacks, jelly babies, cereal bars and god knows what else. He then spoiled us rotten at the finish with a Morrisons carrier bag stuffed full of an energy drink, a bottle of Spitfire (brewed in Faversham), a 2 lottery ticket (along with the clause that 10% of any winnings were due back to him) and a giant trophy. No crappy old pressed tin medals here, this was about 10 inches tall with blue paint and monstrously brash. I love it. A great race with only a 5.30am alarm call, and back in London for 3.15pm, now that’s efficient marathon running.
I’d never done more than 5 laps in a single marathon before, though this reminded me somewhat of the 10 in 10. There’s something very soothing about a multiple lap course, once you’ve settled into a good pace, you can get into a rhythm that rocks you into a world without time or distance or distractions, no mobile or blackberry or emails to answer, just the same kilometre of path to cover, over and over and over. Each lap was about 50m over one k, and the clock indicated my pace was really consistent at just under 6 minutes per lap. I was really enjoying this marathon and knew it was a far better race to test my current fitness than my recent events.
The route fell into a sort of isosceles triangle – a long steady uphill, topped off by a short sharp climb, a long descent and a short section of flat. The mini hill was fine for the first 10 laps, ok for the next 10, getting rather like hard work for the next 10, knackering the next 2 and then I had 10k to go so I walked it from then on. As for the number of laps I did, I have no idea. I was very puzzled when I went through 21.1km on the nose according to the garmin and was told I’d only done 19 and my official finish clocked almost 43km on the watch. It’s more likely that running in a fairly tight circle made the garmin go a bit screwy, so my finish time was a shade over 4 hours, indicating some return to form.
I’ve hit the wall so many times in marathons, pretty much every marathon since April, and it was nice to have got a lot further in this before capitulating. Even tripping over my own feet after about 15k and ending up sprawled across the path, causing Roger to full on hurdle me before gallantly offering my a hand up didn’t lose more than a few seconds. Maybe without that pimple of a hill I would have been able to go sub 4, certainly without the extra distance that the watch logged. It was a good day.
Faversham is organised by 100 club Sid. It’s not just for 100 clubbers, but there were a lot of them making up the 60 strong field. With so many laps, you were constantly going past people, and having people pass you and it was a very social day out. I feel a bit spoiled lately after the Enigma and this, it’s lovely to feel like a real part of the marathon circuit and to be treated as one of them. Some of these old boys (and not a few girls) are legendary. Seeing John Dawson keep going after his eye op and Selina set a huge PB after hundreds of marathons among all the other inspiring people is incredibly motivating.
Sid knows what marathon runners want and had set out a very professional event with a bank of lap counters and a station laden with water, orange, ribena, lucozade, electrolyte, flapjacks, jelly babies, cereal bars and god knows what else. He then spoiled us rotten at the finish with a Morrisons carrier bag stuffed full of an energy drink, a bottle of Spitfire (brewed in Faversham), a 2 lottery ticket (along with the clause that 10% of any winnings were due back to him) and a giant trophy. No crappy old pressed tin medals here, this was about 10 inches tall with blue paint and monstrously brash. I love it. A great race with only a 5.30am alarm call, and back in London for 3.15pm, now that’s efficient marathon running.
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