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.
Monday, 25 October 2010
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.
Monday, 4 October 2010
Jersey Marathon
Disclaimer: this blog may be edited when I'm less grumpy)
It was drizzling when we started and it soon turned into heavy rain that persisted for the majority of the race. Not very nice but thinking of the masochists doing the Atlantic challenge (3 x well over 26 miles along the Cornish coastline in even worse conditions) helped put it into perspective. My aim was to take it really easy in order to run the whole thing, running so badly has been depressing me especially in the light of seemingly everyone else getting faster and faster. How ungracious. Running easy meant I went backwards in the first mile and it felt like the whole field passed me. I tried to ignore it but was disappointed to see that my easy pace was 9'30s, that's horribly slow.
Still, I was enjoying it as best I could, Jersey's a pretty place and the route is lovely - narrow lanes through the countryside and woods and the odd village. Running round the airport was a new one, those planes are quite loud when they're metres above your head. And the marshals in this race are the most complimentary I've encountered, I heard "Lovely legs" and "Very elegant" among others. I got through half way in 2'05 so if only 9'30s were manageable and allowing for a bit of drift in the second half, sub 4 was off really and even if I could run it all, 4'15 seemed like the most optimistic target.
The 9'30s still felt ok though I was having to run harder for them. With 7.2 miles left I had just over an hour to get to 4'00 that seemed impossible at my current rate of fitness. With 5.2 miles to go, I had 43 minutes, again, impossible. A soaring descent got me only an 8'26, going faster on the flat was unthinkable. The next mile, on the flat, was 8'44, it wasn't going to happen. But something came to mind, someone who believes that I can run faster than I think and it seemed a nice opportunity to see if he was right.
8'09. 7'50. I'd been passing marathon runners for 10 miles but now I was passing relay runners and the radio DJ who said "some runners are still looking relatively fresh" which was nice to hear. 7'28 for the last mile. On the approach to the finish, I passed a young guy shuffling in who saw me and immediately responded to race me in. My lack of acceleration and 3 mile kick meant there was no more speed so he just pipped me to the line, with one spectator yelling "let her have it" at his lack of sportsmanship. Can't get beaten by a girl eh? Idiot.
I was really happy with my race time and a big negative split (2'05 and 1'54) until it sank in that it's still rubbish. Running eyeballs out for only a 7'50 is rubbish. Only 6 months ago my easy pace was 8'30 / mile for THE WHOLE DAMN RACE. And then I got depressed. Jealousy is ugly, being pleased about a sub 4 is ridiculous when I was comfortably running 3'40s a few months ago, blogs are full of trophies, PBs and "I got rained on more than you" one-upmanship. I'm running like rubbish and the last thing that will help are platitudes about me being tired and over-raced.
It was drizzling when we started and it soon turned into heavy rain that persisted for the majority of the race. Not very nice but thinking of the masochists doing the Atlantic challenge (3 x well over 26 miles along the Cornish coastline in even worse conditions) helped put it into perspective. My aim was to take it really easy in order to run the whole thing, running so badly has been depressing me especially in the light of seemingly everyone else getting faster and faster. How ungracious. Running easy meant I went backwards in the first mile and it felt like the whole field passed me. I tried to ignore it but was disappointed to see that my easy pace was 9'30s, that's horribly slow.
Still, I was enjoying it as best I could, Jersey's a pretty place and the route is lovely - narrow lanes through the countryside and woods and the odd village. Running round the airport was a new one, those planes are quite loud when they're metres above your head. And the marshals in this race are the most complimentary I've encountered, I heard "Lovely legs" and "Very elegant" among others. I got through half way in 2'05 so if only 9'30s were manageable and allowing for a bit of drift in the second half, sub 4 was off really and even if I could run it all, 4'15 seemed like the most optimistic target.
The 9'30s still felt ok though I was having to run harder for them. With 7.2 miles left I had just over an hour to get to 4'00 that seemed impossible at my current rate of fitness. With 5.2 miles to go, I had 43 minutes, again, impossible. A soaring descent got me only an 8'26, going faster on the flat was unthinkable. The next mile, on the flat, was 8'44, it wasn't going to happen. But something came to mind, someone who believes that I can run faster than I think and it seemed a nice opportunity to see if he was right.
8'09. 7'50. I'd been passing marathon runners for 10 miles but now I was passing relay runners and the radio DJ who said "some runners are still looking relatively fresh" which was nice to hear. 7'28 for the last mile. On the approach to the finish, I passed a young guy shuffling in who saw me and immediately responded to race me in. My lack of acceleration and 3 mile kick meant there was no more speed so he just pipped me to the line, with one spectator yelling "let her have it" at his lack of sportsmanship. Can't get beaten by a girl eh? Idiot.
I was really happy with my race time and a big negative split (2'05 and 1'54) until it sank in that it's still rubbish. Running eyeballs out for only a 7'50 is rubbish. Only 6 months ago my easy pace was 8'30 / mile for THE WHOLE DAMN RACE. And then I got depressed. Jealousy is ugly, being pleased about a sub 4 is ridiculous when I was comfortably running 3'40s a few months ago, blogs are full of trophies, PBs and "I got rained on more than you" one-upmanship. I'm running like rubbish and the last thing that will help are platitudes about me being tired and over-raced.
Langdale marathon
Langdale had been a highlight of my race calendar for months, we used to go for walks up there as a family and it's one of my favourite spots in the Lake District. It's also become the weekend for the 10 in 10 reunion - mara Saturday afternoon with a 12pm start, dinner and drinks with the 10 in 10ers Saturday evening and a lazy Sunday morning made infinitely better by upgrading to one of Brathay's very luxurious chalets with views over the mountains.
The 10 in 10 had started to change for me; in the first few months of the year it was the biggest thing in my life, training dominated everything and it was paying huge dividends - my times were dropping, my recovery lightening fast, my injuries negligible. And the event was huge. Since then, it seems every man and his dog is running multiple marathons at the drop of a hat or back to back 100 mile ultras, while I've got slower and slower and more and more tired with every marathon completely wiping me out. Classic over-training / over-racing.
Going back to Brathay reminded me why it is so special. It's not just about pitching up, running 262 miles, ticking the box and moving on. It's about the charity you're running for, about the people you meet and relationships you form, about the things you learn about yourself, not just the strength to get through it but also the humility, appreciation of other people's efforts (and that's support as well as runners) and good humour required. It's the sort of event that should change you because it is so intense. It was fantastic that some of my favourite people were there, notably Chris and Jim, who have become those sort of friends you value incredibly highly.
As for the race, it was just as beautiful as expected and even tougher. I usually like laps but the lack of strength at the moment made the second very hard and the 12pm start made it feel like a Very Long Day Indeed. Still, it was absolutely stunning. I loved the fat little brown sheep who raced alongside us in the first mile until, as a man (or a sheep), they refused the fence and were brought to a baffled, milling standstill. The sun reflecting off Blea Tarn, the shadows of the clouds moving across the valley, the chickens running about in the road and teetering across the cattle grid, the bracken on the hillsides looking like swathes of rust in the low light in late afternoon, and the soaring views from about mile 9.5 and 22.5 up the Langdale valley had me grinning like an idiot. First runner's high in about 4 months.
It was a bastard of course, especially in my current state of fitness and I really struggled to get round in 4'57. Again, not quite the wooden spoon but it wasn't far off. Unfortunately my legs were totally smashed afterwards with the uphills obliterating my glutes and the downhills annihilating my quads. I'd booked in to see 10 in 10 physio Graham at The Body Rehab on Monday which was exquisitely excruciating, next time, he's going to have a stick for me to bite on rather than chewing his pillows to bits. I'm also the proud owner of kinesio tape to help out the rib that's still pretty sore, a brand new style of tit tape.
42 marathons down this year, 10 to go for 52 in a year, then it's the final coast to the 100. It almost feels within reach now.
The 10 in 10 had started to change for me; in the first few months of the year it was the biggest thing in my life, training dominated everything and it was paying huge dividends - my times were dropping, my recovery lightening fast, my injuries negligible. And the event was huge. Since then, it seems every man and his dog is running multiple marathons at the drop of a hat or back to back 100 mile ultras, while I've got slower and slower and more and more tired with every marathon completely wiping me out. Classic over-training / over-racing.
Going back to Brathay reminded me why it is so special. It's not just about pitching up, running 262 miles, ticking the box and moving on. It's about the charity you're running for, about the people you meet and relationships you form, about the things you learn about yourself, not just the strength to get through it but also the humility, appreciation of other people's efforts (and that's support as well as runners) and good humour required. It's the sort of event that should change you because it is so intense. It was fantastic that some of my favourite people were there, notably Chris and Jim, who have become those sort of friends you value incredibly highly.
As for the race, it was just as beautiful as expected and even tougher. I usually like laps but the lack of strength at the moment made the second very hard and the 12pm start made it feel like a Very Long Day Indeed. Still, it was absolutely stunning. I loved the fat little brown sheep who raced alongside us in the first mile until, as a man (or a sheep), they refused the fence and were brought to a baffled, milling standstill. The sun reflecting off Blea Tarn, the shadows of the clouds moving across the valley, the chickens running about in the road and teetering across the cattle grid, the bracken on the hillsides looking like swathes of rust in the low light in late afternoon, and the soaring views from about mile 9.5 and 22.5 up the Langdale valley had me grinning like an idiot. First runner's high in about 4 months.
It was a bastard of course, especially in my current state of fitness and I really struggled to get round in 4'57. Again, not quite the wooden spoon but it wasn't far off. Unfortunately my legs were totally smashed afterwards with the uphills obliterating my glutes and the downhills annihilating my quads. I'd booked in to see 10 in 10 physio Graham at The Body Rehab on Monday which was exquisitely excruciating, next time, he's going to have a stick for me to bite on rather than chewing his pillows to bits. I'm also the proud owner of kinesio tape to help out the rib that's still pretty sore, a brand new style of tit tape.
42 marathons down this year, 10 to go for 52 in a year, then it's the final coast to the 100. It almost feels within reach now.
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