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.