my first marathon by Joe Fowler (age 42 and 6 days)

I always thought marathons were a daft idea. Twenty-six miles is way too far to actually race. It’s silly really. When the thought of running a marathon has come into my head in the past, I have reminded myself that I don’t need to prove anything to myself or anyone else. I run because I enjoy it. I run fast and race because it feels good to be able to – especially as an old bloke with a history of obesity, dodgy drinking, and ‘unfulfilled’ sporting (ahem) talents . I’m not going to risk breaking my body for the sake of being able to say ‘I’ve run a marathon’ I have concluded.

But the idea eats away at you. And, the more horror stories you hear about ‘the wall’; the more you see people pushing themselves to the limits during marathon training; and, the more stories you hear about the ‘big marathons’, the more you let the thought take hold. And soon, it starts to become a viable proposition. ‘Never say never’ you start to say. Before you know it you are saying ‘when I’m ready’ and so it goes on.

The final straw for me was watching fellow club members prepare for and then run the 2014 London Marathon. It was clearly a major life event for them. Something everybody that enjoys running should experience. I didn’t decide to run a marathon at this point though – I was still in denial perhaps. I just decided I might want to do London in 2015. I mean it sounds like a pretty spectacular day out…

Having got to this point in my thinking, I realised that you can’t just enter London. You either need to take your chances in the ballot, or get a qualifying time. I didn’t want to enter a ballot, so I decided to take a casual look at the qualifying times and deadlines. I realised that I would need to get a move on if I was to get the sub 1:15 half marathon needed for the championship entry for 2015. The alternative would be to get a 3:15 ‘good for age’ marathon time. But that would mean running a marathon – and I hadn’t committed to that yet!

I had discussed taking a chunk off my half marathon time with coach Dave O a month or so earlier and he helped me put a 9-week training programme together for the fast and flat North Lincs HM in early May. However, we both agreed that the step change in performance required to go under 1:15 would probably be a bit of a stretch. So, I reigned in my target to sub-1:16 (a minute off the PB I achieved at Worksop in October 2013). I found it difficult to find the time to train to the programme – but I gave it my best shot and I could feel the improvement after a few weeks of Dave’s sessions.

At a brilliantly organised North Lincs on a still May morning, I ran probably my best ever race – holding a metronomic 5:44 pace from mile 2 to 13 to smash my half marathon PB and clock 1:15:07. I was delighted, but at the same time disappointed – 8 seconds off a guaranteed London place. I was however pleased that my partner Debbie had managed to sneak under 1:30 – the champs qualifying time she needed to do London 2015 (if she so chose!)

This was probably when I made the decision to find a marathon and secure my sub-3:15 good for age marathon time. Not because I was committing to London you understand – just to make sure I had the option.

Having done a bit of homework in advance, I knew that the Liverpool Rock and Roll Marathon was probably my best option. It was gimmicky, expensive, hilly, and a bit too soon after my West Highland Way run, but we had a rare free weekend in the calendar, and I only needed to dip under 3:15. I was pretty sure I could cruise round in around 3 hours and just enjoy the running, the bands, and the atmosphere of a city marathon. Maybe we’d even make a family weekend of it.

Suddenly, I was entered and with the slot booked on our calendar, we built some plans around it - booking accommodation, arranging to see family nearby etc. I knew that I would only have my base fitness to get me round, but I was in good shape having trained and raced pretty well for a few months. I also decided that running 96 miles of the West Highland Way a couple of weeks before would give me the confidence to run 26 miles all at once for the first time ever.

The West Highland Way trip was amazing – very steady pace, and thoroughly enjoyable 20-mile a day running with only accumulating muscle fatigue giving me any worries at all. By the last day, a few of us even squeezed in a bit of speed work before breakfast to ‘keep us sharp’.

The day after we got back, I went out for a 6-miler at around 6:30 pace to test my legs and I felt a bit tired but basically fine. After a day’s rest, I ran the last of the South Yorkshire 5-mile road race series at Worsborough – securing the 2^nd placed V40+ prize I had battled for during the first 3 races.

It was then that I realised that my legs were actually shattered. I ran well, but my muscles were like lumps of lead afterwards. I had an easy recovery run the day after to get the blood flowing for a session on the foam roller. I rested Friday and kept working on my calves, but I was back racing on Saturday at the veterans’ road relays in Sutton Coldfield. I felt crap on the day – my legs were tired, my right achilles was painful to the touch, and my guts were a bit ropey. Predictably, I set off up the first hill like a lunatic, burned out after 2 miles and really struggled through the last mile (and straight into the portaloo).

Knowing that my penultimate training week before the marathon had not exactly been ‘text book’, I calmed everything down for the week leading up to Liverpool. I did a very easy 10-miler on Sunday, picking up the pace for the last mile or so, but then took it very easy during the week – running around 15 miles between Monday and Wednesday – concentrating on short spells of marathon pace running. By Thursday, I felt fresh and tried a quick 4-miler round Damflask. I was reassured to find that I was clocking sub-6 minute miles whilst breathing comfortably and staying nice and relaxed. I managed to resist running any farther – ‘that’ll do’ I thought.

The trouble with reassuring training sessions is that they can overly build your confidence... I had been debating with myself and a few friends how I should approach the marathon. Cruise round and dip under 3:15? Aim for that magic 3-hour target? Throw caution to the wind and go for sub 2:50?

Despite the fact that I had not really trained specifically for the marathon (the first four 20-mile runs on the West Highland Way were my 4^th, 5^th, 6^th, and 7^th longest runs ever) – I was privately settling on the idea of going for 2:45 (the championship qualifying time for London). I had managed to convince myself that the recommended batch of 20+ mile conditioning runs were probably unnecessary. More logically, I knew from my wall-hitting experience at the Grindleford Gallop that I could race 20 miles hard before spectacularly falling to bits – and I had put this down to an overly fast start, and a near-complete lack of hydration or nutrition. If I could hold my pace down in the early stages of the marathon and take on carbs and water regularly, perhaps the 2:45 would be an achievable goal?

And so the journey to the start line of my first marathon ended. From vaguely thinking about it, to deciding to cruise round 26.2 miles to get a feel for the distance and a good for age London time, to being stood in the sky blue Sheffield RC vest at the front of 2,000 people; Garmin pace maker set to 6:15 per mile; all carbed up and ready to race a very, very long way. I did however wish that someone would shoot the idiot local DJ who was failing miserably to get the steely faced club runners all excited about the ‘BT Liverpool Rock and Roll Marathon’ in the best city on earth blah blah.

My plan was to use my heart rate to help me judge my effort during the race. My maximum heart rate is about 160 bpm, and during a 10k or half marathon I tend to average around 155 bpm. So, I decided to keep my heart rate at around 145 bpm (threshold) recognising that if I was going to hold my pace through the latter stages, my heart rate would creep up towards 155 bpm as my muscles got tired and less efficient.

When the gun went off, I set out easy. I always set off too fast so I was determined to keep the first mile over 6 minutes. I also knew that the first 6 miles had around 200ft of ascent so it was absolutely vital that I stayed calm and remembered that this was a very long slog, and I couldn’t afford to burn my precious glycogen up in the excitement.

The first mile passed quickly – 5:56. Hmmm, not great, but let’s not give up hope. Despite feeling like I was jogging, I managed to reign in the pace a bit and the next few miles passed at around 6:10 pace. Still too quick, especially with the ascent, but I felt good. I did remember Trevor Neville’s advice at this point: ‘if it feels easy in the first 10 miles, then slow down’. But my heart rate was holding steady at around 145bpm and my breathing pattern was the same as on an easy jog home. Roll with it I thought.

I passed through the first 10K in about 39 minutes – still feeling strong. I smugly reminded myself that this was a minute under my 10K target time a couple of years’ ago and turned away from the top of the hill to start the descent back into town. A short sharp hill at mile 8 reminded me that it was not all downhill from here, but I was still smiling at the fabulous steel band as I prepared to take my second gel and my third decent swig of water at the mile 9 marker.

The course had a couple of switchbacks so I knew that I was in the top 6 or 7 at this stage – but the leader, eventual winner and only national-class runner in the field (Ben Fish) was already out of sight (he won the ‘race’ by about 15 minutes).

As we came down the straight main flyover back into the city centre at about 9.5 miles I could see the 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th placed runners around 100m in front of me. To my amazement, I saw them gesticulating wildly to the left and then come to a stop! They had spotted the 10 mile marker on a different flyover and they had started to run back towards me to get back on course. I turned back realising what was happening and swept up a few runners behind me as we got back to the junction of the flyovers. My garmin data shows that this detour cost me 40 seconds – but it must have cost the 3 runners in the chasing pack well over a minute.

Having been fairly well strung out, the 10 or so runners behind the leader were now basically running together into the city centre – swearing liberally at the complete absence of marshalling or signposting on this section of the course. In the excitement, I clocked a stupidly quick 5:45 mile – meaning I had gone through 10 miles in 61:29. I was more than a minute ahead of schedule but was still breathing easily and felt OK.

As we entered the city centre, it became clear that this bit of the race was not only lacking any marshals, but the cones and signs had not been set out at all. We literally came to a stop to work out which way to go. We were caught at this point by a local runner who knew the course and he led us back on track. What a complete shambles. This cost us all another 20 – 30 seconds and didn’t help the mood at all. The funniest quote from this period was a local runner saying that he hadn’t paid £50 to go orienteering around the shite end of town.

The second half of the course was on the half marathon route used earlier the same morning. This was generally well marshalled – or at least there was enough direction to stop you getting lost.

The long slog out of town was mainly against the wind and I was pleased to see Debbie and the kids at mile 12 to give me a shout up the hill. I was still running well in 4^th / 5^th place, but I could feel the miles in my legs and I knew my pace had dropped by a few seconds a mile.

I hit the half marathon marker in 1:21:15 and whilst being pretty daunted by the idea of doing the whole distance again, I was pleased to have got the first half of the race done. I also had a solid pacer by my side – although his constant slipstreaming of me on the windy bits was getting on my nerves. I named him ’the wily farty fox’ in my head – in recognition of his tactics, his gastric issues, and his assumed veteran status.

The next 7 miles went by fairly steadily – with Debbie and the kids popping up a few times to give me some support. Throughout this period, the course was winding backwards and forwards around and through Princes and Sefton Parks. The doubling backs, loops, and occasional muddy sections were nicking valuable seconds off my time, but with my feet starting to get sore, I was glad of the softer ground.

 

We went through 20 miles in 2:05:12 – meaning my 10 mile splits were 61:29 and 63:43. Not too bad, but I knew I had slowed down despite increasing my heart rate to around 150 bpm. However, I had been taking on water and nutrition every few miles and was feeling mentally sharp if a little tired. All I had to do was hold my pace at 6:22 through a short descent and along 4 miles of flat waterfront path to sneak under 2:45.

Mile 21 went by more quickly (6:10) as we left the twisting turning paths around the parks and hit a section of long straight road (Aigburth). The flow was interrupted in mile 22 by a ridiculous diversion through a urine-soaked underpass where we were forced to wind back and forth up and down disabled access ramps – losing valuable time. The last thing I needed at this stage of the race was a stop / start 6:42 mile.

The wily farty fox asked me at this point how I was feeling and I replied that my calves were a bit wobbly but I was basically OK. He said that he thought the 3^rd and 4^th placed runners ahead looked like they were struggling to him. He then did what I had planned to do – he kicked like a mule to 6 minute mile pace, dropped me like a stone, and went on to take 3^rd place (beating me by more than 2 minutes).

I wasn’t too dispirited to be dropped – I was still breathing easily and still on track for my target time. Mile 23 went by in 6:28 – a bit behind pace but a check of my watch confirmed that all I needed now was a sub-20 5K. And, I had just done 7 of those in a row; one more couldn’t hurt could it?

In every race I have ever done, my performance has been limited by my ability to get oxygen to my muscles. I often run the last third of races gasping for air. When I attempted to pick up the pace for the last few miles, I was breathing easily, my heart rate was 5 bpm below race effort levels, but my leg muscles would not respond -  taking it in turn to spasm and cramp. It was like a nightmare - I was breathing fine but could not increase my effort at all. Mile 24 passed in 6:51 and mile 25 in 6:44. I got caught at this point and dropped to 7^th place. I knew my target time was slipping away from me but I could not get my legs to do anything about it.

During mile 26, I caught a runner who was suffering a similar fate to me – we had an almost comical tussle for 6^th place with both of us stopping occasionally to stretch our hamstrings whilst the other laboured past in slow motion. Debbie and the kids popped up at this point, with Isla shouting “you can beat him daddy”! Poor bloke – I am sure that was just what he needed. Bizarrely, mile 26 still passed in 7 minutes, it genuinely seemed more like walking pace.

As we entered the final few hundred metres, Isla’s victim started walking, and I managed to return to something like running. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold off a strongly finishing runner who nicked 6^th place at the line. I stopped to gather myself and managed to fend off the medical staff who clearly thought I was in trouble. I went and grabbed my free stuff and forced down a drink and a protein bar. I couldn’t face my free pint of cobra – in fact I could barely look at anything other than cold soft drinks until the evening meal in Zizzis when a massive pizza helped me clear my head and restore my mood.

I haven’t finished working out the lessons from my first marathon (and would encourage anyone reading this to share their views). My initial thoughts are:

• The taper week of short pacey runs and a bit of jogging left me feeling really fresh – I would repeat that next time
• I think I would have gone quicker overall if I had run the first half of the race a minute or so slower – my fresh legs made me go too quick and I need to work on my restraint
• Conventional wisdom would be that I should have done some longer, harder conditioning runs to help me conquer the last few miles – I am not totally convinced about this but I will give it a try
• I might have to try some leg strength exercises (the wily farty fox had legs like a bodybuilder)
• I will try a flat course next time with a proven organisation record (London!) to give me a better chance of controlling my pace and avoid any orienteering
• I'll be back for that 2:45

 

 

 

Grindleford Gallop "so this is the 'wall' then"

 

I have never had a race disaster. I have been disappointed with my performance many times but nothing has ever gone badly wrong before. That changed on Saturday 8th March at the Grindleford Gallop. I thought it would be cathartic to write my race story down and share the lessons I learned. I won’t make the same mistakes again. Ever.

The story starts on the Sunday before Xmas 2013. A few SRC members met up with some speedy lads from Clowne RC to run 21 miles around the Grindleford Gallop course. I remember being pretty daunted by the thought of it. It would only be the second time I had run farther than 20 miles; and, I knew the course had some tough climbs. But, we were only jogging round, and I knew we would stop a few times for drinks and snacks.

On the day, the pace was a bit quicker than expected and the climbs were a bit tougher. However, I felt comfortable for the first 10 miles and at the midpoint rest we all had drinks, snacks and a chat. It was hard to get going again after stopping for 45 minutes, but the last 11 miles went by quickly and I felt strong throughout. We ended up running the course in about 2:52 – a good enough time to place pretty highly in the race itself.
Obviously the idea of actually doing the race came into my head at this point and when fellow club member Rob Jones decided to give up his place a few days later, I decided to go for it.

The race would be a series of firsts for me. First race longer than a half marathon. First race where I needed to know where I was going. First race with a checkpoint ‘dibber’. First race over fells, moors, and trails.

My preparation for the race was not great. I was averaging around 50 miles per week in training, but I was plagued by coughs and colds; I had a dodgy tummy on holiday in Egypt the week before; I bruised my feet trying to keep my mileage up on a cheap treadmill in the hotel gym; and, I knew I hadn’t done enough long training runs to really nail a 21 mile race. But, I tapered my training off the week before, took on extra carbs for a few days, and despite having a head full of snot, I felt pretty good on the morning of the race. I had maps, juice and a couple of gels, and a reasonable race plan: set off quick to avoid the bottleneck through the woods, settle down and hit the first checkpoint in about 24 minutes, and then run steady and strong throughout to finish in about 2:35 – taking gels at miles 10 and 15. I figured that this would be good enough for a top 5 finish. Not bad for my first long race.

When the hooter went to start, I tore across the field and entered the narrow path through the woods in about 4th position. I settled into a steady breathing pattern and prepared myself mentally for the first big climb. I went up the climb in second place feeling good. The eventual winner started to pull away at this point and another runner passed me soon after. I decided to be mature and let him go (a rare moment of good judgment!)

As I ran down the hill towards the first checkpoint at Eyam I felt OK – the 500ft of climbing in the second mile had definitely taken something out of my legs but I hadn’t been too daft. As I ran through Eyam I saw the course record holder Darren King spectating. “Let them shoot off,” he said. Wise words I thought and cruised through to the first checkpoint. As I beeped the dibber thingy for the first time I looked at my watch: 22:58. Whoops. I was going to challenge the course record at that pace and I knew I wasn’t that quick or strong.

As I ran out of Eyam I was determined to settle down. I got into a good breathing pattern and focused on the 600+ feet of steady climbing to the top of Longstone Moor. I could still see the front two a few fields in front of me as I climbed, and, unsurprisingly given my quick start, I had a decent lead on 4th place. As I reached the top of the moor and the end of mile 7, the visibility was awful. I couldn’t see more than 30 feet in front of me. I managed to take the correct right turn, but I then reached a fork that I didn’t recognise from the recce. I had to stop and get my map out – losing about a minute. As I set off again, the 4th placed runner from Totley caught me up. I decided that I would stick with him given that he seemed to know where he was going.

The descent into Great Longstone was rough under foot but very quick – and it turned out my new mate from Totley was a bit of a fearless maniac on the descents. We were down onto the Monsal Trail very quickly and into mile 10 with some purpose. As we started mile 11 after a drink of water at the checkpoint I questioned whether we were both going a bit hard given that we had covered the last 3 miles in just over 17 minutes. Totley agreed and we settled down a bit – covering the final mile along the Monsal Trail in a more sensible 6:19. Interestingly the people at the checkpoint said we were 2nd and 3rd – meaning that one of the frontrunners had either dropped out or got lost.

As we left the trail we hit a short sharp 400ft climb over mud, water and tree roots. My legs felt rubbish. I was paying for the quick start and the last few hard miles. I decided to walk a bit of the climb and get my first gel in – a bit later than planned.

At the top of the hill we took the trail towards Chatsworth and I started to get the first flickering of cramp in my calves. I stretched them out a bit as I climbed over the stiles and the cramp subsided. With hindsight, I think the water and the gel from 15 minutes earlier had taken effect. As we entered Chatsworth side-by-side, I started to feel stronger and I pushed on – opening up a 30 second gap as we hit the final checkpoint in Baslow. The traffic on the road was terrible and I had to literally ‘wait for the green man’ to cross, by which time Totley was back by my side. I started to fade again at this point – just at the point that we started the 700ft climb to Curbar and Froggat Edge. I took my final gel during a short period of walking up the final hill and battled through to the summit. I have to say the support all around the course was brilliant and it definitely kept me going at this point.

As we hit the trail at the top, with 3.5 miles to go, the gel must have kicked in and I started to feel back in the race. I knew that Totley would go down the final descent to the finishing line quicker than me, so I worked on opening up a gap. Despite falling pretty painfully on the rocks halfway along the Edge (my legs literally gave way), I settled in to a hard tempo pace for 2 miles and pushed forward to open up a decent lead. I knew I was sitting well in 2nd place and I was heading for a decent time – well exceeding my expectations. I had 1.5 miles to go – most of which was downhill through woodland. Looking good.

Then the wheels came off…

I have never hit the wall before. Having read up on it obsessively since, I know what happened. I know that my brain and my muscles need fuel to run. I know that the brain is actually really greedy and consumes a lot of energy whilst it is processing data and keeping your body functioning during a race. I know now that I ran out of fuel and my brain started to get confused – shutting down and sending me into a state of panic. As I started to feel faint, I slowed right up and Totley came past me. “I have nothing left” I said with a voice that seemed to come from somewhere else.

I remember looking down the trail and seeing two runners closing in on me. I set off running again, and stayed with the first of them for another 400m or so. But I was confused and unsteady on my legs and I was worried about killing myself on the hellish descent through the woods to the finishing line. I decided to stop and take a few swigs of pineapple juice from my bottle. I knew it was too little too late but it helped me gather myself. A very bemused lad from Stockport came past me into 4th place as I packed my drink back into my bag. I set off down the hill after him, but I couldn’t catch him. These fell runner lads can run downhill I thought to myself as I tried to pick a path where I wouldn’t end up in a heap.
The last mile was a bit of a blur but I crossed the line in 5th place in a time of 2:33. This was quicker than my target time and I should have been pleased. But I knew I had messed the race up.

The biggest mistake I made was probably not the daft pacing – although it didn’t help. It was not hydrating and taking on fuel before I actually needed it. My best two spells in the latter half of the race came 15 minutes after taking a gel – if I had taken gels earlier and added another one or two in I could have avoided the big dips in energy that cost me valuable minutes. Most importantly, I thnk I would have avoided the wall I hit when my body got through my stored energy supplies and the paltry 200ml of water and 200 in-race calories (2 gels) I had offered it in return for 21 miles of hard labour. What was I thinking?

Anyway, to finish the story off, the after-race support was fabulous. Hot salty soup, french bread, piles of cake, good banter with friendly organisers and runners, and the pleasure of seeing fellow club member (and designated driver) Helen Pickford finish the race in 3:20 with a massive smile. As Helen and I left we saw fellow SRC member Carolyn Gaunt finish in 3:41 – she had had a tough time too. Anna Lisa Gentile crossed the line a while later – having decided to take her time and enjoy the scenery.

Would I recommend the race to others? Absolutely – it sells out in 24 hours for good reason. Would I do it again? Yes. Would I do it differently? Oh, yes!