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 2nd 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
4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th 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 2nd, 3rd and 4th
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 4th / 5th 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 3rd and 4th 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 3rd 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 7th 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 6th 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 6th 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
