My body had coped reasonably well with dropping from 80+ miles to 64 and then 47 over the previous couple of weeks, but the drop to a few miles a day was just too much. My legs were screaming at me. The ghost of every niggle and tweak I have ever had came back to haunt me. The left glute pain from the previous week seemed twice as bad and was now shooting down my left hamstring. My calf muscles felt like lumps of lead - and seemed primed to cramp at the slightest provocation. Even my old knee injury was winking menacingly at me. I was getting properly concerned about whether my legs would survive the first few miles.
By Thursday I was going stir crazy and in a reasonable amount of pain. Whilst my energy levels were over-flowing, I literally couldn't sit comfortably due to muscle soreness - and given that I spend most of my time at work sat in meetings, I was getting wound up and tense - probably making everything worse.
Phil W at the physios spent half an hour on Thursday evening working out the tensions in my left leg - and I managed to walk home freely without any pain. But, by Friday morning the aches were back and the train down to London with Deb and club mate Tim Fletcher was pretty uncomfortable. As Deb and I walked round the marathon expo I was determined to start the race, but much less confident about finishing it. Just in case I did do the 26.2 miles, I properly filled up on free energy bar samples (the Cliff peanut butter bar was the winner for me).
Deb and I spent Saturday moseying around Greenwich and Bankside - using the river boat to get around and avoid the underground and the crowds. We bumped into Gareth Lowe and Darren King in Greenwich - both of whom had come down to watch the marathon. Gareth, who would have been a serious contender for first vet 40, had had to drop out of the race with a back problem, which meant our best aggregate time for a husband and wife battle would have to wait for another day. Gareth's top tip for the race was to eat some salt and vinegar crisps the day before, a suggestion that I needed little encouragement to try later that afternoon.
A pizza and pasta lunch at Zizzi and a snooze in the sun on the grass in Greenwich park proved a useful distraction from my sore legs. I was also starting to rationalise what was going on a bit more now - telling myself that the pain was just the feeling you get when your legs have run themselves into exhaustion for weeks and you then turn down the miles and stuff your body full of glycogen. Every now and then I managed to convince myself that this was true.
I had not been sure about doing the strides in my plan on Saturday - wondering whether I would be better leaving it given the muscle pain. However, I was really pleased we went out. It was only a mile or so up and down the river path with a few strides, but after about 2 minutes of running I felt fine. My pain disappeared, I was running fast effortlessly, and my head cleared. Game on.
Saturday evening was better mood wise as a result. It was though a ridiculously dull affair considering that we were alone in London for the weekend without the kids. Dinner was fresh egg pasta and sweet potato with fresh tomato sauce, plenty of water, a daft Simon Pegg film involving an amusing alien, and regular chat on social media as club mates and friends across the capital twitter-face-booked nervously. We were in bed by about 11 and got a surprisingly good night's sleep.
Sunday morning started at 6:45 with breakfast: a pint of electrolyte drink, and a bowlful of oats, granola and milk. The usual race routine followed - shot of beetroot juice 2 hours before race start, granola bar 90 minutes before, caffeine one hour before, and, oh shit, we're walking up towards the start with 37,000 other people!
I had to say goodbye and good luck to Deb about an hour before the race as she was starting in the spacious and sufficiently toileted start area with the speedy club runners. Her privilege was hard earned as she ran a qualifying (sub 1:30) half marathon time last year. My 1:15:08 half marathon last year was 8 seconds outside the men's qualification time meaning I was in the 'good for older runners' section with around 1,500 others. I got changed in the packed marquee and dumped my bag on the baggage truck and quickly regretted it. The old disposable t-shirt I had put on top of my running vest was nowhere near enough protection from the cold breeze blowing across Greenwich Heath. I was bloody freezing. I did a few minutes jogging to warm up, but then ended up in a 25 minute queue for the toilets. By the time I got into the cubicle I was shivering, but at least I was out of the cold wind. I sat there for some time doing what runners do before a race and managed to warm up a bit and get my head in gear.
By the time I got out of the cubicle, it was 10 minutes to race start and the runners' pens were packed. I nodded nervously at a few club mates and hopped over a couple of barriers to get nearer to the start. The marshals stopped me getting as close to the front as I wanted - but I was only about 15 rows back having skipped in front of over a thousand people. That'll do I thought: it's a long race and a slow first mile to warm-up will be no bad thing.
When the gun went off the pack moved quickly over the start line and we were off. It was a narrow road to start on and people were weaving around clumsily trying to get towards the front. I moved through the crowd but only when I could make progress without wasting energy running sideways. The first mile passed in 6:10 - only a few seconds behind my target pace of 6:05 (for a sub 2:40 finish).
My plan for the race was to use my heart rate to limit my effort - especially early on in the race. I was aiming for around 144bpm, which was a few bpm less than my heart rate during my first marathon in Liverpool when I had really struggled for the last few miles. But, my heart rate monitor was having one of its bad days - telling me my heart rate was about 187bpm when I knew from feel that it was closer to 140bpm. My Miolink HRM seems to cope very badly with sudden changes in heart rate (like at the start of a race or reps) but I could have really done without it misbehaving today. I reset the monitor a few times but it would just not settle down. In fact it was mile 7 by the time I got an accurate and stable reading.
Whilst I was turning the monitor on and off, the second mile passed in 5:53. I decided to give up on the heart rate monitor, and run on feel - breathing easily out every 5th step. The third mile passed in 5:44 meaning the first 5K had passed in 18:24. Hmmm. still too fast. I concentrated hard on letting the people around me pull away.
The 4th mile is when the 3 different race starts merge together and the excitement of the fast oldies joining the speedy club runners, coupled with some descent, means it is always going to be quick. Beep went the watch as I passed through the 4 mile marker - 5:35. Aaaaargh! Sort it out!
Maybe it was the initial adrenaline fading, or maybe I did actually manage to control things better, but the next couple of miles started to click by in slightly more sensible times - 5:50 and 5:51. The second 5K split was still the fastest of the race though at 17:57.
By mile 7, my heart rate monitor had decided to work properly and I was able to check my effort level a bit more scientifically - keeping my heart rate in the mid 140s. This proved particularly useful on slight ascents, and in areas where the amazing crowd support was at its strongest (nothing like a shout out of "do it for the north, Sheffield" to make you run harder). The middle third of the race was underway now and I was running consistent splits of around 5:55 at target heart rate. My legs felt OK - although the occasional flashes of pain down the outside and back of my left leg were a reminder that something is not quite right. Just get me to the end I said to my legs - as if they were some other being.
The third 5K passed in just under 18:30 and I settled into a consistent rhythm, with all four 5K blocks from 10km to 30km passing within a few seconds of 18:30. My half marathon split was 1:17:27 - bang on for my unrealistic top-end aspirational target of 2:35!
Around 15 miles in I was aware of a commotion about 200m ahead of me - and I realised that I was gaining on the Paula Radcliffe farewell parade. Only a marathon runner of Paula's quality, in her 40s, could jog round a marathon at this pace with a massive smile on her face.
As the last 6 miles loomed, I was starting to experience some doubts about my legs. The shooting pains down my left leg were a bit more regular, and my troublesome calf muscles were starting to hint at a full-scale cramping rebellion. I was also, for the first time in any race, actually cold and getting a bit shivery.
Unsurprisingly, my mind was also wobbling a bit and I was struggling to concentrate. I was supposed to be taking one of the gels provided at mile 21 (having had 3 of my own so far) but I was not sure at times what mile I was on or whether I had missed the gel station completely.
Thankfully the gel station appeared at mile 21 and I took a sickly sweet lucozade gel. The miles were still ticking by steadily, but I had started to consciously hold my pace back a bit as my calves were doing their about-to-cramp tingling thing. The seventh 5K block was about 30 seconds slower than the previous four - 18:56. And the miles were starting to nudge above my 6:05 target pace. I was getting passed by stronger finishers at his stage, and i was no longer gaining on Paula, but there were at least an equal number of 'last few miles casualties' strewn along the sides of the road; stretching their shot legs out in the hope that they could continue, or sat head in hands under the care of the volunteers from St John's.
I managed to keep my head together enough at the mile 24 marker to do some sums and worked out I was on track for sub 2:38 if I could manage to stay under 6:20 pace. Mile 24 beeped in at 6:02. Come on!
As we started mile 25, the course ducked steeply under a bridge and my calves reacted badly to the shock - cramping briefly. I nearly stopped to stretch them out but I was worried that I would not be able to start again. I was absolutely shattered and doing everything I could to stay relaxed and keep moving. I shortened my stride a bit to reduce the stress on my legs. Perhaps I should have come up with a more motivational thought at this stage, but the best I could manage was 'just warm down for a couple of miles'. Mile 25 responded to the cramp and negative thinking by slowing to 6:27 pace, with mile 26 passing in 6:24 as the crowds picked me up a bit.
The last 800m or so was a bit of a blur as the elation of finishing took over and the pace picked back up accordingly. I started to gain on a few people that had come past me earlier but I genuinely didn't give a toss about gaining places - my eyes were fixed on the clock and making sure that it started with 2:37 when I crossed the line. My eventual finish time was 2:37:42.
Deb finished her first marathon (and first run over 20 miles) in a fantastic 3 hours and 11 minutes, but she unsurprisingly found the last five or six miles very hard going - traumatic even. The rest of the day was mainly spent eating, drinking, and chatting - in the pub, on the tube, and then on the train back to Sheffield.
Taking the day off work on Monday to catch up on the home admin stuff I have neglected for the last 3 months was a very good idea, although I used an hour of the precious time to capture my experiences here!
No comments:
Post a Comment