Going Ultra for Mountain Rescue: Trollers Trot and The Haworth Hobble 2015

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So begins yet another story of willy-nilly signing up for races

Most runners have some "unfinished business" whether it be a race you didn't perform in or one that you didn't make it to the start line of. I have more than one, but the dragon to slay this year was the Haworth Hobble (32 miles and 4400ft) after injury prevented me from toeing the line last year and completing my first ever ultra-marathon. Of course, if I'd got injured whilst out running and couldn't make it home Mountain Rescue would have saved my sorry life which is a very comforting thought.
To make things worse, last year I had bought the t-shirt in advance and the organisers kindly sent it to me when I failed to show on the day. Pride prevented me from ever wearing it. A difficult 2014 spent mainly trying to regain past strength, speed and endurance meant that my first ultra marathon seemed horribly distant only a few months ago, but in a fit of optimism (and probably booze, yes it was almost certainly booze) I signed up for the Hobble again for 2015. I will admit that signing up for Trollers Trot (25 miles and 2400ft) taking place the weekend before wasn't exactly part of the plan and also, I don't really plan. But Oh well, I thought, if it goes mammaries skyward, the amazing volunteers of Mountain Rescue will save me.

5 weeks before the big race I took part in Rombald's stride. At 22 miles and 2400ft it seemed perfect training for the Hobble, however, it didn't go well....... To cut a long story short, after a good mid-section I blew up badly and ended up finishing at a crawl. Turns out I had been brewing a stomach bug during the race and ended up very forcibly ejecting the contents of my stomach and bowels over the next 12 hours. But enough of that.

Trollers Trot: 7/3/15

Fast forward a few weeks and I lined up for Trollers trot. Once again at a race, I was under prepared, under trained and worried.

Brave faces at the start

Having been stupid enough to sign up to a 25 miler one week before attempting my first ultra, my plan was simple for both races- survive; just get round in one piece and call Mountain Rescue if it all went wrong (Not frivolously of course, only if in real need, only idiots call the rescue services without good reason)

At Rombald's stride I had gone out like I do at most races; trying to feel my way and listening to my body. The trouble is my body was in a bad mood and wanted to punish me for daring to wake it up early on a weekend. Its voice that day sounded like Dot Cotton, if she smoked twice as many cigs.

The day of Trollers I committed one of running's deadliest sins and was wearing a new pair of trainers with only around 10 miles on the clock. As anyone who has ever read a running magazine knows, wearing something new on race day will almost certainly result in you having a major brain aneurysm and/or breaking all your leg bones resulting in having to call out Mountain Rescue to ensure you arrive at hospital safely. That's if it didn't bring on the very apocalypse. I had intended to run this race in More Mile Cheviots as they have a great fell shoe grip combined with the perfect amount of cushioning in them. Sadly, their notorious chocolate-chip-biscuit-strength uppers died after less than 100 miles during Romabald's stride and had split wide open.

They're dead Jimmmmm!!

Cue desperate search for a new pair of trainers to wear. Inov8 X-talons would be way too minimal for me at the moment for this kind of distance. Luckily I spotted that Nike had brought out a version of their flex road shoe in a trail version and they were on sale at Go Outdoors. Using my NHS discount I snapped up a pair and after 10 off-road miles in them, I decided they would probably do for Trollers and hopefully the Hobble. Brave or what? But obviously, not as brave as the amazing men and ladies of Mountain Rescue.

To Do? No thank you!

With only ten minutes to go, I discovered my asthma inhaler was empty, because I'm a genius like that; so off I sprinted back to the car. I had decided not to use the toilets earlier when I saw that the queue stretched back in to infinity, but on return from the car I knew it wasn't going to wait. Luckily everyone was now milling around outside rather than in the bogs so I was able to sit 3 inches from the floor on the primary-school-child-height loos. Had I got stuck in one, I am sure I could have called Mountain Rescue to pry me off it (No doubt with a large comedy POP)
The milling outside turned in to moving on the command of a quiet "Go" from the organiser and we were away, looking absolutely nothing like a herd of African gazelles.

No, I had no idea what I looked like in the buff hat, do you think I'd have been wearing it like that if I did?

I decided to take Trollers as easy as I could to see if preserving energy was the way to go after the disaster that was Rombald's. For the first 10 miles this seemed to go very well. I trotted along with Adrian, chatting and laughing and generally enjoying a lovely day out. We merrily passed through fields and paths, up and down dale, over, around and through puddles and the miles melted away.
At 18ish miles, we spotted Simon up ahead, much to my surprise. I may have the beating of Simon over short races, but certainly not over anything long or with lots of ascent. In a further happy coincidence we had caught him at the "Fellandale check-point"

The race organiser, Paul Shack had very generously offered to donate £45 to charity for each volunteer runners found. Another Fellandaler, Carl Prendergast had spotted this, and being the very Yorkshirest of Yorkshiremen, he offered to volunteer; never being a man to turn down the offer of summat for nowt. I roped in Debi and we had a Fellandale checkpoint! Paul further enhanced the donation to Mountain Rescue by topping the donation up to £100 as a reward for getting the volunteers on board so quickly.

I shouted to Debi to get her camera out so we could get a Fellandale group photo, but Simon and Adrian kept going after a brief drink of water and some biscuits so all we got was this shot of us running away with me looking especially "special" in my buff twat-hat with the world's largest bum-bag. At least it made my arse look small in comparison.

At that point I felt ok, no real niggles and I felt I had plenty of miles left in my legs. I was wrong, very, very wrong.

As the last few miles wore on, my thighs and hips got tighter, and tighter. Before long they were agony. Simon and Adrian gradually pulled away from me. By the time I hit the last stretch along the river, I was miserable. Moving in any way was painful and the last 5 miles were total misery. Runner after runner passed me as I shuffled along. If I stretched out for a minute I could run for about 2 before the tightness returned. So I hobbled and grumbled and bimbled through to the finish, occasionally wishing that the amazing Mountain Rescue would rescue me rather than saving their expertise on people in genuine trouble.
At the tables in the cafeteria later, Adrian took this cruel shot of me stretching near one of the tables:

I had finished in under 4 hours, but the torrid time I had endured between 20-25 miles did not bode well for a race in only 7 days time with 7 more miles tagged on the end and 2000 more feet stacked on the top.

The main event: The Haworth Hobble

The Haworth Nobble

20 minutes after the end of Trollers trot the tightness in my thighs and hips had subsided and I felt fine, which gave me a plan for the Hobble- should the cramps come on again, I would stop for 20 minutes and lay down and/or have something to eat. One of the runner's home remedies of which I had oft heard tell was to eat something salty when the cramps came on, so I emptied a packet of salted cashews into a zip-lock bag.
Taking it easy certainly hadn't worked at all in the last couple of long events, so the new tactic was to run how I felt at my natural pace and hope to get as far as I could before the wheels fell off, I blew my big end and the windscreen wipers started making a squeaky sound.

I was quite surprised by the size of the crowd gathered in the small school hall a little way from the main street of the beautiful village of Haworth. Haworth is best known as the home of the Bronte sisters and is a Mecca for fans of the Bronte's books and also for fans of small gift shops, cafes, chip shops and pubs.

This is what I had to "look forward to" The route looks oddly like the monument on Stoodley pike

My friend Tom also had unfinished business with this race. Last year he had finished behind Simon and outside 6 hours and this year he wanted to put that right. Simon couldn't run this year, but the sub 6 hour time was Tom's target. As I said, I had no target other than finishing. but Simon spurred me on a little when he was sceptical that I would get near 6 hours.
Debi picked us up bright and early and I was very grateful that I would have a lift and also photos from Debi to document my first ultra.

The race itself starts on the cobbled street in the centre of Haworth whilst bemused tourists look on.

That bloke's not actually running in denim- it's just denim-look shorts. Weird eh?

And remember, when starting your first ultra, or hell, any ultra, it's very important to do a monkey impression. Start as you mean to go on, I say.

That's Tom in the orange next to me

For the next 13 miles (You don't really want to hear all about them do you?) Tom and I ran together. We headed out of Haworth, around to Widdop reservoir where half the field went one way around it, and half went the other. Down we went to Hurstwood reservoir and along the dam.Somewhere along here I was disappointed to be over-taken by an older lady.When it turned out that that lady was Nicky Spinks (She is about to attempt to knock enough time off her Bob Graham round time to claim the all-time record (i.e. men and women) for the lowest cumulative time for the Bob Graham, Paddy Buckley and Ramsay rounds) I have to admit I felt a lot better.

Tom photobombed my photo. He's such a child. Lol. #yolo wtf?! lmfao

At about 13 miles I stopped for some fluids and a biscuit at a check point and Tom went off in front. He soon disappeared into the distance and I let him go as I knew I needed to run my own race.
The route headed up a long, steep hill near a wind farm and I forced myself to walk up it. I found that I had to force myself to walk many of the up hills during the race that I was capable of running as I didn't dare waste too much energy running them. I look forward to the day when I am conditioned well enough to not worry and run them.

This photo doesn't do justice to the steepness of this hill, honest

Whiskey Galore!

A few miles later I made my way down to the youth hostel at Mankinholes for the infamous whiskey stop. I had been told about the whiskey stop many times and Simon, who is known in some circles as an evil genius and in yet more circles as just "Simon", offered me an extra donation to Mountain Rescue if I partook of the whiskey. At 18.5 miles in to the race it didn't seem like the greatest idea, but what the hell, it was for charidee.

Sadly, the kind volunteer that responded to my request to be an impromptu cameraman cut off the beginning of the video where I said "I hate you Simon Franklin" and the end where I say "Ooooh, it's a Talisker"
In a not totally un-illegal way, a child of around 14 was dolling out the whiskey shots and was filling the shot glasses to the brim. The shot tasted great........... for about 5 seconds, before it landed at the bottom of my stomach like a brick. Luckily, it didn't make me ill enough to require Mountain Rescue.
It was about that time that I looked up to the monument on Stoodley Pike atop a very large climb.

As I made my way up I lost sight of the snake of people in front of me so just followed my nose. I have to admit I chuckled when I realised a lot of people had followed me as I went awry and ended up scrambling up a steep grassy bank with probably all of them cursing me.

As you can see from the above photos, Debi was lurking in the monument documenting the day. I had suggested she station herself there thinking that a photo of the monument with the landscape behind it would make a great photo. What I didn't realise is just how damned large the monument is and also, I didn't realise that the wind would ensure a wind-chill factor of minus a cajillion degrees which as we all know can cause hypothermia, a condition that Mountain Rescue are trained to deal with. So all in all, these were great photos.

I pottered down the hill in to Hebden bridge and started to run along with the guy in green in the photo below

He told me he had run the race several times and had done it in under 6 hours last year. Not only that, he was also born in Hebden bridge. Handy, I thought, at least I won't get lost. So it was hilarious when we managed to miss the steps in Hebden bridge as we began the climb up to Heptonstall and ended up on a short detour around the road route instead. We ran along together chatting for a few miles before I headed off in front of him.

Take a hint: Donate to Mountain Rescue you Tight Get

I had begun to suffer at around mile 20 and had a feeling of foreboding. Would I end up cramping like I had at Trollers? I couldn't imagine covering 10+ miles in that state, 5 miles had been bad enough. Each time I felt the cramps coming on, I slowed to a walk and ate some salted cashews and each time, after a few minutes, the cramps subsided. That said, I felt like I was running a razor edge wondering if I was going to blow up badly. Of course, if tiredness at this point had caused me to fall and break a leg, Mountain Rescue would have come out to me. I am really not sure if there is any real evidence to suggest that salt actually stops cramps, and I really don't want to fall in to confirmation bias, but it did seem that each time I ate some salted cashews, the cramps went away. Of course, the mere action of slowing down and having some food and drink may have been what stopped the cramps.

Then all of a sudden, I began to feel good. The aches and pains were melting away. I started to speed up. Looking at my watch I could see that I had around 6 miles left and just over an hour left to go under 6 hours. I felt a real boost from this info. Then I got another boost; I caught up with Tom.

As I was careening down a small gulley, I spotted Tom in front going through a gate. I have to admit, it felt good. If I had caught Tom, it meant I was doing pretty well.
As I caught him I attempted a breezy hello.
" 'Ow do Tom" I said, in what must have sounded like a sarcastic tone. He looked around and saw me.
"Ah shit!" he said.

I flew past him. Later on, he told me that when he saw how well I was moving, he knew he would have no chance of keeping up. He was even flattering enough to say I looked like one of the elites. I didn't of course, unless one of the elites had decided to do a monkey impression.

The fairly new Nike trainers at the end; well and truly broken in

I now had that sub 6 hour time in my sights. I was running freely with no real pain. I started to over take a lot of other runners, which was lucky as I had no idea where I was going and seeing other runners appear in front was keeping me on the right track.

Now I recognised the paths above Haworth. I passed around Penistone hill and to my delight, Naomi, another Fellandaler had turned up. She took some photos and jogged along for a bit with me, giving me a mouthful of lucozade. It was another real boost to see her.
On the way down I fell in to step with two other runners, but soon I was leaving them behind. Unfortunately, I still didn't know where I was going for the end of the race so I stopped once or twice to let them catch up so I could ask directions.
Then I hit on an idea. "You know" I said to them, "We've got about 15 minutes to get in to Haworth to come under 6 hours"
"Really?! We thought that had gone. Right!"
And so they sped up.

The End is Nigh

The church in Haworth appeared and I knew it was only a short trot from there back to the school, and yet it still hadn't crossed my mind that I was going to make it. Knowing my luck, I would fall on the cobbles in Haworth and have to call out Mountain resc......... actually, to be fair. I'd probably call an ambulance if I fell in Haworth.

We popped out onto the main street of Haworth to the stares of really confused tourists. I nearly missed the steps that would take me down to the school, but the helpful runners behind me made sure I went down them. As I crossed the busy road over to the school, it finally hit me that I was going to finish this thing. I was going to be able to call myself an ultra runner! A huge smile spread across my face.

Just outside the school gates. Don't try pelting down a drive through a primary school at any other time. They don't like it

In one final attempt to go the wrong way, I nearly headed down the drive before I was pointed the right way by a runner who had already finished.

I had done it! And my final time?

I went in to the packed school feeling like a Friday night roll-over win. I didn't feel like eating but I tucked in to a couple of cups of tea. All around me people knew nothing of my triumph, because almost all of them had experienced it for themselves, some many years ago and some many times over.

This year I didn't want to tweak the nipples of fate again by buying the t-shirt in advance so I was really pleased to find out that they were selling them on the day and also, that they were much nicer than last year's all black affair. This year's also have the date on them.

After stripping behind the door in a corridor (Also not something to try in normal circumstances in a primary school) I was even in a good enough state to wander around Haworth with Debi and have a pint of Guinness in one of the fine local hostelries.

Damage Report

Incredibly, I sustained very little damage in this heavy assault on my own body. No blisters, not even any hot spots. My legs were a little sore but that soon subsided over the next few days. The recovery run a couple of days later saw off most of the soreness for good. The muscles in my feet were the main cause of concern, but by the end of the week, they were fine too. So much to my surprise, I had managed my main goal; surviving intact.
At 2 minutes 10, this video will remove any doubt that I run like a monkey:

And the fund raising for Mountain Rescue? Over £400!! Get in!

DNS (The York Marathon)

If you enjoy this blog, please do leave a comment at the end or you can tweet me @scott_leach 

These are going nowhere

There is much discussion in the running community about the relative merits of DNS (Did not start) versus DNF (Did not finish)........

I want you to imagine a film scene.

A black screen, with only the sound of a wind so sharp that it sounds like it could cut you in two.

Slowly, a dim light fades in and begins to reveal a gravestone. As our view continues to widen there is a loud, booming sound like a heavy book dropped from the balcony of a silent library and a large letter D is stamped on to the gravestone.

The camera continues to zoom out and pan right uncovering a second gravestone. Another boom and  a letter N is stamped on this stone.

A third stone appears out of the gloom and the letter S is heralded by another loud crashing sound.

The camera stops. The wind howls and screams. We take in the morbid scene.

Slowly the first gravestone begins to topple forward taking an age to fall gently forward before it smashes into the ground shattering into thousands of pieces and lifting a cloud of dust. Then the second gravestone falls forwards and once again disturbs the ancient ground. It is followed a split second later by the third and final gravestone. The film switches to slow motion and we watch as the cloud of dust swirls around in the wind.

Fade to black.

To DNS or to DNF, that is the question.

Yes, I know I'm a drama queen but nearly every runner will, at some point, face the agonising decision of whether to start a race not knowing if they are going to finish, or to simply not start it. DNS v DNF. I faced such a decision a couple of weeks ago.

If you read my last blog, you'll know that I took quite a heavy tumble during my last race- the Ian Hodgson Mountain relay. I badly injured my shoulder and arm and the strength has been slowly returning ever since. Although that still isn't better, I can run with it fine and it doesn't slow me down, however, my right knee, which wasn't a problem at the time of the run, became a problem in the following days. When I ran again, the following Wednesday, I began to experience a sharp pain in my right knee after a couple of miles and, to cut a long story short, it's continued ever since. 

The day before the York marathon I went out for a final run, having taken a few days off to see if my knee would be ok. One slow 5 mile run later, the obvious answer was no, it wouldn't. 

I had gone backwards and forwards thinking about it, should I or shouldn't I? I really didn't want to miss the race as I was very lucky to get in- it sold out inside 72 hours- amazing for an inaugural event. The York marathon was supposed to be my first sub 3 hour marathon or at the least, my "Good for Age" qualifying time for an automatic place in to the London marathon. But would I get round? Would I end up finishing really slowly? Or not at all? Would I put myself out for weeks if I did it and miss a couple other races I signed up for? Was it worth the risk?

The run on Saturday confirmed that there was no way I would get all the way around 26.2 miles. The knee just wouldn't put up with it. A shorter race I might have been able to tough it out, 10 or 15 miles maybe, but a marathon is a step up. The wall can hit you like a ton of bricks at 18 miles. Reluctantly I took the decision to withdraw and posted to facebook. The sympathy I received was nice to read. 

For the rest of the week I enjoyed reading about all my friends finishing the race and looking at their photos. For quite a few of them it was their first marathon. I was a little more gutted, but very pleased for them.

So, in retrospect, did I make the right decision? I have to say yes. The knee is still painful and I can only manage a couple of miles before it gets very sore. I had no choice. I still want to lower my 10k time before the end of the year and I need to give myself the best chance of being fit for the two 10k's I have signed up for, starting with Scarborough tomorrow.

Race Review: The Oslo Marathon: 21st September 2013

This blog is a bit of an epic, so surely you'll want to leave a comment at the end should you make it there, or even tweet me @scott_leach

Oslo!

My brother married into a lovely Norwegian family a few years ago and so I have become a little acquainted with Norway and the people over a few visits, whilst getting to know my sister in law and her family.
Norway is a stunningly beautiful country with gorgeous rolling hills giving way to incredible fjords, spectacular mountains and the famous midnight sun in the north. In the cities the buildings reflect the rugged and attractive people. In the countryside pretty wooden buildings pepper the landscape making Norway feel traditional yet ultra modern, stylish and up-to-date. So what could be better than spicing up a trip to see my brother and his family than by running the Oslo marathon? Genius plan! Sometime back the thought had entered my head that I would do a marathon abroad each year and Oslo could be my first.
However, as it turns out, as great a country as Norway is and as great a city as Oslo is, they haven't really got the hang of a big city marathon just yet...

I mentioned the Oslo marathon to my brother's brother-in-law whilst chatting on facebocks one night and two minutes later he had signed me up. I had no excuse now! Somehow, I had managed to get signed up for 3 marathons, before I had even run one. Oslo would be my second after Manchester in April, which went very well.

So I was really looking forward to the visit. Then disaster- my sister-in-law got a job in Malaysia and would be moving before the marathon! I would have to sort out my own travel plans and accommodation....in one of the most expensive cities in the world. Whoops.

I know how to pack for a marathon abroad ;)

Fail to prepare; prepare to fail

As the marathon came closer I periodically checked the website of a certain budget airline- you know the one; they treat you like cattle and don't put enough fuel in the planes- waiting for the price of flights to come down from over £200. Eventually they hit £30 and I booked it, along with an ultra budget hotel in the heart of Oslo. So far so good- it wasn't costing me too much money.

One thing I need to do is keep my race diary a bit more carefully in future as I suddenly realised that September was going to be one hell of a mad month. If I did all I intended to do, I would be racing every weekend throughout the month, starting with The Wetherby 10k, then The Great North Run, Oslo and finishing it up with either the Sheffield 10k or The Horsforth 10k, both of which I've done for the last 2 years. Crazy.

The weather report for Oslo looked great as I set off for Liverpool airport. The cattle handlers herded us around whilst constantly trying to sell us rubbish before we eventually landed at Oslo Torp. I was just glad to avoid the electric cattle prods. The budget airline being the budget airline, Torp is actually about an hour and 45 from Oslo by the Torp Expressen bus which, to my horror, was £42 for a return ticket. And it got worse. I had been on the bus no more than 10 minutes and in Norway no more than 30 when I received a text message from my mobile provider (Orange or EE, depending on how you think) telling me that I was protected by a £42 data limit on my phone whilst abroad......and I had already reached 80% of it from less than 20 minutes on facebook!! Apparently they charge 8 POUNDS per MB. Maybe this trip was going to cost more than I imagined....

Leaving the airport: It's not easy being the world's best photographer you know

The wonderful scenery passed by the window and before I knew it I was at Olso bus terminal, a place that I was soon to become very well acquainted with...

As I looked out of the bus terminal I discovered my next mistake- printing out a very basic google map of Oslo to my hotel wasn't really adequate for finding the marathon expo to pick up my number. I had thought I would be able to get a map in the terminal but I was wrong. I had about an hour before the expo closed otherwise I would have to get up earlier the next day before the race to get my number. Right- route march through Oslo to find the place! Eventually I resorted to using up even more data with google maps, but I managed to find the place.

I realise that marathons make you pick up your number from an expo for a reason, rather than send it to you- so you can be herded around sponsors stands, which was exactly what happened. I have no real objections to this- except, as it was a Norwegian expo it wasn't really very relevant to me and they had set it up so you had to pass every stand before you could pick up your t-shirt on the way out having picked your number and chip up at the entrance. I would have liked to have opted out of this really, but then I might have wondered if I was missing anything. When I reached the end I asked for a small t-shirt only to be told that they had run out, which in this case was lucky as the medium fits me brilliantly! I also rather liked the boot bag it came in:

Using my terrible printed map, a couple of maps on bus stops and the magnets in my head I managed to find my hotel. I had to snigger when I realised the whole place looked and even smelled like an Ikea.
The room was tiny, which I knew having read the reviews, but it was stupidly cheap for Oslo and very neat and tidy with clever touches. The bed was fitted in to a corner and was comfortable. All I needed was a bed to land on so this was perfect. I was distressed to find that the payment hadn't gone through when I originally booked it and so another £110 fell screaming from my account.

How much? Do you accept body parts in payment?   (Not yours though mate, they look knackered)

After a nap I had my next challenge: to find a meal in Oslo without bankrupting myself. Just around the corner from my hotel, I got lucky; beer at only £5.40 per 500m. I supped a jar with a large bowl of carbonara pasta with a very confusing raw egg sitting in half a shelf and a small bowl of pesto. Then back to the hotel for a good, long night's sleep before the race in the morning.

The marathon booklet wasn't a massive help to me as I barely speak English, never mind Norwegian.

 Now I know just how childish it is to laugh at other languages when some of the words are a bit rude in English, but well.....I'm childish. So there. Norway provided me with lots of  "Sorry, come again" moments, or in the American vernacular, the slightly more punchy "Wait...what now?" And on that note let's have a closer look at that marathon booklet....

Wait...what now?

More of that later....

Marathon Morn

In the morning I had to endure a Yorkshireman's nightmare: an expensive buffet that I couldn't take advantage of. I paid nearly £12 for the breakfast at the hotel to avoid having to find a place and whereas I would normally have stuffed my face fit to last for at least until the evening, I had to stick at a bowl of cereal and a coffee so as not to feel too full during the race. I now realise I should have stuffed my pockets full of whatever I could carry. Amateur mistake!

My hotel was only 5 minutes from the race start and I wandered down there in plenty of time.

Way to fill us full of confidence.... (Only in Norway would the Ambulance be a modified Mercedes!)

Really oddly, they were setting us off in 3 waves, despite there only being 3000 doing the full marathon length. I had been put in the back section and I messaged the organisers on facebook slightly panicking- I really didn't want to set off at the back! They assured me I could move forward and there wouldn't be any problem. In the event, they were right and I started close to the front with no problems.

On the day of the "Oslo Maraton" there would be 23000 people running, but only 3000 of those were in the sold-out marathon itself. In what I found a very odd state of affairs, the marathon was to start first, followed by the half then the 10k. Some of the 10k runners not starting until 6pm. So essentially, they shut off large parts of Oslo for a full Saturday!

The start had a large scaffolding over it and the MCs and warm up people bounced around on it trying to gee people up as usual. I wasn't waiting around too long in the slightly chilly air before the hooter went and we were off through the sparse crowds. A quick left turn and we were on the harbour front. "Harbour" is the best word that I can think of to describe it, although it is far too grand for what it was. Depressingly, less than 200 metres in to the race, we passed this point with the 29km marker.

We would go on to pass this point a further 2 times before the sign was correct. I hadn't realised just how bad that would be for my moral.

As usual I had thought about what I expected from the race in the days before. I had raced the 2 previous weekends and broke my PB for 10k, then took 9.5 minutes off my half marathon PB the following weekend. I knew that these two hard races would mean that the marathon would be very tough. Luckily, I picked up a good tip from the terrible book on marathons that I started to read when I got in to Norway; to set myself more than one target time: One I would be satisfied with, one I'd be very pleased with and one I'd be ecstatic with. Respectively I set them as: Breaking my PB; The London marathon good for age time of 3:05 and  Less than 3 hours.
I know it seems odd to have my lowest target as a new PB but I knew that I was in much better shape than at my only other marathon in Manchester in April, so it seemed very reasonable to assume that that would be a relatively easy target.
I also came up with a tactic that might seem odd; I was almost certain that I would blow up between 18 and 20 miles. I just hadn't managed to get enough distance training in in between the races. With this in mind I decided to go out reasonably quickly and just try to get as far as I could before I would have to slow. I was certain that it wouldn't matter at what time I got to that point, I would still hit the wall. In hindsight I still stick by this slightly odd logic although I had to wonder if I was setting myself up with a self-fulfilling prophecy and that maybe I wouldn't blow up at all.

The Oslo opera house

Round and round and round and round and round and round and round.........

So around the headland we went for the first of three passes and soon to the opera house. I've had a look around this wonderful modern building the last time I visited Oslo and it really is a great piece of architecture. You can just see from the photo above that you can walk right up on to the roof. Alongside the opera house they had set up a small stage with some ballerinas dancing to europop- a nice touch which I enjoyed a lot. But definitely not in a dirty, pervy old man way, oh no.

And so it started to go downhill, although not literally. The opera house itself is a fantastic building, but right now, it's sitting in the middle of a gigantic building site. Unfortunately, the organisers had decided to run us through it more than once.......in fact, the route was a loop through the giant building site, so we actually made 6......SIX passes through it. With not a single supporter to cheer us. A small stage had been set up in the middle of it however, and a drummer was doing a great job along to a sound track. It didn't make up for the building site. To paraphrase an old joke- Oslo is a really nice city, it'll be brilliant when it's finished...
The 6th and final time I saw the opera house, my fantasies of vandalising it had become huge on a grand scale and involved explosives and tanks.

From the building site the route went over a flyover and then around the bus terminal, around another loop and then...............back past the bus terminal. As the route was a fantastically confusing multi lap route (Although not the same lap!!) we actually passed the bus terminal SIX times. Think I'm joking? Sadly not...

The grey building; that's the bus terminal. 6 passes didn't improve it

At the expo I had studied the marathon route. The map was criss-crossed with varying coloured lines in a terribly confusing way. I couldn't for the life of me work out how the marathon was going to work. Post-run, I think, think, that it happened this way- 2 laps of the 10k route, then a lap of the 1/2 marathon route, then a final lap that included most of the 1/2 marathon route again, with a couple of extra bits to make it up to marathon length. Bearing in mind that the 10k route was part of the 1/2 route and 2 x 10ks plus a half plus another half is 60-odd-k-ish; they cut off some chunks somewhere, I'm just not sure where. Confused? I was. I have to admit though; the staging was remarkable, for instance, when we came to the loop in the building site for the third time, the barriers had been moved and the loop extended. I had to wonder how they made sure everyone did the correct route?

So back to my race. I knew that to go under 3 hours I would need to average under 4:16 per kilometre. Last week at the half marathon I had averaged 3:59, so it seemed possible and for the first half, I sat at 4:12. I was constantly working out the race maths; how much time was this giving me in hand? How far did I have to get before I could afford to slow down? During a race my mental arithmetic goes entirely to pot so the answer changed lots of times, but it's a good way to pass the time. I tried to settle in to a 4:12 pace, but it was hard from the start. I quickly realised that the last couple of races had taken a lot out of me.

I'll skip ahead a little. The route was, in the main, phenomenally boring even without taking the building site in to consideration. Lots of running through deserted areas of town and even in the populated areas there were few people around.

The route, in all its erm...glory

A couple of nights before I set off, Jauntyhippedgirl had asked if I had looked at reviews of the race, I admitted I hadn't. As I was running it as part of a planned trip to see my brother, I hadn't bothered. And when I looked, it made grim reading. I couldn't find all that many reviews, but the ones I could, gave the same opinion of the marathon- repetitive and boring. One said that he always did the race as it was close to where he lived, but he couldn't understand anyone flying in to do it. Whoops. I guess the organiser's response to this was to add the music stations. Or more of them. The google translation of the emails telling me about the planned entertainment provided me with some yucks.

I was looking forward to focussing on carpet and seeing how they invited life around the course. Another email translation claimed they would "create life" around the course. The mind boggled at that one!

The music stations, frankly, were a bit crap. Bored looking marshals stood on their own next to sound systems pumping out generic euro-pop. I can't say they were especially motivating. The large areas of deserted city, though pretty enough, it being Oslo, were quite dispiriting. A few areas right in the centre and around the start area (We passed through the start area 3 times) had some modest crowds. In a couple of places people were banging away on cow bells, which was great, it made me really feel that I was running in Scandinavia. If that atmosphere was extended around more of the course the atmosphere would have been amazing. As it was, a few people shouted out "Heia" (to sound like hey ya!) which means "go on". Sometimes it was shouted with more vigour than others and occasionally in such a dull monotone that it was comical. At first it sounded great to hear it, but like anything that is shouted out during a marathon, by around the 35th k, people could be shouting out "Free naked models and money" and you'd still want to punch them in the throat, or maybe that's just me?

The Balloon B*stard

Several pacers had been provided for the race. The forums kept mentioning "following the balloons". I wonder what the hell they meant, until I saw the pacers had large helium balloons attached to them. The fastest pacer was 3 hours, so I had a target- stay in front of  "balloon b*stard" (BB) as I had named him.
At the first loop through the building site the I caught sight of BB as the field looped around the same road. He was a fair way behind me. Cool. The race went on; opera house, bus station, ghost town. Opera house, bus station, ghost town. Opera house, bus station, ghost town.
And we were at the halfway point. I was flagging. Badly. I was already experiencing discomfort in my leg muscles; way too early. We rounded the loop in the building site again, and there he was. BB. I knew I would see him soon as the average time on my GPS watch told me I was slowing and there was nothing I could really do about it. The sight of him spurred me on. He was surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of people all trying to break the magic 3 hour mark. The thought of all these people having to pass me, all of them judging me for what they will have thought of as "some idiot who went off too fast", and who knows? maybe they were right. It kept me going for a while, but I knew it couldn't happen. I had to make the decision to let the sub 3 hour time go. I didn't debate with myself for long, I knew it had been a looooooooong shot. Not long after, I knew I had to let the good for age time go too. For a while I entertained the thought that I should aim for last year's good for age time of 3:10, but then realised that was just pointless.

Time for some not-so-pretty pictures

Ok, let's break this up for a bit, here's some of the sights we passed, sometimes multiple times and some better than others

The 3rd and final time down these cobbles was at about 40km. Not nice!

One of the museums, sorry, don't ask me which one

Yep, a lot of the buildings looked like this!

Oslo's Hard Rock Cafe

Well, maybe not in a marathon....

I think this guy was on the marathon committee 

Yep, the building site was pretty huge, and this is just a small part of it

The stunning dock area we ran through. Erm...

We passed this point 6 times too...

This photo probably doesn't do justice, but these were really amazing buildings

This was the turn around point that they miraculously moved at the third pass, pretty, huh?

Someone liked playing with lego when they were a child

Skip To The End

Now my expectations had been rounded severely down, I was just trying to keep going at a reasonable pace. I was pleased that I seemed to be holding at around 4:30 per k. In a discussion with Jaunty, I had mentioned that I had actually managed to up my pace in the middle of the Great North Run for the first time ever during a race. She said that she had read in one of the many running books she's read, that one runner said that sometimes, when they felt tired, rather than slow down, they would speed up. During the last half of the race, each time I felt myself flagging, I tried it and to my amazement, it worked. I would be able to run faster for quite a bit before slowing down again, but I wouldn't slow back down to the original pace for a while.

I remembered at the Belper Rugby Rover feeling much better each time I stopped and stood still at the checkpoints, drunk a couple of cups of water and ate a jelly baby or three. When I set off after each stop, I ran off much quicker feeling refreshed. With about 15km to go, I decided I would stop at each water stop. Because of the multiple laps there were a lot of water stops but they were spaced quite randomly. Annoyingly, the water was being handed out in small cardboard cups. Try drinking from these running at speed without throwing most of it over your face...I tried lots of times, but didn't manage it. Since then I have heard the technique is to fold a slight lip into the front of the cup. I'll have to practice that one. In all honesty, I think a major city marathon ought to give out bottles, or even the squashy pouches that we got at Manchester- those were good and much more difficult to turn an ankle on a discarded one.

There was one section of the route that was part of the marathon only. It headed west out of the city. We passed through some seriously expensive, beautiful housing. With no one there. No one. Zero. None. And then to a marina. The marina was gorgeous and I found it the most enjoyable part even though it wasn't cordoned off and cyclists rode down the same path we were on in the other direction. The path took us past a huge moored ferry. Amazing.

No Really, Get On With It, Scott

The water stations couldn't come quickly enough; I started chugging the proffered sports drinks (in the small cardboard cups) but declined the banana halves. And so I edged closer to the end. Speeding up and slowing down. Sometimes moving at sub 3 hour pace and sometimes much, much slower, trying to regather myself at each drinks station until we headed down the cobbled stretch with the Royal Palace in the distance (Thankfully they didn't make us run up the sizable hill to it) and the 41k and 42k markers passed. So at least I knew I was going to make it whilst still running. Sometime around there was the previously promised belly dancers. If you can manage to appreciate belly dancers 41k into a marathon you are a much better man than I! We also barrelled straight down the centre of one of the main shopping streets which had been impressively cordoned off with 6 foot-tall barriers meaning the fairly plentiful shoppers were trapped in tiny rat runs whereas we runners trotted down a wide thoroughfare which was hardly necessary given the sparse volume of runners. The shoppers looked at us with bemused bewilderment.

Finally the finish line appeared again and mercifully for the final time. I speeded up enough to try to look impressive as I crossed the line, I failed of course, and crossed the line looking like my usual drunken monkey.

The Nobel Building

The finish line was right in front of the Nobel prize building which it would be entirely inappropriate to say was appropriate. The medal was placed around my neck and I hobbled off to find beer, but before that I took off my shoes and socks and bathed my feet in a beautiful cold fountain, to the amusement of some of the onlookers.  The search for beer took me a while as it seemed that the organisers had either not put on a beer tent or had hidden it well. I thought I had read that there was a beer tent somewhere but my search was fruitless so the exciting after party never emerged. However, I did find a beer eventually.

The very beer I supped after the marathon; and what a snip at only £7.40......

I positioned myself with a view of the finishing straight and watched some of my marathon colleagues finishing. By now the temperature was perfect at around 20 degrees. A couple of Norwegians next to me started chatting and were surprised when I confirmed that I had finished my marathon half an hour ago. I asked them if they knew the German word -Schadenfreude-?
They looked perplexed. It means, I told them "To enjoy someone else's misery" I explained-Positioning oneself to watch other runners coming in having finished ones own marathon.

Ok, let's break it up again for some more, "Wait, what now?" moments...

Erm, thanks for pointing it out....

Wait, what now? Is that a giant silver ball sack and misshapen cock?

Never chase after children in your digger...

My Norwegian isn't great, but I think they don't want us to go any further AND *snigger* Hi-5!

A what hall now?

No, these pants are just a bit tight

Erm, no thanks, I'll have salt and vinegar 

It's been said before

And here are my winnings

The only "selfie" I've ever taken, about an hour after finishing. Glad to say I look just s much a twat as everyone does in a selfie

Finishing the marathon by myself with no one cheering me on or there to meet me was a slightly lonely experience and I probably wouldn't recommend anyone to fly in and out so quickly when doing a marathon.
Later that evening, after a shower and a nap (A hotel room with  bath wouldn't have gone a miss) eating alone wasn't much fun and I headed back to the hotel pretty early.

The view from my hotel room

Summary

I'll reiterate that Oslo is a great city, clean, metropolitan, stylish and modern mixed in with the traditional and Norway is a wonderful country, but unfortunately, they've some way to go with the marathon.

They've obviously been trying; they put out a lot of music stations for example, but in the end, the people of Oslo just haven't taken to this event. If you watch any skiing you'll know that Norwegians are capable of making a lot of noise and creating a great atmosphere, but sadly, not for this marathon yet.

There are some really major problems with the race:

Lack of crowds

Repetitive, boring route

No energy gels etc (Although the bananas were a nice touch)

Cardboard cups instead of bottles or similar
Multi-lap route
Really average t-shirt and medal that I am not even sure was specific to the marathon
Nothing is set up for international runners

I really do want to be positive about my first marathon abroad, but, well.....there's not a lot

The boot bag is very nice
Oslo and Norway are lovely
The few spectators that were enthusiastic, especially those with cow bells
What they did do was well organised
The ballerinas at the opera house
*Addit* A tracker system for the runners was live on the internet and Jaunty managed to follow it
I'm really struggling now.....

And one huge, annoying bug-bear. A marathon is 26 miles 385 yards or 42.195km. Exactly. That's it. Not a yard less, not a metre more.
What it isn't, is 3k, 5k, 10k, 13.1 miles or anything else for that matter.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand breathe.

So all in all, no, I wouldn't do it again, but did I regret it? No, not at all. I've now got my first marathon abroad out of the way and learned a lot of useful lessons along the way.

A lonely pair of gloves I spotted discarded on the route the next day. The left one may or may not, be giving me the finger

Chocolate milk with a picture of a moose from Torp airport. What more could you want to aid your marathon recovery?

And the link to my garmin http://connect.garmin.com/activity/380214469

Did you really get this far? Well, I broke my PB by 6 minutes or summat, coming in with an official time of 3:11:09