A Friday off work and with the world my running lobster, I decided to set off for Malham, a truly beautiful corner of the world. I have walked the classic Malham round on many occasions and the appeal of running in "the wilds" without navigating was very appealing. The classic round is not much more than 6 miles however, so I decided to extend it somewhat. A trip round the back of the tarn seemed to fit the bill.
Usually, the round is thus: From Malham to the cove. Up the 300+ steps to the top. Along one of the valleys to the tarn. Lunch at the waterside, then down through Gordale scar, along past Janet's Foss and back to Malham. I didn't feel that 6 miles would justify an hour's drive so I decided to add on a little "getting lost" session behind the tarn to extend the run to about 10 miles. I know my way around part of the back of the tarn (It's only one path, it'd be tough to get lost) but didn't know exactly how to keep going right around the back then join up with the path back to the cove. Still, it didn't look that hard. I decided to do the route in the opposite direction to usual, that way I would be able to take the path I knew around the back of the tarn and then find my way from there. What could possibly go wrong?
I could forget my map.
But I would never be stupid enough to do that, would I? Hmmmmm, good job I committed it to my photographic memory before I set off *cough*
Malham: Yorkshire cliche No5.
Having avoided the wooly "traffic" in Malham, I set off for the Janet's Foss. This involved a run down a track that follows the side of a lovely stream and through a forest. Even though I wasn't running fast and the way was easy and flat, I was already blowing quite hard soon in to the run. It had to be due to there being some actual heat for once! I started to receive the first of many odd looks I got from the walkers that day. It wasn't that long ago I was one of those walkers looking with incredulity at the runners. I didn't pass a single other runner the whole day.
On my way to Janet's Foss. The wild garlic was out in force
It's not far to Janet's Foss but by the time I got there I already needed a rest, so I stopped and took some photos and had a drink.
Janet's Foss is a little waterfall if you didn't know. Faeries live here. Yes they do.
The next stop was Gordale scar, also, not very far away. I have never climbed up the scar, only down, so it would be a new experience. The scar is very dry at the moment, so I knew that it wouldn't be too difficult.
Shame there is nothing in this pic for scale; to give you an idea, the bottom waterfall is probably about a 30ft drop
The climb proved quite easy with the lack of water and was great fun as always.
The view from the second, higher waterfall looking down through the scar.
On reaching the second waterfall there is a long set of rough-hewn steps to negotiate before running along a valley to the tarn. The climb up the scar and the steps isn't for the faint-hearted and I have scared the life out of several people with it, but in reality, it's really not very hard; if you've ever climbed at all, you wouldn't struggle and I have got several people down through it who have never climbed before.
The run continued through the gorgeous countryside in glorious sunshine and it wasn't very long before I arrived at the tarn.
It wasn't actually dull, but I can't be arsed to correct the light in photoshop
As I got around the "back" of the tarn, I stopped at a beautiful viewing point and had a bite to eat and a drink. The clif bar went down especially well. The deuter waist pack is just large enough to carry the things I need on a warm day.
Nom, nom, as they say, nom
Now it was time for the adventure to start; find my way around the back of the tarn with only the magnets in my head and a vague recollection of a map to go by. I basically navigated by heading in the direction I thought the cove was. Amazingly, it worked and I soon found the road I needed and headed down the valley towards the cove.
The valley isn't very long and I soon hit the famous limestone pavement.
The limestone walk is slippery as the Devil's banana skin in winter, but this day it was dry and easy to run on. The cove itself is, essentially, a giant cliff. Once upon a time it was a waterfall bigger than Niagara, but that was a few thousand years ago, so I missed it.
The view from the top of the cove is stunning.
The looks of incredulity increased tenfold as I ran down the steps of the cove but everyone was very kind in making sure they gave me enough room to get by.
Looking back up from the bottom of the cove steps. These are just the first few....
Always nice to linger at the bottom of the cove.
A quick trot across the ancient stone bridge and I was on the path back to Malham, which was getting a bit over grown.
I was happy to provide a moving buffet for a variety of flying insects as I moved along the path and they certainly dined out. Hope I was tasty.
The run back to Malham flew by and I settled down in one of the local cafes after discovering it wasn't possible to buy a newspaper in Malham!
The moist carrot cake was absolutely delicious and even better, the waitress decided the last 2 pieces of it were too small so gave me both to make one giant slice. Maybe I looked like I need it after 10 miles.
The local wildlife is very friendly/cheeky.
Malham is a truly beautiful place to run and navigation is pretty easy, which is always a bonus to me! I picked a lovely, if rather hot, day. Bonus! If you haven't been to Malham yet, why not?
Here's the run wot I did, as seen in google earth.
My Garmin had a strange freak-out and decided that I had also run back to Leeds afterwards and drew it on the map, yet didn't add the distance. Odd. But here's the run on Garmin connect
After the disaster at the Hull 10k a couple of weeks ago that resulted in a shortened course, I was looking forward to my first racing 10k of the year. Sadly, once again, I was involved in a race against time with the lingering chest infection. At this point the council had come to remove the bags of cement from my chest, but they'd left a bit of mess on the road behind that still needed clearing up.
On the Wednesday before, I went for my, hopefully-to-become-regular, run around the Chevin with Horsforth Fellandale. I became aware of the starter's pistol going off and I dropped in to step along side Mr Chest Infection. 8km and a couple of hundred metres of elevation later and it was neck and neck. Would I be in front come race time on Sunday?
Friday night found me in Hull at the KC stadium watching Hull FC trounce Leeds Rhinos despite taking their collective feet off the accelerator in the second half. I hoped it wasn't an omen. As I was in Hull on Saturday I picked up my running buddy, Dom, from his flat instead of Leeds' station.
Travelling down the M62 we were free to analyse our running in minute detail in a way that would bore the pants off almost anyone else in our circle. We ran over scenarios for the race and talked about how our training had been going and how we felt coming in to the race. Turns out Dom hadn't been running in a week due to a trip to London and a few other things. A niggling plantar problem is curtailing his trojan spirit only slightly.
Back in Leeds we decided to head for a gentle jog down the canal so Dom could remind his muscles they were required for running and to keep me moving. Having not run for a week, Dom was raring to go. I tried to keep him sane, but no dice, at one point we put in a 4:18 kilometre. I found myself wishing I'd brought a pair of baby reins for him. My lungs didn't hurt on the run for the first time in weeks. Definitely a good sign and I began to feel optimistic about the race to come.
Saturday evening and I decided to cook my famous pasta (The non-secret-secret ingredient being chicken stock) which went down well, rather than a trip to the pub. Then we decided to look up the race route to gauge how difficult/easy it would be.
The Burnley route. Twisty turny, huh?
Typical for a Jane Tomlinson race there was no elevation information on their website, but a quick google revealed that some helpful soul had posted the route on mapmyrun. Going by this, the first 5.6km would be a gentle-ish up hill, then the rest of the race would be downhill. The whole route was twisty with a lot of sharp bends built in. We discovered during the race, that though the mapmyrun route was correct, it started and finished it in a different place to the official race, meaning our info wasn't quite right....
This is the info from my GPS. Not terribly accurate but it shows it's far from flat!
As is the tradition on race day, being the giant Muppet I am, I forgot something important; this time it was my wallet. As I had no petrol and we were already 10 minutes from home when I pulled in to fuel up, it was a good job Dom had some money on him.
We parked up in a municipal car park only a 1 minute walk from the race village. The parking in Burnley is free on Sundays and this is always enough to put a true Yorkshireman like me in a good mood and start a feel-good factor. Even better, I found some perfect "toilet facilities" just next to the car park where someone had been dropping all this year's grass cuttings. No queuing for loos and a totally private spot. Ace!
The race village was the usual efficient and friendly Jane Tomlinson style. No queues for the bag drop; they really have got that one right. Dom got his number at the info desk in no time (He had signed up too late for them to send him one) then came and found me at the bag drop before he joined in with the race day Muppetry tradition. He had left his timing strip in the envelope at the info desk. Luckily it was still there when he went back.
Off we went to find the race start. On a short street that turned out to be at a 90 degree angle from the actual start line we found the cordon markers for sub 35, sub 40 and sub 45 randomly attached to some lamp posts. So they weren't going to even pay lip service this time. I we just had to hope there weren't going to be 50 corporate fun runners wedged in right at the front (There weren't)
Then it got a little confusing. We walked up the side of Mount Everest to the the start (Ok, it wasn't that steep) under the start banner and across timing mats.......what's this about? Then it became clear, the start cordon went up the hill, turned 180 degrees then back again. The start was downhill, not what we had been expecting. We hopped the barriers and settled in near the front. 1141 runners lined up.
At the front were a small bunch of serious-looking club runners. Dom eyed up his competition, he wanted a top 10 finish. Me, I just wanted to get around somewhere close to my PB to have a good starting point for the season.
Then a moment of comic relief. As we waited for the race to start, whilst the local DJ's tried desperately to engage the crowd, a figure appeared at the bottom of the hill being escorted up to the race start.
Whilst not wanting to drop in to stereotypes, we assumed, correctly as it turned out, that this was the winner.
He looked like the type of tall, lean Kenyan that wipes the floor with everyone else at race meets all around the world. The crowd couldn't help but laugh. Uh oh, here comes a ringer! Wonder who is going to come second? I turned to Dom- Won't it be funny if actually, he's a 50 minute runner and we all blast past him from the start?
We didn't.
Also, he turned out to be from a Salford running club.
One of race MC/Local DJ's was a very pretty girl with her shirt tied in a knot at her waist in a cow-girl stylee. "Come on!! Are you up for it?!" She yelled. I bit my tongue hard as I really wanted to shout:
"Yes love, but I've got a race to run, maybe later?" The trouble I could get myself in to if the small filter in my head ever broke.
The race set off smack on time and we all careered down the hill, through the small city centre and soon in to Thomson park. The first kilometre flashed by in 3:36. I had needed to take advantage of the first 50m of the course being down hill, and I had. But now the hills cut in. Coming up to 2k we disappeared through a wall with the first of many sharp bends. At this point I could still see the leader but it would be the last time I would. The route was now on to a good solid trail.
The "tactics" Dom and I had discussed were pretty basic- Get to 5.6km in one piece (The end of the uphill bit) then murder the rest of the course as it was all down hill. At that point, of course, we didn't know that we had the elevation info slightly wrong.
The route twisted uphill through beautiful woodland and as per usual, I drifted in to a different world so my memory of it is sketchy. I kept glancing at my GPS watch willing 5.6km to come. I popped back to reality as we rounded a corner and were staring down at least 500m of very steep downwards hill. It was a perfect, wide tarmac path. At last- the down hill bit!
Concentrate.....relax.....let gravity take you.......catch up on your breath whilst moving as quickly as possible.
I had reached the down hill section averaging 4:04 minutes per kilometre, it would take a monumental effort to bring that down to 3:55 to break my PB and I doubted that I had it in me.
I flew down the hill, the runner on my shoulder disappeared behind me and the one in front was quickly reeled in and he disappeared too. I resisted the urge to shout "Free speed!!" as I passed him. My friend Debi informed me that that was from Scott Jurek's excellent book. Odd that my mind had remembered the phrase and told me it was my own even though I had read the book only a couple of months ago.
At the bottom of the hill my average had come down to 4:02. It wasn't enough. Was there enough down hill left and enough left in me to keep dropping the average? The plan to catch my breath down the hill had only partly worked.
At the bottom of the hill was another sharp bend and a fair crowd had gathered. After the incredible crowd response in Manchester I decided to try again.
"Give us a shout out Burnley!!"
There was a pause. The pause was too long. I could hear the crowd thinking "Errrrm, guess we'd better not let him look like a prick"
Then there was a small half hearted cheer.
I looked a prick.
Ah well.
The 6km marker passed and unhelpfully my multiple personality syndrome kicked in and "Evil Me" had a word. "You're knackered" she said, "Walk now. You're not going to beat your PB. Walk"
Urgh. P'soff.
Now I was just trying to maintain the pace, just trying to hang in and not slow down. The next kilometre was a horrible struggle with my mind and body. And then......
Up spoke "Good Me". I see a lot of memes on facebook about running, and this week you might be aware that there has been a lot of stuff about, and from, the iconic Steve Prefontaine, it being 38 years since his untimely death. "Good Me" reminded me of a Pre quote; and I paraphrase: "I don't run to see who is the fastest, I run to see who has the most guts"
So. How much guts you got fat boy? How much?
It was enough to keep me going.
The runner I had over taken down the hill was obviously a local favourite with lots of support spotted around the course. There were a lot of shouts of, "Come on Richard!!" He was racing me, using me the way Dom does to get a good time. I wish my brain would think that way, but it doesn't. I didn't have it in me to race him. I was too tired. I knew I couldn't get my PB and I honestly don't care who beats me. (Well ok, I really didn't want the guy in the cotton t shirt with the board shorts on to beat me. Thankfully he faded badly fairly early in the race) I knew Richard would reel me in and what's more, I didn't care.
About 1km to go, the road spiked out to our right. A quick 50m detour with a 180 degree turn that was obviously there just to ensure the course was a full 10k. Things like this in Jane Tomlinson races is why lots of serious club runners ignore them and call them "fun runs" I came in at the turn at a wide angle and leaned right in to it trying to keep my speed up. I trusted my trainers to grip in to the road and they held. Richard didn't do so well and he lost a few metres on me.
Just after the turn, a chap who I will assume knew Richard well, was in the middle of a wide road. Probably a member of his running club, maybe even a coach, and he shouted, "Sit in behind him Richard, just tuck in behind him. Use him"
I was the "him" and I was flattered. A club runner was using me to get a "good" time. And a club runner in the age group below me to boot.
Richard and I had been swapping places but at this point my quick turn had put me in front. I could hear him behind me working hard to reel me in. We ran the last half k shoulder to shoulder. "Good running" I gasped. impressed he had quickly made up the distance he had lost at the turn. "Thanks, no PB today for me though" he said. "Me neither" I replied.
Now we were back in the centre and the end was very close. The final bend came.....and then.... the horror.
I had been expecting a last sprint down a hill to the finish. In fact, it was uphill. Roughly 50m with something like 20 metres of ascent. Nasty. The mapmyrun runner had started his run at the bottom of the hill, in front of the start, making it look like the entire first 5.6km was uphill and the last 4.4km was downhill. It wasn't.
Richard put on his sprint with about 100m to go. "Off you go feller" I thought, "I haven't got it in me today. Good luck!"
It was then that another runner came sprinting past us both at a terrific speed. Impressive!
I managed a slight surge up the hill and near collapsed over the line 3 seconds behind Richard. We shook hands, "Good running" The MC approached me as I was bent double gasping. I think the microphone was off, thankfully. I muttered something about it being a hard course.
I picked up the vilest coloured race t-shirt I have ever had the misfortune to receive and a medal that is, disappointingly, exactly the same as the Hull medal, save for the ribbon.
I'm thinking of donating the t-shirt to a light house to keep ships off the rocks if the light ever fails
In the end the chest infection had maybe knocked 2% off on the day. I had been able to run hard without discomfort, but it was certainly slightly harder than it would normally have been.
I found Dom around the corner in the near-deserted race village, "Did you do it?" I asked. We both knew I meant the sub 36 minute time he wanted. He shook his head. No. "Top ten though?" He'd finished 6th. An amazing result. He'd also come 1st in his age group- and by a long way. As always, he was disappointed with his time as he hadn't made his target. Pointing out the hills and twists in the course proved no comfort to him, but of course, this is what makes Dom such a fierce competitor and a fast runner.
Myself, I'd finished 21st over all and 6th in my age group. Also, a fantastic result for me. When I stacked up my excuses and coupled it with the time and placing, I was very pleased, but I really had forgotten just how difficult and uncomfortable it is to run that hard for 40 minutes. Really bizarrely, I gave myself only my second ever running-related blister; the first had been caused by a sock problem. This one was a tiny spot right in the middle of my second toe. I finished a marathon only a few weeks ago without even a sore spot, so I have no idea how a blister happened!
My time official chip time of 40:15 was only 48 seconds outside my PB and had looked impossible for most of the race; it sat well with:
This Week's Excuses (™) :
1) The remnants of the chest infection
2) 3 weeks of the chest infection seriously curtailing my training
3) A very hilly course
4) Sagittarius being in Orion
5) The last one may just have been silly
Reasons to be cheerful:
1) The chest infection being taken in to account, there is a lot of improvement to come
2) I can start full on training again now the chest infection seems to have gone
3) It's sunny at last!!
Race summary:
As always, Jane Tomlinson runs are well organised and we must remember that the wonderful organisation behind them "Runforall" is not for profit and raises vast amounts for great causes. That said, as always, a few more loos would never go amiss as would a less twisty course. I have waxed lyrical about the lack of effort when it comes to cordoning the runners in to their timings so I won't go over it again, but it's not good.
Right, that's the bad stuff out of the way, now the good stuff:
The race villages have grown since I first ran a JT a few years ago and they really have become exceedingly efficient. There is never a wait for the bag drop, everything is close together and the small tent with the the story of Jane Tomlinson's incredible life and legacy always chokes me up. The woman completed an ironman whilst on chemo for f***'s sake! She really is a true hero of mine and a very sad lost to us all.
The atmosphere around the race was great as ever, the course was really beautiful. I have a vague recollection of Burnley from about 15 years ago when I visited it twice and it had left little to no impression on me. As we drove there I tried to recall anything about it. I failed.
Jane Tomlinson races are very careful to make their courses as picturesque as possible taking in all the local sights. I didn't think Burnley would have any, but I was pleasantly surprised. Wonderful well kept parks and trails and wide clear roads. It was a tough, hilly, twisty course, but it really was gorgeous.
I forgot to turn my GPS off as I crossed the line! The uneven splits tell a story of the hills on the course.
All in all, this really isn't ever going to be a PB race, it's just too tough a course, but if you're looking for a race with great organisation, a wonderful atmosphere and beautiful route, look no further.
Last year in September, I must have been filled with some sort of odd hubris because I decided, in the face of all logic and sense, to enter the Manchester marathon due to be run on April the 28th, a mere 7 months away.
Those of you who are avid readers of this blog (No one is, not even my mother) will know of my previous injuries and the fact that only 2 years ago I could only manage 2-3 5k runs per week or my body utterly broke down. However, things had been going better and like most of my wild ideas, it seemed good at the time.
A couple of months later and training was going fantastic. On December the 3rd I ran 20 miles in 2:39 and actually felt good. There were no ill-effects (sore nipples aside) and I had a very minimal amount of soreness the next day. Then disaster.....
I spent 2 months ill, culminating in a really nasty flu that turned my lungs in to bags of cement.
A few weeks ago,when the after effects of the flu had settled and I was finally beginning to train reasonably again, I sat down to work out a schedule and see exactly what I had to do. Reality began to set in when I realised had 6 weeks to the marathon and I was running uncomfortable 10k's at best. Put simply, I needed to extend my long run each week by at least 20% each time. 11 miles.....13 miles....15 miles.....18 miles.....22 miles......marathon. Scary thought. I couldn't afford any more set backs at all.
Even the bubble monkey appeared in my bath and told me I was crazy
It didn't start well, my calves tightened up on every run. The calf problem never did go away and it prevented me from doing any interval or speed training. Anyway, to cut a long story short and to get on to the slightly less boring part, the training ebbed and flowed until my last long run before the marathon itself. I set out for 22 miles. At 16 miles I had vision problems- I could see flashing lights. No seriously. At 18 miles my legs told me they were giving up and we'd have to walk. I remonstrated with them and I managed to eke out some more running over the next 3 miles, but there was more walking than running. That was 9 days before the marathon.
Trying to stay positive I concluded that the terrible run had been caused by a combination of a temperature several degrees higher than I had run in for 6 months, causing me to sweat significantly for the first time this year, having only 3 days to recover from the mad mud run I had done and not having slept all that well or eaten very well for the few days before. Still it left me worried and lacking in confidence coming up to the marathon. The possibility of hitting 18 miles and not being able to run any further seemed a genuine concern.
Maybe Scott Jurek could give me some inspiration whilst I drank out of my Wetherby 10k mug?
The week leading up to the marathon found me distracted and restless. The excitement finally kicked in around Thursday (as opposed to the feeling of impending doom) and I began to count down the time to the run.
On Saturday I picked up my running buddy, Dom, from the train station. Dom always keeps me grounded with regards to my running by thrashing my times despite being 10 years my senior.
We headed out for a gentle jog down the canal and pleasingly, it was the first run that had felt good for a very long time. Burger and chips and a couple of pints of Guinness down the pub and we returned to my house.
We both felt like we needed an early night so I started to put together the gear that I would need for the morning. It was then I discovered I had lost my race pack. Cue an hour of frantic searching. But I knew it would be fruitless because there were only 2 places I would realistically have left it and on checking them first, the pack was nowhere to be found. The truth dawned: I must have thrown it out in a frenzied tidying session. To make it worse, I had paid for parking passes for Old Trafford and being the genius I am, I had put them in to the pack so I wouldn't lose them. Ah well, I knew people lost their numbers all the time, you turned up to the info desk and just get a new one. The parking pass may be more difficult, I had the email confirmation and knew the number of the space, I should be able to charm *cough* my way in.
We left Leeds at ridiculous o'clock knowing that queuing for the toilets before the race was pretty much inevitable and that I might have to queue for a new number too.
The M62 was quiet of course and we arrived in Trafford nice and early.....then we hit the road blocks. We could see old Trafford, but couldn't get to it. Why didn't I write out the instructions they had given to avoid the road blocks? How much more stupid could I be before this was all over? We started to take best guesses but kept being turned away. We were both beginning to get stressed.
Then Dom began to laugh....
"What?" I asked
"Wouldn't it be ironic if we couldn't get to the marathon because of the marathon?
"What, like....we wanted to do your marathon but we couldn't do it because of the marathon"
"Yeah, we couldn't get to the marathon because of the marathon being in the way of the marathon"
Well, maybe you had to be there.
The marshals waved vaguely in the direction of car park N1 and we kept going. There were signposts for every other car park - N2, N3, N4, W1, W2, but we couldn't spot N1. A marshal told us it was only a little further down on the left, so we kept going. Slowly it dawned that we had obviously missed it and if we turned back now we would hit all the traffic heading to the stadium. By now we were both pretty desperate for the loo. The decision was made to ditch the car ASAP, and that turned out to be in a dodgy £10 private car park. We seemingly had no choice. We never did find car park N1 and only actually saw one sign for it which was on the pedestrian walkway at the stadium! The car park remained within the Old Trafford Bermuda Triangle, the same place where Manchester United keep things like fair play and player's maturity.
The route march to the race village did nothing for our bursting, bouncing bladders and neither did the fear that we would be met with the usual huge queues for the portaloos. Luckily, when we got there, we arrived at a small set of portaloos that had a very short queue and got in quickly. If we had found the main bank of loos, we'd probably still be waiting in the queue now contemplating contacting Norris McWirter about the largest bladder in the world record.
There was no queue at the info desk either and I quickly picked up a new number with integrated timing chip. It left us plenty of time to find the start line, which is a good thing as the signposting to it was non-existent and more cheery, vague waving from the friendly and helpful marshals, nor the map, helped. By following the magnets in my head for a while and more waving from the marshals I arrived at the start line just after the 8:30 deadline to line up, to find it almost deserted. Seems like no one was in a huge hurry to get there. Someone who clearly isn't being paid enough, had thought to put more portaloos there and it seemed rude not to line up and use them again, especially as nerves and the cold weren't helping. It was pretty chilly. The temperature was perfect for a marathon though and over-cast too.
The replacement number. The chip is a small strip on the back
Dom was aiming for a sub 3:15 time and my aim was a more modest sub 3:30. There were pacers on the course and we lined up next to the relevant one, Dom in front of me, obv.
This being my first marathon, I had no real idea what was going to happen. My last long run suggested there was a very real possibility that I would blow up some time after 18 miles. We would have to see. I knew I had the fitness for this, but my muscles, well, they were another story.
With much ado, finally we set off, only being able to tell when we started by the timing mats as there seemed to be no official "start" banner. For some reason, I settled in with the 3:15 pacer, instead of the 3:30. I had plenty of time to contemplate on this odd and spontaneous decision, but I felt good, and the pace was comfortably within my range.
I remembering feeling some slight discomfort across the top of my left foot, it didn't last long before it disappeared and was replaced by discomfort under my right foot. Both totally new pains I had never had before. They soon disappeared though. Probably race day nerves.
Over the next few miles I got in to 2 long conversations with other runners in the 3:15 pack. The distraction was very welcome and the miles passed in a flash. The timing car flew past in the opposite direction followed sometime after by the leading runners, which we all gave a cheer to. I always enjoy seeing the leaders pass by on the other side.
Along side me a runner in a club vest was giving a shout out to each of his team members that shot away on the other side of the road "Go on Bob!" "That's it Dave, you can do it!" "Great running Ian!"
After he'd shouted to about 8 runners, I made the observation that all his mates seemed to be much faster than him. He laughed and said everyone was. "Not me" I said, before he started to pull away in to the distance. He was at least 15 years my senior...
Before I knew it we were approaching the half way point at Altrincham. Just before we ran the small loop around the village centre we went over the biggest "hill" on the route, which was, in fact, a small fly over. It was at this point that Dom passed me. Not from behind.....from in front, coming from the opposite direction and he was truly flying. He was so far "In the zone" that it took a second much louder shout before he noticed me. Then he was gone, like a bolt of, well....Usain.
The crowds in Altrincham were absolutely fantastic, seemingly every resident had turned out, and they were really making some noise. They had formed a Tour De France-esque tunnel for the runners to pass through and it was a wonderful boost. Someone was holding up a sign "Keep calm and run a marathon" Made me chuckle anyway.
In the village I spotted 2 women dancing in the street waving their "booties" in to the race route. I lined up pretending that I was going to spank the nearer one and her friend behind spotted me and began to laugh Then I realised that the 2 women were actually school teachers conducting a choir of small children singing. I quickly decided my joke was inappropriate and dropped my hand sharpish! The choir was a fantastic touch and I am sure that every runner appreciated it just as much as I did.
Here's a video of the kids and the booty:
I passed the half marathon point in 1:35 and in great shape. I felt good. The pace still felt easy. I had no aches or pains. It would be sometime before the wheels started to wobble.
We ran down a long leafy avenue where people had come down to the end of their drives to cheer us along, some had even dragged stereos down to play us along. It all helped immensely. At times I was running with a huge grin on my face.
The funniest event of the day happened at this point. A woman had been running along in the 3:15 group, she was short and stocky and amazingly determined. She had already had to run off the course once to use the loos and had done very well to catch us again. Just after Altrincham, she announced she needed to go again.
Suddenly she peeled off the road and began sprinting up the path of a private house. The door to the house was open and 2 spectators were standing in the garden. "I need the loo!!" She shouted. "Oh yes, up there!!" they replied and split apart to let her run in to their house! Full marks to the runner for the chutzpah to sprint in to a private house and full marks for the spectators to defer so reverentially to a manic looking woman charging down their path demanding a toilet. After her loo stop she managed to catch us up again, but I think chasing the pack down twice took its toll and she faded badly before the end. I imagine she probably finished inside 3:30 though.
The kilometres started to tick off more slowly on my watch, where the first 20 or so had flown by, sometimes 2 or 3 at a time. At some point there was a bit of comic relief when a runner casually answered his phone whilst not breaking stride, "Yeah, it's going ok. I'll be back in about an hour and a half"
"HELLO! HELLO! I'M DOING A MARATHON......NO, A MARATHON...... MANCHESTER....... NO, MANCHESTER..........NAH, IT'S RUBBISH"
It earned me a big laugh and helped to distracted from the gathering aches.
From somewhere around 10 miles I had been slowly pulling away from the 3:15 pacer and at one point I had looked around and couldn't see him. I started to fantasise about running the 3:10 "Good for age" London qualifying time (Which has since been changed to 3:05, but I didn't know that at the time) It would remain firmly in fantasy land.
At some point I started to slow and I am not sure how long it had been going on for before I realised it. It was around the 18 mile mark. I looked back and not only had the 3:15 pacer caught me, he was practically on my shoulder. It wasn't long before the pack caught me up and I dropped in to step. It felt good to run in the group and helped keep me going for a while.
"10k to go!! Just 10k" The pacer announced.
It's a fatal thought because 10k seems easy. How often have I run 10k? Dozens and dozens of times. The thought plays with your mind; and I was beginning to struggle. The group started to gee each other along. A spectator shouted out "Looking good 3:15 group!"
"I'm not f***ing feeling it!" I mumbled. The pacer turned to me and said, "Dig in for a mile and it'll come back, you're doing great." His words really helped and I dug in like a Seamus Heaney poem. (Apologies for the obscure joke, it made me laugh)
"Just a 5 mile recovery run to go!" The pacer joked.
My legs had begun to feel like Beyonce's arse, heavy and wobbly. The pacer kept turning around to see if I was keeping up, but around the third time, I wasn't. There were 4 miles still to go. The wall loomed large, high and impenetrable in front of me. The next mile went down with the pacer still in view, but pulling away. My pace had slowed and I tried to do the mental arithmetic in my head. The pacer would probably finish in 3:13 or 3:14, if I could just keep him in sight for a little while longer, I could still go under 3:15.
But now it was becoming harder and harder. Never having eaten anything during a run, ever, I was reluctant to take any jelly babies or the energy gels they were handing out and decided before the race that I would only eat them if I was really struggling. Dom had told me the night before what a boost they had given him in the past and by this time I was willing to try anything. I grabbed a couple of jelly babies. Nothing. A gel. Nothing. An energy jelly bar thingy. Nothing. But at least they didn't upset my stomach.
All of a sudden the wall was 2 inches from my nose and impossible to avoid and I smashed head-long in to it. I had exhausted every distraction and relaxation technique I had ever read about that my addled brain could still recall. I had sung Kings of Leon's "The face" over and over again in my head including chanting the line "Riiiiide out the wave" as a mantra.
But all to no avail now. I had passed 22 miles and the whole way my pace had remained steady at 4:34 min/k, now I had dropped down to over 5 min/k. My mind announced to me that I could walk from here and still go under 3:30 and I would have achieved my target. But if I walked, then I wouldn't have run a marathon. I've walked the distance many times, none of those counted as a marathon.
Then my legs stopped. Involuntarily. I was walking. I began beating myself up. Then again, almost involuntarily, they started running again. I had walked less than 50m. I just needed to keep moving, it didn't matter if I was slow. Here's my last 15 kilometres:
Kilometre 39 came down to 5:34, my slowest yet. Then a bright, shining beacon appeared in my head. A thought that would save me, that would keep me moving until the end. It was simple, and it was beautiful.
This is only pain.
I know that sounds ridiculous, but that was it. I hadn't taxed my heart and lungs at all during the race. My breathing had stayed steady and slow and even. I mentally prodded down my body and found only a bad, aching pain in my legs. And that was all. The sports massages I have are ten times more painful. Granted, it's just one muscles at a time during those, but they went on half an hour, I only had 15 minutes to go.
A chubby guy stepped out of the crowd. He could obviously tell that I was struggling badly. I was moving very slowly considering where I was in the race. He stared me down with fists clenched, red in the face and gave me a rousing passionate speech that I can't remember at all. "Come on! dig in, you've got it" or words to that effect. In equal measures I wanted to hug him and punch him. Either way I appreciated the effort he was going to and the fierceness with which he delivered his pep-talk.
I managed to pick the pace back up a little for Ks 40 and 41, and at some point, Old Trafford came in to view. I could see the giant exo-skeleton attached to the back of the stand. I told myself not to get excited, that it was a huge stand and still some distance away, and just as I was thinking that, the crowd suddenly thickened. It actually was the end. The crowd had come in close again forming a tunnel. The noise they were making seemed huge. I heard a runner give a shout in front of me and the crowd responded with a cheer.
I saw the finish line in the distance and I thought I could do with a cheer like that to get me through.
"Come on!!" I implored the crowd and they gave a huge cheer in response. "Come on!!" I shouted again, the crowd cheered again and suddenly I was sprinting. "Come on!!" the crowd responded yet again (Yes, I was that idiot)
Imagine my annoyance when someone stole my guitar, right out of my hands, mid-song.
I crossed the line in 3 hours 17 minutes and 45 seconds running faster than I had at any other point. It just goes to show the power of the mind and a decent crowd. I was awash with exhaustion and my legs barely wanted to carry on walking, but I could see the medals hanging off the arm of a marshal. They were huge, comically so (It turns out they are based on the London 2012 Olympic medals) One wag posted a picture of it being used as a coaster for his pint glass after the race
The medal as compared to the 2012 Great North Run medal. Told you it was huge!
I dislike it when you have earned a medal and it isn't placed around your neck and you have to pick it out of the goody bag, so I was pleased to bow and have the dinner plate ceremoniously hung on me. The medal, though a little larger than I would have personally chosen, is a fantastic design and looks great. The t shirt in the finisher's pack is the best race t shirt I've ever received too.
My result.
The t shirt and medal. But you'd already guessed that, right?
I sculled down the post-race water bottle and grabbed a banana and a tasty clif bar. Dom was waiting for me at the finish and he congratulated me. "You went under 3 hours didn't you, you bitch?" I said. And he had. 2:55 in fact. We had both smashed our expectations and what's more, Dom had gone way under the automatic qualifying time for all the marathon majors.
I made my way gingerly to the baggage pick up, sore, but happy. Dom was practically crippled. I may have more desire than the average person, but Dom's desire is so huge he cripples himself for his times.
He told me about a "bitch" called Sarah he had been determined to beat. Sarah isn't a bitch at all of course, and we don't know her, but that's one of the ways Dom spurs himself on during a race, by targeting runners in front of him and chasing them down, as he did with Sarah.
The nearest bar we could find was in a premier inn where we met the world's worst bar maid who was rude, distracted and incredibly slow, but all these things just served to amuse us in our post race euphoria. We told each other the stories of our races and deconstructed them. Half an hour later, my legs came back to life and we made our way back to the car.
It was definitely flat
Post race analysis:
If you'd offered me a sub 3:30 time before the race I would have torn your arm off, but ridiculously, my expectations had changed during the race. I had kept with the 3:15 pace for 22 miles, so to not finish with them was disappointing. Although it's silly to be disappointed, it's also one of the things about me that inspires my training and urges me to faster times, so I am not going to work to change that trait any time soon. All in all I am very happy for my first marathon. Although I did blow up before the end, it wasn't totally disastrous and I did keep moving. I now have a marathon time I can be proud of and the elusive medal I have wanted and have chased for the last few years, only recently believing I could actually do it.
Post race damage report:
Very pleasingly, pretty much none. No blisters or hot spots on my feet at all. My legs were mildly sore for a couple of days and on Wednesday I completed a 6k recovery run comfortably. Yesterday (8 days after the marathon) I broke my 5k PB, so all in all, things are currently going great. *Pats head to ensure wood is touched*
Karl Pilkington looked pretty good finishing in front of me*
PS. Expensive nip guards at £10+ per pack?........ Corn plasters for £1.69 (The ones that are a small ring of foam) work just as well!
*That's not really Karl Pilkington, but that really is me gurning like a good-un
When I finally began to believe that I could actually run a marathon I signed up for Manchester in September last year, around 8 months before the event. I had just completed the Great North Run with no ill effects at all and feeling great, so it seemed like a good idea. What could possibly go wrong? Judging by my luck, anything up to, and including, a nuclear war.
A couple of months down the line, however, things were going great. I wasn't following a set plan; I felt that decent physio and running experience had given me enough knowledge to be able to listen to my body and judge what I was able to do without one and it was working.
On December the 3rd I had built myself up to a 20 mile run. It went very well. I was tired at the end, but had no aches, pains or blisters. After the run I remembered the best bit of running research I have heard in a long while; that the best thing to consume after long runs for recovery, is chocolate milk. I don't care if those good professorial types at the university have got it totally wrong, I am going to believe that piece of research until the day I die!
The next day I had the tiniest amount of soreness and that was it. I was ridiculously pleased. Considering my injury record this was a real triumph. My thoughts turned from just finishing, to finishing in a (relatively) decent time. All was well.
Then I got ill. I had always supposed that if anything would scupper me, it would be injuries, illness hadn't even occurred to me. Still, it was just a bad cold, it'd be gone soon enough, right? 10 days later, I was just about better and previous experience had taught me that I could run at the very end of a cold and the resultant boost to my immune system would kill off the last of the cold.
As it turned out, I learned a valuable lesson that day; whilst a run may help to finish off a dying cold, a too long run may well start it up again.
The cold came back with a vengeance and all its mates. Another 10 days later the germs were just about done with their party in my sinuses. I tentatively started running again. A few days later, I got flu (real flu, not one of those bad colds that people get and call them flu) for only the 3rd time in my life. My temperature was raised for 5 days, and for 3 of those days it was above 39 degrees.
When the flu finally buggered off back to the bowels of hell from whence it had come, my chest felt like that of a 70 year-old career smoker. I'm sure my asthma didn't help with that. Worse than that though, was that my calves had forgotten that I am a runner and had decided to retire. When they were forced to get out of the rocking chair and grab a zimmer frame, they retaliated by tightening up during every run.
No problem though- I had had this happen before. I ran through what solved it last time. Taking my time building the distance, frequency and speed of my running; ice, heat, massage and glute exercises.
To cut a long and not-very-exciting story shorter, time has started to seriously run out before the marathon.
I realised that my long run each weekend would need to to increase dramatically each week. More than dramatically, drastically, dreadfully, draftily. (I may have run out of words at the end there)
And so I set myself a suicidal schedule: 10 miles, 12, 15, 18, 22, marathon. No time for tapering.
Last week was the 15. It wasn't good. At 6km my calves were sore, at 8km they began to be painful. By 12km they were fine again and I only just felt them for the rest of the run. At 16km my right shoulder began to hurt like a tooth ache and stayed with me for the next 2k. At 19km my left hip started to hurt and became very painful. It helpfully stayed with me until the end of the run. Finishing was a real mental effort (in both senses of the word) The next day things were a lot better than I feared. Not too much soreness. I was hanging on to the plan by the skin of my teeth. A sports massage on Wednesday had me feeling much better and I managed a 45 minute 10k and a nice easy 5k. This Sunday dawned with mercifully better weather for my 18 mile run. I even donned shorts for the first time this year. And nery a boat crashed in to the rocks of Leeds that day thanks to the light houses that are my lower legs. I set off at a ridiculous pace, especially considering last week's run. But I listened to my body and it was fine. I decided to trust how I felt. The run went well. This time no hip pain. The calves were sore, but they weren't that bad and they didn't get worse and at times I couldn't really feel them. I completed the 18 miles in 2 hours 15, at a pace 10 seconds per km quicker than the 15 miles the week before.I couldn't help but feel that a lot of it was due to this week's reading......... Scott Jurek's book, Run and Eat, is a fascinating read so far (Don't spoil the end for me, I have 60 pages to go) His tips about remembering to enjoy running, on breathing and the psychology helped me during the 18 miler. Today I had a wonderful moment that I described as being like finding money in the pocket of a jacket you haven't worn for months, but not just a tenner, more like £100! I realised that I had miscounted when I calculated the time I had left until the marathon. Turns out I have an extra week.
That's right, thought I may as well put the controversial bit in the title, but we'll get to that later.
In my experience I have found that there is more snake oil in sports goods than the reptile house at Tropical World.
Last summer a team at Oxford University examined 431 claims in 104 products. Here's the BBC report on the study and here's the abstract on the BMJ (British medical journal) site. And basically, they discovered it was all pretty much nonsense at worst, and hugely exaggerated at best.
I first started to suspect that something wasn't quite right with what sports goods manufacturers told us when I was constantly told to "drink, drink, drink" from numerous different sources. It just didn't seem to make sense, especially when I was running only 10k on a cool day. When various fancy trainers started to cause me problems, I began investigating and found that there were studies that backed up what I found.
And don't start me on sports drinks, we'll be here for ever!
But anyway, let's try to be positive, it's not all bad....
My Dad did most of his serious running in the early 80s. I think technical materials were around at that time, but obviously, they weren't up to today's standards, nor were they all that commonly used. My Dad ran in pretty much nothing but cotton. Today, I would find it really tough to run without my tech material clothing. Maybe I should explain what I mean by tech material? Here's some of the properties and advantages they have over cotton:
Wicking: Modern materials draw moisture away from the skin as opposed to cotton, which stores it nicely and helpfully rubs it over your skin turning your nipples in to tiny scabs.
Flat seams: To help with chaffing issues. Those cotton seams can feel like razor blades after a few miles
Light weight: The materials start off light and because they don't hold the moisture, they don't feel like you're running in chain mail on a sweaty day.
As you can gather, I love modern running materials and it came as a huge revelation when I discovered it a few years ago as I had always trained in cotton shirts. The added comfort that being able to wear modern clothing; tights, jackets, buffs, gloves, socks, hats, etc, etc is huge.
Here's the sort of stuff I'm talking about, and no, I'm not a rep for Nike!!
And then there are GPS watches. Of all the pieces of running kit I own, I think this is the one that helps me most. I bought mine (a garmin 305) after having a look around a few running forums and seeing what was being recommended by the people actually using them. I won't go in to a review of the one I own, but I'll tell you the benefits I find from using it. Being able to accurately tell exactly how fast I am running (To a point) is huge. Reviewing the data it collects after each run is incredibly useful and helps me keep track of my progress. I have so often found that runners under or over estimate the distances they run, so it's great to get accurate measurements. Also, I'm a geek, so I love the stats.
Some people prefer not to use GPS because they feel they can get obsessed with facts and figures and forget to enjoy their running. I see their point, but as a lot of my enjoyment in running is derived from challenging myself by lowering my times and upping my distances, I find it invaluable. If you run for other reasons than this, then GPS might not be for you.
Sorry about the blurry photo- I was excited (and knackered) after breaking my 10k PB.
The garmin connect site provides some great stats at your fingertips. It's nice being able to see how many miles I have covered each month in only a couple of clicks. Here's my page if you're interested.
So on to the controversial bit. Trainers.
I'll preface this bit by saying yes, I have read the wonderful "Born to Run" but my opinion is based on reading around the subject as well, and more importantly, from my own personal experiences.
In the early 70s the first cushioned trainers were released on to the market. This was a disaster.
Think about this; we evolved to be runners over millions of years of evolution. Why on earth would we evolve to require us to strap an inch of foam to our feet that needs changing every 500 miles or so? It doesn't make any logical sense. Evolution just doesn't make "mistakes" this big. Before the 1970s everyone ran in little more than plimsoles. The first 4 minute mile wasn't run on a foam cushion.
Don't believe we evolved to be runners? Read around the subject of persistence hunting.
But! I hear you say, we run on pavements and concrete now! We need that foam!
Not true- studies have shown that the more cushioning we have, the harder we hit the ground. When you are forced to run as we evolved to do- on our toes- the correct natural gait takes over and the calves become our shock absorbers meaning we land much more lightly. The majority of us have grown up with controlling shoes with cushioning, so our bodies aren't used to this. It doesn't take too much time or effort to return to your natural gait.
Here's the next controversial bit:
"Gait analysis" in running shops is rubbish, total, total rubbish.
Let me explain by telling you of my own experiences:
When I started running again around 4 years ago I was a very heavy heel striker. My shoes wore away on the outer edge of the heel way before the rest of the shoes fell apart.
In I went to a specialist running shop and the shop owner (who is a very decent runner himself) "gait analysed" me. This involved watching me stand. (Yeah, seriously) He then sold me a very expensive pair of Mizunos. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of time for Mizunos, they tend to make natural feeling comfortable trainers. The pair I was sold, however, were a bad idea for a heavy heal striker as they had little cushioning there. To give him the benefit of the doubt- maybe he was trying to encourage me to run on my toes. But probably not.
Fast forward a while and I was experiencing lots of different problems (Back pain, shin splints, plantar fasciitis, etc) Again I was "gait analysed" by a specialist running shop. This time using a video camera. I left the shop with expensive Asic gels. To cut a long story short, they caused me hip pain. It took me a while to work out that it was the shoes causing the problem because seriously, how could it be the expensive trainer's fault? The ones I had specially selected for me?
On to a pair of expensive, heavily cushioned Sauconys. I was doing pretty well in these, for a while. Then I developed a pain under the ball of my foot which I only got when running. Swapping to a different pair of trainers removed the problem immediately.
So here's what I discovered: Expensive trainers are very unlikely to solve any of your problems, but they sure as hell can cause a few.
Once again, I can hear people shouting....."But I bought fancy new trainers and all my problems disappeared!!"
You ever thought that maybe it wasn't the arrival of the new trainers that solved your problems, but getting rid of your old, knackered trainers?
Over time I came to realise that by putting my feet in to trainers that control, push and shove my feet in all directions meant that it was taking over the job of the muscles in my feet causing those muscles to weaken and actually worsen my problems. I felt immediate improvement when I ran some very short runs in barefoot trainers. Through experience I realised that using very simple trainers, with less and less control and support actually improved my injury rate. I naturally moved from being a heavy heel-striker, to a mid-sole runner. When I say naturally, I never consciously tried to run differently, but by doing the exercises the physio recommended, it changed all by itself
After I discovered this I found that there was research to back this up. In one study people who had been "gait analysed" by running shops and bought recommended trainers were compared to people who had just chosen their trainers on comfort and fit, straight from the shelves.
There was no difference in the injury rate. None. Zero.
You pay out all that money for the fancy, top-of-the-line trainers, and for that, you get nothing. McDougal in "Born to Run" mentions a study by Dr Bernard Marti that showed that high-end trainers actually increased your injury risk by 123%
If we want to be cynical, we could say that people who buy more expensive trainers are probably putting in more miles and are maybe already having injury problems, so you might expect there to be more injuries. But 123%? Well, no. And I would hope Dr Marti considered these factors in his study.
Besides, stats show that you have a huge risk of running injury no matter who you are, fat, thin, short tall, male, female, distance runner, sprinter, weekend runner, or obsessive nutter, your injury risk is pretty much the same.
Every beginner's running advice that I have ever seen has always included the immortal line "Get the right trainers" usually followed by advice to get a specialist shop to fit you "properly"
In my opinion and experience, the "right" trainers are simply ones that fit you well and are comfortable. If you buy trainers that "support" your muscles, you will make those muscles weak and that will lead to injury. Instead, work on strengthening all the muscles required to run and you will prevent against injury rather than treating a symptom.
Here's my current trainers (I also run in a pair of Brookes green silence), next to a really, really big leaf (My feet aren't small, honest!)
Ok....ok......here's my full collection.....
Fine, I admit it, my name is Scott and I'm a trainerholic.
I haven't gone in to food and drink supplements here, that is a huge and very complicated subject which although I have my opinions on, I probably don't have enough knowledge to discuss fully.
That said, here is my very basic opinion: Eat as much natural, unprocessed things as you can. If you need to take supplements, then your diet probably isn't right.
So to conclude, sports goods: Don't believe all the hype.
P.S. I am aware that the phrase "In my experience" is dangerous, because the easiest person to fool, is ourselves. Here's an article that's very interesting in itself, but also discusses this issue (Read through it to find the bit I'm talking about)
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