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| Early doors, near Cutty Sark. |
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| In a world of pain, desperate for the finish. |
My PB of 2:33:40 at the VLM2017 conveniently papers
over what was almost a very bad day at the races. Not just your usual trials
and tribulations on this odyssey, but from mile 1 it didn't flow as easily as
it should, heavy legs weighing on my mind. As I tried to settle into
a 5:50/mile pace I worried that I wouldn't be able to hold it and the
early miles were tedious and unwanted. As early as mile 8 I was contemplating
my imminent demise and how I would explain my abysmal performance to those
who'd endured my training the past few months. I willed the crowds to go
away so I could find a quiet corner to step off the road and go about my
suffering in peace. Their mood was the antithesis of mine...their cheering and
happiness offered no empathy with my inner misery and resignation to
failure.
I didn't feel as good as I pretended to when I saw
Jo and Ellie at 11 miles but thought they should at least get the joy of seeing
me look like I was trying to succeed. I felt like a time bomb, a fraud
pretending to run fast, exhausted and washed up at halfway (76:20) wondering
how much time I would lose. With my mentality I didn't deserve anything.
But this was a race of two halves. In mile 13 I found myself running next to someone
thriving off enthusing the crowds. I don't know how he had the energy to
repeatedly raise his arms to generate encouragement, but when he offered me
some water I was incredibly touched. Our partnership banked miles and we
collected others forming a mini group enduring the twists, turns and
undulations of Canary Wharf together, still 10 long miles to go, but with a
comradery that the first half hadn't offered. I further distracted myself
with hide and seek by searching for Matt Quine who'd promised me the loudest of
shouts at 18, but if he was there he was awful!
It was then that a Marshall declared there were “only 8 miles left” as if this were no mean feat and
I remembered my promise to treat mile 20 as the half way point. Easier said
than done as my body suffered more and more and soon after my right leg (ITB)
seized up...it had been bothering me since Friday and I worried. My gait was
unaffected but likely to deteriorate.
Nineteen miles saw the onset of a constant burn in
my legs which would become my primary companion from here on, but another
distraction by Ed who shouted to me from the other side of the out-and-back loop.
He was a few hundred meters ahead and moving backwards, his job of pacemaking
for friends done for the day. I identify this time as the main turning point in
my race. I caught Ed meters after the 20-mile banner (1:57:00) and our brief
interaction had the same motivational effect as my water-offering friend miles
before: it galvanised and focused me. I took his encouragement on board,
slurring something back to him without the energy for speech or critical self-assessment.
I had a job to do. From this point on, every step I took seemed to be positive
reinforcement for me. I calculated there were ideally 35 minutes left, then
tried to imagine sprinting for the finish, but this thought made me tired. Too
soon. So I thought about intermediate targets: the next mile, the 35k split,
that Emily would be at 22, Jo and Ellie again at 23.
At 21 a runner came up on my left, getting big
cheers from the crowd. Inexplicably my racing instincts took charge and I moved
across the road and sat right on them. Stranger still, I increased my
pace to match his. I didn't feel like the wall was coming and for the first
time I genuinely believe that this all might be possible. People were just not passing me.
As I reached Emily I again inadvertently sped up my
legs, feeding off her enthusiasm and my closeness to the crowd. For a few
seconds I was going too fast, but I didn't feel (overly) bad. I settled
down and focused once more on the enjoyment of each burning stride with 4 miles
to go. The same happened with Jo and Ellie: I went past them with pace that I'd
never experienced at this stage of a marathon. As everyone else slowed, it gave
me that appearance of going my fastest yet - a huge psychological boost. There
was no need to feign effort to my sister and girlfriend now: I was very
motivated and very confident.
The crowd who for so long
had been my enemy were now my friends, there for me to impress with my flowing
stride. I felt unaffected by the fatigue, dehydration and burn, which had by
now crescendoed into an audible pain. Each
metre I gobbled up brought me closer to fading comrades in front whom I
consistently passed without a fight. I tried to give encouragement to form
another group but none were able to come with me. The miles disappeared with a painful
ease which I can't describe, the dreaded wall nowhere in sight. This was a new
experience for me, new territory and I liked it.
It felt great to be passing runner after runner as
the race grew to its swansong. More and more the crowd empowered me, crying out
'Bourton' - the first part of the club name on my blue vest -
memories which I can enjoy post-race. Of course I had the constant fear that
in a few meters I could stall, my legs could cramp, my ITB snap or my Garmin
tell me that the pace had faltered, but none of those came; it was the best
I've ever felt while running, despite everything.
In case this was sounding easy, mile 25 cued my
groin on both sides to tighten up, followed by my calves twitching and
spasming. I was shaking myself apart like a fast car, its engine taking it
beyond the limits of its chassis. Yet I could tell you with certainty that I
was going to pass that finish line with a PB, that my training would be
vindicated, my Thursday morning 4:30am 15-milers worth it.
With 1000 metres to go I could have jogged to the
finish and broken my personal best. My
body was finally in excruciating equilibrium and everything had clicked. So
as I ran alongside St James’s Park I tried to take advice I'd never been
able to: to absorb the atmosphere and enjoy the experience. But it's not that
easy - I don't understand how one can enjoy anything when in a world of pain,
with the opportunity to move my PB through the next minute barrier too close
for comfort. Writing this in the comfort of my chair I can enjoy those memories
in hindsight, but I failed to do so then.
Still, the meters passed and at 400 to go I had
mountains of time to spare to break 2:34. I unexpectedly caught my friend Karl,
and we raced side by side down the final straight, memories of our Tuesday
nights, chasing each other around Metchley Park under the
tutelage of Bud Baldaro flooding back. I forgot all my ambitions of crossing
the line hand in hand with a friend as I was overcome with a primal desire to
beat him and we crossed the line a second apart. Elation and deceleration went
hand in hand as I modified my gait into a walk for the first time in over
two and a half hours. I staggered into the side of the red gantry making a loud
clatter, righted myself and then stumbled again. My dream of stopping was complete, in the right way.
In the end it was matter over mind. I'd put my body
through so much since Christmas, returned from 9 months with almost no running
and clocked my three biggest ever training weeks in the build-up (99, 99 and 100 miles). I concocted some
horrible training sessions designed to make the 20-mile point seem like a
doddle and give myself extra stamina in the final 6.2. I was lucky not to get
injured and had two confidence building warm-up races (a victory and course record at the Lower
Slaughter 10k, and a 2nd place in the Gloucester 20 in horrible conditions,
only seconds outside of a PB). In the end it was all of this that convinced my
mind in the final 6 miles that I could achieve it, despite what it wanted to
tell my body. I was rewarded with my first personal best since September 2014
and I just wish I could have believed in myself the whole way
around.
Some of my friends were lucky enough to get PBs of
their own, and some were unlucky not to. Simon clocked an impressive sub-2:30
debut, Dan clocked a big PB despite missing this barrier and Cat did awesomely in her first marathon. But the day was made by us
all doing this together, and by my friends and family who supported, not just
on that day but in the months before. Thank you.
Stats (the part we have all waited for):
Official time: 2:33:40.
Average pace: 5:52min/mile.
Fastest mile: 5:38 (mile 3).
Slowest mile: 5:57 (mile 25).
Splits: 76:20 / 77:20.
PB by 67 seconds.
Position: 119th.
Runners overtaken in final 7.2k: 35.
Runners overtaken by in the final 7.2k: 0.
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| Crossing the line. |
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| Karl and myself at the finish, 2h33 a-piece. |
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| Jo, me and Ellie, t-shirts and banners all around. |
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| Official results. |
