Matter over mind

Early doors, near Cutty Sark.

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. 

Crossing the line.

Karl and myself at the finish, 2h33 a-piece.

Jo, me and Ellie, t-shirts and banners all around.

Official results.