Not quite as I imagined...

I blogged in January that I wanted a different challenge: I wanted to win some races not worry about times. The opportunity to run Worcester Marathon fitted the bill perfectly...it was local, non-flat and looking at the previous results potentially winnable.

I imagined the ending of this race a hundred times in preparation. Each time I was like a gazelle, accelerating into the final miles, flying along the road so strong and effortlessly, my stride eating up the remaining metres. I imagined bursting on to the final canal section taking the corners so tightly that people would gasp. I imagined turning towards the rugby stadium in full view of the cheering crowd, perhaps a neck and neck race, myself the stronger, able to deal with any challenge and holding my line, not letting anyone come past me. And perhaps even a dramatic sprint, with me a dominant runner, leg speed unhampered by the miles they had eaten up already, crossing the line arms aloft, the course record disintegrated. Worcester was my local race; I'd trained the route in parts dozens of times, hard, easy. I knew every hill inside out. It made my visualisation even more realistic. I might win a marathon. And I would do it in style. Invincible.

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I did win the 2015 Worcester Marathon. But it wasn't a bit like I imagined it would be. That's probably inevitable...a race, especially one of 26.2 miles could play out a thousand different ways.

On the day it was blowing a gale - a wind that somehow was always hampering whichever direction I ran. I decided to stick to the plan - aim for the course record (2:39:58) which was realistic even in unfavourable conditions. With the help of selfless club mates Dan and Kevin I ticked off mile after mile at six minute averages. I felt strong, my breathing unhampered.

Until Mile 21: well within the required pace my legs started to weaken. I turned into yet another headwind which would last until the finish, and finally the hills which had come at me again and again began to win. As I approached the brow of the latest incline my legs went. My hamstrings locked up. I could just barely move them. It was like I stalled, there and then. My splits began to rise. A couple of 6:20's, which was still fine, but before I knew it from low 6's I scored a 6:56 and then something over 7. This was ridiculous. I later found out that I had a six minute lead at 19 miles. At my new pace this was evaporating sharply.

It's one of those experiences where you look back and think 'why didn't I just run a little quicker?' At the time I thought this too. 'Why not go a little quicker, just a little, come on.' I think it now too. But anyone who has been in this scenario, when your legs have failed you, knows that you just can't. It sounds ridiculous, but mid 7 minute miles was the best I could manage. I tried increasing the cadence, I tried ignoring the burn of each step. Nothing worked. I just had to dig in. I tried not to look back. It seemed ridiculous that anyone wouldn't catch me now. Mile 25 albeit uphill into a headwind (not unlike most other miles) clocked in at a comical 7:45.

Mile 26, the reverse of mile 1, was downhill so should have been much easier, but to add to the hilarity, post race garmin analysis recorded It as 7:28. How?! Mile 1 had been jogged in a relaxed 6:26, fresh as a daisy, uphill.

So in contrast to how I imagined I found myself limping along the canal wobbling, barely moving. Moving my arms seemed pointless as my legs weren't going anywhere anyway. The support was pretty decent, but I couldn't imagine why they were mistaking me for the marathon leader though, did they not expect that he would be strong and impressive? I turned towards the stadium and lapped a half marathon runner who generously offered encouragement but I wasn't moving much faster than they. I was almost past caring about whether I won or not; I wanted it more than anything to be over. I was surely just seconds away from being caught, and now it was going to be embarrassing - in front of my friends and girlfriend. But another stolen look disagreed.

Somehow, somehow as I moved into the final 150m there was still no challenge. I mustered a small surge in a desperate attempt to get to the line. I must have been so slow that the commentators confused me for just another half marathon finisher. They hadn't even realised that the marathon had just been won. I didn't blame them.

As a result of a gentleman's 24 minute final 5k, my once-6 minute lead ended up as a 19 second winning margin and presented itself as me draped over the side of a metal hoarding before coiling into a ball on the floor.  On a day when I could have run a more conservative race to a more comfortable win I decided to go for a course record. I didn't get it, not in those conditions, but I hung on and I'll give myself credit for that. As immobile as I was, and as much of that 6 minute lead as I gave away, I got what I wanted:

I am the winner of the Worcester Marathon 2015.

Champion.

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It would be remiss of me not to mention all those who helped and supported. Trusted right-hand man Dan Robinson who selflessly ran with me for 16 miles before hanging on to finish third himself. And Kevin who did the same before separating at 11 miles to complete the half marathon in a strong time given the course and conditions, unlucky not to PB.

Ally and Matt, who cycled around the course offering support, encouragement and strength at half a dozen points. Rebecca who did likewise, only without a bike. And of course the beautiful Ellie who clocked an impressive result in the half marathon herself before being there to see me finish and take my crown.

Flogging a Dead Horse

Sometimes everything just falls into place.  This weekend was not such an occasion.

In a stark contrast from the Olympian performance of seven days earlier, spectators at the windy, run-down Saffron Lane track this weekend were treated to a master class in turning a promising performance in to a 3:40 final kilometre plod to the line, in a state of torturous purgatory which would just not end. 

This abysmal display of back-running ended a promising sequence of four PBs, but economised my afternoon by alleviating the need for a warm-down.

Indeed pundit analysis following this spectacle suggested that “Carter may have to relinquish his dream of remodelling himself as a 5k runner, and accept that he is just no good at any distance.” 

Buoyed by this criticism, paparazzi at Metchley Park last night captured me successfully hurdle a 35cm railing, fuelling speculation that I may be making my steeplechase debut on my next outing.

Alternatively, breakfast time browsing through Alastair’s Runners World magazine unveiled a training programme for the time-pressed individual, which assuredly guarantees a “fast track to a 5k PB on under 90 minutes a week training.”  This is exciting, and I look forward to running sub-16 following the completion of this programme.

Runner's world guarantee of a 5k PB.

The Trafford Experience

10K PB : 34:06

10K SB (post-Sept 2011) : 34:20 (xc, garmin measured)

We knew this route was fast - six months previously I had completed Trafford 10K in a then PB of 37:15, wiping 29 seconds off my best for the distance, and a further one second on receiving my chip time.

The series stood at 1-0, to him.  But I was confident of pulling it level.  Neck and neck in training, Steve and I locked horns again, in a clash so prolific that it lead to factions developing in our training group.  Some disturbing fan ‘art’ (or fart for short) developed, scribing the clash that unfolded, while children sung out names.*

*actually they shouted abuse at us in Hillsborough park when we trained, but who’s caring?

The Camel (myself) versus The Lion (Steve) 

Two weeks prior we had foolishly travelled across the snake pass in falling snow, in a minibus who’s heater did not work, getting stuck and having to push on the way, to find the race cancelled (at a cost of £10 in fuel per head).  Furthermore, Ally couldn’t attend the rescheduled trip due to bingeing commitments, but I did convince that organisers that he deserved a goody-bag for his committed screen wiping performance with a solitary damp tissue on that fateful journey.

The marooned minibus, with passengers evicted to lighten the load.  

Ally gets a goody-bag for his heroics two weeks prior, despite not being 

able to make the revised race date due to bingeing commitments.

On this occasion, I passed halfway in 17:10, to record a negative split, and 35 PB improvement only for Steve to have finished 11 seconds before me.  That record of 34:06, has stood ever since, and while I believe that I’ve been in better shape since, I’ve never been able to improve on it.

12 months ago I was in great shape, hoping to smash that time, but sometimes everything goes right apart from the race itself.  A flirt with stitch led to me crossing the line slightly slower than my best, despite limping for 3k, while Steve clocked sub-32 for the first time in a effortless endeavour.

This weekend I be making the annual pilgrimage to Partington, feeling like I’ve successful reclaimed some form.  According to my garmin, I’ve already ran within 20 seconds of my best this season, ongrass in the freezing snow only five weeks ago, giving me every reason to dream of that which has eluded me for the last two years. 

Rumour has it that like the 4-minute mile, it isn’t possible for a human to run 6.21miles in under 34 minutes, but records are there to be broken.

For me, crossing the line with the clock on 33 would constitute a job well done, regardless of the final two integers…

Mirror Mirror on the Wall...

…who is the most inspirational of them all?

I’ve been struggling for the last week to write my career self appraisal: a four page document for the RIBA examiners basically informing them why I would make a good architect.  In pondering my inspiration, my mind wondered, and I decided to write my current top three list of my most inspirational athletes.

There were many contenders, including Ed ‘The Beard’ Banks whose phenomenal PBs make goals seem more attainable, Mark ‘Mince’ Ince, who occasionally knocks out impressive park runs despite mediocre blocks of training, and then of course Mister ‘Beast’ Canaway, who based his supernatural performances around mesocycles of bingeing.

But the short list has been narrowed down, commiserations to all those who missed out, but you probably need to up your game.  That includes you Mo.

#3: Sarah the Snack.  Sporting quadruple nationality, ah McCormack, not to be mistaken for Sarah Snack the javelin thrower, had the opportunity to run for GB, USA, Ireland or Antartica before selecting option 3.  Listed not just to avoid making the same mistake as SPOTY, Mac’s infamous bum-wobble is rumoured to have developed from carrying a gun holster around with her University of Michigan training group.  A long term rival in my university days, I always had to be at the top of my game to avoid a loss to this powerhouse and she is now once again making great strides forward, presumable motivated by catching me up.

#2: Simon Millhouse.  Citing his long term hero and sporting idol as Emile Heskey, Millett was my true genuine inspiration to actually apply myself to running.  A man who once threatened to kiss his now-girlfriend, Milton gave up our bi-weekly Roar sessions straw-pedoing orange reef in favour of married life and running up the majority of hills at xc championships.

#1: Nick Goolab.  And here you have it.  A man I’ve seen seemingly effortlessly run to BUCS XC and 5000m victories but never actually met, Goolab went through a phase of stalking me at the Birmingham Uni track (based on circumstantial evidence).  Unlike many of his peers, Goolab combined a heavy training schedule with a worthwhile degree in Mathematics, blogged about his training with a colloquial tone, including his love-hate relationship with his garmin, and chatting about easy run mile splits starting with a five as if they were no effort at all, elevating himself to the top of my list.  Sadly Goolab is rumoured to have walked away from the sport, making a martyr of himself and meaning Steve Bayton may never reach his inspirational heights…

The Slog

5000m goal : 15:50

5000m PB : 16:29.9

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 16:55 (xc split)

Runners don’t like snow.  Fact.  Its just a guessing game of which sessions will be ruined, while the freezing cold means my wash bag fills up twice a week, and limited drying facilities play havoc with making sure than my training kit is appropriately colour coordinated. 

I had hoped to get in another cross county, but my new found fear for frozen courses meant I opted for the poultry approach, and engaged in a beastly tempo in Sennellys Park instead, which as luck would have it, was covered in snow, providing a whooping workout for the legs.

Since I’m no longer scribbling it on the fridge door, I thought I’d treat you to a portion of my training, as this is a fairly typical week.  The focus is still on endurance, threshold, vo2 max and being social.  Big miles and big sessions means a lot of hours in the cold winter air though, though my boxes of Sainsburys brownies and shortbread really help with the motivation.

Mon 6^th Feb:         AM: 40min swim

                                PM: 45min easy pace [needed the loo]

Tues 7^th Feb:         AM: 30min easy pace [icey]

                                PM: Drills + 8x1000m (2min), avg 3:11. [Some dire pacing by Canaway on the 4^th]

Wed 8^th Feb:         AM: 30min easy pace

                                PM: 45min easy pace + 2x6x30 simple circuits [ate cream crackers between sets]

Thu 9^th Feb:           AM: 30min easy pace

                                PM: Drills + ½ mi tempo, 12x400, ½ mi tempo. [icey so slow]

Fri 10^th Feb:          REST

Sat 11^th Feb:         AM: 6mi xc tempo [snowy]

                                PM: 4 sets of 12 circuits and jumps at track (jog between) + 4 games of fifa.

Sun 12^th Feb:        AM: 1h45mins long run [only did 1h43 as I’m a rogue]

Total: 78.2 miles / 11 hours / 2000 words of essays / 2 pub trips.

Frustratingly, there’s runners out there who are more naturally talented, who’ll run faster than me off much less training, and our place in the natural order of things was well documented by training buddy Ed a while back.  For me, like many others, it’s all about remaining biomechanically optimistic and trying to slog it out through the winter cold to hit those personal goals.

Halfway Horse

5000m goal : 15:50

5000m PB : 16:29.9

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 16:55 (xc split)

Far be it from good sense to, in typical BBC sport style, write a report on the outcome of a sporting event at the effective half time point, this is exactly what I’m going to do.  It’s three months since I set myself a six month 5k goal, so as the maths checks out, let’s proceed.

I am sitting wrapped up in bed keeping warm.  Yesterday was an immense day, based around the BUCS XC champs, featured a long trip to Cardiff and back with former teammate and superseded chief rival Sarah ‘The Snack’ McCormack.  Also included was a reunion with long-term nemesis Steven Bayton, (recently defected to France,) which has left me unable to walk properly (tight calves,) a curry and rooftop snowball fight with two fellow hat owners and a 40-point fantasy football point haul by Mister Robin Van Persie.

These champs were run in freezing temperatures, with snow falling all around, not too much of a problem, save for the ‘man off’ to see who would wear more than just the basic vest and shorts.  I confess to wearing gloves, and a wrist-based sweat band to increase my street cred/coolness.  The course was hard, literally.  It was frozen, rather than featuring the draconian hills that I like to see in a good XC.  No mud means no spikes to clean, and also means that I dropped my 5k SB once again to a time now beginning with 16.

In another moment of personal satisfaction, my 35 place improvement on my best ever BUCS put me between the 3^rd and 4^th Sheffield Uni runners, banishing the demons that haunted me following the event two years ago.

John Rocke, a man against boys, doesn't need gloves or eyes!

In reflection, the last three months have gone well.  I’m ahead of where I realistically expected to be, I’ve managed to complete almost every planned run, (except for the ones I forgot about), and I’ve managed to keep Chief Movement Coach Nick ‘Nando’s’ Howard somewhat motivated enough to use as a training partner as well.  Even Coach ‘Hannah’ Mitchell told me that she didn’t spot me in the race because I no longer wobble my head about.  The absence of post-race cream eggs this year was also keenly noted.

The six month plan itself, rumoured only to exist on parchment, 

written by quill. (Green = completed, orange = partially completed).

Next on the hit list, in five weeks time, is Trafford 10k, the mightiest of road races.  My 10k PB was set on this course 2 years ago, and I haven’t been able to break it since, despite obvious improvements.  However with yesterday’s XC time for the 10k (garmin measured course) coming home inside of (well, exactly) 34:20, it’s already an improvement on last year’s best time, set at this very road race.  Complacency is not an option, simple maths will tell you that a big chunk of time needs to fall for me to stand a realistic chance of hitting this summer’s target.

For now, 2012 is defined by: Bayton 1 – 0 Carter.

Top Drawer Encouragement

5000m goal : 15:50

5000m PB : 16:29.9

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 17:03 (xc split)

Halfway into the third mesocycle (or is it microcycle – I still don’t know) and I can thank my Steven Bayton augmented training programme for the misery of last night.  On an icy track with the company of a training partner, I bashed out a miserable session that could double as an initiation to hell.

Still the delights of today’s rest day mean that a trip to the shops brings home lots of goodies to tuck into, allowing me to gorge on biscuits, cake and other delightful snacks which I am religiously abstain from for rest of the week.  (I’m holding the Weeto and biscuit stash for a friend).

See all of these belong to Ally [pictured].

I’d like to make a special mention of Chief Movement Coach and Head Motivator Nick ‘Nandos’ Howard.  I don’t know where I would be without this maestro of entertainment.  Several weeks ago he told me I needed to do more drills to enable greater muscle activation.  In a different sentence he told me about some drills he thought would help augment my mobility.  “Don’t do those ones they’re shit,” he told me when I excitedly told him that I had completed them twice this week.  This was in the same phone call that he told me that my 10k PB-pace (garmin-measured) cross country was probably calculated wrong, and I later got a text asking “are you sure you timed it right?” to news of my impressive average from my 6x1000m (2mins) session.  His top drawer encouragement is what keeps me going. 

Still, it has to be speculated that a 5k season’s best split from Saturday’s 8.2km cross country course is indeed a step in the right direction.  Its not a house lead of course, due to a technicality that seems to mean that my times don’t supersede Ally’s.  But exciting news from the IAAF this morning means that my triple jump lead of 1.16m will ‘probably’ be post-ratified for the powerof10 based on available video evidence.

Breakfast bowl musings

5000m goal : 15:50

5000m PB : 16:29.9

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 17:36

There are few things I dislike more than someone using my breakfast bowl, but cross county isn’t one of them.  I love cross county.  Not in the minutes before the start, or during.  In those moments cross county and I merely tolerate each other with a mutual distain.  But I get a primal satisfaction from swaggering past people (not actually swaggering) up hills, and chalking off the blades of grass one after another.

This weekend saw me not only make my county championship debut, but also record my highest ever county championships finish.  A majestic six miles on a mild Solihull course saw me finish the 21^st loser in a performance that I can take enough encouragement from to suggest that I am nearing full fitness.  And while they will rightly claim that they have had better days, I take much satisfaction from finishing sandwiched (not literally) between two of BRAT Club’s finest disciples.

Despite me still not having my name to any distance running house leads yet, mainly because I am not yet brave enough to show myself on an accurately measured course, I still retain my 1m16 house triple jump lead, which has somehow survived the onslaught from housemates reenergised after their latest pregnancy scare.  It turned out that Ally was simply wearing a few more layers than he remembered Alison dressing him in.

The Cream Cracker Challenge

5000m PB : 16:29.9

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 17:36

Cream Cracker PB: 49.2s

Over the last few days my focus has shifted away from the monotony of high quality miles.  While former friend and colleague Steven Bayton will be running away from all of the lesser humans in his native Halifax, my endurance sessions will involve spending the Christmas period with my family, while attempting to maintain a good posture throughout. 

This hardcore mental and physical preparation is just the beginning of what should be an exciting month however, centering around my recent breakthrough at the Cream Cracker Challenge.  A season’s best, and PB of 49.2 seconds (manual timing) for the three-cracker event has meant that Matthew Quine’s PB at 400m (47 point something fast) is now within my reach, and he has accepted my challenge of a Quine versus Carter, 400m versus Cream Cracker Challenge at the upcoming Northern Athletics Meeting in Sheffield.

“I have been eating lots to improve my jaw strength,” mused Carter, in a silent interview with myself, who is also my coach.  “Multiple soft snacks improve my bite turnover, while generously portioned main meals improve my static jaw strength and overall endurance.”

Housemate Alastair Canaway became very excited about this new challenge, with recent binges of running and swimming rumoured to have ended.  “Eating lots is a training pattern that I can really identify with.  Lets just hope that Carter’s small bladder doesn’t become his Achilles heal in this challenge.”

GB Steeplechaser and Olympic hopeful Eilish McColgan was said to be so impressed in fact that she ‘friended’ me on facebook, with her blog stating that she has “…literally never been so excited!”, possibly in regards to something else.

My feet remain grounded, however, with my father remarking at lunch that “he’ll never succeed in this challenge,” while scoffing the last of the only pack of Jacobs, rending any time trials over the coming days improbable.  Instead I’ll be looking at returning to dry cereal to promote saliva production, while ballooning out over the holiday period to try and better fit in with the rest of my friends and family.

Diminishing Marginal Returns

5000m goal : 15:50

5000m PB : 16:29.9

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 17:36

At first I had been very reluctant to put a target into writing.  The obvious downsides: the pressure of trying to achieve it or perhaps the public humiliation should I fall miles short.  But my cockiness in doing this has had some positives too: aside from the secret hope that I’ll somehow surpass it by at least a minute, motivation.  There’s a number in my head.  15:50.  Its right there,  15:50, whenever I am feeling slightly lazy.  This morning it got me out of bed at 06:54 (yes my alarm is set that accurately) to get to the pool.  This evening that goal flashed in my head while I considered if I could be arsed to do the prescribed 3 sets of conditioning circuits when I returned soaking wet from an hour post-work run.  But that goal does mean that my rather feeble hips and shoulders are slightly more tired than they otherwise would have been tonight, and I can enjoy the standard 2¼ bowls of evening Weetos guilt-free.

Living with Mister Alastair Canaway for the last 11 months has left me privy to many economic terms.  “Opportunity Cost”, “Propensity to Consume” and “God my bum insertion point is aching again” are all economic phrases to which I am regularly privy.  But the one that sticks most in my mind is “Diminishing Marginal Returns”.  The concept that a higher proportion of my fitness gains will come in the first half of my training, with the applied effort being worth less the closer I get to my goal.  As such I am nailing the endurance work and racked up 73 hard and lazy miles, and one emergency sprint to the bathroom from a lying down position, last week, with a solid Saturday afternoon spent tactically planning training patterns with Chief Movement Coach Nick ‘Nandos’ Howard fitted between games of Fifa 12.

Despite being snubbed by UKA for the recent High Alitude Endurance Camp in Iten, Kenya, I more than made up for this with 15 consecutive mind-numbing laps of Metchley Park, leaving me ideally prepared for a SB lowering attempt at Saturday’s Cannon Hill Park Run.  I still remain fearful of my house Triple Jump Lead, which with housemates practicing bouncing routines around the clock, the 1.16m looks less secure each day.

Its all just numbers, right?

5000m PB : 16:29.9

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 17:36 (Park Run)

Today marked a personal milestone for myself, which was then completely overshadowed by the magnificent Steven Bayton, who ran 31:28 for 5k.  Or maybe 10k, I don’t recall.  Let’s do him first.  A runner who 18 months ago, every other session I huffed and puffed over the line ahead of his elegant stride, regardless of whether he’d moderately slowed to clear rogue footballs a mile in the air to teach those public users in Weston Park that this wasn’t an area of green to enjoy oneself in.

Steve’s rise to fame and moderate success has been well documented on this blog, but just how good is he?  Well to put it into perspective, today, by coincidence he’ll have me believe, he ran 2 back-to-back 5Ks both one second faster than my goal for the year.  Is that a coincidence?  Yes, indeed I also thought there might have been a malicious undertone to it as well.  Revenge perhaps because he could never beat me up the final hill in Hillsborough park on those cold winter evenings.

Let’s put this another way.  Steve is now over 2 and a half minutes faster over 10k than my best ever time, ignoring my current obese state.  Phenomenal.  Steve is a great athlete, and he trains hard, but for him to run those times just makes it all seem so easy.  So perhaps it is easy.  I’m certainly inspired.  I need to up my game.  Drastically.  Surely it can’t be that hard to run 33 or even 32, if a guy I was once even with has bettered that.

Which brings me to me, and my achievements (sorry to keep you waiting).  Today marked the culmination of the 2^nd hard week in my first microcycle of training.  As you probably inferred, because why wouldn’t you, I have 6 of those tiny cycles in the next 5 and a half months.  So why all the hype?  Why even bother blogging?  I ask myself the same thing.  Because today meant that I hit 65.7, and that 0.7 is very important because it rounds it up, miles for the week.  That’s my first post-injury week over the 60 mile milestone, and my highest mileage week in 6 months.  Which isn’t bad.  I don’t think I can call myself injured anymore, I now just have to settle for the terms ‘unfit’ or ‘useless at racing’ instead.  For those wondering how I did it, it’s all very clever I assure you.  Every footstep is planned, every breath calculated.  And hopefully by new year I should have some semblance of fitness again ready to hit some PBs myself.  Because the bar has just been raised further.

With a week in the Derbyshire countryside coming up, and a 24 hour hotline to my chief personal motivator Nick ‘Nandos’ Howard, and chief de-motivator Ally ‘The Beast’ Canahow, mother’s home cooking, and a cake I just baked which may or may not be edible, I now have all the tools to stop talking about what I’m going to do, and just do it.

Finally, it has been brought to my attention that there are other pb’s today, and as such I’m led to believe that there will be a new house lead on the cupboard when I return home next week.  I think it might have been a tennis ball which rolled off the counter to hop, skip and bop its way to a triple jump record.