New year, new start

It seems a tad strange to write about finishing fifth in a race, especially when I know three of the four people ahead of me who clearly did better. But yesterday was a very significant day for me: it achieved a big missing element on my cv: finishing high enough in a county championships to be asked to represent the county, but more significantly ended what I would describe as eight months of terrible form and not enjoying races, to the point where I was almost not bothered anymore, something that I was afraid to admit too loudly for fear of judging myself as a quitter and not knowing what else to do. 

Setting into a good pace, pre-fall.

Like two seconds later...

Yesterday, as I settled into a large group behind the leaders, was the first time in a long time that I felt like I was in control, fit, and able to respond to what might happen. Unfortunately I wasn't quite able to take advantage of that feeling: firstly three minutes in I felt the side of my shoe rip open to the point where I was worried it would come off, before I then hit the deck with a fair amount of force as my legs disappeared under me rounding a corner 10 minutes later.

I don't like to be pigeon-holed, but falling over in cross country races seems to be my forté. The highlight of that 'career' being the infamous YouTube clip, closely followed by the unfilmed 'trip over a tuft of grass' at National XC 2014. Like both of those, today's simple slip as I rounded a tight, downhill right-hander at the Worcestershire County XC Champs saw me bounce straight back to my feet, which is what I hope I am more known for. Not much chance of that!

Quite the hole.

Like a whole other foot-hole...

Although I winded myself as I became intimate with the ground, I managed to keep it together enough to take the fifth spot and was honoured with receipt of a piece of A5 white paper which has eluded me like gold dust. It's significance: automatic selection to represent Worcestershire County at the inter-counties competition in March, if, I could competently and clearly fill out my details and return the water-soluble 80 gram per square metre parchment to the officials clean and ASAP before they scarper. Another challenge. 

I've spent weeks worrying that January 2015 had been my 'now or never' moment: I was in the form of my life 12 months ago and it had been my best shot to quality before injury put pay to that. Yesterday I proved to myself that I'm still capable and I've have cast aside those demons. I look forward to lining up along side many of the people I competed against yesterday in two months time as teammates, but more importantly today I find myself looking forward to doing some races again and exacting revenge on those who eluded me today. Be wary fellow competitors, because my confidence is back. And in the next race I may not tumble. 

I just need some new shoes first. 

The elusive piece of paper, whose durability
was questionable in the conditions.

A Year Without a PB

It sounds almost defeatist, but in fairness PBs were never my goal this year.  It would have been nice to get one for sure and I did try on a couple of occasions, but this year - a very mixed year - I set out to win some races and have resulted with lots of achievements, which I'd like to analyse it numerically.

5 1/2 race wins.  3 1/2 if you take out parkruns, which most people rightly would.  The Worcester Marathon, the Bulmer's Bash and the Pangbourne 10K have in common that they were all taken by me.  And so would the Iron Runner 10K, had the absence of a marshall at a critical junction less than 1km from the end not meant that I ended up in the next village.  So I give myself a 1/2 win for that....they gave me a consolation bottle of wine after all!

1 course record.  At the Bulmer's Bash on a tricky course around the apple orchards, slicing a couple of minutes of their previous best. And they gave out bottles of Bulmers at the end, fantastic marketing if you ask me as I now love the stuff.

19 seconds. My winning margin in the Worcester Marathon back in April.  It doesn't matter that I let a six minute lead from mile 19 all but evaporate. I crossed the line first in what I look back at being the highlight of my year.  Regardless of whether local media bothered to get my name correct or not.

3 county medals.  That's two gold and one bronze.  A least it's meant to be bronze anyhow, it's a bit of a meh-colour.  So I was county champion in the half marathon, multi-terrain championships and somehow claimed the bronze in the 10K champs despite a poor poor run.  They look colourful in my cabinet though.

A decent prize haul from the Worcestershire
Half Marathon Championships in June.

2 second places. Which luckily is less than my number of first places, otherwise that wouldn't look good.

0 pbs. Actually I have to look back to September 2014 for my last one, a mouth watering sprint for the line to clock 32:59 for a 10,000m in Stretford.  That's a long spell without, but in all honesty I'm not too motivated for records at the moment, so just call me Mo Farah and we're done.

3150. The number of miles run this year.  Or in all honesty 3149.9, but my second highest ever after 2013, despite being injured that year as well.  Miles doesn't equal fitness though and I'd say I was fitter in both 2013 and 2014, based on absolute times.

So in conclusion it's been a mixed year where I've often struggled for fitness, form and many times enjoyment.  But I'm looking forward to 2016 and attempting to gain selection to represent Worcestershire for cross country at the Country Championships this coming weekend.

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.