Stability Through Motion

It’s supposed to be simple. Don shorts, T-shirt and shoes, run for 26.2 miles with a watch to check your pace, take on some fuel and water enroute, and Bob’s your uncle, or ‘Bob was my uncle’ as an American friend once put it.

Throw in some gale force winds, driving rain, then put on some previously untested running leggings and a fuel belt that hadn’t been worn for six months. Cue stomach pain on every much-looked-forward-to downhill section. I had to remove the gel belt and carry it all the way, but there was little I could do about the shorts and leggings. And the stomach pain meant I didn’t take on any fuel during the race, and very little water. Memories of Antwerp there then. In hindsight I should have removed the leggings and shorts and run half naked. Cold? Certainly, but better that than the pain on the faster downhill stretches.

Given all that, I’m happy to say I beat last year’s time and came in at 3:28:49, but miles off the 3:20 hoped for. My splits for the race tell it all. Too hard into the wind up to Pen-y-Pass, in pain on the lovely downhill stretch that followed, then giving up the ghost soon after Beddgelert in the tedious lonely section to Waunfawr. If I could have dropped out then I would have. It was lonely, endless road, mostly uphill, even though the wind was behind us.

I know a lot of folk struggle in every marathon, and thereby perhaps feel an incredible sense of achievement at the end, but I hate struggle! I run to enjoy it, and last year I did just that here - with energy left at the end, and a smile on my face. This year was just hard work, working through pain, and a pain that seemed to have nothing to do with running - not the legs, not the heart or lungs, just my bloomin’ stomach!

First half completed in 1:37, which was pretty much on target, second half in 1:52, ten minutes off target, and slower than last year. To my shame, I WALKED up Waunfawr hill - something I didn’t do last year, but was very glad to this year. Then, at the top, the winds tore my running number off my Tshirt, and I encountered a tortured scene of runners clutching their hamstrings or calves in agonising cramps, runners falling over on the slippy grassy section downhill, or being literally blown to the ground by the gusts of wind.

In fact at that point I was laughing, knowing I would finish sub 3:30 I cheered up no end. Sprinted to the finish to meet a smiling Bob (not my uncle, but really a Bob) and get back for a hot shower and food.

I set off with a plan to pace with Ru, a woman met on the Runners World Forums. We stuck together until the top of Pen-y-Pass, when she shot off downhill and I discovered my stomach was going to give me trouble. I found out later that she was 2nd lady with 3:18! Brilliant result, and she stars in the S4c (Welsh television channel) coverage of the race.

I’ll post pictures when they turn up - relying on official ones as I didn’t carry my camera phone for once.

So, top marathon tip: the same one as always for a marathon - don’t try anything you haven’t already tried! In my case, too-tight leggings.

Click on the top image for the S4C coverage of the race.

Time: 3:28:49
Position: 95th out of 1133 finishers.
Category position (men over 40): 23rd

Result:
40 miles, September 20th at the High Peak 40 race from Buxton, Derbyshire.
Time: 7:06:55
Position: 17th

I had a plan, having printed off the check point split times from two of last year’s contenders, one who finished in 7:07 and one who finished in 8:30. I stuck to the times of the faster runner almost to the T, didn’t really fade much during the race and legs felt fine later that day and the next. I still can’t quite believe it, but I guess the much vaunted training actually works.

Running along the Goyt Valley on a misty morning

The start was a casual affair with around 160 runners gathered in Broad Walk, Buxton on a sunny but cool September morning. Here I met up for the first time with a few of the brilliant forumites who had inspired me to do this challenge. But the quick hellos were cut short by the start, and we crowded through Buxton off into the hills. There were no supporters to speak of, in fact no one in Buxton seemed to have heard of the race which was a bit of a shame.

As with the Swaledale Marathon in June (24 mile fell race), the first ascent was narrow and crowded, so there was a lot of walking, but that was fine as it saved your energy for the later bits. We wound up and up and then down proper off-road terrain to the first checkpoint. Loads of runners seemed to have headed off pretty fast, allowing those of us further back to tut-tut knowingly “ah, they’ll pay for that later on“, ah how I like to sound like I know what I’m doing! Then a couple of miles alongside the sunny reservoirs in the Goyt Valley, chatting to a few people including the guy from the Downlands Challenge that I again seemed to be pretty similar pace to. People were mostly concentrating and running solo however - it’s a long day and everyone had a lot on their mind. Although everyone is incredibly friendly at these ultras as far as I can tell, there’s definitely a sense of doing it alone for most of it. Pacing is important, and if you step into someone else’s pace, you might just blow up later on. Blow up = run out of energy!

I was due to meet F at the third check point at Eccles Pike, where she might join me for a bit of the route. I waited a few minutes, ahead of schedule anyway, and downed water and jaffa cakes, but no sign, so plodded on and phoned her to check. They just couldn’t get out of Buxton in time, so we planned another meeting point. Then it was a steady climb up tarmac then gravel path up to Rushup Edge where the route met the Pennine Way.

View from Rushup Edge westwards

This was glorious running, though sore underfoot with so many boulders and rocks. Miles and miles of hill top running with gorgeous views over Derbyshire. Finally arrived at another checkpoint where P and F were waiting. Had the usual joke with the marshalls, grabbed water and jaffas, re-arranged my rucksack and set off with F to run up to Mam Tor. Unfortunately the terrain was pretty rough and a bit unexpected for F, and I had to keep going, so we weren’t together as long as we’d hoped. But it was such a boost to have company and her smile. Mam Tor - an incredibly thin ridge with the sort of views that inspired me to take up this off-road running lark.

Mam Tor ridge

Encountered quite a few walkers here, so lots of excuse me, runner coming through, and again no one seemed to know what we were up to, so not exactly the Flora London Marathon experience. Also no steel bands, or jelly babies from villagers.

After all this up, it was time for a quad thrashing downhill to Castleton then the long anticipated cruel climb up Cavedale. As with most of the ups, there was limited running, everyone at my end of the race was walking the uphills, maybe shuffling into a jog if we spotted a photographer or a crowd of tourists. You have to show willing! Someone told me I was in 38th position as we descended from Mam Tor.

Cavedale was followed by more climbing slowly up to the more desolate Old Moor, where at least 15 people on the race got badly lost I discovered later in the day, including people who’d raced this before. It’s incredibly hard to resist the instinct to just follow the line of runners in front of you, even if you have your doubts about the direction they’re heading. I was lucky in that I never followed someone who went wrong, but also kept checking my little bits of map. Signage was actually really good, and it was only at one or two points that it could have been confusing. Not a patch on the confusion at Swaledale.

After Old Moor, there was a lot of road before hitting Tideswell, the long strung out village, deserted but for two gangs of Morris dancers. Everyone ignored us again, but by this stage I was beginning to pass people who’d slowed. We reached the marathon point (26.2 miles) at the Tideswell Dale car park, where my folks awaited with jaffas, congratulations and smiles. I knew now that I could make it - I was still feeling wierdly strong and really happy. The river section went on for miles and miles, but was largely flat and very good underfoot. All the time here I was expecting P to turn up - he was due to set off from the final checkpoint and run back towards me. After four more miles I was getting worried that he’d got lost, but still passing slowing runners, then finally, in the horror that was Deepdale, he came running towards me. Fantastic! Deepdale consisted of two miles of uphill in a narrow valley.

Perfectly harmless on a nice day’s walk, but after 28 miles, quite depressingly unending. The top was the penultimate checkpoint, with waiting parents once more and the marmite sandwiches. More chat - there was always time to stop and banter - and I set off on the tarmac section of the route towards Chelmorton and the last 8 miles or so to the end, and more importantly psychologically, the last hour of running. I’d already been out running longer than I ever had before, and almost crossed my 34 mile barrier. Buoyed by these thoughts I set off far too fast on the tarmac for 1/2 mile, before realising what I was doing too late and suffering accordingly. It was just the sight of the walking runners ahead of me and thinking I could pick them off, but I knew I was spot on target for my goal time and that I’d rather finish feeling good than suffer needlessly. Of course I could have pushed, but for what? To be another four minutes quicker and two positions higher? What’s the difference between 15th and 17th really? I was out of reach of a sub 7 hour time, which was the only goal worth speaking about. So, quite smug and content, but also painfully aware of my legs, we ran on to the final checkpoint - a fairly easy plod apart from the deathly gully of Deepdale 2.

Rounding the corner after Cowdale we could see Buxton ahead, the railway viaduct, and there again, the familiar green top of F, sitting waiting! Three of us ran together in on the road to Buxton, then they left me to cruise the final 1/2 mile to the finish and even a final spurt to the non-existant finish line and the rest of my waiting support group. Thanked the organisers, drank endless plain water, and kept my legs moving as much as possible, amazed at the lack of pain, blistering or despair that I’d felt throughout.

At the end of this long journey, thanks are due to the fantastic support from F, P and my parents, who met me and fed me at three separate points on the route, then J and A at the finish line, and the moral support I know I had from others. The training has taken me away from home more than I’d have liked, has occupied far more of my spare time and spare mind than I’d have liked, so thanks are due more to anyone than to F who encouraged me to push myself through this. I hope I’ve proved that running forty miles in one day can be an enjoyable experience for even a forty year old previously non-sporty person, not a body-shattering one.  I’ll always struggle to convey the joy I feel on occasions, up on a hill, running down a hill, walking up a hill, with few possessions, with little need for food, with the knowledge that you can keep going if you wish, almost all day long, that time is meaningless, that distance is meaningless, and you can just be.

Stability in motion.

My first race over marathon distance, though not really a race, was the Downland Challenge in July this year. A tiny event running 30 miles out and back from Clayton (near the Jack and Jill windmills on the South Downs Way) and Rodmell, further east on the SDW.

Since I’d already run 28 miles with no significant damage a couple of weeks earlier, I was hopeful this would go well, although I knew the South Downs were a tougher proposition than the Ridgeway. Much much hillock-ier, lots of up and lots of down and hardly any flat. What I didn’t bargain for was the heat - 28 or 29 degrees most the day, and cloudless. Ugh.

I might have made it round in the heat, it’s difficult to say because I’d made the mistake of tying my shoelaces too tight earlier in the day and walking round in my running shoes. By mile one I was already noticing the effect and stopped to re-tie the laces. Too late ! The damage was done. By mile 20 I was hobbling down the hills, the very bits I was most looking forward to at that stage, nice freewheeling breezy downhill stretches were agony to me.

TOP TIP: check your laces before you set out on a run - loosen them around the bridge of your foot, especially if it’s a hot day or a long run.

So, I made the sensible decision to pull out at the last available checkpoint, 7 miles from the end. A nice guy in a truck gave me a lift back to the start where I refuelled and chatted. I wasn’t the only DNF (Did Not Finish) by any means, many suffering from the heat alone, but I was really annoyed that something so simple as lacing could trip me up (hah hah!). The same shoes with the same lacing had never given problems before, but I guess the heat just made my feet swell. A week without running at all followed, but I’m now convinced that, lacing aside, hot July runs in the middle of the day are not a good idea for me.

I run because I love it, to reach that floaty feeling you get sometimes, that you could just drift along for hours with a small pack on your back, admiring the scenery. OK, sometimes I run too to feel the adrenalin rush, and speed past people when I can. But I don’t run so I can suffer draining heat, cramps, pain, blisters, excessive sweating etc.

To get back to the point, this means I will never ever ever run the Marathon des Sables. You can hold me to that. It’s just a pointless exercise in will and determination over pain and chafing.

Simply fantastic! 24 miles in 4:01. I got lost, about 2 miles from the end, or I would have made it in 3:50 or so. Perfect blustry weather, not wet underfoot, views were out of this world, and all finished off with a pint of Black Sheep at the end, watching runners then walkers coming in for an hour. What an experience!

Antwerp Marathon: 26.2 miles (42k)

3 hours 13 mins 2 seconds

I travelled through some zones of despair I hadn’t seen before on Sunday. It crept up to 21 degrees C with no shade for long stretches - quite nasty, though I know that’s not really hot.

First half was fine and dandy, keeping ahead of the 3:15 pacers and their bright blue balloons, and on course for my optimum time of 3:10. Forgot my handy pace band though so was a little bit lost for some of  the time, and too tempted to chase people - a very stupid mistake. Then after a long lonely seemingly endless section of dual carriageway I was started to slow.

All of sudden, at 26 or 27k I heard the pounding of a pack of runners on my tail, glanced round and it was the pacing group - minus balloons. What a horrible moment, I really thought they’d just pass me and that would be that. I could console myself that I’d still make it to the end with a PB, but I think I would have lost so much spirit if I had let them past that I gritted my teeth and stayed in front of them until 38k.

By that point, several of the pack had fallen by the wayside and we were passing runners all the time. The pacer was level with me shouting encouragement in Dutch. He translated one of his phrases to me as

“Everybody feels pain now, so we must make the pain pass quicker”

True but highly annoying words - and he then sped up for the last 3k - by this time my quads were in agony, something I’ve never had before. Our fastest kms were right at the end. Even after the Snowdonia marathon and the infamous descent to the end, my quads were fine.

Post-race I had the traditional relaxing limp around town for hours desperately looking for UNsweetened water, lunch, and general moseying around town. I still can’t remember a thing about Antwerp though, so I’ll have to return another day to do some sight-seeing.

Not sure quite what the reasons for my pain this time were - quite possibly I didn’t take enough water and fuel on board. I was reluctant to drink more because if I’d stopped for a pee, I just know I would never have caught the pacing group up again.

Next goals (there’s always another one) - a 10k race in Oxford in May - nice and short, but again trying to break my PB and dip under 40 minutes, which should be realistic, then an off-road and hilly marathon in Swaledale in mid-June.

Rhayader 20 mile race: 2h40m

That was harder than it should have been. Spent the race trying to recalibrate the garmin footpod, which meant I could see neither the time nor my pace/speed. As a result took it faster than I should have, but not fast enough to count as a race - kind of caught in limbo. Still, it’s a wonderful course through the Elan valley, winding around the reservoirs in this deserted part of the world. Two more long runs now before the big day.

race report time! Last one until April’s marathon.

New toy - playing with the Garmin Forerunner 50 which tracks heart rate and cadence and distance using a footpod thingie, a surprisingly discrete plastic bit that clips onto your shoe laces. Out of the box it was pretty accurate, but I made the mistake of trying to calibrate it by running round a track. Cue my first ever visit to a running track, and there was a football match taking place in the middle! Sheepishly tried a single lap without getting hit by a football or footballer. Now the device is way out, so I think I need to do a bit more than one lap to get it right.

Using the device in conjunction with SportsTrack software though, you can get an incredible amount of info at a glance though.

So, the race: 6:52 average pace = 8.7 mph, 15 miles in 1:42:53. Bang on target for the sub 3:15 marathon attempt - in fact predicts 3:06 but I’m going to be cautious still.

Time: 1h 27m 38s

I’m still in shock! I really thought I’d struggle to achieve the sub 1:30 time that a 3:15 marathon target suggests. But conditions were perfect, as you can see in the crystal blue skies in the photos, but with enough chill in the air to cool off perspiration. Started running hard, but it never felt too hard, and kept it up non stop for 13 miles. That’s the whole story - it’s funny how there’s so much else going on in your head over that hour and a half, but there’s little to describe, or little to make it sound any more interesting than “I ran hard for an hour and a half”. No chats with anybody, no time to take in the odd characters along the Brighton sea front. I did get spat upon by one of the runner-spitters you always encounter, the dirty rats. But wow, you can’t beat that feeling of finishing and knowing you’ve achieved your target and then some. Then collapsing into a chair and drinking hot tea in the sunshine waiting for your buddies to finish so you can bounce off and eat and drink. I hardly dare mention that a 1:27 half marathon time predicts a 3:05 marathon time! I’m sticking with the 3:15 plan this year.

3 hours 31 minutes 31 seconds.

That’s it - all over. I can drink, stop running, eat what I like, sleep more. All I can say is WOW! What a race - I’m still buzzing from it two days later.

Oooh, latest: check it out the S4C highlights on the web.

Mile splits: 8:19; 8:30; 8:48; 9:11; 7:09; 7:20; 7:12; 7:45; 7:13; 7:37; 7:58; 7:12; 8:14; 8:34; 7:59; 7:39; 7:20; 7:50; 7:53; 7:51; 7:32; 10:09; 10:12; 8:59; 7:51; 7:34; 1:20

You can easily tell where the hills were by that. On the flatter bits, I was as regular as clockwork - 7:50 ish.

Nervous nervous nervous, dropped off at Llanberis Electric Mountain cafe/centre and started to walk up to the Start Line at Nant Peris (300ft). Got chatting to a lovely guy who’d run it before which was very calming, and arrived at the start line in time for the obligatory pee in the bushes. The start was just a grassy area off the A4086 from Llanberis to Pen y Pass (1100ft). It was a less tense start than I’ve experienced before, in the shadow of Snowdon. We didn’t catch a glimpse of the summit all day as it was so misty and rainy, but the views, especially from Pen y Pass onwards, were fantastic.

I soon joined up with another runner who’d been visiting the Runners World forums, and we ran most of the race together. So for the second time in a marathon I had the benefit of a really experienced pacer. I think that’s why my time was quicker than I’d hoped for. She had run faster marathons than me on the flat and was 5th in her category (Female 40-45), but seemed happy to keep my pace, and definitely took me down the hills faster than I would have gone on my own. The uphills weren’t a problem at all, I even ran the last hill at 21 miles all the way, so all that hard slogging over the South Downs, Black Mountains and the Ridgeway paid off. I hate to gloat but even the next day my legs weren’t stiff - a far cry from how they felt after my first marathon.

Up to about 15 miles I was smiling all the time. It got a bit tough for me then, with a long slog uphill after wet Bedgellert in heavier rain and the prospect of the much-talked-about killer hill at Waunfawr still to come. But a couple of slices of mars bar later (yes, that was on offer) and I was much more cheerful. Waunfawr hill was just a steady plod up for two miles, passing lots of people walking it, up, up and up into the mist with no idea of how long it would last. As predicted though, for me it was the downhill that was hard - I just cannot get the hang of flying down the way some of the people I’d overtaken on the way up managed on the way down. I really need to learn that knack, but I couldn’t trust my legs to hold me up on the steep slopes.

There was such great public support given the bad weather, I was really impressed, and it was the friendliest bunch of runners I’ve ever encountered.