Running the North Norfolk Coast

I had a short break in the UK over the weekend. I don't really do UK breaks. I am a UK weather jinx, ensuring that any holiday taken within the UK will cause rain, snow or unseasonal temperatures. Often all in the same trip. I must have really confused the weather gods of North Norfolk, though, the weather was really nice for most of the time, with glorious sunshine for all but one of the afternoons I was away. I visit 2-3 times a year and I think this was the first time when it wasn't cold or raining. Ha, fooled you, Norfolk weather god!

Even though I was on holiday, I can't really take a break from marathon training. But that was ok, because I knew that there was a coastal path in North Norfolk that I could follow. Our accommodation in the picturesque village of Blakeney was about 100 yards from the path, so there was no excuse but to run it!

On Friday evening, I headed out for an exploratory 6 mile run. Friday late afternoon/early was quite dull and grey, not showing the coastal path at its best. It also meant that no one was out there walking, which gave me 6 miles of isolated running to enjoy. Just me, a tiny frog and a reed warbler (I had to look up the bird when I got back to the flat, obviously - I'm not a twitcher!). At first, it was unnerving being so alone when running. As a London dweller, this doesn't happen very often and usually not for longer than a few yards. So to go 4 miles before I saw another soul was a strange but pleasant feeling. I didn't need to feel scared or threatened (or maybe reed warblers do mug humans, I don't know), I just felt free.

On Saturday morning, it was back out for a longer 12 mile run. By now, the sun was out again, which meant all the tourists and dog walkers were too. So the first 3 miles of the run were definitely not isolated as before. Unlike London, however, people in Norfolk move to one side when you shout 'excuse me'. They share the path, and even smile, wave and say hello. This makes such a change for me from running the Thames towpath, where sometimes people would rather throw you in the river than budge half an inch to the left. By the time I got to Cley, the next village, I was high on camaraderie and neighbourliness.

After leaving Cley, though, the terrain started to change. The path continues along a vast expanse of shingle beach, alternating between the beach itself and a high shingle ridge. Running along the ridge was ok, as the shingle was compacted, but running along the beach was a new and challenging experience. My feet sank into the deep, loose, shingle with every step, so it became a trudge not a run. To make things a even more difficult, there was a strong wind blowing out to sea, so anything the path curved inland I was running directly into a very strong headwind. Pace went out of the window, with all my effort focussed on moving forward somehow. I couldn't even manage to open my gel while running as it was just a step too far - I had to stop dead to open it, then as I sucked it out the wind caught it and blew it all down my front. Ooh, the glamour of marathon training!

Despite this new and entirely frustrating terrain, I was loving it. With the sea to the left, beautiful rolling countryside to the right and a gorgeous blue sky above , who gives a monkeys about pace? I felt so privileged to be able to run that route, to experience such a beautiful part of the world in that way, I didn't worry about my pace. Besides, my muscles were getting a whole new workout and I was getting some 'running into a headwind' training (which I suspect may be very useful in York at some point) so I figured I was still reaping lots of benefits from my new terrain.

I had arranged to meet my Beloved in a pub for lunch at 12.30 and I realised that my slow pace over the shingle, and my gel stop, had eaten into my timings slightly. Not only that, but my legs were starting to feel like they'd had a much harder workout that 6.5 miles. I think that eating into your holiday time with a long run is one thing, but being very late for lunch is taking the mick a bit, so I decided to run it on time rather than distance, heading back to Salthouse (and the highly recommended Dun Cow) for lunch on time. After the shingle beach, I followed a conservation path up a grassy trail over undulating fields and further inland. This took me past what looked like a couple of artillery guns and lots of poppies! This bit was lovely - hard ground that didn't sink underneath me - and meant I could get a bit more pace back into my run and practice some uphill running. North Norfolk is not quite as flat as you'd think.

By the time it was time to turn back, I was sorry to leave the path. I was starting to daydream about ultra running and thinking about how nice it would be to run the whole 45 miles of the North Norfolk coastal path (well, not the shingle bit, but that would be near the end, when you might want a slow bit anyway). By the time I had made it back to the pub, with SIS gel dribbled down the front of my top and sweaty salt encrusting my face and arms, I had decided that I am definitely going to run the length of the path next year. Anyone fancy joining me?

Down in the slumps

Summary: I really want to run the Yorkshire Marathon in sub 4 hours. I really am not sure I can knock 16 minutes off my marathon time to do this. However, my training started well, with a significantly improved pace from last year’s training for the ill-fated New York marathon. Running approximately a minute per mile faster on my long slow runs, and hitting race pace easily on some of the middle distance runs, I felt like I was doing all the right things and getting the results I needed.

My plan said to do a half marathon 2 weeks ago, so I signed up to run Burnham Beeches half marathon. It’s not a flat course, so didn’t expect a PB, but did expect to run well and give myself some sort of indicator for York.

The night before was sleepless. Not because of pre-race nerves but because of a persistent cough. And the nagging doubt that maybe I shouldn’t run it if I was coughing. I decided to go ahead anyway, as the race was two laps, and I could drop out halfway if I needed to. I made sure I had a couple of inhaler puffs before I dropped my bag off and headed to the start.

I think it’s safe to say it was the hardest half I’ve ever run. Even more testing than my debut half, with its torrential rain and a foot injury. It felt as long as a marathon, and every time I took a drink I had a massive coughing fit. I basically took it as easy as was comfortable, not pushing for a time, and finished bang on 2 hours, nearly 3 minutes slower than my PB.

On reflection, I realise that this was a great prep race. I ran 13.1 miles at marathon race pace and hit it perfectly. At the time, though, I was thinking what a nightmare it was and wondered why I was even bothering to look at sub 4 targets. And I couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling of failure. Mad I know, but let’s put it down to the salbutamol, shall we?

With bank holiday travels looming, and the training plan requiring 19 miles, I took the Friday morning off to run long. I headed to Richmond Park, a tried and tested route for me, trying not to push too hard as my cough was receding but still there. I went round Richmond Park in the opposite direction from normal, which I will now describe as the ‘uphill way’. All of RP is undulating but for some reason this day (probably the cough - I know, I know) it was like climbing Everest. I had to stop and walk at one point, accompanied by a coughing fit. I never take walk breaks and only stop for toilets, so for me this felt like abject failure. My sub 4 dreams were shattered. About 12 miles in, near Pembroke House on my exit route, I had a total meltdown – I stopped, turning round and round in circles arguing with myself (possibly aloud, like a real park nutter).

My logical self said ‘you’re not 100% fit, you probably shouldn’t even be running’

My stressed marathoner self said ‘you’re quitting. If you quit now, you’ll quit on marathon day. You need to push through this’

My logical self said ‘you might do yourself some damage, maybe we should head out of the park and get the bus home’
My stressed marathoner self shouted ‘Quitter! Failure’

You get the picture. And this went on for a while...
 

My logical self then pointed out I had to catch the 14.06 from Euston to Liverpool, so I realised I couldn’t really stay in the park arguing with myself any longer. I had to get home somehow, get showered and get out. So I ran to the bottom of Kew Gardens, another 2 or so miles downhill, and caught the bus. Garmin said 15.5 miles run. A good distance, I know, but not 19 miles. I had failed. I had quit. I was miserable.

I took the whole of the bank holiday weekend off. We couldn’t go on like this, me and running - we needed some distance from each other. I had a high mileage week ahead of me, which would be the real test – if I could get through that, I would be ok. It was my birthday as well, so didn’t want to be miserable because of running on my birthday. So I ignored my trainers, laid off dairy entirely and hoped the cough would subside by the Tuesday.

Tuesday, post work, I went for a 10 mile run. It was slow. It was punctuated by 3 toilet stops (NB: birthday squid ink risotto = unsuitable pre run food). I heard my first Christmas tune in a pub on one toilet stop. But I made it round. I ran 10 miles without any arguments between my logical and marathoner selves (well, the logical self may have made a sarcastic comment about the squid ink risotto) and felt a little bit happier about running. On Thursday night, I went to club intervals. I didn’t feel particularly fit, but I did the workout, and I survived.

This weekend was the high mileage bit. Hal Higdon’s advanced programme requires you to run 10mile at race pace on the Saturday, followed by 20 miles long slow run the following day. The 10 miles were knocked out at 8:57 min pace, bringing me safely under 4 hours in a marathon. Whether I could hold it for another 16.2 miles is another question but I did it. The 20 miles were a 9:47 min pace, possibly a little too fast, but I felt good. I felt strong. I even ran the bit of Richmond Park where I had my meltdown the week before, so I could shake off the bad memories.

When I look back at the same weekend pre VLM, I was 25 minutes faster over the 20 miles. My confidence is back. I feel like I can do this. Sub 4 hours may be a bit of an ambitious target, but I’m back in a position to give it my very best shot. I was this close to giving up entirely, but so glad I didn’t.

At least, not this week…