Yorkshire marathon race report

My first visit to York was as a kid, when my parents took me to the Minster. I started crying because it was so dark in there and it scared me so much they had to leave. My Dad still winds me up about this now, even in my forties!

I don't why I decided to enter Yorkshire marathon. I wanted an autumn marathon that wouldn't cost me too much (ruling out Chicago). I'd run a couple of the Tomlinson events before and thought they were decently organised. I go to York quite a lot for meetings and thought, that looks like a nice place to run. I've been to the races in York, and had quite a fun weekend. Maybe I wanted to give the Minster another chance. So I entered as soon as it was announced.

The race rapidly became my target for the year. Supposedly flat and PB friendly, this seemed like a real chance to make a dent in my marathon PB. I was bit worried about running a smaller marathon in rural areas, as I thought that there might be long stretches where I was running alone with very little spectator support.

We arrived at the University for the start. I headed straight to the toilet queue before going to drop off my bag. The queue for the bag drop was worrying long when we arrived, and not moving at all. It didn't seem likely I'd have time to drop my bag and get to the start pen, but then after a few minutes the bottleneck cleared and the queue started to move quite quickly. After dropping off the bag, we then had to make our way through the narrow bridge walkways of York's lakeside campus, which made for a lot of congestion. Initially I thought that we would never get off on time, but somehow, miraculously, we made it through to the pens with time to spare.

As far as my sub 4 plans were concerned, I'd decided to follow the 3:56 pacer. As I was queuing for the toilets pre-race, Beloved went on a fact finding mission to spot a good post-race meeting point. He returned to tell me that he'd seen the 3:56 pacer, and he looked rough. Beloved reckoned he'd been out the night before and wasn't to be relied upon. I think this was all part of a strategy to relax me, as when I was in the start pen, stood by the pacer, Beloved started miming necking pints, then pointing to the pacer, which had me in fits of giggles and really took the edge off my pre-race nerves.

Before

And then we were off. The race defied the weather forecast and turned on the sunshine. We all banged down the downhill from the university with the pacer but as we hit on the first bit of flat, I decided that I didn't want to stay with the pacer. I felt it was too fast for me, and I didn't feel comfortable at that pace. So I eased off about 10-15 secs and felt immediately at ease. I managed to stay really consistent with my pace, knocking out very even splits. The plan was working.

Running through central York was a bit of a mix. As we ran through the shopping area, most of the people watching were just a bit bemused about how to get across the road, and there wasn't much noise for the runners. Then we turned towards the Minster, and it all changed. There was a massive crowd, making a significant noise, and the bells were ringing out for the runners. I had my first little cry here, I found the bells quite emotional - it just felt like the city itself was cheering me on. Obviously the Minster wasn't holding my childhood hissy fit against me.

Running through York's surrounding villages, the locals really turned out in force to keep us going. I needn't have worried it would be really lonely out in the countryside - there was support at every village, and even at points in between.

Happy at mile 5

Every now and again, I felt the odd twinge in the left ITB but was able to manage it by changing my stride slightly, moving to more steps per minute. This immediately eased the pain, so I tried to stay with the quicker turnover, and it still felt comfortable.  At mile 14, I was well on target for a sub 4, with a bit of wriggle room. I felt properly good.

Then it all went wrong at the mile 15 water station. My pace always eases off at water stations, otherwise I get quite windy, so I tried to push on a bit a few 100 yards after I'd finished my drink, and my left leg just went. Everything above the left knee went into meltdown - my quad, my hamstring, my hip. It was like a mass muscle tantrum. It was a slight incline so I thought I'd just ease off a bit and pick up when we got back on the flat, but my leg had other ideas. There was no picking it back up.

I saw Beloved again at mile 18, and gave him the double thumbs down. But he shouted back that I was only 2 minutes off my time, so I tried to push on. It was just not happening, my leg would not work. I was dragging it like Igor in Young Frankenstein. At about mile 19, a woman slowed beside me to check I was ok. She was also struggling and we shared our leg pain woes. But we plugged on.

I did all the mental calculations - was it a problem that meant I should stop? Or was it just one that needed me to slow down? I wasn't in agony, my left leg was just seizing up, so I plugged on, trying to inject spurts of (relative) speed as often as possible. As long as I didn't stop, I could make it. The miles ticked away, slowly. By the time I reached mile 23, the last point where I knew I would have moral support, Beloved said it was obvious my leg had just given up, that I was dragging it along. But he kept these thoughts to himself and cheered me on. By now, my pace was so slow I might as well have been walking it!

It was such a strange marathon. The first 15 miles were pure fun, I felt on top of my running game. The rest of the race was not about me anymore, it became about the support. It took every ounce of mental strength I had to keep running, albeit slowly. When it became obvious I wouldn't make sub 4, I tried to make sure I would get a PB. And when it became obvious that a PB wasn't going to happen, I had to make sure I finished and got a medal for this ordeal. I don't think I could have managed it without the spectators and the marshals. In the last four miles, it seemed that everyone I passed shouted my name and gave me encouragement. I haven't experienced personal support like that since my first marathon in New York in 2009. Maybe it's just places that have York in the name that really get behind people in that way, but it made all the difference. In mile 25, a woman spoke to me with such warmth, I burst into tears. Not sad tears, but grateful tears.

Unhappy at mile 23

Then I saw that last hill, and I felt like crying again. What evil organiser puts a hill in the final mile? A Yorkshireman of course. At the top of the hill, a woman told me it's the only hill in York. I wonder if she thought this would make me feel better? She was wrong!

After cresting the top of the hill, my legs cruelly decided that they would respond positively to a final push and I sprinted down to the finish, trying to get done as fast as possible. A photographer snapped me just as I was grimacing, and we had a bit of a laugh about how much I would hate that photo. As I came to the end, and the announcer read out my name, all the disappointment about my time was replaced with a sense of satisfaction at finishing my hardest marathon yet.

I can't lie - I was gutted not to finish sub 4. But I had kept myself going by telling myself I had run a marathon, which is more than most people had done that day. I just felt relieved to have done it at all. Stubbornness always beats disappointment in my world!

In a last ditch attempt to cheer me up, the organisers had given us some Seabrooks salt and vinegar crisps in the goody bag. I couldn't have been happier if I'd found 10 £50 notes in there. It was the final Yorkshire touch.

Where did I put those crisps?

I'd definitely recommend the marathon for future years. It wasn't pancake flat, and putting the worst hill in at mile 26 is pretty cruel, but it was worth doing it for the support along the route. I'd been worrying for nothing. Old York can give New York a run for its money.

Disappointed with my time, but delighted to finish

I will do that sub 4 one day - I feel confident from my first 15 miles. If I stay fit, I can make it. Particularly if there are crisps at the end!

The good, the bad and the ugly: Great North Run 2014 race review

Sunday was my 4^th attempt at the Bupa Great North Run. It's become the highlight of my race calendar and it's also a really good benchmark for my training progress, as it's the race I've run most regularly. This year, as part of Operation sub 4hr Marathon, I was aiming for a new half marathon PB of 1 hour 55 minutes.

My highlights were:

The Race – as ever, the GNR is not just a half marathon, it’s an occasion. As well as being a major charity fundraising event, it’s also a significant local event, and is definitely the highlight of Felling's social calendar. This ensures that there is a massive amount of support all the way round, in any weather.  You get the traditional support points (Elvis in a bus stop, anyone?) and, of course, the Red Arrows flypast. In fact, I love this bit so much I have decided I would like the Red Arrows to give me a fly past at all my half marathons. I'd pay a little bit extra if you can guarantee it, race organisers of the UK. Thank you very much in advance.

The costumes – there’s a lot of creativity and boldness in the Great North Run. If you’re running under 2 hours, you don’t get to see quite as many costumes as you do starting further back, but this year I spotted a massive Bagpuss, a male Wonder Woman, the Ugly Sisters, a St George riding a dragon and a group of men wearing nothing more than a pair of Toon Army budgie smugglers. But my favourite was the Tyne Bridge I saw while waiting to start. I only hope the cardboard structure didn’t collapse in the rain.
 

The start - I'd also like to add 'high fiving an Olympian' as a prerequisite to all my races. Ellie Simmonds last year, and now Christine Ohorugu - they are definitely a good luck charm. (Although the cricket fan in me is  secretly a bit disappointed I didn't get to high five Graeme Swann)

The weather – it didn’t rain before the start, and it didn’t rain all the way round, as forecast. And I only got hit by one gust of wind. Result.

My time – I did manage sub 1:55, by a single, beautiful, second. I used a pace band this year, which I've only ever used in marathons before, although I only remembered to look at it after mile 7. I started off fine, but found miles 2 & 3 a bit tough, then recovered and was able to keep going without any major setbacks. My pace was inconsistent, because I decided to just go with the race - some miles were difficult to do fast, as there were so many people, others I ran well under 1:55 min pace. But I just thought it was easier to embrace an inconsistent pace than try and fight the conditions. Physically, I actually felt quite good except for those miles 2 and 3, and I could probably have even done it a few seconds faster, with fewer runners and more positive thinking. Overall the finish time, and how I felt afterwards, has given me a lot of confidence in my marathon training and the progress  I've made in terms of speed.

But it wasn't all good:

My pre-race dinner –I disastrously went to a different restaurant this year before the race. I couldn't face spaghetti Bolognese again so instead of boring old pasta, I ordered steak and chips, which worked brilliantly for me pre GNR 2012, where I scored my first sub 2 hour half marathon. However, the chips were greasy and oily and I couldn’t eat them, so just managed a bit of meat and a mushroom. I'd also ordered bruschetta for starter but the bread was soggy and undertoasted so couldn't face that either. I spent the rest of the evening worrying about my carb intake.

My negative thoughts – I really, really, need to work on my inner voice. According to my pace band, I went out about 20 seconds too fast on the first mile. I panicked, slowing down in miles 2 and 3, where I felt really sluggish. I then spent miles 4 and 5 berating myself for scuppering my time changes by going off too fast. I spent a lot of time telling myself I couldn’t do it, blaming the rain or my pre-race. By mile 8, I was alternating between a positive mile and a negative mile, which was pretty sapping. I know this does not make the task any easier but yet I still do it. Something I need to work on for York, where there are a lot more miles to fit negative thoughts into.

The weather – although not as bad as they’d forecast, it was still a soggy one. I didn’t get rained on until about mile 3 but, boy, did I get rained on. By mile 8, the water was squelching out of the vents in the top of my running shoes, and it was like running in a pair of wet sponges from there. There was a lot of puddles to avoid and weave past. Combined with the occasional severe gust of wind hitting my from the right, there were moments were I thought I might just get the bus to the end. 

Toilet queues - I know races can never have enough toilets but, really, the Great North Run is shocking for toilet queues. I got there at 8.40 and there was still a massive queue. Last year I queued for 55 minutes and I was determined not to do that again, so managed to get there earlier and reduce the wait to 15 minutes instead. But it's not ideal because then you're at the start for too long, on your feet. Not ideal for those who actually want to run the thing.

The congestion – this year there were more starters than ever before – 41000. And it showed out there on the course. In the previous 3 attempts at this race, I’ve never experienced anything like the congestion of this year. It was nearly as bad as the London marathon! It definitely makes it more of a challenge to get through and maintain a pace, and my splits are very random. The runners welfare bikes in mile 10 weren't much help either, weaving in and out of the runners and getting in the way. I’m not sure if it was so busy this year because there were more starters, or because I started in a faster pen. Perhaps it’s because of the chaos at the start pen this year, where some a-hole decided that because he couldn't be arsed to walk to the gate for white numbers, he would lift the crash barrier out of its base and let a massive group of people climb under it.
This made for a massive crush in our pen, a massive amount of tension and loads of arguments. Security took over 5 minutes to turn up and then they must have gone away again, as all of a sudden it started again. Once inside the pen, this guy continued to lift the barriers up for others to climb under. It felt really unsafe by the time we started and it got really ugly for a few moments. I don't think the Great North Run really needs to start on this sour note and the organisers really need to address this better next year, by ensuring that there is plenty of security on the first few pens, not just by the gates themselves.

I'll be back next year again, if they'll have me. Maybe next year I'll be aiming for sub 1:50!

Putting the Great in North Run

I got my race pack this week for my favourite race - the Great North Run. Some days I waver and think the New York marathon is the best race in the world but really it can't compare to the Great North Run. It's part of our culture. If, like me, you grew up in the northeast of England, it's one of the major events of the year, up there with Christmas and a rare spot of hot weather. It's not even a marathon, yet it generates as much publicity and excitement as a much longer race. For me, the 13.1 miles from Newcastle to South Shields are the best 13.1 miles in the world. And here's why.

Toilets
It's a little known fact that The Great in North Run actually refers to the urge you will experience to go to the loo when you see the length of the queues. With loo waiting times like no other race, it gives you a chance to chat to fellow runners and bond over whether or not that hedge over there would be a suitable alternative if you don't get to the front before your pen closes. Everyone knows that the perfect race prep is queueing for 55 minutes, realising your pen is about to close, abandoning the queue to pee in a bush on a motorway embankment then slithering down the slope to get into your pen with seconds to spare. Isn't it?

Celebrity starters
Running the Great North Run, you get to touch the palms of the British great and good. Where else can you get to high five a collection of British celebrities as wide ranging as Sting and Ellie Simmonds at the start of a race? Not for us, the Ryan Goslings and George Clooneys of this world. We are delighted if we get to touch the palms of Ant or Dec. (Well, just Ant actually, cos they were doing a side each). You wouldn't get to start the race to 'Let's get ready to rumble' with Ryan Gosling, would you? 

The great Mo Farah started the race in 2011. This year he'll be starting it in a very different way, but it will be just as exciting for the runners waiting behind him. We're all giving him a head start. Honest.

Oggy, Oggy, Oggy. Traditions are important, and this one gets everyone off to a flyer. Many have copied, but nowhere does Oggy, Oggy, Oggy like a motorway flyover  in Newcastle. Even when it's soggy, soggy, soggy, the locals are out with the oggy, oggy, oggy. And everyone obediently responds 'oi, oi, oi' in return. It's as much part of the first mile as sorting out your Garmin pace. I don't know where it came from but I hope it never goes away!

Support
The local support for this race is incredible, given the route. Don't run the Great North Run if you want nice scenery. There is a lot of dual carriageway involved in this race. But that doesn't mean that there is only support in residential areas or at the finish by the seaside. There is support everywhere. People bring picnic chairs and put them on the hard shoulder so they can sit, hand out baby wipes (!) and watch the race. Even when it rains. To be honest, if we northeast people didn't go out in the rain, we'd be housebound so we're hardy souls. Which is just as well given the weather last year. It was so wet last year I was thanking spectators for coming out.

Even the little scrotes who hurl stuff at the runners make me smile. But not as much as...

Bus stop hose man
I love bus stop hose man. Every year, he stands on the top of a bus shelter on the outskirts of South Shields and 'cools down' the runners with his garden hose. Even last year, when - quite frankly - we were wet enough off the bloody rain. But I still love him for his constancy and reliability. You don't get bus stop hose man in New York (he'd probably be arrested). In fact, when it's warm and he takes his shirt off, he might even get arrested in South Shields. I just don't stick around long enough to find out.

Community refreshments
The final element of support is the catering. I've posted before on the North East's love of community refreshments. People in the North East are natural hosts, and genetically we are all wired to be worried that our visitors have got/had enough to eat. People going hungry would bring shame upon our house (or region). On Great North Run day, this gene takes to the streets, with its jelly babies, ice pops, orange segments, plastic cups filled to the undrinkable brim with Coke and orange squash. There's even one woman with a tin of digestive biscuits. I mean, if you're doing all that exercise, you must be hungry. Get this bit of cake down you. Ee, pet, you're wasting away...

Fancy dress
I am not a big fan of fancy dress in races. It can be a bit of a hindrance, particularly if people aren't used to running in it. But the wide motorways of the North East mean that there is plenty of room for you run past people, even if they are wearing the most cumbersome of costumes. The organisers do try to get the really big stuff to the back but there's always some sights to behold out the front. One year I say two men attempting 13.1 miles as a push me-pull you from Dr Doolittle. Which meant one had to run it backwards. Yes, that's right, backwards. There was a little gasp of awe from every runner that went past them.

Not all the fancy dress is fun to watch though. Imagine seeing this run ahead of you in the final mile. I don't have to imagine it. The image has been burned onto my retinas since September 2009.

Essay question: mankini back view is worse than front view - discuss

Size. It used to be the world's biggest half marathon until being pipped by somewhere Scandinavian. But when you turn up to go into your pen, it's hard to imagine anything bigger. The pens go back a long way, and there are so many people that it can take over 20 minutes for the people at the back to cross the start line! If you're towards the front, you can't see where the pens actually end. As the locals would say, 'hoo, man, it's massive'. You feel like you are part of something incredible.
Well, that's because you are! Enjoy!

Can you see me, mum? I'm the one in yellow! Oh, wait...