Third time's a charm

Well, I've done it. I've completed the London Marathon. Another wish ticked off that 'things to do before I am 40' list. Unfortunately, I did not get my wished-for PB. I did it in 4:26:37, not under 4:15 as planned. But I did learn a lot about running from yesterday's incredible experience.

The weather made a liar of everyone and gave us perfect running conditions (unless of course you had wrapped up for the predicted low temperatures and wet weather - I was glad I had taken the risk of just going for my preferred race gear plus my charity vest). The organisation at the start was excellent, making for a relaxed pre-race feeling. And the crowds were incredible. I've been to watch the marathon before and I don't remember there being the sheer weight of numbers that were out there yesterday. 

At points in the race the crowd were as good as a pair of fresh legs. Tower Bridge and its support gave me a speedy mile. Seeing Beloved at mile 13 and he and other friends at mile 22 gave me bursts of energy and positive thoughts that carried me forwards.

And I really needed all the energy and positive thoughts I could get. London was the hardest marathon I've ever run, mentally and physically. I didn't race the race I planned to race, and essentially blew my own race strategy by going off a tiny bit too fast at the start. But I managed to rein myself back in from mile 2 and felt good, felt back on target. 

Around Cutty Sark, the atmosphere was so electric that it gave me my happiest moment of running ever. I am just glad I wasn't caught by the TV cameras, because I know I was grinning like an idiot, high on the deafening noise of the crowd and the band. I saw a spectator so happy to see her friend or partner running that she looked like she'd won millions on the lottery. It was simply fantastic.

But at mile 10, it all went wrong for me. My right knee started to hurt on the outside. I've had aches and pains on long runs before, and often it's a psychological thing that I can just run off. So I kept going, expecting the pain to pass before long. The sight of Tower Bridge was as good as any Ibuprofen - I started grinning like a mad fool again, running across the bridge with a maniacal smile on my face. I was excited at the prospect of seeing my Beloved in a mile or so, and the pain didn't seem to be a problem. 

By mile 15, it became apparent the pain wasn't going anywhere and it was going to stick with me for the rest of the ride. By then it became a question of mind over matter, willing it not to get worse and using every single Jedi mind trick in the book. The gels weren't giving me the spurts of energy they normally do, or at least they didn't feel like they did (a look at my splits on Endomondo suggests otherwise). Every mile from 15, I seemed to lose a few seconds and just couldn't find the energy to get them back. I was nervous about pushing too hard, in case the knee just gave out. I desperately wanted to finish the race, and finish it running. I'll never know if my overly speedy first mile was the problem, or whether I just had an underlying problem that was ready to surface, all I know is I wanted to deal with it and finish as soon as I could.

Psychologically, London was tough, because of several factors. I've done two marathons before but in cities that feel comfortable about opening up wide roads to let the runners run on. Part of the quirks of London is that you run down quite a few stretches which only fit a few runners across. If those runners suddenly decide to stop running and start walking (which seems to be a 50/50 chance in London) then this makes the route something of a bottleneck. I don't think this slowed me down as much as messed with my head, frustrated me, made me impatient and gave me negative thoughts.

The main thing that screws with your mind though is the number of people who just collapse in a heap on the side. By the time I reached 22 miles I didn't dare look to the side any more, because it was starting to mess with my head. I had moved from a time goal, to the goal of making it round without collapsing in a heap. And this is a head that knows it can run marathons, knows it can do it successfully. God knows what happens to your thoughts if it's your first marathon and people are dropping like flies around you. This wasn't something I'd witnessed in New York or Berlin, and it scared me.

And the costumes, they are really something else. They make it an incredibly inspiring and often hysterically funny experience but trying to dodge a hula hooping woman while 3 other runners are trying to take photos of her was frustrating to say the least. 

The final and most persistent frustration is the policy of handing out fluids in bottles. This is frustrating and downright hazardous. Giving people the option of 33cl portions of water every mile is wasteful and potentially dangerous. Most people just take a couple of sips and then hurl them to the side. But others just toss them on the road, where other runners have to run over them or skip over them, or often the bottles that are tossed aside bounced back off the kerb, hurtling into your foot or your calf. One runner in front of me 'helpfully' kicked away an empty glass bottle of Bulmers cider and I am eternally grateful that no one was in the way of that. And then there's the joy of running past a full plastic bottle just as someone stands on, spraying you and your trainers with water, or if you're really unlucky (like me), sticky orange Lucozade Sport. And I'm sure the irony of all those virtually full bottles of plastic water in the gutter was not wasted on all those Water Aid runners yesterday. London Marathon really need to find a better way to service runners and the environment and not make it all about the sponsors. Other marathons offer plastic cups, which are easier to sip from (and chuck over your sweaty face when you don't finish it all) and more importantly give way under foot much more easily and safely. I really didn't like the bottle aspect of it at all.

Despite all these 'nuisances', and despite my own personal performance, I loved running London. The crowd was brilliant every step of the way, and really make it a very special race. I'm deeply grateful to everyone who stood there all morning making a supportive racket and in particular to those complete strangers who encouraged me by name.  I didn't do as well as I wanted to but I'm delighted all the same, because I learnt a lot about how to run it better and if I did it again I am confident I could do a time I would be happier with. I'd employ different tactics (and maybe wear blinkers!). It ended up being an experience rather than a marathon, albeit a marathon experience. But in the end yesterday wasn't about a PB, it was about London. Which, as ever, was extraordinary. 

LON

Do you remember the first time?

Yesterday I picked up my number and my tag for the 2012 London Marathon. It's official - I'm doing this thing.

This will be my third marathon in 30 months. No big deal, given some of the awe-inspiring marathon charity challenges that take place each year. But as I get ready for this third time out, I can't quite believe how that first-time feeling won't go away.

I started big - with the 40th running of the New York Marathon in 2009. I trained dutifully, petrified at the challenge I'd set myself. The training went fairly smoothly, no major hiccups. My aim was to get round in a time that would get my name listed in the New York Times the next day and to enjoy running in a city that I love.

Like all American things, it was big. The whole thing, not just the race. The expo, the goody bag, the pre-race preamble. But most impressive of all is the way the city embraces the event. There are points on the course where it seems like the whole of New York City is stood at the side, shouting your name. There are points where there are few spectators but they usually make up for their number with a great chant. The lone fat lady in Harlem who shouted 'Go Anne Marie, that's what I'm talking about' has gone down in folklore for my family and friends.

My second marathon was Berlin. Again, the training went well. I tried a different plan, with a lot more mileage in it. I was aiming for a sub 4 hours 20 time, and a great experience in another city I love. Berlin is also big. It is tall, in its own Northern European way. It also generates a city-wide atmosphere, but not to the same extent as New York. There is great support (particularly if you are Danish), the organisation and route is faultless, and you can even get a massage en route, but it wasn't quite the same experience as New York. I did, however, beat my New York time by almost 15 minutes, so it was a fantastic marathon for me and has a special place in my heart. The final stretch down the Unter den Linden was incredibly emotional and gives you fresh legs to hit the finish line strong.

And now's I'm getting ready for my third marathon. In the city I love most of all, the city I call home. The city that can still make burst with pride to live here, and make me want to slap it for being so stupid. The training has gone ok, with more hiccups than previous years. But I feel fit and ready to run. I'm excited to run it, and intrigued to find out whether being able to eat my own food and stay in my own bed in the days beforehand will have  a positive impact on my performance and time.

But I'm more nervous than ever. The nerves don't go away, no matter how many you do. So much can depend on the day. What will the weather be like and how will that affect me? What will the crowd be like? Can it emulate the New York support, or will it be more sporadic, like Berlin? What will my stomach do? Will I need to stop for the loo, adding precious minutes to my time? How will I feel running without my marathon buddy from New York and Berlin? Will this make a difference to me at the start?

But most of all, will London do something to make me love it like I love New York and Berlin? What reason will it give me to make it special for me?

The nerves, the anticipation, the wonder - these are all part of the buzz of the marathon. The gift that keeps on giving.

Tapering is good for you - honest!!

With less than two weeks to go until the London Marathon, I can assure you that I am well and truly tapering. It's unfortunate that the taper clashes with an exponential rise in the amount of chocolate in the house but it's welcome in many other ways.

I'm tired. So tired. I have run hundreds of miles, and I'm ready to take it a little easier. I'm loving the shorter distances, the lack of speedwork, the general recuperative aspect of it all. It's not that I don't love running - I wouldn't run 5 times a week over a variety of terrains and distances if I didn't. But my body is telling me it needs a break. So I'm embracing the taper period and enjoying it as a key part of training. I tell myself that every shorter run I do, a little bit of muscle repairs itself.  Admittedly, the extra time on my hands is a bit strange, but I've managed to catch up on a lot of movies, finish a really good book and spring clean the top floor of my house (there were a lot of unwanted, oversized, race t-shirts to throw out, people).

But as I look on Twitter, and on the many blogs I read, I note that others aren't quite as 'pro-tapering' as I am. I see people adding extra miles onto shorter runs, because they are feeling good. I see people still squeezing long runs in to compensate for earlier gaps in training. Running is so addictive, we can't leave it alone, even when our training plans tell us to!

Fellow London marathoners - put your feet up! Embrace the taper. Replenish your energy stores. Repair your muscles. Use the time to investigate new and exciting ways to carb up without eating pasta for every meal. Or, like me, use it to throw out those old oversized race t-shirts you never wanted and you're just keeping 'just in case'. Sign up for some late spring races. But whatever you do, leave those extra miles alone. You won't regret it on April 22.

Pathetic Inner Voice vs Sensible Inner Voice

So this weekend was the last big push before the London Marathon - 10 miles at race pace on Friday and 20 miles long slow run on Saturday.

The 10 miles at race pace went brilliantly - my pace was strong and consistent and I felt good, loving every minute of the run.

The 20 miles, however, was not a roaring success. Perhaps it was too hot, perhaps my route was too hilly, maybe running it within 24 hours of the 10 miles at race pace was too quick. I don't know what the cause was, but miles 12-17 were the worst 5 miles I have ever run. Even worse than the time I hobbled round the last 5 miles of a 10 mile race with a foot injury.

Everything felt wrong: my legs were stiff and wooden, so tired I could barely propel them forward. Despite my normal, reliable, fuelling strategy the night before and the morning of the run, I felt hungry and dizzy. I was arguing with myself for miles 12-15, wrangling with Pathetic Inner Voice that was whining like a baby about how the run didn't feel right. Sensible Inner Voice kept reminding Pathetic Inner Voice of the fact that there were no hills left in the route and that I'd had a hard run less than 24 hours previously. But it was definitely a major dust-up between the two alter egos. I'm not sure I want to break that fight up again on April 22.

It left me with a very bruised confidence all day Saturday, reviewing my run statistics and wondering where it's all gone wrong this year, compared to my happy training experience for Berlin last autumn. Was my mad auntie right? Am I too old to run marathons?

But yesterday's news about an experienced runner collapsing at the finish line of the Reading Marathon and subsquently passing away really put it all in perspective. So what if your legs ache. So what if you should have had a bit more porridge for breakfast. You came home safe from doing something you love. And that's all we can ask for. Any day of the week.

Inspirational fridge magnets

After 3 weeks of training setbacks, ill health and random minor yet immobilising injuries, I was starting to get a bit down on the whole London Marathon thing. I've been unable to run anything at a pace for nearly 3 weeks and I'd moved from having a time goal (sub 4:15) to just wanting to get round.

But then my race magazine arrived! I have a number, I have a start zone (red - my favourite colour). I have a map of the course so I can plan where to wave to family and friends. I can ride the train to Greenwich for free. And best of all, I have another Timex race time fridge magnet to add to my collection!

The fridge magnet is applied to the fridge. Black, incomplete - a blank canvas waiting to be updated with my latest marathon time. It's next to my 2009 New York Marathon debut fridge magnet, which reads 4:34:34. What will the London one read on April 22?

Will it be a time at all or will all these interruptions to my training backfire? Or will it be another PB? Who knows? But a flexible fridge magnet has completely restarted my enthusiasm and boosted my confidence for London in a matter of seconds.

Mopeds and missing marathon training in Marrakech

I always knew I had to go to Marrakech for a weekend right in the middle of my marathon training. Booked months in advance, I had scheduled around it. I'd make sure that I wouldn't miss out on the long run I was supposed to do that weekend. What I hadn't planned for was that the two weekends before that would also be beset by setbacks, first a bad fall, and second flu. So I was already playing catch-up on my training, missing two long runs.
I like to run in new or different places - hence my choice of NYC and Berlin marathons in the past. Running somewhere different refreshes you mentally and physically. Everywhere I travel, for work or pleasure, I take my kit. Friends I visit know I'll be getting up early to take in their local streets. But somehow I knew that Marrakech wasn't going to be an option. I decided not to even bother taking running stuff, and just to make sure I got a long run in either side of the weekend.

I was right to assume that I wouldn't get the chance to run in Marrakech. The weekend was a packed programme of eating, drinking, excursions in extremely dilapidated taxis and more drinking. Celebrating 40th birthdays is simply not condusive to marathon training.

Besides, it was virtually impossible to walk in the Medina, let alone run. Any run would have been retitled 'escape the moped riding down the narrow alley', while shouting 'j'ai déjà mangé' at people trying to coax you into their restaurants. I'd also feel fairly disrespectful running in short shorts and top in that city, where women tend to cover up. I saw only one runner all weekend, and that was a guy out by the airport. Although I did see a large group of French cyclists at one point - I suspect they might still be trying to cross the first road they came to.

So I'm glad I pushed myself to run 20 miles last week before my trip, and happy that I was able to relax and enjoy Marrakech for what it is, without looking for a place to run.  Maybe I'll go back there one day for a running excursion.  If I can get across the road.

I'm not panicking yet, but...

I'm starting to feel overwhelmed by training setbacks at the moment.

My first attempt at a 20 mile run ended in a busted elbow, stiff & swollen knees and some fairly spectacular bruising. I managed to get back out running after three days, plenty of ibuprofen and some fairly creative use of frozen peas.

I decided to continue my training programme where I left off, not going back to the 20 miler but heading on with training as if it were all on track. This mean going into a low mileage week, which I thought it would give my sore knee a chance to recover fully.

This has turned out to be a big mistake, physically and psychologically. After a few short runs last week, I headed out on Saturday morning for a 6 mile run at race pace. I had woken up with a sore throat, but nothing major. Just a quarter of a mile in, I knew I didn't feel right. I couldn't breath properly, labouring at even a snail's pace. So I nixed the idea of a paced run, and just crawled slowly round for a couple of miles before calling it a day and heading home. By Saturday evening, my bones ached and my temperature was positively tropical.

So my 12 mile run on Sunday was cancelled, and I now have a wonderfully wheezy chest to go with the aches and the sore throat. I'm resting, just as I know I should, but the physical layoff is playing havoc with my race confidence.

What if I don't get to do a 20 miler? My next one is scheduled for Thursday, as I can't run Friday-Sunday as I am in Marrakech for a 40th birthday party, but what if my chest isn't clear by then. I'll be 5 weeks away from a marathon and won't have run further than 17 miles.

What if I have yet another setback? What if they are like London buses and come in threes? I am vaguely panicking about the whole marathon training plan - the last two weeks have been a disaster for fitness and confidence.

And why is it always such beautiful weather when I am laid off running? It's like the weather gods love to rub it in!

I know I need to stop panicking. I know that if the worst comes to the worst, I can head out for a 20 mile run next Monday after work. I know I can chuck the training plan out and focus on getting the long runs done, even in the rain. I know that no marathon training plan is without a setback. But that doesn't stop me being frustrated at those setbacks, as every single issue I face just adds minutes to my time and takes me away from a PB.

I just have to keep telling myself, I know that I can run a marathon. See, look, photographic evidence...

'ooh, Vic - I've fallen'

I need a bit of Reeves and Mortimer to cheer me up. Today started well. I'd prepped for my first 20 mile run of the year with a good meal last night, and porridge this morning. I got a couple of critical work tasks out of the way, and the sun came out. I was ready to run.

I'd planned to run to Richmond Park, do a lap, then home, which works out neatly to 20 miles. It even has a natural 'blue pop stop' (or for you non-northerners, a newsagents that sells blue Powerade) built in on the way back. It was perfect running weather, sunny but mild. Great conditions for a 20 miler.

I should have known however, when that lone magpie landed on the roof outside my office window at 9am, that it would be a bad omen for the run. I am incredibly superstititious about magpies, and have never yet been let down by the 'one for sorrow, two for joy' mantra.

My magpie kicked in just after the 4 mile mark, where I somehow stumbled on God knows what. I went stuntman, slo-motion style right into the road, and landed flat on my front, with my kneecaps and elbows bearing the brunt. Sometimes when I fall when running I just wish someone could record it so I watch the playback. It seems to take forever to fall, so long that sometimes I have been able to right myself and not go splat. But I was not so lucky today.

I was lucky there were no cars were coming along - it could have been much worse. I took a bit of time to pick myself up as I'd winded myself going splat on the tarmac, and pretty much decided that 20 miles was now out. But because I am a crazy runner, and crazy runners do that thing where they just can't leave running alone, I decided I would run the 4 miles home again.

My left knee quickly disagreed with this course of action. If knees could talk, mine definitely said 'get yourself to a 65 bus stop now, before I go on strike completely'. This was literally adding insult to injury to me, as I hate buses (as famously described in series 2 of Green Wing, 'mobile asylums') and I hate not being able to finish my run.

I was a bit teary by the time the bus turned up, and nearly broke down into full flown sobs when he charged me £2.30 to carry my wounded pride and joints home. My elbow was covered in blood, and my favourite running top is now sporting an extra bit of arm ventilation, and the pain in my arm was so intense I was seriously worried I had fractured my elbow. I felt pretty confident my knees were intact, if just battered, bloodied and swollen. But my arm did not feel good at all.

One shower, lashings of Savlon and several judiciously placed 'cotton wool pads tacked on with plasters' later, I am now back at my desk, bag of peas on the knees, and counting my lucky stars I'm still intact enough to run that marathon in 7 weeks and 2 days. No long run this week, and pretty low on the mileage overall since Monday, but hopefully I can get back out in a couple of days and start building up again. And, of course, learn how to lift my feet a bit higher!