I was seeing red, lots of red. There was also lots of
glitter as I was stood bent double at the finish line of the Frankfurt Marathon
with a new PB and legs that were protesting fiercely.
The build-up to this race had been a strange one. I can’t
say I’d felt nervous at all until the day before the race. The long runs had
gone well, and I had enjoyed training through the summer rather than battling
the winter elements as I had done before London.
Of course, as tends to happen with these things, it hadn’t been
completely plain sailing. I’d picked up an MCL injury the weekend of the
Northern Road Relays. This had limited my running for a couple of weeks. I’d
tried to limit the damage by concentrating on getting out of the LSRs, missing
the weekday easies. More seriously, in
the couple of weeks before the race, I’d suffered pretty badly with my digestive system. It had all
the hallmarks of IBS and the truth was *graphic detail alert* I hadn’t been
able to run more than 5Km without an urgent need to shit myself (yeah, that was
a long 90 minute run). This has knocked, not only my confidence, but also my
energy systems out of balance. I realised that I wasn’t storing the nutrients
from my food, and each attack was leaving me feeling quite weak. People were
also noticing I was losing weight, not the way I would want to! Big pressures
at work (a new job with double the commuting time as well as dealing with my
old job trying to get handover) and other realities of life means that I’ve
been pretty stressed, and that was probably was brought the IBS on. A lesson
that sometimes life does get in the way of running!
As everything was booked and arranged, I had to go out to
Frankfurt, but I had no idea what was going to happen. All I had at my disposal
was a shedload of Immodium and crossed fingers.
We arrived in Frankfurt and found the hotel – Roomers. Very
nice, although possibly a bit too nice. Even the cleaners were in suits. It was
the sort of place which made you feel you should be grateful for staying there.
But the room was lovely and we settled in. Frankfurt is a great city, very
relaxed (odd given the circumstances).
Seeing the other RunningwithUs guys was great and a gentle
25minute run on the Saturday morning was the first run I’d been able to do in a
fortnight without the world going wrong. During the day, we headed to the expo
to get my race number and Steve and myself found a great brunch place I’d read
about. That evening, Nick’s pre-race briefing was as inspiring as ever. You
could feel the tension in the room but I think everyone was probably like me at
that stage, just wanted to get it out of the way.
Race day soon came round. For breakfast I’d not taken any
chances and brought some Weetabix with me (although no spoon doh) and then with
race number pinned to my PLS vest it was time to head to the start. Bag drop
was seamless, toilet was visited numerous times (nervous me?), Garmin crashed
and needed a hard reset (of all the times to do that), and I was stood in the
start pen.
My race plan was to replicate the progression style of my
long runs, so I would run ‘easy’ for 10Km, ‘race pace’ for 10Km, back down to
easy for 10Km and then push at the 30Km mark to the end. The first part of the
race felt as it should, easy, there were people overtaking me, but I didn’t let
it bother me. We headed round a number of loops of the city centre, meaning
there were quite large crowds the whole time. Being a bit exuberant, I’d missed
taking my first gel at 30mins, taking it at 40 instead. Not the end of the
world, but I needed to focus on the task in hand. I#d settled into a pace of 4:45/km, on
reflection slightly faster than I’d been in training (when I’d stuck to 5:00/Km
easy). At the 10Km mark it was time to up the pace, we happened to be going downhill
at this point and I started flying. It felt really good to stretch the legs. As
we headed over the river, it started to rain, considering the biblical weather
that was predicted around Europe that weekend, we seemed to be getting off
quite lightly.
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| Feeling great and pushing on at 13Km |
The 15km mark came and went; I was breaking it down to 10Km
chunks, so I was able to tell myself 5Km until the ease-back point. I was
getting used to the water stations, possibly my ONLY criticism of the race. The
water came in little paper cups, and the amount you got depended on the person
who had filled it. Sometimes you got a full one, sometimes it was half-full, so
you had to scramble around for another one. I think for an IAAF Gold-label
race, it really should be bottles. It amused me that there was Tea at every
station though.
At the halfway point it was time to ease back. I was
starting to feel the effort now and the finish seemed to be a long way away.
Having memorised the route map, I knew that 25Km would be back across the river
so it was a relief to cross the bridge. My pace hadn’t come down as much as
would have liked, but I was in good form so I decided to go with the flow and
crack on. The course then pisses about for 5Km in a lovely like old town (I
think it is called Horsct). I took the opportunity to piss about myself, or
more accurately at the side of the route. Sorry for going into detail, but it
seemed to be the longest stream of wee I’ve ever experienced! The seconds were
ticking by, but it was the right thing to do.
Not long after that I spotted fellow Penny Lane Strider,
Paul Riley on the other side of the road, we managed to miss each other up to
the. It was a bit of a relief to know he
was in front of me (I worked out about 1.5Km in front) as it would have been
mentally tough to have been passed on the course. When I was coming back in
almost exactly the same spot, I saw Kevin from RunningwithUs – a secret
Lemonade Sprinter.
The 30Km mark was approaching and I knew Nick would be
thereabouts. Paul’s brother gave me an unexpected cheer and boost at 29Km. Soon
after, I spotted Nick (looking in the other direction). It was wonderful to be
able to say “Yes!” when he asked “Do you feel okay?” as I’d felt like death
warmed up when I saw him in London. “Well push on” was his reply. I’d planned
to do just that at 30Km which was rapidly approaching.
The 30Km marker is the start of a long straight road of
about 5Km. I took the pace up as planned, and was going on quite nicely. A water station came up sooner than expected…
Now I should have ignored it and pushed on to the next one.
But any marathon runner will tell you, the aid stations become a sanctuary in
the latter stages of a race. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the drinks were
being given out in the paper cups. You had to slow down to see how much water
was in the cup and if you’d need to get another one for tipping over yourself
to cool down. As good an idea as the sponges are, they are nothing in
comparison to tipping 300ml of water over your head.
So I slowed down to get drinks and then found it almost
impossible to speed back up again. Legs just weren’t doing what I wanted them
to do. I was staying calm and telling myself “just a bad Km, carry on” but I
couldn’t seem to get back on the pace and focus as I had done for the first ¾ of
the race. I was taking some solace that others around me were struggling as
well but it was cold comfort. Somehow I’d lost a mental battle almost without
noticing. Each water station was a chance of a pause (well slow down) and a
drink, so the course back into town was a bit stop-start. I tried, but your
brain is in a bad place by that point. I was telling myself Steve Way’s words
to the GB Men “Don’t be Shit, Don’t Be Shit”. The support from the crowd was amazing. By
doing another few laps in town before the finish, we got the massive crowds
again when we needed them most.
I noticed one of the RunningwithUs guys , Kevin, from his
Crowborough Runners vest. “Just stay with him” told myself. I was in that dark
nether world just before the end of the race when times are really irrevevant.
It was a case of survival at that point. I stayed with him for (I think) about
a Km but the Calf Snipers were in full force at that point and I had to slow to
a hobble briefly. But with each step I was getting closer to home. I passed
Duncan, another RwU runner coming in the other direction at about 40.5Km. I
shouted encouragement and he looked at me with the most powerful expression I
think I’ve been on a runner. After the summer he’s had, much kudos to him, I’m in
awe of the running community at times.
I saw Steve (for the first time) stood at the 41km mark. I
headed over and handed him my gel belt, of little use now. I tried to speak,
but I couldn’t. If I had I would have burst into tears and I think he might
have done as well. I only had 1200m to go. Three laps of a track, but it was
like being asked to stand at the start line and do it all again.
 |
| This is what 41Km felt like |
The final long straight involves running under the start line
and then turning left to head into the indoor finish. On that left turn, with
200m to go, we were hit with a wind that properly stopped everyone in their
tracks. It was a wind tunnel! But we battled on, grizzled. Suddenly I was no
longer outside and there was the finish line in front of me. I apologise, dear reader,
but the lasers and the cheerleaders passed me by. I just saw the finish line.
 |
| Nothing in the universe exists apart from that finish line |
And that’s how I came to be bent double, staring at the red
carpet and glitter with a new PB of 3:27:33 and a ticket into the sub 3:30
party.
I’m going to write a Part 2 tomorrow as there is more story
to tell and more lessons to share. Hope you come back for a read.
Great read,well done.
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