Race Week
Easy miles this week with a 5x2 min at MRP on Wednesday. Nothing exciting, just waiting. Each day gets slower and slower, and each day I can feel new phantom niggles.
“What if my hamstring goes? What if my calf cramps?” The usual stuff.
On Thursday I had one final appointment with Claire to check me over and confirm that I was indeed, ready to race.
“You look good, Pete. I think you’re set. Just turn on to your front and I’ll check your hamstrings”
As I turned, my back spasmed.
“Bugger.” I groaned. “I’ve thrown my back out.”
Now I had a legitimate reason to worry, but there was nothing that could be done - just wait, and hope it doesn’t let me down on Sunday.
Sunday April 14th 2024 - Manchester Marathon.
Holly and I had stayed the night in our van, parked up a kilometre from the race start in a Holiday Inn car park. We ate Gnochi, drank decaf tea and finished off a bag of Tony’s Chocolate Eggs while watching ‘The Talented Mr Ripley’ before going to sleep (if you can call it that). The wind and rain pelted the van as we kept our fingers tightly crossed for a calmer, brighter morning…
After a long, disturbed night of tossing and turning, I cancelled the alarm just before 6:45 and crawled out of bed to put the kettle on for coffee and tea (Holly insists of having a cup of tea before even thinking about rising). The wind had thankfully eased off and there was even a little sun beaming down onto the river. We ate our standard race breakfast (which is hilarious because I never eat bagels with honey and peanut butter and a banana on any day aside from race day, and the general advice has always been to eat what you would on any other training day) and allowed the race nerves to gradually build.
My back was stiff but I was fairly certain it could hold up for 26.2 miles as running seemed to be the only thing that - temporarily - made it feel better.
Whilst we went about our business, pinning on race numbers, stuffing gels into pockets, the wind seemed to be picking up again. As we stepped out of the van, it felt a lot stronger than the 12mph speeds my weather app had predicted and I sullenly accepted the fact that this was to be my race day curse.
We put our throw-away tops on and headed for the start area. Undoubtedly one of the coldest 1km walks I’ve undertaken in recent times, but also one of the more exciting ones. We saw our friend Matt and chatted for a while about his race and his hopes of going sub 2:25, then, after a short warm up, we entered the start pen.
As the final minutes counted down, I can recall predominantly checking out athletes shoes, adjusting various ‘bits and pieces’ and nearly wretching when the wind changed direction, blowing the smell of someone who apparently hadn’t washed prior to racing right into my face, inducing a strong gag reflex and causing me to dry-heave. I had literally just taken a 30g Precision gel prior to the offending gust of wind, which instantly worked its way back up into my mouth, to be quickly re-swallowed and forgotten about. TBH I was happy to get any wretching out of the way before we started running - the priority being to keep the rest of my gels down…
The gun went (or horn or whatever it was. I can rarely recall the exact method used to start any of the races I have entered) as fire and smoke rose from large torches placed at either side of the start line. After ten months from making my decision to see if a forty-something ex-powerlifter could run a sub three hour marathon, the moment had finally arrived.
I crossed the timing mat and started my watch.
There’s a couple of things I’ve learned about racing Marathons which I think hold true for most, but the number one tip would be DO NOT GO OFF TOO FAST.
I was guilty of this at Porto even though I knew full well the foolishness of doing so. It’s tough. You can tell yourself until you’re blue in the face, but when the race begins and the adrenaline surges… this is why it’s a good idea to incorporate practice races in your marathon build, such as 5k’s,10k’s, HM’s and 20 milers. Learning to race is undoubtedly as important as any other aspect of marathon training.
Having Holly pace me obviously made this a non-issue, and instead, I kept an eye on my HR. We averaged 4:12 per k very consistently and honestly, it felt very manageable, almost to the point that I wondered whether we should be running harder. The course was fairly flat but still had more inclines than I expected and not as many downhill sections as I had wished for. The wind also felt considerably stronger than the predicted 10-12mph speeds…
The first few kilometres flew past. As we hit the 20 minute mark, I pulled out a 40g Maurten 160 gel. My plan was to take 2 of these every hour. 80g of carbs every 60 minutes compared to the 120g in Porto. As I went to tear open the packet, it slipped from my hand. This is not something I’d planned for. Luckily Holly had a 20g gel that she passed to me so, even though I was down 20g of carbs for the first hour, I wasn’t too phased. Did it make a difference to how I felt later on, considering this was exactly half the fuel I took during the first hour of Porto Marathon? Maybe, maybe not. For Amsterdam, my plan is 90g carbs per hour using the Precision Fuel 90g sachets.
One thing I’ve figured with regard to race fuelling is that taking out a gel at the 20 minute mark and ’sipping’ it over the space of roughly 5 minutes, helps to take away from the temporary increased respiration from glugging down food or water too quickly when running fast. I do the same with water. Tiny sips, running with the bottle or cup for as long as I need to get the amount I want before throwing it away.
I made the decision that, mentally, I was going to get into the spirit of the race. All positivity, trying to hit as many of the ‘Hit Here for a Power-Up’ cardboard signs the kids at the side of the road were holding up, smiling at people who cheered my name - although tbf, the cheers were all for Holly until the final 2 miles. I know when it looks like I’m dying because from out of nowhere I start getting the really big roars of encouragement.
I wish I’d have known the split times were shooting for as we past 5k and 10k. All I knew was that we were aiming to pass the HM mark in 1:29, which is exactly what we did. Back when we completed Chippenham HM last September, I ran 1:28 and was totally and utterly cooked. To imagine then running another 21k at the same pace… I mean, it just wouldn’t have happened. This time around, I felt fine. The goal was simply to continue at this pace and then, if I felt good, push the pace in the last 6-10 miles. At this stage I already knew that to push faster than 4:12 per k might be a challenge.
The way I think of the crossover point from feeling good to “Ok, this may not be a free ride” during the marathon, is the same way you know you’re coming down with an illness. That moment where you notice a slightly sore throat or ever-so slightly delicate stomach; nothing to worry about at the time, but you suspect that things might feel a lot worse - you just don’t know when.
For me, this was around mile 17, after 2 fairly significant, consecutive climbs. The HR, which was averaging 155-157 climbed to 160bpm (on a downhill). Breathing became a little more laboured. This is the point where you start praying for downhills but all you get (or feel you get) are long (but slight) inclines. This is where the race started for me. We both knew that pushing faster when we hit 20 miles wasn’t on the cards, but I managed to keep the splits all the way up until the final 6km (4 miles).
Mile 22 was when a small gap opened between me and Holly. I had been dreading this moment. I knew what was to come. As soon as she looked back, the tough love started.
“Get on my heels for fuck sake” she yelled at me.
I surged with everything I had and managed to pull her back in. The only thing that prevented me from losing her was witnessing what was happening to so many other runners who had either been running in our vicinity or pushed on earlier. Like a scene from ‘The Walking Dead’ the road was strewn with casualties holding on to their hamstrings, stretching tight calf muscles or sat/lying at the edge of the road, defeated.
“This will not be me.” I muttered to myself.
The primary thought going through my head from now to the finish was that I could not let Holly run 3 hours or over - a non-negotiable when we she agreed to pace me and I would not let her down. Despite this, the gap continued to open, at which point I would give myself a talking to and then close the gap again.
It’s impossible to describe the drive and determination necessary to stay on point when you’re totally smoked, but I will say this…
You had better have a pretty damned water-tight idea of exactly why you’re attempting to hit your PB. If you don’t have the ‘Why’ you may not find a way when the marathon begins to test you.
I’m going to read this out in k’s, as this is what I have on my Coros app.
Final 6km’s
Km 37 - Pace 4:17 (down from consistent 4:12’s)
Km 38 - Pace 4:19
Km 39 - Pace 4:25
“If you keep dropping pace like this, you won’t make it - so just think about how awful you’ll feel if you go 3 hours or over. THIS IS SUPPOSED TO HURT!” Holly screamed at me.
You know those films where the medics are are performing CPR in the operating room and the line on the machine stays flat after every shock? That was me. But then, as we moved toward Km 40, I felt a beep. Small enough that my brain started to function again at about 30% of normal capacity, and the urgency of the situation dawned on me.
“Move”
I zoned in on Holly and focussed on reeling her back, with the intention of not letting go once I had.
Km 40 - Pace 4:22
‘2K to go!” Holly yelled for the second time, thinking I hadn’t noticed her attempt to pull the wool over my eyes at Km 39.
I remember the only phrase running through my head now was simply: “I’m doing this” - even though I genuinely believed I was going to throw up and pass out at the same time.
Km 41 - Pace 4:19
I recognised where we were. We were heading in to the home stretch.
When Holly shouted to me that the finish was just around the corner, the feeling went from my legs and I knew that fate would either carry me to the end or leave me in a heap on the road.
Km 42 to End - 4:05
We turned and saw the finish line some way up ahead. I looked down at my watch as it read 2:58:21… this was going to be close. I looked toward where the time would normally be displayed and for whatever reason, they had decided to remove the clock this year. I continued to close, drawing on everything and anything I had left. Even as I approached the final few metres my brain wouldn’t allow me to believe I had made it, until I crossed the line and stopped my watch:
2:59:19
The next few minutes are a total blur, but I can tell you that the elation of having achieved a goal that, honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d ever come close to completing, was far stronger than I expected. It stayed for the next couple of days. A feeling of total happiness. Not contentment, but genuine happiness. This is a rare feeling, I imagine for many (if not most) people. Obviously as mentioned in earlier blog posts there is a reason for this and my perception may be distorted when it comes to others ‘feelings’, but this, for me, is huge.
How do I feel now, 6 days later? Content. The satisfaction of working toward something is what keeps me sane.
So now, I’m starting to recover. I’m a little less beaten up and I’ve had a good first session back in the gym… who knows, maybe I’ll go for a run on Monday.