My experience of marathons to date was of large crowds, booming music, large sponsor banners and it being a general chore to get to the main starting point of the race. Tilsley Park in Abingdon, Oxford was in complete contrast to the large marathons that I had attended (Brighton specifically comes to mind). On this cold, crisp and overcast morning there were few indications that anything was about to occur, if it weren’t for the signs and cones indicating road closures, you could have been forgiven for thinking a large track meet was going to take place.
It was only when I found the track within Tilsley Park that you could feel the familiar tension that all runners share pre-marathon. I spoke to a few of my fellow London Heathsiders, as I went to drop my bag off, and they provided me with two very useful things. The first was a bin liner to stay warm for the 15 -20 minutes that we waited for the start of the race and the other was the advice of not to go off too quickly for the first six miles. This was because it was mostly downhill and there was the danger of wearing your legs out before the rest of the marathon. We all decided to go our separate ways, and begin our unique pre-marathon rituals. I weighed up the ultimate perennial question that goes through a marathon runner’s head: do I need to go to the loo again? The answer was yes, but I didn’t quite know what for and with time running out I decided it would just be a quick wee.
My time in the loo was hastened by the general tannoy announcement that there was only 10 minutes before the start of the race. My nerves were really starting to have an effect on me and I could feel the surge of adrenalin kicking in now. So I emerged, clad in my bin liner, and fiddling with my gel belt to see the start line of my first marathon of 2016. I was hit with a wave of emotion, for anyone not familiar with my running this year; I had to pull out of the London Marathon due to injury. I was then told by the first physiotherapist that I saw, that I probably wouldn’t be able to train the way I had done before. So in a strange way I felt quite a large sense of achievement to make it to a marathon in 2016 and to be in decent race form.
There was also a sense of bewilderment as I saw between 600 -800 runners line up on the Tilsley track. I had arrived too late to find a spot close to the front, but decided to insert myself near the front at the side. My garmin beeped at me to let me know that it was ready for the next few hours ahead of us. I fiddled with my belt once more, just to check it was tight enough round my waist. I can’t quite remember what happened next, but I hear the people around me count down the last 10 seconds of the final minute to our start and then possibly an air horn goes off or we just start. I was so keen to get started that I just can’t remember.
The whole marathon starts off slowly for me. We are going round the track and onto the road at about 7:30 minutes per mile (min/mile). Luckily I had learnt my lesson from my Brighton Marathon 2015 attempt; so I realised that there was no point wasting energy trying to get to your race pace when all I had to do was be patient for a minute or so. My experience paid off and the field began to open up; I took my chance and started darting in and out of the slower runners I was around. I finally found my garmin telling me that I was doing 6:50 min/ mile. I relaxed a little and started to take in my surroundings a little bit more. I could hear the steady rhythmic pounding of hundreds of shoes hitting the road and this was overlaid by the echo of people’s sports watches telling them how far they had gone or fast they were going.
By now the big mass we had all started as was forming into smaller pelotons and I felt quite secure in the pace that I was going at. I overhear two runners discussing whether this is their first marathon. They laugh nervously as they realise this is their first time at running 26.2 miles. I smile to myself and remember my first marathon, but this – as well as their nervous laughter- is interrupted by another runner telling them that they shouldn’t have time to talk during a marathon. I think about saying something, but my attention is drawn to the beeping from my garmin, my pace is too slow (my target pace is 6:50 min/mile). So I decided to myself that I don’t want to be around this negativity and speed up.
The next couple miles zip by and I try to remember that I need to take the first six miles at my target pace, or my legs will make me pay for it. I always find the first few miles of the marathon are quite difficult. I feel heavy with all the food I have been eating in my final taper week and I am still trying to get into a rhythm.
We run through a Waitrose car park, which has quite a surreal feel to it, as I eat my energy ball as we near 25- 30 minutes into the race. We then proceed through Abingdon and along a pretty stretch of river. I am starting to feel lighter now and can feel my legs motoring along nicely. We approach the first loop and then a runner pulls up, she is clutching her calf and having a go at herself. It is every runner’s nightmare to pick up an injury as they are running a race and I can feel my face grimace, as I pass her by. I tell myself to focus on the race. I see the sign for mile 6 and realise from the course map that we are now on the first loop. A few minutes later on I then see mile 15; someone in the group of runners I am with says: “If only I we were at mile 15 now”.
We all chuckle nervously knowing that we will be in a different state when we reach the sign the next time. I check in with myself to see how I am feeling; from my experience of other marathons I have found that tiredness can creep up on you from out of nowhere. If you even have an inkling of feeling tired, then you can drink something or take a gel to try and pre-empt the fatigue that may be coming. Everything seems to be fine and I am starting to find my miles are clocking in below my target pace, coming in around 6:45 – 48 min/ mile. I also notice some runners are adjusting their pace according to other runners, which I try to ignore, as I think this is a dangerous tactic. It’s no problem if you run too quickly against another runner and blow up in a 5k, you can try one of those next week; but with a marathon you usually only get one shot per six months, and you definitely can’t have another go the following week!
This pattern of runners dropping back or speeding ahead of me reaches a crescendo, as we go up the only mild incline I find on the course at between miles eight to nine. People start to drop off and I have a slight panic in sticking with my target pace, what happens if I am wasting too much energy on this incline? I notice a pair of runners who have been consistent in sticking with 6:50 min/ mile; and are starting to break away from the main group after we have passed this incline. I decide to stick with them and it allows me to switch off a little bit. I try the tactic of breaking down the race into manageable chunks. I think I have passed mile eight, so I tell myself that it’s another two to three miles before I see Gem and after another two to three miles to halfway.
I see Gem and it gives me welcome boost of confidence. It also shatters the fear I had about low blood sugar and feeling fatigued, as this is what happened at around mile 10 at Bournemouth. I have employed a new fuelling strategy for this race of taking a High-5 gel every 40 minutes, once I am around 50 minutes into my marathon. So far my stomach seems to be fine. The pair of runners I am tracking are helping me take my mind off checking my garmin constantly and we easily glide past mile 13. I notice a very slight incline at mile 14, but nothing serious.
I check in with myself again, and everything feels fine. This seems too good to be true, as at Bournemouth this was when I developed real problems. I tell myself to keep doing what I am doing and see what happens. We pass mile 15 quite happily and a flicker of excitement starts to stir in me; I am still feeling good and I am this far into the race. I approach the main incline with the pair of the runners that I have been with through most of the loop; I tell myself that this is the last time I have to go up this incline for this race. I hold off pushing the pace for miles 16 and 17 and clock 6:54 min/mile. One of the runners I am following is starting to look tired, and says: “I am glad I have done it this quickly so far”. This worries me.
It may be a risky move, but I start to push on ahead of them. A lot of runners seem to have pushed themselves too hard at the beginning and I can now start to reel them in. Though at this point in time I am just interested in getting to see Gem one last time, before thinking about how I am going to race the final third of Abingdon. I pass mile 19 and then I see Gem; I feel elated that things are going so well and I am pushing so hard in the last part of the marathon. You can see how happy I am from the picture at the top of this post!
I go past mile 20 and realise that I am in unchartered territory, as my legs are going faster than I ever expected them to be, and I am still going strong. I tell myself that a sub-3 hour marathon is now an option, I am better than I ever felt at Brighton and I still feel like I have energy left. I take my third gel at mile 21 and know that realistically (as well as for my stomach’s sake) that I can only take one more. I plan for this to be at mile 24. I go past the last runners at the back of the marathon and wish them well. Some may argue that the person who wins a marathon is the going through the most pain; but I tend to think it is the novice runner or the person running a marathon for the simple challenge, are people who experience the most hardship and pain. In some ways they impress me even more.
I go past mile 22; a wave of nerves and pain begin to build in me. I only have 4.2 miles to go to and then I will have achieved my goal of under 3 hours. It’s then that I start to notice the pain ebbing and flowing within me. I know I am into the business end of the race and I start to question myself. I give myself a good talking to at this point. I didn’t do 16 weeks of training and come all this way to fail at the last 4 miles. Strange things start to enter my head; random things that I regretted doing, things I wish I hadn’t of said to people and the funny moments with friends as well as family. It all seemed to whirl around in my head as I pushed on. Then my ‘racing mind’ (no pun intended) remembered what my friend Maureen was going through. Maureen had a heart condition which was going to be operated on, but just before this was to go-ahead the hospital had discovered she had breast cancer. To me that was fear and pain, not whether you get the personal best you want for your marathon, those were problems that were really worth worrying about. I laughed and cursed myself at the same time for being so melodramatic, as well as realising how my mind was all over the place at this point. I pulled myself together and thought I am going to get under three hours for her, if nothing else.
I saw mile 24 approaching and decided to take my last gel a little bit earlier. I was still thinking about Maureen and it made me realise how funny our minds turn when we are put under pressure both physically/ mentally. It was at this point that the music from The Mission came into my head and sort of acted as a calming influence. I can’t say why it came into my head, but it did, and I was quite glad for it. At this point I think I was going beyond what I thought I was actually capable of and my mind was starting to panic slightly. From about mile 20 onwards I had been overtaking runners, but as I passed mile 25 an amazing thing happened. Some of the runners that I passed were actually offering me encouragement.
To me this is one of the truly amazing things about the marathon. Everyone starts off competing with each other, but really once you get to that shared level of pain you come together in a certain way as a team. Even though that man or woman is passing you by, you can really appreciate what she or he has been though that day, and what she or he has given to get there; and in that sense you can commend him or her whether they are running behind, with or ahead of you. I saw the mile 26 marker and realised that I was holding onto the edge of my speed and endurance. It was at that point, as I was running round the Tilsley Park athletics that I heard someone shout: “Go on Chris!”
I didn’t realise that someone was behind me. I desperately tried to keep my pace up, knowing how I was already on for a sub-3 hour finish. During these moments round the track all my body was urging me to do was walk, it knew that I had accomplished what I had set out to do and I could rest. I could hear people shouting Chris’s name and I willed my legs to sprint. There was nothing there; being on the track made it feel like I was doing the worst track training session of my life! Chris sprinted past me and I looked towards the clock to see: 2hrs 55 mins. I couldn’t quite believe it! I had pushed my body beyond what I thought I was ever capable of and as soon as I crossed the line I pretty much went to collapse.
In that state of pure exhaustion I seemed to rise above feelings of happiness or sadness, and go to a state of nothingness. I had experienced the true enigma of the marathon; a fellow runner had just pipped me to crossing the line, but I didn’t care. We had both experienced the true test of running 26.2 miles and I knew I had given everything I could give that day. At the same time I appreciated the humbling part of taking part in a marathon, knowing that there will always be someone better than you on the course. To me it was not about being better or worse than other runners on this day, it had been about going somewhere that I thought I could never achieve; and in the process doing better than I could imagine. That is why it is so amazing to run marathons, why I am so proud to have achieved my goal of running a marathon in under 3 hours and why I love running.
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