Or, 15 weeks and counting.
So, after last week's protracted diversion into the minutiae of endurance motorsport, we return this week to a a more usual subject: random running around in the west of Scotland. Or, this week, "the boiling hot west of Scotland".
Phew, it's been warm and, as I alluded to a few weeks ago, the heat and me have an uneasy relationship when it comes to running. I tend to overheat quite badly, and as a result performance drops off a cliff. As a result I've rethought my hydration strategy, so whereas in the winter I would take a 250ml drink bottle out on runs of over 13 miles, this week it's accompanied me on every run. I will be going up to a 500ml bottle for longer runs and using energy gels more often.
The downside of the gels is that they can sit rather uncomfortably on the stomach and cause cramps, nausea or, in the case of Wednesday's run, the growing realisation at 4 miles that a toilet break of a significant nature is required. Fortunately I was in the middle of nowhere - a deserted single-track country lane with a tall screening wall available. It's all very ecologically sound. Dig out a hole with a handy rock; hunker down and attend to the business; remember that dock leaves have uses beyond soothing nettle stings; re-fill hole with the excavated soil. You'd never know I was there. The view down to Arran was stunning too...
Anyway, sorry if I've put you off your tea. The rest of the week saw me try a new run - downhill from the house to the Academy, along the front and back up the hills at the far end of town. A reasonable 5 and a bit miles, which will be a good route for recovery runs, but done at a slightly higher pace this week and suffering in the heat coming back up the hills.
Another change to the schedule is that Sunday will be the long run day for the foreseeable future, as the golf season is upon us and there's usually some competition or other on a Saturday, plus a couple of pints and a bacon roll afterwards. Today however, rather than a training run, was the Men's Health Forum Scotland 10k for Men in Glasgow. A right mouthful, and the last of my scheduled early-summer 10k's. Having dipped my PB again to 43:24 in Dumbarton a couple of weeks ago, the plan was to see what could be done today to lower it further. Yet again, it was hot - 17 degrees at 9am, but just a hint of a breeze to take the edge off it.
With the spooky correlations of the number 45 at the Alloa Half Marathon in March (see here), I was pleased to see my number, 270, was a multiple of 45. It was slightly spooky, though, to meet up with a former colleague, Paul McGreevy, with whom I intended to run, and find that he was wearing 269 despite us entering completely independently. Actually, when I say "run with", what I mean is "shamelessly use his superior fitness to try and haul myself round to a PB".
All started well and by 7k I was just about holding on to a PB pace - albeit perspiring and gasping furiously - when, on the gentle rise out of Pollok Country Park, my right calf spasmed a couple of times and tightened immediately. Waving Paul on, I jogged gently home to finish in 46:24.
Slightly vexed, after the occasional injury problems during preparation for London, to hit one in week one when I'd hoped for a clearer run. However, that's life. I have a couple of enforced days rest anyway, with a job interview on Tuesday, so I'll just wait and see how things are in the middle of next week.
Going to keep the music choices going for the time being too. I've used this one before, but it's perked my mood up a couple of times this week when I've been feeling a grouchy.
Week's summary: 3 runs, 20 miles: Long run 7.8 miles (plus slight toilet detour)
Miles since entering Le Mans: 62
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
If I may digress for a moment
Or, 16 weeks and counting...
So, this is it. The start of the 16 week training programme for the Le Mans marathon. So this week's blog is about Le Mans - or, specifically, the long weekend my son (aka The Boy) and I have just enjoyed at the 24 Heures du Mans.
The 24 Heures has to be one of the greatest annual sporting events. It's history and traditions place it with the Monaco Grand Prix and Indianapolis 500 at the pinnacle of motorsport, but the sheer length and distance covered (over 5000km) place it a step ahead in my book.
On top of that, there are the legends. The Bentley Boys. The 1953 Jaguars being reinstated after a technical infringement, by which time the drivers were allegedly drunk in a bar and proceeded to race to victory fuelled by occasional brandy top-ups. The flying Mercedes' of 1999 with Mark Webber and legendarily Peter Dumbreck in the race bringing a whole new meaning to car aerodynamics. The tragic disaster of 1955 where hundreds in the stands lost their lives.
Part of the fun of course is the annual exodus from the UK, with over 100,000 people travelling to the event every year. Often in exotic vehicles at speeds that make the Gendarmerie very unhappy. Didn't see much this year, except the McLaren F1 which we spotted several times over the weekend, firstly at the Channel Tunnel terminal. This is, let us not forget, a car that is capable of 240 mph and which will sell for something between £1.5 and £2.5 million.
We travelled south on Friday and enjoyed the fact that the peage toll booth controllers were on strike on Friday, affording us a free journey down to Amiens (nice, you should go). In true French style, despite being on strike, they had still turned up at the exit booths and were gleefully waving people through.
On Saturday morning we trundled down more empty (but non-gratuit) peage and arrived in the vicinity of the circuit by 1130. As you can imagine, the complications of getting 250,000 people into not many car parks does lead to a little traffic congestion. Having sat in one queue for half an hour, we decided to try a little diversion and got to the car park (after an extra lap caused by overshooting the entrance) by about 1pm. 90 minutes to do 5k! Into the circuit and a last minute decision to grab a grandstand ticket owing to a poor weather forecast saw us in a great spot directly above the pit lane for the last hour of build up.
Whilst the traditional Le Mans start, with the drivers running across the circuit and leaping into their cars before driving off, was abandoned many years ago for safety reasons, a variant had been devised this year. Cars lined up on the pit wall, drivers opposite, and at the appointed moment the drivers ran across the circuit and entered the car, with a few minutes to make sure all was well before the green flag sent them out on an exploratory lap.
The cars then formed behind the safety car for the now usual rolling start. The sense of anticipation on this last lap is immense, and the packed tribunes are all on their feet as the Tricoleur drops and cars take the start at 3pm sharp. Straight away the much fancied Peugeot diesel's blast away from the Audis and satart to build a lead. Then, just over half an hour in, we get the first safety car as Nigel Mansell suffers a tyre blow-out and spears into the wall on the hugely fast run down to Indianapolis corner.
The length of the lap at Le Mans (13.2km) means that three safety cars are deployed and, just like the post office, getting caught in the queue behind the wrong car can put you a minute or more behind the cars you're racing against. Thus the Audis got separated from the Peugeots and an already difficult race seemed to have got worse for them. This went on for a while as Mansell was extracted from the car by the medical staff and it was nearly 4.30 before racing recommenced.
The Boy and I decide to take a wander down to Tetre Rouge, the last corner before the cars hit the Hunaudieres (or Mulsanne) straight - once nearly 4 miles long before the introduction of two chicanes designed to slow the frightening top speeds of 250mph. This part of the circuit has been completely reprofiled since our last visit, and the row of allotments where locals offered you a barbecue and beer has sadly been replaced by a grass viewing bank.
In the absence of a view, we made our way back to the bottom of the Esses, where we watched the plunge down from the Dunlop bridge. For the potential marathon runner, the rises up to the bridge provide the only significant hill on the course. In the late evening sunshine, it was a great spot to watch some racing before heading back to the car park to cook some steaks before returning to our grandstand to enjoy some night racing.
One of the great things about the 24 heures is the night racing and as the temperatures are cooler, the lap times are often faster. By now, the fact that there are two distinct words in "endurance racing" was becoming obvious. One of the super-fast Peugeots had dropped out with suspension failure and as we watched above the pit, a second, the #1, was wheeled back into the garage for a major fix - reappearing 12 minutes later and 3 laps down. Being directly above the pits we can get a feel for the ebb and flow of competition as cars come in. Eventually we decide that we've had enough for one day and we retreat to the car for some sleep.
Up early on Sunday, bacon cooked, and onto the free shuttle bus out to Arnage and Indianapolis corners at the far end of the circuit. My first time out here, and it has a much different feel from the area around the pits. Much quieter and with people somehow trying to kip in sleeping bags on the grass no more than 10 yards from the passing cars. Just as we headed out, the leading Peugeot expired with an engine failure whilst a lap ahead, leaving the Audis to inherit positions one and two
Peugeot could have consolidated a podium position for #1, but decided to go for it. This brought some great excitement for a few hours, as it hunted down the leading Audis at 5-10 seconds a lap, unlapping itself from the leader and then closing up to the tail of the second place car. Sadly, just after a pit stop, the #1 also blew its engine, leaving an Audi clean sweep. Or so it seemed. The Oreca #4 car, also running a Peugeot was closing fast on the third place Audi of Alan McNish and Le Mans legend Tom Kristensen. There was still some racing to be had. But then, unbelievably, the Oreca also suffered an engine failure when only 20 seconds behind.
And so, 90 minutes from the end, the racing was over and it was down to the Audis to coast to the end for a formation finish. It seemed harsh on Peugeot to not get a car home, but that's endurance racing - you need to get your cars to the finish and Peugeot didn't. As always, every car that makes it to the finish has achieved something big, and the emotions of those who failed were clear. After looking like we were in for a good morning's racing, the end was almost an anti-climax for the crowd and as the Audi's rolled over the line at 3pm, there seemed to be plenty of spaces in the tribunes - ours was certainly no more than 80% full.
Of the rest, the Gulf-liveried Aston Martin's were definitely the best looking and best sounding cars out there, with a proper high-rev petrol engine's scream. Unfortunately #009 blew it's engine while running 4th in the last hour whilst #007 lost 20+ laps with a major problem overnight. In the other categories (there are 4 at Le Mans, 2 for Prototypes, 2 for more standard GT cars) there was much tighter competition, although oddly the new regulations for the GT1 category meant that these supposedly more powerful cars managed to finish behind their less powerful GT2 cousins.
We decided that as we were heading back to Amiens, an almost 3 hour journey, we wouldn't join the traditional invasion of the pit straight, but would leg it directly out of the circuit and head off. This was a good move as, 45 minutes after the chequered flag dropped, we'd cleared Le Mans and were on the peage north.
Oddly, every motorway bridge seemed to have a small group of people on it looking south. I know this part of northern France is pretty dull and featureless, but surely there's something better to do on a Sunday afternoon than stand and watch the cars go by. Then we saw a couple of Union Jacks and twigged. The locals come out to watch all the crazy Brits in their fancy cars blast back up to Calais.
So that was the first trip to Le Mans of the year. The preparation for the October visit starts here.
So, this is it. The start of the 16 week training programme for the Le Mans marathon. So this week's blog is about Le Mans - or, specifically, the long weekend my son (aka The Boy) and I have just enjoyed at the 24 Heures du Mans.
The 24 Heures has to be one of the greatest annual sporting events. It's history and traditions place it with the Monaco Grand Prix and Indianapolis 500 at the pinnacle of motorsport, but the sheer length and distance covered (over 5000km) place it a step ahead in my book.
On top of that, there are the legends. The Bentley Boys. The 1953 Jaguars being reinstated after a technical infringement, by which time the drivers were allegedly drunk in a bar and proceeded to race to victory fuelled by occasional brandy top-ups. The flying Mercedes' of 1999 with Mark Webber and legendarily Peter Dumbreck in the race bringing a whole new meaning to car aerodynamics. The tragic disaster of 1955 where hundreds in the stands lost their lives.
On Saturday morning we trundled down more empty (but non-gratuit) peage and arrived in the vicinity of the circuit by 1130. As you can imagine, the complications of getting 250,000 people into not many car parks does lead to a little traffic congestion. Having sat in one queue for half an hour, we decided to try a little diversion and got to the car park (after an extra lap caused by overshooting the entrance) by about 1pm. 90 minutes to do 5k! Into the circuit and a last minute decision to grab a grandstand ticket owing to a poor weather forecast saw us in a great spot directly above the pit lane for the last hour of build up.
The cars then formed behind the safety car for the now usual rolling start. The sense of anticipation on this last lap is immense, and the packed tribunes are all on their feet as the Tricoleur drops and cars take the start at 3pm sharp. Straight away the much fancied Peugeot diesel's blast away from the Audis and satart to build a lead. Then, just over half an hour in, we get the first safety car as Nigel Mansell suffers a tyre blow-out and spears into the wall on the hugely fast run down to Indianapolis corner.
The Boy and I decide to take a wander down to Tetre Rouge, the last corner before the cars hit the Hunaudieres (or Mulsanne) straight - once nearly 4 miles long before the introduction of two chicanes designed to slow the frightening top speeds of 250mph. This part of the circuit has been completely reprofiled since our last visit, and the row of allotments where locals offered you a barbecue and beer has sadly been replaced by a grass viewing bank.
Peugeot could have consolidated a podium position for #1, but decided to go for it. This brought some great excitement for a few hours, as it hunted down the leading Audis at 5-10 seconds a lap, unlapping itself from the leader and then closing up to the tail of the second place car. Sadly, just after a pit stop, the #1 also blew its engine, leaving an Audi clean sweep. Or so it seemed. The Oreca #4 car, also running a Peugeot was closing fast on the third place Audi of Alan McNish and Le Mans legend Tom Kristensen. There was still some racing to be had. But then, unbelievably, the Oreca also suffered an engine failure when only 20 seconds behind.
And so, 90 minutes from the end, the racing was over and it was down to the Audis to coast to the end for a formation finish. It seemed harsh on Peugeot to not get a car home, but that's endurance racing - you need to get your cars to the finish and Peugeot didn't. As always, every car that makes it to the finish has achieved something big, and the emotions of those who failed were clear. After looking like we were in for a good morning's racing, the end was almost an anti-climax for the crowd and as the Audi's rolled over the line at 3pm, there seemed to be plenty of spaces in the tribunes - ours was certainly no more than 80% full.
We decided that as we were heading back to Amiens, an almost 3 hour journey, we wouldn't join the traditional invasion of the pit straight, but would leg it directly out of the circuit and head off. This was a good move as, 45 minutes after the chequered flag dropped, we'd cleared Le Mans and were on the peage north.
Oddly, every motorway bridge seemed to have a small group of people on it looking south. I know this part of northern France is pretty dull and featureless, but surely there's something better to do on a Sunday afternoon than stand and watch the cars go by. Then we saw a couple of Union Jacks and twigged. The locals come out to watch all the crazy Brits in their fancy cars blast back up to Calais.
So that was the first trip to Le Mans of the year. The preparation for the October visit starts here.
Monday, 31 May 2010
The calm...
Or, 18 weeks and counting...
The main difference between this marathon and the last one is clearly going to be when the training happens. Most people talk about the problem with London being that you have to train through the winter. I didn't find this too much of a problem to be honest, as I love the cold, crisp days and even tolerated some biblically bad ones. As I cope with the cold pretty well, it was never a problem.
I'm not a huge fan of running when it's hot, as the downside of tolerating the cold well is tending to overheat when it's warm. On top of that, there seem to be more distractions in the summer. I play golf, so I have a competition most Saturdays, and love Formula 1 - which takes up a reasonable chunk of Sunday when there's a Grand Prix on. This is going to make scheduling the long run more complicated. I've also spent a lot of hours watching the Giro d'Italia, which has been epic this year, and will almost certainly be parked in front of the Tour de France when it starts in July.
Anyway, I've recalculated the training programme, gulped, and realised that actually knowing what to expect is perhaps worse than the blissful ignorance of 6 months ago.
Quiet week on the roads this week. Still protecting the foot, so nothing before the Clydebank 10k on Thursday and no weekend run for the reasons described above.
At least Clydebank went well. Despite it being a dull trudge of a couple of laps round a business park, it is a good PB course as it's flat. My plan this week was to start at a pace that would get me sub-44 minutes, see if the foot held up and then, if it did, see if I would hold up in my newly fitness-lite state.
Well, it seemed to work. Using my friendly Garmin, I was able to pace myself perfectly, and even though it was a bit of a struggle got round in 43:46, which is a new PB by about 30 seconds. The Garmin trace is here. I was, in the Scottish vernacular "blowin' oot ma erse" at the end, as I had to give it "full bananas" on the finishing straight to be sure of sub-44. Obviously I was pleased with the time, but moreso that there was no reaction from the foot at all.
Dumbarton 10k this Thursday, plus I really should do a couple of other runs. Now the Giro's over, there's nothing to distract me of an afternoon, so no excuses...
The main difference between this marathon and the last one is clearly going to be when the training happens. Most people talk about the problem with London being that you have to train through the winter. I didn't find this too much of a problem to be honest, as I love the cold, crisp days and even tolerated some biblically bad ones. As I cope with the cold pretty well, it was never a problem.
I'm not a huge fan of running when it's hot, as the downside of tolerating the cold well is tending to overheat when it's warm. On top of that, there seem to be more distractions in the summer. I play golf, so I have a competition most Saturdays, and love Formula 1 - which takes up a reasonable chunk of Sunday when there's a Grand Prix on. This is going to make scheduling the long run more complicated. I've also spent a lot of hours watching the Giro d'Italia, which has been epic this year, and will almost certainly be parked in front of the Tour de France when it starts in July.
Anyway, I've recalculated the training programme, gulped, and realised that actually knowing what to expect is perhaps worse than the blissful ignorance of 6 months ago.
Quiet week on the roads this week. Still protecting the foot, so nothing before the Clydebank 10k on Thursday and no weekend run for the reasons described above.
At least Clydebank went well. Despite it being a dull trudge of a couple of laps round a business park, it is a good PB course as it's flat. My plan this week was to start at a pace that would get me sub-44 minutes, see if the foot held up and then, if it did, see if I would hold up in my newly fitness-lite state.
Well, it seemed to work. Using my friendly Garmin, I was able to pace myself perfectly, and even though it was a bit of a struggle got round in 43:46, which is a new PB by about 30 seconds. The Garmin trace is here. I was, in the Scottish vernacular "blowin' oot ma erse" at the end, as I had to give it "full bananas" on the finishing straight to be sure of sub-44. Obviously I was pleased with the time, but moreso that there was no reaction from the foot at all.
Dumbarton 10k this Thursday, plus I really should do a couple of other runs. Now the Giro's over, there's nothing to distract me of an afternoon, so no excuses...
Sunday, 23 May 2010
Reflections
Or, 19 weeks and counting...
So, 4 weeks on from the big day, I though it was time to both reflect and look forward. When we last met, I was still on the euphoria high of having completed the event, done a respectable time and enjoyed a great life experience. I still feel the same. I may have just about stopped lacing every conversation with marathon references and the finisher's T-Shirt only comes out once or twice a week, but there's still that warm glow thinking about it. And the almost £1200 raised for Marie Curie. Thank's again folks.
And, of course, the preparations. As I alluded to in here somewhere, I came to realise that forcing myself to stick to the discipline of the programme and actually see it through was unusual for me. More of a starter than a finisher, so I finally proved to myself that I can see things through.
I also proved a useful athletic fact, as witnessed by this photograph. In a tight sprint finish, a fists clenched salute is more aerodynamic than a hands spread one. If only runner 52080 had known this, he may have prevailed :-)
It is, of course, one of the rarest of photographs. A race photo where I don't look like I've just been kicked hard in the nuts. I must really have been enjoying myself.
Thing's I'd do differently? I'd try not to hit a run of leaving do's (including my own) at a crucial part of the late training and perhaps be more cautious about taking a holiday 2 weeks before the event. I should probably have done a few more miles in the taper weeks too, but these are all valuable lessons for next time.
Next time? But of course. The ballot for next year has been entered, but we have to wait until the end of September to find out whether we're in or not. In the meantime, what to do to fill that marathon-sized hole in my life?
I returned from London with many leaflets for the Autumn marathon season, but one in particular caught my attention. As an occasional visitor the the magnificent event that is the 24 Heures du Mans, plus driver of parts of the circuit on our Sucata adventures, the thought of running a marathon round there really caught my attention. Then I found out that this year's event would be the first to be held there.
So, for a motorsport fan and (now) marathoner, what could be better than running the inaugural marathon at one of the world's greatest sporting venues. Well, not much, as far as I'm concerned. So I am. Sunday October 3rd will see me on the start line for the Marathon du Mans. This, of course, means that a training programme will be required, so I need to get my ass into gear and start running again.
The one downside of London has been a very sore right foot, which felt initially like a stress fracture, but I've been assured isn't. I tried to run 2 weeks ago and made it about half a mile before having to turn around in pain. Tried again last Sunday, and while it was still sore, I managed 5.75 hilly offroad miles without too much discomfort. This was welcome, as I'd entered the Polaroid 10k series, which covers Helensburgh, Clydebank, Dumbarton and Vale of Leven. And Helensburgh was on Thursday.
Having decided the foot would survive, I wandered down with the idea of running sensibly, not least because no runs in 4 weeks makes Mark a horribly unfit boy. Of course, nothing like that happened, and race fever took over, which led to me pushing about as hard as I could for a 44:51 - about 2 minutes faster than I'd been targeting (and that was before I knew about the extra hills on the route).
But I needed a good hard run, so nothing lost. Went out today for the first real "just go and enjoy" run since London. Although with the heat and humidity, enjoy wasn't really the word. The route was particularly hilly, and after 2 miles of uphill at 4.5 miles, I decided to take the opportunity to stop and enjoy the view. Over the Clyde, up Glen Fruin. Remember, this is running, not training, so look up and remember why you run in the first place - love of being in the outdoors and the enjoyment of it. As I dwelled, a pair of Buzzards soared and swooped overhead, chirping and calling in an obvious courtship ritual, before heading for the woods and whatever it is a pair of lovelorn buzzards get up to in to woods on a warm spring day.
As I jogged on, I worked out that, to my surprise, it's only 19 weeks to the Marathon du Mans. Then, to my horror, that as I operate a 16 week training schedule, I need to start again in 3 weeks. Bollocks. Finally, I realised that the programme will start on June 14th. Which is the day I get home from, yes, you guessed it, this year's 24 Heures du Mans - where my son (aka The Boy) and I are going for a spot of male bonding and dicking around.
On that spooky symmetry, it's "a bientot" from me...
So, 4 weeks on from the big day, I though it was time to both reflect and look forward. When we last met, I was still on the euphoria high of having completed the event, done a respectable time and enjoyed a great life experience. I still feel the same. I may have just about stopped lacing every conversation with marathon references and the finisher's T-Shirt only comes out once or twice a week, but there's still that warm glow thinking about it. And the almost £1200 raised for Marie Curie. Thank's again folks.
And, of course, the preparations. As I alluded to in here somewhere, I came to realise that forcing myself to stick to the discipline of the programme and actually see it through was unusual for me. More of a starter than a finisher, so I finally proved to myself that I can see things through.
It is, of course, one of the rarest of photographs. A race photo where I don't look like I've just been kicked hard in the nuts. I must really have been enjoying myself.
Thing's I'd do differently? I'd try not to hit a run of leaving do's (including my own) at a crucial part of the late training and perhaps be more cautious about taking a holiday 2 weeks before the event. I should probably have done a few more miles in the taper weeks too, but these are all valuable lessons for next time.
Next time? But of course. The ballot for next year has been entered, but we have to wait until the end of September to find out whether we're in or not. In the meantime, what to do to fill that marathon-sized hole in my life?
I returned from London with many leaflets for the Autumn marathon season, but one in particular caught my attention. As an occasional visitor the the magnificent event that is the 24 Heures du Mans, plus driver of parts of the circuit on our Sucata adventures, the thought of running a marathon round there really caught my attention. Then I found out that this year's event would be the first to be held there.
So, for a motorsport fan and (now) marathoner, what could be better than running the inaugural marathon at one of the world's greatest sporting venues. Well, not much, as far as I'm concerned. So I am. Sunday October 3rd will see me on the start line for the Marathon du Mans. This, of course, means that a training programme will be required, so I need to get my ass into gear and start running again.
The one downside of London has been a very sore right foot, which felt initially like a stress fracture, but I've been assured isn't. I tried to run 2 weeks ago and made it about half a mile before having to turn around in pain. Tried again last Sunday, and while it was still sore, I managed 5.75 hilly offroad miles without too much discomfort. This was welcome, as I'd entered the Polaroid 10k series, which covers Helensburgh, Clydebank, Dumbarton and Vale of Leven. And Helensburgh was on Thursday.
Having decided the foot would survive, I wandered down with the idea of running sensibly, not least because no runs in 4 weeks makes Mark a horribly unfit boy. Of course, nothing like that happened, and race fever took over, which led to me pushing about as hard as I could for a 44:51 - about 2 minutes faster than I'd been targeting (and that was before I knew about the extra hills on the route).
But I needed a good hard run, so nothing lost. Went out today for the first real "just go and enjoy" run since London. Although with the heat and humidity, enjoy wasn't really the word. The route was particularly hilly, and after 2 miles of uphill at 4.5 miles, I decided to take the opportunity to stop and enjoy the view. Over the Clyde, up Glen Fruin. Remember, this is running, not training, so look up and remember why you run in the first place - love of being in the outdoors and the enjoyment of it. As I dwelled, a pair of Buzzards soared and swooped overhead, chirping and calling in an obvious courtship ritual, before heading for the woods and whatever it is a pair of lovelorn buzzards get up to in to woods on a warm spring day.
As I jogged on, I worked out that, to my surprise, it's only 19 weeks to the Marathon du Mans. Then, to my horror, that as I operate a 16 week training schedule, I need to start again in 3 weeks. Bollocks. Finally, I realised that the programme will start on June 14th. Which is the day I get home from, yes, you guessed it, this year's 24 Heures du Mans - where my son (aka The Boy) and I are going for a spot of male bonding and dicking around.
On that spooky symmetry, it's "a bientot" from me...
Sunday, 25 April 2010
What a day
To slightly paraphrase the immortal words of Sir Edmund Hillary, "well, that's the bastard knocked off". An amazing day, an amazing event, an amazing feeling. Oh, and the hardest thing I've ever done in my life! Up front, I didn't make my target time, but to be honest, that's barely important right now.
After I left you this morning, an untroubled but rather busy commute got me to the Blue Start just after 0815. Plenty of time to loosen off, dump the kit bag, drink and warm up. They got us into the start pens (organised by expected time, I was in 4) just after 9, at which point the heavens opened and it absolutely pissed down for 20 minutes. Just like home. As soon as they take the tapes down and let the pens merge, much jostling and use of the grass verge ensues, and I ended up alongside a load of Pen 2 people. Lots of chat and banter all the way, a general longing for steak, chips and beer, and hearty "good lucks" all round.
0945 and we're off. Desperately trying to keep the pace sensible, which is actually quite easy becasue of the sheer number of runners. A quick dash to the loos at 2 miles (lesson lerned - go before, even if you have to leave the start pen. It's quicker to pass a few people than lose a minute in the loo) and I settled into a very steady pace, with 5ks in just under 25 minutes as I slowly brought myself back to bang on target pace by half way.
Or at least, what Garmin thought was target pace. As I checked the distance against the mile markers, it became apparent that with all the weaving across the road to find clear air, I was running slightly more than the posted distance, so I still needed some mental arithmetic at each mile marker to double check.
No real dramas in the first half, other than a slightly sore knee around Cutty Sark that soon passed. Just as I went over the half in 1:45:20, the men's leader came the other way, just passing the 22 mile marker. As I plodded on at my target pace, I was feeling OK, but it was pretty sticky and humid after the rain, and as the sun started to peek through it got pretty hot.
All was going well until 15 miles, when the top of my left thigh started to tighten rather horribly - the muscle that runs across the top of the anterior thigh from just under the groin. This area of my leg is often stiff during long runs, but never to this extent. Within half a mile or so, it was clear that I was going to need to slow down to see if it settled. It didn't, so Plan B was dusted down. The one that says "don't do any damage, ease off the pace and bring the vehicle home in one piece".
I hobbled on, in a fairly unseemly gait until mile 19, whereupon my bowels informed me that a "Paula" was in the offing. Fortunately some portaloos hove into view at this point, and I spent 4 minutes attending to matters. Oddly, when I came out, the thigh seemed to have settled a bit and I was able to push on at a slightly better pace for the next few miles. It started to tighten again around mile 24, but by this point you're starting to think "made it" and can afford to push on through the soreness. The appearance of Big Ben on the skyline constitutes the "not far now moment", and turning off the Embankment at mile 25, I was starting to sport a smile and build up the sprint finish (officially the world's slowest, to be fair).
The last mile is just unbelievable. Up Birdcage Walk, the crowds (of whom more later) are so noisy it's untrue. The smile becomes a big grin as 600m to go appears, and that longed for right turn at the Palace is taken. Mustering the last reserves of energy for the final blast up The Mall I must be honest, I was feeling pretty euphoric. Slightly worried that the race photos will show this exhausted loon encouraging the crowds to greater cheering. I was absolutely ecstatic to cross the line - both because it was over and I'd done it.
So. My time? 3:52:20, officially. 8716th finisher and 1034th in the MV45-49 category. Well outside my target, but still under 4 hours, which I am very proud of. The splits of 1:45:20 and 2:07:00 tell the story of the race, the leg and the pit stop. Oh, and Garmin reckoned I did 26.75 miles. Just what you need.
The finish procedure is simple. Man snips timing chip of shoe. Woman presents medal. Man takes "Finisher" photograph. Wander up The Mall and recover Kit Bag. All done in about 10 mins. Then it was off to the Marie Curie reception at the Charing Cross hotel for a shower, massage and refreshments. And that's it. The day is done.
Now, some other thoughts. The event itself is simply unbelievable. The organisation is like clockwork, the huge number of volunteers - without whom there'd be no race - are exceptional, and the crowds, well, there are almost no words to describe them. Every yard of the route is lined with enthusiastic, smiling and supportive people. Whether just encouraging, handing out sweets or fruit or bantering, they're special. Around the major landmarks like Cutty Sark and Tower Bridge they're 10 deep. Even round the canyons of Canary Wharf. it's mobbed, and from there to the finish they just build in numbers and support.
I simply can't express how much I enjoyed the day. The run could have been better, but so what, other marathons are available. But I don't think the day or the experience could. I'm very proud to be able to say "I am a Marathoner".
After I left you this morning, an untroubled but rather busy commute got me to the Blue Start just after 0815. Plenty of time to loosen off, dump the kit bag, drink and warm up. They got us into the start pens (organised by expected time, I was in 4) just after 9, at which point the heavens opened and it absolutely pissed down for 20 minutes. Just like home. As soon as they take the tapes down and let the pens merge, much jostling and use of the grass verge ensues, and I ended up alongside a load of Pen 2 people. Lots of chat and banter all the way, a general longing for steak, chips and beer, and hearty "good lucks" all round.
0945 and we're off. Desperately trying to keep the pace sensible, which is actually quite easy becasue of the sheer number of runners. A quick dash to the loos at 2 miles (lesson lerned - go before, even if you have to leave the start pen. It's quicker to pass a few people than lose a minute in the loo) and I settled into a very steady pace, with 5ks in just under 25 minutes as I slowly brought myself back to bang on target pace by half way.
Or at least, what Garmin thought was target pace. As I checked the distance against the mile markers, it became apparent that with all the weaving across the road to find clear air, I was running slightly more than the posted distance, so I still needed some mental arithmetic at each mile marker to double check.
No real dramas in the first half, other than a slightly sore knee around Cutty Sark that soon passed. Just as I went over the half in 1:45:20, the men's leader came the other way, just passing the 22 mile marker. As I plodded on at my target pace, I was feeling OK, but it was pretty sticky and humid after the rain, and as the sun started to peek through it got pretty hot.
All was going well until 15 miles, when the top of my left thigh started to tighten rather horribly - the muscle that runs across the top of the anterior thigh from just under the groin. This area of my leg is often stiff during long runs, but never to this extent. Within half a mile or so, it was clear that I was going to need to slow down to see if it settled. It didn't, so Plan B was dusted down. The one that says "don't do any damage, ease off the pace and bring the vehicle home in one piece".
I hobbled on, in a fairly unseemly gait until mile 19, whereupon my bowels informed me that a "Paula" was in the offing. Fortunately some portaloos hove into view at this point, and I spent 4 minutes attending to matters. Oddly, when I came out, the thigh seemed to have settled a bit and I was able to push on at a slightly better pace for the next few miles. It started to tighten again around mile 24, but by this point you're starting to think "made it" and can afford to push on through the soreness. The appearance of Big Ben on the skyline constitutes the "not far now moment", and turning off the Embankment at mile 25, I was starting to sport a smile and build up the sprint finish (officially the world's slowest, to be fair).
The last mile is just unbelievable. Up Birdcage Walk, the crowds (of whom more later) are so noisy it's untrue. The smile becomes a big grin as 600m to go appears, and that longed for right turn at the Palace is taken. Mustering the last reserves of energy for the final blast up The Mall I must be honest, I was feeling pretty euphoric. Slightly worried that the race photos will show this exhausted loon encouraging the crowds to greater cheering. I was absolutely ecstatic to cross the line - both because it was over and I'd done it.
So. My time? 3:52:20, officially. 8716th finisher and 1034th in the MV45-49 category. Well outside my target, but still under 4 hours, which I am very proud of. The splits of 1:45:20 and 2:07:00 tell the story of the race, the leg and the pit stop. Oh, and Garmin reckoned I did 26.75 miles. Just what you need.
The finish procedure is simple. Man snips timing chip of shoe. Woman presents medal. Man takes "Finisher" photograph. Wander up The Mall and recover Kit Bag. All done in about 10 mins. Then it was off to the Marie Curie reception at the Charing Cross hotel for a shower, massage and refreshments. And that's it. The day is done.
Now, some other thoughts. The event itself is simply unbelievable. The organisation is like clockwork, the huge number of volunteers - without whom there'd be no race - are exceptional, and the crowds, well, there are almost no words to describe them. Every yard of the route is lined with enthusiastic, smiling and supportive people. Whether just encouraging, handing out sweets or fruit or bantering, they're special. Around the major landmarks like Cutty Sark and Tower Bridge they're 10 deep. Even round the canyons of Canary Wharf. it's mobbed, and from there to the finish they just build in numbers and support.
I simply can't express how much I enjoyed the day. The run could have been better, but so what, other marathons are available. But I don't think the day or the experience could. I'm very proud to be able to say "I am a Marathoner".
0 days and no more counting
Or, today's the day.
Well. Here we are. This is what all the training, talking, training, blogging, training and tweeting has been about. It's just before 7, I've eaten a light breakfast of bread and cereals, drunk some water and some Lucozade Sport. It looks dray and as if the cloud is going to break up nicely.
There's nothing else for it. I have to go and do this.
Race plan is simple. Steady pace all the way round and remember that if I start slow because of the sheer number of runners, I've got LOTS of miles to make it steadily back to target pace. That's all I've got.
Thanks again to everyone for all their support. Family, friends, colleagues, Facebookers, Tweeters. It's all been invaluable.
The hotel made sure it's evening menu had high carb options last night, which was a nice move. Thai Fishcakes with noodles followed by my first ever vegetarian main course of Tagliatelle & Courgette with a Basil & Tomato sauce - yummy - and I did allow myself a small but relaxing glass of Rioja to help with the nerves (it did).
To my immense surprise, I slept great - best sleep for about a fortnight. Woke just before 6 feeling refreshed, so I didn't need any of the 3 alarms scattered across the room OR the alarm call (paranoid, moi?).
As London Underground and SouthEastern trains provide free travel for competitors, the immediate future goes: walk to Westminster, Jubilee line to London Bridge, train to Blackheath, dump the kit bag, use the toilet 23 times, start.
After that, who knows?
Well. Here we are. This is what all the training, talking, training, blogging, training and tweeting has been about. It's just before 7, I've eaten a light breakfast of bread and cereals, drunk some water and some Lucozade Sport. It looks dray and as if the cloud is going to break up nicely.
There's nothing else for it. I have to go and do this.
Race plan is simple. Steady pace all the way round and remember that if I start slow because of the sheer number of runners, I've got LOTS of miles to make it steadily back to target pace. That's all I've got.
Thanks again to everyone for all their support. Family, friends, colleagues, Facebookers, Tweeters. It's all been invaluable.
The hotel made sure it's evening menu had high carb options last night, which was a nice move. Thai Fishcakes with noodles followed by my first ever vegetarian main course of Tagliatelle & Courgette with a Basil & Tomato sauce - yummy - and I did allow myself a small but relaxing glass of Rioja to help with the nerves (it did).
To my immense surprise, I slept great - best sleep for about a fortnight. Woke just before 6 feeling refreshed, so I didn't need any of the 3 alarms scattered across the room OR the alarm call (paranoid, moi?).
As London Underground and SouthEastern trains provide free travel for competitors, the immediate future goes: walk to Westminster, Jubilee line to London Bridge, train to Blackheath, dump the kit bag, use the toilet 23 times, start.
After that, who knows?
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