We run together
Vidya writes:
One week till race day and one final long run remained (a comparatively short 10 miles), a couple of easy 3 milers to keep ticking over and the fun of attending my first Expo. I had goosebumps walking into the ExCel centre with the BBC’s marathon music playing above the countdown clock. I stopped for the obligatory photos posing with my number and felt most emotional at the wall listing every runner entered at this year’s race. My name was up there with them, I really was part of the team. After getting fleeced for a pair of Balega socks and two Maurten gels, I pulled myself together and left with limited swag: a nutritional supplement favoured by Eliud Kipchoge, anyone? I could sense the world record beckoning!
By this point, I should have had fine-tuned all those race plans and rituals. Thoughts were mostly revolving around fuelling and food: since completing my twenty mile run, I just felt hungry all the time. I suppose my body was in a state of shock at what I was putting it through. While I had tried to absorb all the advice on diet and nutrition and eat sensibly throughout training, I didn’t feel I had properly cracked my race fuelling strategy. Outside of specific training, I don’t tend to run far enough to warrant consuming much fuel along the way, with breakfast taking me through a more usual 10 mile run. I had considered snacking on a potato during my last long run – in the end I couldn’t be bothered to bake one and realistically, how the heck was I going to carry it come race day?! Answers on a postcard…
There were many reasons to be trepidatious. I had barely done 8 weeks of actual running in this training block and was feeling decidedly undercooked. The latest forecast for race day was wet and cold. What was I going to wear now?
I had run with a backpack during training, did I now have enough pockets to stash all my gazillion gels, tissues, salt tablets, jelly babies?? At least water was plentiful along the route.
Decisions, decisions ….
But with a later start time, was taking the club coach at 7am the best decision??? How many breakfasts would I need to eat then, before I started running???? There were certainly a few unknowns still to ponder here and there.
By Saturday, I had largely answered my own questions, begun the carb load, packed my waistbelt and bag and my kit was ready to go. I had my new fancy socks and cap for the rain and fashioned myself some arm sleeves from a pair of tights. That’s three new things on race day, ha ha! I finally decided to forego the coach and have an extra hour in bed, my porridge, banana and coffee comfortably at home and limit the time I would be waiting in the rain once I got to the race start.
It’s race day morning! And the weather started off a lot pleasanter than expected. While I was a little sad to miss the Eagles fun bus, I had a pretty straightforward and free journey courtesy of TFL. There was the excitement of joining the throngs of other runners at London Bridge, where there was a delay to get on the slow train to Blackheath. Despite being packed in like sardines, the mood was calm and good natured. Leave plenty of time and all will be fine. I took the opportunity to nibble on a bagel and contemplate my energy levels, before we finally pulled into Blackheath and the doors opened to: rain.
No bother, I was prepared and ploughed onwards with the crowds to the Blue Start, with the Rocky theme tune serenading me through the gates – bring it on! I wandered around a little, a somewhat lost, lone Eagle as I got my bearings around the start area. Thankfully, I soon spotted Kelvin at the Buxton water area and got some last words of encouragement – thanks Kelvin!
Time to get myself race ready, pull on my TWO ponchos and send my bag off on the luggage truck. I had an extra plastic bag to sit on for the final half hour before the start, thanks again to Rachel for another top tip. It was pretty wet by this point and I’d been on my feet for a couple of hours already. All thoughts of warming up properly went out of my head, in favour of sitting down and having a gel and an energy bar, which were apparently of the ‘slow release carb’ variety. During training, I felt that I was perhaps taking my gels too late, as I would suddenly start to feel very hungry. My untested plan therefore was to take on fuel a little earlier and hopefully prevent these dips. Not long after, we were shuffling to the start line and then: Thunderbirds are go!
Crossing those timing mats brings it home that this is it – the race is on. From the off, I was amazed by the enthusiasm of people lining the streets. I decided to keep my ponchos on until I had warmed up and the rain had fully eased off. And, I thought I was bound to see myself on telly with the ponchos billowing cape like around me. 5 miles in and I had my first shout out as Jane M and Jack spotted me at Charlton. Approaching 10km, I knew that Cutty Sark was the first major landmark around the corner and it’s as if the atmosphere suddenly turned up several notches. Time to ditch the ponchos and wave at the cameras with my Eagles shirt on full display. That mile or so seemed to disappear in a flash.
Next up were Stuart and Helen around mile 9 and probably the first rumblings of discontent. I had been feeling strong and was even enjoying myself, sticking to my run/walk intervals and keeping a consistent pace. I was conscious of not pushing too hard in these early stages or getting carried away by the occasion. I started feeling uneasy around mile 10, as if I wanted to throw up, which was a new and unexpected development. I suppose this is what they mean by ‘GI’ issues? Perhaps I shouldn’t have had that extra half bagel, or gel, or water earlier on, which were all sloshing about with my pre-race nerves. Also, my calves had started twinging a lot earlier than anticipated. Not much to be done other than take a salt tablet, keep plodding on and hope that things would settle down. I was approaching Tower Bridge and took the opportunity for a longer walking break to absorb the spectacle.
Another iconic landmark ticked off and roughly half way, I can see on Strava that my race was certainly a little more ragged from here on. Coming off Tower Bridge and turning right onto Shadwell was both a high and low point. There was the amazing sight of the tidal wave of faster runners on the other side of the dual carriageway. My stomach was making it harder to run so I just focused on walking and watching in awe as they all streamed past. I realised they were a good 9 or 10 miles in front and getting around the Isle of Dogs then became mentally as well as physically challenging. I was thinking of all the people who had started an hour ahead of me and cursed their fast twitching fibres that they would soon be in the pub with their feet up. I still had two, even three hours to go and the only way to get through was by taking it a kilometer or mile at a time. My running intervals were becoming shorter and more haphazard but I thought that as long as I kept walking briskly, I could still maintain a reasonable pace and try to enjoy the experience.
As my stomach slowly settled, my legs became heavier – one day I’ll figure you out, traitorous calves. Coming into the underpass at Limehouse, I chugged down some Lucozade and stopped for a few seconds to stretch them out. Fortunately, the amazing drummers in the tunnel kicked in and got me back into gear. Gradually I was reeling in those milestones I had achieved in training: 15, 18 and 20 miles. At Canary Wharf, I got a boost from one of my oldest friends, who had been tracking me with her young son and had finally spotted me at the third attempt. I had to run back quickly for a hug with them both.
With 6 miles to go, the end was suddenly a tangible thought: essentially two Parkruns left and even if I just walked, I knew had the pace to do it within an hour and a half.
Mile 23 was coming up and I was conserving my energy as I came past Tower Hill. I was determined to run through and try to look strong, even if I didn’t feel it. I knew there was a small downhill into Lower Thames Street, I passed the Mile 23 marker but still no sign - where was everyone? Had they all packed up and gone home? Suddenly I could see Janet waving furiously and I waved back like a lunatic, punching the air. In my mind’s eye, I sprang gazelle like onto the kerb and into the embrace of all my running friends and colleagues. The photos suggest I looked more like I was managing a double hip replacement and hobbling across the street. I didn’t know whether to hug or high-five, it was a jumbled mixture of both, my apologies if you got more - or less! - than you bargained for. It was even more than I expected and over far too soon.
100 meters further on, I spotted my mum and aunty who had travelled up for the day from Birmingham. One last quick stop for a hug and a photo. The marathon experience was obviously working it’s magic as I’ve not seen my mum that giddy before, if ever.
Just Embankment, Big Ben and Buckingham Palace left, I was on a mental high, although my legs had pretty much packed in and the road seemed never ending. I settled for saving my energy again for the last push down Birdcage Walk and onto The Mall. I could see the timing clock and the seconds ticking by above the finish line and that I could just make it under 5 hours 30. One final (slow) sprint and it was over. I couldn’t run another step if I’d tried. Lon-DONE.
One week on and I’m still digesting this whole crazy, experience. The support all along the course on a gloomy Sunday was unbelievable and life affirming. It’s pretty clear that I still need to figure out race fuelling and probably warming up properly would have helped with my calf issues. I’ve lost count of the number of things that were new on race day, but it would have been impossible to practice every permutation. I accept that this was the biggest learning curve and that in running as well as life, I’m generally ok with winging it!
After fracturing a metatarsal in week 1 of training, I wasn’t sure if I could make the start line, or if it was sensible to even try. I immediately had to adjust any expectations of a time and focus on just getting to and through the race. I had the benefit of it being my first marathon attempt, with the goal just to finish, so I suppose I had nothing to lose from that point of view. The training journey had to take unexpected detours, via pool, gym and bike. I would recommend aqua jogging and doing any physio exercises religiously. Looking back, I can see how I was then strong enough to return to the road and take on the longer training runs.
Having a Club place brings with it a certain amount of pressure; it is humbling to wear the shirt and represent, knowing that I’ll never bring the accolades that come with fast times. Not least is the pressure of writing this blog and the opportunity to inflict my ramblings on you! I certainly haven’t had any of the answers, but I hope I’ve offered a little of a first-timer’s perspective and I thank you sincerely for sticking with me up to this point.
What has been most overwhelming is the huge support I have had from the wider club and especially from the Daytime Runners and the superwomen of my Sunday run crew. In particular, Claire Parker who introduced me to Ealing Eagles in the first place, Teresa Anderson and the legend that is Kim Bobsin. I can’t thank you all enough and look forward to cheering you all on next. The marathon really does bring out the best in people, in so many ways.
My running journey began 5 years ago, watching London Marathon under the cloud of grief. Last weekend, I came out of Embankment tunnel into the sun. Time to turn the page on a new running chapter...