Chester 2014: No Big Deal

Good afternoon World. How are you? Because I’ll be honest – I’m feeling pretty good!

Chester Marathon on Sunday. PB: 3:19’24”. But so much more than a time.

For starters, it was a chance to meet up with Alex, Chris, Mike, Simon and the latest member of The Marathon Runners’ Club – Sarah! It was strange to run knowing she’d not be at the end with chocolate milk for us because she’d be earning her own stripes and lifetime membership: strange, yet… perfectly logical.

Secondly, it was a make-or-break run for me. Not in terms of time: quite simply, had I had a seizure I would probably have called an end to my marathon-running days, as per my previous post. Instead, as per my post-race text to Karen:

“Finished. Conscious. Vertical. In one piece. x".

I only mentioned the time in a subsequent message.

Thirdly: well, OK – the time. And the way I ran the race to achieve it. Pretty darn chuffed.

My 2013 Chester Marathon mile splits ranged between 7’45” to 8’37”, with fourteen sub-8’ miles. This year, the range was 7’19” to 8’02”, with just that one mile over 8’/mi. Better still, the first twenty one splits were in the 7’15”-7’45” range, with a drop off into a 7’48” – 8’02” range over the final five full miles. Only once did my mile pace vary by over ten seconds from the previous: and that was mile two, so it doesn’t really count… on nine occasions the difference was five seconds or less… Forget speed: given that my track record of pacing myself borders on criminal, I’m delighted I was able to be that consistent, particularly over a course that isn’t the flattest.

I won’t bore you with a bagel-by-bagel account of my journey up: suffice to say that, in spite of involving three trains, it was uneventful. Oh, and I had four.

The highlight of Saturday was about people, not bagels: first meeting Chris and, for the first time, Andy for a couple of drinks (orange juice, OK?) in a pub near Chester Train Station, then meeting up with Mike, Sarah, Alex and Dani at the Racecourse. With Chris and Andy having come from the racecourse to meet me, only for me and the Nottingham crew to head back into the centre for a bite to eat, you could be forgiven for thinking we’d not thought this through… and no, for once there was no big plan. Heck, I’d even headed up without having prepared my usual spreadsheet  - let alone a plan to not cart my bag around town! We meandered through Chester’s narrow streets in what proved to be a futile search for a place that a) served pasta but b) was not full of runners until settling for the local Pitcher & Piano. Ciabatta bread has since rocketed in my estimation as a carbloader.

I hitched a ride to the Premier Inn Central North with Simon, checked in, lay out my race gear, ate one last bagel with quinoa (you know, just in case) and headed out to the nearby Morrison for a pint of milk. As I lay down to read Matt Beadshall’s “Run Like Hell”, everything was ready but for one exception: the gels.

I never will know if caffeine gels were to blame for Manchester. What I did know was that I didn’t want to have to ponder that mid-race. So gels were in, but caffeine was out. A decision I could have reversed right up to the last minute, as I had taken with me my own, remaining Clif Espresso Shot gel…

…whenever I’ve glanced at it in recent weeks, I’ve felt as if I was staring at a banned substance I could get away with taking without anyone knowing. Ben Johnson’s bulging eyes have stared right into mine, his devilish look of temptation unfazed as ever. Equally the sofa-bed at the Premier Inn Chester Central North accommodated a few ZipVit caffeine gels, those two words alone making them stand out. Should I? Shouldn’t I?

Truth be told, I was never truly tempted. I wanted a good time: and staying conscious was a pre-requisite. And, after all I’d said, I couldn’t do this to my friends, to my family. Yes, I am curious to know whether the caffeine gels truly were to blame. They’d never impacted me on training runs before and I wouldn’t want to take them in a race situation now, so I may well never know. Cometh Sunday morning, I packed three ZF7 gels: banana, kiwi and orange. In the absence of pineapple, my three favourite fruits. I resisted the lure of the Bakewell Tart and was all set: finished packing, paid a couple of visits and headed to the lobby to meet the rest of the gang. Feeling good.

Mike was running an “unofficial 3:30’ bus” with so many passengers it was practically a double-decker. Simon and Chris J had bought their tickets, alongside a bunch of other people. Alex was aiming for sub-3:15’. Me, I was aiming for sub-3:20’ – so stuck myself somewhere in between the 3:15’ and 3:30’ target groups, all alone…

…which suited me, truth be told. Throughout the race I tagged onto runners going at a similar pace to where I wanted to be, but always on a loose, no commitment basis. Runners who didn’t know about what had happened on the previous occasion, who wouldn’t worry about me, who wouldn’t make me worry about them worrying about me, who… exactly. I wanted to avoid kicking off a vicious cycle which would only have exacerbated any pressure I felt. Pressure I may or may not have picked up on, but which may still have been capable of impacting the innermost workings of my brain. It just wasn’t worth the hassle. Not this time.

I spent miles four to ten with a couple of blokes and a couple of lasses, most of them just behind them as I preserved breath in “listen-only mode”. As they slowed down I ran alone for a while before catching up with a couple of Shabbarunners, one of whom, Ian Glover, I follow (and he follows me) on Twitter – not that I realised that till the following morning! Again, I left him and Paul chat away and just tucked right behind them, letting them go around mile fifteen. I was actually chuffed that I’d managed to let them go rather than making a foolhardy attempt at keeping up with them… as it happens I would catch them later as they answered nature’s call, then see them go again as they went on to finish forty-five seconds ahead of me. Runners ahead of you may appear more distant than they actually are. And words aren’t a necessity for sharing a sense of achievement: subsequent exchanges on Twitter and Strava suggest Ian, Paul and I “ran that town” together. In a way, we did. I’ve got the Stava “Activity Playback” to prove it.

In between the two sections of running with Ian and Paul, I tagged a member of “The 100 Marathon Club” whose silent, lonely, steely determination really did allow me to feel I was being paced. I had no idea of her name during the race: subsequent analysis of FB45 results and race photos has revealed her to be runner 3508, Caroline Hemming, of Cheshire-based Spectrum Striders. I stuck with her between miles sixteen and twenty-one, some of the most undulating, as we overtook many and were overtaken by few, if any. Said like that, it sounds as if we were working as a team: truth is, she led and I followed. Prior to that phase, she’d caught up with me several miles back, dropped off, caught back… it was probably her third marathon of the week, after all! But after she’d unknowingly pushed me to maintain that 7’30”ish pace I thought we’d finish together. I was already wrestling with whether I should pip her to the finish in a sprint or ensure she crossed the line first as recognition for her pacing work. As it happens, around mile 22 she slowed down and I kept going. Her chip time was 3:20’33” as she came in 1’09” after me (the old chip vs gun thing: I’d crossed the start line a little earlier). Having relied on her so heavily to get me safely over some of the route’s hills, I am delighted that I also had the confidence to overtake her when the time was right. A minute here or there may not sound like much to the transient reader, but it means a lot to the persistent runner.

(Oh, and I did do a little mental jig as I passed mile 21. You know, as in when I’d passed one more marker than I had in Manchester. A little jig and a little smile.)

I never look at my time during races: what I do check, and frequently, is pace. I knew I’d been doing well when I checked my time at 22.2mi, i.e. with four miles to go. It didn’t take the most complex of mental arithmetics to figure that eight-minute miling between there and the finish line would get me sub-3:20’. To be honest, I thought I’d be slightly ahead of that, and was slightly apprehensive knowing there were still a few hills waiting to ask me some tough questions. But once I’d tackled the last one (and, unlike last year, this time I knew which was the last one) I was able to speed up again, confident the hard work was about to pay off. It was. It did.

Crossing the finish line was a relief and a celebration. I gathered my medal and wore it with pride when only months before I’d hid it at the bottom of my plastic bag. I spotted a Totley runner just in front of me and congratulated him. No idea who it was, just that we were wearing the same type of vest. I then headed to the viewing area and saw in Mike, Chris and Darren before catching up with Alex, who’d smashed a phenomenal 3:13’37”. Shortly later I found Simon, together we found Chris and Andy… it was great to once again be amongst friends to share our respective achievements. I just needed to grab a shower in time to get back to cheer in Sarah…

…alas, I failed. She was too quick! I feel obliged to seize a shower if it’s on offer and I have three sets of train passengers to sit alongside. I also ensure the camaraderie of a male sporting dressing room, even if I don’t know anyone else in there. I was as quick as I could, but not as quick as Sarah as she came in in 4:41’08”. It took me almost that long to find her and Mike, courtesy of network coverage and just my general stupidity: I ended up leaving in a greater hurry than I’d hoped and still miss my train. I didn’t get home till 22:30. But that’s OK: I had the little people who live in my phone for company and I got to finish “Run Like Hell”, a book that puts amazing running achievements into perspective without detracting from them. Apt.

Andy Oakes, Chris Marritt, Simon Walkden and mi'sen - taken by Kate Marritt.

(No permission asked, although Chris didn’t complain when I nicked it previously.)

So – what worked? What made sub-3:20’ possible?

Everything.

There are days when everything comes together and this was one of them. I’d slept well; my Quaker Oats + peanut butter bagel combo with normal coffee obviously worked; I got to the toilet at the right time; I’d tapered well; I’d carbloaded well… and I paced myself right. It just felt like everything came into place for me to achieve my sub-3:20’ goal by all of thirty-six precious seconds. Although one key ingredient is missing from that recipe…

…I didn’t make a big deal of Chester.

Not by my standards, anyway. But I tried to not make too big a deal of it. I tried to just treat it as another run and go out and enjoy it without putting myself under undue pressure. To relax a bit. And trust me, a lot of conscious effort goes into relaxing.

I relaxed about food: I did end up washing down my work do curry with a bottle of Kingfisher on the Wednesday (as per Simon and Matt’s suggestion - well OK, they suggested two and I wasn’t that bold!), I didn’t freak out at not eating pasta on the Saturday… I’d obviously carbloaded well on the whole… and I must have done something right with my gels, taking them at miles 7, 15 and 23 with a few ShotBloks in between courses. I only drank water at the drink stations: a little Lucozade may not have been a bad thing. But water was cool. On the day, everything just seemed to fall into place – indeed, into pace. But the day was just a culmination of a week’s focus on relaxing.

I tried to steer clear of running on my Facebook posts. There were no announcements of goals there or on Twitter. I didn’t post any self-centred entries on here. I’d bought a non-running book for the journey, namely Keith Gillespie’s autobiography, although ultimately I couldn’t put down “Run Like Hell”, primarily because it is not a running book. And, most importantly, on race day, after a quick glance at messages from the night before, I turned off data on my phone.

On my last taper run, I’d spotted Mike and Dave heading back from their morning newspaper trip. I was tempted to catch up with them and tell them what I had coming up. Instead I took a left and headed down Valley Road. Delighted to have seen Mike today and had the chance to bring him up to speed. But until the race was run I just wanted to keep it to myself. As much as possible, anyway.

Don’t ask why it doesn’t show me as Totley AC. Just focus on the way I climbed up: it’s unusual for me.
(OK, so there was one blip... but nowt major!)

I didn’t want to enter the racecourse to rapturous encouragement streaming over my phone and bouncing around in my head. I even played down by in-room routine: I still listened to three of my pre-race songs, but left out the most anthemic. So yes, I listened to Mark Knopfler and Emmylou Harris’ ‘All The Road Running’, an understated reminder of the training that’s gone into race day; yes, I did listen to James’ ‘I Know What I’m Here For’, a bold reminder of why I’d bothered with all that training in the first place; and yes, I listened to Springsteen’s ‘No Surrender’ to remind myself that this was not a solo effort and that I had two angels by my side who’d lift me over that wall as I approached it, who came to mind before the race and again as I tackled those climbs: thanks, lads. But I did leave out ‘Born To Run’, fist-pumping and all. I was pumped enough as it was without going into overdrive…

…throughout the week, throughout those final few hours, I was very conscious of something Alex had tweeted on the morning of Greater Manchester. Something along the lines of “Has Gia wet the bed?” as he observed me go into giddy Twitter overdrive. I just thought I was up for it: but from the other side of the screen I probably did appear well beyond that. And maybe there was enough bouncing around my brain when I took to the start line that the nigh-on three intense hours that followed found it easy to send it into overdrive. As always, who knows? Just seemed wise to try and keep things a little calmer. So I tweeted my apologies, announced my phone was going off, and set off down to the lobby. And you know what happened after that.

Of course, it could have been all so different had I not nailed the plan, let alone the execution…

Based on my Manchester times, I had contemplated shooting for 7’27”/mi and therefore sub-3:15’. A chat with Mike via Twitter and then on Saturday put paid to that. It’s easy to underestimate the difference a few feet of elevation can make over 26.2mi, not just by slowing you down at the time but by sapping your energy levels for any flat miles ahead. 7’37” was the right goal: not once have I looked back and wondered whether I could have gone faster. It did make me giggle to pull up a text from Dad after last year’s Chester, in which he said he thought I could do 3:18’. It was the culmination of discussions we’d had about how much I was running yet how little, if anything, I was training back then. OK, I was a minute out: but that didn’t matter. I just wish I’d remembered that text better beforehand as it would have saved me a lot of time determining my goal. Indeed, I thought he’d said 3:20’…

Thanks for reading. Here’s your reward: my 2013-2014 Chester Marathon mile split comparisons:

CHS	2013	2014	diff.
1	07:57	07:32	-00:25
2	08:13	07:19	-00:54
3	07:45	07:30	-00:15
4	07:55	07:29	-00:26
5	07:50	07:31	-00:19
6	07:50	07:30	-00:20
7	07:54	07:38	-00:16
8	08:05	07:36	-00:29
9	07:53	07:30	-00:23
10	08:02	07:40	-00:22
11	07:48	07:31	-00:17
12	08:01	07:34	-00:27
13	08:08	07:41	-00:27
14	07:53	07:34	-00:19
15	07:58	07:23	-00:35
16	07:54	07:37	-00:17
17	08:10	07:45	-00:25
18	07:57	07:44	-00:13
19	07:53	07:33	-00:20
20	07:47	07:25	-00:22
21	08:03	07:48	-00:15
22	08:10	07:50	-00:20
23	08:35	07:52	-00:43
24	08:29	07:53	-00:36
25	08:37	08:02	-00:35
26	08:07	07:30	-00:37
0.3	07:44	07:17	-00:27

 

(Now you really are free to go!!! Quick: escape, before I change my mind!)

(OK, one last bagel-related comment: thanks Philip for pointing out I’d gone too easy on the peanut butter when I tweeted a picture of my sweet bagels. Getting them all out of their bags for another layer was just one more thing that went right and paid off.)