On Sunday morning I lined up at the start
of the Greater Manchester Marathon. On April 28, 2013 I’d crossed the
finish line in 3:31’18”: a decent time for a first-timer, who’d only run his
first 10k the previous September. Then, on April 6, 2014, I crossed it
4:16’12” after setting off. But I did so without finishing it, for, having got
to 20.5mi in 2:30’, the next hour and three quarters were spent in an
ambulance, in the field hospital and wondering what to do once discharged
before getting back onto the course for the final two hundred yards once I’d
recovered from my epileptic seizure. A decision I’ve since regretted, thinking
back to those who were crossing that line the full twenty-six point two into
their race with the faces the challenge demands, rather than all smiles with
drawstring bag on back like I was: but I can see why it seemed a good idea at
the time. That time. Whereas this time…
On April 19, 2015, The Usual Twitter
Suspects gathered in the same place, around the same time as always: by the Sir
Matt Busby statue, 8am. The vibe was good: a lot of us felt it could be a good
day for a PB, not least thanks to the presence of clouds and relative absence
of wind, Chris having already
been epic in that department. There was also a sense of communal expectation
for Mike and Alex’s sub-3 attempt, backed up by the
notion that their preparation all pointed in the right direction, not least
their joint effort at the Wilmslow Half which they finished in 1:23’. Both very good
runners, Wilmslow had proven they were also very good for each other.
Manchester had been warned.
Chats about what had happened
in 2014
were inevitable. I had since run (and PB’d) in Chester in October, which meant I
knew I could run all 26.2 miles of a marathon. Not that the distance was the
concern, rather, potentially, the intensity, the awarenessAhead of Chester I’d
gone on record saying that, in
the event of a repeat ‘performance’, I’d retire from marathons and focus on
ultras: it was a relief to not have to do so. Especially given I’d already
entered Greater Manchester 2015. You know that story, right?
Greater Manchester Marathon 2014: The Race
I Entered Twice (and didn’t finish once):
<abridged overview>
1. I entered the 2014 race nice and early
2. Kept getting promo e-mails
3. Felt sure I’d entered but couldn’t find
the confirmation e-mail
4. Entered it (again)
5. Received two numbers
6. Deferred one
We laughed at the time, but it turned out
to work out quite well: at no stage did I have to question whether I should
enter this year’s race, whether I wanted to run along that grass verge again…
Granted, those who know me know how long I’d have needed to work out that one
(i.e. less than it’s taken you to read this sentence): but still… saved me a
nanosecond.
As I walked up to the start line, I was
more relaxed than twelve months prior. I’d trained and was going for a PB, but
this was not my A race (or, indeed, my A distance) and I was keener to see Mike
and Alex smash the sub-3 landmark than I was in shaving minutes off Chester’s
3:19’24”. That race had taught me to relax more, during the race but equally in
the build-up: and, by not going anywhere near social media on race-day morning,
I’d done just that. My first achievement of the day.
For a mile-by-mile statistical dissection
of the race, waste your time here. Abridged overview number two:
1. Looked for runners doing around 7’10”/mi
onto whom tag along, either letting them go if they pushed too hard or leaving
them behind if they dropped off the pace;
2. Repeated that for as many miles as
possible, slowing down after 21. But then so did most of those I’d been
tracking. Why, some became familiar faces. Well, behinds, anyway;
3. Crossed the line in 3:08’56”. A 10’28”
PB.
The support was again fantastic. This was
only the fourth edition of the race, yet its status on the UK Marathon Calendar
would suggest a darn sight more. I’m no fan of Chris Evans as a morning DJ, but
it was nice to lie in bed this morning going through Strava on my laptop and
hearing him talk about the race… not because of any insightful comments, just
because he was talking about a race that so many friends of mine and I had truly
nailed. So many of us set new PBs: Mike, Alex and I, but also Philip, Chris
and, by no means least, Steven, who didn’t so much shave as blow away over
twenty minutes off his previous PB. Yes, perfect running conditions: but they
mean nothing without sweat and hard work beforehand. And we all did ourselves
justice.
And now for a little addendum…
. . .
At the start of the week, I’d seen my
neurosciences consultant. She thought I was in a bad mood, which given what I’m
usually like is saying something. True, Karen and I were both annoyed at being
told we’d turned up late when we’d actually got to the desk with minutes to
spare only to be told someone else had been sent in because my name had been
called out and I wasn’t there. But that didn’t bother me too much, although I
tried my utmost to get more annoyed than I otherwise would out of empathy with
my fuming wife. What had bothered me was… well, as I told my doc yesterday,
having outlined earlier in the letter why I didn’t want to explore the options
of further surgery or a radical change in medication:
“…I
was in a bad mood because, just six days away from my first official marathon
of the year, my run that morning hadn’t gone according to plan. But I’m in a
better mood now, as yesterday I ran the Greater Manchester Marathon in
3:08’56”. An improvement on 2014, when a seizure stopped me in my tracks with
six miles to go. Indeed, this was my fastest marathon to date: not a bad time
for an epileptic runner. One that has tried to rid himself of his condition and
that, having failed, has returned to viewing it as something he simply needs to
live with. We all have our cross to bear: and mine is lighter than most. Light
enough that I can run with it on my back. And, far more importantly, carry it
along life’s roads as a father, a husband and a son.”
So I ‘told’ my doc yesterday. But I didn’t
write that yesterday: I just entered my time yesterday. I’d already written the
rest.
Confidence? Arrogance? Motivation? Maybe a
healthy mix. Sprinkled with the knowledge that, had things not gone to plan,
all it would take would be a click for all that to disappear: and you lot would
never have known! But, while we’re talking about you lot…
…you are one of the reasons why I was able
to tell my consultant that I currently enjoy a great quality of life. Alongside
family, work and all the other bits that have to fall into place for us all, I
have you.
Because
having someone open up my brain again and take out another bit might be more
tempting if I were just cooped indoors all day. But fresh air, endorphins and
the lore of running… they may not prevent the seizures (indeed, some would arg…
let’s not go there), but they do weaken their impact on my overall wellbeing.
And for that lore of running, that love of running, you deserve a fair amount
of credit. Whether I’ve run with you or whether you live in my phone, I am
humbly grateful. Especially if I have had the pleasure of running with you, be
it enjoying stellar views over the Peak District or through woods on the
outskirts of Bristol, up steep mountain climbs in Italy or round and round the
flat tarmac of Little Stoke… or anywhere else. Thank you.
It’s
not just about the running. Nor would running alone carry the meaning it does
in its broader context, certainly not for me. But boy does it help… More than
any med I’ve ever taken.
I
wouldn’t get home till just after midnight, where Karen was finally able to
congratulate me face-to-face rather than by text. She was impressed with my
‘fast’ time, which meant a lot given she’s many great things, but a running
expert ain’t one – so it was pleasing that she appreciated that my time was OK.
On Friday she’d asked me why I put myself through all this, and my “because a
bit of pain is good for the soul” was a tad simplistic. But maybe on Sunday she
got it… or at least a bit of it. Maybe she’ll read this and get another bit of
it. But back to Sunday night, or indeed the first few minutes of Monday morning,
when, as we lay in bed, she softly whispered:
“So
that was ten minutes faster than ever before?”
“No.
Ten minutes and twenty-eight seconds”
To
which I then quietly added:
“But
this was flatter.”
“Don’t
be hard on yourself!”
“Not
being hard on myself. Just saying, I don’t expect to beat this PB for… well, twelve
months”.
For
Chester, York and Bristol-Bath in October won’t be PBs. For now comes the time
of my A Race, the West Highland Way
Race,
on June 20. That’s right, less than two months to go. If I ran a mile and a
half every day between now and June 20, I wouldn’t cover the distance I will
have to cover upon leaving Milngavie at 1am that morning. And there’s only four
days to go to…
. . .
…its
prequel (and, for me, pre-qual!): the Highland Fling. That’s on Saturday,
all 53 miles of it, also starting from Milngavie and also along the West
Highland Way, the race ending in Tyndrum while the Way keeps going to Fort
William. When I ran The Fling last
year,
it represented the pinnacle of my running journey: I can still feel the
happiness in the subsequent blog post. And it’s going to
be great again: 53 breath-taking miles, hours and hours of breath-taking views,
most shared with friends. Two have had to pull out, but Trevor and Mike will still be there. I’ll try and keep up with them but
don’t expect to do so for the full run: but that’s OK, we’ll meet at the end,
beer, soup and tea in hand before hitting The Real Food Cafe. It’s what we do.
Sarah,
Mike’s other half, will also be there, lending her amazing support. She’ll be
back on June 20, too. Not to support Mike, but to support me, on a race that I
can’t see will last less than twenty-six hours. Where our journey on Sunday
ends, cometh June Mike’s and mine will begin, as he’ll be joining me for the
last forty-miles. That’s right, just the last forty… although hey, all going
well they’ll be the best forty of my life. And no, I’m not saying that on the
basis of how my legs will feel. But maybe, just maybe, when I cross the line on
June 21 I’ll eclipse what remains my most elating running feeling to date. For
now, that still dates to May 6, 2012, when I first ran 5k
without stopping. My PB races have all come mighty close, but that first time
still shaves it. But I have hopes for a 95-mi Ultra to overtake it. And every
sinew of my body will have to pull its weight for me to find out. Till then,
roll on Saturday – and thanks again for your part in getting me this far.
p.s.:
not that she was surprised, but Karen thought some of the running detail in my
letter to my consultant were not necessary. What she doesn’t know is that I’d
initially detailed the splits of my disappointing Monday run… but wanted to
keep the letter to a single page, so removed them!
