You know what it’s
like. You wait a year for a blog post, then two come along in two weeks…
To be honest, this
one’s a bit of a cheat. The bulk of this post is lifted from the Strava
description I wrote for Sunday’s
Rotterdam Marathon, with a few enhancements (OK: ‘tweaks’) thereafter. Typing
this on my smartphone was as good a way as any to kill time on the flight back
from Amsterdam to Bristol, given I was buzzing too much to sleep…
Greetings
from seat 6D (aisle - yay!) EZY6168 from AMS to BRS on Sunday, April 9. Heading
home after an awesome weekend in Rotterdam, the marathon being the
culmination of great times with friends – in many a sense… Where to begin?
It
was definitely pleasure on Friday and Saturday, both with my friends and, on
Saturday afternoon, sat on my hotel room bed following the football scores
which finally sealed United’s promotion to the Championship with a win away at Northampton.
Little wonder that, as I hopped down to reception as we met up to head out for
the last (pre-race) meal, I was told I had a spring in my step… the question
was, how long would it last?
 |
| Where were you when United won promotion to the Championship on April 7, 2017? Why, on my bed at the Hotel Bilderberg, of course... |
On Sunday morning, the
plan was 6'45" miling with Mike.
But that was before the day turned out to be the hottest The Netherlands have
enjoyed all year. Safe to say civilians enjoyed it more than us lot…
Mike
and I struggled to find the bag drop, which led to us starting further back
than we should have. In the words of a marshal who pointed out we were entitled
to be further ahead, “you are quicker than this!”. So the procession towards
that first (of many) timing mat beeps was long and slow…
…thereafter,
it was nice to overtake people, less so to have to weave in and out to do so. A
7’12” opening mile was not in the plan – and, at that stage, there was little
way of knowing how much more weaving would be required. Fortunately, very
little: we picked up the pace and passed through the first 10k pretty much on
schedule. So Mike informed me: I was doing an excellent job of not thinking.
Not looking at pace, not doing any maths. I was intentionally leaving all that
to Tutu Twirling Boy.
Mike
and I stuck together for the first half, shortly after which I was held up at a
water station and had to decide whether to catch up with him or not. I didn’t
put in a sprint, but over the course of a mile or so I did. However, when
something similar happened again at the next station some three miles later,
this time creating a far larger gap, I chose not to accelerate and just keep
him and his purple tutu in my sights. That gap didn't widen till pretty much
the final few miles. So he was still masterly pacing me - just from afar.
The
one plus side about starting too far back was that, even when the sub-3 pacers
overtook me after I’d passed them a few miles earlier, I knew I was on for that
time (on chip). I knew they were on my tail, as I understand enough Dutch to
make sense of the increasingly frequent cries of “Hier komen de drie uur!” from
the spectators. Kept up with them for a while, then kept them in my sights.
Close enough.
I
genuinely didn't check watch until mile 18 - and that was for distance, not
pace. I trusted Mike, and later on the pacers. Only really started doing some
calcs over the final two miles...
...I'd
been asked whether I was going for sub-3 or a PB. As November’s Nice-Cannes time
had been 2:59'38", I genuinely thought I'd struggle to achieve the former without
the latter. With a mile and a half to go I did wonder - but then found enough
energy in my heart to give my legs an overdue kick.
Looking
back in the cold light of day (pretty much the temperature we would have liked
on the day!), heart rate alone suggests I could have pushed more. Steadily
increasing as the miles passed by, it averaged out at 146bpm, which is in my ‘tempo’
zone. And maybe I could have pushed myself to the threshold more. But that
doesn't reveal that my calf started hurting again around mile ten. In the days
leading up to the race I'd figured that heel striking hurt it less. Was
prepared to give that a go, but right heel was also hurting… So I just got on
with it. Should I have bought some compression socks at the Expo? Quite
probably, looking back - not that they would have numbed the pain completely,
mind. After the race I couldn't walk properly, but a couple of hours later I
was back to normal. Well, "post-mara" normal, anyroad.
Decent
enough course. Good support, if at times too keen to step onto the route. Not
sure I'd do it again: would probably choose Manchester ahead of it. But
delighted I did. And not just for the PB...
...had
a fantastic time with Sarah, Judith, Lucy, Lucy, Mike, Philip and Steven. Very similar, if
fundamentally different, to the great times I've had on Springsteen trips with
people I only met through that shared passion and whom I've been delighted to
count amongst my best friends for almost twenty years now. Wonder where we'll
be running marathons together around 2030!
This
was my eleventh marathon. And experience from the previous ten, especially
Nice-Cannes, came to the fore...
At
mile 20, I knew that was where the serious business began. I knew that
maratraining wasn't about being able to run 26.2, but about being able to run
6.2. The last 6.2. And all the roadrunning wasn't in vain.
 |
| What a sub-3 looks and feels like: with Mike, shortly after the race |
A
goal: sub-2:57'. B goal: PB. C goal: sub-3. So I achieved my B goal, and by 39”.
And, in that heat, that's something I'm proud of. Equally, Nice-Cannes was
hillier and, by the end, no cooler. Is a 39" improvement a fair reflection
of my improved form? Who knows. But I probably gritted my teeth more over the
last 10k on the Côte d'Azur - if only through 'necessity'. That and because back
then I knew securing membership of the sub-3 club was within reach yet could
easily slip away. Delighted as I am with my new PB, the feeling of the first
time I stopped my Garmin and saw that indeed the first number showing was a 2
will never be eclipsed by any marathon result. And sure, 39" over 26.2
doesn't sound as impressive as my 2'12" PB improvement in
Bath over half that distance four weeks earlier. But that's more a reflection
of how much better my marathon PB -which was less than five months old- was
than my half marathon one, the latter offering far greater scope for
improvement. Most of which I seized...
Hot,
hot, hot. And to think we stayed in the 'Cool' quarter, too…
PBs
for Mike and Steven, too. Top performances by Philip and Sarah, not least given
their aversion to heat. I don't enjoy it, but my Italian heritage has its plus
points... my darker skin is less likely to burn, and memories of two to three-hour
tennis matches at noon in July with Mauro help. Mike’s 2:57’59” finally lay the
ghost of Manchester 2015 to rest for him, when he was comfortably inside three
hours but not once the times had been revised in light of the course proving
380m short. And it helps me put my time into perspective, too. Considering his
HM PB’s 2’34” better than mine, and that even over just 10k there is 1’37”
between our best times, I’m pretty honoured and chuffed that over 26.2 miles only
sixty seconds separate us. Although there are 3,291 between our respective Highland Fling (53mi) PBs – here’s
hoping he increases that to at least 3,968 in two weeks’ time by breaking ten
hours!
Nutrition
notes…
…during
the race I took three strawberry
ShotBloks, one ‘Tropical’
SIS gel (around mile 16) – and water at every station. Plastic cup, always
tricky: but none went to waste, least not intentionally. Every cup came with a
sponge inside it, which made it easier to cool oneself down and helped keep
most of the water inside upon grabbing it.
 |
| A spectacular breakfast. And two spectacular Yorkshiremen. |
Carbloading
began on Thursday evening, with wholewheat fusilli and red pesto, after as much
carb depletion as practically possible in the real world of family life. No
caffeine in that time, either. Friday lunchtime: red & white quinoa with
two slices of brown bread. In the evening, once I’d crossed the North Sea and
was out with The Gang: Chinese vermicelli with chicken. On race eve: a delicious
but carb-light breakfast (I even had a croissant!), a salad with an entire (!)
bag of plain quinoa for lunch, spaghetti San Giovannino for dinner at Spaghettata – with a couple of bagels
in between… Race-day breakfast: one porridge pot, a half-honey, half-jam wholemeal
bread banana sandwich, one SuperFruit
tea and two cups of TrueStart.
And water aplenty. All in all, a combination of textbook carbloading and a more
relaxed approach, especially on the Saturday morning. But that breakfast at Baker & Moore was just
irresistible. Although the free-flowing, pleasant nature of the conversation might
just have spilled over to the food and given it that same flavour.
(Of course, it's not as if I only gave in to the temptation of the croissant because Philip suggested I wasn't "playing ball"... that wouldn't be me at all. Right?)
(Of course, it's not as if I only gave in to the temptation of the croissant because Philip suggested I wasn't "playing ball"... that wouldn't be me at all. Right?)
 |
| The crew still enjoying well deserved beers as I headed back home:
l to r, Mike, Steven, Sarah, Lucy, Philip, Judith and Lucy
|
. . .
I’ve
spent this week in join recovery and taper mode, mainly out on the beautiful
Portishead Coast Path which I’d so far avoided this year for the same reason I
embraced it for four of this week’s runs: because its terrain doesn’t lend
itself to achieving a consistent pace, let alone one even remotely close to my
target race pace. Now I just have to remind myself that I’m running London Marathon
next Sunday…
VLM
has never been a key race for me since entering it: it’s a box-ticking affair,
one I want to run because Dad did (twice). My Greater Manchester Marathon 2016
time got me into a position whereby I could claim a place without having to go
through the ballot, and it seemed rude not to stake it. Such modest enthusiasm explains
why I’ve said all along that I’ll not decide on how to approach it until the
week leading up to it; and, if anything, now I’m tempted to give myself even
longer to decide. Maybe until the morning itself. It really depends on how the
calf heals (it hurts little now, but the real test will come mid-race) and on
what fine-tuning short runs I manage to squeeze in next week, which now includes
a short work trip to Paris. Which was the case in the week ahead of The Bath
Half in March; and I’d spent the week leading up to Nice-Cannes in another
European capital, Warsaw. My only three work trips in those six months, during
which I’ve only raced four events. Coincidence?
The
bottom line is that going into a marathon with a 2:58’59” 26.2-miler as a last
long run doesn’t do confidence any harm. Nor does an 18’32” parkrun six days
after Rotterdam. And I’ll gladly throw £15 at a
fifteen-minute massage on the right calf at the Expo the day before the race. It
may or may not relax the muscle, but I bet it relaxes the mind.
And
if I do reach the start line relaxed, and the conditions are favourable, I may
well give another sub-3 a go. It would seem rude not to, not least because of
the eleven marathons I’ve run to date nine have been in the UK yet the two
sub-3s have come on the two I’ve run on foreign shores. One of my Portishead
Running Club maratraining buddies, Duncan, may be aiming for a similar goal:
but we’ll be in different pens with thousands of runners between us, so there’s
no point in even broaching the subject of running together. And anyway, I’m
genuinely not fussed. Least of all about it being Lundun: many non-runners
ignore the existence of other marathons, and for many runners VLM is the
ultimate race on the bucket list. For me, it’s just another 26.2 miles: cometh
April 23 the crowds and sights may change my mind, but I’m not sure it’ll
eclipse Manchester, let alone Chester So ‘curious’ about what I might manage in
eight days’ time, yes. But ‘fussed’?
Nah.
I stopped getting fussed about marathon times on November 1, 2016. Since then,
it’s all been more enjoyable. Even if it probably doesn’t appear as such from
the outside, or to Karen as I go through my food plans for next week. But hey…
a croissant, peanut butter and jam on race eve? If that doesn’t tell you I’m
more relaxed… just because everyone else around me also had chocolate during
the day and ice cream at dinner…
…indeed,
Rotterdam’s taper run was different for me. I usually head out for a couple of
quick miles; last Saturday, we ran four of them at a very gentle pace. Now to
decide what to run on Saturday: gentle is tempting, but, with a 06:30 taxi
pick-up to start the journey to London, I have to make sure I’ve the time to
afford the pace!
And
yes, I probably will have whole-wheat fusilli on Friday evening and take some
with me for Saturday, as I’m sure there will be plenty of eateries near our
hotel but just as confident they’ll be somewhat busy. Besides, what can I say…
I like fusilli. And I’m a creature of habit. Albeit one happy to try and
improve.
