A note about London (short) and some thoughts about my next race (long)

Seriously: I won’t ponder too long over VLM. The easiest option for you as well as me is to include my answer to Littl’Un’s teacher when she asked him what my time had been. I could have answered either “ 3:13’05” ” or “I didn’t particularly enjoy it”, but, being me, I felt compelled to give it some context. So here’s the note I asked Daniel to hand over:

(Daniel’s teacher is a runner. She ran The Bath Half in March in a decent time, although without finishing 17^th as Daniel repeatedly told us. When I eventually asked him why he thought she had, he remarked that the shirt she’d worn to school read: “Bath Half 17 Finisher”. Can’t fault the lad’s logic…

…oh: and, upon starting up the UK arm of a Dutch company in 2000, we were all given personalised notepads. Thanks to my small handwriting, I’ve still got plenty of sheets left. I’m from Yorkshire – I don’t go around wasting paper and ink…)

I don’t regret my time on the results page. Well, not unduly. It’s my time at VLM on the whole, especially during the run, that is my big regret. I just didn’t enjoy it as much as I wish I had. Maybe I should not have tried to play it cool and should have embraced the whole experience in its magnitude, from the Expo onwards. I certainly regret not joining Duncan and Mike when they headed out to eat the night before, just because I’d brought my own. So what?!? I went out to eat the night before Rotterdam and that didn’t do any harm…

…in my mind, leading up to the weekend, they were going to struggle to find anywhere to eat, whereas they walked into an Italian restaurant on the hotel doorstep and had no problem making a 6:30pm reservation. But I’d brought my own fusilli from home and wasn’t going to change my plans. No, that would have been too sensible…

…given that, upon returning home on the Sunday, I polished off the cold leftover pasta from the pan, it’s not as if they couldn’t have made the return journey!

Anyway: enough of that. VLM was a week and a half ago, and my Rotterdam experience is now almost a month old. Since then, my mind’s switched to my next race, which is a mere thirty-nine days away. One over terrain I’ve never covered, whereas I’d run along the Embankment on trips to London (and faster than I managed at VLM!); one over a distance that I’ve only ever experienced at last year’s Thunder Run, a 24-hour race consisting of 10k loops whereby I never left my comfort zone, in so much that I was always within a couple of miles away from my tent. Whereas, cometh June 10, I’ll be leaving Winchester with a view to reaching Eastbourne – all of…

…a hundred miles away.

. . .

My ‘A’ goal for 2017 was always Rotterdam, and I couldn’t be more delighted with how it went: before, during, after. VLM was a nice add-on, albeit ultimately a disappointing one. As for The South Downs 100…  

I claimed my place on the waiting list last December, having previously eyed up The Classic Quarter for the same weekend. Since then, the organisers had repeatedly reassured me that past experiences suggested enough people were likely to pull out for me to be offered a starting place. But that upgrade from waiting list to starting list only materialised on April 10, exactly two months before the race. Which meant it never interfered with my training for Rotterdam: having run that on the Sunday, I was notified of a place in SDW100 on the Monday, reading the e-mail just a few steps from our front door having headed back from the massage that revealed I’d run a marathon PB with a calf tear. Upon walking through the door phone, I kept my promise to myself and order a celebratory Indian takeaway. It took some effort to complete the form on my smartphone within the 20’ window granted – and, more importantly, before the food was delivered!

The flipside of entering a 100-miler just sixty-two days before the event, of course, being that it means I’ve only got a month to switch gears from marathon running to ultrarunning. From sub-7’ miling to “let’s just get there” miling. Mentally, that’s not a problem: as I always say, I’m not a parkrunner nor a mararunner nor an ultrarunner: I’m a runner who’ll run owt. And the 95 miles of the West Highland Way Race and last year’s Thunder Run should stand my mind in good stead. Nevertheless, I remember very well the training that went into those two races: and I’m now having to cram it into a month before a fortnight’s taper… cram what I can, anyway!

Truth be told, the mileage leading up to Thunder Run was unspectacular, with just the one set of 50k (31mi) back-to-backs. Preparation for the West Highland Way Race was somewhat more meticulous, with four sets of back-to-backs, gradually building up from 20s to 26.2s to 31s to 40s. However, whilst I care little for placings, I was fourth solo male in last year’s solo Thunder Run – so the fitness with which I tackled the event and the training that led up to it can’t have been that bad…

I have the base fitness to make the step up. I have only second-hand accounts (and Strava records) of the route’s terrain (chalky trail) and its elevation profile. Which, at 12,700ft, means the climbs total a mere 2,000ft fewer than along the West Highland Way – and spreading them out over an extra five miles is not going to make that huge a difference. But, whereas Scotland offered major, iconic (and Conic) climbs interspersed with flattish sections, England’s South Downs appear to have in store for me relentless undulation. Furthermore, whilst the West Highland Way features some highly technical sections (one word: Lochside), from what I’ve seen and read the South Downs Way terrain isn’t as treacherous. Least it shouldn’t be if this dry weather holds up.

. . .

Amongst the many questions, one certainty: SDW100 will be the last event I truly race in 2017. Two weeks before it, I’m running Liverpool Marathon as part of Mike and Sarah’s pre-wedding celebrations: I don’t know what fancy dress it will entail but there will be some, although I suspect it won’t be significantly gait-impacting, not least since Mike’s looking for the group of us to still manage sub-4. Two weeks after SDW100 I’ll be back up for Round Sheffield Run, which I’m viewing as a 15-mi social run with fellow runnerblades. I suspect I’ll end up signing up for the Bristol Half Marathon, but, right now, I have no reason to do so other than it “being there”: it wouldn’t be a PB attempt, and I guess what I’d like to do would be to pace someone to sub-90 there. Just like I’m already looking forward to pacing Ian to sub-4hrs at Chester Marathon on October 8. Finally, similarly to the Bristol HM, I suspect I’ll sign up for the Weston Christmas Cracker 10k on December 10, even though that’s definitely one I won’t race: I’ve retired from 10ks and only do this one to kick off the holiday season with the post-race mince pie. But, equally, I could run 10k around Portishead and have a mince pie as I walk through the door…

…at the start of 2017, I had three key races: Bath Half, Rotterdam Marathon and, subject to getting into it, South Downs Way 100. I PB’d in Bath*. I PB’d in Rotterdam: now to PB next month. Which, as long as I finish, I will do. Oh, the joy of running a distance for the first time!

. . .

But let’s not take finishing for granted, ever: least of all over a hundred miles. Till then, let’s see what the next few weeks hold in store. Sadly, it won’t be parkruns: this Saturday Karen’s heading out of the door at 09:00 and I really ought to be home before she does so, what with The Boys being nine and seven, and the likelihood of me incorporating parkruns into long runs is low. But any speedwork (which is one of the things that parkrun represents for me) is now on hold. From here to Eastborune, it’s about hills and miles, miles and hills, hills and miles, miles and hills, hills and… and…

…smiles.

* sorry - that doesn't quite sound right, does it?

Rotterdam Marathon 2017: a promotion, a croissant, lots of sun and a PB

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?)

Usual four pre-mara songs, in the bath - courtesy of which, and of Saturday's massage by a Run4Kids volunteer physio at the Expo, I set off with an OK calf. Because it wasn’t just maranoia in the build-up: I saw a physio the day after the race and he kindly informed me that there was some slight bleeding in my calf which is probably the result of a slight tear in my muscular tendon junction. There’s a Paul Weller song there somewhere… So I wasn’t surprised when the pain came back during the race. I was relieved, however, that it never went beyond a certain level, and never hurt as much as on Tuesday.

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.