Edinburgh Marathon 2012 - race report

Well, I went up north full of hope for a sub-5hr marathon, and predictably, it didn't happen. The UK is in the middle of something of a heatwave, and we all know how me and heat mix; we don't.

So, we – myself and John, a friend with personal reasons for wanting to do a marathon – travelled up to Glasgow on Friday evening. We got to the flat we were staying in late-ish and went to find food after 10pm. We had some tasty tasty pizza, then as we were wandering back to the flat, I found a Scrabble tile. Just sitting there, on the pavement. I picked it up - I'm odd like that. It was an 'N'.

Only worth 1 point.

John joked, we should keep looking because if we found enough tiles, we could have a game.

Anyway, 50 yards or so further down the road, we found another tile. An 'R'.

Cool, game on, thinks us. Sure enough, not 15 feet away, another tile, face down. It's a 'U'. Now, bear in mind a couple of things here that you did not already know: John was in two minds about doing the race. He was not fit, though something of a natural athlete; he missed London because of injury, and was pretty sure, though not certain, he was going to run/walk the marathon in Edinburgh. He was determined to do something, in memory of his son Joel who died a couple of years ago aged just 19.

It may have been a message. You decide. But wait until the end before you decide, ok?

Next day, Saturday, we did very little. Went and bought a hat to run in (turned out to be a lifesaver), watched a lot of TV, ate a lot of food.

Sunday arrives and I'm up around 4am, eating breakfast. All part of the experiment; IBS med before brekkie, then do umpteen shits, them Imodium, then IBS meds just before the race and another Imodium if I have shat again. Well, that planned pattern was what happened.

When we're at the train station in Glasgow, at 7am, we both went to the loo; I was going to walk into a cubicle and John said, oddly, "Are you going in there, are you?"

"Erm... Yes. Why?"

"Because 5 is my lucky number!"

The cubicle was no.5, so I found another, and John had his lucky shit.

So, train to Edinburgh, find the start line, worry because it's already fucking baking hot, and decide well, I can only do what's in front of me.

We find our pens to begin - I'm right at the back (probably based on two disastrous London Marathons), John a pen ahead of me despite this being his first marathon. The race begins.

Beautiful course, out of Edinburgh and following a path along the estuary. Pretty, quiet, a light breeze; could have done with it being about 15 degrees cooler, but apart from that… The course eventually doubles back on itself, after a detour through a beautiful stately home and garden, and finished in Musselburgh.

I was fine, taking it gently, doing just shy of 11 minute miles, but honestly, not giving too much of a fuck. The heat was killing me, but I didn't even think about pausing to stop until about 17 miles. I hydrated well, I even ate - and no stomach problems. Not one. The only obstacle honestly was the heat. Great course, great race, shitty day to do it. Ok, it was only about 23 degrees, but still. Too hot for me, and plenty of people with more experience out there were struggling. I spoke to one couple afterward who were aiming for 4:30 and finished in 5:15; London last year, the heat added an hour to everyone's estimated/trained for times. Edinburgh seemed to be 45 minutes.

I enjoyed the race a lot, even the bits where I had to walk. I probably walked around four miles in total, maybe a bit more; hard to tell, those later miles seem awfully long.

Didn't see John though.

Anyway, finally, got to the finish line, massive sprint finish, legs nearly gave out at the end (hamstrings just disappeared!), but fucking well did it in what, for me, were very very tough conditions.

Afterward, I got my text message from the organisers with my time on - 5:27.23. A shit PB for sure, but still a PB. And maybe I'm just going to have to realise, I just ain't quick at all. Even if I train at 10 minute miles or less, I'm not racing at that. Though on the way around, I was thinking of doing only shorter races for the next year or so, and focussing on more speed, doing some track stuff, doing things I never ever do. And seeing where that takes me. In the last 13 months I have done three half marathons and three full marathons, and I'm really pleased with that. The times weren't great, I struggled a lot, but I finished everything and I realise now, there is pride to be found in that. Lots of it.

John got his text message too. And at this point, I think we realised there was something more going on here; more than a father broken up by the loss of his son and wanting to heal a little bit of that wound with a cathartic, emotional run; there was someone else there, and he wanted us to know.

John's time?

05:05.05.

Perfect.

Another try.

We just keep coming back, don't we?

This weekend I try yet again for a sub-5hr marathon. Bearing in mind I can comfortably do a 2:08 half without pushing myself at all, sub 5 should be the very least I can do, yet the spectre of shitting my pants comes every times I run a marathon.

So this time, I am taking IBS meds and Imodium, and am going to stick a cork up my arse in order to run a race without needing a shit.

Fingers crossed. Sunday morning into early afternoon, I'm aiming for a 4:40-ish marathon. And I'm wearing my iPod the whole way round, I don't give a fuck who's there cheering.

Here's to sub-5, and no shitting.

It's been a while

But sadly, absence has not left me with a raft of anecdotes to lift the heart or even raise a smile.

Training goes on, the second spring marathon is this Sunday in Edinburgh. I feel good, my legs are amazing, stronger than ever. I suspect I'm developing tendinitis in the big toe of my right foot, but rest post-race for a couple of weeks should see that off, with some icing and anti-inflammatories too.

What else is there... Not much going on other than working, training, sleeping, that kind of thing. Not that I have been doing loads of training - since London, I don't think I've done a run longer than 12 miles. In fact, I did a lovely 12 miles yesterday morning. I hope it's enough to get me home in about 4:40 on the day. The difference this time - I don't know if I have said this already, but here goes - is that I am wearing my iPod. All the way round, all by myself, great music, no cheering, screaming, nothing but me and music, and putting one foot in front of the other for a really long time. Just like in training. I can't deal with all the noise of people, it drives me insane. I'm always reminded in big races that actually, I hate being in large groups of people. So hopefully I'll hit my marks in this race, and finish like I know I can. I'm trying over-the-counter IBS medication, which I may combine with Imodium on the day (two toilet stops in London, not good) just to get to the end. Also my fuelling will be different - now I can eat chocolate again, I will be using Mars bars to get me round. A big kick of glucose, fairly easy to digest, job done.

 Only thing is, the weather is hot all this week. I wonder what the weekend will bring? Overcast and showery, please!

 Oh, finally, September's event is coming on in leaps and bounds. Should have the web sites up and running this weekend, finally, so we can actually sell some places for the race and tickets for the evening. Yay!

Virgin London Marathon 2012 Race Report

Just so's you know, I had another shocker. Another shit marathon. But I spent the time working out why, and I think I learned some valuable lessons. I don't think it's possible to love running alone as much as I do in the countryside, and then go to a ridiculously busy racer full of noise, and enjoy it. I know this sounds bah-humbug, but it just drives me fucking insane. I'm not a noisy person. It does my melon in. And fuck me, London is noisy. The other thing is, I have to sort out my IBS/racing problem. I can cruise through 17-20 miles with no food at all, but then the wheels really fall off. Not in any dramatic way, it's more psychological - and there's another weakness, I suspect. Maybe, just maybe, there's an element of self-defeat in there too. And that's not an easy sentence to type. So I have some work to do. And the Edinburgh marathon is just five weeks away. I started London slow, pacing at 11-minute miles, being super, super careful. I nailed my pace pretty well I think, given that I had no watch or nuffink. I was really cruising, even allowing for fuckwits who do not know to simply check over their shoulder before moving laterally, or those absolute wanktards who just stop completely in the middle of the course. It's taxing. I always, always check because I know if I collide with someone, they're hitting the deck, not me. Part of being short and heavy. Mwahahahahaaa. I had to stop for a shite at 10 miles, and again at 20 miles, which wasn't ideal but, well, it happened. And after 20 miles, something really peculiar happened. Last week I had a cold, right? With a cough and everything. Well, on mile 20, the cough came back with a vengeance, from out of fucking nowhere. I couldn't take a deep breath without coughing my ring up; it was odd, unsettling, and downright shit. I was reduced to a shuffle and shallow breathing, until I realised I could walk faster than I was currently moving. So, the last six miles were basically at a walk with bouts of shuffling. I was on for finishing just under 5 hours which would have been a lovely result given the build-up, but that last six miles... The cough, from down in my shoes, gah. Fucking marathons. On the plus side, we raised (between three of us, though it was honestly mostly the other two) over £7k for our hospice and it's still coming in, which is wonderful. And I made it to the end, though most of the race images of me will feature a scowl at best. So yeah. Fucking marathons.

Life changes

Well, it's time to think about some, right after I apologise to Katie for giving her my cold. Ahem.

Katie, sorry for giving you my cold, dude.

I'm glad we got that out of the way.

A job has come up in my home town, and I'm interested in it. I was interested in it last time it came up, but too late to do anything about it; so I'm going to apply for it this time and see what happens.

I know the last person in the posy would probably recommend me for it; I'm reliably told she has a lot of time for me. Her opinion would carry a lot of weight with the position as well, I suspect. So that helps.

But it would be a hell of a diversion from publishing, which I have been doing for the last 20 years. A big, big change, to something that is not quite completely unique but not far from it. But it would be fun, a constant challenge, and would see me dealing with people out and about a lot more, rather than sitting home alone most of the time. And I wouldn't have to deal with any publishing kind of people, who largely do my fucking head in. And I wouldn't have to travel abroad much either. Yes, that always sounds glam and great, but it really is not. I once caught a cold on the way to Sofia via Stockholm. By the time I landed in Sofia, the cold was in full flow, and I was completely deaf in one ear. I was there for 16 hours before my flight back, again via Stockholm, then I had to go to Coventry (a true shithole) for more work before getting home three days later. There is nothing glamorous in that trip, nothing at all. Hotels are the same everywhere; they're mostly shite. Except the Mandarin Oriental in Macau. Wow.

I wonder how much the other job pays?

And to think I was pissed off before...

That's nothing to how I am now!

So, we've been bumbling along with our lives in our little sett, until my lovely wife's mum became very ill indeed. It was not a surprise, and is largely a consequence of another, longer-term illness, but it creates a lot of stress and worry, and of course expense. Tough times.

Also, Stepdaughter and Lovely Wife went shopping - as in window shopping - for a 'prom' dress, so she could get some ideas with a friend and her mum, and they ended up buying one. Which we completely can't afford. The idea was, Lovely Wife uses her mad sewing skillz to make one, as she is a genuine genius at such things. Designing and making wedding dresses is a big part of what she does, hence we thought we had that one covered - but one question in an unguarded moment, she felt put on the spot and we have a new dress in the house. Wifey feels terrible about it, Child is delighted and has no idea of the shit we're in which just got that much deeper. It happens, we'll cope with it and move on. I am disappointed with Stepdaughter though, as we'd talked about how it was window shopping the day before, and the extra expense of travelling 30+miles to the hopsital to see her Nan, which meant we were broker than before.

But, it happens. And she's only 16 once. Thank goodness.

And finally - ish - I have a cold. It came on fully, just eight days before I am due to run London. The same London I fucked up royally while recovering from a chest infection last year, remember? Yeah, that one. There's no infection this time, which is a plus. But I feel shitty, am shuffling up hills I sprinted up just last Friday, and I know - KNOW - that my marathon experience in London is going to suck ass again. If I feel well enough to go - my head feels okay today, but a cough is really lingering and that's not really something I want to mess with. But I suspect I will be going, and it will not be enjoyable, but I will push through it and still get a better time than last year. Maybe I can just use this as a training experience for Edinburgh - use London to get a 5:xx marathon (like 5:15 maybe), and aim for what I can really do, what I know is within because frankly it's not that fucking difficult, which is a 4:20 to 4:40 marathon.

And I'm fed up of people telling me how skinny I look. It's all relative, people. And if one more person says "Well, you'll get round [the marathon], and that's what it's all about" I won't make the race because I'll be in gaol for stabbing offences.

PS: Mother-in-law has picked up quite a bit. LovelyWife is there now visiting, so fingers crossed.

There's pissed off, then there's me.

Hello!

It feels like it's been a while. It has, I guess. Things have been going on, and it's taken me a while to process, which is ongoing.

It all really stems from the frustration of having all the hard work of photographers, writers, friends, industry bods getting pissed up the wall when the publication was cancelled. I'm so cross and so, so disappointed. I'm only now starting to tell my models about it; I've literally just sent what I hope came across as a good-natured email to the publishers to say "Seriously, pay my fucking contributors".

I haven't asked to be paid myself, I thought I'd wait a few hours for that one. And see how they respond to this one, first, of course.

So, apart from that, I also managed to scald myself by tipping a cup of freshly-made coffee down my front; no running for me right now. One big burn, right on my stomach, and it hurts like a bastard. Much better than it was, but it's going to have to wait a few days before I go out again.

It's just been exhausting lately. I finished one deadline late Thursday night then spent Friday all day collecting for charity (for the London Marathon) in my local supermarket from 11am to 6:30pm. Saturday, I went with my wife to a wedding fayre in a near-ish city, and that was a long day too. I was exhausted, so wrote Sunday off as a rest day thinking I'd catch up this week on running, then tipped a cup of coffee on my gut.

Fucking fucking fuck.

Still, on the plus side, how much worse can it get? Oh yeah, I forgot - it can get much worse.

Oh, and Micah True turned up dead. Absolutely gutted about that. Didn't know the guy, but he was quite a character if Born To Run is anything to go by. I suspect the world is a poorer place without him.