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The Brighton Marathon report
Sorry it has taken so long to get this out, it probably wasn't worth the wait.
So I suppose I ought to start making sense of the last marathon outing.
Brighton Marathon, a lovely trip down on the train on Saturday, mind you, that high speed jobby from Manchester really isn’t the most comfortable, it really does bash you around a bit. The Victoria to Brighton was positively sedate by comparison.
Wandered up to the hotel. Wonderful to see that it really is just across the road from the race start and that the nice staff had agreed to put on an early breakfast for us the following morning.
After the regulation pasta supper and only a small glass of lager we headed for our room and a little light weight telly before setting out our kit for the following morning. There was only one minor catastrophe, I hadn’t packed my running knickers...these aren’t “lucky” knickers you understand, just a lot bigger than my normal knickers. Hey ho, I just resigned myself to wearing flimsy feminine ones.
We both slept ok, not such as surprise as far as Mr SW is concerned, he could curl up on a curb stone in the middle of the city and still sleep soundly. Prised ourselves out of bed resisting the urge to get into running gear and bumbled downstairs for the breaky. Lots of other bleary eyed runners queuing up for the toast and honey. Mr SW tucked in to a full English, what a constitution.
Upstairs to change, telly on to check out the weather forecast - hot – eek! We did a mutual slapping on the P20 as we didn’t fancy sunburn on top of sore muscles. Then we hung around a bit before crossing the road to the start area. For some reason we chose to join a loo queue, it took half an hour to get to the cubicle, why on earth we didn’t just cross the road to the hotel and the comfort of our bathroom I don’t quite understand, maybe we just needed to be there at the start along with all the other souls before the ordeal of a lifetime?
The sun was shining remorselessly but fortunately I had kitted myself out in the white peaked visor and sunglasses that I had bought in Aldi on Friday as a joke, so I looked like an old golf pro, so what! I felt nervous, not to say just a little frightened. A premonition of what was to come perhaps.
The tannoy called us to arms. We sauntered over to the pen and shuffled in to position, no point rushing these things it was to be a good 12 minutes before we passed Crammy on the starter’s podium. Easing out our running muscles we toddled out and around the park before setting off down the London Road to the centre of town. We hailed Dan as he came barrelling by, a tale of wow – he had lost his jelly babies – never mind I gave him half of ours – (I’m, a mum, I always over estimate food). Lovely to put a face to a name, a face being just about all that was visible of Dan above knee height in his amazing pink Brighton Rock outfit.
Our guesstimate finishing time was the 5 hour mark, hopefully ducking just under, this was based on our training run speeds, but of course all our training runs had been done in the dark cold days of winter, nothing had prepared us for the “winter of our discontent” to be “made into glorious summer by this sun of” Brighton.
We bobbled along quite nicely for the first 8 miles or so, I was enjoying the sights of my home town but it was definitely getting warmer, any shade, and there was little enough of it was actively sought out. I had been refuelling on tiny portions of Shot Block cut up specially for the occasion plus a couple of jelly babies and Powerade, nothing unusual but I suddenly felt really naseous with a cracking colicky pain to go with it. We did some walk/running sections to see if it would improve. Speed was down to “Worse Than Useless” levels. By mile 12 I suggested to Mr SW that he run on without me. Bless him, he staunchly refused reminding me that we said we would do this together. Running back along the cliff section past the Marina was awful, but luckily soon after the half way stage I was beginning to feel a little better and was determined by then to get to the end of this ordeal.
We ran/walked the rest, running until we couldn’t stand to do it any more and walking to recover. I shunned all jelly babies/Shot Blocks and Powerade and stuck to water and a couple of SIS gels I had packed on the off chance. Not sick any more but crushingly exhausted.
Nil desperandum, we shuffled, plodded, waddled on, a kind person along St John’s road had a hose pipe which I took full benefit from before reaching the last right turn on the course out towards Shoreham docks. Very few people were spectating at this point so there was a feeling of unreality through the no-man’s land of the dockyards before at last turning for home. I say at last, for the pier and the finish look so impossibly far off inducing a feeling of near panic.
Still we plodded, setting ourselves targets to “run” to, “Just keep going until the next lamppost and then we’ll have walk break and a swig of water”, Just get past that beach hut and then we’ll run again”. “Sweder should be up here somewhere?” At last we saw the mighty Sweder, and never has a friendly face been more welcome, we were entirely and ludicrously punch-drunk , grinning like the lunatics we undoubtedly are. Still the sun beat down, still the Palace Pier didn’t get any closer. My feet felt like huge blobs of hot matter, I was bent forward and my nose got closer and closer to the hot tarmac but eventually there it was, the Promised Land, The Finish Line, the place where I could stop doing this mad shuffle. We joined hands and staggered through.
It was without doubt the hardest thing I have ever done in my life and that includes giving birth three times!
It had taken an appalling long 5hours 26 minutes. I was bitterly disappointed. It has taken me three weeks and a walk up Snowden to come to terms with it (you don’t want to see the blisters I suffered from that little jaunt!!) I am now resigned to the fact that it was my slowest 26.2 on record. It took me a full two weeks until I began to feel a little more like myself. I had colic for a good 10 days afterwards although that seems to have settled at last. Would I do another one – Of course I will.
Phew this is hard work !
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The Brighton Marathon report
