The Road To Richmond - 2018

[marathondan]

It was that familiar session this morning, that we've all done some time or another: 1.5 mile warmup, rest, 1.5 mile dressed as Mr Tickle, rest, 14 miles easy.

I had managed both tempo and interval sessions earlier in the week, so I was glad of the warmup. I drove to the field rather than have to wrangle the costume on my own front drive, so I had the added luxury that the warmup was on grass. 10 years ago -- possibly only 5 -- I would bound off into a long run, logging the first mile way too fast. These days, that initial foray is now a tentative systems check, as knees, heel, soles, and any other body part that may be feeling left out remind me of their existence via little creaks and groans. Invariably they settle down after half a mile or so, but I always get the unnerving feeling that I may finally on the downward path to not being able to run ever again.

Anyway, I had a good week behind me, so I was running on tired legs – again, a good thing. Warmup completed, I returned to the car, paused the Garmin, took a few sips of water, and set about strapping myself into Mr Tickle.

Earlier in the week I had emptied out his carrying bag onto the floor and found a whole extra set of fittings that I’d hitherto missed. There’s a set of straps, somewhere between a weightlifting belt and a bondage harness (so I’m told), that clip to his insides to hopefully keep him stable. It was this device that I first donned, before sticking my head up his arse, not stopping till my face poked out of his hat.

I took a few steps at walking pace, started the Garmin, and then there I was, running around a field where normal people walk their dogs, impersonating Roger Hargreaves’ finest. Initially, it was horrible. A few hundred metres in, and I was composing my reluctant Facebook post of resignation, and realising I would have to courier the thing back to the charity. Then I took a look at the Garmin. I was going WAY too fast. Target pace will probably be 11 min miling, a target finish of about 4:47, a small but significant safety margin inside the 5 hour cutoff. I was clocking in the low 10s. I backed off and started to feel a bit better.

There are definitely a few issues to sort out. Drinking is very difficult. It’s too far to reach my mouth the outside way, and there is very little space in the face area inside. I may have to rig up a straw system to a bottle inside. A camelbak seems too much faff to refill at water stations. Then there’s the harness, which is meant to keep the costume centred around me. It rides up at the back, the whole thing tips forward, and I end up taking quite a lot of force to the back of the head. One solution is to hold the costume stable from inside, but I liked being able to swing my arms. And there’s reading the Garmin -- which will be essential, as I will have to keep a very close eye on pace. There isn’t space to being my wrist up to my face, and at arm’s length it’s too dark to read. So I hung it inside on the uppermost support ring, but even that required a good deal of effort to focus on.

One thing that wasn’t a problem – on this terrain at least – was keeping my footing. I couldn’t see my feet, so I had to look about 3 metres ahead and let proprioception do the rest. This, for now, was effortless. However, I seem to remember a few steps and kerbs on the course. At least I’ll bounce if I fall over.

While I was checking through all these issues, the Garmin clicked over the first mile, in about 10:40. Seems I needed to slow it down even further. Oh well, not going to argue with that. I was already starting to feel comfortable, but I dropped to an even easier shuffle. A minute or so later I looked down again to recalibrate.

12:40? How the heck did I slow down so much? I couldn’t believe it. Suddenly it dawned on me. The Garmin is set for average mile pace. And I didn’t reset the lap between the end of the warmup and the start of the Tickle session. As a result, my 10:40 was actually a weighted average of my warmup pace (about 9:40) and my costume pace. Meaning I was actually now moving at a woeful crawl, or DNF Pace as I soon realised it would be.

However, I felt I could do this. I had truthfully been starting to feel comfortable. I had a good sweat on, but the breeze through the face hole was keeping me cool. I had a good rhythm going and if I could just forget about being smacked in the back of the head with every step, I was sure I could get the pace down to the right ballpark. And so it proved. By the time I returned to the car, I clocked off at 10:50, without over-exerting myself.

Yes, there are some significant issues to sort out, but the game is very much on. I was drenched in sweat after just 1.5 miles – at 8 in the morning – so finding a reliable way to replace that lost fluid is a must, or I will be collapsing with dehydration around mile 15. It is a heavy beast, heavier than anything I’ve run in before, and I do feel there’s a significant chance that I won’t make the 5 hours. But if that happens, so be it – I’ll carry a map of the second half of the course, and rock up at the finish as they’re taking down the marquees.

A quick run-down on the few passers-by I encountered. Seems I was out before most of the Sunday dog-walkers. One car beeped as I skirted the A308. One lively runner gave me a big smile and a small round of applause. One bemused woman eyed me suspiciously from afar, and as I passed said something odd like “you look impressive”. Finally, at the end, a man got out of his car just as I slipped the costume off over my head. He bade me a completely straight “good morning” without missing a beat.

Then I had to knock out another 14 miles. The miles were tough, the legs were heavy, which I hope is down to the increased speedwork and not the brief foray as a Mr Man. And the fact that it’s the furthest I’ve run this year.

Looking forward to a couple of rest days now, and a step-back next weekend. Plus some fettling of the outfit.