The Road To Richmond - 2018

[marathondan]

Richmond Runfest Marathon 2018

Or, “Roger Hargreaves, what did ever I do to you?”

I think maybe I picked the wrong 26.2 mile endurance event to run in a giant Mr Man suit. I know - what an idiot, huh? At London, I would have been surrounded by fancy dress runners, slow-and-steadies, and endless crowds. Whereas at Richmond, with its lovely but somewhat more compact field of 1000 or so, I was running without fellow runners or spectators for long periods. It was lonely out there. It was lonely in there. At least in my own mind, one of the main reasons for doing this was to provide entertainment, to be one of the turns among the more serious runners. To this end, my isolation felt comic and tragic at once.

That’s not to say that there were no lovely interactions with spectators and marshals. In the first couple of miles, after a circuit of the Gardens, we swung by the half marathoners arriving for their later start. I received a personal wall of sound reminiscent of the Embankment. But sadly it wasn’t to last. From as early as 5 miles or so the demons set in. I rebuffed them for a while with that old favourite, the run / walk strategy. Unable to read the Garmin easily, I settled on 200 paces run / 50 paces walk. This worked a treat for a good hour or so. 50 paces is enough to get a good drink in and maybe down a jelly baby or two, plus do a quick systems check that nothing’s falling off the costume.

But my back was killing me. The whole weight of the costume is taken on the shoulders, and even walking was miserable. The demons were back, and more persuasive than ever. How nice it would be to just can it. I was fortunate to have my friends Chris and Ben – veterans of past London and Brighton campaigns - supporting, this time on bikes. On the towpath they were able to cycle along with me for significant periods, a surreal experience for them but a great comfort for me. 

By 17 miles or so the demons were becoming irresistible. The 10 or so souls that I’d seen behind me at the turnaround point had almost all passed me, as my run / walk stuttered to a walk / walk. There didn’t feel much point going on. I was four hours in, and the remaining 8 miles were probably going to take me another 2 hours. An hour I could probably take, but 2 seemed insurmountable. I would no doubt have received a hero’s welcome at the finish – the 5 hour cutoff seemed to be much more of the threat than a promise -  but it didn’t feel worth it. I sat on some steps and took the costume off, feeling broken. The decision was made. They cycled back to the car to transport me to the finish.

I had half an hour or so to reflect while they were gone. First I wolfed jelly babies and Hobnob bars. They were good, but there was an empty feeling that they didn’t fill. Had I given up too easily? Should I just set off again? That wasn’t an option, as my friends wouldn’t know where I was, and I’d be even further behind the rest of the field, and I knew deep down that I would once again break after another mile or less. Beforehand I’d told everyone that I would definitely finish, even if I had to walk. I’d listened to Holly Rush vomiting and hallucinating while pushing herself to finish UTMB. I’d told myself that I would visualise children having cancer treatment and try and absorb their anguish into my own. But I hadn’t anticipated what this would feel like. Worse than hobbling up Blackfriars underpass on cramping hamstrings. Worse than the walk of death around Shoreham power station, in a gorilla suit for goodness sake.

The drive to the finish was a subdued one. We found a car park nearby and I slunk in to return my chip and collect my bag. I didn’t take a goody bag, almost to punish myself, which now seems daft as I’d paid my fee and so long as the t-shirt didn’t say “finisher” I could still wear it. The contrast with my hoped-for scenario couldn’t have been starker. Fortunately, as I hadn’t actually run all that much, my legs were in OK shape. Which was handy, as there were accidents on both M4 and M40, so my recovery consisted of 3 hours stuck in a small hatchback.

A couple of days later, I came to write the thankyou email to my sponsors. I gave them a few paragraphs of explanation, which I thought was fitting in the circumstances. My sentiment now was that I was disappointed, but glad that I had tried something outside my comfort zone, and ultimately outside my ability. Several wrote back and said that they were in awe of what I had attempted. I have to take this with a slight pinch of salt. Couch potatoes are in awe of 5K runners. 5Kers are in awe of half marathoners. Half marathons are in awe of full marathoners. Some full marathoners, it seems, can be in awe of heavyweight fancy dress marathoners. Some marathoners are in awe of ultra runners.

But those of us that have been through several of these events know that there’s nothing magical about it. You get to an OK standard of fitness, you go through the training, you put up with maybe an hour of proper pain, and barring disasters you come out the other side. I’m sure I could run an ultra if I approached it properly, that is by doing seriously long training runs and pacing sensibly. I’m not particularly in awe of ultra runners. However, I don’t want to commit that sort of time to training. What I found out here is that following the standard marathon training, then trusting to adrenaline and bloody-mindedness on the day, isn’t enough for 26.2 miles in a heavyweight costume. 6 months in the gym, and proper conditioning of long runs with weights, were really what was needed. And if I’d known that beforehand – known it deep down – maybe I would have realised it was a bridge too far.

So. Truly, an experience. Not really a fun one, but sometimes those are the experiences that teach you the most. Richmond is still a lovely event, and one whose timing fits my lifestyle perfectly. It doesn't deserve to just be the course where I had a miserable time and DNF'd. I will probably be back. I do have two years left to try and get a VM40 sub 4, but I feel like I could do with a comfortable marathon next year. For years I’ve used fundraising as a justification for putting in training hours, and I wouldn’t change that. But I feel like it’s time to do a bit of running for pleasure. If I can find some time, I’d like to find new trails. Perhaps a scenic half. Parkrunning. Who knows. This has been a funny old chapter in the running story, and it’s time to move on to the next.