November 2006

[marathondan]

Sunday 5th November – Marlow Half Marathon

Running hasn’t exactly been a high priority this year, with good reason. A cursory glance at my diary suggests a weekly average of about 4 miles for the year. This race would be my second double-digit run of the year – the first being the Reading half, back in March. My last effort over five miles was a couple of months ago.

So, an interesting time to try allegedly the toughest half marathon route in mainland England (the Isle of Wight course apparently being responsible for this awkward-sounding claim to fame).

I always love arriving at race meetings, and after over six months it was great to be back. Wandering into a quintessentially English playing field on a crisp Sunday morning, amid tents, tannoys and a thousand or so fellow runners, of every shape, size, ability and dress sense, brought a big grin to my face.

The route itself is indeed pretty hilly, all on-road, through the woodland, open countryside and villages of the Chilterns. As usual, much of my time was spent wondering what I’d let myself for, and whether I could finish in a credible time. Last time out, on the flat Reading course and with some training behind me, I was trying to hold 8 minute miles for a 1:45 finish. Today I was less concerned, but knew that 9 minute miles would mean around a 2 hour finish, so if I could stay around 8:30 I’d be happy.

The start was a touch quaint. We lined up in reverse - I didn't know which way to face - and then funnelled out into the street with all the coordination of a reversing caterpillar. This left the elites closest to the start, pointing out of town and towards the - hmm - hills. A rocket was fired to mark the start - note the date - and we were off.

The first three miles seemed to drag, although the hills weren’t over-challenging. Then I remembered that it can take me as long as 40 minutes to settle into a real rhythm, and lo and behold, at around mile 4, everything began to settle down – the legs and lungs were able to do their own thing without too much intervention from the brain.

At around mile five was a startling, quite long, 1 in 5 descent. I tried not to go too mad, but I’m sure some damage was done. Equally worrying was the knowledge that what goes down must also at some time go up.

The middle miles passed uneventfully – the half-way point was a big psychological boost as always – and then came payback time. I don’t know if the return climb was 1 in 5, but it was long and mean and nasty. I dropped my stride to a shuffle, ducked my head down, and plodded. All around me, people were tanking up and then stopping to walk. Control, people! But when I noticed that I wasn’t gaining on the walker in front on me, it was time for me too to drop to a walk and reduce the impact on my joints for a few minutes – although the impact on my heart and lungs was noticeably unchanged. As the road began to level out I forced myself into a jog, and tried to force a grin for the course photographer who was conveniently placed at the top of the hill to capture us at our most knackered.

Shortly after, a chap in black assured me that the worst was over, there was only one hill left, and imparted the information about it being the toughest course in mainland England. The chat was a welcome distraction, and lifted my spirits, but as we talked I began to feel a twinge in my left calf, soon to be repeated in the right. From then on, I could feel that both calves were on the edge – a slight increase in pace and they began to protest, and I didn’t much like what they might be warning me of.

So the remaining few miles were very much limited by the transmission and suspension systems, while the engine remained relatively comfortable. The final hill at around 11 miles was bad, and I walked again, but it was a known quantity to be overcome, and with just enough mental energy to multiply miles by 8 or 9 and split the difference, I knew I was heading for a low 1:50’s finish, provided nothing went ping.

The final two miles or so were completely downhill, which must be great if the legs are up to it, but my calves and now ankles were reminding me to take it easy. At every bend I was looking for signs of civilisation, and eventually open countryside gave way to scattered houses, to the outskirts of Marlow, to the blessed "Road Closed" sign and the final hundred yards of – yes! – grass to the finish line. I was able to up the pace a little, although not really a sprint, and rolled in in 1 hour 51 minutes.

Having been limited by my legs, I felt remarkably good. Given the lack of training and the tough course, for a half marathon Personal Worst it was a very satisfying morning’s work.

Brighton 10K in two weeks – I’ll probably manage one more short outing between now and then. Great to be back to "racing" once in a while, even when there's little time for training.