Shakespeare Marathon 2003

[Nigel]

Four days to go, and the excitement begins.....

[El Gordo]

Hi Nigel

Are you talking about the Stratford event or are you predicting how enjoyable life will be for West Ham after the Man City game on Saturday? If it's the latter, that's an impressively stoical attitude, I must say.

Good to hear from you. Are you running the marathon?

I'm beginning to feel a bit left out, though the thought of taking part in my current condition (ooh Missus...) is not pleasant.

Which reminds me - isn't it Shakespeare's birthday today?

Happy birthday, old chap.

Best of luck for Sunday, Nigel.

[Ian]

Andy, don't feel left out, come and run the half. The course is the same, it's just the marathoners go round the same circuit twice.

As Shakespeare once said;

"Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible".

Go easy on yourself though and leave the carrot costume at home for this one.

[Nigel]

Today was a very pleasant four miles along the River Wey towpath on a sunny Spring afternoon. That's more or less how I started running, almost six years ago, and the perfect final outing before my third (and reputedly last) marathon.

London, Chicago..... and er, Stratford-upon-Avon. Well, it's my home town, where I grew up, and I know those lanes like the back of my hand. It's the perfect place for my farewell from international athletics. And after this there's always room for an unwise comeback in time for the Running Commentary Great North Challenge.

The last run of the taper, and time to reflect on the training. In today's Spring sunshine, it was easy to forget those cold winter afternoons toiling up the Hog's Back into a stiffly biting wind, that wondrous lunchtime bouncing around in thicky silent powdery snow, and so many pitch black evenings spent burning pace and tempo runs onto the Guildford track at Spectrum. Roger Black used to train there, and even married a Guildford girl recently, but he for one wasn't mad enough to be out there in the rain just before News at Ten.

Eighteen weeks is a long time, but there will be no more running now until Sunday. It seems I've spent fifteen weeks getting really fit, and the last three getting really unfit again. I have a stiff hip, a slightly dodgy knee, and naturally I found myself out of breath after just ten minutes today. This is all normal for this stage of the taper, when the running is all done and the eating all ahead. The first Bakewell tart has disappeared from my desk, and there are only seventy carbo-loading hours remaining.

This is the time to commit to my target of sub-four. My half PB of 1:47 theoretically offer a faster time, but I'm convinced that the calculators aren't written for 6'3" guys who weigh 14 stone. I know very well I'll need a few minutes in the bank at mile 20 if I'm to make it. In the unlikely event that I don't blow up, then, there might be a little change, but in the far more likely scenario of crawling hand over hand across the Recreation Ground, I could still have a slight chance of making it.

And yes, I'm looking forward to Sunday. I must be crazy. Fortunately, of course, I'm not alone in that.

[Ian]

I managed to finish, but not in the time I hoped for. Still, there is always another day.
I have learnt one important lesson though, and that is not to try and run two quickish marathons too close together.
For the next few months I am going to concentrate on my 10k and half marathon times and not get bogged down with marathon schedules. I think I need a break from them!

[El Gordo]

Well done Ian, I'll look forward to reading about it in due course.

[Nigel]

"O, how this spring of love resembleth the uncertain glory of an April day". Two Gentlemen of Verona
Picture a fine and blustery spring day in Stratford-upon- Avon. I've returned from Guildford to my home town for this weekend of processions marking the Shakespeare Birthday celebrations. An East End boy, I moved to Warwickshire at the age of 9, and these streets I know so well are today lined with flags from over a hundred nations, flying briskly in the breeze.

"Now go we in content...." As You Like It
Lining up outside the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in warm sunshine, reflecting on London and Chicago behind me, I am instantly humbled when my neighbour tells me this is his 126th marathon. Just the third for me and the day's long road is frankly unimaginable at this moment, but soon we start and it all begins.

The first landmark on Waterside is actors' haunt The Dirty Duck, the pub formerly known as The Black Swan. It's 1 pm, and the happy customers on the beer terrace wall wave their glasses temptingly as we go by.

Then a quick circuit of the Old Town, past Hall's Croft, the Guild Chapel and King Edward the Sixth's Grammar School, where the bard himself crept snail-like and unwillingly to school just four centuries ago. New Place gardens, site of the poet's retirement home, flash by in a blur of runners, and then it's a right turn before The Garrick Inn, down Sheep Street and back to the Theatre. I ease over to the edge of the road and raise a filial high five to my Dad, before a second chance to long for a lunchtime lager at The Duck.

Slowly finding a rhythm, we head towards my sister's house in Shottery, just near Anne Hathaway's cottage, home of Shakespeare's bride. Through the quintessentially English village of Luddington, with apple and cherry blossom, magnolia, thatched cottages, and an ancient church alongside the River Avon. The locals clap politely from deck chairs as they sip afternoon tea or an early sherry on immaculately tended front lawns. It's not quite the twelve- deep crowds of London's Tower Bridge, nor the whooping and hollering of Chicago, but it's motivation all the same.

"Wisely and slow; they stumble who run fast". Romeo and Juliet
There are 2,600 half marathoners today, and maybe 600 attempting the full course. My goals today are: 3:50 (dreamworld if all goes perfectly); sub-4; PB 4:05; finish. 3:50 is instantly dismissed by the wind, but the miles tick by on cue and I'm even a little ahead of my main pace target at five miles. The plan is to run within myself and leave something for the spectre of Rumer Hill up ahead. My efforts are constant, but somehow I contrive to lose a minute within the next two miles. It's just the wind, not a gale but 15-20 mph and gusty.

"To climb steep hills requires slow pace at first". Henry VIII
Over the river at Welford-on-Avon, and a gradual climb up to the Bell Inn. There's a drinks station at the village green beside the maypole, and rousing cheers from every verge. Then it's onto Rumer Hill itself, the stretch I've trained for all this winter. Just 120' climb over a quarter of a mile, but at the end of a long gentle haul up from the river. In December I had to walk the summit on my first attempt. The field slows now, but there is not one doubt in my mind today and I sail over the top. The steep descent is smooth and fast and then we turn blissfully downwind. I pass the four miles back to town along The Greenway talking to a West Bromwich Albion supporter who's mourning relegation and looking for 1:59 in the half. He's tall like me and we make good use of the tailwind, regaining all we've lost on the way out, and I leave him on good pace for his time.

"I am a feather for each wind that blows", The Winter's Tale
Bearing down into the breeze and out of town into the second lap at 1:58:35 to the half, and it's going to be close. The 126-Marathon Man is ahead now, and we run together to mile 15 before I ease gently away up the short but steep Luddington Hill. My reward for escaping is to run the next two miles alone, straight into the headwind. It feels much stronger now, although maybe it's just the lack of shelter from fellow runners. But I know these lanes like the back of my hand, and I'm happy running on my own. Happy to relive so many training runs of a long winter with just this day in mind.

"Have patience, and endure", Much Ado about Nothing
Across the river again into Welford. There's an amazingly patient and vocal crowd next to the bridge outside the Four Alls pub. Cheering each of us in turn, for the runners are thinning out now and we each have a whole table to choose from at the feed stations. As well as a good fruit drink to enjoy, there's enough water to splash a cup on my head every couple of miles. Just after the next soaking, I see my family drive by. I must make a dishevelled sight as I wave and grimace. It's getting close to the limits of my schedule now, but there's nothing to do but push on. A marshal shouts out that I'm 306th in the race, so I callously reel in number 305 and just keep going.

This time, the foot of Rumer Hill sees a sudden gaggle of walkers, no doubt feeling the mental strain before the anticipated physical pain ahead. At 18 miles, it was always going to be cruel, but it's in my plan and I shred the climb now, no two ways about it. The steep descent is a different story, and I'm struggling to stay on my feet, more braking than freewheeling. At the foot I can see my Mum, Dad, Rebecca, and the children lining the road, clapping wildly. I raise a shaky smile, and steal another banana. Tiny mouthfuls as I'm suddenly queasy, but it seems to settle me a little and that's another mile endured through the pretty village of Long Marston.

"The weakest goes to the wall", Romeo and Juliet
The schedule is getting critical now as we turn back downwind at 20 miles, but so are my legs. Just a 57 minute 10k required for the length of The Greenway, but I know I'm fading fast. I walk the next feed station and struggle on torturously until I meet my family again at mile 22. How I wish I could smile to reward their loyalty, but I guzzle some of the honey and salt drink they offer and my stomach recovers. It's "only" the legs which are unwilling now. At 23 miles the game is all up really, but I'm on my favourite trails now, and it lifts my spirits.

Although it's still one hell of a struggle, and despite some shameful walking breaks, incredibly not one more runner passes me in these last five miles. Across the river for the last time onto a deserted stretch on the edge of town, I'm glad there's no crowd to see me toiling here. Mercifully I time a running patch to meet another family hidden in the hedgerow by the roadside. It's fantastic support for so thin and sorry a field.

There's just one runner in sight as I loop homeward at mile 25. He's unaware I'm going to catch him, and certainly he doesn't care, for just in front of me he darts into the bushes to be violently sick. "Nearly there, old chap" is the best encouragement I can muster, since to be honest, I don't feel that good myself. Then it's onto the river bank at last, past the weir and the next group of spectators. They cheer enthusiastically and, ridiculously, I find myself shouting "All the way now !", as out of nothing at all I summon up a hopeless lope, or is it a lopeless hope ?

Holy Trinity Church limps by, then the courting benches of my youth, and the Avon Ferry just before the Bowls Club. Small, but familiar landmarks as I count down the distance. At the Royal Shakespeare Theatre with 400 yards to go, the swans sail serenely by on the Avon beside me, but this is no longer anything resembling a stroll in the park. As I turn onto the grass for the run in, two chasers come into view just 40 yards behind, but no bloody way are they getting past me now.

"At your request my father will grant precious things as trifles", The Winter's Tale
West Ham have been fighting a crucial relegation game at Manchester City this afternoon and at times I've been wondering if I'd learn the score, or rather if I'd even want to. But when I run across the bandstand, with 50 yards to go I hear it. "West Ham won !" shouts my Dad. I raise my arms in triumph there and then, and I'm so elated that I forget to salute the finish. 4:06:54 official time, must be 4:06:33 from line to line, and I'm the 264th runner home.

Christina, aged 8, and Robert, 7, give me huge smiles and hugs as I stagger to a chair, and even Miranda (19 months) demands a seat on my painful legs as she steals the marathon finisher's banana. I slump there and I ache, how I ache. As I'm encircled by my entire family, my sister, my brother-in-law, my niece, my Mum, my Dad, Rebecca and the kids, I know that I've left absolutely nothing back on the road. I've given it my all, I really have.

"My endeavours have ever come too short of my desires", Henry VIII
So what does it all mean ? I trained harder for this than any race I've ever run. The preparation went well, I did all the long runs, pace runs, tempo runs, hills and more hills, a good taper, and Miranda even allowed us some sleep the night before. I reached the start line rested and in good shape, and I defeated the dreaded Rumer Hill, not once, but twice in the same afternoon. But this just wasn't the day. Not a gale, but maybe wind enough to sap the legs. Those legs which yesterday weren't quite capable of the sub-4 I've trained so long to achieve. And not even a PB, at 50 seconds outside my Chicago time.

"Not the ill wind which blows no man to good". Henry IV, Part II
But just finishing this marathon, in the town where I grew up, surrounded by everyone important to me, really it means much more than that. To run faster is always the goal, but to give your very best on home turf, and in the circle of your family, this is truly the achievement of a different kind of day.

And West Ham won, too.

[soreblisters]

Great post Nigel,

Your physical effort matched by your literary skill.

If you want another quote,

"Running is the art of falling down without actually hitting the ground."

And if you've ever seen me run then you'll understand this quote even more.

[El Gordo]

Hurrah!

You didn't let us down Nigel. There's really not a lot I can say: a great report, great run, touching sentiments and some good, meaty blobs of Shakespeare.

Great stuff. Thank you.

[Good Egg]

Hi, I'm a bit of a lurker here but I thought I'd say what a great report of the Stratford race that was from Nigel. We all have our own idea of what's a good and bad finishing time, and how we feel is always relative to our own expectations but doing the marathon in just over 4 hours sounds great to me. Same sentiment (but even more so!) with Ian's time of 3:35ish (I read the gory details on his website). If I ever manage to finish a marathon I'll be ecstatic, and times like these just belong in another dimension from the one I plod along in! Still, everyone has to start somewhere.

I hope you run another marathon Nigel so that we can enjoy another report like that though I don't know how it could be topped!

Can I just say how interesting it is for someone like me to read about other people's running experiences and race reports. Please keep it up everyone.

Cheers GE