Hoka Highland Fling

Let’s get one thing very clear straight off the bat –the Fling is brilliant. Impeccably organised, brilliantly marshalled and supported, beautiful, challenging, friendly, reasonably priced and generally full of awesome. I could not recommend this race highly enough and thank you to everyone involved. And although it’s a long way, anyone with the desire is capable of doing this. I’m a pretty ordinary guy and I did it.

Without wanting to bore you with full details training had gone well. A marathon pb in the borders marathon, a couple of 30 mile runs in the Lammermuir hills and improving 5 and 10k times were good. A strong performance in the shambolic St Andrews half (a kind of anti-fling in terms of the organisation) 2 weeks before race day had me feeling good, and a tune up at Burnley parkrun the weekend before was probably both risky and unnecessary but there you go.

Logistics had meant I spent no time on the course so it was all a surprise to me. It seemed pretty straightforward and as a precaution I had programmed the route onto my Ambit together with the helpful notes that appear on the maps on the fling website. But I was fairly sure I’d be middle of the pack and be able to follow someone most of the time.

For food I made 4 drops bags. Although these may look like biryani, jalfrezi, rogan josh and bhuna, they actually all contained 2 gels, 2 jaffa cakes, sesame snaps, Bombay mix, a babybel and some haribo. Cp3 had apple juice and cp4 full fat coke.

I spent the night before staying with friends (Julie and Ian) in Carluke which is vaguely near the start line.  Their support was invaluable as Julie kindly got up at 4 to drive me to the start and came back to pick me up later. I can’t say I slept well with being in a strange bed and pre race nerves but I always tell myself that the night before doesn’t matter, this is true as long as I can believe it.

Pre race hydration

The forcast was for rain and plenty of it. I was unsure what to wear. I had bought a montane minimus jacket the week previously, it’s a golden rule of ultra running not to wear something you hadn’t trained with, but it didn’t look like there was much choice. I had a bottle belt with a small pouch to fit the mandatory kit (phone and foil blanket) and not much else so if the jacket was coming I was wearing it, as I had no way carry it. I had road shoes (brooks ghost 6) not having any trail shoes this was an easy choice, but I still spent the weeks running up to the race worrying, especially with the forecast rain. As it turned out they were fine. I had a long sleeved top, Dunbar club vest and socks by Primark, and a Dunbar buff.

Registering was a doddle. I even managed to swap my foil blanket for a smaller one. This is the kind of marginal gain you need to look for as a top class runner like myself. I met Neil and Lee from Dunbar who were running the relay and race respectively and some guys from Haddington who were full of useful advice.

Soon it was time for the briefing, and then we went to line up. I was feeling ready to go.

The start

Ready to go

I started a long way back. I didn’t want to get sucked along too fast for the early stages. It was pretty busy along the trails at the start, and I felt sorry for clubmate Lee who was trying to pick his way through after missing the start being in the toilet.

Much of the early section blurs into one. There was someone playing a violin which was nice, and I was surprised at how small the hills had to be in order for everyone to walk, but I wasn’t arguing with the wisdom of the herd and happily walked too. There were two big hills on the horizon (Slackdhu and Dungoyne) I was concerned we would have to go over these. Thankfully not. The route went through a section with a lot of gates and everyone bunched up so I just fell in with the group. As we came onto the road the two guys in front of me were talking and I couldn’t help overhear one say to the other “most of these people have gone off way too fast”. At first I thought he had a bit of a cheek, but then realised he was probably right and slowed down and let the big group go and felt much happier. Whoever you were thanks for this unintended pacing advice.

At Drymen - photo Stuart Macfarlane

The water station at Drymen came pretty soon, it was nice to hear a cheery “Come on Dunbar” from the Haddington relay teams. Even with my lack of knowledge of the route I knew there was a big hill coming next. Thankfully the mist obscured it so I couldn’t see the full extent of Conic hill. In some ways this was good I just took one step at a time, in others it was bad because every time it levelled out I kept thinking “is that it – that wasn’t too bad” Only to be confronted with more uphill. I walked pretty much all of the uphill, chatting with Paddy from Haddington, a veteran of many Flings.

It was pretty obvious when we got to the top as the mist began to lift and the view of Loch Lomond began to emerge this felt like quite a special moment – I’d never seen the Loch previously and had yet to realise what a beautiful place it is. Remembering the advice from one of the Haddington guys at the start I took it steady on the descent. You really do lose a lot of height very quickly and it would be very easy to damage your quads, or slip and take a tumble. And it’s too early in the race for that. I can’t have looked too serious as I stopped to take a photo and the pro photographer asked me if I was in the race or not.

Loch Lomond emerges from the mist

At the end of the steep descent there’s a really nice section through the forest and down to the first checkpoint at Balmaha. I was here in 3 hours 26. I had no plan and no idea I was just happy to be here. It felt like the first bit was out of the way and now the race proper was getting started physically and mentally I felt fine and up for the challenge.

Looking back I went faster through this early section than I did later. Partly this is just because the section is so much more runnable and coupled with the freshness of the legs there is a need to make hay while the sun shines. At the same time I felt I’d run within myself and resisted the urge to go too fast. One learning would be that I didn’t have enough food for this section. I had one cereal bar and two gels I could have done with more – this was the only time in the race I felt worried about food.

At the checkpoint I ate my Bombay mix and babybel and jaffa cakes. All went down pretty well. I took haribo and gels with me and off I went. I stopped for about 5 mins. Part of this was because in my zeal to make my drop bags waterproof, I had sealed them tighter then fort knox and they took a bit of getting into.

Now all I had to run the length of Scotland’s largest loch, and then a bit more and it was job done. All I was doing was focussing on getting to Rowardennan.

The bit along the loch has three checkpoints. The one at Balmaha that I was just leaving, the one at Rowardennan that I was aiming for, and one at Inversnaid.

Much of the route between these is indistinguishable in my memory from the other bits. I ran on, sometimes next to the road sometimes on good tracks and sometimes on very poor tracks and at one point on a sandy beach. The race had thinned out, but there are always people around, I remember chatting to a few people. Especially the two guys with the 11 hour plan, it was nice to know that I was on some kind of plan, even if it was someone else’s. I’d heard a lot about how hard the hard bits of the lochside were, the bits beyond Inversnaid, where the path was a knarled, twisted mass of rocks, tree roots, misery and broken dreams. However no one had prepared me for how hard the easier bits were.

Somewhere on the Lochside - photo Stuart Macfarlane

There are a lot of nasty climbs in this section and I confirmed the sneaking suspicion I’d had on conic hill that everyone was better at walking than I was. I lost lots of places on the long endless climb out of Rowardennan. If I come back, top of the training list will be some hill walking as this was one area it was immediately apparent I could improve. This was probably the lowest point of the race for me, I felt like it was never ending and was taking a lot of effort for little reward. But sometimes I got chatting to people and as ever this distraction really helps.

Also whoever maintains the paths had had a canny idea in advance of the fling. Instead of resurfacing the paths, lets just dump piles of stones along the route and hope that 600 passing runners will compact them into a path. This plan didn’t seem to be working and the piles of stones were a pain.

The actual bad bit after Inversnaid was everything people say it is. Difficult to run on, slippy, muddy and requiring a certain amount of scrambling. Again I was slow – I never practice this kind of thing, and found myself frequently letting people pass, but at the same time the slow pace allows time to regroup which was nice.

A nice runnable section

The whole section along the lochside feels like a dream, the checkpoints are all jumbled in my head. At one (Inversnaid) there was John Kynaston, whose voice is very familiar from his excellent West Highland Way podcasts. I didn’t want any of my food at this point so I popped it all on the swap shop table for discarded and unwanted drop bag contents and scavenged myself a mullerrice. This was another golden rule of ultra running broken, as I don’t think I’d ever eaten a mullerrice before, let alone while running. But my body (perhaps unsurprisingly) seemed to want something carb heavy, I didn’t have a spoon though so had to drink it. I also had apple juice here which was awesome and something I’d really looked forward to, but it left a really nasty aftertaste that took a while to fade.

I really can’t remember much about what I ate at Rowardennan perhaps just cheese, maybe jaffa cakes too.

After leaving the loch the path went up and got muddier, I fell in with a big group here which got me moving quite well for a while and I was trying to hang on until the final checkpoint at Beinglas. But in the end I had to let them go it was just too fast. The checkpoint never seemed to come and we were giving up all our hard earned height. In the end I caught the guy in front to ask if he knew where the checkpoint was. He said it was just round the corner and 30 seconds later there we were.

Neil from my running club was here after running the first leg of the relay and it was nice to see a friendly face. I also had coke to look forward to here. It doesn’t seem to matter how long I leave the bottle open for in advance of the race to defizz it, it never works. Still the fizziness didn’t bother me too much and the drink tasted like nectar. I forced down a sesame snap here which was an effort. These were the only thinks I liked during the Clyde Stride but they were not working here. I grabbed some haribo and sensing there was nothing to be gained by hanging around I was off. I had 3 hours 20 to make the 13 miles to the finish in under 12 and I sensed it could be done.

Leaving Beinglas I was fairly sanguine about what was in store. It was a long hard uphill slog to the finish, another 13 miles. Just a half marathon. I quickly started to run after the checkpoint my mind somehow tricking my tired legs into running, I walked the uphills, still getting passed by people but ran OK on the downs and the flats. It kept starting to rain, as I’d had my jacket annoyingly tied round my waist all day I never missed an opportunity for it to justify its existence so kept putting it on. Only for it to stop raining, this inverse rain dance served myself and the other runners well in keeping us dry.

It was at this point I slipped on the steps up to a bridge incurring my only real injury of the day as I scraped my shin.

The path wound on, through a small tunnel under the railway line where I had to crouch to fit through and up a steep hill. Then levelled out onto an undulating stony path with some spectacular views, ruined only by the occasional festering pit of cow shit, ankle deep in places. Apparently the farmer does this on purpose to revenge himself on the world for the miserable existence he must have in this idyllic corner of Scotland, maybe someone stole his coke in a previous fling, or is fed up of tescos screwing him on milk prices, or he could just be grumpy. Still it couldn’t be fully avoided, and I was glad I didn’t try after seeing a guy at the finish who had injured himself trying to go around the steep bank. My boss (another cheery soul) made the valid point that this just proves its real, and isn’t the kind of thing you can do in a golf cart, which I suppose is right, but doesn’t help my still uncleaned shoes, or my poor thrown away primark socks.

On into the forest. This was probably my favourite bit I knew I was going to do it (I’d kind of always known but could now let myself believe it) and I knew I was going under 12 hours. So I was running well. This section is the nearest I’ve ever experienced to the runners high, everything felt good. I had to reign myself in not to try and run the uphills. I moved through the field passing a few people and leaving behind the guy in the blue jacket who had been close by since Beinglas. I put on some music, I don’t know if this helped to distract me, I think my brain was pleased to have something else to think about.

On the last descent to the road two guys came flying past me at impressive speed. I told them how impressed I was and tried to hold on but couldn’t. Imagine my surprise when we hit the flat and I reeled them back in and passed them - I was feeling good. People were telling me I was nearly there. I started to believe them and my strength and good feeling began to ebb away. My strong running was still 11m/m pace and 'nearly there' was still around 3 miles, over half an hours running to go.

I kept asking everyone how far to go. I got quite conflicting answers, so I carried on. I thought about whether I’d try to defend my position if anyone came. I decided not to minutes later when I heard someone come up behind me running strongly. I just stepped off the path and let her go. Just as I came into By the Way I passed a lady in a white top who I’d seen a few times since before Beinglas. She seemed in a bad way, I offered to walk in with her to ensure she was OK. I was half disappointed when she insisted I should go on, the valid excuse to walk would have been welcome. I left her my water and ran on, luckily I almost immediately met a marshall so I was confident she would be looked after.

You could really sense the end now. People were around with that look of satisfaction that only comes from finishing the race, then there was the sound of the piper. Not always the most welcome sound to my untrained English ear, but very welcome this time. Round the corner and onto the red carpet and the flags, great support and the great thing is there is no one else around – for a moment in what is a hugely collaborative event it’s all about me and I’m hugely grateful to all the people giving up their time to make it special. I manage a ‘sprint’ and cross the line. Done 11:32 mins.

Happy at the finish - photo Stuart Macfarlane

A medal is put round my neck, and I’m given a great goody bag before being asked lager or ale. Well I think lager is the way to go after a long hard day on the trials.

I catch up with a few people at the finish. Clubmate Lee is there having got in in 10:50, and it’s nice to see people you recognise from the trail come in.

The soup is delicious. I try to watch the prize giving but I’m getting cold so I go off for a shower. I can’t pretend I didn’t scream like a little girl when the water hit the chafed bits of me. I’ve never chafed too badly before so this was a shock. But it was great to be clean and the pain ensured I stayed on my feet for the next few hours.

It was great to stand for a few hours and clap people in. Neil brought me a glass of wine which went down well, and I had a baked potato which didn’t, and then Lee gave me whisky, which did. The finish of an ultra is always an inspiring place to be.

Team Dunbar

Then on the bus and back. My wife had a good laugh at everyone trying to climb down the steps as we got off in Milngavie, apparently we looked non too graceful.

A few days later I feel fine. I have two black toenails but no other ill effects, but I can’t quite shake the feeling of the race – it’s something that stays with you.

Borders marathon - ever wanted to be a horse

Not just any horse but the kind of ultra horse that does not do 1 or 2 but 23.5 laps of the racecourse. Well that's what this was about, expect I was a lot slower, missed out all the jumps and didn't have to carry anyone on my back.

Apparently I only run inaugural marathons, this was number 3 and all of them have been run for the first time. This was a low key 23.5 laps of the Kelso racecourse service road. Every bit as glamorous as it sounds - London this wasn't, but this came with a number of advantages.

For one, after one lap I had the course nailed, no nasty surprises, no worrying about getting lost, sure there was a danger of mental disintegration from treading the same ground, but at least it was ground I'd be familiar with.

For two there was no real need to carry anything. Water was available every lap, never being more than a mile from the finish I didn't take a phone figuring that in an emergency I could probably make it back. I took 3 gels, but to be honest if I'd thought properly I could have left these by the track at the start and picked them up as and when.

For three, you got to see more of the other runners, there weren't too many, but some were faster than me, some slower, so I was passing people and being passed with some regularity. There was also a relay, I thought this would be really fast (relative to me) but again some we're faster, some were slower. This was nice as you got to see everyone in the race.

After registration in the golf club, and a great briefing "if you see any horses stop for them, they're not going to stop for you" (for the record I saw no horses on track) we set off in the cold morning air and we're piped to the start, which was a nice touch. I got chatting to a few people, all of whom were ultra runners which gave me some comfort this was a good idea given this was really just a long run with a bit of spice in my Highland Fling training.

And then we were off, without intending to I started about 1/3 of the way back, was amazed at how fast some of the fast guys and gals go, but went off at a pace that felt comfortable.

Last time out at the marathon in York, I wanted 3:30 and when off at 3:30 pace, only to slow down later on and crumble once 3:30 began to slip away. As I wasn't taking this race as seriously, I'd ummed and ahhed about what to do. I was tempted to go off very comfortably, and trust that increased stamina from my good work so far this year would help me hold on better. But when push came to shove there only seemed on antidote to starting too fast, last time, start even faster this time.

So I did. 7:30 pace for the first eight and sub 8:00 all the way to mile 19!

One of the things about a lapped race is that it makes it hard to put your thoughts into a sensible narrative. I ran the first lap and quickly realised there were two main straights. One was uphill and into the wind - there is always a wind wherever I go - one was downhill with a following wind - loved this bit. And a finish section where some great volunteers would shout "runner 41" and count the laps and offer encouragement. It really threw me he fist time they shouted "come on Jamie" I was thinking how do they know my name do I know them, before realising they simply had the competitor list, and this was before the accretion of laps had addled my brain.

The downhill bit - we were spared the jumps

The finish

We had to do 23.5 laps so the start and finish were at the opposite ends of the course, and for most of the early and mid part of the race the laps were taking around 8:30.

The race progressed, some people ran impressively fast, some people ran with a slow and dogged determination, I passed some, some passed me. I think it took 4 laps to get lapped by the leaders. I took a gel at lap 8 and another at pat 16 and some additional water at lap 14. That was all, after feeling very sick at York I was trying to give my stomach less to do.

I didn't count the laps, I pressed the lap button on my watch everytime I passed the start until lap 22 when the race director drove down in his golf buggy and nicked the start marker. I was a bit miffed and had to guess where the lap started from then on. I tried to follow people along the windy section, this rarely worked, I seemed stronger in this bit than others and managed to loose time in the downhill bit.

I'm talking about this hill like it was a hill, it wasn't, although the uphill bit started off as the gently incline it was, by 10 miles it felt like Ben Nevis and by 25 like Annapurna.

After 20 miles it got tough, I slowed, I felt sick, but I kept going far better than I did in York. It wasn't until I was out there doing it I realised exactly how disappointed I was with my York performance, and the memory of this was a good motivator.

I wanted 3:30 and for a while I pushed for it. "3:30 you can do was a two lap mantra". I felt empty, I daren't chance another gel, as I already felt sick, I tried so water at about 22 miles. It made me feel sick so I poured it over my head. Thankfully I twigged before it went over my head on the next lap when I got powerade by mistake.

I slowed more but I began to realise that 3:30 was there to be had. I adjusted to this, mentally I discovered I was willing to suffer for sub 3:30, however I was not willing to suffer extra for 3:25, or 3:27 and once I was sure that 9 minute miles would get me in, this was all I seemed capable of. The course emptied out a bit, my lap counters began to count me down and it all felt harder, but I kept on going and eventually the end came in a touch over 3:29. I was delighted.

All in all a brilliantly simple race, the laps didn't bother me I just kind of tuned out and I had plenty of time with my thoughts.

I was pleased to deliver the kind of performance I knew I could there were a few rough points by I kept going far better than before. I Enjoyed my post run banana and the distinctive horseshoe medal.

Still windy

Welcome to my blog, where I pretend I'm going to comment intelligently on running, but actually I just bitch and moan about how windy it is when I want to go on a long run. After all it's not like I live on the Scottish coast or anything, and I'd never do anything as daft as running to a windfarm. I'm just a victim of bad luck.

It was very windy today, I'm no meterologist, but I think getting on for 8 or 9 on the Beaufort scale if I recall my high school geography correctly.

My made up training plan said I needed to run 18 miles today, so rather than argue with this arbitrary state of affairs I set off into the wind. 18 miles was meant to be easy after 24 last weekend, but the wind and the hills added some spice. It was straight into the wind and uphill for the first few miles and it was hard work. At least I was expecting it, and knew what I was up against straight away, this helped me get to a point of quick acceptance, which is crucial in dealing with the wind, you've never going to win, you're always going to find it slower and harder than normal and the faster you can accept this the better. So I accepted and I ran slowly uphill into the wind.

I was trying a new route today in order to try and give me more elevation as I think I need to be better going uphill ahead of the highland fling. As I gained altitude and got more exposed it all began to get trickier. At about mile 7 it all came to a head. I was climbing the steepest hill of the day right into the teeth of the wind. What started off as a slow and determined plod, gradually became a slow and determined walk, then a slow walk, then a backwards walk as I was struggling to breathe, and then a I think I'll stop and take a few photos they'd look awesome on my blog.

To be fair I was at this point approaching a windfarm, which I assume someone has situated in a place likely to attract a lot of wind. I was in a good place mentally, I accepted I'd get there eventually and this was the case. I thought descending into the headwind would be easier, but not really. It tore at my clothes and made me weave across the track like a drunk

Then joy of joy's I changed direction. Suddenly I was running uphill with a following wind and being blown along so fast I could barely keep control. At some points it was very muddy but there was no opportunity to pick a route, the wind just said "on, on, on" and I got muddy, in some cases I had to jump small puddles, the wind pushed me to jumps that I think would be in with a medal chance in the Olympics. All this was going uphill, when I made it to the Elmscleugh road and started going down with a following wind and a tarmac road I really flew, 6.20 pace with very little effort, and before I knew it I was back in something approximating civilisation with the back of the run well and truly broken. Truly the wind is a mixed blessing.

I plodded on home for my 18 miles fairly pleased to have held it all together. I'm running a marathon next weekend around Kelso racecourse which should be a good test of where I'm at. I'm looking forward to trying a few different things in a small low key marathon so should be fun, but not sure how I'll cope mentally with the laps.

The wind

It's windy today. To be honest I live by the Scottish Coast, it's windy most days

So after 3 hard weeks, this was meant to be an easy week in my Highland Fling training. It hasn't gone that well for being easy. I've run less distance, but then I accidentally set a 10k personal  best (42:36 if you're the kind of person who is wondering) during my run the the club on Tuesday. And then was fairly close to a 5k best at the club handicap on Thursday. So much for lowering the intensity. That said it's nice to be running well, and it was great not to come last in the 5k handicap, which has been my fate the last three times.

So today was the day to get my easy week back on track. A nice easy 10 or so miles, nice and steady, come back feeling good. I decided to run to the power station and back - yes this is every bit as glamorous as it sounds, there is a cement factory and a landfill site and everything. But it's nice and flat.

The beautiful Scottish coast

I was kind of concious of the tail wind on the way out, and when I found myself being briefly pushed along a 7m/mile pace I kind of knew it was going to be a problem. But the trip home was horrendous. It was so hard to run. Sometimes the wind was head on, and I ended up going so slowly, sometimes it was from the side and I still ended up going slowly but with sore knees from my feet landing funny as they were blown out of kilter. Sometimes it rained and it was like running through angry bees.

Pace on the way out was just over 8m/mile on average, on the way back it was just under 9.5m/mile, and more worryingly my mental state just crumbled from nice and positive to really negative and fed up my anger and frustration at the wind opened the door for all sorts of self doubt. Sure didn't feel easy.

At least next week is supposed to be a hard week.

Recovering and returning

So after the Yorkshire marathon I took some time off to recover. Perhaps too much I was certainly out of action for longer than most of the people I know, but I wanted a rest and there didn’t seem any particular need to rush it. I took two weeks completely off, and didn’t run again until the Friday of the third week where I did 1.3 miles at 10 minute miles. It was another eight days before I ran again and I gradually started to build up the distance with a few short runs, before going to the club interval session for the first time almost 4 weeks after the race.

I think this all did me good. I felt like I’d done a lot of running and needed a rest so it was good to take some time off.

To get back into shape I decided to do the Marcothon, where you run every day in December for at least 3 miles or 25 minutes. I was keen to get to January in good shape to do some serious training for the fling so this seemed a great way of easing back in.

It was all going so well too. I made it to day 21 before I was forced to stop having done something unpleasant to my back while bending down to read the joke on a yoghurt to one of my children. This was extra maddening as I had a cold and had dragged myself around the night before in the rain just to keep the sequence going, and the joke wasn’t even that good. It was better in a week or so but the Marcothon spell was broken. That said I think it achieved the goal of getting back into shape.

The club offered a few interesting runs during December that are worthy of note. There was the festive half marathon. I’d intended to turn up dressed as santa and amble round, but sadly my santa suit didn’t arrive so I had to turn up dressed like a runner and actually run. I did this quite well for me, and were it not for a small navigational faux pas this would have been a comfortable PB. I was running nicely when the people who were close behind me suddenly vanished, I didn’t think too much of this at the time. It was 10 minutes later when I found myself running towards one of them down the road I realised something had gone awry. Sadly it was me, and I ended up running 13.05 miles in 1h37.  But the fact that I had sustained a sub 7.30 pace for pretty much a half marathon felt like a bit of a step forwards and I was pleased.

The was also the festive intervals treasure hunt, which was great fun, where my local knowledge rather than my speed meant I finished second, ahead of some much better runners who I’d never beat in a straight race.

And on Hogmanay the Black Bun run. A 1.3 mile dash starting and finishing at a pub. Not the kind of thing I’m supposed to be good at, so I was pleased with 9:48 and 8^th place, and also pleased to be the last in the pub.

So now I need to start getting more seriously ready for the fling. I’m up to 15 miles for my long run, and will take this up steadily over the coming weeks introducing some elements of back to back. My aim is to build to a longest session of 20 + 30 back to back. Logistically getting over to run on the route is proving a challenge so I’ll be training in the Lammermuirs and hoping this is similar enough.  

Yorkshire Marathon

After running my first marathon in Preston last year I hadn't intended to run another, reasoning (rationalising) that it would  be difficult to go much faster so I decided to run an ultra instead.  But when the Yorkshire Marathon was announced it didn't take much persuasion for me want to run. I lived in York for over a decade and I wanted to be part of what looked like a great race. I'm glad I was quick off the mark as it filled up fast.

In an effort to overcome the "I can't go faster" mentality I had been training with the Dunbar running club, and the opportunity to run with some very talented and fast runners, as well as do some structured interval training definitely offered the chance of a better time. I wrote a whole blog on the many reasons I now felt I could go faster than last year.

Pre race

We headed down to York on the Saturday. Having lived in York for so long there we're a whole bunch of people we wanted to catch up with so had a lovely lunch with friends and then a birthday party to attend which coupled with a three and a half hour drive made for a busy day.

We stayed with our friends Lex and Trav who were brilliant hosts. Lex ran the marathon too, and had a great race in her first marathon getting round in a shade over 4:30. There was plenty of pasta and pizza for tea, although I had to restrict myself to just the one beer which felt quite hard, but I consoled myself with the thought of how many I could enjoy to rehydrate the following day.

I slept fairly fitfully I was definitely awake at three listening to some very heavy rain, and then  had a dream that I hadn't bothered to turn up to the marathon but was too ashamed to tell anyone. I was almost a relief to get up and have breakfast. I had shredded wheat and toast and then a little later some malt loaf, which I also took a few slices of too the start.

Ready to go after a good breakfast

I was very lucky to avoid too much hassle getting to the start, as one of our old neighbours had very kindly let me leave the car on their drive, ten minutes away from the university, so it was a short and hassle free trip to the start at York uni.

My wife was an undergraduate at York and I well remember my confusion on my first introduction to the campus many years ago when we went for a few drinks in one of the university bars. The whole thing is a magnificent and confusing homage to concrete and I was quickly lost. Chalking my confusion down to the darkness and a my earnest desire to fully appreciate the refreshments on offer, I was surprised to find that even in daylight and sober it's a confusing place. To be honest I suspect that Julie spent three years there without ever actually being able to find her way around, but she was hampered by the need to give a wide berth to the many geese who flock to the university to terrorise economics students with fear of all living creatures.

The concrete jungle on a quieter day

Anyway to this confusing tableau the marathon added  extra layers of complexity by adding in fiendish one way systems and fearsome security guards to enforce them, and I was mentally exhausted by the time I found myself at the back of the immense baggage drop queue. I feared the worst at this point, but to the honest I think I just arrived at peak time, the queue gradually moved, and the subsequent queue for the toilets wasn't too bad.

I was lucky enough to run into a old university friend Graham, who I hadn't seen in 15 years on the way to the start, and then to bump into team Dunbar who were ready to race, and finally to my old boss Kev on the start line. It was great to see so many friendly faces. Rain threatened but never materialised, and we were off. I started in zone two. Given that this was numbers 1000 - 2500 and I was number 1005 I was a bit miffed to have just missed out on a spot in zone one, but actually it was fine, it took a couple of minutes to get over the line and we were running freely straight away.

The massed ranks at the start

The route and the plan.

The route started off by going through the centre of York then headed out through the suburbs, into the countryside and surrounding villages as far as Stamford Bridge before heading back via a couple of out and back sections, some more suburbs and a cheeky wee hill at mile 25.5.

My plan was to try and get round in 3:30. This needed a 8:00 minute per mile pace. Although I was concious of the need to bank some time earlier one in order to counteract any later slowing down. I hoped to be a the significant right turn at seven miles in 55 minutes, at the turn in Stamford Bridge at 14 miles in 1:50, then 20 miles in 2:40.

And we're off

The first mile or so was fine. I'm always surprised by the variety of pace, with some of those ahead going very slowly and some people flying past from behind, but it settled down very quickly. I was immediately kicking myself as I checked my pace on my garmin which was annoyingly still set in kilometres not miles. Julie works in km and had used it to run the Glasgow half, and although I had thought on many occasions I needed to turn it back, the Gods of procrastination had waited till race day to give me a kicking. At least an eight minute mile is easy to convert into a five minute km so it wasn't too mentally taxing.

The run through the town was fairly quiet as it was early in the morning. but the atmosphere by the mister was electric. I've had the privilege of running past the Minster before in the 10k and it is always amazing to run past with the bells ringing and the crowds cheering. Things quickly settled down and the run through Heworth and down to Stockton-on-the-forest was fairly uneventful.

I was carrying four gels and some sesame snaps (basically sesame seeds and sugar, one of the few foods I look back on without nausea from the Clyde Stride), I soon realised that in all my planning I had forgotten to plan when to take these and decided to alternate the two at the water stations which were every three miles.

Road marathons are in some ways quite dull, people aren't all that chatty and tend to be pretty focussed on what they are doing but it was nice to chat briefly to a few people as we went round. At one point a guy behind me took a call on his phone, I really wanted him to come past with a Dom Jolly comedy phone shouting "Hello I'm running the marathon" but sadly it was not too be, he was just keeping his supporters up to date - the pressures of the modern marathon.

"Hello I'm running the marathon"

The support in the villages was great, many of these people had been trapped in their villages by the marathon road closures, and in spite of this they were still happy to cheer us on. There was a great toddler in Stockton on the Forest who came out of his house looked down the road and shouted "Dad, there's millions and millions of people." I also remember a scout troop somewhere round here and some great music. As someone who has been banned from drumming for crimes against rhythm, it's the drummers who I remember most I think there were two lots on the course and they sounded really good.

The seven mile mark came in 55:34, the half in 1:43:54 (this is actually a PB for me in a race), and the 14 mile point in 1:50:21, all going to plan.

Route 166 

We were now into the out and back sections along the A166. I didn't mind the first out and back at all it's nice to see all the other people and to look for people you know ahead and behind. I saw former boss Kev up ahead and Dunbar runner Ann just behind.

It was also at this point I started to see a few people I knew in the crowds and it was great to see some people I hadn't seen in a while. Thanks Vinny and Sam, Lucy, Rose and Sue a friendly face is always a welcome boost

It's around mile 16 that the first signs of fatigue set in. I'm slowing, only by 5 or 10 seconds per km, but I'm having to work harder to do this pace, and this section is gradually downhill. I haven't got enough time in the bank to be slowing so soon, and it's too far out to start pushing too hard. I see Ian and Richard from Dunbar as I start the 2nd out and back, both looking good, as Graham who is flying along a little behind them. I see someone being put into an ambulance (never a great morale booster) and head down to the turn.

The back bit of the out and back was from mile 18 to mile 19.5 and it was all uphill. Not steeply uphill but the kind of gentle but un-remitting uphill that gradually saps your strength. I went into this section just a little bit behind plan and came out of it with any hopes of 3:30 having gone. It was just hard, and I did not have the legs to run it fast, I ran it slow and plenty of others walked. Running slow was still too much as in the latter part I began to feel very sick. This wasn't unexpected I often feel sick but this was a lot worse than normal. 

The hard bit

I got the the end of the A166 section and turned for home, I was thinking I'd be faster if I just stopped and was sick so this is what I decided to do. As soon as I had decided this I was right in the middle of a village so decided I'd wait until I was out of the other side before puking. Then I was confronted by a camera, stymied again, I thought I'd better run past. Then finally I found a likely spot and stopped. Could I actually manage to be sick, not a chance, my body which had been saying for ages that it would like nothing more than a quick vomit decided to change its mind and there was nothing I could do to persuade it otherwise.

I ran on, I went slowly, I tried to run faster, I couldn't, I wanted to stop, I didn't, I wanted to walk, I didn't I just moved forwards, slowly. It was good to get to Murton, the support here was good and Laura was another very welcome friendly face, I kind of felt bad afterwards for the high five though, given I'd just had my fingers down my throat trying to be sick. Luckily for Laura I'd offered her the other hand.

Crossing the ring road was a milestone, and the support through the suburbs was great. I was running at about 10 minute mile pace now and accepting that time goals had gone I was just trying to enjoy the experience. Which I sometimes achieved.

A picture is worth 1000 words, and this is a graph so it's even better

So the final act of note was to get up the hill. I was fairly accepting of my fate now, resigned to running up the hill, my body didn't need much persuasion I just got on with it on autopilot. There was a guy walking just in front of me, I'd seen him giving himself a good talking too at the bottom of the hill and having given up on my own targets I kind of didn't want him to do the same, although for all I know he might have been on for a massive PB, non the less I gave him some encouragement and got him running up the hill a lot faster than I could.

Along the finishing straight and I'm scanning the crowd for Julie and boys. The spectating logistics have been complex so I don't know if they're actually here, but Julie got in trouble at the Glasgow half for not high fiving the boys in the finishing straight, and I don't want to befall the same fate.

The crowds are massive and by the time Julie calls my name it's too late for a high five, but great to see them. I jog on too the line, I pass the guy I'd encouraged up the hill and scare the life out of him giving him a pat on the back as I go past. The video shows me applauding the crowd as I approach the line, I can't actually remember this but I guess it is true, and then over the line and stop.

I keep waiting for someone to put a medal around my next, but this doesn't happen, so I go and get my goodie bag and find the medal and put it on. Somehow this seems important. I sit down kind of feeling on the verge of tears but not quite being able to cry, this feels a bit disappointing. I the end I stand up and go and find my family.

Two minutes with the children in a crowded finish area reminds me that watching with two children is definitely harder than running, and I'm very grateful to Julie for making the effort. One advantage of the pink medal is that the boys aren't fighting over who gets to wear it - they don't seem keen at all. But my nieces seem quite taken with it when we see them later on.

Pink

Julie keeps trying to make me eat, but I don't feel like anything. In the end we go to meet my mum and sisters who have come over but missed the actual race, I get some chips and cake in the cafe and the recovery process begins.

The walk back to the car is fine, and I think this probably does me a lot of good although walking down steps is tricky. Then back to Lex and Trav's for wine and beer and tea.

3:45:06.

Afterwards

I've been trying to convince myself I'm not disappointed, sometimes I succeed. The truth is it was a great race and enjoyed lots of it, especially the support which was excellent, seeing the people I knew and running through one of my favourite cities. The truth is also that if I'm being honest with myself everything was set up for a good run and I know I could and should have done better. 

The only conclusions I can draw are that perhaps I ate and drank a little too much which made my stomach worse, so next time out eat and drink less. That the day before wasn't as restful as you would normally want. And that I perhaps lack a bit of metal fortitude when it gets tough, or didn't want it enough and that's why it didn't happen. Not sure how to fix this.

Next up is a wee 53 mile jaunt next April.

Why I'm going to do better in this marathon than last time

A nice positive title, but there are a number of reasons why this is true. So in no particular order...

Experience - I've now done a marathon (and an ultra) so this isn't the big step into the unknown that it was last time. I know what 26 miles feels like, I've done it twice in races and once in training, and whist I wouldn't say it holds no fear I know what I'm getting into.

Distance training - As a result of running the Clyde Stride in July I've done a lot more distance training and have a lot more long miles in my legs. Last year I ran 18+ miles three times in the run up to the marathon. So far this year it's been nine times (plus one race).

Speed training - I tried last year but I was a bit unstructured and found this hard to do on my own. This year running with the club has helped with weekly tempo runs and interval sessions which have undoubtedly made me run faster.

The route - Preston was hardly UTMB but it was undulating in places. York is mostly very flat. Also I've reviewed the route in full on google streetview so I have a better idea what to expect.

The weather - I may be tempting fate here but it would struggle to be worse than Preston. Preston was so bad that it has mentally scarred everyone I know who ran it except for me. York will be better, and hey if its not I know I can run a decent marathon in the wind and rain.

Weight - I'm certainly a couple of pounds lighter than I was last year - less to drag around the course with me.

Having a garmin - I didn't have one last year so was tracking the run on my phone, which was in my pocket and wasn't giving me the same kind of real time info a garmin provides. If things are going well, knowing that this is the case will provide positive reinforcement and make me faster.

Peer pressure - I know a lot more people running this time, and am keen to beat some of them, last time I was more concerned just to finish.

Goals - Last time my main goal was to finish, although I was always fairly confident this would be under four hours. This time I'm a bit more focussed on achieving my potential timewise (which is nothing stupidly fast 3:30ish).

Nutrition - I ran out of energy a bit last time towards the end, this time I will eat a bit more which will hopefully mean I feel a bit stronger later on.

Belief - I believe I can go faster and run stronger in the Yorkshire marathon.

The story of my first marathon - Preston 2012

I'm running my second marathon next month, so it seemed like a good time to look back on the first one. I did it last October, before I had aspirations of being and ultra runner and it became de rigueur to have a blog.

It all began in 1179 when King Henry II conferred on the good people of Preston the right to hold  a Guild celebration. This took place every 20 years. Little happened for another 800 years or so, and they the good people of Preston enjoyed a further boon when I was born. Little happened again until the third player in this unlikely trinity stepped up and the EU named Preston a city of sport 2012, the city rose to the challenge by scheduling the inaugural Guild Marathon (2012 was also a guild year) to be run once every 20 years. When the EU, King Henry II and I get it together the results can only be good.

I was talked into it by my friend Julie, she was a recent convert to Marathon running taking the novel approach of training lightly, and entering at the last minute to avoid getting stressed by this. She was running with her friend Sharon who was attempting to run five marathons in five weeks to raise money in the memory of her mother.

To Sharon's glamorous list of Amsterdam, Liverpool, Chicago and Berlin was added Preston, as a finale no less. To be honest I didn't take much persuasion to get involved a hometown marathon that wouldn't come around again for 20 years seemed the kind of opportunity not to miss. I was in.

This was in March, in April I ran my local 10k in a then pb (46 something) and the next day went and ran for 13 miles to see if I could do it. I survived so the official entry went in. I had six months to prepare. By this point I had been running 2 or 3 times a week for a year or so, and had in the more distant past run a couple of half marathons so I had a base to work from.

Looking to draw on the accumulated wisdom of others rather than think for myself, I read a decent amount about how to train for and run a marathon. The thing that struck me most was "four months to a four hour marathon" this was the first thing I read and it gave me the basic building blocks of having a long run, a tempo run, some kind of speedwork and a slower run. I tried to incorporate all of these.

I spent a glorious few days writing a detailed plan of what to do when. I never followed it, life and my own random whims got in the way too much, but it was reassuring to know it was there, being ignored - I may not be following it but at least I had a plan.

What I really did was this.

• I tried to run more, 4/5 times a week.

• Once in a while I tried to run longer than I ever had before, but not week in week out

• Sometimes I ran up some hills

• Sometimes I did some fartlek - usually one fast mile, five fast minutes and a final fast mile.

• In the penultimate month before the race I ran 20 miles plus 3 times

• In the month before the race I did less

The first 20 mile run nearly broke me, that was when I realised that I needed food and water to go for three hours, this sounds obvious but I'd always managed OK without in the past. The second 20 mile run felt good, and the third one was compromised by the wind, but this wind training paid dividends later.

I ran the Edinburgh 10k at the start of October and got a massive pb on a very hilly course. This is probably still the most complete run I've ever managed and made me believe I was in great shape for what was to come.

Mentally I always felt strong, possibly as a result of misplaced self confidence, but in the run up to the race I never had any doubts I could do the distance. My stated goal was sub 4h and I never really doubted that I'd do this either. I had no real basis for this intrinsic confidence but none the less I always believed in my own ability. My more stretching goal was 3h30. I didn't tell anyone this nor did I really take any positive steps to achieve it, this was simply a best case scenario if it all came together on the day. I had no expectation of reaching this goal, and I didn't.

So the race was on a Sunday. Although I've long since fled the Lancashire nest for colder climes, we still have plenty of family down there (my wife is a fellow Lancastrian). We drove down on the Saturday, left the kids with my mum for the night, she would bring them to watch the finish. Went to Preston, registered and went for a pizza, I remember sitting in Pizza Express with my number thinking it all seemed pretty real.

Julie and Sharon had brought a small army of Scottish runners down for the last leg of Sharon's challenge, and hosted a small gathering the night before where I had more pizza and pasta. Plenty of carbs. After a pretty busy day I actually slept pretty well the night before, especially considering I wasn't in my own bed, and we were putting up some of the Scottish contingent at my in-laws house.

Up early the next morning. Shower and breakfast (muesli, toast, malt loaf and banana) and off. I picked up my friend Gareth, who is also running his first marathon. He seemed nervous. Mrs T stayed behind, she'll get a lift in later for the finish.

All this time I'm kind of aware that the weather isn't looking all that promising it's grey and windy. We get to the guild hall. I lose everyone as I go to check my bag in and am glad of a few minutes to myself. I plaster my nipples and go to the toilet, eat some more malt loaf and I'm ready to go.

I'm wearing a yellow high vis nike top, purchased in San Francisco many years ago and a staple of all my running, and some adidas shorts with a pocket at the back which has my mobile in it. I'm using this as a GPS tracker primarily so I've got something to look back on and so my family can see where I'm at. I'm wearing brooks ghost shoes, and I forget about my socks. After much deliberation I'm not carrying any gels or anything, just relying on what is on the course. I also have on an old jumper to keep me warm in case we have to stand around at the start for ages, I'm planning to ditch this on the start line.

I head outside and meet up with people again, the weather is looking looming. The start is on the flag market in Preston city centre. I have many fond memories of being drunk here on various New Years Eves, but to be honest I'm fairly focussed what needs to be done. We all stand towards the back and then realise we should be further forward and push our way to somewhere around the 4 hour marker. There are only a thousand or so running so it's not too busy. I don't remember a starting gun but the crowd gets the message and we all start to move. Some quick "good luck"s are pretty much the last I see of everyone until the finish.

There is a kind of nervous tension to the first mile, I'd planned to go pretty slow, as a guard against going too fast and there are lots of people to get in my way to ensure I stick to this. I'm pretty impressed by the soldier in full pack and gear who is doing this as training for his next tour of duty in Afghanistan, at the same time I really hope I beat him. I've been here before in the York 10k trying and failing to chase down a gingerbread man, but the soldier seems steady rather than speedy.

As the race comes down hill out of the city centre everything settles down. I'm running well at this point along the closed off dual carriageway. My pace is a good consistent 8.15ish. This is an out and back section so I keep myself amused looking out for people I know behind me. I shout a hello to Julie but everyone else passes unnoticed. The out and back section also means I get a look at the leaders, the guy out in front is from Blackburn and is getting a great reception, a kind of rolling cheer, from the massed ranks of runners as he goes by. He is called Ben and goes on to win by miles.

The course heads back into the city and the through the suburbs to the countryside. The only thing I remember about this is some speed-bumps, clearly I was travelling too fast in a residential area. As the route heads out into the countryside at around nine miles several things become apparent, the country lanes have an annoying camber which forces everyone into the middle of the road, the weather is actually pretty windy and rainy, and the chat of all the other runners around me is annoying. I speed up slightly to neutralise the latter, I perhaps should have identified this as an early step on the road to mental deterioration, as I'm fairly sure that they were all very nice people having a nice chat about their nice marathon.

I run some more through the wind and rain along some pretty quiet roads. One chap chats to me as I pass him. He's struggling with an injury, I tell him he's doing well and move on, not anticipating at this point how galling it will be when he passes me later on.

It's a cliche but at mile 18 I start to feel like I'm having to dig deeper to keep going at the same speed, and from mile 21 with the course starting to head back into the city I'm very concious that I'm starting to struggle.
I have two strong memories from this bit of the race, the first is a very kind spectator giving me a jelly baby. I was delighted and thanked them with a very heartfelt "I love you" and ran on. Sadly as soon as I had the jelly baby between my teeth my stomach woke up to what was going on and made it very clear that if I sent down any jelly babies it was sending them back with interest, so to my disappointment I had to spit it out. I felt pretty sick all the way to the end.

The other thing I recall was just how hard this bit was mentally. By this point I had nowhere to go at all in my head which was full of pain and tiredness and not a nice place to be. I had read about Paula Radcliffe repeating the names of her children in her head as she ran just to have something to think about so I tried this for a couple of miles here - obviously with my kids rather than Paula's. It helped pass the time but really I just wanted to switch off from it all.

All things considered I found the closing bits hard by managed to keep going albeit I slowed down by about 20 seconds each mile for the last 6 miles, having been pretty consistent beforehand.

At some point the half marathon runners merged in, I remember running behind a runner who with the greatest of respect did not look the athletic type and wondering "how the hell is she ahead of me" before realising she was completing the half, but this took a long time to work out.

As we came back into the city centre the wind was very strong swirling around the buildings, at one turn the runner in front of me just stopped as he turned the corner and wind hit him. Past a few of the pubs I used to drink in as a youngster and I'm back at the market, and suddenly my mum is running along behind the barrier shouting my name, there is a whole bunch of family and friends supporting which feels great, but I just want it over, I run round the corner and over the line.

I cross the line and burst into tears, the mental effort of trying to hold it together for the last bit has taken its toll. Someone gives me a medal, it all feels good but not as exhilarating as I'd expected - I'm too tired for that.

I go and find my family, they give me some concerned / disgusted looks and I realised I'm covered in blood from my nipples. Everything else hurt so much I didn't notice the loss of the plasters or all the layers of my skin. They don't actually hurt until I get into the shower later.

Everyone looks drenched so we decamp to MacDonalds. I have a cup of tea which tastes great and some fries which are pleasantly salty and sit quietly still quite numb from it all. I didn't quite realise when I was running how wet and windy and cold it actually was. One of Julie's friends actually gets pulled from the course after 25 miles with hypothermia, and she lives in Scotland so it must be cold. All that running into the North Sea wind in training has clearly paid off.

My family heads off and I got back to race HQ to wait for Gareth who I need to give a lift home to. The finish looks very different now as most of the runners are in, the crowds have dwindled and it is really pissing it down. Anyone who has been out there for 5+ hours has had a very hard day indeed. Gareth finishes and has no warm clothes at all too put on, he looks cold, I go to the car and a get him a fleece, and watch warmth slowly return.

And that was it 3:44:52 for 325th place out of 1137. We go back to the in-laws house. Almost immediately my youngest son cracks his head on the coffee table. There is lots of blood, I'm really not sure I could cope with a trip to A&E, fortunately the blood stops and he seems fine. Although a few days later the Dr back home remarks that it could have done with a stitch or two.

Take out curry for tea, and in a few days I can even walk properly again.