The Search for the Holy Grail

(and no Capt Jack in sight)

For those people who know me, I have been ridiculed, hung out to dry, had metaphoric tomatoes thrown at me, all because of the small matter of not achieving that sub 3 hour marathon!! It sounds so easy when you say it quickly, but believe me in running NOTHING is easy! I have put in endless training, done the long runs when it’s raining cats and dogs; they have been hitting me like meteorites.

I have travelled the four corners of the world, to England, Scotland, America and Europe, and still the answer is no, no, no and a big fat NO!

In 2005, I went with Finlay Tours, to Berlin. I was in the best shape of my life, and Finlay said he would put his house on it that I would run under 3 hours. I bet he was glad he didn’t, I crossed the line in 3:26. That was it, and as I slumped to the floor dejected, miserable and praying Finlay wasn’t homeless, saying to myself never, never again would I take part in another Marathon. The scars were deep, mentally and physically. I would never live it down, especially from the sub 3 hour gang, at Wesham. I could already feel my ears burning from the chants of ‘Not again Barlow! You should be more than capable of breaking the 3 hour barrier’

It took a full 3 years for the wounds to heal. 2007, my best running year of my life as I broke every PB from the 5K through to 20 miles - only the elusive Marathon remained. I completed a Half Marathon in 1:16. Surely this was my year to achieve my ultimate marathon goal? So, a few months later I set off for Edinburgh, but still, the computer said ‘NO’ - 3:08 I recorded.

In the Autumn of the same year a group of us went to the Big Apple, which was rotten to the core. I finished in 3:38 just in front of my beautiful girlfriend fantastic Tanya. Was it ever going to happen? I had asked the same question hundreds of times before. “Was I just not cut out for marathons?” “Was I simply, just not good enough?” “Was it time to admit defeat and give up the search of the Holy Grail?”

2009 – My 10^th year of running. Paris would be my 10^th Marathon; the omens were stacked in my favour. All was going great. The training, the races, I had never felt so confident, and I was definitely going to do it!

Everything was going so well. My children were loving the sights and sounds of ‘Gay Paris’ they were there standing at the finishing line, the Arc de Triomphe in the background, camera poised, ready for their Dad to finally cross the finishing line in 2:59. Alas it was not meant to be. At 20 miles it felt like a sniper had hit me directly in the legs, forcing me to slow down; people around me were shouting ‘Allez! Allez!’ but I could not Go!

I limped over the line in 3:07 - a PB but not what I wanted. My daughters said, “Not again! Dad give it up, it’s not going to happen. Where’s Maccy D’s? We’re starving!”

That night we sailed along the Seine with the stars shining above and the Eiffel Tower dressed in lights. With views like this I soon forgot my Marathon woes.

Three weeks later I found myself in London, on the back of a club place, allocated the previous November. In the past I have hated running in London, but, as I was convinced that I would have already achieved my sub 3 hour marathon, this race was going to be a ‘jolly’, with no added pressure of achieving a goal, other than finishing.

Unfortunately I still had not dipped under 3 hours, much to the disappointment of the sub 3 hour Wesham gang. Their voices were ones of sympathy, disbelief and ‘how could I have missed that Holy Grail once more?’ Still they stood firm in their belief that I could succeed.

The weeks preceding the Marathon was all about the two Peter’s, Cruse and Waywell, and the expectations of how well they were going to perform on the back of their previous successes, and their good winter training. This time, it was all quiet in the Barlow camp. There was no hype, no talk but my heart and mind knew I was more than capable of achieving my ambition – maybe London was the stage for me.

Tanya and I caught the train down on the Saturday. It was a gloriously sunny day, and we picked up our numbers and headed back to the hotel, found the nearest pub and watched the footy. Man U and Spurs were playing. You would think that being in the Capital the audience would be Spurs fans. However it was a 50:50 split with lots of friendly banter, helped long with the Magners. After the game we headed back to the hotel, stopping in the lounge bar for a take away pizza and four more bottles of cider. We received plenty of strange looks; a few Marathon runners questioned quizzically our training regime. They said that they hadn’t had a drink in months. We smiled, slurped some cider and wished them all the best for the race the following morning, before retiring to our room to watch Britain’s Got Talent, whilst finishing our drinks and eating the pizza. Life doesn’t get much better!!

Marathon Day – 26 April 2009

It was the best night’s sleep I had ever before a Marathon. We went through our pre-race ritual, breakfast, shower etc. Off to the start we go! We caught the subway, to change at Bank, when suddenly Bam! I realised I’d not packed my gels, I had to go back! It had already taken 30 minutes just to get here. Tanya offered me some of hers. I refused as she would be short. “I’m going back”, I cried. “You carry on.” It was like a scene from a disaster movie. “I can’t leave you,”’ she replied, “We’ll go back to the hotel.” Off we went, pace quickening all the while. I dashed up to the room, got the gels race/walked back to the subway, changing at Bank to get the train to Blackheath. It was bedlam! The tannoy announcer kept changing the platform number that the train to Blackheath was arriving at. People were dashing from platform to platform like headless chickens. We decided to stay put, whilst we watched the story unfold. Time was running out. I remained calm and told Tanya to change into her running gear. Eventually the train arrived on the original platform, (the one we were at)! There was a panic surge as people were desperate to get on the train. I wondered if there would be enough space for all of us. There was no need to worry - we both got on without incident.

We arrived at Blackheath, just in the nick of time to put our bags on the wagon, quick toilet stop and into our different pens. I gave Tanya a big at kiss, said “Good luck, see you soon”.

Bev, Peter and Simon were closer to the start line than I, so I managed to jostle in amongst the crowd of runners and start close to them.

Bang! We were off…

My plan? Stick with Peter. I knew he was going for a sub 3 hour time. Before too long I recognised a familiar sight - Tanya’s bum! I gave it a cheeky squeeze then I sailed on by.

1.5 miles, the plan was not going well. Peter was on the far left, I was on the right. I decided to ditch the plan, and run my own race, but even at this early stage my legs felt heavy. I still had not recovered from the Paris nightmare. Surely my legs could carry me over the 26.2 miles, could they?

4 miles, and I caught up with Big Geo. he started at the ‘Good for Age’ start, as did my other good friend, and winter training partner, Fireman Pete. I hadn’t seen Pete. I thought he must be further ahead than me.

5 miles, I took my first gel with water. At each water station I also poured water over my legs, front and back, hoping that it might, just might, make the difference I needed. I kept plodding through the miles, not feeling fantastic, asking myself why I put myself through this, as well as trying to convince my self that it wasn’t far… Hmmm….I wasn’t convinced!

10 miles, another gel consumed.

11 miles, to my great excitement I recognised another firm ass, Caroline Betmead’s. I gave it a pinch. The initial shock on her face changed into a broad friendly smile when she recognised me and said. “Go on, this is your time, you can do it!” “We’ll see.” I replied and continued my search for the Holy Grail. At each water station I continued to drink water and pour the rest over my legs. Marathon day was unusually warm, and was beginning to take its toll on some runners. Thankfully Paris put me in good stead as it was warm there too.

14 miles, another gel, and, to my surprise, a massive cheer, it was Harold, Caroline’s dad screaming at me, “Go on, go on, you can do it!”

15 miles and, for the first time in the race, I actually started to feel good. It is usually around this time where everything starts falling apart - not for me, not today. The miles seemed to pass quicker and quicker, as I continued my water station ritual, drinking and pouring.

18 miles, gel time! I felt confident everything was working well!

20 miles, and 2hrs 14, perfect, I thought, keep going, 6 more miles to go, and 46 minutes to complete it in. Surely the time is in the bag.

22 miles and the distance I was to have my next gel. I consumed it at mile 21 instead. Time 2hrs 28, 32 minutes for 4 miles. My mind was struggling to compute. Eventually I worked it out - 8 minute miling. Yes that’s great! Just keep going, don’t walk. This realisation brought a new lease of life to my heavy legs, and so, at 23 miles, I had more time to achieve the elusive goal I dreamt of. But then my legs went! I had run out of gels, things started to go wrong, and, for the first time since mile 14, people were beginning to overtake me. Had my legs finally given up on me? The dreaded dark tunnel loomed. Every time I’d been there I had walked a long and lonely path through. Today I was NOT going to walk. I moved to one side and concentrated, right, left, right, left, feet in front of each other.

24 miles, 18 minutes left, 9 minutes for each mile Yes, I can do this! By now, the only people I was passing were those poor souls walking, or seizing up with cramp. Please don’t let it happen to me, I prayed. My pace was slow and I felt like a zombie. I needed someone to put me out of my misery. Then I heard another familiar voice, it was Steve, Caroline’s husband, “You’re nearly there, you can do it.”

I turned the corner, the vista, Buckingham Palace. I saw the clock. Finally it WAS in the bag! Runners were sprinting past me. I was savouring the moment – no need to rush these last few strides. 2:58:18 I raised my arms as I passed through the finishing line, fell to the ground and kissed the earth. Not in wild celebration, not in the joy, but in the sheer relief, the deep hurt and pain I had felt 10 times previously before, was no more.

I sat down, waited for Tanya and a photo, thinking, “What was hard about that!”

I ended the weekend in the same way as I started, with the odd glass of beer and danced the night away with Big Geo, Tanya, Dave Young and his daughter, who had completed her first marathon and was proudly wearing her medal.

The following morning, I lay in bed reliving the last 10 years and wondering what next. The search for the Holy Grail had ended. I will not be haunted with taunts of, ‘I can’t believe you still haven’t run under 3 hours!!’

I had finally achieved all I wanted; a sub 3 hour marathon!

Written by: Lee Barlow ably assisted by the lovely Tanya

Submitted: 11^th September 2009

Edited by: Brenda J Earnshaw WRR Editor