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Sub Three! (A report on the 2007 |
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“It was like a desert out
there!”
Gordon Ramsey, Chef and
After competing in the London Marathon two years ago, my
initial reaction was that I was 100%
definite that I was not going to run it again, which was a bit strange as I
stood there in the same pen at the same blue start two years on. Funny things
these marathons, and I’d been attracted like a moth to a flame yet again.
My marathon training started
back in January, when I started
adding a few longish runs to my training runs, speed sessions, races and easy
sessions. I never followed a formal training plan, (that’s too restrictive); I
just went out there and aimed for around 40 miles per week. I’m not a naturally
high mileage runner and I’m afraid to say I only achieved the 40 plus mark on
six occasions. I did, though, hit a PB
of 63 miles in one week in February.
As far as my long runs went, I wanted to do at least four 20 mile runs, but the
most I did was 21, in the Keswick/Buttermere
round. I did an 18 mile, a couple of 14’s, and eight 13ish training runs. I
knew I should have done more, but work commitments and moving house put a bit
of a strain on my free time.
I’m a big fan of
I was shovelling down two platefuls of pasta a
day from Wednesday onwards, just to make
sure I was fully carbo loaded. I also ate loads of cake – don’t know if it
helped, but it tasted good. I was going to stay alcohol free but I found a
great watering hole backing on to the Thames
called the Mayflower – (where the
ship of the same name set sail from to America),
and I couldn’t resist a few jars on Friday night.
I visited the Tate Gallery, the one on the south bank of the river, which displays
modern art from the turn of the last century. I have a ‘take it or leave it’ attitude with modern art; a lot of it ‘leave it’, to be honest. For example,
how can a pallet of bricks, neatly laid in two stacking pallets of six by ten
bricks, be art? My, conspiracy theory is that it is not the art but making the
description sound good. On the floor of the gallery 
was an eight by eight tiled floor, with light and
dark squares just like a chessboard. In fact that is what it was, basically.
But the description was a gem; the artist said he wanted people to “interact” with his art and walk upon
it, thus becoming art themselves! That is not to say I don’t like all modern
art, some of it is powerful and moving, I suppose it just depends on how you
look at things. It did get me thinking – maybe 35,000 people running together
is art, though I doubt you would be able to fit it in the Tate!
I moved from the Youth Hostel at Rotherhithe to the Holiday
Inn in Brent Cross, 
to be ‘on call’ at work that week, and, because
being ‘on call’ is easy money and you very rarely get bothered, I decided I
would stay on call for the week. I’ve been ‘on call’ at least half a dozen
times, and on all of those occasions I’ve only ever had one call. It was a bit
like the old Carlsberg ad, with the
phone ringing in the complaints department, and some guy entering to find a
room covered in cobwebs untouched for years, and the person on the other end of
the phone dialling a wrong number. Of all the times for it to go off!! It went
of at 1, 3, and 5am! I nearly threw the thing out of the window.
I was out of my bed at 6am,
showered, then tucked into a nice bit of porridge and banana. I had laid out
all my gear perfectly the night before, military style; my Wesham vest with my pinned on number, all symmetrical and straight;
my running shoes with the attached championship; my new pair of running socks,
all soft and fresh, and a new watch and 3hr pace wristband. I dressed just as
carefully, making sure all the seams in my socks were in exactly the right
position, fully opening my laces and placing my running shoes around my feet
before tightening, making sure my vest and number fitted comfortably. If there
is one thing I don’t like, it’s a wonky number, because sooner or later you
know it’s really going to annoy you.
I set off from the hotel three
hours before the start, and managed to get to the wrong start! The one mile
walk to the blue start was a good warm up. I handed my bags in, grabbed plenty
of water and some Lucozade, did a
few stretches, drank some more water and mentally prepared myself for the task
ahead. I bumped into Simon Eaton and
wished him well. With 25 minutes to go, I walked into Pen 2. This was it. Three months of training behind me, three hours
of running ahead of me. The sun was shining, I felt good and I felt confident.
I couldn’t wait to get started.
Ronan
Keating waved us off, but the masses were not going anywhere fast.
Although I was in Pen 2 (2:45-3hrs
or was it 3-:3:15hrs predicted time?), it took me nearly 8 ½ minutes to cross
the mile line. First mile and I’m down by 1½ minutes. Unlike last time, when I
sprinted like mad to get my time back, (and then suffered in the latter
stages), I didn’t panic. In fact I even found time to use the toilet. It was a
warm day, so I took plenty of water at the start; maybe too much. But the 42
seconds I lost was worth every second. I tried to increase the pace, but the
crowd was too packed, so I just tucked in and followed the blue racing line. I
slowed down a lot to take on water, which itself is a bit of an art form, and
certainly not one I’ve fully mastered. I’m not a big water drinker in races,
unless it’s really hot. If this was a half marathon, I probably wouldn’t have
touched any at all. Up to about 9 or 10 miles, I was always behind my pace
schedule, but I was closing it down steadily, if slowly.
My girlfriend was supposed to be around the 11
mile mark, so it was a surprise to hear her daughter Kerry screaming my name at around 10 miles. I was running for St Johns Hospice in 
around 
17 miles with no trouble. At 18 my legs stiffened
slightly, and the running became harder, but on checking my watch I found I
wasn’t losing time. I was 1½ minutes ahead of where I wanted to be. I knew if I
hit the wall, that advantage could be lost in just a few miles. I had taken an
energy gel at 10 miles and I had another one around 20. From 19 onwards I kept
expecting it. At 20 it hadn’t come and now I had only 10K to go. “Run
that at this pace and I’ve cracked it.”
I remember coming out of
Three miles to go and every
step felt like a hard speed session. It’s hard, but the crowds either side are
superb. I will myself to keep going - don’t let it slip away I tell myself.
Twenty more minutes of pain and another running milestone will be broken. First
it was the 40 minute 10K, (2004,
Blackpool Fun Run 39:15), then
the 60 minute 10 miler, (2006, 
was another one of those moments my mind had
photographed, as I rounded the corner, inches from the inside barrier, a large
lens pointed right at me. I was tired, worried, elated, excited and in pain.
Just then another shout, “Stephen I love you!” and I looked
round to see Kerry and my
girlfriend, Debbie, (in tears), and
I put my hand up to wave to them. Not long to go now. Half way down Birdcage Walk I see “800m
to go”- 800m! I look at my watch: 2:56. I’d done a 2:23 800m at my last
speed session last week. Maybe at this speed it would take me 3½ minutes, but
that should do it, surely? I turned the corner, 400m to go. Yes, I could do it!
On to The Mall, - 200m to go and
2:58 on the watch. 200m – I can sprint that in 33’s. I knew I could do it now,
but until I crossed the finish line nothing was certain. So when is 200m a long way? When you are going
down the Mall, looking at your
watch, then looking at the finish, and then again looking at your 
watch. I stopped my watch at 2:59 dead, then
threw my arms up in celebration:
As in any race, it’s more of a
relief to finish than anything else when you cross the finish line, whatever
the time. There’s still work to do when you finish at
Once the medal is collected,
and your belongings are recovered, then you realise that the months of cold and
often uncomfortable training are over. Remember the cold nights in January? The week when it rained all
week? Using up my two rest days by Wednesday?
Running 10 miles and it feeling like 15? Three months work encapsulated by five
digits: 2:58:57. Was it worth it? Yes. It’s an emotional time as you
leave, and as I saw Debbie we both
gave each other a hug and cried.
This time I didn’t say, “Never
again”, but started thinking about my next marathon. A better start,
cooler conditions, 4 x 20 mile training runs, using the toilet before
the race – and who knows what time I can get?
Running stats
0-10km 0:43:57 (Pace:
7:05/mile)
Time after 10K: 0:43:57
10-20km 0:41:20 (Pace: 6:39/mile)
Time after 20K: 1:25:17
20-30km 0:41:05 (Pace: 6:37/mile)
Time after 30K: 2:06:22
30-40km 0:43:05 (Pace: 6:56/mile)
Time after 40K: 2:49:27
Final
Time: 02:58:57 (Pace: 6:50/mile)
Ratings
Value for money: 8. £20-30 to enter, but that
will be dwarfed anyway by travelling and staying in
Scenery: 10. See the sights
the hard way
Do it again? Yes, but not
right now
PB rating: 8. Good, but
dependent on weather
Organisation: 10. Excellent. The Daily
Mail thinks differently, due to one of the runners collapsing then
sadly dying. But the organisers can not be responsible for that – the
individual runners must decide whether they are fit enough or not. If you are
not capable of doing it, why enter? There is no getting around the fact that
the marathon is a tough event. Water
stations, medical stations, toilets were all available.
Crowd Support: 10. As always, the
crowds were fantastic.
Written by Steve Myerscough
Submitted: 30th April 2007
Edited by: Brenda J Earnshaw WRR
Editor