SOS: London Marathon
Wow.
This race is undoubtedly one of the best in the world, and I really do feel privileged to have had the chance to run it four times.
Three out of the four have been a slog. Only one can I class as “fun” — and that was the very first one. Why? I think because there was absolutely no expectation other than to finish.
But we love a challenge, right?
I love being in the mountains — the views, sunrises and sunsets, technical rocky ground, and the challenge of negotiating kit, sleep, and nutrition — but I also wanted to test some good old-fashioned running.
It seems like everyone just wants to go further and further these days. Sometimes, you just need to go back to basics.
The road marathon has lots to think about too: kit, pace, nutrition, and weather — but all at a much faster pace!
Pre-marathon, I felt pretty good, knowing that I had worked hard on my pace. I’d given up slow, ‘hikey’ days in the mountains for long sessions at the local track. The Speedgoats had been swapped for Rockets, and we were throwing everything at it!
My body was as good as it could be — my hip had started to creak, but I was hoping the race had come just in time.
My feet had never looked better. Even my toenails had started to grow! Daily foot care, as always — and more importantly, trainer care — had paid off. After wet or hot runs, I made sure my trainers were dried on the Atacama, keeping them in the best possible condition for the following day. No wet feet here — even though the South of France had seen unusually wet and miserable weather in the build-up.
Race day — I gave the marathon literally everything I had, aiming for a time that seemed near-impossible even on a perfect day. I wanted to test myself. I wanted to see how far I had come.
In hindsight, I probably should have adjusted my goal considering the weather and maybe held back a little — but I just don’t feel like I’m able to do that (maybe I need to learn 😉).
I went off with the 3:20 pacer and managed to stick to my splits up until around 20/21km. Then I watched the wheels slowly fall off…
I knew I’d messed it up — but I also knew it was up to me how badly it was going to go. It was my story to write.
I knew I had to battle — and battle hard. I was still managing to get my Precision Fuel & Hydration gels down, but even that was slowing.
I’d been monitoring my heart rate all along — generally sitting in the 160s. I kept trying to reassure myself that I know I can run at this heart rate for a sustained period of time. But the more I looked at my watch, the more stressed I got. I kept trying to take deep breaths and calm myself down.
All I could think of was: if I didn’t beat my PB from 2008, I’d be heartbroken — and now I was watching it slowly fall away.
Each mile marker I passed, I was dropping off the pace I needed — but still, I kept pushing. I just knew the more I gave up, the more disappointed I’d be post-run.
Seeing Big Ben come into sight gave me a renewed sense of purpose. The end was near — although it felt like it would never come! I tried to push. I couldn’t even bear to look at my watch at this point — I just wanted to finish.
Then I was onto The Mall. The end really was in sight. As usual, the emotion came pouring out — tears of happiness, disappointment, and sheer pain.
BUT… this is why we do it, right?
The process.
The discipline.
The excitement.
The unknown.
And of course — the outcome.
Will I go back to another road marathon?
I think if the hip holds out, then for sure.
Regardless of getting a PB, I still have this magical number that’s eluding me.
The competitiveness with myself won’t allow me to ignore it.
But for now…
Back to the mountains.
The poles.
Some inner peace.
And as ALWAYS — well-looked-after feet.