Marathon 4 of 15: Portsmouth Coastal: On the importance of encouragement

Since the last marathon exactly 50 days ago, time has shot by and suddenly I’m on the M27 heading to the Coastal Marathon. In that time two close friends have passed away and it’s been a tough few weeks in all honesty. The parkrun community has been an enormous support as have our church friends, family and work colleagues, and everyone who has supported my Sands challenge (I’m sure there is a neat Venn diagram to depict the previous sentence, but that’s for another time). 

The Coastal Marathon is held each year in Portsmouth, some of which is familiar territory as I worked in the city for three years and enjoyed plenty of runs along the coast around Southsea. So I knew of the potential wind and rain to come, though not necessarily the terrain, of which more later. 

It’s a half hour drive and kindly my father in law drops me off with about an hour to spare, plenty of time I thought to gather my thoughts, get ready and hopefully bump into one or two friends and colleagues I knew would be running or supporting runners at least. 

It’s a much bigger event than I had anticipated, and the Pyramids leisure centre is crammed. The queues for the loos are the world’s longest but having carbed up for the past two days it’s impossible not to require the services so I take a deep breath and join the line… 55 minutes, an increase in heart rate and a few irate mutterings later I emerge ready to take on the course. It starts on the seafront and it’s pretty cold, though the rain of the last few days has passed through and it’s a sunny start. 

Langstone Harbour

Once we’re into the first couple of miles along the front and into Eastney it warms up and I begin to think that the full hat, gloves, snood and running tights was possibly too much. It’s beautiful along the west side of Langstone Harbour and the first hour goes to plan, averaging around a 9m30s mile. At 8 miles I’m joined as planned by my brother in law Pete, who offered to run 10+ miles with me, 5 to the turn point on Hayling Island and 5 back to their cars. The day before I received a similar offer from a friend at parkrun, John, and so, waved off by my sister and two of our nieces, Pete and John both accompany me for the best part of a couple of hours. It helps pass the time to chat and listen, and is particularly useful as the terrain turns from tarmac to beach shingle, mud, puddles and at times, bogs! I’m wearing heavy trail shoes and they are great for this stretch of the course, though they are hard work on the tarmac. But if I’d had gone with the road shoes, the reverse would have been true. 

Selfie by brother-in-law Pete - me and John in hot pursuit through the puddles

At around 10 miles Phil, Christine and Gav are there at the Ship Inn to wave us and shout us on, which is great encouragement, and down the old Billy Trail Line we go. This track used to be a branch line onto the mainline network, specifically to haul cockles and other seafood from Hayling onto the mainline and up to the cities on the south coast and to London, but is unused now and I’m told is a pleasant walk in the summer. 

Over Hayling Bridge

During the winter it’s altogether a different kettle of quagmires. It’s still a bright morning and although the wind can be biting at times, it’s not unpleasant. I’m glad I’ve kept the winter kit on though. 

A rare dry section

Back to mile 16 and we see Kev and Suzie for the first time as well as Phil and Christine, and we’re back to the beach and the hard slog of running across stone and shingle. 

With John - he's run 111 marathons so he's a great advisor!

By mile 18 I’m just about keeping to the 10m mile target I had set but can begin to feel it slip as the legs get heavier. John and Pete return to the comfort of their cars – I’m enormously grateful for their support – and I’m back on track and tarmac. So the first 3 hours have gone well, and I can tell I’ve benefited from the half a stone weight loss since the last marathon. It’s at this point that a pain begins to develop around my left knee, and I begin the now-familiar stop/start routine that plagued the previous two marathons, particularly in Reading. 

Support team at mile 18 - Kev, Suzie, sister Kaye, Pete and two nieces

Just as I’m feeling it’s a bit overwhelming, a lovely runner jogs past me and in so doing she thanks me personally for running for Sands. She says it means a lot to her individually. She didn’t want to chat further and was on her way, but that was the highlight of the run for me, as it reminded me why I’m doing this. The death of a baby is so very devastating to mothers and families, and Sands do a fantastic job to support them. Sands has a number of groups along the south coast, including the Portsmouth & Chichester Group, and a growing Sands United FC Solent team and community, so I’m glad she’s recognised the t-shirt I’m wearing and her kind wishes spur me on. Phil and Christine are there at mile 20 for another high five and sweaty hug. Phil is feeling brave wearing his Southampton hat in Pompey territory but it’s all good natured and his and Christine’s cheery smiles are a welcome view. The next three miles see any hope of a sub 4h30 marathon deteriorate quickly, but again it doesn’t matter as the pace isn’t the reason for the run. I realise at this point that my watch is showing 21 miles yet the mile marker is only showing 20, a huge frustration to think I’ll need to run further than ever before to get to the finish line. [It later transpires I was by no means the only one who noticed the error].

indication of the tough final few miles

Around mile 23 a great smile greets me as my daughter Olivia runs along the seafront to see me, I wasn’t expecting to see the family until the finish line, but they’ve managed to find me earlier on and it’s great to see them all there along with Kev, Suzie, Phil and Christine again. 

Support from the family 

A few hamstring stretches and I’m off again, this time hobbling towards what I think is a gentle last couple of miles, until we turn onto a section of the course we hadn’t used on the way out – ‘Portsmouth’s muddiest beach’. Way to go, organisers, kick a man when he’s down! I guess it was part of the challenge though. It really is a splodge and a splash for half a mile, each footstep weighing heavily on the legs, to the extent that the marshal asks me if I want to stop and if I need help. I just grimace and thank him for volunteering. These events really wouldn’t happen without these hardy folk, standing in the wind for hours on end clapping on random strangers, huge thanks to each and every one. 

We’re back in Eastney and the famous Southsea blast greets us as we turn onto the esplanade. The pier slowly comes into view as my watch says 4h46 as I cross 26.2 miles. However I still have about ¾ of a mile to go, doesn't that count as an ultra?!  Walking and trotting I finally get over the line with Jayne, our children and the rest of the crew cheering me on as the clock says 4h53m.

 

Coming over the finish line

It’s been a test of endurance, with many rocky and painful patches along the way, wanting to give up, but with the support of friends and family I have made it through. This is a real parallel to the last few weeks after the death of Ed, a wonderful friend of ours who sadly died to cancer aged 64 and of Beth, a wonderful parkrun friend who sadly took her own life last month aged just 37.  They were both incredibly encouraging and positive people who influenced our lives over the last few years and were great supporters of my running efforts. 

I am given a celebratory beer once I cross the finish line although I can’t stomach it all so soon. I’ll have one later on this evening. 

Medal, check, beer, check, standard issue Sands hoodie, check! 

We retreat to the warmth of the Pyramids, get changed and on our way. A couple of hours later we are singing carols with 30 or 40 friends in the pub and the pain around the knee and the hamstring subsides, for an hour at least. 

Overall I’m pleased with the run. I hadn’t trained quite as much as I wanted as so many other circumstances dictated over the past few weeks, but I’ve overcome the challenge and there’s another few hundred pounds on the board; we are well over 50% of the £2,500 challenge target I had set, so once again a huge thank you to so many people who have supported either financially or through online/in-person encouragement! 

Onwards then to Gloucestershire on January 19^th for number 5 of 15. We will then be a third of the way through and it will be a good opportunity to reflect on the first part of the journey. 

Meantime I hope you have had a wonderful Christmas with those whom you love. Do tell them how much you care. It’s not very British, but believe me it’s better to tell them now rather than when it’s too late. 

Thanks again for your great support and I wish you and yours a great 2020. 

Bereavement through a new lens

Last month the Office for National Statistics released the news that the annual number of stillbirths in the UK fell by around 350 between 2017 and 2018. This is really welcome news and although it means that there are still thousands of families who endure the pain that the death of a baby brings, that’s 350 fewer families than the year before. 

It means that ’15 babies a day’ no longer reflects the situation. It’s 14 a day – that’s 14 too many of course, but it’s a step in the right direction towards our goal of halving this number by 2025. 

A number of you have asked whether that means I will only do 14 marathons in 14 months and reduce my original target! I did consider this but only fleetingly, and will continue with my plan for 15 in 15 months as that was the target I set and I’m geared up to do it. 

Marathon 3 - Thames Meander in November

It’s been six weeks plus since the last marathon, and I’ve been trying to slim down a bit by eating more protein and less fat and carbs in my diet, to try to ease some of the aches and pains of running. It’s slow progress but seems to be helping a bit. We’ll soon find out on Sunday, as it’s the 4^thmarathon in the series, this time the Coastal Marathon around Portsmouth and Hayling Island. I have mixed feelings about it – from a physical and mental perspective I am feeling in a good place. However having run many times in Southsea I’m aware it could be absolutely freezing with the wind coming off the Solent (and I’ve heard rumours of mud, puddles and shingle) but on a sunny day it can be a beautiful course to enjoy. As it’s reasonably local I’m hoping a few family and friends will come out to support the effort. 

I’m overwhelmed by the response so far – we are over 50% towards the target of £2,500, having only completed 20% of the challenge! I can’t thank you enough for your support and encouragement along the way. Having met a number of bereaved parents at some of the workshops I've been running across the country recently, I've been reminded of just how much a difference every £1 makes in terms of the support and care they might not have otherwise received. 

Favourite view from the woods 

This marathon will have extra significance as it’s the first one since our special friend Beth died last month. She was a great supporter of ours and so encouraging of my attempt to push myself, indeed any challenges her friends went for she was right behind them. It’s been a tough few weeks, but the support of the parkrun community where we knew Beth so well, has been inspiring as everyone has rallied round her husband and very young son, and one another. 

We’ve seen bereavement through a new lens these last few weeks, and it makes us even more determined to do all we can to support those in need. It's made some of the recent training runs in the woods more reflective. 

I hope to put up a blog after the marathon on Sunday and before Christmas kicks in. But if I don’t, can I wish you all a really happy and restful one with the ones you love, and a great 2020. And thank you once again for your amazing support on this adventure. 

Marc

Marathon 3 of 15: Thames Meander: Running to Stand Still

The two weeks between the "8 laps from hell" at Reading and the Thames Meander Marathon went quickly. The recovery was pretty swift, and I was able to walk up and down the stairs within hours rather than days. A couple of short runs, a gym workout and a Sunday 7 miler on the intervening weekend were about the limit of my efforts as I focused on trying to keep the legs pretty fresh and ready. 

The days leading up to this marathon brought bad news on the weather front – inevitably I would face some bad weather at some point when running 15 months of marathons but I hadn’t expected winds of 50-60mph! I must admit I wasn’t looking forward to this one – the previous one had set my confidence back a bit and the weather just looked so dire! So I confess that every time I checked my email on the Friday it was with a slight hope that there would be an email postponing the race by a few weeks. 

No such email arrived so by the time I went to bed on Friday night I was set for the day ahead and got my head straight to focus on the race. It was an early start – we had left the children with grandparents the evening before and probably a good job as they wouldn’t have enjoyed the wind and rain watching me plod up and down the Thames. Kev & Suzie collected us at 7am and we whizzed up the M3 to Kingston in good time. It’s grey but there’s not much rain so we’re hopeful for better weather conditions than anticipated. The plan was to drop me off at 830 so that I had time to focus and get ready for the 10am race start, meanwhile they would pop over to Richmond for a spot of Parkrun tourism at 9am and come and find me halfway up the river some point after 10am.

The calm before the storm

That plan all seemed well and good as I collected my kit bag from the boot and made my way to the registration desk within a large marquee at the YMCA base on the river. Luckily it was a sturdy marquee else it could have made for an interesting spectacle in the wind. I made my way inside the main building and settled down by a table ready to watch the rugby, hoping to see a good first half from England and listen to the second half whilst I ran. We had been pre-warned / threatened with disqualification from the race if we were found to be using headphones given the narrow footpath and other health and safety hazards, so my plan was to have my iphone acting as radio station and placed in the top of my running backpack as I ran along so I could hear it, without disturbing too many others. 

As I took my seat I had the dawning realisation that something was awry, so checked my bag for contents – lucozade, check, safety pins check, spare clothes and towel for later, check, bananas, check… then AGGGHHHHHHHH….. like a fool I had left my running backpack in Kev’s car – it contained my running watch, running cap, sweatband, mobile phone charge pack, drink pack, spare t shirt etc. A sense of panic came over me but I reassured myself that I would be able to at least set off on the race without the need for the bag itself. Sheepishly contacting the support team, they offered to turn back but that would have meant missing Parkrun and I didn’t want them to come all that way and miss it, so we just agreed they would try to meet me at mile 2 rather than mile 8. I guess sometimes you just have to try to accept the situation, gather the resources available, do the very best you can and try to cope accordingly. 

Nerves were further calmed with the arrival of Sharon, a friend from a partner charity of ours, the recently rebranded Twins Trust. Originally Sharon was going to run with me but due to injury she had stepped down from the full to the half marathon which was due off half an hour after the full marathon start. It was great so see her and meet her husband, and talk about the challenge ahead. Runners were coming in from the cold and wet looking pretty bedraggled and miserable from just a short walk from the car park.  The café area was now packed with runners and supporters watching the rugby on the big screen, with a strange combination of smells filling the air – coffee, Deep Heat and bacon to name a few. 

At 9.45 we start to head outside and face the wind and rain, it’s pretty spectacular at this point and between the few hundred runners we’ve a wonderful array of ponchos, black bin liners and other plastic covers to shield us from the elements. The Race Director keeps the briefing mercifully short and lets us head off a few minutes before the scheduled 10am start time. 

With no watch to guide my pace, I aim for a comfortable pace as we head south for about a mile, turning at a sharp bend and begin to head back towards the start line – I spot the support team before they spot me and I’m reunited with my running backpack which is a relief. I see Sharon at the start line for the half marathon and we wish each other well before I get my watch on and phone out ready to listen to the rugby

The best support team in the world - before their own soggy parkrun! 

I’ve settled into a decent pace, probably a tad quicker than planned, but feeling ok and the rain has now held off. The rugby helps pass the time although it’s infuriating to hear that England aren’t playing anywhere near as well as a fortnight ago when I was listening to them overpower Australia in the quarter finals whilst at the Reading 8 Laps from Hell marathon…

The path is compacted gravel, much like the majority of the New Forest course, and although a sharp storm soaks my clothes and covers my glasses around mile 6, the miles are being ticked off steadily and the first hour comes and goes. I spot someone in a t-shirt with Portsmouth on the back so I chat with him for a few miles which I think is mutually encouraging. If you’re reading this, good luck with that first Ultra in December! 

I’m hoping to see the team at Mortlake around mile 8 but I imagine they’ve gone to get warm and changed after a soaking wet parkrun. Never mind, I’ll see them at the turn. At the previous marathon it began to hurt at mile 10 but this time it starts at around mile 13, so I’m confident I’ll be able to complete the course in a better time. We go past Chiswick and Fulham Football Club on the other side of the river, being overtaken by a number of rowing crews on their way up to central London. It looks so effortless in comparison to our anguished plodding! About a half mile short of the halfway point I hear someone shouting some way behind me but don’t want to turn round at that stage, but I guess it’s one of the Support Team. I take an electrolyte drink at the aid station and start to head back. The first half marathon has taken 2 hours and 8 minutes, so I estimate that I should comfortably beat the 4h57 at Reading, though the 4h30 at New Forest will probably be out of reach as I’ve learned that it inevitably it gets harder and 10 minute miles soon become 11 or 12. 

At about mile 14 I see the team, as I suspect it was them who had been shouting at me a few minutes previously, I had just been a bit earlier to get there than they expected… this is a boost to the confidence! It’s great to get some more Lucozade on board and a few high fives later I’m off again. They meet me a couple of miles further up the river which is an unexpected encouragement as it’s beginning to hurt on the quads again. 

"A four and two threes to go"

At this point I catch up with a group of 6 or 7 runners, one of whom shouts that it’s 10 miles to go, which sounds horrendous, but she also shouts out that we can do this as a 4 and two threes. This is a simple and well-used tactic in racing but one I had completely forgotten about, so am pleased to embrace it. I start chatting to a couple of them about the running challenge and about Sands, and about my project management approach which is pretty similar – break it down into chunks and build incrementally rather than trying to do it all in one go. 

Soon we’re over 20 miles and we’re down to two threes. It feels a bit better than last time but still hurts and I have to stop a couple of times to stretch the hamstrings on a bench. There’s a couple of minutes of torrential rain and a windblast coming under a bridge which literally takes the breath away – I think I’m running forwards but am actually running to stand still. I reflect on this for a while as something parents talk about in terms of the loss of a baby – you’re putting in a massive effort to keep moving forwards yet the strength of the storm against you is so strong it’s enormously difficult to keep going. It’s another reminder of why I’m doing this – the parents, families and friends of 5,000 babies a year in the UK facing a storm not of their own making. We are so very grateful for every £1 raised as part of this challenge. We’re up to about £800 at this point, which is fantastic, and well ahead of schedule, so thank you and thank you again – it will make a huge difference. 

I am feeling a bit stronger than last time out and am confident I’ll get a better time, so I continue to push towards the end. Thankfully I knew beforehand that we would have to run past the finish line at 24 miles and go a mile back down the river before doubling back, which lessens the psychological impact of thinking that you’re about to finish, then realizing you’ve got quite a bit more to do… The team are there to encourage me on, the legs hurt like crazy now and it’s all I can do to just about hang in there, with the temptation to collapse into Jayne’s arms and finish there and then enormous. I press on down the river and turn back for the final mile, really pushing the runner in front of me as we both finish strongly. 

 

Pushing hard for the finishing line

I’m pleased with a finish time of 4h39, and pleased with the cracking medal we've been presented with, but I begin to feel distinctly queezy for ten minutes or so after crossing the line. This maybe something to do with the peculiar odour emanating from the cinnamon tea I’m given when I cross the line mixed with the overwhelming stench of Deep Heat as I get back into the changing rooms. Or maybe it's just the sheer physical and mental effort to keep going in that weather. I’m soaked to the skin but after a quick change and a coffee and sandwich with Jayne, Kev and Suzie we head back to warmth of the car and the joys of the M3 to get us home. 

 

A reviving coffee

We had put a chilli in the slow cooker earlier in the morning and it’s a welcome smell which greets us on arrival home. After a bath, a meal and a couple of beers it feels so much better, and it’s good to reflect together on another achievement and the awareness and funds we've raised for Sands. 

 

Fishy medal

Within 24 hours we are up to £1100 thanks to some very generous supporters, and it’s all very much worth it. On Sunday morning the legs are functioning well, and it’s far less of a struggle up and down the stairs than previously. This is a relief as I've got two days on the road over the next two days, running workshops in Coventry and York with healthcare professionals looking to adopt the National Bereavement Care Pathway. It’s also a relief to check the calendar and find that this time I’ve got 7 weeks to recover, build up and taper ahead of the next marathon, rather than the 2 weeks between the previous two. 

Onwards to Portsmouth then and the 4^thmarathon of the challenge, the Coastal Marathon on the morning of Sunday 22^ndDecember. It’s great to hear that a few of you are coming down to cheer me on and even run some of the run with me. But whether you're there or not, huge thanks for the support - we couldn’t do it without you!  

Marathon 2 of 15: Reading Riverside: The one where it went a bit pear shaped (but it didn't really matter)

The six weeks since the New Forest Marathon had gone quickly. I was still on a high after a good race and the encouragement of the money which had been raised as a result, and was looking forward to marathon 2. I must admit I wasn’t quite sure how to train for this one, as I needed time to recover, and then build up the miles, then taper back down in a relatively short space of time. The previous 3 marathons I’ve completed had two years between each one!

Beautiful River Thames path

The longest run I completed between the two races was 17 miles and I felt pretty strong, and was looking forward to matching or beating my New Forest time. I knew the weather was set fair and the course was flat, so I deviated from my usual cautious approach of ‘I’ll take whatever time comes, lest I set a target and become disappointed’ to being more positive about a quicker time. I have purchased new shoes since the NFM in the hope of avoiding a repeat of the creation of a ‘jelly baby’ blister between my toes again. 

The X-Run marathon in Reading was a new concept for me. Organised by Saturn Running, one of a number of smaller running event organisers recently set up in the UK, the idea is to pay a flat fee and turn up to a themed, timed race of 7 hours, where runners can choose whichever length they want to run. The course measures up at 3.3 miles, so you run 8 laps to get to a marathon length, 4 to get to a half marathon, 9.5 to get to an ultra, etc. Nominally you’re meant to dress up as a mutant, but I didn’t see any.  

So it’s a much smaller field of about 70 runners rather than the usual thousands at a big event. It’s friendly and has a community feel to it. Clearly some of the runners know each other from the circuit. It’s a novel concept and I liked the idea of Saturday running and being in a country park where family could see you frequently; the complete opposite to the big events at New Forest, London, Manchester, etc. 

Early start for Reading Parkrun

The day started crisp and clear, and as planned we arrived in time for Reading parkrun. Our youngest and I volunteered to hand out the finish tokens after the event, as I wasn’t planning to run a 5k before a marathon! It helped to pass the time too and we really enjoyed volunteering with the Reading team. Having cheered our other children and Jayne across the line along with our friends Suzie and Kev and 300 others, we waited until the last runner crossed the line before taking the short walk to the X Run registration desk – a gazebo with a tressel table, surrounded by a few friendly faces.  

After a quick change I was ready for the race briefing and the 10.30 start – it was kind of them to give me and Sands a shout out at the start – “this is Marc’s second marathon of 15 in 15 months”.. shortly followed by “and here’s Gary who is running his 100^thmarathon in 100 weeks”…wait, what?! That certainly put my achievements in the shade! He was a fair bit older than me too- full respect for an amazing effort. I also chatted to Steve Edwards who I had heard about, he was running his 889^thmarathon and is aiming to complete 1000, with an average time of less than 3 hours 30 across them all. He’s written a book about being the ‘Running Machine’…. I have lots to learn… 

Having set up the BBC Sounds app to listen to the last moments of England’s rugby semi-final, we were ready for the off. 

Ready for the off

We start off on a grass field by the Thames River Path, it’s a lovely autumnal day and perfect for running. After about half a mile we venture onto the pathway itself and follow the river past the private school rowing club out for their Saturday practice and along a stonier section to the turn point. Then back along the path and into the woods, completing a short section before turning for home along the field again.  The team give you a wrist band every time you complete a lap, which you later trade in for a medal and an official time, depending on how many laps you’ve completed. 

I listen to the end of England’s epic rugby match and some of the “Super Saturday” in parliament (a misnomer if ever I heard one), and before I know it I’ve completed two laps, 6.6 miles on the clock and feeling ok. I am aiming to do the first half marathon in 2.05 and the second in 2.18, to bring me well under the 4.30 target I had set myself. I’m just about on that pace. The third lap is a bit slower and Jayne joins me for lap 4, which is 10-13 miles. It’s during this lap that I begin to struggle, and I just can’t work out why. The legs feel heavy and I’m beginning to ache. Even running alongside the river it’s beginning to get a bit repetitive. Never mind, it doesn’t matter and it’s great to have the company. 

I complete the first half marathon in 2.09 so I’m a bit behind schedule but 4.30 is still achievable. But by the end of lap 5 it isn’t, as the legs and glutes are really sore already, as are the feet. I can’t really put my finger on why – did I train enough? Or train too much? Did I not stretch enough? Why didn’t I do more leg exercises at the gym? Is it because it’s the same route again and again? The new shoes or the terrain? I am feeling cross with myself and it’s a mental battle for 40 minutes to keep going. Eventually at the end of lap 5 I pull myself out of it, refuel, and put on a podcast I had downloaded the night before.

 

It's getting harder and Harder

It’s hosted by the NHS and explores bereavement care within maternity settings. Two of the wonderful people I’ve met along the journey of establishing the National Bereavement Care Pathway are there, Jess and David, speaking about their experiences of the death of their babies. It’s really powerful and reminds me why I’m doing what I’m doing and why I’m running today. Lisa who leads the Maternity Voices Partnership network up and down the country, and who ran with me in London last year when we jogged a half marathon around all the NBCP charities, is also on the pod and giving her perspective. They talk about the importance of parent-centred care, of ‘saying their names’ and of the need to continually fight for better care. So – this one’s for you, Leo and Grace, and for your parents who are running an endurance race of their own, and not by choice. (You can read more about them at Legacy of Leo and Grace in Action.)

The International Stillbirth Alliance I attended recently highlighted that whilst in the UK we are ahead in terms of high quality bereavement care, in many ways we’ve still got such a long way to go and there are always things we can learn. Even if we reduce the stillbirth and neonatal rate by half, from the current near 5,000 babies a year, it will still be 2,500 in 2025, and therefore by my reckoning 18,000 babies are likely to die by then. That’s 18,000 families who are going to need to high quality bereavement care and support. And that is just for neonatal deaths and stillbirth, what about the other losses? It’s a sobering thought but one which makes me determined to carry on.

 

Grateful for friends' support!

With a new resolve I reach the end of lap six. Twenty miles down and 6+ to go. Suzie joins me for lap 7 which is a tremendous help, although I have to stop every half mile or so to stretch my hamstrings up against a fence. I’ve massively slowed down by now and any hope of a 4.30 time has long gone. My new goal is to beat 4.46 which is the time it took me to do my first marathon in 2014 in London. But by the time I see Jayne and the children at the end of lap 7 I’ve given up on that one too. It really doesn’t matter. From a running perspective it’s just one of those days. Sometimes it’s tougher than expected for no specific reason; sometimes it’s just the continual plod, going round and round in circles, sometimes it’s the solitary nature of it all – I acknowledge these parallels as I rip open another energy gel. 

I nod at those running, walking or hobbling as they go past me, either a couple of laps ahead of me or a couple of laps behind. It doesn’t matter; it’s not a competitive run- we are running our own race and whilst we want to give each other encouragement, we’re all too tired to talk. The faces say it all.  

Suzie kindly offers to run the final lap with me again and I’m reminded of last weeks’ extraordinary events in Vienna where Kipchoge broke the 2 hour marathon barrier for the first time (how do you actually run a 5k in 14m30s? And how do you then run it 7 more times at the same pace? It’s just insane). I’ve not quite had his support team running in a V shape shielding me from the wind and I’ve not been following a green laser shining out from a truck, but certainly without Jayne & Suzie and the support of the family I wouldn’t have made it round. 

The last lap I manage to hold together a consistent pace and come in just under 5 hours. 

That really hurt. 

Final lap - feeling weary

I collapse in a heap at the end.  I hand in my eight wrist bands and in return receive an X-run medal for my efforts. I just about manage a shout of encouragement to the veteran who is about to start lap 7. He’s aiming for 9+ to get his ultra and I hope he makes it by the cut off time.  I take off my running shoes, there’s no blister thankfully, though this time it’s really the balls of my feet which are aching. Given the low-key nature of the event there’s no band playing, stalls serving hot food nor photographers snapping so we head back to the car and home to a warm bath and a beer. 

We get home to find we’ve raised a further £200 so we are now pushing £850 which via the wonders of Gift Aid mean that we’re already up and over £1000 for Sands and well on track to hit the target. A huge thank you to all those who have sponsored me and supported me in other ways over the past few weeks. 

Strangely the legs the next day seem much better and I can walk up and down the stairs with no trouble at all. I am able to recover within 2 days rather than the 3 or 4 it took last time. So although the run was much tougher, and the mental battle harder, the recovery was quicker.  

I have since booked for the Manchester Marathon (5 April) and the New Forest again next September, so I know 8 of the 15 marathons I will be running. I need to book one for March, then May-November 2020 need also filling up. So if you know of some good marathon events, do let me know. 

So onwards to Kingston and the Thames Meander Marathon on Saturday week – the 2nd November. It’s only 14 days between the two races, so there’s really no time to build up the mileage again. I plan to spend the first few days recovering, to run well over the intervening weekend, and then taper down again. It’s an out and back route, and I’m hoping to learn the lessons from Reading, but for sure am not setting any targets this time! 

Mutant medal

Esme and the 5.1 million

This time last week I was attending the International Stillbirth Alliance in Madrid; an annual gathering of 450+ delegates – clinicians, charity officers, parents, researchers, academics, students and many more– all united in the cause of reducing the number of babies born still every year. It truly was an international gathering, with 39 countries represented from all four corners. It was an enlightening and uplifting experience to share the weekend with colleagues from as far afield as Afghanistan, India, Pakistan, Colombia, Mexico, New Zealand, Australia, the US and of course Europe. 

Sharing details of the National Bereavement Care Pathway UK project I lead 

We heard speakers talk of new research into early signs of stillbirth risk, the socio-economic impact of stillbirth, improvement of standards and the impact on families and communities and much more; it was all about how we are making a difference – but yet how far there is to go. 

Listening to Dr Margaret Murphy from Cork talk about Education for bereavement care

Many of you reading this will be aware of the '15 a day' campaign – and hence the reason for my 15 marathons  in 15 months. That’s because 15 babies die every day in the UK shortly before, during or shortly after birth. That’s 5,000 a year or one every 90 minutes. It’s getting better – four or five years ago it was 17 babies a day, so the trend is good, but it’s still thousands of families every year devastated by the loss of a baby.

But at the conference another figure stood out. 5.1 million. Let that number sink in a moment. Five million, one hundred thousand babies around the world are born still every year. It’s an almost unfathomable number. Whilst the rate in the UK is around 3-4 babies in every 1,000 born, in many other countries such as South Africa the rate is nearly 30 babies in every 1,000, or 3%. That’s huge. In many places, it is even more commonplace than in the UK. 

But behind each statistic are the names of precious loved ones...

"The world is suffering this tragedy... at a rate of 14, 000 families every day"

This was brought home to me twice in quick succession. Firstly, on the Sunday of the conference, a very simple yet incredibly moving and inclusive ceremony was held outside the venue. In the warmth of the October sun anyone could light a candle, hang a picture, stand in silence, listen to a poem, deposit some white leaves and/or or quietly soak up the beautiful notes of the talented violinist playing in the background, as a memorial to all the babies who have died.  

Then the very next day back in the soggy UK. I took the day off and went for a coffee and chat with my wife, to catch up after a few days away. Having dropped our daughter at school we drove a couple of miles to a newly opened café we had wanted to visit for a while. Walking round the corner of the block towards the café front door, a hearse drove slowly by, containing the smallest pink coffin, wrapped by the most beautiful flower arrangement including one spelling the name ‘ESME’; it stopped us sharply in our tracks. What unimaginable sorrow must Esme’s family be going through on that murky Monday morning as they say goodbye to her? Gone are the hopes and dreams for her future – and gone too are the simple acts of family life such as dropping off a daughter at school, or a welcome home hug after a weekend away at a conference. Rarely has such an image brought us into such stunned silence. The death of a baby brings unspeakable sorrow.

And this is why I am running the marathons – to raise awareness and to raise funds for Sands – to help break the taboo of stillbirth, to help prevent stillbirth, to support those affected by the death of a baby. (We are already up to 25% of our target - huge thanks to all those who have contributed!) The second of these fifteen takes place this Saturday in Reading, at the end of Baby Loss Awareness Week. This is an annual, global occasion where from 9^th– 15^thOctober events are held, campaigns are launched, candles are lit, cakes are baked and runs are run. Above all, memories are shared and pauses held to reflect on those babies who have gone too soon. 

Ahead of next week's second of fifteen marathons, coming to the end of my
final 'long run' this afternoon through Southampton  

So as I run on Saturday I shall be remembering why I run - and for whom I run…for the 5.1 million babies worldwide and the 5,000 in the UK and their families…. for Hope, for Joshua, for Pippa, for Malachi, for Tilly, for Isaac… for Esme. 

Midway report: the ups and downs of running

So here we are halfway between the first marathon in the New Forest and the second in Reading on 19 October. Since I left Brockenhurst almost three weeks ago  I’ve experienced the highs and lows of running, which has helped me reflect on how fortunate I am - on so many levels. 

Firstly to say we’re really grateful for the great support we’ve received over the past few weeks since the first marathon was completed. 

Secondly, what a relief to have a bit of rest. Having come through the first of the 15 marathons reasonably unscathed, I took a few days off running to try and restore the legs, with just a couple of recovery runs in the first week after New Forest. With six weeks in between the first and second marathon I knew I had the luxury of a few days to rest up, so took full advantage (though I should’ve probably been more careful in regard to food portions and breaking a midweek no alcohol rule!) in that first week. My recovery run of six miles coincided with Jayne's final 12 mile training run for her half marathon (more below) and it was great to trot round Fair Oak together - painful as it was for both of us! A couple of days later I ran a surprisingly quick parkrun (26 minutes) when visiting Southsea with 20+ friends from our Thrive Church running community. We are so fortunate to have such a supportive group of friends and family, and it was good to celebrate some of their parkrun milestones whilst we were there. 

Thrive go on a Southsea trip

I gradually began building up the miles again, planning a long run for 2 hours - around 12 miles, during week 2 and an 18 miler this week- week 3 before tapering down again. 

My brother in law has recently taken up running and done rather well rather quickly, (a source of both inspiration and admittedly some envy - in just a few months he has already run a sub 21 parkrun, something those of us running mid 20s are still dreaming of.) It's always great to run with him though and fortunately this week our diaries enabled us to meet up. We set off from the  Botley car park rendezvous and headed down the country lanes through to the beautiful Manor Farm country park; just gently running and chatting at a steady/slow pace, enjoying a catch up and the wonderful views of the River Hamble in the morning sun. The park gives you the opportunity to run through fields, woods, tracks and river paths, a wonderful mix of terrain; largely flat but with some undulation. Not particularly challenging, but enough to keep you mindful of your surrounds. A great place to run and chat. 

Speedy Pete

Without realising it we had reached the halfway point and headed back to the car, and all was well. A quick drink - he headed off after his six miles and I went back out for another loop of the park. As I headed back towards the park and down the lanes I lost myself in a podcast mashup (mine tend to consist of a mix of Brexit, panel comedy shows and sport- many great moments with the cricket this summer) - everything was on track. 

Beautiful Manor Farm and River Hamble

Then - disaster! As I trotted through the woods listening to the latest Brexit shenanigans being unpacked, I stumbled over a protruding tree root and went flying. Graceful it was not! These things seem to happen in slow motion, and in that moment so many things flashed through my mind.... if I land badly I’ll miss the next marathon... I’m going to end up with a mouthful of dirt... please God don’t let me twist an ankle...is anyone watching -or worse filming- me?

I ended up on my back looking up at the tree tops and sky above, gathering my thoughts and assessing the damage. Two badly bruised and bleeding knees, the same outcome for one elbow. Wounded pride, badly winded but overall, actually not as bad as it could have been. I told myself to just dust yourself down, get your breath back, channel your inner Mo Farah and get your Chumbawumba on - I get knocked down but I get up again etc. But actually it was really tough to do that and I just wanted to lie there for a while. It reminded me that it’s great to have a friend alongside you because it halves the job of getting back up - at the point I fell, I could really have done with Pete there to help me up again, (even with the embarrassment of it all). It felt pretty lonely for a while and a bit daunting to get back up and at it to be honest.

The fall had come out of the blue; everything had been going to plan, just getting on with it and, boom! your world literally turned upside down, fortunately for me, for only for a few seconds. For many, a momentary event leads to a lifetime of pain. Luckily I managed to get up and (albeit very gingerly) to jog round and back to the car. Every foot strike reminded me how sore it was, and it hurt like it had aged 8 on the school football pitch, but I was still standing.  That afternoon the bruises came up but ice and antiseptic cream eased the worst of it. The next morning I was stiff as a board, and every time I got up from the desk it ached bad. But a couple days later it had largely gone. A few encouraging comments on Strava reminded me not just of how lucky I was to have had avoided a nasty injury but also just how supportive a group of friends can be.  Within 3 days I was able to run 7 miles including a decent parkrun at Eastleigh where it was great to see chief support crew in Kev and Suzie. 

Emboldened by the purchase of some new trail shoes I have found online- I set off on another week’s training. Convincing myself that the new shoes will keep my feet on the ground and my backside off the floor, I head for the river again on my next long run- this time the Itchen. I assiduously look out for every tree root or obstacle along the way. Eleven miles in and everything is going well, despite the intermittent, apocryphal rain which is causing havoc on the nearby roads; I’ve navigated the River Itchen path up to Winchester and have turned for home. Having crossed a flooded road without taking too much rain on board my new shoes,  I slightly misjudge a puddle whilst heading up a slight incline along the towpath and slide ingloriously back down the bank, skidding along my left thigh through a few feet of wet mud. I manage to avoid falling in the river and manage to get a grip (literally and metaphorically) and get to my feet more quickly than the previous week. My left leg and shorts are plastered in mud but thankfully it is a much softer landing than the previous week. 

In the past I think I may well have quit there and then or at least stomped away in a bit of a strop- twice in a week is enough- but with the experience of the previous week in the locker I get up again, grateful for a smoother landing than last week, and head for home. It’s wet, it’s grim, there's 8 or so miles to go and I can feel the blisters beginning to form, but it’s all worth it.

The muddy one - not the bloody one! (too gross to share)

I am looking forward to the next marathon with Saturn Running in Reading in three weeks time. Although it will be a challenge to run 8 laps of 3.5 miles (I always prefer a circular route, or at least an out and back), it’s great that a few family and Thrive friends are coming along to run a lap or half a lap with me. I’m also thrilled that a colleague from another charity I’m working with announced this week that she is going to join me in running the Thames Meander marathon on November 2nd. Welcome aboard, Sharon! Further, our daughter's singing tutor has offered to put on an operatic concert in the new year to support the fundraising activity.  These are just three of many examples of the support we’ve received on the journey thus far.  

But for now the focus turns to this Sunday and the Windsor Half Marathon. Not for me this one, but Jayne is running her first half marathon ever. I’m so proud of her, for her determination to reach new limits, she’s worked so hard over the last few months building up for this. This will be her running her longest distance ever! She been an amazing support to me during my challenge and I hope to return the favour, in part at least, on Sunday. She deserves it! Four years ago she didn’t own a pair of trainers so it’s been a great journey for her. Six months of building up from 10k to 10miles and now 13.1 miles is a real challenge for her too. The weather looks absolutely dreadful but it will be worth it for the feeling of crossing the line and the new medal around her neck. Whilst she’s not formally registered as running for Sands she will be wearing her Sands running vest and has asked that if anyone wants to support her they can contribute to my marathon challenge page. It would be fantastic to pass on any messages of encouragement you have for her too! 

Jayne helping me towards the finish of the Bournemouth marathon in 2015

I'll update further after Reading on the 19th October.  Thanks again for your great encouragement and for your support of Sands 

M&J