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.
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| 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
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| 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.
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| "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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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 4thmarathon of the challenge, the Coastal Marathon on the morning of Sunday 22ndDecember. 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!
