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 

Marathon 1 of 15: New Forest: The one where it all started

New Forest Marathon, Sunday 8 September 2019

“Wild Horses won’t be able to drag you away from the New Forest…” boasts The New Forest Tourist web page. I’m not sure about wild horses dragging me away, but I’d have gladly had a free ride astride a horse to get me round those last 6 miles. The constant pounding of weary leg on gravel was taking its toll, with both hamstrings and calves cramping up during that final hour or so.

 

A frosty start

The morning starts off with a surprising sight –  there’s frost on the fields as I make my way towards the New Forest Showground. We had been advised to arrive 3 hours before the 9am start and although I wasn’t prepared to get up at Sunday Silly O’clock (I’m a “keen runner” but not that keen) I am on site at 7.15am and ready to go. I’m regretting not wearing a pair of trackies over my shorts; too cold to get out of the car and wander around with the pros I stay in the warmth of the car, loading up my bladder pack with a Raspberry Lucozade / water mix, putting on the ‘strategic nipping plasters’ as I call them, and steadily pinning the red 501 numbered vest to my Sands t-shirt, in a vain attempt to avoid a nasty shock mid-race from an errant safety pin.

Shouldn't this be on a pair of jeans, not a running vest?

Eventually I have to face the cold New Forest air, the sharpest nip has now disappeared and it’s time to head up to the race village. I’m walking solo at this point, having not wanted to subject Jayne and the children to such an early Sunday start nor hours of waiting around, but it seems as though every other runner has company, and I feel strangely alone. Greater still is the regret at having left my sunglasses in the other car overnight, meaning I am having to look away from the low and piercing early morning sun, and the regret at carb-loading so heavily on Saturday that I am a regular visitor to the runners’ portaloos. As I bemoan my plight, the kindness of a stranger lifts my spirits, as I am handed a freebie bag which includes a pair of very garish but very wonderful yellow sunglasses. Not a good look, but a great help and wonder of wonders they fitted over my normal specs, so I will be able to take them on and off during the race itself.

 

Freebie yellow sunnies

The clock is ticking down and the park beginning to fill. The sun is warming us up nicely as I hand my bag over to the wonderful volunteer team at the bag drop-off. There must be 500+ volunteers in total and each of them plays a small but significant part in making such an event run like clockwork.

We are asked to move into the main show area to begin our warm up, so like the bulls at the New Forest Show we are paraded in front of the watching masses (unsurprisingly no-one makes a starting bid for me) and we begin to get ready. My sister and family have arrived to cheer me on and for my brother-in-law’s first 10k which is due off a couple of hours later, and this gives me a real boost as it was the first conversation I’ve had for hours. Similarly I bump into a couple of Netley parkrunners and swiftly afterwards comes news that a further £100 had been donated to the justgiving page in the previous hour which reminds me of what is really important here. 

 

Before....

We are shepherded in groups towards the start line but there is still time for all those self-doubts to come through… can I really run 15 marathons in 15 months? Can I really run this one? Have I done enough training? I have warmed up properly? Is the backpack I am carrying too heavy to run with? Will I get to see the family in the right place? Am I actually mad?  I set up the podcasts I downloaded last night and am ready to run.

The hooter sounds and off we go, it’s great to see Vicki from parkrun waving and then my sister and family again as we set off from the showground towards the route itself. Don’t set off too quick, I had told myself, you’ll regret it later. I was aiming for a 4h30 marathon, so had calculated that if I ran 2h08 for the first half (just less than 10 minute miles), I could run 2h21 (around 11 minute miles) for the second half and thus come in just under 4h30. The best laid plans though…

Soon we are into the forest, in and out of the shade, which became a close friend as the race wears on and the sun gets hotter and hotter. The gravel paths are well compacted to enable walkers, runners, wheelchair users, horses, bikes and all kinds of transportation to move along, but the impact on the feet and thighs soon becomes more noticeable than road running. I decide just to enjoy the first few miles, enjoy the scenery and not put on the podcast or music. I manage to lose myself in the event and before I knew it I have reached the loos at 10k and am a little ahead of schedule.

It is around this point that I saw the sign that reset my focus for the rest of the run. The NFM team had placed plenty of white signs around the forest, with interesting facts and motivational quotes to keep you going (someone described it as the “most educational run in Britain”) – how else would I have known that we were passing the oldest and biggest redwood tree in the country? But it was the sign asking “did you know there are 5,000 New Forest ponies in the forest” that really hits me.

5,000 - that’s the same number of ponies as babies who die in the UK every year before, during or shortly after birth. That’s 15 a day, or one every 90 minutes. That means, through the course of my run, the likelihood is that three babies in the UK will die. That’s three more families with a broken heart, aching arms, an empty cot, hopes and dreams shattered. As I watch a group of ponies trot slowly through the clusters of gorse bushes, I think about the people I know – friends or family members who have been affected by the death of a baby. I remind myself how lucky I am to have my children coming to cheer me on later on this morning; for some runners, clearly this won’t be the case.

And I remind myself why I am running this marathon race -through choice- and think about how so many parents end up taking part in their own lifelong endurance race they never signed up to.

Energised by the kindness of friends cheering me on (thanks to Kev and Suzie at mile 10), providing water, suncream and plenty of encouragement, I press on through a tough 3 miles to the halfway point, back on tarmac through Brockenhurst and up a steady incline, exposed to the sun. Running under the railway bridge as the train to Poole and Weymouth went overhead I did begin to wish I was on a day trip to the seaside but I am on track with the first half complete almost bang on track, in 2h07.  The volunteers in Sway are full of encouragement and the fantastic Guides and Scouts provide water and cheer in equal measure. 

Heading out on the road again and the legs begin the argument with the brain which would last for the final 10 miles, at times the spirit willing but the flesh weak, at times the other way round. It isn’t until mile 17 that we are welcomed into a shady forest enclosure, at last!, at which point I start what is to become a ritual every mile – stop and stretch, take some liquid on board, clap your hands and remind yourself why you’re doing this.

The famous ‘wall’ hits me at mile 20. I have stopped at the picturesque Wilverley enclosure where we had sat last year to cheer on Kath Evans and others, the day which started this adventure as I remember on the day saying “I’d love to run this race, it’s so beautiful”… Certainly this isn’t how I’m feeling a year on!

September a year ago...

As I leave the checkpoint after a quick pitstop I can see a downhill stretch in front of me, but my legs just won’t start again. I manage to restrain myself from shouting at myself and somehow manage to start again, knowing that those 3 or 4 minutes would have a huge impact on whether I would hit my unimportant but important time target, as I know I have been gradually slowing for the last 6 or 7 miles.

Onwards down the hill and some relief, so I thought, but jogging downhill can actually be more painful as the strike of the foot on the tarmac sends a jolt through the leg and has more impact than going uphill – so although I am going marginally quicker it is causing more pain, exacerbated further by the short spell of listening to the cricket during which England lost more wickets… Blisters on the toes were becoming a real issue too. So I whack on a bit of Queen and Don’t Stop Me Now gets me through the next few minutes.

I knew Jayne and the kids were waiting at mile 23 at the bottom of North Weirs; we had been there the previous day so we knew where the rendezvous was and it is both a joy and relief to see Jayne a few hundred yards earlier than planned; she has come up to run with me back to the meeting point, so I had a few extra minutes with her which came just at the right time. The children run up too and supply me with more Lucozade, water and high fives, and I stop for a chat for a moment or two, knowing that a tough mile up North Weirs awaits.

Pass me the Lucozade! 

Thankfully I manage to keep a consistent but slow pace up the gravel to mile 24 and the final water stop, where Kev and Suzie have been waiting. I think I utter something incoherent about my unending love for their friendship and support, and trot on towards mile 24, knowing that a time of 4h30 is still just about there for the taking if I can just keep it steady over the last two miles. Mercifully it is flat though stony and although flagging due to agonising blisters I manage to keep one foot in front of the other and soon the welcome sight of the white tops of the marquees at the showground come into view.

A few encouraging shouts from the marshals and the finish line is in view, and having seen Vicki, my sister and her family again cheering me on I manage to get a little sprint on and am over the line. Nervously checking the Garmin watch I am thrilled to see 4h29m16s on the screen.

 

Over the finish line

As I stumble à la Bambi to the bag collection point I receive notification that I had received further donations whilst running, with some wonderful friends and colleagues kindly donating to the cause. (The target of £2,500 for 15 marathons was a nominal one but we’re already over £500 + Gift Aid, so we’re already a quarter of the way there, and who knows what the next year or so will bring in after 14 more marathons. We cannot thank you enough!)

As the children run up to greet me again I am overwhelmed once more with the thought that I should be grateful for every minute I have with them. After a hug with Jayne I collapse in a heap and tuck into a chocolate bar with the usual post-race conflict in my mind of “don’t ever run that again” and “that was fantastic, when’s the next one?” (it’s October 19^th, in Reading).

 

After...

The medal is an unusual melange of trees and footprints; but it’s the first of 15 and I look forward to comparing it with the next few.

New bling! 

As we reunite with friends and family I take off my sock to reveal the extent of the damage – and what seems to be a sixth toe appears between my big toe and second toe – an enormous blood blister has sprouted and needs attention from the medical team at the other end of the showground.  They are as helpful as expected and soon patch me up so I can go and enjoy the picnic.

Sadly an accident in Lyndhurst means that we are advised to stay on site for another couple of hours with the roads gridlocked, but this enables us to have more time to enjoy - rather than endure - the sunshine and a number of excellent local bands. Unfortunately, the bar has run out of most items so a celebratory drink will have to wait until the evening.

Kev offers to drive my car home which is a godsend as the legs are struggling to coherently communicate with each other to walk, let alone drive. We chat about plans for running next year and before long we’ve reached home where a cold beer and a pork batch awaits (you can take the boy out of Coventry, but…) . It feels particularly good having fasted alcohol for a week in the build up to marathon number 1.

A cold Golden Champion (Badger Beer) to end the day! 

It’s been an exhausting but exhilarating day and I can’t wait for Marathon 2 – the “Saturn X Run” in Reading on October 19^th. It’s going to be a strange few weeks, working out how to recover from one marathon and start building up then immediately tapering for the next, so that will be something new to work out. When I’ve run marathons before (3 in total, over the course of 6 years), I’ve had plenty of time to work out what to do next! But after the X Run I’ve got only a fortnight until the Thames Meander (starting in Kingston), so goodness knows what that short training programme will look like.

In terms of timing, I’ve set a good baseline of 4h29 and hope to start bringing that time down towards the 4h03 in Southampton from a few years ago. But it’s not the main goal; I know that through my efforts not only have we raised money for Sands to help fund research, care and support for bereaved families, but have raised significant awareness about the impact of baby loss through friends, family, former colleagues and through social media.

After I explained the significance of the number 15 to a family member he quipped ‘hopefully if you do this again in a few years you’ll only need to do 10 or 12’. I sincerely hope so too. In fact, if we’re to reach the government’s target of halving baby deaths by 2025, I’ll only need to do 7.5 in 7.5.

In the meantime, we keep on running…

Thanks for all your support