Race Report - Dumyat Hill Race 2015

For the last two years I’ve been laid out with a heavy cold in the first week of May. 

I know this because during the two and a half years I’ve worked in Stirling, I’ve been out of action during the annual Dumyat Hill Race, a long-established out-and-back peak-bagging adventure of mud and rocks which I’ve felt like a fool for missing.

It’s taken an embarrassingly long while for me to get to the start line of a race whose route I can actually see from my office window, but I’m so glad I did...

Dumyat [pronounced dumb eye at] has been run annually since a £1 bet in 1972 claimed that it was impossible to run from the University of Stirling’s Gannochy Sports Centre to the summit of Dumyat, a 418m/1,371ft peak at the edge of the Ochil Hills, and back, within an hour (a distance of five miles and total ascent of 390m). The hour is the watershed, therefore, between metaphorically winning the pound or slinking off home to think again. With men’s and women’s records in the region of 35 minutes, it’s achievable, but not without a fight…

Added pressure for me came in the form of many colleagues who have raced previous years, or entered this year, or who just know more about the event than I did. I’d also recruited a pal, Kathryn, whom you may remember as Deerstalker-in-Chief and whose mountain credentials are infinitely more impressive than mine. All this conspired to an impressive amount of pre-race excuse-making on my part. I mean look at the weather. My back hurts. I’ve been sat at a desk all day. Etc.

Dumyat has always been a low-key affair but I think this year it’s edging towards more infrastructure. The race is ‘gun-to-chip’ timed, entries are managed online, marshals are everywhere and almost 300 people finished the 2015 event. We are a long way from 1972.

But once we were away from the start line we’re into a magnificently scrappy, scruffy, off-road test that feels much more like I imagine oldschool hillrunning to be. It’s crowded in the middle of the field, and we’re ducking and weaving between trees and gaps in stone walls and stiles and streams, occasionally slowing to allow the crowd to thin out ahead, tripping over rocks and sinking into watery mud. I’m grinning madly with delight.

The first half is very up. But it’s also a bit down – we’re fighting to gain elevation but then keep maddeningly losing a little on our progress to the top. After the first mile or so we’re literally out of the woods and onto a broad moor-type landscape, which allows much more room for overtaking and the field spreads out width-ways as runners choose different lines up the hill. I’m surrounded by people of clearly varying ability, but the wild spectrum of terrain and profile mean that this race demands you to be a sturdy climber, fearless descender, navigator of rocks and mud, good at choosing lines and also pretty competent on the flat. I’m confident that everyone in the race will have felt great at some points and found wanting in others.

Out of the woods and chasing down the summit.
Photo borrowed from www.scottishhillracing.co.uk

After a couple of miles the leaders fly past me in the opposite direction. Dumyat is the prototypical out-and-back, so we’re sharing a boggy, hilly, rocky, narrow route trudging uphill with extremely talented hill runners who are flying back down. It’s perilous and thrilling and hilarious. Club and university vests dominate the leading figures and I do my best to stay out of the way whilst also trying to maintain some worthwhile progress of my own.

An odd phenomenon is the peer pressure to both walk and run certain sections. Kathryn and both found that whenever the person in front of us slowed to a walk on the steepest sections, we did the same, even if we were feeling fresh enough to run. When they ran, we felt compelled to run too. This may have something to do with the narrowness of the route in places – and for me my total lack of course knowledge – but next year I’ll resolve to ignore everyone else and run my own race.

I finally reached the summit and was blown away by the view. The concept suddenly made sense. Weather earlier in the day may have been abysmal, but at 7.30ish in the evening the view was so clear I could pick out the Forth Bridges and Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh, 40 miles distant. Sadly, with no time to appreciate the full majesty of the entire Central Belt, I started a reckless, wild descent back to the Gannochy.

There’s really nothing better for the ego than being on the ‘back’ leg of an out and back race. The banter’s hilarious and you feel like a minor celebrity. I did my best to be brave and let my legs fly down the hill, moving so fast I could feel my insides shaking about with every impactful step. At points I was basically falling down a cliff and trying to keep my legs moving fast enough to keep up with my progress. Hill running – for me at least – is mostly about trying to think fast enough to work out where each foot can safely land next, and the added chaos of people running towards you makes for a major mental and physical test.

I passed Kathryn, on her way up, as we splashed through a waterlogged flat(ish) section. She howled in mock pain as we high-fived at high speed. The descent passed in a blur – although a small incline with half a mile to go almost finished me off – and before long I was back to the sports centre and accepting the incredulous congratulations of some colleagues who had come along to support. I clocked 51:19 and won my metaphorical pound.

Papped at the finish. #KeepUpLad

Kathryn beamed across the finish line a little while later and we debriefed, incredulous as to how much fun it was. We immediately resolved to be back for 2016 – and what’s more I know exactly where I can shave a minute or two off my time. A few practice runs wouldn’t go amiss either...

Happy running

Dave

2015 to date: miles run - 405.62, parkruns - 3, races - 3

Here come the races

The season is upon us, and as usual, my spring race calendar has morphed from a carefully-designed schedule of well-placed races into a multi-faceted beast of confusion. Here goes:

Next weekend I am taking my first stab at the Tunbridge Wells half marathon. Local to my parents and the town I grew up in, this race is the stage for an almighty smackdown of old schoolfriends. Five of us are training for two different marathons and we are all using the TW half as a tune-up event – and probably a vehicle for extensive side bets. It’s an oldie but a goodie – this is the 30th running – and has an impressive pedigree, associated with Dame Kelly Holmes and this year started by Richard Whitehead. Apparently there are a couple of tricky hills but otherwise an enjoyable course.

Then in April, two days after I get back from a family holiday necessitating long-haul travel, my jetlagged and rum-soaked brain and I will be running the Edinburgh Rock n Roll half marathon – as I understand it a new and improved version of last year’s race.  As with all local races I’ll be out to recce the course beforehand and get a feel for what the event will be like – but I have suspicions that the Rock n Roll brand will make for  a good day out... One of my Wall Run teammates will be joining me too, so there will be a decision-making point probably about 200 yards from the finish line as to whether or not we are racing each other…

Not sure if I’ve mentioned, but I’ve only gone and got a place in the VLM. It’s the week after the Rock n Roll half, which should be fine. Should be. Fine.

A few weeks later it’s back to hillrunning, and I am planning on a first crack at the Dumyat Hill Race in May. Based on a historic bet and starting 30 yards from my office, it would seem ridiculous and foolish to pass up the opportunity to run thousands of feet up a large hill/small mountain and back down again in the space of five miles. I have two goals: 1, don’t break an ankle and 2, finish. I’m less bothered about 2.

The Wall Run. I’ve definitely mentioned this before. It’s in June and it’s really far and you should sponsor me.

As usual, I entered the ballot for the Great North Run this year, but most unusually I actually got  a place! OK, with it being in September I am rather stretching the spring season, but after The Wall it’s the only thing in my calendar at all. This year I think I’m going to wear shoes, and might actually try to run it for a time rather than just plod along soaking up the atmosphere…

Are you racing this year? Have I missed anything that I should really have a crack at ASAP? I am open to suggestions...

Happy racing

Dave

2013 to date: miles run - 141.38, parkruns: 1, miles biked: 3

Guest Race Report - Berlin Half Marathon 2012

Second in the current series of guest race reports comes from notorious teacher of Maths and Dublin-obsessed marathoner Nick J Haines, whom you might remember from such blog posts as his Dublin Marathon report, that one about his wedding, the one where I explain why I signed up for Loch Ness and probably lots of others besides. I'll get out of the way and let him get on with it.

Race Report - Berlin Half Marathon 2012

The German people carry a reputation for ruthless efficiency and strictly organised fun. The Berlin Half-Marathon stood testament to this in every way.  The outstanding race expo was held at the historic Tempelhof airport- literally the whole airport- which was decommissioned in 2008 but looked like it might only have been closed for the day. The course itself looked promising to say the least and it didn’t disappoint, taking in an impressive array of Berlin’s most famous landmarks, including the Victory Column, Humbolt University, the Berliner Dom Cathedral, Checkpoint Charlie and the Brandenburg Tor, with the course actually passing through these last two.

Cool route, Click to enlarge.

Lining up for the start on the Karl-Marx-Allee we took advantage of the course’s circularity to agree amongst our small team (me, my wife, her father and her two sisters) that we would rendez-vous as the imposing  Soviet-built cinema. As we did our best to keep warm we got our first impression of the true popularity of this race: ‘33000 participants’ doesn’t mean much until you see them all squashed into one street. We also experienced the characteristically German trait of having inline skaters preparing for their race. As these loomed taller even than the typically statuesque Teutonic runners, we soon came to appreciate that the skaters needed to maintain a minimum speed and weren’t too good at stopping either. We did our best to stay out of their way.

Dave's GB vest gets about

With the handbikers and skaters out of our way, we lined up for the start. It took a long time to get over the line, and straight away our group started to split up. We hadn’t intended to stay as a five, but the densely packed field would not have made this even remotely possible. As the kilometre markers crawled slowly upwards and we checked off the sights of Berlin, it became clear why this event is so popular. The smooth roads and perfectly flat terrain made this a most enjoyable run, and it’s no surprise that the course record (58.56) is barely thirty seconds short of the world record. This year’s winner (Denis Koech, Kenya) beat the current world champion, Wilson Kiprop, in a dramatic sprint finish clocking 59.14, just one second ahead of his rival. Naturally we didn’t find any of this out until later, as we completed the course at a slightly less suicidal pace. We were, however, spurred on by the threatening words of the race literature, warning that runners who ‘appeared to be running at a pace which would not suggest a sub-three-hour finish’ would be ‘removed from the race’, and unceremoniously placed on what we could only dub the Fail Bus. The fact that none of our party were at all likely to meet such a shameful fate did little to stop us checking over our shoulders. 

Support from the locals was fantastic: I was a little conspicuous wearing Dave’s GB vest, but the only attention I got was from fellow Brits and cheerful Germans (the highlight being the cry of ‘Go make your qveen proud!). The finish was superb, the usual post-race high capped off nicely with unmistakably Berlin-trendy medals, water, bananas and, surprisingly, alcohol-free beer.

Strong finishes von den Lanes.

Would I recommend Berlin as a half-marathon destination, then? Absolutely. If you like your races flat, fast, meticulously organised and measured in kilometres then this has to be top of anyone’s list. The downsides? It was genuinely quite crowded in places, particularly at the water stations, one of which was inexplicably and almost disastrously placed at a point where the course narrows. On water stations, I can’t give unconditional support to a race which delivers water in plastic cups, even if there is warm sweet tea available too. Finally I would register also a general objection to events which give out the commemorative t-shirts at the expo rather than the finish line. But these are minor gripes. All in all it was a fantastic experience, and if you’re looking for a European city-break-race-holiday I honestly don’t think you could do a lot better.

Big thanks and congratulations are due to my team: Erin for her casual five-minute PB, Rachel for completing her first half-marathon, Jess for completing hers (she insists it was her first half, despite having done the Edinburgh marathon in 2010), and John for, under an age-weighted handicap system of his own devising, breaking the world record by over eight hours. High-fives all round!

Schöne laufen!

Thanks Nick! Another impressive run, report, and shameless disregard for my suggested 250 word limit. Coming soon, hopefully, some marathon chat from the emerald isle. 

Just as an aside, I'm running the Edinburgh Rock 'n' Roll Half on Sunday for Runner's World (though the article won't hit your shelves until early next year). I'll be sure to give you a brief scoop soonish...

Happy running

Dave

2012 to date: miles run - 127.07, miles biked: 23.4, metres swum: 750

Race Report - The Mighty Deerstalker 2012

Hauling my torso out from under the tightly-pinned cargo net, I slumped face-first into the mud as both my thighs cramped up at the same time. I was maybe 30 yards from the finish line, with just two six-foot walls separating me from a medal and a mars bar. It was dark, and frosty, and I was soaking wet. Several other unfortunates were stacking up behind me as I was causing something of a bottleneck. Luckily I was wearing a stupid hat, waistcoat and tweed tie, which lent a jaunty and jovial air to my glorious suffering, and things probably weren’t as bad as they seemed. With a small whimper I dragged my right leg out from under me and planted my good ankle firmly in the ground, ready for the last, pathetic stumble to the finish line...

Rewind quite a lot of hours and I’m in a nice warm car, barrelling along a deserted rural road on a stunning, sunny day in the Scottish Borders. When the wilderness opened up to reveal the small village of Innerleithen, it was obvious that preparations for The Mighty Deerstalker (part of the Notorious Night Run series organised by Rat Race), were already well underway. Before long I found myself safely in the company of Team Venture Trust, whose expert wilderness skills had created a tipi base camp equipped with hot water, cold showers, a trestle table covered in chocolate and even a few cheeky pre-race beers.

For the uninitiated, some context might be needed. First read this, then read that, and also generally know that this event is an off-road, fell running, river crossing, scree-climbing, obstacle hurdling festival of mud and tweed-clad nonsense at Traquair House. There are two events; The Deerstalker, billed as 5k and a bit (clocked at 7-8k), and The Mighty Deerstalker, described as 10k and the rest (later reported as closer to 17k!). The Deerstalker would kick off at 2pm, with the Mighty version waiting until 5.45pm, or later if the organisers thought it wasn’t dark enough for the requisite volume of utter, magnificent nonsense.

Being a proud, self-assured, boastful idiot I always struggle to choose the easier option when it comes to registering for these kind of things, so I had dutifully signed myself up for the Mighty Deerstalker, leaving plenty of time in the afternoon for me to hang around, support VT’s 5k runners, misguidedly drink a beer and generally enjoy the tweedy light-hearted atmosphere that engulfs this race.  Not wanting to feel left out, I decided to don my waistcoat, trilby and tweed tie early on in proceedings, finished off with a fine moustache and VT facepaint. I was ready for some country pursuits.

The 5k started in a mass of colour and surge of tweed-clad bodies. The VT group, composed of some staff, some supporters and a very eager trustee, did themselves proud in a variety of ways, ranging from immense costume dedication to some really quite impressive runs, on a very, very challenging course. As we shall see. The glorious sunshine lasted long into the afternoon, and before too long the first few runners trickled back into the main site, the winner completing his ‘5k’ just under 50 minutes. We cheered and whooped and gasped as ‘stalkers hauled themselves over the final two obstacles (those six foot walls) and made ragged dashes for the finish line. Their broad grins and muddy boots confirmed more-or-less what I knew this race to be like, and I was pumped for my own crack at the course.

The temperature plummeted as we neared zero hour for the Mighty amongst us, and though the cloudless sky held the darkness back, it was clear we were in for a cold, dark night. I gave up on my shorts-only plan and threw on my compression leggings and gloves, strapped the mandatory headtorch onto my trilby and readied myself for the off. I was already shod in my Innov8 Mudclaws, and congratulated myself on the quality of my kit and general preparedness. If only I had actually done some training as well.

And so to the race itself. My nervous energy behind the start line was at least shared – I started with almost the whole Venture Trust 10k team; Brett, Andy, Marco, Mo, Karen and Owen (where was Nina? Good question). Even our cheerful murmurings that we would stick together weren’t reassuring, as I was pretty confident that as soon as the gun went we would be completely, irreconcilably spread out. And so it was – immediately after the gun we completely lost each other as we lurched uphill towards a modest hay-bale jump, before turning back on ourselves and heading out into the wilderness.

First we clambered through the shoe-stealing mudbath (my shoelaces were triple-knotted and stayed safe), then round a corner and up into the forest. The trails varied from steep to relatively flat to extremely bloody steep, all of them rough and muddy. I have no way of explaining how steep it was, except to say that when I got to what I thought was the top, it got much, much steeper. We cut through what looked like virgin forest, up a slope so raked towards the sky that we had to haul ourselves up more or less by hand. Then we plummeted straight back down, along a mountain bike trail that had to be negotiated either at a snail’s pace or at 400 miles an hour. I chose 400 miles an hour and started a bad relationship with my left ankle which is still in a negative spiral...

After that bit of extreme up and down came some more up, just for a change. Nearing the top of this section we plunged into a dense, dark forest, where balance beams and cargo nets sprung from nowhere and hindered my already slow uphill slog. At this point some poor unfortunate passed me in the opposite direction, mournfully looking for his headtorch. He would be needing it quite soon.

Finally reaching the top of this hill it was obvious what was coming next, and my tender ankle was already suffering on the downhill running sections. When I say running downhill, what I mean is pretty much just falling down a cliff with your feet moving near the ground. Plunging through various sections, more randomness started to assault the senses – there’s the woodland disco at an outrageous volume and with disco lights shining in the trees, yet more cargo nets, stray logs to leap over, random fences to avoid and much more besides. Darkness was gathering just as a vast firework was set off, signifying that the lead runner had crested the final hill of the race. I was quite a long way away from anyone celebrating my run with fireworks at this point, and was trying quite hard to deny the existence of further hills if at all possible. In fact I was trying to achieve some sort of higher plane in which my ankle and stomach didn’t exist either, as I was struggling with horrible pains in both. With the wild undulations in terrain and gradient, there was no hope of getting into a rhythm and ‘settling in’ – which is how I have always survived long runs – and instead I was focussing on calculating every single step to avoid calamity. My ankle was already careering towards disaster, and my stomach wasn’t far behind.

There may not have been many spectators out for this race, but we didn’t need them. The frivolous, silly, what-a-jape-this-is atmosphere meant that runners were always keeping each others’ spirits up, offering words of encouragement or concern to flagging ‘stalkers, helping each other over and around obstacles, and generally having little concern for ‘racing’. Quite right too, as things were getting even more absurd and darkness was falling fast.

Reaching the bottom of the valley, we hit the flat section along the river and were afforded a few moments’ respite from the insane gradients. A young woman barrelled past me and rather unsportingly shouted ‘come on boys, you’re being beaten by a girl!’. A hero behind me said ‘get the kettle on when you get there, love’ and the cosmic balance of sexist arrogance was restored. We followed the river for a short while, before hopping into the water for a short crossing to the opposite bank, our first real experience of the volume of cold and wet that would feature in our evening. Next a humourously-placed fuel stop (don’t drink the river water) and then straight back into the river, this time for several hundred yards’ trudge upstream rather than a quick paddle. This was probably my favourite bit – the freezing water soothed the throbbing in my ankle and a modest but enthusiastic turnout of supporters waved to us from bridges and back gardens. All too soon, it was time for another hill...

And here the Notorious Night Run really turned into the Notorious Night Queue. I had been warned about this, as the trails in some parts offer little room for overtaking, but after the next small (all things relative) hill we were onto the scree slope, and doomed to watch the backside of the person in front of us. I have tried to think of ways to describe the most extreme gradient of the scree, and this is the best I can do: stand up straight and stretch your arm straight out in front of you.  At the tip of your fingers is the trail ahead. It’s made of nothing but loose, shifting rocks. There are 600 people in front of you and a thousand behind you. You’ve been running for over an hour and half already. To your right is a drop of a few hundred feet onto more rocks and in front of you are several hundred more feet left to climb.

You paid good money for this. And are having a brilliant time.

I finally crested the hill, slightly disappointed to discover there was no firework to welcome the runner in 600-and-something-th place. Then I was back to more descending, my ankle weak and painful, my stomach threatening chemical warfare as I caught my first glimpse of a teammate for over an hour. Karen cheerfully greeted me as she sailed past me and off into the night. I apologised that I couldn’t keep up with her, realising that this wasn’t really bothering her at all as she skipped lightly down the mountain. I practised my gracious loser face.

The descent got so extreme at one point that near-vertical ropes had been strung down the hillside, making for more of an abseil than a run. This was getting ridiculous. I struggle to remember the order of events from here, but I think it was more or less flat (this can’t be right), before a zig-zagging series of hops in and out of the river. The final utter absurdity was a chest-high wade through a river tunnel that was later universally referred to as ‘the sewage tunnel’ due to its stench, as well as a few other dips in and out of muddy nonsense... 

Finally we regained the main site, where a last uphill barely registered on my mental altimeter compared to what had already happened, but then resignedly had to haul myself through a large plastic pipe, before crawling under a certain tightly-pinned cargo net. And there I am. Poised, ready to have a crack at the last two obstacles – a pair of six-foot plywood walls. After one miserable failed attempt at hauling myself over the first one, I enlisted a confused stalker to give me a leg-up over the bloody thing, then made a beeline for the marshal whose sorry job it was to launch people over the second wall. Moments later I was across the finish line, dimly aware of some familiar voices screaming my name as I stumbled over.

There was small satisfaction to learn that the course was clocked as being more like 17k, but my 2:28:07 still felt like it had lasted weeks. My left ankle was useless (still is), my stomach was achingly empty, I was freezing, wet and disorientated, and generally in need of being somewhere (if not entirely someone) else. There was little or no euphoria in finishing, only blessed relief...

My respect and gracious-loser face go to Brett, Andy and Karen, who respectively beat me by 10, 9 and 2 minutes, but in equal measure goes out to everyone who ran this race for Venture Trust. The 5k runners, including Kathryn (Deerstalker-in-Chief), Queen Sherien, extraordinarily-fast Mairi, Jenni, Jenna, and those legends from RGU:RAG, Steph, Sarah, Wiebke and Izzy, who achieved perhaps even greater acclaim for their costuming skills than their fell-running. Credit furthermore to the rest of the 10k-ers: Marco Biagi MSP (probably one of the few MSPs prepared to have his face forcibly painted before throwing himself around mud and mountains of a Saturday night), to the awesome Mo B Quick, tenacious Nina and barefoot Owen. It was immense, and has raised over £2,000 for Venture Trust already. It's still not too late to donate - click here!

Happy stalking

Dave

2012 to date: miles run - 86.74, miles biked: 23.4, metres swum: 750

Preview: The Mighty Deerstalker

Looming large in the calendar is my first foray into fell racing, obstacle courses, fancy dress running and off-road night running. All at once.

Having cheerfully agreed to participate by virtue of my charity, Venture Trust, fielding a team as its first ever sponsored event, I sort-of neglected to actually investigate what The Mighty Deerstalker would entail. I looked at the cheerful photos on the website and the jovial, tweed-and-moustaches marketing and thought it would be a laugh. I am probably right. However, what I hadn’t really anticipated is that this is going to be quite a hefty physical challenge, too...

Let’s start with the distance. It’s ‘10k (and the rest)’, which some runners have apparently clocked on their GPS watches as being closer to 10 miles than 10 kilometres. I haven’t run 10 miles yet this year, at all, not even on lovely smooth tarmac. Who knows what will happen if I try to do that distance up and down small mountains.

Next is the climbing. I was in pretty good shape for hillrunning when I ran the SF Marathon, but that was in July and at the end of a finely-tuned tapering period. Right now I’m huffing and puffing just to get onto a kerb. This is a slight exaggeration, but concerning nonetheless. My plan of action is to just stick it out on the way up and be outrageously reckless on the way down.

Also the darkness. The race is scheduled to start at 5.30pm, on the understanding that the organisers might delay the start if it isn’t dark enough(!). Mandatory equipment includes a headtorch! Predicted finish time is between 90 minutes and FOUR HOURS. Oh my.

Then there are the obstacles. As I think they change every year and seem to be kept under wraps, they’re more-or-less a complete unknown and thus there’s barely any point in me panicking about them. Suffice to say I shall panic later.

Um, is that bit optional?

There’s the fancy dress. Despite having run numerous races for charity and having run a lot of events just for fun, I’ve only ever ventured into fancy dress running twice, and both were only 5k (and flat!). This time I shall have the interesting experience of attempting whatever madness lies ahead dressed in an as-yet-undetermined outfit of charity shop finery. Which is even more worrying as apparently this course is covered in water crossings and other muddy mayhem – presumably the kind of stuff that would weigh down your average fancy dress accoutrement to the point of sluggish disaster.

Let's be clear, here:

Lastly there is the competition, which is comprised of friends and colleagues (and 3000 other people). Colleagues who are outdoorsy, adventurous, competitive, and have fewer hernias than me. Friends who may be out to prove a point. Then there’s me, who last raced in October at the Loch Ness Marathon, barely managed a 7 mile run so far this year, and with a frankly suicidal racing instinct that could end in spectacular fashion one way or another.

It’s going to be an interesting one.

You can (and totally should) sponsor team Venture Trust for the Mighty Deerstalker at http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/VentureTrustDeerstalkers. Every penny will go towards helping disadvantaged young people make positive changes in their lives, like getting a job, or back to school, or just having the confidence to aspire to a better future. Much more detail on www.venturetrust.org.uk.

In wider news, I think I am slowly healing. I’m experiencing less pain while running – sometimes none at all, and gradually rebuilding my decimated fitness. At this rate I might even manage to hobble around the Edinburgh Marathon at the end of May. No promises, though...

Happy running!

Dave

2012 to date: miles run - 58.75, miles biked: 15.4, metres swum: 750

Home Turf

2012, by and large, is supposed to be a money-saving year. In September the Crew Chief and I will be buying dinner for 110 of our closest friends, then jetting off on some sort of exotic holiday in pursuit of sun, sea and upgrades – so until then we will be saving.
 
2012 won’t be a year, therefore, in which I hop on a plane to fly halfway around the world for a marathon. In fact for a while I thought I wouldn’t be running a marathon at all, instead focussing on shorter distances and building up some core strength and speed. But after just a small amount of soul-searching, I can’t bear the thought of leaving it until 2013 to run marathon number five...
 
So I’ve decided to run a 26.2 that starts less than two miles from my front door: The Edinburgh Marathon.
 
Yes, I know, I’ve complained about it before. There’s a lot wrong with this race, some of it fundamental, and going by previous form it seems unlikely that it’s going to change any time soon. But in the spirit of austerity I’m thinking that running a race which incurs no travel costs and no accommodation costs, no time off work and no peripheral sightseeing expense is a Good Thing.
 
In fact the more I think about it the more I like the idea of running a ‘home’ marathon. I have seven and a half months to prepare for it, plenty of time to explore every inch of the course and learn every turn and undulation (although I’ve run the first half of this race during the relay, I’ve yet to experience what the route is like after 13 miles). The 10am start means I don’t need to be up for breakfast until 8, don’t need to leave the flat until 9.15 at the earliest. Assuming a half decent run and some post-race cunning, I could be back home with a frosty beer by mid-afternoon.
 
A half-decent run...
 
Yes, alright, my interest was piqued by the idea of running a mostly-downhill course, certified as ‘the fastest marathon in the UK’. Loch Ness and SF were wildly undulating; aggressive, spiky hills popping up at most turns for punishment on the way up and the way down in equal measure. Edinburgh starts with a gentle descent and is then overwhelmingly flat. I can’t help but imagine what might have happened if I had run Edinburgh instead of SF this year – no jetlag, no crazy early start, no mad sightseeing or cycling adventures the day before and most of all no real hills. All else being equal, how much time could I have taken off? 5 minutes? More?
 
The trade-off, of course, is that whilst SF was a 26.2 mile sightseeing tour of an iconic American city, Edinburgh’s course is mostly on tedious, exposed seafront and largely run in rural East Lothian. Instead of enjoying a two-week holiday in the USA I’ll be back to work the next day. Instead of finishing on a palm tree-lined boulevard with the Bay Bridge in the background I’ll be crossing the line on a random street in an anonymous suburb. But who cares? If all goes to plan, maybe I won’t be out there for long...
 
Put simply, I want to run for a PB in Edinburgh in May 2012. And I am going to work very, very hard to get it.
 
Watch this space.
 
Happy running
 
Dave

2011 to date: miles: 1008.56, parkruns: 6, races: 6, miles biked: 120.06, metres swum: 1225 

Here we go again...

On October 2^nd, as you may already know, I am planning on running my fourth marathon, this time in Loch Ness, just 9 weeks after my third. Why?

Simple. I owe the running community a debt, and I am very much looking forward to repaying it. The story goes like this:

In summer 2008, through a complicated series of events, I found myself struggling through the first (8.1 mile) leg of the Edinburgh Marathon relay. It was the furthest distance I had ever run. Wearing swimming shorts, cheap and nasty trainers and some elderly ‘sports socks’, I laboured through the distance and finished wheezing, hobbling and generally ruined. It was my first taste of participation in a marathon and I wanted more.

That night I hosted a post-race party at my flat for marathon and relay runners. My friends who had run the whole thing modestly basked in their success and I grew increasingly jealous of their new, elevated status as marathoners. But when a few of the other relay runners got together and bandied about the suggestion of doing the whole thing the following year, my stomach filled with dread. There was no way I could actually run 26.2 miles, and more than that I didn’t want others to make the transition without me, thinking that if none of us made the step up, then no-one would feel left behind. As far as I was concerned, the idea was shelved.

But as summer gave way to autumn my interest in the concept gnawed away at me. Even before the first week of my final year of University, I knew I wanted to run a marathon. I joined the Cross Country Club in the hope of finding a short-cut to success, and found no short cuts but plenty of people willing to show me the long road. With a small amount of convincing, I even found someone willing to accompany me all the way – my friend Alex agreed to come to Paris and run the marathon there with me.

More than that, Alex set the benchmark. He encouraged me to enter other races through the Cross Country Club, which he captained, and later helped me round the longer training runs. Even when he struggled and I actually found myself in the stronger role, it was him who reigned in my pace and helped me make the most of my fitness.

When it came to race day a lot of things happened. More detail is in my old race report. But suffice to say that without Alex there is no way I would have got into running in a serious way, much less become capable of completing one, let alone three or four marathons.

When I got back from Paris I was enthused and immediately determined to pass on the knowledge I had so recently been given. Just as Alex had supported me, I needed someone to support, too. After a little more convincing than Alex needed, I somehow convinced my brother to run the Dublin Marathon with me, just six months away at that point. If you’ve been reading this blog for some time, you may know that this went horribly wrong and Nick ended up running the whole bloody thing on his own.

So the way I see it, I still owe the running community this debt of guidance and support.

When Ben asked me to join him in running the Loch Ness Marathon, I knew I would be saying yes. I’m still sore from the Great North Run and the barefoot adventures, still not really recovered from 'leaving it all out there' in San Francisco, and I haven’t I got a decent pair of shoes to run in as both of mine are knackered. Regardless of the awkward timing, irrelevant of the challenges of the rest of my race schedule, this is my opportunity to finally give back, even if it is a bit hilly. Above all I get to spend 26.2  miles with a close friend whom I rarely see.

I can’t wait.

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 952, parkruns: 6, races: 5, miles biked: 83.24, metres swum: 1225 

P.S. Ben is running Loch Ness in memory of Marian Thomas, to raise money for the Women's Fund for Scotland. Read more here.

Race Report - Great North Run 2011 (aka The Ballad of Barefoot Dave part 4)

I don’t think I have ever been so nervous before a race.

The night before had put me at ease. By a strange series of events we ended up staying in the Gateshead Hilton, which (unbeknownst to us) happens to be the official race hotel. We mixed with the elite athletes at mealtimes and in the bar, the whole place seemingly given over to the event. I even had the opportunity to meet Mo Farah and bother him for a photograph. I never feel particularly comfortable interrupting celebrities when I see them in a private context, but I just couldn’t resist talking to the newly-crowned 5,000m world champ and getting him to autograph my race number. Evidence:

We swapped tips

But I woke up on race morning with ultimate fear. I’m pretty sure I would have been nervous anyway. The incredible anticipation of finally running the Great North Run, an iconic, aspirational event which I’ve watched on TV for years, was enough to make me jittery with excitement in the days and hours running up to it. But something about the barefoot plan was making me even more nervous. I felt like I had agreed to a duel but left my pistols at home, constantly troubled by that feeling of dread when you get off a train or a bus and realise you’ve left your bag on your seat. Essentially, I spent the race morning observing that to run a half marathon, you need to wear shoes, and I was definitely not...

Then again, I was wearing shoes, of sorts. I went for the Vibrams in the end, and I’m so glad I did. As we shall see.

I decided to walk from the hotel to the start line, a distance of probably about 2.5 miles once I’d got to my starting zone. I needed the time to relax, loosen up, get my head in the game and feel comfortable in the Vibrams. The short walk in the cool morning air was ideal and definitely represented the calm before the storm.

I had hoped to meet Aye Aye Jenny Mackay at the start so we could run together, but our poorly-planned rendez-vous never materialised and sadly we didn’t manage to see each other at all. The crowds were just too enormous. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many people, ever. With 54,000 runners, the GNR is unfathomably massive in every way, and there was simply no hope of us catching one another. Such is life. I did have the privilege of watching the elite women warm up (in what seemed like a bizarre zoo-like enclosure, athletes pacing like caged lions and us plebs peering in through the bars), and particularly pleased to see the British trio of Clitheroe, Pavey and Yamauchi. After the ubiquitous bag check, queue for the loo and hunt for my starting zone, I was in and ready for the off.

After the sad passing of Flt. Lt. Egging of the Red Arrows a few weeks ago, there had been murmurings that the team might not make an appearance at this year’s GNR. The image of the Red Arrows’ flypast over the Tyne Bridge is a huge part of the GNR’s identity, so it would have been a very sad loss if they weren't able to attend. But rather than pack it in they went one better and made an additional, early flypast over the starting line – flying in the ‘Missing Man’ formation, Red 4 (Flt Lt Egging’s position) trailing red smoke and creating an image of fond remembrance. An inspiring moment.

Ten minutes after the gun fired, I was over the line, and within half a mile I was having to consciously alter my stride to accommodate for the rough, broken road surface and try to protect my ruined ankles. Early twinges in my ankles and the balls of my feet made me nervous, but the atmosphere made it almost impossible to think of anything but utter, unconfined running joy. The runners, the crowds, the Red Arrows, the shouts of ‘Oggy Oggy Oggy’ in tunnels and the sheer scale of the whole mad shebang are indescribable. I can’t tell you – you’ll just have to run this race.

I made it onto the Tyne Bridge just before the Red Arrows got there, crossing the structure with the red, white and blue smoke streaming out overhead. The Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco was humbling, the Forth Road Bridge during the Scotland Kilomathon was majestic, but the Tyne Bridge, with those pilots overhead, there, then, was a moment that will stay with me for a very long time indeed. I knew Linds would be stationed at the ‘third, no the second, no the third lamppost after the pillar. Or the third one after the bridge. I’ll be next to a lamppost anyway’, toting a camera and ready to snap a great picture. Unfortunately, I am a prat and was a bit overexcited by the whole experience, so I look like this:

From here it was business as usual, with the focus on keeping my poor feet from too much abuse. The miles ticked along at a relatively relaxed pace, averaging 8:45 minutes/mile, roughly the same speed as those around me. And with quite so many people around me, I had very little choice. This race is so densely-packed with runners that you would struggle to break free from the zone you started in, unless you were prepared to invest a lot of time and energy in weaving between other runners. Thank goodness there are so many others, though. The course itself is less-than inspiring for the majority of it, passing through industrial areas, motorway overpasses and repetitive housing estates for miles. However, the riot of colour, noise and passion from the runners brings this fairly drab landscape to life and makes the race all the more amazing. Setting a big race in London or Paris or San Francisco is one thing, because the scenery does most of the work. Here the race is self-affirming; it just works because it’s always been here, not because here is somewhere particularly special. What an amazing achievement.

With a vastly varied road surface I was struggling to find rhythm and comfort in the Vibrams, at some points resorting to running on the white lines in search of something a little softer than the nasty road. I struggled with everything from rough tarmac to concrete to areas where the rain had washed grit onto the road. But I was managing the pain and discomfort relatively well.

Until the heavens opened.

I’ve blogged before about how well the Vibrams work in the dry, but in the wet the thick rubber lives up to its name and rubs, viciously, all the way down to the bone and out the other side, then several inches into the road, too. It’s agony. The rain started as just a thin, welcome drizzle, then proceeded into a crescendo of massive, heavy rainfall that sent spectators scurrying to bus shelters and elicited a range of impassioned responses from runners.

I was probably 9 miles in when the rain really kicked in, and I knew that I really didn’t have far to go. Based on the time-honoured maxim that if you run faster it’s over quicker, I picked up the pace and started an overtaking campaign. There are some nasty hills in the GNR, but nothing compared to San Francisco or my months of training in Edinburgh, so I felt confident in pushing up the hills and planning to cruise down, a strategy which worked reasonably well until the very last descent to the seafront. In the wet, the Vibrams become slick and unpredictable, and I came off the crest of the last hill at full whack, only to find myself hurtling down the other side and very, very close to falling over onto my face. After some manic arm-waving I managed to slow down and take the sharp turn at the bottom without incident, but it put the fear of God into me and I took a few moments to recover.

Some distance before I reached the sea, a spectator had shouted ‘only a mile to go!’ and I had got rather excited and sped up. If pushed, I could have summoned my knowledge of the course which would have told me that the 12 mile marker was still some way off, but I wanted to believe him and allowed my feet to think about some respite. When the 12 mile point did finally arrive it really was all over bar the shouting and I joined in with a few others who had picked up the pace for the final furlong.

800 to go, 400 to go, 200 to go, finish. A last-gasp sprint for the camera to finish in 1:54:44 and then a slow, laboured walk to collect a medal, t-shirt and eventually be released back into society. Linds was waiting for me at our agreed RV where we eventually managed to meet up with Louise and swap a few war stories, me hobbling around trying to adjust to the incredible pain in my feet. I wasn’t brave enough to take off the Vibrams for some time, knowing that a combination of the ache from the impact, blisters from the sore spots and probably some skin missing from the rubbing points would be pretty awful to witness. They were better than I thought, in the end. But not much. My toes ache. My calves are very tight. My feet basically feel like I ran a half marathon barefoot yesterday...

Even with my leisurely pace I came in 9,169^th place from a field of 37,491 finishers, which puts me in the top 24%. This is definitely more of an indication of the slow average finish time rather than my own impressive performance, as the race is clearly popular with beginners, and it was a shame to see so many ambulances tending to those who probably hadn’t respected the challenge they were undertaking. The drop-out rate is enormous: 54k places for 37k finishers.

Would I run another road race in the Vibrams? Probably not. But I am glad that I ran this race at a necessarily slower pace, purely to soak up the atmosphere and enjoy the company of so many other runners. And it was a pleasure and an honour to run for the Alzheimer’s Society. Thank you for your support, I am delighted to see that after a flurry of last-minute donations (possibly from people hedging their bets?) that I have reached my £500 target. You could still help me surpass it if you felt really cool and groovy – check out www.justgiving.com/barefootdave. Thanks so much, it’s been immense.

Happy running

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 940.95, parkruns: 6, races: 5, miles biked: 83.24, metres swum: 1225 

Race Report - San Francisco Marathon 2011

Official timing. Click to enlarge.

OK, this report is very late. Sorry. And if you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, or have read either of those panels on the right you'll already know that (to my continual amazement) I ran a massive PB in SF on July 31st. By finishing in 3:49, besting my previous time by over a quarter of an hour, I finally achieved the sub-four hour dream I've been chasing since summer 2008. That's the punchline spoilt, but there's so much more to say... 

My pre-race week will probably be used by amateur athletics coaches in years to come as a guide to what not to do with your 'A' race just days away. Due to delays and cancellations, it took us 27 hours to get from Edinburgh to San Francisco, which coupled with the cumulative weariness one only gets from three flights, four airports, an eight hour time difference and wearing the same pants for more than a day, I arrived in SF three days out from the race, somewhat less than chirpy. 

Next came the sightseeing. Frantic, ruthlessly efficient and above all on foot, we took in everything the city had to offer, walking about seven miles on the Thursday, out and on our feet all day and evening on Friday, then cycling 10 miles up and down massive hills on Saturday. In fact we were so busy (and I say this with absolute honesty) I had more or less forgotten about the marathon which I spent seven months of my life building up to, somehow neglecting the fact that it loomed very large in the very near future.

I did just about remember to go to the expo to pick up my bib number on Friday afternoon - it was a mile and a half from our hotel so I decided to run there and back. Oddly, we received our finishers' T-shirts at the expo, which I thought a little presumptuous. Surely one has to earn these things? It seems a shame to me that those who DNF'd, for whatever reason, are allowed to own the same gear as those who did manage to finish it... At least it's a decent piece of kit - a long-sleeved dark grey technical shirt with the marathon logo, strangely, on the back and in gold.

With my wave (3:45 - 4 hours estimated finish time) scheduled to start at exactly 5.52am on Sunday, I set my alarm for 3am and breakfasted in our hotel room, in the dark and completely silent to avoid waking my still-sleeping crew chief. Surreal barely covers it. Aware of the cold and fogginess that would characterise the early miles of the race, I decided to run the race in my finishers' shirt (a pleasing oxymoron) with my Union Flag vest over the top. If I got too hot I could always leave the shirt with the crew chief at one of our planned rendez-vous - 4, 12, or 22 miles. I finished the ensemble with my best blue racing shorts and a ludicrously overstocked fuel belt. In the last year I've never had more than one energy gel on even my longest run - why I thought I needed seven for this race I just don't know...

Ready for the off. More or less.

At 5am we hailed a cab outside our hotel and made for the start line. Thanks to Runner's World (pick up the November edition for my report!) I had a press pass to the VIP area, the main advantage of which was private toilets before the race, neatly bypassing the ubiquitous queue for the portaloos. As ever in this situation, anticipation translates to reality all too quickly, and before long I had sent Linds off to find the spectator shuttle and found myself nervously pacing the starting pen on my own, occasionally exchanging nervous banter with other runners. And just like that, we were off.

Ridiculous though it may seem, I was grateful for having done that 10 mile bike ride the previous afternoon, as we had explored the early miles of the course and I had a good idea of where the worst hills were. In short: they were everywhere. To refer to them as rolling hills would be to disguise their aggression - I would call them spiking hills. Incredibly steep climbs often immediately followed by a quad-busting descent, repeated for miles and miles and miles...

Coming off the bridge.

Nonetheless, and like any long run, the early miles disappeared almost without my noticing. Despite being waylaid by a very necessary pit-stop at mile 2 (astounded that I still can't ready myself for a race properly), I was enjoying the vibe, the view and the rhythm enormously. I saw Linds at mile 4 with my watch showing 34 minutes, exactly according to my race plan, and by mile 6 we were tackling the brutal hill up to the Golden Gate Bridge. It's hard to express the immense feeling of running across such an iconic structure. We had biked it just the previous afternoon, but forced to stay on the restrictive bike path at the edge of the bridge. In the race we had half of the roadbed all to ourselves. To run directly under those massive red arches, with the Pacific stretching out on my left and the San Francisco Bay stretching out to my right, was humbling and strangely moving: perhaps because the bridge is so synonymous with SF and I had long thought of it as a symbol of the race, or perhaps because the view and the ocean in particular reminded me just how spectacularly far I was from the daily grind. It really was quite an extraordinary and (if I dare be so lexically unambitious) special moment.

After 1.7 miles out comes a reassuring 1.7 miles back, and around mile nine, back in the city we hit more hills, clinging to the coast with beautiful beaches and coves sneaking into view. I chatted to a Californian called Rob, and between us we discussed the more bizarre of our fellow runners. A lone, short man running a 3:20 pace in bondage gear was hard to miss, as were the surprisingly large number of people running in Vibram FiveFingers, and in a few cases entirely barefoot. Shoe-less running is big in America right now, and probably nowhere more so than in California...

After quite a lot of blocks of residential streets (which in a less consistently beautiful town would probably be the most desirable of real estate) I caught my first glimpse of Golden Gate Park, where Linds and I had our second rendez-vous at 12.5 miles. Dawn had thoroughly broken by now and the day was starting to warm up, so after quite a complicated manoeuvre I rearranged my gear and removed the baselayer, ready to pass it to Linds when I saw her. However, when I did catch a glimpse of her she was on the far side of the street, fast-moving traffic between us. Desperate to ditch the extra weight, I motioned to throw the shirt over the passing cars, but to my great astonishment Linds started running up the street to keep up with me. I slowed a little, but she was adamant that I was to keep going and she would keep up. I know when to do what I'm told, so I did, and she quite comfortably jogged alongside until a break in the traffic allowed her to cross over. With a suitably disgusted face she accepted my sweat-soaked garment, offered words of encouragement and snapped a few photos, before I took off and entered Golden Gate Park. I had ten miles to run before I'd see her again.

Linds manages to chase me and take photos

In SF one can choose to run the full marathon (like a real man) or opt run the first half (hilly, early start, great views) or the second half (less hilly, later start, less impressive views). Fewer than 6000 people ran the full 26.2, with the rest of the crowd made up of halfers. Just before mile 13 the first half runners peeled off to the left, readying their sprint finishes and best smiles for the camera. We who had doomed ourselves to longer mornings continued to the right, and suddenly the crowd was reduced by more than half as we started the extensive tour of Golden Gate Park. A herd of buffalo, botanical gardens, the California Academy of Science and man-made waterfalls are on offer in this amazing urban jungle - I should know, seven miles of the marathon are spent there. I went through halfway in 1:53, still spot-on my race plan. At mile 15 the local Hash House Harriers did their best to hand out free beer, and by rejecting it I must have angered some karmic beer gods, as my watch packed in just as I passed the mile marker. I coaxed it back to life but the timer had reset: from here I would be calculating splits based on the actual time, knowing that I started at 5:52am.

At mile 16 we rejoined the halfers, running parallel to their finishers' chute. Here's a tip if you ever finish a half marathon in the vicinity of people running a full marathon: get the hell out of the way. I'm afraid that I may have been slightly less than polite to those who loitered in my path.

In GG Park, oddly happy.

I went through peaks and troughs of energy as I took my gels. They were very effective, but I craved real food. The gels made me hungrier every time I took one, and I was so overjoyed when I passed a stand handing out orange slices that I almost forgot to take one. Aid stations were getting more frequent, a good trend, though almost all runners were forced to walk or at least slow down through them as water was dispensed in tiny plastic cups, impossible to drink from whilst on the run. I for one was grateful for the walking breaks. Somewhere around here I overtook the formerly-fast guy in bondage gear - whereas earlier he looked proud, confident, but above all fast, now he looked awkward and a little embarrassed, suddenly aware that he was walking, early on a Sunday morning, among thousands of runners, in a pair of leather pants and a dog collar. A sad sight.

At mile 19 we were finally spat out of the park and straight into the oldschool hippie district known as Haight-Ashbury. Sadly 8.30am on a Sunday is not the ideal time to be visiting such a colourful and vibrant neighbourhood, but at least the hills were becoming less severe. Knowing that I would see Linds at mile 22 forced me to maintain my pace and maybe even pick it up a little, and as the morning grew a little older more crowds of supporters appeared, waving some superb and quintessentially American signs: in particular 'I don't even know you, but you're my hero', 'looking for a man with great endurance' and 'why do all the pretty ones run away?' made me smile and lifted my spirits. Linds was waiting at a cheer station at the crest of a hill, well placed to make sure I didn't let the incline beat me. More photos, more crucial encouragement, and a cheerful challenge of a race to the finish. Linds had one final bus to catch if she was to make it there on time, and I still had four miles left to cover.

I could feel the wall approaching. I had a plan though: theorising that all I needed to beat it was a change of pace, I decided that instead of resigning to walking I would sprint. I told myself words like 'fast-twitch muscles' and convinced myself that this was brilliant. Books would be written about 'The Haines Technique' for years to come. I was to be celebrated as a genius.

Of course, it was a terrible idea. My thighs cramped ever so slightly, a warning shot telling me to back off or suffer the consequences. But the change was just enough - I knew I had overcome the first temptation to slow down.

A mile later, as the next wave of exhaustion hit me, an amazing thing happened. Out of nowhere, a tall,  long haired runner in white loped into view, running directly towards me, against the flow of the race. To my astonishment I recognised him as Michael Wardian, one of the world's greatest ultramarathoners: A prolific elite finisher at the Badwater Ultramarathon, Marathon des Sables and Comrades Marathon, among many others. Here. Running directly at me. Fast.

I prepared to get the hell out of his way, but just before the last possible second he pulled up next to a guy and a girl a few feet ahead of me. Michael offered them a cheery, casual greeting and, enthused by his presence, they sped up. The trio took off into the distance, chatting and smiling. It was a very surreal moment, as if some sort of running guardian angel had been sent to carry these two to the finish. I was insanely jealous, not knowing that mine was waiting at mile 25.5.

Things started falling apart, fast. I was still moving at a decent pace but I felt like death - my left foot blistering, hips aching and muscles exhausted. It was awful. At mile 25 I couldn't take any more and dropped down to 'only just running' pace, cursing everything and inconsolably miserable. I knew that the point immediately under the Bay Bridge was the 26 mile marker and I could see it in the near distance, but my sleep-deprived, dehydrated and generally ruined brain couldn't work out how close that was to the finish (yeah, 0.2 miles, duh. It's quite straightforward now). As I rounded the corner and prepared to run around the exterior of AT&T Park, home of the San Francisco Giants, I was really suffering and started frantically removing then discarding unused energy gels in a desperate weight-saving exercise. Even the knowledge that the finish line was really quite close wasn't any consolation.

Then I was spotted. A young, fresh faced Californian shouted the standard American race-supporter's lie at me: 'you're looking great!'. 'No I'm not!' I screamed at him, as my leg finally cramped up and I almost folded double in pain. 'Come on!' he shouted, urging me to run. 'Are you gonna come with me?' I countered sarcastically, furious that he was just standing there, judging me, while I was in so much agony. 'Yeah alright' he replied, and stride for stride we somehow picked up the pace.

The blessed finish

His name was Colin. He was a marathoner. He knew exactly how I felt. He spoke calmly and with good humour as I grunted replies, noticing that he was wearing Converse, carrying two large bags and wearing several layers. As we closed in on the finish he pointed out landmarks and in particular the huge balloon arch which flew over the line itself. He left me to enter the finishing chute alone. I was utterly overwhelmed with gratitude for his half mile of pacing, but he stopped without a word, before I could thank him. He disappeared into the crowd - I never saw him again.

If you're reading this, thank you Colin. You're awesome.

It was over. Linds had beaten me to the finish line, only because I'd been slightly ahead of schedule at mile 22 and she'd been able to catch an earlier bus than planned. There was free beer at that point too, but I still didn't want it. What have I become!? Surreally, I found out my official time (3:49:53) from my Mum, who had got it online back home in Kent and texted it to Linds. She had the result within seconds of me finishing, and I struggled to believe that I had actually beaten not just four hours, but 3:50 as well. I still have to keep checking the website to remind myself it's true.

Very happy and VERY sweaty

That press pass got me back into the VIP area, where I had the opportunity to chat to Michael Wardian and Dane Rauschenberg , another well-known American marathoner. You can read Dane's report of the race and his Charity Chaser Challenge here, and while you're at it check out the rest of his blog too. I finally managed to work out what Michael was doing on his guardian angel mission: he had won the race, then immediately turned around and ran back to find runners who he coached, and then paced them in for a strong finish. Unbelievable. He introduced me to his protégées, one of whom had run an 11 minute PB. I congratulated him, and told the group I had just run a 15 minute PB. Michael joked that I should be coaching him. I'm a little embarrassed to say it, but I may have actually blushed.

So in conclusion, next time you have a big race coming up, perhaps long haul travel, jetlag and lengthy bike rides are the answer to all your race prep needs? That or seven months of devoted training. Probably a bit of both.

Michael Wardian kindly doesn't question
why I've already changed (hint: extreme sweat)

Happy racing.

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 825.79, parkruns: 6, races: 4, miles biked: 78.47, metres swum: 1225