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 

The Ballad of Barefoot Dave - part three

I have had blisters before. I am a runner, it comes with the territory. I’ve had huge, bulbous ones on the balls of my feet, weird tiny ones underneath my toes, nasty blood-filled ones on my insteps and bizarre pointy ones on my big and smallest toes. I’ve got rather good at managing them; I lance them without a thought, drain the nasty fluids as a matter of course and clean them up, tape them down and generally keep my feet in as good a condition as possible given the circumstances. In fact I’m so good at managing them that I almost look forward to getting them.

Until I started the barefoot challenge, which is now just ten days away...

It wasn’t until I started running barefoot that I learnt the true misery of having blisters on my heels. Huge, deep and angry blisters, sitting proud of the wide, fleshy part of the underside of both heels, slightly towards the outside and unbelievably uncomfortable. I first felt them developing on a short, 4 mile barefoot run in the Vibrams, when I thought I had a pebble lodged under my left foot. When I peeled the Vibrams off, there was no pebble. And in places, no heel either. I don’t know what Trench Foot looks like, but I suspect it’s not dissimilar to what’s currently brewing at the bottom of my legs.

In a cruel twist of fate, the barefoot adventure is otherwise going rather well. The enormous strain on my calves is reducing, and I’m very quickly improving my speed as a result. If it weren’t for the blisters, my confidence levels for Barefoot Dave’s Great North Run would be sky-high. As it is I am getting increasingly afraid...

That said, I have to admit: I am loving this challenge. It feels like I’m revisiting the early part of my running journey, learning loads and improving relatively quickly. Everything is new again and yet strangely familiar. It’s like wandering around a house you used to live in. However, I can guarantee that there’ll be no PB chalked up in South Shields. I can just about manage to maintain 9 minute miles in the Vibrams, which means there is a real chance that I might not even break two hours. And looking at these blisters, I should probably call myself lucky to finish at all.

Once the main trial in Newcastle is over, I’ll definitely be reducing my barefoot road mileage, as the strain is really too much for me at the moment and probably isn’t helping my long-term racing prospects. I was struck by this thought on my latest barefoot jaunt. I am fortunate in that I can easily remove the aggravating factor in my life and return to comfort and normality. This brings into sharp relief the fact that the opposite is true for sufferers of Alzheimer’s Disease. Whose suffering is daily, degenerative and incurable. Whose only hope for relief is high quality care for themselves and support for their loved ones. Who have no escape from the aggravating factor of their lives.

I am humbled and delighted that so many of you have put your hands in your pockets for this cause (even though most have come with an impressive supply of abuse). If you haven't already, please help me make a small difference to a big problem.  Donate even a few pounds online at www.justgiving.com/barefootdave

Thank you.

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 907.78, parkruns: 6, races: 4, miles biked: 83.24, metres swum: 1225