1087 miles: my 2011 in running shoes

What started with a broken promise ended with mixed emotions. I knew that my 2011 in running shoes would be the biggest, toughest and hopefully the most rewarding yet, but I wasn’t ready for how it would finish.

Pivoting on the San Francisco Marathon, all my training, racing and writing was focussed on getting into the best possible shape to run one of the most brutal road marathons in the world. My madly overambitious plans to start with the Lochaber Marathon were sensibly sidelined in favour of the usual crop of half-marathons and parkruns in the first half of the year, including a brilliant weekend in Campbeltown for the MoKRun.

My annual tradition of PB’ing in Alloa despite (or perhaps because of) being violently sick entered its third year, modified only slightly this year by a rather more exciting end to the day. But before both of those was the last-minute slapdash effort at the Meadows ‘Marathon’ in Edinburgh, which of course was only really a half marathon, run over seven laps of the Meadows in Edinburgh.  It may interest you to know that the organisers are planning a full length-marathon for 2012, covering a soul-sucking fourteen lap course (details here). You won’t be seeing me there.

San Francisco loomed large and arrived on my doorstep at the end of July. With the miles in the bank, hills in my legs and a Union Jack on my chest I was ready to run the best race of my life, and was rewarded with a hugely satisfying 3:49 PB. I’ve wasted enough of your time already on eulogising about this incredible race – go back and read it all again if you’re interested.

I came back from the USA with an enormous medal and two more goals on the horizon. My commitment to run the Great North Run for the Alzheimer’s Society, coupled with my wild over-commitment to run it barefoot, made for a superb combination of a world-class event and another tough challenge complete. Two weeks later I toed my final start-line of the year, accompanying the one and only Ben A. Nicholson around the Loch Ness Marathon, to complete my fourth lifetime 26.2.

 It was a good year for meeting heroes. I met round-the-world runner and adventurer Rosie Swale Pope in Campbeltown before the MokRun, then elite ultramarathoner Michael Wardian and prolific marathoner Dane Rauschenberg in San Francisco, and finally world 5,000m champion and British Olympic hopeful Mo Farah in Newcastle before the Great North Run.  If you’re interested, Michael and Dane were the friendliest. Rosie was busy at a book signing but very kind. I think I might have annoyed Mo – he was out for a drink with some mates. Sorry Mo.

Mike Wardian (after winning the SF Marathon)

Mo Farah

I was delighted to publish articles in Runner’s World UK again this year, reviewing the Alloa Half Marathon, the MoKRun and the San Francisco Marathon.  RW has a readership of almost 400,000, which, as I’ve said before, is almost as many people as read this blog (pfft!).  I very much look forward to publishing more in future. It was also a joy to watch this blog's readership grow and diversify - thank you for sharing it as widely as you have, it means a great deal to me.

Perhaps best of all was watching others achieve and succeed. It was a pleasure to run with my brother the day of his wedding, a delight to see that my sister completed her first 10k, an honour to accompany (and eventually be beaten by) Ben Nicholson in his first marathon. I took a Dalmatian and her owner to the top of Arthur’s Seat. I trained with future marathon world champ Megan Crawford, when she slowed down enough for me to keep up. I even coaxed the Crew Chief out on one or two occasions. I ran in Scotland, England, Portugal, California and New York, covering a total of 1087 miles and wearing out two-and-a-half pairs of running shoes. Here are the final stats:

miles run: 1087, parkruns: 6, races: 6, 

miles biked: 159, metres swum: 1225

I had a great year.

Except the hernia bit. That was shit, and still is.  Not long after the Loch Ness Marathon I started experiencing a great deal of pain whilst running.  By early November it had become unbearable, so I hastened to my GP. She thought it was probably a hernia, and ordered a surgical consultation (which still hasn’t happened, by the way).  In the meantime my running has dwindled to almost nothing, and at times it seems genuinely impossible to think that I have trained for and completed two marathons and four half marathons this year, as well as a few hundred miles on the bike. At times, genuinely, I can barely walk.

Swings and roundabouts, eh?

Happy New Year

Dave

2012 to date: miles - 3 (painfully)

Reflections (3:49 and all that)

I’ve done a lot of thinking about SF. So much happened in such a short space of time that it’s taken me a while to get my head around it all, and particularly to contextualise that new PB. On a basic level, cutting such a large amount of time off my personal best in one race is unusual – it would have been much more comprehensible to have taken off 5 or maybe even 10 minutes. 15:31 is a long time when you’re waiting at a finish line.

The main reason I’m struggling to get to grips with that time is mainly that I never allowed myself to believe that it was possible. You might remember that I promised to be ecstatic with anything from 3:48 to 4:04, but a little niggle of doubt never really let me believe that I could run the lower end of that spectrum. I had my fingers burned in both Paris and Brighton, when I became so obsessed with running sub-4 that I almost forgot to enjoy the experience and ended the races a little deflated when I failed to achieve that goal. The marathon became a wily, sneaky adversary which I just couldn’t quite figure out. I allowed myself to believe that my training had been good but mitigating factors had ruined both races, often telling people (albeit truthfully) that I tripped over in Paris and had a chest infection in Brighton*, and that otherwise I would definitely have run sub-4.

I now know that this isn’t true.

The simple fact is that for my first two marathons I was only adequately prepared. Looking back over my running log from those crucial pre-race months I realise that I consistently took the route of least resistance (sometimes literally), setting myself unambitious training schedules and then failing to complete them anyway. SF was different. Perhaps the massive over-commitment of a 12,000 mile round-trip, compounded by the enormous entry fee and contextualised by the knowledge that this was a very, very hilly course made me wake up and smell the fear. On training runs this year I would actively seek out the toughest, hilliest courses Edinburgh had to offer, whereas for Paris and Brighton I meticulously planned the flattest routes I could find. 

For SF I made greater sacrifices of time and energy, pouring my all into training. I spent hours studying course maps, videos, elevation charts, weather patterns and memorising the location of aid stations. I cross-trained and took vitamin supplements and had sports massages and invested in new gear. The result is that seven months of training was focussed completely on success at that course, on that date. I could not have been more ready for SF, and I’m a little embarrassed to think of how relatively unprepared I was for my previous marathons.

All that said, and I’m struggling to type this: I know I can go faster.

Because I was so reluctant to commit to a finish time goal, I only designed a race strategy up to 20 miles, planning to ‘just hang on’ thereafter. I went through 4 miles in 34 minutes, 10 miles just under 1:26, halfway in 1:52 and 20 miles in 2:50, all absolutely according to my carefully-composed plan. But I allowed myself to ‘fly blind’ in the last and most important 6.2 miles, giving me no reason or motivation to reach particular markers at particular times, which also impaired my ability to predict finish times on the run. The result was that I just bargained with myself, struggling lamppost to lamppost on some occasions. If I had decided that I needed to be at 23 miles after 3:16, for example, I’m pretty sure I could have done it. I reckon I might have lost as much as 5 minutes as a result.

Furthermore, remove the long haul travel, jetlag, early start, non-ideal race week and some of the more aggressive hills from the equation, I’m pretty sure I could pick up probably 15 seconds a mile, which is another 6 and a half minutes over the whole thing.  Ecstatic and humbled though I am by 3:49, I guess I’m saying that sub-3:40 is realistic in the not-too-distant future.

Crikey.

Happy running

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 845.28, parkruns: 6, races: 4, miles biked: 78.47, metres swum: 1225

*I really was ill - when I dug out my fuel belt ahead of SF, which I last used in Brighton, I found a Dequacaine tablet in there left over from the race. Dequacaine is a super-strength cough sweet, which more or less gives your throat a local anaesthetic. I think I had it on prescription. What the hell was I thinking running a marathon in that state!?

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

Cleared for take-off

Wonderfully, terribly, thankfully and astoundingly, the San Francisco Marathon is very nearly upon us (me). This will probably be my last post before the race as we’re flying out tomorrow and will be cramming in as much of the city as we possibly can before the main event on Sunday (whilst, obviously, avoiding spending too much time on my feet...). So a very quick round-up of the last few bits and pieces I’ve been doing pre-marathon.

Re-reading all of my running books
If you haven’t already had your life changed by Christopher McDougall’s Born To Run, or had to pick your jaw off the floor at the exploits of Dean Karnazes, then I strongly recommend you give them a read when you next need some running inspiration. However, having ploughed through my (extensive) collection of these and other works,  I’ve promised myself that I’ll read something else in the next few days to let my mind relax a little.

Re-reading my marathon write-ups

I find strange comfort in re-reading the slightly mournful tomes I wrote after Paris 2009 and Brighton 2010. Perhaps it’s reassurance that if I could do it then, I can do it now. What I’m really looking for is an honest appraisal of the pain involved in the latter miles, which I’ve never really produced, too cowardly to write it down in case it puts me off forever. We shall see if this changes this time...

Watching all my favourite running clips on YouTube

There are far too many for me to include here, so I thought I’d just give you one link – this is a trailer for an upcoming feature-length film about the Western States Endurance Run (or Western States 100). I posted a video of this race a while ago but have been frustrated ever since that it didn’t really do the event justice (as I imagine it, anyway!). This one does, watch it right now:

Getting my gear in order

There’s a lot of it. My Union flag running vest (will this be a British record for the slowest marathon ever run in a GB vest?), shorts, cycling shorts, twin skin socks, running shoes with new, more-fun laces, energy belt loaded with gels, long-sleeved t-shirt to wear whilst warming up, gloves for same, sunglasses and back-up versions of everything just in case... Also, inevitably, packing for the rest of the holiday. I hate packing.

Yes, I know I won't be able to read it. 

I'll know it's there, though...

Sorting out insurance

I have worldwide annual travel insurance. It came with my bank account. After much hoo-ha I finally managed to establish that it doesn’t cover marathon running because it’s classed as an ‘event’ and I will be ‘competing’. The mindless drone on the phone was utterly certain that since it isn’t a charity event, it must be a competitive race. My endless protestations that it’s a recreational run and that this is, for want of a better word, my hobby, fell on deaf ears and I was cast aside. I called our travel agent, who was quite happy to provide cover, conversely, as long as it wasn’t a competitive race and I didn’t expect to win. Madness.

Back to the physio

I’ve been having some back and shoulder pain whilst running recently. Nothing debilitating and quite tolerable, but not ideal for a marathon run, so it was back to the physio for a full hour’s sports massage of ultimate megadeath. This is always a good idea and worth it for a pre-race tune-up, as the therapist also worked out the niggling pains in my ankles and freshened up my legs in the process. And of course, it hurt like hell. It feels like she has replaced my neck with someone else's.

A very small amount of running

I am doing my utmost to avoid ‘taper madness’, a condition used to describe runners who panic that their taper weeks are too light and feel like they have to go for long runs, partly as prep for the race itself but perhaps also to define themselves as runners/marathoners. Those who succumb sometimes take themselves out for long runs, tiring their legs before race day and negating all the benefits of the taper. I can’t say I’m desperate to go out for long runs, but I do feel quite compelled to go out and run hard for 10 miles or so of an evening. Must resist.

Stretching

And I mean actually stretching, not just telling people that I do. OK I’ve only been stretching a bit. Alright I’ve stretched properly twice. And by ‘properly’ I mean a bit. A little bit.

...and relaxing
Other than eating, there's not much I can do to influence how my race goes on Sunday. My training is done, I'm reasonably fit and mostly not ill, everything else is up to race-day karma. PB or PW, I'm going to have a great race.

See you on the other side

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 789.29, parkruns: 6, races: 3, miles biked: 68.94, metres swum: 1225

P.S. For post-race updates, I'll post on twitter first, probably around 6pm GMT. Follow me @davidjhaines.

The Blessed Taper

After six months of (quite) dedicated and (mostly) consistent training for the San Francisco Marathon, this week I have finally reached the blessed taper.  Those 27 weeks since January 3rd of gradually increasing mileage and diligently logging training sessions culminated in Saturday’s Last Long Run, a pleasing and relatively fast 20+ miler composed of consecutive 9 and 11 mile loops, briefly stopping off at home in between to enjoy my own personal aid station (wo-)manned by my long-suffering Crew Chief. Despite the heat, humidity and ever-present hills, which I had brutally decided to cover in the latter loop, I finished strong with a smile on my face and clicked off some pretty fast miles. Even accounting for the pit-stops, seemingly endless traffic lights and popping into a running shop to buy an energy gel, I managed to average 8:27 m/m, which, since you’re wondering, would equate to a 3:41 marathon were I able to sustain it for the last six miles.

Click to enlarge.

So now I’ve reached the taper, ready for the gentle cruise down to race day, focusing on stretching, hydrating, relaxing, sleeping and not running very much at all. Sounds great!

However, when still a little fuzzy in the post-run glow, I thought I’d better look up my plan for the taper as I don’t seem to remember what an optimum schedule would look like. I was aghast at what I discovered. Week one of the taper (this current week) is supposed to be 80% of my peak mileage. That means a 16 mile long run at the weekend and some pretty hefty outings on other days. Next week is 60% of the peak mileage, which still equates to a 12 mile long run – actually rather a long way in the real world. Sure, it’s a big reduction, but nothing like the walk in the park I had been picturing... In fact according to the plan I still have 70-80 miles to cover before race day, which is really quite a hefty distance. Sigh.

Then I made another, even more extraordinary discovery. I haven't actually left myself enough time to taper. Instead of leaving three weeks of training plus race week, I mistakenly have just left myself two weeks of training plus race week. Whoops.

But that’s OK. It’s less than three weeks to SF now, which surely means that my rest and relaxation period is right around the corner.

No.

Because, like an arse, I have signed up for the Great North Run just seven weeks after ‘the race even marathoners fear’. Worse still, I seem to have set myself a ridiculous challenge and intend to run it barefoot in aid of the Alzheimer’s Society (FYI, if you haven’t already, now would be a good time to visit my justgiving page, make a donation and remind me why I agreed to this idea...). So it’s ten weeks until I can relax, right?

Wrong.

Two weeks after the GNR I am running the Loch Ness Marathon with my dear friend Mr Ben Nicholson. It will be rather fun, unless of course he’s in a hurry, in which case it might be quite difficult...

I’ve no idea what my training’s going to look like over the next twelve weeks, oddly there don’t appear to be many online training resources designed for people running two marathons and a barefoot half-marathon in the space of nine weeks. Perhaps I should corner the market and write my own? It’s unlikely to be a commercial success but maybe it will attract a cult following.

So 12 weeks. Just three short months and then I can relax properly, ease off the training, try to grow back some of the bits missing from my feet and generally attempt to restore myself to full working order. There’ll be no races in the calendar and I’ll be free to kick back and ignore the pestering of my running shoes. I definitely won’t be spontaneously signing up for anything else. No sir-ee. Not even one.

Probably.

Happy running

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 741.32, parkruns: 6, races: 3, miles biked: 54.38, metres swum: 1225

P.S. I'm starting to panic a little bit.

'Target Marathon pace'

I'm burnt out. Consecutive 40+ mile weeks, compounded by swims, bike miles, tennis and working full time have left me tired and feeling like I'm running on empty. Luckily, with just 3 weeks and 5 days to the San Francisco Marathon, this week is the last big training week before the taper. Right now, it feels like the taper can't come soon enough. I pounded out a quick 10 miles this evening, and before the week's out I'll run two 4 mile max efforts, one 8 mile fast run and 20 miles at the weekend at target marathon pace.

Target marathon pace. So easy to type, so difficult to define...

Because most people can't just run a marathon every day, it's hard to accurately gauge what you're capable of achieving and therefore what pace you should be aiming at. One way is to use a running calculator, like the one available on marathonguide.com. Unfortunately, I pretty much refuse to believe what they've predicted for me based on my half-marathon PB:

Screenshot from marathonguide.com, plus commentary...

3:18! Rubbish. There's absolutely no way I can run that time. 

Judging by my recent runs of 16-18 miles, I could be looking at 8:10 - 8:43 minutes a mile, which would equate to a marathon in 3:34 - 3:48. I would be utterly ecstatic with 3:48. I'd be incredibly happy with 3:59, to be honest. I'd be pleased to run a new PB, ie under 4:05. 

You know what?

I'm going to be happy to finish.

If the hills or the jetlag or the ridiculously early start conspire against me and I run some distinctly average time then who gives a damn? You? Probably not. If you do, I don't care. Me? Not a jot. I'm going to San Francisco, baby! I'm going to run 'the race even marathoners fear'. I'm going to run my third marathon in three years. It will be amazing if I run 3:34 or 4:33. 

I'm going to be very, very happy to finish. After years of fretting about cracking four hours, I can't tell you how much of a relief that is.

Happy running.

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 698.97, parkruns: 6, races: 3, miles biked: 54.38, metres swum: 1225

"Have you ever won a marathon?"

No, no I haven't.

Through my day job, I had the privilege of meeting a young man who had recently been selected for the Scotland squad at this summer's Homeless World Cup in Paris. The competition is an amazing initiative, offering disadvantaged young men the opportunity to travel, represent their country, compete at a high level, and play on a stage which pro and semi-pro recruiters keep an eye on.

I was talking to this chap about his achievement of making the squad, and he asked if I play football. Definitely not, I tell him, I run instead. Oh, what kind of running? he asks. I run marathons and half-marathons, I tell him. Have you ever won a marathon? he asks. 

No, no I haven't.

His logic, in the context of his sport, was sound - why enter if you're not going to win? Who cares about times if you're in twenty-thousandth place? What's a PB really worth anyway?

Everything, obviously. This is the beauty of running. We don't have to win to be winners. The loser hasn't really lost anything. It's between him and the course, for better or worse. But it seems a shame that those of us slightly further from the sharp end of the field only talk in terms of finish times, not positions... This got me thinking about my placings in various races over the last 3-4 years, so here are the highlights:


England Kilomathon 2010 - I made it home in 457th place out of 4186 finishers. This was the world's first kilomathon, so I like to consider my finish position as my world ranking over that distance at that time. I surprised myself that day - I hadn't turned up with a racing mentality but for some reason everything just clicked...

At the Edinburgh Christmas Run last year I finished 4th out of 150 runners in some pretty mad conditions. Despite the fact that this was a fun run and I was dressed in a disintegrating Santa suit, I like to think of this as my best race finish. Full report here.

My 10k effort at the Great Edinburgh Run - not crazy fast by any measure - was good enough for 668th place. This may sound a bit average, but over 10,000 people finished the race so I'm rather happy to have made it home in the top 7%...

I may not be first, or even second...

...but I've yet to finish last.

Just three weeks ago I registered my highest placing ever at a half marathon when I entered the MoKRun down in Campbeltown, finishing in 38th place overall from a field of 260.

My two marathon finishes - 2,761st in Brighton and an almost incomprehensible 16,176th in Paris are quite a long way from winning. But hey, never say never. Will San Francisco be any better? Maybe. The full marathon typically has around 6,000 finishers, so with any luck I'll do better than I did in Paris, at least... But with the challenging course and the cumulative effects of my jetlag and randomly fluctuating training routine, who knows? Maybe a four hour marathon will be good enough for a top-third finish? Or maybe the race attracts the masochists and hill-lovers, who will kick my sorry backside over the Golden Gate Bridge and back...

I have a feeling that if I'm ever going to win a race I'll have to be allowed to choose all the other competitors myself, and probably recruit them all from darts competitions. And make them all wear chain mail running vests. And not tell them the route. Or even where the race starts. And then cheat.

I ran home this evening, on my own. You'll be glad to know I won.

Happy racing


Dave


P.S. Check it out - over 600 miles in 2011, woohoo!

2011 to date - miles: 617.1, parkruns: 6, races: 3, miles biked: 47.44, metres swum: 925

Teetotal

There are six weeks and five days to go before the San Francisco Marathon, which means in five days’ time I start my traditional month and a half of being completely teetotal pre-marathon.  After my brother's stag do this weekend just gone, this seems like a better idea than usual...

Not everyone does this before a marathon, and it’s by no means essential; but it’s become part of my routine and I dearly love the physical and other benefits that sustained sobriety brings. For one, I am guaranteed to never struggle through a session due to a hangover, dehydration or overwhelming post-booze lethargy. I am always available to train. My head is clearer – not just because I avoid being drunk or hungover, but generally clearer than it is when there’s even a little alcohol in my system. 

There are downsides, for sure. I don’t drink a great deal, but it’s not until you give up completely that you realise quite how much alcohol punctuates your life. This was much more obvious when I was a student: very little happens in St Andrews that isn’t in some way pivoted on a couple of drinks, essay writing most definitely included, and as such life without alcohol became a little less amusing. Here in my slightly more grown-up and responsible lifestyle, the same is sort-of true. Your odd glass of wine of an evening, cheeky pint with your mates or a rare binge like the aformentioned stag do are suddenly deleted from your social repetoire. It can be a slightly depressing time.

Put it down, Dave!

But there's a great way to compensate. As soon as I've made the commitment to abstinence, I know the race is looming and I'd better do some serious running. The miles stack up and the endorphin high is more or less continuously topped up. More than that, as soon as I make a firm pledge that if I'm going to forgo a delicious frosty beer of a Saturday afternoon or a crisp glass of Pinot Grigio with my dinner, then I'm definitely going to make the most of it and put in some top class training. But above all, it makes that first cold beer after the race taste even better...

Though all that said, there's five days to go before I lock the liquor cabinet. Pass the corkscrew!

Happy drinking

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 591.98, parkruns: 6, races: 3, miles biked: 47.44, metres swum: 925

Getting serious

10 weeks and 6 days to San Francisco. Time to start getting serious about training then... But first - three other places you could visit for my ramblings and musings:

•  The June issue of Runners’ World UK, page 99, features my report on the Alloa Half Marathon.  Go and buy a copy now!
  
  
• My interview in the latest edition of Adventure Travel News on muchbetteradventures.com, where I divulge more details of my 10-marathons-before-I'm-30 plan than I had intended to...
  
  
• Twitter! I have joined the tweeting masses, you’ll find me as @davidjhaines. I’ve added a twitter-update feed on the right-hand panel of this blog. Follow me – you’ll probably not regret it too much. While we’re at it, you could follow this blog, too. There's a button over there on the right. That would make my day.

So, being serious...

The first of my efforts to ‘get serious’ was yesterday’s long run; a hearty and comfortable 16 miler around north-east Edinburgh, taking in 1072 feet of climbing and descent, as well as a monster headwind and driving rain along the coast. I often forget how privileged I am to run in a city like this, where a couple of hours’ running can take in beautiful Georgian architecture, a yellow-sand beach, medieval cobbled streets, an extinct volcano, a medium-sized sea port, charming Victorian parks and a calm, pretty riverside. Who could complain about wind, rain and aching muscles against a backdrop like that?

In order to properly illustrate the hills involved in SF and explain why I'm going to be ascending Arthur's Seat (the aforementioned volcano) several times a week for the next 10 weeks, below is a graph illustrating the elevation change of the SF Marathon, with some excellent anecdotes... This image is courtesy of Ben Clark's blog, Proclivity for Hyperbole - go check it out and tell him I sent you. Ben's training for SF too, see you there!

Click to view a larger version (worth it)

All humour aside, I need to take those hills and those miles seriously. Sunday's 16 hilly miles caused no major problem. Adding another 10.2 might, though, so here's my long run plan:

First I’ll be consolidating and strengthening my 13-16 mile runs. I’ll put in another 16 miler this Saturday, followed by probably a long bike ride on the Sunday along and around the Edinburgh Marathon course to support a few friends. Then I’ve got the Mull of Kintyre Half Marathon coming up in two weeks, which I’ll run at a roughly medium-effort pace, aiming to finish in something around 1:40 (look out for the Runners’ World review in a couple of months!). The week after that I’ll be aiming for another 16-miler.

Then a weekend ‘off’ for a stag-do (probably still going to do 10 miles or so), before launching back in the following week, ramping up to 16, 18, 18, then 20 miles in the four Sundays from 19 June. That leaves me two Sundays before the main event in SF, which will be for easy runs of 10-13 miles or so. Possibly incorporating the Milton Keynes half, still thinking about that one... That 20 miler 3 weeks out will be my longest run before the marathon, which hopefully will be enough to carry me through on race day.

Basically I'm back in long run season. Goodbye weekends, farewell alcohol, see you later lazy lie-in. But here come major endorphins, huge mileage and thighs of steel. It's a fair trade...

Happy running

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 467.79, parkruns: 6, races: 2, miles biked: 20.07, metres swum: 675

I love a good training plan

‘How many miles do you run a week?’ is a question I am asked literally no times a day, though I am prepared for it as if Her Majesty's Secret Service might one day bundle me in to a van and demand a breakdown of my weekly mileage. The short answer for last year was ’20-25’, cheerfully ignoring the many weeks in which I did much less that. The long answer is that it varies, hugely, and hopefully in 2011 will be a lot, lot higher.

The main thing that affects my mileage is whether or not I'm building up to a big race – when I’ve got a marathon in the pipeline I become a slave to the spreadsheet, carefully planning how many miles I should cover in particular weeks, what distance my long run should be, and the frequency and variation of my other runs. 

Right now I’m in week three of a monster 29-week plan leading up to the San Francisco marathon. Most marathon training plans are 12 or 16 weeks, and are designed by professionals. This one covers seven months, and was designed by Dave. 

The weekly mileage projection peaks and troughs due to the short tapering sessions I’ve allowed myself for my other planned races in the period, but basically started two weeks ago with a 22 mile week, dictates that I should run 29 in this current week, and tops out at the start of July with a frankly terrifying 50-mile week, including a 22-mile long run. It covers a total of well over a thousand miles, and suggests that I’ll beat last year’s total distance by the third week of June this year. When completed I'll have thighs of steel, chiselled calves, wrecked feet, five more medals and hopefully a couple of new PBs. It - will - be - awesome.

But.

Like all runners - from first time 5k-plodders to elite and extreme superhumans, my training won't go entirely to plan. I'll get ill, I'll get injured. I'll be grumpy or fed up or busy. I'll decide not to enter one or two races, and training will change accordingly. I'll probably have to write off a few days after Nick's stag-do, and doubtless there'll be other weekends when I have a few too many glasses of wine. Basically, it will go wrong one way or another, to a greater or lesser extent, and for once I've accepted that from the get-go. Hopefully this means I'll be able to deal with setbacks better than in previous years...

Tony before his world record run

And if I thought I had made my plans with a hefty dose of realism and a side of pessimism, try this for size - on a recent Marathon Talk podcast, Tony Audenshaw (an Emmerdale actor who also holds the Guinness World Record for fastest marathon dressed as a baby - 3:13:30 at London 2010) divided his marathon training schedule into four distinct phases: 

"Running when I feel unfit, then running when I feel relatively fit, then getting sick of running with my fitness hitting a plateau, and finally getting ill, injured, or going on holiday at the wrong time, leading to a below par race." 

This from a 47 year-old bloke who regularly runs sub-3:20 marathons! What hope do the rest of us have?

What all this boils down to is that I'm going to aim to run an awful lot of miles, and if I manage even the majority of them I'll count myself lucky and in good shape to tackle SF. I'll let you know how I get on.

Happy training!

Dave

P.S. Haven't had a guest blogpost in a while - any takers?

How to spectacularly break a promise to your girlfriend

Dave: Linds, I've been thinking.

Linds: Makes a change.

Dave: Instead of running lots of races next year, which cost a bit to enter and also have travel costs, 'require' new kit, and generally involve spending lots of money, I'm only going to enter one big race instead.

Linds: Oh. How [yawn] interesting.

Dave: Oh indeed. And I think we should go to the USA and I'll run a race there as part of a longer holiday. I'll use the money I save by not racing to help pay for the trip and all will be fine and dandy.

Linds: Oh! How actually interesting! A big exciting holiday to America, hooray! And no other races for me to graciously pretend to be interested in! Hooray Hooray!

Dave: Hooray Hooray indeed.

Here follows my 2011 race calendar. You'll notice it has slightly more than one race in it...

I reckon designing a good race calendar involves finding the right balance between racing to ordinary life, allowing enough time for training and recovery, a spot of travel, a contrast between big-city pazzazz and rural idyll, and ensuring that I end up with an eclectic collection of commemorative tat and freebie T-shirts by the end of the year. A mix of distances, terrains, locations, types, topography and style. A blend of races that are free to enter and round the corner, races that are the other side of the world and cost the earth, and those which fill the enormous gap in between. Races, in short, which keep things interesting.

I've been making these plans for a while, and I still haven't gotten round to registering for any of them except SF, but here is my tentative schedule for 2011:

March - Alloa Half Marathon (Clackmannanshire, Scotland). This will be my third year running Alloa, a professionally-organised 13.1 mile road race usually entered by around a thousand people. More of a serious club runners' outing than a fun runners' jaunt, but a good show all round and at £17 a bargain. This is where I set my half-marathon PB of 1:37:03.

April - Lochaber Marathon (near Fort William, Scotland). This is probably the least finalised of all my plans, as running a full-length marathon should really involve a bit more commitment and planning than I've put into this idea so far... But, seduced as ever by the prospect of entering a race that friends are running, this is a definite prospect as a warm-up marathon. Warm-up marathon, I know. Who even am I? Lochaber's race typically has a few hundred entrants, and follows an out-and-back course along the banks of Loch Eil.

May - Edinburgh Half Marathon (Edinburgh, Scotland). Part of the audaciously self-styled 'Edinburgh Marathon Festival', I've run the relay part of this event for the last three years. I find quite a lot lacking in certain aspects of the Edinburgh Marathon and its spin-off races, so I really should vote with my feet and give it a miss, but I can't quite bring myself to ignore a major race going on in my home town... So I've chosen the half this year, all being well.

June - Seven Hills of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, Scotland). A madcap race that's part orienteering, part hillwalking, part running, part guesswork and completely hills. Starting from Calton Hill in Edinburgh, racers have to summit each of the city's seven hills in the correct order, which is verified by having your race number time-stamped by a marshal at each checkpoint, before slogging back up Calton Hill to finish. There is no prescribed route, the roads remain open and more or less anything goes. Accepted wisdom suggests that it covers about 14 miles and a total ascent/descent of 2200 feet. 

July - San Francisco Marathon (California, USA). The jewel in the crown of my race calendar, and the 'one big race' alluded to in the convincing scene laid out at the start of this post (also the only one I've actually registered for so far). 26.2 miles of staggering scenery and rolling hills. Starting with a few miles along the Embarcadero, then over the Golden Gate Bridge and back, the course then loops into central SF taking in parkland and some pretty funky hills. So funky, in fact, that the Wall Street Journal dubbed this 'the race even marathoners fear'. The race's own tag line is 'Worth the Hurt'! I'm running this race during a two-week holiday to California and New York that Linds and I are taking in July/August, and if I get enough hill training in and get some proper speedwork done I hope to run a very strong time here. Running a marathon is a staggering achievement, running a second and racking up a PB is a proud moment, but running a truly strong time in the race even marathoners fear will be worth the hurt. 

September - Great North Run (Newcastle, England). A hugely tentative proposition - entry to this incredible half marathon is by an extremely competitive ballot (I've been rejected twice already), or alternatively by getting hold of a charity place, which I'm hesitant to do. With 54,000 runners the GNR is one of the biggest races on the planet, with a fast course, incredible support and live TV coverage. It's one of my ultimate aspirational races - I'll get a place one day...

October - Dublin Marathon (Dublin, Republic of Ireland). I have unfinished business with this marathon. And I've heard rumours that certain guest bloggers are keen to tackle Ireland's biggest 26.2...

On top of this lot will probably be quite a few parkruns and any other free stuff I can sneak into. What are your plans for 2011? Want to join in any of these? Let me know!

Here's to an epic year. Happy running!

Dave

P.S. Sorry Linds. Love you.