Race Report - Rock n Roll Edinburgh Half Marathon 2013

The problem with racing – and writing about racing – is that sometimes the thing which colours your experience and memory of the event is something entirely out of the organisers’ control. This year’s Rock n Roll Edinburgh Half Marathon was one of those events, and the thing was weather.

When I ran the Mokrun back in 2011 more or less the entire field of a few hundred hardy souls huddled for shelter in a flimsy marquee mere minutes before the off, sheltering from the howling wind and torrential rain that were relentlessly buffeting the small town.  Miraculously, at the last possible minute the rain stopped and the wind dropped just enough to lift our spirits and set an optimistic tone. It was a wonderful moment.

I thought the same was about to happen in Edinburgh yesterday when a rainbow formed above Holyrood Park, a beacon of hope inside a thrashing storm of bullet rain and monstrous wind. For the last hour the circle of vendors’ marquees that formed the event village had become a parade of shelters for runners desperately hoping for some respite from the grim weather, but as the announcer gamely insisted that the weather was cheering up a bit and that the race would start in mere minutes, we put on our brave faces and headed for our pens.

When I registered for this race, I hadn’t really considered that it was a week out from the VLM and that therefore it would be ridiculous to chase a fast time. I had madly stuck myself in pen two, aiming for sub 1:40. This would have put me just behind the elites, and a couple of pens ahead of Neil ‘4:33’ Gray who was racing his first half marathon. Realising the absurdity of this plan and its potential impact on my pacing duties at VLM, I decided it would be better for my mental and physical well-being to stick with the pacer running the equivalent of my VLM target – i.e. a 2:15 HM. My self-imposed relegation involved an awfully long walk down Queen’s Drive from pen two to pen nine.

The rain continued.

Staggered pen starts – mildly delayed by the weather, apparently – sensibly got the race off to a well-moderated tempo. My pacer carried an enormous blue helium balloon, which flailed around wildly in the huge wind and repeatedly bopped runners within a 4ft radius until he shortened its string to just a couple of inches. The rain hammered loudly on its surface and the wind swung it back and forward. We exchanged conciliatory words at the absurdity of it all.

My knees started bothering me almost immediately, and the pain in one or both would be a constant feature of the race. But the gentle pace and cheery company at this end of the field made for an otherwise good experience physically – in fact I was feeling incredibly fit and well, restrained only by the foul mess I’ve somehow made of my knees. My silent mantras became increasingly profane.

The route of this event should be a major draw for everyone – it is probably the best running race ever designed in Edinburgh. The first few miles loosely copy the Edinburgh marathon: through Holyrood, around Meadowbank and then out towards Portobello prom. But whereas the Edinburgh marathon then winds its way through tediously distant parts of East Lothian, the RnR half does justice to its location and folds back into the city, via Duddingston and then into the city centre – Cowgate, Grassmarket, Meadows, George IV bridge, the Mound, Market Street and the Royal Mile. Regrettably this does create an unfortunate moment where, after 8 miles, you can see the finish line but are cruelly directed uphill and away from it, but otherwise is the kind of ambitious and impressive course that the city deserves.

The rain continued.

The RnR brand is about mixing music and running, but in Edinburgh this year it was about mixing music and running and weather. The bands playing to us throughout the route – perhaps five live acts and two or three DJs – did their best to rock out despite the conditions, but those unlucky enough to be playing on stages facing the horizontal rain seemed understandably lacking in vigour. Nonetheless, the turnout of runners included some impressive facial hair, a plethora of Elvis and Freddie Mercury tributes, and a full wardrobe of tatty band T-shirts. Some of them were even pretty decent runners, too…

I hauled myself around the course, stubbornly keeping level or slightly ahead of my friend with the blue balloon, who did a fantastic job of maintaining his pace even up significant gradients and down promising descents. He also offered cheery advice to the nervous newbies around us, and I think I learnt a thing or two from him that I’ll be applying at the VLM. For a few brief moments I even forgot how much my knees hurt.

Great medals (2012 top, 2013 bottom)

I lumbered across the finish with 2:11 on my watch, slightly ahead of my 2:15 goal – the result of doggedly following the pacer who sped up a fair bit in the last two miles. As I slowed to a walk my right knee immediately locked and I wrenched off the tubigrip that was holding it, which luckily did the trick and let me walk normally again. A huge medal, water, banana, haribo and crisps were gratefully received, but I heard over the tannoy that there were some issues with bag check.

The rain continued, and the wind picked up.

I wandered into the event village, gawping at the enormous queues stretched in every direction. Neil, in the middle of one of them, called me over, a note of confused desperation in his voice. He had finished 30 minutes before me and was not even halfway to the front of the line to retrieve our bags. A similarly massive queue stretched to the tent containing goody-bags and T-shirts. Many runners huddled in foil wraps but I couldn’t find anyone distributing them, so I shivered in my wet gear and bare legs. The queue inched forwards.

After eighteen months of queueing (or thereabouts) we reached the front and some Scouts cheerfully took our numbers and gamely maintained their beaming Scoutly expressions as they fetched our bags. We threw on some clothes to protect us from the force 9 hurricane that was tearing through the village, and decided not to bother with the 40-mile tailback queue for T-shirts. In the classic post-race hobble, we gingerly walked back to the car, stopping only to chat to fellow runners who were incredulous or angry about the bag/T-shirt situations. Eventually we folded ourselves into Neil’s car and set the heaters for ‘surface of the sun’.

Unbelievably, the rain stopped.

Overall, this is a great event that was badly damaged by the weather and the organisers’ reaction to it. The finish area management was not up to scratch, perhaps because contingencies had to be enacted to deal with the high winds or due to a lack of staff. Either way, it was a sad end to a positive experience. No bands were playing on the main stage in the event village as Neil and I scurried back into the city, perhaps because the rain was lashing a lot of electrical equipment, and one side of the stage was flapping wildly in the wind.

I mean there’s Rock n Roll, and there’s downright unpleasant.

Happy running,

Dave

P.S. Oh go on then, as if I wouldn’t mention it. Neil ran a cracking debut half-marathon in 1:44:44, which is much more representative of his general athletic ability than that marathon debut of his which I definitely won’t mention again.

P.P.S. It was 4:33.

2013 to date: miles run - 389.04, races: 2, parkruns: 1, miles biked: 18, metres swum: 500

I am not a runner

Some months ago I heard a rumour that lifelong non-runner Rachel Fox Barber had signed up to the Bath Half Marathon, raising money for the Alzheimer’s Society. Suspicious and confused by this fundamental shift in the natural order of things, I asked her to write something about the experience. The following - rather humbling - account is very much in her own words.

I am not a runner.

I don’t think that pain is a good thing, I’m not fussed about PBs and I believe endorphins are a corporate conspiracy dreamed up by the sales team at Fitness First.

Yet at just after 11 in the morning on a freezing cold Sunday at the start of March, with a meagre 85 unenthused training miles behind me, I found myself whispering a prayer to Jesus as I crossed the start line of the Bath Half Marathon 2013.

Starting out felt like checking my bag to make sure I’d got my keys. Was I okay? Was anything hurting yet? Had my little timer chip thingy fallen off my shoe? I was so busy worrying and taking in my bizarre surroundings of determined athletes and cheering spectators that it was a surprise to see that first mile marker as my friend Alex told me we’d covered it in 11 minutes. 11 minutes! I’d been running just over 12 minute miles at best in training. But we kept going and got through mile two in 10 minutes 45.
 

Looking pretty happy about being in a race.

Somewhere in mile four, we got lapped by the elite runners – you know, the superhuman ones who can run for days without breaking a sweat. I mentally greeted each of them with a disgruntled “show off!” as they merrily sprinted by on their second lap. Alex and I, and my fiancé Matt, carried on at a slightly steadier pace, entertaining ourselves by discussing the next Star Wars movie (I didn’t have a lot to add to this), worrying about chafing (or to this, thank goodness) and pointing out every single giant boob carried by the Coppafeel runners (yeah, this was mostly me).

After the eight mile mark, it all started to get slightly too much. My longest training run had been eight miles, so passing that marker on race day was entering unknown territory. Through the next few miles, I’d had enough. I was stopping and starting, my legs were aching, I was finding it difficult to breathe, which was pretty scary as it hadn’t really been an issue before, and I was hating the whole experience. Those happy, cheering people were starting to get on my nerves – in no other situation but sport is it okay to yell at strangers – and I was convinced that my view of running as the most ridiculous of endeavours had been right all along.

But once I’d got past the 12 mile mark and was onto the home stretch, it got so much better. My legs killed and I was super tired, but I was so close! I had to make myself keep running until I turned the corner and could see the finish line – from then, it was easy.

Obviously, I had a little cry. That’s code for basically dissolving into a sweaty, sobbing flood of girl tears as I crossed the finish line. I’d done it! Just like that. 13.1 miles in a vaguely respectable (well, I wasn’t last) 2 hours 38 minutes. A nice boy from the cadets gave me a medal before I went in search of a cup of tea and some chocolate.


Alex, Matt and Rach

Since I was asked to write for this blog, I’ve been thinking about how I’d finish that sentence: ‘I run because…’, and partially, it was an experiment. I’d heard so much about why it was brilliant, how my life would be enriched, how good it would make me feel, and oh my goodness, the running, I figured I should try it out for myself. My findings? Well, I’m sorry to tell you, I still don’t really get it. It’s hard! You have to go outside! I’d much rather whack Strictly Come Dancersize on the telly and prance around the living room to Elton John’s I’m Still Standing.

Tell you what though, I don’t think I was quite prepared for how much I’d like – actually like! – the race day itself. I’ve gone along as a spectator before, but being part of the thing, having all those strangers willing me to finish, high-fiving excited little kids and trying to remember to run not dance past the steel bands was kind of brilliant. That’s not the sort of thing you forget in a hurry, and I’m glad to have been part of that, just the once.

But there’s a bigger reason that that. I don’t run for the thrill of the race, I don’t run because I want to go faster or beat a certain time and I don’t run because of how it makes me feel. When someone you care about is so far along Dementia Lane that seeing him be able to blow out the candles on his birthday cake seems like a miracle, it makes you feel pretty helpless. I ran the Bath Half in an Alzheimer’s Society t-shirt, along with a hundred or so others, all running for ‘Grandma’ or ‘Dad’ or ‘my lovely mother-in-law’. I ran because of my grandad, Phil, who turned 86 on 24 February with all his family around him and had no idea about any of it. So raising a grand for a cracking cause by doing something I hate seems as worthwhile as anything else. That’s why I run, and if you asked me if it was worth it, I would tell you unequivocally yes. Will I be doing it again?

Probably not.


I think you’ll be back. Congrats Rach, fantastic achievement.

Happy running

Dave

2013 to date: miles run - 238.44, races: 1, parkruns: 1, miles biked: 3

Time may change me...

…but I can’t change time. And this is getting to be a problem.

I have trained for marathons before – some seasons much more diligently than others. But until the current fear-filled VLM/Wall Run combo I haven’t ever attempted to string together quality, consistent high-mileage weeks, and it is taking its toll.

In training terms, it’s going well. I am getting stronger and faster, recovering more quickly and even sometimes feeling like I could manage two good sessions in a day. But the timetabling of these training sessions is turning into a major headache.

I am training five times a week, running around 15-20 miles across Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, then doing two long-ish runs on the weekend. As the runs get longer my need to squeeze every possible ounce of training value out of my free time is becoming more intense. For example, I simply cannot fit a run of more than five miles into my lunch hour, unless I forgo one of: showering, changing, or actually eating lunch. More than once it’s the food that’s lost out. I have the luxury of a gym on hand at work and have been using the dreadmill for some of the shorter lunchtime runs, as this saves the navigation/traffic light/distraction time involved in a proper run, but this results in such a sweatfest that I spend what feels like even more time trying to make myself presentable to get back to the office.

In the evenings I have to balance the cold, the available daylight, my ridiculously high standards of designing interesting routes and other commitments. Oh yeah, other commitments. Like seeing my wife and eating food.

Oh and I’ve got a job as well, did I mention that?

And this blog to write! Humbug.

Plus sometimes I drink intoxicating beverages and this makes running much trickier.

You’re thinking that I should get up early and run before work. This is because you’ve never seen me in the mornings. So forget that – I just can’t do it.

At the weekends things are somehow more difficult. This weekend coming I’m planning 16 miles on Saturday morning and another 8 or 9 on Sunday morning. I regularly start these runs at hours that mean I’m having breakfast at a time beginning with 7. Soon it will have to be 6. At the weekend! Invariably, when I finish a long run: broken, exhausted, inspired and elated, I dash off almost immediately post-shower to meet someone, be somewhere, do something, or perhaps get on a plane or train or back in the car.

There seems to be no let up, no wiggle room and I confess that I am struggling to keep all the plates spinning. I often get to the end of the week, look smugly at my mileage total that I’ve diligently logged in the diary, then morosely look ahead to all the empty weeks stretching out until these two monstrous racing commitments are done. What kind of moron would design himself such a punishing schedule?

All that, and my mileage is due to almost double in the next two months.

Two things keep me going. One is my enormous commitments to my main races this year. Between the honour of pacing duties at the VLM and the gentlemanly bond we have entered into over the Wall, there’s no way I can let training slide. The other is the classic maxim, applicable to many parts of life, that ‘somewhere, right now, someone busier than you is out for a run’.

And I’m off to catch him.

Happy running

Dave

2013 to date: miles run - 208.4, races: 1, parkruns: 1, miles biked: 3

Race Report - Tunbridge Wells Half Marathon 2013

Sitting in an airside bar in Edinburgh airport on Friday night, nursing a pint of Deuchars as I waited for an increasingly-delayed miseryJet flight to Gatwick, my phone picked up an email from the organisers of the Lifestyle Renault Tunbridge Wells Half Marathon.

 “Important!! Information re: 2013 Tunbridge Wells Half Marathon” screamed the subject line,  followed immediately by ‘Weather Information!’ in large letters. My heart sank. Last year, after a lengthy drive, I picked up a similar email apologising for the weather-related cancellation of the Hadrian’s Wall Half, and I worried that this weekend was about to go the same way. Communications from the organisers earlier in the week had been bleak: beware snow, beware ice, beware wind, beware a ‘feels like’ temperature of minus ten. Generally don’t get your hopes up.

The race is intimidating enough as it is – the pre-race hill murmuring is among the loudest I’ve encountered, but unlike so many other races, it is justified here. The profile is brutal, with some considerable rolling hills leading to the infamous Spring Hill climb after 6 or 7 miles. Between the weather warnings and the course itself, coupled with the Team Cornwall Half Marathon Smackdown (a competition entirely of my own invention whose protagonists remained blissfully ignorant of their participation) being staged at this race, I was getting a little edgy.

Cold already. Still indoors.

But Saturday came and went, and only little flurries of snow and biting cold punctuated an otherwise unremarkable weather day. No blizzards, no gales, no floods, no famine, no pestilence or plague. Looks like the race is on. Blast.

I spent the weekend at my parents’ house in Sevenoaks, about a 25 minute drive from the start line in Tunbridge Wells. My brother Nick (notorious teacher of maths) was racing too and so we had the morning to swap notes and safety pins before Mum drove us to the race. It was bitterly cold. Even with leggings, a base layer, shorts, vest, hat and gloves I was shivering a little. The sooner this race got underway the better…

Once through the traffic and at Race HQ we fell into the familiar pattern, and after catching up with Matt ‘Bathmat’ Pritchard, preparing for his first race, first half marathon and also first 21 mile run (more anon), we worked our way through the portaloos, bag check, T-shirt pick-up, portaloos, start pens and portaloos in time for the off.  The start-line announcer had been given three things to say: that two of today’s runners had run the first ever TW ½ in 1983, that this was the 30th anniversary of the race, and that the mayor was firing the starter’s pistol. Not wanting to mess with success, he told us these things quite a lot of times. But no matter – clearly he got his message across as I remember them all. Kudos.

Nick and I started together, arbitrarily a few metres behind the 1:50 pacers, and immediately lost then found each other half a dozen times as we weaved around slower runners. The route takes in some major roads where one lane was closed for our use (more than enough), and a number of smart, quiet residential areas where the roads didn’t appear formally closed but were totally devoid of traffic and a joy to run on. A couple of miles into the race the views started to unfold from behind buildings – rolling hills, red brick cottages and verdant green farms that make you feel like spending the rest of your life in rural Kent. Bliss. Apart from the cold.

Nick caught me for the umpteenth time and we swapped positions as he edged a few metres ahead. We were averaging around 8 minutes a mile, comfortable but not easy off my slow training regime, and at around mile 3 he surged off into the distance. I let him go, already practising my gracious loser face at the Team Cornwall Half Marathon Smackdown press conference. Moments later I had a tap on the shoulder. The tall, broad and devastatingly handsome figure of Chris ‘These guys call me Steve’ Stevens was bearing down on me at an impressive clip. Nick and I had failed to find him at the start line but he bumped into Matt, who told him what we were wearing so he could track us down. Chris had put in some very fast miles to catch us and I was grateful for the effort.

I pointed out Nick - now maybe 15-20 metres ahead - and Chris and I silently fell into step and stuck together for a little while. When Nick veered off the road for a pit-stop in a field (evidently not having visited the portaloos enough times), Chris and I cruised past him, slightly smug. Nick caught us again, and we ran together for a few more miles in a vaguely social peloton, the silence only broken by Nick shouting things at us over the huge volume of his headphones. Our fellow runners were particularly startled when Nick took a cup of water, and finding it inconvenient to drink on the run, bellowed “THIS IS DIFFICUUUULT!!!” at such a volume that I can’t think of an adequately surreal simile to describe it. Racing without headphones (as I always do these days) I advised him to turn his music down a touch.

Nick, me and Chris in a rubbish peloton.
With apologies to SportCam.

Apart from being served in the difficult cups rather than bottles, the water stations and other marshall/volunteer roles in this race are carried out in a wonderfully good-natured and professional way. A lot of bigger, for-profit races could learn from this event. Even the police seemed to be having a jolly time.

Winding past more picturesque corners of the countryside; ivy-covered cottages and stone hump-backed bridges and rolling fields and I think even a petrol station with a thatched roof, we came upon the infamous Spring Hill. Being the only one in our peloton with much hill training in my legs I eased into the front, got my head down and started overtaking. It really is a beast of a hill, probably more than a mile long and steep enough to make a lot of runners resign to walking, this less than halfway through the race. I didn’t look up until I was sure it was over. Even then I only peeked. There were more hills to come.

Emerging from the hill-trance with screaming quads but having made up a hundred places or so, I discovered that Nick had been on my shoulder the whole time, but we had lost Chris on the climb. Nick and I ran in step for the next few miles, slowed only by icy winds and occasional snow flurries. The crowd support through the villages was quite amazing given the weather, and some brave and foolhardy souls had even pitched up in the remotest corners of the course. It’s always such a joy to see so much local support for these events, handing out sweets and high-fives. One small boy clearly hadn’t managed to keep control of his jellybaby offerings, as the road was strewn with hundreds of jelly casualties, gradually being trampled underfoot in a tragicomic reminder of the transience of the humble jellybaby’s existence. I felt better by comparison.

My lungs were burning with the cold, my left shin, calf and knee were sore and a fresh crop of blisters were maturing on my insteps, but the end was nearing as Nick and I picked up the pace. Things were going well – there would be a joint winner in this year’s Team Cornwall Half Marathon Smackdown. Until, that is, somewhere between miles 11 and 12, I noticed that I had lost Nick. I slowed to let him catch up, but he claimed to be (and also looked) totally spent and told me to go on. I briefly protested but to prove his point he slowed down even further. With plenty of bounce left in my legs and no more than a mile and a half to the finish, I put the hammer down and really went for it, arms pumping, legs turning over in rapid, long bounds (or so they felt) and streaming past runners who had run a more even race. The last half a mile or so afforded runners little more than a cycle-path in width so as to allow the traffic to flow again, which limited my overtaking capacity, but no matter. Before long I lurched over the line to take the First Annual Team Cornwall Half Marathon Smackdown trophy, and also a beautiful medal presented to me by Team GB Paralympic footballer Alistair Heselton, whose congratulations were probably the most sincere I have ever heard from someone doing such a lengthy and repetitive job. Thanks Alistair, it meant a lot.

Nick finished one minute and ten seconds later, Chris followed two minutes behind him. We reconvened and started the obligatory process of swapping war stories and demolishing anything edible in our goody bags, including the peculiar non-alcoholic beer. Matt phoned Chris about ten minutes later, presumably to say he’d finished, but Chris missed the call and we could only guess. Matt, Chris and absent-Ed are running the Barcelona Marathon on March 17th, and Matt decided to use the TW ½ as his last long run. So he finished the race in 1:57:40 for a debut PB, collected his medal, ate as much as he could fit in his face, then ran another eight miles, still wearing his race number and with a medal in his pocket. What a legend. We bumped into Ed’s brother Mark, who had also run a debut half at TW in preparation for the Silverstone half…which is this week. An unusual training plan for sure, but nice to catch up!

As we left the race HQ, runners still finishing with 2:40 on the clock, it started snowing again as if to really confirm that it was very cold indeed. We took the hint and went home for Sunday lunch and an afternoon in the pub.

Congrats and thanks to Tunbridge Wells Harriers for putting on such a well-managed event, high-fives to Nick and Chris for their silver and bronze medals in the Team Cornwall Half Marathon Smackdown, but frankly I reserve my greatest respect for Matt – there could not have been a more hilly, cold and challenging environment in which to run one’s first 20+ mile effort, and even then with the enormous and quite reasonable temptation of stopping after 13.1. High ten to you, sir.

Happy running,

Dave

2013 to date: miles run - 197.23, races: 1, parkruns: 1, miles biked: 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

The Wall Run - assembling the team

Some months ago, the seeds of an idea planted in June 2012 germinated into a little seedling of a thought, which sprouted rapidly into a massive hairy triffid of a plan that wrenched itself free and ran off into the distance. Quite a long way into the distance, as it happens.

That idea was that I should enter The Wall Run, and it started while Ben and I weren't running the Hadrian's Wall half marathon last year. Years ago I decided that my running strengths lay in going further, not faster, and now five marathons later it's time for a new challenge.

But running 69 miles from Carlisle to Newcastle on my own was too daunting, too alien, too alone.

Quickly and inexplicably I recruited two partners in crime: Ben and Alex. Both are men of fine running pedigree whose only failing is being highly impressionable. I once made Alex come out for a run by threatening to call him 'The Paunch' for one month. I can't think of an equivalent anecdote for Ben but the same principle applies. They were both chomping at the bit to get themselves into the challenge.

Thinking that three was a non-ideal squad size, I planted the idea in Neil's head. He's run a marathon recently and is usually up for a challenge. I was certain that he'd be in. Our four-man team was complete.

Neil flat-out rejected the idea as total nonsense. 

I was disappointed, but I totally respected his decision. Until, that is, I gathered a big enough audience for a second attempt to convince him... And so it was that at two in the morning on Halloween, after a few cold drinks and some slurs on his adventurous spirit and sporting credentials, with a dozen pairs of eyes bearing down on him, Neil caved. The game was on.

And the game isn’t racing. It’s adventure, it’s exploration, it’s triumph and disaster. It’s survival. But it’s not racing. Let’s be clear about that. Well, certainly not racing within the team, anyway. Not much. Not much at all. Hmm.

Anyway, at roughly the same time as this plan took shape I was hatching another plan, bidding a fond farewell to my employer of three years; the personal development charity Venture Trust, and moving on to a new role at the University of Stirling. Having seen first-hand the difference that VT’s programmes can make to young people’s lives, I valued the opportunity to contribute to such valuable work through my day job for a number of years, and it seemed only fitting that my step up to ultramarathoning should somehow be positively linked with my move away from VT.

So the Team was assembled, a fundraising page set up, and a challenge set. We would endure 69 miles of banter and blisters, and would attempt to attract some serious money to help people with difficult pasts aspire to better futures.

There will be updates. Many updates. And probably the most epic race report ever to grace these pages. If you’ve read this far, you’ll be excited about the value you’ll extract from these. Please quantify this value in pounds and go and donate it over there. That would be ace.

Happy running,

Dave

2013 to date: miles run - 102.05, parkruns: 1, miles biked: 3

I'll pace YOUR race!

Excellent news! As I’ve been hinting rather explicitly for some time, I am delighted to say that I’m currently training for the Virgin London Marathon, which I will be running as part of Runner’s World’s pacing team. This means I will totally relinquish all interest in my own racing, and will instead be aiming to run at exactly 10 minutes per mile, wearing some sort of cumbersome marker to signify the same, and finish in exactly 4:22. The idea is that anyone looking to run at that pace or finish in that time will look for me and use my position as a benchmark for their own pace. Simples.

Now running a marathon in around 4:20ish shouldn’t be a problem from a sporting/challenge point of view. As you know, I’ve topped out at 3:49 and barring a small hernia-related hiccup, can usually be found completing 26.2 miles in around about 4 hours (there, there and there). Trying to run a marathon in precisely 4 hours and 22 minutes, however, is a different story.

Imagine the scope of this challenge. Every single mile has to be perfect, completed in bang-on 10 minutes. This means I will have to constantly adjust my effort to account for inclines, corners, wind, congestion of other runners and probably plenty of other factors I haven’t even considered, just to iron out crinkles in my pace that would otherwise characterise a ‘normal’ race. My pace will have to be metronomic, even if all around me are runners speeding up and slowing down as they find their natural rhythms. If I run a mile 30 seconds too fast or too slowly, I will have to adjust for that over subsequent miles. I will have to become a marathon running machine equipped with some pretty snazzy maths skills.

It’s a bit daunting, now I think about it.

www.virginlondonmarathon.com/

But it’s also incredibly exciting. Not only do I get the privilege of running the Virgin London Marathon, probably the most iconic of all iconic sporting events in this country, but I get to run it in a unique and fascinating context. My assigned pace and finish time are likely to attract a large number of first-timers, which means I get the further privilege of meeting, chatting to and supporting scores of beginners to achieve success. I get to be part of the Runner’s World team, running the VLM in a network of the most prominent people in British distance running. What an incredible opportunity.

My training for this will be simple: a holistic marathon build-up in which every long run is done at 10 minute:miles, which should also produce a hearty base from which to plan for The Wall Run, my first ultra which is scheduled for June (more anon.).

I am ludicrously excited.

Happy running

Dave

2013 to date: miles run - 64.03, parkruns: 1, miles biked: 3