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

Race Report - Hamilton Island Fun Run

It will not surprise you to learn that part of my pre-honeymoon planning was to find out if I could get into any races in the Whitsundays, Sydney or Queenstown during our three-week trot around Australia and New Zealand. Remarkably, the Crew Chief didn’t seem fazed by this suggestion – possibly because she had already done the same research and concluded, like me, that there were none going...

I had just missed a half marathon on Hamilton Island, our flight schedule didn’t allow for a trip to Sydney parkrun, and there was simply nothing in Queenstown to satisfy my racing needs. To be honest I didn’t really need to race. I’ve done plenty this year, but I like to boast about having crossed finish lines in England, Scotland, France and the USA, so adding Oz or NZ to that list would have been ace. But whatever, honeymoons aren’t for selfish things like racing.

So imagine my surprise and delight when I picked up the What’s On guide in our suite in the Whitsundays to discover the Hamilton Island Fun Run – Friday at 5.30pm. I’m up for that.

Obviously I had brought some running kit with me and so was totally ready. The 29 degree heat and warm breeze were still pretty significant in the early evening, and the beers I’d had with lunch may not have been a great idea, but this would probably be my only opportunity to race in this part of the world for years to come. I called the sports centre to try to suss the race out:

Me: How far is it?
Reception: It varies. Usually between 5k and 5 miles.
Me: Er, right. And how many people do it?
Reception: Oh quite a few. Somewhere between 5 and 15.

This last comment is indicative of how small Hamilton is. Clearly this was going to be a doddle.

There were 12 runners. I started chatting to one, a local resident of seven years and aspiring professional Ironman. Intimidated, I chatted to another, a tourist who had just run his first Boston Qualifier. Getting desperate, I spoke to a couple of girls, both staff members who had recently stepped up from half marathons to Olympic distance triathlons. Looking around, it dawned on me that I was clearly in for a kicking. Everyone here was some sort of hyper-serious athlete. Balls. Just before the off a retired couple arrived and I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t finish dead last. Then I noticed their lean, bronzed Aussie bodies and noted that they had spent all day hiking the island’s remote trails before hitting the gym. Hmm.

This wasn’t really a race. Three of the staff – Ironman and the triathlon girls – knew the route and would ‘guide’ the fun run around the island. No distance markers, no exact distance, no marshals, no water on the course, no worries. Very relaxed. Very Australian. I loved it already.

The pack shot off at a blistering pace. An Aussie tourist joined the race a hundred metres after the start, having missed the rendez-vous time, and he easily fell into step with the faster runners. A divide quickly emerged, around six of us pushing the lead with the triathletes, and the Ironman dropping back to guide the senior citizens. We hauled ourselves up hills, dripping with sweat within moments, before careering around the marina, past beaches and luxury yachts and palm trees and eucalypts. At one point a wallaby burst out of the bush and ran across the road directly in front of us. What a fantastic little event.

Hamilton Island: a bit of alright. Note the very strong, very warm breeze too!

 The lead group dropped two runners around halfway, leaving just four of us running in a square formation and pushing the pace – the triathlon girls, the Late Tourist and me. The girls repeatedly pulled away from us every time they swerved around corners, which Late Tourist and I overshot (not knowing the route) and had to backtrack.

With only the vaguest notion of how far we had run or how far we had to go, I was starting to flag until one of the girls allowed that there was less than a kilometre left, and that there were no more corners to take before the finish. She told us this, jokingly, ‘in case we couldn’t keep up and needed to walk’. Incensed, the pack gathered pace, and suddenly four became three as one of the girls dropped back. Sweating, lurching, panting heavily, the three of us jostled elbows in a classic finish that really should have been televised. We saw the finish line – or rather the STOP roadsign which served the same purpose – and the sprint was on.

I finished second. Late Tourist took the win by a nose, with triathlon girl a few seconds behind us. No medal, no number, no time, no crowds, no worries.

Very happy running indeed.

Dave

2013 to date: miles run - 19.98

My Major headache

One of my wildly overambitious running goals recently became even more ambitious.

Like many runners, I identified that I would love to complete all five of the World Marathon Majors, a group of five international races which form a two-year rolling competition: London, New York, Chicago, Boston and Berlin. For elite athletes, there is a huge prize pot for those who score highest across the races during the two years; this in addition to the prizes awarded at each individual race. For the rest of us, the Majors represent the biggest, the best, the most prestigious marathons in the world and just completing them would be a fantastic accomplishment. 132 of the world’s greatest miles on just five (admittedly non-consecutive) days.

But yet another layer of difficulty has just been added to the challenge by the introduction of a sixth Major: Tokyo. We’re up to 158.2 miles in six days. The accomplishment of running six marathons is one thing, but getting to the start line of these races is the real headache. The original five majors are fiendishly difficult and/or frighteningly expensive to get into as a non-elite runner, and Tokyo will be no exception. Let’s investigate…

London – Access is relatively easy if you’re prepared and able to raise the minimum £1,600 typically asked for a charity place, but for those of us less confident in achieving such figures, the prospects are fairly bleak. The ballot for general entry takes over 100,000 applications every year, for an undisclosed number of places which must be well below 10,000. I have been rejected four times, and my place in the 2013 race was guaranteed only by a well-placed phone call. More info to follow…

New York City – Again, those with the dollars can get in with relative ease. Companies like Sports Tours International and 2:06 Events usually offer packages for the weekend – indeed as a non-US runner this is pretty much the only means of getting a place. You can search for yourself, but I think you’ll struggle to find a package that will leave you much change from £1,200. The race entry component of that fee is around £300.

Chicago – general entry, but a lightning-fast sellout.

Boston – runners require an age-related qualifying time from a previous marathon, which for me would be sub-3:10. In reality to guarantee entry I would need a sub-3:00 marathon, as faster runners are given priority. This of course is part of the race’s appeal, but means I will most likely be doing Boston as my last Major, if at all.

Berlin – general entry, but again sells out in a matter of minutes.

Which leaves Tokyo. A new Major, in fact a very new marathon only established as a mass-participation event in 2008. Staggeringly, the organisers receive 300,000 applications to run every year (which will only increase) and are able to offer ‘only’ 36,000 places.

So if you, like me, fancy collecting medals from each of the - now six - World Marathon Majors, I would start saving (for entry and plane fares), start crossing your fingers and start running really, really fast…

Happy running

Dave

2012 to date: miles run - 448.3, miles biked - 106.1, metres swum - 3950, surfing hours - 2, races - 5