As the recipient of the club place in this year’s marathon it’s incumbent upon me to report back, so here goes!

All you need to know is the number 3, yes that’s three, the magic number, a triumphant triumvirate (a nice bit of alliteration if I do say so myself), i.e. one less than four and one more than two. My finish time started with a three so I did under four hours which was my target, which quite frankly I thought was beyond me (more of that later)…what was my exact time? you ask…. well if you must, my word you are a stickler for detail…it was 3:59:15… yes, you’re quite right, “only just” but the metaphorical coconut was metaphorically won.

Let’s face it, I’m no spring chicken…but “wearing well” you say, why thank you, I’m blushing….and my, I’m no athlete, unlike some others I will mention later; my previous two marathons were in 3:56 and 3:57 at Berlin and Edinburgh 3 years ago; since then, as well as my aortic stenosis (a narrowing of the main outflow valve of the heart, a common heart condition), which was known about, I have developed a rare disease called dermatomyositis which is an autoimmune disease of the muscles (my body’s own immune system attacks and tries to break down my muscles; it also produces a skin rash)… you ask about any associated antibodies?, goodness you are knowledgeable about rheumatological pathology… I have the Mi-2 antibody if you must know, which fortunately is associated with disease that is both amenable to treatment and is not connected to an increased likelihood of malignancy (yes, “phew” is the word). Luckily it was caught very early…and here’s an important point…caught very early because I’m runner!; remember that downturns in performance can be due to serious illness, so don’t ignore them.

So all in all, I thought breaking four hours again was very ambitious, but because I got lucky in the club ballot, I had to give it a go. I trained very hard … sorry, what was that?, I’m writing a lot here about myself and you’d like to hear about the other club runners… yes, you’ll get that later, thank you, now back to me.. me, me , me… so I trained very hard and deliberately fitted some fasting (appropriately) between the runs and lost about 3kg in weight; being a seasoned campaigner with two marathons I felt able to construct my own intermediate training schedule the “highlights” of which were long runs of 25 and 27 miles; the runs of 10, 12 and 14 miles with 400m intervals every mile were also real killers… but hard work pays off!, yes, 3:59:15, get in my son! I am the daddy, the main man, numero uno, the dog’s … apologies, got carried away there. Now where was I?.. right, I suppose I better say something about the day… but just before that I should say that if you do the London Marathon don’t drive to the exhibition to pick your number up, it’s £15 to park…fifteen quid!…’nough said.

Me and wor lass were staying with some friends in St Albans so I woke up on the day at 6am, to HEAVY SLEET… I said something like “Gosh that’s unfortunate” … come to think of it, my words contained a little more anglo-saxon than that… and duly consulted the detailed weather forecast, which was more encouraging (sleet/rain to clear, nice running conditions) but made me glad that I had brought old tracky bottoms and several disposable upper layers to wear at the start. I got to the start at about 08:45 for a 10:00 start and must say (and this is a recurring theme), the event was extremely well organised; I even got a nice (free) cuppa in the holding area, which hit the spot I can tell you (electrolyte, pH adjusted, carb loaded, caffeine adjusted drinks ? ..pah, I say.. good old PG tips does the trick). Now at this point I will re-iterate the maxim “Be bold, Start cold”…. where did that groan come from? … ah, the B Group who are sick of me saying it… well flipping well stop overdressing and I’ll stop saying it then….it did turn out to be fairly perfect running conditions with a light wind and temperature of about 8-10 deg C and a Simpsons’ sky, I wore the club vest and shorts and I got a little hot but some people … well, I won’t waste my breath, they’ll never learn.

The starting 5k was a little congested; the whingers will probably say it prevented them getting into their stride but I think it is a good design feature and stops runners (definitely including me) going off too fast. There were more than enough water and energy drink stops although I think an another energy gel station at about mile 9/10 is called for (there were two; 14 and 21 miles). For the sweet connoisseur, there was adequate provision from the generous spectating masses; I would say a rough ratio of 2:1 for jelly babies to wine gums – my highlight was a particularly nice burgundy wine gum from a rather lovely old lady in Greenwich, a genuine old fashioned wine gum with a rich full bodied flavour; a rather pleasant plummy first note but deep licorice-like richness coming through.

The sights? The bit south of the river was somewhat lacking in monuments and history but the crowds were really encouraging. To maximise your own encouragement my tip is to avoid running near ..ahem…”characters”… honestly, the penguins and spidermen get all the attention, it’s just not fair, but if you are an attention-seeker then a light mask might be your best option to maximise shout-outs whilst minimising running inconvenience; a young gentleman running near me at one stage was wearing a Winnie the Pooh mask which provided very little encumbrance and he was everybody’s best friend. In saying that I must say that I was pleasantly surprised and encouraged by the number of people who shouted our for, and seemed genuinely surprised to see, a Ponteland top, and it was great to hear my name shouted out (how did they manage to read it with me passing at such a speed?). All that changed at Tower Bridge, perhaps it was the perfect weather conditions, but I was surprised at how awesome it was to run under, I nearly tripped up with my head in the air taking it in; I imagined medieval kings riding under it their glory or condemned prisoners making their last journey before being beheaded whilst being bayed at by a hostile mob – all completely anachronistic as I subsequently learned they only started building it in 1886.. ah, the power of the imagination. I really liked the Isle of Dogs… yes you heard right… the streets were narrow and tall and packed with spectators and it was a real party atmosphere, although by this time (15 miles ish) the sight of cold pints of lager being consumed track-side was starting to be torture.

So, now, doesn’t matter how well you’ve prepared, your legs will start to hurt at some stage; it’s usually my hams but London picked on my quads, so from 15 miles on they were increasingly burning. This is where the training gets you through; having your race pace firmly embedded into your muscle memory keeps your pace going. At 20 miles, the 4 hour pacer slowly moved past me; this proved very useful as I gritted my teeth and kept up with her – I probably have her to thank for my success as I suspect I’d have dropped off a little without her and …. yes, as you pointed out, thank you… I was only just under my target time at the end. So miles 20-24 were hard graft but the increasingly loud and encouraging crowds (and the painkillers) got me through in touch with the pacer and as we got onto the embankment I fed on the encouragement and concentrated on my technique. The internal conversation was “keep your head high and back straight son” … what was that? Yes Bs I did think “helium balloon”…. “move those arms, relaxed shoulders, triple joints” and I must say that must have looked a grand sight with lots of other people flagging around me… yes ok, perhaps I was feeling a bit light-headed to think that. So I left the pacer behind on the embankment and turned the corner past Big Ben with increasing elation. I concentrated so hard on drinking in the sights and sounds along Horseguards and up the Mall that I’ve completely forgotten them..ha ha .. not really.. it was brilliant to be finishing whilst maintaining form and on schedule but … it guts me to say this and how can I live with it?.. a lady sprinted past me to rob me of the coveted fourteen thousand four hundred and forty first finishing place to leave me in fourteen thousand four hundred and forty second; you know what they say “fourteen thousand four hundred and forty second is the first loser”.

So, after the race was so well organised. Straight to your goody bag and a really nice, quality t-shirt (the London Marathon is such good value!). Then the baggage lorries – the guy on my lorry had spotted my number a way off and had my bag ready for me to take!. I must comment on my journey back to St Albans as it destroyed stereotypes of London people. I had my jacket open so my medal was on show … ostentatious? I should coco, but you’ve got to haven’t you?…and I lost count of the number of people who congratulated me and this was on the tube away from the finish (bloody cockneys, they don’t avoid eye contact on the underground and they engage you in friendly conversation); I was standing on the train at the start of the journey and then I thought I was going to have a face-off for a seat with some Crystal Palace fans on their way to the Cup semi-final but they just said “here you go mate, you deserve it” and I proceeded to have good laugh with them up to my destination. I like to think it my wishing them luck had a small part to play in their success against Watford.

Well, I mentioned my even splits; there was 12s difference in my fastest and slowest min/km pace – who could beat that I thought? – our own Matty Bell as it turns out! He ran a brilliant PB in 3:31:47 and just to reiterate the old adage that even pace is best, there was only 10s difference between his fastest and slowest min/km pace. Well done Matty, massively well done, all that training and planning coming together, 3:30 has got to be in your sights now. See, I told you I would get around to the other club runners; in fact my big regret for the day is that I didn’t manage to meet up with the other guys, I had to dash back to ensure we got back to Pont that evening for the (pesky) kids; I was really jealous of you all having a pint together afterwards but I’m sure we’ll catch up on the stories of the day soon. So who else was running?, well let me start with what I believe was another PB (and forgive me if anybody else got one that I’m unaware of, and yes I would have known this info if I had made the pub!) from Elliott Ward in a superb 3:39:48 – what an improvement Elliott has made in a few years since he joined the club; I recall being ahead of him at a couple of events only a few years ago and he’s miles ahead of me now – well done Elliott. Next up Paul Doney who clocked an incredible 3:19:52, I think an encounter with Cindy Crawford may have been his inspiration? From the published times it looks like David and Elaine Stroud ran the race together in a great time of 3:41:40, what a brilliant shared experience, now come clean, who would have won a proper race?!. Final mention goes to Laura Choake who probably deserves the most credit, she was running for charity but illness curtailed her training to 4 weeks (yes, only 4 weeks) but she soldiered on. Her initial splits were great up to half-way, and on target for 3:30ish, but it must have been really tough for her as she ended up going slower than me (heaven forbid) at the end. But she finished! In 3:51:43, So go donate to
https://www.justgiving.com/Laura-Choake4
now!.

I should also briefly mention that Paul O’Neil did the Madrid Marathon over the weekend at, wait for it, 3:14:22 and wife Helen did the half at 2:05:52; I hope we get a separate report.

So finally I must get a bit serious on your asses. Just beforeSouthwark Bridge I saw the ambulance crew taking away a man in the recovery position. Unfortunately I think this will have been Captain David Seath who died from a cardiac arrest aged just 31. He was running for Help for Heroes and there will be a donation page set-up in his name and if I can beg your indulgence, I encourage you to give to this cause as well. I mentioned that I had aortic stenosis earlier and on Thursday last I had my annual check-up; to cut a long-story short, it is probably getting a bit worse and I had a long conversation with my cardiologist about doing the marathon (he even ‘phoned me at home); he was happy for me to do it as long as I took my time but it’s obvious from the above that I couldn’t stop myself going for my target, so this will have to be my last marathon.

But it was a great event and I’ll have loads of great memories to take away! I encourage anybody who hasn’t tried a marathon to do so and I’d be delighted to help; I must be crazy as I love all the training and preparation as well as the big day. It does hurt but the sense of achievement is massive.

Once a year, Innerleithen, a small tranquil town in the Scottish boarders plays host to the Mighty Deerstalker Race.  Since signing up for the event many months ago, I had received several conflicting descriptions of what the race actually entailed.  Firstly, my friends at bootcamp (who persuaded me to do it) described it as a 10k night run with a beer tent at the end.  I was sold, obviously.  Then I consulted the website, where it was pitched as a trail run of “around” 10km and “probably” the hardest off-road-Tweed-clad-headtorch-wearing run that exists.  Ok, a slight discrepancy, but still manageable.  The third description came a couple of weeks before the race in the ‘race info pack’ which described the distance as “quite a lot longer than 10k but not a half marathon”…  I also noticed that they were going to enforce a cut off time – “runners will have 3 hours to get to the start of the second hill”.  WHAT?!  They were giving us 3 hours to run up the first one – what was it – a mountain?!!  Oh dear I thought (excuse the pun), what have I let myself in for.

The race began at 6.15pm with a nice downhill stretch on a lovely tarmac road.  It was still light at this point, spirits were good and the scenery was beautiful.  Then the “lovelyness” abruptly stopped.  We entered a field that was so muddy it made the notorious Aykley Heads XC seem tame.  Within minutes I was absolutely caked in mud up to my knees.  The weight of the mud on my trail shoes made it feel like I was running with lumps of lead on my feet.  This was not a good way to be feeling only five minutes in…  Luckily, at the end of the field there was a knee deep river crossing which soon dealt with the mud.  My feet were now cold and wet but the water drained out of my trail shoes pretty quickly and I felt relieved.

I had been running for about 10 minutes when the first hill began… We headed skyward zigzagging up a mountain bike track.  It was steep.  I was still “running” but there was some serious heavy breathing going on.  Just as the gradient started to ease, the arrows pointed away from the track into the forest, completely off anything that resembled an actual route.  I thought the track was steep but this was something else.  Quickly the woodland became very dense.  I switched my headtorch on and literally pushed my way through the trees.  It went on and on.  I was thankful that I had opted for long sleeves and leggings at this point otherwise I would have been cut to shreds.  Somehow we ended up back on the track.  Instead of doing a zigzag I think we had just took the “as the crow flies” option.  Running on the track didn’t last long.  Once again the arrows pointed back off the track up a steep rocky gully, heading upwards across a clear-felled moor.  Footing was distinctly dodgy here, weather beaten out-crops of heather, roots, rocks, tree stumps.  Light was fading fast.  More climbing, more dense forest and then the darkness came.  It was eerily dark.  The forest was still and silent apart from the sound of heavy breathing and the footsteps of runners trying to concentrate on their little patches of light.  Eventually we reached the top only to be greeted by obstacles – balance beams and cargo nets should have been easy, but by this point my legs were on fire and in no fit state for any tasks requiring co-ordination.  I scrambled through them and continued running.  Suddenly we emerged in a clearing and the view was incredible.  After all that climbing this was the first time I could actually see what I had achieved.  It was dark now and the lights of the town shone in the distance below.  We were high.  I would have loved to have stopped for a moment to take it all in, but after a couple of minutes on the flat the descent had begun!  And boy was it the mother of all descents!!  It was very steep, narrow and densely wooded.  I had no control of my legs I was careering recklessly at full pelt trying to grab on to trees to slow down and avoid hitting the sensible people that had chosen to walk.   It scared the living daylight out of me.  Those who know me well, know that when I get nervous I start to laugh uncontrollably.  Therefore, much to the amusement of the lads I was running with, I was in hysterics, squealing and giggling to myself whilst legging it down the hill.  How I managed to get down without a twisted ankle is beyond me.

Eventually we reached the flat of the village.  By now normal flat running felt very strange.  Not to worry, the running was soon replaced by wading, waist deep, against the current, in glorious Scottish river water (i.e. bloody freezing).  At this point of the course all the local folk had lined the river and were cheering everyone on.  This helped me to block out the messages from my brain asking my body what on earth it was doing.  After about 5-10min of wading (any concept of time had become pretty blurred by this point) we climbed out the river straight onto another horrible steep slope.  At this point my body had a total melt down.  My legs were frozen from the river and didn’t feel like my own.  I just couldn’t run.  As much as I tried I could only manage a strange sort of stagger so I decided it was better to walk this hill.  And I NEVER stop and walk…ever!!  I had my emergency gel that I’d brought just in case and then off I went again, up and up, roots, rocks, trees.  I felt better now, the second hill couldn’t be much worse than the first could it?!  I was wrong.  Very wrong.

I had overheard other runners talking about “the scree” during registration… And now here it was in front of me.  The only way to describe this part of the course would be “the straight up” bit, there’s no other way to describe it, you have to see it to believe it. I estimate about 550 – 650 ft of hands and feet, vertical ascent, climbing over scree of all sizes (from stones as big as golf balls to massive boulders, all loose and it moved, constantly!).  Oh and did I mention it was pitch black!?  I think it was at this point that I could see the full extent of what lay ahead as the head torches of the runners illuminated the mountain above – staggeringly beautiful, but intimidating at the same time, the sheer steepness of the trail of little lights draped over the mountain cannot be described or photographed, it can only be experienced.  I have no idea how long it took.  It felt like forever.  At one point I looked back over my shoulder – I didn’t dare do it again!  It was truly, ridiculously steep, it made me feel sick, but then I was also weirdly enjoying it – not quite worked that one out!  People were cheering when they reached the top.  Me and the lads had a group hug to celebrate that we were still alive and then you guess it – descent number two began!  By this point I felt amazing!!  I went fast – down and down, reckless abandon, laughing my head off, hoping that my head torch would pick out suitable spots of ground in time for my feet to land.  Suddenly we were forced to an abrupt halt, in front was a steep overhang.  Ropes had been tied to trees above us that we were supposed to hang onto and go down in an abseil-like fashion.  All fine, apart from the rope I ended up with was tied to a tree that was much too high for me to reach.  I took a leap of faith and jumped off the edge to grab the rope.  I had all good intentions of turning around to abseil, apart from when I grabbed the rope my gloves were so slippy that I ended up flying down it like a zip wire doing a weird Tarzan impression.  It’s a good job there was no one below me or I would have wiped them clean out.  Off I went again, hysterical, uncontrolled, arm flinging madness down the hill, apart from this time it became very slippy and before long my feet had been replaced by my backside and I was sliding my way down.  By this point I didn’t care, I think I was delirious.

Eventually I was back on the flat.  I can categorically tell you that I was pretty relieved at this stage, knowing that I would now be heading back through the town to the finish, although there was the small matter of another river crossing, some fences, mud and a storm water tunnel.  Throughout the race the marshals took great joy in not revealing any distances.  I kept asking each marshal “How much further?” to get a typical response of (in my best Scottish accent) “Just a wee dip in the river and a romantic stroll through the woods”.  Not funny.  Eventually I could see the finish – another hill to climb but this hill was worth every last ounce of energy I had left, as at the top was a giant water slide to the finish line!  I ran, took a dive and flew over the line feeling like superwoman in a time of 2h15.  I was exhausted but elated and I felt massively proud of myself.

I can definitely say that this was physically the hardest race I have done, it was brutal but it was a total adventure and I would thoroughly recommend it to anyone who likes things that are a bit on the wild side!  Notes for the record: (1) My Garmin recorded the actual distance as 9.16miles with an elevation gain of 1946ft.  (2) Doing three long runs on the Quayside and one run around Chopwell woods does not pass as suitable deerstalker training. (3) I look far too happy and clean on the photos to reflect the pain that I actually endured!!