108017 seconds

10/10 would hug again.

I should have known something was up from when someone took a shit next to me.

As a runner, I’ve seen alot. I mean: broken toenails; blisters; people rubbing gel on their nipples; wearing two pairs of socks to fit into a shoe, people pissing in the street. When you run, you see these things, it doesn’t phase you because everyone is at it. However, shitting in the woods is new.

Okay, let me roll that back. This wasn’t someone shitting in the woods. It was someone shitting on a grassy knoll with a few trees round the corner from the start line. He looked me dead in the eye whilst doing it. I smelt it earlier but couldn’t quite believe it but here we are, a random Spanish guy shitting in the grass giving zero fucks.

I was having a piss, don’t get me wrong, I’m no better than him.

The thing is, I really needed a shit, too.

I’ll come back to this.

Preparation is half the battle when it comes to running. Being prepared training wise; being prepared mentally; being prepared logistically. Two of these things were on point this cycle. The first, was mostly down to coach. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t working for half of this cycle so I had good time to recover, and I’m sure it helped but I was fitting the training runs and not skipping sessions. The perfect test subject, I suppose. Copenhagen Half was really training for this, and that went well.

Hell. I’ve subjected myself to 50 lap track sessions in preparation for this. That’s not exciting though, that’s because I don’t like races/too cheap to enter races I’m not excited by.

Mentally, I was there. I don’t like races yes, but I know that and I can own that. And well, I’d done the training so I was actually in a good place in my head. You don’t run as much as I do if you can’t get your head straight for a race.

I even messaged Alexi Papas for some kind words and she actually responded and I felt good. And brave.

Now logistically, I thought I was fine. No airport drama, no packing drama, no apartment drama. Dream, right? Wrong.

Back to shitting, sorry.

The boys all left the apartment together to walk to the start line, there were nerves, jokes, anxiety and more jokes. People getting themselves in the mood really. Nothing serious. In hindsight, I should have set out earlier.

Shit.

I really didn’t know how much I needed a shit until this guy shat next to me. Thing is, I tried to suppress it. Really. Until 10mins before the race.

Mistake. I caught Andy and we had the same (shit) idea and we queued for far too long for the portaloos. The portaloo situation was bleak. We got out with 2 minutes to spare before the race actually started. Thus starting a really frustrating domino effect that I feel comfortable writing about from the comfort of 3000ft.

1. I started in the wrong area. This doesn’t mean much normally, but I was aiming for quite a quick time, and having human traffic in front of you doesn’t help. I was effectively starting around the people aiming for just over 3hrs. I was aiming for 2:38ishhh.
2. This also meant I didn’t start my watch in time (SEARCHING) so I started the race slightly on edge.
3. Meaning when I started the race my pace was all over the place since I needed to dodge alot of people to get clean air.
4. And this also meant I started off too fast — exactly the opposite of what coach had said what I should do.
5. Which led to me working a bit too hard to try and catch then gap the 2:45 group around the halfway point. Those miles look sexy on Strava but they cost me a lot in the long run.
6. Those murder miles ended up coming back to haunt me as the wheels fell off around Mile 21 (no cheerdem here)…
7. And then seeing the 2:45 group overtake then re-gap me basically broke me.

There was so much traffic I needed to dodge at pace at the start of the race that by the time I got to the second mile, my watch was almost in sync with the course. This wasn’t a good thing, I didn’t start my watch until around half a kilometre into the race so my average pace was incorrect and that’s what I use to race.

Running quicker than target time is just a bad idea and something I obviously came to regret. At the time I didn’t know just how much faster.

There’s something absolute and self destructive about the exact feeling when a time you’re chasing is slipping away. Pretty much around mile 20 the wheels were coming off.

You’re first mile slips.

10 seconds.

Another mile slips

25 seconds

And so on.

Managing my ego whilst my legs are falling apart is difficult. My running has nothing to do with benchmarking against anyone else.

It’s me vs me.

Frankly, I considered stopping.

I didn’t.

I’d already accepted the time before I crossed the line. The pain was bothering me the most. Honestly, I wish I had ibuprofen. Instead, just pain.

I considered stopping again. I’ve stopped in 2 marathons prior to this. I beat myself up about those enough at the time so I wasn’t about to stop again.

Not this time.

The final stretch of this was uphill.

Christ.

My coaches were there as I crossed the line. I think I was wearing disappointment on my face. Some runners might share this feeling, but I’m my own harshest critic. They dropped a quick reality check on my sombreness.

Then I promptly collapsed into a heap by the railings and waited for the others to come through.

What quickly brought immediate, genuine joy, though, is the feeling of seeing your squad cross the line. Ben, Sam, Andy, Brophy, James, Chris and Martin all had an incredible effort.

That’s where the real joy kicked in.

The joy you can drink to, rather than drink through.

The marathon is hard. “Everyone would do it, if it wasn’t” were the words Martin said to me after the race. It still rings true. The reason run this distance has a lot to do with enjoying the journey. I do trust in the process. Not every race day can be perfect, I’ve known this for a while.

I don’t think I’ll ever be happy with many of my races, but it’s not the point for me.

Special shout out to Ben as I spent the most miles with him on this training cycle, that’s for another blog, mind.

Ultimately, Sunday involved shitty race craft. I’ve learnt a lesson, and I’ll be back for another crack at this.

In London.

Shit.

Basic shit you thought you were gonna see here but didn’t:

• Happy with the time? Ish.
• Would I race Barcelona again? Maybe, it’s not my sort of course though. Not really flat enough.
• Wot u wearing bbz? Labrum vest & Takumi Sen’s on the feet
• How was the training? Eh, maybe I’ll talk about that in another post.
• Songs? Technooo.