There were two parkruns (one run, one at a steady jog) and a training route that covered the Hove Tesco to Portslade and back portion of the marathon route between the last update and this one, but they're largely inconsequential so won't get an update. I didn't manage to squeeze in a run in New York, scuppering for now my plans of running on a different continent, but managed to do a ton of walking around so my tapering was somewhat different to my training plan. Good news - my left knee didn't give me a single peep of complaint while I was out there. Bad news - my right thigh would more than make up for this when standing up from a squatting position, which I did more times than I would've liked. Good news - two sessions with my big foam roller after I got back home and this issue disappeared.
The day started differently to last year. Last year was all about the occasion and just getting round the course (which I managed - eventually) whereas I had a time in mind, and a goal to beat this year. Pictures taken by Dana on the walk to Preston Park show me as grimly focused, a determination on my face that hide the stomach issues I was struggling with. A visit to the porta-potties later, I felt better, but not 100% - I tweeted out that I was feeling about 83% fitness, and would rest if it was a training run but not for the big day. A few warmup stretches were negated by spending twenty minutes in the queues for the corral loos without success - but thankfully there were urinals just before the starting line. I'll remember that next time, and I'll also remember to keep my hoodie on right up to the start before chucking it!
Focus.
Finally, just after 10am, we were off! I remembered from last year that the climb around Preston Park is the highest point of the whole race, and so didn't rush to dodge around other runners. After the third unfamiliar face called out my name I remembered that I had it emblazoned across my chest and stopped looking puzzled at spectators! I noticed Claire easing ahead and realised we hadn't discussed whether we'd run together or not. I pulled up alongside at Mile 1 and we agreed to stick together for a bit longer, until Dana saw us for the first pictures, then she'd go ahead. She had a goal in mind that was faster than mine and I didn't want to hold her back!
Ah yes, times. Concerned that my watch battery wouldn't last the full five-ish hours I was targeting while using Strava, I stuck to the stopwatch function and did some rough maths to calculate my pace. I aimed for a 12 minute mile for the first half, speeding up for 11 minutes a mile in the second half where possible. This would bring me in under 5 hours, which was my target. The first mile was done slightly quicker than intended so I eased off as the course went down London Road, finding a pair of runners who looked to be going the same speed and tucking in behind them. (This holistic pacing is something that's borne fruit in parkruns so I had no issue with it here.) The second mile marker brought with it a strong smell of a McDonalds breakfast - my long runs were more realistic than I thought they would be!
I ambled on, sipping from my drinks bottle, and when we passed the first water station outside the library I chucked the water over me instead of drinking it. This was refreshingly cool, and I decided to stick with this at subsequent water stations. I've got much better at not needing hydration while running over the last year (a 500ml bottle will now last 10k whereas previously it was just enough for 5k) so could afford to waste the opportunity for hydration this way. Back out of central Brighton towards Lewes, and by the Level I spotted a familiar face in the crowd - Dana had made it down in time to take more pictures!
The course took me across the top of the Level and up Lewes Road, a portion I covered during one of the midweek runs in my last update, and the sun hadn't cleared the rooftops of the buildings along the eastern side of the road so had a nice cool canter, still behind my holistic pacers. I knew from last year and my scouting run that the turn up Franklin Road would definitely be harder so was content to chill, in more than one way! I lost my pacers on the hill but was fairly confident that I was on a consistent pace. Missing the 4 mile marker I wasn't sure so carried on back down into Brighton, keeping my eyes out for the 5 mile mark so I could readjust my pace based on that. The crowds thickened after the scant support along the Lewes Road, including a particularly noisy lot outside the Brewdog, and this was the point that I noticed that I was actually enjoying myself! The distance covered so far was longer than a parkrun but nowhere near as tiring as my Sunday long runs, so I'd clicked into a good pace, I wasn't hot, I had lots of people shouting my name, and my body wasn't giving me any issues so I closed my eyes and drank in the feeling as I ran down towards the seafront.
A familiar voice called out my name and I opened my eyes, thankful that I hadn't clattered into anyone while running blind, to see my parents waving from outside the Pavilion! I knew that they'd be down to cheer me over the finish line but hadn't expected to see them this early, and this was another morale boost. Not two minutes afterwards, I heard a voice shout "come on JT!" from my left. Frantically scanning the crowd for someone I knew, and cursing my face blindness that would mean I probably wouldn't recognise them anyway, my eyes alighted on the runner next to me...who had JT emblazoned across his chest. A brief chuckle at our (somewhat) shared initials - I didn't have the heart or the energy to explain about my double-barrelling - and I carried on towards the pier.
Me and JT. I've got less than a dozen pictures of me
on the marathon site so I'm not paying £30!
However the course didn't, swerving left up St James's Street. I wasn't expecting this incline as it didn't happen last year (I don't think, anyway) and dropped a bit pace-wise uphill. However, something happened showing an improvement from the run the year before. Around the 12 mile mark last year and struggling (although yet to face the void) a short haired cyclist popped up alongside Phil and I to cheer us on, more enthusiastic than the usual crowds. I gave her a nod of thanks (by then, all my weary body could muster) before peering at her a bit closer. "Excuse me, is your name Emily?" I asked of a mutual friend of Patrick and Kerry who I had met probably half a dozen times in the preceding four months. This face blindness of mine became a running joke at my expense, and has since expanded to other friendship circles (I'm hopeless identifying the Bella Twins, for instance). This year, at the foot of St James's Street, I heard the same enthusiastic cheering and not only recognised Emily, but also noted that she was doing something different with her hair!
Out along the seafront, past the cheering zones from the various charities playing music (mostly Eye Of The Tiger, but I gave a hearty thanks to the lot playing Born To Run!) and along the cliffs towards Roedean. The crowds thinned out here, as expected, so I stuck on a podcast (the Roman Mars Mazda Virus episode of Reply All, if you're interested) to keep me company. It was around this point last year that I started having feelings of wanting to slow down and walk, catch my breath a bit, but I had none of that this year. Checking my watch at the 7 mile mark I saw that I had built up a buffer of around 7 minutes on where I should be - at 12 minutes a mile I should've passed it at 1 hour and 24 minutes but was flying through at 1:17ish. Not quite sticking to the plan of negative splits, but I rationalised it to myself than this half was harder, gradient-wise, than the second half so I'd be faster on the flat of Church Road and round Hove Lagoon.
As I motored up the hill towards Roedean School I heard more music, but couldn't place where it was coming from - I thought a fellow runner had eschewed headphones in favour of playing music from a bluetooth speaker and generous sharing their music tastes with the rest of us. I sped up, looking for the culprit to give them the frowning of a lifetime when I realised two things. First, Edward was a vampire the music was coming from the water station, and second, it was the best kind of motivational music - PG-rated saccharine pop promoting inclusiveness! I complimented the Roedean volunteers on their music tastes, chucked another cup of water over my torso, and carried on towards Ovingdean with a spring in my step and a slight befuddlement at how long this section of the course actually was. Despite running along it last year and retracing my steps 35 days previously in gale force winds, the length to the Ovingdean roundabout still threw me off slightly, but not enough to hinder me.
Finally the roundabout came into view and with it the 8 mile mark. At this roundabout (shown from my view at this point in the narrative) the course bears left into the village of Ovingdean and back out, before veering left at the roundabout up to the top of the hill and back down, heading back into Brighton the same way we came out. Just after the Blind Vets hospital I saw the 9 mile marker on the other side of the road and made a promise with myself. Thirty seconds after that I saw Claire coming back the other way and waved - she was less than a mile ahead of me with around a third of the course gone, so I was quietly confident that I might be able to catch her up later on. Into Ovingdean and back out, mildly peeved that there weren't any cooling showers this year, but pleased that once again the villagers had come out in force to chase us with pitchforks for being outsiders show their support with cheers and sweets. I reached the 9 mile marker with the time buffer intact (in fact increased, by now I was 9 minutes ahead) so kept my promise, and nipped into the grounds of the hospital to water their plants.
This didn't take much time, and going past the roundabout I overtook a gentleman I first passed at the 9 mile marker. Up the final gradient of the run to the second highest point above sea level of the course, and back down towards Brighton. The tide was out and I could see the route of the old daddy long legs railway along the foreshore - I took this as a good omen, given the other railway routes I've run along during my training! Back along the clifftops towards Brighton and I maintained my pace despite the hills. I was feeling so good about my energy levels that I was calling out motivational comments to those passing the other way - between miles six and seven of their race. Around mile 11 of my own run, I started to feel a twinge in my left knee. It wasn't enough to slow me down, but it was definitely letting me know it was there (in the same way as a Tabea Kemme tackle). Never mind, I had lasted longer than this in my training runs, plus they were solitary trots without the adrenaline from crowd support or the occasion to spur me on, this would be fine!
I passed the 12 mile marker with the 5 hour pacer well in sight. I knew if I kept up with them, maybe putting on a burst of speed near the end, I could get my goal of 4 hours 59 minutes comfortably. I kept scanning the skyline for the banner marking halfway, slightly bemused that it was further back than last year, before it dawned on me again that half of a marathon is just over 13 miles, not 12! I made the same mistake last year and despite twice beating my HM personal best time during my training the HM distance still didn't stick - the downside of measuring all my runs in km rather than miles, I suppose! Down past the pier, seeing some speedy buggers coming the other way to finish their race, and along the seafront where the crowds were 4/5 people deep on both sides of the course. Vocal support for me dropped at this point as I was running a metre ahead of two guys dressed as Batman and Robin and they drew the crowd's attention. Level with the i360 I passed the actual halfway point and knew that the rest of the course was on familiar territory.
Mustering a smile
I checked my phone and knew I'd have a supply drop coming up on Grand Avenue. I noticed that my pace had dropped as the 5 hour pacer was slowly getting further away. Never mind, I had more important things ahead! Just after the 14 mile mark I stopped to see Dana, my parents and Matthew (Claire's partner) who were all waiting for me. I swapped my half drunk bottle for a fresh cold one (the cool bag was a great idea), turned down more jelly babies, and told everyone that I was feeling great and on for a good time.
As I turned away and started running again, my body made a fool of what I'd just said. Brain said "go", knee said "no" and every time I tried to bend my left leg, pain shot upwards. I felt like the Scenic Railway rollercoaster at Dreamland in Margate (only without all the alleged arson attempts for insurance money) - something that had seen better days and was being held together by duct tape, blu-tack and hope. Never mind, I'd built up enough of a time buffer that I could take this mile easy, right? Just walk for a bit, get it used to movement, ease it back in. On my training runs the pain had gradually eased after a few minutes of gentle movement so I'd take a breather and try again. I limped along Church Road, sticking to the inside of the course so that faster runners could go nearer the crowds for cheers (and I suppose, subconsciously, staying away from those crowds myself).
I passed a volunteer marshal outside Hove Town Hall, who saw me limping and looking annoyed and asked about my leg. I told him what had happened, how it had happened before and he directed me to the first aid point outside Tesco. I limped up to the St Johns Ambulance volunteers and explained about my iliotibial band issues that had been diagnosed by a sports therapist and what had gone on in my training runs, and she suggested that I perch myself on the traffic island for a bit and rest. I sat there in the sun for ten minutes, before getting to my feet and trying again.
I made it three steps before my knee went "nope".
I had a choice to make. I could walk the remaining 11 and a bit miles, probably finishing slower than last year. I could walk for a bit and try running again later, maintaining a walk/run state for however long it would take, doing who-knows-what damage to my body. Or I could call it quits there, outside my local supermarket, and try again later. After cursing my leg in much the same manner as Jeff in that Coupling episode where he chats up a woman on a train by accidentally telling her he has a wooden leg, I told the volunteer marshal (who had come along to check up on me) that I'd thrown in the towel and limped over to the side of the road to walk back to my family.
After a long, tempting look at the craft beer shop (and a little self-pitying cry) I took stock of the situation. My knee was a problem, I couldn't help that at that point. But everything else was fine. I'd needed far less liquid than last year, I've trained my body to be better at hydration. I'd run a large part of the 15 miles without audio accompaniment, and all of it without music. I'd stuck to my target pace phenomenally well, using only a stopwatch and fellow runners - my split paces at the 1 mile, 5k, 10k, 15k and halfway markers showed a variance of only 5 seconds per km (7:01/km at 10k and 7:06/km at 1 mile/halfway were the two extremes). I was feeling mentally prepared, and looking forward to speeding up during the second half - compare that to a year ago when only the ability to keep walking kept me going, as I'd mentally checked out, and I was suitably prepped. I didn't feel tired or out of breath - I probably will have tired on the out-and-back to Portslade, but at that point I was enjoying myself. If only my knee hadn't let me down.
My knee to my marathon attempt
I found a bench to sit on near my family and sat down, shivering as the adrenaline worked its way out of my system. I stayed out of sight of the runners continuing past mile 18 and on towards Shoreham power station, not wanting to psych out Claire and sow doubt in her mind. Once she'd gone past Matthew continued to the finish line to cheer her over the final stretch and we trudged back home. I turned down the offer of a taxi as I figured it would do my leg some good to keep moving. It was a sad end to a day that started out with so much promise, but not a surprise - I knew going into it that my leg might not hold up. I've come to love and enjoy running over the last few years (a complete reversal from the boy who used to shirk PE whenever possible) so decided to sacrifice this race in favour of more running in the future. Going out and pounding the pavements of the coastal towns from Littlehampton along to Seaford has become an enjoyable hobby of mine and while I sometimes look out the window and think "do I really want to go out running today?" I've never once returned from a run and thought "I wish I hadn't done that" - even when I'm limping back on a left leg that hurts when I use steps. I've seen parts of Brighton and Hove I'd never seen before. I've got friends from local parkruns. I've spent hours in the company of Roman Mars, PJ Vogt & Alex Goldman, and Kate, Annie & Gav.
I'll be back.
Afterword: two days on from my failed marathon attempt, while clearing out my emails after a busy three weeks of socialising, holiday and more socialising, I came across one titled "Runner's Knee - How To Prevent Knee Pain". While it was too late for me then, and even if I'd opened it when I received it that was only a week prior to the marathon, so would not have made much difference, the article and the exercises that it suggested are the first step on my road to Wrestlemania recovery.
