Brighton half

Yesterday my training plan took a more social turn, as I ran the planned half marathon with around 10,000 others. Thankfully I didn't need to talk to all of them!

Oddly, despite living in the city for 13 years, and this being my fourth time running a half marathon, this was the first time I'd run the one in Brighton. My first half, in 2017, was in Worthing, purely because a friend had suggested I do it and I couldn't think of a reason not to. 2018 and 2019 were focusing on marathon attempts of various degrees of success, and 2020 was hastily moved to Eastbourne after the Worthing one was called off due to a storm. The late notice of that postponement meant that Brighton was fully booked, so further along the coast I went. 2021 didn't have many races for some reason, and 2022 saw me finally cashing in the literal rain check at Worthing. 

The marathon training plan I've been using called for a half marathon on the 26th of February, the same date as Brighton's half was on, so it made sense to go to the one I could catch a bus to. I'd rested and stretched, and stretched and rested, and was 98% confident that my body could hold up. 

The day was intended as a trial run for the full marathon five weeks hence, and started well with a bus trip into town. I'd packed everything I needed for during the run (drinks, gels, protein bar) and after (deodorant, change of clothes, phone charger, more deodorant) in a handy cool bag and lumbered Dana with it, who dragged herself out early on a Sunday morning on support duties despite being unwell. I ran through the spots with her for where I could see her, and get a supply drop, and posed for photos by the pier before we parted. 

James, look at the birds!

I waded through the crowds and found my starting pen. My estimated time of 2 hours to 2 hours 15 was inaccurate - I intended to run at race pace for the full marathon, 7:07 per km, which would see a finish of around 2 hours 30. I tucked myself away near the back of the pen, getting warm in the sun that had broken through the clouds. I mulled over whether sunglasses would have been better, but decided against it - I would only have a short time running east with the sun in my eyes, as the final return to the finish line would be around midday and the sun would be higher (if it reappeared). I overheard other runners discussing their targets, and chuckled to myself. I wasn't running for a particular time - in fact, I emphatically didn't want a new personal best, as this would involve running a full minute and a half faster than my intended pace per km. Instead my goals were trying to stick to race pace, not injuring myself further and hatching as many eggs as I could in Pokemon Go!

The race started and we shuffled forward the 450m to the timing mats at the start line. I played a familiar psych-up tune, focusing on the run ahead. I ambled round the front of the aquarium and up the only real incline of the run - or so I thought. I knew Dana would be on the inside just past the bus stop so positioned myself to pose for photos. 

I look happier than the two chaps flanking me.

The route along Marine Parade is one I'd done regularly on my Sunday runs, but usually a) on the pavement and b) running west, so this was a pleasant change. I was a bit miffed to not hear my name called out - I'd had it emblazoned on my chest for a reason (attention), was it all for nothing? The crowd thinned out and I switched to a podcast episode for the out and back to Roedean. Round by the cafe, and to distract myself from the smell of bacon sandwiches I checked my pace to find that I was running at 1:50 minutes per kilometre! If I kept this pace up I'd obliterate the half marathon world record by around 15 minutes! This was obviously a GPS glitch and I paid it avid attention for the next few minutes until it settled down to something more sensible, glad that I wouldn't need to replace my watch. 

I scoffed my first energy gel on the slope down to the first water station, finding a bin to dispose of my litter and using the supplied water to cool myself down. I'd got enough drinks with me to stay hydrated, so the water was just about reducing my body temperature. I chuntered along back towards town, being passed by people running their own race, keeping an eye out for Dana and thanking the volunteers who had given up their morning to enable the race to go ahead. By scanning the crowd and making eye-contact with more people I got more cheers and shout-outs from the watching public, so that's clearly where I was going wrong during the first few km when I was largely ignored. Down the initial incline and I spotted Dana, so posed again. 

I never outgrow my MySpace camwhore phase

The route swung away from the seafront and up through Brighton, along a route I'll take in the full marathon. My pace wasn't too taxing so I had a nice time taking in the architectural delights. I passed a runner from a local running club called The Eagles - even though, on this long run, I was taking it easy. I amused myself thinking of more Eagles song titles I could cram into this report, which you'll be pleased to know I managed to forget. One of these nights I'll remember them. Back down towards the sea and I had my second energy gel, diverting from the course across a cycle lane to a nearby bin, much to the amusement of a nearby runner who thought I'd just given up and dashed off to the pub! Passing the Pavilion I hit the halfway mark, and got a surge of speed. Whether that was from the gel kicking in, or Carly Rae Jepsen's Run Away With Me playing on my headphones, I'll let you decide. I was going at a comfortable enough pace to sing along, regardless! 

An iconic sight, with the Pavilion as my backdrop

I saw Dana for the last time, and swapped out my empty water bottle for a cool, full one, then headed into Hove. This was a fairly straight run along the seafront, familiar territory, and I kept an eye out for friends I thought might be cheering. I motored along the Kingsway, enjoying a steady pace, smiling and waving, and almost soaking the poor woman behind me at the water station. We passed the King Alfred Leisure Centre and I was on familiar turf, the route of my regular flat 10k to the power station (albeit we'd be turning by the Lagoon instead). The last time I ran this route my Achilles protested - but that was after 3km, and by now I'd racked up five times that distance. 

Coping better with the distance than others

Around this time I felt a familiar wobble. A bit of a dizzy spell, but no matter, I was prepared for this. I slowed down on the approach to the Lagoon and scarfed down a protein bar. A few spectators mistook this as me struggling and shouted out cheers of encouragement - to which I rebutted that I was fine, just having my tea break! Not thirty seconds after I picked up my pace again I heard my name being called out with far more enthusiasm, and spotted Adam and Simone from my parkrun cheering me on. This helped spur me on, and I turned back towards the finish line, 5k away. 

Five kilometres. It's a parkrun, it's nothing. It's a fifth of my run the week before, I'd already covered three times that. I eventually got my head to think of the remaining distance as that, a much more digestible term than running from Portslade, across most of Hove and Brighton to the Volk's railway. I took my final energy gel, a more water based one which immediately coated both hands in stickiness the instant I opened it, and soldiered on. The beachfront promenade between the Lagoon and the leisure centre is quite narrow so I don't usually run along it, so had no real concept of how well I was doing. It opened out on familiar terrain and I picked up, aided by the sight of two colleagues who had given up their Sunday to come out and cheer for me. 

The final water station, and I stopped to wash my hands and soak my head. Three kilometres to go, and barring a brief top up of my bottle from a water fountain I've used many times before, it was all go from here. There wouldn't be any more wasted time, I'd take it to the limit. I didn't realise at the time, but I was in a much better mental state than those around me. 

I swear I've not been photoshopped into this picture.

The course swung back from the prom to the Kingsway by the Angel Of Peace statue, giving me a fresh view on things, as I normally run alongside the beach from there. The crowds thickened and I sauntered towards the finish line, responding to supportive comments in kind. My watch bleeped 20km done as I passed the cinema and I let Dana know that I was around five minutes away. I fought the urge to speed up for a sprint finish - I didn't know how much I had left in the tank and didn't want to blow up too early. We passed the pier and I was dismayed to see the finish line wasn't as close as I remembered - still 500m away. Passing several runners being attended to by medical personnel, I saw a line opening up ahead of me and positioned myself to practice my planned finish line pose for the full marathon.

Five seconds before finishing

I crossed the timing mats again, leaping up and punching the air in delight. "This will make a cracking photo" I thought, as the MC gave me a shout-out for my spectacular finish. 

There was a man running a minute or so ahead with me carrying a 25kg fridge on his back. Fair play to him for doing it, and breaking a world record in the process, but his finish drew a lot of attention, and the crowd around him meant that my finish line photo wasn't quite as cool as I would have liked. 

About to lay the smack down on this volunteer

I found Dana, then decided to stop clogging up the finish chute. We sat on the beach and I used the ice packs which had been cooling my drinks to ice my Achilles as recommended. (I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty chuffed with the dual purpose to these.) Were it not for that I felt fine, well enough to find food, but I figured the person with a degree in Sports Science knows more than someone who eschewed exercise for the first thirty years of his life, so I sat and chilled. After rehydrating, and posing for more photos, we went off in search of food, walking without issue. 

A proud finisher

A proud finisher, six years previously. 

Compare and contrast.

After a few days rest, the training plan resumes at the weekend with the longest run in the schedule - 32k/20 miles, and I'm gonna throw in some hills too! 

 

Third time's the charm?

 Attempt one: 15th April 2018

Attempt two: 14th April 2019

Attempt three?

After a break from attempting Brighton marathon - partly to build up my strength, partly enforced by a global pandemic - I'm having a third bite at the cherry. I'm aiming to do better than 2019's attempt, when I tapped out just past halfway, after my IT band issues flared up again. I'm also aiming to do better than 2018's completion, which took me over a quarter of a day to do. Sub 5 hours is the goal this time. 

So, my training plan started in earnest on new year's day. The plan called for me to run 16k/10 miles in just under two hours - I managed it, but didn't stick remotely to race pace. No matter, that's what training plans are for. It's practice to get me in the habit of it, so that I can nail it come race day three months later. Two days later came a sterner test. The plan called for 10k, with a 1.5k warm up/warm down jog, and the middle 7k at 5 minutes 41 seconds per kilometre. I've managed that at parkruns without issue, but they're when I'm fresh on a Saturday morning. This was after my first day back at work for nearly a fortnight, still feeling the effects of quitting caffeine for January, in the dark, and with it bucketing down. It was also in the dark, so I couldn't make out my pace on my watch and dodge both tree branches and uneven pavements. While I managed the distance, the timings were nowhere near where they needed to be. An utterly dismal day on Thursday saw me eschew the planned slow 8k and regroup. 

Saturday 7th saw an early start to see Dana off to the airport, before returning home to breakfast before knocking out a slow 5k (albeit still 2 minutes faster than planned). The following morning had an 11k in the calendar, to be completed in just under two hours. I managed it at 1 hour 15. Going slow was proving to be an issue. I know that it'll serve me well going forward in building up a good stamina base, but I can't adjust my mindset well enough to slow down. 

Tuesday brought on some interval training. Again, after work, but this time around Hove park. Six pairs of 2 minutes at 5 min/k pace and 2 minutes jogging to recover. Managed it, mostly, but I realised that Hove park isn't terribly well lit, and neither are a lot of people walking round it in the dark. The number of runners dressed all in black, or dog walkers with LED collars on their pooches but not making themselves visible and leaving the leads stretched across the path like tripwires made this a frustrating and dangerous run. I decided to invest in a chest light - while people might see me and think I look like a prat, at least they'll see me, and I can see them in turn. I took it out for a test on the Thursday night slow run to the pier and back and it paid dividends straight away. The run was 8k, in 55 minutes - closer to the 57 minute target.

These evening runs midweek were out of my normal, early morning running comfort zone, but they had a benefit that I didn't realise until the above run. By running at the end of a day of work, past several chippies before dinner, I was slowly getting myself used to running while tired and hungry - two states I'll probably be in towards the end of the marathon. It'll help my mindset knowing that I've completed runs at race pace on tired legs and an empty stomach. 

The following Sunday I loaded up a playlist of podcast episodes, pointed myself east and ran to Rottingdean and back. It was a glorious sunny morning, hindered only by the strong east wind and the Indian takeaway the night before that necessitated a brief stop at the public toilets 4k in. Again, good training for race day. The pace didn't drop much after I turned into the wind and going up and down hills, only the last two kilometres being an utter slog when I ran out of fuel. Half baked plans to nudge the distance up to half marathon length were out the window, I circled the nearby co-op until my watch bleeped 20 and I could stop and shovel food into my mouth. 

Another Tuesday interval run, five lots of 4 minutes at 5:30 min/km pace, with 400m recovery jogging in between. I had fewer obstacles around Hove park now that I was lit up like a Christmas tree. I didn't quite manage the distance of 8k, but a slight detour on the way home saw the purchase of a pair of flip-flops ahead of April's holiday - ideal for wearing around the flat and protecting my feet. Thursday came, with ice on the ground despite a sunny day. 

I made several mistakes for this run. First of all I needed to do 10k in 69 minutes (nice) - I did 11 in 72 instead, so longer and faster than planned. Secondly the speedy pace was necessary - at the halfway point of an out-and-back I realised that the digestive issues weren't going away, and had a hurried, frantic run home. This would've been alright, except about half an hour after I got home, I felt like somebody had stabbed my right heel with a hot poker. The pain lingered for the rest of the evening, and the following day I could barely hobble around the flat, let alone walk the 15 minutes to the office. Working from home was on the cards, resting my leg as much as possible. 

A Google suggested that it was my Achilles tendon causing me issues. I had to be careful about how I posted about this on social media - the opportunity for a pun was ripe, but then everyone would assume I'm just making a joke and I wouldn't get the sympathy and attention I so desperately craved. The resting, and the ankle brace, helped ease the pain and by Sunday I felt ok walking around a boot fair - still wearing the ankle brace, but able to cope with the steps. Walking back to the bus stop to leave I noticed the inside of the ankle aching a bit, but assumed that it was rubbing on the inside of my boots. 

I felt well enough to walk to work and back on the Monday, but decided not to run the speed session on the Tuesday night, thinking that the slower 11k on the Thursday would be good to ease myself back into a run. I worked from home that day too, to ensure maximum rest, and headed out before dinner. 

Three kilometres in, and my Achilles went "nope, we're not ready yet". I slowed down, slower than race pace, and the pain eased but didn't fully fade. A gentle jog home, finishing the run at 7k, and I knew then I shouldn't run without seeing a physio. A notification popped up after I finished my run congratulating me for reaching 100km for the month - a nice round number to end January on. For context, this is the same distance I ran from 9th October to 31st December 2022 - compressed into a much shorter time span. No wonder my legs were complaining!

My first physio appointment went well. It was my Achilles, but I was right to stop when I did rather than run through the pain - I've learnt lessons from four years ago!

I was given a plan of stretches which I kept up with, until real life slammed itself in the way. A test 5k run on Monday 6th February stuck to roughly race pace, but with my Achilles grousing - not painful, but I was aware of it more than I should've been. In addition, I noticed the pain on the inside of the ankle returning, and a bonus swelling beneath it too! A return to the physio gave me more stretches, and was immediately followed by a day of laser tag, a gig in Brighton, a trip to Kent and back to see my family and watch Gillingham play surprisingly well (eventually), then a gig in London. It's fair to say that stretching - and indeed, resting - weren't high on my list of priorities, but my feet didn't complain. 

So, I decided to test them. Back during my last marathon training, I got the train to Littlehampton with the goal of running back home, around 32k/20 miles. I didn't want to go quite as far this time, so caught the train to Angmering, a few stops closer. This had another bonus too - in the village there's a lovingly restored 1930s petrol station, which I passed on my way to the sea. 

Angmering and East Preston are very odd, full of private roads that aren't technically a public right of way, and so locals will look at you weirdly because you're not from round there. I made my way to the sea and picked up the route from four years ago. I chuntered east, trying to stick to race pace, fully aware of where the nearest railway station was at all times. Unsure of how long my ankle would last I had purchased a return ticket and at the slighest hint of an issue I'd stop running and hobble, Paul Shelton style, to get a train home. Into Ferring and a slight kilometre long detour along the river and back, after I followed the public footpath signs rather than running 100m through a car park. Back by the sea and the route opened out to the western part of the Worthing Half Marathon course, so I was on familiar ground. I could stop paying so much attention to navigation now, it was all coastal paths the rest of the way home. Through Worthing and out the other side, I approached Lancing - the rough halfway mark, and the place I'd planned to get a water top up.

Unfortunately the Brooklands area saw a hitch. A faint, light-headed feeling came over me and I slowed to walk several times. No problems with my injuries, this time it was a lack of fuelling that hindered me. I knew the Lancing area well enough, so stopped off at a local corner shop to pick up and gobble down a protein bar. This helped, and I decided to carry on. The water fountain at the Green was broken, so a partial top up of water from the cafe was better than nothing. Refreshed and replenished, with 15k down and no hint of pain from my feet, I decided to run the 3k to the end of Widewater Lagoon, along the Lancing Beach Green parkrun course. I'd decide there whether to cut inland and take the shorter route to Shoreham station, or carry along the seafront a bit further and take the scenic route. 

At the eastern end of the lagoon is a toilet block. This was where my knee gave up four years ago. This time, no toilet break, but I crouched down to what I hope was a freshwater tap to top up my bottle, and carried on without a peep of complaint from my legs. A psychological barrier smashed through I stayed along the coast, taking the longer route to Shoreham. As I crossed the Adur my watch beeped 19km. I was feeling fine, and the stations between Shoreham and home are numerous, so I elected to see how far I could get. A run to Southwick - the next stop - would see me get a half marathon distance covered, so I wanted to see if my legs would hold up to it. Along past the industrial estates, and weird to be going in this direction along my normal route to parkrun. I ticked off the half marathon distance by Shoreham lighthouse, still a good kilometre from the next station, so carried on running. 

At this point I was checking past runs to see how long the runs I'd managed over the last few years were. I tapped out of the Brighton marathon in 2019 at 24km; my longest training run came to 25km. Both of which were halted due to knee pain. Passing Southwick station I'd hit 22km and decided to push on further, to see how far I could get. 800m later I chose not to swerve inland to Fishersgate station, carrying along past Shoreham harbour, the day by now a lot warmer than I'd dressed for when leaving the house all those hours before! At the 24km mark I'd entered the residential areas and, knowing that it would be busier (and that there was a sizeable Tesco nearby), didn't push further home. Instead I ran around Portslade, ticking over more distance until my watch beeped 25km. 

I'd run the furthest distance since my marathon in 2018. My legs hadn't given me any issues. I'd had a wobble halfway - but this is what training is for, to diagnose potential problems and sort them before race day. Tomorrow, when I run the Brighton Half Marathon, I'll take my gels sooner and carry some spare fuel with me. I don't know how far along this journey my body will take me, but I can't wait to find out!