Rebirth

A nearly empty room. A single spotlight shines on the lone microphone stand in the centre. A figure approaches from the shadows. They tap twice on the microphone. A gentle cough. Feedback whines, and gets shut down. 

Yes, about seven years after I last used this blog, I'm back to strip the dustsheets off, let it hum into life once more and fix any blown fuses ahead of a dozen or so new posts between now and the end of the year. The content I have in mind isn't relevant for my other blog (http://jamesvt.blogspot.com/) as that's primarily concerned with running...and this harks back to a series that I began publishing in October 2009.

I'll be updating the series for songs released between January 2010 and December 2019 (roughly) and publishing them once a week leading up to the end of the year. Each post will include a Youtube and Spotify link to the song where possible, and as well as a paragraph about the song, may also include a brief piece about other songs by that artist that missed out - because yes, I'll be sticking firmly to my one song per artist name rule, and as per usual I'll be finding loopholes to my own rules. 

An artist can only feature once under a particular name, but can appear again if the group name changes, if they have a "featuring on" credit on a song, if they have a solo release as well as one under a band name, and any other excuse I can think of. For example, Ed Sheeran could appear with a solo song, as part of his featuring on credit for an Eminem song, and as the duo credited as "Ed Sheeran & Justin Bieber". Bieber could also additionally appear as a featured artist on another song, as a joint credit on Despacito and as a solo artist - but if that happens then he'd be ruled out of having another song as lead artist with a featuring on credit, such as "Justin Bieber ft Chris Brown".

Don't worry, none of the above artists or songs will make it into my top 100 for reasons of taste and decency, those are merely examples. 

I aim also to do two additional rundowns - one of songs that missed out on last decade's countdown, that I've since discovered and regret not including looking back, and one of songs/artists that missed out on this year's countdown for various reasons.

This post is also a test to see if my blogger to Twitter applet just works on my running blog, or is for everything on my blogger account.

 It was one of those sticky nights, when the cool side of the pillow dissipates as soon as you turn it over. St Pancras station at 1 am on one of these Saturday nights is a strange place. Colourful drunks lounge haphazardly over seats as Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Your Type” blares uncomfortably loudly from the jukebox in the food court; it’s only occupants are a tramp and a pigeon wrestling for control of a half eaten burger.

Down on the subterranean platforms a smartly dressed man buzzes a razor over his stubble, smoothing his face. A jittery youth taps and mumbles along to the bass bleeding from his cheap headphones as he paces up and down the platform. Across the tracks, a middle aged couple bicker about their day, each blaming the other for some perceived slight against them that “ruined a lovely day until then”. A man in a fashionably aged black t-shirt promoting a 1970s rock band sits down between me and Razor Reg, down one end of the platform. A few lone women loiter near the relative safety of the platform entrance, in easy reach of a staff member should their night get uncomfortable.

The youth in the headphones continues jitterbugging up and down our platform, the steady thud from his bass rising and falling as he passes and recedes. The smart man accidentally squeaks out a fart; he looks round hoping nobody heard over the sound of his razor, but Rocker Billy and I have already shared a quiet smile together. The train is ten minutes away, and I am still two hours from my bed and sleep.

The couple on the litter strewn northbound platform have resolved their differences and are demonstrating this with a sloppy snogging session. It’s touch and go whether this is better than the argument or not. The downside of platforms buried under concrete, earth and fashionable boutiques is a complete lack of phone signal - not that my provider covered themselves in glory in medium sized Buckinghamshire towns on the previous journey, anyway - so no distractions with social media or music. The allure of a downloaded podcast tugs gently at me, but in my current state sleep would quickly follow and I’d wake up in a depot somewhere, or knowing my luck, somewhere even worse, like Swindon.

Mac and Megan Makeout have been joined on their side by Jitterbug. He stops his pacing and proclaims across the tracks to us, “they is coming, you know!” devoid of context. I ponder whether he’s referring to the Spice Girls reunion, the advertised train services (still ten minutes away!) or something even more sinister. Briefly I consider sharing this with Rocker Billy but I decide against it - it could provoke further conversation and I just want the train to be here so I can put my headphones on and curl up with my book.

The chimes of an announcement interrupt our various thoughts, and as one we turn our faces to the ceiling, despite the loudspeakers being installed at waist height as part of a government scheme to aid accessibility (or funnel extra cash to suppliers to replace the inevitably vandalised one speaker in three, you decide). The monotonous drone of the voice is barely audible over the cracking from the speakers but it seems to imply my train will call additionally at somewhere in east Kent before a south London station. Bemused, I keep my eye on the screen for clarification, and the update on the display shows a much more geographically sensible additional stop.

The train is only ten minutes away. The display proclaims that it’s between a station that never opened and one that sounds Swedish. I don’t trust it. I check to see if Hårga station is actually served by trains, any trains, and isn’t just an IKEA dinner set but my phone mockingly displays no signal. At least when it did this earlier I had cows to look at out the window! My smartwatch is two minutes faster than the time displayed on the train departure board above Razor Reg, but as my watch also thinks it’s 1970 I’m not inclined to trust that either. Perhaps Rocker Billy’s gravitational pull has affected it. I tut to myself the disappointment that he’s not wearing a different band’s shirt, with him affecting time like a black hole, and it technically being the Sabbath after all!

I compose a tweet musing on how it never really feels like tomorrow until you’ve slept, no matter what the clocks say, and delete it from my drafts. None of my followers that are awake at this time are going to find it funny - take away those under the influence of drink, drugs or music and my feed right now is probably just baseball updates and that weird group Tetris twitter. Perhaps I should institute a delay in tweeting more often. Like the delay to this train, an infinite ten minutes. Maybe I should follow Jitterbug in his pacing, stop my muscles atrophying. There are barely a dozen of us down here. Is civilisation still there above? Are we all that’s left of the human race? Mac and Meg seem to be well on their way to repopulating the earth by themselves, judging by their frenzied roaming all over each other while each attempts to devour the other. Suddenly the repeated automated announcements about CCTV coverage of the station make sense, they’re not usually played on a perpetual loop and I suspect they’ve been manually prompted to try and stop the couple progressing further.

Jitterbug has sped up his pacing, almost sprinting up and down the other platform. I don’t blame you mate, I wouldn’t want to hang around those two either, they might try and drag you in! He’s moving fast enough that his pupils seem to make up the whole of his eyes… That, or whatever has made him so jittery. A crystal clear tannoy announcement interrupts the CCTV one to let us know that our train is now only ten minutes away. It’s only after it fades away and the CCTV announcements return, at the behest of someone in a control room somewhere being put off their mid shift meal by arcane meeting rituals on platform B, that it occurs to me how odd the tannoy was. There’s a fair few international passengers at this station so announcing it in French first must be something new being introduced, but they don’t tend to address me by name.

Reg moves his razor up and over the thinning grey of his temples. Billy taps out a drum rhythm almost, but not entirely unlike a Rolling Stones song. I wonder if I really need to save my two remaining cans of Danish lager from the cheap off licence round the corner for the train, or if I should open one now. The train is only ten minutes away though, I can wait. My watch is now an hour fast, if it hasn’t fixed itself when I get mobile signal I’ll reset it at home tomorrow. Today. After sleep, at any rate.

A trio of women squeezed into too tight clothes tottering on high heels have joined us on our platform. One says something that sounds hilarious to all three; the acoustics of the concrete box make the laughs sound like cackles. I realise that buried beneath the earth, surrounded by concrete, we’re effectively sharing a Mausoleum. A pigeon breaks that thought by fluttering in from the outside, through the same tunnel my train will arrive in ten minutes. It turns to head back out, revealing a burnt featherless side to its head. Suddenly I regret my fried chicken for dinner earlier. The trio find this, or something unrelated, even more hilarious, their cackles booming around the station box.

Mac whispers something to Meg, which makes them both chuckle. Jitterbug grins at their mirth, which they find funnier, a feedback loop of laughs on the other platform. Reg nicks himself with his razor. As the blood trickles down his neck he brushes a hand over it, and finds the smear on his fingers funny. He shows Billy, who shares in the joke, the pair howling with laughter, tears falling from their eyes. The three on the other platform all have their arms around each other, heads thrown back, laughing uproariously. The lone women have departed, if they ever really were there to begin with. Laughs of various pitches and volume echo around the tomb of a station, drowning out announcements which now appear to be in Old English.

My train is only ten minutes away.

99 Parkruns, not a stitch at one

(Probably an inaccurate title, given my earlier poor running style!)

Saturday was my 99th parkrun, and my 15th at my new home of Lancing Beach Green. I wanted to mark it in style! But what to do? Maybe get a red balloon for each run, and let them all go as I cross the finish line? Bad for the environment, and I might accidentally cause an international nuclear incident*. Run while eating an ice cream with a flake? Bit messy! Listen to Rammstein while running, as their keyboardist is nicknamed "Flake"? Somewhat tenuous, even by my standards!

I settled for breaking out the demon and getting not one but two Personal Bests instead.

(Sidebar: Fergal Devitt wrestles in the WWE under the name Finn Balor. Part of his character is that he can tap into his demon side; for those matches he enters the ring with face/body paint on, to a heavier version of his theme song and wrestles with a more vicious set of moves. "Demon Finn" is also undefeated. [And yes, I'm well aware that wrestling - like 95% of TV shows, from Game Of Thrones to Love Island - is scripted, however that doesn't stop it being entertaining.] I have my own version of this gimmick, in that whenever I've worn my Brighton Marathon 2018 shirt I've got some form of PB.)

The week before, at the same parkrun, I finished one second shy of equalling my PB time at that course - and this despite running into 40mph wind for the final 2.2km of the run. This time, with much nicer conditions - sunshine, a gentle breeze - I knew I could break my course PB. In fact, I'd be disappointed if I didn't. Part of the issue was the auto-pause feature on Strava - it didn't kick in until 3 seconds after I started the run last week, so what I thought was a new PB was just too slow. Bearing this in mind I mentally added five seconds to whatever my watch was showing this time round, to try and ensure that I didn't go through the same thing again.

I flew out of the traps, rather than taking it slow, and 300m in at the first hairpin I was surprised to see how many more people there were behind me than usual - albeit with a much greater attendance at this week's run than last week's! Back past the start line, up the slope and onto the beach side path, I found a suitable candidate for my holistic pacing (find someone who looks like they're going the pace you want to run at, and stick behind them) and slotted into a brisk pace. The first km ticked by at 5:21, a pace that would see me comfortably beating my course PB - I knew that if I slowed and dropped off my pacer I would probably have enough to get me over the line. I've never really been one for negative splits!

The next km was slightly slower, at 5:31, perhaps a better reflection of the speed I'd settled in at as I dashed off and covered the first few hundred metres somewhat faster. The second hairpin turn at 2.8km gave a boost - I'd turned away from the sun, and into the breeze, which was gentle enough not to hinder me but strong enough to cool my skin - a black short sleeved shirt wasn't comfortable in the heat! I kept an eye on my watch, steadily ticking down the distance while the clock ticked ever upwards.

At the 4km mark I rounded the tricky bend by the sailing club and had a more open view of the route ahead of me, so started to pass people and reel in the next one ahead, pass them and reel in the person that they were following. I passed a few people this way, alternating between glancing at my watch and the person ahead, until with 400m left I opened up my stride and went for it! The final 100m are a gentle slope, curving down to the right, and I firmly stuck to the inside of this bend before bursting over the line in a sweaty mess.

Last week I'd finished the run in 27:54. My course PB at Lancing was 27:53, and my 5k PB (set at Hove Prom) was 27:07. Adding an extra 5 seconds onto my time to account for watch foibles (which turned out to be the exact discrepancy between my watch time and the official Parkrun time) I finished the run in 26 minutes and 48 seconds, a new course PB and distance PB!

*For some reason in my head I'd conflated the false alarm incident linked, to the probably fictional incident in the song, and only realised that they were different while writing this up today. The more you learn, I guess!

The Big Day

Previously: Cause for concern from my knee over a certain distance, and for my watch's battery life, but general confidence going into the marathon.

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.

Clear Skies, Full Sinuses, New(ish) Shoes

Previously - steadily getting in the miles, and pulling forward my Sunday long run to a Friday.

Friday long run

No Thursday run, as I had a long one on Friday. I jumped on a westbound train all the way to Littlehampton, with the plan of running back home along the coast to Hove. The previous Sunday a fellow local runner (hi Mark!) had done a similar thing and so I decided to straight up copy his route. I knew I wouldn't get anywhere near his time but just wanted to get the distance of 32km/20 miles under my belt ahead of the marathon. After getting only slightly lost around Littlehampton I found a suitable place to start on the banks of the Arun and set off, podcasts in ears. Very quickly I realised that the grey skies were only threatening to rain and wouldn't follow through, so off came my running jacket to cool myself down a bit! 

Apart from a small diversion around Angmering the majority of the route to Worthing was along a coastal path so I had a breeze off the sea to keep me cool. The posher estates in that part of the world had a decent lawn between the properties and the beach which was a nice change to run along, and made a nice difference from tarmacked paths! Eight kilometres under my belt and I suddenly realised I was on familiar territory, as I'd reached the western end of Worthing half marathon - a race I ran two years previously. I followed that route for a few km, the houses providing a change of scenery as well as a mental boost from being able to run along a route I'd previously only lightly jogged. That lasted for all of fifteen minutes before I started getting warmer than I was happy with, so I went back along the beachfront path into Worthing itself. This was a smoother path than the pavement as well - I didn't want to be concentrating on my footing while I was dealing with eating jelly babies!

Down the route of Worthing parkrun, and I bumped my distance up a bit by running to the end of Worthing pier and back up, past several bemused people enjoying cake in the end of pier cafe. The bleak stretch from Worthing to Lancing beckoned, coinciding with the realisation that I was only halfway through my run. These runs aren't just about physical training, it's also about getting your head used to the fact that you'll be exercising for a solid four, five, six hours in one hit. Running on your own does get lonely, which is why I always make sure to have music (if I'm running for a time) or podcasts (distance) to listen to and keep myself occupied. I've also cut off one earbud so while I can listen to my distraction, I'm not completely cut off from the world and can still hear things going on around me for safety. Past Lancing beach green cafe and I was onto very familiar territory, heading out along the course of Lancing parkrun. I paid very close attention to my watch at the point it failed last time but it behaved this time. 

By this point my bladder was grumbling so 19km into my run I stopped at some convenient, um, conveniences. I was only in there for a minute or so, practising a speedy relief ahead of the marathon, but it was enough for my iliotibial band to decide that we were finished, and when I tried to run again it straight up refused. A walk into a gentle jog to a run got it moving again, under protest, and I slogged onward. The route from here was more or less the same as my watch-crashing run, only in reverse and without running out to Shoreham harbour arm, and I carried on round Shoreham fort. Running back towards the bridge over the Adur my knee protested too much and at 24km (15 miles) I finished, completing only 75% of my plan. I stomped into Shoreham, a soggy smelly mess, and had a grumpy pint in a Shepherd Neame pub for consolation/recovery purposes. While I took more time off my half marathon PB (it's now just over 2 hours 18 minutes) I was disappointed that I couldn't go much further.

Midweek runs

Social commitments and a recognised need for rest meant that my next run wasn't until Wednesday. My training plan recommended a 10k run at a slower pace, so I did just that - or tried anyway! I picked a route heading east into Brighton, which also covered a bit of the marathon route. Within the first km I passed a Google Street View car - it hasn't been uploaded yet, but the footage will be good for analysing my running form, and it'll probably end up in my ongoing flattering running pictures thread on Twitter. My pacing for this run was all over the shop, fluctuating between 6 and 7 minutes per km, not aided by the first half of the route taking in a large number of the hills in Brighton. After taking in one of the two uphill sections of the marathon route that might require crampons and pitons to ascend, the rest was a gentle downhill amble towards the seafront, and then a run along the promenade to complete the 10k without issue. I only had three of the ten km within 10 seconds of the target pace of 7 minutes/km, and the average pace was 15 seconds below that - not good for a disciplined marathon start.

Like Kate Bush, I'll be running up that hill

The following day I had another run planned, a shorter (6.5km) and faster (6:15min/km) route. This time I went west of home, to Portslade, covering more of the marathon route. This was much more successful pacing wise as only one full km was outside a +/-10 second variance from the target pace, and that was only out by 12 seconds. The part of the route I covered, along Church Road, was mainly a refresher as I used to walk that route regularly when I worked in Portslade. A much better run, and a nice ego boost passing a pair of pedestrians twice in the run - I worked out later that I'd run 5k in the time it had taken them to walk 1.5k! Granted, I had a schedule and I've no way of knowing if they stopped off or were just ambling, but it was still a lift to see.

A Saturday parkrun to Lancing, a nice catch up with some regulars there, and what I thought was a dreadful run actually turned out to be pretty decent! After a very sluggish start my pace picked up, and every km was faster than the one before. I finished in just over 29 minutes, with my only issue being my watch losing 30 seconds (Strava says I finished in 28:35), so take the above splits with a pinch of salt. Still, I'm now only seven parkruns away from hitting 100! That evening I felt a cold coming on, but at the time (and even now) the symptoms are above the neck, so I proceeded with my Sunday long run as planned.

Sunday Long Run

I got up bright and early, and it was very bright - not a cloud in the sky! I headed out east, across Brighton, but with gentler slopes to contend with this time, as I had another 32km/20 miler in mind. I only touched upon the marathon route once, bisecting it at Preston Circus, as this was about the distance rather than recon. The sun beat down as I plodded along the the Lewes Road out of Brighton, past Moulscoomb station, and once again my bladder was protesting. One thing to remember on marathon day - go to the toilet more! At 7km I spotted some public conveniences (I'm indebted to Brighton & Hove, Adur Valley and Arun Valley councils) and stopped with some trepidation. Would I be able to continue, or will I have a grumpy bus journey back home already after my leg seizes up?

After washing my hands I left and gingerly got back up to speed. No protests from either leg, so I carried on with my route. While my leg hadn't had an issue, my watch had, as I'd suddenly gained some extra mileage while relieving myself. I made sure to stretch my drinks out a bit more (I think 500ml every 10k seems to suit me fine) and I pressed on up to the highest part of my route, at Falmer. With the sun laying down I struggled and came close to giving up until I crested the hill and the run became a lot easier - funnily enough the thoughts of giving up disappeared after that! I ran alongside the A27 to Lewes, slightly aggrieved that I was running in perfect motorbike weather, whereas two days previously I'd ridden my motorbike along the same route in perfect running weather (overcast, breeze, cool)! Into Lewes itself and I followed the road, fairly confident that it would lead me to the centre of town. Running along narrow medieval streets was a pleasant change and as I neared the castle I found myself idly wondering what time it was. Well, I had no need to pull my phone out of my pocket and check as the church bells started to bong the hour at 10am right as I went past, giving me a fright! 

Through Lewes and out along the old railway line (oh look, there's a theme with my runs becoming apparent) with only a slight detour around the local tip being the extent of my getting lost for this run. Under the Lewes bypass and suddenly the land opened up ahead of me - the rest of the run would be alongside the river Ouse, in the valley cutting through the chalk ridges of the South Downs. Flat, clear, the only issue was the muddy paths as I had to slow down and concentrate on my footing! By now my pace was over 7 mins/km as I tired and had to contend with rough terrain for the next 5 km until I found a gravel path to run along. I crossed the river and headed up to the level crossing by Southease station but in the act of slowing for the gates, my leg decided enough was enough and seized on me again. I considered working it loose and pressing on another 5k to Newhaven, finishing on around 30k total, but decided that I didn't want to risk further injury this close to the marathon. Instead I grabbed a slice of cake and a beer from the YHA cafe at Southease and waited for the train back to Brighton.

What have I learnt?

• My watch is on the way out and should probably be replaced sooner rather than later
• I need to find a suitable stretching routine if I stop more than 20km into a run
• I'm pretty confident with my refuelling on the go, both food and drinks
• Brighton is very hilly

Half of my hearty run

Where did I leave off? Oh yes, a long run unrecorded due to my app dying. Well, one upside of that was that in playing about with the Android Wear Strava app afterwards, desperately trying to recover my run somehow, I discovered that one can swipe upwards to finish a run recording - quite handy, considering that for the last few months I'd been restarting the watch in order to stop the run and sync it with my phone! 

A few days later, undeterred by the technological issues of the previous run, I went out on a harder course for a midweek run. No flat coastal routes this time, instead I was running up the chalk hills that border Brighton and Hove to the north of the city, roughly following the route of the old railway line. The route from Aldrington station to the bridge over the A27 was a familiar one from past Sunday runs, so this time I started with a bit of a lap of Hove Park to bring up my finish line to the top of Devil's Dyke. I continued up through the housing estate knowing more or less where I was going...roughly...wait, none of this looks remotely familiar. Heading on a general north-westerly direction I finally found the bridge across the A27 and got back on route. I had a pleasant jog up the old line, sadly not seeing much of anything to indicate the route's prior purpose, until I got to 6k. I realised that my original plan of finishing my route at the top of this ruddy great hill would mean that I'd then have another 8k to walk back home again. Apart from the photo opportunity, which was pretty much ruined by the grey weather anyway, there was no real point to continuing on to the top of the hill and so I returned back to Brighton. 

On the way down the hill I decided to extend my distance for the day. Running downhill was easier than the way up (thanks, gravity!) and I'd have to go the distance back home anyway so I may as well run it and get home quicker. The fickle finger of technology got in my way once again though - as I reached the original total of 8k my podcast started sounding distorted and low bitrate-y. Troubleshooting options like another episode (changing the file), playing a song through Spotify (changing the app) and a good old restart of the phone didn't fix the problem, so I had the last few kilometres without any distraction. 

Still, at least I lowered the tone of Waitrose by walking round shopping directly after finishing my run. Another week spent easing myself back into the runs - I replaced my headphones and took them for a spin at Lancing parkrun on Saturday. The headwind again created a positive split and was a real struggle running back but I kept the time under 30 minutes, with Spotify's shuffle throwing up a mix of NWOBHM bands (Saxon, Judas Priest, Rainbow) rather than the usual pop/Springsteen. A gentle run, but a good trial for my new headphones, and my new shoes - I felt that my current pair would probably be on their last legs by the time I get to the marathon, and this way I can get used to a newer pair with a month or so to go.

The following day was five weeks from M-day, which is an abbreviation I'll probably never use again. A clear, cool day, I decided to take advantage of the weather conditions and go for a longer run. If I could run 16k during a storm, I can run further on a nicer day with just a few gusts of wind, right? I'd read about a coastal route along the base of the cliffs from Brighton Marina to Saltdean in Alexandra Hemsley's Running Like A Girl the previous week so thought I'd head out that way and run back along the cliff tops, covering another bit of the marathon route. Apart from a few puddles (my new shoes no longer look new) and a mix-up involving heading up the steps at Ovingdean instead of further along - I really need to plan my routes better, or at least consult Google Maps while running - the outbound stretch was a breeze, and I headed back up to the top of the cliffs by Saltdean's gorgeous art deco Lido. Fun, this! 

The way back, less so. Up and down undulating cliffs, the slog of running into the wind up steep hills was not quite as daunting as cresting the hill and realising that, oh no, the wind is much worse when it's not blocked. At one point I came to a complete halt because the wind was so strong. I'd finished one bottle of lucozade and remembering what happened last week, refuelled with a small bag of jelly babies that seemed to be never-ending. Over the course of 3km I must've had the last sweet a dozen times, yet there always seemed to be just one more in the bag. Still, they perked me up on the run and I'll grab a few packets for M-day (there it is again!). The slight downhill gradient from above the marina down to the pier was a bit more gentle, but still windy. Good resistance training at least! Knowing it (hopefully) won't be as windy when I do the marathon was a small crumb of comfort.

By now it was around 10:30am and the promenades were filled with people out for a morning stroll. The grim, sympathetic smiles from fellow runners were replaced by odd looks from people who don't know the meaning of a long slow Sunday morning run (normal, sensible folk then) and I decided to cut short my run from the original planned 29k distance. Instead a quick Google threw up a new target of 21.09km - the distance of a half marathon. I had a time in mind as I'd reached halfway of the marathon at 2 hours 33 minutes last year (and the second half of that taking over 3 and a half hours shows you just how unprepared I was for it!) and I wanted to beat that. I pushed and pushed against a wind that seemed to toy with me, envious of the people flying past using the conditions to their advantage, and by the time I turned up The Drive away from the wind I was too worn out to speed up. I plodded along a bit further, eagle eyes on my watch, and stopped at the half marathon distance to a new personal best HM time of 2 hours, 22 minutes and 53 seconds. The good thing is, knowing the conditions I battled against, on a flat course I can easily beat that again - but that's for another day. The (actual) non-alcoholic beer was a great relief afterwards!

Two days later, and I was ready to run again. Not up to 100%, but if I were a player on Football Manager, I wouldn't have a red or orange "inj" symbol next to my name, fit enough to cope with another run. Where to this time? Well, from my flat there's a tower with a black pointed roof roughly west-north-west. I'd always assumed that this was the clock tower on top of the Tesco Extra out Shoreham way until I spotted it from my run up Devil's Dyke last week, and realised it was significantly closer than that. A few minutes on Google Maps produced an answer and now I had somewhere to run to! Starting with a route through Hove Park I paid attention to my route this time and significantly, didn't get lost. West through Hangleton, through a park north of the big Sainsbury that I had no idea existed until yesterday, and up through Portslade village itself. I knew that an out-and-back to the tower would leave me short by 2k, so I passed the tower at 4.5k and kept on going, over the A27 and along a muddy farm track for an extra kilometre. Somewhere back up the track my GPS suddenly leapt up to over 7k run, throwing out my pace for the day and completely throwing me off. I soldiered on back down the route I'd run, knowing that when I reached Foredown Tower on the way back I'd have a further 4.5k left to run. Fortunately for me my watch showed 8k as I passed the landmark - I'm good at mental arithmetic, but not while I'm exercising my body as well as my brain! A few rough calculations and I worked out not only the distance left but also the time markers I'd need every 500m as well, enabling me to stick to my pace. A finish around the top portion of Hove Park left me with some space to warm down as well.

A social commitment this Sunday has meant that I won't be able to fit in a long run, and rather than push it to the day after (and be knackered for a trip to the theatre that evening) I've pulled it forward and will fit it in on Friday morning. This juggling of my training has pulled forward a few other runs, and today I did tomorrow's run of "only" 5k, a distance I was a little disappointed to see yesterday, but glad it wasn't that far when I did the run today! It was timed for completion in 30 minutes, an easy feat considering my parkrun times lately, but on a hillier course than usual as I completed a few laps of Hove park. I got off to a slow, sluggish start, completing the first km in 6:15, and so I had a deficit to make up the rest of the run. I managed it, finishing in 29:53, but I was grateful of the shorter distance today! 

New shoes!

Looking less new after a half marathon

Headwind and the Angry Knee

(Yes, I am resuming this blog partly because I thought of a decent - your mileage may vary - pun for the title.)

So, what's gone on in the *counts on fingers* five months since I last updated this blog? Have a potted history in the style of your favourite recapping narrator (be they Kristen Bell, an undercover Russian, a smooth Latin lover, a dry English librarian, or Kristen Bell):

- Christmas Eve I started my marathon training plan, gradually increasing the distances and speeds of my weekly runs
- My Brighton Marathon shirt from last year racked up more and more PBs, not just course PBs set on each course's inaugural run (thus guaranteeing a new PB) but on occasions when the conditions just felt right, giving me that extra boost to ensure a new record. 
- One of those was smashing my 10k personal best by five minutes on a Sunday morning in late January, finally getting the sub 60 minute 10k time that was my New Year's resolution. For 2017.
- My total distance run for 2018 was a touch over 320km, not only hitting the stretch goal put down in October, but going a little bit further to make up the 20km I was short in 2017.
- I joined the 21st century and upgraded from the dodgy Runtastic app to Strava. 
- I saw a physio for the first time!

When I've been running over the winter months, the outer part of my left knee would occasionally give me feedback, along the lines of "stop running, this hurts". This eased off as I strengthened it, and my rule of thumb became "if the temperature is in single digits, wear leggings" which averted the problem. Sitting still for long periods would occasionally cause it to flare up, so picking specific cinema seats and being able to stretch out sorted this.

Until my marathon plan kicked in, and I suddenly started running more than just a parkrun and an hour's slow run every Saturday and Sunday. A month into my training and a Saturday walk around town post-parkrun became so painful I had to stop and rest every few hundred metres. I bit the bullet and went to a local physio (a stone's throw from my flat - literally, I can stand on my balcony and lob a pebble through their window with minimal effort if I were so inclined!) and it turns out I'd strained my iliotibial band (which runs down the outside of your leg from hip to knee). Three weeks of rest, three weeks out of my marathon training plan, three weeks kicking my heels, three weeks of getting acquainted with my foam roller. 

(Side note: I hate the foam roller and it hates me, but it's incredibly useful. When I'm in the US for the week before the marathon I'll be purchasing a cheap one from Target to keep myself bendy!)

A couple of test runs around Hove Park to make sure my legs were working, and I got back in the game in early March - which just so happened to be the inaugural Seaford parkrun. Again I gamed the stats for my Marathon shirt, jumped on a speedy, comfortable and frequent train along the coast, and ran an out-and-back course by the sea! Very close to the sea, at one point there was less than a metre between the prom and the waves. After some initial complaints from my knee it shushed itself and I flew along the route, making great time. Maybe the enforced rest and exercises did me the world of good? I turned round at the end of the course to head back and faced into a gust of wind. Ah. Looks like the outbound section had some aid! The run back was somewhat trickier, however I managed to keep up a consistent pace throughout despite the conditions, and finish under the 30 minute mark. 

(This is longer than I expected it to be, but the second half ties into the headline, and I'll be damned if I'm losing the wordplay.)

The confidence from my leg not falling off and a run in tricky conditions fired me up, and I went out the following morning for a Sunday long run. I set it in stages - if the walk to the coast to start was fine on my leg, I'd run west with the option of stopping at a railway station and jumping on the next train back. There weren't many people around, running through Storm Freya, so there was a nice camaraderie among those hardy souls mad bastards who were out. Again my knee stopped complaining after the first km (I really need to warm up better) so I reached Hove Lagoon and instead of heading inland, continued along the bleak industrial estate towards Shoreham power station. This is the section of the marathon that separates the wheat from the chaff, and last year knocked me for six. Running along it in the middle of a storm killed some demons, and after a foray out to the end of Shoreham harbour arm I came inland and carried on westwards, passing Southwick station and heading towards Shoreham. 

Passing McDonalds I was tempted by the smell of the breakfast menu (plus the warmth and dryness within - by this point there was very little of me that wasn't soaked by sweat, rain, tears or sea spray) but pushed on, enjoying my podcasts and seeing how far I'd get. Entering Shoreham I turned south, away from the station, across the river Adur. I'd done this section at the end of a previous Sunday run to get some extra distance in, running directly to the beach and back. This time I ran around the coast as best I could, discovering a Napoleonic fort (that was across the harbour from the harbour arm I'd run up and down 45 minutes before) and running along a springy boardwalk across the beach which was a relief from the tarmac. Cutting inland at the end of the boardwalk I could've run north back to the bridge but I decided to head west, until I reached the river.

This is a geographical failing of mine, possibly brought on by poor nutrition beforehand as I was starving at this point, as the next river I could hit was the River Arun at Littlehampton - 15 miles/24km away! I plodded westwards, getting more and more concerned at the lack of river until I passed a familiar row of beach huts. I'd wound up on the Lancing Beach Green parkrun course! Buoyed by being on familiar terrain, and actually knowing where I was, I perked up a bit, noting that I'd surpassed 15km in this run, making it my furthest distance since the marathon last April. My mood was dashed two minutes later when I checked my watch again to see, instead of my time and distance, an error message showing that my app had crashed. After a brief bout of language that I rarely use outside of Gillingham's home ground, I carried on to the cafe, and manually uploaded the distance with an estimated time on Strava. At this point I was soaked through, hungry, and grumpy, so I went to the Asda by Lancing station to refuel before the train, also getting a bottle of beer from the non-alcoholic section (which was surprisingly tasty, before I realised it was alcoholic).

So, that's pretty much the story so far - at least until 3rd March. I've been on four more runs since then, including a new PB, new gear, new routes, new books, and a geographical mystery that's been nagging at me for the last four years. Until next time.