Review of the Greater Manchester Marathon - 19th April 2015
On Sunday, I became a marathoner.
Training for a marathon makes you feel alive. It makes you thankful for life. It’s that simple.
It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, and one of the most amazing challenges of my life to date. Truth is, the enormity of it all hasn’t even sunk in yet. (But the pain has!)
I’d had this goal in my mind since April 2013 when I’d seen the marathon runners in Manchester. They were amazing. They were inspiring. My kids at the time had laughed at a guy running “for his Mum”. It choked me up to explain that the Cancer Research top he wore told a different story.
So I trained for the marathon in April 2014 and got as far as the middle of February before my left ITB (the large muscle running along the thigh from glute to knee) caved in, injured. Gutted, I recovered, and booked to see a physio in November that year to tackle this issue. I created another training plan.
Despite months of seeing the physio, rigorously practising hip strengthening exercises alongside the usual marathon training and lots of painful deep tissue massage, 6 weeks before the race I had to hold back the tears in the physio’s room when I explained my right knee was injured.
The ITB issues experienced in my left leg had resurfaced this year in the right leg, causing injury to my right knee. By this point, I had been running 30-40 miles a week, and had aced the Blackpool half marathon in a time of 1 hr 51mins. (Read the review here!) I was on course for a 4 hour marathon time. But the knee ended that target. In the last 5 weeks before the marathon, my body essentially went “kaplunk”. On top of the knee that I couldn’t walk on, I got a really bad cold for a week, and an eye infection that resulted in a cyst in my eye. Two weeks before the marathon, my GP was talking about me having eye surgery to remove the cyst, it was that bad.
From running 30-40 miles a week, in the last 6 weeks I managed two longish runs – a 13 miler and a 19 miler at the end of my cold in miserable rain at 6am in the morning. There were a couple of shortish runs as well, and lots of cross training in the gym and pool. Spending hours on the cross trainer in a gym to cover a few miles when you’ve been running so much is gutting.
I was, however, still determined to do it. For the sake of my family, more than anything. One of the hardest things when training is most definitely the time it takes to train. Not only that, but you have to take in other factors such as diet. My long runs were always early on Sunday’s when the kids themselves were out running with their running club, and the mid-week training was either before work (ie. running to work) or late on an evening when the kids had gone to bed. For most of the time training, I ate separately to the family – they had their balanced diets, but mine was high in protein, with no white carbs (no bread, pasta or potatoes) and lots of “eat clean” foods, essentially a lot of raw vegetables and fruit. I lost just under a stone in weight. Plus there was the marathon talk. It got to a point where we had to have ‘marathon talk free days’ because I drove them all mad. Even the chatty security guy at work stopped talking to me. I admit it, I was a pain.
Finally, the day was here. The day before my physio had taped up my legs with kinesiology tape to support both knees and ITB. I ate a carb-high breakfast of porridge and nearly brought it all back up. I resisted the urge to complain on social media about my nerves. I didn’t look at my hands which I knew were shaking. I checked the tram website which had stated the night before that all trams into Manchester were suspended, and thankfully they were all running. I got a taxi to drop me off near the Altrincham tram stop and walked the remaining half mile to the station. I tried to clear my mind and the walk helped.
Boarding the tram, I sat next to a guy who wore marathon regalia, who I’ll call ‘Bill’. In front of us, a group of guys were sat chatting and laughing, but clearly dressed for marathon running. Turning to Bill, I joked that these guys looked like professionals whereas this was my first marathon. Turns out it was Bill’s first marathon too, so to alleviate our nerves which Bill was also struggling with, we chatted about inane stuff, from the tram delays to the weather to Bill’s job as a police officer. Turns out he and a few of his mates from work were attempting their first marathons.
“So if I decide to burgle a few houses next week, you guys will be too sore to chase me?”
He laughed.
Bill, and the group of guys on the tram didn’t know where to go from the Old Trafford tram stop, but I did, so I walked to the ground surrounded by at least 20 men which was reassuring. Wishing Bill the obligatory good luck and good bye, I did a walk around the race village. Toilets were in good supply, and I was surprised to see just how much of a presence some of the charities had – they had their own tents and seating area for their runners.
I should point out here that I didn’t do the marathon for charity. For me, running the marathon was for me. I did question this decision at various points throughout the training, but I felt it added too much pressure, taking into account injuries along the way. In hindsight, I think that this may have been the wrong decision. If I had run to raise money for a charity, at the 20 mile mark, this thought would have encouraged me to go on.
There were a few things to do before the race such as engaging my glutes with some exercises, nibbling some peanut butter on toast and handing over my bag to the baggage area. I spotted a girl sitting next to the meeting point for ‘A-M’. She looked as scared as me. I went to talk to her.
Turns out her name was Karen and she was from Stafford Harriers. Like me, she had got there early. This wasn’t her first marathon, but her third. Karen helped me get to that start line. We quickly became run buddies when seeing that we were both to start in the same pod (the 4 hour finishers). You see, I still had it in my mind that I might finish in 4 hours despite the knee injury. We went to the loos together. We handed in our bags together. We beefed each other up. She was great. On top of that, one of her friends gave me a spare bin bag he had – something I hadn’t even thought of! I tried to put it round my arms, but he explained he had cut a hole in the top for my head – you wear it when you’re waiting at the start line in nothing more than t-shirt and shorts to keep warm. And it worked a treat!
I became obsessed by my trainers. I panicked that I had tied them too tight. So I loosened them. Then I tightened them. Then I loosened them. My last training run of 5.5 miles the week before had seen my right foot get blisters so I was particularly panicky about them.
We walked to the start line and found our spot easily. There were very few women in our area, mainly big, tall, lanky guys. I nodded good luck to lots of them.
“I can’t believe it.”
Karen: “What can’t you believe?”
“That I’m here. I’m actually here. I’m actually at the start line. I’m really doing this.”
My throat choked up a little but I forced it back down. No time for tears.
“I ran on Christmas Day to get to this moment. I’m here! I’m here!!!”
Karen helped me stash my bin liner out of harm’s way. I placed my hands on her shoulders to thank her for looking after me and she shrieked – my hands were so cold! In fact, my feet were also cold to a point where I couldn’t feel them. But it didn’t matter. It was perfect marathon running weather – at that time around 8/9 degrees, no rain, little wind and cloudy.
Everyone clapped as the wheelchair race started. Then it was our turn! Again, a few stops and starts, but then we were off!
Passing the start line, I pressed start on my Garmin, and thought of my friends and family who would be watching the live tracker feed on facebook. They would all know I had started. I felt comforted by that thought.
Running alongside Karen, she pointed out the discarded bin bags to make sure I didn’t trip over them. I watched as she pounded ahead.
And then that was it, I didn’t see her again.
Focusing on my Garmin, I saw that it read 9.08min mile and I tried to slow down. A 9 min mile around the course would bring me in at under 4 hours, but I didn’t want to start out too fast. I got it down to 9.18min.
And then just after that, I looked up and saw a woman sitting on the side of the road, a massive gash above her eyebrow, blood pouring down her face. A woman had her arm around her. I gave a sympathetic smile. And then she was gone. Marathon over, I thought, a sober reminder to try and take it careful amongst all these runners. I hope she’s okay.
I didn’t really recognise much of this part of the course because I hadn’t run it before. We watched as the Elites ran past us in the opposite direction and a lot of people cheered them on. I passed some Sale Harrier runners and I cheered. I kept reminding myself that I was doing great.
I passed a couple of girls holding a sign with a photo that said something like, “Jared Leto is waiting for you at the finish with a puppy”, or words to that effect. It made me smile.
But you know what? When we passed mile 2, and I told myself, only 24 miles to go, I really started to doubt myself. Checking my Garmin, I saw that I had increased pace to 9.04min and I forced myself to slow again. The throng of runners started going up and down slight inclines. And I was struggling. I couldn’t believe it. By mile 3, I started to question whether I would finish. I was in hell. My left trainer also felt too loose, and I agonised over whether stopping to sort it out now rather than later was a good idea. In the end, the swelling in the foot stopped the looseness and I didn’t need to stop.
One mile at a time, I told myself, but inwardly, a little part of me was telling me that I had 26.2 in total to do – it seemed impossible. At least get to Brooklands where your family are.
We started to pass more fabulous supporting crowds. It was enlightening to see people being recognised by friends and family during the run, and how excited they were. There was a lot of signs that said, “You’re amazing,” although I have to admit, I was so unsure of myself at the time, I got cross at those who wrote grammatically incorrect ‘Your amazing’. I know, stupid. The other thing that annoyed me were the other runners who were chatting in pairs about their friends, and who was dating who. I was in absolute hell, working really hard, and these other people were idly chatting to pass the time. Of course, hindsight is a wonderful thing and I feel terrible now for thinking that!
I was pleased to get past the area I didn’t know into Stretford. I knew this route and it felt comforting. I checked my Garmin and it was fluctuating between 9.04min to 9.34min mile. As we approached Sale, I had visions of stopping next to my family, crying and falling into a big heap. But I knew that I would NEVER forgive myself if I didn’t finish it, and consoled myself that even if I had to walk it, then so be it.
Entering Sale, I realised something. The 4 hour marker hadn’t passed me. Which meant I was going too fast. Then just as I thought it, I saw out the corner of my eye, the 3:58 hour marker pass! I kept telling myself that this was fine, and that I was doing fine, but I think it was at this point I realised that a sub-4 hour marathon was off the cards.
Passing mile 7 into Sale, more people were recognised in the crowd by fellow runners and I grew envious. I hoped to see people I knew in Sale and actually passed houses where I knew people but no one was there. One guy even left the race briefly to dash into his house which made a lot of other runners laugh. My physio had promised to watch at mile 8 but despite looking for him, I missed him, which really dampened my mojo.
But I knew my kids were at mile 9. At mile 8.5, some kids held out haribo and I took two sweets and devoured them. Anything to help get me through.
Looking at the hill, I told myself that my kids were there. I had written their names in permanent marker down my legs. They had to see their Mum running the marathon.
And then just before the hill on the left, there they were.
“GO MUM GO MUM GO MUM!!!”
My eldest jumped up and down. My youngest yelled as hard as she could. And my boyfriend stood there, smiling, and I thought how handsome he looked. He asked me something I can’t even remember now, but my response told him I was finding it tough. (But then if marathons were EASY we’d all be doing them!)
Running up the hill, past mile 9, I saw a sign for water and told myself to run to it. Taking a few gulps, I then saw a sign for energy drinks. I SNATCHED that drink and gulped it with the other hand. Throwing the drinks to the ground, I then stopped running.
I was gutted. Looking back now, I can honestly say that miles 3 to 9 were the toughest mentally. Whereas with the half marathon a couple of months previously, I had kept going because I knew there was an end in sight. At mile 9 of the marathon, there was no end in sight. I had hoped to be running consistently through to mile 15. I reassessed and told myself it was okay if the 4 hour marker went past me. Even the 4 hour 15 min marker could go past.
It was clear that the lack of actual running in the previous 5 weeks had affected my marathon fitness. Amazingly, the knees were holding up – it was my feet at that point that felt in terrible shape.
Pausing for ten seconds, I started to run again. Then the Elites passed us coming down the other side of Brooklands Road and a lot of runners cheered them on – they were amazing! I couldn’t believe they had already been up to Altrincham and back!
Inspired, I felt the energy drink kick in and I continued running down Brooklands and into Timperley. I told myself to get to Altrincham, and to get to that 13 mile mark.
Running into Timperley, I saw five young kids stood on top of a stone wall cheering on the crowds.
Then one of them tripped and went… SPLAT face first onto the pavement.
In horror, I started looking desperately for their parents, and slowed, knowing I would have to stop.
Thankfully, an adult appeared from the house adjoining the wall and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Then unexpectedly, to my right, I heard a voice yell, “GO JANE GO ON JANE YOU CAN DO IT!”
A girl from work shouted at the top of her lungs. I was so moved.
I yelled back, “YEAH!” to let her know I’d seen her.
Then to my right, outside of a Church hall I think, was a choir of around 100 singers belting out some number.
“WOW!”
A couple of other runners then saw them and we were all blown away by how amazing they were.
Passing through Timperley, I wondered if I would recognise anyone I knew in Altrincham. Random strangers started yelling, “Come on Jane!”
And then, at around mile 12, I heard a reassuring noise, “Come on Jane, you can do it, keep going.” And I saw my mate Jonnie stood holding the hand of his young son and I was overwhelmed. The familiarity of seeing someone I knew kept me going.
My legs were starting to really hurt on the approach to Altrincham. The crowds were great, everyone came out in force. I spotted a café where I decided to sit next year when watching the race. I looked for people I knew but saw none. Just before mile 13, I stopped again.
“Are you okay?”
I realised the marshal was talking to me. I resented being asked if I was ok(!), as it implied I looked bad, and I nodded and started to jog again. But then I spotted that this marshal had a very similar resemblance to a young Brad Pitt. I laughed. Even a good-looking rescuer wouldn't make me stop!
Running downhill a little, a woman in Altrincham went absolutely mental when she saw me – started yelling, “Go Jane go Jane!” and still, even now, I have absolutely no idea who she was. I thought she was a mother from my daughter’s school, but it wasn’t her! [Author note as at 07.05.15 - turns out this was my friend Suzanne (who I had only met once before!), who also then travelled to the finish to cheer me on!]
I had passed the 13 mile mark. It felt good. Over halfway there.
Running past Jonnie again, I thanked him and continued on into Timperley. My next goal was to get to mile 17 where I hoped to see more people I knew.
Going up to mile 15, I then saw another girl from work with her husband and she encouraged me to go on. “It’s soooo hard!” I yelled.
Going back on Brooklands Road was hard work. I walked a little. I tapped a few other walkers on their shoulders as I began to jog past.
“Come on, you can do it. Only 10 miles to go now.”
I passed medical stations filled with people being treated. A fair few ambulances were driving back and forth on the route.
At least you’re not finishing like that, I told myself, and sent prayers to those being driven away.
I passed a guy dressed as a Minion on the other side of the road. Then a guy dressed as a Cheese String. I watched the runners on the other side of the road and thought they were amazing.
If I finish with them, I’ll be proud to finish with such amazing people.
A woman pushing a man in a wheelchair went past. We all cheered her.
Suddenly, agonising pain hit me in the stomach. A sharp pain. I had eaten too many sweets on the way round.
Ahead, at the 16 mile mark, I saw water and more energy drinks. Regardless of the havoc the sweets and energy drinks were having on my stomach, I knew I needed it to get round the course. I took water and energy drinks in equal measure.
Coming to the hill at Brooklands again, I assessed my knees and was amazed that they were coping so well. It was my glutes and hip joints there were suffering.
Then, without warning, I heard my daughters!
“GO MUM GO MUM GO MUM!”
“C'MON KEEP GOING!”
I was overwhelmed.
“Oh you guys!” I yelled back gratefully – they hadn’t told me they were going to wait for me to come back to mile 16.
Getting onto Washway Road, I turned the corner. We were all directed to run close to the pavement as yet another ambulance went past.
I started walking again to relieve the pressure in my legs. It was really, really starting to hurt.
A complete stranger started walking with me.
“Come on, you can do it!”
I started to jog and shouted back, “Oh yeah, come on then, only if you run it with me!”
And she did.
Her name was Jenna, and she ran half a mile with me in tight jeans and heels and talked to me. I think she would have run further if I had let her. She was amazing. I kept telling her I needed to do a ‘Paula’ but she didn’t get it. My stomach was struggling. I didn’t know how my body was going to cope with gels later on, but I just had to keep going.
“You’re my angel, Jenna!” I yelled back at her.
I knew that some friends, Pete and Anne, may have been waiting for me at the end of Washway Road, and I spotted them in advance. All the runners were trying to keep close to the corner where they were situated but I came out from it with the biggest grin on my face. I saw Pete first and was just so, so blown away. I started to yell.
“HAPPY 70TH BIRTHDAY PETE!!!”
He’d waited to see me, on his 70th birthday. I was so, so moved.
I passed a group of guys supporting us and heard one of them say, “Running marathons really damages your joints you know.”
“DON’T SAY THAT!” I shouted. Everyone laughed.
Running up to mile 18, I saw a group of singers.
“Ain’t no mountain high enough!”
They paused. And I sang back as loud as I could,
“I’M ON THE HIGHWAAAAY TO HELL!”
Everyone laughed again.
Going up Manor Avenue was a stop start affair. I thought back to the time I had run this route before.
If you get through Manor Avenue, you can have your first gel.
Passing the live band situated at the roundabout, I stopped to take my first gel. Jogging on, suddenly, I was offered a gel from marshals as well as water, and I took it.
You’re allowed this at mile 22. Now keep going.
Wind hit us a little reaching mile 20. By this point, lots of people were walking. The pain in my legs was unreal. I touched my left glute and it felt like someone had stuck a red hot poker in it. My left calf was clicking a little, it was very tight. My knees though? Fine!!! My calf at this point was the worry.
I passed a sign that said, ‘You’re fit and you know it’. Mad, more like.
Passing mile 20, I told myself, You’ve never run this far before. Keep going.
Now my mindset was focused on half a mile at a time, instead of a full mile. I kept checking my Garmin and telling myself to run to the half mile mark, then I could stop to walk briefly.
I kept looking behind me for the 4hr 30 min marker. It was catching me.
Running on to Flixton Road, I embraced the empty surroundings. Cars were driving slowly past us, occasionally a driver cheered us on. I put my headphones in which I had hardly worn throughout the whole race. It was time to really dig deep.
Mile 22 was my next goal. I would allow myself another gel then. I took it just before hitting the mile marker.
Then next stop was mile 23. I had to get there. Mile 23 signified a mere 5k to get to the end. Mile 23 said I could walk the rest if I had to.
Then the 4hrs 30min marker passed me, and I admit, my heart sank a little. I had hoped to come in under 4hrs 30min, and although at the time I didn’t care because of the pain, I knew I might do after the race.
I passed a guy holding a sign which said, “You have no idea how long it took me to write this sign.”
That made me laugh.
Then I passed an unconscious runner flat on his back on the ground, surrounded by at least 5 people. It put the reality into perspective.
Mile 23 went by. I tried to look for Stretford Mall which I knew meant the end was in sight. I was fighting to stick to my half a mile goal. There was some solace knowing that everyone else was in so much pain too.
“Come on, only 5k to go!” I told a guy.
At the Stretford Mall junction there was a big crowd, but it didn’t stop me walking.
Come on, you don’t want that 5 hour marker to reach you...
I looked behind me and couldn’t see it, but still, the thought spurred me on.
Mile 24 was the next gel. I knew that the crowd would support me through mile 25. But then an irrational thought struck me. Did I have to run mile 26 too? I couldn’t figure it out. Was it 3.2 miles to go, or 2.2?
Passing 24.5 miles, a woman shouted, “Only one mile to go!”
I checked my Garmin.
LIAR!
A guy wearing a Spanish flag came into focus. He smiled so much at us all, but kept stopping too to walk. A woman to my left made a phone call and she was joined by a guy for the last couple of miles to get her through.
A woman told me to keep going. I stated the obvious. It hurt so much.
I could see the top of the stadium in the distance, but previous runs on this route told me it was deceptively near so I didn’t disappoint myself.
I knew it wasn't far though. I could hear the crowds. Then I could see them.
A couple of guys started shouting, “Go strong, come on, FINISH STRONG!”
I wanted to hit them – I could barely lift my arms.
But then I saw the crowd on the corner.
YOU’RE THERE. YOU’RE NEARLY AT THE END. YOU DESERVE THIS. YOU OWN THIS. THIS IS YOUR MOMENT. THIS IS YOUR THING. THE THING YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR. YOUR KIDS ARE WATCHING! GO GO GO!!!
I sprinted the last 0.2m. My mate Suzanne was on the corner in the spectators.
“GO GO GO JANE!!!”
Then I heard,
“GO MUM GO MUM GO MUM!!!”
“I SEE YOU BABIES I SEE YOU!”
And I’m there, overtaking everyone, a mad woman.
I spotted the timer – 4hrs 40min.
I’LL BE DAMNED IF THAT’S GETTING TO 4HRS 41MINS.
I held my arms high in the air.
I stamped on the finish line, knowing my Facebook friends would see I had finished.
I thought I’d cry or yell something radical but truth is, as well as the exhaustion, I was in a little shock. I couldn’t believe it. I got passed a protein shake which I took. I got my goody bag. I got a foil blanket that I couldn’t figure out how to put on. A guy with a camera approached me and told me to smile.
When I got handed the medal I shook my head with disbelief. It said I had run a marathon.
I saw a beer tent offering free beer. I understood that was a good thing and with arms outstretched reached for it. Turns out it was alcohol free beer but I wasn’t complaining.
And after all that, my knees suffered the least. I hardly felt them throughout the whole race, which I have put down to being in so much pain elsewhere.
In terms of running a marathon again, I’m not planning to. Yes, you may say that’s because I’m so sore afterwards, but that’s not the case, I had already decided this before getting to the start line. I did enjoy the marathon, but I accept the limitations of my body. I am not built to run a marathon, and not everyone is. After 17 mile runs, my body starts to fall to pieces. You have to be fit to run a marathon, but you also have to possess a certain degree of madness. It's a lesson of restraint, one which I quite happily have not learnt. I’ve done it once, and I’ll definitely do half marathons again, and quite possibly triathlons, but marathons are something I’ll leave to those mad, yet awe-inspiring Elite and charity runners.
Thanks so much to the organisers @Marathon_Mcr. It was a superbly well organised race.
Good luck to everyone attempting the London Marathon next weekend. I’ll be watching - feeling your pain, and your glory.
NB. Update as at 21st April 2015 – I bumped into a police officer on the train into work today and couldn’t resist telling him about my encounter with one of his colleagues on the way to the marathon on Sunday. He said that he had been watching at Sale, and had been so inspired by the runners, that he planned to enter the race next year. I challenge you to be sitting next to him on the tram next April!
Follow me @JWilbyPalmer
Training for a marathon makes you feel alive. It makes you thankful for life. It’s that simple.
It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, and one of the most amazing challenges of my life to date. Truth is, the enormity of it all hasn’t even sunk in yet. (But the pain has!)
I’d had this goal in my mind since April 2013 when I’d seen the marathon runners in Manchester. They were amazing. They were inspiring. My kids at the time had laughed at a guy running “for his Mum”. It choked me up to explain that the Cancer Research top he wore told a different story.
So I trained for the marathon in April 2014 and got as far as the middle of February before my left ITB (the large muscle running along the thigh from glute to knee) caved in, injured. Gutted, I recovered, and booked to see a physio in November that year to tackle this issue. I created another training plan.
Despite months of seeing the physio, rigorously practising hip strengthening exercises alongside the usual marathon training and lots of painful deep tissue massage, 6 weeks before the race I had to hold back the tears in the physio’s room when I explained my right knee was injured.
The ITB issues experienced in my left leg had resurfaced this year in the right leg, causing injury to my right knee. By this point, I had been running 30-40 miles a week, and had aced the Blackpool half marathon in a time of 1 hr 51mins. (Read the review here!) I was on course for a 4 hour marathon time. But the knee ended that target. In the last 5 weeks before the marathon, my body essentially went “kaplunk”. On top of the knee that I couldn’t walk on, I got a really bad cold for a week, and an eye infection that resulted in a cyst in my eye. Two weeks before the marathon, my GP was talking about me having eye surgery to remove the cyst, it was that bad.
From running 30-40 miles a week, in the last 6 weeks I managed two longish runs – a 13 miler and a 19 miler at the end of my cold in miserable rain at 6am in the morning. There were a couple of shortish runs as well, and lots of cross training in the gym and pool. Spending hours on the cross trainer in a gym to cover a few miles when you’ve been running so much is gutting.
I was, however, still determined to do it. For the sake of my family, more than anything. One of the hardest things when training is most definitely the time it takes to train. Not only that, but you have to take in other factors such as diet. My long runs were always early on Sunday’s when the kids themselves were out running with their running club, and the mid-week training was either before work (ie. running to work) or late on an evening when the kids had gone to bed. For most of the time training, I ate separately to the family – they had their balanced diets, but mine was high in protein, with no white carbs (no bread, pasta or potatoes) and lots of “eat clean” foods, essentially a lot of raw vegetables and fruit. I lost just under a stone in weight. Plus there was the marathon talk. It got to a point where we had to have ‘marathon talk free days’ because I drove them all mad. Even the chatty security guy at work stopped talking to me. I admit it, I was a pain.
Finally, the day was here. The day before my physio had taped up my legs with kinesiology tape to support both knees and ITB. I ate a carb-high breakfast of porridge and nearly brought it all back up. I resisted the urge to complain on social media about my nerves. I didn’t look at my hands which I knew were shaking. I checked the tram website which had stated the night before that all trams into Manchester were suspended, and thankfully they were all running. I got a taxi to drop me off near the Altrincham tram stop and walked the remaining half mile to the station. I tried to clear my mind and the walk helped.
Boarding the tram, I sat next to a guy who wore marathon regalia, who I’ll call ‘Bill’. In front of us, a group of guys were sat chatting and laughing, but clearly dressed for marathon running. Turning to Bill, I joked that these guys looked like professionals whereas this was my first marathon. Turns out it was Bill’s first marathon too, so to alleviate our nerves which Bill was also struggling with, we chatted about inane stuff, from the tram delays to the weather to Bill’s job as a police officer. Turns out he and a few of his mates from work were attempting their first marathons.
“So if I decide to burgle a few houses next week, you guys will be too sore to chase me?”
He laughed.
Bill, and the group of guys on the tram didn’t know where to go from the Old Trafford tram stop, but I did, so I walked to the ground surrounded by at least 20 men which was reassuring. Wishing Bill the obligatory good luck and good bye, I did a walk around the race village. Toilets were in good supply, and I was surprised to see just how much of a presence some of the charities had – they had their own tents and seating area for their runners.
I should point out here that I didn’t do the marathon for charity. For me, running the marathon was for me. I did question this decision at various points throughout the training, but I felt it added too much pressure, taking into account injuries along the way. In hindsight, I think that this may have been the wrong decision. If I had run to raise money for a charity, at the 20 mile mark, this thought would have encouraged me to go on.
There were a few things to do before the race such as engaging my glutes with some exercises, nibbling some peanut butter on toast and handing over my bag to the baggage area. I spotted a girl sitting next to the meeting point for ‘A-M’. She looked as scared as me. I went to talk to her.
Turns out her name was Karen and she was from Stafford Harriers. Like me, she had got there early. This wasn’t her first marathon, but her third. Karen helped me get to that start line. We quickly became run buddies when seeing that we were both to start in the same pod (the 4 hour finishers). You see, I still had it in my mind that I might finish in 4 hours despite the knee injury. We went to the loos together. We handed in our bags together. We beefed each other up. She was great. On top of that, one of her friends gave me a spare bin bag he had – something I hadn’t even thought of! I tried to put it round my arms, but he explained he had cut a hole in the top for my head – you wear it when you’re waiting at the start line in nothing more than t-shirt and shorts to keep warm. And it worked a treat!
I became obsessed by my trainers. I panicked that I had tied them too tight. So I loosened them. Then I tightened them. Then I loosened them. My last training run of 5.5 miles the week before had seen my right foot get blisters so I was particularly panicky about them.
We walked to the start line and found our spot easily. There were very few women in our area, mainly big, tall, lanky guys. I nodded good luck to lots of them.
“I can’t believe it.”
Karen: “What can’t you believe?”
“That I’m here. I’m actually here. I’m actually at the start line. I’m really doing this.”
My throat choked up a little but I forced it back down. No time for tears.
“I ran on Christmas Day to get to this moment. I’m here! I’m here!!!”
Karen helped me stash my bin liner out of harm’s way. I placed my hands on her shoulders to thank her for looking after me and she shrieked – my hands were so cold! In fact, my feet were also cold to a point where I couldn’t feel them. But it didn’t matter. It was perfect marathon running weather – at that time around 8/9 degrees, no rain, little wind and cloudy.
Everyone clapped as the wheelchair race started. Then it was our turn! Again, a few stops and starts, but then we were off!
Passing the start line, I pressed start on my Garmin, and thought of my friends and family who would be watching the live tracker feed on facebook. They would all know I had started. I felt comforted by that thought.
Running alongside Karen, she pointed out the discarded bin bags to make sure I didn’t trip over them. I watched as she pounded ahead.
And then that was it, I didn’t see her again.
Focusing on my Garmin, I saw that it read 9.08min mile and I tried to slow down. A 9 min mile around the course would bring me in at under 4 hours, but I didn’t want to start out too fast. I got it down to 9.18min.
And then just after that, I looked up and saw a woman sitting on the side of the road, a massive gash above her eyebrow, blood pouring down her face. A woman had her arm around her. I gave a sympathetic smile. And then she was gone. Marathon over, I thought, a sober reminder to try and take it careful amongst all these runners. I hope she’s okay.
I didn’t really recognise much of this part of the course because I hadn’t run it before. We watched as the Elites ran past us in the opposite direction and a lot of people cheered them on. I passed some Sale Harrier runners and I cheered. I kept reminding myself that I was doing great.
I passed a couple of girls holding a sign with a photo that said something like, “Jared Leto is waiting for you at the finish with a puppy”, or words to that effect. It made me smile.
But you know what? When we passed mile 2, and I told myself, only 24 miles to go, I really started to doubt myself. Checking my Garmin, I saw that I had increased pace to 9.04min and I forced myself to slow again. The throng of runners started going up and down slight inclines. And I was struggling. I couldn’t believe it. By mile 3, I started to question whether I would finish. I was in hell. My left trainer also felt too loose, and I agonised over whether stopping to sort it out now rather than later was a good idea. In the end, the swelling in the foot stopped the looseness and I didn’t need to stop.
One mile at a time, I told myself, but inwardly, a little part of me was telling me that I had 26.2 in total to do – it seemed impossible. At least get to Brooklands where your family are.
We started to pass more fabulous supporting crowds. It was enlightening to see people being recognised by friends and family during the run, and how excited they were. There was a lot of signs that said, “You’re amazing,” although I have to admit, I was so unsure of myself at the time, I got cross at those who wrote grammatically incorrect ‘Your amazing’. I know, stupid. The other thing that annoyed me were the other runners who were chatting in pairs about their friends, and who was dating who. I was in absolute hell, working really hard, and these other people were idly chatting to pass the time. Of course, hindsight is a wonderful thing and I feel terrible now for thinking that!
I was pleased to get past the area I didn’t know into Stretford. I knew this route and it felt comforting. I checked my Garmin and it was fluctuating between 9.04min to 9.34min mile. As we approached Sale, I had visions of stopping next to my family, crying and falling into a big heap. But I knew that I would NEVER forgive myself if I didn’t finish it, and consoled myself that even if I had to walk it, then so be it.
Entering Sale, I realised something. The 4 hour marker hadn’t passed me. Which meant I was going too fast. Then just as I thought it, I saw out the corner of my eye, the 3:58 hour marker pass! I kept telling myself that this was fine, and that I was doing fine, but I think it was at this point I realised that a sub-4 hour marathon was off the cards.
Passing mile 7 into Sale, more people were recognised in the crowd by fellow runners and I grew envious. I hoped to see people I knew in Sale and actually passed houses where I knew people but no one was there. One guy even left the race briefly to dash into his house which made a lot of other runners laugh. My physio had promised to watch at mile 8 but despite looking for him, I missed him, which really dampened my mojo.
But I knew my kids were at mile 9. At mile 8.5, some kids held out haribo and I took two sweets and devoured them. Anything to help get me through.
Looking at the hill, I told myself that my kids were there. I had written their names in permanent marker down my legs. They had to see their Mum running the marathon.
And then just before the hill on the left, there they were.
“GO MUM GO MUM GO MUM!!!”
My eldest jumped up and down. My youngest yelled as hard as she could. And my boyfriend stood there, smiling, and I thought how handsome he looked. He asked me something I can’t even remember now, but my response told him I was finding it tough. (But then if marathons were EASY we’d all be doing them!)
Running up the hill, past mile 9, I saw a sign for water and told myself to run to it. Taking a few gulps, I then saw a sign for energy drinks. I SNATCHED that drink and gulped it with the other hand. Throwing the drinks to the ground, I then stopped running.
I was gutted. Looking back now, I can honestly say that miles 3 to 9 were the toughest mentally. Whereas with the half marathon a couple of months previously, I had kept going because I knew there was an end in sight. At mile 9 of the marathon, there was no end in sight. I had hoped to be running consistently through to mile 15. I reassessed and told myself it was okay if the 4 hour marker went past me. Even the 4 hour 15 min marker could go past.
It was clear that the lack of actual running in the previous 5 weeks had affected my marathon fitness. Amazingly, the knees were holding up – it was my feet at that point that felt in terrible shape.
Pausing for ten seconds, I started to run again. Then the Elites passed us coming down the other side of Brooklands Road and a lot of runners cheered them on – they were amazing! I couldn’t believe they had already been up to Altrincham and back!
Inspired, I felt the energy drink kick in and I continued running down Brooklands and into Timperley. I told myself to get to Altrincham, and to get to that 13 mile mark.
Running into Timperley, I saw five young kids stood on top of a stone wall cheering on the crowds.
Then one of them tripped and went… SPLAT face first onto the pavement.
In horror, I started looking desperately for their parents, and slowed, knowing I would have to stop.
Thankfully, an adult appeared from the house adjoining the wall and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Then unexpectedly, to my right, I heard a voice yell, “GO JANE GO ON JANE YOU CAN DO IT!”
A girl from work shouted at the top of her lungs. I was so moved.
I yelled back, “YEAH!” to let her know I’d seen her.
Then to my right, outside of a Church hall I think, was a choir of around 100 singers belting out some number.
“WOW!”
A couple of other runners then saw them and we were all blown away by how amazing they were.
Passing through Timperley, I wondered if I would recognise anyone I knew in Altrincham. Random strangers started yelling, “Come on Jane!”
And then, at around mile 12, I heard a reassuring noise, “Come on Jane, you can do it, keep going.” And I saw my mate Jonnie stood holding the hand of his young son and I was overwhelmed. The familiarity of seeing someone I knew kept me going.
My legs were starting to really hurt on the approach to Altrincham. The crowds were great, everyone came out in force. I spotted a café where I decided to sit next year when watching the race. I looked for people I knew but saw none. Just before mile 13, I stopped again.
“Are you okay?”
I realised the marshal was talking to me. I resented being asked if I was ok(!), as it implied I looked bad, and I nodded and started to jog again. But then I spotted that this marshal had a very similar resemblance to a young Brad Pitt. I laughed. Even a good-looking rescuer wouldn't make me stop!
Running downhill a little, a woman in Altrincham went absolutely mental when she saw me – started yelling, “Go Jane go Jane!” and still, even now, I have absolutely no idea who she was. I thought she was a mother from my daughter’s school, but it wasn’t her! [Author note as at 07.05.15 - turns out this was my friend Suzanne (who I had only met once before!), who also then travelled to the finish to cheer me on!]
I had passed the 13 mile mark. It felt good. Over halfway there.
Running past Jonnie again, I thanked him and continued on into Timperley. My next goal was to get to mile 17 where I hoped to see more people I knew.
Going up to mile 15, I then saw another girl from work with her husband and she encouraged me to go on. “It’s soooo hard!” I yelled.
Going back on Brooklands Road was hard work. I walked a little. I tapped a few other walkers on their shoulders as I began to jog past.
“Come on, you can do it. Only 10 miles to go now.”
I passed medical stations filled with people being treated. A fair few ambulances were driving back and forth on the route.
At least you’re not finishing like that, I told myself, and sent prayers to those being driven away.
I passed a guy dressed as a Minion on the other side of the road. Then a guy dressed as a Cheese String. I watched the runners on the other side of the road and thought they were amazing.
If I finish with them, I’ll be proud to finish with such amazing people.
A woman pushing a man in a wheelchair went past. We all cheered her.
Suddenly, agonising pain hit me in the stomach. A sharp pain. I had eaten too many sweets on the way round.
Ahead, at the 16 mile mark, I saw water and more energy drinks. Regardless of the havoc the sweets and energy drinks were having on my stomach, I knew I needed it to get round the course. I took water and energy drinks in equal measure.
Coming to the hill at Brooklands again, I assessed my knees and was amazed that they were coping so well. It was my glutes and hip joints there were suffering.
Then, without warning, I heard my daughters!
“GO MUM GO MUM GO MUM!”
“C'MON KEEP GOING!”
I was overwhelmed.
“Oh you guys!” I yelled back gratefully – they hadn’t told me they were going to wait for me to come back to mile 16.
Getting onto Washway Road, I turned the corner. We were all directed to run close to the pavement as yet another ambulance went past.
I started walking again to relieve the pressure in my legs. It was really, really starting to hurt.
A complete stranger started walking with me.
“Come on, you can do it!”
I started to jog and shouted back, “Oh yeah, come on then, only if you run it with me!”
And she did.
Her name was Jenna, and she ran half a mile with me in tight jeans and heels and talked to me. I think she would have run further if I had let her. She was amazing. I kept telling her I needed to do a ‘Paula’ but she didn’t get it. My stomach was struggling. I didn’t know how my body was going to cope with gels later on, but I just had to keep going.
“You’re my angel, Jenna!” I yelled back at her.
I knew that some friends, Pete and Anne, may have been waiting for me at the end of Washway Road, and I spotted them in advance. All the runners were trying to keep close to the corner where they were situated but I came out from it with the biggest grin on my face. I saw Pete first and was just so, so blown away. I started to yell.
“HAPPY 70TH BIRTHDAY PETE!!!”
He’d waited to see me, on his 70th birthday. I was so, so moved.
I passed a group of guys supporting us and heard one of them say, “Running marathons really damages your joints you know.”
“DON’T SAY THAT!” I shouted. Everyone laughed.
Running up to mile 18, I saw a group of singers.
“Ain’t no mountain high enough!”
They paused. And I sang back as loud as I could,
“I’M ON THE HIGHWAAAAY TO HELL!”
Everyone laughed again.
Going up Manor Avenue was a stop start affair. I thought back to the time I had run this route before.
If you get through Manor Avenue, you can have your first gel.
Passing the live band situated at the roundabout, I stopped to take my first gel. Jogging on, suddenly, I was offered a gel from marshals as well as water, and I took it.
You’re allowed this at mile 22. Now keep going.
Wind hit us a little reaching mile 20. By this point, lots of people were walking. The pain in my legs was unreal. I touched my left glute and it felt like someone had stuck a red hot poker in it. My left calf was clicking a little, it was very tight. My knees though? Fine!!! My calf at this point was the worry.
I passed a sign that said, ‘You’re fit and you know it’. Mad, more like.
Passing mile 20, I told myself, You’ve never run this far before. Keep going.
Now my mindset was focused on half a mile at a time, instead of a full mile. I kept checking my Garmin and telling myself to run to the half mile mark, then I could stop to walk briefly.
I kept looking behind me for the 4hr 30 min marker. It was catching me.
Running on to Flixton Road, I embraced the empty surroundings. Cars were driving slowly past us, occasionally a driver cheered us on. I put my headphones in which I had hardly worn throughout the whole race. It was time to really dig deep.
Mile 22 was my next goal. I would allow myself another gel then. I took it just before hitting the mile marker.
Then next stop was mile 23. I had to get there. Mile 23 signified a mere 5k to get to the end. Mile 23 said I could walk the rest if I had to.
Then the 4hrs 30min marker passed me, and I admit, my heart sank a little. I had hoped to come in under 4hrs 30min, and although at the time I didn’t care because of the pain, I knew I might do after the race.
I passed a guy holding a sign which said, “You have no idea how long it took me to write this sign.”
That made me laugh.
Then I passed an unconscious runner flat on his back on the ground, surrounded by at least 5 people. It put the reality into perspective.
Mile 23 went by. I tried to look for Stretford Mall which I knew meant the end was in sight. I was fighting to stick to my half a mile goal. There was some solace knowing that everyone else was in so much pain too.
“Come on, only 5k to go!” I told a guy.
At the Stretford Mall junction there was a big crowd, but it didn’t stop me walking.
Come on, you don’t want that 5 hour marker to reach you...
I looked behind me and couldn’t see it, but still, the thought spurred me on.
Mile 24 was the next gel. I knew that the crowd would support me through mile 25. But then an irrational thought struck me. Did I have to run mile 26 too? I couldn’t figure it out. Was it 3.2 miles to go, or 2.2?
Passing 24.5 miles, a woman shouted, “Only one mile to go!”
I checked my Garmin.
LIAR!
A guy wearing a Spanish flag came into focus. He smiled so much at us all, but kept stopping too to walk. A woman to my left made a phone call and she was joined by a guy for the last couple of miles to get her through.
A woman told me to keep going. I stated the obvious. It hurt so much.
I could see the top of the stadium in the distance, but previous runs on this route told me it was deceptively near so I didn’t disappoint myself.
I knew it wasn't far though. I could hear the crowds. Then I could see them.
A couple of guys started shouting, “Go strong, come on, FINISH STRONG!”
I wanted to hit them – I could barely lift my arms.
But then I saw the crowd on the corner.
YOU’RE THERE. YOU’RE NEARLY AT THE END. YOU DESERVE THIS. YOU OWN THIS. THIS IS YOUR MOMENT. THIS IS YOUR THING. THE THING YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR. YOUR KIDS ARE WATCHING! GO GO GO!!!
I sprinted the last 0.2m. My mate Suzanne was on the corner in the spectators.
“GO GO GO JANE!!!”
Then I heard,
“GO MUM GO MUM GO MUM!!!”
“I SEE YOU BABIES I SEE YOU!”
And I’m there, overtaking everyone, a mad woman.
I spotted the timer – 4hrs 40min.
I’LL BE DAMNED IF THAT’S GETTING TO 4HRS 41MINS.
I held my arms high in the air.
I thought I’d cry or yell something radical but truth is, as well as the exhaustion, I was in a little shock. I couldn’t believe it. I got passed a protein shake which I took. I got my goody bag. I got a foil blanket that I couldn’t figure out how to put on. A guy with a camera approached me and told me to smile.
I saw a beer tent offering free beer. I understood that was a good thing and with arms outstretched reached for it. Turns out it was alcohol free beer but I wasn’t complaining.
And after all that, my knees suffered the least. I hardly felt them throughout the whole race, which I have put down to being in so much pain elsewhere.
In terms of running a marathon again, I’m not planning to. Yes, you may say that’s because I’m so sore afterwards, but that’s not the case, I had already decided this before getting to the start line. I did enjoy the marathon, but I accept the limitations of my body. I am not built to run a marathon, and not everyone is. After 17 mile runs, my body starts to fall to pieces. You have to be fit to run a marathon, but you also have to possess a certain degree of madness. It's a lesson of restraint, one which I quite happily have not learnt. I’ve done it once, and I’ll definitely do half marathons again, and quite possibly triathlons, but marathons are something I’ll leave to those mad, yet awe-inspiring Elite and charity runners.
Thanks so much to the organisers @Marathon_Mcr. It was a superbly well organised race.
Good luck to everyone attempting the London Marathon next weekend. I’ll be watching - feeling your pain, and your glory.
NB. Update as at 21st April 2015 – I bumped into a police officer on the train into work today and couldn’t resist telling him about my encounter with one of his colleagues on the way to the marathon on Sunday. He said that he had been watching at Sale, and had been so inspired by the runners, that he planned to enter the race next year. I challenge you to be sitting next to him on the tram next April!
Follow me @JWilbyPalmer
You are amazing, that so well written! I almost cried and shouted out when your kids called out at the finish line!!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Oldsmoothy, you just made my day! What great feedback! Jane
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