Review of the Yorkshire Marathon - 9th October 2016
Yes, you heard right.
From “In terms of running a marathon again, I’m not planning to” and “I am not built to run a marathon” and even, “In my case, if I went and ran another marathon, it would also mean my family would evict me”… I ran a marathon on Sunday. Again.
I am of course blaming one of
my best friends who I have known since I pushed her off a slide in nursery aged
3. Clare had told me that she was running
her first marathon at Yorkshire, and that I should too. It would be good to do it together, she said,
and the tickets sell out really fast, and well yes, I did I suppose grow up in
Yorkshire, and look, it’s on my birthday, so it must really be, well, fate.
So on that fateful night
before the big day, I was sat in an Indian restaurant for my birthday tea,
ordering chicken korma instead of my usual fiery king prawn madras, a whole
naan bread to myself, an extra portion of pilau rice, and a sparkling water
instead of beer.
“You’re running the
marathon, aren’t you?” my lovely boyfriend said/asked. In front of the kids.
Mouth full of food, I
feigned surprise.
“I’m running a bit of it
with Clare…”
(swallow)
“Maybe, the first bit, 10
miles or so… maybe up to 13 miles…”
“And then what?” my
boyfriend said, with a hint of a smile on his face.
I considered telling him I
was having an affair.
“And then I quit, you
know! Meet her at the end!””
Then the kids and my
lovely other half started laughing at me. And I proceeded to grovel for
forgiveness for keeping it from them.
The truth is, I had no
idea if I was going to finish the marathon.
I had spent most of the Summer unable to run due to a hip flexor injury,
so my training, unlike my first marathon, was sporadic. In the 6 weeks prior to the big day, I was
completing a mid week run of around 3 miles, then a long run on the
Sunday. My longest run saw me hit 18
miles, which hadn’t been easy. But then I kind of wanted to
prove it to myself that it was all in my head, and that I could do it.
So the next day, with a
5am start, and after forcing a bowl of porridge down, I bundled myself into a taxi.
“I’m running a marathon
today, you know,” I told the taxi driver with a smile.
“Reeeeaaallly? You don’t look
the type!”
I told myself there would
be no tip that day for the taxi driver.
“Yeah, it’s my [insert number here]th birthday too.”
“Reeeeeaallly? You don’t
look anywhere near [insert number here]!”
So after tipping the taxi
driver handsomely, I stepped out at Manchester Piccadilly train station, clutching
something really special in my hand. A
first class ticket. My very first first
class ticket.
Unexpectedly, the platform
at 6am on the Sunday morning was shoulder to shoulder rammed with big, meaty-looking
guys. When the train arrived, I squeezed
myself into any available space on the train, just thankful to have boarded it
(the later train would have arrived too late to make the start). Turns out there had been a boxing match on
the night before, and everyone was going home sleepy and maybe a little bit
tipsy.
There was no way I was
able to get to my first class seat.
Resigned, I made idle chatter with a guy on the train about my plans for
the day, and that’s when another guy overheard me and I met Chris for the first
time!
Chris was also on his way
to the marathon, and I could tell from his physique that running was his kind of thing. We chatted about his 3hr-something
marathon times, and I told him all about my friend Clare who I was running with
and the journey went quickly as a result.
As soon as passengers left the train at Leeds, I made a dash for my
first class seat, and was able to enjoy the luxury for a mere 20 minutes.
And then I met Carol! Carol was running the 10 mile race which was
taking place alongside the marathon. She
was really cool as she had on the same running top as me, and we chatted about the
usual - our nerves, how we should be in bed at this time on a Sunday morning,
and what exactly had possessed us to put ourselves through such torture.
Arriving at York, Carol and
every other female passenger took my advice and used the loos at the station
rather than at the marathon start line. And the lovely Chris, knowing how
nervous I was about catching the bus to the University (where the marathon
started) was waiting for me in the foyer of the station, so Carol, myself and
Chris went for the bus together. They even
let me take a photo for this blog – see how lovely they are?
Arriving, Carol gave me a
hug bye and we went our separate ways.
Meticulously checking I had everything, I placed my bag in the baggage
area, texted Clare to make sure she was on site, and easily found my way to the
start line.
Finding each other, we hugged. This being Clare’s first marathon, with a
multitude of injuries, she was a bundle of nerves, but it wasn’t long before we
started.
“COME ON EVERYONE, LET’S
DOOOO THIS!” I yelled, passing the start.
A few people clapped (in my head they did).
Now, game plan. It’s always important to have a plan. The plan was that I would stay with Clare for
the first 10 miles and then review. It
was important to me that given my lack of training, I did not race around the
course as I had done at Manchester. Most
importantly, I wanted to ENJOY the experience this time, without going for a
PB. It was about being able to say that I
had ran a marathon on my birthday with one of my best friends, nothing more.
“Right, slow down Clare,
you’re going too fast.”
I had it in my head that
we would do the first 5 miles at an 11 minute mile pace, then possibly up it to
10 minutes 30 seconds between 5 and 10 miles.
With a short stint then at a 10 minute mile pace for a few miles, we would
be clocking in at under a sub-5 hour marathon, which was Clare’s goal.
We comfortably ran and let
people overtake us. I started to high-five
kids. I think I must have high-fived
around 100 kids on the day, and occasionally one of them would spot my
birthday badge and shout, “Happy birthday!”
Passing York Minster was brilliant, it looked beautiful against the blue
skies and the crowds were out in force.
At the first drinks
station, I encouraged Clare to drink water.
We chatted happily away for the first 5 miles, talking about our kids, how
marathon running wasn’t as bad as childbirth, the usual stuff.
We started to meet
people. There was Helen, who was also a
first timer. Two girls dressed as elves
ran behind us, having a ball with the crowd, and I lost my high-five fun to a
Smurf for a few minutes. We also chatted to a Storm Trooper who was wearing a wedding
dress and his friend who I called Princess Leia.
I tried to up the speed a
little to 10 minutes 30 seconds a mile and explained to Clare what I was
doing. She went a little quiet on me then,
so I slowed it down back to 11. The 5
hour marker had not passed us at that point, but I knew it would.
Suddenly, out of nowhere,
Clare shouted, “Look it’s him!!!”
And there was a vicar at
mile 6, holding out his hand, giving all the runners high-fives! We had all heard
about this vicar who had changed the time of his church service on the Sunday
so that he could greet the runners, and he was also joined by his lovely female
colleague. ALL the runners made a
bee-line for the priest.
Helen was still with us at
that point, and then the 5 hour marker went past and we all went quiet.
“Did a piece of anyone else
just die there too?” I asked.
Both Clare and Helen gave
a glum laugh, “Yeah, we saw it too.”
I watched it disappear into
the distance and knew that I could have reached it if I wanted, but my focus
returned to Clare who had gone quiet again.
We lost Helen who increased her speed to chase that 5 hour marker.
“Are you hurting?” asked
Clare. We were about 8 miles in.
“Yeah, a little,” I
lied. My glutes felt tight but
everything else was good.
Running through some
beautiful woodland area, I realised that we had passed the mile 9 marker.
“Hey, you know what, I
just hit a PB!” I laughed.
Back in the Manchester
marathon, I hit the wall at mile 9 due to starting off too fast, and also
because of injury. I had had to stop
then and walk, yet here at Yorkshire, I was very comfortably running along,
feeling strong.
Knowing that mile 10 was
approaching, and I was soon planning to leave Clare, I asked her what support
she had on the course.
“My Mum is at the end, but
a friend might be around the 10 mile mark.”
It started to rain. We ran up little country roads and hills, and
Clare kept amazing me at how well she was doing. We took each hill steady.
And then we heard a sound
in the distance. Bagpipes! It was so inspiring passing the 10 mile mark,
and hearing the roaring noise of bagpipes which always reminds me of the
Braveheart movie.
There was no friend
waiting for Clare (it hadn’t been a definite arrangement anyhow) but I know how
demoralising it can be when you hope to see someone, especially when you are
running so hard. Mile 10 was when I had
planned to leave Clare, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“Imagine if we crossed the
finish line together holding hands,” she said to me.
Truth is, I really wanted
that too, and I told her so. I gave up any hope of chasing the 5 hour marker at
that point, I knew I had to stay. We were at a 12 minute mile pace by that
point.
Getting to Stamford Bridge
at 13 miles, there was a great turn out. Further on, a guy on a microphone was
making a right racket, and as I passed him, I pointed to my birthday badge.
“I KNOW YA FIT LOVE, BUT I
DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TRYING TO TELL ME!”
I had to turn on a loop
here and overheard a member of the public shout, “It’s her birthday!”
“AHH REET! C’MON EVERYONE!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOOUU….”
I think Clare was
mortified but I loved it!
Leaving Stamford Bridge,
we reached a hill.
“It’s all downhill from
the top!” someone shouted.
And then Clare
stopped.
I jogged on the spot
waiting for her to catch up, and considered the madness of running backwards to
her.
“I need a minute.”
I then forced myself to
stop running. I could tell Clare was
struggling with her injuries.
“You go,” she said.
I paused. We were at mile
15 at that point. I envisaged a long walk to the finish, missing my train, and
having to explain to my family that I would be late for present-opening, when I
had promised them I’d be home around 6pm.
I then told Clare a
conversation I had had over dinner the night before. Before the marathon, the
furthest Clare had ever run was THIRTEEN miles.
“I don’t think she’s going
to do it,” I had confided in my family, as we sat eating our curries.
“Now you stop that,” my
other half told me. “You always say
that, and then look what happens! She proves you wrong!”
“Yeah Mum, you said she wouldn’t
do that triathlon and she did!”
And this is true. Clare had completed her first triathlon a
couple of weeks prior to the marathon.
Not only that, she had completed the Great North Run in September, plus
numerous other races throughout the year, raising money for charity.
As Clare and I walked up
that hill, I turned to her.
“Clare, I’m sorry I didn’t
think you could do it. I was wrong,
really wrong. You’ve done bloody brilliantly.
You’ve managed to run 15 miles non-stop.
I know you’re going to do this. I
mean it. You’re going to get through
this.”
“I’m not going to quit.”
“Are you sure?”
“I promise. You go on. I’m not going to quit.”
I left her walking and
started to run up the remainder of the hill.
My phone rang.
“Heeellllooo Auntie Jane!
[my sister’s voice] It’s Jonnie [my 3 year old nephew] wanting to wish you aaaa
haaaappppy birrrthday!”
“Awww that’s lovely…”
“OH MY GOD! Are you doing
the marathon!” my sister shouted in her normal adult voice, hearing the panting
sounds down the phone.
“Yup.”
“How far in are you?”
“About 15 miles.”
“Oh my God, you sound
amazing!”
Physically, I did feel
good. And then out the corner of my eye,
I saw a crowd of around 20 people gesturing towards me.
“GET OFF YOUR PHONE!!!”
they shouted.
“Hang on,” I said, coming
off for a moment.
“It’s my birthday! I’m
allowed!” I shouted back.
“It’s her birthday! Orr
wow! It’s her birthday, HAAAPPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOOU, HAAAPPY…”
Laughing, I told my sister
I’d call her back. I was a few metres
from the top of the hill.
And then I saw a great
crowd of people running towards me. And it dawned on me, this was the loop I
had seen on the course map, and which I had mentally geared myself up to. There’s nothing worse than seeing other
people further ahead of you on the course, and knowing you have all that way to
go.
But what I wasn’t prepared
for was the hill. Miles 15-17 were downhill (and my fastest part of the course) but I knew I’d have to go back the
other way. At about mile 16 a woman was
offering free hugs and I gave her a long one.
I plugged in my music and ‘The Way I Are’ by Timbaland got me through
mile 18. I saw Clare on the other side
and passed her my water which I had got from a drinks station, and then saw the
free hugs lady at mile 19 (as she had crossed to the other side). She gave me an even longer hug. Mile 20 passed at the top of the hill and I
assessed my body.
It was starting to hurt,
but nowhere near as bad as it had at Manchester. There was no searing pain in my ITB band, and
the soles of my feet whilst slightly sore, were not burning (I had replaced my
trainers three weeks prior). My
shoulders felt a little sore, and my hips were reminding me of the danger of my
hip flexor injury recurring, but all in all, I was doing good.
My phone rang again.
“Hello Jane, it’s Mum.”
“Hi Mum!”
“Listen, I don’t want to
keep you, but I just wanted to ring to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Aw, thanks Mum.”
“Are you doing anything
nice?”
“I’m running a marathon,
about 21 miles in.”
“Aww that’s lovely. Well, I won’t keep you. I’ll catch you later
perhaps.”
“See you later Mum.”
(Scout’s honour – that’s the
conversation we had).
I started to pass people I
had talked to on the route previously with Clare. There was bumblebee girl, the two girl elves,
there was red top Robin soldiering on and a girl with multi-coloured stripy socks.
I had taken one gel with
me on the course, but acquired two more at the gel stations and had these at
miles 20, 22 and 24. I had learnt my
lesson from Manchester and did not take on sweets or fruit offered by
passers-by and my stomach remained trouble free. I started to break down the
marathon into chunks in my head, 6 miles remaining, now get to 5, well done,
get to 4 and you can have another gel, get to 3 and then it’s a mere parkrun
left, get to 2 and you can have one more gel, come on girl, half a mile at a
time and so on.
I passed Helen at mile 23
who was walking, but still smiling. Someone
at mile 24 put on a mega sound system which played some epic sounding music
with heavy drums, like the Space Odyessey music. It was brilliant!
Reaching mile 25,
spectators were shouting their support, and there were the usual type of guys yelling, “Finish strong!”
like in Manchester who have clearly never run a marathon before.
At 25.5 miles in, I
remembered Clare’s words of warning.
“There’s a huge hill at
the end.”
And I laughed to myself. What hill?
And then I saw it.
The girl next to me looked like she might pass out when she saw the hill and she stopped.
“Come on,” I told her, “You
were beating me!”
I jogged up the hill
(slowly).
Then I could see the
finish and the realisation dawned on me that I was about to complete my second
marathon! No way! I sprinted the last 0.3 of a mile. Nothing beats a sprint finish. I came in at 5hrs 6 minutes (my PB is 4hrs 36
minutes).
I thought I heard someone
calling my name and when I went to check my phone after returning to the bus, I
saw that Clare’s Mum had messaged me to say well done and that I had missed
her, which was gutting as I hadn’t seen her for years! I messaged back to say
that Clare was around 30-40 minutes behind me…
On the train home, I
texted Clare and she replied to say she had become injured at mile 18 but was
still going. I watched her progress via a tracking app on
Facebook, and thought of her when she did her last mile, breathing a sigh of
relief when she finished in a time of 6hrs 23 minutes.
Afterwards, when we caught
up, she told me that at one point she had rang her husband to come and collect
her. She said she had given up as she
had been in so much pain. But then she
thought of her parents waiting for her at the finish, and of MY family who had
all jumped to her defence over that curry the night before, and that is what
had made her cancel her rescue pick up and finish.
Clare proved to me that running
a marathon is about what’s in your head.
Running, and runners like Clare, will always, always, continue to inspire me to
keep running.
Many, many thanks to the
organisers @RunYorkshire for a really well organised event – there were stacks of
drinks and gels on the course, even for those of us at the back. It was also very well signposted at the
beginning and end, the baggage handlers were brilliant and I got my bag back
quickly. Super goody bag too, perhaps
one of the best I have come across.
I’d also like to just
quickly thank the buskers who played air guitar to Breakfast at Tiffany’s at
around mile 11 with me, and also to the Caribbean drummers who put up with my
attempt at doing a moonwalk. If I have missed anyone else, I can only apologise
for the then and now!
Follow me @JWilbyPalmer
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