Review of the Greater Manchester Marathon - 2nd April 2017
You
know those nights out when at 3am you rock up to the local kebab shop? When
with slurred voice, you order a king-size kebab, knowing you can’t eat it, then
wait for it surrounded by other drunk, but happy people, moaning about how much
their feet hurt from dancing, trying hard not to be sick and sharing lots of
hugs? And all you really want is to go home?
That is
how you feel at mile 23 of running a marathon (x10).
Which
is pretty maddening to be fair. I had
very few kebab shop visits during my University years, on account of being a
single Mum with a baby. I had at the
time clung to the hope that my 30’s would see me making up for lost time, but
somewhere along the line, stupid me thought it would be time better spent
running marathons.
The Manchester
marathon 2017 is my third marathon. I
SWORE in my review of the 2015 marathon that I would never do another,
yet when I watched 2016 as a spectator, part of me felt like a dog not being
allowed off a lead. I missed being part
of the running crowd.
A lot
changed in my life since watching that 2016 race. I quit my well-paid city job in an
international law firm, and retrained as a fitness instructor and running
coach. I started my own running club,
the #MileShyClub, a club for complete beginners and a mere week ago, 10 of our
members completed their first ever ParkRun.
The club’s been featured in the press, and as a not-for-profit club we
also helped the #Saletown community get a 24/7 defibrillator installed. We also partnered with RunTogether and Race for Life , got sponsored by Up and Running and I’m now a Mental Health Ambassador for England Athletics. I still work in an office
part time because I have to pay the bills, but this new venture is my way of
bringing running to others and making a difference. It’s all, you know, pretty
cool.
So that
decision sort of fuelled my desire to run Manchester again. I had run the Yorkshire marathon last year in October, enticed by a good friend, and it was a really enjoyable race,
unlike my first marathon at Manchester. Sadly, my friends were dropping like
flies due to injuries in the weeks up to the Manchester marathon and on the day,
it was just me at the start line, with, to be honest, very little training
behind me. Previously, when I had trained seriously for a marathon I was
running 3 times as much, weighed around half a stone less and visited a physio
once a week. For 2017, there was lots of
chocolate, no physio, no sports massages, just 3 long runs (the furthest being
18 miles) …
But,
nevertheless, my general fitness is good, and I had spent serious time convincing
myself that I could beat my PB (personal best) of 4 hours 36 minutes. I was torn between wanting to enjoy myself on the course, but also wanting to give it my absolute best. I never did quite
decide which one I was aiming for.
After
the usual sleepless night, I walked to the tram stop, hiding a couple of
bottles of water in bushes near to the 17-mile marker, should I need them. The day was looking like a sunny (i.e. hot)
one. Boarding the tram, it wasn’t long before I arrived at the cricket ground,
my nerves a jangling mess.
I met
Ruth just off the tram, a first timer, nervous like me and running for The Sick
Children’s Trust. Turns out Ruth had
heard of the #MileShyClub which was fab, and we did our last loo visit
together, shoelace checks, and a quick photo! After trying to eat a peanut
butter sandwich I kept having to stash in my top to keep my hands free, we both made our
way to the start line.
Now,
the plan. My plan was to run the first
10 miles at a 10:30 minute pace, miles 10-20 at a 10 minute mile (ish) pace,
and miles 20-26 at a 10:30 minute mile pace.
At the 2015 race, I had started at a 9 minute mile pace and hit the “wall”
at mile 9. I was determined not to do
that again. Knowing my plan, Ruth left
me and moved further up the pink starting pen to try for a faster start out
time. I was content to stay where I was.
Waiting,
I spotted another lady runner with her headphones in. She was wearing a Samaritans top. I tapped her on the arm.
“Hi, my
name’s Jane.”
She
smiled. She told me her name at this
point but I have completely forgotten it, so I’ll call her Anna.
“First
timer?”
Anna
nodded. She clung to her water bottle.
I asked
her who she was running for.
“A
close friend. She… she took her own life
at Christmas… and I’m running to raise money for the Samaritans.”
Anna
choked up then, and I thanked her for being so amazing. We talked about who
would be on the course cheering her on and I gave her the best piece of advice
I could – start slow and watch out for bin bags and water bottles!
We
cheered off the wheelchair runners and then we were off! It took a little
longer than last time to reach the start line but it was great to be moving. I
started my Garmin, which is a Vivoactive HR model, an upgrade from the 405cx model
I had at the last marathon which had frozen on me minutes before the start.
What
struck me initially was the wonderful amount of support in and around the
Stretford area. So many supporters!
I knew that previously
miles 1-9 had been the hardest for me mentally, so I was keen not to repeat the
experience and try and stick to the plan.
My watch started creeping up to the 9:30 – 9:45 minute mile mark and I
verbally told myself to slow down, bringing it back down to a 10-minute mile,
still off the 10:30 minute time I had planned for.
Literally,
I shouted “SLOW!” to tell myself to slow down! I saw the 4 hour
30 minute pacer ahead and I sprinted a little to make sure I was in front of
him. I didn’t want the pacer to pass me
and I felt quite comfortable so at mile 6, I stuck with the 10 minute mile
pace.
I spoke
to a guy briefly who carried a donation box for charity – he was running 14 marathons
in 12 months to raise money for a cancer charity and Manchester was his last
one – what an amazing achievement. I also clapped a couple of girls who were stopping at every mile marker sign and taking a photo for charity!
I
couldn’t wait to get to mile 6. I was
aiming for that mile marker. A couple of
days before I had arranged for my name to be imprinted across my chest on a new running top
which is a very risky thing to do a) because it was new and had not been
run-tested, so could hurt me in ways unimaginable and b) the letters ‘J’ and
‘E’ may have ended up underneath my armpits.
Nevertheless, I hoiked up my top to flash my name at passers-by,
discovered a load of peanut butter crumbs hidden in there and then started
waving at the crowds yelling my name. It
was good.
Mile 6
meant I got to #Saletown – which is where I live! – and where I might actually
know people! Just passing Dane Road, I saw my fiancé (oh yes, something else
which is new since I last wrote – I got engaged on Valentine’s Day!) and my
youngest daughter together with some of our friends.
I
sailed past waving. A completely
different experience to last time when I had crumpled in a heap at mile 9 – I
wanted to look strong and I was!
Then
suddenly a camera appeared! It was my mission to look as happy as I could all
the way round so I threw my arms in the air!
Turning
into Sale, I got so excited but tried to keep it together. Passing where my running club meets at the
Waterside Plaza, I saw Laura from the club and gave her a wave, blew her a few
kisses, that sort of thing. Then suddenly
there were shouts of “INJURED RUNNER” and I had to dodge a poor lady who had
fallen over and was being tended to by medics.
Reaching the top of the hill, I then started waving at the crowds, high-fiving
the kids. Going past Sale Leisure Centre
I passed Kath from the club who gave me a wave, and I even went back to her
when I missed high-fiving a kid who was next to her. It was a good moment.
At the
6 mile mark there were also gels being handed out. Although it was quite early
in the race, I did allow myself half a gel at this point – everything felt okay,
I wasn’t as exhausted as I thought I might be, but wanted to play it safe. I also took water here which I wouldn’t
usually but it was shaping up to be a sunny day and I wanted to stay hydrated.
Brooklands
was coming up and I was excited to see the supporters who had been out in force
here in 2015. I was not
disappointed. I don’t think I had ever
seen so many supporters before in an area that was not the finish line – it was
jam packed! Everyone was cheering and then out the blue, a girl I used to work
with (Nina) jumped out!
“GO ON
JANE GO ON JANE YOU LOOK AMAZING KEEP GOING!!!”
As is the case with all my marathons, the injuries I start out with are usually perfectly fine in the actual race and something else usually crops up. I had taped up my right knee which was slightly niggly to give it more support. At this point, around the 8 mile mark, I started to feel a tinge in my left glute. I noted it, and focused on getting to mile 9. Mile 9 was where I had stopped in 2015, I wasn’t going to let that happen.
Running
along Brooklands Road, which I have done many times before was hard because I
knew I had to loop back, and this road is a LONG road. The amazing front runners in the marathon
came up beside us and I cheered them on, clapping as they passed. It still amazes me how fast they can run.
Reaching
the end of Brooklands Road, I then started to look forward to Timperley. The crowds in Timperley are always good, and
I remembered seeing the huge choir on the right which was very motivating. Passing the choir... they were on a break.
I
laughed.
I
overheard someone saying to a friend that they felt like they were a long way
away from the start line. And in truth
they were, I knew where this part of the course sat on the map, and to be
honest, I wanted it out the way. I
wanted to get into Altrincham as quickly as possible because that meant halfway
and it meant I was on my way back.
Passing
the halfway mark, I looked for the cameras and tried my best to smile lots! I
then checked my Garmin which read 2 hours 13 minutes and I was pleased. It meant I was still ahead of the 4 hour 30-minute marker and that I was on course for a sub 4 hour 30-minute finish time.
I
started to dream then… what if I could keep this pace all the way through to
the end?
As I
dreamed, the sound of children’s voices entered my head and the song ‘Don’t
Stop Believing’ suddenly wafted past and I clapped the children’s choir passing
by on my right.
I knew
that to keep the same pace would be incredibly hard, so I told myself to focus
on getting to mile 20 without stopping…
After passing
mile 13, I knew there was a hill to climb.
I spotted a guy who had started to slow down.
“Hey,
this is the worst hill on the whole course, then it’s downhill.”
He
grimaced and nodded.
We took
the hill together.
“Don’t
stop!” I shouted (that’s the coach in me)
Turns
out this guy was pretty amazing. He told
me that he was running Brighton marathon next weekend and another one the week
after…
After
chatting for around half a mile, I nodded and said bye to him. His pace was stronger than mine and I
couldn’t really keep up. As soon as gels
were offered on the course, or water, I took them. I took jelly babies but kept it to one,
learning from the stomach trouble I had experienced in 2015.
Passing
the choir in Timperley, singing in earnest, I felt inspired by their united
front and decided to really work on focusing.
I increased speed to a 9:45 min mile and counted the runners as I passed
them. My next aim was mile 17 – for some
reason mile 17 is one of my favourite miles, I guess because it means that the remaining
mileage is in single digits.
I was
monetarily distracted by a runner on the other side of the road. I say runner.
This was a guy who was completing the marathon. In a wheelchair. Not one of those fancy
racing type wheelchairs, but a standard, bog-issue wheelchair. I saluted him.
Passing
16 miles I spotted my lovely friend Nina who had stayed to see me come back,
which felt like an awfully long time and she took my photo and posted it on
Twitter!
Coming
down to 16.5 miles, I then bumped into Laura again who had stayed to watch for
longer and I pointed at her, I think telling her that one day she would be
doing a marathon and she looked at me like I was a little mad.(!) (Author note as at 08.04.17 - I have been reliably informed that this WAS NOT Laura, and was in fact Claire from the club... you'll be pleased to know that Claire and I are still friends... and my trip to the opticians is booked next week!)
I
continued to overtake people. I kept
thinking about the water at mile 17 I had hidden. I questioned whether I should stop for
it. Stopping for water and gels was
costing me time. I decided to play it
safe and for the briefest of moments dashed into the bushes where I had hidden
my water, Vaseline (in case my new top chafed) and a gel.
“ANYONE
NEED WATER?”
A lady
took it. I drank some of mine and poured the rest of it on my head to stay
cool.
Passing
the Salvation Army band, guess what? They were on a break and sadly there was
no loop here to go past them again!
The
pain started to settle in here, like an old friend who has outstayed their
welcome. The tinge in my left glute had
spread down my left iliotobial band ("ITB") (a ligament that runs from the thigh from the hip to the shin) towards the
knee. I started to whack the area with the palm of my hand to try and loosen the muscle. I
considered stopping to stretch it out, but I had been thinking that for most of
the race so far and decided to grin and bear it. An old injury called pubis synthesis had also
reared its ugly head (pain in the pelvis area – that’s all I’m saying!) and I
know from training that if I stop when this type of pain kicks in, it can be
fatal to my running. Gritting my teeth,
I hammered on.
I
continued passing runners, and kept congratulating myself on progress to keep
myself going. At mile 18, there were water fountains spraying cold water on the
runners to help with the heat. The water
was so cold, it took my breath away! Even when I braced myself for the second
fountain, I still caught my breath! But it was well received.
At mile
19 one of my club runners was planning to wait and I hoped I hadn’t kept her
waiting too long. This was the last
runner I knew was coming to watch me, and to be honest, I was quite glad
because all smiling goes out the window after mile 20.
And
there she was! I waved at Rebecca and her lovely family as soon as I saw them
up ahead and they took my photo!
At the
end of Moss Lane, I saw some of my eldest daughter’s school friends and I waved
at them, and they waved back!
Now you
might be thinking, where was my eldest daughter? As I approached mile 20, I thought of her,
and missed her like crazy. Last year, we
had stood at mile 20, just the 2 of us, cheering on the runners. And she wasn’t here this year. She is on the trip of a lifetime in New York
with her school. Which of course is
brilliant, but as her Mum who had tearfully waved her off the day before,
missing her impacted my mindset.
I had a
treat for myself at mile 20 though to counteract this feeling. I was allowed to listen to my music and stop
for the briefest of moments. But this is
where it started to fall apart.
Bringing
out my phone, I connected to the ‘marathon playlist’ I had prepared over the
previous weeks on Spotify. And it didn’t work. It kept stopping and starting and in the end,
I gave up. And just as I started to run
again… the 4 hour 30 minute marker went past.
Mentally,
my mind went, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…”
Then my
mouth went, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
The man
running with the marker gave me a sympathetic look. And then my playlist kicked in. First song on random? The Superman Theme
Tune.
I
started running. Like really running. My
left ITB then decided to cramp up in
spectacular style and I thought back to the stories of runners who had had to
pull out because of cramp.
I
continued running and ignored the pain, punching my left ITB in my thigh. I was limp/running through the
pain. And doing one of my fastest miles
of the course. At mile 20, I was hitting
9:30 min mile and I am really, really PROUD of that!
I got
back to the 4 hour 30-minute marker. And then… agonisingly watched as it
started to fade into the distance. Along
with my dodgy Spotify playlist which stopped working again. A horse in a field on my right came up to to offer his condolences then I realised he was just after the gel I had in my right hand. Didn't even offer a lift.
Mile 21
was miserable. My pubis synthesis issue really
kicked in then. I grabbed gel after gel
trying to get through, focusing all my efforts on getting to the next mile
without stopping. I had horror visions
of the 5 hour marker catching up with me.
My sub 4 hour 30-minute marathon was off the cards. My 4 hour 36 minute PB dream was dying.
Then I
saw Anna. Remember Anna, the girl I had
met at the start running for the Samaritans?
She was running, albeit it very slowly, but she was running. I saw her, and nodded, and she nodded back,
barely recognising me. We didn’t speak,
I couldn’t speak, we just ran together for 10 minutes, 10 minutes of gut
wrenching good feeling toward each other.
I did manage to tell her to keep going, and in my addled state called
her Ruth which may have inadvertently dampened her mojo... sorry.
Leaving
Anna to continue our own individual journey’s through hell, I could see mile 22
ahead. I really wanted to get to mile
23. I so wanted it to be over. Why had I done this to myself? Why was I
putting myself through this? I felt like a failure.
“Hey!”
I
blinked.
“Hey!
You’re that girl who does the running club! The #MileShyClub!”
I
smiled for the first time in 3 miles. I
nodded and looked down.
“You’re
wearing a leprechaun between your legs.”
“I
know, it’s getting heavier every mile!”
“It’s
Gordy isn’t it?” By some miracle, I vaguely recalled seeing his photo on social
media in the morning which was posted by a friend of a friend of a friend of
Gordy.
He
nodded. I can’t remember what else was said at this point but we departed ways
and I continued ahead toward mile 23.
The glorious mile that signalled one ParkRun left.
I
looked at my Garmin when passing the 23 mile mark. It said 4 hours 4 minutes. With a PB of 4 hrs 36 minutes I had 32
minutes to cover 5k plus the 0.2m that everyone forgets about.
There was a chance that I may just do it.
I tried
my music again. It worked.
“We’ve come so far
And we’ve reached so high
And we’ve looked each day and night in the
eye
And we’re still so young
And we hope for more…”
Gary
Barlow’s reassuring voice kicked in. “We’ve
come a long way…”
I dragged
myself on.
“Been on this path of life for so long…”
Insanity
overtook me.
“Neerrrver forget where you’ve come here
from…”
I
couldn’t focus on anything but the finish.
I HAD to get there.
Mile 24
went past. The Superman Theme Song kicked in again. It helped get me to mile 25.
I was
nearly there. I knew it was just a hill
then I would see the finish. Everyone in
the crowds was cheering but I couldn’t find the energy to look at them. I SO BADLY WANTED TO STOP. My music conked
then and I pulled my headphones out my ears.
I told
myself - “You can collapse at the end, Jane.
You can fall into a heap on the floor but you MUST get to that finish
line”.
I saw
the finish line way ahead in the distance.
I looked at my watch. It said I
had 6 minutes to cover half a mile. I cannot express to you how ill I felt at
this point. Just take my word for
it.
I’m
willing my body on, begging it to continue.
Then my friend Nina pops up again, for a third time, and I hoarsely
shout, “It’s so hard!”
“You
look amazing Jane! You look amazing, you’re doing so well!”
I
didn’t think I was at this point.
Then
another lady I know from Sale Harriers running club started waving.
“Go on,
you can do it!”
I am
pleading with whoever to get me there. I
keep telling myself over and over again I can collapse over the finish
line. It’s fine. Just get there as fast as you bloody well
can.
I hear
my name. It’s my fiancé and youngest
daughter, cheering me on and I just can’t even manage a smile. All I can focus
on is what’s going on in my head, my life, the blood rushing through my veins,
every single ounce of my being that is getting me there.
I pass
the line, unable to barely acknowledge it.
The clock says 4 hrs 52 mins but I know it’s out. My Garmin reads 26.3 miles in 4 hours, 36
mins, 26 seconds. By that point I have no idea if I have beaten my PB. I knew I hadn’t trained for this. In my heart I knew that I didn’t deserve this
win. And to be honest, the only thing
really occupying my thoughts at that point was trying to walk. I was broken, well and truly broken.
I
hobbled to get my finisher bag, and pulled out the medal. I focused slowly on getting to the beer tent,
then slowly to collect my rucksack (which was very quick) and then slowly to
the photo area to get my photo taken professionally. I gaped in disbelief at the
photographer as he rubbed his “tennis elbow” telling me it’s sore. I then started
to hobble out of the athletes area. But before I got to the exit, I rang my
other half.
“I’m
just going to be about another ten minutes, just getting my stuff!”
I
explained where I would meet him and then found a bench and just sat. There was
no way I could let him see me in the state I was in. He would never let me run again.
After
swallowing ibuprofen, taking a couple of mouthfuls of a protein bar, finishing
most of my beer, having a little chat with a guy who had just completed his
first marathon, I mustered the strength to move. My pubis synthesis hurt like hell and I knew
it would need rest. But my feet also
hurt, quite badly, which was surprising as I hadn’t felt them on the way round.
After
meeting my lovely fiancé and daughter, we slowly made our way to the tram. I was so exhausted I couldn’t even pull out
my tram ticket from my bag and my other half bought me a new one.
I
bumped into a friend (Tracey) on the way back who had taken part in the relay.
“Well
done on your time!” she said, flashing her phone up at me, showing me the live
results.
“What’s
my time?”
….
My time
was 4 hours, 36 minutes and 18 seconds.
I had beaten my PB by 7 seconds. In fact, given that the 2015 course was
measured incorrectly (by 385 metres), I was happy with that result.
Getting
home, I assessed my injuries and nearly balked at the state of my toes. Five hours later, I relented, and grudgingly
and very apologetically, made my way to A&E where holes were burned into my
big toenails to relieve the pressure from the bruising and blisters. The nurses were so impressed with the state
of my feet, they crowded round just to stare, and admittedly, offer
congratulations. I told them I was a wuss when it came to medical procedures
and the nurse treating me laughed as she held the hot metal rod in her hand and
said, “You’ve just run a marathon though!”
Marathon
running isn’t pretty. I didn’t even feel my toenails on the way round because
of the pain elsewhere. I couldn't even bring myself to tell anyone about my A&E visit! (you'll be pleased to know everything is more or less back to normal now, 3 days later!)
You may
be thinking now that I am definitely over the whole marathon thing. In fact, the whole race thing generally, I
rarely race because of the nerves leading up to the big day, and the all-or-nothing
effort I put in. It’s true that I have
run more marathons now than half marathons and 10k’s. It’s true that my work colleagues today told
me that I looked much better than Monday and were pleased to see I was
walking again, like a normal person.
Will I
do a marathon again?
Yes, I
will. There’s this seed inside me that has been planted. It’s called a sub-4
hour 30-minute marathon. Maybe... maybe... even lower than that. And I really,
really want it. And I know I can do it if I train and eat properly.
Until
next year… thank you Manchester!
Follow me @JWilbyPalmer
___
Awesome read as usual Jane, was filling up near the end!
ReplyDeleteThank you Danny, glad you liked it :-)
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