In anticipation of a hot one I bought a white headscarf at a small boutique in The Lanes, thinking I could keep pouring water on my head to keep me cool – good plan!
There was the small issue of me having forgotten all of my kit save my socks, shoes and underwear. Fortunately there was a very small expo at The Brighton Centre and I purchased a fetching orange and grey top together with some rather short shorts. Let’s face it – could have been far far worse had I forgotten my shoes and orthotics.
It was also at the expo when I bought my now favourite running gels as the usual jelly-like ones make me gag.
Getting to Brighton at 2pm it was clear that things were hotting up, literally. We had a couple of beers on the beach and swanked around town, filling our boots (and my stomach) at a fine restaurant. Steak was the order of the day and I wolfed it down.
The two of us chilled out in the hotel room and watched a complete farce of a film/documentary called Air Guitar Nation, all about (yep – you guessed it) the world air guitar championships. Highly entertaining and sad at the same time. One thing is for certain. I dropped off to sleep at around 11:30 and was only awoken briefly by Simon’s snoring.
I managed to drift back off to sleep but awoke properly at 6:30am. The sun was up and boy was it going to be a scorcher.
Mercury was forecast to reach the mid twenties. I needed to prepare myself.
We both wolfed down some breakfast and then I was off at around 7:30, joining the steady stream of folks walking through Brighton’s streets towards Preston Parkway. My now routine large cappuccino was born on this day and perked me up no end.
I always loathe the start of the races due to the toilet situations but grinned and bared it, going 3 times that morning before the race.
This was one of those races where iPod and headphone wearing was frowned upon and supposedly banned. I assembled in the starting pen thinking that I should stay close to the 3:15 pace setters. It meant that when we were off I started very strongly but consistently keeping my pace at sub 8 minutes.
Even at 10am it was getting seriously hot and we snaked through the Brighton Streets up and round until we were out on the coast road heading towards Lewes and Newhaven.
I saw (or rather heard) Simon at the 2-mile mark and this gave me an extra burst. It really does help having people you care about supporting you along the way. It lifts you in ways you didn't think possible and most importantly distracts you from the plod, plod, plodding of the endurance race.
Believe it or not this section felt uphill all the way but the strength in my legs and the awesome scenery (sea, white cliffs) made things melt away.
2 miles in and I had just seen Simon
You continue to run up along the coast road until you make a left and run through a strange section, clearly tacked on to make up the miles (and has since been removed) where you went through very narrow sections and paths until you came back on yourself and started the descent back along the seafront and towards Brighton Pier.
I crossed the half way point at 1:40 – A good time even now and gave a cheesy smile and thumbs up to the official photographer whilst a local band belted out Sex on Fire.
I knew that this is where the race was really going to begin but my confidence was high and I was pouring water over my head at regular intervals, which seemed to make things bearable.
It was only after 15 miles and the 2 hour mark that I started to slow down but things were seriously hot now and I took advantage of the man with the hose as I ran through the streets of Hove (actually), passing the street where I used to live (St Aubyns) and finally turning round and heading back to the seafront where things started to get really interesting.
I was getting tired and hot but my regular self-dousing was doing me good with one issue – I was not drinking enough or the right type of drink. As you sweat, you lose salts – FACT! And guess what – you need to replenish them or you can’t retain the water and can suffer from Hyponatremia. This is a potential fatal condition and something I have since taken into consideration, but today I was on course for victory but with a ticking time bomb.
I was now out on the seafront and moving steadily towards Shoreham and the isolation of the shipyards. It was indeed desolate but just before you enter this man made wilderness you pass through “The Wall”. This made me smile…. a crude structure with a bull’s-eye on either side of it and runner would literally “hit the wall”. Silly maybe but it raised my spirits no end.
Check out "The Wall"behind me with the bullseye!
The shipyard is desolate and eerie – no spectators in any numbers at this point. Cranes and other heavy machinery sat silent in strange positions so you needed to dig deep to take you through this and on to the final turn before commencing the final push towards the finish line.
I exited this section and passed “the wall” again although this time on the other side. I smirked to myself as I saw the streams of runners repeatedly strike the bull’s-eye. Fun for all I believe.
I was now turning in 8”20’ per mile and it was at this point when the 3:30 pace setters overtook me. It was a low point in the proceedings but I was not going to let it get my down.
Trouble was, once you are over the 20 mile marker, your brain starts to talk you out of things so even the most minor dent to your state of mind can have significant consequences. The voices started:
“Slow down”, “you can walk for a bit”, “stop and take a rest, you’re going to finish” and so on and so forth. But you HAVE to push these thoughts and voices down as they do get progressively louder the longer you run. The trick is to ignore them and continue to put one foot in front of the other, maintaining your momentum and trying not to walk.
8”50’ per mile dropped past 9 minutes. I felt like I was plodding, dragging myself to the finish line. But it did come and so did masses of crowds.
The heat was so intense but I was so nearly there. And then it happened, I let the cheering crowds egg me on and sprinted for 100 metres, shouting and whopping them up into a frenzy. The cheers (directed at me) rose up from the ground and became deafening. From the depths of myself I had pulled out some extra energy. I saw the time and was elated… 3:33. I had achieved a personal best on this, the hottest day.
Whoop Whoop!
Elation
I hugged them all and we walked towards the hotel where I planned to shower, change and get the hell out of Brighton.
But then it hit me. The same feeling I had after the London Marathon but far more intense. Tingling sensation in my face, hands and extremities. Only this time the sensation was overpowering. I used to suffer from panic attacks due to my excesses a few years back so I tried to ignore PAM (the Panic Attack Monster) and catch my breath. It wasn’t working – this was no panic attack.
Nicole had seen me falter and had sought the help of the St John’s ambulance. A nice gentleman arrived, as I lay prone on the floor in all sorts of bother. I seemed to be getting hotter and more uncomfortable by the second.
Crash!
They explained my condition, having taken blood pressure levels, and made me drink Dyrolite and eat bananas. After about 15 minutes I got myself together and we finally left the finish area.
That feeling is simply down to not replacing salts/electrolytes on the way round. What is strange is that it took one more incident like this (a year later in Edinburgh in similar conditions) to finally get me to take adequate precautions.
We got to the hotel having walked waaaaay to far in order to cross the road. I showered and “OUCH!”. My nipples were red raw, caused by the friction between my skin and the soaking wet t-shirt. Jogger’s nipple is no laughing matter and I would, over the coming days, clutch my man-boobs when talking to people as they ached beyond belief.
Nicole drove me home from Haywards Heath station and I popped open the champagne, revelling in not just a PB but also a storming performance given the heat. I had three marathons under my belt now but running was going to take a back seat for a year.
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