Chapter 15: Post Pisa, The Road To Paris with a Spitfire Thrown in For Good Measure

It’s always tough to re-motivate yourself after a marathon. You are sore, elated and don't see the point in pushing yourself for a while. Let the good time roll I thought and pretty much did nothing all week until a full 7 days post race.

Once you have lost the momentum of running so often it takes a few days to get back into the swing of things.

I took it easy, doing off-road runs and using softer surfaces so as not to cause me problems, mixing up on road and off-road. I have read that this is a good tactic and reduces the impact on your joints.
But there was little time to truly kick back as Paris was at the start of April and now I had sub 3:15 and a “good for age” (automatic entry into any marathon of my choosing) in my sights.

However 2014 ushered in a new year and before I knew it I was back in the swing of things, running 3 x 10k every week around the aquadrome in Rickmansworth, hoping that the softer ground would help my poor joints.

I also tried some serious x country running too, through mud and waterlogged ground, losing my shoe in the process. Works different muscle groups so was good but very very messy.
There was a point to this training..yes! The Watford half marathon was looming at the start of February.

My time in 2013 had been 1:34 and I had found it tough so was mentally prepared for a horrible race.
It did not disappoint.

The heavens had opened in the days and weeks prior to the race. Britain was gripped in widespread flooding and there was a risk that the race might have to be abandoned.

We started though on a chilly Sunday morning and the very respectable time of 10:00.
I was in two minds about whether to go for it or not..and guess what? Boy did I go for it delivering a PB in the process by about 20 seconds.

Should Have Worn Swimming Trunks

I was extatic – a positive omen for the audacious task of smashing 3:15 at the Paris marathon in April.

There was (as is always the case – perhaps its an age thing) a problem.. In my quest to enjoy myself (see chapter 17) I had run through a flooded depression towards the end of the half. In my amped up state I decided to kick furiously through the ankle-deep water to showboat for the cameras.
A couple of days later I realise that kicking heavy muddy water hurt my knees and this came home to roost when I ran a 16 miler the following week and was incapacitated for a couple of days, having to resort to smaller distances and less intensity.

Saw the physio who advised me to cut down. My sports masseur was more brutal, advising me through my wife to stop running for a couple of weeks and ditch the Reading Half Marathon.
So stubbornness got in the way (doesn’t it always) and I steadfastly refused to stop running but gave into common sense and decided to not run the Reading Half.

Part of the problem is an inability under race conditions to hold myself back and I know that with a tender knee that could mean and end to my dream of shattering a sub 3:15 at Paris in April.

Instead I signed up to the Surrey Spitfire, a 20 mile 2-lap course a couple of weeks later. This was a much better solution and would allow me another 2 weeks to have fully recovered.

Then as planned I was off to Barcelona for Mobile World Congress. Usually not the best place for keeping fit as the order of the day (and night) was to drink and eat and stay up late.

I arrived on the Sunday lunchtime having left home at 5am (yuk!).. All I could think of apart from the forthcoming business meetings and continuous presence of Senior Management meaning you had to be on your effervescent best behaviour was running.

My knee was hurting and I was very worried that unless I stepped back into my intensive training regime it would all be over before it started.

I touched down at the hotel and within 20 minutes was out pounding the streets and soaking up the 15-16 degree Barcelona sunshine.

Threatening skies but 17 degree "HEAT". Barcelona: I was back!

I had never run there before so ended up running across a visually impressive bridge around the shipbuilding area before blasting back to the hotel.

I had covered 7 miles. I was on the turnaround and building up to my peak week of 50+ miles!
victory at Paris was  still in sight.

Barcelona business trip moved to Dusseldorf Business trip and the miles per week and average distance continued to climb, elongating my days.

And today I sit here having just posted my ramblings for the first time and bringing the story to present day.

It is 5:21pm on Saturday, 15th March 2014. Tomorrow I will be running 20 miles around The Top Gear test track and Godalming/Dunsfold... kind of my old stomping ground for a brief period in the mid-nineties.

Tomorrow it is about finishing and feeling strong at the end, not beasting myself.

Will I be able to contain myself?

Chapter 12: London v James: The Re-Match (London Marathon 2013)

Well of course London was the logical next step. I had conquered my demons of sleeplessness and sub 3:30 terror in Spain and had London in my sights.

The experience of San Sebastian taught me a couple of important lessons. Firstly that Half Marathons were a good way to get into the marathon mind-set and presented a different type of challenge and secondly that I should prepare myself for a sleepless night pre-marathon and just go with the flow rather than working yourself into a frenzy.

But naturally the road to London was not without it’s pitfalls.

For one, the winter of 2012/2013 was bitterly cold and seemed to go on indefinitely. This meant that much of my training in the first 2 months of the year seemed to be taking place in the gym on the treadmill. Of course I mixed things up, doing repetitions as well as distance and strength work.

I also did another 2 half marathons to prep for London – Watford and Reading.

Watford: Hilly Sonofabitch

This was a miserable race, sleet, snow and wind chilled me to the bone and yet I made it round in 1:31…Sub-130 was now in my sights and yet I still did not feel completely cool about doing halves…I needed the “whole” deal.

Raining at The Start of Reading 2013

Elation at Reading 2013. But the Elusive 1:30 Still Evaded Me

All was going well until the week before the marathon when I was struck down with a dreadful stomach virus that meant I lost a considerable amount of weight and therefore energy. It was literally touch and go as to whether I would run. But slowly and surely my confidence increased sufficiently for me to attempt a mile, then 2, then 3 in the lead in to Marathon weekend. And on the Thursday I sought the “OK” from the GP to race.

At The Expo With The "All Clear" to Race from my GP

The race was on and I had a score to settle…4:14 had to be smashed and I wanted to beat my San Sebastian time.

I had volunteered to raise money for Jewish Care charity to did a little running “pose” ahead of the race which was fun but held me back a little from reaching my pen. IT did get me talking to James Tarlton, a fellow Jewish Care supporter who was about to run his first Marathon.

Jewish Care "Pose"

On the previous Monday, 2 youths had set off a bomb at the Boston Marathon finish and killed three souls and injured many more. As a mark of respect we all wore black ribbons when we ran.
It was hot at the start and though a mere fortnight before there had been snow on the ground I knew this was going to be a warm one.

After 30 seconds silence ahead of the start in memory of Boston we were off.

The Start of London 2013

Memories of the course from three years earlier came flooding back. Something new however was the appearance of a man in a Borat-style mankni ahead of me in the pack. People winced as they watched the “garment” ride up his crack – yuk!

I love the part of the course when the three starting groups all converge like small tributaries joining a big river – it really gives you a sense of the sheer scale of the event.

Once again it was like running past a great street carnival. The combination of the events of Boston the week before and the sunshine brought people out in their masses – I had never seen support like it. Throughout the entire course people were egging us on.

Just before I went over the halfway point I spotted my brother and his girlfriend – gave me a massive lift and I crossed the halfway point in line with my target pace (around 1:35) so I knew that a PB was in sight at this point.

Crossing London Bridge Using my "6 Marathons" Gesture: Arse!

Then it was over the iconic London Bridge and a sharp right after Tower of London and into the no-mans land that is Docklands. It was not too bad and I came out the other side under the false sense of security that it was nearly over….WRONG!

The “wall” hit me like a slap in the face at mile 18 and my illness from just a few days earlier caused me to be searching for energy reserves…I simply had none.

But then I saw my wife and daughters cheering me on, pausing briefly to give them high fives… Then but a few yards later my brother, his wife and daughter and more high fives…
Then I was on my own and crawled to a walk, my face grimacing as all my muscles tightened and the pain shooting up my thighs.

Pain Coming into Parliament Square

Another shout from the sidelines, this time my friend and fellow Prince nut Manoj Jangra – I was too far away from him to high-five him but instead he got an outstretched hand/pointing finger and a loud grunt.

So close now….Approaching the Houses of Parliament along the Embankment..it’s a long slog though and once you turn right past Parliament you have nearly ANOTHER mile to cover before the finish.

Willing myself forward and resigning myself to the fact that I had missed getting a PB, I trotted along pat Buckingham Palace and then saw the time.

The Final Few Yards

A half-hearted “sprint” and I crossed the line.. Unbelievably I had shaved a minute off my San Sebastian time. The body can do amazing things even when you think all is lost you can rebound and surprise yourself.

I posed for my photo and used some insane hand gesture to indicate that this was marathon number 6…instead looked like a weirdo.

Triumphant at London 2013

Tingling in the face and hands returned but I knew what to do this time: salt and sweet drinks.
Then came one of the toughest bits of the race. I had to get myself from the finish line in Green Park to Russell Square where my nephew was having his birthday party in a bowling alley and where I would meet my wife and family for the car journey home.

It took a while to get there but finally I could bask in the glory of having conquered London and having wiped 51 minutes from my inaugural time just 3 years earlier.

I felt great, unstoppable and now had a new target in mind for my next race: Florence......