Sore Legs, and Epic Chafing, Courtesy of the Brighton Marathon

Yesterday, I finally did the unthinkable, and became a marathon runner.  It was an interesting experience, one I will always be proud of, and would rather not repeat... had I not booked myself onto the Amsterdam Marathon in October via the means of a drunken exercise.

I arrived late afternoon on Saturday, found my hotel, and got settled down.  My friend Stan was supposed to be doing the race, but pulled out on an injured knee, which he had been hoping would sort itself out in time, but he did the right thing in the end.  He did decide to come down, and show some moral support anyway, which was rather decent of him, so I put him up on the hotel floor in exchange.

The night before the big day was spent getting some decent pasta and pizza based food inside of me, at a nice restaurant that catered for his Vegan needs as well (I think I have mentioned this in the past).  After that we headed out to play some pool, relax, get back to the hotel in the pouring rain, and rest up for an early start in the morning.

When I say early start, I wasn't expecting to roll over in bed in my sleep to be given an appraisal of the time; 

"It's 4 o'clock, Gav."

I ignored this interruption.

"Did you get that?"

"Thanks mate, p*** off back to sleep."

So, the morning of the day came, I trotted downstairs to have my wheatabix with raisins, and some toast.  All was looking wonderful outside, with barely a cloud in the sky.  I hopped back to my room, got dressed, made sure everything was in my bag, then checked out, and shared a taxi with some other runners that were waiting downstairs for a ride to the starting line.

The crowds at the start

The start was at Preston Park, north of the station, and at a pretty high point of the course.  It was absolutely freezing up there as well.  I dared not take any layer of clothing off right until the last moment, when I had no time left before I had to check in my luggage before heading to my allotted time zone.  Stan agreed to meet me at the finish, said he was envious of what I was about to do, to which I offered him the chance to take my bib and shorts and prove it.

I wasn't looking this good at the finish

The start was nasty, straight away, the only direction was up. In fact, it didn't take long to run under a huge banner that congratulated everyone for reaching the highest point of the course.  Still feeling fresh, I ignored this, and tried to ignore the guy relieving himself in the bushes, with a life size Bengal tiger straddling his back.  Heading into the town itself, it was very cramped for all the runners.  There was a lot of human traffic, and I couldn't wait for it to disperse.  I think it was between miles 4 and 5 that I heard my first, "GO ON, BANKSY!" I gave a wave of acknowledgement, Stan was doing well so far.  

Elevation of the route shows how hilly the first half was

Miles 5 to 9 were spent heading out of Brighton, east along the coastal road as far as Ovingdean.  The beginning may have had the highest point, but undulated would be a compliment to this stretch of road.  Some would say hilly, I would say bumpy, but it was tough, and some people were evidently finding the going tougher than planned.  Once we reach the furthest point, miles 9 - 13 were spent running back into Brighton over the bumpy roads to the seafront proper, and the half way point outside the Hilton hotel.  I was glad at this point, because after everything, I was still feeling good in myself, not breathing heavily, and the legs didn't feel like dying anytime soon.  

Between miles 14-18, you had to do what I found a frustrating and demoralising section through Hove.  It was simply straight up for a long way, to turn around and come back again to make the distance.  To make matters worse, the lanes weren't wide, and there were cars parked on the road, so it provided a bit of a bottleneck for you to get past anyone who was going slower than you were, or even worse stopped, and walked.  This was where I caught the 4 hour pacers though, and I got past them knowing that I was now well ahead of the 4 hour time I wanted to beat overall.  After 18 miles, I took confidence in there being only 8 miles to go, still felt good, and told myself to get to 20 before checking again.

18 - 23 miles was spent running out to a power station at the far end of the coast, before rounding it, and heading back towards the finish.  It was around the 20 mile mark I decided I was still good, but I noticed the effects it was having on others.  There were people in front of me who were going strong, and like a click of the fingers, they'd stop, head to the side of the road, and start stretching their muscles, or look completely broken.  For the first few miles of this, it gave me encouragement that I was doing better, but then it starts to creep into the mind 'when will this happen to me?'

The official route map

The last section between 23 -26 miles was spent straight down the promenade, heading towards the pier, and finishing on the road below it.  It was between 23-24 miles that the true effects of what I was doing hit me straight in the face.  I can't describe it, but be happy in the knowledge that it's not a nice sensation having your entire body screaming at you to stop all of a sudden, but your mind driving you to carry on.  I counted every final marker, and prayed the next would come sooner, 24 miles, only 2 miles to go, 40kms, only 2kms to go, 25 miles, surely that pier should be closer, 26 miles, don't look weak, just run it home, 800m, "COME ON BANKSY!!!" what was that?  ah yes, Stan.  Just run through that line.  Do.  Not.  Stop.

The time on the line said 3:57:03, so I knew I did under 4 hours in total.  On the results page, it says I was position 2132 out of approx 9000.  My chip time, and benchmark for any marathon now was 3:45:42.  I was very happy with myself, and felt as though I had done exactly what I did... a lot of miles, on foot, in one go.

Afterwards, I found Stan up what felt like hundreds of nasty steps, we did what I always seem to do when I need to recover, and went to the pub.  I sat down, had the best burger I think I will ever appreciate (and it was a good home made one, with non-rubber like cheese etc), and a well earned cold pint of lager.  We had a chat about how everything went, and how he really had the motivation to do one himself at some stage in the year.  

I hope he does, it's a pain everyone should experience at least once.

Other than the chafing... that is the one and only thing that is seriously bothering me as I type today.