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.

Back in the Running Shoes; Olive gets Raving

I decided it has been far too long to go without a run leading up to the Brighton Marathon in only three weeks time.  I had been ill in the past, but this time, to say I was ill was fooling myself.  I wasn't feeling 100%, but that was no excuse.  So learning the BBC iPlayer hadn't downloaded the latest Grand Prix highlights, I scarpered out for what turned out to be about a 22km run.  My GPS wasn't too effective throughout, so I certainly don't trust the distance it gave me of 19km, given the time taken.

It was a slow run at 2:07:05, but the net result was I felt good for doing it, and really need to put in those miles leading up to the event.  To add to it, I did put in a lot of work knocking those stumps out in the garden the day before, and I was aching in places I never knew it was possible to feel sore.

I took some pictures along the way.  Trying to stick to some of the more interesting features as I ran along the Green Chain Walk to Lesnes Abbey, then into Southmere Park, beside Erith Marshes, onto the River Thames, and ran along to the Thames Barrier, into Maryon Wilson Park in Charlton, before crossing Woolwich Common, and up Shooters Hill home.

Lesnes Abbey ruins, originally founded in 1178

To give an impression of what running in London can be like, on one side of Lesnes Abbey is some lovely woodland, on the other, you run directly into this, a concrete mecca. 

A bit further along is South Mere, which is the setting for a scene in A Clockwork Orange.  I only discovered this after, so will get a photo if I head this way again:

I then got spooked when I ran into a few of these equine characters roaming around the estate and Southmere Park

I finally reached the river, there was little wind, and a lovely clear day

I continued further into Woolwich, and found this Schooner moored up where the Thames Clipper usually stops, I tried to use the sun specs as a filter again, because the glare was too bad for a normal photo

Also, something I haven't shown before are some statues I quite like bumping into by sculpture Peter Burke at the Royal Arsenal.

I took no more pictures after this, as my legs were feeling heavy, and I knew I wanted to go straight up Shooters Hill. 

When I finally got home, I came across Julia and Olive in the garden, and I thought the way Olive was dressed, she looked a couple of glow sticks short of heading to an illegal rave back in the '90s.

Well, it certainly brightens up the day.

Thoughts leading up to the Brighton Half Marathon

I'm sure anyone who trains for anything would think, perhaps I could have done some more.  I've pretty much blagged my way through every stage of life using the means of charm, optimism, and gentle persuasion.  Therefore, I am happy to be a contender for the above thinking.

Yet with running, it's your own body.  There is only a distance in front of you, you have to reach it in a self-satisfying time, and you have to cross the line with your life intact, reserving the dignity to not look too spent in front of the many cheering you on. Not to mention the watchful Paula Radcliffe on every other billboard saying, "NEARLY ISN'T ENOUGH".  Was that why she gave up in Athens?

I don't feel I have put in the effort of late, to that my training schedule dictates.  Why?  Snow, ice, cold weather, stress at work, general laziness, to name a few.  To be fair the general laziness could be omitted, I have been lazy, but I have done the run when the other factors were not in place to a satisfying time.

What I'm writing here is my personal forecast for what I want out of Sunday's Brighton Half Marathon.  Something that I can set in stone as it were, and give me prose for thought after the event.  

Here it is:  

• My personal best half marathon time is 1:46:26 in the Run to the Beat half marathon in London.  
• I want to get around that time, give or take a minute to be happy.  
• I want to get into the low 1:40's to be really happy. 

All this will give me the encouragement, and feel for the terrain of the Brighton Marathon in April.

The below is nothing exciting, just what the 5 weeks following the half marathon will be like.  I try to cycle 2-3times during the week to make up for runs that should take place then.  After this, it will start winding down for the full marathon on April 15th.  I just look at this, and think how can I mix 16km, and watch my football team play on the same day?  It's not often Grimsby Town are in south at the moment.

Still, no matter how good the result, perhaps I could have done some more...

...and don't even get me started on the diet.  Maybe that can be a topic for tomorrows musings.

Reflections of a Night Pass

All has been well today.  Well.  Well?  Well, that is kind of one word to describe events.

I got to bed at about 1:30am last night (this morning to the pedantic amongst you), and Olive thought 7am was a decent enough hour to get us up.  Knowing Mrs. Banks had been on the sauce last night, and she wasn't even home by the time I went to bed, I feared for the worst.  The usual thoughts filtered through the mind of whether to treat this rare turning of the tables in the kind, husbandry (in sickness, and in health) way, or to milk the situation, and watch her suffer.

Always one for the quiet life, yet still tests the boundaries, I elected for a combination of the two.  This was simply keep Olive occupied, and sport the knowing grin whenever presented with an opportunity.  She's still asleep as I type this, and I'm thinking of bed.

Keeping Olive occupied involved a trip out to Glovers Farm in Kent.  They have a farm shop, and sold me a decent Rib Eye steak a few months back, so I thought I'd keep the money local (they're about 15miles away from home), and find something decent for a valentines meal.  I'll keep this one back for the time being, on the off chance that she reads this blog for once.

Once home, Olive and I decided to interact some more as a family.  Although Mummy had migrated to the couch, there was little more communication than the repetitive opening and closing of the mouth, not too dissimilar to a goldfish.  Consequently, Olive wanted to watch the Rugby, then head out to see more animals.

A bit of an overview of Maryon Wilson Park.  Olive is the tiny explorer

Maryon Wilson Park was where we headed to.  It's situated bang in the middle of Charlton, and has an undulating terrain, coupled with some little woods, and an Animal Care Centre.  The Care Centre, is a nicely set up place.  They offer plenty of space to animals they keep on site.  Most animals are of the farmyard variety, and they also keep deer in a separate enclosure. 

Olive loves the Deer, or Reindeer as calls them after Christmas

At certain times of the day, they do have an educational period where children can interact with the animals, and feed them their special diets etc.  We have never been able to do this yet.  Mainly because I never learn when they do it specifically, but I do know it's always on a school day, and being an occupational sort. that's not going to happen.

Olive and Dude spot the Deer

Olive does love it here, so with her little doll (She's called Dude), we went for a walk around.  They do pretty much have any farm animal you can think of, and Olive loves to think which one she wants to see next, as she's shouting "Cock-a-Doodle-Doo!" at the plethora of foul on offer.

An idea of the birds in house.  There are sheep; pigs; goats; horses to name a few others

The evening got a little more interesting.  Once I got Olive to bed, let Julia sleep some more, I decided to go through some emails, and write up the Maryon Wilson Park adventure.  Then I came across this:

How the mollyfock did that get in there, at that hour?  The answer was easy to come by, yet difficult to face

I am, to use a word, speechless.  Yes, speechless.  I can type out words, but I can't use all the ones that are filtering through my noggin' and failing to form in my mouth.

What can I say?  I hate Amsterdam.  I've been there on several occasions now, never liked it one bit, and always see it as a test of endurance.  I'll be heading off there again, and there's no doubt about it... 26 miles of running anywhere, is a test of endurance, and I'll be doing it there.  I even vowed to never set foot in that city again, so long as I live.

I even missed out on a 16.5km run today because of fatherly duties.  I'll be stewing over all of this, when I run into work tomorrow, and lay plans to facing my fears in the Amsterdam Marathon in October.

I blame the moderate consumption of whisky last night.  I know anyone will only say I have myself to blame.

I'm an idiot.

Be nice.  The truth hurts.

Planning the future; Anthony Nolan; and a sore finger

This was orignally posted yesterday, but playing around with things has resulted in it appearing today.

I should start with an apology if this post is a little long:

I guess it was about a year ago that I would have happily sat in a pub, discussed the merits of running, and branded anyone who did such an activity a mentalist.  In some ways, I stand by my convictions, but happily include myself in such a lame categorisation.

The reason I came to start running was (in my view) the fault of a childhood friend of mine, Stan, from the village I grew up in 30 years ago.  We had one of our random chats, and he let the cat out of the bag that he had entered both the Lincoln and Hull 10km races in 2011.  I reckon there was a wager involved somewhere here, but the competitive nature in me decided that if he can run 10km, then so can I… so I entered the British 10km, and the rest is history.  I was hooked.

Before I knew it, I had planned the next 12 months.  I was entered into the Run to the Beat Half Marathon in September, which was great as it was down the road from my home; the Brighton Half Marathon in Feb 2012; and the Brighton Marathon in April 2012.

With hindsight, I look back at this ambitious planning, and wonder what the hell I was playing at.  Why plan so much when after the first run training for the 10km, I got 2km before I had to lie down wheezing in Shrewsbury Park?  This wasn’t like me, and furthermore, Stan, the poor bastard was coerced into following my plan, and is still sticking with it to some extent, barring an injury he fears will pull him out of the marathon, and sensibly so to.

I have no answer to the question above, but I find myself already looking beyond Brighton, and possibly towards Amsterdam in October, with a half marathon in the Langdale Valley of the Lake District in September to really test the legs.  It’s all crazy, but I have to plan ahead before I can stop.

I also want to do one thing for charity every year in my 30′s.  It started walking the Yorkshire Three Peaks for the Mountain Rescue England and Wales.  Last year I ran the British 10km for Anthony Nolan.  My mother died over 12 years ago to Leukemia, so this is a charity that I am happy to be involved with as they do a lot of work towards matching donors for people suffering and need a bone marrow transplant.  I’m stuck in two minds whether to pick one event for this year, or alternatively open a charity page for all events, and just let people know which events are coming up, and remind them of the sponsorship at the time.  I just don’t like to look as though I pester my friends and family continuously all year round.

After the Yorkshire Three Peak Challenge

Anyway, the training has been going from strength to strength.  I inadvertently ran over 20 miles on Sunday without thinking about it.  It hurt me a lot, but I did it, and was happy to have made it round in one piece.  It has given me the confidence that I only need to find another 6 miles, and get used to a better pace.

Training has involved cycling to work 2-3 times a week with the running taking place over the weekend.  I’ve slowed down on my cycling pace, just using it as an excuse to loosen the limbs, as well as save money on the transport costs here.  Yesterday, cycling into work, it was raining, and travelling through Greenwich, I saw a car that decided to pull out in front of me.  With all the water on my brakes, I wasn’t able to pull off the kind of stop I’m used to, and ended up hitting the back of the car and falling into the road.

Luckily all I could identify was a sore finger (which is currently in the phase of fusing a purple colour with red).  What amazed me was, a/ the driver drove off, b/ all other traffic were doing their best to drive around me, rather than helping some poor fool lumbered on his arse by another motorist.

The camaradarie of city living.