Run Reece Run... walk... hobble

Before the story of my London Marathon day – a message of thanks for the fantastic support I have received for my fundraising for The Outward Bound Trust.  It was a particularly special moment when on the evening before the race, my fundraising total reached and exceeded the target figure set by the Trust (£1,750) and, as I write this post, I am short of the target I set myself by only £150.  I am hoping to make a final sprint to or even beyond that last line and, to help with this, donations can be made via my Money Giving site:  http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/JohnReece

And now to the London Marathon itself…

You don’t get a London Marathon medal for completing 4 months of training involving almost 400 miles of running, weekly sweat sessions at the gym, the taking of cold baths and the abstinence of alcohol.  You get the medal for completing 26.2 miles on the day, on the course and in the event.  If anything was going to bring that point home to me it was the dilemma I faced at just over 2½ hours into my race, almost at mile 16 – the point where I “disappeared from the screen.”

As reported in the last instalment of Run Reece Run, an injury sustained two weeks before the race had left me in a position of hoping that complete rest from running, regular stretching and rolling exercises and liberal application of anti-inflammatory gel would bring about sufficient improvement to enable me to last out the whole 26.2 miles.  Not having the test of a run over the previous week meant that, as I stood in the starting pen, I had no real basis to know what sort of shape I was in for the challenge ahead.  Apart from the unwelcome need to get up at 5.30am, the morning could not have gone better and I even managed a last minute toilet trip that I was sure would save me a minute compared to last year’s marathon experience at Brighton (when I’d needed a “Paula Radcliffe” stop at mile 9)!

As we set off I was amazed that immediately, despite the press of the large field of runners, I was going at the pace I’d originally planned to run.  Everyone around me was moving at a pretty uniform pace of 9 minutes per mile and I was delighted that no problems were being reported from ankles, shins and calves.  However, I was aware that my right upper leg definitely wasn’t firing on all cylinders.  For a start there was a semi “dead leg” sensation about it and secondly at each strike of my right foot there was a feeling like I’d just prodded a bruise.  My hope remained that this would settle down or at least get no worse during the run and there was certainly no immediate moment of crisis.  My initial frustration was that as the three starting routes merged at about the 3 mile mark I somehow found myself behind a large group that were following pacers aiming for a time about 30 minutes behind the mark I was hoping for.  This slowed me down by about 10 seconds per mile for a while and then having got past the pacers I found it hard to pick up my earlier speed. 

Nevertheless my mood was pretty bright as I waved in acknowledgement to the Cutty Sark, the second of my revised priorities as set out in last week’s post on my blog (the first priority having been to reach the start line!).  My trouble in sustaining my early pace (which on the face of it wasn’t too ambitious bearing in mind it was a minute per mile slower than I’d sustained throughout the Richmond Half Marathon, just three weeks previously) was reflected by the fact that after completing mile 8 I found my pace slowed to about 9 minutes 20 seconds per mile.  Again I found it hard to shift out of this pattern and I decided that it was sensible to go with the flow and aim at 9m20s to 9m30s per mile pace.  All this while I was increasingly aware of the ache in my right upper leg but doing my best to draw inspiration from the act of crossing Tower Bridge and reaching half way.  Looking back, I’m amazed at how quickly the first half seemed to go by, however this might be a matter of perspective around what was just about to occur!

 

Mile 14 was not a comfortable one for me – my pace slowed further, down to 9m40s per mile, and the ache in my leg was now distinctly getting on my nerves!  This continued into mile 15 where my pace dropped to 10 minutes per mile and as I approached the 16 mile mark I knew I was in trouble.  In a moment of genuine confusion I slowed to a walk (or hobble) and a nearby marshal obviously sensing something wasn’t right pointed out a first aid station further along the course.  At that point one suggestion that had been made to me beforehand came to mind – seek out some Deep Heat gel! I went to the First Aid point but was told they didn’t have Deep Heat.  Instead I was shown a stretching exercise and I gave profuse thanks, though privately I reached the conclusion it was about as effective as sticking plaster and a couple of aspirin in a major surgical operation!

Having reached the moment of dilemma a few quick points of reference went through my mind – chiefly, I was over half way and secondly, I badly wanted to finish!  I think if it had been wet and/or cold a few other points would have come into the reckoning but one thing was for certain -  the weather was about as perfect as it could have been for a Sunday afternoon “stroll”!  Having come off road for just over 5 minutes I re-entered the fray, limping along at about 3mph clutching at a point somewhere to the right of my backside where the pain seemed to be seated.  Some more calculations had me working out that at the rate I was moving it was going to take me over 3 hours to reach the finish.  I wasn’t too happy at this conclusion so thought I would give a walk/run strategy a go.  Possibly as a result of seizing up a bit I found this even more painful than my running had been earlier and worse, within seconds I felt spasms going through my right calf!  This brought that effort to an abrupt end as I reckoned a calf strain would be a fatal shot to my chances of finishing.  A little later, having tried to pick up a bit more momentum, I tried one more effort at breaking into something a bit faster than a hobble.  I seem to recall this raised a rousing cheer from the crowd but sadly even their enthusiasm wasn’t making the difference and I felt the red alert from my calf almost immediately.  Nothing else for it then – three hours of limping around Docklands and over to The Mall!

There was something very surreal about the next few hours.  It was very odd having a constant wave of people running or walking past me.  It must have been into my third hour of hobbling that the wave dissipated a little but it was still constant and was increasingly occupied by fancy dress clad runners.  I concluded that sleep would come easy that night as I would be able to count rhinos as an alternative to sheep.  In all, I think 5 runners in rhino costumes overtook me and I was particularly impressed by a man carrying a fridge and at least a couple of soldiers accelerating past me with fully laden backpacks.  One thing about my predicament was it probably gave me the most 360% experience of the London Marathon that you could expect to have.

The crowd were brilliant, not 5 minutes went by without a call of “Come on JR” and I was just disappointed that all I could do was offer a “thumbs up” when I wanted to respond by breaking out into a run.   Inevitably a lot of people were asking “Who shot JR?” and my stock answer became, “Mo Farah did – he shot me in the backside”.   For the most part I managed to keep fairly positive with just the occasional moment when I felt frustration building up in me.  I think I was helped in coping with the emotion of the situation by the fact that I’d had time for mental preparation between originally getting injured and the day of the race.  I don’t know if I would have coped so well if the injury had come unexpectedly on the day itself.

I began ticking off objectives.  Firstly, looking out for “number one fan” Lesley and close friends Marilyn and Jan who I was hoping to see in the crowd at mile 17 – didn’t see them but at least looking for them had kept me occupied!  Secondly, Canary Wharf (priority 4 from the last week’s blog entry).  In between these, I remember feeling particularly pleased to go over the 30km marker which was supposed to send an update about my progress to those tracking me on-line.  As I crossed this point, I wondered whether in different parts of the country there might be the raising of cheers in recognition that I was still “in the race”.  Sadly it transpires that there were no cheers for me at this point as the technology failed to register that I had reached 30km and, in effect, I had “disappeared from the screen” over an hour earlier.

On route I was spotted by Moni and Gillian from the Bearcat Running Club as each in turn paused from their own efforts to give words of encouragement before running on (to complete their own fantastic achievements).  Thankfully at last I saw Lesley, Marilyn and Jan in the crowd at mile 21 (Limehouse).  A quick hug and words of encouragement and off I limped again with just over 5 miles to complete.  My next priority was the Tower of London at around mile 23 and in reaching that point I was certain I would make it all the way.

 

 
At mile 24, I remember thinking how strange it was that a particular group of people seemed to be cheering me with massive enthusiasm.  That was one of those embarrassing moments when you have a strong feeling you should be recognising someone but can’t for the life of you think who it is and then, just too late, the penny dropped as I realised it had been The Outward Bound cheer team!   Somewhere near mile 25 I was thrilled to see (and hear) a crowd that I had no problem in recognising – The Bearcat Running Club cheer team. 

This came in the midst of a number of awesome landmarks - the London Eye, Big Ben, the Palace of Westminster and Buckingham Palace.  Then finally the finish line was in sight along The Mall.  A fleeting thought went through my mind of trying to raise a run for the last bit – but I dismissed the thought almost immediately!

My thoughts as I finally sat down at The Outward Bound reception with my medal hung round my neck?  One way of looking at the experience was thinking of it as a minor league football team that unexpectedly gets to a major cup final, holds out at 0-0 until half time against a Premier League team and then takes a hammering in the second half!  Whatever, I had my medal and it was brilliant to see friends and particularly Lesley.

Without doubt I have a certain amount of regret that on the day I was unable to challenge my sub 4 hour target or even my personal best – but the marathon experience isn’t about the one day, it is about the months that lead to that day.  The four months of my training were amazing in their own right.  The experience of sharing with club mates the aim of running a marathon this April (whether London, Brighton or Paris) has been inspiring.  Seeing so many achieve their goals (and sadly some fall short because of illness or injury) has filled me with more emotions than just pride.  In terms of personal goals, I had the satisfaction of achieving two officially timed personal bests in this period (5K and Half Marathon) and hitting times in training that I’d never hit before (at 17 and 20 miles). 

My London Marathon medal doesn’t mark just the one day it sums up the whole experience – that’s why I carried on at mile 16 and that’s why, as I write this entry with my medal round my neck, I don’t want to take it off!

With the very best of wishes…

John