I'm a marathon runner. Who'd have thought? by simonedumergue

...for a race report.

I would heartily recommend against dragging the family down from Wiltshire to Portsmouth for a running race to immediately turn around afterwards and trek back across to North Devon to start the week of holiday that is booked.

By the time I arrived in Portsmouth on Sunday 30^th October for the Great South Run, I had two clearly identified issues:

1. The family were cheesed off we had gotten up early on the first day of the holiday to go in the opposite direction of where were to end up that day
2. I was desperate for a wee

The second was easy to sort out.  I just followed an informal conga of lyrca clad people wending their way to the start line, knowing some of them would be looking for a loo. Kind of odd when the first impression you get of a city you haven’t been to before is the inside of the public toilets.

The first issue was trying to put a positive spin on the whole outing for the kids and rather grumpy husband.  Drawing on all of my marketing nous, I applied an appropriate amount of ‘spin’ to suggest that a visit to the D Day Museum would tie in nicely with current study on World War II at school for the nine year old. I think I got away with it. I’m not a Marketing Manager for nothing J

After walking a gazillion miles to the start area, I was chuffed to bits to finally meet up with Sue (Firefly) after what must be a couple of years of ‘chat’ on Real Buzz and FB. Just so lovely to meet you Sue! And as an added bonus I also got to say Howdy to MalcolmS too – so that was a treat to have met a couple more Real Buzzers in person. Working my way through the list nicely!

Before the race I allocated my time into the following pre-race activities:

• Standing in a long portaloo queue for 20 minutes
• Admiring the different Fashion Schools of Bin Liner.  Although the majority fell somewhere between: George at Asda (just cut out the hole for your head); Marks and Spencer (hole for head AND two arm holes), I was heartened to see the gallant homage to Jean Paul Gaultier and Vivienne Westwood with some post modern deconstructionism. Not content with merely snipping a hole or two in their rubbish bag, some fashionistas   had cut them apart and refashioned them with tape to produce remarkable décolletage exposing versions (thereby cancelling out any weather-proofing abilities surely??) For warmth, I opted instead for a 15 year old sweatshirt thing covered in paint from some recent decorating. This does not belong to any school of fashion. I intended to chuck it over the side at the start but my little family recognised it in all its paint stained glory and rescued it for me to be used again for another moment of pre-race glory. Shame, I was hoping to lose it for good...
• Playing games of ‘what’s that smell’ in the start pen. For the first time I was in the faster pen with the Orange Wave starters. It appears that as well as being quite fast to be allocated an Orange Wave number, you also have to smell in some capacity. After being overpowered with body odour, I shuffled further forward where I was confronted with vapours of Deep Heat. There was no escape.
• Doing the Race Pen Shuffle. You know the one, where you adopt the shuffle movement only ever used in a Race Pen. I don’t know why. But there is that primal need to sort of shift you weight back and forth and do that little sideways wriggle with your feet. Interspersed with wrapping your arms around yourself because you’ve either thrown of your bin liner or your paint splattered sweatshirt. This also has the effect of ramping up the odour effect. I was very happy when the starting gun went off.

Well, what can I say?

I was in the faster, Orange Wave, because I had rather ambitiously thought I would run 10 miles in something between 1:20 and 1:25. I’m a 9 minute miler for shorter distances and ran my last marathon in 4:24 so I don’t really know what I was thinking as that required me to run between 8 and 8:30 min miles which I can do for three miles. But not 10.

What the hell. It’s a race, so I reckon I’ll give it a bash.

First four miles I run in 8:30 min miles. By mile five, I’m starting to feel pretty freaking pooped. All the really fast, smelly runners in Orange Wave have shot off in the distance.

I’m running along the streets of Portsmouth and I realise that I am bored rigid and hating every minute of it.  The route is deadly dull. The atmosphere is just so lacking after being blown away on two London Marathons at how phenomenal the crowds and music are. By comparison this is as exciting as a Saga Coach Trip.

By Mile 7 I am beside myself with tedium, pain and ‘blahness’. I see the Gatorade table and decide I am so knackered that I am going to stop and walk while I drink some energy drink. I shouldn’t really need it after a piddly seven miles but I’m desperate for more energy. I am staggering along the side of the road with a pained expression on my face as I attempt to guzzle the drink and realise to my absolute HORROR that I am walking directly into a cameraman doing live coverage of the event. He is kneeling on the ground and I am RIGHT in front of him, oblivious until now. So...if you watched the live coverage and saw a woman in a bright pink running top looked totally unimpressed with life that was probably me. Although due to the camera angle, it may have only been my knees. I am holding onto that slim sliver of hope.

By mile eight I have decided that I am retiring from running. I am hating it that much right at that point. I am walking again by now. I am that tired. I’ve managed to run two marathons without stopping, but this 10 miler has finished me off and I struggle to keep running.

Just to cap it off, I turn the corner to start the last two miles home to the finish. This involves running into the wind and the drizzle. Excellent.

The only highlight of the event was the nine mile ‘Bupa Boost’ marker where suddenly there is fantastic atmosphere, energising music blasting over the speakers and someone handing out jelly teddies.

I gobble three of them and get a surge of energy. As well as going too fast at the start, I also reflect that I had eaten breakfast too early and started the 11am race with a pretty empty tank. 

I get a strong burst of energy over the last mile and run in hard (this may also have something to do with the fact I could see the finish line – oh how I love finish lines...) to finish in a disappointing 1:31:44.

But I’m beyond caring by that stage.

Sue calls out my name as I am waiting to hand in my timing chip and we realise that we have run the race in pretty much the same time (you were five seconds faster Sue, when I checked our official times – how cool is that?!). A last sweaty hug and we say good bye after our GSR effort.

My little family is waiting for me full of ‘well done’ cheers and happy after their museum outing.

Result.

In all seriousness, the experience got me quite concerned about doing the Brighton Marathon in April. I just LOVED the London marathons – the crowds and atmosphere totally make it an exceptional experience and it really helps you get around. If the crowd support etc is not as strong at Brighton (which I am sure it can’t be surely?) then how will I find the inner reserves to persevere if I round those 10 miles so damn difficult mentally?

Meanwhile, it is time to get back to what really gives me pleasure, with another off road race this coming Sunday. Over the Hills at Bradford on Avon this weekend. 12km of mud, hills and even a river crossing. I just know I’m going to feel the running love a lot more this time.

Tune in next week to see if I am right or whether I am still encased in a giant pool of mud somewhere...