Runeasi Running Gait Analysis - Coming Soon ...

Blog

Oh Manchester, So Much To Answer For
Race Day

Well, it's that time once again and it only feels like Amsterdam was 5 minutes ago, but here we go again ...

The week in numbers ...
Miles ran: 26.38
Gym visits: 0
Chocolate eaten: 0
Alcohol drunk: 1 pint of lager & 7 pint Guinness

Weight: No idea, don't weigh myself race week

Sunday 19th April

It's Race Day it's 5:30am and I'm awake and having a coffee, I always struggle to sleep the night before a marathon and always get up stupidly early.

I've got all my gear sorted and put on my chuck away clothes. This year it's a lovely pair of ladies black dress trousers with a satin stripe down the outside of the legs and a polyester hoodie with green and blue tartan sleeves and hood with a large blurry out of focus print of a Highland cows head on the front, it's a thing of beauty.

I have a nice slow walk to the tram stop eating my stroopwaffles and drinking my horrible energy carb drink and jump on the tram, I get off at Old Trafford and walk the 5 mins or so to the start area and get there with loads of time to spare. A couple of toilet trips and then get changed and ready.

Meet up with some of the fellas also running and then head to the start zone with another toilet stop en route.

Back In Time

And now we'll jump back a bit, if this was a movie the screen would go all wobbly to show were going back in time to a cutaway. But how far back Simon, we've already gone back to 5:30am.

Well, now we're going back to the 1980's with a pit stop in the 90's , but stick with me as it'll all make sense, eventually .....

As a child I had two older brothers so was your usual outdoorsy kid that got up to dodgy stuff following in the footsteps of his brother's. We climbed trees, set fire to anything that you could set fire to and generally just had fun. In the late 80's we moved, we went from living down South and came up North to Whitley Bay, I was 12 years old. That year I joined a middle school and went from being a normal loud and confident kid to a quiet little mouse. This was because of an arsehole at school who decided because I had a different accent he would take every single opportunity to take the piss out of me, to mimic me and to ridicule me every chance he could. I was only in the school for one year but I hated him and I've hated him for years but now as a 50 year old I couldn't even tell you what his name was, but I still remember how he made me feel.

This had a lasting effect on me and I became quiet, shy and anxious being around new people. I used my shyness to avoid talking and to protect myself from everyone and everything. As I got older it remained, through my teens and adulthood and I then partnered this with food and eating when I felt shit or low. And then suddenly I'm no longer a confident 11 year old kid but an 18 stone 20 something adult with anxiety and a touch of depression. This carried on throughout my 20's but I had one great thing throifh this whole time period and that was and is my wife.

We met as teenagers, we clicked instantly and we found each other when we both needed each other. In my late 20's Lily was born and I gave up work to stay at home and be a house dad and the 'old Simon' slowly started to come back. With kids you can be yourself, you can be a kid again and let go of inhibitions. Then along came Sam and then Poppy and at this time I also realised I needed to change my life and that's when I discovered running. The thing that finally killed off the old Simon and bought back the real me.

The Start Line

So what was the point of all that ? Well, simply that old Simon still exists in me. He's the one that still sees a fat bloke looking back at him in the mirror every day, he's the one that worries about stupid things constantly, he's the one that thinks one day someone will knock on the door and say there's been a terrible mistake and they need to reposses the house and take the kids back as I wasn't supposed to have them. He's the anxious, depressed, shy little me that also stops me being a full blown twat.

Today I stood on the start line of Manchester marathon, my 5th marathon (6th but we don't talk about Kielder) and old Simon was lingering just under the surface, he's been sniffing around for a few weeks now as training had been derailed with injury and Illness and I had been ignoring him as best I could. Then last night I had a shower and noticed my feet were swollen, I came out the shower and realised my feet, ankles and shins were very, very swollen. I had no visible ankle bones and could press into my shin and leave a deep finger imprint and I had a bit of a panic. I went through everything I had done in the last 24 hours and couldn't understand why this had happened. Was it my socks being too tight? Was it my trainers being too tight? Have I started with compartmental syndrome again? I had this before and it stopped me running for over a year and needed surgery, my mind was racing and I was starting to lose my focus and I knew old Simon was spiralling a little bit.

I told Lily and we agreed the best thing to do was totally ignore it, this usually solves everything. I took my socks off to let my legs relax and I went to bed. When I woke up they were still swollen, I couldn't ignore it now as I needed to get ready and I have a marathon to run.

I smeared deep heat all over my legs and got ready and now this takes us back to the start of the blog.

Miles 1 - 9

The gun went and were off.

My race plan was miles 1-4 just over my planned pace of 7:45 miles, then 4-14 to be just under pace and 14-24 back on pace and see what happens at 24.

Two miles in and my legs don't feel right, they feel heavy, they feel swollen and heavy. By 3 miles I'm starting to worry and not sure what to do. I decide to keep going and see how I feel in a few miles, at 6 miles they're no better.

I get to 9 miles and old Simon is here and has now fully taken over. Steve passes me at 10 and asks if I'm okay, I tell him my legs have gone and now I've said this out loud I can't ignore it.

I make a decision here that I'm going to drop out. Lily and my brother are on the course and I decide when I see them I'll stop, they've got my bag and then I can just go home. I know roughly where they are so I just need to get to them and call it a day.

I start crying now, partly because I'm relieved I can stop, partly because I know Lily won't let me stop and she'll tell me to carry on and partly because Moana has just come on.

Miles 9 - 18

Miles 9-18 are hell on Earth.

I find myself in a very dark place.

I don't see Lily anywhere.

I know where she should be and I scour the crowds but I can't see her anywhere. I start thinking maybe something has happened to her. I feel my mind is going a bit crazy and I can't stop it.

I'm still running, I can't stop until I see Lily. It turns out she was there, she was in all the usual spots, so the question is did I miss her because my mind was racing or did I miss her because subconsciously in some weird way I didn't want to see her?

I'm still running and crying and worrying.

I'm thinking about my brother Chris who died a few years ago, I'm thinking about my kids, I'm thinking about Gail. I get myself into a total frenzy of emotions and can't shake it and all the while I'm still running and my pace is actually okay.

At 15 miles I take a gel, I cry my fucking eyes out thinking about going home and having a cuddle off Gail. I just want to go home. I still haven't seen Lily or my brother and I'm still running. Between 15-18 miles I make a decision, I decide if I get to 18 miles without seeing them, without vomiting, without walking and if I still have feeling in my legs and feet then I will push myself to get to 21 miles. Then I decide if I get to 21 I will get to 23 and if I get to 23 I can let myself stop and walk.

This is my new plan.

Then at 18 miles a switch suddenly flicks in my head.

I'm not dropping out, I haven't seen Lily so I'm not allowed to drop out.

Half a mile later I see Ang who gives me a shout and a wave, if I had seen her 5 mins earlier I would have stopped and made her give me a sweaty crying cuddle. I wouldn't however have done what Ang mentions in the pub later, we'll keep that between us Ang.

Disgusting.

Keep on Running

18-21 miles I've slowed loads but I'm still running, I haven't stopped, I haven't walked. My head is in a better place and there are so many people walking now but I'm not one of them. I now start to turn my mind to the other Poly runners and wonder when Cara and Simon will come past me. I really want them to so I can shout at them and encourage them to push on.

I get to 21 miles, I'm still averaging a decent pace but I'm starting to slow up, my splits have all been under 9 mins but I can feel them getting slower and my legs are so heavy. I take a gel at 21 and tell myself I can't go above 9 min miles for at least 2 more miles. Moana comes on my headphones again, I cry my eyes out again.

I get to 23 miles, I spot a little boy at the side of the road holding a sign that says 'power up' so I run towards him with my arm out to hit the sign, he sees me and says 'come on Simon' as I approach, I hit it, he smiles and says 'im so proud of you Simon's and I smile and then immediately burst into tears again. I'm such an emotional wreck now that anything will set me off.

My watch beeps for 25 miles and Idles come on, it's Mr Motivator and those that have done my mara plan know this is my mara motivational song. I'm going to cross the finish line to a chorus of Idles screaming "your Joe Cal Fucking ZAGHE" over and over again. I check my watch, I change the screen to see my time and realise I can dip under 3:45 if I push hard, I lift my pace and Idles blast out and I start singing out loud. I'm absolutely sure it sounds horrific as I can't breathe, run and sing at the same time so I reckon just the odd word comes out my mouth mixed with heavy breathing but I don't care.

And then.....

The song finishes and I've still got about 400 metres to go, something else comes on but it ruins the moment so I stop the music and just run and cross the line in 3:44:24

The Aftermarth

My slowest (road) marathon (we don't talk about Kielder). I didn't stop. I didnt walk. I cried lots. I ran the entire thing and most importantly I didn't listen to old Simon even when every part of me wanted to quit and go home. The hardest run I think I've ever done but I'm pretty fucking proud that I did it. I very rarely if ever admit I'm proud of myself but today I actually was.

Afterwards I meet the Manchester crew, we go on a pub crawl, I drink a pint of lager and seven pints of Guinness and eat a bag of crisps and Greg's pastie and I'm quite pissed and having a great time.

I'm having a year off marathons now. I need a break, my body needs a break, my head needs a break.

My legs are still swollen and I can't see my ankles.

What a weekend.

Previous Blogs

All previous blogs are available to read HERE

Page updated

Report abuse