Marathons mess with your head. Seriously. Preparations for Taunton have gone almost perfectly. I’ve run longer. Felt stronger. So you’d think I’d be brimming with confidence as race day approached.
Guess again.
This is my seventh marathon, and only my second since becoming a Chi Runner. After so many years of chronic injury, it’s hard to believe sometimes that I can still run 26.2 miles.
After 18 weeks of training with barely a niggle, I hit tapering and everything started complaining. Even though I was expecting it, the doubts started to creep in. Confidence dipped. Staying relaxed and focused took a lot of effort, particularly in those final few days.
Like I said, marathons mess with your head.
Race Day
A big bonus of Taunton is that the start is 10 minutes walk from my house. So no travelling or parking nightmares. To keep relaxed, I decided to leave it as late as possible to turn up. Pre-race jitters never seem to get any easier, and I find race starts just ramp up the anxiety.
So I arrived at the Somerset College campus at 10:15, with just 15 minutes to go. With a little under 240 marathoners and more than 850 half-marathoners, I knew pacing was going to be tricky, so deliberately positioned myself at the back of the field.
There was none of the emotion of Edinburgh last year. This was going to be a tough race, and I felt a weird mix of calm and anticipation. A short wait, and we were off. The course took us out along the A38, then swung left and through the centre of Taunton.
To settle in, I focused on getting the basics right: keeping aligned, relaxed and balanced, and feeling my core doing the work of lifting my legs.
I’d practiced my starting pace so I knew what I was aiming for. I still secretly hanker after a sub-4 marathon, but this wasn’t going to be the day to do that.
I had it all worked out. A 10 minute first mile, then targeting 9:45 pace to give me a respectable 4:15 finish. Comfortably inside the 4:30 cutoff time. Simple. Or so it seemed.
Only it wasn’t. Even starting from the back, I found myself running at just a smidgen over 9:00 pace. At this point, I had a choice: to put on the brakes and get back on track, or to continue at my current speed. Trouble was, the combination of recovery and adrenaline made it feel so easy. Instead of winding back, I kept on going. Rookie error.
A quick stop to retie shoelaces that had come undone, then on through town, left along Staplegrove Road, and up to the A358.
Here we headed left, through the village of Norton Fitzwarren and out into the Somerset countryside.
At this point, I’d settled into the race and felt good. No sign of the niggles that had bothered me during tapering. The promised wind and rain hadn’t yet appeared; support from friends, family and my running club all the way through town and beyond really lifted my spirits; and my pace felt comfortable, although still faster than I’d planned.
It’s really easy during a race to get tunnel vision and just focus on the road ahead and the mile markers. So it was time to savour the experience, and enjoy the beautiful views of the Quantock hills in the distance.
A little after 6 miles, we turned left, running through the picturesque villages of Oake and Bradford-on-Tone, the latter with a cheeky little incline, before hitting the A38 again just before the 10 mile mark.
I’d run this portion of the route many times during training so I knew it very well. A couple of mean little hills and then two miles of mainly flat and downhill back to Somerset College.
At this point, a lot of runners were starting to struggle and I had to keep my wits about me dodging around the walkers on the narrow path.
Friendly faces from my running club gave me a lift as we hit the turnoff left towards Bishops Hull, before heading downhill. We’d nearly made it to the end of the first lap.
This is when pacing got tricky once more, with the half-marathoners picking up speed as they prepared for a big finish. And the cries of ‘you’re nearly there!’ from spectators and marshals just reminded me that I had to do it all over again.
As we approached the finish, encouragement from the half-marathoners I was running with and a big cheer from my running club gave me a massive boost before I headed out along the A38 once again. Ding ding, round two!
Now things started to get trickier. Instead of moving in a big pack of runners, I found myself weaving in and out of shoppers and the half-marathoners who’d all finished their race and were walking home.
The crowds of supporters had thinned out and the route was much quieter. I’d been worried about how lonely the second lap would be but luckily fellow racers were always in sight for the whole way round, and the marshals on the course were terrific – really encouraging.
At this point, I was still feeling pretty good but the thought of doing the whole loop again was beginning to play on my mind. At 15 miles, 26.2 still seemed an awfully long way away, and the doubts started to creep in.
At 17 miles, a long slow uphill incline that I had no memory of from the first time around had magically appeared, and just went on. And on. And on. The promised rain finally made an appearance, and the wind picked up.
My pace had dropped off – blame the too quick start – and somewhere between the 18 and 19 mile markers, the wheels began to come off.
It started with feeling queasy. I thought it might be a sign that I needed more fuel, and downed another gel.
Cue standing by the side of the road, retching. Not a good look.
By coincidence, I was stood by a St John’s ambulance and I had a big debate with myself as to whether I was going to make it to the finish or whether it was my good luck to end my race with medical aid on hand.
Several other runners stopped to ask if I was OK and to offer water, and I’m really grateful for their support. After taking on more fluids and walking for a few minutes, I felt a whole lot better and was able to start running again.
More slow steady uphill, which felt as though it was never going to end, and then suddenly we were at the turnoff for Oake again.
When we hit the 20 mile mark, I realised that I actually felt pretty good. I’d had no niggles, and my legs felt strong. I knew I just had to get to 24 miles and all the hills would be pretty much over. Four miles felt achievable, and I was still on track to make the cutoff, despite my mini wobble.
At this point, I refocused. Checked in with alignment and core again, tried to relax my shoulders and legs, and concentrated on using my arm swing effectively.
All the time, I was reeling in the runners in front of me, many of whom were walking, and I knew I would finish. After my experience with my last gel, I decided to stick to jelly babies for the rest of the run, and they seemed to give me the energy burst I needed.
That cheeky little incline through Bradford-on-Tone reduced me to what felt like a crawl, but a bit of a push and I was at the top of the hill. Just the A38 to go and the main effort was over.
I hit 24 miles at 4:03 – 27 minutes to do two and a bit miles. I was going to make the cutoff!
Through Bishops Hull again, negotiating the downhill which wasn’t so easy on tired legs. Then out towards the Somerset Campus.
The finish area was a complete contrast to the first lap. The cheering crowds had vanished. It was eerily quiet. But at this point, I really didn’t care. I crossed the line in a chip time of 4:26 – job done!
I nearly missed my medal and t-shirt in my hurry to catch up with my family. And after a quick walk (OK, a slow stagger) across the fields, we were back home again. Time to inhale a banana and do some leg drains to get rid of the lactic acid, and I began to realise just how good I felt.
My toughest 26.2 so far was over. And a huge step forward for me in terms of confidence.
I hadn’t quite achieved my goal of enjoying the whole experience, but I’d finished strongly and kept good Chi Running form. And what a difference that made. No aches, no pains, no blisters.
Lots to learn and digest from the experience. But for now, just time to enjoy the rest.
And next time? I’ll do it the same. But BETTER