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05/04/2008
Jurassic Coast Marathon Race Report
I knew this one wasn't going to go well. I was suffering from ITB syndrome in my right knee (the same problem in my left knee had stopped me running for 3 months) after the previous marathon 2 weeks earlier, which I made ten times worse by attempting to hike the 87 mile Ridgeway in 3 days a week later. I had to abandon that walk after around 15 miles because of the injury, and spent that night bivvying out on Ivinghoe beacon, waking up to an inch of snow covering my gore-tex bivvy bag. So now I was injured and sick. Great.
Injured, sick, and tired of the whole thing because of it. But then, this was exactly why running so many extreme endurance events in such short succession is so difficult - there is no recovery time, and being difficult was the point. I almost talked myself out of it. I could find another race. Get fit again and do it properly. But doing it properly didn't mean doing it well, it meant doing it right. This was the only coastal marathon that could replace the one I'd skipped because of injury back in November, so no quitting. Just get on with it, suffer it, finish it, and get ready for the last one.
On the morning of the race I couldn't find my 1000mile socks, my running pants, or my running jacket. The latter was crucial because the weather was looking nasty. I ended up joining the start line just as the gun was fired, scampering out of the public loos where I'd been trying to force out the clogged remains of the previous night's carbo-loading. I'd ordered spaghetti bolognese with more pasta, less sauce, and was instead fed a huge portion of the trademark dish which could have fed about 4 people. Not one to waste food, I ate the lot. There has been a theme running through these marathons, and bloated bowels might just sum it up!
I knew my knee would cause my problems at some point, it was just a matter of when, so I started slowly, tagging on to the back of the pack. As this was a 'challenge' and not a race (that translates to a lot of people paying £150 to be guided along the coastal path for 3 days, many of them walking), the pack seemed keen to stick together, and it made a nice change running as a part of a group, as for so much of this I've been running on my own.
The route proved to be pretty tame in comparison to what I've become accustomed to: no wellies required, no mountain goat tracks to navigate at full speed, just wide paths and country lanes, albeit up and down some pretty huge hills, some of which required some fancy snowboarding skills to slide down. The views were beautiful, the other runners had another two marathons back to back after this one, so all in all it was pretty relaxed.
As I expected my knee was hurting a lot, and after just 8 miles it blew up. I hobbled on for a little while to the second checkpoint at mile 14, but I was back to Snowdon, and this time the pain was worse and terrain more difficult. I was now walking home, with barely enough clothing on to keep my body temp up at walking pace, with a cruel wind taking the heat away from the sun, I faced a long, lonely, painful walk to the finish line.
By this time there were still runners around me. Amazingly it seems that no matter how injured and unfit I am, there are other people who are slower than me! I take great pride in that fact, and it helps to keep you motivated when you can see other people and you know you're not last and dropping ever further behind as you make your slow progress.
Eventually I limped up to the third and final checkpoint at mile 19. They saw me coming and I readied myself for a fight. I was sure they were planning to kidnap me, to bundle me into the back of their van and drive me back. I was fighting the urge to quit with the only way I knew - utter defiance and total denial. I got to within shouting range and yelled "I'm carrying on!" If I coud just break through their barricade they'd probably let me finish. I clenched my fists and planned my first flurry, two men and an old woman, I didn't stand a chance!
I'd obviously scared them enough though, because by the time I reahed them they were handing me a cup of tea and pointing out where to head. I slurped that tea down and strode off onto a pebbly beach with a foul looking weather system chasing me. The wind built up and started pushhing me about, while hail battered me from above. I very nearly turned back and got into the van, but I pressed on.
By now I didn't care how long it was going to take. I had been forced to walk, so it didn't matter if it was 6 hours or 12 hours, as long as I finished. This took the pressure off a little and I started to enjoy myself, singing at the top of my voice into the wind while strolling across ridgeways at the top of hills I'd struggled up, telling stories of courage and honour as I wandered by myself toward the finish.
After many hours I came to the finish, unable to bend my right knee at all, but satisfied. I'd finished what was one of the more easy routes, but the most difficult mental challenge I'd faced so far. Only two weeks to go until the last one - I just hope my knees hold up so I can actually run it!
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