It's often said that marathon running is more psychological than physical. It's definitely true that your legs won't carry you where your head doesn't think you can go. And when things turn ugly in a race, keeping a positive, rational attitude can help you through, whereas if negative thoughts start to seep in, the wheels will, more often than not, come right off.
But that's in the race itself, when you've effectively done all the hard work in the long months leading up to it. While you're actually still doing the training, it's arguably even more important to keep your head and stay in a positive frame of mind.
I've done 14 marathons. That's 14 times I've gone through the slog of pushing my body close to its limits of physical endurance over a three- and even four-month period. So you would think I'd know what to expect by now and take it all in my stride (do you see what I did there?). The occasional bad session, the feeling of overwhelming tiredness, the niggles and the aches and the actual pains leading to missed workouts and plans not followed to the letter.
You'd think so, wouldn't you?
In fact, I don't appear to have learnt any lessons at all. What somebody might conclude about what this says about my life in general, I prefer not to think about. But every time a workout doesn't go well I immediately think it's the end of my aspirations, and that I should hang up my trainers and look for a more appropriate hobby, like basket-weaving, say, or flower-arranging.
So it was important for me to bounce back quickly after a run when, not content with feeling run down, I actually very nearly was run down, after taking a fall which in the end caused more injury to my pride than anything else.
I didn't fancy it at all: 9 miles (14 kms) with 5 (8) at half marathon pace. In the pouring rain.
I gave myself a good talking-to before heading out, conscious of the need to nail a decent session and get this marathon campaign back on track, at least in my head. Off I went up to the city centre to the mainly-pedestrianised area by the train station and in fact covering the tracks, where people stroll amongst fountains and shrubs. It's a flat area and a circuit of just over a kilometre, so good for doing interval sessions and specific pace workouts.
What counts as half marathon pace at this stage doesn't really correspond to reality, that much I do know, so I set myself an arbitrary target of 4:20 per km (6:55mm), and was pleased to find that the first two were well on pace and easier than I had imagined. I had to make an effort to concentrate and not admit negative thoughts once it did become harder, but after 5 kms, I knew it was in the bag and the final three actually felt pretty comfortable. A quick stop at the drinking fountain, and I headed home at an easier pace, feeling well pleased with myself. On looking at the stats later, it turned out that I'd done the 8kms at an average of 4:19/km, with only a couple of seconds variation in each.
You know when things are going well when you do an easy, recovery-style run and you struggle to keep the pace down. This happened on the Saturday, two days later, when I meant to go at 4:50-5:00/km, but ended up going at some 20 seconds faster than that. Not textbook stuff, but all good for the morale.
On Sunday the plan had me down for a 16-miler (26 kms) with 10 of these (16kms) at marathon race pace. Again, at this stage, you can't take this too literally, but if I want to go sub-3:15 at Brighton, that means going at 4:37/km (7:25mm), so on this run I wanted to go somewhere within ten seconds/km of that. In the end, and after all my troubles on the long run the week before, (and despite only having three hours' sleep the night before) I found it easy-going, and I felt confident and positive all the way round. I actually did just over 25 kms (15.6 miles), but at an overall average of 4:48/km, with the majority a good deal faster than that, so again, I came home feeling pretty bloody chipper about my running, and life in general.
No complaints from my knee, more to the point. For the first time I really began to believe that this Brighton Marathon campaign was going to be a big success. Feeling comfortable mentally and physically at a decent pace over nearly 16 miles, on tired legs in a tired body, is a very good place to be at this stage.
On Tuesday I did a steady 8 miles and while not exactly whistling my way round, continued to feel in top shape. The recovery run of 5 miles on Wednesday could only prolong this happy, carefree feeling, couldn't it?
Well, it did for about three miles, until I gradually became aware of a nagging pain just below my right (i.e. good) knee, getting worse and worse to the point where I had to stop. Not unduly worried, I did a bit of stretching, which seemed to do the trick, and I completed the workout.
I got home and climbed the stairs to the bathroom...and every step was agony. This was Not A Good Thing. Normal walking was no problem: it didn't hurt when I touched it, and bending it was fine, too. But putting all my weight on it to go up or down stairs...absolutely not.
Of course, my first thought was that my marathon hopes were dashed irrevocably. However, I went into denial and didn't give it too much thought for the rest of the day. In the evening I noticed it was still no better, but I went to bed calmly enough.
The following morning I was supposed to do another 8 miles with some strides at the end, so off I went...and 45 seconds later I was back indoors. It wasn't simply unwise to continue running, it was actually impossible, such was the pain with every step.
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| He'd run out of pink... |
Now, on Sunday I am entered for the 10.3kms race from Oviedo to the spa town of Las Caldas. Before leaving him, I asked Héctor if I should forget the race and rest up until Tuesday. He said there was probably no need, but that a few days' rest were always going to do me good. That was it, then - no problem, I would be sensible, and consider the bigger picture. What were a couple of missed sessions if it meant safeguarding my health and recovering properly?
Two hours later, I got a text from a fellow runner, informing me that I had been assigned race number 2. Two! This was too good to miss - my knee felt much better already, and a short test today (Saturday) would confirm this, surely?
Well, amazingly, it did. Good old Héctor had proved his worth and fixed me up completely! A four-mile run convinced that once again, all is well, and yes, it really is going to happen. All of it! Starting with this race tomorrow, in what promise to be spring-like conditions. It goes down on the path where once there was a railway line, through some fantastic scenery.
Well, I thought this was going to be a shorter post than usual, but it hasn't turned out that way, has it? So thanks for your patience, and for your continued support of my trials and tribulations. See you next time!
It's Going To Happen
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