Tuesday, 24 April 2012
Virgin London Marathon 2012 Race Report
Just so's you know, I had another shocker. Another shit marathon. But I spent the time working out why, and I think I learned some valuable lessons. I don't think it's possible to love running alone as much as I do in the countryside, and then go to a ridiculously busy racer full of noise, and enjoy it. I know this sounds bah-humbug, but it just drives me fucking insane. I'm not a noisy person. It does my melon in. And fuck me, London is noisy. The other thing is, I have to sort out my IBS/racing problem. I can cruise through 17-20 miles with no food at all, but then the wheels really fall off. Not in any dramatic way, it's more psychological - and there's another weakness, I suspect. Maybe, just maybe, there's an element of self-defeat in there too. And that's not an easy sentence to type. So I have some work to do. And the Edinburgh marathon is just five weeks away. I started London slow, pacing at 11-minute miles, being super, super careful. I nailed my pace pretty well I think, given that I had no watch or nuffink. I was really cruising, even allowing for fuckwits who do not know to simply check over their shoulder before moving laterally, or those absolute wanktards who just stop completely in the middle of the course. It's taxing. I always, always check because I know if I collide with someone, they're hitting the deck, not me. Part of being short and heavy. Mwahahahahaaa. I had to stop for a shite at 10 miles, and again at 20 miles, which wasn't ideal but, well, it happened. And after 20 miles, something really peculiar happened. Last week I had a cold, right? With a cough and everything. Well, on mile 20, the cough came back with a vengeance, from out of fucking nowhere. I couldn't take a deep breath without coughing my ring up; it was odd, unsettling, and downright shit. I was reduced to a shuffle and shallow breathing, until I realised I could walk faster than I was currently moving. So, the last six miles were basically at a walk with bouts of shuffling. I was on for finishing just under 5 hours which would have been a lovely result given the build-up, but that last six miles... The cough, from down in my shoes, gah. Fucking marathons. On the plus side, we raised (between three of us, though it was honestly mostly the other two) over £7k for our hospice and it's still coming in, which is wonderful. And I made it to the end, though most of the race images of me will feature a scowl at best. So yeah. Fucking marathons.