Cardiff Marathon

On 15th October I partook in my first Marathon. Here's how it unfolded.

Training.

I thought the training had gone well, though of course having never ran a marathon before I really had no idea how much I needed to do – each runner responds differently to the training and the run itself. For all I knew, I could be one of those people who can just run a marathon and shrug it off effortlessly, or I could be one of those that no matter how much training I do, the 26.2 miles is just impossible. Nevertheless my training regime had gone well and Spillers and I managed six runs on our two weeks in the states. There’s nothing like a change in scenery to inspire you to pull on the running shoes before breakfast and we had some good jogs through central park, along the Atlantic City Boardwalk, around the mall in Washington DC (over the Potomac, up the steps to see Lincoln – more sightseeing than we did in the rest of our stay in the capital), and in Florida, through torrential rain and thunder in Jacksonville Beach, in gut-busting heat along Cocoa Beach and finally a pleasant jog around Key West. Back home I attempted my longest run (at that point), taking the train to Bristol and running home, a run of about sixteen miles all in, which I managed quite comfortably and despite my MP3 player failing half way through, I came in feeling that if needed, I had at least four more miles in me. I reasoned that if I could do 20, then the final 6.2 would be within my grasp, even if he had to cross the finish line on my hands and knees.
Seven days before Marathon day I entered the Nike RunLondon 10k in Hyde Park. This was a tough run. Due to some technical problems we started at the back of the pack. There were too many people and for the first 8k we were sidestepping slower runners constantly through the frequently narrow course. Running with Spillers who is a naturally faster runner than me, I was basically dragged round at the limit of my ability, finally crossing the line after 47.5 minutes which makes for about 7 ½ minute miles, very fast for me. It was a tough and ultimately not very enjoyable run, but the whole event and the rest of the experience was great. Next time, We’ll try to start closer to the front.
The following week I had some knee problems brought on by this run. My right knee was continually sore and I was concerned that the marathon would push it over the edge and it would seize up at a critical juncture. To add to the physical stress I moved house on Thursday, and carrying those guitar amps up stairs was not what the physiotherapist ordered.
On Saturday night Spillers, Simon and I assembled at my place to consume pasta. We were joined by Muriel and Sid and had quite a feed, though I would have enjoyed some wine. Actually, my sobriety had been quite good. I had only had a few drinks in the fortnight leading up to the run and was definitely feeling the benefits.

The Marathon.

Woke at six-thirty for a seven a.m. departure from Bath. Far too early for me, but I managed to chow down some high-energy breakfast and we hit the road. Arrived in Cardiff just after eight and we began preparing. Heavy doses of lube were applied (feet, nipples and unmentionables) and water was drank. I attached my number; 629 which I noticed is rotationally symmetrical, which meant if needed, I could cross the line walking on my hands – not going to happen!



We strolled over to the start line and met up with Barbs, Sam and Meady - the six runners were united. We finally ushered ourselves into the starting pack, along with the ten thousand other runners (most of whom were doing a half-marathon). Among the lycra and spandex we saw the guy who carried the cross with the wheel on it, the Rhino (these two are at Glastonbury every year) and a pack of nuns, one of which looked real (the others were blokes). The gun was fired and with a cheer we started. Three minutes of shuffling later, we finally crossed the start line.


The first half of the marathon was actually quite a breeze. This may be where all the training paid off. I’d done a half marathon before (in Amsterdam ’02) and found this one far easier to get round. The six of us ran together for the first few miles but slowly Simon, Meady and Sam took off ahead, shooting for good times.

The route took us out to the docks of Cardiff, quite a barren place but spirits were still high at that point. Some unhelpful clod had parked a JCB right in the middle of the course which caused an awkward bottleneck and many runners were cursing being dragged down to walking pace. The route then took us through Cardiff Park and finally back to the centre of the city, through the castle and then past the millennium stadium. It was at this stage that I started to feel the effect of all this energetic behaviour and the run became hard work. The half-marathoners were siphoned off to cross their finish line, get their t-shirts and medals and congratulate themselves on a good run. The remaining few thousand of us had to carry on, the route now far emptier of runners. The marathon route is twice around the half-marathon route. Although we were now going past landmarks we had already seen, they took on a whole new perspective as they were each now significantly closer to the finish line, filled with far fewer people and I myself was not feeling nearly as lively.


At this point I needed a bit of a gee-up so allowed myself some tunes. A bit of Kenny Loggins to give me the boost I need. We wended our way back out to the docks again which were even more barren now, though the parked JCB didn’t affect the rapidly thinning pack. It was about here that the remaining three of us were separated. Spillers running off ahead and Barbs dropping slowly behind. I now realised that whatever your intentions, ultimately you run a marathon alone. I was buoyed by the regular support crews handing out water and energy drinks which I chugged down constantly. St Johns ambulance crews held out large open vats of Vaseline, complete with obvious finger-shaped imprints. This I declined. I switched my tunes to some Phish to get me through the last tough stages. Seventeen miles was a landmark – I had never ran as far in my life. From here I set myself a series of small goals. I wasn’t going to dwell on how far away the finish line was, instead I’d worry about getting to the twenty mile marker and after that twenty-two and so on. I was cheered on by Muriel and Lucy who managed to find a number of spots along the course to give me some support but there were plenty of strangers clapping me on as well. When the pack thins out that much, you know that they are applauding you and you alone and their support did not go unnoticed. Even at mile twenty two as I trotted through the park I was still smiling.


It was around this point that I anticipated hitting ‘The Wall’ as they know it. And although the last four miles became increasingly hard, I never actually hit a wall. The last few miles were through the park and here I saw many runners walking and the temptation to have a little stroll was there. I realised that with only four miles left I would definitely cross the finish line, even if it needed another two hours, but the challenge now became to not succumb to walking. I was counting down each mile at this point and the markers for twenty-three and twenty-four seemed to take forever to arrive. I awarded myself with an energy gel at marker twenty-four. I had carried this runners’ fuel with me the whole route and it was the only food I would have on the run. Although I didn’t desperately need it, I used it as a motivating reward and did not allow myself to eat it until mile twenty-four. I even tore it open a few hundred metres early and just held it, anticipating the sweet, sweet nectar I’d enjoy on crossing the landmark. Finally I got my reward. Disgusting. The only thing I can equate it to is if someone had a mouthful of jelly, chewed it up for five minutes and then spat it out again. I managed to swallow it down, rationalising that at least it was doing me some good. Mile twenty-five came and still I was running. Slowly for sure, but running nevertheless. The castle loomed and once inside I knew that I was going to make it. I turned off my music as I came out of the castle to run down the last stretch of road before the stadium. This was the most packed stretch and the crowd was at its loudest. Finally I swung into the stadium. The route takes you through the athletes entrance right under the stands and this dark silent area is quite cold and lonely. Finally I rounded a corner and could see row upon row of seats ahead. I could hear the roar of the crowd and finally I was in sunlight.


The last stretch was a lap of the stadium, although almost empty accept for one side dotted with supporters, they managed to make quite a bit of noise. I rounded the last corner and heard somebody yell my name very loudly (Lucy I think) and I put on a sprint for the last fifty metres. I crossed the line at some pace and finally I was able to stop running.

Aftermath

Instantly my legs began to seize up and I hobbled up the stairs to get my space- blanket and my medal. I quickly met Spillers and Si who had crossed the line only minutes before. We struggled up to the stands and although failed to find our supporters we found a seat – a cheap fold down, plastic stadium seat – that was the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in.
After reuniting with everyone we went out for a much-earned lunch and a beer.

I finished in 4 hours, 8 minutes and 24 seconds. I was very happy.

I raised about £250 for my charity, Dreams Come True.

I loved every minute of my first marathon experience and already am planning the next one, hopefully London.


My recovery was quite quick. Two days following the run my legs were almost locked straight with stiffness, but they soon loosened up and a fortnight later I was out running in Bath again. Got to get back in training. We’ve got the Grim 8 in four weeks.