Marathon Pain but not as we know it

As I sit here in discomfort, picking over the mangled remains of my sixth marathon yesterday, I feel determined that this will be my last before I’m 50.

That’s five years of rest or, more likely, 60 months of intermittent training, shorter races, and triathlon.

I failed to hit my target at Abingdon Marathon. I set off knowing that, based on my prep, a ‘sub-three’ was achievable, but marathon Gods have different ideas.

After the best training block I have ever had, I started to experience hip and glute pain on Thursday. “Taper paranoia”, said I with false bravado, but the Brussel sprout size knots that made me yelp on the foam roller told a different story.

"Is that a sore throat?"
"Does my back hurt?"
"Why are my calves so tight?"
Yes folks - welcome to marathon taper time #running

— Malcolm Bradbrook (@MBradbrook) October 18, 2017

Half-way in 1.28.50 was pretty much perfect as we won’t quibble about 10 seconds here or there. But that glute felt tighter and tighter, and started to pull on my hip and by mile 20 my left leg was painful from top to bottom or, more accurately, from bottom to sole.

The final mile was the worst agony I have been in while running. While not keen to relive the experience, I would be interested to see a video as, in my mind, I resembled Long John Silver chasing a doubloon as I lolloped round Tilsley Park track in a vain effort to get below 3.10.

I don’t know what caused it. When the injury came on I had not run for two days but had been foam rollering and stretching. It might be time for me to admit that my body is not well suited to the rigours of marathon training.

I’ve said before that I’ll give up marathons and gone back on the decision, but this time I am sure that a five year hiatus is on the cards.

I’ve loved the training this time; picking hilly cross-country routes to keep me interested and the strength and conditioning work brought a new dimension to daily life. In general, this marathon has truly reignited my passion for running.

I even gave up alcohol for two months. Not only has that enabled me to get in the best shape of my adult life, but I also found that has given me extra motivation at work and I have become much more productive.

Clichéd it might be, but the journey has been so rewarding that the final destination feels less important for a change.

So, Abingdon Marathon has not given me the 2:59:59 I was hoping for but it has presented me with unexpected, and even more valuable, gifts.

Hypocrite? Hell yeah and I love it.

Started my London Marathon training this week.

I'm trying out a 20 week training plan based on the principal that I have the speed (ish) but lack the stamina at the full distance. The sight of me 'running' the last three miles of Abingdon and London marathons looking like I was carrying an elephant on my back probably illustrates that perfectly.

So, three days in and that's one steady run, one long run and one rest day. Nice to have a rest day so early on - I might even start with one next time.

Why does this training this make me a hypocrite? Well, back in March I wrote a break up letter to Marathon training. It all got a bit hard and a bit sore and bit repetitive and I stomped off like a hormonal teenager worried that his girlfriend is too good for him.

But then I did London. Not well, I'll grant you, and not without pain either but I enjoyed it. So I had the summer off, focusing on some fun triathlons (a mere holiday fling compared to the commitment of a runners' relationship with their sport) and I ran purely for enjoyment.

Now I'm ready to scrap again. So goals for this year:

1) More stamina - get those miles in

2) More strength and conditioning (for which you can read *some* Strength and Conditioning)

3) No junk miles - just four or five quality runs backed up with big rides on my bike

The danger of entering events in a state of drunken euphoria

It is with a growing sense of trepidation that I await the coming of a triathlon this weekend.

The Half X is Set in the glorious Lake District it features a 1.9km swim in Windermere, followed by a quad-burning 90km bike ascending 2,800m (9186 ft) over the big three Lakeland passes, Kirkstone via the 'Struggle', Wrynose and Hardnott, in both directions and concluded with a 21km run around the stunning Fairfield Horseshoe ascending over 800 m (2,600ft).

Organisers claim it to be the steepest and most gruelling 'Half Iron' Bike section anywhere in the world. 

I entered after a few glasses of wine following a half-decent performance at Abingdon Marathon last year. I was, in my mind, invincible having thought I had finally broken the cycle of being a lazy bloke claiming to be an athlete.

But now my trepidation is not around the horrific physical challenge of the event but the mental challenge in knowing that once again I have failed to live up to a promise I have made myself.

You see, I pulled out of the event two weeks ago. I finally accepted that I am probably not fit enough to complete the event, or if I do, will seriously putting my body through the mill.

I am not a good swimmer – cramp has laid me low for too many years – but I am also a very average cyclist even when comfortable on the flat roads of Oxfordshire. Some friends from Oxford Tri scoped the route and, despite being among the strongest cyclists in the club, came back with horrific reports of their struggle up The Struggle and its pals.

I'm a decent runner and the trot around the horseshoes was appealing but realistically, after completing that bike course, my quads are likely to be as useful as a chocolate fireguard.

So I bottled it. I realised six months ago I needed to put in some mega training with reps of Blowing Stone and maybe a trip over the Cleeve Hill in Gloucestershire. But, as is the norm with me, I didn’t follow through with my plan.

So my trepidation is that I must look myself in the mirror and face the reality that after 10 years of triathlon I have barely improved and failed to challenge myself significantly.

Where’s that wine….

Things I have learned about running from the London Marathon

1.    Optimism is great but reality will get you in the end
          No matter how much I tried to convince myself that a torn hamstring three weeks before the event need not prevent me from running fast, the reality was that it stopped me running fast for 26 miles.

2.       The crowds are special

I have done a lot of races of distances from 5km to marathon but nothing – no matter how much people told me – prepared me for the roar of noise and the overwhelming positivity from the VLM crowd.  Cheers, posters, high fives all helped get me round. My favourite was a sign held aloft in Embankment which read simply ‘Motivational Sign’.

3.       Water bottles are lethal

I was staggered by the number of numpties who chose to simply drop a water bottle at their feet, leaving it to trip a fellow runner. I was one of those fellow runners and it ended my hopes of a moderately fast run. I was even more staggered by those who thought the best alternative was to launch water bottles – some of which were 90 per cent full – over the heads of runners. Of course it meant they avoided tripping fellow marathoners but the bottles became vicious missiles to the crowds of spectators. 

4.       Egos should be left at the start line

Nothing will prepare you for being overtaken by a runner in a large fancy dress costume. It is a peculiar kind of damage to your self-image.

5.       Mental toughness isn’t everything

No matter how I willed myself to run faster, I couldn’t overcome the cramp in my hamstrings, the pain in my foot or the tightness in my leg. Taming the chimp is all very well but the body has a say too.

6.       Marathoner’s mirages are real

You can imagine the strangest things. As my mate Nathan  pulled away from me at mile 15 he looked like a young Haile Gebrselassie, gliding away like a gazelle. In fact Nathan more closely resembles the experimental progeny of The Thing and She-Hulk. It is a highly effective running style though and he gave me a proper spanking.

7.       Training pain soon forgotten

I swore off marathons forever in March, inspiring this breakup letter. Within seconds of finishing I had decided to claim my Good For Age spot in 2017 and break that 3hr mark.

A runner's break-up letter

Dear Marathon Training, 

This is one of the hardest letters I have ever had to write.

You and I have had a mutual attraction which spans decades, although it was a relationship which was consummated just five years ago. But, as hard as it may be to face the truth, we must accept that the spark is no longer so bright, if it flares at all.

The joy of those early morning long runs, accompanied only by the sounds of nature and a fanciful internal dialogue, has faded. The intense passion of the breathless interval runs has given way to mechanical repetition, and, as much is it pains my knees, the hurt I feel as I remember how it used to be is an ever sharper wound.

You see, I think I am falling for someone else – no-one new but someone from my past. Sure, nostalgia plays a part but it’s fast and easy and also intense and sociable. I don’t face the loneliness that I have when I’m with you and I feel more energised than I have in months.

We have just over one month together preparing for The Big One. I know that the temptation will be there to carry on but we must think back to this time. We must remember the darkness, the nagging doubts and insecurities, and the lower body aches which have plagued the winter months.

Let us not be sad and mourn for the past, let us be joyful in the gifts we have given each other. You have taught me much about commitment and made push myself more than I ever thought possible. You have given me a waistline that I thought lost in my teenage years.

No. We are adults you and I, and it is time to face the future. It will be a future of heady dashes around parks and fields, a future of the thunderous footfall at the start of a fast 10k, and a future without the endless exhaustion I have when we are together.

You will always have a special place in my heart and I will remember our time together with warmth.

Yours in gratitude,

Malcolm Bradbrook

Feeling the heat in a ‘lazy’ summer

Running and Summer. Two things that really should go together.

I did the hard miles in winter. I ran in snow, hard frost and torrential rain in January and February so the chance to run in a vest, with the sun on my shoulders should motivate me to get out there as much as I can.

But this summer is busy, busy, busy and making time for running has not been a priority. I have three children under 10 and straight after breaking up from school we headed for France.

We had three great days schlepping around the streets of Paris – climbing the Eiffel Tower, marvelling at the unique weirdness of the Pompidou Centre and Stravinsky Square and soaking up the classic beauty of Notre Dame Cathedral and the Sacre Couer. At the end of each day all I felt up to was collapsing with a well-earned beer at the our campsite in the Bois de Boulogne (that’s my wife and I, the children had Syrop).

Then we headed south to Monsegur near Bergerac for a week of sunshine. We had the most amazing, secluded gite and the weather constantly hovered between 28C and 33C.

I managed two runs – both in the blazing heat of midday. I know what they say about Mad Dogs and Englishmen but I was always required for morning pool fun with my boys or frog-spotting with my daughter and, to be honest, those activities were so much fun for all of us that I just didn’t want to stop.

So it was in blazing heat that I headed out and I loved it. The feel of raw, powerful sunshine beating down on my shoulders and arms was intoxicating and running past field after field of sunflowers a sight I will never forget.

Despite the heat (and the fact that we were in a hilly area), it wasn’t hard to keep up the speed. Perhaps hot weather on my aging joints and muscles helped or perhaps it was all psychological but I fair buzzed along for both one-hour runs.

We also spent a day at Pilat Dune – the largest sand dune in Europe. It was surprisingly stunning – a mountain of sand forcing its way between a forest and the ocean. I challenged my son to run up it and he managed a good effort of about half way before his six-year-old legs rebelled (for which I shall remain grateful because I too was suffering).

Running down the dune was something else. The freedom to take off the brakes and hurtle without real fear of injury was incredible.

When I got back I managed two of Oxford Triathlon Club’s regular Bike And Run Time Trials (Handicapped Duathlons) and competed in the Salty Sea Dog Triathlon in Boscombe while on a long weekend break with the family and friends. Plenty of speed in my running but not much substance.

And now I am in Stockholm. Not holiday this time but the World Water Week conference -  a global meeting of minds intent on addressing the water challenge in one way or another. If I’m lucky I’ll squeeze in a couple of early morning runs but doubt I’ll get about seven miles.

I have just eight weeks until Abingdon Marathon so I am starting to feel considerably undercooked. Good job I marked this up as a base for the main event of the London Marathon in 2016.