CHESTER MARATHON – Race Review – 8 October 2017

OK, I’ll get it out of the way now. It was a personal disaster. Everything that could have gone wrong did. Despite having to deal with a number of injuries throughout my 17 week training plan (Achilles, hamstring, stomach muscle and continually sciatic pain in both legs) that I meticulously followed, I was feeling in pretty good shape after completing my last long run (23 miles) 3 weeks ago. The recommended foam roller had worked a treat on my hamstring (which I had been ‘dealing with’ since early June) and the muscle pain in my stomach had cleared itself up. Frustratingly though, the sciatica in my left side had got really bad the week leading up to the race and (you couldn’t make it up…) the ‘healed’ hamstring started to give me jip again. It got to the stage where I was in serious pain the day before the race, which resulted in me applying Deep Heat every couple of hours in an attempt to numb the pain. I don’t want this to be a review littered with excuses, but anyone who runs will appreciate that even the slightest discomforts feels significantly worse in the days leading up to a race (I think the running term is ‘maranoia’), so these genuinely painful injuries had deflated my confidence somewhat.

 I drove up to Chester the day before the race and stayed in a fantastic (wait for the plug) Travelodge! (Chester City Centre). It appeared to be one of the newer ones, and my room and bed were amazing and great value for money. As mentioned above, that afternoon was spent dousing my legs in Deep Heat, taking a wander around the city (which is beautiful and definitely worth a return visit, minus the trainers!) and watching movies in my room in an attempt to relax and calm myself before the big day. A burger and chips in the Pitcher and Piano (not the healthiest meal pre-race, but what the heck!) next door to the Travelodge was greeted with a message on Facebook advising that the racecourse parking had been cancelled due to the threat of heavy rain. It wasn’t a big deal for me as I was parked in the city centre anyway, which is only a 10 minute walk from the racecourse.  This communication (along with an email shortly after) was testament to the brilliant planning and organisation by Chris and Andy, who had been instrumental in the previously arranged Chester Marathons. From the moment I signed up, the instructions and guidance had been clear, concise and easy to follow.

After an early night, I was up at 5.30am assessing the extent of my injuries. I figured I could run them off if I took it easy in the early miles, so my confidence was a tad higher than the proceeding days. It was still dark when I reached the racecourse and after wandering round the enclosures to familiarise myself with the layout, I headed to the Pavilion to get changed. This comprised of a bar area and tables lined in rows with race instructions and official merchandise to purchase. Even though it was getting busy, it was still easy to nip into the toilets three or four times to ease the nerves!

After dropping my bag off in the stables area, I made my way out to the course itself when the race was shortly starting. There were dozens of toilet cubicles and the queues weren’t too bad compared to many races I have participated in. I took my own (courtesy of my daughters swimming club) waterproof shoe covers, but they did have boxes in the Pavilion, which were great and meant your trainers didn’t get soaked through walking across the wet grass to the start line.

The caliber of runner looked fairly decent, with many club vests and running tops on display. Whilst I got the impression that there were many running for charities, it wasn’t anything like the carnival of outfits and costumes on display at the London Marathon.

Interestingly, and maybe something to consider in the future, was the Metric Marathon, which was also being run. 26.2K, equating to 16.3 miles, which I like the sound of. A little further than a Half, but 10 miles less than a marathon! Along with the Mini Marathon for kids, I would estimate that there were around 5,000 runners participating in the various events, which is great for a small city like Chester.

I caught up with my brother-in-law and his girlfriend at the starting area and had a quick chat before making my way into the pen. He is a great runner and was targeting a sub-3.05 time to get a GFA (Good For Age) in order to automatically qualify for the London Marathon. The weather was perfect for long distance running – clear, with the temperate around 14 degrees with very little wind to speak of.

I had debated whether or not to use a 4 hour pacemaker to keep me on track for a c. 3.50 finish, but I figured their first half would be too slow, since my training had a front-loaded quicker first 14 miles, so I decided to run unaided and get into a steady rhythm as quickly as possible.

Start time was 9am for the marathon runners and we were soon off, making our way out of the racecourse into the city where we ran through the centre and looped around and back out across the old bridge. The first couple of miles were undulating (nothing serious) before flattening out as we made our way out into rural Chester. I felt good in the early stages and settled into a nice tempo of c. 8.25 minute miles. Running through 10K, I had sight of the 3.45 pacers and the pack of runners in hot pursuit, but I wasn’t foolish enough to try to go with them as that would have been suicidal.

The miles seemed to go fairly quickly in the early stages as we continued out through the stunning Cheshire countryside towards the Welsh border. I ran through 8 and 9 miles at around 8.30’s, still feeling in control and fairly relaxed. I had a ‘gel plan’ whereby I’d take one every 4 miles after the 10K point and the odd jelly baby intermittently.

At around 9 miles, I began to run stride for stride (not intentionally) with a female runner called Sally. We didn’t talk, but seemed to be running comfortably together as we ran through pretty villages and then across the border into the Wrexham area of Wales. I wondered for a moment if the support and atmosphere would be different, crossing into another country, and to my surprise, the supporters were amazing and even more vocal than those in England! There were people standing alone on the edge of the road shouting our names as we passed (“Go on, Sally! You’ve got this, Chris…”). Their enthusiasm really lifted me!

Miles 10, 11 and 12 were run at 8.30, 8.40 and 8.30 respectively, but considering we weren’t running particularly quickly, my legs seemed to be working far harder than in any of my training runs, which wasn’t a good sign. I started to feel my hamstring and quad tighten with sharp pain seemingly stabbing into them, but pushed on knowing that 14 was my first big milestone and if I felt OK then, I could ease off to c. 9.00’s for a while to re-group for the final 8 miles.

It was at 13 that my body started to shutdown. I’d been breezing the training runs (c. 8.30’s) from anything from 17 to 22 miles, so feeling in this much bother was concerning me and I started to panic. How can my legs have gone at 13? The breathing is fine, but legs are running out of juice, coupled with the on-set of pain.

I decided to slow down to 9.00’s and take on more water and sugar, but by 17 I was finished. My left leg was in serious bother and I could feel my calves starting to tighten up. Since the race, I have researched how cramp comes on in long distance races, and whilst many associate it with a lack of hydration and electrolytes, it is also a result of over-compensating the use of these muscles at the expense of those which are showing fatigue or not functioning properly, which explains a lot now.

There was a sharp incline after running through another lovely little Welsh village (at around the 17.5 mark) which pretty much finished me off. The next split was 10.00+, and despite pulling the next one back to 9.20’s, I know my day was done. It was now about survival and reaching the finish line.

I knew I had the endurance to get through the last 9 miles, but the pain was dragging me down and the disappointment of knowing I wouldn’t hit any of my target times made each mile seem like an eternity.

The final nail in the coffin was seeing the 4 hour guys run past me at 21 miles. Bollocks! I just wanted to it to end now. My training runs had told me I should have been well ahead of those runners, but I was, instead, shuffling uncomfortably along the edge of the road as they glided past me.

At 22 miles, I encountered excruciating cramp in both calves, ankles, feet and toes, which caused me to scream in agony and stop by the roadside in the vain attempt that I could stretch it out. No chance. This meant that the last 4 miles played out to the following pattern; jog, scream, stop, stretch, walk, repeat…

Frustratingly the notorious ‘hill’ that I’d be dreading on Sandy Lane at 24 miles wasn’t actually too daunting. It was do-able and should I have been fit, wouldn’t have been too great an obstacle.

I don’t remember too much (aside from the pain and wobbling along like Jonny Brownlee when he famously collapsed in a Tri event earlier in the year, I reached the city centre again) about the last couple of miles aside from the fact that it was now raining fairly heavily, I wanted to chuck up and that I just wanted to go home.

The last 500 metres was on the racecourse, which was now very muddy and slippery, but I tentatively navigated the home straight before crossing the line…only to stop and collapse as the cramp in both calves butchered me one last time. A fantastic guy, who I wish I could thank properly, came to my rescue and pulled my legs in all sorted of weird and wonderful angles in an attempt to rid them of the cramp. An ambulance man also assisted and helped me out.

So, from running a great 23 miles almost effortlessly three weeks ago, I now found myself lying on my back in the middle of a muddy and wet racecourse receiving medical attention having run (statistically) the slowest and most painful run in 17 weeks. Life can be a real bitch!

The medal was fab, and the goody bag had some great snacks, a Chester Marathon pin badge and a decent running top.

My brother-in-law and girlfriend were amazing through all of this. Despite him smashing his PB and achieved the GFA target time he needed for London, they still waited in the pouring rain (for about 7 hours!) for me to finish!

Upon reflection, my time of 4.18 was fairly respectable after what I’d gone through after 13 miles, so despite an initial feeling of embarrassment and frustration (of missing my target time by nearly half an hour!) given all of the sacrifices I made; early morning weekend training, laying off the booze, running on family holidays, I know (philosophically) that there is always another day. Another race. Another opportunity to put it right. I’ve run Half Marathon, 10K and 5K PB’s this year (and this was a PB too, although it didn’t feel like it), so I need to quickly focus on the positives and all the races I’ve enjoyed and run well in across 2017.  

Eliminating my tales of woe out of the equation, the event was absolutely brilliant. The organisation, the venue, the route, the marshals, the occasion. Everything! But the best part? The crowds, the supporters and all people on the roadside willing the runners on. They were the best ever. Incredible!

Thank you Chester for such an amazing experience! As I sit here typing; still unable to walk and still in awful pain nearly a week later, I can’t think of anything worse than running a marathon ever again. The wounds and body still need to heal, the ego to repair itself, and then, when I feel good again, just maybe I’ll return for some unfinished business. Just maybe…