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Send in the Clowns - BAC 10K Challenge
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The boring back-story
I used to balk a little at the well-wishers who wished me the best of good fortune before a marathon, thinking ‘If the training is there, I don’t need luck’, but it has never been so abundantly clear that to run the time you want in the marathon, it takes hard training and also a lot of luck. This time last year, those who ran Frankfurt marathon struggled in the windy conditions, but even 7 days before the race, we knew this year, we were going to have the best of it. Temperatures of between 8 and 14 ‘C, overcast, and zero wind. You couldn’t ask for more. If the striking airline pilots played ball, then it would largely come down to training alone.
I’ve already put my thoughts to paper on the subject of how my training went. The goal was 2:34:50, for no other reason than I’d prefer to look back on a time that was closer to 2:30 than to 2:40. I gave myself 50/50 before the race, and I think that was a fair reflection, as you just don’t know how things are going to pan out until you’re at that 24 mile mark and can hear the sounds from the finish line. My taper couldn’t have gone better. For the first time in a few marathon cycles, I didn’t struggle with the feeling that I hadn’t done enough training. I was happy to stick with the plan’s suggested final week runs and sessions, and aired on the side of doing less, rather than more. With each passing day the legs took on that feeling of being ready to spring into action, that only a good taper can bring. Worryingly, my legs tired easily going up a short flight of stairs, but I reckon that’s down to the specific nature of 4 months of training. Point me at a hill race, and I’d likely come close to last, but show me a straight stretch of road and I’d be all over it.
The day before the race we met up with the other Boards runners and jogged the pretzel run course. Meeting familiar faces at a foreign marathon really helps to remove any angst associated with running races on foreign shores and we spent a good hour eating pretzels and chatting afterwards. I may have been last across the finish line, but I kicked ass in the eating stakes, polishing off three pretzels and two cups of fizzy apple juice, before we parted ways until race day.
If there was one thing that I could put my finger on that didn’t go well in my race prep, it was my sleeping patterns. I hadn’t slept properly in weeks, and probably averaged just 3-5 hours per night, but on this occasion, I managed to sleep for a solid 6 hours and woke feeling pretty good. I had an early breakfast (we brought our own pots of porridge) and then threw on some clothes and headed to the race HQ for 7:40am. The race doesn’t start until 10am, but if you have a time under 2:45 (male) and 3:00 (female), you can drop off your own nutrition at HQ (before 8am) which will be brought to a nominated nutrition table on the course. I hadn’t done the due diligence in preparing my bottles/labels, but thankfully the boss is a lot more assertive than me and got me sorted the previous night. I mixed up two bottles with 250ml blue Powerade, 250ml water and half a Powerbar electrolyte tablet. Plan was to have a diluted sports drink with lots of electrolytes - a concoction that worked out perfectly, and one I’ll repeat for future races. I also added a couple of drops of black food colouring, in the hope that it would make the drink look unattractive enough, that none of the 100 or so runners ahead of me would be tempted to snatch it for their own consumption. I dropped my bottles into the 15km and 30km boxes, and they were immediately recognizable as they were the only drinks without attached national flags, pompoms or other decorative memorabilia. Even still, I reckoned there was little chance of the drink actually being there at the aid stations, so I didn’t raise my hopes. Headed back to the hotel afterwards, sipping on some more electrolytes and chilled before the race.
The early bit
Arrived back at the race HQ at 9am, and briefly spied Opus as we headed up the escalator to the baggage check. All done, we headed outside and bumped into ThePiedForestRunner, and chatted for the next 15-20 minutes. At this stage, we noticed the starting corrals were fairly mobbed, so getting some warm-up miles done was not going to happen. Didn’t bother me unduly, as the plan was to start nice and easy and not hit race pace for a couple of miles. Myself and the PiedPiper clambered over the fencing (well, he jumped like a gazelle, while I struggled to raise my leg to waist height, which made clambering over a waist high metal barrier pretty challenging). Soon though we were both in the corral, positioned several hundred people back from the start line, with no room/opportunity to move forward. Still not bothered, it would mean a similar start to London, with lots of weaving but a forced gradual easy start. Eventually (~40 seconds after the official start of the race), we got going and as predicted, the congestion meant making progress was a real challenge (it seems the German obsession with orderly queues doesn’t stretch to the marathon). I kept one eye on the watch, but the entire focus was remaining calm and relaxed and to gradually move into open spaces when the opportunity arose.
The bit just after the early bit
Having run a number of big city marathons, I knew the Garmin data was going to be dubious at best, and during the early miles of Frankfurt marathon, you are entirely surrounded by skyscrapers, which has a significant impact on GPS accuracy. When the watch showed 6:23 at the end of the first ‘reported’ mile, I wasn’t surprised, but just the smallest bit concerned. The first split on the pace band was at 5km, so for the first three miles I was kind of running blind. It felt like I was gradually increasing the pace, but arriving at the start of the race well-rested, I could easily slip into tempo pace and wouldn’t notice until it was potentially too late. Don’t panic, don’t panic, I reminded myself. You’ve been here before. Just relax and don’t make any dramatic changes to pace/effort. I was literally passing runners in their hundreds, and must have looked like one of those runners who arrived at the start line five minutes after the race started. Miles 2 and 3 ticked off with a 5:46 and 5:41, as we wound our way around the tall buildings of the city, twisting and turning. The average pace on the watch slowly trickled down to 6:00, and finally I reached the 5k mark and could check my actual split. 19:26 - 1 Minute down. Sht1e. Don’t panic, don’t panic.. You feel good.. The pace is comfortable, just stay with it. It’ll all work out.
Still, I was passing runners in their droves. It was like we were in completely separate races, so different were our paces. Miles ticked off in 5:49, 6:04 and 5:45, before I hit the 10k split. The average pace on the watch was now showing 5:56, but I knew it was wrong and that I was still well off target pace (5:55/mile). I hit the 10k marker in 37:46, still over a minute off my target. I still believed that I could make it up in the second half of the race, so I didn’t panic. Gradually, the numbers of runners thinned out, and I settled into my tried and trusted routine of catching a pack, sitting in for 5-10 seconds, before the legs (largely of their own volition) took me careening past the group in pursuit of the next pack. I grabbed the occasional cup of water and took a sip before throwing it away and at 8km, took an ISO gel, more as a preventative measure than any great need. The earlier sunshine had given way to overcast clouds, and the occasional light fresh breeze. Perfect weather. At the 15km marker (36 seconds behind plan), I hit the elite nutrition tables and watched out for my drink. There it was in its glorious sweet, salty blackness...untouched. Surrounded by flags and pompoms, it was immediately recognizable in its blandness. I started taking a small swig at every kilometer marker, feeling the growing need to take a pee, but knowing that I could last a marathon without having to stop, or at worst, knowing I would go in my shorts if I had to (and wondering quietly what the other runners would make of the beetroot coloured liquid, should it come to that).
Relationships forged
I hit the 10 mile mark in around 59 minutes. Still I was passing runners, but now I had to work from group to group, relying on closing the distance to the trailing runner, rather than relying on the difference in our paces. Eventually, I hit the front of a pack and suddenly… there was nothing… No runners visible ahead for the next 200-300m. I panicked a little as the gap to the next group was just too great. I looked over my shoulder left and right and the pack just 5 metres behind and considered waiting for them to catch me. One Dutch runner in a red and white striped singlet emerged from the pack, and with an enthusiastic wave, surged ahead and jumped in front of me. We instantly formed the kind of bond you only get in moments like this; like-minded people working together for a brief but common goal. A resolute trust that each will take their turn, and honour the code, for as long as it took to close the gap on the next group. We each took our turns into the mild headwind, dragging each other along the long straight stretch until gradually, we closed the 200m gap to the next pack, and emerged back on the twisty streets of a small town. With some small gestures and a few exchanged words in languages neither of us understood, we parted ways understanding that the contract was broken, and we were once more on our own. He surged ahead briefly, before falling back, and didn’t reappear.
The Clapham Chaser
The kilometer markers were flying by and I was still feeling very comfortable. Breathing was getting a little heavier, but there were no signs of tiring, so I was happy with my progress. At the 20km mark I was still around 40 seconds behind target, but didn’t want to do anything about it, as I figured that running comfortably at this stage was more important than hitting splits. The number of runners had very much thinned out but as I approached the half-way point (1:17:59), I caught a british runner and the two of us exchanged a few words of encouragement. Again, the unwritten contract, as we paired up, and took turns in the lead forging our way from group to group. We weren’t alone, as another couple of runners had latched on to us, but neither of them would take their turn. It didn’t really matter as myself and the other runner took our required turns, exchanging the lead. There wasn’t much wind, so I reckon the benefit was largely psychological, but it worked like a charm and together we forged our way from group to group. I’d generally make the final surge to close the next group and settle in for a quick breather, but as soon as I would, the Clapham Chaser would forge ahead and I had little choice but to break away in hot pursuit. It pushed me outside of my general strategy, but the benefit far outweighed the cost, so I stuck with it. At 25km, I was 30 seconds down on plan, but was largely ignorant of the fact as I focussed on the running and little else. The watch was showing an average pace of 5:52/mile and now that the roads were straighter, I knew I could keep an eye on the average pace and it would tell me if I was slowing up. Occasionally, I’d catch a mile split, and they were generally in the 5:48 - 5:55 region, so pretty much on the right target pace.
Still myself and the Clapham Chaser exchanged the lead, and took turns closing on each pack of runners in turn and still we had one chaser, in the form of a smaller Polish guy called Thomas, who wouldn’t take his turn. I took a second gel, again as a preventative measure, as I was still feeling good. Some fantastic long straights back towards the city, meant that we made some really solid progress and by the 30k marker, I was just 27 seconds off my planned split. The 30km marker also meant it was time to look out for my next drink, and I spotted it just as I neared the end of the nutrition tables, surrounded by other bottles. I had to slow to a stop in order to avoid knocking over all of the other bottles, but it was worth it so I could enjoy some more of the inky goodness.
I was well happy to arrive at the 32km mark, as I was still feeling good and knew that second by second, my chances of a successful race were improving.
Breaking up the band
The benefits of grabbing and holding onto a bottle were that I didn’t have to slow at the water stations to try and make the most of the meagre half-filled cups, but it also meant that I had a constant source of water/nutrition and looking out for the kilometer markers to take a sip, kept my mind occupied and forced some discipline. At some point we went passed a water station where the other runners had to slow to take a drink, and that was the last time I saw the Peckham Chaser. It was Take That and Boyzone all over again, as we each went our separate ways to chase our own dreams.
The reluctant Pole
Now there was just me and Polish Thomas, who wouldn’t take his turn. We arrived back into the city, and I recognized the shopping centre that resided behind the finish line. We were within touching distance of the finish, but still, frustratingly, had another 5-6kms to go. I was finding it pretty tough, and having Polish Thomas sitting on my shoulder taking advantage was beginning to really piss me off. I knew his name, as along with my own, it had been shouted many times over the last few miles. If you looked at the later videos, you’d be forgiven for thinking that there were just two of us in the race, and my role was to pace Polish Thomas around the streets of Frankfurt. Eventually, the exasperation grew and I turned to him and shouted ‘Cmon Thomas, it’s time to take your f*****ing turn’. His English wasn’t great, but eventually he got the message and pushed slightly ahead. He didn’t last very long, blurting out what I took for an apology, as he once more fell back and dropped in behind me.
The bit before the end
I was pretty oblivious to the fact, but at the 40km marker, I was just 31 seconds off my target. This stretch included a cobbled street that we’d previously navigated, just 5km into the race (and where Emer and I had enjoyed a bowl of soup the previous day). The cobbles that had passed in a fleeting moment earlier in the race were now a painful experience, as the uneven surface caused ripples of pain that shook the body, but that 40km marker was all I needed. I finally knew with some certainty that I was on for a good finishing time, and the risks of fecking it all up were pretty slim. I started to pick up the pace. Gradually Thomas fell away, as I closed on a runner in a blue singlet ahead. I passed him and once again, there was no-one left to chase. I had a clear avenue ahead of me.
The end bit
The watch beeped for the 26th mile - 5:35 - fastest split of the day.. I checked the elapsed time on the watch. 2:32:41. I had a little over two minutes to hit my goal, but the remaining distance was an unknown quantity. I could see the start line ahead, but knew I had to run under it, take a left turn, then a right, then into the indoor arena, and had to run to the other end of the hall. I picked up the pace as much as I dared, chest burning. I was on my own and everyone was cheering me on, but I was completely oblivious, as all I could think of was getting under 2:35. Passed under the start line, swung a left. ...so far…only seconds left… Took a right turn…. Darkness...Flashing lights… I didn’t notice the hundreds of cheering spectators. I didn’t notice the four scantily clad girls with pompoms. I didn’t notice Coldplay’s ‘If I could rule the world’ blearing out of the stadium’s heaving speakers, all I saw was the finish line and the seconds ticking down on my watch. Run, fu***ng run…. Across the finish line stop the watch...Dizzy.. Nauseous...Look down… 2:35:03… 13 seconds off of my goal. A fleeting moment of disappointment, before the elation kicks in… Absolutely delighted.. Also a massive sense of relief. I wasn't sure that I was the kind of runner who could run a 2:35 marathon. Now I know. Limped outside, happy as f***k. Finally found a toilet. Even happier!
Summary: 26.2 miles in 2:35:03, @5:55/mile1 -
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An enjoyable read as always. I like reading about the racing aspect of it particularly, and what goes on in a marathon that high up the field. Delighted you managed to beat your buddy Thomas. Well done again on a great run. Low 2:35 is serious running.
When you get a chance would you mind posting up your marathon by marathon progression? Am interested to see it but don't fancy reading through thousands of posts to find out.0 -
Chivito550 wrote: »An enjoyable read as always. I like reading about the racing aspect of it particularly, and what goes on in a marathon that high up the field. Delighted you managed to beat your buddy Thomas. Well done again on a great run. Low 2:35 is serious running.
When you get a chance would you mind posting up your marathon by marathon progression? Am interested to see it but don't fancy reading through thousands of posts to find out.
http://www.boards.ie/vbulletin/showpost.php?p=92277706&postcount=25
there ya go. I read Boards too much:rolleyes:0 -
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