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London 2015
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TRR_the_turd wrote: »come on neilc you bastard. Fill your time in! Will be first time ever one of these tables is completed. He was under his target time too so no excuses
Ha ha, some of us have to work ya know!!0 -
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London Race Report
Okay this is probably going to be a bit long winded but I think a bit of background is needed.
After a complete nightmare running London last year when GFA entries opened up again last June I couldn't resist entering to see could I banish some pretty big demons. Even though the 3:28:00 finish time was respectable enough the way it came about was not, went out like a lunatic and then got punished with a 14 mile death march!!
Roll on then to DCM14 where I had a decent training cycle and a much better performance with a 3:14:25 finish I still faded badly in the last 10k and picked up an calf injury for my troubles.
A frustrating winter followed where I’d run once or twice a week to test the injury, make it worse and then repeat the cycle the following week! On holidays in January I pigheadedly ran everyday and by the end of the week thought I’d messed it up enough to expect a long stretch of the road. So I decided to give Ecoli a shout, unbelievably he had me back running within a couple of days and after some followup texts agreed to give me a bit of coaching.
Considering the previous few months running and the time left to London both of us agreed that we’d use the London block as a base building phase, enjoy the day as much as possible and kick on from there. So training proper for London started on 9th Feb with a three mile nursing home special (sorry tbl) Over the following weeks I have to say was my most enjoyable spell of training yet, I came to really look forward to the weekly schedule updates to see what’d be in store for the next week. The sessions were varied and interesting and thankfully I hit every target Ecoli threw at me.
Race
Miles 1-5
I arrived out at the green start in plenty of time on the morning and have to say it was just as good as the red GFA start from the year before. They really know how to take care of the runners over there. After a bit of celeb spotting before I knew it we were off. The instructions from Ecoli was to go out easy and aim to be hitting mile 5 at 37:30. This was tough when it seems like the whole field is haring past you. Still I kept as close as possible to the plan and any time I seemed to speed up I’d apply the brakes.
7:26, 7:22, 7:16, 7:23, 7:23
Miles 6-13
I’m not exactly sure when but sometime around here I spotted a Tallaght singlet up in the distance and thought it might be davedanon as I knew he was on the green start too. Over the next few miles I gradually caught up and introduced myself, and indeed it was davedanon. Dave looked very comfortable and in total control. We chatted for a few minutes but gradually I found myself drifting on. Before long I passed the 12 mile marker and was on to Tower Bridge, I felt great which was a big boost for my confidence because at this stage last year I knew I was goosed. First Half 1:36:17.
7:08, 7:14, 7:14, 7:16, 7:16, 7:18, 7:19, 7:13
Miles 14-20
This was my favourite part of the race. Just before turning off the dual carriageway at mile 14 the leaders came flying by, it’s an amazing spectacle to see. From here it was into the Isle of Dogs proper, the first bit is kind of narrow streets and the support is savage. It’s hard to describe the next few miles, the memories of last years agony here were starting come come flooding back but I was still feeling good. For the first time I was starting to win the mind games with myself. I remembered Ecoli telling me to look back over the training log to remind myself how well training went. My confidence soared. The miles kept ticking by and I continued to feel strong. Towards the end of this bit I found myself speeding up and posted my fastest mile of the race at 6:55.
7:13, 7:16, 7:13, 7:13, 7:22, 7:24, 6:55
Miles 21-26.2
Because of the short training cycle I always worried about my endurance and knew this would obviously be the toughest bit of the race. The pace was still good though and mile 21 was my second fastest. Over the next couple of miles I started to get notions of PB’s and stuff but I couldn’t get my brain to work out what was required. But by now it was starting to get a lot tougher to maintain pace. I put my head down and just kept plugging away. The feeling of coming up onto the embankment and knowing the finish wasn't too far away was amazing. At this stage last year I was walking and in bits!! Around by Big Ben and onto Birdcage walk, crowds were savage, goosebumps everywhere. Up the Mall and over the line. Pure elation at my best marathon to date. Second Half 1:35:51. My first Negative Split!!
7:08, 7:16, 7:17, 7:20, 7:26, 7:18 (last bit 7:18 pace)
Garmin
Sorry for bad grammar, spellings etc...0 -
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LONDON MARATHON RACE REPORT
A little background from me too...
This was my first London marathon, and I was hopeful, and fearful, in equal measures, as to how it would go. My training had gone really well since the first week in January, and apart from some discomfort as a rib injury cleared up, and a week on antibiotics for an ear infection, nothing had interrupted the programme to any great degree. At least until ten days beforehand, when it became apparent that my ear problem hadn't gone away, and a further doctor's visit became necessary. It transpired that I had A) a middle-ear infection, and
a perforated eardrum. The latter condition turned out to be a blessing in disguise, however, as it meant that the ear could drain naturally without a painful build-up of pressure which would be exacerbated by for instance an hour-long flight in an airplane. So the doc prescribed more antibiotics but told me I could postpone the course until after London. Chocks away!
Preparing for a marathon abroad is quite disconcerting, in many ways. I found myself checking and double-checking my running stuff, as to forget some vital item would have thrown me into a total tailspin. My 'ordinary' clothes I just threw into the case, but I packed two pairs of running socks, two pairs of shorts and an assortment of hats, tops and even gloves. Just in case. I also had a lengthy check-list of other essentials - asthma meds, anti-histamine, nasal spray, vaseline, phone/garmin chargers, plugs etc etc. When we eventually got to the Strand Palace, having negotiated car-parking, check-in, flight, discovered that the two Daves and Shane plus wives were all on the same flight, got taxis to the Excel, procured race packs and (just about) got on all the right trains (how many times has TRR done this race again?) it had been a long day already, but everything seemed to be in order. We were all in place and nothing had been left behind. Meno had even been waiting in the lobby for us, and after getting our rooms and dropping luggage, we reconvened in a local Wagamamas for lunch. It was wine and beer for the girls and soft drinks for the boys, but the food was delicious, and there were forks for the chopstickally-challenged, such as myself. We strolled back to the hotel, and myself and meno agreed to meet at 5pm for a short jog. I was stiff as a board after all the travelling, and those Cityjet seats are bloody narrow. The other two weren't interested, which surprised me, but each to his own. I was doubly grateful for the run, however, as I realised that my Garmin, far from being fully-charged, was in fact fully-dead. We chugged around the last two miles of the course, dodging the hordes of pedestrians clogging the streets, and I noted gratefully the proximity of the hotel to the finish area. After that, we had dinner and myself and meno even had a beer after in the infamous Coal Hole. Just the one mind! Day 1 over. We retired to our beds and attempted at least to rest, if sleep was out of the question. It was fitful, in my case, but I stayed in the scratcher until 6.20am, when I could stand it no longer. It was Day 2: RACE DAY.
I had one problem. All my careful perusal of the race literature had failed to yield an answer to the question of how I got from the hotel to Cannon St., and also whether said Cannon St. was a tube or train station. I knew that I had to get to Maze Hill train station, and I knew that I got there from Cannon St. I thought that if I went downstairs nice and early, I would surely find someone who could tell me. So I got dressed and went down to the breakfast room, where meno and TRR were both having the full English. Well, maybe not, but they were both consuming alarming amounts of food to my mind. I had booked, then cancelled, breakfast, and bought two pots of instant porridge down the road. But I wasn't going to have them, not with the amount of snacking I had been doing the previous night. That's another thing about marathons abroad. Your hotel room becomes full of crisps, sweets, chocolate and cereal bars. Breakfast in the end was a banana and a peanut-butter cereal bar that I got in Raheny the week before. Anyway, I met Robinph for the first time, and learned what I needed to know. At 8am we left the hotel, got the porter to take our (me, meno, TRR and Shane) picture, and then we strolled down towards Charing Cross station. They were on the Red start, while I was Green, so they went into Charing Cross, and I cut down a side-street to Embankment, from where I got a tube to Cannon St., and then a train to Maze Hill. There were loads of runners, of course, and it was just a matter of following the crowd. On the way up to the start, and I was somehow surprised to find that Maze Hill was actually a hill, I got chatting to a nice woman from Cardiff called Eleanor, I think, and together we arrived at our destination, a big field full of runners, tents and surrounded by crash-barriers. I then lost her in the crowd, but she was in my pen at the start, so I was able to wish her good luck. The weather was a bit miserable for standing around, cool, and threatening rain (but perfect for marathoning, of course) so I stopped and pondered my options. To my right I could see the baggage trucks, and the public address was telling us that our bags had to be on those trucks by 9.40am, when they would be leaving for the finish area several miles away in central London. I checked my, now fully-charged, Garmin. 9.05am - To my left was a series of lengthy queues for the portaloos. So much for TRR telling us we wouldn't have to queue up! But then, it was TRR who wanted to leave early in the first place, so I forgave him straight away. I was beginning the feel the first stirrings of, er, intestinal distress, although I had already done my ablutions earlier. All that post-dinner chocolate! I also needed a wee, so the decision was a no-brainer. I queued up for the loos, and incidentally let me congratulate the order-loving English for the way they organised the portaloos. Not like Dublin, where it's divil take the hindmost. Each queue had its own bank of portaloos, and I have to say that's the way I prefer it. That done, I went into one of the changing tents to get out of the cold, and organise my gel-belt, switch spectacles, apply vaseline etc. I had my singlet, a disposable top, and a foil blanket. Bloody useless, those things, although someone could make a fortune by putting armholes in them and actually making it possible to wrap one around oneself. I tore it trying to make armholes, then made do with what was left. I had dropped my bag on the truck by this time, and looked around to try and orientate myself. All the crash barriers had been a confusing jumble at first, but little by little I noticed stuff, like numbered sections, and then I remembered that my number had a pen number on it, which turned out to be 3, so I was not far back from the start, which I realised had to be that inflatable gantry over there to my left, didn't it? Now I saw my pen, and decided I should really do some sort of warm-up before the race, so I spent 10 mins stretching and doing little jogs up and down. At 9.45am approximately, I entered the start pen and began the mental countdown. After a few minutes I had a good idea, and decided to test the Garmin, figuring that 38,000 people all logging on at the same time might tax the satellites' capacity. Just as well! 5 minutes later I was anxiously watching the progress bar as it advanced, then retreated, advanced, then retreated again. And then all of a sudden, bingo! Mr. Garmin was ready to go, but there were still 15 minutes to the start, and I was afraid to turn it off in case I couldn't get it back on again, so I spent the next quarter of an hour checking it repeatedly to make sure it didn't go into power-saving mode and then switch itself off. I must have been distracted however (maybe by all the 'celebrities', haha) because when the 10 second countdown began, I glanced down, and - disaster - the Garmin said 10.09am, not 0:00:00 as it should. Frantically I stabbed at the buttons, as we began to move toward the starting mats, and just as I pass under the start gantry the watch finds the sat link, and I push the START button. I take this as a good omen, and my London marathon is underway.
Apologies for the lengthy preamble. The actual race report shouldn't be as bad.
Miles 1-5
My target time is
.15, so it's 7.26 per mile, and I can see that I'm going to be slower than this until the crowd thins out a bit. We're streaming through leafy suburbia, and all I'm thinking about is not getting clipped by anyone. Mile 1 and it's a bit slow at 7.45, but not too bad. Mile 2 is better at 7.22, but 6.42 for the third wasn't on the agenda at all. In truth I only notice this afterwards, along with the downhill section that caused it. I mention it only to illustrate the amount of information that we, or at least I, fail to take in while running. I didn't notice the speed, or the hill, and later on I would even be unable to spot some of the mile markers. Weird, because most of them are full archways and there's also a race-clock. I try to rein it in a bit, because races can be blown in the first few miles, but even so miles 4 and 5 are quick enough. I've reeled in the 3.15 pacer and put him behind me, which is exactly where I want him.
7.45, 7.22, 6.42, 7.02, 7.12
Miles 6-13
London is enormous, but it strikes me as we run though its outer environs that it's essentially a collection of urban villages, much like Dublin. I can't recall much of the surroundings, but a lot of the time we're running down a series of High streets. One of the reasons for the lack of detail taken in is the crowds. Have I mentioned the crowds? God, they are amazing. They've come out in their thousands, and street after street is lined with cheering, whooping people, lined up 3,4 and 5 deep. We're vaguely following the course of the river, without ever actually catching sight of it, but all that's about to change. My pace is still well ahead of schedule, despite, or maybe because of, the second pacer. The Blue Start 3.15 pacer, that is. We merged with the Blue lot a few miles after the start, and this dude is quick. Too quick, I think, but I chase him down, in a measured fashion, anyway and put him behind me too. That's not the last I'll see of him though. But for now, the first big showpiece of the race is approaching. Cutty Sark is amazing, crowds thronging both sides of the road as we loop around the famous old ship, and it's very hard to resist a few roars and fist-pumps, and many can't. I keep the head down though, and so far I've confined myself to a few not-very-high high-fives with kids along the way. Onwards, and now the river is approaching in the shape of the Tower Bridge section. My pace is still quick, but I'm comfortable. Running economy seemed a little off at first, and I blame humidity, despite the low temperatures. I hate humidity. Underneath though I'm strong. All those long tempos and MP runs have done their work. Tower Bridge is exhilarating, and the halfway point is approaching. Although I am utterly unable to see it at the time (yet I had no problem on the way back), I pass the 13.1 mile mark in 1.36 and change. Very quick, yes, but I'm feeling good so far.
7.08, 7.08, 7.17, 7.16, 7.18, 7.22, 7.23, 7.11
Miles 14-20
This is the toughest section of any marathon, for me. You get to halfway feeling good, and the temptation is to relax a bit, even to imagine you've the back of the thing broken. Not a bit of it. 15 miles in, there's still 11 to go, you're tiring, and the glycogen is being steadily depleted. You still have an awful lot of running ahead. A word on my fuelling strategy. I started off with a 250ml squeezy kids juice bottle filled with High5 2:1. I've been taking a mouthful every mile since the start, and it lasts me until about halfway. Soon after that I take the first gel (of five), and most succeeding miles I either have a gulp of water or a gel. As Neil has said, he came up and introduced himself at some point. I knew the background to his race, but despite his predictions I fancied he wouldn't be with me for long. I was soon proved right, and he disappeared into the distance, with me resisting the temptation to let him drag me along to a better time. It could mean disaster. And now for my friend, the Blue Route pacer. He has re-appeared and is setting a hot pace. My Garmin is set to Average, and I go up to ask if he knows he's fast. He's from Norn Iron, as it happens, and he reckons he's a minute up. I say my Garmin is reading an average of 7.13, which equates to rather more than a minute, but I leave him to it, and ponder my options. I'm confused, because in the kerfuffle of the start I failed to note the elapsed time on the race clock. Was it 10 seconds, or more than a minute? I have no idea. The second problem is that the Garmin is wildly out of sync with the official mile-markers. Most of the time I fail to note my pace, because when I see a mile marker up ahead and check the watch the mile has already ticked over. Regardless, I have to make a decision. Do I go with this guy, or let him go, and trust my own watch/instincts? Historically I don't do well with pacers. Their appearance is usually the death-knell for me, which is why I try to keep them behind me. **** it, he's too fast, let him go (at the end I see him again, and he says he finished in 3:14:01) This section culminates with Canary Wharf, and although some have warned that it's 'isolated' I think there's still plenty of support around. I'm maintaining my speed ok, although the Average Pace is starting to tick upward. 7:14. 7:15. Now the mind-games are starting. I'm finding it harder to concentrate. I forbid myself to contemplate any part of the course further than a few feet in front of me. I tell myself to stare at the ground and not lift my head for another mile, or two. Or three. There's a point in most marathons where, depending on your knowledge of the course, you know you're going to make it. A point after which the mental struggle to keep going lessens a little. In Dublin, it's arguably Foster Ave. In Derry, it was the foot of Mahan St. For London, a city I was completely unfamiliar with, I reckoned that once I reached the Embankment, then nothing bar a natural disaster would prevent me finishing. But first I had to get there, and that was proving tough.
7.07, 7.00, 7.23, 7.25, 7.29, 7.07, 7.30
Miles 20-26.2
This is the tough part of the tough part. You've reached 20 miles, it's a significant milestone, and yet, a full 10k still stretches in front of you. We approach the point on the course, roughly 14m and 21m, where the runners stream past each other in opposite directions. It's my turn to be on the 'faster' side, and as I wondered at the speed of runners who had 21 miles done to my 14, so I'm sure some of the slightly slower-moving stream of people on the other side marvelled/despaired at the speed of us. I wasn't feeling that at the time though. There was lead in my shoes. I was telling myself anything, as long as it kept me putting one foot in front of the other. By now the Average Pace was about 7.18, and things were getting too close for comfort. I had seen the odd 7.30-plus mile pop up on the Garmin, and I was genuinely concerned that my target was slipping out of reach. There was one cheering thing though. The other 3.15 pacer, my Green Start pacer. Where was he? He hadn't appeared. That could only be good, couldn't it? As long as he didn't come along, I was still in the game. Now I knew my goal was just beginning to hove into view. Miles 20-23 are all in the 7.30s. I'm losing the time I put in the bank earlier on. Once I get to Mile 24 though, I know I'll be ok. The 24 Mile Clock is possibly the clearest in my mind of the whole race, despite the fact that it was possibly harder to spot than any other on the entire route. In Derry where I got my then-current pb (and qualified for London in fact) I remember I reached Mile 24 in exactly 3 hours on the Garmin. I fix on this fact. This will pinpoint things for me. The 24 mile clock is obscured, by people, something, until I'm nearly on top of it, but it reads 2.50.........something. Then it's gone. 2.55? Hardly. 2.58? Still, it's under 3 hours. That cheers me, until I remember that I ran 3:17 in Derry. I'm trying to run 3:15 here, you bloody idiot. Now I'm hopelessly confused. Just keep running, Dave. Anyway, here's the Embankment. It's the endgame. Just keep running. Oh no. Oh noooooooo. It's the f***ing PACER. Surrounded by hordes of his bloody minions who are going to swallow me up, gobble me up and spit me out the back, like they bloody always do. Speed up, Dave. Speed up. WHAT? Are you insane? Speed up? I can't speed up. Speed up, Dave. Put them behind you. Why? What if I just run with him. Then I can outsprint him to the line. Can you do that? Yes. Yes I can. Ok then. So that's what I do. I stay with my pacer, my nemesis, this one time. We pass the 25 mile marker, the 40k marker. We sweep around with Big Ben looming over us. I've run this. I KNOW this. Up ahead there's a park on my right. Then we turn right, and Bucks palace is on our left. Keep going. Around by Queenie's house, and I'm wondering where Bernie is. I hadn't heard or seen her anywhere. Now, all of a sudden, I see the finish line. It's right in front of me. I can see the big clock. It says 3:14, but the second counter is too fast. It's whizzing up towards 60. I have to get across that line before 15 comes up. I expend whatever energy is left inside of me. I imagine I'm sprinting flat-out, but I probably resemble a zombie. Not a running zombie. The other kind. As I reach the line, the clock reads 3:15:00. I know, I think I know, that I've made it. I cross the line with both hands in the air. Comically, I find out my time from my sister back in Bray, via text message, after I recover my bag and check my phone. The numbers are tiny on the screen, but they seem to read...
3:14:18.
My first London marathon is over. It won't be my last.
7.39, 7.34, 7.37, 7.24, 7.18, 7.45, 7.03*
*(pace for last bit, actual time 3.48, Garmin distance 26.54)0 -
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TRR_the_turd wrote: »come on neilc you bastard. Fill your time in! Will be first time ever one of these tables is completed. He was under his target time too so no excuses
We had a 100% record of filling in the results table for the first time, but we are still waiting for a few reports.
rom, RobinPH, Abhainn etc, we are waiting!!!0 -
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Would also explain his use of the balloon clapper for the last few miles. He did look like he was having a lot of fun when I was talking to him.
Hey ROM,
Great run, and good to meet you out there. Fair to say that I enjoyed this years London experience. Apologies if my antics were a little distracting....a fella just got caught up in the atmosphere of the whole thing !
The pint along the way probably helped lift my spirits. A little embarrassed afterwards to have fullfilled the national stereotype on twitter.
#irishpitstops
See you around.0
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