My Marathon Part One
So, I did it!
I started writing up this full account, the day after I ran the 2022 Brighton Marathon.
I'm 56, two stone overweight and hated cross country running at school, and yesterday I ran the 2022 Brighton Marathon in 6 hours and nine minutes.
It’s the day after and the stiff bits are a little less stiff and the sore bits are less sore.
My mind's a bit slow and foggy as it recovers, but I’ve the dull satisfaction of achievement.
It feels very nice and I question where that nice feeling is coming from, then I remember yesterday and go arrrrrrr it’s over. There is also now an empty space in my life that was filled with preparation, anxiety and excitement.
Prep:
I feel in my own way I’ve done it the sensible way. My running has built up over the years and my significant preparation was for the 2020 Brighton marathon, where I’d run the distance in North London. There was no expectation then. No exposure to public scrutiny. Nothing to lose, only a significant milestone in preparation before the actual marathon that was cancelled due to covid.
What was new was the location and the whole hubbub of the organised event.
I’d also grown two years older and running aged 54 (early fifties) and 56 (late stage of early fifties) offers new concern. I’ve had covid last Sept. and I’d put on weight.
All of which added to my fears. Had I run down, in the run up to my run?
On the other hand I’d done the distance. I knew how to prepare my kit (see Twang Test) and I’d had my heart checked out. So all in all I felt ready ....ish!
Don't panic! 24hrs to go!
My fears played out the day before. I was distant and withdrawn into my shell. Fortunately I had Fliss to handle the .... everything.
She was concerned too. We had a little snappy moment, detail irrelevant, it was just about fears being expressed, thank you four year of therapy training (plug for my private therapy practice... thecounsellorforyou.co.uk .
Bond Skyfall:
We were staying in Worthing because Brighton had sold out. An old hotel on the seafront. Three stars going on two. The relaxing bath was marred by the mixer tap not turning off. The Receptionist said “that happens all the time. I’ll fix it, there’s a knack”. I think there were lots of 'knacks' required at that hotel.
We had the traditional pre-marathon pasta meal which was very nice and then went back to the room to watch telly. Skyfall the James Bond film was on. A nice diverting action film, but as the plot unfolded it’s basically about someone too old and not quite up to it any more doing something dangerous. Way too close to home for me so feeling slightly shaken and stirred it was an early, restless night contemplating death, life changing injury, and humiliation all peppered with the vague possibility of success.Taxi:
Morning :)
On waking I noticed the fear had gone and only excitement remained.
My Twang-tested familiar kit was laid out ready. Any potentially sore bits were lubed. A pot noodle style tub of porridge was consumed and it was off the station.
Train cancelled! A signalman had called in sick at Littlehampton and the Southern rail network crumbled. Apparently they didn’t have a spare!
Runners started to gather at the station, all looking concerned and not for the well-being of the signalman.
The local taxi companies were manned by answerphones. “You are held in a queue!” Yes we are actually in a queue!
We chatted to a French mother and son. He was running today and she was over from Paris to offer him some extra va va voom. He’s also got an app, and it’s one of those millennial apps that they don’t tell us oldies about! A sort of Uber but not Uber. We share a cab. Panic over and due to some very old fashioned values of chatting to strangers and getting up early!
The field good factor
It was a beautiful morning and the buzz in the air was energising. It was like a huge outdoor party but where the only activity, and the activity of choice was queueing for the toilets. We queued for the loos when we arrived in the lower field. Then, made our way to the upper field and queued for the loos again. Nerves! There were many portaloos and everything was well organised.
Finally I was called to my coral and then we walked to the start. I think every runner had an inner teacher shouting 'Walk Don't Run!" in their head!
The timer is activated by a chip on the race number, passing a sensor on the starting line. Ten metres from the start and there’s just time for a quick pee.
...And wee're off
My big fear at the start was to be lifted by the atmosphere, and set off at a faster pace than I'm used to, only to suffer later on.
In preparation, I'd visualised the start as streams of runners overtaking me. This didn't happen. I realised that my pace was a little faster than most and the first couple of miles I gently worked my way through the groups of runners chatting away.
Having never run in a group before, well not since long distance running at school and let's face it, that was only when the playing fields were too wet to play football or rugby. I have my natural pace. I've now discovered that my natural pace is that of a fit younger man.... dressed as a Gruffalo who regularly stops off to collect money from the crowd. Many times throughout the run, the crowds would go wild in my direction until I realised that the Gruffalo was just behind.
Town centre
There was a lot of noise from the constant cheering of the crowds. In fairness it was a sunny day and their whole town was closed off so what else could they do?
Quickly I noticed different types of cheerer:
The not too loud 'well done' as if someone had made a run in cricket. I liked them, they got it. It's about doing something for charity. It’s not! Let me be honest, it’s about my personal challenge, fighting off old age and showing the world I’ve still got vitality. The charity aspect is a welcome catalyst and socially acceptable wrapper. It's a win win situation for all and a good example of adapted narcissism and I own it! Judge me after you’ve donated please.
Back to the crowds....
Then there was the 'go on'. This seemed a little pessimistic given that it was the first few miles of the event. They were very much preaching to the converted that we were going on! Where else should we go if not ‘on’? I considered going sideways but going ‘on’ was really the only option.
The next group of cheerers were either PE teachers or personal trainers. They wanted to let me know I could ‘do this’, and that I've ‘got this’ and I should ‘dig deep’. I repressed the urge to challenge their power by enquiring why, with all their expertise and motivational skill, they weren't running today? I imagine they had a pilates class booked later or they were a bit wiped after an intense hot yoga session. There, I’ve revealed my resistance to positivity. Ironic as I’ve an intense interest in positive psychology. I think I simply didn’t experience much positiverty when I was at school. If this had been a school run there would be half the school shouting abuse to chivy on the runners. ‘Come on you fat w*&%er!’ and that would be the teaching staff!
Next we have the wuppperes, cheerers and the ‘make a noise any noise’ brigade. if you can't shout then find something noisy to bash and let off some steam. I liked them. There’s something honest about just connecting with your inner child and going ballistically happy.
Finally there are the good old nutters. Tut tut mr therapist using politically incorrect terminology. Would you prefer a T.A. Critical Parent ego state ‘acting out’ or a C.B.T. ‘automatic thoughts and action’. How about an integrative style ‘unregulated response’? In the words of the Far Side cartoon “Just plain nuts”. I actually welcome their participation. I struggle to think of an event or activity where anyone can express themselves without shame or blame on an equal footing. I wonder what the long term outcome of participation and inclusion would be for those out of control.
Cheer on my nutty friends, at least you're not mad enough to run 26.22 miles!
I wasn’t expecting bands! I counted two samba bands/ US marching bands (I can’t tell the difference when they’re not marching) , a rather good rhythm and blues / skiffle band, and a couple of rock combos, presumably Brighton Rock combo! Boom Tish!. Oh and not forgetting the Sally Army who looked as if they were originally members from the 1890’s and were puffing and blowing more than the runners.
Generally the town was full of happy people who had turned out to take part and support an event that offered a huge disruption to Brighton. Thank you.
There were lots of children, who seemed captivated by the runners. I was hoping one or two would say ‘Are they there yet?’ Many had cardboard signs with a target on them saying ‘slap to power up’. A couple of slaps later I realised I was supposed to hit the cardboard! It was a fairly covid secure way to physically interact. Well done mum. I wonder what the effect of annually seeing the runners would be on a child. What seeds of ideas about fitness and activity have been planted?
I never saw anyone running in my childhood. Perhaps if I had, I would have run throughout my life. When I was seventeen I took part in the Woodchurch Marathon. It was a five K fun run as part of the since defunct Woodchurch Carnival. Then I stopped. Why? Then the Woodchurch Carnival stopped. Why?
By the way if you watch the video I constantly say ‘this is the furthest point north/south/ East etc.’ It’s fair to say that each of these statements are based on optimism more than geography! Every time I made a statement we turned a corner and went further away than expected.
It’s also worth noting that there are some significant hills on the course. For once I felt in my comfort zone, as Ally Pally and Highgate had prepared me well.
The long climb to Ovendeen
There’s one type of hill I hate, and that’s the long slow incline. It eats at my soul!
As we reached the seafront we turned East and saw the white cliffs of Rottingdean in the distance. I thought to myself we’ll be under those cliffs on some coastal path but no.
It was mile after mile of slow incline.
As we ran up, on the other side of the road were the faster runners coming back.
Since the start I had been following two red balloons. These were the 5hr 30min pacer balloons. Other balloons approached up on the other side. First was the 3hr 30min.
Click click, my brain calculated that they started way before us in a different coral and if they were here it means we’ve a long way to go East before we come back!
A great way of coping with hills is to look down and focus on each step. Presence and awareness. Looking into the distance invites many thoughts based on a narrative of fear. ‘I’ll never be able to do this’ ‘If this is what it’s like at mile five what’s mile twenty five going to be like’ ‘you’re too old, fat, unfit, to be doing this’ you get the idea. The physical discomfort of the struggle leads to angry/frustrated thoughts which are basically a need to change, like a baby crying when it needs its nappy changing. This anger works its way up into our cognitive brain and we create a narrative based on anger, hence the inner critic like the drill instructor shouting Mayo-naise in Officer and a Gentleman. Fear is just the warning system turned up too loud. Fear says ‘You can’t.... You shouldn’t....’ and our brains create justifications to support fear’s position ‘You can’t because..... You shouldn’t because....’ Anger is there to fill in the blanks like a heckler at a comedy night.
So what’s the answer?
Well not running a marathon is a pretty good one! But extending the argument for ‘don’t do it’ means not doing lots of stuff and eventually, unchecked, it means doing nothing and ceasing to exist. Somewhere along that progression is depression and despair.
The presence of the ‘here and now’ rejects the inner critic. It accepts the reality of the discomfort and explores it with curiosity. Like the Balck Knight in Spamalot, ‘Tis but a scratch!’ Ok, it’s more than just a scratch, but the future consequences of having a limbs severed is denied and the fight/ goal can continue.
Img https://www.changespell.com/wordplay/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/butascratch.jpg
An alternative to presence is distraction. I got out my headphones and played my regular jogging playlist. Unfortunately my only equipment fail was the left speaker in my headphones. Using just the right one was strangely effective as the reality of the run merged with the music.
By the way:
Any idea that going up hills is somehow balanced by the pleasure of going down is nonsense. Going down is faster but not fast enough for any sense of thrill like you get going down a hill on a bicycle. Because it’s faster you experience any benefits for less time than going up. I’ve a very old fear of falling while running stemming from tripping on Aberystwyth seafront when running in flip flops when I was six or seven. It’s a disassociate memory i.e. I don’t know what I was doing before or after. The memory is triggered every time I sprint. As I type I can feel my toes curling up. It’s almost, but not quite P.T.S.D. The reason it’s not, is that I’m still present when I’m remembering it and not ‘back there’. The other reason is that a diagnosis has to be made by someone who is qualified to diagnose, and I’m not. Google, Facebook and some bloke down the pub cannot diagnose, thankfully! The question to ask is: why do we all seek these diagnostic labels???
Anyway, that's why I’m a jogger, not a runner.
Enough psychobabble!
Bits falling off.
I noticed a lot of equipment had fallen off people. Straps, gloves, clothes, hats and water bottles. You name it, I saw it except for body parts. Perhaps in the future the gear will become so high tech that it will discard the runner and carry on running by itself! Think Robocop without the cop! Which is basically Terminator. Imagine the conversations: “What are you doing today?” “I’m off to support my trainers who are doing a five K, and my water bottles hoping for a P.B. in the London Marathon!” As ridiculous as driverless cars racing in F1, hmmm.
Had these people not tested their equipment in training? Were they just shedding weight regardless of the cost! Anyone who pays the prices that running shops charge for this stuff surely doesn’t discard it lightly? I’m proud that for over a decade my gear was mostly from charity shops. I didn’t follow brands, I thought Under Armour was a football team. Little did I know that all I had to do was go and watch a marathon and top quality gear would be strewn over the course ready for collection.
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