It all began in 1179 when King Henry II conferred on the good people of Preston the right to hold a Guild celebration. This took place every 20 years. Little happened for another 800 years or so, and they the good people of Preston enjoyed a further boon when I was born. Little happened again until the third player in this unlikely trinity stepped up and the EU named Preston a city of sport 2012, the city rose to the challenge by scheduling the inaugural Guild Marathon (2012 was also a guild year) to be run once every 20 years. When the EU, King Henry II and I get it together the results can only be good.
I was talked into it by my friend Julie, she was a recent convert to Marathon running taking the novel approach of training lightly, and entering at the last minute to avoid getting stressed by this. She was running with her friend Sharon who was attempting to run five marathons in five weeks to raise money in the memory of her mother.
To Sharon's glamorous list of Amsterdam, Liverpool, Chicago and Berlin was added Preston, as a finale no less. To be honest I didn't take much persuasion to get involved a hometown marathon that wouldn't come around again for 20 years seemed the kind of opportunity not to miss. I was in.
This was in March, in April I ran my local 10k in a then pb (46 something) and the next day went and ran for 13 miles to see if I could do it. I survived so the official entry went in. I had six months to prepare. By this point I had been running 2 or 3 times a week for a year or so, and had in the more distant past run a couple of half marathons so I had a base to work from.
Looking to draw on the accumulated wisdom of others rather than think for myself, I read a decent amount about how to train for and run a marathon. The thing that struck me most was "four months to a four hour marathon" this was the first thing I read and it gave me the basic building blocks of having a long run, a tempo run, some kind of speedwork and a slower run. I tried to incorporate all of these.
I spent a glorious few days writing a detailed plan of what to do when. I never followed it, life and my own random whims got in the way too much, but it was reassuring to know it was there, being ignored - I may not be following it but at least I had a plan.
What I really did was this.
- I tried to run more, 4/5 times a week.
- Once in a while I tried to run longer than I ever had before, but not week in week out
- Sometimes I ran up some hills
- Sometimes I did some fartlek - usually one fast mile, five fast minutes and a final fast mile.
- In the penultimate month before the race I ran 20 miles plus 3 times
- In the month before the race I did less
The first 20 mile run nearly broke me, that was when I realised that I needed food and water to go for three hours, this sounds obvious but I'd always managed OK without in the past. The second 20 mile run felt good, and the third one was compromised by the wind, but this wind training paid dividends later.
I ran the Edinburgh 10k at the start of October and got a massive pb on a very hilly course. This is probably still the most complete run I've ever managed and made me believe I was in great shape for what was to come.
Mentally I always felt strong, possibly as a result of misplaced self confidence, but in the run up to the race I never had any doubts I could do the distance. My stated goal was sub 4h and I never really doubted that I'd do this either. I had no real basis for this intrinsic confidence but none the less I always believed in my own ability. My more stretching goal was 3h30. I didn't tell anyone this nor did I really take any positive steps to achieve it, this was simply a best case scenario if it all came together on the day. I had no expectation of reaching this goal, and I didn't.
So the race was on a Sunday. Although I've long since fled the Lancashire nest for colder climes, we still have plenty of family down there (my wife is a fellow Lancastrian). We drove down on the Saturday, left the kids with my mum for the night, she would bring them to watch the finish. Went to Preston, registered and went for a pizza, I remember sitting in Pizza Express with my number thinking it all seemed pretty real.
Julie and Sharon had brought a small army of Scottish runners down for the last leg of Sharon's challenge, and hosted a small gathering the night before where I had more pizza and pasta. Plenty of carbs. After a pretty busy day I actually slept pretty well the night before, especially considering I wasn't in my own bed, and we were putting up some of the Scottish contingent at my in-laws house.
Up early the next morning. Shower and breakfast (muesli, toast, malt loaf and banana) and off. I picked up my friend Gareth, who is also running his first marathon. He seemed nervous. Mrs T stayed behind, she'll get a lift in later for the finish.
All this time I'm kind of aware that the weather isn't looking all that promising it's grey and windy. We get to the guild hall. I lose everyone as I go to check my bag in and am glad of a few minutes to myself. I plaster my nipples and go to the toilet, eat some more malt loaf and I'm ready to go.
I'm wearing a yellow high vis nike top, purchased in San Francisco many years ago and a staple of all my running, and some adidas shorts with a pocket at the back which has my mobile in it. I'm using this as a GPS tracker primarily so I've got something to look back on and so my family can see where I'm at. I'm wearing brooks ghost shoes, and I forget about my socks. After much deliberation I'm not carrying any gels or anything, just relying on what is on the course. I also have on an old jumper to keep me warm in case we have to stand around at the start for ages, I'm planning to ditch this on the start line.
I head outside and meet up with people again, the weather is looking looming. The start is on the flag market in Preston city centre. I have many fond memories of being drunk here on various New Years Eves, but to be honest I'm fairly focussed what needs to be done. We all stand towards the back and then realise we should be further forward and push our way to somewhere around the 4 hour marker. There are only a thousand or so running so it's not too busy. I don't remember a starting gun but the crowd gets the message and we all start to move. Some quick "good luck"s are pretty much the last I see of everyone until the finish.
There is a kind of nervous tension to the first mile, I'd planned to go pretty slow, as a guard against going too fast and there are lots of people to get in my way to ensure I stick to this. I'm pretty impressed by the soldier in full pack and gear who is doing this as training for his next tour of duty in Afghanistan, at the same time I really hope I beat him. I've been here before in the York 10k trying and failing to chase down a gingerbread man, but the soldier seems steady rather than speedy.
As the race comes down hill out of the city centre everything settles down. I'm running well at this point along the closed off dual carriageway. My pace is a good consistent 8.15ish. This is an out and back section so I keep myself amused looking out for people I know behind me. I shout a hello to Julie but everyone else passes unnoticed. The out and back section also means I get a look at the leaders, the guy out in front is from Blackburn and is getting a great reception, a kind of rolling cheer, from the massed ranks of runners as he goes by. He is called Ben and goes on to win by miles.
The course heads back into the city and the through the suburbs to the countryside. The only thing I remember about this is some speed-bumps, clearly I was travelling too fast in a residential area. As the route heads out into the countryside at around nine miles several things become apparent, the country lanes have an annoying camber which forces everyone into the middle of the road, the weather is actually pretty windy and rainy, and the chat of all the other runners around me is annoying. I speed up slightly to neutralise the latter, I perhaps should have identified this as an early step on the road to mental deterioration, as I'm fairly sure that they were all very nice people having a nice chat about their nice marathon.
I run some more through the wind and rain along some pretty quiet roads. One chap chats to me as I pass him. He's struggling with an injury, I tell him he's doing well and move on, not anticipating at this point how galling it will be when he passes me later on.
It's a cliche but at mile 18 I start to feel like I'm having to dig deeper to keep going at the same speed, and from mile 21 with the course starting to head back into the city I'm very concious that I'm starting to struggle.
I have two strong memories from this bit of the race, the first is a very kind spectator giving me a jelly baby. I was delighted and thanked them with a very heartfelt "I love you" and ran on. Sadly as soon as I had the jelly baby between my teeth my stomach woke up to what was going on and made it very clear that if I sent down any jelly babies it was sending them back with interest, so to my disappointment I had to spit it out. I felt pretty sick all the way to the end.
The other thing I recall was just how hard this bit was mentally. By this point I had nowhere to go at all in my head which was full of pain and tiredness and not a nice place to be. I had read about Paula Radcliffe repeating the names of her children in her head as she ran just to have something to think about so I tried this for a couple of miles here - obviously with my kids rather than Paula's. It helped pass the time but really I just wanted to switch off from it all.
All things considered I found the closing bits hard by managed to keep going albeit I slowed down by about 20 seconds each mile for the last 6 miles, having been pretty consistent beforehand.
At some point the half marathon runners merged in, I remember running behind a runner who with the greatest of respect did not look the athletic type and wondering "how the hell is she ahead of me" before realising she was completing the half, but this took a long time to work out.
As we came back into the city centre the wind was very strong swirling around the buildings, at one turn the runner in front of me just stopped as he turned the corner and wind hit him. Past a few of the pubs I used to drink in as a youngster and I'm back at the market, and suddenly my mum is running along behind the barrier shouting my name, there is a whole bunch of family and friends supporting which feels great, but I just want it over, I run round the corner and over the line.
I cross the line and burst into tears, the mental effort of trying to hold it together for the last bit has taken its toll. Someone gives me a medal, it all feels good but not as exhilarating as I'd expected - I'm too tired for that.
I go and find my family, they give me some concerned / disgusted looks and I realised I'm covered in blood from my nipples. Everything else hurt so much I didn't notice the loss of the plasters or all the layers of my skin. They don't actually hurt until I get into the shower later.
Everyone looks drenched so we decamp to MacDonalds. I have a cup of tea which tastes great and some fries which are pleasantly salty and sit quietly still quite numb from it all. I didn't quite realise when I was running how wet and windy and cold it actually was. One of Julie's friends actually gets pulled from the course after 25 miles with hypothermia, and she lives in Scotland so it must be cold. All that running into the North Sea wind in training has clearly paid off.
My family heads off and I got back to race HQ to wait for Gareth who I need to give a lift home to. The finish looks very different now as most of the runners are in, the crowds have dwindled and it is really pissing it down. Anyone who has been out there for 5+ hours has had a very hard day indeed. Gareth finishes and has no warm clothes at all too put on, he looks cold, I go to the car and a get him a fleece, and watch warmth slowly return.
And that was it 3:44:52 for 325th place out of 1137. We go back to the in-laws house. Almost immediately my youngest son cracks his head on the coffee table. There is lots of blood, I'm really not sure I could cope with a trip to A&E, fortunately the blood stops and he seems fine. Although a few days later the Dr back home remarks that it could have done with a stitch or two.
Take out curry for tea, and in a few days I can even walk properly again.
