Edinburgh to North Berwick 1/05/10
A tough day for the twenty miler down the coastal roads to North Berwick. The sun threatened to come out but didn't really make an impact, unlike the stiff headwind all the way there. If only we had been running from there to here. Many thanks to all the Porty marshals who seemed to be overabundant in the first part of the route along the prom. Especially appreciated were the travelling support crew who biked down the road ahead of us and lifted spirits as they flagged in the wind.
Mary, whose ankle is still in the repair shop from last week, was assigned photo duties and did a superb job capturing these 60 shots as she leap-frogged the pack to get vantage points along the course. Although I started enthusiastically the wind robbed me of momentum and I was overhauled by Willie's Wolfpack on the long straight drag to Aberlady.
For a stretch it looked as if Johnny would lead the way to the finish line but Willie dug deep and showed the two younger Porties how its done! In the process he picked up first 0/50 and 10th place.
Denise also won an age group prize.This was my first run of the new 20 mile course and yesterday I was very glad of the lack of those extra 2 miles. The new finish worked very well and the beach-side grassy ground made a great recovery/flop area before finding the energy to climb the hill to the sports centre. It was great to see so many Portobello vests gather there and although a tough day's running an excellent tester for upcoming marathons. Fingers crossed for more favourable wind conditions.
Report pb
Photos Mary
Results hereMary's Blog
Alastair MacDonald's Blog (Dundee Hawkhill Harrier who ran in Willie's Wolfpack)
Stuart Hay's Blog
Even before they were off the prom the first 3 places were established.
Stuart Hay (246) first 0/45, ran a stormer leading this pack at nearly 6 m/miling. Too much for the fat boy on the left.
Issy and entourage.
Iain Taylor taking time out from parkruns to come 4th.
Dropped off the Hay Pack but still first Porty - too warm for gloves
Here they come.
The leader staying focussed - he built a huge lead that was later torn down to just 8 seconds.
Second and third places. (Funny how first and second have lost their numbers.)
Leading PRCers (with Alastair MacDonald of the blog link above)
Johnny opens up a gap 2 miles from the line.
Michael seemed to run the whole way on his own.
Finished thank goodness - 80+ miles in 8 days and 73 of them raced.
Another Fling-er
Some enjoyed the race too much.
While others had energy to spare at the finish.
Ian's report
E2NB
The images uploaded of E2NB, are wonderful snapshots of moments: Smiling runners, focused runners, frowning runners, cheering cycling marshalls, the ‘wolfpack’ running through pretty east Lothian villages, shafts of sunbeams – golden light against a blackened sky, clapping picnicking families at the finish line, and post race runners resting on the grass. The camera is a liar. I was there. And it was a long, very long, cold, raw, bloody, brutal, exhaustingly unforgiving race.
Saturday Night and Sunday Morning
I don’t usually enjoy the night before a race, however some friends dropped round on Friday night, and an impromptu dinner was made, good conversation, all this wonderfully masked the inevitability of the day ahead. Three bottles of wine were consumed, or was it four? To avoid running with a massive hangover I moved to coffee, which wasn’t a great idea either given the quantity I consumed. As it turned out, Saturday night was similar, but different, as due to E2NB I had the sense to go easy on the coffee, but I’ll have a hangover on Sunday morning, plus an inability to walk.
Another Bad Plan
So the E2NB 20miles is 76.3% of a marathon, however the previous race distance 22 miles was 85%, so I should be grateful for small mercies. As it’s not a distance I’ve raced before (half marathon being my max) working out a target time for this was tricky. So I went back to my American pal Greg and his keep-it-in-the family running website www.mcmillanrunning.com. Based on my Chris Hoy Half time he reckons I’m aiming for a 2.20 time with a 7.00 pace. Ouch, no hanging about then. My mind tells me that this isn’t much slower than half marathon pace, maybe my body won’t notice if it’s a few miles longer? Big mistake, no a MONUMENTAL mistake. In hindsight, 7 extra miles is not a few, and a consistent pace of 7.00 minute miles doesn’t come without a phenomenal effort.
In speaking to Gareth G and Michael F before the race, I got a distinct feeling that I was aiming slightly optimistically. That’s the problem with these calculators/ time predictors, like financial futures, they attractively spin out these fabulous potential s, ‘Oh, look a 20 miler in 2,20, that’ll be nice, and you get a 3.10 marathon thrown in as well ’, but you quickly realise if you don’t keep your end of the deal and deliver, you’re goosed, down and out in Direlton, with your running world in financial meltdown, and your borrowings are greater than Greece, (who to be fair started this whole marathon thing off anyway). But then again isn’t that’s what this Black Art is all about?
Jim had more marshals than requiredIn reality my recent 20 mile training runs have been shockingly slow, struggling to manage a 9.00 minute pace and even a 9.30 at times. In countenance I banged out a 22 miler last weekend along the Union canal: good route, good weather, felt good, and miraculously managing 8.00 pace. I even had some juice left in the tank, as at mile 18 I was ‘intercepted’ in the meadows by some EU Hare and Hounds (and given I was wearing a PRC printed hi-viz top, couldn’t let the side down ), so picked up to 10k pace. They tagged me for 2 miles. I’ll never do that again.
Nineteen
As ever, I digress. So ‘war-paint ready’, a solemn march up the prom to lamp post 19: The start. What a hard, bleak, blustery, inhospitable place no.19 has to watch . 10.59am. Important race instructions from an official were carried off by the strong headwind, unheard, into the Firth of Forth. Bang, and off we go, into the void.
Happy Feet
At mile 1 I knew that 7.00 minute miles were never going to happen, it just felt too fast, so locked into a group of ten pacing about 7.15, which felt a more realistic pace (Post report note - See image entitled ‘Issy’s entourage’ – Isobel Knox, HBT, 2.31.35).
Issy's entourage againThere was quite a lot of penguin shuffling within the pack, trying to avoid the wind, and by Musselburgh, it had broken up, and all had scattered, some back to Antarctica. From then onwards I found myself pacing with a Teviotdale Harrier (No.90: white top burgundy hoop – Alan Inglis, 2.29.47) , which worked well, however it was still a real conscious effort not to lose it and fall back. I felt obliged to take the pace for a bit, however this was at the Pans, which turned quickly into Port Seaton, then the exposed coastal section thereafter. This bitterly cold blast was no fun, but was the only section that I felt glad of my gloves and LST. I stayed on 7.15 pace and was mentally focused until the 13 mile waterpoint, circa 1h 34mins, where I picked up my skoosh and a water. This was my undoing. I just struggled with the multi-tasking of run/ breathe/ hold water / drink juice, so I lost my pacepal. Big mistake. I had ‘enjoyed’ (bit of an overstatement), rather ‘tolerated’ the race up to this point, but for me, the next five miles were hellishly miserable.
Drowning Not Waving
Going up and across Gullane golf course, I hooked onto a Dundee Roadrunner (Richard Davidson, 2.25.48), I held well as he was pushing really hard, but I had to let go as we entered the village (Just at Falko’s, the German Konditormeister). Felt very slow. Painfully slow, but managed to stave off any breach until the other side of Gullane’s miserably long, linear main street, then helplessly watched as runners flew past. The sun clearly always shines in Gullane, as suddenly it was really hot, and a cheery, fresh faced HBT bruiser (Will Hugh Bailey 2.28.12) drew up along side me, mocked my gloves and long sleeved top, and then accelerated away. He’ll pay for that in some other race in the not too distance future – His card is marked.
This is George - hasn't run with the club for a bit and lives in North Berwick so doesn't make many Wednesday nights.In my delirious, dehydrated, slow motioned state, I remember little in the stretch towards Dirleton, except amongst the discarded water bottles, I noticed a baby’s milk bottle, maybe this is the fuel of choice? At Dirleton, I was signalled to go uphill (The Marshall was a multi-tasking dad, who alongside directing, was trying to teach his tottering toddler to walk – maybe it was her bottle?) Lurching up the gentle slope, my legs seemed to be clanging, all my vitality had gone, I felt an empty vessel, my misery only interrupted by an ipoded, unnumbered local jogger smugly cruising by, taking down another club runner, and being self congratulatory on finishing his weekly 1 mile run. I noted the house number. His card is also marked.
Deeper into the village, I passed the ‘Castle Inn’. I remember being tempted, momentarily, by a hair of the dog, ‘please just keep going’ I pleaded with myself and I shuffled onwards, my feet slapping the ground, bones grinding and crunching, and my tendons stretching and snapping.
Celestial Events
Then, the miracle of Dirleton happened or rather appeared. A divine nuclear family; mother, father, and angelic children heralding jelly babies and water! Communion like, I had to stoop down, taking the water cup and a generous handful of offerings, ‘Muuuum, he took more than one!’ , the angel screeched. I involuntarily accelerated away, apologising, my pang of guilt being quickly erased as I chewed the sacrament, and expectantly prepared for the sugar hit.
For me, the hit came at mile 18, I had just picked up a water, quick glug, then the rest down my back. Then I was flying. I picked up pace considerably, and was able to pass 3 runners within a short time. Mile 19 and I was still going strong entering NB (Consciously running through the ‘HBT’ someone had marked with flour on the pavement – (I was spotted and my card is now marked)). Then a fast downhill section.
I saw Graham Henry just at the corner to the links, ‘175 yards to go’, I went into full sprint mode, leapt over a police officer (who somehow go in my path), then I pulled back seeing the finish line a fair bit in the distance. Graham must have meant 375 yards (at least). Glanced back, all clear so I cruised up and round the final corner, saluted a cheering picnicking family, and for the second time sprint mode, full tilt down the final stretch, screaming (fairly poor choice of language given it was a family event), as I crossed the line. (Post report note – Peter B’s witty ‘others had energy spare for the finish’ comment, is factually incorrect. His card is also now marked).
So 2h 30m 28s, and a pace of 7.29, both of which were the maximum I could give. No way on earth could I have ran that any faster. 2.20 in 7.00’s? Not a cat’s chance in hell. That was a very tough race. It’s one thing to do a 20 mile training run, but racing 20m is incomparable.
Splits,(1-5m) 6.49, 7.07, 7.06, 7.13, 7.09, (6-10m) 7.10, 7.13, 7.16, 7.32, 7.13, (11-15m) 7.14, 7.29, 7.43, 7.44, 7.49 (16-20m) 7.59, 8.19, 8.28, 8.12, 7.11.Even now, writing this the day after, I can’t say I enjoyed it at all. Too long for me. Too flat for me. Too much road for me. Too much everything. It was just horrible.
Initially, I did feel like this race had opened Pandora’s Box, and all my enthusiasm for running had simply vanished, blown into the Firth of Forth (where the performance predicators belong). However, seeing the other broken bodies lying awkwardly strewn across the neat lawns of North Berwick links, I knew I was not the only person who thought that this was a long, cold, raw, bloody, brutal, exhaustingly unforgiving race.
Report – Ian McMillan
Here is Michael's view...
What a windy day for a race, but I was happy to just finish it. I havent suffered that much for a long time. It was good to see my pals and Monika driving near me and encouraging me as I started to dehydrate after the 15mile mark.
A big thanks to Bert as my emotions were getting the better of me in the last miles as his encouragment was really good. I had an awfull day to be honest, but it gave me satisfaction that others from the club achieved their goals.
Report Michael Nowicki
And what did Jimbo Ramsay have to say...?
The Good; the organisation, the well stocked water stations (Edinburgh Mara’ take note), the Porty triumvirate shouting ‘encouragement’ from their bicycles, Emily stuffing jelly babies down my throat every time I moaned about the ‘pain’ of it all throughout the course and a PB of nearly 10 minutes. Oh, and the guilt free Mars bar at the end which never even touched the sides as it went down!!!
The Bad; the wind, the sun attempting to show face then deciding not to bother (at mile 15 I wished I hadn’t bothered), the new ‘crazy’ golf finish, and the realisation how deep I will need to dig to get another 6 miles under my belt on the 23rd May.
The Ugly; me trying to catch the girl in front at the finish line, failed miserably and me trying to get out of the car back home with rigor-mortis! Where is Quincy, M.E these days?
Report Jim Ramsay
