Lochaber Marathon 2007 22/04/07
Fort William shinty pitch - where it all began and finished.Mary's report.
The training for this one went well for both of us. I was able to complete my long runs at a better pace. It all looked promising, so I was a bit nervous in the run up to this marathon. Didn't want to blow it over something stupid.
We ran Lochaber in 2004 before we were Porty people. The Jarvies, Janet and George Salmond were there too. Peter was trying to run sub 3 hrs but he only managed 3.05. I jiggered my knee running on the camber at the side of the road. (I think the technical name for this was my knee stopped tracking correctly.) I ran at 8 min miles til my knee started hurting at 9 miles, then at 9+ min mile pace til mile 16 when the pain in my knee eased at which point I ran as hard as I could to the end finishing in 3.41.36. It was 6 weeks and a good few physio visits before I was running again. I assumed that I would have run a better race if I hadn't hurt my knee but then, oddly, the next year I ran 3.43 at Edinburgh and 3.44 the next year at London! Lochaber has stood as my marathon pb despite the knee.
This year the original idea was that we would use Lochaber as a training run for a 50k we're doing in America in May. As our training progressed though marathon-time-fever took hold and we started to think about what we were aiming at. Since I started to think about it I've always had the notion that I can run sub 3.30 for a marathon and the more Peter laughs at me the more determined I feel. I resurrected that old aim again despite myself. It does nothing for your self-confidence to keep aiming at something you don't achieve and this would be my 5th go at it.
The marathon books will tell you to have three marathon goals; marathon heaven - your ideal time, something that would still be good, and something that would be acceptable. I tried to formulate these but somehow aiming at anything less than your ideal time seems wrong to me - like accepting defeat from the start. So I was going for 3.30 again.
We drove up to Fort William the day before and entered a world of rain. It was pouring out the sky, it was pouring off the hillsides, it was hanging in the air. Peter hates the rain and he was complaining a good deal. I don't like it either but after Alloa I was grateful not to have gale force winds. I thought I could still work with these conditions.
We had a quiet night, ate pasta and watched a rubbish film on the telly while pinning our numbers on our shirts. Lucy Colquhoun turned out to be staying at a hotel near us so she and Peter swapped pre-marathon chat; what are you going to eat/mp3 player or not/ energy drinks or gels or both, on the phone for a while and we all agreed a post-race beer or two was in order.
Marathon day dawned and once again Fort William was wreathed in a wet mist. There wasn't much wind, which was fine but it was very, very wet. We put on the telly and there was sunshine down in London and we were jealous. There were already warnings that it was probably going to get a bit hot, but still, it looked so much more cheery than the gloom out the window.
Sunshine at the FLM on the telly - rain outside.Peter saw Janet on the telly (I missed her - sorry Janet!) It put us in marathon mood to think of the Porties in London all getting lined up to race. Then we went down the road ourselves to the Nevis Centre for our marathon. On the way there we only noticed at the very last moment that the underpass had a foot of water in it (I nearly stepped in it) so we had to take an alternative route across the main roads.
So. Setting off I was once again aiming to do 8 minute miles and keep doing them as long as possible and that's pretty much what I did. Went through 5 miles in 39 mins, 10 miles in 1.18. Halfway at 1.44. At first it was a breeze and then slowly it got less and less comfortable. My knee gave a few protests but I think it had its own memory of the course and was just giving me a warning. Rather than run in at the side of the road where the camber is worst I took every opportunity to run near the middle of the road, traffic permitting. There were a few lorries who were taking no prisoners and it was “get into the side or die”, but mostly the traffic was pretty accommodating and didn't give the runners a hard time.
At 15 miles I was into new territory for me. 1.58. That was a best. At 20 miles I was at 2.40 and some seconds, which was just slipping off 8 minute pace but still the fastest I'd ever run 20 miles. Graham Henry had e-mailed us to say think of him shouting us on at 21 miles and to keep running through the pain, so at 21 miles I did that! At 22 miles I was at 2.56 -again, best ever. My best time for Edinburgh to North Berwick is 3 hrs so I knew a pb was likely now. Still I kept trying to pick up the pace. 4 miles is SUCH a long way to go at the end of the marathon and I kept losing my rhythm. I'd get up some speed but then something minor like having to hop up on the pavement would slow me down again. It was torture. I was giving myself such a hard time, as 3.30 really seemed possible if I could just GET A BLOODY MOVE ON! At 24 miles I had 15 minutes left. Still not impossible...There was a headwind for the last wee bit though and it was uphill. My Garmin finally lost its signal at 25.73 miles after struggling manfully with the rain and thick cloud all the way, so I was on my own. Didn't know how far I had to go, just knew it was near. I know I was making an appalling sobbing sound by this time but I didn't care because I wanted to get under 3.30. I couldn't hear myself anyway as I'd had my mp3 player on the whole way and we were now onto the Smiths (downbeat but strangely uplifting! You'd have had to have lived through the 80s to appreciate them.) I looked down to my left and there was 26 miles and then at my watch and saw I'd passed into 3hrs 30+ already. Well I ran all the way as hard as I could. The last bit was in very wet grass to the finish and took forever but I gave it what I had. Strangely Morrissey was singing “but dreams have a way of just not coming true and time is against me now...” A song called “Accept yourself.”
ahh that's better
Well in a way I was so disappointed that if there had been noone else there I might have sat down and had a good cry about it...but there were plenty of people there and I really don't like to make a fuss...
And after a little while it occurred to me that 3.32.13 was not only a pb of more than 9 minutes but I had also (metaphorically) kicked Richard's ass! (Sorry Richard) and I decided a bit belatedly that for my aims; dream time was sub 3.30, good was beat Richard's Paris 3.33 (I know he's going to beat that time soon anyway so I might as well enjoy it) and acceptable was a new pb.
As I got to hear how things had been for other people I began to realise I'd had a pretty good day. Janet had a really disappointing run. She'd been in superb form too, and looked set to get a good way under 3 hours. Ben ran an excellent 2.53 but for him that was disappointing and well below par. Peter was disappointed too. His training runs had been going exceptionally well but that wasn't reflected in his performance on the day. Lucy was 2nd lady and won the Scottish vets championship but she was likewise unimpressed with her own time. (Right behind Peter.) God only knows what kind of nightmare Alan Aitchison had. I'm scared to find out. Sally Scott set a new pb of 3.24 and hope she's pleased but haven't heard yet.
Yep, it could have been worse.
After the long, long prize giving Lucy headed for home. The rain was still teeming down and she had a long drive so we put off the beers to another occasion. Peter and I went for a nice hot curry and lovely cool beers and then drank wine and miniatures and a selection of beers in a bid to relax our muscles and our brains. At this, I'm glad to say, we were entirely successful. Feel a little bit grim today though!
Thanks very much to everyone who sent us e-mails and texts of encouragement. It really helped.
Report Mary Hunter
Peter's version.
For those with Literary Attention Deficit Disorder who expressed a request for a race summary so they didn't have to spend their whole lunch-hour reading when they could be looking at magazine pictures of “celebrities” climbing out of limousines......
It rained, I would have liked to go faster, Mary did well, we got drunk. End of.
Alternatively,
2.59.44. It could have been worse I suppose, but it also could have been a lot better. Just under 3 was about 5 minutes slower than my target. Training had been going so well I was beginning to think maybe something way faster was on the cards. So although sub3 is respectable enough it was the low point of an otherwise perfectly nice weekend. Except for the weather.Thing is I really enjoyed the training. Long runs with clubmates especially Janet, Scott, Mary, Ben, Willie and Bert's Sunday Group made those obligatory long training runs much less of a chore and more of an occasion. As the months pass you can feel the endurance build until knocking out a 20 miler becomes commonplace for a weekend run.
Speaking to Bert I realised I am not a marathoner. He says of his best marathons that he only felt troubled in the last couple of miles. I usually hit a trough of despondency about 15 to 18 miles and wade through to the slight remission of the 20 mile marker then age 10 years for each subsequent mile. So by the last mile I am running like a hundred year old. Thinking maybe this was due to a lack of fuel, I drank my own weight in Lucozade last year at the FLM then had to tiptoe the last mile and a half to the finish line toilets owing to the laxative effect of the drink and possibly the rainy chill.
Glenogle, on the drive northSo I wasn't thrilled to see that Lucozade pouches (and rain) were available at Lochaber, replacing the previous system where you could put your own drink on their tables along the route. I got the organiser's blessing to leave my own concoctions at the side of the road at various points along the route. (I wasn't the only one.) Mary and I had arrived the afternoon before the race so drove most of the course placing my drinks. The thing about Lochaber is its one long road that looks the same the whole way, loch on one side, trees on the other. As they weren't putting out all the mile markers till the morning of the race I had to scrutinise the locations of my drink drops knowing I'd be fairly witless by the time I reached them. I also had to make them slightly discreet to avoid the bottles being tidied up by litter conscious locals. I left 2 x 500 ml bottles and a 300 ml oval running bottle I hoped to run with from mile 21 to the end. I also ran with 3 caffeine gels in my back pocket.
The rain fell in Lochaber for most of the 48 hrs we were there. Over breakfast I saw Janet on the telly alongside the elite women at the London Marathon. The sun shone there in stark contrast to the grey leaden skies and continual drizzle outside. I hoped all our runners down South would meet their goals. We stayed in a hotel / bunk-house where we had access to kitchen facilities so could eat our own cooking the night before and prepare breakfast as required. Poor Lucy stayed in a hotel where they ran out of the vegetarian lasagna option and she ended up with rather plain pasta with a basic dolmio type sauce over the top for £9.
The rain was very light as we made our way to the start and I tried to be optimistic. The forecast was for it to brighten. It didn't. A flooded underpass was a reminder that this was the North West of Scotland. There was a lot of talk of base layers or rain jackets but given how mild it was Mary and I had no doubts about it being vest only weather. You don't run a fast 26 miles in a waterproof. We were started from the shinty pitch so there was a good chance to get your feet soaking before the start. Now, I have heard certain Jarvie's talk of the benefits of a light drizzle keeping you cool but it just doesn't work for me. My 2 strongest half marathons have been in tarmac melting conditions and although I wouldn't have chosen the temperatures they were getting at London, I think I might have done better had it not been so gloomy and damp.
During the first mile a fellow runner opened the conversation by asking what time I was hoping for. (What no foreplay?) I asked him if he had run this one before. (Do you come here often?) And that was about the end of any chit-chat throughout my race. It seemed almost strange that after so many months preparation here we were running through a housing estate on the outskirts of Fort William about to run 13 miles down the lochside and back in the rain. For fun. The first few miles flew by and I tried to remember Bert's advice to keep yourself reined in till much later. I ran about 6 and a quarter minute miling comfortably until a 6.50 at mile 5 made me pay attention and I upped the pace back to 6.33 for mile 6. Next mile 7.06 and I felt the beginnings of panic. I pushed the pace and with relief noticed the next mile was 6.02 - obviously the markers were a bit wild. However by mile 11, I hit another 7+ mile and I could tell from the way I felt that it was probably not going to be a happy ending. During mile 10 I had located my first magic mixture bottle at the side of the road. There was a slug attached enjoying the slidey plastic which I flicked back into the bushes. I drank a good whack while running then stood the bottle up vertically on the road - a talisman for Mary to see later. (She saw it and had suspicions it was me.)
Even in the rain Glencoe is spectacular.
Another shot taken of Glencoe out the car window on the way there.With the turn coming I picked up the pace and didn't fall below 7 again till mile 17. The turn is a boost as you see hundreds of runners all slower than yourself. I didn't count how many were ahead but don't think I dropped many more places than I gained in the second half so it was probably about 25. Just before the turn the rain came down more heavily and I remember feeling cold despite working at near max. I had long since stopped holding any reins; unsaddled the horses, slapped their rears and shouted “run for the line, I'm done for!”
There was Lucy just behind me at the turn. Although not in top form she was persuaded to run anyway and I was pretty sure she would be overtaking me in a couple of miles. She has a great record at endurance events and even off-form was second female to the turn. Then I saw Mary and tried not to show that I was having a bad day. I had done the first half in nearly 1.26. Pretty much the slowest first half of any recent marathon. And not because I was pacing myself. I tried to console myself with the thought that perhaps this was the one that I would manage to do in even splits. Then I got out my secret weapon.
I put on my MP3 player. The wet ear-buds squelched into my ears but soon the music was a comfort like a friend singing upbeat songs and I managed to tune out from the pain and the pounding footsteps. It was the first time I have listened to music in a race and it was a great help - the way it had been on several unaccompanied long training runs. I had been concerned the armstrap would rub especially if it was raining, so had tried out an improvised solution 2 nights previous on my last run before the race. When we ran the New Year's Day Triathlon (another fine mess Mary got me into,) we were given complimentary sleeves. Must be something cyclists use for wiping their noses on when out in t-shirts. I cut off the elbow and upper arm from the left sleeve and it worked very well as a defence against the straprub. (In training runs it had been too cold for vests and I always had a t-shirt sleeve to avoid abrasion.) Trouble was 2 nights previous the music had geed me up so much I ran a 10k route round Arthur's Seat in under 40 mins, all the time thinking SLOW DOWN you're blowing your marathon.
As the last of the slowest runners passed on the other side of the road I would smile and cheer them on, once catching the eye of a straggler spaced out and dreaming. Then after a long, long gap came a man mountain, a real running pyramid of a guy. I didn't know they made lycra that size. He was shouting us on and I shouted him on back. He was my hero of the day - to be putting himself through that kind of pain: I could only imagine how he would ache and the sort of injuries he would have after spending maybe 6 hrs heaving through the rain up and down that lonely road. Top marks for lifestyle turnaround.
Eventually mile 20 came and I looked at the small numbers on my watch to see it was 2.13. Slower than London, slower than ever, but there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. The marvellous thing about a marathon is it gives you plenty of time to accommodate your failure. From denial, to anger, to resignation, to lies. “I didn't want to spoil it by hurrying.”
As I neared the third juice stash I forced down another gel. On training runs, (contrary to the Jarvie / Dunbar approach, which was gulp it down like you're in a race) I would stop and savour these jammy treats. Here it was forced down between gasps while trying to hold the pace and a wholly unpleasant experience. I slowed down as I got to the spot but to my horror it had gone. There had been a drinks table near as we ran past on the out and someone must have tidied it up with the empties. A POX ON THEM! I want my water bottle. I slowed right down to a near stop looking hard at the drop spot, then with heavy heart set off down the road wondering if there was a water station soon to wash down the very sticky gel. There can't be many of these oval water bottles make it through their entire careers without running a step. It had never been used having been bought for the occasion. While I'm sure it wouldn't have made me run any faster, it might have made the last few miles a tiny bit more refreshing. Happily there was a water station - one of the very many - soon after. But I'd like to know what muppet removed it and why? They wouldn't have drunk it - the drink separated overnight and looked like a sample from a terminally ill kidney patient, until you shook it up again, but was in fact a sophisticated blend of protein, carbohydrate, potassium and sodium, with a bit of Lucozade powder for flavour.
As I ran the last few miles I focussed on counting down the mile markers. There was an unpleasant sting in the tail when we turned the corner and ran smack into a headwind for a bit. Then eventually round another corner was Mile 25. I let out a noise I thought would be like a whoop but sounded more like an injured animal. The last mile was along the riverside path that felt like you'd taken a wrong turn and the tight twists stopped me seeing the guy ahead to confirm I hadn't. By this time I couldn't care less and didn't even make any attempt to keep up with the 2 guys that went past. Well okay I ran back ahead of the second one but “let” him past again. In fairness he was probably aware (unlike myself) of the impending 3hour mark which was only 16 secs after the finish line, so it wouldn't have been me he was racing. Also chasing that time was Lucy who assumed I was way ahead, but turning the last couple of corners she saw me for the first time since half way, and had there been another couple of hundred yards would almost certainly have gone past. Both of us were glad to be finished but neither particularly pleased with the result.
I went off for a shower, returning just in time to see Mary cross the line triumphant but knackered. Then chummed Lucy up the edge of the West Highland Way a bit to walk her dog Kipper. It was a good warm down stroll.
The prizegiving was like an arthritis convention; some out full on the floor many shuffling in their seats and at the end (after Lucy had picked up quite a bit of silverwear ) everyone struggling to get out their seats and regain their legs. Lucy drove home while we went and changed into evening wear and after an excellent Indian meal on the High Street went back to the hotel room via the off licence, twice.
Post match analysis confirmed the race to be very well organised, (though it would be nicer if the road was closed to traffic for the day,) and apart from the twat who nicked my bottle it was much better than that other marathon that's run the same day. Mary was voted “man of the match” and there was so much drink consumed I don't think we even heard the Smiths being played too loudly through speakers off the MP3 player. Many texts and phone calls from overheated teammates in London and others in Edinburgh, and I did feel sorry for Janet who had started the day looking great on the telly and finished it rather less than pleased with a time way, way slower than any of us expected.
One small complaint; the medal. When you've knocked your pan in like that its nice to get big metal memento of the day and the one we got - well its not the worst on the medal pole but compare it to the really handsome Alloa Half (awarded for bravery under extreme duress this year). I mean the blue loch logo looks like Wile E Coyote after he's been run over by one of the heavy lorries on the loch-side road. Okay its a small point and now I'm sorry I made it.
Every time you run a marathon you learn a bit about yourself. This time, while I got the training right and paid a lot of attention to detail and kit on the day (I didn't even get blisters!) I learned that perhaps I am not a distance runner. Which is a shame because in a month's time we are going to America to do a 50k trail race. Should be fun.
Report Peter Buchanan
Photos Mary, Peter, Lucy
More Glencoe on the road home.
still raining...
