That was my main feeling after I crossed the finish line. Only a minute better than last year. It was probably the lack of sleep prevailing through my consciousness due to the untimely 3am start time.
The race itself went well. Despite not finding either of my running friends before the race, I managed to negate one of my first issues with getting a fast time - getting near the front of the start line! Getting my bag all zip-locked early was a helpful first step as was entering the race via the sidelines and hopping over a board.
Last year was immensely frustrating in the 1km stretch in front of Queensbay due to runners who were walking in the first 2 minutes of the race. The amount of weaving, jumping, stepping up and down pavements made me feel like Simba running the wildebeest stampede. I was determined not to repeat this part of the Lion King and with a jump over an advertising hoarding, I was only past the start line in 33 seconds after the gun went off (an improvement from 2010).
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| The large crowd at every PBIM (image from Geneoga.com) |
Hanging mostly to the left of the crowd, I decided to accelerate in the first 1km to get away from the crowd worked a treat. It was less like a cycling proficiency test and more like F1/dragster racing. I hadn't thought too much about tactics until the previous night when HM mentioned it in his book and my only one was to run fairly hard in the first 10km as I could always come up with something special in the final stages. So along the dark side of the expressway into the light of the first slope of the bridge and towards the orange streetlights. The drums were beating ominously in the distance without the accompanying lightning in the distance of 2010. my mind was thinking of the tribe and MH article - concentrate on form, forefoot striking, breathing regularly.
There were also slower runners in the same vests as I. It was a strange decision not to give FM a different colour, difficult to cheer them on but you could see their pacing was different even if their vests were the same. I felt for them having once completed and at this stage, they were still in the first twenty kilometres. I also tried to look for the big bulky structure of my friend Deano as I knew he would want to know the Everton result and that a positive Goodison victory would do his morale good but my limited vision saw nothing.
A man in Vibrams. A man in a cape. A man with a whistle. the blue sirens of a police car heading down as I was on my way up followed by Keynan runners coming out of the dark making impossible running speeds possible. First one, two, three, four and five. Crowds merging to the far right lane like ants attracted to honey. Cups strewn across the floor with the odd bottle. Crunch Crunch Crunch. Volunteers standing away from the table offering. To run and spill or slow and drink efficiently? I did both at different stops!
I had downed most of a 1.5l bottle of 100Plus throughout my working Saturday and was mindful to take drinks in the early stages of the race but realised I could tackle the latter parts without liquid. Had I come to drink or run? And there was still 1/3 of a bottle in my bag waiting for me. Precious seconds. It was a tactic that had worked to perfection for me on the Malakoff in March and I employed it again breezing past two drinks stations out of the six (?).
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| Getting onto the bridge (map from adiharriman.com) |
By the time I had stared into the spires of Penang Bridge at the top and you should - whizzing past those gray diagonal beams and concrete horizons in the car is nothing but a blur - as an icon of the island and the country, it was time to try another tactic on the spur of the moment - gravity! A good running friend DJ Muiz employed it on his 42km and it involves taking off the handbrake and upping the leg turnover rotation. Restraint in the first slope (which involved thinking "where is the turnaround? where is the turnaround? where is the turnaround? closely followed by where is the 10km board - which I never saw) The turnaround is vital for morale as you are no longer moving away from the start like a ship drifting out to sea but returning to the line, drinks, a car, a bed! meant that I went all out in the second slope.
And I had come upon the good runners by this stage. I know they were good. They weren't running blue vests like me. They were wearing white, orange, green, different patterns for different running clubs. One of them was Japanese - I had heard him shout out to his friend on the other side. One was Caucasian. All of them were fast. They ran like I know they had trained - in a pack and hard and they passed me on the second slope upwards. I wasn't a match for them - was I?
The drums boomed in the distance again, how I love their rhythm on a soundless night with only panting and non-runners speaking and shouting encouragement, it was quiet. I continued my pace, a guess at 5.00min/km I hoped but probably not at the 13km mark. My hamstrings were tightening as I went over the crest of the bridge for the second and thank God last time, I had pushed my body hard for the first half and there was still half to go.
Ignore the drinks. Accelerate downhill. Catch those who overtook you. Eat up the ground, keep your posture straight. Look at that man with the orange shirt and iPod. Try and catch him. It would do your morale good. Never let a girl breeze past you without trying to catch them. But two, three, four seconds after the Keynan lady passed me, I could do nothing but admire her speed. Hardly moving her body, an easy motion but putting me and my fellow men to shame. Breathe in the burp of a man who had 100Plus whilst slip-streaming. See a man pee on the side of the road as the exit ramp curved left. Finally a sign! 7.5km left. My brain unable to calculate distance completed but 'left' sign remaining is a strong energiser. An incentive. The end is near.
Overtaken by an elderly man, I wondered if I could go any faster. The division of full and half came upon us. The marathoners would still go on but it was a relief time for us. We could turn and head on the expressway to Queensbay. A road I had driven many times before and would only take 3 minutes in my wife's car. I knew it well for those trips to TGIF (kids eat free!). But I was a machine without petrol and wheels and an engine that could whirl at 1000rpm. My watch showed 1.30. Secretly it would have been nice but improving 15mins in a 21km is a big ask. Let's try 1.40. Let's go. So I charged like a bull.
Ignoring running form and style, I ran with passion. Head down, surveying only 15ft in front of me, legs at a 4.45sec pace, and only one thing in mind. To pass the person in front of me. Four whizzed by quickly. I shouted at one but he returned with the word Cramp. To think about how bridges there were left to cross under. Under two. An elderly red shirted man passed me in semi darkness 3km later and I willed him on. Had I burst too early? Would my legs give out on me in the final turns and straights? I wanted him past me quickly, out of my sight because if you wanted to overtake me, beat me out of sight. But I ended up tracking him, slip-streaming a little although we were both overtaken a spritely young female definitely not doing the full marathon!
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| This is all out effort! |
By now I was shouting. Not at anyone. Just a low roar to keep myself energised. To will yourself on to go faster than before. The previous distance is nothing but history now. The end is in sight. The turn before the overhead bridge was where I made my sprint run last year but my legs were strained now, my brain said hold. I was shouting, encouraging the older man as I went for speed at the roundabout. I'm always amazed at this stage by my body, the legs that I was granted. They can always run at the end and they propelled me past sleeping scouts, past shop fronts, past more runners, past walkers in that final stretch. I yelled at them as I went past "Come on! It's near the end!" and hoped the shouts were taken encouragingly not as the madman I was at this stage. Legs still sprinting, rolling in a road runner blur my mind envisioned, didn't pose for any of the photographers, overtook a man 3 yards from the line and beep on my son's stopwatch.
1:47:35.
Disappointment. No improvement. Rather negligible improvement. Joy and elation was Rahma's emotion. Happiness at a new PB was how DJ Rex felt. Frustration was Jimmy's. Pain was Grace's. My friend Deano was closest to myself but he could still use the word 'happy' as a man who runs a 42km distance should! Halfway through the run and straight after, I had the same thought "21km PBIM never again!" or maybe until the 2nd bridge opens! My questions / room for improvement list would revolve: How much do I love running? How much will I train? Can I train hard enough to beat a time? Will I sacrifice runs for football? Will my job give me the rest I need to prepare? Not enough, not enough, no, no and no.
I had pushed so hard, never let up for a moment and when you put your heart and soul into the run and cut back on all those seconds but end up where you started, you question your sanity and reason for running. At this stage in life/this point in time, I'm not a run for pleasure person. I'm still that crazy results driven person, competitiveness in spirit formed by having two younger brothers. Compete.
Exhaustion dropped me like a stone whilst I lay on the massage table. The person who came up with this idea should be awarded a gold medal. Such welcome relief and just what was needed. I was lucky to finish fast enough as not to wait but my hand couldn't write details neatly.
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| Official results |
Walking back in my Manchester United training top wondering what the score at the Liberty Stadium was, my medal around my neck, passing runners in the opposite direction, seeing Samson finish, runners hobbling, walking, sprinting,, women looking fantastic, one man's head shaking all over the place as he moved towards my right, past sleeping scouts using each other's midriffs as pillows, up the bridge with groups, tens of 10km walkers going the other way (is it really enjoyable to do a crowded 10km run?!), past the policemen diverting traffic with drivers confused where to go and desperate to park to start their run when I had finished, and the car was there. And soon my bed was there. And my mind could drift where it was unable to 5 hours previously.
