The battle of Snowdon

Finishing time: 1:16:40 (Summit 51:40)
Distance / ascent / descent: 10 miles (16.2km) / 1085 metres of ascent and descent
Finishing position: 27/500

The Snowdon international mountain race is one of the big races on the British fell (mountain) running calendar, and this year became a ‘stage’ on the European Sky Race series. The race offers big prize money (£10,000) and attracts plenty of top runners from across Europe.

The course is an exciting and demanding 10 mile ascent and descent of Snowden, the highest mountain in Wales. The route is out and back (5 miles each way) from the village of LLanberis at the base of Snowden, and involves 1085 metres of vertical ascent/descent. I was thankful this year to finally secure myself an elusive entry for the race (only 500 entries available), after getting in early for a change.

Having reccied the route last summer, I was anxious and a little unnerved by the epic nature of the race. The climb was long and painfully steep in parts. For this reason, I altered my training over the last few weeks by running hill repeat work-outs each week in place of a second track session. And I added some additional mileage on the hills to prepare the legs for the climb.

There was a large and intimidating contingent of international team runners crowding the start line in their national vests. This included the Irish team of Tom Hogan, Stephen Cleary, Roger Barret and Robert Malseed, whom had staked their claim for the Irish vest with strong performances at the Irish European mountain team trial last month.

I took off at a cautious pace from the gun, watching unconcerned as the Irish vests moved ahead on the steep tarmac. Climbing has never been my strong point, and on this unforgiving and grueling ascent it is essential to conserve leg strength for the latter part of the climb (if you think it's bad blowing up in a road race, you should try blowing up half way up a mountain). Having said that, the hill repeats seemed to be doing their job because I felt comfortable hopping up the boulders. I tentatively pulled up beside Stephen Cleary about 15 minutes into the climb and went ahead, for the time-being.

I then passed a Northern Ireland Irish runner who seemed already to be struggling, and pulled up next to a local runner, before recognizing him as Iain Ridgeway. Uncannily, Iain is a flying Welshman whom inspired me to take up the sport of mountain running years ago when I met him in Wellington, NZ. I hadn’t seen him since he’d moved back to Wales in 2006. We exchanged a few surprised words upon recognizing each other, then back to the matters at hand.

The field thinned out after 30 minutes of climbing and the legs began hurting. I was reduced to a clambering walk on the last steep boulder climb, but was still moving well and pulled back a couple of struggling runners. Iain passed me about 500 metres before the summit, and Stephen Cleary (in the Irish vest) then came past and I followed the lads over the summit boulder steps.

My quads were burning furiously at the summit. The first few boulder steps of the descent are very steep, and I struggled to keep my legs from buckling under the weight of my body. I took a few seconds to gather my breath and collect myself. All was going according to plan. Regain composure, it's almost time to attack the descent.

First thing is first. In a mountain race where you’re not overly familiar with the route, it normally pays to follow a local guy who knows what he’s doing. I knew that Iain would know the course like the back of his hand because he lives at the foot of the mountain, so I decided that I would do everything I could to stay with him.

The leaders were being diverted off the summit onto the train tracks. Iain dived through a gap between boulders off the edge of the trail below the summit, down onto the train tracks. I followed him and exclaimed to Stephen – this guy knows where he’s going - gesturing towards Iain.

I knew that Iain was a class mountain runner, but the way he tackled the descent took even me by surprise. He took off so fast from the summit that he managed to put 100 metres on us by the time we hit the tracks. Stephen and I launched into overdrive to pull him back over the next five minutes. Tearing down the mountain dodging the multitudes of meandering and unpredictable pedestrians.

We had managed to get within about 25 metres of him, when he followed a goat track onto the grass to take an alternative route alongside the main track. By doing so, we managed to avoid many more tourists whom littered the main trail. Our efforts to close the gap on Iain paid off, because we were now able to follow his line, which (being a local) he had no doubt run and tested hundreds of times before in training.

Over the ensuing ten minutes, Iain, Stephen and I descended like mad men and passed over ten runners whom had beat us to the summit, including two of the Irish team runners – Robert Malseed and Roger Barrett, who were less accustomed to the terrain. Such was the pace (sub 5 minute miles over steep grass and boulders) that with 2 miles to go I began to feel fatigued. Stephen moved ahead of me on a flatter section of the course, and I lost a few seconds on the pair of them. But did my best to stay in touch before the final steep technical descent down onto the road.

By this stage the soles of your feet are burning due to the pummelling they've been getting for more than twenty minutes. Massive blisters had formed and I could swear the soles of my shoes were melting. Just to make things worse, the last half-mile involves an extremely steep paved road which flattens out towards the finish line.

I managed to pull back a few seconds on the steep road but had nothing left to give once the road flattened out. Iain was 30 metres ahead and Stephen was about 10 metres ahead. I was operating on the threshold between running an optimal race (leave nothing in the tank), and collapsing in a heap a couple of hundred metres short of the finish line. The short uphill stint at the road junction into Llanberis (I'm talking 30 metres) nearly finished me off. The best I could do was to keep pace with my two comrades and cross the finish line just in behind them.

Well done to the lads, I enjoyed the epic battle. It was the most intense and physically demanding mountain race I’ve ever run. The climb was a killer (51:40) but the descent was even more gruelling (5 miles down a mountain @ 5:00 mile pace or 3:06 min/km).

Days later, I’m still hobbling around like a geriatric, in significant pain all through my legs from the pounding – D.O.M.S. No chance of running until later in the week. Will have to hit the pool instead.

Back in the game

After taking a few weeks out to concentrate on training and hitting the hills for fun, I decided to race last week as a warm-up to the International Snowdon mountain race on Saturday 23 July.

So I tentatively took to the start line at the Phoenix Park 5 mile on Saturday 16 July. On the one hand I was confident because training had been going well. But I hadn’t posted a good performance in a race in 9 weeks, so was worried that my form in training might not translate into race fitness. The hilly and wind-swept course was not about to deliver fast times, so my best hope for the race was to finish strong and take back my confidence by racing smart.

Things went to plan. After running a steady race throughout with several runners sitting in behind me, I attacked at the magazine fort where the course turned left uphill and into the wind for the last mile of the race. In doing so I shook off the runners who had been sitting behind me, pushed past a couple of runners and made some ground on some usual (friendly) adversaries who were up ahead.

Most runners were disappointed and somewhat alarmed by the ‘slower-than-expected times - checking in with each other to make sure that they weren't the only one to fall short of time expectations. But slow times were inevitably due to the course and race conditions. On the whole, this was a promising first race back for me.

Four days later I took a bold step and signed up for the Dublin Graded 3000m at Irish town track, alongside a few fellow Rathfarnham W.S.A.F club mates.

The 3000m event involves 7 ½ laps of the Olympic distance athletic track. Track racing is often very tactical, and it takes practice to get the hang of the pacing and race-strategy. Unfortunately I missed most of the track season due to illness in the first half of June. So as it stands this was my first, and will be my only, track race of the 2011.

The top lads went off ahead while myself and a couple of club mates settled at a tempered pace of 74/75 second laps (3:06min/km or 4:58 min/miles) and ran more-or-less together for the first 5 laps (2km). The pace seemed to slow a bit after the first two laps and I was feeling ok after three laps so I tried to push past, but my club mate Brian Furey had different ideas, and accelerated as I pulled beside him. I wasn’t used to running 3 minute kilometres and was nervous about blowing up, so I decided not to rise to his challenge at this early stage of the race (after painfully watching too many breakaway cyclists last week getting pulled back by the peloton throughout the TdF last week).

Two laps later, I felt strong and decided to go for it. I pushed to the front of the group with 600m to go and imagined myself running intervals at Bushy Park (Tuesday training ground). The adrenaline kicked in then, and I surged ahead, confident that I had enough gas to shake off any late challenges. I then had a clear run into the finish.

Finished in 9:19 on the stopwatch, so approximately 3:06 min/km pace. I would have needed to run harder in the middle part of the race to run a fast time, but I enjoyed the race and it was a good confidence booster for the Snowdon race, so it served it’s purpose.

My season goal after returning from Kenya was to run under 9 minutes for 3000m. That was based on a plan to race and train for track all through the summer. So this result was quite acceptable considering how things actually turned out.

Observation: track racing, alongside a fast paced mountain descent, is probably the most exhilarating type of running race. There is something about the pace, combined with the shoulder to shoulder battles that play out on the track, that make it such a buzz.

I look forward to having a decent crack at the track next season. Fingers crossed for a clean run into it next time.

Peaks and Troughs

This could be me - Fitzwilliam tennis club is right across the road from my house

It’s not fun writing about running badly.

After the disappointment of failing to perform in the London marathon, I recovered quickly and was ready and able to train again only ten days later. Having built up a solid marathon base over the winter, I decided to decrease the mileage to 100km per week for a while and focus on track work to improve the speed for the summer. By the third week of May I was running better than ever in training, and things looked promising. The idea that I might salvage something from my winter training efforts was comforting, and I began lining up some races for the summer.

But just as the Santry stadium opened its gates for the first graded track meet of the season in late may, I fell sick with a nasty unidentified virus. This problem arose during an aborted IMRA race attempt in Ballinastoe (first ever race abort), where the harsh climb was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

After a few days in bed, I took a risk and dragged myself over to Berlin on a Friday evening to meet with a friend from NZ, on the hope that I would come right. Instead, my condition went from bad to worse, and I was admitted to hospital in East Berlin the following day suspected of having contracted E Coli. All manner of testing was carried out, and with no conclusive diagnosis I was released later in the week after some relief in the symptoms. Pain had subsided and I was finally eating again (I won’t go into the other details). I was still weak and queasy, so training was still a way off.

I flew home to Dublin and spent the next few days resting up on the couch, not able for much else. I tentatively got back into the jogging over the following couple of weeks, because my body was resisting anything more demanding. Finally, last week I managed my first full week of training, including two track sessions and one of hill repeats. Then a 25km long run on Sunday. Generally the sessions went fairly well, and I felt ok during. But I must admit they took a lot out of me each time, and left me feeling queasy in between.

Having managed the sessions ok, last night I decided to test my body by running the Docklands 8k race in Dublin city centre. The first 2km felt ok but then I felt the energy levels drain and the lungs tighten, similar to the Ballinastoe incident four weeks ago. It’s a bizarre and deflating experience to running at training pace (tempo) yet hurting as if in the latter stages of a race. It feels like being a novice runner again i.e. running is hard. That would quite acceptable if I trained like a novice, but unfortunately that is not the case.

I kept plugging away, passing the 4km mark at about 13:20. 5km passed at 16:50, which would have been ok except that my body had given up, and my head had gone with it. I stuck at it until the 6k mark, at which point I pulled out and jogged home (second aborted race). So then... test failed.

The last couple of months have been mentally tough. It’s hard to continually motivate myself to train hard when I’m going backwards. As runners, we invest a sheer amount of gut-busting effort, day-in day-out, into training. This level of effort is difficult to justify on an ongoing basis, in the absence of tangible achievements. Hard work has been aplenty, but so far this year achievements have been few and far between.

At this point I’m about ready to throw in the towel, and take up a more forgiving and leisurely sport like Tennis or lawn bowls. Ahhh now that's the life. Probably better to just toughen up though.

Getting back to nature: Prince William's Seat race report

This year’s Prince William’s Seat race was essentially 4km up a hill and 4km back down (315 metres of vertical ascent/descent). The course started with 800m of wide open fire trail, then entered the forest and wound its way up a steep dark track. After exiting the top of the forest and joining the Wicklow Way trail briefly, the course takes in an anti-clockwise loop that meanders across open country (no trees, for the most part just a narrow muddy trail through scrub and heather) via the summit of Prince William's Seat, before eventually rejoining the forest trail and taking the same route back to the start/finish line. This was not a course for the feint-hearted. It is rough under-foot, that requires not only strength and fitness, but also a good bit of agility, surefootedness and concentration.

The field assembling at the start line was worryingly strong, with a larger-than-usual contingent of Rathfarnham club runners hoping to secure a lucrative spot on the club’s Wicklow Way Relay team, plus considerable threat from unaffiliated runners. So much for treating the race as a mid-week tempo training session in the hills – this was set to be quite a battle.

There were no big surprises off the start. Barry Minnock and Wexford runner Tom Hogan pushed the pace from the beginning. A crew of Rathfarnham runners comprising myself, Aaron O'Donogue, Kevin Bolger, John Brennan and John MacEnri tucked in behind them, with Brian Caulfield close behind.

My legs were burning more-or-less from the start, whereas the other lads seemed quite un-phased by the steep ascent. Some days climbing is very difficult, and this was one of those days. So I revised my race plan to: reach the summit without having lost too much ground, and then try to pick guys off on the way down.

Barry and Tom seemed not to notice that we were running up a hill, and as a result managed to build up an un-closable gap on us by the time we reached the summit. John Brennan pushed ahead on the Wicklow Way section and was probably 80 metres ahead of us at the turning point. I reached the summit in 6th place – four of the guys ahead of me were Rathfarnham runners (i.e. not looking good for my prospects of running the WW relay). I needed to step up my game. Thankfully my descent is normally better than my climb.

Four kilometres remained in the race, three of which were narrow trail which can make overtaking very difficult. Passing involves trying your luck running through heather or deep bog on the fringe of the track. John Brennan was in third position, and I wanted to catch him. Either the three of us would pull him back together, or I would have to overtake Kevin and Aaron and go it alone (if possible). But before any definite decision was required, we reached the brow of a hill to discover John Brennan standing ahead of us on the edge of the track, have just salvaged his mud-clad dislodged shoe from a deep quagmire. We sailed past him, not quite knowing what to say.

The game had changed again - now we just had to worry about each other. There were just under 3km remaining in the race – 2km of narrow technically challenging trail and then 800m of wide speedy fire trail to the finish. From a tactical perspective, there were two options.

If I could overtake the lads on the rough stuff then there was a chance that I'd be able to open up a gap, and take the pressure off a bit. But attempting to overtake here would be risky, because there is a good chance of falling or making harder work for myself (e.g. by going knee deep into a hole under the heather on the track-edge). In any case, it’s one thing to overtake a tentative road-runner who is struggling with the terrain, but it’s another thing altogether trying to pass these lads!

Or I could sit in and wait until the fire trail where the track widens and hopefully be able to out-kick the lads close to the finish.

I decided to hold back until the fire trail and then try my luck.

The forest tunnel was eerily dark, you could barely see where you were stepping as you descended the steep tree root ladder. As soon as I saw the light penetrating through the forest wall below, I found a gap and accelerated past the lads out onto the wide and welcoming fire trail. I’ve run enough 400 metre repeats with Kevin to know that he has a fierce kick, and decided that I’d rather push him hard with 800m to go than leave it to a sprint finish. The three of us bombed it down the hill, hurdled the “Beechers Brook” gate and rounded a couple of corners to finish in 3rd, 4th, and 5th respectively.

No doubt that this is just one of many battles that take place every week throughout the field of IMRA runners. You can’t beat IMRA races for a bit of healthy competition and exciting racing between mates.

Tough times in London

It was one of the most exciting race starts I have experienced. I stood on the start line of the London Marathon in Greenwich last Sunday at 8:57am, surrounded by hundreds of club runners from all over the UK. Just a few feet ahead of me, Martin Lel raised his hands above his head to greet the crowd as he was introduced by the MC. Lel, the marathon legend and twice winner of London marathon, stood shoulder to shoulder with some of the biggest names in the running world. Meanwhile, 38,000 runners waited anxiously behind me for Richard Branson to drop the starting flag at the sound of the gun.

Despite the grandeur of the event and the associated intense atmosphere, I felt fairly relaxed and confident that I was in for a good performance. The conditions were pleasant, if not a little warm (cold is good for marathons). I had a near perfect build-up to the race, and the legs were fresh and ready for action.

At the sound of the gun, the sea of runners burst across the start line and the race got underway. My plan was fairly simple – start off with a steady pace of 3:36 min/km (or 5:48 min/mile) and hold the pace as long as I could.

As expected, the first ten miles (16km) were relatively non-eventful. The pace felt fine, and it is really just a matter of passing time. The crowd was always there, but was relatively quiet at this early stage in the race. I noticed over these early miles that my heart rate (as reported by the Garmin) was higher than it had been in Rotterdam marathon and in Berlin marathon last year. In both of my previous two attempts at the marathon, I had started off sitting at around 158 beats per minute, whereas on this occasion I found myself sitting closer to 167bpm at the same stage of the race. I also noticed that I was breathing a bit harder than I had done at this stage in Berlin last September.

I was not overly concerned about this because I felt ok, but I did consider pulling back the pace from the ten kilometre mark so that my heart rate would settle. I decided not to reduce the pace because (a) I backed myself. I felt that my aerobic capacity was stronger than it had been last year, and that I would be able to sustain a higher heart-rate for the duration of the marathon (b) I had run conservatively in Berlin and Rotterdam, and I wanted to push the boundaries this time (c) I was not ‘here to play tiddlywinks’: I had trained much harder than ever before, and I wanted a fast time to validate it. So I decided I’d rather try my luck. I figured that it was better to go out in a ball of flames, than to run a mediocre time and wonder whether I could have done better.

The clock hit 58 minutes as I crossed the ten mile mark, and at around that time the clouds made way for the unwelcome sun, and the air became humid. As the spectators sat back and enjoyed a good dose of sun, for the first time I felt like I was working. The first real sign of things going awry was a pang of fatigue that struck as I crossed the Tower Bridge, approaching the 20km mark. This is an epic section of course, with an immense atmosphere emanating from the roar of thousands of spectators combined with the impressive backdrop as you reach the north bank of the Thames. But on this day, the anticipated sense of exhilaration was overwhelmed by rising concern.

The fatigue that I was experiencing was worrying, because on a good day I should feel strong and ready to raise the game at the half-way mark of the marathon. I passed half way at 1h17 minutes and felt ok, but I was not confident about the thought of running a consecutive half marathon in the same amount of time.

Things deteriorated quickly from there. I knew what was happening, but I didn’t know why it was happening. My build-up for the marathon, including race performances, had suggested that the pace I was running would be manageable for most, if not all, of the race. But my mile splits had been inexplicably slipping since the ten-mile mark and the pace began to feel forced.

By the 25 kilometre mark I was starting to hurt, and I had a long way to go. By now my race plan was out the window, and I stopped looking at the clock. I could have sustained marathon pace for perhaps another few miles, but I felt doing so would have only lead to the embarrassment of pulling out or walking later. These were not viable options, particularly since I had plenty of supporters waiting for me on the last few miles of the course. I had decided by now that it was not my day, and that I just needed to settle on a new, more manageable pace that would get me to the finish line in one piece. This is, of course, easier said than done.

Running out of steam is a horrible feeling that only an athlete can really understand. For those of you who are not athletes: you are demanding that your body continue to operate when there is no fuel left in the tank. Everything hurts, tunnel vision sets in, and you effectively lose control of the situation as your body tries desperately to convert fat stores into sugar at a rate that is sufficient to keep you from passing out. There remain no options about whether to speed up in response to the cheering of friends (let alone to wave or say hello), or to strategise and work with other runners. You are no longer racing or competing with anyone. All of your goals and expectations go out the window, and you resort to merely trying to stay on your feet and move in a forward direction.

I have 'hit the wall' before, so the feeling is all to familiar. Fortunately the thousands of miles of training that I have recently accrued meant that this time around finishing was not in doubt. But many of the symptoms were there, and it is still a long and arduous journey to the finish line.

The resignation was hugely disappointing. After months of hard training, a painfully slow and labored jog was all I could really muster up in response to the relentless drone of the huge crowds lining Canary Wharf and the embankment as I closed in on the finish line. The miles ticked by slowly and began to reflect on the hard training it took to get there, the early mornings with burning lungs in Iten, the dark snowy nights running 1000 metre repeats around Nutgrove park. Embankment was supposed to be a reward for all of that effort, but it was not to be on this occasion. Instead I was jogging along at a pace that was slower than my usual ‘long-slow-training run’ pace wondering what had happened.

It wasn’t all bad though! The saving grace was the brilliant support that I received from Alison and my friends in the final stretch. Being greeted by a loyal support crew at the finish line was an excellent boost for the spirits (especially when they think that you were awesome!). I also took some comfort from the fact that despite having a bad day, I was able to hold it together over the second half of the course enough to salvage dignity. Even though the hard work didn’t deliver the performance I was looking for on the day, it wasn’t for nothing because it got me to the finish line. The other redeeming factor is that my legs have recovered quickly because they didn’t work as hard as they should have, so hopefully I can get back into full training soon and set my sights on the summer racing calendar.

In summary, I went out and had a crack at a goal that was challenging (2h32 marathon). I still believe that this target (or something close to it) was achievable, but only if the everything came together for me on the day, which it did not on this occasion. As a result, I blew up and failed to even run a personal best (2h39). That is despite training much harder and smarter in the lead-up to this marathon, and being in much better shape than ever before.

The lessons I have taken from this experience are that:

• Some days it is harder, physiologically speaking, to run fast. Despite being physically prepared and in a good state of mind last Sunday, it seemed on the day like I was having to work harder than usual to sustain the target pace. I chose to stick with the pace rather than back off, and then I paid the price for it (though I don’t regret my decision).
• When you set your sights high and definite, the margins are tight and there is a fine line between success and failure. Small variables have large implications.
• Until now I have only run marathons in cool conditions, and have relied on drinking water alone. I have refrained from gels and sports drinks because I have experienced stomach problems in the past and I these products are commonly known to exacerbate them. But the weather was warm in London. The body dehydrates faster in those conditions and loses salts/electrolytes at a greater rate. This can lead to depleting energy levels. Elite runners use replacements like gels and sports drinks to sustain energy levels. I will train myself to do the same in the future.

Half marathon split: 1:17:30min

Finish time: 2:42:20min

The waiting game

The last two weeks before a marathon are the hardest. This is because this period of time mainly involves: waiting around/resting, and attempting to lose weight. As you may have noticed, these pass-times/behaviors do not typically go hand in hand.

Picture: there was lots of down-time in Kenya too, but at least I had daisy to keep me company!

At this stage you’ve been focused on the marathon for months. With eleven days to go before the race, you’re fatigued in the body and in the mind. You haven’t had a sip of beer or a piece of chocolate in weeks, and most of your personal/leisure time in recent memory has been spent resting at home instead of socialising or enjoying the usual pleasures of life (hill walking, holidaying, leisurely cycling to name just a few). But when you’re in the midst of a demanding training regime, you barely have time to notice what you’re missing out on. And the training is often quite enjoyable, so it’s all good. This all changes when the taper starts. From here on in, training will be tapered back in order to let the body recover in time for the London Marathon.

Right now it’s hard to imagine running a marathon at my target pace. In fact, if I were to attempt to run the marathon tomorrow I would fall well short, because I’m tired. To prepare for the race then, I’ll spend a significant amount of time stationary and off my feet. Sitting around or sleeping is usually a luxury that should be appreciated, but it can also get boring fairly quickly. Especially when you’re also trying to lose weight.

Training for a marathon is hard, but sitting around on the couch for two weeks thinking about not eating is even harder. As well, it’s not particularly relaxing sitting around waiting when you are anxiously awaiting the marathon itself! It's the unsettling ‘calm before the storm’.

Don’t get me wrong, I definitely won’t be starving myself. I need to stay strong and healthy so there is absolutely no benefit in depriving myself of essential nourishment. But I will be carefully controlling my diet/food intake in order to shed a couple of kilograms before the race. The idea is that you don’t want to carry any more weight around the marathon course than you need to. So I’ll only be eating as much as I ‘need’ and no more. I won’t be running as much so I’ll be eating less than usual, and I’ll only eat and drink healthy food types with low fat and sugar content. My diet will be fairly unexciting. Not dissimilar from the Kenyan approach, except that now I’m in Dublin so I’ll be surrounded by people who are enjoying the full western diet.

I’m not sure what will come as more of a shock to the body – the marathon itself, or the Big Mac Combo that I throw at it after the race.

The next station is... Greenwich

With less than three weeks to go until London marathon, it seems like as good of a time as any to take stock of where I’m at and assess the task at hand.

Last September I ran the Berlin marathon in a time of 2h39 minutes and 23 seconds. Since then I have spent approximately three months drinking pints and eating chocolate (admittedly I was also training to some degree through November and December). Then I organised my London marathon entry, and I knew that my only chance to get back in the game was to spend a month training in isolation in Kenya.

So after scoffing several pounds of turkey over Christmas in anticipation of a period of culinary austerity, I flew to Iten for some altitude training. These were Spartan times, which gave me little to do except to focus on improving my running and involuntarily (but happily) lose a few kilograms. I then returned to Dublin to work, and more importantly, to continue my training. I also rekindled my relationship with chocolate and beer, but this time I restricted access.

Upon returning to Ireland I ran two good races, including the National Intermediate cross-country and the Ballycotton 10 (54:13). I also ran two disappointing races at the National Senior teams Cross country and the Fr Murphy AC St Paddy's Day 5 mile in Co. Meath (admittedly it was more of a tempo run, but either way I got whipped and ran badly). But I’ve been training through all of these races (not interrupting training to rest up), all of the while focused on Sunday 17 April: the day of the London Marathon.

Here is the course:

As you can see, the marathon starts in Greenwich Park in South East London. The course veers East before turning back on itself and heading West along the Thames towards the city centre. The course crosses the London bridge at the half marathon mark, then meanders eastward around the financial centre before folding back on itself along the Northern side of the Thames. In the last few miles runners pass many of the famous landmarks of London, before passing Big Ben and Westminster Abbey and finishing in the Buckingham Palace Gardens.

Setting a target time

After completing the Berlin Marathon in September, I set myself a goal of running 2h32 minutes in London. This goal was the driving force behind my motivation through the cold dark months of winter (ok fair enough, it wasn’t that wintery in Kenya). But in the final lead-up to the race it is important to set a ‘target time’ which will underpin my race plan and pace throughout the race.

When the starting gun fires at the beginning of a marathon, the field takes off and everyone feels super. Well prepared runners have fresh legs for a change, and should feel well rested after a decent taper period (rest). The adrenal glands are firing rounds of borrowed energy into the bloodstream, courtesy of your anxiety combined with the buzz of the crowd. For this reason, many people are over-confident and take off like a rocket from the gun. But as these folk learn when they hit the half way mark: adrenaline doesn’t last for 26.2 miles (42.2km). There is no hiding from your actual physiological capacity and preparedness for the task.

The fastest way to run a marathon is to pace it more-or-less evenly throughout the entire race. Common theory holds that if you run the first ten kilometres one minute too fast, then you’ll probably run the last ten kilometres two minutes slower than you otherwise would have done. So it pays to be acutely aware of your physical condition, and to get the pace right. The best way to assess your physical capacity is to analyse your race results and training performances. I have yet to complete my test sessions. But based on my performances and training so far, my goal time of 2h32 minutes remains a realistic target, if not a little ambitious.

Last year I targeted sub-2h45min in Rotterdam marathon and ran 2h44min (in April), then targeted sub-2h40min in Berlin Marathon and ran 2h39min (in September). Both times I felt that I had run well and had paced it conservatively, but perhaps could have run quicker if my target time had been quicker. So this time I’m happy enough to take a risk and set a more demanding target time. Time will tell whether that is a good decision.

Next is to break-down the race based on the target time.

Finish time: 2 hours 32 minutes

3:36 minutes/km (or 5km splits of 18:00)

5:48 minutes/mile (5 mile splits of 29:00)

When I’m standing on the starting line in Greenwich, I’ll be thinking almost entirely about getting my pace right and listening to my body. My Garmin watch will bleep at me every kilometre during the race and display my kilometre split. And there will be mile markers along the way with large clocks fitted. Initially, this prescribed pace should feel very comfortable (in fact easy). If I have set my target time and pace correctly, then all will feel comfortable for a good while, before getting steadily harder over the last ten kilometres. By the time I hit the 40km mark if all goes well I’ll be giving it everything just to hold on. If I have over-estimated my fitness however, then I'll suffer a long and painful struggle to the finish line.

Hitting this target is anything but a foregone conclusion. As I said in my blog post before Berlin Marathon, there are many obstacles that could present themselves (wind, stomach cramps, toilet stops, heat). These need to be accounted for on the day. Failure to be flexible in light of extraneous factors can be catastrophic to performance. For example, if it’s hot, I’ll probably have to recalibrate the goal time to a slower time and pace the race accordingly from the start. Otherwise there is a high risk of blowing up.

Despite the focus here on pace, in reality you have to run based on how you feel. If it feels hard when it shouldn’t feel hard (i.e. early on), then I’ll slow down.

More to come on the pain that it took to get here…