14/3/16 – One Hundred and Eighty… One

Meet my new Nemesis.

This is the Bus that nearly made me an Ex-Marathon Trainee… indeed, almost an Ex-anything.

To be honest though, it wasn’t the Bus Driver’s fault, it was all mine.

After a week in which I didn’t really get enough training done, I faced my longest training run to date – an 18 miler.  On the face of it though, things were looking good, in spite of not fully cracking on in midweek.

I only managed one midweek run on Wednesday – the False home parkrun route – accompanied by John. We finished together and he PB’d it, whilst I came in around 15 seconds over my own PB at 31:54 – a pleasant session and I felt good on the steep hills, even if those blasted dog-walkers insist on closing over the gate at the top instead of leaving it ajar.

I managed one gym and swim session, but aside from throwing the weights around at home, that was it. Less than I’d intended to do.

On Saturday, I ventured back to Lloyd for a proper parkrun –  my first for nearly a month. It’s still muddy there, although nowhere near as bad as my last few runs there. I felt good and pushed on a bit, finishing in my best time on mud of 30:36, although I was a little surprised when my (old) nemesis, Ewa, came flying past me after 3K, having been a good way behind me after the big hill on the first lap.   I tried but I couldn’t keep with her, which led me to think my time was going to be a lot worse than it turned out.

Sue hadn’t joined me at parkrun as she had tickets for a an all-day gig at the Millenium Dome on Sunday, so had picked Saturday to do her 18 miles. She’d opted to do 3x10K locally, returning to house after each, to save her carrying too much water.

Although, I was out when she got back, I could see when I came in just how much it had taken out of her. She looked wrecked and admitted to having an awful run: stop/start, run/walk, feeling close to tears and dizzy on the last leg.

That evening, she researched the marathon forums and found many, many kindred spirits bemoaning the 18 miler. And she then proceeded to tell me all about them! My confidence built on my happy 15 mile experience of a fortnight ago, began to waver a little.

Sunday dawned bright, but nippy. I’d decided after much consideration, not to approach the run in the same way as Sue in doing local laps. I took the train to Victoria and decided to run home, the long way: along the Thames, around Surrey Quays, before striking for home at Deptford along the Waterlink Way cycle route.

Aside from tourist traffic, the first 11 or so miles were steady, not a stella pace, but a good training speed similar to previous. As I passed Lewisham station, I began to feel unease – my pace slowed noticeably to barely a trot.

I don’t normally take onboard too much water whilst running, indeed, probably less than I should, but today my water bottle was 3/4trs gone. Was this something to do with my kidney issue perhaps? Added to that, I was swallowing Sports Beans like they were going out of fashion.

As I ran through Ladywell Park, I stopped for a call of nature and realised I really wasn’t feeling at all well. I pressed on, but avoided the swirly footbridge over the railway as I just couldn’t face the incline.

As I passed the half marathon point (2:41:30), I came to a shuddering, surprising halt. Even the small gradient up and over Catford Bridge seemed too daunting. Had the trains been running, I can honestly say I would have given it up as a bad job and gone home, but I had little option but to plod on.

I crossed the busy road carefully, but halfway across I felt rather faint, but I made it to the other side safely. Immediately I took my last gel, which I had hoped to save for another mile or so. I was now walking, but as I entered the River Pool Park I found myself doubling up over a barrier, feeling really dizzy and faint. Still nearly five miles to go, so I composed myself again and began walking south through the park, breaking out into a slow trot for a couple of hundred metres at a time.

The big bus moment came as I exited the park and went to cross the busy road at Bell Green. Halfway across on the island refuge, I got hit by the faints again. This time it was worse. Everything was going black, my legs turned to jelly and I involuntarily staggered forward, dimly aware of a big red thing hurtling towards me. I felt the wind of its wing mirror whistle past my head and caught sight of the dumbstruck look on the drivers face.  It dawned on me that I’d just had a bit of a lucky escape and the accompanying adrenalin rush somehow got me to the other side. If you are going to collapse whilst out running, do try and pick somewhere other than a narrow traffic island.

There was pub opposite and I slumped on their wall, I couldn’t face going in the pub to get help. I’m not sure I’d have made any sense. Instead I just sat there, head in hands waiting for the sick and giddy feelings to pass.

It felt like I was there ages. I was getting colder and the local yoof were now eyeing me with increasing suspicion. Time to move on. More beans and a small swig of my depleted water supply which, although almost empty, now felt like a lead weight in my hand.

I decided to take the next section, through Kangley Bridge Industrial Estate, in as brisk a walking pace as I could manage. When reviewing my splits later, I see that my fast walk there was a little quicker than my slow trot speed – something worth bearing in mind.

On reaching the cut-through to Cator Park, I broke back into a trot but that didn’t last long – the front of my shins were now cramped right up. Even walking was difficult, let alone at any speed.

I resolved to at least trot through the pain when I reached the Park itself and made it all the way across, albeit losing out to young kids who thought it’d be fun to race me.

At the Park exit, I had to stop once more. Had I been thinking clearly, I was just 100 yards away from a Bus Stop that would have taken me to the end of my road. If only I’d had that presence of mind.

With water supply exhausted, I pressed on heading for the nearest shop – a petrol garage just over a mile from home. There I spent a good ten minutes, guzzling a Lucozade and downing an energy bar before wearily shambling that last mile with a walk/plod combination.

Never have I been so pleased to see my house.

I didn’t warm-down, it didn’t even occur to me to do so. I just wanted to get on my sofa, curl up and die. I even rang Sue to tell her what music I wanted at the funeral… why on earth did I ever think I could manage a Marathon?

I stayed on the sofa for two hours without moving, with what was left of my Lucozade and energy bar, plus an email chat with Marc for company.

He’s currently in training for the Paris Marathon in three weeks time. It was his longest run and he’d also had a bad one, due to a stomach bug and had cut it short by a mile. He talked me down, saying my faint spells weren’t a particularly unusual phenomenon. Indeed, he’d had a moment himself today, though thankfully not involving a bus.

He put my issues down to either being under-fuelled or under the weather. The former didn’t ring true, as I’d been careful in preparation: lots of pasta and porridge – although I have been actively trying to lose weight during the week. Maybe I need to ease up a bit. As for the latter, well perhaps, as I suspected earlier that kidney infection is still lingering.

In conversation, we came up with another reason. Maybe yesterday’s faster parkrun had done me no favours. In pushing on, just maybe I’d actually scrubbed miles off my legs for the following day?

I’d managed a parkrun before a Half Marathon without ill-effect before, but perhaps I was more fortunate than I realised. Certainly an extra 5 miles is a different dimension. I wouldn’t dream of parkrunning the day before the Marathon, so why did I think it was perfectly okay when faced with an 18 miler? I’ve got to start treating the prep. for the these longer runs as I would for the actual race.

Marc is firm in the belief that when you can do 16+ miles then you are effectively marathon-ready, which is something I’ve taken heart in. I just wish mine had been a more enjoyable experience. Over an hour and half of stop/start and a near-death experience for the last five miles clearly needs some improvement before the big day.

Finally, I can’t let this blog entry go without a word about today’s FA Cup Semi-Final Draw. Watford was probably as good as I could have hoped for with regards to getting a Saturday game.

My head says we are the least attractive tie, thus TV will want Everton v West Ham or Man Utd for the Sunday show piece. I can’t help wondering though whether the Police, who must already be stretched on the Sunday due to the Marathon, would prefer the easier game to handle on that day, which is surely our tie – not least because the majority of Watford’s support don’t have travel into the centre of town. It’s going to continue to be a distraction until the announcement is made.

One thing I have learned after Sunday’s run is there is no way on God’s Green Earth I’d be able to make Wembley after the race, as I previously, rather naively imagined… right now, I’m worried about how I’m gonna get home.