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Eight Fifty Three

Thursday 21st June 2012

I like racing on the track.

Last night I took part in the 3000m at my club’s open meet, which also doubled up as the Warwickshire county championship race. The race itself had a very different feel to it; it took place at 9pm, much later than I have ever raced before, and there were over 20 people toeing the start line, many more people than there usually are in a track race. We set off in two starts, merging on the home straight after the first bend. There must have been 15 or 20 people ahead of me when we did. I thought to myself that I was either going to come last or that everyone had gone off pretty hard. I turned out that the latter was true.

I went through 400 in around 72 and spent the next couple of laps overtaking traffic in lane 2. The clock was at 3 minutes dead when I passed through 1k. At this point I passed my clubmate Martin who was bidding to win the county veteran title. Ahead of me was a runner from Bournville who had beaten me at 5k the previous week. After a couple of laps I caught him and tucked in behind. My 2k split was around 5:58. The pace started picking up with two laps to go and I just managed to hang on down the back straight. As the pace dropped with 500 to go I made my move and started kicking for home, and managed to surprise myself with my acceleration on the last lap. I held off the people just behind me and finished in 8:53, a big PB for me. Though I didn’t win the race overall (It was hard to tell with so many athletes on the track, but I think I finished 3rd), I was the first in the county championship race.

At exactly the same time last year I ran 8:59 in a time trial but this felt much easier. It’s interesting to compare my training with what I was doing last year and there are some subtle but important differences. I have been following a schedule put together by a friend, which has us running one session per week at target pace for 3k or 5k. This is supported with quicker than race pace intervals which makes the race pace sessions feel much easier. I’ve also cut the length of my long run from 20+ to  around 16 miles, which gives me a bit more freshness when I’m trying to run hard track sessions a few days later. The main difference is that I’m not trying to cram too much in. As long as I do 3 out of short intervals/long intervals/tempo run/long run in a week I’ll feel I’ve trained well. A year ago I would have tried to do all four.

I’ll probably still look at my current training in a year’s time and decide that in fact it is all wrong, but it seems to be working for me at the moment.

The next mission is to take down my 5k time.

An Email From the Back of the Pack

Tuesday 20th March 2012

I’ve done a couple of races recently. It’s been fun. Two weeks ago I ran a half marathon in my home town and last weekend some club-mates and I ran a local 20 mile race as a warm up for the London Marathon.

This race was notable for a few things. One was that I was happy with my time and that it confirmed that my training has been going well, and the other was that for the first time ever I received an email from another athlete taking part. It was sent via our club secretary; here is an excerpt.

I politely (and very slightly through gritted teeth) applauded those lapping me. Of the 7 or 8 who did lap me, the only one who acknowledged this was your representative, Ed Banks. And not only did he say thank you, he had the breath and good manners to wish me good luck as well.

Obviously it was a pleasure to receive such a kind email from a complete stranger, but it got me thinking and I felt compelled to reply. To paraphrase my response, I told her that although she admires those of us towards the front of races, the respect and admiration is certainly reciprocated. She probably cannot identify with my situation, nor can I with hers, but ultimately we are doing the same thing. Running. The only difference is that she is doing it for longer, and I have a huge amount of respect for this. I know that nearly everyone who starts a race is there to work hard, to graft, and to put themselves through large amounts of pain in the hope they will succeed. The sender of this email was out on the road for nearly 4 hours, far longer than I have ever run for in my life.

If anyone is the hero in this story it is her and not me.

Title Defence

Wednesday 7th March 2012

This weekend I returned to my home town to defend my title in the annual half marathon race. Last year, I ran a personal best time of 70:57 and on a sunny spring morning won a race I had raced every year since starting out as a runner.

So for the first time ever, I entered a race as defending champion. Training had been going really well and early in the week I was feeling very well prepared. We ran a tough but low-volume track session on Tuesday evening and the plan after that was to ease off for the next few days. However, by Thursday morning I was suffering from an intense soreness and throbbing in my quads and calves that even made walking feel painful. I have had this pain before and am awaiting the results of blood tests that will try and determine what is wrong. I took the day off running and hoped it would go away. It didn’t, and by Friday the pain was even worse. Frustratingly, the cramps and soreness never seem to be linked to my training, and don’t feel like the usual fatigue that comes from heavy training. I tried to run on Saturday morning and the pain stopped me going far.

I dosed up on Ibuprofen and went to bed early, hoping that would at least ease the pain a little. I woke up on race morning feeling heavy legged but still wanted to give it a go. I worked hard for the win last year and didn’t want to give up my trophy without at least trying. The rain was coming down hard and I realised that this could end up being very bad day indeed. I left my watch in my jacket pocket at the start; sometimes it is better to run free of pressure and to run acccording to feel, rather than checking your watch every two minutes.

The gun went. Expecting to feel terrible, I was surprised that I was able to put my left foot in front of my right with relative ease. The pain that had been so intense the previous three days appeared to have eased. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances and allowed others to set the pace. I tucked in behind the leaders.

Fortunately, the pace was much slower than it could have been and I was thankful for this. Two miles in there were two runners leading with me tucked in just behind. The third mile involves a long climb and one of the runners started to drop back. I vaguely recognised the other athlete who was with me now; I think he may have won the race a few years ago. The climb up the hill was slow and I didn’t care. My aim was to win the race and as long as the other athletes finished behind me I wasn’t too concerned about how long it took. A quick glance at the lead car’s clock told me we had got to 3 miles outside 17 minutes. Last year I had got to the same point a whole minute quicker. We continued on down waterlogged streets, both drenched by the rain. This had better be worth it, I thought to myself. We got to the five mile marker in just outside 28 minutes. No point pushing the pace just yet, I thought; there is still a long way to go and no guarantee your legs will hold out. The next section of the race was a long descent to the 6 mile point. I noticed that the other athlete had a very long stride and looked at his most confortable going downhill. With this in mind I knew that the best way to win would be not to wait until the last 3 miles, which are predominantly downhill. At six miles (33:40) I tested him by moving to the front and picking up the pace. He covered the move fairly easily and I dropped back in behind. The rain was hammering down by this point.

I tracked him up the hill between Nettleden and Little Gaddesden, allowing him to do all the work. This is the steepest incline in the race and takes you to the highest point on the course. After a fairly slow first few miles I still felt strong and thought that whatever happened, a negative split would be likely. The course flattened out and now we were into the second half I considered my tactics. One of us would win, but would it be me or him? Was he feeling comfortable and ready to pick up the pace, or was he suffering? Time to find out. Just before the eight mile marker, passed in around 45 minutes, I stepped to the front again and attacked, this time with greater purpose. He stayed with me for a hundred metres so I pushed the pace even more and felt the gap begin to grow. I continued to increase the pace and with my calves screaming at me I looked behind at nine miles and saw a gap of at least 30 metres. I followed the lead car up the next hill through Ashridge, not even trying to avoid the large puddles on the road. For a start, the water was cooling on my legs and besides, they were so big now that I couldn’t have avoided them even if I had tried. I turned the corner and saw a photographer from the local newspaper who had taken my photo before the race. What she captured on her camera can’t have been a pretty sight. I then looked back and noticed the gap had stayed the same, and had perhaps even shrunk a bit. I hadn’t been concentrating going up the hill and knew that if I got caught now, the momentum would most likely take the other athlete past me. The ten mile mark took longer than expected to arrive and when it did, the lead car’s clock said 56:10. With a downhill section ahead, I picked up my cadence and really started to push. The 11th mile must have been the quickest of the race yet, close to 5 minutes. I knew that I then had one more hill to negotiate before the descent back into the town in the last mile. When I got up it and had increased my lead I knew the win was likely.

The last mile of the race is my favourite of any race, as the whole thing is downhill. Once you get to 12 miles you can just let gravity do the work. Having said that, I did try and give gravity a small helping hand, running scared in case the athlete behind was gaining ground. I needn’t have worried. By the time I turned the penultimate corner and looked over my shoulder I couln’t see him any more. My winning time from last year had already passed according the clock on the race car, but that didn’t bother me at all. I knew I was about to win.

Passing my wife at the last corner, I held my arms aloft prompting a cheer from the crowds. The lead car pulled over and I passed my brother, who had come down to watch. I high fived him and punched the air with my fist as I crossed the line in 72:02 (the sub-16 last 5k mainly due more to a large altitude drop than anything else). Last year’s win was a surprise; this year’s was a relief and my celebrations at the end probably reflected this. The second-placed athlete crossed the line 42 seconds after I did. We shook hands and shared our complaints about the awful weather. After eight miles of running side by side, these were the first words we spoke to each other all day. After picking up my winner’s trophy and shaking the mayor’s hand, still wearing my soaking wet race kit, I fled the scene in search of warmth and food.

March 3rd 2013 will be the day I go for three in a row. It’s in my diary already.

Great Birmingham Run

Monday 24th October 2011

I ran a marathon a few weeks ago and had entered this as a back-up race. I knew that with it taking place three weeks after the Brussels Marathon I would not have enough time to get into decent half marathon shape so I offered to run at 75 minute pace to help a few people from my club who were aiming to get the London Marathon championship qualifying time.

The elite athletes (including Haile Gebrselassie) were introduced to the TV audience just before the gun went at 10:02. I can only assume that this obscure start time was due to advertising breaks on Channel 5, the broadcaster that now has the rights to some of the Great Run events. I reported on this blog last week that Eliud Kipchoge would be running after receiving a letter from the race organisers to local residents stating that he would. What probably happened is that he pulled out, opening the door to Gebrselassie, who was a late entry.

We set off from just behind Broad Street and into the first mile which is almost all downhill. I was trying really hard to hold back and set a decent pace; I had also been asked to make sure that a 17 year old from our club didn’t set off too fast either. We passed the mile marker in around 5:38, not bad given how much descent there had been. On Thursday evening I had been down to the track and run 4 miles at 5:40 pace to remind myself what it felt like, and I was hitting the splits fairly accurately. Looking over my shoulder just before the 3 mile mark, I realised that I had a huge crowd of about 15 people just tucking in behind me and following my pace! No doubt this was due to the fact that I had written “sub 75 pacer” on my back. It’s amazing how many people are suddenly interested in running with you when you do that!

At around the 10k mark I was out on my own despite having run an even pace the whole way, so I slowed down by jogging on the spot to allow a couple of club mates to catch up. I then picked the pace up again, knowing that we had to leave a bit of time in the bank for the hill between 10 and 11.5 miles.

We got to 10 miles in a few seconds under 57 minutes, which I knew was about the slowest possible 10 mile split that would allow a sub 75. I pressed on and although I worked harder in the next mile than in any other, still recorded the slowest yet as most of the mile was uphill. The guys behind were still in sight but clearly at their limit. I kept shouting encouragement and urging them to close the gap to me. Stephanie was at the 11 mile mark just down the road from where we live, offering her support. She had taken a great photo of Gebrselassie at the same point a few minutes earlier.

The course flattens out in the 12th mile, but still has lots of turns in it so isn’t the quickest part of the course. I went through 12 miles in just over 68 minutes, which was just about spot on. It was great to see so many friends on the course. In the last 2 miles alone I saw about 5 people I knew, one of the perks of running a race in the city you live in.

The support from the crowds on Broad Street was immense, a wall of noise all the way from the tunnel exit by Five Ways to the finish line in front of the Hyatt. I stopped my watch at 74:52 (not bad pacing for a first attempt, I thought!) and immediately looked behind me to see Chris, one of my club mates, cross the line agonisingly short of the 75 minute barrier. Still, he ran a PB by nearly 2 minutes, a great achievement. Our club is on the up.

My friend Mark didn’t have such a good day and fell off the pace around the half way point, finishing in 78 minutes. He will break 75 within the next year.

The plan now is to race a half marathon myself in December and try and break my personal best, set earlier this year. Two months of hard training should do the trick; I’m looking forward to getting stuck into it again.

Brussels Marathon (or A Heat Wave in October)

Monday 3rd October 2011

What a weekend.

I write this from a train back from Brussels, where I have just competed in my first ever overseas race, the Brussels Marathon. Leaving work as early as possible on Friday, I hopped on a train to London and then to Brussels, where my good friend Tom was waiting for me. Tom and I go back a long way and he was best man at my wedding last year; I was really excited. I arrived too late to do anything on Friday evening, but Saturday was spent sightseeing in Antwerp, mainly by bike so I could stay off my feet in preparation for the race the next day.

Knowing we had to be up before 6 the next morning we got to bed early but I could barely sleep. The freak heat wave that has hit the UK in the last week has also reached Belgium and it was unbearably hot, even indoors. This was made worse by the mosquitos who had made their way in and were feasting on us as we slept. The pattern of half an hour sleeping then half an hour tossing and turning and swatting away mosquitos continued until 5:45 when my alarm went.

A quick bowl of Muesli and a cup of coffee and we headed to the station to catch the train into Brussels.

It was a cool morning at first, but as soon as the sun started to rise over the Military Academy, the race’s start point, the temperature rose quickly. The start area was full of people of all nationalities milling around with no one in a huge rush to push to the front. I put myself in the sub 3 start pen and tried to stay out of the sun.

The gun went (in fact it was a cannon) at 9am and we headed towards the centre of Brussels for the first couple of kilometres. Several people went charging off at the front; I tried to ignore everyone else and run at my own pace. After barely 2km of running, with the group ahead of me stretching out of sight quickly and the group behind not going with me, I realised what I had suspected before the race began: this was definitely going to be a solo run.

The first 5k was the least interesting part of the course, mostly on a long straight main road with several underpasses to negotiate. I could have done without the reapeated descending and climbing, the effects of which I knew would be felt later in the race. I went through 5k in around 18 minutes.

Kilometres 5-10 were far more enjoyable, a loop section through some woodland which brought some welcome shade. I was already pouring with sweat by this point. At exactly the 7km mark I saw someone who I was certain I recognised, strange given that I only know 5 people in Belgium and that this person wasn’t one of them. After some thought I realised it was Justine Henin-Hardenne, the tennis player. I laughed to myself and looked back. She gave a knowing smile when she saw I had recognised her.

Passing through 10k in around 36:10 I became aware of one of the runners further ahead falling back. I knew there was no need to try and chase him down with only a quarter of the race run, but I hoped to catch him and maybe even be able to work with him. At 12k I did this and after a brief exchange of words in French we settled into a good rhythm, clicking off kms in the 3:30-3:40 region. The heat aside, I felt very comfortable and strong, even as we began the long grind up the hill from 18k all the way to the half way point. We took it in turns to lead up the hill, with the other one tucking in behind and drafting. Just after 20k I took my turn in the lead and he didn’t go with me. He was spent, and with a long way still to go.

I got to half way in around 76:30, just as planned.

The section that followed was an undulating out and back on a main road with a 6k loop at the end of it which went round a lake. I was still pouring sweat and was pleased that the section round the lake was in shade. Looking round, I still saw no one near me, not even the Belgian runner I had been with only a few km before. At 29k I was off the loop and back on the long out and back section. The heat was really starting to take its toll. I got to 30k in 1:50 and realised I had stopped sweating, a sign of severe dehydration.

The next few kilometres were a blur. I tried my best to push harder but my body just wasn’t responding the way it normally would, and my legs were slowing down. I was vaguely aware of Tom watching at 36k with his girlfriend Sarah and was grateful for their support. With a brutal hill ahead I needed all the support I could get. It came in the shape of a local on a bike, who had clearly seen me suffering and took pity on me. He offered words of support in Flemish which I didn’t really understand. The hill was steep and long and it took all the mental strength I could summon not to start walking or just stop altogether. It didn’t help that the leading half marathon runners who had set off an hour and a half later than us were starting to charge past.

Once I reached the top of the hill I saw the Military Academy ahead of me and knew there wasn’t much further to go. This gave me a lift and I started to feel strong again. From there it was a predominantly downhill stretch into the centre of Brussels. I just tried my best to hang on. Just after the 40k mark I sensed another athlete approaching from behind. Though my time was not going to be quick and we were competing for minor positions I didn’t want to let him take the position I had held for the majority of a race which I had run on my own. The cobbled streets were playing havoc with my tired quads and calves but I pushed on towards the finish, which was tucked away in one of the many squares that fill the centre of the city. I crossed the line in a time of 2:43, nothing special and certainly not what I was hoping for, but given the conditions I felt I hadn’t done too badly.

After a shower I met Tom and Sarah at the hall where the runners had congregated. I felt sick and deyhdrated and sipped an energy drink, only allowing myself to stand up when I was certain that said energy drink wasn’t planning to reappear along with the rest of my stomach’s contents. We set off in search of some salty food and spent the afternoon catching up, talking about the race and enjoying the surprise October sunshine.

Thanks for having me, Brussels.