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Perkins Great Eastern Run – Sunday 14th October 2018

I left Peterborough at around midday on Sunday 14th October and drove home, cold wet and pretty miserable, caring for little other than a warm shower and to try and move on from what had just taken place over the past one hour and fifteen minutes or so. I should have been close to euphoric. I’d just my second fastest ever half marathon (fastest if you go by what Power of 10 reckons I’ve raced…) and claimed my best ever age grade race result by pretty much one whole percent yet all I could think about was what could and should have been the best race of my life.

The Perkins Great Eastern Run (GER) had been my target race for the autumn pretty much as soon as I’d self inflicted a prolonged summer break from racing with injury at the Woodhall Spa 10K. This half marathon in Peterborough has a reputation for being the fastest in the region; what it lacks in beautiful scenery and rolling countryside it makes up in near pancake flat roads as it takes you through a sometimes dizzying tour out of central Peterborough and to the outskirts of the north of the city and back.

The summer holiday 21 10 mile+ runs had seen me in great shape and ever since I’d clocked a surprise 17:00 at Belton House parkrun it had been a case of trying to just do enough training to prolong the form. As the race approached I felt perhaps I’d lost perhaps just the tiniest amount of pace (Not helped by some tough weekends of F1 work) but still in decent enough shape to be looking to at least crack 75 minutes at the GER and hopefully beat my HM PB (set at Grunty Fen) of 1:14:46.

Given that 2018 has been undoubtedly the year of racing (or not being able to race) in extreme weather conditions, it should have come as no surprise that the GER would be struck with some pretty inclement conditions. Driving down the A1 not long after 7am with the rain battering my windscreen did not fill my heart with joy, especially as the forecast had predicted this weather and was very confident indeed that it would remain wet, at times very wet, all through the morning and well into the early afternoon.

Some people would rejoice at some conditions – the rain after all does do a great job in keeping the body cool so if you are a runner prone to overheating then if you can live with the discomfort of being wet then these conditions could be seen as close to ideal. The wind, although not still and at times noticeable in the race, was barely a factor and the official temperature was 14C, although it was most likely around 10C when the rain fell at its strongest.

History has suggested that I don’t race that well in very wet conditions. I don’t necessarily mind running in the rain – a bit of light drizzle is perfect in my eyes (not literally though, that is a bit of a nightmare). It’s when I am racing and I am struggling to stay warm in heavy rain that I feel I am losing out to the weather, especially when it is cold. The worst case was the Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon of 2017, so cold and wet it was that my quads all but locked and led to me now always racing in my compression shorts. Even the race I won in the rain (the Stilton Stumble 10K) I suffered badly from quad cramps, and it actually stopped raining not long after the start.

I arrived at the race venue two hours ahead of the race start. The car parks were already starting to fill. I had a little panic over which car park I was allowed to be in having booked it online. I don’t think it made a difference but the little panic as I moved car parks hoping I wouldn’t violate obscure T&Cs kept my mind occupied for longer than it should have. Walking to the the race village it soon became clear that the race wasn’t really geared up for preparations in heavy rain. There were no official changing facilities, people huddled under any place they could. I, and many others, sought sanctuary in the information tent, where far too many people in too small a space tried to keep warm and / or get changed into their race kit.

Kit changed and the first trip to the portaloos done, I returned to the car to sit around for a bit. I hadn’t seen any of the 40+ Grantham Running Club members taking part in the race, I can only assume that they, like me, and many others, were waiting in their cars until the last possible minute before making their way to the start or a queue for the toilets.

An hour before the start I went for a one and a half mile warm up which did little to warm me up, especially when I was soaked to the bone by a large car that went through a very large puddle at undiminished speed, putting my already questionable mood into a state of near gutter level gloom – gutters that were struggling to contain the volume of water that was falling. Back at the car I stripped out of the soaked tracksuit bottoms and top, deciding as it was still not actually that cold to go with the GRC T-shirt, rather than long-sleeved top, and gloves. I also opted to keep on the racing cap I’d worn during the warm up. The last time I race in this I think it was the last really warm London Marathon (Not this year’s the one before, years ago). I think it was a smart move, although I did struggle to keep it on at times!

I returned to the race village and queued again for the portaloos, shivering quite uncontrollably, spending longer on the toilet than I needed to just because it was somewhere warmer and drier. I then returned to the car (again!) as I’d decided that the gloves I was wearing, now soaked as though they had been in a washing machine that had forgotten to spin, were as useless at keeping my hands warm as no gloves at all. The car park was now fairly flooded, I made my way carefully to avoid the worst of the puddles, which was fairly pointless really as my trainers were already saturated.

I made one very last trip to the toilets, making my way to the start line around ten minutes before the start. I got myself pretty close to the front, not with the elites, who had their own pen to warm up in, but up and close with runners who looked pretty serious in their club vests and very flat racing flats. Me in my Hokas, t-shirt, shivering uncontrollably, could not have looked more out of place, frankly.

Five minutes before the off we were walked to the start line, trying our best to skirt the small pool that covered the road. The start should have been at 10:30 but it was delayed by five interminably long minutes as I assume they were ensuring the roads were closed and cleared. I seem to recall some small talk with a fellow runner who also appeared to be suffering a bit with the cold. I think we said the usual cliche of we’ll soon warm up once we get running, before we were finally called to our starting orders.

I think I made a terrible start, one of the worst I’ve made in recent years. It was terrible in that it was tardy, very slow to pick up the pace, feeling so cold and stiff, then having to work really hard to get into a decent rhythm. Looking back with the benefit of a few weeks’ hindsight, it may have actually been quite a good start, easing myself gently into the race rather than trying to hit race pace from the off. The mile split was 5:48, but given that I was well over six minute mile pace for the opening minute or two it showed I had to run a fair bit quicker than that in the latter part of the mile to bring the split time down.

Mile two was a little better (5:44), but still the HR struggled to get up to what I’d expect it to in a half marathon. I did though benefit from some advice to hug the inside of the road on a never ending left hand bend around Central Park, which saved me several seconds over those who were taking the go-kart line (that’s the outside of the bend) perhaps because it was so wet and rainy.  Mile three I began to get into the race. I’d got into a group of around eight runners, one of whom (Portuguese I think) was keen to get a rapport going between the runners, very eager to have the pack share the pace making, but annoyingly appearing to slow down in front of me when he took the pace.

Mile three was 5:35 and I felt warmed up and ready to race. Not enjoying tripping over the runners in front of me, as we hit a little rise crossing over the A47 (probably the biggest climb in the race), I pushed on the pace to see who would go with me.  Around four did, none of whom were willing to help share the pace. So, having run a 5:34 mile four I deliberately eased up to force someone else to take the pace on. This they did and for another mile or so I continued to run well, strangely enjoying the numerous twists and turns as we ran from one housing development to another.

Mile 5 was 5:39, mile 6 slowed to 5:47, but it was the most uphill mile of the race (Barely uphill though to be honest) and I recall we faced the worst of the headwind as we went along the seemingly never ending Lincoln Road, with the rain falling heavier than ever. As we went through halfway I seem to recall the official clock had us going through just ahead of schedule to break 75 minutes, but a few moments later a runner I was with asked me the question ‘are we on to break 75 minutes?’ My watch (Again running the awesome Peter’s Race Pacer app) said we were due to finish in 1:15:20.

He seemed to heed this warning for as we turned right into David’s Lane (Which felt more like a footpath, covered with fallen leaves) he pushed on the pace a touch, taking with him most of the remainder of the group (including the Portuguese runner). Had I been in a more fighting mood I think I would have gone with them. But I was cold. I was wet. I was looking at my heart rate. The average had barely gone above 168, which is right at the lower end of what I’d expect in a half marathon. It was beginning to drop. Mile 7 averaged 166, then miles 8 through to 12 averaged 165. That’s my marathon heart rate. I can only assume that the cold weather was seeing my body divert resources from the act of running fast to the act of trying to keep warm. As the rain continued to fall hard, there was little I could do but try as best I could and ignore the fact that I was feeling really cold, my trainers were dying, and I was still on target to finish just outside 75 minutes.

Mile 7 was 5:41, miles 8 and 9 5:37 and 5:42. In hindsight these aren’t bad miles but I felt like I should have been running quicker. By now I was more or less running alone, just one guy who I traded places with on a few occasions without actually helping pace one another, who I remember because he was wearing a lurid fluro pink t-shirt for a charity which appeared to have a lot of local support.

Mile 10 was 5:44, mile 11 5:43 – it was here we ran back on the roads we went out on at miles 3 and 4 although I can’t say I really recognised them – there are very few memorable features on this course. The only reason I knew we had run on them was because there were backmarkers heading in the opposite direction, culminating with the sweep vehicles, one of whom almost literally did sweep me up as I took a right hand turn into the path of a street cleaning vehicle.

It was at around this stage that I caught what I believe is the second placed woman, who I quickly made the effort to pass and pull clear of, not because I have any sense of needing to beat a female, but because she had an awkward running style that appeared to have her knees twisting at all sorts of funny angles and given that I’m pretty screamish about knees, I knew I couldn’t stick behind her.

With her passed I set about making it to the finish, constantly looking at my watch which resolutely predicted that I was going to finish in 1:15:20. Mile 12 was 5:40, the final mile appeared to last an eternity as we sploshed through near flooded roads. I latched onto the back of a runner who, wearing a black and white striped vest, I assumed, wrongly, ran for Shaftsbury Barnet Harriers (The colours of the pacers at the London Marathon). He carried me from mile 12 almost to the end, except he was able to put a sprint on from the 400 meters to go sign and I simply wasn’t able to, the problems this time were feet that were beginning to go numb from the cold and a stomach that really didn’t like the cereal that for some unfathomable reason (I have a bad history with cereal and racing) I’d decided to have for breakfast.

I crossed the line in 1:15:17, I made three seconds up on the time my watch had predicted I would finish in since halfway. I must have been annoyed/cold as I totally forgot to stop my watch for around half a minute after I crossed the finish line – the first time I can ever recall doing this (It’s an action more autonomous than breathing). Annoyingly the Portuguese runner crossed the finish line in 1:14:57, I think all the other runners I was with at halfway broke 75 minutes – if only I’d just been able to keep with them at mile 7. I think I would have stayed with them to the end.

I picked up my medal, bag, and other bits and bobs then hot-footed it as quick as possible to the nearest portaloo. From there it was straight to the car and home. I had left before 1:24 finishers had crossed the finish line. I felt bad that I wasn’t around to cheer home the 35+ GRC runners, but I was very cold, very miserable, and wasn’t willing to stand around in the rain for a second longer than I had to. I think I made the right choice to head home – my lips were still purple two hours after I had got home….

A few weeks to reflect has eased the disappointment a touch, but I am still full of what if?  and if only? The fact it was my highest ever age grade (83.92%) eased the disappointment a little but if I’d run what I think I was capable of I think 85% was on the cards. It was my second quickest half marathon but I’ve waited years to be able to run the quickest half in the region and I am still a bit gutted that I couldn’t quite perform to the level I think I was at, possibly because, once again in 2018, the weather has consigned to be against me.

I didn’t have too long to feel down because my next race was in two weeks time – and it was one of my favourites!

 

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Race Report – Keyworth Turkey Trot, Sunday February 11th 2018

The 2017 Keyworth Turkey Trot was meant to be a thrilling conclusion to the inaugural Grantham Running Club Grand Prix Championships. I had worked out that I needed 1:17:20 to secure an age grade sufficient to overhaul Series leader Rob Howbrook, assuming he wasn’t able to improve his age grade himself. After running a minute quicker than that at the Worksop Half Marathon, I was quietly confident, but after a month of injury post Rockingham Duathlon I was barely able to bring myself to attend the event let alone consider winning.

It therefore came of something of a relief when dire weather forecasts on the day before the December 10th race day forced the organisers to postpone the event. With no prospect of the race able to be rescheduled before the end of the year, it was Rob who took the club title and also the club champion title as a consequence. Although I could claim I had been denied the opportunity to win, the reality was that the hip and a recent bout of illness meant that I would have needed a miracle to win.

When it was announced just before Christmas that the Turkey Trot had been rescheduled to February 11th, I had mixed feelings. It did give me something to aim to get fit for, but on the other hand I’d not considered racing so early in the year. Once my physio’s exercises and all the other exercises I grabbed together and put into practice eased my hip woes, I planned on taking part in the Trot, albeit going in to it with the intention of it being a hard training run rather than a race to peak for. This was a different attitude to what I took for the 2017 Folksworth 15 in late January, which I used as a race to train for before beginning my marathon training.

As it was a training race I didn’t taper for it, the winding down of running coincided with a planned step back week after three weeks of increased running mileage. I worked hard on the bike in the days leading up to the race. I increasingly found myself bothered with a chest infection which, on the evening before the race, driving back from Yorkshire after visiting relatives, was threatening to explode into the full blown fever half the family was already suffering. I fully expected to wake on Sunday morning unable to move or breathe – as it was I was able move and breathe, albeit feeling just a little stiff and breathing through a slightly blocked nose and chest that did like to cough quite frequently.

I made it to Keyworth nice and early with over 90 minutes before the start of the race. With a bitter cold wind I minimised the time spent outside, just 1.5 miles for warm up before a quick trip to the toilets (not much of a queue with numbers down on usual thanks to some key fixture clashes) and more waiting inside, posing for photos and generally trying to keep composed.

I made my way to the start line with just five minutes or so to spend shivering away, despite being attired more appropriately for a cross country skier in PyeongChang than Keyworth in South Nottinghamshire. Not wanting to commit wholly to racing, I lined up a few rows back from the start, which I immediately regretted when the firing horn was sounded, as I was stuck behind some fairly slow runners for a few seconds. Up to speed I was alarmed to find myself running faster than anyone else in the field and heading towards the lead, so I eased up a touch on the downhill dash to the first uphill kick of the race.

On the kick up a small group of three or so just eased away and I found myself in the second group of four or five runners. Once at the top of the short climb we turned right and into the stiff, cold, headwind. I had two choices, either push on and commit to racing with the lead pack, or ease up and be a part of group two. I went with the latter and eased off, tucking in behind two taller runners and trying to get shelter. Whether this actually helped in the long run I’m not sure. I found myself constantly having to check my stride, possibly expounding more energy than had I just sucked up the wind and ran to my own pace.

Mile one was 5:42, as was mile two as the mostly favourable gently downhill road was tempered by the wind. I kept to the plan of tucking in as much as possible, feeling fairly comfortable, but feeling more as if I was racing than training hard.  Approaching the amusingly named village of Bunny we turned sharp left and suddenly the headwind was more a cross tail wind. I took this as my call to push to the front of the group and just push the pace on a touch, knowing that this section has the first of two periods of climbing. As I went through mile three in 5:58, the road went upwards and the group fell apart. I found myself third up the first hill, with perhaps three behind me. I then caught the two ahead midway up the second climb before losing them again as the road continued upwards. 6:04 was mile 4, the Strava GAP of 5:24 feels about right as it was the hardest mile of the race.

Miles 5 and 6 I tried to relax and push on the with the plan of it being a training run. This kind of went out of the window when I caught the two runners ahead of me and was still within shouting distance of the lead group of (I think) four runners. 5:39 for mile 5 was heavily wind assisted, mile 6 was slower at 5:56, but featured another climb where I dropped one of the runners I was with but was dropped by the runner who I thought was suffering, but instead pushed on once at the top of the climb and was able to slowly but surely pull clear of me by some margin.

Miles 7 and 8 took us up to and through Willoughby on the Wolds. I didn’t feel great here and ran 5:52 and 5:57, although they were both predominantly uphill. Mile 9 is nearly all gradually downhill and normally where you can push on for a quick mile, but this year the crosswind made the going tough. At one point I was nearly blown off the road! I forced out a 5:55, but was caught by a V50 runner who was looking remarkably fresh. We chatted for much of the tenth mile, commenting on how we felt the mile markers were somewhat inaccurate. This 5:54 mile felt fairly comfortable as the wind was nearly on our backs.

This wasn’t to last as we turned sharp left to head towards Keyworth. This mile and half section is at the best of times tough with one long drag uphill, then a downhill swoosh that punishes tired quads before another steep climb before a welcome plateau. This year a block headwind made it almost unbearable. Despite this I managed to ease clear of my recently acquired running partner. It was clear I was stronger than him on the hills and he was a little quicker on the flat and downhill sections. No matter how hard it felt I needed to push on and maximise my gains on the uphill sections.

The first climb saw us battling wind and gradient, inching slowly towards welcome shelter in the form of a tall hedge roadside which, once I reached it, instantly gave me at least a one mph speed boost. I went down the hill as relaxed as possible, sensing just a little discomfort in the left hip, before pushing on again for the second hill. Mile 11 was the race’s slowest at 6:16; mile 12 as I thankfully hit the plateau was still slow at 6:13 – the wind still very much a factor, although there was now some protection from the houses as we returned into Keyworth itself.

This flat section seemed to drag on forever, far longer than it has in previous years. Finally I dropped downhill and knew the race was nearly done. There is however one last sting in the tail in the form of two final climbs in the final half mile. I felt like I was running on empty, yet Strava suggested I was second only to the winner (and only a couple of seconds slower than him) in this tough last part of the race.

The penultimate climb less than a mile from the finish. Dressed for the Winter Olympics! Picture c/o John Oldfield

The final hill done it is mercifully a short downhill dash to the finish back at the school. I clocked 1:18:06, my slowest of three Keyworth Turkey Trots but, given the wind, probably not too far off in terms of performance from the other two. I finished sixth, my best yet (I was seventh in 2016), and again I claimed the winner’s prize in the V40 category, thanks in part to the race having prizes for the top 5, of whom at least two were V40 runners as well. News broke that the traditional turkeys handed out as prizes hadn’t survived Christmas and so it was we received hampers, or more accurately, a Co-Op shopping bag with some random weird and wonderful food and hair care products. The kids liked the soup….

Collecting my glass memento and Co-Op ‘Hamper’

To summarise, I was pleased with the performance given that my training was delayed two or three weeks by injury and I went into the race with something of a chest infection. I do wonder what I could have done had I committed to going with the front group in the opening stages, which I felt I had the capacity to do, but opted in the interests of the long term goal of not doing. I think I may have been able to have gone a minute or so quicker, but ultimately didn’t have enough on the day to go much quicker. If I had done that and the race was in December I may have grabbed the club’s GP prize, but that is all conjecture and speculation!

The contents of the Co-Op ‘Hamper’
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Race Report – Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon – Sunday 5th March 2017

Returning to the scene of my best ever race (I finished second in 2016), the 2017 Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon was an eagerly anticipated affair. Looking at the entry list beforehand I knew the chances of going one better or even equaling my performance were slim as the 2016 winner Adam Holland was back to defend his title, as was 2015 victor Ian Bailey. Still, on occasion, I allowed myself to dream what if they didn’t turn up? what if they had a bad race? Could I possibly win?!

Pre race training was a mixed bag. Beset by a succession of colds and a lingering chest infection that may or may not have been caused or aggravated or prolonged by possible over training, there was a nagging knowing that I went into the race just a touch below 100%. The long runs had been really good, many interspersed with a mid run parkrun, the longest being 24 miles. The marathon paced runs had been reasonable, but they and many of the bike rides I went on felt as though there wasn’t much more to give beyond the Zone 3 HR limits these efforts entailed. Running up hills and cycling up them at any great effort felt particularly arduous.

At least I wasn’t going into the race injured, even if I did try my best slipping on an icy bridge while on an early morning run earlier in the week. The right hip was a bit bruised and sore but didn’t appear to affect my running. I enjoyed something of an easy week, resting up completely the day before the race.

Race day dawned cloudy but the fear was that the weather would take a turn for the worse some time around the planned start time of 10:30am. I enjoyed the luxury of living within a warm up from the race HQ, warming up at home and jogging the two miles to the start. That jog felt easy enough but the heart rate was really high – nerves perhaps. I took that as a positive, proof that I was up for this race. Still dry, if breezy, it felt fairly warm. I opted to jettison the tights, going for shorts, long socks, long sleeved top and gloves combo.

Then, around 45 minutes before the start, the rain began to fall. Icy cold rain. Buckets of it. Relentlessly, driven in by a cold stiff wind. People did their best to seek shelter. It all got quite crowded, so I popped over to the leisure center where I could finish getting changed in the comfort of not that many people being around. I made a last minute decision to add a hat to the apparel. Unfortunately I chose not to put on the tights, a decision I think I came to regret.

Grandstand makes for refuge shelter. Picture c/o Gordon Geach.

Ten minutes before the start and there was no eagerness from anyone to head to the start line, the same with five minutes to go. I opted to run around the track and seek shelter in the grandstand, an option that soon became quite popular. The start time came and went, no sign of the starter, runners making their way in dribs and drabs to the grandstand. As I stood shivering with the rain showing no sign of abating, any pre-race nerves were replaced with apathy, a distinct lack of desire to subject myself to a freezing cold soaking. The only solace was that it appeared that no-one else seemed that determined to race, as no-one volunteered themselves to head to the start line until they were ushered to do so by the race starter.

No enthusiasm to join the start line as heavy rain falls. Picture c/o Gordon Geach.

Despite lack of enthusiasm I was one of the first onto the race track for the start, lining up on the inside of lane one. The pre-race formalities was mercifully brief save for a countdown that the starter insisted on being from ten to zero, much to the mirth of the drowning rats in lycra.

The start of the 2017 Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon. Picture c/o Gordon Geach
The start of the 2017 Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon. Picture c/o Graeme Jones

Finally off,  I made a brisk start and, thanks to being on the inside of the bend, briefly led as we exited the stadium, thankful that the rain that had been lashing into our faces on the start line, was now pushing us along as a tail wind.

The start of the 2017 Newton’s Fraction Half Marathon. Picture c/o Gordon Geach

That brief moment of euphoria leading the race, as I did in 2016 was even briefer than 12 months earlier and ended in farce. Exiting the stadium we were confronted by two young boys wandering across our paths. In a split second decision, I and a few others chose to veer to the right, while the majority veered to the left. Those who veered left thankfully told those who veered right were heading in the wrong direction! I only lost four or five seconds but it cost me precious momentum and several places.

I didn’t have time to rue the lack of marshaling to prevent such an occurrence, I put my head down and tried to make up the places I had lost. The first mile heading to Barrowby was 5:39 which was pretty much bang on what I was hoping for, but already the first two – Adam and Ian, were well out of sight. A quick count up the road saw that I was sixth. On the second mile heading down the Drift towards the canal I passed the fifth place runner. Into the headwind he latched onto my heels and stuck to them. Into the headwind I was a bit perturbed by this but as we headed to the canal path and enjoyed a tail wind and a lessening of the rain, I was not upset that he didn’t want to help with the pace. The canal path was probably the wettest it has ever been when I’ve run along it, more puddles than solid ground it seemed, and I was grateful to have clear line of sight as I attempted to keep the fourth placed runner in check.

Splashing along the canal path. Picture c/o organisers.
Splashing along the canal path. Picture c/o organisers.

What was obvious to me now was that my heart rate was some way short of where I’d expect it during a half marathon, seeming to settle at or ever so slightly above my marathon heart rate. I was struggling to keep warm – my quads especially cold, I was struggling to maintain enthusiasm for the race and, moreover, the signs in recent training that the colds and chest infection were affecting the top 1% of my fitness were being borne out. The splits was between 5:40 and 5:50, which was okay given the conditions, but a little slower than perhaps I would have liked and certainly much slower than in 2016, when I was edging towards 5:30 on the canal path.

After three miles of canal path we exited at the Dirty Duck pub in Woolsthorpe. This was a key moment as the guy who had stuck to my heels failed to negotiate the treacherously slippery muddy exit around the style. I had learnt my lesson from the icy bridge on Wednesday and took extreme care. He went into the corner a little more aggressively and paid the price – a loud groan and soft thud I heard as he went down – thankfully without damage and without too much time lost. I pressed on, knowing that the first of the course’s main challenges – Woolsthorpe Hill lay just ahead.

Knowing the hill and its profile well I adopted a steady pace and went about getting up it with as little energy expended as possible. As in 2016 I didn’t think I was particularly effective up the hill, but I was able to close down the 15 or so second gap on the fourth placed runner and passed him two thirds of the way up the hill. I also managed to aggravate my left hip flexor, which loosened off a touch on the resultant downhill but never felt great for the remainder of the race.

As in 2016, the normal prevailing wind which blows you most of the way from Woolsthorpe to home was blowing in a near opposite direction, which meant that the normally quick run down to Denton was made much tougher, especially as there was little prospect of sheltering behind another runner. The third placed man was someway up the road, All I had to do was consolidate my fourth place with some steady running, which I did with a set of sub 5:50 miles through to mile ten and the approach to the stiffest challenge on the course – Casthorpe Hill.

Not quite as comfortably fourth as I thought. Picture c/o race organisers.

Before the climb itself there was a large ford to navigate as the road had flooded. I managed to get through unscathed, but the feet once again got a good soaking. I had a quick look back at the base of the hill and realised that the gap from me to those behind was far less than I had expected. Given that the climb of the hill felt truly horrible and an effort to even remain running as I neared the top, I felt sure that I would be caught. As it turned out, however bad I felt, it wasn’t as bad as those behind me for I would end up with the fastest time of the day on the Strava segment for the entire hill (most of the top ten are on Strava).

As I topped the hill and knew it was pretty much downhill all the way from Barrowby back to the Meres Leisure Centre, it was simply a case of ignoring the headwind and keeping things steady to the finish. The climbing of the hill had doubled my gap to the fifth placed runner, there was no chance of him catching me barring disaster. Last year when I entered the stadium I was also fourth, but the closeness of the race meant a sprint finish saw me come home second just behind Adam the winner. This year Adam had long since finished victorious in a big new PB of 1:12, Ian Bailey second in almost exactly the same time I ran in 2016, and David Greenwood was third forty seconds clear of myself, who finished in 1:18:01, a sub 78 clocking missed perhaps courtesy of waving and smiling a bit too much at my family who I spotted at the finish.

Coming into the finish, not really trying too hard! Picture c/o Gordon Geach.
Coming into the finish, not really trying too hard! Picture c/o Graeme Jones.

So it was not a podium finish, fourth and the solace of another V40 prize courtesy of the real first V40 finishing third. The race was something of a disappointment, it left some questions regarding my form which I hope are just a temporary blip caused by illness. The 2017 Fraction will not live as long in the memory as the 2016 edition, but, in reality third was probably the best I could have hoped for so it wasn’t a disaster by any means. I’m also feeling a lot fresher than I did after the 2016 race which I hope will see me in better shape come the London Marathon, which is the next target.

 

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2016 London Marathon Training – Weeks 15-16 (11-23 April)

Taper time! For me the worst period of marathon training. Nervously completing each session hoping not to get injured. Reducing volume when the body wants to keep on pushing. Two weeks to get through before the big day.

Monday 11th saw a pair of hour sessions on the elliptical trainer. I wasn’t really planning on beginning the taper until Thursday, which would be a natural time to begin it as I was working on the Chinese GP, which was another four days of early mornings and long days. The first hour I felt really strong, the second hour a little tired, but still feeling a lot of power in the legs.

That evening I took part in another spin session. Feeling strong again I went for a measured performance, which saw an average of 254 watts.

Tuesday morning and I was out for an eight mile easy paced run, which was unremarkable other than it being quite humid for an April morning. That lunchtime I got an unexpected email from the British Triathlon Federation informing me that I had, after all, qualified for the World Duathlon Championships in June! To be honest I’d totally forgotten I’d got a qualifying time and was on standby in the event of any drop outs. I’d even gone and booked a half term holiday the night before, which I was thankfully able to cancel without penalty.

With this new event on the horizon in mind, my planned debut on my new TT bike at the Witham Wheelers time trial took on a new importance, as I now had just six weeks or so to get used to the bike, adapt to the time trial position, and get up to speed.

The 10 mile TT was more an exercise in getting used to the bike. It clearly has potential for speed but I found it hard to maintain the aero tuck position for more than a minute at a time before the upper arms screamed enough! I’m not blessed with any upper body strength, it’s no disadvantage when running, but clearly i have to do some urgent work to address this. It’s planks and push ups for me for the foreseeable future!

The time 26:30 was not too bad considering the time spent in the upright position and the cadence being far higher than I found to be my optimum when time trialing last summer. It was fifty seconds outside my course best when I gave it full gas, almost collapsing at the end from the exertion. Today I was as fresh as a daisy and cycled home without duress.

Wednesday saw a ten and a half mile marathon paced run in the morning – six miles at marathon pace with the final mile at marathon heart rate. The legs took a while to warm up, but the pace wasn’t bad when they did, peppering six minutes per mile, with the marathon heart rate mile at 5:37. That afternoon I ran to the school to pick up my daughter; she paced me home on her scooter, hitting close to ten mph at times. That was cool!

Thursday I was working through the night. I had to take my daughter to school so again literally did the school run. I did that again in the afternoon, albeit with a diversion to the bike shop which made the run a ten km effort.

Friday was, as planned, a rest day with a 2 am wake up call and 11 hours of being sat behind the desk – with more hours later on in the afternoon.

I was hoping Saturday’s final long run would be an easy effort. It turned out to be something of a near disaster. I’d planned to run eleven miles, then changed at the last minute to make it 13. I set off okay, the pace dropping down to 6:40 or so by the third mile. I then began to feel an odd ache in the upper right hamstring, followed by some glute discomfort. Then that spread to the left quad and the left glute in the form of cramp. It receded a little after some stretching so I continued, hoping to run around 11 miles. At eight miles however the cramp in the left quad became a searing affair, and I was left virtually unable to walk. Still two miles from home, I, in desperation, began jogging backwards. This seemed to help the issue somewhat and I was able to jog slowly home.

It seems this issue of cramping is tiredness related and probably due to dehydration. As with the previous bouts of cramp the pain receded over the course of the day and was feeling good enough to consider running on the Sunday. However I decided discretion be the better part of valour and so, in gap in work, put 90 minutes on the elliptical trainer. I was tired, and the left quad still had some aches, but it was a strong session.

Monday morning and I decided to risk a 10k run. As it turned out things were fine save for the pretty high heart rate, which I am hoping was just down to tiredness. That evening I put in a very easy effort in the spin session, reducing the FTW so that periods in the red zone were actually fairly comfortable.

Tuesday was my last run in anger before the marathon. Three miles warm up, then 5k at marathon HR, then a mile at sub 2:40 pace and a final mile at sub 2:45 pace. The marathon HR 5k was covered in 18:02 which equates to 2:32 for the marathon. That I don’t think is sustainable, sub 2:40 pace felt very comfortable.

I had another crack at the TT in the evening with Witham Wheelers. The week of planks and push ups had a good effect as I was able to stay in the aero tuck position for the majority of the ride. I lowered the cadence but was mindful to avoid pushing the legs beyond any period of discomfort. I clocked 26:00, ninth on the night and just 20 seconds now outside my PB.

Wednesday morning saw an hour on the elliptical trainer, then a final four miles of running that saw me naturally progress down to 6:10 for the final mile as I warmed up and felt more comfortable. The last session before London was an hour on the trainer. As with Wednesday’s effort I didn’t push hard but the legs felt a little heavier than I would have liked. I’m hoping it’s of no concern and just still the effects of working the weekend on Chinese time. I do though have what is either a slight cold or hay fever (the pollen count is high), which may be effecting me slightly. I have no concern over that.

So – no more can be done other than some pre-race stretching. My main concern is definitely cramping, but if that can be avoided, I am hopeful of a strong run, hopefully another sub-2:45, maybe a PB, maybe something a little more special. Time will tell.

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Race Report – Dambuster Duathlon – Rutland Water – Saturday 5th March 2016.

My first, and until last Saturday, only Duathlon was in November 2007 when I took part in the Ballbuster at the legendary Box Hill. That was a unique experience – 8 mile run, 24 mile ride, 8 mile run up one of the most scenic but overrated hills in England. It was a tentative first foray into multi-sports, I’d taken part in my first ever sportive a week earlier suffering from a heavy cold and hadn’t really recovered a week later. While I quite enjoyed the experience cycling took a back seat a few months later when the first child was born and I concentrated on running.

Last June I took part in my first sprint triathlon and the Dambuster Duathlon at Rutland Water was to be my first real attempt at giving a Duathlon my full attention. I had entered last year’s Clumber Park Duathlon but was unable to take part due to injury. This year I was more or less fit to go, despite suffering from the calf tightness that has burdened me on and off for the past six months.

Not only was I concerned by the calf in the days before the Duathlon, the weather was looking decidedly iffy for race day, with predictions of ice and snow at worse, cold and windy at best. With snow falling in much of the country the day before, it was touch and go. Thankfully the snow didn’t reach the East Midlands and when I woke at 5am, it was raining, it was cold, but it was above freezing and looking ice free – so the race would be on.

It was going to be a family affair heading down to Rutland Water. Most of the packing had been done the night before so the early morning start wasn’t too traumatic and we arrived 90 minutes before the 8:15 start. My pre-race routine for running races is very well established now, but I am still a total novice at ‘athlons, so spent much of the 90 minutes pfaffing around. I had trouble getting my front wheel back on the bike thanks to it being so cold I could barely feel my fingers.

Once the bike was safely stored in transition and I decided I wasn’t going to risk trying to mount my bike with the shoes on the pedals, I fretted over what to wear right until the last minute. Eventually I opted to be as warm (and slipstreamed) as possible on the bike ride, even if that meant being a little overdressed for the run. This meant I wore the following: thin tights with triathlon shorts underneath; compression socks, a thermal vest, Witham Wheelers short sleeved cycling jersey, arm warmers, thin running gloves with thick winter gloves ready on the tri-bars for the bike leg. At the last minute I went with running sunglasses as the sun began to unexpectedly peer from behind the thick clouds. I also ditched the beany hat and the ear warmers and the second long sleeved thermal top.

I managed an underwhelming warm up of just under a mile, which offered encouragement in the fact the right calf just ached a touch rather than downright ached. I headed to the start area for the pre-race briefing. One final pit-stop and I found myself running frantically to the start line, the organisers opting to start the race a couple of minutes early.

With a starting horn we were underway and quite quickly onto a patch of grass that, for the moment was firm underfoot. The pace was frenetic, this being a World Age Qualifying race meant the quality was high. I made a solid but not over exuberant start, keeping in view the familiar site of fellow Belvoir Tri Club runner Adam Madge. With the first mile covered in 5:39 and with a heart rate of just under my half marathon figures, I felt fairly comfortable and truly in my comfort zone in the familiar surroundings of a road race.

We had a small patch on grass, which was slippy but not too bad before heading out for another mile or so before turning back for the return 5k. I passed Adam in the second mile as I ran a 5:35 and began picking off runners as I settled into a good rhythm aided a touch with a nice tailwind. The third mile was 5:38, when we turned and began to face a cold headwind. I had been overheating a touch with all the clothes I was wearing, now I felt comfortable.

Then it began to rain, a brief but fairly heavy shower. It didn’t really slow me too much with a 5:39 but during the fifth mile my right calf began to tighten and ache. Previous experience of the issue meant I knew I could carry on running through the discomfort, but it was enough to make me mentally want to ease up the effort. Add to that the short off-road section had now begun to get churned up and muddy plus the icy cold wind had become a head wind, the fifth mile slowed to 5:58. The final full mile was a rolling affair, still picking off runners I was motivated to put in a final surge, running 5:48 for the final mile and completing the 10k in a respectable 35:20.

I was 23rd overall and 6th in my age category at the end of the first run. Not bad, an indicator that the quality of field was high. My transition was a disaster. I struggled to fasten the helmet, I then opted to run barefoot to the exit of transition before putting my bike shoes on. This meant my feet were soaked before I started the bike ride. My official transition time of one minute is respectable. However I believe I spent the best part of another minute trying to put my bike shoes on, in a panic I’d not realised I hadn’t loosened the velcro fastenings, making them impossible to put on!

Once I’d mastered the art of putting on a pair of shoes, I set off on the bike leg. However it took another minute or so before I could begin cycling in anger. I put on my thick winter cycling gloves while riding okay, but then when trying to tighten my helmet using the wheel on top of the wheel, found it was impossible to do so with the gloves on. I couldn’t ride with the helmet so loose so I had to remove a glove, tighten the helmet and put the glove back on again, all done at fairly low speed.

Finally once onto the main road I was able to begin riding. The legs felt quite tired after the ride but I was able to get them going after a couple of minutes. The feet began to chill in the cold wind, the gaffer tape I’d put on as a potential fix on the ventilation holes failing badly. However, the gamble of wearing extra gloves paid off to some extent, as except in the final miles when the rain fell and we faced the full brunt of the arctic induced headwind, I was not dangerously cold, just cold enough to not be able to put a satisfyingly full effort in.

What was soon apparent on the bike ride, not that I needed any confirming, was that to cut it with the big boys at this level, an entry level road bike simply won’t suffice with the all singing carbon fiber TT bikes the vast majority of those who came flying past me were riding. I was thoroughly demoralised on the first downhill stretch at the start of the Rutland Ripple where I was going full gas trying to keep up speed when a guy on a fast TT bike flew past me freewheeling! I watched him all the way to the bottom of the hill when not a single pedal revolution occurred, yet he must have put 150-200 meters on me. I managed to catch most of it back on the subsequent ascent, before he swiftly disappeared when the road plunged back down again.

That became the pattern of the remainder of the ride. I could hold my own on any hills the ride had, but on the flat stuff and the descents I was horribly exposed and not best enjoying it. All the while my calf grumbled and I wondered how it would fare on the final run leg. I entered the final transition point having taken 1:19:02 on the bike leg. Far too long when the fastest bike leg was a staggering 59:52. I will never be that quick but I am hopeful that with some decent equipment under me and more practice at time trialing I could knock many minutes off this time. As it was I dropped overall from 24th to 65th and from 5th at the end of the opening transition to 12th by the time I re-entered it.

The second transition was almost as calamitous as the first. I got off the bike okay, opting not to take off the shoes and instead try to run in cleated bike shoes, which is not easy. Not paying attention I ran into some barriers with the bike, fortunately without damage, but with some seconds lost. I then couldn’t find my place in the bike racks, running down the wrong channel. It was only the screams from my wife and kids that pointed me in the right direction. At least I was able to remove the helmet without difficulty, my hands still warm. Apparently there were a number of competitors who required assistance as their hands were too numb to feel what they were doing.

Despite the woes, somehow apparently I climbed two places during transition. I set off on the final 5k leg just a few moments after the leading competitor had finished. I hadn’t time to dwell on the enormity of his achievements, instead I had to try and get my legs working again for the run leg. The first patch of grass was now churned and muddy, my shoes slipping helplessly. I then struggled as best I could for the first mile, the calf aching, the quads not best pleased. It felt slow, but the first mile was covered in 6:05. I then struggled loads on the longer grass section which was slippery in and muddy.

At the turnaround I spotted fellow Belvoir Tri Club member Adam just a few seconds behind me. Keen to be the first Belvoir home, I picked up the pace a touch once the grass section had been muddled through, ignoring the increasing ache in the right calf. The second mile was a 6:03 and the final mile was run at 5:48 pace, which was good enough to keep Adam at bay and to complete the final 5k leg in 17:25. My wife and children were there to greet me, which pleased me enormously but there was a real sense of disappointment at the finish. I was frustrated that the transitions were so bad, disappointed with my effort in the bike section, grateful that the bad calf made it to the finish but frustrated that it hindered my performance a touch.

During the race I had no idea where i had finished. I found out on Facebook that I was eighth in my age group (57th overall), which was better than I had thought I had managed. For a first real effort at Duathlon I should be happy, but there is knowledge that I could have done better that has tempered the joy. The weather too made it a mostly miserable affair plus too many novice mistakes put me out of the comfort zone I enjoy when taking part in running races. Hopefully at my next Duathlon I should have a TT bike in my possession which means I will be able to compete on a more level playing field.