So, here we are. Week 16. The end of training. By Sunday afternoon, I’ll either be a Marathoner or a DNF. Either way, I know I’ve done my best. I’ve followed the Club plan pretty much to the letter, give or take one or two sessions.
If it goes tits up on Sunday, then it goes tits up. It won’t be for the lack of trying or prep, it’ll just not be my day. What I have done over the last 16 weeks, is give myself the best opportunity to make sure it does go my way. And you can’t say fairer than that.
Philosophical bollocks out of the way, it’s time to look forward to the big day. Over the weekend, London and Manchester Marathons both happened. The vast majority of my Club Marathon WhatsApp group were either doing one or the other. I mean, none of them were doing both. That would be nuts.
If you live in the UK you’ll know that Sunday was the start of a mini heat wave. So, unfortunately, both runs took part in slightly unseasonably temperatures. And lots of people suffered in it.
The WhatsApp support group starts to be the complete opposite. I’m under no illusions that next week is going to be hard, but hearing horror story after horror story coming in on the Sunday starts to put a dent in my confidence.
That evening I decide I need to shut out the noise. So I lock the chat, whilst also making a conscious decision to stay off Social Media. I think proper athletes call it ‘being in the zone.’
Ah, that’s better.
On to week 16. I already feel like I have a bit more in the legs after the slightly lower milage week, especially with a two day rest. That means the weights session feels quite good. Another bit of good news, the Weather is looking like it won’t be too gruesome. The Met Office is predicting sunny spells, 11c when I set off, about 13-14c when I predict to finish. I’ll take it.
Back to this week, Tuesday sees my final Club session. I’m quite looking forward to it as well. No 5 mile warm up required, and I’ve to drop to a slightly slower and less intense group. Lovely.
It means I’m back in my old group that I was ‘promoted’ from 15 months ago. The session is 4 loops around the estate where I did some of my Threshold sessions. It’s a warm one tonight, the warmest it’s been all year.
There is something quite cathartic about it. Thinking about the cold and dark Thursdays I was dragging my arse round here, then tonight I get to sit on the back of a slower group and trot around on a glorious evening. The only negative is that there are a lot of greenfly in the air. I hope they’re full of protein, as I must have swallowed hundreds of them.
What is also lovely about this session is that a few people approach me and wish me good luck for Sunday. These are genuinely nice gestures, and I’m actually quite touched by it. It’s been a good night. My legs felt good, the run was enjoyable, and it’s given me a great confidence boost.
Wednesday is due to be even warmer than Tuesday. In fact, the next two days are the peak of the heatwave, before it thankfully dies off. The warmer weather means the sea front will be packed, so for my Easy 6 miles I’m going to head down the Wagonway.
It’ll be much quieter down there, plus there are pockets of shade. This will be much easier than my usual easy as well – I’m going to slow it right down. It’s a beautiful evening. It’s like it was meant to be, if you believe such stuff.
My knees are a bit stiff, but the legs are noticeably less heavy and tired. I enjoy this run, especially on the turn and back for the last 3 miles. The mood is good, and so is the playlist.
And then, it was over. It’s Thursday. It’s the last run of my Marathon training. Should I be emotional or something? I’m not sure how I feel. Maybe I’ll re-read all of the past weeks the night before and it will sink in then.
For now though, the end involves an easy 4 miles with some hill reps. It’s going to be peak heatwave day and evening, hitting 22c, so I’m again going to avoid the sea front.
Well, that was the plan, until around 4pm ish, when the clouds and a breeze roll in and it drops to a much more pleasant temperature. Ironically, I’ve spent the last 16 weeks slagging off the weather coming in off the sea. During a heat wave though, it’s a beautiful thing.
I do some half arsed hill reps down the Quarry to start with, then head down and along the sea front. The biggest thing I notice, is that my legs aren’t tired. In fact, they feel the freshest they have in months.
The sea front is busy, but not too busy. Between the weather, my legs, and the coast being fairly quiet, this is a perfect way to finish it. And finish I do.
I’m not sure how I feel. Maybe it will sink it later, but the answer to ‘will I feel emotional’ when I finish is, well, no. I feel nothing. What a cold bastard.
The important thing is that I’ve got through it injury free. Nothing pulled, twisted, tweaked, or torn. Getting to the Start line healthy should never be sniffed at.
Never been so happy to see cloud
So, there we are. The next time you hear from me will be the Marathon review. The tone of that review is unknown.
I’ll leave you with this in the meantime though..
When I first agreed to take up the Marathon plan, there were a set of rules to adhere to. Firs one was ‘no fucking walking.’ Fair enough. Second, was ‘be confident.’ No problem. The third, was to listen to the below. I’m Joe Cal-fucking-zaghe.
“One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach; all the damn vampires”
Grandpa, The Lost Boys
Hold on, this one’s going to be a rollercoaster. Week 9. The first (and hopefully only) week where I won’t be able to run at all on the weekend.
Instead, this weekend I will be London. As the football (soccer to my US friends) team I support have got themselves to a Cup Final. So I’m off to the home of Football Cup Finals, Wembley Stadium, to attend it on Sunday.
Reasons for celebration? Not really. The team I support, who’ve I’ve been going to watch every week since I was 7, are always the Bridesmaid and never the Bride. They are also going to be in the Final against arguably the best team in Europe at the moment.
My view at the last Cup Final. In 2022. When we got beat. Again.
In short, they’re probably going to get a hiding. I expect them to get a hiding. They will get a hiding. But if you don’t have hope, what do you have?
So from Saturday morning when I board the train, to Monday evening when I return, I’ll be dealing with this highly probable outcome in the only way I know. I’ll be drinking copious amounts of alcohol.
So, no big run on the weekend. Instead, my week will look like this:
Monday – Core Strength (rest day)
Tuesday – Club Speed Session with 5 mile warm up
Wednesday – 6 mile easy
Thursday – 4 mile easy with 10 hill reps
Friday – 22 mile long run
Saturday – Drink heavily
Sunday – Drink heavily, watch Newcastle get stuffed, drink even heavier.
Elite athlete stuff, I think you’ll agree. Weather Klaxon – our mild weather was nothing but a tease. The temperature is due to drop a few degrees, and it’s going to rain most of the week. Fanfuckintastic.
Monday, we Yoga and we Weight train. I’m creaking but I’m ok. It looks like my left knee is going to grumble at me till the end of this process. As long as it stays as a grumble, it’s all good.
The weather has done as predicted. It’s noticeably colder, the wind is rolling off the sea and it’s bitter. I begrudgingly get the base layer out for Tuesday, but refuse to bring back the leggings. That’s accepting defeat.
It’s a Track session that evening, Broken Miles. The last few Tuesday warm ups have been shit, so I take up the offer of meeting three other guys from the Club who are Marathon training, to get them done together. This is just what I needed. The 5 miles fly by, as we chat shit like some sort of victim support group.
The Broken Miles session is a bit of a killer on paper. Then again, aren’t they all. It’s 1200m at 10k pace, 200 jog, 400m 5k pace, rest for 2 mins, then do it 3 more times. I’m tired just reading it.
However, this ends up being my best track session in weeks. I’m in a small group of 6 and we stay tight and at a good pace. By the end, myself and another of the Marathon guys I warmed up with are flying at the front. We both pass comment on this afterwards, that despite the tiredness and the intensity, our fitness and endurance levels have definitely gone up. It’s a great shot in the arm mentally that 8 weeks of graft seems be paying off.
Weeeeeeeeee
On Tuesday evening, my wife asks if I’ve remembered that tomorrow night I promised to attend a meeting at the school about a trip my daughter is going on. ‘Oh yes, no problem’ I reply. Shit. I’d forgotten.
I don’t fancy running early on Wednesday, I’ll still be knackered from the night before. And by the time I get back from the school and get my shit together, it’ll be late. So the answer is, a lunchtime run.
The shit weather this week is now well and truly set in. The sea continues to shit in cold rain and hail with a strongish wind. Wednesday morning is biblical at times.
Lunchtime though, the clouds part and blue skies appear. It is still windy, and I don’t trust it as far as I can chuck it, so I go out ready for rain. But it doesn’t rain, and 3 miles in I’m feeling too hot. That’ll learn me.
I’m also very leggy. Once again though, I’m pushing through it. I’m tired, but there isn’t even a small part of me that thinks I’m going to stop. An ‘easy’ 6 miles completed.
I go to the meeting at the school in the evening, which is as you expect, but the funniest part is that they are banning mobile phones completely from the trip. I very much enjoy relaying this information to my teenage daughter when I get back. I’m such a bastard sometimes.
As I’m going long Friday, Thursday I’m dropping the Intervals. Can’t say I’m devastated. Instead, it’s 4 miles with the hill reps, and I’m going out first thing.
My luck runs out in regard to avoiding the crap weather. I get caught in a shower and, despite being layered up and wearing a beanie and gloves, I’m cold. It’s done though, and I’ve got 24 hours to rest before the 22 miler.
I’m expecting it to rain and not be the warmest Friday morning, but the winds are predicted to be quite light. ‘Gentle’ the BBC describes them as. This is good, as it’s the wind that is the real cause of the cold at the moment. The route I have planned also heads North along the coast for over 8 miles. I really, really don’t fancy running into a shite, cold head wind for that long.
The signs are good when I get up. The cat comes back in dry from his night of debauchery, so it isn’t raining. He’s usually my first weather barometer while I’m still half asleep and bereft of coffee.
It’s a totally different route to normal for my long runs, and I’ve got a little bit of trepidation about it. The first 8 and a half miles I’m basically killing miles – heading inland before dropping down to the coast. There is method to this madness.
As I’m running on a Friday morning, traffic will be much heavier than the weekend. The commute and schools basically. So my usual route is a no-no. The idea is to eat up miles 1-8 inland before it gets busy, then the last 14 miles (Jesus!) will be all along the coast, no roads to cross, nice and safe.
The first 8 go well. There is quite a bit of climb in this run, especially at the start, but I find hills quite easy when I haven’t got Club Coaches making me sprint up the bastards.
The key part of this run is the coast. If the weather is crap, this can be unforgiven. There is no shelter from the wind, rain, sun, or any elements this planet wants to chuck at you. You are completely exposed to all of them. Which is why I try to avoid it.
There is a slight northerly wind once I hit the coast, but it’s very bearable. It’s a little cold, but I’m not suffering in it. I head up the coast, through Cullercoats, Whitley Bay, Seaton Sluice, then through the Dune path to Blyth.
It’s quite nice going up the Dune path. When I first got into running, I used to drive here to run, because I was self conscious about running round my local neighbourhood. I feel a bit of nostalgia on this part, reminding me of how far I’ve come since the days of plodding round here trying to work up to 10k.
I reach the Bandstand at Blyth at mile 17 and turn. Whatever wind there is, it’s now behind me. About a mile later, I feel that wind suddenly get stronger, followed by a hail storm. Usually, at this point, I’d be shouting ‘FUCK MY LIFE’, but I’m feeling glass half full and am thankful it held off till I’d turned. Running into it would have been soul destroying.
Mile 19-20 we have to climb, but it’s a climb I’ve done countless times before. I’m actually feeling quite strong, and I up the pace. Once I get up the hill and hit mile 20, I know I’m going to finish.
My mile 21 is an 8:56, which was probably stupid when I look back. I drop onto the Prom for the final mile and tiredness is setting in a bit, but I don’t feel wrecked or like I want to stop. My final mile is a 9:06, again too fast, and I end on 22.2 miles in 3:30:20.
A bit of a mess, but you get the gist
I’m delighted. I’m also not completely spent. Could I do another 3.8 mile? I think I probably could. The training is paying off, and this is allegedly the longest run I will have to do as part of the training. Although there are still 20 and 21 mile runs pencilled in the plan over the next couple of weeks.
Job done, and now for 3 days ‘rest’. I’m posting this early on the Friday evening, before I head to London and forget about the running till Tuesday.
Did Newcastle win the Cup Final? Find out in next week’s blog. Or Google it. The answer is probably no though.
“Michael Jackson didn’t come over to my house to use the bathroom. But his sister did!”
Chunk – The Goonies
Wooooh, we’re half way there! Wooooh-oooooh, I hate fucking Bon Jovi! No, as I tell my teenage daughter, hate is a strong word. You should never ‘hate’ anything. Except Bon Jovi. They are shite. Whoops, there go the Bon Jovi fans. Flouncing off with the Vegan Runners I imagine.
I jest, I’m a lover not a fighter. Come back. I’m married to a Vegetarian. It’s bantz. The point I’m making, and there is one I promise, is that we’re in Week 8. The halfway point. And I feel..ok. It’s been as hard as I was warned, but I don’t feel as broken as I thought I might.
The week also starts quite well. My daughter gets into the school she and we wanted her to get into, which is fantastic, as I didn’t fancy starting the day having to console a teenager. I also discover that I’ve misread the Plan this week, and that I don’t have to do another 20 miler at the weekend. I only have to do 19. Great.
That bombshell aside, in the evening I do my usual Yoga and Weights sessions, feeling strong, with seemingly no ill effects from the weekend.
Boring weather klaxon! Spring seems to have sprung, with all week set to be dry, sunny, and sitting at 10c during the days. Pass me the sunscreen and my mankini.
Tuesday is the club Grand Prix. I’m unsure how fast my legs will allow me to go for this one, but I do know one thing for certain – after my cluster fuck in the last one, I’ll be tying my shoelaces tighter than a knot in Madam Helga’s House of Pain. So I’ve heard.
The Grand Prix course is about 3.5 miles, so the plan is 5 miles easy warm up, race like the wind, cool down easy 1.5 miles back home. Up until the day, I have no idea what my handicap is for this one. I’m expecting it to be more favourable than last time out. Due to being a tool who can’t tie shoelaces, I lost time and places.
In the end, it’s 15:30, which gives me 2 minutes back on my last one. There are also less beasts in my group, but still lots of fast bastards. The 5 mile warm up is, yet again, a tired and ploddy ballache.
I don’t actually fancy this run. I say that every time I do the Grand Prix, but this time I have a feeling. Due to roadworks the course is changing – two laps of the Prom basically – and I dislike (as hate is a strong word, remember) laps.
The new and slightly rude looking GP course
I get away quick enough, a couple of my group fly off, but I leave the rest behind. This is as good as it gets however. All the fast people who would probably catch me anyway, seem to catch me really early. Also, I don’t seem to be overtaking anyone. At all.
This continues for the rest of the race. It feels like EVERYONE passes me. I think by the end, I might go past half a dozen people at best. I’m off the clock as I’ve just continued on with my 5 mile warm up on my watch, but afterwards Strava credits me with a 23:20 5k. That’s 47 seconds slower than my PB I set only 3 months ago.
That’s to be expected though. I’m tired. I’m knackered. I’m fucked. I slowed down in the last Grand Prix in February, where I did a 23:16 5k. I really don’t have too much of a problem with it, this time last year I would have killed for a sub 24 min 5k, so to still be hitting them with Marathon legs is nothing to be sniffed at.
However, my Strava is alight with PBs and quick times galore from fellow club runners who claim the change in course made it ideal for fast running. So under normal circumstances, this may have been a great chance for potentially ducking under 23 mins.
Ah well, tough shit.
Never mind. At least my Handicap should be better next time out. Glass half full and all that. On to Wednesday!
Wednesday is also quite an important day at work this week. I’ve been working on a Project since just before Christmas, and will be delivering a presentation on it at lunch time. That in itself has been a Marathon, so I don’t want to fuck it up.
In the end…it goes really well. And it truly is a metaphor for the Marathon. I immersed myself in it, put in all the graft, then when it came to the actual event, I nailed it. Deep and philosophical, or potentially nonsensical bollocks. You decide.
I don’t realise until I head out for my 6 mile easy that evening, but my legs are shot. My knees are sore, my legs are really tired, I am fucked. Who’s a clever shite for running a 23:20 5k now, eh dipshit?
It’s an absolute slog. No autopilot this week. It’s parachuted with the drinks trolley. Afterwards, my feet are so tired, they’re vibrating. Can’t wait for Intervals tomorrow. Should be a hoot!
There is some good news about Thursdays intervals though. I hadn’t read the details, other than that it was 4×2 miles. So I hadn’t realised that, instead of the usual Threshold pace, these need to be completed at Marathon pace. So, much gentler. Get in!
Slight problem here though. I still don’t know what my Marathon pace is. It’s anywhere between 9 to 9:40 min miles. That’s quite a range. I decide to aim for 9 min. That feels like it would be productive, without breaking me. And it will be over quicker.
This goes..really well. Maybe it’s the relief from thinking it was going to have to be quicker. I also mix it up much more than before on the route. First few Intervals on the Sainsburys Loop, then the next one round the local estate, then the last one down on the Prom. It comes to just over 10 miles in total, and I feel quite good when I finish.
8:55 Marathon pace? How about no.
I’m going to do an Easy 4 with Hill Reps on the Friday evening, rest on Saturday, long run Sunday morning.
The Easy 4 I’m also going to mix up. I head out on the Metro to Tynemouth as my starting point. I’m not being a lazy shit though. It’s only 3 Stations away, but running to it would make this over a 6 mile run, which is too long.
My hill reps are going to be on a proper hill tonight, the one that runs beside the abandoned Priory. 1300 years ago, this was a defensive structure put in by the Monks to keep the Vikings out. Sadly, it didn’t work, and they were all slaughtered. Just like those Vikings, I’m flying up this tonight. Less violently, granted. I feel great actually. Too good even.
Now THATS a Hill
Hills completed, I have a nice steady easy plod back along the sea front to home. I don’t feel tired, I don’t feel like I’m on autopilot, I feel comfortable. I’m in a good place before a decent rest day tomorrow and big run Sunday.
Sunday isn’t exactly going to be tropical, but between 6am-9am (when I’ll be out) it will be dry, sunny, calm, and a pleasant 7 degrees. Therefore, I’ll be ditching the base layer and the gloves.
The 19 miles is basically the 20 miler I did last week, but with the head of the snake cut off. As in, I’ll be knocking the mile off by missing out the sea front at the start.
Having now completed 18 miles (twice) and a 20 miler, 19 doesn’t give me ‘the fear’ it might have done 2 months ago. However, I also know it would be pretty stupid/naive of me to think I can just pop out for a 19 mile run and it be a piece of piss.
The mindset must be to respect the distance, keep doing all the good things around preparation, fuelling and so on. That’s how I approach Sunday. I’d be an idiot or an arrogant prick to think anything otherwise.
True to my word, I’m out the door for 6:30am, gels and jelly babies stuffed in my rather dashing man belt.
Belt of Swag
Remember earlier when I say it was going to be dry and sunny? Well, I step outside into thick fog everywhere. It’s one of the ‘perks’ of living by the coast. We get this soup that rolls in off the sea. Personally, I love running when we have fog. Especially when we get the summer sea fret type. It cools things down, and it also means there is no wind. However, it does mean it’s colder than I thought, but I stubbornly refuse to wear the layers and the gloves.
The first 5-6 miles are a bit leggy. Not sure why. But again, I never reach the point of feeling completely knackered or wanting to stop. The training weeks are doing their job.
Even though I run inland, the fog never lifts, staying fairly thick. At mile 9, I suddenly feel like I’ve run myself into it, and the next 10 miles I up the pace slightly. I remember in Murakami’s book, he talks about how he’s a slow starter. How he just can’t get going for the first few miles, then suddenly it just clicks. Kindred souls we are.
In the end, I complete 19.28 miles in 3:00:52, at an average pace of 9:23. That’s the same pace as the 20 miler last week. Have I finally found my Marathon pace? Maybe.
This, except foggier
It’s another morale boosting week, with a productive long run to end it on. Next week we’re heading into the realms of the unknown yet again, the 22 mile zone. It’s also going to be my first ‘life gets in the way’ week, where I’ll be moving the plan about a bit.
Still, we’ll be past the half way point now, another milestone passed. We’ve got this.
“I feel like I’m babysitting, except I’m not getting paid”
Stef – The Goonies
So, week 7 here we go. Strap in, as we hit the toughest week so far. Shit is about to get very real. If all goes to plan, this will be my first 50+ milage week, which includes my first foray into 20 mile territory.
Boring runners weather update, but the pocket of Spring like temperatures was but a short tease. They are due to drop, not horrendously, but enough to maybe put the base layer back on. Bastard.
Monday is, as always, rest day, other than my longer Yoga class and my Weights session. Physically, I’ve woken up feeling alright. I do start to feel my knee a tiny bit during Yoga, that continues into the Weights, but it doesn’t seem to be getting worse. So that’s a win.
Tuesday though I do feel a bit leggy. I head out for my 5 mile warm up and it’s the stiffest and most tired I’ve felt on this Tuesday run so far. It doesn’t bode well, as tonight’s Track session is one of my least favourite – Kicking 600s. I feel the burn on this one every time we do it, so adding a long warm up doesn’t fill me with much confidence.
I do the extra social 1 mile warm up at the clubhouse and chat to another guy who is doing the Manchester Marathon, so is a week ahead of me on the Training Plan. We share war stories and it’s good to know that his experience is similar to mine. First time at the distance, bored of the cold, enjoyed the mild weather over the weekend etc. Like me, he’s just quietly getting on with it. Or he might be bitching about it on his Blog. Who knows.
Kicking 600s itself is a fairly simple session. Do 600m at 10k pace, take a min static rest. Then it’s 500m at 10k, 100 fast, rest. 400m at 10k, 200m fast, rest, and so on, all the way up to 600m fast.
The good thing about all that, is it means this is a quick session. Only around 2.6 miles in total, and over before you know it. Despite the lethargy, this goes ok. I’m proper knackered at the end, but 9 miles in total with a speed session done.
Wednesday is 6 miles easy and I’ve now got used to this run being ploddy and autopilot mode. However, I notice this week that later on that night my legs are tired. More tired than they’ve felt so far. I wake up in the night and notice this too. They feel like when you’ve been on your feet all day, and you finally get to rest then. It took 7 weeks, but it looks like physical fatigue has joined the party.
If I think I’m tired on Wednesday, then hello Thursday! It’s Intervals night and this one is an absolute bastard. 5 x 2 miles. Am I training for a Marathon or the SAS. I struggle to motivate myself for this one. Like, really struggle. My wife gives me a pep talk ‘hurry up, I want my tea’ and I pop out.
I’m going to mix it up a bit this week and start off somewhere different. We have a 1k loop we do as a Club night, it’s called the ‘Sainsbury’s Loop’ because, and this is genius, it’s next to the local Sainsbury’s Supermarket. It’s called the Loop because, well, take a look.
It’s a Loop. Next to Sainsbury’s. Get it?
This session starts well enough, but each Interval is going to be 3 and bit loops, so it gets quite repetitive quite quickly. I can’t face doing the last rep round here, so dive off into the estate next to it. It was either that or throw myself into the path of a passing car, just to relieve the boredom.
All in all this session comes in just under 13 miles. 13 fucking miles. That’s a half marathon. Suffice to say, I am absolutely knackered when I get back in. It’s done though. Off it fucks.
Friday morning I drag myself up for the 4 Easy and hill reps. Again, I’m going to mix this up a bit. Rather than doing the hill reps at the end down by the sea front, I’m going to get them out the way early in the Quarry. The Quarry is a disused Victorian Quarry round the corner from me that is now a park. The ‘hill’ is one of the paths to get in and out of it. Not as dramatic or steep as the one on the sea front, granted. Which is nice.
It’s another autopilot run. The legs are doing their thing, running tired, but still running and getting through. That night, I’m off to a gig. I go and see Max Cooper. What, you don’t know who Max Cooper is? Here he is. He’s fucking awesome.
I decide two things. I’m not going to have a drink, and I persuade my brother (whom I’m going with) to go to an All-You-Can-Eat Indian Buffett before the gig. I demolish several plates of chicken and rice while mumbling ‘Carb loading’ to him between chews.
What goes up, must come down. Or what goes to bed late, must get up early. I’m going to do this week’s long run once again on the Saturday, as I’m off to the match, once again, on the Sunday.
And this weekends long run is a biggy. It’s 20 miles. Last Saturday, I felt massively confident about this run. As the week has gone on, less so. I’m up and out again for 6:20am and, for the first time in the 7 weeks so far, this feels a bit leggy from the start.
Of all the long runs, this is the shittest one to feel a bit tired on. 2 miles in, I’m definitely aware that the old legs are heavy. Great, just the 18 more to go.
I continue on and, whilst I’m not struggling, it feels like more of an effort than usual. However, clever shite alert, this is why I’m doing the same route every week with slight modifications to add on more miles. The idea is that muscle memory will get me through. And I think it does.
I’ve definitely cracked this fuelling thing though. I think. Gel before I go out, then every 5 miles, with Jelly Babies between them. My stomach doesn’t complain, with no sign of the dreaded runners trots.
The first 10 miles are as you were, but then I carry on onto Chilli Road. I’m so close to Newcastle City Centre I can smell it. Or maybe it’s me that smells. Probably me.
The final 9 miles are heading back in the direction of home. I find miles 13-15 the shittest bit. It’s a very bland part of the run, and I know there is a bit of a short climb that can be a pain in the arse at the best of times.
Once I’m on the Wagonway at 15 miles, I feel confident I’m going to do the 20. It has been harder and leggier than usual, but I’m not struggling or suffering. I’m munching on the remainder of my Jelly Babies for the run in. I accidentally drop my last one at mile 19 and I’m devastated. It was one of those Yellow ones as well.
Still, I hit 20 miles in 3:07:45, continuing on for another 0.29 miles to finish in my street. 3:10:23 in total. No stopping, a continuous run. It’s a triumph. I get the bonus of a 30k PB, which wasn’t hard to do, as I’ve never run 30k before.
Kiss my bad self
Just like the 18 miler a few weeks back, I’m delighted to hit the distance, but it probably won’t sink in for a couple of days. Two things I do know though – I can run 77% of a Marathon, and my sub 4:15 is on.
I’ve now just got to motivate myself to do the whole thing again next weekend. Can’t wait.
Week 7 is dedicated to the Yellow Jelly Baby. I’m sorry I left you behind mate. RIP
After my 18 mile ‘heroics’ on the Sunday, I am feeling it on the Monday. The dodgy left knee is a bit sore, but so also is my right hamstring.
I did feel both on the Sunday evening, so got out the foam roller and swore loudly as it did the devils work on my tender hamstring muscle. Let’s hope the toddler next door was asleep, or he’ll be asking his parents some awkward questions in the morning.
Thank the Lord therefore that Monday is a rest day. Well, apart from the 30 minute Yoga and the 30 minute Weights session. But no running, that’s a rest.
This wouldn’t be one of my Marathon posts if I didn’t have a weather update. And, well, it’s looking positive for once. As we head into March, we might have turned a corner. By Thursday, the temp will be double figures. Tropical I tell thee.
This weeks long run (just the 16 miles this week) I’ll be doing on Saturday, and potentially it will be 9 degrees when I get out. It might be time to start thinking about dropping the base layer. Hopefully the crap is finally behind us. Jinx. It’s a nice boost going into the week anyway.
Monday morning I enter a race. In fact, I’ve entered two in the last few days. The Blaydon Race in June, and the Cookson at the end of May. The Cookson is only about 3 weeks after the Marathon. It’s a 10k race organised by my running club and it basically two laps of a hill twice. Look, it seems like a good idea now so it’ll be fine.
Yoga is great, lots of stretches which I like, but the Weights session is hard going on the knee. Maybe I should have given it a miss, but it’s done and nothing that Ibuprofen can’t solve. I get the feeling that Ibuprofen may become my friend in the next few weeks, although I’m very aware that you should never take them before a run. I’m sure Paula Radcliffe taught me that. Or was it my Mam. Doesn’t matter.
It feels like on Tuesday morning that, despite what The Verve claim, the drugs do indeed work. My knee and hamstring both feel better. Which is just as well, as it’s the Club Speed night. Tonight’s session is an oldy but a goody – Domebusters. 8 laps round The Spanish City Dome down the sea front – hence the name. For complete transparency, here is a photo I took of it. See, it’s a Dome.
Who speaks French and is great at taking photos? MOI
It’s a not a long session. Well, unless you’re a spanner who signed up for a Marathon and you have to do a 5 mile warm up before hand. The Tuesday warm up is again the crappest run of the week. Shaking off the rust of the weekend big run, so it always feels a bit stiff and leggy, I also do it without my bone conductors, as I don’t want to take them to the club, so there’s no 90s dance to kick my arse into gear.
I finish at the Club House so I can join the social group warm up down to the sea front. This is a good time of year to do Domebusters. In the Sunmer evenings, there are a lot day trippers down here, it can get quite packed, and it’s fair to say groups of us flying round at pace pisses these people right off. The Club gets lots of angry emails. No really. In the Winter though, not a friggin soul down here.
I get into a group of 8 and the pace is fast. In fact, the first four laps seem really fast. I can’t decide if it’s because a) they are fast b) my legs are tired c) I’ve actually forgotten how to run fast.
In the middle of lap 5, I have a Phoenix from the Flames moment and suddenly find my extra gear. I’ve flicked a switch somewhere, and I finish the final 4 laps strong and fast. Proper endorphin releasing stuff. A cool down jog home, and a quite satisfying 9 miles for the evening. After a shower and something to eat though I hit a wall and feel absolutely fucked. I drag myself to bed and within 5 minutes am fast asleep having drifted into a runners coma.
Wednesday morning and my legs are tired. However, it’s a ‘good’ tired. Like how my legs would feel the morning after a speed session at the club. The key is, they’re not sore.
I go out for my easy 6 mile recovery run in the evening and it’s leggy but ok. It’s almost like I run it on autopilot. I drop down onto the sea front for half of it and it’s cold and windy down there again. I have the massive urge to shout ‘JUST FUCK OFF MAN AND GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK’ but realise that people have been sectioned for less. When I finish I’m leggy but alright. Like I say, very much an autopilot run.
It’s Intervals Thursday once again and, frankly, these can’t be as shit as last weeks. On the plus side, weather wanker alert, we’ve got a micro front of mild stuff hitting us. At last, hallelujah, thank the Lord, Buddha, Yoda, and whoever else you can think of. It’s a balmy 11 degrees – double figures! – when I head out. I’m as happy as a pig in shit.
The session is the same as last week, except I think I’m supposed to mix the pace up. To be honest, as I do jog recoveries rather than static ones, I’m just going to do what I did last week. Except less shitter.
The residents of Red House Farm Estate, where I always do these, must be proper sick of me now, looping their quiet estate multiple times as they try to enjoy Emmerdale. It’s been 6 weeks now, so I assume we’ve reached a point where I’m being mentioned in the Neighbourhood Watch minutes.
I decide to channel my inner Luke Skywalker and turn off my tech and go with my gut tonight. Everyone on the Marathon WhatsApp group keeps saying the Thursday session is hard, that they’re pushing themselves, and it’s the one they hate. I’ve had the opposite – I get frustrated that I have to keep slowing down to keep my HR down. So tonight, I’m going to ignore Pace and HR and just run at what I think is pushing it.
I concentrate on my music, go harder for the 2 milers, very easy for the 2 min recoveries. I hate it less, I’m not as frustrated, and I only slip into Max for 11 minutes. That’s not bad.
Zero fucks given
It’s 4 miles easy Friday morning, and just like Wednesday, it’s very much autopilot for the legs. I’m starting to think this is a good thing. It’s already light when I get out, and it’s mild. The run and the hill reps are almost enjoyable. Almost.
In the evening, my early night ready for my long run tomorrow won’t happen. My wife and daughter are hanging out with friends and I’ll need to pick them up. In the end, we don’t get back in until after midnight. I’m not really bothered though, they are making sacrifices for me while I train, I can make some for them. It’s not all about me. I have to work around stuff, and to be fair to both of them, they’ve been brilliant with it so far.
I’m up at 5:45am and feel surprisingly pucka. I’m buoyed by the fact that it’s definitely getting lighter in the mornings. It’s also 9 degrees out there with only a light and mild wind.
Dropping onto the sea front, in mild weather, no wind, natural light. and only having to wear one layer, is glorious. I’ve had 6 weeks of long runs in the cold and dark. Honestly, I could cry. If I wasn’t male and northern.
This is a good day to execute a plan. I’m going to start slow and steady, and see if I can increase the pace as I go on. I’m also going to build on Thursday and ignore my HR. Suck it and see I think they call it.
And execute it I do. I keep at around 9:30 pace until about mile 9, when I just increase it slightly. By mile 15 and 16, I end up running sub 9 minutes. More importantly, my HR never goes into Max.
A man with a plan
For the first time since I started the Marathon plan, I really enjoy a long run. I haven’t hated the other 5, just not ‘loved’ them. At mile 13 I’m on the Wagonway, the sun is shining through the trees, silence other than the birds singing, and I have a dose of running endorphins. Cue Elgar.
Its been a good week, a real contrast from Week 5, where the first niggles and both physical and mental fatigue were creeping in. Push through it, and I have. Week 7 is a big week though, ending with a 20 miler. Hold on to your butts.
This should be a much more structured and typical week of training. No ‘extra’ work or life stuff to get in the way. More importantly though, I’ll get proper rest in between sessions, something I didn’t have the luxury of during week 1.
On Monday my legs are a little stiff and tired, but nothing to write home about. I’m glad of the rest, and in the evening get in my Yoga and Weights sessions. I feel that Weights session on the legs a bit, but again, nowt major. Although my evening is somewhat spoilt by the news that we have a potential weather warning for the coming weekend. Oh fucking goody.
Tuesday is Speed session at the club. My 4 mile warm up is proper ploddy. Leggy and lethargic. We’re doing Up and Downs for the club tonight – fast with recovery jogs. I’m not feeling it when I arrive, but as soon as I start, I feel good. All the tiredness disappears, and I complete the reps with no problem at all. I do over 10 miles in all and mentally, it’s been a good night.
When I get up Wednesday morning, I’m feeling a little stiff, especially in my right Achilles. For a few years, I had lots of problems with it. I used to call it my ‘grumbling Achilles’. Early last year though, it suddenly cleared up. This is the first time I’ve ‘felt’ it in quite a while.
By the time I pop out for my easy 5 miler in the evening, it’s settled down. Something to certainly keep an eye on. The weather warning has been upgraded to Amber, all day Friday, gale force winds. Thoughts and prayers for my roof.
It’s Intervals time again on Thursday. For this, I’m heading to an estate quite near me, one of those nice middle class estates where cars and people only go if they actually live there. Quiet and safe, it’s a perfect spot.
Looking back at week 1, I realised that I ballsed up my first go at Intervals in Glasgow. I went far too fast, and epically failed to stay in threshold pace for most of it. Which kind of defeated the point of them.
My threshold should be between 142-159bpm. Last week I went over that for the majority of the intervals. Tonight, I’m keeping an eye on it. Look at the below. Magnificent, isn’t it. Starting to get the hang of this slowing down malarkey.
Did someone say Threshold?
With warm up, intervals, and cools down, it’s another 9.5 miles. I don’t feel tired at all though. It’s another morale boosting training session in the locker. I’m sure in 3 or 4 weeks time, I’ll be saying the complete opposite.
Friday is clusterfuck weather day. The wind is going to be nuts all day, but at 7am is less nuts. So the plan on Thursday night when I go to bed is to get up, assess it, then decide whether I can get out for my 4 mile easy run.
The wind gives me proper PTSD. In 2021, a storm took part of my roof off. Since then, every weather warning involving wind gives me a twitch.
When I get up it doesn’t seem that bad, so I risk it, heading south into it. There’s a hill halfway through, so I get my 10×10 second reps in, then hit 2 miles and turn. The wind suddenly starts to pick up, but I’m heading North now with it on my tail. Clever shite me. The storm eventually pisses off later that day, but leaving me 2 tiles short on my roof. Bastard.
Saturday’s choice, I can rest or run a short threshold paced run. It’s my mother’s birthday, she lives 2 miles away, so I decide to have a gentle plod up there and back to see her.
Whilst Storm Whatdoyoucallit has buggered off, it’s still a bit windy, and the head wind heading to her house is constant and awful. However, I again feel like I’m starting to teach myself to stay in Threshold instead of pushing too hard.
‘It’s just another Threshold Saturday‘
I also feel really good when I get back. I thought there might be more tiredness setting in by this stage, but I’m feeling in a good place to attack a slow 12 miler tomorrow. However, that’s not for another 24 hours, so means diddly shit at this point.
Sunday morning comes around and, whilst it’s only 2c outside, at least it’s not really, cold, icy, or windy out there. I need a break from the shit weather on my long runs, I’m bored of it.
There is a bit of a frost, granted, but not the black ice arm breaker we’ve had the last two weekends. Again, the first 6 miles are a bit of a slog. I’m running slow, but I just can’t stay in aerobic, instead drifting into very low threshold. I feel good though.
I take a gel at 6 mile as planned, and suddenly the run changes. I speed up a tiny bit, but my heart rate stays low. Miles 6 to 12 are quite enjoyable. I’m in a rhythm, keeping it high aerobic/low threshold, and my pace of 9:30 is where I want to be.
I complete the last two miles on the sea front, and remember one of the reasons that in usual times I don’t run on a Sunday. It’s full of fucking runners. They’re everywhere. Solos. Doubles. Trios. Big groups of the fuckers. EVERYWHERE. It’s like runners rush hour.
I finish my run down there, 12.2 miles, in a nice time of 1:55. It’s about 50/50 between aerobic and low threshold, so I’ll take it. My Garmin likes it a lot, knocking another 5 mins off my Marathon race predictor.
Week 2 down, another 45 miles in the locker. I feel pretty good, not just physically, but also mentally. It’s hard work, but I’m following the plan and ‘coping’.
Next week will be more of a test. My long run is a 16 miler, but I feel confident approaching it. The next few weeks will be the start of the body creaking and the mind doubting. Strap in.
“It’s 106 miles to Chicago. We’ve got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses.”
Elwood Blues, The Blues Brothers
So, it begins. I know. Another wanker chronicling his Marathon training. Big wow. Bore off. I get it, I don’t blame you. This one, the first one, will also be the longest. I’m really not selling this.
However, for my own sanity I’ve decided to record how training is going. When it’s good, when it’s shit, when I feel like I’ve made a huge mistake.
Getting it down on ‘paper’ I’m hoping will help the process. It’s a chance for me to take a breath and reflect, maybe give myself a potentially much needed ra-ra speech.
Most importantly of all, I’m hoping I’ll be able to look back at these when it’s all over and laugh. Even at the parts where I’m blatantly crying for help.
My coach at the club is sending across my plan in 4 week blocks. The idea being, I don’t look ahead to week 9 now and shit myself. It’s a good strategy. I like it. My original plan with the blogs was to make them 4 weekly, but halfway through week 2 I noticed I was writing a novel. So, weekly it will be.
There’s your foreword, now let’s get cracking.
WEEK 1: JAN 13TH – 19TH
If ever there was a reminder that this is going to be far simpler on paper than reality, then welcome to Week 1. I have picked one of the shittest weeks to start training.
Usually, my life is pretty boring and routine focused, which is absolutely fine by me. I’ve massively cut down my alcohol consumption over the past few years, so other than a match day I’m not one for popping to the pub with my cat and a copy of the Racing Post.
This week though.
The lead up to the week is also not as I planned. I pop out for my usual long run on Saturday morning, my last before I switch to a Sunday. I decide to go out on a bang and try a Half. We’re in a cold snap, and there’s a ground frost, but all very runnable.
I get on the Wagonway and I feel great. My pace is pretty good, and mentally this is going to set me up nicely for the weeks ahead. I leave the Wagonway at Percy Main and, suddenly, everything changes. It’s a little bit slippier. It appears to have turned from frost into ice.
I head into Shields and this is getting worse, to the point where I’ve moved onto the roads. Although, they aren’t much better.
Then it happens.
I feel my feet go and I slide majestically on my arse along the path. I’m not hurt at all. I actually did this gracefully and quite magnificently if I don’t say so myself. The biggest plus though, is that there is no one around to see it.
I decide to continue running but to slow down. Round the corner, a car has skidded into the side of a truck. Everyone is ok, but it’s now obvious that there is black ice everywhere. I run on a little bit further, but after another close arse falling call at just shy of 9 miles, I call the whole thing off. I’m only three stops from home on the Metro so, safety first, I tip toe to the Station.
Disappointing, but these things happen. Hilariously, on my way to the Metro, a lady walking her dog slips. I go to check she’s ok, and she is, but then her dog bites me. Right on the fucking thigh. She’s very apologetic, but it absolutely knacks. Whilst it doesn’t draw blood, and I am wearing shorts and tights which probably help cushion it, it does leave quite a mark and a bruise.
It’s just not my morning.
Monday though starts well enough. Mondays are going to be ‘rest days.’ When I say rest, I mean no running. Instead, I have to work on my core strength. I already do a 30 minute online Yoga session every Monday evening. For the next 16 weeks, I’ll be adding on a 30 min weights session straight after.
I found a great ‘Runners Core Strength’ workout on the Nike App which I tried during the Christmas break. It was hard work but good work. Seeing as my upper body strength is as weak as a kitten, anything that involves weights is hard to me. I plan to also do this set on a Friday evening. I’ll be jacked like the Ultimate Warrior by May man.
Tuesday’s are going to be my only Club session of the week. I’ll be missing Thursdays and off doing Thresholds somewhere else. Tuesday is also my only speed session where I’m allowed to run fast. The biggest difference is going to be that I have to do a 3-4 mile warm up beforehand.
Surprisingly though, I really enjoy this first higher mileage Tuesday. I do a nice 3 mile plod and finish at the club, do another mile with everyone else, then a 400m rep session on the track. This is actually the best Track session I’ve had in months. I feel really strong. If every Tuesday is like this I’ll be delighted.
Wednesday is the start of where it gets a bit ‘complicated.’ I’m off to the match in the evening, so I get up to do my session pre work in the morning. It’s a 5 mile easy run. I’m not very good at ‘easy’ runs. I find it a bit of a slog, probably caused by not having the recovery time. But needs must.
Early Thursday I’m on a train to Scotland for work. It’s a team catch up and meal, but I’ve already decided that I’m not going to drink. What a boring bastard.
Thursdays are possibly going to be the most painful run of the week – Intervals. For this first session, I have to hit 10 x 4 min threshold intervals, with 2 min recoveries between. That can be a static rest, walk, or jog.
I know Glasgow fairly well now, so I’ve already planned where to complete this. Down by the Clyde, there is a perfect rectangular route that I can do, crossing two bridges. Clear, not many pedestrians, no roads to cross. Perfect.
Intervals are probably my least favourite training sessions. They feel like they go on forever. This one is no different. The route does turn out to be as perfect as I thought it would be, but it’s a slog on my own. I jog the recoveries, I find static recoveries don’t help me.
Intervals by the Clyde.
Friday morning I’m up early and outside the hotel by 6am. I need to complete 4 easy miles, with 10 x 10 second hills somewhere during it. The hotel is right next to a hill, so I decide to get those hills out the way early. They actually feel ok. The 4 easy miles though really are easy. I’m knackered. I head out to Celtic Park and back, then have the good old Premier Inn buffet breakfast. Burp.
Paradise
Saturday I’m back home and it’s a change of routine I’ll need to get used to. No long runs on a Saturday. Instead, it’s a 5k threshold. I then go to the match, where Newcastle are utter shite, and like a good lad curtail my drinking as I know it’s long run time tomorrow.
Sunday morning is cold and icy. Bollocks. The cold I’ll deal with, the ice though can fuck right off. It’s a baptism of fire, as I have to do 14 miles at aerobic pace. At this juncture, I’m still not 100% sure what I’m aiming for Marathon time wise. I mean, my plan is set around a time, but I think I’ve been overly cautious.
Nevertheless, I go out for my slow 14 and the first 6 miles are a struggle mentally. I feel like I’m going at a glacial pace and that this is going to take forever. Those 6 miles seem to tick over slowly, even though my pace is actually slightly faster than it probably should be. Learning to slow down will come I’m sure, but early doors it’s hard getting my head around it.
The last 7 miles or so are ok though. I’ve settled into it, avoided most of the awful ice, and I finish up in 2:15. Not too shabby. I feel great as well, like I didn’t push myself hard, and when I finished I more than felt like I could have gone on.
Happy 2025. Proper sounds like we’re in the future now. Which isn’t great, as most of the futures I imagine are from watching far too many dystopian sci-if films. We’ll soon either be wiped out by a Virus, something from Space, or by machines and AI of our own making. 5 years ago we would have scoffed at those predictions.
In the Christmas Special, the overriding theme was that 2024 was an exceptionally good running year for me. PBs galore, I felt like I had really levelled up.
Halfway through the year, when I was starting to run well and see improvements, I made a rather impulsive decision. One that I said I would never do.
I signed up for a Marathon.
I started running ‘properly’ back in the late 2000s for reasons I’ve already written about. Since then I’ve ran a lot, and all sorts of distances. 5ks, 10ks, 10 milers. I think I’ve worked out that I’ve completed the Half Marathon distance nearly 40 times.
But never a Marathon. There is a good reason for that. I’ve never wanted to. Let’s face it, Marathons are different gravy. The jump from 5k to 10k isn’t that massive when you think about it, same with 10k to Half.
Half to Full Marathon though, that’s huge. Physically and psychologically. It’s another double figures of miles you have to find. You have to think about a training plan and fuelling. There are no shortcuts and no hiding. You can’t just rock up having put in half arsed preparation.
With all that in mind, I’ve always talked myself out of doing one. I don’t have time, I don’t have the fitness, it’s not fair on the family, and most importantly of all, I don’t want to make myself look like a tit by failing.
Now the next thing I’m going to say might upset some people. It’s not the Vegans this time either. Are we ready?
Marathons are Running events. Not participation events.
Call me a traditionalist, but they were designed to be RUN. They have cut off times for a reason. Before anyone starts shouting at me, people turning up for Parkrun and walking is absolutely fine. That’s kind of what Parkrun is about. Marathons though, no.
The point is, I didn’t want to attempt one until I thought I could run the whole distance. Which is why it’s now or never, do or die, shit or bust.
I won’t have a better opportunity than now. I’m running so well, with a great base to start from, and part of a club where I can get good, solid support, advice and coaching, I’d be nuts not to give it a crack. No pun intended.
I’m not getting any younger either. I will hit my mid 40s in 2025. I’m under no illusions that very soon things are going to get harder, things are going to start niggling. Things might even start to fall off.
So, May the 4th 2025, I’m off to run 26.2 miles around Belfast. 16 weeks of training begins January 13th. All my eggs are in one basket. Nowt else matters this year, there are no other goals. Get the training done, get to the starting line, hit my target time.
Hopefully in June I’ll be looking back and laughing at what all the fuss was about. Or something might have fallen off after all.
So Happy New Year, attack 2025, and do whatever makes you tick.
Let’s start by getting straight in and addressing the Elephant in the room. A Christmas advert so bad, I want to rip out my eyes and shove them in my ears. No, not that one. Friggin Morrisons.
Morrisons, with their shite oven glove puppets that would have Jim Hensen weeping. Shite oven glove puppets murdering one of the greatest movie songs of all time. And when I say murder, I’m talking the kind of murders they’d do in medieval times. Like, proper brutal shit. Not only that, it’s also butchered part of my childhood. Scott Baio would be rolling in his grave. If he was dead.
Anyway, now we’ve got that out the way, it’s time for the Christmas Special. I’m here to spread festive cheer and review my running year. So pop another log on the fire, have yet another day drink that has you half pissed by mid afternoon, and let’s get stuck in.
I’d not be overstating things when I say 2024 has been my best running year ever. I’d be staggered if I ever have a better one. I would never have thought it back in January, when I was put kicking and screaming by the club coaches into the group above. So the faster, more intense one.
For 6 weeks I hung off the back of that group, cursing the coaches who put me here, and wondering where the enjoyment had gone. Then, it suddenly clicked. I was keeping up. I pushed through to survivor mode.
For a few months though, I was knackered. Despite the fact I was being coached in endurance, my long runs were going to shit. Slow and ploddy. Everything was an effort. Was the extra intensity improving my running, or had I taken on too much?
There were some signs of improvement early doors however. At the end of February the club organised a 5k Time Trial to see where we were all at. I went balls to the wall and ran the fastest 5k of my life – a 23:40. I then went on holiday to Greece in May, drank a shit load of Mythos, and ran a 10k PB in a race less than 3 hours after landing back in the country. Who said my days of fast times had gone? Well, I did.
Then, during the summer, I popped out one morning for my usual long weekend run. A 10 miler on a route I’ve been doing for years. No expectations, no real plan, just plod round it as normal. I set off and I felt good. I felt loose. I felt..fast. But the biggest change was how I felt as the run went on. Rather than get tired out, I felt stronger the longer it got.
When I was done I felt great, but only in a good run kind of way. When I uploaded it on Strava however, it announced a 10 miler PB. By a couple of minutes as well. Interesting.
Suddenly, I was very aware of my speed and times. Both in Club Sessions and when running on my own. I was definitely getting faster. I was comfortably staying in the pack at club, and felt really strong on my long runs.
I’ve never been one of those runners who really cares much about times. Certainly not improving times. I’ve always entered into races etc with goal times. As in, ‘it would be nice to come in under 2 hours’ and so on. Suddenly though, I’m very self aware that they are improving.
As part of that, I started taking a keen interest in my Half Marathon PB. Sitting at 1:53, I noted that my current 10 mile pace would easily knock a couple of minutes off that. I just need to hold that pace for another 5k. Easier said than done.
A month before the Great North Run, I head out to complete the Half Marathon distance as a training run. Usually this is a ‘let’s see where I’m at’ run, as well as an attempt to mentally reassure myself that I can complete the 13.1 miles comfortably.
It’s another comfortable long run, and I realise it’s going to be quick. I hit an 8:25 pace, with a 1:50:31 finish. Just 6 months earlier, I was parring around 1:54.
30 seconds plus change off dipping under 1:50 for the first time in my life. It’s far too tempting to not take a shot at. But not at the GNR. I already had a plan for that, and that was a no pressure run I wanted to enjoy. Which I did.
Fast forward to the middle of October, and I’m ready to make my move. I’ve already worked out that I just need an 8:23 pace to hit my goal. I’m going to be doing something I never do – keep an eye on my pace.
As there is no wind, the plan is to head 6.5 miles directly North on the coast, then turn. When I do turn, my pace is well on track and I feel great. Is this really on? Well, yes it is. I don’t fade at all second half of the run. In fact, I get quicker.
At 11 mile I know I’m going to do it. I’ve never had that confidence before with my running. It’s a great feeling on the last mile knowing this has gone to plan. I finish with an 8:19 pace and bag a 1:49:23 finish. I’ve broken the back off 1:50. After 15 years of trying, I’m in the 1:40 club. I’m absolutely delighted.
We’re not finished there though. In November and December the PBs keep tumbling. At the Club Grand Prix I run my fastest even 5k, first time under 23 mins, recording a 22:57. A month later in the next Grand Prix, I do it again. This time a 22:33.
And as I wrote about in my last blog, at the Brampton to Carlisle 10 mile Road Race I break my 10k and 10 mile PBs. Its official, 2024 has been undoubtedly my greatest running year ever.
It almost feels a bit different this year going through the goals I set in January. Usually, it’s self deprecating with tongue firmly in cheek. This year though. Anyway, let’s take a look at that list..
Run 1,000 miles – Another year, another 1,000 plus in the bank. It’s also another record year. As I write this with a week of the year left, I’m on 1,500.
Run a Half Marathon – I’ve waffled on about my Half Marathon journey already in this post. I did run two official races at the distance. The Great North Run, which I really enjoyed and reviewed, was the main one. I did also run the Newcastle Half in July. This was a new race to me, and I only signed up to pace someone else. I got them to a 2:10 PB, so a very satisfying run. I’d like a proper crack at it, so it’s on my radar for 2025.
Run the Brampton to Carlisle 10 miler – I certainly did, and it didn’t disappoint. Piss up and PBs. I’ll be on the bus in 2025.
Race in the Club Grand Prix – I missed the first one, the 10k race, as I was away on holiday. However, the other three Pre-Christmas races I’ve completed and am currently on a 5k PB run. 23:27, 22:57, and a 22:33. I expect this will level off for the remaining four Post-Christmas.
Run on Holiday – This year I’ve been lucky enough to run round Zante, Warsaw, Edinburgh, and Shropshire. I continue to make no apologies for this.
Yoga Everyday – Now this one has been an underrated gem. I’ve managed to do at least 15 mins a day, every day. I really think it’s made a huge difference. It’s helping with recovery, I feel more loose, less stiff, and I’ve had no noticeable niggles for the first year in donkeys. I can’t recommend this to fellow runners enough.
Phew. There we have it. What a year. Back in January when I set these original targets, I never would have envisioned achieving even half of what I have. 2025 is either going to be interesting, or a bit of a damp squib. To be honest, I’ll just be happy to keep enjoying it.
So, Merry Christmas, however you do or don’t celebrate it. I’m cracking open a cold one and eyeing up those Brooks in the sale..
“My mother used to say: The older you get, the better you get. Unless you’re a banana.” Rose, The Golden Girls
I’ve confessed in the past on here to being one of those sad sacks who takes his running gear with him when travelling. I’ve gone for multiple runs in Spain and Greece. I nearly even once entered the Zante Half Marathon whilst on a family holiday. I didn’t in the end, after my wife persuaded me not to. The kind of persuasion that involves violence and the loss of my bollocks.
In hindsight, I’m quite glad I was ‘talked’ out of that one. It seemed like a good idea on paper. But as I lay by the pool under clear blue skies, with the Temperature hitting the late 20s, I realised it was inactuality a proper shit idea. So, I ordered another cold Mythos and gave myself a cheers to celebrate my testicles still being attached to my body.
Since changing my job a couple of years back, I now from time to time get out and about on Office visits around the country. Or as my wife calls them, massive fucking jollies. As such, I’ve also added Edinburgh, Glasgow and London to my running locations. Hardly Kenya or Boston, but still not bad for a pleb who grew up in North Shields.
So as soon as I was told I’d be visiting my colleagues in the Warsaw Office in Poland, I had Google Maps open, the Measure Distance tool activated, and a pair of Brooks packed in a suitcase before you could say Dziękuję.
So, fast forward to a Sunday morning in September. I’m sitting in the Departure Lounge Bar of Newcastle Airport, supping a cold Guiness and listening to a Hen Do in the corner, all of whom are already half wankered by 8am and murdering ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears. Makes you proud to be British.
As I live in the North East of England, a 3rd World country to those living in London, I can’t get a direct flight to Warsaw. I have to catch a connection. Thankfully, work have organised me to go via Amsterdam, rather than Heathrow. That place turns your snot black. Once in the Dam (well, Schiphol Airport) I meet up with two of my colleagues and we’re off to Poland.
First interesting cultural observation. The Poles like to clap when their plane lands. I’m not sure why. I ask my hosts later in the week, but whilst they admit it’s a thing, they don’t really know why either. One thing I’ve learnt from working with these guys over the years, they have a cracking sense of humour. My guess is the clapping is a rib. They don’t do it for any other reason than to confuse us all. Fair play to them.
I won’t lie, my hotel is cracking. Right in the centre of the Warsaw Corporate district, on al.Jana Pawla II. Which translates as John Paul II Avenue. His Popeness himself. As a product of a 90s Catholic school education system, JP was my Pope. We had a signed photo of him in our Assembly Hall, which I used to find equally amusing and disturbing. I’ve massively denounced my Catholicism as an adult, but he was a cracking keeper, so fair play to him
The plan is to get up early pre-breakfast and run whilst it’s quiet. I’m bang in the middle of a capital city, so I want to try and avoid heavy traffic and those pesky pedestrians. I find out from this first run that only one of these things will be true. Sunday evening is spent on a short stroll with Colleagues and a quick bite to eat, before an early night.
Monday morning I’m up, out, and ready to run for 5:45am. I used to be cool. One bonus for this week is the weather. We’re in the last week of September, but the forecast is for it to be around 23-25°C every day for the duration. Which means at this time in the morning it’s already a balmy 13°C, dry and calm. It’s a perfect morning for running.
Thanks to Google Maps (this is twice I’ve praised them in this post, if they want to sponsor me) I note that there is a park about 200 metres from my hotel. Then another 200 metres from that is an even bigger park and what looks like a Public Square. These seem like a good starting point to explore. Safe, close, and I can’t get lost.
I start my run in the Park and already something that will become a theme of my trip here is obvious. It’s really clean. No rubbish. It’s spotless. This Park turns out to be called the Mier Park (or Mirowski in Polish). I run straight up the middle of it from one end to the other and there’s no one about apart from a few hardy dog walkers. It isn’t quiet though. The row of trees above me are full of crows and they are going ape shit. Like, Hitchcock film crackers.
I notice on the ground in various places there are Metal markings with writing on. It’s too dark to read exactly what they say, but when I return to have a walk around here later in the daylight, I’m shocked to discover these are boundary markers for the Jewish Ghetto.
Ghetto Wall Boundary Markers
Another recurring theme of the week, this is a beautiful city with a brutal past. Here I am running round a charming park that just over 80 years ago was hell on earth. It makes you think, it makes you humble.
The Park isn’t big, so I’m out of it quite quickly. There is a main road between this and the next park. And I mean a main road. Four lanes of traffic and two lanes of Tram. My Polish colleagues warned me on their visit to the UK that crossing the road on a red is death by Firing Squad over here. Or something. So I don’t fuck about and stop and wait.
This next Park is even more spectacular. This is the Saxon Gardens, the oldest park in Warsaw. Again it’s clean and it’s lined with magnificent Horse Chestnut Trees. There are Conkers everywhere, so many that I can’t avoid them and I end up crunching them underfoot. It breaks my heart.
I pass a substantial fountain and then, something very random appears. It’s the tomb of the unknown solider. It’s just gone 6am, yet there are two guards standing over it. Turns out, it’s guarded 24 hours, with a change of shift on the hour. Bet everyone loves getting the 4am shift in the middle of pissing rain in January. It is a magnificent sight though.
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
I pass it, very respectfully, as I’m aware there are two tooled up Poles just a few feet from me. Once I am past it, I’m onto a big square. This, it turns out, is the sight of the Saxon Palace. Another theme here, a once fantastic Warsaw landmark flattened by those bastard Nazis and Russians.
I do a couple of laps or so of this, then head back the same way I came to the Hotel. 3.5 miles without wandering too far, perfect conditions, and already some great sightseeing.
After a great day at work (no, really) and a nice wander about the modern part of the city after, I plot the next day’s run back at the hotel. Now I feel like I have my bearings, I’m more confident about going out further without getting lost.
I discover that I can go the same way I did on the first day, continue on a little bit further when I get to the Square, and I’ll be on to the Vistula River. There and back, 4 mile. Very doable.
Next morning, I’m again up and out for 5:40am. Seriously man. It’s the same as yesterday, the two lovely parks and onto the Square/site of the Palace. This time though, I continue straight over, and suddenly it’s a sharp down hill (uh-oh) as we head to the River.
The Warsaw University campus is down here, but it’s dead. It is 6am though. Only complete idiots are down here at this time. I’m on to the Riverside, run along it a short while till I hit 2 miles, then turn for home. I stop to take a photo before heading back. The sun is starting to rise and it’s a lovely sight looking East. I spot what looks like a Stadium over the other side of the River. More on that when we get to Thursday.
Vistula River sunrise.
Unfortunately, what goes down, must come up, and the climb back from the River to the town is steeper than I thought. It’s tough going. On the plus side, another 4 mile , and I’ve earned my Hotel breakfast.
That evening we venture into the Old Town. Basically, the tiny part of Warsaw those bastard Nazis again didn’t destroy during the Uprising. It’s a beautiful part of the City, but again, tinged with a horrible past. It seems like every building I look at has a plaque on it, marking the spot the bastard Nazis rounded up Poles to shoot them.
The Old Town itself is also quite near the Square/Palace, reachable on a run from my Hotel, so I decide this will be where I head on Wednesday morning.
It’s 5:40am again, it’s another lovely morning, and I’m through the two Parks and over the Square. I’m practically a local now. A left at the Square and I’m into the Old Town. I just do a loop of it, but make sure I run along the old defensive wall. To think, again, that the Poles were defending this for their lives 80 years ago, is difficult to comprehend or even do justice.
The Old Town Walls
Another nice run, another 4 miles. Another well earned Breakfast. Although they don’t seem to do Bananas in Poland.
That night, my hosts take me to a traditional Communist Cuisine restaurant. I have the Cabbage and Mushroom Dumplings, and immediately get the urge to overthrow the Government. Once that settles, it’s back to my Capitalist Hotel and plotting the next mornings run.
I mentioned that on my run down to the river, I spotted what looked like a Stadium on the other side. It’s the Stadion Narodowy, Polands national stadium. Home of the National football team and apparently, among other things, Taylor Swift concerts.
It’s also not as far away as I think. Same route down to the river as Tuesday, then over the river on a Pedestrian Bridge, before a straight road to the Stadium. 3 mile, a 6 mile round trip.
As luck would have it, on my final day there is no rush to get out and back. I’m not going into the office, as I’m leaving late morning for the airport. So loads of time to fit a 10k in.
Having said that, I’m up and out again for the usual 5:45am. The struggle is real though, as I may have sampled a few of the local beers the night before. I’ll sleep on the plane(s).
So, same drill as Tuesday, Parks, Square, drop down, past the Uni and onto the River. This time however, once on the River I take a left towards the Bridge. This is quite a new bridge (opened March 2024, only 6 months prior). It doesn’t even appear on Google Maps as it wasn’t built yet. My Strava afterwards will also ignore it, looking to all like I just catapulted myself across. Just to prove it exists, I took a photo whilst on it, looking back towards the City. Lovely.
Bridge looking back South to the City
Once over, I take a right and follow quite a busy dual carriageway. The morning commute is already in full swing and the roads are as busy as you’d expect for a Capital city. It’s pretty unremarkable however, until I suddenly hit the Stadium.
The Stadion Narodowy
It is quite a spectacular site. I stop to take a picture, but I can’t really get that close to it. It’s fenced off with a gate open, so I’m not sure if I’m allowed to go in. I have a rule when it comes to these things – if I’m in a country where the police are armed, don’t fuck about and find out. With that, I turn and head back, following the exact route out. 6 mile.
And there we have it. 17.5 miles over 4 days. I was here for work, not as a tourist, yet thanks to running I’ve been able to explore a good chunk of it I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to. It’s been a productive trip work wise, but packing my running shoes has added another dimension. Thanks Warsaw, I will be back.
Just as a finishing footnote, I am back on Social Media. No, not that one, but Bluesky. It might be great, it might be shite, but at least it isn’t the cesspool that is the other place. You can now follow me here, if it’s your thang.
Notbuilttorun.com 