Back to training at last!

Having fractured my foot I was forced into an eight week hiatus from running. You might ask how does an obsessive-compulsive athlete go from running 100 mile + weeks to nothing. Well, I can tell you it wasn’t the easiest transition in the world. In fact it was bloody awful. Thankfully, I didn’t have to rest completely, as long as I didn’t do any weight bearing exercise, which meant I could hit the gym and my new best friend the elliptical trainer or cross trainer.



Of course, I went every day I could and did anywhere from 2-3 hours on the trainer. At first it was quite the novelty, blasting backwards and forwards on the machine in the warmth of the gym while the outside froze in the December snow. The machine even let you watch the TV as you worked out, which was pretty good. I watched everything from a documentary on the North Indian railway to Deal or No Deal. However, the novelty soon wore off as I quickly realised that the cross trainer is nothing like going for a run. I was soon missing the cold winter air rushing through my lungs and the snow’s cold kiss on my cheeks. When the snow melted, I really missed the cycle network, the Water of Leith and of course the club sessions with my friends.


It was a really difficult few weeks. I kept motivated by reminding myself that by working hard on the cross trainer every day I was reducing the recovery time it would take when I was allowed to run again. My appetite was still incredibly high from my running weeks and so I knew I had to keep up a very high level of activity in order not to put on too much weight. That kept me motivated too, because I really enjoy chocolate.


So after eight mentally tough weeks I was allowed to take those first gentle running steps back. My first two sessions have been a combination of jogging and walking.


On Tuesday, with my good friend Colin (twitter.com/colinmcgill), I set out to do 7minutes jogging, followed by 3 minutes walking, which I repeated 3 times. I was really nervous as I walked to our meeting point at the entrance to Inverleith Park. I’d waited so long for this moment and I was just petrified that I would feel pain in my foot as soon as I started running. Pain would mean at least another week’s rest and that would have been hard for me to take, as I would have begun to really doubt my recovery and how long it would take.


Thankfully, as we set off I felt nothing. Well not in my foot anyway. Running again was a real shock to my system, particularly my legs, which ached and creaked, as if they had never run before. It felt brilliant to be running again. Straight away I fell back in love with the sport. Not that I had fallen out of love with it, I had just begun to forget how amazing it was to bounce along the ground, working the legs and breathing hard. I wasn’t going particularly fast, in fact pretty slow for me, or at least the old me, but the effort felt like I was eye-balls out racing a half marathon. It was great.


With Colin for company we chatted all the way round and my run was over all too quickly. I felt great and I would have loved to have just carried on. However, I am a re-born sensible runner and so I knew I had done enough and would have to wait until Thursday to run again.


Getting back on the cross trainer on Wednesday was a real anti-climax, as all I wanted to do was get out and run again, but I knew I would get another chance on Thursday as I had felt no reaction to my first run.


Today, Thursday, I got to run again. This time it was eight minutes jogging and two minutes walking repeated three times. Like Tuesday I was a nervous before starting, as I was still worried about my foot. I guess that is only natural and for the time being I will continue to worry. Today felt even better than Tuesday. My foot felt fine again and although my legs were tight and still a little unused to running I zipped along Inverleith Park with ease. In fact, I had to slow myself down on quite a few occasions. The faster I run the more pressure I put on my foot and I don’t want to put too much strain on it at this stage in my recovery, as that can cause another fracture.


Today’s run also finished far too quickly and I would have loved to have carried on. It feels amazing to be running again and I am already counting down the hours until Saturday before my next run, where I can increase the time again.

Sometimes things go wrong – understanding and moving on

Sometimes things go wrong.

As most of you who read this already know, at the end of December I started experiencing a sharp pain in my right foot, which in January was diagnosed as a stress facture of the second metatarsal. The diagnosis ended my hopes of competing in the MDS in April this year.

It has been a bitter blow, but one I have already come to terms with and I am already looking forward. In the grand scheme of things, many people have to face up to much worse in life than a fractured foot.

So, where did things go wrong? It has now been over six weeks since I first experienced the pain and six weeks since I was forced to stop running. I have, in that time, done a lot of reading, spoken to physiotherapists, sports doctors, and fellow runners and I know exactly what went wrong.

It wasn’t something simple, like a fall or dropping something on my foot. A number of different things all helped over a good couple of months.

A major part of the problem was as a result of my stubborn minded approach to running, which seemed to have reached new heights as I strived to do what I felt I needed to in order to succeed in the MDS. I have always aimed towards a high mileage training regime since completing my first marathon in May 2007. After only three years of running I moved up to 80-100 mile weeks, running twice a day, far quicker than a lot of people advised, but to me it felt like what I needed to be doing in order to develop.

For most of last year I think my body coped remarkably well with the mileage. Apart from a very small Achilles injury I didn’t miss much training at all and on the whole felt very good.

Unfortunately, I didn’t settle for where I’d got to, but instead I wanted do more and to push harder. This was the start of my problems (or perhaps the culmination of them).

Ultimately, things came to ahead when the November snow came. I carried on as if it weren’t there and even increased my training. After completing my marathon in October, a marathon that emptied me both physically and mentally, I took only a very short rest of five days before jumping straight back into heavy mileage and hard runs. This was in order to get fit for my first ultramarathon, a 3-day 82 mile race, which I ran less than four weeks after my marathon. In that race, like in Amsterdam, I pushed it to the max refusing at any point to take it easy. After 2-days in the race I had racked up a 40-minute lead over my nearest competitor, yet on the last day I still felt as though I had to go all out to win the stage and not just beat my nearest rival, but beat them by as much as possible. My head was telling me to be sensible, but my body simply didn’t listen or chose not to.

Even after that race I still couldn’t back off. I had a slightly easier training week, but at the end of the week I found myself racing in the East League District cross country race, where instead of simply completing it at an easy pace I raced it as if it were an Olympic final.

Part of this behaviour comes from my nature, my will and desire to win. This isn’t a bad thing. In fact, I think in terms of what I want to achieve in running, it is a very good thing. I just need to control it better and channel it effectively. At the moment it clearly dictates me and my running, not the other way round.

Back to the snow. Quite simply, snow is more difficult to run on than the road. Your whole body, including your feet have to work harder to make progress. A snow mile can be, depending on the depth and other conditions, a minute slower than a normal weather mile. I was doing over 100 miles in a week and I didn’t let the snow stop me, I ran my normal mileage. Based on the above crude calculation this means I was adding at least another 100 minutes (the equivalent of about 14 miles) to my weekly training, which was already very high and on tired legs from the recent racing. Add to this, the fact that it was physically harder on the body too, you can begin to see why things went wrong.

If that wasn’t enough, when the snow got hard and compacted I switched to running from trainers to fell shoes. Fell shoes are hard-soled with little or no cushioning, but in the slippy, icy snow provided great grip. My feet were taking a real pounding on every run and I was giving them little time to recover, as I was still running twice a day and for longer. Finally, I was increasing my weekly long runs. I was now regularly doing over 26 miles including one of 32 miles, which took over four and a half hours to do – a considerable increase., especially in those conditions. Even in my designated ‘easy week’ I couldn’t help myself, turning up to training to do hard reps in the snow and ice, even though my body was aching for a rest and I knew it.

Writing it down on paper it is easy to understand why my foot broke. It seemed pretty inevitable that something would go wrong. In fact, reading back over this makes me feel pretty stupid. I was clearly overtraining (very obvious statement in light of what I’ve said above). There were other problems too. In the first week of December I was ill with a virus that left me very fatigued and tired, another obvious sign of overtraining. I did at least listen a little bit to this and took a few days off to get better, but as soon as I was feeling healthier I went straight back into the high mileage.

It’s easy to point out all these problems now, especially with the benefit of hindsight and a large amount of time to sit down and ponder what went wrong. Clearly, when the snow came I should have cut things back to reflect that and should have found ways to lessen the stress I was placing on my body. There is a whole range of ways to keep fit when you can’t run. Ironically, I am finding out all about cross-trainers, bikes, and swimming during my rehabilitation as I wait for the bone to heal.

It also goes further back. My post Amsterdam Marathon activity was pretty crazy. I should have worked in more time for recovery, if not after Amsterdam then definitely after the ultra.

Again, it is very easy to point all these things out now, but at the time I was so consumed with getting myself in shape to run the MDS that I didn’t realise I was actually putting myself on course to run myself out of the race. It hadn’t helped that I had entered a 45 mile race in January too. Following success in my first ultra in November I was now even more determined to do well. With the race in January I didn’t want to sacrifice any miles or training in December and risk not performing well. This was definitely influencing my mind during training as I pushed myself on and on.

Understanding how I broke my foot answers one question, but a more interesting question I have been asking myself is why? Why did I let myself get into a situation where I was clearly doing so many things wrong, but didn’t see it or simply ignored it to the point where I injured myself?

I have already mentioned my competitive streak and desire to win and recognised that in the past I have let it control me more than I should have, which I know is part of that answer.

Another important thing is that I have always considered myself to be an athlete with very little talent, but a lot of determination and will power. This has translated into a belief that I need to do more in order to beat the person next to me. So, more miles, more training, and fewer rest days was how I believed I could do it. Having come into this sport at the age of 29, I also have this sense that I have got less time to get good at it before age catches up on me. This has influenced my thinking to a massive degree and another reason why I have tried to push myself so hard, so quickly.

I think this sums up a big part of the why.

Knowing all of this I am forced to ask myself another interesting question – what am I going to do to avoid this happening again? A simple answer might be – don’t run and train for ultras! That is certainly a part of the answer, as I need to recover properly before thinking about that kind of racing. I have no intention of running an ultra this year or even a marathon. But this is only part of the next steps for me, as I think I need a return to some basics.

Reading through some of the coaching manuals and texts I have learnt quite a bit during my hiatus. I must add, that a lot of what I have read has been told to me, in one way or another, by my coaches in the past, but I’ve not listened as well as perhaps I should have. I am sure, if they’re reading this they’ll be nodding their heads in agreement.

Tim Noakes, in his book Lore of Running, talks about 15 Laws of Training. Law 6 is: Try and achieve as much as possible on a minimum of training. I have never done this. I have always increased my mileage after every marathon and although I have improved with increased mileage, I wonder if I had tried to achieve more on less how I would get on. It would certainly help me understand to what extend my running performances are down to talent versus mileage. With that in mind I am going to scale back my mileage significantly for a large part of this year. I kind of have to for the first part anyway, as I rebuild back up from my injury.

I am also going to get a little bit more scientific. I have always been good at following some basic principles of training (apart from overtraining!) and have generally balanced speed session, recovery runs and long runs, which have delivered some good runs and fast times. I have, however, been awful at recording those training sessions in a systematic way and then comparing them against previous training to see how and where progress is being made. I am going to be a lot more disciplined in recording my training and reviewing my progress. This will at least give me more information to learn from and help me make wiser training choices.

In short, this whole incident has given me some much needed time to reflect and recover. I have reassessed how and the way I run. I am going to miss out on a race I had poured my heart and soul into, but hopefully I will become a better runner as a result and when I do get another chance at the MDS I will do better than I would have if I ran it this year.

My motto for 2011 is, train smarter, get faster.

My first ultra marathon, my first ever race win!

Okay, so the title, like the film, Titanic, kind of gives away the ending. However, as with all good stories the fun is in the journey as much as the ending.

I had entered the Druid’s Challenge an 82 mile 3-day trail race across the Ridgeway, earlier this year, long before I had entered the Amsterdam Marathon, as I saw it as an ideal way to see how my body would shape up to the rigours of ultra running and multi-day racing in preparation for the MDS next April. Once I entered it I promptly put it to the back of my mind, as I focused all my efforts on getting the PB I craved at Amsterdam.

It was only after I had finished the Amsterdam marathon and was still hobbling about the following Friday did it dawn on me that three weeks later I would be running this ultra race. Not much training or preparation time. In fact I had two hard weeks of 90-100 miles each and then a four day taper.

On the Thursday before the race I sat in my Travelodge in Luton and it suddenly dawned on me that I had never done anything like this! 3 marathons in 3 days, all across hard trails, forest paths, ancient roads and tall grassy hills. I was actually scared. I sat there thinking about all the things that could go wrong.

Mostly I was worried about getting lost. I can get lost in a supermarket, even with numbered aisles and shop assistants eager to point me to sweets section. This race wasn’t marshalled. We simply had to follow the well marked trail paths.

I was always confident of getting through the first day. At 29 miles it would be the longest I have ever run in one go, but I felt with all the long 26 mile runs I had done and my high mileage training weeks I would be okay. I was more concerned about days two and three and how my body might recover from day one. Especially, considering I have a propensity not to hold back. I knew there was every chance that I would go out hard on day one, run as fast as I could, shredding my legs and leaving nothing for the next two days.

I was honestly frightened of failure. I pin a lot of stuff on my running, with plenty of training and boring people to death with my endless chat about it, so I didn’t want to come home having had to pull out or walking the last couple of days due to ruining my body on the first day. So, Thursday was a restless night.

Friday and stage one came. The 150+ competitors were organised into three starts a slow group, medium group and fast group. The slow group were set off at 10am, the medium group at a 11am and the fast group, which included me, set off at 12pm.

Stage One: Ultra Running Lesson One – the hard way!!

It was cold, very windy and heavy rain clouds hung over the horizon as we stood at the top of the hill at Ivinghoe Beacon waiting for our start. I felt surprisingly calm and in pretty good shape. My game plan was to stick with the main bunch of runners for the first 20 miles or so and then see how I was feeling and maybe push on from there or at least try and hang on to the leaders if they were faster.

Of course, this is me! So instead of doing what was sensible I blasted down the hill at in impressive pace opening up a 100m gap before we’d reached the end of the first field. I tired to tell myself to slow down and that 30 miles was a long way to go and that it was foolish, but none of it got through. I just went. It felt great and I felt as though I was skipping across the beaten mud and chalky paths through the green fields and into the forest paths. After about 4 miles I glanced back over my shoulder and there was no one in sight, I was clear. There was no one about and no one in front of me, as it would be at least 9 or 10 miles before I got the first of the slow runners. The course was magnificent and although it was breezy and damp with light rain it wasn’t too cold. I was having a great time.

At 6 miles I was following the little white acorns and finger signs that indicated the way to go and was starting to feel pretty good about myself. I was even patting myself on the back for following the course so well. I was about to learn my first lesson in trail running. Don’t get complacent with the route. I came out of a forest and the finger sign said left on to a tarmac road, which I followed. I was still all on my own and apart from a tractor with a hedge trimmer there was no sign of life. I followed the road looking out for the next finger sign for the Ridgeway, but nothing. The road kept going. There were a few footpaths, but we had been told explicitly that there would be either a white acorn or a finger sign saying Ridgeway and I couldn’t see either of them. I started to panic, it didn’t feel right.

Of course any sensible trail runner would have done some preparation before such a race and at least looked at a map of the Ridgewayshit, I am lost!, was all I could think! I ran back up the road and found an old lady getting into a car. I quickly sprinted up to her before she could drive away and asked if she knew where the path to the Ridgeway was. “Ridgeway?” she answered confused and my heart sank. She pondered for a moment and then said she would ask her son. Moving agonisingly slowly she wondered from her car to another cottage buried behind a thick hedge. I looked at my watch as the minutes and seconds ticked on. I felt for sure that any lead I had made would now be gone. I cursed myself and all the praise I had just given myself for not getting lost. Eventually her son appeared and was almost as confused. He thought it was back up the road I had just run from, so I had no choice but to turn back and head to the last clear sign I’d seen.

I headed back up the road quickly, and at the top saw a large bunch of runners who not long before I had been well ahead of. However, they too were lost and were looking for the sign. I told them it wasn’t at the bottom of the road for sure, so as a group we searched and not too long after that we found a turnstile hidden behind some hedges. It had to be it. I was really annoyed, as I remembered running past it and dismissing it, as it wasn’t obvious as I thought a turnstile for the Ridgeway would be. I was in too much haste to stop and check to make sure, which was what I should have done.

I was pretty angry with myself now, as I could see across the field that a dozen and more runners were now ahead of me. From my watch I reckoned that I had ran an extra 2 miles as a result of missing the gate. Instead of calming myself down I allowed my anger to dominate my thoughts and display itself in the only way I know how in a pair of running shoes. I dropped the hammer. Instead of doing the steady 7-7.30 minute per mile pace that I had done so far, I started doing sub 7  minute miles and then 6.30s and even some 6 minute miles. I raced past people, sprinted up hills without easing my stride.

The first checkpoint was due at 11miles. My GPS read just short of 13 miles when I got there, confirming to me that I had added an extra 2 miles to my day’s race. I was still angry, so instead of stopping for water and some food, I swiped my chip card and kept on running. By now I was catching the slower runners from the earlier groups. I wasn’t sure how many from my fast group were ahead of me at this point, so I just kept banging out the fast miles.

The countryside was beautiful, but a blur, as I carried on in my rage. I reached the second check point, which was meant to be at 17 miles, but for me was 19 miles. Still annoyed I didn’t stop for any food or drink, just to swipe the card. I asked the checkpoint guy how many more people were in front of me and he told me about a dozen, I then asked how many from the late starters and he said none and that I was in the lead. For some reason, this didn’t register at all. I simply didn’t believe him, as I set off. I continued at my frantic pace determined to catch everyone. In my head at this time I was thinking if I could just get within 10 or 15 minutes of the leaders then I could maybe make that time up on the next couple of stages. I passed a several runners and then another group of four runners not long after that, as we followed a path leading through some farm fields and up a hill. The next check point was due at 22 miles on the official course route, so 24 miles for me.

It was now I learnt my second important lesson about ultra racing and trail running – always refuel as you go!! I had a camelback on, but stupidly had only filled it with half a bottle of energy drink and the same again of water, so about 500ml of liquid. I had no food. Because I hadn’t been stopping at the check points for water or food I had now drunk my camelback dry and was starting to feel a little uneasy on my feet. I began to suck at the mouthpiece to continually find nothing coming back.

I carried on through the fields, my legs getting less and less sure. I don’t know if this was the reason for my next mistake, but I am sure it was a factor. I came up to a turnstile that led into another field, with a clear path leading away. It was quite dark now as it was approaching 3pm and the dark rainy clouds had made everything grey. Instead of slowing to look for the white acorn or any other signage I just carried on. I was now on a path that went straight down and turned a sharp right keeping it inline with the sheep field that was fenced off to my right. I ran down the full length of the field and then turned another sharp right before heading back up the field, it was only when I reach the top of this path and made another sharp right did I realise that I was now heading back to toward the turnstile I had just declined. I had made another course mistake. Worst of all, was this hadn’t been a small farm field, but a rather large one, so that by the time I got back to the turnstile I had been caught up by the group of four runners I had passed about a mile before.

Sure enough there on the turnstile was the white acorn that I would have clearly seen if I had been smart enough to slow down for just a few seconds and had a look. I passed the group of four again, and told them that I loved it so much I was doing it twice. They laughed and got the joke. I raced across the field. Again I was angry with myself and again I responded in the same way by upping my pace. This time, my body began to kick back. My watch read 24 miles at this point and I had guessed that my little excursion around the sheep field would have cost me another mile, so that meant I was still a mile away from the checkpoint. I tried sucking my camelback for any hint of water, but nothing. By now I was looking at the muddy puddles on the ground and seriously thinking about stopping to drink from them. My head was throbbing and I was very unsure on my feet. My pace dropped and I began to wobble a bit. I tired to keep going, begging for the check point to arrive. At 25 miles there was still no check point and I simply couldn’t go on.

For the first time in a very long time, I gave in. I simply had to stop. My body ground to a walk. I walked for a bit and then jogged for a bit. My head was all over the place. I didn’t feel well. I was still angry and annoyed with myself for having gotten lost twice! All I could think about was how I had thrown away the race on the first day through stupidity. I tried running again when I got to the top of a small hill, as the gentle decline allowed gravity to help me out. Then, in what can only be described as one of the greatest sights of my life, two men got out of a minibus and started clapping at me – it was the checkpoint. I ran to them and found a whole table full of fruit cakes, pasties, Jaffa cakes, jelly babies, biscuits and cup after cup of orange juice and water. I swiped my card and then emptied about 6 cups straight off without stopping for air. I followed this up by filling my face with something from every plate on the table. The guys were full of sympathy for me and gave me a bottle of water for the rest of the stage. Later in the weekend when chatting with me, one of them said that when I arrived at the checkpoint that day I had looked ghostly and eaten as if I hadn’t eaten in a month. It had felt like it. After about 5 minutes of pulling myself together I picked up some food for my pockets and wearily set off, knowing that there was still seven miles to go.

Within yards I felt sick. I had eaten too much, too quickly. My stomach started to spasm and cramp, as I struggled to hold everything in. I slowed to a real gentle jog to try and allow things to settle. It was terribly slow and my legs began to cramp as well. Now, my body was paying for all those stupidly quick miles earlier on.

My watch beeped art 27 miles and again I found myself stopping and walking. I’d simply had enough. I’ve always considered myself mentally tough and strong, but at that point, in that muddy field slipping from one tree root to another, soaking wet from the rain and freezing cold from the wind, I had never felt mentally weaker. I wanted to sit down and cry. I wanted to lie down in the bushes and go to sleep. I would have given anything to have pulled out then, to get into a dry car and go somewhere warm. I started telling myself that it would be okay, I started to try and find excuses about why. I blamed in experience, I blamed Amsterdam, I blamed anything I could think of and then from nowhere I got angry again and told myself how in reality it was all my fault. I thought of something my brother, Stephen, says, and had been told during his time in the Navy – Piss, poor, preparation leads to piss, poor, performance. That’s what I had done. Yes, I’d trained well and I was in good physical shape, but I had done little by way of preparation for taking on this challenge, which was so different from anything else I have done. I should have studied a map. I should have taken more water and some food. I should have run at a better, more controlled pace and evenly. This anger made me pick up my pace and begin running again. I did have to stop and walk for a bit, but I only allowed myself 10 seconds of walking whenever I did stop.

At 29 miles I looked at my watch and it read 3hours 50 minutes. I should have been finished, but instead I had 3 more miles to run, as a result of my stupidity. This somehow seemed to have a major affect on me, as I suddenly found some more pace and I was no longer stopping for walking breaks. Maybe the food and drink from the check point had started to refuel my body, but for whatever reason I was running again, at pace and not stopping. I went though mile 30 in 9 minutes, a marked improvement on the previous three or four miles. Not long after mile 30 I saw the yellow and black arrows we had been told would be there to lead us to the town and school we would be staying in that night. It felt great, mostly because I knew I wouldn’t be getting lost anymore, but also because I knew it was only a mile and a half away. I turned off the Ridgeway and on to the road.

Oh, how I had missed the road! I am still a road runner at heart! I picked up the pace and fuelled by Jaffa cakes, fruit loaf and a longing for a shower I banged out my last 2 miles in 15 minutes. Seeing the school gates and the final line I felt totally empty. I barely acknowledged the applause from the gathered organisers, helpers and volunteers as I crossed the line and swiped my card to mark the end of the stage. I’d finished in 4hours and 14 minutes and my GPS read 32 miles, 3 miles more than I had meant to.

I asked the guy how many people were ahead of me. I could see four runners sitting inside drinking coffee, so didn’t expect to be anywhere but at least fifth. It was then that I was told that I was the first of the late starters back and that the four in front of me had been from the early start meaning they had been given an hour’s head start. I was told I had won. I had won the first stage. I simply couldn’t believe it. I moved through into the building to get a coffee and collect my head.

Despite everything I had been through I had still won. It was hard to enjoy the moment, as I still felt a combination of anger, despair, and depression from everything that had happened. Not to mention the fact that I was utterly shattered!

We spent the evening sleeping in the gym and theatre halls on school gym mats. I went straight to my bed straight after eating. My legs felt pretty done in and I was really worried about how they would feel in the morning, as despite everything I would have to get up the next day and do another 27 miles!

Stage two – learning from my mistakes!

I woke up at 6am and had porridge and toast for breakfast. I also drank loads and filled my camelback to the brim with energy drink and water. I also stuffed my pockets with dried apricots and a croissant that I had left from breakfast. There was no way I was going to make that mistake again.

The start of stage two was the same as the first stage, the slower runners and some walkers set off first at 7am, the middle group at 8am, and then the top 25 at 9am. It was nice to have a little bit more time to prepare and stretch.

Despite the day before my legs felt pretty good. My body did feel like it had a hangover though, probably dehydration.

My winning time of 4hours and 14 minutes from stage one had given me a 15 minute lead over my nearest rivals a group of 4 runners. There were a few further back from that, but I knew that all I had to do was sit with the pack and not let anyone get away and I would be still in the lead for the last day. A good sensible plan or so I thought.

We lined up on the start line and then after a quick briefing we were sent on our way back down the road we had come the night before and back on to the Ridgeway. One of the other runners took to the front so I quickly took in step next to him. My legs ached a bit, but felt fairly good. Surprisingly, it was my lungs that hurt most of all. I felt as though I had them punched repeatedly by David Haye. The harder I breathed the more it hurt. It dawned on me that this was the first time I had ever raced back-to-back, day after day and that my lungs were also like muscles and were probably stiff and sore in the same way. They just needed warming up.

Unlike the start the day before, I ran as part of a group of three, with two guys, Ben and Ivan, who like me had also got lost the day before, so they were looking to make up time and get close to the top three. We were working at fairly good pace of around 7.30 per mile for the first few miles, which felt comfortable. I was happy with my plan. It was quite nice to have company and to chat as well.

However, after about 4 miles we hit a hill and Ben and Ivan slowed into a power walk. I decided that I would keep running and that they would catch me back up at the top of the hill. At the top of the hill I looked back and had opened up a gap of about 50m. I remember thinking at that point I had a choice of easing up and letting them catch me up or just going for it. My legs were now feeling good and my lungs only ached a little. It was a lovely fresh day and conditions for running were good.

It took me less than a second to decide. I turned and dropped the hammer. Flying down the other side of the hill we had come up and disappearing into the woods. It was another lovely route. Up to the first check point we ran through forest paths, by fields filled with horses, and even right through the middle of a golf course. We were told at the briefing we had right of way, so I took a little bit of pleasure running right through the middle of a game and waving at the golfers as I went. The club had been told we were coming, so I even got some cheers back.

I reached the first checkpoint at 8 miles, quickly swiped my card, grabbed a cup of water and a banana and was straight off. I wasn’t going to make the refuelling mistake again.

The next 9 miles went incredibly smoothly. I couldn’t believe how well I was running, how comfortable it was and how little effort it seemed to be taking. I was well clear of the faster group behind me and was making good inroads into the two other groups ahead of me. One of the great things about this race was there was a great camaraderie among the competitors and everyone I passed clapped and cheered me on. It felt great and really spurred me on to get to the next person.

The next check point was at 16.5 miles and again, I stopped briefly to grab juice and food before disappearing up the road.

The other lesson that I had learned from yesterday was about being a lot more careful on the route to make sure that I didn’t miss any signs, so at every point where I was on my own and had doubt, I slowed and made sure. Sometimes I even stopped for a second just to make sure the arrow was pointing down the path I was about to take.

By the time I reached 20 miles the number of people to pass had reduced considerably and I was really on my own. However, I was having a great time. I felt strong, fit and fast, and when I pulled into the final check point before the finish I met the guys who had helped me on the final checkpoint the day before. They were quick to tell me how much better I looked today and we shared a quick joke before I set off for the last stretch. The last 5 miles was undulating chalk and hard grass paths, which battered the feet as you went up and down them. I have to admit that at this point I could feel blisters on my toes and definite bruising, but that was it, they were my only concern.

The last two miles was all up hill, but at the top of that hill I could see the finishing flags. It was a great sight, as I knew two things for certain. I wasn’t going to get lost and I was going to win the second stage. It was a brilliant feeling. The last two miles weren’t a struggle at all, they were almost a pleasure, as unlike the day before I had done everything right and I felt like I deserved the win. I crossed the line in 3hours and 32 minutes, not bad for 27 miles of hills, forest paths, trails and slippery mud.

I finished seven minutes ahead of Ben who I’d left at 4 miles, but had stayed strong and ran well. My nearest rivals from stage one finished 25 minutes behind me, giving me a forty minute advantage for the last day.

Later that night as we chatted, shared stories and listened to a talk about the MDS from Rory Coleman people kept telling me that I was sure thing to win the race. Friends from home were texting me too, saying how great a chance I had to win. This made me incredibly nervous. I had never a won a race before, never crossed the line first and hadn’t expected to be in this position in this race. My hope had been for a top 10 finish, maybe top 5 and my secret dream finish had been a podium. It felt odd to think about winning the whole thing, especially as I still had a whole marathon to run the next day. One thing was for certain though, I was desperate to win. I really wanted it, so after a massage I took myself off to bed – another mat and sleeping bag in another sports hall.

That was an experience in itself.  100+ people all lying on mats and blankets. It was a like a refugee camp for runners, sponsored by Gore-tex. The smell wasn’t much better than a refugee camp either, as high protein diets, sweaty sports kit and damp trainers filled the air. Add to that the loud snoring that seemed to come from all corners of the room sounding like a bad impression of Paul McCartney’s frog orchestra and it was a wonder I got any sleep at all.

Stage Three: Feeling brilliant!

I did get some sleep, although not massive amounts. In the morning I tried to eat breakfast, but I don’t know if it was my nerves or as a result of two days hard running, but my stomach wasn’t enjoying eating. I managed a small bowl of cereal and half a jam sandwich before trying a banana. I hate bananas. I hate the smell, the taste, the touch, everything about them I hate. However, if I can force myself to eat them before or during a run they always help me. I discovered that in Amsterdam 2008 during the marathon when I just had to eat something and all I could get my hands on was a banana. I tried the banana and after one mouthful I quickly brought it back up again, which I had to then force back down, not very nice at all. I stopped eating.

I’d thought the night before that my legs had felt better than after the first day and I wondered if that would hold out till the morning. They did. They felt really good. I looked about the refugee camp and saw that most other people were limping, hobbling and shuffling about, but I was feeling quite light and fit. It filled me with confidence and I started to believe that I was going to have a good race, as long as I didn’t get lost!

My race plan was again the same as day two – to sit with the pack and not let anyone go. I had forty minutes on my nearest rival and so there was no way I could lose it unless I got lost or injured, or took it so easy that someone took forty minutes out of me.

We were taken to day two’s finish spot and set off. My race plan lasted a mile. I couldn’t help it. I felt brilliant for my third day of marathon running. Okay, I had a few tight spots and aches and my lungs were a little tight again, but apart from that all was good. I dropped Ben who had stuck with me for the first mile and just pushed on.

The first 16.5 miles of this stage were simple and straight forward. Heavy grass paths littered with chalky rock, sometimes the chalky paths broke to make a proper road, but it was fairly straight with few direction changes. It was just what I wanted. It was undulating, with a few hills thrown in, but I was really enjoying myself. There was a stiff breeze and the rain was coming down in fits, but it didn’t bother me. I stormed through both check points stopping briefly for refreshments and to swipe my card. I also began to pass the earlier groups, and again it was great to get their support. I’d got to know some of them by now and it was great to get their encouragement.

The last 10 miles was mainly through fields and farm fields across open country. By the time I had got to 22 miles I had passed most of the earlier groups and was very much on my own. After stage one I was still very paranoid about getting lost. I didn’t allow myself to think about wining at all. In fact I kept thinking about losing, and how that would happen if I got lost. I thought about how I would have to tell people I didn’t win, I thought about how I would feel about not winning. It was a strange negative image to pump through my mind, but it kept me focused.

We were due to finish on top of a hill at Barbury Castle. At mile 24 I moved into more open country and a farmer’s fields with a path leading through the middle up the hill. I kept expecting to see a castle in the horizon, but nothing. I started to worry a bit when I got to 25 miles and all I could see across the open countryside was fields and no castle. I kept telling myself that it would appear at the top of the next brow, but at the top of every little bump and hill there was yet more countryside. My watch hit 25.75 and I still couldn’t see anything. I was beginning to panic. I wondered, if I should have taken a different path or if I’d missed a turn. There was no one about either, so I couldn’t ask anyone. I could make out some signage at the end of the farmer’s field and decided I would go as far as that and see if it would point me in the right direction. By now my watch beeped 26 miles.

Thankfully the sign said Ridgeway right and as I climbed the gate and turned two guys started clapping at me. It was the two guys from the last checkpoints from stages one and two. They cheered and called out to me, pointed me off the road and then I saw for the first time the finishing gate and the flags. It was only at this point did it really hit me, that I was going to win. I was going to win!

It was an awesome sensation. I picked up my pace for a home straight finish with a small crowd cheering me on. I couldn’t help but smile, as I sprinted over the line to complete the 26.2 miles in 3hours 18minutes.

The organiser, Neil, shook my hand and handed my medal congratulating me on the stage and the race. Incidentally, I never did see the castle.

I have never won a race, ever, not even at school (well not that I can remember, there maybe an egg and spoon race way down the line, but I don’t recall) and as most people know, I have really wanted to win a race since I started running back in 2007. I have to admit I never thought I would do it on my first ever multistage race or in an ultra-marathon.

I learnt loads during my first ultra – mainly that training hard isn’t enough, preparation is just as important. I never, ever, want to go through what I did on stage one (well apart from the winning bit!).

It felt brilliant collecting my winner’s trophy in the tent in front of a lot of the people I had raced with over the weekend. I keep looking at it and pinching myself that it is mine and I did win it. It’s now sitting on top of the mantelpiece in pride of place. Hopefully, it won’t be too long before I can replace it with another winner’s trophy.

Overall, this was an extremely well organised event and one that I would recommend to anyone curious to try an ultra marathon/multi-day event.

Well, like Titanic, this report has not only given the ending away in the title, but has probably taken you as long to read as it would to have to watch it. Sorry about that, but hope you stuck with it. 

You can see the results in full here 

You can view some pictures here

Last big training week!

Weekly total – 99.5 miles

Monday 1 – 13 miles (4AM; 9PM)

Tuesday 2 – 9.5 miles

Wednesday 3 – 10 miles

Thursday 5 – 14.5 miles (half Club Meadows session)

Friday 6 – 20 miles

Saturday 7 – 16.5 miles

Sunday 8 – 16 miles

I still can’t believe that Amsterdam was only 3 weeks ago. I am now in full ultra-training mode and working hard. This week was certainly a lot tougher than last week. I think mainly because I worked so hard at the end of last week with 3 consecutive days of 16 mile runs all at sub 7 minute mile pace on average. It meant that for the first three days of this week I struggled through aching calves and tight Achilles muscles in both legs. Still I preserved until Thursday night at training.

As always when Bryan and Colin are involved, I then got a bit carried away at training on Thursday. With my 82 mile 3 day ultra race coming up next week I knew I had three long runs to do over the weekend to mimic the race, so my plan at training had been to drop back a group and take it easy. Unfortunately I didn’t listen to myself and saddled up next to Colin, Bryan, Graham and Callum.

The session was one minute marathon pace, one minute 10k pace and one minute at 5k pace, no recovery and 11 sets. It seemed fairly reasonable so we set off. After the first set I was already feeling the burn in my lungs and it was at this point I realised I hadn’t run this fast since my last fast session before the Amsterdam Marathon. I was a little out of shape for it. It didn’t help that we were really pushing it and holding nothing back. After the fifth one I could feel my legs, heart and lungs all aching so I at last saw sense and told Colin and Bryan I would be dropping back and taking it easy, as I feared for my planned 20 mile run the next day. As I dropped back I found Callum who along with Graham had dropped off the pace slightly. Callum was on his own so I joined him and did one more set to give him a bit of company.

The efforts of Thursday made themselves well known all through my 20 mile run on Friday, as my body felt tired, empty and ached. Still, I managed to get through it and the second half was considerably quicker than the first, which was reassuring. The thought of doing 18 miles on my own on Saturday was a little too much, so I texted Kim to see if she fancied a long run. She suggested a long trail run out Linlithgow, where she was staying at her parent’s house. I agreed straight away, as I was desperate not to have to run on my own, but also Kim had described these trails before and it sounded like a nice wee escape from my usual run along the Water of Leith.

We set off early, 8.30am, and the morning was absolutely stunning, beautiful blue skies, a crisp autumn chill in the air and not a breath of wind anywhere. If you could pack-up weather to take running with you, then Saturday morning would always be in your suitcase.

However, the real star was the stunning scenery and places we ran. We ran up and down forest paths, beside lochs, up a few hills and through numerous farm fields. Every time we hit the summit of a hill we were treated to stunning views across the central belt including Grangemouth and its towering chimneys pumping out fumes into the empty sky, the Forth bridges, the Pentlands and even Arthur’s Seat. It was a great run, really refreshing for my tired legs and mind. Having said that it was still quite a work out and after 2hours and 35 minutes we had covered 16.5 miles. The fact that I enjoyed a nap of a good couple of hours in the afternoon was testament to the effort.

Sunday was back to the familiar of Craighlochart and our usual 16 mile club run. This week, unlike last, we were full of sensible sentiments and took it at a nice leisurely place all the way round. Colin and I are now convinced that Bryan, who was away this weekend, is the bad influence on the group making us run at ridiculous pace when he’s there. Overall, my legs felt pretty good and strong, but I felt tired in my body with little energy.

When we finished I certainly knew I’d had a hard week. A 100 mile week only 2 weeks after finishing Amsterdam was a big ask so I am pleased I got through it uninjured. I now have an aggressive 4 day taper before I start my first ultra. I have to admit I am feeling pretty confident. My legs, although tired, feel strong, fit and fast. I am hoping my 4 days of rest and easy running will allow them some recovery, as well as fill the rest of my body with enough rest and energy to give the 3 days of racing a good go.

I am really not sure how well I will do, as I know there are a few runners there who have faster marathon times than me, as well as some seasoned trail and mountain marathon runners. In my mind the main objective is to get through the three days without injuring myself, but also to run consistently across the three days. I think this will help give me the confidence that I am capable of multi-day racing. The competitor in me wants a top 10 or even 5 position overall! We’ll see!!  

Training for my first Ultra

25-31 October - 91 miles
Monday - 13 miles (4am; 9pm)
Tuesday - 6 miles (am)
Wednesday - 9.5 miles (am)
Thursday - 14.5 miles( 4am; 10pm)
Friday - 16 miles
Saturday - 16 miles
Sunday - 16 miles


The marathon was only 2 weeks ago, but I am already back in the thick of training, as it is now only 2 weeks to my first ultra marathon, an 82 mile race over 3 days! Okay, I can hear some of you asking, why on earth did you plan an ultra marathon 4 weeks after running a marathon, especially one you gave everything to. All I can say is, good question, however, I think a multi-stage 3 day race will give me a a very small taste of what life will be like in the MDS.

So, no sooner had Amsterdam come and gone, but I had to start to train for the Ultra. I have to admit I thought I would be back in training a couple of days after Amsterdam, but it was four days before I could even walk properly never mind think about running. I had put my body through so much during that race that I felt empty and sore for days afterwards. I finally managed a 3.5mile run on the Friday night, but I was stiff, sore and short of energy. Saturday was the same, although I managed a 6.5 mile run with my dad, and Sunday I took a rest day owing to a little bit of a hangover and because my body simply didn’t have it in it to run!



So last Monday, 15 October, training started properly with a run to work and then a longer run home. It has been a hard week, as my muscles still continue to ache following Amsterdam. The first half of my week was all about getting my legs moving again and get back into training. I went back to club for the first time on Thursday, which was great. In order not to do myself a mischief I joined in with one of the slower groups, but still worked really hard and despite my legs feeling pretty tired and stiff I began to feel my old-self returning.


The Druid’s Ridgeway is a 3 day race covering 29.5 miles on day one, 27.5 miles on day two and 26.5 miles on day three. So, the second half of this week was all about preparing for the race, so I decided to run 16 miles on Friday, 16 miles on Saturday and 16 miles on Sunday.


On Friday and Saturday I was in Oban for work at a conference, so I knew I had to fit my runs around my work schedule. On Friday, I went out at lunch time, just in time for the torrential rain! However, it didn’t bother me one bit, as I was disappearing down a single lane, country road surrounded by beautiful countryside and hills on my left hand-side and the sea on my right. Being lost in that scenery and being lashed in rain meant I didn’t pay any attention to my watch for the first few miles, but just enjoyed my running. I was, therefore, a little surprised to see that I was clocking sub 7 minute miles. It didn’t feel that quick and I carried out on knocking out the miles all the way through my 16, so that I finished my run in 1 hour 48 minutes. I was really pleased, as this was the fastest I have run since the marathon.


Later that day my legs began to feel a little stiff and achy later in the day and I did wonder how I would be able to get through another 16 miles on Saturday.


On Saturday morning at 6am and in pitch black and rainy conditions I repeated the same run and again it was a fantastic feast of beauty, as on my way back over the last eight miles I was treated to moody autumnal sun rise, which washed the sea, hills and trees in greys and oranges. I didn’t go quite as quick that morning, but I took it deliberately slowly over the first eight miles, as I did struggle to see where I was going! I managed to pick the pace back-up over the last 8 miles and run 7 minute miles. My legs had felt pretty stiff and sore at the start of the run, but they did loosen up as I went. Later that day my legs were pretty stiff and with the three hour drive home I was not looking forward to a third 16 mile run on Sunday.


Thankfully, Sunday morning at home meant that I would be heading to Craiglochart to do the 16 mile run with the club. I picked up Colin and we arrived at the tennis centre carpark to find a fair few of the usual bunch stretching and chatting away. I have to admit I was feeling pretty stiff in my quads and calves, but knew I would be able to make it with the gang. We set off.


I ran with Niamh for a bit and we chatted about running, what else is there to chat about. I then ran with Robert Riddle and Bryan for a bit, before Bryan slowed down to chat with an old friend he’d made on the Water of Leith the week before. With Bryan chatting away, Robert and I sped away and to my surprise I found we were picking up a pace towards 7 minute mile pace and then under. Just before the 4 mile mark Robert turned off to head back, as he was only doing 8 miles. I suddenly found myself on my own and a glance behind showed the rest of the group about 45 seconds behind. I decided to press on as I was pretty sure the rest of them would catch me soon.


My pace got quicker and I was really pleased to find myself running around 6.45 pace. The stiffness in my legs had eased greatly and I was feeling pretty good for my third long run in as many days. I reached Balerno and just as I left the Water of Leith Ben came flying back down the other way. He had set off at some pace at the start of the run and was doing a fair pace on the way back. I looked back and couldn’t see any of the others, so pressed on alone. I started to head up the hill and a quick glance back and I could make out Colin and Bryan about a minute or so behind me. I turned back and carried on toward the top of the hill. I have to admit I was pretty pleased. The last few times we have been out running on a Sunday the three of us have raced it hard to the top of the hill and I have lost out the last two times. I smiled to myself as I knew I would be there first and wouldn’t need to bust my lungs and legs to get there! I still went pretty quickly though at sub 7 minute mile pace. At the top I pressed on and even quickened my pace. I couldn’t believe that I felt so good. It was a perfect day, with cool crisp air, bright skies and not a breath of wind, so a perfect day to run well.


I ran through the forest and passed the nine and a half mile mark when I heard the distinct sound of Bryan and Colin behind me. Sure enough I turned round and saw the two of them bearing down on me. I was gobsmacked! I was at least a minute a head of them at the top of the hill and had got quicker over the couple of miles since then running 6.30pace. They must have run two consecutive miles at sub 6 minute mile pace! They caught me at the 10 mile pace and both looked pretty knackered. They took great pride in telling me that they weren’t prepared to let me run away and leave them lagging well behind. I was impressed with their dedication in the pursuit. We continued on at a really quick pace and chatted away about running, training, and just about everything else. Again, I was really impressed that my legs felt so fresh and the three of us chatted fairly easily as we knocked out 6 minute miles over the last 6 miles home.


Of course the three of us couldn’t just run home together. That would have been far too sensible, so as we entered the last mile and moved on to the canal, Bryan dropped the hammer and left Colin and I standing. I was too tired to chase at that pace, so let him go. At first I thought Colin was going to stick with me, but after a few seconds he cursed and called Bryan a name and then shot after him. Again I didn’t go. I watched as Colin caught Bryan and then go past him before Bryan retook him. The two of them battled a bit and then slowed, so I took my chance and pushed a little to catch them. I caught them both just as we entered the last 400m and even pushed ahead of them, but I had nothing else and the two of them charged past me and finished a few seconds ahead, with Bryan just keeping Colin behind. We ran our 16 miles in 1hour 45 minutes, an average of 6.30 pace.


I was really pleased to finish my third 16 mile run in such good shape and so fast. My first week back has been really good and I feel as though I am well on my way to being ready for my first ultra. I have another hard week’s training ahead as I look to increase my miles and repeat the exercise of running three long runs back-to-back over Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

17 October: Amsterdam Marathon Race Report

Amsterdam Marathon: 2.39.30, 71st place out of 8000


Heavy rain and strong winds lashed the plane as it touched down in Amsterdam in the dark of Friday night. I pressed my face against the window and sighed. I was nervous enough as it was, okay I hate flying, but really it was the marathon that was dominating my thoughts. I had trained and worked so hard. Getting on the plane I felt in the shape of my life and was full of confidence for a good run, so to see the weather was more than a little disheartening. I had run 5 marathons before this one and I have been plagued by poor conditions, gale force winds and baking hot days, which I think have affected my runs and times. The signs for this one weren't good.  

Saturday was an easy day. Our early morning 2 mile run was nice and it was good to stretch the legs, however, Dan and I both felt a really strong breeze blowing between the streets. I watched as it skipped over the canals sending ripples across the water, rocking barges and rattling the trees and their leaves. The weather was really worrying me now and my dreams of a super PB started to fade.   

Dan and I went to the expo picked up our numbers and then headed back to the hotel where we continued our first marathon of the weekend, all the Star Wars films. As we worked our way through the mediocrity of the prequel trilogy and on to the quality of the original films, I couldn't help but think about 'The Force'. I knew, as I watched Darth Vader and pals swing their lightsabers and wield the force, that I would certainly need to conjure up my own magic for the race. I would need the force, for sure. As a child I had loved these films as they had filled me with inspiration and hope. It was certainly the perfect choice for afternoon entertainment, because it brought back all those great childhood memories and put me perfectly at ease and took my mind off the weather. After a nice dinner of pasta and water with the rest of the gang I was more than ready for a good nights sleep and an early start.


I was really nervous from the moment I woke up, but I quietly went about getting myself ready for the marathon- breakfast, water, energy drink, Vaseline, deep heat, and kit on in the right order. I hung my head out the window, desperate to get an idea about the wind strength, which I had worried about ever since we landed.

Thankfully a beautiful, golden morning sun was winking in the sky above and not a breath of wind could be felt anywhere. The air was calm, crisp and cool the perfect weather for running a marathon. Still nervous, but excited we left the hotel. Dan and I got on a rather packed tram and got to the stadium with about an hour and a half to spare. It gave us some time to drop the bags, sit in the stadium and catch up with Niamh who we spotted wondering across the track. The three of us sat in the stadium for a little longer contemplating the next four hours and then it was time to get on the track to our starting pens and get ready for the start.

As soon as I started warming up I felt good. It was a relief. I always worry about those few warm up miles, as they usually tell you straight away what your race is going to be like. My legs felt fresh and light, although not perfect, as I could feel a little heaviness in my quads and a slight tightness in my right hamstring. Having said that, my legs have never felt perfect before any race,and I wonder if they ever will or should? I did some stretching and on the whole I felt ready. I was in the first starting pen and just behind the elite Kenyans (about as close as I got for the whole race!). Standing there just behind the start line, my body warm and ready, my quick short nervous breaths visible in the crisp cold air, I looked toward the first corner of the track and thought of all the possibilities of everything that could happen. I thought of all the things that could go right or wrong, but I was ready to roll the dice and take my chance. Then the stadium filled with the sound of the Chariots of Fire, which blasted out of every speaker and with every beat my heart rate moved up another notch, as it sounded the final countdown before the start. With one final deep breath the gun went and we were off.


I tried to stay calm and not shoot off out of the stadium as if it were a 200m a rep on a Tuesday night, but it was very difficult, as so many runners around me did sprint off, that, combined with the sound of chariots of fire carrying me down the track, the screams and cheers of the crowd calling out and the sheer excitement of what was happening made me feel as if I was running on air. I did go off a little quick, but once outside the stadium I reigned myself in and brought myself to a six minute mile pace. Six minute mile pace is exactly what I wanted and planned to do as I sought to get that sub 2.40 time I'd hoped for since I started training for the marathon back in July. The first mile was pretty easy and felt comfortable and with the crowds swelling by the roadsides shouting their support, it was a great mile. 

By the end of the second mile I started to feel it in my lungs and legs. My breathing felt a little laboured and my legs felt heavier than I thought they should. I immediately began to do a performance appraisal. I wondered what I'd done wrong and asked myself questions like why was it tough already? I thought back to my training and remembered all the 16 mile runs that I had done at 6 minute mile pace. I started to have a mini-panic and wondered if things would begin to quickly unravel. I even thought about slowing down and concentrating on just getting a PB. It should have been easy to run at this pace, or so I thought. It then dawned on me as I ran through my third mile, still at 6 minute mile pace, that none of the 16 mile runs I had done had been easy and every mile of those training runs had been difficult. The difference was I had prepared myself for my training runs to be tough, whereas here, maybe because of my taper and a sense of looking back on training with rose-tinted glasses, I'd thought the first 16 miles of the marathon would be easy. This realisation and a fourth mile at the required pace made me switch my mind to training mode and I told myself that no matter how tough each mile was I would get to that 16 miles on time and on target and then just take it from there. It worked and instead of thinking of my legs I looked up and concentrated on the road ahead.

After five miles the little pep-talk in my mind had clearly begun to work, as everything felt a little easier. I also realised that the large group I had been running just behind was now behind me. I looked up and saw a 100m gap between myself and then next group. I was keen for support and as I moved through this mile I was still holding my pace, but pulling away from those behind me. I hit 6 miles and was stranded on my own, there was nobody with me. It was at this point I made a conscious decision to put my foot down and catch the group in front of me, which had about seven or eight members. I was worried that running on my own would leave me flagging when the tough miles came and allow my pace to drift. I knew I needed the comfort of a group to share the work. I picked up my pace and although I could feel my breathing get tougher and my legs creak in protest I spent a third of mile pursuing the group ahead.

Looking back and with the benefit of hindsight I think this was the smartest decision I have ever made at any point in any race I have ever run. Catching the back of that group I quickly found shelter and support. I settled in at the back and hung on to their heals as my lungs and legs recovered from the extra effort they had just put in. By the end of the seventh mile I was still on pace and now in a group. We had moved well out of the city by now and were working along a tarmac track beside the Amstel river. It was still bright and calm and the weather was good. It was great running in the group, as over the next couple of miles my body swung from feeling great to tired. The group helped, as when I struggled I clung to their heals or sat in the body of the runners and forced myself to hang on, knowing that staying with them would give me the mile times I needed. When I felt good I stayed with the group, holding myself back and saving my energy and strength for later.

We moved through the next 3 miles together and as we approached the 10 mile mark I began to notice that I was leaving the group as they were falling back. I checked my watch and realised that I was holding my pace, so they were getting slower. It took me less than a second to make the decision to press on. I was not giving up my required pace and I didn't trust the group behind me to get back up to speed. 

Ahead of me I could see another group, they were less than 100m ahead and I again made the decision to put in a bit of effort to catch up with them. I stayed with this group, which included a couple of the elite female runners and their pacers. Again it was a group of about eight and again I sat in the middle or towards the back. Miles 10 and 11 felt pretty tough and the sanctuary of the group was great. At about 11 1/2 miles we turned sharply, ran over a bridge and then made another sharp turn to go up the other side of the river and back towards town. The turn brought with it a stiff breeze. It was the end of the perfect weather and I silently cursed. 

I made another conscious decision at this point and that was to sit in the pack. I knew it was selfish, but to be honest I didn't care. Hiding in the pack was the best way I could shelter from the wind. I wasn't about to let the weather ruin my race. With the two pacers of the elite women acting as shields for their runners I took shelter too. I never once went to the front. Together the pack moved through half way and I crossed the timing mat in 1.19.10 - slightly ahead of my target time. I was pleased and although I could already feel the run in my legs and lungs I knew I had more. I knew, from my training, that I had 16 miles at 6 minute mile pace, so I knew I could do three more miles at that pace. 

I noticed after we passed half way that the group was beginning to thin out as people began to drop back. One of the elite woman was slowing and as a result her pacer dropped back with her. I snuck in behind the elite dutch girl, or at least the name on her racing number suggested she was, and looked round for more runners. We were on our own. We had, however, crept up on the next group, a large group of about ten runners. The dutch girl seemed determined and she not only caught this group, but pushed to the front of it, led by her pacer. I sat at the back for a while, using them as a shield against the wind. We passed the 15 mile mark and I said to myself that I had one more mile at 6 minute mile pace and then I would be into new territory. Territory I had not been in during my training. Still, I was feeling good and it was then I noticed that elite dutch girl was moving away from our new group. I looked around me and the group seemed to be struggling as a whole. There were a lot of laboured faces and their breathing was far heavier than mine. I looked at my watch. I was on pace, but only just. I decided to go with the dutch girl, after all she had led me this far. I quietly moved my way through the group from the back to the front and pulled alongside the dutch girl behind her pacer.

We ran together as we crossed the 16 mile mark in a time of 1.36 - exactly where I wanted to be. My training had told me I could make it this far and that it would all be about the last ten miles and at last I was there. Best of all I was feeling good. The tightness in my legs and lungs that I had felt from the start were still there, but I had become accustomed to them, almost comfortable with it. It was at this point I had a rather strange moment. I suddenly decided that everything was good and I was easily going to finish under 2.40 and that the job was done. Feeling great, as we left the river and hit the big roads leading back to the city I left my new dutch friends behind and blasted through the next drink station and out on my own dreaming of glory and super fast times. 

I got to 18 miles, still on course and still feeling great, but as inevitably happens in almost every marathon I found the wall just after the 18 mile marker. It was a real dose of reality for me. I didn't slow, but all of sudden maintaining my pace became much tougher. I actually shook my head in anger at this point. I was annoyed at myself for thinking it would be that easy. It made me realise that I was on the edge in terms of achieving the time I wanted and it would only take a few slow miles to push me over the 2.40 mark. I couldn't afford bad miles, I had to push through the wall. Thankfully, my dutch friends were back. They had slowed and fallen back a few yards at the drink station, but had picked up the pace to catch me up. They had also brought a friend and as the three of them passed me I tucked in behind. I really needed them, as I struggled on that 19th mile. I found the back of their heels and hung on for dear life. I kept telling myself, through the aches of my legs and heavy heaving of my lungs, just to hold on, not to let them get away, to keep going one mile at a time. They pulled away slightly, but I still went through 19 miles on time and best of all I seemed to have successfully scaled the wall as everything seemed that little bit easier. I even managed to pick up my pace and catch back up with my dutch friends. I decided this time that it was better to just stay with them for as long as possible, as they were pacing it well and running strongly. I couldn't afford to do anything stupid.

I felt great over miles 19-22. I hung on to the dutch runners comfortably, but I still knew that a few bad miles would take away my dream, so I concentrated. I worked hard and focused as much as I could on keeping everything together. I started to check my watch more and more to make sure I wasn't slipping. I began to do what I call 'marathon maths', where I start to work out what is the slowest I can possibly run per km over the remaining distance and still get the time I wanted. Every km mark (the course was marked in kms not miles) I passed I did a quick calculation and every one told me that I had nothing to spare, a few seconds at best. In my mind I worried, but kept telling myself to keep going. 

I crossed 23 miles feeling strong and fast, as if nothing could stop me, but it all changed in a few strides. My legs suddenly began to tighten and creak with tiredness. I started to slow. My dutch friends were picking up their pace and were moving away from me and this time I could do nothing about it. We had pulled away from the other runner that had been with us, so I was now on my own. It was the worst possible moment to find myself on my own. I looked at my watch and it confirmed what had I feared, I was slowing. Thankfully not by too much, but enough to worry me. I started doing more marathon maths. I could afford to run at my new pace and still make it. I would start to eat into the little bit of spare time I had built up over the previous 22 miles, but I would have enough. I slowed some more. 

This is where a marathon moves away from being a physical sport to a mental one. The battle with your mind is a crucial one and one that I have had in every marathon I have ever ran. I started to feel heavy, slow and sluggish. My legs cried out for leniency, for rest, to slow down. My mind began to agree with them and I started telling myself that 2.41 or 2.42 was a fantastic time and one I could live with. I started to concede and to tell myself that I had still done brilliantly. I then got angry with myself and told myself that I had come for sub 2.40 and that I shouldn't leave with anything less. I pleaded with my legs for just just 2.5 miles more of  hard work, when they ignored the pleas I ordered them. Every step I pushed and worked and forced myself. I started to break things down into quarter miles and checked my watch and my pace. It was painful and every step seemed to take forever. I went through mile 24 in 6.15, my slowest mile. The next quarter mile saw my pace drop to 6.40 and I realised that things were slipping. I reacted by deliberately picking up my pace and pushing the pain and aching in my legs to get myself back on pace. Despite my internal struggle I was still passing people, but I barely noticed anyone. I was in my own world. I reached the last mile in a total time of 2.31. I was still on target, but I knew it would be close.

With every step I willed myself forward. I had moved into Vondelpark knowing the end was close, but the park is on a slight uphill gradient and I cursed it and swore. I was still slowing down, but holding on. I passed 25.2 miles and I knew I could afford a slow mile and still make it, but I also knew it would be close. My neck, arms and back had begun to ache now and my lungs began to rattle and rasp with every breath, as my body started to tell me it had had more than enough of the marathon. I pushed on, my quads burning, my hamstring tightening and tweaking with every step.

The crowd were great and I could hear them cheering, a french person shouted: "Allez, Allez Richard!" as she read my name on my number. It filled me with emotion, as she and other complete strangers who I had never met nor ever would were willing me on to do well. People shouted and cheered, a British person told me it wasn't far and to keep going. It all helped. It pushed me on and probably saved me valuable seconds. I wish I could thank them.

After what felt like an eternity in the worst fire pits of hell I left the park (In reality I had only spent a mile and a bit in there). Back on the road I knew it led to only one place, the stadium. I looked at my watch and it told me I was close to the 26 mile mark, but the 1km to go sign was still nowhere to be seen. It was at this point I realised that either the course was long, or I had found some extra meters, or that my garmin had been a little over enthusiastic in clocking up the miles. It was a little demoralising, as I knew I had less time to play with than I had thought. I tried to put my foot down, but there was nothing there. I was empty. I had one pace left and that would have to do. I finally reached the 1km to go mark and my watch read 2.35.something. I had about 4 and a bit minutes to make it. I started to panic. I started to imagine crossing the line in 2.40.01 and just missing out. 

I could see the end of the road where the turn would lead us into the stadium and I knew I had about 600m to go. At this point someone passed me at considerable pace and I just instinctively went with him. I latched on to his heels and pumped my arms and quickened my step. Everything burned and ached, but there was no way I was giving it up. My tow began to pull away, but I still kept going. We entered the stadium, just as my watched ticked over to 2.39. I had about 250m to go and feeling sick with adrenaline and nerves I tried to sprint as if it were a Tuesday night rep at Meadowbank. I turned the corner and the final bend and could see the line and the clock. I could see the time- 2.39.12. I had a 100m to go, and I knew I was going to do it. I knew it.

A wave of emotion swept over me and as I sprinted towards the finish line I could feel tears in my eyes, my heart began to skip with excitement and I felt an uncontrollable smile creep across my face. I crossed the line in 2.39.34 (2.39.30-chip time) taking over 11 minutes off my PB.

I had done it. With a clenched fist I punched the air screaming out in delight. I fell to my knees and kissed the track, a track that had for a second time fulfilled my dreams (in 2007 I ran my first sub 3 hour marathon at Amsterdam). I rolled around on the floor totally elated and slightly in pain. With the help of a steward I climbed to my feet and looked back down the finishing straight, took a deep breath and soaked in every feeling and emotion to fill my mind with as much to remember for as long as I could. It was a special feeling and even now as I sit here writing this, reliving that day and that moment I can't help but feel emotional, excited and thrilled about my achievement. What may be more worrying is that far from temper any running bug or aspirations I have it has made me more determined and more ambitious. In short, I can not wait to get my trainers back on and get out running.