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.
