A rollercoaster weekend: The Blackpool Marathon, a void PB, and a new PB

It has been a rollercoaster weekend of running emotions.

The weekend started off on the (steep) downward bit of the rollercoaster when I saw this on the news:

Greater Manchester Marathon course 380 m short

This is annoying to have any result declared void, especially one for where you hadn't been doped, where you paid £46 to enter the race where you did it, and especially for one which is your personal best time. Devastated doesn't even come close. I was completely inconsolable for all of Friday evening, and had a fitfull night's sleep as in my mind I ran those 380 darned meters over and over, being chased by a giant clock, tick-tick-ticking away. By the time I woke up on Saturday morning, I had got things slightly more back in perspective. In the grand scale of the world, going back to my previous PB of 3 minutes slower wasn't the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone. I spent the day instead still feeling mildly annoyed by it, but was able to think coherently and to carry out everyday tasks again.

I woke this morning (Sunday), at 6.30 am ready for the Blackpool Marathon. I've always liked this one. I did my first ever marathon on this bit of coast, and have done several more races there since. I always enjoy running around Blackpool early on a Sunday morning. It has a sort of jaded charm about it. First thing there are a few people drifting about holding pints from the night before, usually missing a shoe or some other item of clothing. Then a bit later people start to get up, and stag and hen parties are leaving with their suitcases packed and carrying all the parts of the outfits that don't fit in the suitcase, like wedding veils, and cowboy hats, and they shout things at you, which is all taken in the spirit of Blackpool. Then later on all the shops and arcades start to open and the tattoo parlous too ("Names from £10!" - not sure that tattoos are really something you should be getting on discount) and then the fish and chip shops open and wafts of fried food starts drifting through the air (around the time I start to get hungry). People can be very rude about Blackpool, but I genuinely like it there. Although compared to the other big city marathons it's quite small, and quite spread out, it always has fantastic support, both from people who've come to support the runners, and from random people out having a day in Blackpool, everyone is very friendly and gets involved; it's really a lot of fun. Plus, there's loads to look at, and for a good few miles there's loads of music and going's on as you run along the main strip. And then of course there's the sea to look at for the whole 26.2 miles, which I could just stare at all day. Plus, my family always come along, and it's always great fun to have them there and be looking out for them - thanks Lomax's!

I haven't done a marathon in 5 months, with all this ultra training and what not. I was very anxious before it, and my stomach felt like a washing machine. I wasn't at all sure I would be able to do what is a normal time for me anymore, as all my runs over the last few months have been much longer, but much slower than I'm used to, and I worried I had lost some sharpness from my running. Still, I resolved to go out and try my best.

The race went much better than I expected. I started off far too fast, which is a habit that I used to stick to religiously on my first few marathons, and it always ended badly, but I haven't done it for so long that I actually quite enjoyed it. I rescued myself about half way (I was trying to make myself feel bad, so I could practice on how to deal with it, in case (or, probably, when) it happens on The 100). I took a couple of pain killers, had a 1/2 of a popular brand of a raw fruit and nut bar, and grabbed a bottle of water from the next aid station and sipped it slowly. After doing all these LDWA events where there is a checkpoint at least every 6 miles, with a table piled high with a vast array of all cakes and other dense sources of energy, it was quite a shock only to have water, I can tell you. Never-the-less my plan worked, and after a couple of miles focusing on only the next step as my foot hit the floor, by 15 miles I felt back to life and settled back into my pace. I kept it up until about 5 km from the end where my legs really started to get a wobble on, but I kept ploughing doggedly forward, and soon enough the finish came into sight, and I was taken aback and deliriously happy to have set a new PB! And this is where it gets complicated. I didn't actually beat my Manchester time, but as this time is void now (massive boo), my previous PB was from the London Marathon in  2012 where I did 3:39:31. Today, I finished in 3:38:18 - hurrah hurrah! And finsihed 9th lady, and 3rd in my category. Although I'm pleased with this, another thing I've noticed about times and PB's and the like, is that absolutely no one other than me finds this even remotely interesting, so this is another reason to forget all about the Manchester palava, and focus only on the future. 

Some photos from today (thanks Mum!):

Cold waiting for the start:

But warmed up with the family!

Ready for the start:

1 mile... 2..... run a few.... 26... the end!

Bling: 

Let your feet be brave

I don't really think about my feet much. I've always just taken them fore-granted. They are there, somewhere between the floor and the rest of my body. I spend loads of time running to get my heart and lungs fit and my legs strong, I reluctantly do press ups to keep my arms from looking too twig-like, and I do core work because I know I'm supposed to. But it's never occurred to me to think about training my feet. 

Until this week.

This revelation has revealed itself quite by accident. I decided in the week leading up to the Blackpool Marathon (tomorrow, uh oh) that I would trial a new approach of actually trying to taper my running down properly before the race, as I was feeling quite tired at the beginning of the week, and thought all this professional advice about easing off the running prior to a long race might actually be worth something. Naturally, I needed an alternative activity to focus on to get my exercise fix (can't go cold turkey). And so this brought me to doing three yoga classes in a week, which is a record for me in a year, never mind a week.

I was stood on my mat on one leg, the other wrapped around it, with my arms in the air, in the 'tree pose' which is so ridiculed by those who are not fans of the yoga experience. I was focusing so hard on a speck of dust on the floor, trying to keep my balance, that I almost didn't hear my teacher when he said, "let your feet be brave". I kept my balance for a few more minutes (yeah, who am I kidding, for about 2 more seconds), with my foot muscles wobbling all over the place, trying to keep balanced on one leg. I gracefully (yep, still kidding) unwrapped myself from being a tree, and caught up with what he was saying, which caught my interest, as it seemed a bit odd. But he carried on talking, and I tuned back in, and it just made total sense. Your feet are active all the time! Your whole body is supported by whichever part of it is touching the ground. I'd not really thought of that before. All of the strength and stability in your body is coming from those points of contact with the ground. Gosh. My feet are supporting my whole body! Just those two little bits of mostly bones (26 in each foot) wrapped up in some skin. I didn't even know there were muscles there too, but in the tree pose, I could see the muscles in my feet actually working, side to side, back and forth, trying to support my whole body above it in that one position. Amazing! Amazing! Feet are amazing! 

The name of my blog is Time on Your Feet. I suppose that a lot of the focus of my training right now is the 'time' part, the time you need to train for to get ready for a ultra. I pretty much totally ignore the 'feet' part. But not any more. 

Apparently, yoga is all about strengthening your feet. Once your have strong feet, your base is strong, and the rest of your body is supported. In the words of Socrates "when our feet hurt, we hurt all over". Once I started to focus on my feet, I really started to understand this. It sounds a bit wacky, I know, but it does make sense. We did lots of exercises, standing on tip-toes on all different parts of our feet, and working on our arches. Apparently, I have fantastic muscles in my arches. Who knew. It was quite embarrassing, as my teacher shouted to everyone to look at my arches because my muscles were so defined, which I was initially quite embarrassed about because my feet do get quite a battering from all this running, and I'm missing a toe nail right now. But then I embraced it. Feet are amazing, and my feet are amazing! Be proud, not embarrassed! Hurrah for my arches! And I have a whole new set of muscles that I didn't even know about. Apparently, there are 20 muscles in each foot and about 100 ligaments! I've just started reading about it, and boy does it look complicated. I've had to lie down to give my feet a rest from all the work they seem to be doing all the time.

And so, I now understand the phrase "let your feet be brave". In yoga, it means if you are finding a pose challenging, focus on building up from your feet, and challenging them to be strong (unless, of course, you are doing a headstand, then I suppose your head becomes your foot, but I'm not that advanced yet). I've tried it our running this morning (5 km pre-marathon preparation run with my Dad), thinking about where my foot hit the ground, and the movement with each step. And I'm going to think about it more tomorrow on the marathon (there will be plenty of time then). 

And there we are. Put your best foot forward (either, as they are both bloody marvelous), and let your feet be brave. 

The Woldsman 2016

Some background info before I start my blurb: The Woldmsan is a 50 mile run/ walk event in the Yorkshire Wolds, organised by the East Yorkshire LDWA, held in the Spring, with 4500 ft of ascent, and passing through my favouritely named place of Wetwang.

Two years ago, just before my 30th birthday, this was the first ultra-marathon event I ever did, and I loved it. I had been looking forward to a repeat performance, but several things happened in the 48 hours before the Woldsman, which gave me a hint of a feeling of foreboding:. 

1. I had a nightmare about it. Two in fact. Big nightmares, the type that you wake up from in cold sweats with a beating heart, and are completely confused that you are in your bedroom and not back in the hell that you were in a few seconds ago. The first dream, was set on the morning of The Woldsman. I went along to the start with Andrew, who was about to take on his longest run yet (so far, the dream was sticking to the facts pretty well). We set off, but Andrew had decided that he wanted to take it super slow, following his bad experience at the Red Rose 40 a few weeks back. This in itself was also true, but my dream slowed it down so much that it was like a slow motion fast forward bit on a video tape (remember those, when you were trying to get to the exact part that you wanted - fast forward too far, rewind too far, fast forward a bit less far etc etc...) where it takes a whole minute to lift a leg, and everyone's voices go all slow and deep. I had forgotten and left my maps and instructions at home, and thought I could get away with it, but it soon became apparent that this was not to be so. Then Andrew decided that he needed to have a sleep at 10 miles in, and  I got really angry. Then my Mum turned up, and it turns out that I was running in high healed boots, which explained the dreadful blisters, so my Mum offered to let me use some spare shower shoes that she had in her bag, so I put these on, and was quite pleased, as they were covered in purple flowers, and so matched my top. Then my Dad arrived and started shouting at me, because he wanted to wear the flowery shoes, so I ran off (wearing them). Then I realised that I'd left my rucksack behind......then I woke up. In the next dream I had, I woke up late and almost missed the start, and lots of driving around in taxis and running between places was involved in trying to get to the start on time, which we missed, but then it turned out that loads of other people hadn't got there either, so we all got a telling off, and the event was delayed...... Considering I was looking forward to this event, there seemed to be a lot of underlying issues I was battling with.

2. The evening before, I fell over while walking on a polished wooden floor in tights (this is real now, not  dream), and spent a couple of minutes lying on the floor berating myself for getting injured before I'd even started, and planning options for how to explain this to people, whilst keeping my reputation intact. Turns out it's just some bruising, so if I hadn't just mentioned it, I could totally have got away with it

3. I was drugged up on painkillers because a) I've had a headache for 3 days, b) see point 2

4. The night before the event The Team arrived in Wold Newton to set up camp. Andrew was running it also, my Mum and Dad were walking in 'definitely their last 50 miler' which I'm sure they've already done before, a few times. My cousin Sammy, whose 18th birthday it was on Woldsman Day was also walking (with an '18 Today' balloon, surely the first person to complete such a distance and carry a balloon the whole way??), and my Auntie and Uncle were there too. In preparation for his Final 50, my Dad and Uncle located the local pub, and with the aim of 'fortifying his courage', a pint of Yorkshire's finest, Wolds Gold, quickly turned into two, and we ended up being late for tea, which got burnt (although was still deliciously tasty, thanks Mum!)

It's a miracle that we all made it to the morning of the Woldsman in one piece, to be honest. Breakfast and 18th birthday celebrations started around 5.45 am, and celebrations of the weather also started around then too, as it was a dreadful day. I was psyched up for it though, having followed several forecasts all week, in the hope of finding an alright one, but it had become clear to me by Thursday that there was no hope of a nice day today, and so I had come prepared with full wet weather kit, and was ready to use it. Come on Yorkshire! Throw it at me!

Yorkshire was game. The whole morning was cold and rainy. Then the rain eased off, then eased back on, and off again for a few hours. Then it finally stopped, and the sun came out, and the end of the afternoon was actually nice. It did nothing for the mud though.

I'd had a little think back to my dream before the race, and it made me think of something that I hadn't though of before (and I've done so much thinking in that sentence alone that I'm really quite tired). From previous posts, you will know that I am having an ongoing battle with shoes right now. Since doing more off road stuff, I've discovered the need for trail shoes. Having spent a small fortune on a brand spanking new pair, I have since been trying to weight up the benefit of their Spiderman-like grip in even the muddiest of mud, against the horrible blisters I get from them. If I were wearing heals say, like in my dream, I might have got some of those Party Feet gel cushion things, so I thought, why not try them in my trail shoes? Got a pair of those, some extra blister plasters, and bob's your uncle, only one tiny blister! I think also, my shoes are probably better suited to actual trails, which although sounds obvious, wasn't to me before now. I think because they are so structured and rigid, that wearing them on harder paths just makes them hurt the feet more, whereas in the mud, the ground is softer, so it doesn't matter that they are so rigid. Anyway, what I mean to say is, don't laugh at my Party Feet, with these it's still possible to dance after 50 miles.

The Woldsman was every bit as good as I remember it. Fantastic route - big skies and big views, a joy to be out in it and feel a part of the landscape. Absolute first class organisation. Big thanks to all the volunteers at the checkpoints who gave up their weekend to check all the people taking part were safe, and extremely well looked after. As I always say, and will say again for sake of tradition, LDWA events are not ones to do if you are looking to loose some weight on the way round. Just out of interest, as I always make sweeping statements about this, statements like there being enough cake to sink a ship, this time I recorded diligently all of the things I ate and drank, so you can see just how good these events are...

At the Start:1 piece of toast and butter, 1 cup of coffee
Dane's Grave, 6.75 miles: nil

Sledmere, 13.5 miles: 1 cup squash, cheese sandwich (1 triangle), 3 prawn cocktail crisps, 1 slice chocolate swiss roll
Wharram Percy, 20.5 miles: 1 custard cream, 1 sweet, 1 cup squash
Thixendale, 25 miles: warm apple pie and custard, 1 cup squash, 2 boiled sweets
Givendale 31.5 miles: 2 cups squash, 1 piece flapkjack
Huggate Wold 35 miles: about 2 miles before this, I had a shaky episode, so I ate my emergency marmite sandwich (1 slice white bread, butter, marmite) and a coco Nakd bar. At the checkpoint: 1 cup squash, 1 jaffa cake, 1 cookie, 1 piece flapjack
Wetwang, 42 miles: 1 raisin and cranberry cookie, 1 cup squash
Garton Station, 47 miles: 3 sweets
The End: 1 bowl of vegetable soup and bread roll, 2 cheese and crackers, 1 bowl rice pudding and fruit, 1 cup of tea
Plus between 1 - 1.5 L of my own water throughout the day.

So you see, I haven't been exaggerating. There is an awful lot of awfully delicious food around at these things, and what I ate doesn't even scratch the surface (my parents, for example, had asparagus rolls at Wetwang - asparagus!). Most of the checkpoints are like wandering into a party, with tables groaning under a vast array of foods and drinks. The choice is quite intimidating, especially towards the end of a long run, when functions such as decision making get shut down. Hugh thank you to the East Yorks LDWA - cracking event! 

As always, met some lovely people, including Nigel, who is the Dad of Tanya, who I ran a lot of the Woldsman with two years ago. Two years ago, Nigel was driving round supporting us as he awaited a hip replacement, and it was good to see him back in running action today! As I was thinking back to 2013, I dug out my blog from two years ago, so here it is: my blog from the 2014 Woldsman 

Andrew did a first class job, putting to bed his bad experience at the Red Rose 40 and replacing it with a solid performance, and strong finish, where 6 months of hard training and preparation paid off. Very proud! Also very proud of my Mum and Dad who completed it in excellent form also, despite finding it 'challenging' and swearing that they're not doing another 50, and will stick to 'shorter' events, of say '30 miles max'. Also very proud of my cousin Sammy who completed 50 miles on his birthday, what a thing to do on your 18th! Surely, SURELY, he must be the first person to do that? I'm feeling all warm inside and proud of everyone! Thanks also to my Auntie and Uncle who gave us their support - I always say this too, but it's true, having people around offering encouragement is just incredibly kind of them to give up their time, and it makes such a difference. 

So there we go. Finished in 10 hour 51 minutes (knocked 21 minutes off last time!), and here is proof:

Incredibly, given the ominous premonitions I had prior to the event, the only injury sustained was by my mug, which didn't quite make it when I took a corner a bit tightly and ran into a wall, and now has a hole in it's side.

Positive reactions

When I was younger, a friend once told me something that's always stuck with me. We were both going through break ups of respective ex (thank goodness) partners, and had been treated rather badly. He said to me "you can't control what other people do to you, you can only control how you respond to it". Thankfully these days I have much better taste in men, but I was just thinking about this quote the other day, for no particular reason other than I think about it sometimes, and I thought how it can apply to other things as well as to men. 

Specifically, I was thinking about this after a running related incident, which isn't an overall surprising point.

Bad runs can't always be predicted, I've noticed. You can skip out the door into the sunshine, trainers neatly laced over your eager feet, mood bouncing along with the light fluffy clouds in the sky, the run that you've been looking forward to all day is about to begin, 10 miles of joy awaits! Then boom, one mile in and disaster strikes. Energy levels plummet, the mood darkens, 9 more miles seems further than eternity. This funny thing happens where I suddenly feel dizzy, my arms tingle, stomach feels empty (actually empty, not hungry), I feel hot/cold, and panic sets in. This happens quite often, not always when running, but it is completely inconvenient when running, that's for sure. I originally thought that this was something to do with not eating at the right times prior to running, but this theory has been quashed, as it seems to be rather random.

Two miles into my 10 mile run with Andrew on our recent break to Dartmoor, I had a meltdown, ground to a holt, told Andrew to go on without me (in a rather dramatic way), and gave up. After much persuading, Andrew carried on, but not before leaving me with a spare banana. Which I ate, while wandering along, watching Andrew's neon clad figure disappear into the distance, and thinking about how terrible this all was. I can't even run 10 miles, oh no wait, not even 2 actually, what delusional fool am I to think I can do 100? And what is wrong with me? This is all rubbish. I'm rubbish. Nothing ever goes right. I must be doing my training all wrong. This can't be normal.   

Then I stopped. Initially because I'd got to a gate and couldn't work out how to open it. But it served the purpose of giving me something to think of other than my immediate woes. OK, so this is all pretty rubbish, I thought I was well prepared for this run, there doesn't seem to be anything in particular that I didn't do right, but I'm not feeling good, that is a fact, and I can't change that it's happened. I can change what I do next though, I thought. Much like the aforementioned quote from wise friend, but replacing the bad man part with a bad run. I can devise a strategy to deal with such situations, to help myself through them and out the other side. And surely, with the wealth of difficult running experiences I have to draw on, this can't be that hard. I might be given a bad run, but I can make it good.

This sounds like it all took ages, but actually it was all over quite quickly. I finished my banana, walked for a couple of minutes, and put a plan in place. I reduced my expectation of daily mileage. I told myself I would run another mile away from the house, and re-assess how I felt then. If I still felt rubbish, I would then walk until I met Andrew on his way back. If I felt good, then I would run a little bit further. 

So I got another mile, during which I reached a 1/4 mile long deserted tunnel (no lights), which resulted in me running quite a lot faster to get out the other side, whilst thinking of the ghosts of Dartmoor reaching their bony hands out of the walls to grab me and pull me in to the darkness, to join them in their ghostly underworld. This further reset my mindset, and coinciding with about the same time as the banana kicking in, I shot out the other side of the tunnel like a bat out of hell, ran a total of 4.5 miles away from the house, then turned around and headed for home. Then I realised that I hadn't entirely run along the same route that Andrew had, and so our plan of meeting up might not work. Spent a puzzled few minutes running up and down the same piece of path looking for him, until finally we we ran into each other (ran, ha ha!), and headed back home. In the end I did 9.3 miles out of a planned 10.

Which is all a very long and convoluted way of saying what I really wanted to say, which is this. If things in a run aren't going well, stop. Take a moment. Break things down. Take it step by step, and just see how many steps you can get. Take on a little food and water. Breath deep. Look around. Stop thinking you can't do it, and think of all the reasons you can (seriously, once you start thinking of these, you will come up with so many that there won't even be a tiny corner in your head for any negative thoughts). Maybe even write them down once you get back, so you can keep them on hand for future situations. And add to your list every day! I ran 9.3 / 10 miles, which I felt really pleased with, considering how rubbish I felt at 2 miles in. 

For me, it's about breaking my cycle of negativity, which as you might have picked up from enough posts from me by now, is a pretty much continuous cycle, that sometimes goes round so fast that it's quite dizzying. Breaking this cycle, even for a moment, slows it down, and gives my mind a chance to readjust. And, going back to that quote, meeting a negative situation with a positive reaction. 

And there ends today's philosophy.