May 11
Hello everyone!
A week ago I ran a marathon for the first time. 42.195 kilometres
in one go. Everest for the average runner.
Bizarrely, marathons have become almost fashionable in
recent years. Marathons in megacities such as London and New York have to turn
would-be runners away. Some run in fancy dress; others run many marathons on
consecutive days. None of this, however, should take away from the fact that
running a marathon is an impressive achievement.
Any prologue to this tale would start in September last year,
when I signed up to the 2014 Prague Marathon. The story would take in six
months of training, generally running a minimum of four times in a week. It
would include a frightening amount of pasta eaten in evenings in the flat at
the expense of going out and socialising. New chapters could be introduced by
the buzzing of an alarm on a weekend, when a regular person would sleep in
rather than pound concrete for hours in sub-zero temperatures. In short, a lot
of effort and commitment is required before the day of the run itself.
All of the months of dedication (not to mention two months
without sipping a drop of alcohol) came down to one overcast May morning in
Prague. We made our way to the idyllic Old Town Square, which had been
temporarily converted into its own unique running town, complete with gigantic
inflatable bottles and mini villages of portaloos. Throngs of brightly-clad men
and women of all ages were bouncing around in nervous anticipation, trying to
warm up their legs to be ready for the challenge that lay ahead.
By 9am the gun was fired: the race begun. Well, for the
elite athletes. It was a couple of minutes before I crossed the start line and
officially began my first marathon. The atmosphere in the Old Town Square and
along Parizska was filled with optimism, with crowds many people deep clapping
and cheering. This was the easy part, and the time to enjoy the day for what it
was: a run around one of the most beautiful European cities.
The early section took in the main attractions of Prague.
Running along the Charles Bridge was a particular highlight, though negotiating
the cobbled streets of the Old Town was a bit tricky at times with the sheer
volume of runners bunched together at the start. From here we ran alongside the
Vltava which bisects the Czech capital, heading east before crossing a bridge
at a bend in the river and returning back to the city centre.
The course then headed south along the Vltava, past the
Dancing Houses and under the old Vysehrad castle. Soon after this was the 20km
mark. At this point I felt good and was sticking with a group who were being
guided by a pacer: a man with bright pink flags who was going to run the whole
race in a time of 3 hours 30 minutes.
I passed some friends from school at the 20km mark who were
involved in the marathon relay. This fantastic initiative allows teams of four
to complete the course, running 10km each (or 12.195km if the last runner). It
swells the number of participants to make the roads more crowded but they
contribute massively to the atmosphere of the event. A brilliant idea.
By the time one of these girls next saw me, when I was at
about 23km, things were beginning to go downhill. I don’t mean the route,
either. The clouds which had looked so threatening up to this point finally
burst. The skies which had briefly been a brilliant sky blue early in the run
darkened rapidly. More troubling, however, was the fact that my legs, which had
been skipping along merrily up to this point, suddenly became very heavy and
burdensome.
As we ran back towards the centre, the shower started to
relent. The strain in my legs, however, did not. It was obvious at the time –
not to mention now – that I was going too fast and couldn’t keep pace. Rather
than risk not finishing at all, I thus began to drop away from the man with the
pink flags and tried to focus really hard on something – anything – to take
away the pain beginning to scorch in my quads and hamstrings.
I couldn't think of anything sufficient, and as I ran by the
27km mark in Prague 5 I went for my backup plan. I had brought along my iPod
for such a scenario. With barely a soul on the side of the road at this
relative outpost, I thus plugged myself in and prepared myself to be inspired
to finish the route in relative comfort.
It didn't work. Not heavy metal, not Eminem, not even my
beloved Kelly Clarkson could rouse me to run faster. I got to 29km and was out
on my feet, barely able to put one foot in front of the other without wincing. Desperate
for water stops. Close to tears. I’d been beaten.
I shuffled to the next random song on my iPod and suddenly
felt a surge of energy rush through my battered body. I’ll happily admit that a
tear did roll down my cheek, at which point was next to a smiling, nay
laughing, mouth. It was the moment when deep down I knew I would be crossing
the finish line of my own accord, rather than being propped up by a stranger.
The song? I am the One and Only by
Chesney Hawkes. Bizarre, I know.
Though now moving much slower than before, completing each
kilometre between 30 seconds and a minute longer than what I was averaging in
the first half of the run, the smile had returned to my face, and my legs felt
(slightly) lighter than before. I started to take in my surroundings once more
as we returned into the city. I particularly appreciated the sign at the 30km
mark which proudly stated: “12 more until free beer!”
Prague is a big city, but it seems that the organisers didn’t
deem it sufficiently large to create a completely unique marathon route. The
last 8km or so thus repeat the early part of the course. It is at this point
that the run becomes more mental, and every little gesture helps. From drumming
musicians to a large screen showing messages for the passing runners, they do
everything possible bar shorten the course to make the last section as
tolerable as possible.
It may have been the same section of road used earlier in
the run, but it certainly felt different coming back into the centre for the
final time. I hadn’t realised there were quite as many inclines and bumps. A
final sugar-dipped banana (I lost count of how many of these heart-attack
inducers I consumed), a final cup of water, time for the iPod to be stowed away
as the crowds began to grow: the final few kilometres.
It’s a strange emotion, finishing a marathon. Firstly, you
don’t really have the energy to be
emotional. Every book, article and expert will tell you to enjoy the last few
kilometres, but it can actually be agonising to do so. I know that I would have
become over-excited and tried to have finished as quickly as possible. Too
quickly. For me, most of the last six or seven kilometres were spent zoned out,
purely focused on putting one foot in front of the other, not even thinking
about the finish line. It would come.
It wasn’t until I passed the InterContinental hotel and
rounded the final corner that it dawned on me that I was going to complete the
course. I was even able to break into an exhausted smile as friends greeted me
down the final stretch. 400 metres…300…200…100…into the square…
22, V
And finish. Marathon completed. Mission accomplished. OUCH.
For the record, my time turned out to be 3 hours, 38 minutes
and 23 seconds. In the build-up to the event, people kept asking me for a time
which I would be ‘happy’ at completing a marathon in. I reluctantly told people
that I was looking for somewhere between 3:30 and 3:45. Reluctantly because I didn’t
want to think about times. My goal
wasn’t to finish in a certain time: it was to finish. Yes, I had an idea in my
head of how quickly I wanted to accomplish this, but I can’t think of much
worse than completing a marathon and feeling disappointed because I just missed
my target time. If you complete a marathon, any marathon, you should feel
pride, and that pride should overcome any lingering disappointment.
I ran for personal achievement, but also for a cause. I ran
to raise money for UNICEF, and at the time of writing have raised £615 to help
improve conditions for children who are at a disadvantage for reasons beyond
their control. If you would like to donate, the link is at the bottom of the
page. A big thank you to the following people who donated:
Betty Smith – thanks Gran for starting it all off!
Suzanne Higgins and Andy
Laura Smith
Hannah Woodhead
Rich and Jess Greatrex-Smith
Jonathan Airey
Carl Baker
Angela and Steve Smith
Richard Turner
Fiona Bell
Peter and Susan Smith
Sophie Auster
Michael and Laurie Jenkins
Arthur-Duncan Jones
The Elongated Penetrators from US Jetting
Paul James
Carol Wakeling (and Phil)
Helen McCarthy
Ryan Thornton
Mary Weaving
Jonathan Davy
Jonathan Davy
Finally, special thanks to Chesney Hawkes – you one-hit
hero, you!
So I ran a marathon. It took the best part of a week for me
to be able to walk normally again, but it was worth every muscle strain and
ounce of pain. A big thank you to everyone for their support, particularly to
Hannah for putting up with an unsociable loser who has only been able to talk
about running for the last couple of months. I have no need or desire to run
another marathon again, but am proud of myself for completing it. Everyone who
has completed one, no matter in what time, has my full and unreserved respect.
Love you all,
Matt
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