I have been training hard to attempt a 6h45m time. I was optimistic.
I was running this year with my colleague - though I was fairly sure he'd finish up to an hour ahead of me, so we didn't start together. He flew off down the trail when the race started, and I didn't expect to see him again.
Pretty view (behind us I mean)
Things started slowly with the only hill on the course: a steep, sandy decline from St Martha's Hill proceeding south. Three bottlenecks in the path slowed everyone down. I was at the back so got stuck behind about 40 runners all trying to get down the narrow trail. Then everyone was held up by a horse walking down a narrow part of the trail. The poor rider must have cursed his bad timing as he pulled over to let 100 runners pass him. The race started with two slow kilometres for me.
I needed to average 6m45s per kilometre for the race to meet my time goal. I managed to keep at about 6m15s per kilometre for the first 10km. I felt absolutely. The weather was perfect.
I met a guy, whose name I don't remember (bib 123), who chatted to me for about 10km. The hour flew past as he told me about his running, training, life, and job. He stopped for a piss and I jogged on.
20-40 kilometres
Runner with bib 123 passed me. I started to feel slower after that - and lower on energy. I was just about making the 6m45s/km pace required. At each aid station I wasted time eating half a kilo of watermelon and pretzels. I would regret that later.
At 30 kilometres my pace started to fall to 7 minute kilometres and slower. I was finding it hard to keep up the pace while knowing I still had more than a half marathon to go. I had a couple of walking breaks while I ate some food. That seemed to help.
40-50 kilometres
This was the most painful part of my day. Approaching the hills of the south downs, my knees started to hurt. My energy was low, and my quads were oddly painful. I was trying to do maths in my head to work out if I still had a shot at 6 hours and 45 minutes. My first calculation said "Definitely, yes." A re-calculation said "Not a chance". I decided to stop wasting energy on arithmetic and get a wiggle on.
A lady ran past me energetically who looked like Emile Forsberg. She said "I've never been so happy to see the South Downs." I couldn't remember being happy or sad about the South Downs before, which made me happy that at least I wasn't running the North Downs Way which is a lot harder.
50-61 kilometres
I arrived at the final check point five miles from the end. I ate too much water melon and nearly fell over. A volunteer told me we only have five miles until the end, which shocked me. My maths told me that if I ran 5 minute kilometres until the end, I still had a shot at 6.45.
I blasted out of the aid station and started to run faster than I had all day. Somehow, my body let me.
I passed one runner, then another. Then a guy on a bike. Then another runner, and another. I sped up to what felt like 10k pace.
I went over the first of two river crossings, feeling better and better with each kilometre that passed. My watch time was creeping up past 6 hours 20 minutes, alerting me to the fact that time was running out.
As I rounded a corner, I saw the outline of my colleague in the distance - hands on hips, walking slowly. He immediately turned around and pointed at me. I put my hands on my head, equal parts shocked that he was there - and sad that he was obviously having a bad race. He seemed in good spirits, so I hid my shock and tried to encourage him to run into the finish with me. He'd been throwing up - too much water, apparently. I told him that was a good sign.
We ran together for 3 kilometres, not saying a word to each other - just grunting to each other when we noticed a silent cyclist was behind us.
My colleague's motion next to me seemed to pull me on. I was excited to be running so well and with somebody else after a day of slow slogging. I thought I could get under 6.45, and adrenaline flooded my system. I dumped all my water when I saw the finish far in the distance. We passed 5 more runners.
Just before we went over the second river bridge of the day, my colleague stopped to walk and drink - telling me to go on. I didn't have time to stop and convince him how close we were to the finish, so I took off like a rocket across the final bridge. Time on watch: 6.41 - with a kilometre still to go...
I raced down the final approach to the finish; making sure not to trip up on the uneven paving stones. Time on watch: 6.44 - finish line in view...
Unfortunately, I didn't finish under 6.45. My official finish time was 6h46m20s. I collapsed at the finish line. Mild asthma overcame me. I got up to go and get my inhaler from my bag, then I remembered I don't have an inhaler with me. I felt dizzy so lay on the floor, wheezing. My colleague crossed the finish line and lay down next to me. I started to feel cold, and my hands went numb. I started to shiver, so I got to my feet and hobbled inside to the best plate of veggie chilli I've ever had (well, since last year's).
My time last year was 08h09m10s - so my time this year was naerly an hour and a half faster than last year. Even though I didn't beat my (admittedly arbitrary) target time, I was well chuffed with that. A year's training and racing have made a huge difference to my fitness. Coinciding with a lack of injury for a year, I have never been so fit.
This race is my last for a year. I am having a self-imposed year off from racing to help my partner train for the Disney Paris Half Marathon next year.
I'm scared about having nothing to train for, but excited about the lack of rigidity that racing imposes onto training. I am free to do what I want for a year.
See you in a year.
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