80.1% of The Moray Marathon....

Which is an "A" by the way....

I'm tempted to give you more crap about the 7 plagues of Egypt and the abominable Dr Phibes but having just been up at my mother's I have remembered where my tendency towards obfuscation comes from and I might try to be a little more straightforward.

The Saturday before the marathon was a long day and I had a bit of a mystery tummy upset which held us up getting up the road, so we only arrived in Elgin about 9pm and ate at 10pm. We had a reasonable night in a hot, dry room in a Premier Inn. Woke up for Peter snoring on a good number of occasions but that is par for the course. I had a plan (don't tell Premier Inn) to cook up some proper coffee on a stove in the bathroom in the morning so I wouldn't set off the fire alarms, but discovered late on Saturday night that I'd forgotten to bring any coffee so I defaulted to the two tubes of Kenco instant coffee provided by the P.I. I can't imagine that this alone was enough to explain how I was feeling so tired and unexcited before the marathon come Sunday morning.

It was nice to see Scott and Amanda, and Michael, Marc and Eric before the start, and I enjoyed all that, but felt flat about the running. Warming up I felt creaky and slow but I thought this might have been because we overdid the taper...ran only 16 miles in the week running up to the marathon, more because other stuff got in the way than from intentional planning.

I'd promised myself I was going to take a whole new tack. Every other marathon (except the Everest Marathon), I've set off trying to do sub 8 minute miles with the idea of holding on as long as possible and ideally going under 3.30 for the marathon - which I've managed just once. So usually I'll set off at sub 8 pace and then die a slow and inevitable death and get in in about 3.40 - 3.45.  I thought that if I deliberately set off at 8.30 pace, the rate of attrition shouldn't be so steep and I might be able to run even splits and pull off 3.41 ish. It was disappointing to set off in a marathon at quite such a sedate pace (although it didn't feel as easy as it should) and maybe this added to my lack of excitement about the whole thing.

My legs were kind of achy but I thought this might wear off as I got into it and I kicked along between 8 and 8.30 pace for the 1st 10 miles or so. My breakfast sat rather sullenly in my stomach and I was struggling for things to think about, which wasn't a good sign. I groped for things to distract me from the sheer number of miles ahead. The default tune in my head was "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" which surely wasn't good...I think I managed to bump onto a bit of Bowie - still not terribly upbeat - I'm thinking Rock and Roll Suicide...

It was warmish for the first few miles but nothing terrible and there were ample water stations so no chance to get thirsty. The wind was pretty much behind us after the initial loop round town so this wasn't an issue to start with. But still I just felt tired. I can't remember where specific things happened. Only that we came out of some woods onto a more main road and then might have been going a bit more into the wind - at 10 miles I'd run a disappointing 1.26 so I was not managing to stick to 8.30 pace. I had a caffeine gel which I'd meant to save up for the last 6 or so miles of the race to give me a boost but I think I had it at about the half-way mark  - which was a 1.52 half marathon (projected time now 3.44 but absolutely no chance that I was going to hold it), just to see if it would make a difference but it didn't.

We turned round some forlorn windswept harbour in what I think must have been Lossiemouth, uphill and into the wind and about there I think I had my 1st thoughts about not really finishing the race. At one point we passed a road end that showed a sign pointing in a different direction to the one I was travelling in saying "Elgin" and I thought longingly of just hitch-hiking back to the start. I pushed this thought away but I guess it planted a seed which grew in the fertile darkness of my subconscious mind. At mile 19 the thought was back, only more forcefully...not even 20 miles yet and I felt truly terrible. I was going to make it to 20 miles in just under 3 hrs - if I was lucky - which I would hope to do in training. Trying to get to 20 miles in under 3hrs occupied me for the next mile and I made it but only just - and then the issue of stopping and hitch-hiking was raised again. All I could really look for as a goal now was to beat my PW of 4.01 (apart from the EM!), not something I felt excited about, in fact if I did a bit worse than that well at least I could call it something - I could call it a PW.

In the meantime I was thinking about the sharper end of the race. There was a bit of a thing on between Michael, Marc and Peter - all of whom could quite feasibly be going under 3hrs - and Amanda, who was doing the half, would most likely be going under 1.30, so there was a glorious kind of possibility that they would all end up in a race to the line at the same time! And it should all be happening around the 3hr mark - which was now....and I wanted to be there much more than I wanted to be here - plodding along - with probably another hour to go....and then my left knee started to hurt - and it was only the thought that I might not get a lift if I stopped that was keeping me moving forwards. Then mile 21 bleeped on the Garmin and I saw that my last mile had been a 10.23 mile! So I put my watch off and moved over the left hand side of the road and started hitching. People weren't that keen to pick me up but just round the corner there was a water table that was packing up - so I  went over just to tell them and ask who I should tell that I was dropping out so they wouldn't have to look for me or anything and one of the guys kindly offered there and then just to give me a lift.

 Pretty soon I was driving forwards in marathon time through the runners, getting dropped off at about the 3.30 part of the field (it took a while to get back because we were stuck behind a St John's Ambulance on a single track road.) Then I did a walk of shame walking from one clump of marshal's to the next explaining "I've dropped out who should I tell?" and each time they sent me onto the next clump. I did this maybe 4 times before I was sent into the timing ladies in the library, who said "Oh" and didn't send me onto anyone else...It was a bit painful walking past the finish with people finishing in a time that I would have liked to finish in - but still my knee was in one piece - a bit sore but not injured...

Pretty soon I met Amanda and Scott and heard how hard Amanda's half had been. She hadn't been feeling right for the last few days so we hoped it would just pass but she'd felt lack-lustre and achey and trotted out 1.35. (We were thinking more 1.25 for her, she's been troubling Peter at the end of his long runs - she's been flying.) Amanda warned me that Peter's race had been "not good". I'd known this was a distinct possibility since he hates the wind and as a disproportionate amount of the course did seem to have been into the wind.

He wasn't actually as downbeat as I thought he might be. He'd come in in 3.07 and I think been glad to get finished. Michael Geoghegan had killed himself to try and get under 3hrs and had come away with an excellent but gutting 3.02. "I tried so hard to go under 3hrs" he said with big eyes, staring into space. Marc Grierson was philosophical about 3.12?, I think he just instantly projected himself forwards to Loch Ness Marathon and focused on that. Eric came in in 4hrs 40mins having had a hard time but battled on and finished...(oh my shame)...

People made their way off until Peter and I sitting on a wooden step in Elgin Town Hall realised that the prize-giving should be on so we went back over to the finish to see it. We were so not really paying attention after seeing the winners. (Steven Reid or "Stevie Boy" of Fife AC ran a terrific 2.45, pretty much on his own. Kate Jenkins was 1st lady for the nth time in a great time of 3.01) that Peter had to be told twice that Portobello had won the team prize. Marc was still there with uncle Eric so 2 of the 3 were able to collect a cup and some nice shot glasses and miniatures of Macallans. A prize always eases the pain a bit and there were smiles amongst the Porties at least....

So the moral of this tale? I don't know. If you want to drop out, you can - but you won't get a medal....