Isle of Wight Marathon 2018

A PB? Highly likely. Beating my younger brother Andrew’s best marathon time of around 3:10? I’d be disappointed if I didn’t. Achieving a London Marathon Good For Age time of 3:05? A very achievable target. The all-elusive sub-3 marathon? I’d trained to better that. What sort of time was I aiming for? To be honest, I was hoping for somewhere around 2:58 to 2:59.

Race day proved to be the wettest I’ve known for this new Isle of Wight Marathon route. The forecast was particularly dire, suggesting we were in for very heavy rain for the first hour or so of running, having to contend with stiff 15 mph breezes all afternoon long. Already anxious about achieving my race goals, I was now confronted with the vexing question of what to wear whilst running. I think I put most options in my kit bag including a sleeveless jacket, running sleeves and lightweight rain mac.

Fortuitously, the rain eased off at around 11am, and by the start (at the unusually late time of 11:30), it had settled down to a gentle drizzle. Just before the start, whilst I lined up with the rest of the Isle of Wight Road Runners for the team photo, I was still debating what to wear, when I decided to stick to just a vest; if I got cold, it meant that I wasn’t running fast enough and I’d just have to try harder!

After struggling to hear race director Steve Lee’s pre-race instructions, a very polite “go” from timekeeper Chris Lewis set us underway, negotiating our way around the edge of the very cricket pitch that I played my last ever competitive match (I opened the batting, scored single figures, ran out the captain but managed to take a couple of wickets). I knew that I was in good physical shape so wasn’t unduly worried to find myself in second place. Within seconds though, Dave Mitchell, who would go on to eventually win, pulled away from the rest of us and he looked to be set to blaze around the course, disappearing from view within the first mile. As we left the Cowes Community Centre car park I was overtaken by Dave Hunt of Team Spy, moving me into a comfortable third place.

Those early miles went by comfortably, negotiating the hills well, keeping my pace around my target of 6:40 per mile. Dave, in his black vest, moved slowly away from me but this didn’t concern me at all. Whilst a high finishing position would be very rewarding, my primary aim, certainly at this stage of the race, was settling into a groove that could sustain me through the rest of the route. I was certainly aided by the support of friends along the way, either marshaling or just spectating; some stood out in the midday drizzle, others cycled alongside me, the canniest of people sat in their cars as they drove around the winding lanes, leaning out their windows and shouting encouragement. There’s a particularly annoying hill in Cranmore, at the 9-mile point, where I’d experienced dizziness on a couple of my training runs during the summer. With this in mind, as soon as the dizziness came on (was it psychosomatic?), I was quick to slow to a walk for 20 seconds, just to settle myself down. This was the last hill of any note up till the halfway point, and from hereon I was able to settle down into the target pace once more.

Shortly after the 10 mile point, I started to sense a pain in my left chest, near the armpit. I’ve been diagnosed with very low blood pressure and a tendency for my heart to mildly misfire when under stress, so as soon as I sensed this pain I began to worry. The 12th and 13th mile of the marathon are along the Causeway, the disused railway that’s now a graveled cycle path alongside the River Yar between Yarmouth and the outskirts of Freshwater. Apart from the bustling End of the Line cafe and the enthusiastic but under-utilised wet sponge volunteers at the start of the cycle path, this was a very lonely section of the course. I had lost sight of Dave in second place and only had the occasional pedestrian to pass for any company, all the time dwelling on this ache, worrying about what it could mean and probably making matters worse for myself by stressing about it. If I was suffering with a painful leg, I’d find a way of persevering in order to complete the marathon. But with “affairs of the heart” I didn’t want to take any chances, and as I ran through the enormous puddles along the deserted Causeway I took the decision to drop out at the halfway point. Although it would be a “DNF”, I could take some comfort from the fact that I was in third place when I quit.

Upon reaching the marshals and drinks station volunteers at 13.1 miles, I told them of my decision, and they suggested I have a quick word with the emergency first aider stood with them. Whilst the first aider took my pulse, The next runner behind me (who eventually would finish in second place) passed me. I was a little surprised that this wasn’t my club mate Stu Backhouse, but still took the time to encourage him on as he was setting an admirable pace. From his quick check with his finger resting on my wrist, the first aider couldn’t detect anything particularly untoward; my pulse seemed good, my blood pressure not too high or too low. Marshal Lisa Taylor gave me a long sleeved top to wear to stop me getting cold, but just as I was about to put it on, Stu came along and asked if I was okay. I told him I’d stopped, but he told me to just dig a bit deeper and see if I could run with him. Having been given a reasonable “thumbs up” from the first aider, I decided to just see how things would go, safer in the knowledge that now  I had someone to keep an eye on me, and with Stu’s partner, Caroline, waiting in her car a few miles up the road.

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At the time I was disappointed to have dropped out of yet another marathon. My record to date is 6 attempts, 3 rather poor finishes. But I was also acutely aware of the fact that I was doing the right thing. The remainder of the afternoon was spent being driven around the course by firstly Caroline and then the Furmidge family, cheering on all the runners that we passed on the way. I was the first competitor to get back to Cowes Community Centre, and it felt strange to see the finish line, so close to me yet so very far away from my reach. As I was beginning to turn very cold I jumped straight into the showers, then scoffed a banana as I could hear the crowd begin to celebrate the first runners over the line. Once warmed and refreshed, I stood and cheered the finishers into the Community Centre car park that lead to the finish line. I chatted to my friends who were also spectating, relating to them my misfortunes, surprising myself by how well I was taking the disappointment.

A better use of my time was to jump in a friend’s car and drive back along the course to find Jo and support her along the final miles of her second marathon. Cath Love provided the wheels and we drove down the miles, 26, 25, 24, back to 20 miles on the very edge of Newtown. And there was Jo, pushing up yet another small hill with her friend and first-time-marathoner, Deb Ledicott.

Cath and I spent the next few miles playing leapfrog with Jo, urging over the difficult hills that litter the end of this grueling marathon, with me occasionally running alongside her. She was having to run from halfway onward with the shock of hearing that I’d had chest pains and had to drop out of the race. She mentioned later that this really put a dampener on her run and she nearly considered giving up – I so wish that she’d not found out about my poor run until she’d finished her own tough ordeal.

The 25th mile is completely uphill along the notorious Pallance Road, and I decided to run/walk this and the final mile with Jo to offer her all the encouragement I could. Despite an ankle injury she’d picked up on her last training run, Jo kept on going. Her marathon PB stood at 5:32, and I could see, as we were moving up Pallance Road, that she was going to smash this time. Despite having to walk a bit on the hill, Jo soon got back into her running rhythm in the final mile, now accompanied by her friend Sarah Crabb, who had heaps of enthusiasm and energy to share! As we got into the last half mile, I made Jo a promise that, if she took more than 5 minutes off her PB, I’d shave off my beard. She turned into the Community Centre car park to the sound of much whooping from the array of friends awaiting her arrival, and was noisily cheered over the line as the timing clock ticked over 5:24, lopping a huge 8 minutes 49 seconds off her PB. I was so happy that she’d finished, so proud of her strength to finish this difficult marathon. In 2016 when she ran her first marathon, I’d had a really bad race but this disappointment was outweighed by my delight at Jo’s achievement. She’d once again managed to turn a day of failure for me into a day of pleasure for all she’d accomplished.

What next for me? I really don’t know if I can go through yet another miserable marathon.  I feel as if I got tantalisingly close to banishing my marathon demons, only to evoke yet more to be overcome if and when I attempt the distance again. Maybe I’ll just concentrate on the shorter stuff in the future. I’ve already entered the Stubbington 10K for 2019 as I know that, even if I have a bad race, I should still be able to finish. Perhaps I should just try to avoid the abbreviations; PB seems remarkably too close to DNF to me. I shall now see making it into the results as a race success!