The Robin Hood Marathon (take 3)
Twenty nine seconds. Or put more colloquially, a gnat’s whisker. It was the tiniest of margins that squeezed Sunday’s run into the hallowed turf of the sub-four hour marathon. And my second quickest time to date.
This was the third occasion that I’d completed the Robin Hood Marathon, Nottingham’s annual mass participation race which incorporates a half-marathon and fun-run alongside those foolhardy enough to elect to navigate 26.2 miles around the cities’ streets. This year the event boasted a spangly new-look course, ditching some of the less attractive sections (such as a non-descript industrial estate and windy Holme Pierrepont) in favour of a hillier route, but one which features a greater range of local landmarks and a segment cutting through the heart of the city centre (more on this later).
If you’ve perused my previous blog post you’ll be aware that my own preparations could aptly be described as haphazard at best, with a paucity of long runs to ready myself – both physically and mentally - for the challenge which lay ahead. Fortunately I wasn’t alone (quite literally) as I was running with a friend and work colleague, Ian, for whom this was his first marathon. Having a companion to run with made this a dramatically different experience from what I am normally used to, which was particularly beneficial during the latter stages when we both chivvied and encouraged each other along.
What follows are a series of personal reflections from the day, which may or (more likely) may not be helpful to others contemplating a marathon, or indeed whether to sign-up for this particular event in future.
First off, despite having taken part in previous years, it is only on the morning that you begin to appreciate the scale of the event. The level of disruption, particularly to roads and public transport is immense, whilst finally arriving at the race village (situated on Victoria Embankment) you start to comprehend the number of participants, volunteers and spectators. In spite of this, the baggage tent is an impressive lesson in efficiency dealing with several thousand runners with a minimum of fuss. Unlike the portaloo situation, characterised by seemingly endless queues snaking their way around the site, leaving Ian and I (I’m ashamed to write) to seek alternative arrangements.
Personally I preferred the much-changed, albeit hillier, course for the marathon. The added ascents were worth it to incorporate more of Nottingham’s landmarks. That said, in terms of vocal support the section through the city centre was one of the most disappointing aspects, as most of the people congregated alongside the route appeared to be disgruntled shoppers, looking visibly miffed at the disruption the marathon was undoubtedly causing. This is a minor grumble however, as there were plenty of other points along the course where well-wishers were out in force. At this juncture the army of volunteers at Colwick Park deserve a special mention – it was great to see so many friendly and familiar faces – as well as the pocket of cheerleaders from Cancer Research UK who really gave me a boost.
The unsung heroes in events such as these are the scores of volunteer marshals and well-wishers lining the course, enthusiastically cheering on complete strangers as they shuffle their way round. On this point, if there is one recommendation I would make to the novice marathon runner is to have your name emblazoned on your running vest. Hearing people shout your name has magical motivational properties, which really adds to the experience.
Much is written about the demands of marathon running, as well as stacks of strategies to cope with its fatiguing effects. A recurring theme is to set yourself small goals rather than to allow yourself to become overwhelmed or demotivated by the enormity of the challenge. I borrowed a suggestion I had come across elsewhere, which was to have a pocket stuffed full of jelly babies and to commemorate each mile marker by devouring one. This helped me to stay in the moment rather than focusing on the distance, which is where the anxiety lies.
That isn’t to imply that consuming sweets is some sort of silver bullet. It never fails to surprise me how quickly your mood can change during the latter stages of a marathon. One moment you can feel fairly comfortable and relaxed, and the next minute, lethargy and darkness descends. Analysing my profile on Strava it is easy to identify where things started to go belly-up. Between miles 1-21 I had been churning out 8:30 minute splits with scary regularity. Then the times started to creep upwards, with the penultimate mile at 12:17, reflective of the amount of discomfort (and walking/laboured jogging) I was experiencing. Ian’s encouraging words, and those of the spectators en route, were invaluable – coaxing my tired limbs to persevere, and to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Whilst considerable attention is given to the physical and mental aspects of the marathon, remembering to enjoy the actual experience, not to take it too seriously, and to run with a smile on your face are pointers which are often overlooked. Throughout the course I bellowed encouragement to fellow runners, as well as making a point of showing my gratitude to volunteers and well-wishers (in one case running across the road to ‘high five’ a huddle of supporters from Macmillan).
Finally, those motivated by race bling will undoubtedly be impressed by the finishers’ medal – a weighty object, boasting a striking stag’s head design. This more than compensated for the mediocre ‘goody bag’ which I can’t help but ponder why events such as these persevere with offering such items when most of the contents border on the next to useless.
So all in all, an enjoyable race, which has helped to rekindle my love of long-distance running. Roll on my next venture – the 16 mile Seagrave Challenge in November.
