I had the considerable honour in October 2024 of representing England in my age group at the marathon distance. I have to pinch myself that I’m writing that sentence. Although my running has progressed nicely over the past decade, I never imagined I would reach this sort of level.
Before I reflect on the special day itself representing my country (next blog, coming shortly), I’ll recap here on the events that led to my selection.
Following my 2:30 PB at Valencia in December last year, I then had the smoothest and best marathon block of my life; every session went to plan, and I fully expected to break 2:30 at London in April. Sadly, something just wasn’t right on the day, and my heart rate started high, and kept rising. I ran for over two hours above my threshold, clinging on for dear life and finishing again in 2:30. To this day, I don’t know how I did it (a very high carb intake certainly helped), but I seriously wouldn’t recommend it; it was a wild and thoroughly unpleasant physical and mental battle.
At the finish line, there were seriously mixed feelings. I was proud of how I’d grafted for a good time and sizeable course PB when I was clearly not at my physical best (it turned out to be a cold that reared its head a couple of days later), but gutted not to go sub 2:30. Added to that was then having to deal with the emotional weight of explaining all the above to expectant family, friends, and clients, who had all assumed 2:29 was a done deal. We all know marathons don’t work like that though. Unlike shorter distances which can be, to some extent, blagged, the marathon will expose any weakness, any chink in the armour. London 2024 was also a big lesson to me in the value, sometimes, of keeping my cards a little closer to my chest in the build up to a race.
My coach wanted me to salvage some positivity from the block, and suggested I consider a last minute entry to Milton Keynes Marathon in early May, since it was the last of the year’s qualifying events for Masters marathon qualification for an England vest. If I could patch myself up quickly and recover in time for this (just fifteen days after London), and then finish among the top three M35 group (since I was still 39 at the time), I would be selected for England. It was a risk, but based on previous years’ results, it did seem possible, so I went for it and booked that day. Perhaps this was a classic post-marathon knee-jerk response, but there wasn’t time for indecision, as I think I took literally the last place available (I had to email the organisers, as it had officially sold out that morning). As per London lessons, I kept this race a secret from all but about five people in a bid to take the pressure off.
Within a day of booking, the aforementioned cold symptoms appeared, and perhaps unsurprisingly, given the exertions at London, they persisted right up until MK. My normally robust immune system had taken an absolute beating around the capital, and despite an array of pharmaceuticals and my trusty vitamin C + zinc, it wouldn’t shift.
Milton Keynes arrived, and despite the sniffles, it was time to deliver the best that I could on the day and hope it would be good enough for that top three M35 place. I had been led to believe that it was a ‘fast, fairly flat’ course, but although it was a scenic and well organised event that I would certainly do again, it was apparent from early on that this course description was not at all accurate.
Annoyingly, within the first mile I experienced the same heart rate issue from London. It shot up during what should have been a really sensible start, pace-wise, and again it just kept climbing scarily towards threshold. The dread started to grip me. I wasn’t sure if I could do this all over again.
Then, just as I was about to go deep into a negative spiral, I was distracted and saved by Mark, an affable and like-minded guy from Durham. We met at about mile five, and then spent the next twelve or so miles running together, chatting a bit and just generally encouraging each other through tough moments. He was M45, but a very similar standard to me (2:30 at Seville 2024), and with similar aspirations for the day. The non-stop undulations and tight turns of the course were actually helping too, both as a distraction from me being a slave to pace, and also with the downhills providing opportunities for heart rate to settle a bit. However, without Mark I would probably have DNF’d regardless.
We went through halfway (the first loop of two) together in seventh and eighth place overall, which we knew would probably be enough for both of us to be top three in our age groups. However, it transpired that everyone else had misread the course too, and we started to reel people in. Despite slowing down ourselves, we were gaining on everyone in front of us, and one by one, started to pick them off.
At no stage was I feeling comfortable, but I think my London experience had given me extra confidence of pushing closer to my physical limits, and I had to leave Mark with a few miles to go. Spectators and marshals informed me that third place, then second, and finally even first place were not far in front, and I started to wonder if I could win this.
In the final mile, I overtook that final runner and took the lead. I was running on fumes by this point, but figured he must be too, so I just had to grind it out (including one last killer hill which we’d all been dreading from loop one). Once that was safely negotiated, I looked round and knew that I was clear. My wobbly legs got me round the MK Stadium finish as best they could, weaving past the half marathon finishers, and I burst through a hastily assembled finish line ribbon and promptly collapsed, gasping like a fish out of water.
2:37 was the finishing time; not especially impressive on paper, but this tells you nothing of the race itself. Not only had I secured top three M35 and done what I came to do, I had won a city marathon of nearly 2000 runners. Most importantly, this would mean I would qualify for that England vest. I was chuffed to see Mark soon finish in third place overall too, and it felt fitting to share the podium with him a little later. After allowing myself a few moments to bask in the glory, I jogged to the train station to get back to London and resume Sunday afternoon daddy duties, trying to explain to little Ray that I’d just won a big race.
A few weeks later I received email confirmation of my selection for England. What a moment! The representative ‘international’ marathon would be in Chester in October, which was totally at odds with the rest of my training schedule for 2024, but I wasn’t going to miss this moment; I booked Chester later that day.
The following summer months of running were really up and down, with more misses than hits. My 5k block was punctuated with too many races, but also too many fun weekends in quick succession: in Germany at the Euros, at Glastonbury, and then my 40th birthday parties ( dietitians and coaches need downtime too), which meant that I struggled for consistency and rhythm. Results were all over the place, and my 5k PB of 15:55 was never under threat. It goes to show how difficult it is to be on peak form all year.
The inconsistency continued into autumn, with solid outings at Sri Chinmoy 10k (33:19) and my hilly home town Frome Half Marathon (73:55, second place) followed by a chastening day at a humid Big Half (74:28) in early September. To compound the uncertainty, I managed to break my toe on holiday in Cornwall the week after, swinging my leg around and smashing my bare foot on a sofa leg while looking after Ray (a very similar injury to this time last year…I really must be more careful around the house). I knew exactly what to do this time though, so I strapped the toe, started cross training on day one, and waited for the pain to subside sufficiently to resume running. Luckily this was even quicker than last year – less than a week – and no fitness was lost. Next stop (and next blog) Chester…and England vest time.
