Stanley Marathon 2015

With a week to go until the 2015 Stanley marathon, I was often catching myself wondering where on earth the last year had gone! It was as if I had blinked and lost a year since my first marathon here. The half marathon back in February was now history, and I was feeling good. Despite this, doubts and anxieties are a necessary feature of racing (in any sport I assume), and despite a consistent 6 months of high mileage training, there were plenty of these little demons making an appearance into my (sub)conscious. Have I done enough miles? Did I do enough marathon pace work? Did I taper correctly? Will I be fresh? Can I stand the pain of the inevitably ferocious pace that my nearest adversary would be setting from the gun? For all 26 miles? These questions swill round your head constantly prior to any race, especially a marathon. The last week of the taper is always the worst, as you try to keep as calm as possible, gently reassuring your nerves, as if they were a frightened animal, so as not to expend vital nervous energy on needless worry.

I had taken a slightly different approach to my taper this year - I ran more miles. My last 20+ mile run, which included a good number at my intended marathon pace, was a routine 3 weeks out. What wasn't routine was another high mileage volume week after this. The following Saturday (2 weeks out), I ran another 18 miles, including again a number of marathon pace miles. Week 2 of the taper again saw a drop in overall miles, but only by about 20%. It was the last week that I cut again – to about 50% of my normal weekly mileage. The Saturday and Sunday prior to marathon day, saw me run about 10 miles each, then I ran progressively less each day in the week leading up to the race.

Race day arrives…

That nervous animal I had been trying to coax through the week had got quite jittery on the Saturday afternoon before the race. Until then, I think I had done well to keep it happy. With the increasing numbers of well-wishers bumping into me in school, shops and on the streets, the pressure of expectation began to tell. I was the defending champion after all, and despite my comprehensive loss in the half, the pressure remained high. In the end I decided it was easier to stop going out, so after a quick 2 mile leg stretch at lunchtime, I decided to stay in and put my feet up in front of what turned out to be an enthralling series of 6 Nations rugby battles.

Race briefing - can you spot me?

Olivia competed in the 3km fun run and gained a very credible 4th junior female.

Sunday morning was relaxed(ish). The weather was not perfect, but a world away from the tempestuous conditions of last year. However, we would still be battling a fresh wind on the Stanley By-pass, it was wet and quite cold. I ate my now regular pre-race breakfast of dried fruit, seeds and coconut shavings, with a couple of cups of coffee, then sipped on water – the last thing I wanted to do was stop for a pee going up Sapper Hill! We headed down to registration for about an hour before the race – by this time it was physically impossible to squeeze anything more out of my bowels – apologies for the detail, but fellow racers will empathise.

The start of the race is always tense – a quick shake of hands and wish of good luck to fellow racers, followed by that stillness before the gun. This stillness was suddenly interrupted by the roar of the watching crowd, shouting for me. Being a local teacher and last year's winner had obviously made an impression. The support I received around the whole course was, I have to say, amazing – from start to finish. It was something I will take away with me forever.

Raedy, steady, go! (Photo unsurprisingly supplied by Standard Chartered, the main sponsors.)

All the pre-race anxieties are swept away on the sound of the gun. These are now replaced with the continual mental peaks and troughs of endurance racing. More questions also inevitably surface. Am I running too fast? Too slow? Do I need fluids? Calories? How far am I in front of the guy behind me? Is he (or she!) catching me up? Am I catching the guy in front? As I expected, Matt Blunden set off with a good, hard pace. He had done this in the half, and the combination of trying to stay with him early and the after-effects of a cold had blunted my challenge to him that day. This time around, my plan was to let him go and set the early pace, but try and keep him in sight. It was plain from the start that Matt was gunning for the course record, as he opened a lead of at least 2 minutes by mile 6. At the 10 km mark I checked my time – 35 minutes! I was feeling good still, but could I keep this up? 20 miles still to go…

Race face! (Penguin News)

10 miles in under 1 hour. I was still feeling good, and the PB was well and truly on! I had also noticed that I had started to make some ground on Matt ahead. We were on one of the hardest sections of the race now, as the wind, albeit less severe as last year, was keenly blowing into our faces. This section is also mostly uphill – not steep at all but continual for about 5 miles. Buoyed by my gains, I pressed on. Mile 13 is possibly the most challenging. The gradient increases and the wind really hits you. This was also a turnaround point of the race, so you can really judge how far away your competitors are. It was quite obvious now that I had made even more gains on Matt (and extended my lead on third place). The hammer needed to go down now.

Around one of the toughest points of the race - but I knew I was making ground.

The totem pole - near to 18 miles.

Mile pace was ferocious over the next 6 miles – at times as low as 5 minutes 30 – and quicker than I had trained for over this distance. I was still feeling ok, however, and at the 18 mile mark, I had closed on Matt even further. The last turnaround point for the race is between 19 and 20 miles, at Stanley airport. It was here the gap was down to 30 seconds. It was also now that I started to really believe I could pull a surprise off. Just one nagging doubt in my mind: would the effort to catch Matt hurt me in the late stages of the race? The 18 – 20 mile point of a marathon is quite pivotal. This is the point where marathons are won or lost and PBs are gained or missed. By mile 22 I was suddenly on Matt's shoulder. It was quite surreal really, as I had just spent the whole race trying to catch up to the RAF blue in front of me, but was now, so close to the end, in front. I purposely reigned in my pace, staying with Matt for a bit. I was worried my strength and pace was about to falter. Half a mile later, however, I decided to test out his legs. A quick spurt of effort and I could no longer hear him breathing behind me.

The last 3 miles was a mix of emotions: fear of still being caught by Matt, relief the end of the race was in sight, joy at knowing I was on for a huge PB, shock I actually leading the race and finally pain from the effort and pace I had just put in for the last 2 and half hours. It took me until about mile 25 to finally believe I was actually going win. Coming over the finish line, I was greeted by the familiar sight of Caz and the girls. Their support had been amazing all the way around.

So close now...

Passing Matt almost outside my front door!

Phew... (Photo by Penguin News)

Yes. That hurt.  (Photo by penguin news)

I could not have asked for more: a new PB (2.35.39), having smashed the old course record, which had stood since 2010, by over 7 minutes and first place. Matt came in just over 2 minutes later, beating the old course record himself by 5 minutes. All I had to do now was face the obligatory FI TV and FI radio interviews, before going for a gentle run down of a mile or so. To be honest, I was still in shock. I needed a cup of tea.

Another big trophy and cheque. 

Race Point

I've had this ready to publish for nearly 2 week now, but just haven't got round to it. Marathons, work and other things have made it a rather busy 2 weeks, causing this to be rather older news (but interesting all the same - he boldly claims!). After marathon success last weekend, I am sorry to say that I will be subjecting you to yet another race report style blog, but that is for next time. 

Well, it was the half term holiday down here in the South Atlantic and we took the opportunity for an escape to the country (or 'Camp' in the Falklands' case) for a couple of nights. Our escape consisted of a drive for a couple of hours into North Camp territory, to Port San Carlos, to stay at Race Point Farm. This was the area of the landing of the British task force sent down by Maggie Thatcher to liberate the islands from the Argentine hordes, back in 1982. Due to the sinking of the Atlantic Conveyor and the loss of all the Chinook transport helicopters, the marines and paras were then forced to yomp and tab from here to Stanley, before liberating the local population in some fierce close range fighting on the mountains approaching the capital. There were a few reminders of this time to be seen on our walks in and around the farm.

The drive out to the farm was fairly uneventful, apart from the section of river we had to drive through, as the bridge had been closed off. Thankfully, rain had not been too heavy in recent weeks, so the river was low. Driving in Camp is always extremely scenic and the drive to North Camp is no exception. Expect to have a thoroughly muddy car on arrival to your destination however!

A gloriously sunny scene greeted us at the farm.

The final leg of the drive to Port San Carlos and Smylies Farm (where we stayed) is spectacular, with beautiful views. This was definitely helped by a lovely sunny day. The owners of the farm were out for the weekend, but the door of the self-catering cottage was left open. It has been renovated in recent years and is an extremely clean and comfortable place to stay, able to sleep up to 8. I thoroughly recommend a stay if you are ever in the islands.

Our very comfortable lodgings - even boasted a working mirror.

On arrival, we grabbed some lunch (from the mountain of food we seemed to have packed for the 2 nights) and then decided to take advantage of the sunny weather and head out for a walk down the coast. Sunday's forecast was not so kind, with rain on its way.

Tucked away in a quiet corner.

Bone collector...

The walk turned out to be extremely pleasant, despite weary legs from my long marathon training run in the morning, before we left Stanley. We passed an old family cemetery tucked away in a rare wooded area, spotted numerous vultures and even a Variable Hawk out hunting. After an hour of easy walking, we made it to a little sheltered cove, where we sat in the sun and Evie made a rather morbid collection of sheep skulls, complete with removable molars and lower mandibles. Following a pleasant 30 minutes lying in the sun, we decided to head back to the holiday cottage, for a relaxing evening of drinking a few glasses of wine and watching the sun slip gently from the evening sky, over some quite delightful views.

Scene from the walk.

Evening views with wine - both turned out to be somewhat palatable.

Local turkey vultures - vampires of the sky. 

A dawn chorus of barking from the farm dogs woke us from our slumbers on Sunday morning. Unfortunately, this was also accompanied by the dance of rain on the roof and windows. As forecast the rain was here. Luckily, it appeared to be showers rather than continual rain, so we decided to set out for more walking after a lazy start. The farm is set at the bottom of a small mountainous ridge (named Settlement Rocks). The top looked very reachable, even for Evie's small legs, so wrapped up well; we set off for a Sunday trek up a hill.

Come on girls - it's a beautiful day for a walk up a mountain!

With increasingly breathtaking views the higher we climbed, the end destination was well worth the effort. Rugged and windswept, the peak unveiled rock formations that looked like they had been shaped by human hands, as well as some tantalising reminders of the Conflict, with the remains of the marine and paratrooper dug-outs complete with ammo and storage boxes left behind. Ten minutes of exploration of this lofty height, meant legs were rested after the climb. All that was left to do now was to ease ourselves down the hill, with the wind in our backs and head back for a well-earned lunch.

Time capsule. Relics of the Conflict.

More 1982 memories.

The direction my run on Monday
would take me...

The Sunday climb had lit the fires of adventure within me, so I set the alarm for early Monday morning. I had packed the Inov-8s just in case there was an opportunity to venture off-road. As rosy-fingered dawn made her appearance I set off, making my steady way up to the top of Settlement Rocks. From there, I followed the high ridge, all the way to another lofty peak about 2 miles further. It was slow going, as there was no path at all and I had to be careful not to disappear down any muddy holes. After about 40 or 50 minutes of scrambling, walking and climbing (and very little actual running!), I made it to the top of my target peak. My only regret at this stage was that I had not brought the camera. With very little wind, it was a truly beautiful scene, with the landscape stretching out before me from this lofty height – so peaceful.

Like protruding rotting teeth.

In stark contrast, the return journey to the cottage was not nearly so serene. It had begun to rain quite heavily now and I made the decision to take a different route back. I thought it would be quicker to head straight down from this peak to the coast and follow the path of the walk we had taken on the day of our arrival. Easy!
Forty minutes later, with some very wet feet, feeling increasingly tired, hungry and thirsty, I had clumsily navigated my way through at times waist high grasses and gorse, nearly twisted both ankles, run my way through a number of grumpy looking cows (as well as their excrement) and had received a painful shock from the fence keeping them in the field. I finally made it to the coast. Wrong decision there! At least it was easy running from now. I needed some breakfast. 

So that was our weekend over. It had been a really relaxing and quiet change to the 'rat-race' of Stanley, and definitely somewhere we would return to. 

Don't move Olivia, it might fall over!

Last rock picture I promise.

Not a rock! A foal, after a lump of sugar I reckon. 

Race reports: Stormforce 10 and Cape Pembroke Half Marathon

It has been while since I have put finger-tip to keyboard (pen to paper is so 20^th century), so I thought it was about time I wrote about something mildly interesting. To be honest we haven't actually done anything that was worthy of a blog entry over the last few months. Last winter was dark, felt long and was definitely cold. At the same time, work was busy, stressful and tiring. Christmas and New Year were spent on a long overdue pilgrimage to the mother land – a blissful 4 weeks of seeing family and friends, walking on windswept beaches and coastlines and running on the old training routes. This was followed by the inevitable epic journey back to the South Atlantic, which, due to an overnight stopover in London and a frustrating 5 hour delay (due to high winds at our destination in the Falklands) in Ascension, took far longer than it should have. I then had 3 days to pick myself up, dust myself down and prepare for the next round in the boxing match of work.

Storm clouds are gathering

Before we left the UK, Caz and I competed in the first round of the Cornish Road Running Grand Prix Series, the Stormforce 10, in Camborne. We were both using it for a qualification time to go towards our selection to run for the Falklands at the Small Island Games at the end of June (more on that below), so we were both hoping for good times. This was to be the second qualification race for us both. We had recently raced over 10 miles in Stanley, in very windy conditions. Unfortunately, I was beaten into second by a recently arrived and very strong RAF runner (Matt Blunden). I wasn’t unhappy about the result however, as I managed to finish in just under the hour, when at times it felt like I was running backwards in the wind. Caz finished well, coming in under the 80 minute mark and taking 1^st lady.

We were both hoping for quicker times at Stormforce. While not flat, the course is not the hilliest, and it was doubtful that we would encounter the same ferocity of wind as a typical day's running in the Falklands. It was quite a buzz to be back racing in Cornwall, and something I have missed in recent years. The usual pre-race excitement electrified the air, as 500 or so people donned numbers, warmed up muscles and eyed-up the opposing club colours. Caz and I were definitely in the minority with our Falkland Islands running vests, which prompted the remark of 'a long way to come to race' on more than 1 occasion.

My race strategy was going to be pretty simple – to try and stay with the leaders as long as I could and then see how it goes from there. Training had been going pretty well. I had been putting in consistently high weekly mileage for months now, which had included some speed work (although probably not enough), and I was relatively injury free (aside from the odd overuse niggle that my tendency to over train often results in). As the race started the leading pack of 4 or 5 runners launched themselves into their quickening pace. I was initially conservative and hung a little way off them, however, after a mile or so I appeared to be catching them. By 3 miles I was with the 2 front runners (Tony Brewer and Justin Thomas) and feeling good. In fact at mile 4 I was leading the race and starting to feel confident. Triumphant visions of Cornishman headlines started to appear in my head: Triumphant Return for South Atlantic Runner, Tim Drew Causes a Stir…

…then came the inevitable, with my legs making the decision they were not actually going to play ball with my glory seeking mind. After pushing the pace up the first significant hill and turning onto a short muddier off-road section of the race, I appeared to lose all power, my breathing began to flounder and suddenly there was a gap of about a minute between myself and the other 2 front runners. Gone were the thoughts of triumph and success, replaced now by increasingly irrational visions of stumbling across the finish line in last place. Such thoughts were not helped by being pushed down into 4^th place, as Colin Snook from Cornwall AC came flying past. This was not going well now!

By mile 7, my legs appeared to have rallied. I was running strong again, and although I could not quite close the gap between myself and the first 3, it certainly wasn't getting bigger. I was feeling good again and had a strong last section of the race. I finally crossed the line in 4^th overall, with a pretty reasonable time of 56.35 (90 seconds off the winner). Apart from the 2 or 3 mile meltdown in the middle of the race, I was happy – this was close to my 2009 PB at this distance.

Thoughts now turned to Caz. She was aiming to beat her Stanley 10 time, so everything was expectantly crossed as I waited on the finish line. 3 or 4 cups of water, a free post-race recovery banana and 15 minutes later, the determined face of Caz crossed the line. She had beaten her time by 4 minutes, coming in at 1.15.55. A good day's racing for us both. Next stop was a slap-up meal with grandparents at the Newlyn Meadery.

Let Battle Commence

And they're off...

Will my beard make me go faster?

The Cape Pembroke Half Marathon is the main event hosted by the Stanley Running Club. It would also serve as another qualification race for the runners hoping to go to the Island Games in June. The weather forecast was for light winds and I had been able to put in another 3 weeks of quality training since Stormforce, so I was hopeful that the ingredients were there for a PB. This was also to be my main preparation race for the coming Stanley marathon at the end of March, so a PB in the half would boost my confidence for my crack at a good PB at that race. All was looking good; that is until I succumbed to the bad cold, kindly passed onto me from Caz, on the Tuesday before the race. By Thursday, I was well and truly feeling awful and cursing my luck that, being someone who rarely gets ill, this had to be the week for it to happen. Obviously being male meant my illness was as serious as it gets and a medivac helicopter was on stand-by to get me to the airport for transfer to a specialist influenza unit in the UK. I must have caught a much stronger strain of the cold than Caz had come down with the Sunday before. Thankfully, by Friday I was feeling better, although my quick 2 mile leg stretch left me feeling low in energy, with a few breathing issues.

Race day arrived with its promised light winds and sun. The usual pre-race nerves set in – the wait to start is always the worse part of racing. A record 80 participants had entered, with lots from Mount Pleasant and the Antarctic patrol vessel, HMS Protector, which had come into Stanley in the last few days. It is always difficult to assess the quality of your fellow racers, especially with so many unknown faces, although the friendly faces of Matt from the RAF, as well as some old familiar Stanley runners were present.

Once again, my intended race strategy was very simple. Stick with Matt as long as possible and hope he pulls me to a good PB. This strategy was pretty much blown apart from the off, as Matt shot off like a rocket. He later told me that his first mile was 5 minutes exactly, so no wonder I struggled to keep with him. The pace was fierce. By 2 miles he had stretched a good lead – this was going to be a hard race.

Tough underfoot!

The Cape Pembroke Half is characterised by a challenging 5 miles off-road section around the lighthouse. We were lucky that it was quite dry this year, but the constant shifting of levels and changes of underfoot terrain, ranging from soft sand, wet, muddy peat and large and loose shale-like scree (which is possibly the worst surface in the world to run on), made the going very tough and heavy. I really felt that I was struggling on this section of the race, and the after effects of the cold that week began to tell on my breathing. I had given up on living with Matt's pace, but kept going as hard as I could, which didn't feel particularly effective at this point.

With relief, at about mile 7 or 8 the race hit the road again and I found that my legs, stride, lungs and mental state began to even out a bit more. In fact for the next 2 miles I even felt that I began to make some distance back on Matt ahead. I had no idea on how the race behind me was playing out. After struggling so badly around the lighthouse, I was expecting to be battling hard to maintain my second position, but this never materialized. I would find out at the finish that 3^rd place was well behind me at that point.

Post-race photo for 1st and 2nd. Well done Matt - awesome running!

Crossing the finish line in 2^nd place, I was greeted by my cheering children, as well as the pleasant news that I had just run a PB of 1.13.05. I had just knocked over 3 minutes off my last PB, and as a bonus, I also discovered it was a minute quicker than the previous course record, set a few years before. Unfortunately, this did not mean I was the new record holder. That honour belonged to Matt in 1st place, with an awesome time of 1.10.00. Caz came in a little later, with a great time and new PB of 1.36.24 – a huge 10 minutes quicker than last year. She was happy with her time, but a little disappointed to be just pipped to 3^rd place lady by someone in the military.

Caz smashing it!

Having put in my last big week of full training for the coming marathon, I am just now going into a steady 3 week taper. Training has gone well and it has been consistent with little interruption from injury, so I cannot complain on that front. My long runs have been quicker than last year, with lots more emphasis on my intended marathon race pace in them. I would have to admit that I haven't done as much interval work as last year, but my overall weekly mileage has been consistently higher. I just have to prey to the weather gods to be kind now – surely we will not have a repeat of the conditions from last year…

Once the marathon is out of the way, training will switch to a slightly shorter focus. Although my heart has been pulling towards ultra-distance running over the last few years, both Caz and I have been selected to represent the Falklands in the Small Island Games, which is to be held in Jersey this coming June/July. The event will be the half marathon, as there is no marathon at the Games. It looks to be an exciting trip, with travel, accommodation and team kit being provided, and something that will definitely be worth postponing my ultra marathon ambitions for half a year. I have secured 2 weeks leave from work, albeit unpaid, and my parents have even booked accommodation on the island to come over and watch. It promises to be a good trip, not least because it means we will miss 2 weeks of a Falklands winter at the same time! I will keep you posted on the training. 

As a footnote can I thank the Penguin News for the great photos of the Cape Pembroke Half.