A Tale of Two Marathons
My Racing 'Failures' and How I Feel About Them Now- Part 2
I’m hoping it isn’t an obvious thing to say- and that I’m in good company here with people who won’t roll their eyes at me- but, I really, really love running. Even after all these years I’m still learning, still reflecting. Still tweaking training plans, adding ingredients in, taking ingredients out, just like a well-loved, well used handed down recipe. And when those stars align on race day, it literally is the best experience ever.
Of course, this takes time, it takes practice and it takes failure- many failures mixed in with lots of tears. Because we’re not machines or robots, we’re individuals with our own stories, our own baggage, pressures and expectations and we all need our own running ‘recipes’.
The more I run, the more I coach and the more people that I meet, the more convinced I am that running is 97% mindset, 3% physical capability. Of course, experience counts for a huge proportion of how we perform on race day - research suggests that elite and high-level athletes have an increased pain tolerance compared to non-runners and being able to tolerate pain doesn’t happen overnight, we all have a pain threshold - when pain begins to be felt- but being able to tolerate pain when it begins to be unbearable is the art of knowing when to grit or quit.
Success for me personally is being able to keep challenging myself, keep a consistent pace throughout a race and finish stronger than when I started; oh, and to keep a bit of grace and dignity over the finish line. Longevity in running is too important to me to break myself chasing PBs, I want to stay strong, and as a consequence this has become my running super-strength. Through trial and much error, this is how running showed me who I am.
A Tale of Two Marathons
In October 2021 I ran Liverpool marathon, my first marathon since 2014, and after my devastating late stage drop out at Paris in 2018 which I wrote about here. I know how hard and demanding marathon training is, but after a hiatus of 7 years, I felt ready to take on the challenge again. I was running 50 miles a week, plus 2 strength and conditioning sessions, I’d stopped drinking and the time just felt right. However, the big gap in my training plan was speed, I can admit now that I feared adding intensity sessions into my plan, I’d paid a high price in the past.
Because I was on a roll, I’d also entered Paris marathon again, scheduled 6 months after Liverpool, and whilst running 2 marathons in 6 months is not something I’d usually advise, Paris marathon holds a special place in my heart, so for me, these 2 marathons so close together was my personal 2021 challenge.
My training went well for Liverpool, but, introspectively, I put too much pressure on myself to do it “right”- coaching was after all my now full time profession, training people to become runners, and coaching them for races and marathons. I felt an intense, and most likely entirely self-inflicted, lens on me to show “everyone” that I was credible and not an imposter.
Personally, running coach or not, I’ve never been a huge fan of being tracked during a race, but my running club RunVerity had lots of members running Liverpool Marathon as well, so I knew there would be a buzz of excitement and anticipation as we all crossed the start line, knowing our support crew at home would all be cheering us on virtually and wishing us well, and I felt it was my duty to participate and be part of the tracked pack.
My race day strategy was to start on my own, away from my members, but once down at the start line, I got completely caught up in the party atmosphere, the beat of the music coupled with being allowed to mingle again after Covid, hadn’t it felt like forever since runners had been penned in for a mass start, I’d hated the lonely phased starts during COVID and suddenly, I didn’t want to be alone, I wanted to share this moment with my team.
The next deviation from my race day strategy was to do exactly what I tell every single one of my runners not to do- I went out too fast. I felt fantastic, fresh, fit and buzzing from the crowds, seeing other RunVerity members as we looped past each other, waving excitedly to each other, easy to spot in our collective red RV race day tops. And just like every other runner who starts out too fast, I convinced myself that it would be fine!
Ever so slowly, the pressure I’d put on myself to “be credible” - all became too much as I convinced myself that the imaginary audience looking at my stats were gleefully chuckling “oh she went out too fast, look at that, she’ll pay for that at the end”. Suddenly the pacing wasn’t perfect, the race wouldn’t be perfect and I wouldn’t be the perfect coach, if I couldn’t do it, how could I expect anyone else to listen to my advice?! The imaginary audience got louder and louder in my head. And the pressure started to spread.
I dropped back, but it was too late. Every step was suddenly painful, every runner around me annoyed me intensely- the 2 girls “jeffing” and chatting, the people enjoying their morning walk across the path in the parks across the marathon route. Even the lonely streets as we left the main city began to really piss me off- where were all the live bands we were promised? This was “billed” as the Rock n Roll Marathon!
I started to convince myself that, actually, I really didn’t need to run another marathon, who needs (another) medal anyway?, I don’t even like medals!
By mile 20 I made the decision that I’d been toying with since mile 12- I ripped off the tracking chip from my race bib. I had to survive this race. My usual coping strategy is to take flight and since it would still be a long, lonely walk back to the finish, I felt the only option available was to stop being tracked. To cut the cord between me and the online audience I felt were watching my every step. The pressure was immediately released, phew!
But no, it didn’t make the last 6 miles any easier. When it hurts, it really bloody hurts- but experience has taught me that it would eventually end so I dug deep and I did it. I finished without any whooping, or feeling of elation. Not one ounce of celebration. Instead, on stopping my watch immediately over the line, I asked one of my running coaches “How do I remove this from Strava?” closely followed by “I’m never running a marathon again”. I hated it, almost every last second.
Fast forward to 6 months later when I was set to run the Paris Marathon, and the race couldn’t have been more different. The training was the same, 50-mile weeks, strength and conditioning, still no alcohol, still no speed. But this time, the crucial difference was I took the pressure off myself to be perfect, and I stopped fixating on who might be observing me and focused instead on what I wanted.
I made a plan with my running buddy Jason and we ran together. I wanted a negative split; the first time I ran Paris in 2008 I achieved a negative split before I even knew what it meant, and I wanted to feel that naivety of running again, with no pressure, I wanted to feel the pure joy of just running because I could and because I enjoyed it.
The atmosphere of Paris was electric, again a party feeling, but this time I didn’t get so caught up in the chaos and set off slower (just 20 secs slower, but boy do those seconds make a difference) than my overall race pace. I forced myself to ease into it, and just ran one mile at a time. I whooped at the French firemen and clapped the live bands, but I also concentrated, I listened to my body, dropped back when I felt myself increasing my pace, until I was in the second half of the race.
It was still hard, of course- running marathons isn’t easy and I had to dig deep for the last 5k. It hurt but I already knew that I could tolerate the pain, I knew that I had to suffer to achieve my goal, and I knew it would end. But this time, I felt no one was watching. There was no imaginary audience in my mind waiting and eager to mock me.
The images below show the difference in paces, the left-hand side is Paris, the right-hand side Liverpool; you can see the difference in the start and the finish, and you can literally see where I choked in Liverpool. Physically I was the exact same person, my overall heart rate and the overall average pace is approx. the same, but was happening in my head made all the difference to how it felt.
So, if you are feeling pressure for your next race, try not to let it choke you. Try to just run it because you can, as if no one is watching and you’re not planning to put your time on socials the second you finish. And if the pressure does get to you or has got to you and you wind up feeling any sense of failure- learn from it, then move on. None of us are the end product just yet, we have plenty of time (hopefully) and plenty more runs and races to do.
