Greater Manchester Marathon 2018
A nice easy drive into Trafford from Northwich set the day up nicely. Me being me, I’d arrived stupidly early, so once I’d located the car parks at Old Trafford, I had about 90 minutes to wait for the athlete’s village to open.
By the time I reached the athlete’s village it was already very busy and I was shivering (more with nerves than actual cold). A crowded bag-drop didn’t help, but I was soon out on Bridgewater Way and picking my way over to Start Point B.
There was an acceptance this time around; I’d put in the hard miles and knew that I was capable of 24 miles, on a hilly route, in 2hrs 55mins. But race day is always a mystery and even more of an unknown when you’ve climbed in the region 8,000ft in the week previous. But still, I accepted that whatever would be would be. A little after 9am I passed over the start line.
The first mile was too fast, way too fast; 6.45. I was being swept along by the sub-3hr chasers. I managed to adjust my pace and crept down to just over 7.10 mins per mile, where it stayed, thereabouts, until mile 8. Mile 8 was my first milestone; my “do 8 miles in under an hour” rule, which I hit with around 3 minutes to spare. Good… perhaps not. Despite hitting my first milestone I’d noticed, quite early on, that I was tired. I knew from around 5 miles in it would be a tough one. I trudged on, taking on sips of water and consuming gels to stave off the hungry feeling I’d had all morning.
Just as I was starting to flag, I got a little boost at mile 11; entering Altrincham I spotted my brother-in-law Quinton and my nephew Jordy standing on a traffic island. I just about managed to call across to Quinton for him to see me. Because the route circles around Altrincham, I saw them again at just over 13 miles. I exchanged high fives with them both – Quinton told me I was doing great. I didn’t feel it, but it was a lovely moment in a difficult part of the race.
I was now having to dig deep. I was far more tired than I was at the same point on the course last year. Saying that, I was moving faster. “Get to Carrington and you can have a 20-step walk” I kept telling myself; not that I actually envisaged allowing myself to walk, but it was my way of reaching the next milestone. I was hurting now, really hurting. Entering Flixton at 22 miles I knew I couldn’t sustain the pace. My left hip and hamstring were hurting so much I slowed down to a walking pace for around 20 steps. I felt dizzy and was immediately disappointed that I was now walking. Saying that, when I started running again I managed to pick the pace up a little. I promised myself I’d allow myself another 20 steps when I reached 24 miles.
24 miles and I do just that; another 20 steps at walking pace. At this stage I notice how absolutely exhausted I am. I feel sick and I’m overheating, despite pouring water over my head and back. By now I just want it to be over and don’t care about my finish time, but I managed to keep going, allowing myself two further short walks.
Then, just like that, I’m back on the A56. The crowd is noisy. Someone is blurting motivational messages through the PA. People around me are all fighting the same battle. I have just enough energy to get to the finish. It’s the longest 0.5 of a mile I’ve ever done, but that finish line gets ever closer. As I approach the finish, the PA announcer says my name and tells the crowd I’m raising money for The Christie. I punch the air! I’ve done it! 3 hours, 20 minutes and 23 seconds. A personal best.
It’s not the 3.10 I wanted, but on the drive back to Northwich I have a little blub as I think of my gran and how proud she’d have been and remind myself how far I’ve come. I realise I’m actually quite proud of myself.
As with last year, the event is superbly organised and the support is wonderful. And, most importantly, I raised over £300 for The Christie charity! I’m already signed up for 2019!
