Chester Marathon 2018
As the town crier sounded the race start klaxon, a few thousand runners made their way off the Roodee Racecourse. I was one of them. I'd managed to get fairly close to the front pen, just behind the 3 hour pacers. As we left the racecourse and headed onto the city's streets, I broke into a comfortable stride and pace. I started to move a little quicker than the 3 hour pacers; I wasn't too concerned about this as I'd probably slow down at some point and end up behind them. We passed under the Eastgate Clock; I smiled as I reminded myself how much training I'd put in for this. I was hoping to finish as close to the 3 hour mark as I could.
Passing over the Old Dee Bridge and out of the city I glanced at my watch, I was running at around 6.42 minutes per mile; about 8 seconds per mile faster than the pacing group. Again, I wasn't too concerned; I felt really comfortable and so I carried on at that pace. The route heads south along Eaton Road and then bears west on Rake Lane. After a slight incline, Rake Lane flattened out and in the distance I could see the Welsh mountains. It was a lovely view. I remember thinking to myself how perfect the conditions were; it was around 10 degrees Celsius with no wind and the sun was shining.
Passing through the village of Belgrave, the route deviates south east along the aptly named Straight Mile; a long straight drag of a country lane. Doubling back, the route then heads through Pulford and Darland, following the long and relentless Rossett Road. I kept glancing at my watch and continued to be surprised by my fast and consistent pace; I was still hovering around 6.42 minutes per mile. I was also surprised by how comfortable I felt; I hoped it would last.
Having crossed the border into Wales, just before the halfway point the course makes a little out and back and then loops, just outside the village of Borras. This was the first point on the course where I had faster runners running towards me. The leader, Mohammed Abu-Rezeq, wizzed past. The runner next to me did the pacing maths out loud..."Two hours....twenty five...?....depending on the hills at the end"...he was spot on.
As I hit 13.1 miles I realised I'd just run my fastest half marathon (1 hour 28 minutes) and it was at this point that I started to wobble, mentally at least. I started to worry I'd over-baked my pace and that a 'bonk' was imminent. I remembered what my [record breaking] colleague had told me the week before; keep smiling, tell my legs to shut up and ignore the negative thoughts. This really did keep me going over the next few miles.
Another five miles rattled by and my pace remained consistent. As I hit seventeen miles I was confronted with the first big hill on the route. Passing back into England in the village of Holt, the hill was short but steep; a real energy-sapper. As I reached the top I tried to get back in control of my breathing. I realised at this point that I was wobbling and the negative thoughts began to take over.
I hit eighteen miles at 2 hours bang on. This was a significant achievement as it meant, in theory at least, I only needed to run at eight miles per hour, give or take, for the remaining hour in order to hit the 3 hour mark. I can comfortably run at eight miles per hour...but the test was to run at that pace having already run eighteen. At this stage I wish someone had slapped me, poured water over my head and said "get a grip...you can do this". No one did. I managed another three miles at a sub-7 minute mile pace and then I hit the wall. All energy seemed to drain from me in the space of two or three minutes. I had five miles to go and I could see it ebbing away. As I approached twenty-two miles my pace dropped massively. I felt like I needed to walk just to get the urge out of my system. This helped, but it was gutting watching the 3 hour pacers, who I'd been in front of for so long, push on past me. Still I carried on.
My parents had said they would come to watch me near the end and had planned to be somewhere near the twenty-four mile mark. I tried to pull myself together as I didn't want them to see me struggling. Just as I entered Huntington I saw them at the side of the road. I started waving and they waved back, giving me cheers of "go on Dan!". It was a lovely moment and it really helped me to get through the hardest part of the race.
Coming out of Huntington and back into the city there's another nasty hill and this one nearly did me in. By this point I felt sick, I was dizzy and I just wanted to stop. I don't know who she was, but a lovely marshal told me that it was all downhill after this... her words helped me to muster enough strength to pick the pace up.
Re-emerging in the city centre and following the river path by the Dee, I worked out that if I held it together I could hit 3 hours 8 minutes. This was my original target that I'd earmarked months ago, and I was buoyed by this. I have virtually no recollection of the final half mile; all I remember is coming under the Old Dee Bridge and appearing on the race course. It was a sight for sore eyes. I sprinted, as best I could, around the curve and through the finish line. I'd done it, 3 hours 8 minutes and 30 seconds.
A race marshal shook my hand (what a lovely gesture!) and another marshal placed the medal around my neck. I hobbled back to the car. As I sat in the car I kicked myself for not sticking with it when the going got tough at twenty-two miles, but then smiled to myself as I realised I'd taken 12 minutes off my previous PB.
As I drove back to Northwich I kept thinking about what a superb event the Chester Marathon is...why can't they all be like this? I'm already signed up for 2019.
