Marathon Blog

I went into the Hastings Half Marathon having done a total of three 7-8km training runs over five days; around Hyde Park on Tuesday and home from work on Wednesday and Friday. My preparation on Saturday involved eating pasta and rice all day… at least I could do that properly!

At 8.40am on Sunday morning, my brother and I got on the train from Sevenoaks to Hastings. It was a glorious day and I felt pretty good… I think I still had the mentality from last year that a half marathon wasn’t actually that far. Everything went smoothly and for the first time ever I got to the start of a race on time… that was the hard bit over, I told myself.

The race went well for the first 250 metres… and then we hit the first hill. My brother tore off up it and that was the last I saw of him! Perhaps I would have to let him win this one. I kept up a steady plod and resolved that no matter what, I would not walk. At about the 2-mile mark I started to get quite demoralised… it had been uphill all the way and I knew from last year that it would continue to be uphill until around the 7 mile mark. I felt drained of energy and the sun on my back was sapping my strength… how could March be this hot? The next three miles were a real slog and my pace gradually dropped.

Somehow I made it to the five mile mark and the interminable uphill slope became an interminable uphill slope with a few flat bits thrown in. My spirits started to rise as the half way point beckoned. I was able to lengthen my stride when it was flat and I would feel fine until the slightest incline reduced me to back down to near-walking pace. The problem was that there seemed to be no power or spring left in my legs at all… it was like running with a 20kg backpack on.

At last half way! My watch read 52 minutes. Not too bad I thought to myself… and the hard bit was over! I kept up a good pace as we headed back down towards sea level. Occasionally we would hit another uphill bit and each time it reduced me to a crawl… It soon became apparent that gravity was the only thing keeping me going.

The last three miles were along the sea front… it was beautiful, it was flat and there were loads of supporters cheering us on. But I was almost dead. Each mile seemed longer than the last and even the fact that I was approaching the end couldn’t raise my spirits or my pace. I had no energy left and people all around were overtaking me.

With about 250m I perked up a bit and made a last ditch effort to get to the finish line before collapsing. I spotted my brother cheering me on from the side… he looked very fresh.

I crossed the line and stopped my watch. My time was 1:42.14. I then lay on the ground for a very long time.

My brother sidled up to me with a smug expression on his face… he had got 1:27! Amazing considering that in cross country the most they run is 10km!

I was in quite a lot of pain for the rest of the day but it gave me a great deal of satisfaction to know that my brother was in more pain! He had blisters covering the arches of both feet and had managed to bruise the soles of his feet as well… that’ll teach him to run so fast.