First, thank you for the comments you left after my last post. As will have been apparent, it represented something of a low in the Moobs household and your support was both welcome and comforting. You are special people.
Secondly, many thanks to those of you who sponsored my latest assault on the London Marathon. Set out below (within hours of the finish) is my report.
For the first time I ran the race with a target time in mind: 4 Hours 30 minutes. Those of you who have run marathons will know that that represents a sedate meander around the course. Nevertheless, it was intended as a challenge to myself. A goal I kept in mind during the long and boring hours of training.
Things looked very good. I had managed 4 hours 38 in Dublin last October, despite having walked the last 3 or 4 miles as a result of cramp and had run the Silverstone Half-Marathon in 1 Hour 53. As a result of a case settling I had had plenty of sleep, no stress and an ample opportunity to cram my face with enough carbs to cause the late lamented Dr Atkins to rise like an Apollo rocket from his grave and chase me down the street awaving lo-carb snacks in his grisly skeletal hand.
This just left one factor to be dealt with: The Marathon Curse of Moobs. Every time I run one wholly unseasonal weather settles in. It is always ridiculously hot when I run. To give you an example. I set off to run the 2004 New York Marathon in thermals only to have the temperature rise to 70 degrees: the result was that I got cramp. Those of you who know New York will no doubt be thinking: “Ha! that is not an unusal temperature for NYC”. Well, smartypants, it is IN NOVEMBER. I ran London in 2005 and baked and sizzled as I staggered home.
Today the temperature reached 23 degrees c (or 74 degrees farenheit) – in April?!. Oh and the wonderful British climate chucked in, as a little bonus, some high humidity.
If you are Paul Tergat, the great Kenyan Marathon runner, or if you live on the surface of the Sun, that is not a particularly troubling temperature. If you are, let us euphemise, a “larger gentleman” it is freaking hellish. I set off at a decent pace and at 30 k (about three quarters of the way through the race) I was running a 4 hour pace which, allowing for the tendency of portly gentlemen to slow over the last 10k, equated to about a 4 hour 15 finish time. So chock full of carbs was I that my fuel tank was telling me I had plenty left. I did stop to have a pee, reasoning that as I had drunk 6 litres of fluid there must me something to come out only to find that my bladder as as dry as blotting paper. This should have been my warning; as, indeed, should the salt.
As I ran my body tried to deal with the heat by making me sweat like a plough horse. Slowly my clothes began to stiffen with crystallised salt. By mile 20, tiny saline stalactites were forming on my running vest. There were visible salt tidemarks on my hat and shorts and wiping my brow caused a rapid exfoliation. I was turning into Lot’s wife.
I knew full well where this was headed. Shortly after the 20 mile mark I felt a twinge in my calf. I slowed my pace. 200 metres later my left foot, calf and thigh went into spasm. The only way I could deal with the pain was to kneel on the road and making little yelping noises like a highland terrier. From then on the race consisted of me staggering from one St John’s Ambulance tent to another and having them massage the leg out of spasm. The last attack was with just 400 metres to go.
So I finished, I have a medal and a time, just shy of 5 hours, which is 20 minutes off my PB. A time so embarrassing I can barely make myself type it. I am, ladies and gentlemen, a loser. However, I comfort myself that charity has benefited from my pain and, tonight, I intend to reacquaint myself with the taste of Belgian beer.
Once again, thank you to those who sponsored me.
5 hours is a heck of a lot better than I’d have managed! Well done. Can I sponsor you retroactively? Somehow I missed the build-up to this.
I blame the government’s low salt message. I have no idea if you pay any notice of it, perhps you have a high salt diet, but until further notice I’m blaming the government.
That is bloody brilliant. A loser? What are you talking about? You finished a marathon despite suffering from salty-itis*! I am in awe.
*may not be recognised medical terminology.
Excellent work, Moobs. I am on this Saturday, quaking at the thought of half your distance…and that’s before I’ve even had a chance to consider salty-itis*
*i like this term
Nooooo, noooo, you’re not a loser! You’re brilliant! Amazing!! I can’t even run an entire lap around the track without being poked and taunted by my husband and kids. Marathons are something that I think only certain kinds of people can do–and I wouldn’t worry about the time. You did it. Hell, I look back on the 20 mile Sponsored Walks that we did in Junior School and I doubt I could even do that now. I’ve become a joke.
Also, the thing about Dr Atkins chasing you down the street just made me really really happy. I’m not sure what that says about me, but it certainly says that you’re a funny, funny man.
And not a loser. For serious. (tm Zoolander)
Many congrats on finishing marathons! I have managed to finish exactly one and it took me a bit longer than five hours. There are NO losers among the finishers, Moobsy!
Er … I realise having re-read this entry that what was supposed to be deservedly self-deprecating comes across as self-pity. Sorry about that. Blame the fact that despite having consumed enough fluid to fill a bath I have not had a pee in 14 hours.
Do they do pampers in my size?
Well done, Moobs! Given that I make a point never to do more than a 5k, you have my utmost respect!
I would just like to say how much I like the phrase ‘made yelping noises like a highland terrier’.
You’re my hero.
I can barely run from the couch to the fridge or cellar without getting a cramp. I find red wine and chocolate to be quite the incentive, though.
By the way – my marathon running friend says you need to add lots of salt to your diet to combat salty-itis. Pretzels are ideal. Otherwise, she added ominously, your electrolytes may remain imbalanced.
losing is just a different kind of winning. anyway, fighting through cramp – which i can testify is one of the most excruciating pains there is – makes you a winner in my book.
Hurrah!
I live in texas, and 70 degrees is what we get in WINTER!
Try running a marathon in 110degree weather, then get back to me!
YEA!! Good for you! I admire your continued courage to stretch yourself beyond your comfort zone. You do inspire!
My husband works outside all day and when he comes home, the dogs treat him like a giant salt lick. They can’t get enough. Ewww
Yea Moobs! So proud of your marathon even if those Kenyans could have lapped you : )
Hey – did you meet nee-naw?
Well done moobs. I got salty-itis the easy way – lying on a towel by the Red Sea (which disappointingly isn’t – who knew?).