Things I learned from Bournemouth Marathon

It’s REALLY stupid to run in worn out shoes.

It’s REALLY stupid to go too fast in the early miles.

IT’s REALLY stupid to assume that the sharp steep points on the course gradient map are ‘blips’.

I am stupid.

Getting into the sea in your running clothes feels a bit strange but it numbs marathon-weary feet. Bliss.

If you take off your trainers to get into the sea in your running clothes, you may not be able to get these back on over your lumpy, blistered, sore feet.

Having an ice cream as the first food you eat when you’ve finished a marathon means you’ve spoiled ice cream for yourself. Never again will it taste as good as this.

Toenails are for wimps.

 And finally:

It doesn’t matter how much it hurt, you will be looking at other marathons to enter within a week. Pain fades, but you’ve still got the medal. And the monster inside you screaming for a new PB.

Time Warp, Weeing on Petunias & Pouting

I was sick of sulking. I’d kept the sulk going for as long as possible, but I’d had enough. I’d pouted in the pantry, sulked in the sitting room and grumbled in the garden. None of it was making me feel any better. 

A few hours ago, I’d come home in a grump not having completed my 20 mile long ... in fact falling woefully short at 15½ miles. Huff.

Much as I like sitting on the sofa, I knew that if I didn’t finish it off, I’d class it as a failed run. Despite the fact it was still 15 miles in my running bank. Besides finishing a long run means that I can treat myself to a nice glass of wine. If the entire bottle accidentally falls into the glass so much the better.

The wine was incentive enough. I couldn’t let a run beat me so I pulled on some clean running clothes, laced the trainers up and buckled on the Garmin.

Yep. I was heading out to finish off the 20 miles.

I put a good playlist on of my most upbeat and fun songs and headed out.

Wow! What a difference a good playlist makes. I was dancing along as though I hadn’t run 15 miles a couple of hours previously. However I would like to point out that it is IMPOSSIBLE to do the Time Warp while maintaining an 8:30 min/mile. I tried though. The neighbours looking out through their net curtains didn’t seem to be as disapproving as usual which I took as a good sign until I lip-read one old dear: “Bless her. She’s obviously trying out for the special Olympics.”

Old bat. I resolved to train the cat to wee on her petunias and carried on trying to make time travel possible. “Just a jump to the left”.

I ran – and danced – through the five miles without any effort and made it home having completed a 20.54 mile day.

Yeah! Who’s my bitch, long run!! Yes, YOU are!! (Looks around to check no one is looking and carries on dancing to the Time Warp).

There's a hole in my foot, dear Liza, dear Liza ...

I’d just like to leave this photograph here in case I feel the urge to enter any more marathons any time soon …

P.s. Don’t tell the Mr I put my foot on the table to take this photo. I found ‘blister skin’ on the sofa yesterday while on the phone to my sister. I think I’m now banned from taking my shoes off in her house. Ever.

Rejected for London Marathon Twice in 2 Months ...

I crossed the line at Liverpool Marathon and looked up and saw the time: 3:46:19. I couldn’t quite believe that after the struggle of Parliament Street and the emotion of last few miles I had made it home in the 3 hour 40s ... I was thrilled and overwhelmed and exhausted.

I walked forward and received my medal, race t-shirt, Clif bar and other lovely goodies and went to find a place to do my stretches and then sit down. I was all swept up in the moment and speaking to the other runners and spectators around me, all of us congratulating each other on completing such a big thing. I was FINALLY a marathon runner.

Birkenhead Park 2 hours before the start

Later on when I received a text from the organisers confirming my chip time of 3:45:11 I was thrilled. Absolutely thrilled to be so close to my (secret!) target time of 3 hours 45. But I was also a little bit disappointed that I didn’t make the London Marathon Good For Age cut off time of 3 hours 45 minutes. Getting a Good For Age (GFA) means that you don’t have to go through the lottery of the ballot – you automatically get allocated a place.

It sounds ridiculous. I know it does. It was my first marathon, I couldn’t possibly have hoped for a better time – I honestly was ecstatic. But the little secret part of me – the Evil Sarah that sits on my shoulder that always tells me what I’ve done wrong - whispered to me that I’d missed the cut off by 11 seconds.

I’d applied for the London Marathon by ballot for 3 years – it was applied for me on my behalf even BEFORE I started running! – and I’ve never got through. My name wasn’t picked out of the imaginary hat and I’d been rejected every year. And now I’d missed the ‘Good For Age’ time by 11 SECONDS. Rejected again.

It wasn’t a big thing, not even a big disappointment, but it was a little niggle that I’d missed it by such a small amount. Although ...I had to admit to be a little bit relieved as well. Maybe I ought to start by trying to walk again before pining for another marathon place …

Later on as I lay in my bath – cold first of all to soothe the sore legs, then hot water added to warm up for the rest of me – I chatted to my running buddies on Twitter. They have been great – absolutely fantastic and it was amazing to have their support and to share the same worries and nerves before the race.

I mentioned that I’d missed the London Marathon cut off but @goniah tweeted me … she said but you did make it – the cut off is 3 hours 50 minutes …

Not allowed to hang these up to retire just yet ...

Well, it looks as though I’m going to have to stop moaning about sore feet, blisters and walking like John Wayne because it sounds as though I’m going to be doing it all over again in 2014 … WOO HOO!!!!! 

(Gets up to do victory dance then realises legs too sore and sits down again)