And so Bo writes of the Paris marathon.
The goal of the 35th year, to be achieved before the start of
the 36th: a sub 2h45 marathon.
A goal since last June when I saw the date coincided with a
holiday. But now a goal not
achieved. A target set, and not
met. Failed. No hiding the fact: failed. As was the trust and faith of a close
few. Piece of cake. Champagne at the ready. But, but, but: no buts: 3 hours dead was 16
minutes too long. Too much walking; too
much time wasted; too little desire; too little confidence; too easily defeated;
2h45 not achieved – why?
(As I edit while I type I realise that my initial thoughts are harsh,
unforgiving. But I remember the raw
emotion and intend to remember it as motivation to ensure I don’t underperform,
and underachieve again.)
There are two reasons why I did not meet my goal: one; physiological and
two; psychological.
First: physiological. I found it
very cold and had an insufficient warm-up; barely five minutes. Naive of me but running in the sandpit has
never really required a warm-up; my muscles have always been warm and ready to
go after a quick stretch. Maybe the
approaching 36th year is a sign that the body will need a little
more care in the years to come. Could
the lack of warm-up explain the sore, cramp-like feeling in both quads from 7km
onwards? Both legs were heavy and a
laboured feeling was evident almost straight away. I couldn’t find the rhythm; there was no
fluidity; no bounce; no spring in my stride.
My shoulders were tense, not relaxed – was it because of the cold? It felt as if I was fighting the discomfort
from 5km onwards – the feeling that I was not hoping to see until the last 5km
when I expected I’d have to dig in, but certainly not the first 5km! I had no calmness of mind. The mind...
Two: psychological. It was
hurting so early on but I maintained the pace regardless. I was hitting the km targets: 5km at 18.50;
10km at 38.24; half at 1.22.12 – all according to plan. But why not past 25km? Why did the elastic band of mental stress
snap? I reached 27km and then realised I
had another 15km to go – another hour and, with a slight change in gradient
down an underpass and more strain on the fatiguing thighs, I just stopped –
walked. I couldn’t see how I could
battle against the accumulating discomfort any more. And once I started walking, hundreds of
runners passed me reflecting the vast numbers in the marathon. Further demoralisation. “Courage
monsieur” the crowds shouted but I knew, with seconds, then minutes being
wasted, the target would not be reached.
I could have walked all the way or taken the metro... I could have told people that I DNF’d due to
injury. But then pride finally came into
effect and the desire for the medal, and the fact I refused to have DNF against
my name, got my running again. No longer
3min50 pace, but moving in the right direction nonetheless. But there was nothing left for going any
faster. Maybe 2h50 could have been
achieved. Maybe. But if wasn’t going to be 2h45, my goal, I
did not see the point in hurting myself so.
I didn’t have the mental strength.
Why? Because I did not want it
enough? Had I peaked mentally on earlier
events of lesser, personal importance? I
do not know. Why did I not push
through? Where was my mantra of it will
only hurt when I decide? But why did it
hurt so? The body struggled, the legs
did not respond. Why?
Back to physiological. The
sight-seeing the day before didn’t help – why was I walking the fucking streets
of Paris the day before, seeing sights I know so well. Because I was with friends who I wanted to show
around the sights I know so well – because I considered others before
myself. Why wasn’t I strong enough to
say I’ll be here – off you go, let me rest.
They would have understood. But,
I wanted to walk with them and I enjoy the streets of Paris, revisiting,
exploring, and what else would I have done?
And the shwarma the night before – no carbo loading for me, but a
kebab?! But I’ve done it before and it
worked. I didn’t think it would be a
hindrance. I thought – again, psychological.
I wasn’t in the zone. I didn’t
rub the magic lamp. I forgot my reason
for going – I relaxed too much. I became
complacent. Every single event I have
done before has had some form of poor preparation or deliberate, non-textbook
action, but I had always achieved my goal.
The beer the night before has helped me relax. I always believed that the negative
physiological effects where greatly outweighed by the psychological benefits.
But was it that because I have always set my targets too low, not
expecting more from myself, not challenging myself to achieve my maximum. But do we ever know our absolute
maximum? Can we ever know? One thing is for sure: the 2h45 marathon is
not my maximum – it is achievable. But I
did not give the marathon the respect it deserved. I thought that whatever I did 24, 48 hours
beforehand wouldn’t make a difference.
Maybe not physiologically, but this time it did psychologically. I was under-motivated. If I was focussed, I would have warmed-up,
been in the zone, prepared, and then the physiological reason would never
occur. And then I would have run
2:44:59.
I’ve tried to lead a balanced social and sporting life, and up to now,
it is something that I have prided myself on.
Being able to go out for a few drinks, but leaving early. But now one thing is clear: if I want to
achieve my goals, compromise will no longer be sufficient. I need to make sacrifices. I need to be focussed on the goal at the
exclusion of other pleasures and distractions; I need decide what is important
to me and focus. Time to stop pissing
about and take myself, and my ambition, seriously.
I read my comments and feel there are very negative, and that I sound
despondent. It is not a bad thing, and I
am not. But I needed to make a mess of
things before I realised what needs to be done to take it to the next
level. I will not be harsh on myself
when I resume training – I will set realistic goals rather than unhelpful
targets but one thing is for sure: a firm resolution begins the 36th
year with clear goals.
Sub 10 hour Ironman and the marathon now in 2hours40. And then I can drink the bottle of champagne.
It all starts tomorrow...
