Read about Paris in the guide books - this is all about me

I wrote the earlier comment for the podcast Marathon Talk immediately after the marathon and I penned the words below a few days after, although it has taken a while to upload the posting...

And so Bo writes of the Paris marathon.  The goal of the 35^th year, to be achieved before the start of the 36^th: 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 36^th 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 36^th 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...