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On Saturday, I ran the Beachy Head Marathon. This was my third marathon of the year, just 6 weeks after the Nottingham Marathon. While the two other marathons were road races, this was a cross-country marathon, featuring an appalling number of hills.

It was perhaps a little ambitious to attempt such a gruelling marathon so soon after my last one. In addition, my preparations were shambolic. To reach Eastbourne in time to register required me to get up at 6:15. I forgot to prepare any breakfast and the pasties at Brighton station looked particularly unattractive, so I started the race on an empty stomach. To add to the stress, I was relying on my phone and Google maps to find the starting line, since I don’t know Eastbourne. I found myself in a deserted Saturday morning town with no 3G and little idea of where to go. But things went all right. I registered, dealt with the slightly shambolic toilet facilities and was ready to race at 9am.

The Beachy Head Marathon is a tough race, with the organisers suggesting that it adds about 40 minutes to a runner’s usual marathon time. It starts with a steep hill, which makes a fairly serious statement of purpose (while providing a great view of the runners up ahead starting). I was less mentally prepared than for my previous two marathons, so I took things as they came.  The route is a constant series of ups and downs (you can view the course map and profile), with some amazing views of the coast, although I unable to enjoy them as much as I would have liked. The hills were incredibly hard work, made worse because I’d neglected to do any hill training. There were even a couple of woodland step sections late on, which were particularly tough.

By 6 or 7 miles in, my hunger was starting to bite. I don’t normally eat when running but decided to break the rule about not changing strategy during a marathon. Each of the rest stops had a supply of Mars Bars – in fact, some had cake, tea and coffee, sausage rolls, all an improvement from the sickly sports drinks handed out in Brighton and Nottingham. I started eating the Mars Bars at the stops, glad of sustenance, even though I was nervous about eating so much – I’ve heard stories of people ‘doing a Radcliffe’ after eating unfamiliar food in a long race. I’m happy to report no untoward effects.

Even as I was running, I knew that few of the sections would stick in my memory, rather that it would blur into an overall impression. A sunny day, wide views of the coastline, and the line of runners in the distance, pointing out the route. The course was surprisingly busy, considering how remote much of it was. I was very grateful to the supporters although I’m not sure that I put on a good show. I was in a fair amount of discomfort in the last third of the race and it was hard to smile or even acknowledge people. I was also a little grumpy about the event photographers – I don’t really want graphic evidence of me trudging my way up another bloody hill! I ended up hiding behind other runners as I passed, even when that meant having to run for a bit.

I’ve blogged before about how a marathon doesn’t start for me until about mile 18. This is the place where the trouble began for me in Brighton and Nottingham. It’s difficult to train for this stage of a race, since it takes 3 hours to reach. I found an interesting quote on Mr. Spratt’s weblog by Robert de Castella: “The marathon’s about being in contention over the last 10K. That’s when it’s about what you have in your core. You have run all the strength, all the superficial fitness out of yourself, and it really comes down to what’s left inside you. To be able to draw deep and pull something out of yourself is one of the most tremendous things about the marathon.” I guess I am going to need to do some research on training for the marathon’s later stages.

I put in a decent pace for the first 18 miles, with a few 9’30s ,so that it looked as if I might even beat my Brighton marathon time. Sadly the wheels fell off as I climbed out of Cuckmere Haven. My pace was falling and I had little energy left. My legs hurt and I wondered if I would finish at all. By the time I reached the Seven Sisters my spirit was broken and I wanted nothing more than for the race to end. I wanted to lie down and had to pause a few times on the upwards slopes. For a mile or so on the Seven Sisters I found it hard to run at all and had horrible flashbacks to slow school cross-country runs.

When I reached the final checkpoint, I stopped for some of the very tasty cake and set off again feeling a little better. I dragged myself up Beachy Head, the final hill of the course, and managed to run the final stage. The race ends with the same steep slope as it started, and it was good to have gravity on my side, helping me towards the finish line.

I was delighted with my final result of 5 hours and 3 minutes, which had seemed impossible at one point. And, despite the difficulty of the course, one good thing was that my feet were in better condition at the end of this race than in the Nottingham marathon. I don’t think I would do the race again, as it was incredibly hard work (I can’t imagine it in bad weather conditions), but I’m glad I’ve done it once. The medal I’ve received was the hardest won yet, and I was very grateful for it.

The Beachy Head marathon is a small race, with about 1,500 entries, and it was a lovely, friendly event. The marshaling stations were friendly and well-stocked, and the cake was a delight. Thanks to the  supporters and the organisers for a fantastic race!

After running the Brighton marathon in April I was eager to run another – not least because I was a little disappointed with my time of just under 5 hours – holidays, work and injury had all interfered with training. As well as signing up for the 2012 Brighton Marathon, I looked for another race later in the year, settling on Nottingham as it was relatively flat and close to my parent's house.

As usual, training didn't go to plan, culminating in missing my last long run with a spectacular hangover. I had hoped to do the race in under 4½ hours, but that seemed a little ambitious. But, when I thought about it, I realised that it was my legs that slow me down, not my heart and lungs. So, if I could keep up a decent pace, I might be OK. I set off for the race last Sunday with no idea what time to expect.

The first 18 miles were pretty easy. The Nottingham marathon is in two halves. About 10,000 people run a half-marathon through the town. The course splits at 13 miles with about 1,000 people running a full marathon. Coming up to the split point, a woman was cheering the runners, encouraging each one, "Nearly there, nearly there." She saw me approach, with my marathon number. "Not you! Come on, nearly half way!"

The second half was a strange contrast, with a smaller number of runners and the course changing to back streets and tracks. I knew I was fit enough to run 16 miles without a problem; which meant that my race would only really begin about 3 hours in. I stayed strong until about 18 miles and kept running for almost 21 without a break, despite the pain in my feet. It was the lap of the National Watersports Center lake that broke me. Running into the wind here broke me, as it did a lot of other runners, and walkers outnumbered runners on that section.

The last few miles were very hard work. I dragged myself through it, running a little, walking a little. It was at about 23 miles when I decided that I would quit running after the race. Barring a disaster I was on track for a 4½ hour time. I'd proved my point, I could stop with honour.

In the last half-mile I was easily on track for the 4½ hours, but I told myself to run to see if I could lower the personal best that little further. I don't think I've been happier to stop doing something as I was when I crossed the line of the marathon. The pain was impressive, particularly when I finally took the weight off my feet. But, after about ten minutes, I was feeling better and already looking forward to the next marathon (which is the Beachy Head marathon five weeks from today). 

My final time was 4 hours, 23 minutes and 49 seconds, which I am very happy with. It was a good race too. I appreciated the support from family and friends. I was also particularly impressed by the marshalls, who must have been out for ages by the time I passed them, yet were still clapping and encouraging the runners. Good work, folks!