Runner's Words

There’s been a few times in my running life where I’ve felt that I was at my absolute peak, and whatever it was that I’d achieved on a given day would be a PB I would take to the grave with me. 2013 and the 1:28 half. 2016 and the 3:02 marathon that, finally, got me into London. That majestic purple patch in 2018 where PBs fell across 5k, 10k and half marathon across successive weekends. And then of course, after a decade of trying, that sub three marathon.

Usually after doing something like that I end up blogging something along the lines of “well I’ll never run as fast as that again”, and in recent years this felt like it was becoming ever more prescient as I rolled over into my 40s and began to feel my age at times, little injuries creeping up out of nowhere and a general series of sighs and groans whenever I sit down or get back up again.

Somehow though, almost four years to the day from setting a 1:26:51 half marathon PB on the soggy streets of Greater Manchester and just shy of hitting the ripe old age of 42, something ridiculous happened last October as it was inexplicably usurped by an (unofficial) 1:25:38 and the goalposts had suddenly taken a monumental shift. I’d done something pretty remarkable yet I hadn’t really trained for it, I hadn’t even properly prepared for it after staying up long past midnight drinking Aldi pilsner and watching post-season baseball. And yet, I – somehow – ran the half marathon of my life on a random Sunday morning. What could I do if I really put my mind to it?

Well this year we’re going to try and find out.

There’s two schools of thought here. Firstly, it would be nice to hit a PB, officially this time. I mean, that’s always nice, isn’t it? I’m very much in my early 40s now and it doesn’t feel like something that should be happening, so it would be pretty sweet if it did. Secondly, and most importantly, is this: hit a fast enough time officially and maybe, just maybe, a door might open leading to the next adventure.

Since I decided a few years back that I was gonna try and run all of the World Marathon Majors I’ve been vaguely aware of the marathon times I’d need to run to qualify for them. So far, I’ve hit two of them to get into London and Boston. I’ve got no chance of hitting two of the others for Berlin and Tokyo, which last time I checked were 2:45 and 2:32 respectively. Which just leaves Chicago and New York.

Chicago at 3:20 is very much possible but with NYC requiring a 2:58 that one’s kinda on a knife edge. Had the Manchester course in 2021 been 26.2 instead of 26.4 miles I’d probably already have done it once, with Strava telling me my marathon time on that day was (just) inside what I’d need. But that was a ridiculous occasion when everything – except the course length- went my way and I have no idea if I’d ever be able to do that sort of effort ever again.

Five years ago this just wouldn’t have been an option. I mean, twelve years ago I was struggling to even to get under 1:30, but that ridiculous half marathon in October got me thinking. Somehow, aged 42, I inexplicably seemed to be running better than ever, and as 2023 turned into 2024 I was going so well that my Garmin was telling me my VO2 max was the highest it had ever been and even suggesting a might be capable of something closer to 1:20, which would have been absolutely ridiculous. I was setting minor PBs across shorter distances such as the mile and the kilometre as part of my interval sessions and it seemed there was a very real chance of qualifying for an attempt at my third marathon star. That was until we hit February anyway.

February 2024 was a shit month, and whatever may or may not have been on the cards probably isn’t anymore. It all started at the end of one of my best ever tempo runs, another half marathon-paced effort (almost) dispatched at what I’d always traditionally considered my 10k pace. I was absolutely flying until I glanced down at my Garmin, caught my feet in a discarded wheel trim on the pavement alongside the A34, and hit the deck hard.

It was one of those that must have looked worse than it actually was as I forward rolled trying to style it out before immediately carrying on running. A car driving past pulled over and asked if I was OK – I shouted back and gave a thumbs up to confirm I was – and then scuttled back home to lick my wounds. Worst of all, I’d scuffed up my lovely new Endorphin Speeds on only the second time wearing them. Livid. Absolutely livid.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a minor spill. A couple of scrapes, nothing broken. My pride bruised more than any part of my body. Since then though, for some reason, things just haven’t been quite right, and even a couple of months later I’m not quite there yet. And I still haven’t really got to the bottom of exactly why.

After starting the year feeling invincible I suddenly feel my age a bit to be honest. The first warning sign was exactly a week later, the same tempo run on exactly the same course. For some reason I was starting to slide off the pace I needed, the pace I’d been hitting effortlessly weekly for pretty much every session since I started aiming for this. It just felt like it wasn’t really achievable anymore, each mile more difficult than the last and with my heart rate way up on what it should be. I eventually had to drop the final mile completely through sheer exhaustion and jog slowly back to my flat, broken and confused like it was 2022 all over again when those post-covid runs were kicking my arse. What was the excuse this time though? I chalked it off as a bad day at the office and tried to put it behind me.

The trouble is I’ve just not been quite right since, and I still don’t really know why. I can’t be because I fell over surely? Wherever it all stems from, I’ve basically just had a bit of a niggle in the groinal region, on and off (but mostly on), and its meant a bit of a rewriting of my targets for Wilmslow a week tomorrow.

It’s all a bit odd and at times, pretty painful. Most of my runs over the last few weeks have felt a bit clunky, my rhythm feeling a bit “off”. I remember a few weeks out from the sub-three attempt when I stupidly crashed my bike cycling home a bit tipsy from some sunshine beers at a local market, and on my run the next day I was hobbling around like the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. This is a bit like that, but worse.

The pain isn’t too bad when I’m actually running, so after quickly realising speedwork was aggravating it I dropped the Tuesday and Thursday interval and tempo sessions and basically stuck to plodding round at recovery pace, getting the miles in without causing things to flare up too badly. It’s meant I can get still some of the longer runs in, including a triplet of 14-mile weekend long runs, so fingers crossed the stamina should still be there. Hopefully this means with a lot of hard work already done from October-January, if I can just maintain the endurance and the pain isn’t too bad on raceday I can still let rip and see what happens.

We’ll see how it goes anyway. I’ve managed a couple of those 14-milers at sub-90 pace without feeling like it took too much out of me, so I think there’s potential for something decent next weekend given the right combination of weather and my physical conditioning on the day. Enough to qualify for NYC? Not sure. Enough to hit an official – rather than unofficial – PB? Maybe. It’s yet another episode of “I have no idea how it’s going to go” but I guess it’ll be interesting finding out.

It probably doesn’t matter anyway. Taking a leaf out of London’s book, where they moved the goalposts repeatedly from 2010-15 seemingly with the sole reason to try and stop me getting in, NYC changed their entry requirements this year and I still haven’t comprehensively worked out if a fast half marathon will even be eligible for a 2025 entry as they switch to accept full marathon times only from now on. It definitely won’t be eligible for 2026 so at best I’ve only got one year to have a crack at this, and the more I look into it the more I think I may have already missed the boat on it. But sod it, it’s still worth a shot and then we’ll see what happens.

So this is where I’m at right now. Can I even run the time I need? No idea. Even if I do, will it even count? No idea. I’ve got a warmup race tomorrow with a chum over at the Poynton 10k and then next week it’ll be my first half marathon for nearly two years, and the first one I’m aiming to run at full tilt since way back in 2018. It might open the door to the next adventure, it most likely probably won’t. And if I can’t hit the time I need, maybe I’ll have another go. And if that doesn’t work, maybe another. Let’s see what this old dog still has left in him eh. It’s 2024: the year of the half.