February 22nd - 22 miles
Eight laps of Victoria Park - 22.4 miles / 3:06:44
In the words of the great Larry David, I'm feeling "pretty.. pretty.. pretty good". It's the final week, and after today's run we have just six days to get through. Six teeny tiny marathon distance runs to get through...after a day at work. Physically I am in quite remarkable shape and it has been of great surprise to me just how well my body has coped with the mileage I've thrown at it. I'm running strong, at a decent pace and yes I'm tired but I'm not aching or tight at all. Every run thus far has been a continuous effort with no need to pull over to gather myself. Fingers crossed I can hang on for Saturday's (28 mile) victory lap.
Craig was not feeling it this morning I can tell you. I had a proper grump on. Looking out over an overcast London skyline, knowing it would take a good three hours to tick off the day's requirement, I lingered until the heavens opened and it was then that I headed out! The weather was simply atrocious. It was reminiscent of last May when I arrived in Richmond at silly o'clock to run the 100km to Brighton. Then, at least I had a finish line awaiting my efforts. Today, having to be out in it for what exactly, was tough. I didn't want to venture far so set the task of running around Vicky Park eight times to achieve the mileage. The intermittent hail stones were a delight and when they weren't falling, it was lashing rain. Three hours with my head down, grimacing.
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| Closing time at the park |
It goes to show just how important having a goal or cause is to running, and I guess life in general. I would NEVER have gone out for a run today if it weren't for this challenge. But guess what, you go out, the rain is invigorating, you feel alive and your whole spirit is lifted. That's why I run. The weather and the mundanity of running loops was a great mental test. As I carried out the usual mind-trickery and calculations, it was clear that it was only a battle mentally, not physically. I'm beginning to see how these lunatics run marathons day after day. Slow the pace, zone out and it all becomes rather automatic.
I've learnt a hell of a lot about myself as a runner, my capabilities and just what I can do if I push myself harder, during this one month. I'll expand on that after February is out, as there's still far to go and a lot of steps upon which to stumble.
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| Hairy stuff |
FATIGUE FACTOR (1 'A walk in the park' - 10 'Send help') = 4
DAILY DISRUPTION (1 'All in my stride' - 10 'Skipping sleep') = 1
February 23rd - 23 miles
Twice around Hyde
Park then home via Chelsea and Greenwich - 23.5 miles / 3:06:44
In the words of the great Larry David, “Oh Jeez!” What a difference a
day makes - and a backpack, and a day at work, and having not eaten much
beforehand. I was right in saying that this would be ‘the day’ it all started
and there was reasoning behind that. It takes some to run past 20 miles with
little to no nutrition, and that’s the brilliance of marathon distance, asking
a little more from your body than it is naturally obliged to give. Running five
post-work marathons this week without let-up was always going to be tough, and
tonight the niggles and strains unravelled. Less grimacing, more a worry, that
they will exponentiate and bring me down. This explained the iceberg-pace I kept,
as I now turn my attention more to just getting through the miles. There is further
energy there but I’m saving it for a rainy day (be that literally or
metaphorically!)
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| The Serpentine - Amazing what a filter can do for you |
The route tonight saw me spend an hour with Hyde Park, before heading
South through a soiree of boroughs, keeping the river close. Unused since
Friday, culinary delights were had in the form of Snickers bars (soft from the bodyheat
of my back) and before heading down into the Greenwich Tunnel, I took time out
to get romantic with a sandwich bag of sultanas. I’m still finding the one
bottle of water is sufficient for my endeavours.
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| Heading East - St. Pauls yonder |
Arriving home at 10pm, I bumped into a neighbour (always love doing that
when I’m a sweaty mess), who was understandably puzzled albeit genuinely
interested by my story. The first weekday of ‘Terror Week’ complete, tonight
was just the dress rehearsal for four days of the same show, ahead of the grand
finale on Saturday. I’m no longer thinking of miles to go rather having to go
for five more runs.
…There are 130 miles to go. Damn it!
FATIGUE FACTOR (1 'A walk in the park' - 10 'Send help') = 5
DAILY DISRUPTION (1 'All in my stride' - 10 'Skipping sleep') = 1
February 24th - 24 miles
Lost in South London - 24.1 miles / 3:38:48
One word: Facilities. Never take them for granted. If there’s
one thing long distance runners have in common with parents of small children,
it is the asking of the question ‘have you gone’ before leaving the house. Enough
said.
To mix things up I made the executive decision to go check
out Crystal Palace for my 24 mile run route. This way I could run out, do a
little turn-a-round and then head home with a loop here and there for extra
measure. It wasn’t the best idea. My new-to-running work colleague joined me
for the start of tonight’s run, as we meandered down to Brixton neatly tessellating
my route. After four and something miles we shook hands gentlemanly, wished each
other a fond farewell and with a sprint I headed off (to a Sainsburys…but with
no luck) for 20 miles of solitude and orienteering. Foolishly it didn’t strike
me that South London is rather hilly around those parts, nor that I have not a
f***ing clue about the road geography. Constant checking of a tiny phone map
(with gloves on and a bottle in one hand) was a distraction I didn’t need and unnecessary
time was being added to what was a glorified commute home. The overriding
thought was “you know what Craig, you don’t need to be so particular with
everything in life, just run, run anywhere, it is not important where” but
sadly I am particular and eventually I got to Crystal Palace and the fruits
were obvious. That transmitter tower, like little Paris (Crystal Paris?).
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| Follow the lights |
The views are actually quite insane at certain points South
of the river. Over this month I have seen the Shard from every blinkin’ angle
imaginable, and from afar, knowing I’m heading back to its base later in the
evening is kind of cool. Heading North I looped Rotherhithe, crossed Tower
Bridge and followed the backwaters to the canal home. It was late.
Percy Pigs and a couple of Snickers bars got me through,
still on just the one bottle of water. Strangely I’m not ravenous after each
run where usually I would clear a cupboard. What’s that about? Anyway, legs are
feeling good but I could do with some sleep (I’m doing that granddad in his
armchair thing come 4 o’clock - minus the dribble).
FATIGUE FACTOR (1 'A walk in the park' - 10 'Send help') = 5
DAILY DISRUPTION (1 'All in my stride' - 10 'Skipping sleep') = 2
February 25th - 25 miles
Frice round Hyde Park then straight home - 25.0 miles / 3:37:09
If one were looking to
sensationalise, here would be the point where tales of struggle and woe would
be written about. Of how terribly difficult the challenge has become, the
disruption to life and the likelihood of failing to finish. Come the final day,
you would have overcome the adversity and at mile 28 collapse into a pool of
your own blood and urine. Your final blog post sent from the sterilized comfort
of a hospital bed.
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| Dead, so was I |
Hopefully that won’t
happen to me, but tonight’s run was a pigeon step toward that scenario at
least. I am in pieces. My shin muscle thing on my right leg is on fire. From
early on I adopted a forefoot strike with my right foot to ease the pain,
though there was no respite on the inclines. I was searching out the park
trails to get off the hard tarmac surfaces, but ultimately it was rather
painful. On paper (or Strava rather) it was a good 25 miles tonight, at a fair
tempo at this late stage. I was hoping to run sub-4 hours for the remaining
three days but now it looks as though I’ll be walking parts on each run to ease
the stress. If it weren’t for this challenge, I wouldn’t even run a 5k from
here to the weekend. But we’re so close now that I best ‘man-up’.
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| Oxford Street shopper dodging |
Ice and compression
for now, but there’s little that can be done with only eighteen hours before I
go again. Annoyingly, shin aside, I feel superb. Will it hold up for 81 miles
and 12 hours of running, who knows. For now, let’s hope this shin-dig doesn’t ruin
my shindig.
FATIGUE FACTOR (1 'A walk in the park' - 10 'Send help') = 6
DAILY DISRUPTION (1 'All in my stride' - 10 'Skipping sleep') = 3
February 26th - 26 miles
Frice round Hyde Park then home along the Thames - 26.0 miles / 4:09:42
When I say “two”, you say “day’s left”, “two”…. …., “two” ….
…., when I say “fifty-five”, you say “mile’s left”, “fifty-fi…” oh crumbs.
The wheels have well and truly fallen off this cart. My
shins are plotting to kill me. Yesterday was painful yet I managed to get my
speed on, tonight was just horrible. I came through the door at 11:15 and could
hardly move. I really needed a cuddle and to be told “it’s all going to be
alright”. With the girlfriend away I found solace in a pizza and not forgetting
my household duties put a dark wash on. Keeping s*** together. Nothing to do
with needing fresh running garb for Saturday. If I’m honest the flat is under disarray,
I have done nothing but go to work and run this past week. March will most definitely
be the month of ‘Iron Until You Drop’ and ‘Clean Until You Drop’.
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| Officer, can I eat my sandwich in peace? |
It was four full loops of Hyde Park again during which I viewed
my growing social media support (thank you all), took a call from the
girlfriend in Australia and had two sandwich, Jaffa cake and banana combo dinners.
It was home via the river, where another stop was necessary at Tower Bridge to
eat and compose myself. Again, only the one bottle of water, maybe that’s
proving a detrimental factor. It is an experience in itself to be out running
for four plus hours after work, and the solitude and effort is starting to get
me down. I’m in a bad way and every mile seems a mission in itself. Stopping at
a road crossing requires a gallop to get the legs back moving and I’m tripping
up a lot from being unable to lift my feet far off the ground.
I am quite seriously thinking of ‘dropping’ as to walk is to
torture oneself. Can I get through 27 miles tomorrow on these abused legs? Let’s
see what the morning brings. Oh, it is the morning…
FATIGUE FACTOR (1 'A walk in the park' - 10 'Send help') = 8
DAILY DISRUPTION (1 'All in my stride' - 10 'Skipping sleep') = 5
February 27th - 27 miles
Around Victoria Park and up and down this and that street - 27.0 miles / 5:30:47
When I awoke in the morning, I was pretty much set on 'dropping'. Last night's run left me a cripple and my legs had only worsened overnight. Such a decision was not to be taken lightly, for however unknown the event and unattached was I to it, it meant a great deal to me to finish something of such stature. But getting ready for work was akin to a retirement home without carers, and the walk to the tube station was a mission in itself. On my way in to work (begrudgingly deciding not to ask for a 'baby on board' badge) I had leveled with myself that I was indeed injured and it was in no way a failing to drop at this late stage.
But with time (and a few rallying messages) I came to the thinking that I should at least attempt the mileage and tomorrow I'd have all day to complete the 28 miles, so really it was just one big effort that evening left to suffer. Once home I got my gear on and headed out to run laps around Victoria Park where I managed to sustain a jog of sorts before nature called me home prematurely. Lighter, I carried on in much the same vein until ten miles to go where I just lost it mentally and physically. I was forced to walk and even that was painful so I moved off the tarmac onto the grass of nearby Well St. Common and repeated loop after loop of crazed monotony. It was getting rather late, with folk returning home from their Friday night out, and this added to my stress knowing that I had to 'run' if I were to make the miles before the day was out. Cue a zombified run/walk technique in the later stages that saw me finish up at a ten to midnight!
As I was hobbling around the trendy streets of East London, more than once I thought to myself just what the f*** are you doing? It is quite incredible just how far one can push themselves when given a goal to achieve, however arbitrary that goal should be. What makes me laugh is that here is a boy who would not frequent even a Post Office without the application of face cream, fixing of the hair and styling up of an outfit but when heading out for a run views brushing his teeth and changing his pants as a big effort!
It was not a fun evening, and the last thought on my mind was to take a photo.
Possibly the most uncomfortable period of running I've ever experienced. But it was over and there was just one day left.
FATIGUE FACTOR (1 'A walk in the park' - 10 'Send help') = 9
DAILY DISRUPTION (1 'All in my stride' - 10 'Skipping sleep') = 9
February 28th - 28 miles
East along the Thames Path to a Tesco petrol garage in Beckton - 28.0 miles / 5:44:12
So I made it. Hurrah! A month of utterly pointless and rewardless running was over and thankfully I kept it together to prevail victorious. I rarely give myself credit for what I achieve, as my endeavours grow and grow, together with the fact that I'm always looking ahead at those doing much bigger things, I view it as simply another step up the ladder (to what exactly I'm not quite certain). But fifteen and a half marathons over four weeks on top of a full-time job, is some effort and I'm rather proud of what I've accomplished here. The challenge was exaggerated from being injured over the past four days and covering the last 100 plus miles was at times excruciating. I am well and truly crocked and hope that a return to full fitness is not too far off. Oh well at least I've got the t-shirt...due in four weeks.
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| Dang, that right ankle knows |
So, Day 28 - la tour de la victoire! If it had been a weekday, there just wouldn't have been the time to prepare and run 28 miles. Fortunately the date Gods were on our side as Saturday was the host. Waking at near to midday, I didn't want to hang about and risk having to drag the run into the evening, so got the porridge and coffee into the beast and set out to run East for 14 miles. This way I could relax and just focus on plodding along to the turn-a-round point before simply retracing my tracks home. Being the last day and all, and given the state of my run-ragged RUYD trainers I opted for a fresh pair to lift the spirits and my heels.
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| Simple on paper |
From the outset I managed to keep a constant forward motion not too dissimilar to what one might call jogging. I would hold this throughout my outbound journey, following the (somewhat difficult to follow) Thames Path around the Isle Of Dogs, past Excel, past London City Airport, through North Woolwich to discover a conveniently placed retail park in Beckton where I refueled and stocked up for the return leg. In good spirits I headed for home all whilst building social media fanfare among friends on how I was closing in on the virtual finishing line.
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| Refueling |
The return started uncomfortably and turned devilishly sour. I find that regardless the length of a race, when that point comes when it is just 'x' miles left, the mental game begins. I've ran ultras where you pass the marathon mark without acknowledging but on a half marathon your stressing out at ten miles. I guess it's all relative, and it was upon hitting the 20 mile mark, that I just crashed and burned. My body broke down, now struggling to even walk in a straight line, the cold, the fading light, the lack of nutrition all contributed to my mental spiral. With the exception of a short burst here and there, it was pretty much power-walking for the last eight miles. When you are taking fifteen minutes to cover a mile when a fit you would normally take sub-seven, it doesn't half get frustrating.
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| Homeward bound at the Excel Centre with Canary Wharf up ahead |
Three miles out I welled up a bit thinking of what I was soon to achieve and what I'd overcome to be in this position. It had certainly been a trying past few days, but tears (not full tears mind) turned to a wry smile when I thought about what lay ahead of me in three miles. With the girlfriend away and this not being an official race, the only thing to greet me at the 'finish' would be the pressing of a 'stop' button and hopefully a stranger to take my photo. I would then drag my ass up to my flat where emptiness and silence would greet me, left to clean and cook for myself alone. Tragic. But rather fitting actually, having spent 60 hours (or two and a half days!) on my tod running the streets of London, maybe it was the perfect ending.
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| Ruined |
This month has really brought me on as a runner, and I've learned a great deal. It has also changed the way I plan on 'going for a run' from hereon. Whilst some days will need to be prescriptive for necessity I'm certainly going to start planning less and just head out for a run, seeing where it takes me. Whilst there have been some monstrously dark times, there have been moments of sheer escapism late into the night, running through unknown areas and discovering parts of the city I never knew existed.
On a more practical note, I've learnt that there is a scarcity of public convenience in the Capital. This has proven to be a real 'pain in the ass' at times, and I'll keep the following in mind: If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.
I'd like to say thanks to James Adams and Paul Ali for coming up with the idea and organizing the whole event, and to all the fellow runners who took part and made this month such a pleasure - even though I've met not a single one in person. Thanks to everyone who messaged me, commented on the blog, checked-in, it was welcomed and really spurred me on the last couple of days. A big thank you to my girlfriend (at least before she left me) for supporting my selfish desires and ensuring that I always came home to hot water, hot food and hot stuff! Last but by no means least, I thank the reception guy at Travelodge, London Excel who didn't bat an eyelid when a sweaty mess of a man came into the foyer pleading to use the facilities. You saved me, more than you know.
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| Not so swell |
I'll end on this quote from the final moments of a favourite movie of mine, Burn After Reading. It's rather fitting:
CIA Superior: What did we learn, Palmer?
CIA Officer: I don't know, sir.
CIA Superior: I don't f***ing know either. I guess we learned not to do it again.
CIA Officer: Yes, sir.
CIA Superior: I'm f***ed if I know what we did.
CIA Officer: Yes, sir, it's, uh, hard to say.
CIA Superior: Jesus F***ing Christ.
FATIGUE FACTOR (1 'A walk in the park' - 10 'Send help') = 9.5
DAILY DISRUPTION (1 'All in my stride' - 10 'Skipping sleep') = 9.5
Till next year...a leap year! Make that 435 miles.
165km
256km 
12km
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