Race Report: Craig Burrows - London Marathon 2015
This race had to be different, I mean, I’m a triathlete right? Or am I a runner? For the next 4 months I decided I was going to be a runner and after convincing coach to let me neglect the bike until May we began operation #sub3tony as it was to become known as. Being a Teacher, I try to remain largely anonymous on social media so Tony (Anthony being my middle name) Buzz was born. I never set out to give myself such a lofty time goal and neither did I ever intend for it to become a genuine target but, my unwavering desire to push myself to my limits began to manifest and before I knew it I had convinced myself that it was an achievable target (even if it was only me I had convinced).
With training going well and my running getting stronger it was time to focus on race day execution. A gel every 5 miles and drink to thirst was the nutrition order and this wasn't an area that I seemed to excel at. Both my first 70.3 and first Ironman resulted in nutrition suicide, which saw me hitting the wall long before the end of the race. There were to be no burger stops scheduled for this race. Mark seemed to have faith in me, which was reassuring. I had never discussed a time goal with him let alone one that would see me aim for a ‘good for age’time. He proposed that I went for a pace of 7 minute miles and then if I ‘felt good at 20 miles, to push on’. I mean, who the hell feels good at 20 miles in to a marathon, but I took the advice on board and started working out suitable split times. This was going to be tough. If my maths serves me correct a 7 minute mile pace would see me finish in 3 hours and 3 minutes, whilst this would almost certainly ensure me a good for age time I wasn’t sure if it would be good enough for me, after all, I was supposed to be #sub3tony.
The evening before the run was a pretty standard affair, my girlfriend, Lauren and I drove up to London on the Saturday to register before scoffing our faces with a hearty Italian. Although Lauren wasn't running, she decided it would be unfair to let me scoff my face full of food on my own so she kindly supported me in this aspect as well, top girl.
Race day had arrived and despite the diligent training and meticulous planning I still felt nervous waking up. I do think nerves are normal, they are what keep us focused and grounded but I didn't want to be a quivering mess. A bowl of oats and honey seemed to settle me down and we made our way to the Blue Start on Blackheath in plenty of time. I promised myself that this would be my last stand alone marathon, I had fallen in love with triathlons and all the challenges that come with them so I wanted to focus solely on those. This meant that I needed to go out with a bang and get a time I felt I fully deserved by pushing hard and digging deep when needed. No race should be easy and I'm always disappointed if I finish them knowing I could have offered more.
After the customary pre-race selfies involving multiple poses, signage and nervous smiles I took my place in pen 1. It was clear from the moment I immersed myself in the chitchat that serious runners surrounded me, one of whom explained that he had been training for years just for this race. I started questioning my own approach. Was I fit enough? Should I have done more speed work? Should I have cut down on the weights sessions? I was only averaging 25 miles a week in training and compared to some of these guys that was a drop in the ocean. I became increasingly nervous and just wanted to get the ordeal started before I talked myself into a breakdown. The final few moments before the starting gun was a blur, I counted my gels to pass the time and before I knew it we were being slowly herded towards the front of the pen. A cattle market it wasn't quite, but I did feel for those further back in the latter pens whose room to manoeuvre would be minimal. As my foot stroked the timing mat for the first time I was met by the harmonious sound of the 'beep', hundreds of runners all starting a 26.2 mile journey to what will hopefully culminate in a PB, I was no different.
The first mile was, in a nutshell, a frustrating affair. I struggled to find any rhythm in my running and cadence was all over the place. It seemed to me like a game of micro machines with everyone battling for an inch or two of room with complete disregard for each other. My watch sounded for the mile after 6 minutes and 55 seconds and it was this moment that I had a decision to make. Did I stick to the 7:00 mile target that we had decided or did I go for sub 3 hours? I would love to pretend that I did the maths in my head to work out what would be required for a sub 3 time but the truth of the matter is that it had been going through my head for months. I knew that I needed 6:51 min/miles to clock in under 3:00 but didn’t think I was anywhere near that level of fitness and I really didn’t want to crash and burn before the end. I decided to go for it, I felt good on the day and the conditions were kind. That first mile at 6:55 would turn out to be my slowest of the day.
Pacing is definitely not my strongest facet of endurance sport; too many times had I adopted the ‘start strong but finish clinging on’approach. I couldn’t do that this time, not in a stand-alone marathon. I had to keep a steady pace, which I felt confident I could maintain right through to the end. The miles seemed to pass by like a flash and my nutrition strategy seemed to be working well. I was paying more attention to the crowd than my watch; after all, it’s them that make the London Marathon such a special event. My watch kept good form; beeping each and every mile giving me invaluable feedback as to how effectively I was pacing the run. I felt good, I looked down at my average pace and it was showing 6:45 min/miles and I told myself I had this in the bag, I was going to be a sub 3 hour marathon runner, a #sub3tony.
Mile 18 was a big mile, a milestone moment shall we say. Not only is mile 18 the mile that my body starts to tell me that its had enough but it was also the mile that made me realise I had royally screwed up my pacing. My watch beeped to say I had done 19 miles but there was no red mile marker in sight, it hadn’t been tremendously long since I saw the last red arch towering over me. I turned to the man next to me whose watch had also prematurely sounded and enquired about it, he informed me that unless you stick to the blue line on the floor (which marks the shortest possible route around the course) then you are actually running more than the designated distance. How had I not realised this before? I was furious with myself for being so oblivious and naive. I realised that not only did I not have a sub 3 in the bag I would be lucky to make it at all.
The last 5 miles of the marathon were my fastest; I unleashed an all out assault on my body and the clock. My hip flexors were telling me one thing and my ego was telling me another, I had to keep going. I kept muttering to myself ‘head up and scrape the sand’to remind myself to keep good form through the final few miles. If you feel good at 20 then push, coach told me. Well I was pushing Mark but it wasn’t because I felt good. My watch beeped to tell me my marathon ordeal was over but I could see the sign up ahead saying 800m to go, this was it, If I had one more ounce of energy then I would have to summon it now. I was running on empty, my heart rate had been consistently below 80% effort until now but it was knocking on the door of 190bpm and I could feel it. One last push.
The home straight…The feeling of running down The Mall past Buckingham Palace is supposed to be one of euphoria and elation but as I turned the last corner I could see the clock tick over to 3:00:00 and my heart sank. I knew I crossed the start line mere seconds after the gun so I had no room for manoeuvre, I couldn’t keep my emotions stable as I crossed the finish line in 3:00:44 and broke down into tears long before the medal was draped around my neck. My sub 3 dreams were over, at least for this year.
I would like to think of myself as a relaxed but determined person who isn’t overly emotional on a day to day basis, however, sport is different, I have no control over my emotions despite my will power. On the day I was truly heartbroken about not going under 3hrs, and still am. However now the dust has settled I realise that I will always want to go faster and harder regardless of what results I achieve but in actual fact it was probably the most successful race I’ve ever executed in terms of converting training and planning into results. It’s easy to dissect what went wrong in a race but the successes are often overlooked and I have many more positives to take than negatives from London 2015.
The biggest of those positives was the realisation of the relationship between coach and training. My attitude to training has changed almost as much as my fitness has in the 18 months since being a part of WhittleFit. My philosophy of ‘treat every session like it’s a race’had seen me suffer from 4 bouts of tonsillitis and Weils disease in less than a year of training. Despite numerous ‘This is too fast’or ‘easy means easy’critiques on training peaks, I refused to rest until I was forced to. Something had to change. 8 months after leaving my ego in Tenby after Ironman last September I feel like I’m finally starting to nail this ‘listening’malarkey, training has become a pleasure again and finishing times have even started creeping down. So, I suppose, the moral of the story is that if you enlist the services of a coach, then listen to them…. Or in my case, listen to them but take off 15 seconds a mile.
So am I a triathlete or am I a runner? Well, for now, it’s all eyes on Zell Am See and I’m really looking forward to working hard over the summer months and racing with friends in August. However, I wont forget how I felt after the London Marathon, and it’s that feeling that will ensure my return next year and spur me on in another attempt to be #sub3tony.
Craig Burrows
Well done Craig, great report and awesome racing! Roll on August and Zell am See 70.3!!!
