Paul Pollock - Medical doctor and Irish international middle distance/ marathon runner
Friday 2 October 2015
Monday 21 September 2015
No hate, no fight. Just excitation, all through the night.
The topic of the Berlin marathon
has arisen in most conversations that I have had in the past year. Ever since
the major disappointment of withdrawing from the European Championships
marathon in Zurich, it has been my goal. The Berlin marathon presents me with
the chance of fulfilling a lifelong dream of qualifying for the Olympic Games.
Imagine then, my excitement, or should that be my nervousness, that I find
myself a mere six days away from the startline. This Friday I depart from my
normal life to become immersed in a weekend surrounded by the world’s running
elite. If I do not hit it right, all the effort and pain suffered in those many
training sessions will have been wasted. All the hard work comes down to a
performance lasting little over two hours. With only eleven months until the
Olympics, if I had to squeeze in another marathon in six months time, it would
leave little opportunity for recovery. Such is the life of a marathon runner.
Next weekend is my best chance of qualifying and one that I am keen not to
waste.
All the sacrifices I have made
are running through my mind. The countless nights out I have declined, the
holidays I have skipped and family celebrations that I have missed. The
pressure is slowly mounting. Granted it may be pressure that I am voluntarily
placing on myself but pressure none the less. I often feel that in order to
produce my best race, I need that pressure. That risk of disappointment, of
perceived possible failure. I find that whenever I reach that stage in the race
where my head drops and thoughts of succumbing to the pain dominate, the
pressure keeps me going. There are so many people I do not want to let down.
People who have invested so much time and effort into what is essentially my
own selfish dream. The list of people who I am indebted to is longer than I
could ever have imagined and I am eternally grateful for their continued support
and help.
Training for the past number of
weeks has not been smooth, far from it. That, however, is the inevitability of
marathon training, of pushing the body to its absolute limit and attempting to
maintain it there. In terms of fitness, I am ready to perform. With luck next
Sunday, my body will be physically ready, rested and prepared for the pain that
the roads of Berlin will bring. It has been two years since my last marathon
and after the agony of last year, I am already dreaming of the relief that the
finish line will bring and the ensuing party afterwards. Before then though, I
have a job to do. It is time to get my mental attitude right. It is time to
prepare my body for the challenge that next week’s race presents. It is time to
rest up and eat well. The game plan for the race will be decided next Saturday.
After the recent, near dream-ending hurdle, my coach and I are hesitant to plan
things too far in advance. The primary aim is to get to Berlin in one piece,
capable of racing. The goal is quite clear, qualification. Anything less will
be a great disappointment. Anything more will be an unexpected but very welcome
bonus. Thoughts of records and exceptionally fast times have evaporated. The
quote ‘sometimes you must retreat from a battle to win the war’ springs to
mind. All I have to do is qualify. Next year is the time to go for the win. For
now though, it is time to be sensible. It is time to be smart. It is time to go
to work.
The Berlin marathon is at 9am
next Sunday 27th September (8am Irish and UK time) but unfortunately
it is only shown on German television. However, I am number 52 and my Irish
training partner Kevin Seaward is number 82 for anyone who wants to track us on
the app (http://www.bmw-berlin-marathon.com/en/service/bmw-berlinmarathon-app.html).
Thank you to everyone who is making this journey with me, especially the
medical support team of Noel, Tom, Rich, Eva and Jo for all the hard work that
they have put in recently. Let’s hope it all pays off!
Monday 10 August 2015
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road
My coach is not a big fan of
racing. Sometimes, I think he believes that racing is little more than a
distraction, taking away valuable time in which I could be training. For me,
racing is the part of running that provides the most enjoyment. Or perhaps, I
should say, it is the build up to racing that excites me. Nowhere else in my day
to day existence do I get a feeling like the one I do in the days leading up to
a competition. The nervous excitement about how well I might perform. The
inevitable worry that everything may go wrong. What if I embarrass myself in
front of all the spectators? As I have progressed in my running, the worry of
failing has subsided. I have come to trust in my coach and his training. At the
Commonwealth Games last year, in Hampden Park stadium there were close to forty
six thousand spectators watching me run. Forty six thousand! Considering it was
going to be only my second 10,000m race and I was carrying an injury, the
nerves should have been unbearable. I was afraid I would have to drop out with
my injury. I was afraid I would come last and not even break thirty
minutes. However, as race day came closer,
I told myself to enjoy it, that it would be an experience that I could carry
with me for the rest of my life. And so it turned out to be. I did not medal,
in fact it was the first time that I have ever been lapped in a race. But the
roar of the crowd, the deafening cry of thousands of people is one that I will
indeed remember for a long time to come.
I am unsure why that memory has
come to me right now. Maybe it is the fact that with fifty days to go until
Berlin, already I am becoming nervous. Nervous about failing, yet even more
nervous about succeeding. Berlin has the potential to be the best race of my
career. It will be my fourth marathon and first one as a full time runner.
Yesterday evening, I was at a friend’s thirtieth birthday party. Socialising
amongst new people, the same old questions always pop up. ‘Oh you are a runner,
what time can you do for the marathon?’ My answer is always the same. ‘Well I
have done 2.16 but I hope to break 2.10 in my next one’. I always feel the need
to justify myself. 2.16 is a time that the majority of people will never come
close to running. It should be good enough in its own right. But for me, if I
never run quicker, it will be a massive disappointment. Undoubtedly, I have not
even come close to reaching my potential. Berlin is not my last opportunity to
run quick, far from it. However, it is an opportunity. An opportunity to race,
over the fastest course in the world, with the fastest runners in the world.
That is why I am excited. Last week, I sat down to find a video of the marathon
course. The only one I could find was of the 2014 race with German commentary.
As I turned my laptop to mute, I watched on with anticipation. I visualised
what this year’s start would be like and the route that I would take as I traversed
the city centre of Berlin. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can see myself rounding
the corner onto Leipziger Street at the twenty three mile point. I am on for a
shockingly quick time, feeling strong. In my mind, I push on towards the finish,
passing and leaving Africans in my wake. In reality, I know I will be in severe
pain, contemplating whether I should drop out and already searching for the still
distant finishing line.
For the first time, I decided, in
conjunction with my coach, to begin a sixteen week build up phase for this
marathon. While it begun at the start of June, it feels like only yesterday
that we were discussing how much time we had until race day. I remember Andy’s
manic laugh whenever he was telling me of the sessions that he wanted me to
complete. He is quite sadistic at times. However, the time has flown by, with
training progressing relatively smoothly, broken only by a small niggle here
and there. In the sixteen weeks, there was room for only one race in the
training plan. Looking at the calendar, for me the decision was obvious. I
wanted to do the Dublin half marathon, which doubled up as the Irish half
marathon championships. My training partner, and fellow marathon runner, Kevin
Seaward booked our flights over to Dublin. We decided that this would be a
chance to say to the Irish running community ‘Yes, we might be training in
England, but don’t forget about us. We are getting ready.’
Having not raced in two months, I
doubt anyone really had an idea of what kind of shape Kevin and I were in. For
me though, I was in the shape of my life. Eight weeks of marathon training and
regular twenty mile days had made me stronger than ever before. With a personal
best of 62.10 to my name over the half distance, I knew that given my recent
sessions, I was in much better shape. The Dublin half was not about winning. I
wanted to make a statement. I wanted to go there and lead from the front and
show that I was ready to take on the marathon challenge. Waking up on the
Friday morning, two days before the race, my throat had different ideas. My
voice was hoarse and my nostrils blocked. I was hopeful that it might clear
quickly, aided by overdosing on vitamin c and honey. Sadly it was not to be,
and I spent most of the night before the race at the side of my bed trying to
stop the persistent flow of fluid from my nose. I phoned my coach at seven on
the morning of the race. I was doubtful I would make the startline, never mind
the finish. After discussing with the coach however, we agreed to at least try
and run. All thoughts of showing my good form had gone. Finishing was the aim,
anything beyond that a bonus. Kevin had also had a rough night of sleep thanks
to a severe migraine. It felt like after all the hard work, we were both
destined to fail.
On the warm up together, little
was said. I was concentrating too much on trying to breathe through my mouth
and Kevin trying to contain his headache. As the start gun went off, I
immediately sat at the back of the lead group of eight or so athletes. For the
first six miles, I played with the demons in my head, shouting at me to stop. I
was still coughing up phlegm as we went along. I managed to stay in contact,
more through sheer determination than anything else. I spent most of the first
nine miles staring straight at the back of Kevin’s vest. I knew, headache or
not, he would not be far from the leaders. As we rounded into Phoenix Park,
with four miles to go, we encountered a short climb. Surprisingly, by the time
we had reached the top, the group had whittled down to just four athletes. I
sat in second place, keen to do as minimal work as possible. Kevin sitting in
third began to tie up. It soon, became a two horse race between me and Mick
Clohisey, the long time leader of the race. Having sat in for so long, I was
confident that I had enough to win. I made my break with half a mile to go, and
crossed the line first in 65.09, with Mick close behind. It was only my second
time contesting the Irish championships, having also won it at my first attempt
three years previously. Kevin finished soon after in third position.
Considering we were both well below par, to return with two Irish championship
medals, has reinforced our belief in Andy’s training. We both came into the
race feeling poorly. Add to that we were on a one hundred and twenty mile week,
having done a thirty four mile double session day only five days before the
race. Berlin may be fifty days away, but for me and Kevin, each day is a day for
us to get stronger, to get fitter and hopefully with luck, it brings both of us
a step closer to smashing that Olympic marathon qualifying time. Only time will
tell.
Thursday 16 July 2015
Complex simplicity
The Berlin marathon has been my
focus ever since I started this journey into the world of professional running.
Not only is it widely regarded as the fastest marathon in the world, as proven
by the multiple world records set there in previous years, but it also acts as
a qualifying race for the 2016 Rio Olympics. For me, it is the gateway to
achieving my goal of becoming an Olympian. It is the next step on the road that
ends with the opportunity to challenge for success in Rio, wearing the green
vest of Ireland. Ever since last July, when my season ended abruptly through
injury, I have been eager to start back into marathon training. It was
therefore with trepidation and excitement that I began my marathon build-up
five weeks ago.
How do you train for a marathon?
It is a question I am asked regularly, as if I have the answer to what is essentially
an unanswerable question. I normally laugh it off, ‘Miles, lots of miles’ I
reply. In truth, I don’t really know how best to train for a marathon. Neither
does my coach for that matter. I have no medals from major championships (yet),
and my coach has never had an athlete at world class marathon level. Granted, we
know the general knowledge behind the physiological adaptations that can occur
with certain training. We know the need for preparation and the almost
obsessive attention to detail that is required. But underneath it all, we both
still question, are we missing something? Are we taking the optimal approach?
I have raced three marathons in
my life: Dublin 2012, London 2013 and Moscow 2013. The lead in phase to each
was disjointed, broken up by a combination of full time work and injury. Never
before have I had the opportunity to execute a sixteen week marathon build-up
plan. All throughout the winter and indoor seasons this year, I have wanted to
do marathon training. It is where I believe my real strength lies. The track
and cross country are fun, albeit painful, distractions but the marathon is
what I love. While it may be two years since I last ran a marathon, I vividly
remember the sensation that hits at around twenty two miles. There is a point
in every marathon where you will want to give up. It is inevitable. There is no
way around it. Everything is in agony. Your arms are heavy, your legs are screaming
and each breath is a struggle. It is no longer about completion of a race, it
is a question of survival. It is a unique, somewhat addictive, feeling.
The past five weeks have been
hell but an enjoyable hell, if such a thing can exist. Life has consisted of
nothing but running, eating and sleeping. There has been no spare energy for
any distractions. A walk to Tescos for food is exhausting. An easy day consists
of ten miles in the morning finishing with ninety minutes in the gym, followed
by a further ten miles in the evening. Let me repeat, that is the easy day! My
life has descended into a continuous ongoing cycle of two hard days followed by
three easy. At the end of the two hard days my mileage is already close to
sixty miles, most of which have been completed at sub 5.30 pace. I recently
read an article about members of the West-Brom football team having to run a
total of twenty-six miles every three days as part of pre-season training. They
were being heralded as elite athletes, training hard. I would love for them to
spend even a week in my shoes to see how they fare. For the past month, my
weekly mileage has been well in excess of one hundred and twenty miles, all
under seven minute mile pace, mostly under six. I was soon begging Andy, my
coach, to go back to track training, only half joking.
If success in marathon running
was as easy as training hard, there would be a lot more successful marathon
runners. Sadly, it is not that simple. An athlete can be in sub two hour
marathon shape and yet, for a multitude of reasons, not perform on race day. Part
of good preparation is to minimise the potential for these factors to occur. I already
know exactly what kit I will wear on race day, the shoes I am going to wear,
what to eat for breakfast and at what time. What to eat the night before, how
much and when. I am fine tuning my drinks strategy for during the race, another
key factor that has the potential to scupper even the best athlete. I have
practiced on my long runs waking up as if it is the morning of the race. There
are so many things to think about when planning to race a marathon. For my
first marathon in Dublin, I ran simply for fun, to see if I could complete the
distance. I had nothing to drink until after the sixteen mile mark. Previously,
I had never run over twenty miles before and had never taken liquid whilst
moving. The whole day was a completely novel sensation and experience for me. This
time I want to be prepared. I want to be ready. I may not succeed but at least
once that finish line in Berlin has been crossed I can look back and say I gave
it everything. I always remember a news story from a few years ago. At the football
World Cup in Korea 2002, Mick McCarthy had stuck a poster on the door of the
Irish changing room before the team arrived. It read simply ‘No Regrets’. I know
I will not be able to run forever. When the time comes that I look back at this
time in my life, I do not want to wonder ‘What if?’. I will want to know I did
everything I possibly could to achieve this goal of mine. In essence, in thirty
years’ time, I do not want to look back and wish someone had stuck a poster up on
my door. What about you?
Finally, it would be
remiss of me not to mention one of the finest performances of a Northern Irish
female athlete in recent years. Kerry Harty/O’Flaherty ran 9.42 over the 3000m
steeplechase last week, to not only smash the Northern Irish record but also
more than likely secure a seat on the plane to Rio next year. We were both part
of last year’s Northern Irish Commonwealth Games’ team and I know how hard she
has worked to get to where she is now. It is great to see Northern Irish
athletes getting the chance to compete against the best in the world. Hopefully
come the afternoon of September 27th, there will be at least two
more Northern Irish names on that flight list, my training partner Kevin
Seaward and mine. No regrets.
Thursday 11 June 2015
Grumblings of an old man or the frustrations of a young
When I first started this blog,
some twenty months ago, I was advised to be careful. It can sometimes be
dangerous voicing opinions in public and the repercussions of doing so, can
follow an unpredictable route. However, after watching the BBC documentary last
week with regards alleged doping within the Nike Salazar camp, the topic of
this month’s blog became obvious. The term ‘drug cheat’ has sadly become
commonplace in the world of athletics. Rarely, can you watch an event
containing world class opposition, where at least one of the competitors has
not fallen foul of drug testing laws. What the past number of months have
proved is that no country is immune. Jamaica, America, Kenya, Russia. Even my
very own Ireland has been implicated. As long as there are winners and losers,
there will always be cheaters. There will always be those looking for a
shortcut to glory. Somewhere along the line, they have forgotten what they are
really running for and the real race in which they are competing.
Amongst many of my fellow
athletes, suspicion is rife. Rumours and hearsay are commonplace. Where is the
point that you stop believing an athlete is pushing themselves to their limits
and start questioning how they have managed to adjust those very limitations?
One of my favourite films is ‘Without Limits’, the story documenting the life,
and untimely death, of the American running legend and Nike’s first athlete, Steve
Prefontaine. Nowadays, the title appears somewhat ironic. The fact is that,
with the advancement of medical technology, we are indeed capable of breaking
our natural ‘limits’. There is no doubt I could train harder, recover quicker
and run faster if I took the right combination of drugs, just as anyone could.
What then stops an athlete from cheating? The risk of recrimination if they get
caught? A higher moral code? Or maybe just simply, that they want to see how
far they and they alone can push themselves.
To me, running is quite simple. An
athletics race is a competition to see who is the fastest at covering a set
course. It is governed by strict rules. You cannot jump in a car and drive to
the finish line. You cannot jump on a bike and cycle to the finish line. And
you cannot take certain drugs in order to produce a physiologically enhanced
body. There is no difference in injecting yourself full of performance
enhancing medications, than jumping in a car at the start line and speeding
away to the finish. At least if you had a car everyone could see you giving all
the clean athletes the middle finger while you do it. In addition, recent
research is pointing towards the fact that the benefits of these medications
can last in the body for years. Ok, you might not be jumping in a Ferrari at
the start line like you once were, but even a simple Ford Focus would still
create an unfair advantage. Where then is the deterrent that life bans might
possibly bring? In my experience, there was a consensus that two year bans were
a joke. Four year bans, while obviously better, are still a joke. Is missing
one Olympic cycle worth the risk for the possible years and years of benefits
that you might be able to claim afterwards? And that is provided that you get
caught in the first place. Lance Armstrong proved that not failing a drug’s
test does not necessarily mean you are a clean athlete, a fact seemingly verified
by the documentary last week. I imagine there are ways to ‘microdose’ or consume
newly manufactured drugs that no test yet exists for. Such is the problem
facing the anti-doping agency today. I dare not investigate deeper into this
dark world of athletics, as I would likely become more cynical and saddened
that this sport that I love is being corrupted in such a way.
Athletes should be heralded as
role models for the young. The sport teaches the virtues of discipline,
dedication, perseverance and hard work, amongst many others. Cheating undoes
all of that. Letting convicted drug cheats compete as if nothing has happened,
undoes all of that. If cheats could prove that they are back to their ‘normal’
default physiological setting then perhaps, at a stretch, they might have a
valid case to be heard. However, with the evidence pointing towards the fact
that this is not what occurs, letting these cheats still compete means that the
race is not a level playing field. It makes a mockery of the sport. I wish it
could be made compulsory that every convicted cheat would have to have ‘DRUG
CHEAT’ printed next to their name every time it appeared on television or in
the paper. Every time the commentator said their name, they would be legally required to precede their name with the words ‘drug cheat’. These cheating
athletes are in a different race, a race with only one competitor – themselves.
And sad though it is, for as long as they live, they will forever more always
be in a race with only themselves. The level playing field has gone. They can
no longer claim to have beaten another competitor. They can no longer claim to
have run quicker times. Because in truth, they are no longer themselves.
So what can be done?
Realistically, what can be done? Cheating is sadly always going to occur, no
matter what the sport. A failed drugs test is no proof of innocence. The drug
manufacturers and involved doctors are always not just one step ahead of the
testers, but most likely two, three or four steps. Last Monday night, I
received a knock on my door, it was the drug testers. It is a usual occurrence.
I believe I have been tested sixty one times in total, surprisingly high given
my first major championship was only two years ago and I am not an athlete even
good enough for funding. It would be interesting to see how many times those
funded athletes have been tested, they must have no blood left in them by now.
At least Ireland is seemingly trying to catch cheaters. I was describing to a
friend how it is up to each individual country to decide which of their athletes
to test and when. After a moment of confusion she replied, ‘But isn’t it in the
country’s interests not to find the cheaters?’. And right there is one of the
main problems. A centralised anti-doping testing agency would go a long way in
catching more cheats. Sadly however, I don’t see it happening anytime soon. I
could keep on grumbling about drug cheats, but quite honestly, I don’t think
they even deserve the time that I have taken to write this. So until next time,
be true to yourself. Push yourself as hard as you can, and when you think you
have reached your limit, think of a drug cheat, and use that anger to push you just
that little bit further.
Friday 8 May 2015
Got my kicks for free
Anger. Disappointment.
Frustration. Relief. It is hard to accurately describe my feelings after racing
late last Saturday night. Having flown to America to compete over twenty five
laps of the infamous Cobb track at Stanford, I had committed a lot of time and
money for this one race. The plan was to break twenty eight minutes for the
first time and in doing so, achieve the 2016 Olympic qualifying time, in
addition to a Northern Irish record. Sadly, the plan did not come to fruition
and after several days of pre-race preparation in America, I faced the prospect
of a long journey home and some tough questions to be asked.
The month of April was as perfect
as I could have hoped, in terms of training. I got down to my ideal racing
weight, was smashing each session and becoming stronger in the gym. There was
not a thing I would have changed about the previous four weeks. I had committed
myself fully to the training, with few distractions. I had sacrificed many
evenings out with friends in preparation and anticipation of what I might
possibly achieve in Stanford. As I boarded the plane to America, I was full of
optimism. If I had a near perfect race, breaking twenty eight minutes was
possible, only a solid race and running sub 28.15 was likely. A Northern Irish
record of 28.32 was, in my mind, a certainty. Going by the training I had done,
I was confident that I could run sub twenty nine minutes in a time trial on my
own, if I so desired.
I arrived in Stanford five days
before the race. With the eight hour time difference, the first two days were dedicated
to recovery, composed of five mile runs, no quicker than eight minute mile
pace. I would finish each run at the world class gym facilities on the Stanford
campus. Every piece of gym equipment imaginable was present, often in numerous
quantities. Never have I seen a gym so large or as well equipped. Each wall was
dotted with action photos of previous alumni….Tiger Woods, John McEnroe, Ryan
Hall. They had all passed through this gym. Having time to relax between the
runs, I explored the campus grounds. Beside the track were the tennis courts,
which would be well capable of hosting a tennis open championships. One hundred
metres away was the 50m swimming pool, complete with diving pool and practice
pool. A short walk round the corner and the Stanford Cardinal’s football
stadium stands block out the sunlight. Add in the perfectly maintained hockey
pitches, soccer pitches and baseball diamonds, among others, and it is easy to
see why Stanford is world renowned amongst the sporting elite. Dotted beside
each sporting facility were three tall boulders, each inscribed with the names
of previous Stanford Olympians in the chosen sport. It was an impressive list.
I wonder how many my old alma mater, Queen's University Belfast, can boast.
As in 2014, the race was to take
place at ten o’clock on Saturday evening. With fifty seven entrants in the
10,000m, the race was to be divided into an A and B race. Last year, Stanford
was my first ever track 10,000m and so it was a struggle to be placed in the A
race. This year, I was confident that I had improved sufficiently to be
competitive in the A race, if only I was given the chance. Forty eight hours
before the race, they announced the heats. The organisers clearly did not feel as
confident in my ability as I was. I was seeded in the B race. It felt like a
kick in the stomach. I had spent a large amount of money and time to travel
half way across the world, only to be told that I would not be racing in the
race that I wanted. It was clear in my mind, if I was to have any chance of
breaking twenty eight minutes, I needed to be in the A race. Emails were sent
and after a chat with the organiser, I had to resign myself to the fact that
things would not be changed. I was to compete in the B race.
From dreaming of possibilities
one moment, to hard hitting reality the next. As much as I wanted to stay
positive, I told myself that the trip was a waste of time. Without the fast
pace of the A race to pull me along, I knew that my goal was not achievable or
realistic. I had lost the race two days before I even got anywhere near the
startline. After a long chat with the coach, we tried to put an optimistic spin
on things. There was still much to race for. Firstly, it would be a good race
to win, and a Northern Irish record was still up for grabs. I tried to turn my
mindset around. Honestly though, I was annoyed, or rather perhaps more
frustrated, that I would not get a chance to prove how fit I was on a world
stage, in front of the watching athletic elite.
I had the splits all planned out.
I still had to believe that if we went through halfway in under 14.10 pace,
there might still be a chance of picking it up in the second half. I knew if I
was to do that, I would have to run the majority of the second half on my own,
without any assistance. As we came round to the end of the first lap, the clock
read 70 seconds high. Damnit, the pacemaker was already two seconds down on the
expected 68 second pace. I tried not to panic, maybe he will pick it up over
the next few laps. The second lap was another 70 and then a 69. As I sat right
behind him in second, I was staring at the clock every 200m. We were miles off
my splits. I would not break 28 minutes tonight. My head went down. What am I
doing here? The question repeated itself over and over in my mind. As we passed
halfway in 14.16, I wanted nothing more than just to finish the race. I could
not have cared less about what time I was running nor who was passing me by. I
still don’t know what my official time crossing the line was. I believe it was
around the 29.15 mark but honestly, it could have been 30.15 and I would still feel
the same. I crossed the finish line caught up in a sense of regret and
disappointment. I knew that I had not performed to my physical best, hampered
by my negative mental attitude, a thought that annoyed me even further. As I took off my spikes, I faced the prospect
of a long journey home alone.
And that is where I am now. Very
rarely in running do I through in the towel. Never before have I had a race
where I was so fed up with running and so glad to just simply complete the
required number of laps. You always read in books about how running is a
certain percentage physical and an another portion mental, but never have I
noticed it so acutely. I know I was not in the right frame of mind for racing,
once I found out that I was not to be in the A race. The question now is, where
do I go from here? And there really is only one option. To race again, and
soon. I know I am fit, fitter than I have ever been in my life. I now just have
to find a race in which I can prove it to everyone else. One positive to take
from Stanford, is that I have returned home injury free, something that could
not be said last year. At least with my body still in one piece, I will have
the chance to race again on another day.
The take home message for me this
month is simple. No matter what the distance, you are never going to run your
best when your mind is not prepared. I was ready to race something special in
Stanford but things were not to be. It would be easy to find an excuse. To say,
perhaps it was jetlag, or perhaps it was because the race was so late at night
or even that I was not fit enough. In reality, I know that the most likely
reason is simply that I was not ready mentally. It is easy to overthink
running, to start questioning training, to slip off the rails. But then I
remember, one bad race does not define an athlete. And if I go smash a
qualifying time in my next race, Stanford will long be forgotten. For now,
however, the pain and embarrassment is still raw. I am keen to bounce back and
prove my fitness. Next year, I don’t want to be able to give them the option of
putting me in the B race. And in order to do that, the only way is to keep
training and keep racing. For that is the only place where real answers can be
found.
Friday 10 April 2015
All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
Where have the past twelve months
gone? It feels like only yesterday that I was writing last year’s April blog.
Having just completed the World half marathon championships, I was in a manic
rush to get out the door to catch a plane to America. Heading to Mount Laguna
in sunny California, I was filled with dreams of medalling at the Glasgow
Commonwealth Games and European Championships. Unfortunately, my dodgey hip saw
to it that neither medal materialised, nor in fact did much running occur at
all. Another missed opportunity to perform something special in my country’s
vest. Such is the sport of running. I am coming to realise that setbacks are
inevitable and rarely does a training plan go as smoothly as desired.
The past month has been an
unusual one for me. Having arrived home from a good, albeit below par, experience
at the European indoor championships, I was ready for a break. With the Reading
half marathon a fortnight after Prague however, it was time to continue pushing
forward with training. The luxury of a week or two of easy training was one
that I could not afford. I went into Reading fit but mentally tired. It had
been a long nine weeks of indoor training. The shock of thirteen miles of heavy
pounding, along concrete roads, was one my legs were not accustomed to. Finding
myself stranded in no man’s land by the five mile mark, it became more of a
mental endurance challenge than a physical race. I staggered across the finish line
just outside sixty four minutes, two minutes shy of my personal best time. Slightly
disappointing but not a bad starting point in which to begin the longer
distance training block.
And so began a manic week. The
day after Reading I returned home to Holywood. I had already committed to work
a number of shifts in Belfast’s Royal Hospital emergency department. After my
second long shift in work, I contested the local Queen’s 5k race, Northern
Ireland’s 5k road championships. The many hours on my feet took their toll as I
crossed the line first in 14.45, much slower than what I was expecting. The following
morning, I awoke with the cold, probably more due to exhaustion than any actual
infection. But back to work I returned once more. Two days later, and it was
the Omagh half marathon this time. By now, I was coughing green phlegm and
wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed. However, having committed myself to
the race organisers, I was reluctant to pull out at the last moment. I managed
to make it to mile seven before I succumbed. One minute I was cruising at
leisurely pace, the next I was wiped out. The last six miles of a marathon were
never this bad. It was a complete blow out. Looking at my watch, I had dropped
to 5.20 and then 5.30 minute miles. With all the power gone from my legs, I was
fortunate that the last mile was downhill. I crossed the line in a distant
second place, in a pace slower than some of my Sunday runs. I could have taken
my pick from the take home messages: Don’t do two half marathons and a 5k
within the space of seven days. Don’t run with a cold. Don’t try to work and
race at the same time. All very obvious statements you might think. Sometimes
however, you have to experience it for yourself in order to learn from it. I
had no option the following week but to rest. I took four days off, most of
which I spent in bed surrounded by snotty tissues.
There are so many negatives in
running that sometimes it is easy to forget the positives. I always try to be
thankful for what I achieve in athletics, as I know how much others would give
to simply win a race. There is no doubt about it, my schedule for that week was
idiotic and not very professional. It was no wonder that I fell ill. That said,
I came away from it as British half marathon champion and Northern Irish 5k
road champion, and all this just two weeks after the European indoors. It is
only when I take a step back and remind myself of how far I have come, of what
achievements I have already made, can I really refocus my mind.
The niggles that I had collected
throughout the racing week began to settle and my body returned to its normal
state. Two weeks of solid training has occurred since then and my strength and
speed is quickly returning. With the thought of returning to Stanford at the
forefront of my mind, I am eager to get back into hard training to be in the
best shape possible. Time is ticking on, and with only three weeks until race
day, I want to give myself the best opportunity to run well. Last year, it was
my first 10k track race ever, and I just missed out on the Northern Irish
record by less than half a second. This year Stanford will be my third 10k
track race and I am determined to run quicker and perform better than last year.
I am fitter and through the help of my strength and conditioning coach Rich
Blagrove, I am stronger than I ever have been.
I am nowhere near ready to race a
marathon just yet. My training has been geared towards the shorter distances
and different goals. I have, however, not taken my eye off the end goal for
this year. Patience is a difficult virtue in athletics, with many people
wanting instant success and doing too much too soon. Before Christmas, a friend
of mine sent me a countdown timer to the start of the Berlin marathon. I still
have the tab saved on my phone and will do until race day (only 169 days now,
if you must know). When training has been going tough or I am feeling exhausted,
I occasionally open up the tab. It serves as a simple reminder of what my real
goal is. That all this build up, all this track work, while necessary, is just
a bit of fun. A warm up for the main event. July, August and September is when
the real work begins, when I will try and make the step up from solid national
athlete to world class marathon runner. Until then, it is just a question of
keeping fit, grinding out the training and getting the base work done. That
said, I still wouldn’t say no to a personal best and Northern Irish record at
Stanford.
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