Breaking Brighton
Finally my first race of the year (not counting Parkrun). I'd been waiting for this moment since the beginning of November 2014 when I completed my last half marathon in Lode, Cambridgeshire.
At the tail end of last year I was hitting a rich vein of form. I had just broken my Parkrun PB with 19:08 and would have been on course for around 90 minutes in Lode had the course not been cut short due to an illegal rave. In the end I managed the 11 miles in 77 minutes.
Sadly this run of form came to an end when I caught a bad cold which blocked my sinuses and eventually went onto my chest. It was the middle of January by the time it had left and since then I have been rebuilding my fitness levels.
Before the day came I began to get really nervous. I knew that Brighton was a fast, flat course and that if everything came together I had a good shot at a PB. My previous best time was 1:34:46 set in Birmingham last year and that included a long steep climb. In the back of my mind however was the magic 1 hour 30 mark. Could I break 90?
I woke up at 4am on the day of the race and after a quick breakfast began the drive down to Brighton. The roads were clear and I made good time arriving at 7:30. It was a clear, dry morning, cold but with little wind. A storm was expected to arrive later in the day but by 8 o'clock there was no sign of anything other than a pleasant spring day.
Part of the package offered for the event was a Park and Ride scheme. It only cost a fiver and saved all the hassle of looking for a space. It was well marshaled and clearly signposted. I was soon on the bus and 20 minutes later we arrived at the seafront. The bus dropped us at the baggage area next to the start. There were already hundreds of people warming up and stripping off.
I had headed for the front of the pen for those finishing between 1:30 and 1:45. Previous experience told me that there would be a lot of slower people at the front and I was right. The first half a mile entailed dodging and ducking to get past people before I could find my stride. I spotted the 1:30 banner on the back of a pacemaker and stuck next to him. We headed inland away from the pier, past the Royal Pavillion and up to St Peter's church where we looped back towards the coast.
At this point we began a gradual climb for two miles as we headed east towards the Marina. I could feel the extra effort that was being asked of my legs but it wasn't particularly steep. I reassured myself that what goes up must come down and increased my pace.
Just past the Marina we again looped back, this time towards the west and headed for Brighton. I was now ahead of the pacemaker but only just. A couple of local club runners were pushing hard and receiving a lot of support from the crowd. I decided to stick with them. As we passed the ferris wheel and pier which marked both the start and finish line I felt good. I'd stopped looking at my watch and decided that as long as the pacemaker with his flag was behind me I knew I was in with a shot at sub 90 - I could always try and out sprint him across the line if it came to it.
We were half way and I was pushing but feeling strong, there was still lots in the tank. I knew that it would be the last 3 miles that would be the worst. Only two Parkruns and the last mile to go I reassured myself. The next three miles are a bit of a blur. Sometimes I just zone out and my legs take over. I vaguely remember there being hundreds of people lining the seafront, seeing a pub and wanting to stop for a pint and a young boy shouting 'you're running well!'
By now we were nearly at the far end of the course - Hove Lagoon. Here we would again turn back but this time along the promenade past the brightly coloured beach huts and the pebbled shoreline. My legs were beginning to ache and my breathing was more laboured. We passed the ten mile point and I nearly came a cropper on a bollard that had been hidden by the runner in front of me. I just missed it by a fraction of an inch, it was nearly game over.
At this point I knew the pacemaker was only a little way behind (or so I imagined) and increased my pace. I told myself to treat it like a Parkrun and give it everything. If I put the effort in now I could afford to slow down over the last mile. I fixed my eyes on the ferris wheel in the distance and pumped my arms and legs hard.
My face was contorted into a grimace and I could hear a horrible noise coming from somewhere deep inside me but I was determined not to miss out on my goal time by slowing at the end and wasting all that effort. I was in another world of pain and I knew I didn't want to have to go through that again. But equally I knew that if I fell short of my goal I would have to experience it once more in two weeks time at Milton Keynes. I used that threat to drive myself relentlessly onward.
Eventually, after what felt like an age, I saw the finish banner. The clock read 1:28 and I was only a couple of hundred metres away. I knew I had done it but kept pushing right to the line. I collapsed over a barrier panting and wheezing. Everything had come together; the weather, the course, my diet and sleep, my physical and mental state, my travel plans and even other runners to help pace me.
Strangely I felt no elation, not even a smile, I was spent. I collected my medal and goody bag and headed for the nearest coffee shop. Looking at my split times I saw how consistent I had been, every mile between 6:40 and 6:50 except two, the last two which I had managed in 6:30. It was an even better performance than I had imagined in the days leading up to the race when I was trying some positive mental exercises to prepare.
I continued in a bit of a daze for the rest of the day but now I can take in and appreciate the achievement. My official time was 1:28:25 and a placing of 310/12,500.
