Cornish Marathon Race Report

   Sunday, November 16, 2008

As first marathons go, I didn't make it easy for myself choosing the Cornish, but there was logic in the choice, it's close to home, there's not too many people running it, I know that I'd get great encouragement from the marshalls and believe it or not, it has hills to break up the monotony and pain of the flat. It seems like a lifetime ago since I woke up in July realising I should be starting my training, for a hitherto distant date, but training flew by without any mishaps. I barely slept 5 hours the night before, on one hand I believed I'd put in the necessary hard work, on the other hand I was scared I wouldn't even finish. On the morning the day long drizzle of Saturday ceased to give a fine start, and it was great to see a lot of people who'd been hiding in the wings turn up at the start for the club. The first two laps of Pensilva I was purposefully conservative and wary of, and the first 7 miles and hour drifted by without pain and nearly without incident. There was at most a slight heaviness in my legs, but I knew the hills were yet to begin. I was slightly disconcerted at the 6 mile marker to be overtaken by a gorilla wearing a tutu (and running for Launceston Road runners), but after hearing other runners discussing the unusual occurrence, I concluded I wasn't hallucinating it.

The Trenant valley was the first real drag up, I'd pull past people up the hill, they'd come flying back past me on the downhill, but I wasn't concerned about anyone else, this race was only about me. The hill up from Wenmouth saw my pace start dropping, and again at the hill on 11 but I let this pass, I knew there was time to get it back. I got to the halfway point at roughly 1.49, slightly faster than I wanted to be going and the wind off the lake became noticeable. We passed the marshall with the cone in the road who carefully makes sure we all run around it and don't cut the corner, while he gestured to it, almost dancing around it. At 15, I still felt good, getting plenty of encouragement from Lisa and Adam on their bikes, I was greeted by the unfortunate site of a runner down in the hedge. It's the worst part of racing, it's human to want to stop and help, but it was clear that all I could do was run on past as he was already being attended to. The next section, the Draynes valley is considered the place to pick up time, but my legs were beginning to feel heavy at 16 and 17 and instead I just kept my pace at the same rate it had been throughout the hills. This was the first and only lonely section of the race, I was adrift from other runners, the water stations were 3 miles apart and miles 18, 19 and 20 came slowly.

I knew the real race begins at 20, but with the Cornish it's 21 that it begins in earnest, where you hit the hill up to Golitha. I reached the 21 mile marker at a smidgeon under 3 hrs, which is identical to my training, so I was once again bolstered by this, but from then on things got hard. I made it up to the Redgate turn but then was forced to break into a walk and took the opportunity to swig a gel. 22 to 23 was grim, in training I'd done this, but the hill had been at miles 18 to 20 and the extra 3 miles in my legs really told. It was a jog/walk affair up to Donierts and a tiredness and a very slight unreality started creeping in, my heart was pounding and my legs just wanted to splay drunkenly. At the mile marker for 23, the high point at the turning to Minions, I was able to relax knowing I had a mile of downhill and gain a little time back and some breathing space. However Crows Nest pub came too soon, and the 2 miles to go which sees some runners launch euphorically into the stratosphere (according to the books I read) saw me battling to keep one foot in front of the other. Foredown took forever to arrive, any attempt to stretch my legs saw me engulfed with lactic acid after 10 or so paces.

After 25 the road seem to stretch endlessly like a rubber band, the crossroads I'd envisaged in my head didn't exist at Foredown, you had an extra 50 metres on the Liskeard to Launceston road, and worse other runners starting appearing from nowhere and careering serenely past me, while I struggled to shift the two concrete posts that had become attached to my pelvis. The downhill trudge to 26 miles helped, but the last .2 miles seemed like an extra mile themselves, I was vaguely aware of familiar faces but I knew I had practically nothing left. I was a bit giddy and strangely ravenously hungry, I started daydreaming about bananas, flapjacks, cakes. I turned the corner approached the line to feel an agonizing cramp shoot up on my very last step stopping me dead in my tracks on the line, before realising that my body had completely given up on me. It said the line and nothing more and I obeyed, turning in a respectable 3.53.10. And best of all I beat the gorilla.

I have to thank all the marshalls and everyone from the club who encouraged me, particularly Lisa and Adam who seemed ever present between miles 8 and 14 and were always there with a kind word - it really does make a difference and seeing everybody being so positive kept my spirits and confidence up throughout the whole race. The race was an affirmative and, no exaggeration, life changing experience.

chrisullman@tiscali.co.uk