The joys of marathoning revisited.

I woke with intense cramp in my right calf and didn't know what to do with myself. It is many years since I've had this sensation, probably when I last ran a marathon in 1995 (the one before that was in 1985). Oh, the joys of marathon running. Only this happened on Saturday morning in our delightful Guest House in Oban on the way up to Fort William and therefore before the marathon! Had I been dreaming about the race? Don't think so and if I had it would have been a nightmare not a dream. What was I letting myself in for after two months of bad health manifesting itself in many different and dispiriting ways? At least Claudie and I had already enjoyed a few days in delightful warm sunshine as a prelude to the race, initially visiting my favourite cousin in Perth, then meeting for the first time in my life a cousin of my mum's in Oban, interspersing all this with touring in some of the most wonderful scenery in the world. So the flights, car hire, accommodation all booked up when I entered the race weren't totally wasted.

I chose this marathon some months ago for a number of reasons: I felt to urge to revisit my former favourite distance, especially having rediscovered some form in recent months; I didn't want to do a big race like London or a foreign city race as I felt low key was the best way back; I figured that a top 10 place was there for the taking, and I really fancied a short break in Scotland. This race, which has been going for 26 years, appealed especially because as well as the backdrop of Ben Nevis and, ironically, the lure of a relatively flat course, it tracked the banks of Loch Eil, which has a special affinity to my family. My mum's maiden name is Cameron and she came from the Clan Cameron of Loch Eil, so it really just had to be done.
First impressions when collecting my number in Fort William was how this race is the absolutely perfect antidote to the brash commercialism of the London Marathon. 500 entrants, no stands selling shoes, very little publicity, just a good, well organised old fashioned race starting and finishing on a shinty pitch (watched a match the day before the race, it makes ice hockey look gentile). There wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was ominously warm for the relatively late 11am start. Chatted to a couple of Bourton athletes (why is there always a Bourton runner wherever one races?!) then we were off with a 3,2,1 go!

Despite still feeling the calf cramp, I felt ok and was determined not to go off too fast. This was incredibly frustrating as I desperately wanted to go off with the lead pack. I had planned to run 6.45 miling to start with then, if I felt ok, maybe drop to 6.30's. 19.22 after 3 miles was a bit faster than this but I felt that I would feel uncomfortable running any slower, I'd already got into a good little group and I may as well try to get the race over with 'quickly' as this would save time on my feet - I know, a bit like accelerating towards a petrol station when running out of fuel but there you go.
Every mile between 3 and 10 was within 6 seconds (6.21 / 6.27) as I hooked up with a guy from Motherwell who seemed to know what he was doing. We were flowing along. By this stage I was about 25th. He then slowed at a drinks station and I found myself alone and reeled off 3 miles to halfway at an average of 6.17, picking off runners along the way. Being an out & back course I was able to ascertain my position at halfway, 12th in 1.24.00, faster than planned but I felt good and was enjoying picking off the runners ahead. This I did consistently, catching the guy in 4th at 19 miles. Thankfully he stayed with me, although I was slightly worried at his greying locks (turns out he wasn't even a V40!), and we helped each other through the "wall" miles. Fatigue was setting in but I'd hydrated well throughout the race, both with water and electrolyte (things have changed since I used to run marathons, in those days you made do with plastic cups of tap water which were impossible to drink out of), and also carried a gel, which I took at 19 miles and washed down at the next water station. Throughout the return journey along the banks of the Loch, the enormous, snow covered peak of Ben Nevis beckoned ever nearer - there was no doubting where the finish line was, although thankfully at the base not the summit of the country's highest mountain.

I was waiting for intense weariness to set in but I'd paced myself well and just after 23 miles the footsteps of my partner faded behind me (he eventually finished 4 minutes behind as the heat got to him). I was on my own in 4th but the next guy was a long way down the road. Held things together well (my fastest mile at 6.12 was no. 24) until the last mile which incorporated a couple of short, sharp climbs and was also into the brisk wind that had always been around but never in our faces. Claudie got the shock of her life when she looked up from reading her Sunday paper in the shinty stand: here was Wrighty flying (I exaggerate) down the finishing straight some 8 minutes faster than predicted, before collapsing in a heap across the finish line.

Elation turned to frustration a while later when I found out that the winner was only 4 minutes ahead - this was a race I could, in fact should, have won. I'd paced it perfectly, coming home in 1.23.20, giving me a negative split. Apart from my slow last mile (6.45), all my mile splits were between 6.12 and 6.29 and my 5 mile splits were 32.15, 32.04, 31.26, 31.31, 31.55.

After the presentation we drove to a wonderful hotel in the middle of Glencoe, miles away from anywhere, and enjoyed a few beers in the hot early evening sunshine (see picture). My face and shoulders were burnt but my calf cramp had gone! I think I've got the marathon bug back.