Earlier this year we were discussing possible autumn
marathons, and I mentioned that I was thinking of applying for Berlin. Frank said that Karlsruhe was a cracking
German city, with a really well-organised flat and scenic course. That seed took root and before long a group
of us were sitting in Hallhill after training one evening to discuss a possible
club trip, and agreeing that we’d go for it.
Typically, I went home and signed up there and then – my total lack of
German no obstacle to a registration on a German language website. Frau Williamson Nick, aged 90, was on the entry list!
And so it came to pass that six members of the club gathered
at 7am on Saturday morning in Edinburgh Airport – Anne, Stuart, Jennifer, Karen, Frank and me, plus Jo in her
capacity as official cheerleader, kit-carrier and round-getter-inner.
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| From left: Frank, Stuart, Anne, Karen, Jennifer, me |
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| I thought we were going to Germany? |
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| Coals to Newcastle |
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| Meaty Swiss cakes |
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| The World's surliest barista (back) |
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| The Tetris Building |
A quick flight to Basel was followed by a bus and then
high-speed train to Karslruhe, arriving at our hotel at around 3pm, with plenty
of time to get to registration and collect our numbers.
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| Plaques on the pavement commemorating the 4,000 Jews living in Karlsruhe who were displaced or murdered during WW2 |
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| Still going strong on the continent - should have taken orders for pants... |
Frank has family in the local area, and so was staying with
his cousin Joschi, who became our 8th man and “guide”. We arranged to meet them at 6pm in our hotel
foyer to head out for some pizza and pasta (Karlsruhe being blessed with quite
a large Italian population). Frank and
Joschi arrived at 7pm, having wetted their whistles beforehand. This became a running joke over the trip.
After several hours of aimless
wandering expert guiding on rapidly tiring legs, and with rumbling
stomachs, there was a real whiff of mutiny in the air. I honestly thought that Jen was going to sit
down on the pavement and refuse to take another step. Desperate measures were required so I ran
down a side street on impulse and completely lucked out – finding a perfectly
serviceable (and reasonable!) restaurant.
Crisis averted and spirits were soon restored.
After an uncharacteristically long and sound pre-marathon
sleep (this would be my fifth marathon so perhaps the nerves are diminishing
slightly), I awoke and got changed.
After a quick team photo (minus Frank) in the foyer, we made our way to
the start.
After my marathon failures* at Edinburgh and Amsterdam in
2014, my hope for the race was that I’d go sub-3, but I felt I would be happy
enough with a low-3 that improved on my PB.
And that was what I had been telling everyone beforehand – trying to
downplay things as much as possible, conscious that I didn't want to look
foolish if I came back with my tail between my legs. I kept saying that a good marathon (what
would I know about that?!) is made up of a lot of different factors, and that
any one element on the day could be the difference between success and
failure. But my training had gone well,
the course was flat, and the weather could not have been more perfect –
overcast, cool and with barely a breath of wind. I didn't really have anywhere to hide. And GOD did I want a sub-3! Previous
precedent was not good though – cruising along nicely at target pace at both of
Edinburgh and Amsterdam (and actually enjoying Amsterdam) before blowing up
spectacularly after half way. I worried
that this was because I was going off too fast at the start, and so had toyed
with the idea of starting conservatively and building into it in the second
half. But that is simply not my style –
I almost always fade as the race goes on, so tend to need a cushion.
On the start line I decided to stand close to Stuart and the pacer with the 2:59 pennant. We appeared to be outnumbered around 4 or 5 to 1 by half marathon runners. I floated along in the slipstream of the gaggle of 2:59 hopefuls for the first mile. Then Stuart came past. Prompting me to immediately rip up my plan and break free of the 2:59ers.
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| Karlsruhe's flag |
The next few miles took us out along a dual carriageway
towards Durlach. Durlach was apparently
the local capital until a dispute between the prince and his citizens prompted
him to throw his toys out the pram, and move his capital – founding Karlsruhe
in 1715 and building himself a grand palace (or “Schloss”) for good
measure. Stuart pulled out about 150
metres on me over the first 5 miles, but I was comforted that he was still in
sight, the 2:59ers were still behind me, and I still felt in good fettle.
There then came quite a nice long section of woodland paths,
with occasional suburban streets, from around 6 to 11 miles – my favourite part
of the course, all things considered.
I’d noticed that the gap to Stuart had started to reduce again, and at
around 9 miles was close enough to him going up a footbridge over a main road
to say loudly, “who put this f*cking hill here?” He looked round and seemed pleased enough to
see me - “oh, it’s you!”
The combination of Stuart’s company, frequent entertainment
(at times dubious – elderly belly dancers are not everyone’s cup of tea!),
unfamiliar and varied scenery, and enthusiastic crowds meant that the first
half went by relatively painlessly. Not
long before the half way point we passed a sign declaring 41km – the course
route involving two irregular overlapping loops. Stuart and I agreed that that was a little
cruel. Approaching the point at which
the half-marathoners split off towards their finish, there were a good number
of supporters and a guy on a PA who gave a name check to Stuart and me, albeit
he had a couple of goes at saying “Stuart” and still didn't nail it.
The field suddenly became a whole lot more sparse after the
split – on a straight of 200 metres we were lucky if we could see 3 or 4
runners ahead of us. I don’t remember a
huge amount of the next part of the course, so think it must have been largely
nondescript. Or maybe this is just a
sign that I was beginning to flag a little, and was retreating into my head so
as to preserve vital resources. There
was a definitely a lot less in the way of high-fiving kids, applauding dancers,
and giving thumbs up to people shouting “gut gemacht Nick!” I took my one caffeine gel at 17 miles and
waited for the boost to kick in.
What there was a lot more of, unfortunately, was foot/cycle
bridges over busy roads. The upslopes
were not welcome but still manageable.
The downslopes however were causing worrying sensations in my
hamstrings. Please don’t let cramp
scupper me…
The course entered the (extensive) garden grounds
surrounding the Schloss at around the 20 mile mark. Reaching the 32km marker at 2h12m on my
watch, the mental calculations began. My
Garmin was making positive noises about my average pace, but I think it is
prone to exaggerate distance and therefore over-egg the pace. But if at 9am someone had offered me the
chance to run a 47 minute 10k to secure my first ever sub-3 marathon, I’d have
bitten their hand off. And then had the
other hand for dessert.
In absolute terms the Schloss is close to the finish
line. However, the course snaked around
the gardens, passing the same points on several occasions. We kept crossing a blue ceramic line in the
ground, and also a narrow gauge railway line.
I can understand the organisers desire to make the most of such an
attractive feature of the city, but my perception of it was akin to water
torture or a death by a thousand cuts.
And it was at 21 miles that the run really turned for me. Up
until that point I had felt strong and had gradually grown in confidence. Those feelings of strength and confidence
suddenly evaporated, as my legs began to feel like lumps of lead trying to pass
through treacle. Maybe I could have a
walk? Just a little one? NOOOO!!!!! DO NOT F*CK THIS UP NOW YOU
IDIOT!!!
At times I think the mental aspect can be my biggest
stumbling block. I certainly think that
it was the main factor in my failures at Edinburgh and Amsterdam. That was part of the reason I wanted to do
ultras this year – recalibrating my brain to think of 26 miles as, well if not
short, then at least a distance I was used to doing and exceeding. I tried to remind myself of that at half way
when I said to Stuart that, “at least we only had 13 miles to go rather than
the 40 it would be if we were doing the Fling”.
This time I was determined to rage against the dying of the
light. I told myself that as sore as it
might seem to keep going, it would seem a whole hell of a lot worse to have
built this platform and let it slip away.
And even worse to have to start all over again at a subsequent marathon,
with additional mental scarring.
I told myself that I had 40 minutes in which to complete the
final 5 miles. Come on, you can manage 8
minute miles to get home! For something to do, I unwrapped the dextrose tablet
that I’d been handed by a girl on a stall near the start.
Eventually we were spat back out onto the roads in the
centre of town. But there was a fair bit
of twisting and turning here as well. It
became a question of just following that blue line on the ground, and ticking
off the remaining miles. As slow as I
felt, this didn't translate to the times on the watch – slower 6s, followed by
a few low 7s. Each mile accomplished at
better than 8s increasing the reserves in the bank.
But I was at the point where tiny things could upset
me. Out of nowhere I became super-aware
of the tiny waist-pack I was wearing to carry my gel and the dextrose
tablet. On the spur of the moment I
undid the catch and let it fall to the ground in the middle of the street. A couple of spectators thought it was
accidental and tried to draw my attention to it, but I just waved them away.
I didn't though.
Strangely, I barely even managed to raise a smile as I finished. Instead I simply stopped my watch, checked
that my time started with a 2 (2:58:01), and shuffled off to collect my
medal. The elation would come
later.
I quickly found Jennifer, Karen and Frank, who had all
completed their halfs at better than their target times – very well done. Stuart came in shortly after – finishing in
an agonising 3:00:15. He was disappointed at first, but was 2nd M50, and he has of course already
done a 2:55 at Edinburgh this year, so there is no need to feel too sorry for
him!
Sadly Anne had to withdraw at around the 20 mile mark due to
illness, but she was philosophical about it, I think recognising that it was
the right thing to do.
After a good few non-alcoholic beers in “Runners Heaven”
(not nearly enough post-race sausage and alcohol-inclusive beer to justify that
name as far as I was concerned), and an appointment with the press (Stuart may
yet appear in the local Karlsruhe rag), we made our way out of the stadium to find
Jo and Joschi.
Jennifer had a sudden crash which forced her to head back to
the hotel, but the rest of us followed in line between Joschi and asked him to
proceed without delay to the nearest hostelry.
Which was a classic. It was like
stumbling back into the 70s – the owner, the regular patrons, the cigarette
smoke, and the nudey calendar on the wall all looked straight out of Life on
Mars. But the first real beer of the weekend was sweet reward.
After a freshen up back at the hotel (which for me involved
emptying the contents of the minibar - beer, soft drinks, crisps, nuts,
chocolate and all – onto the floor of the bathroom, and working my way steadily
through it all while having my bath), we met up in the bar to start the
celebrations. After the customary Frank
and Joschi delay, we made our way out to paint the town red.
Involving, first, a folk festival in the park beside the
Natural History Museum. A folk festival
that featured the Galloway Dancers, a Scottish country dancing society, “all
the way from Nottingham”! The stalls serving generous portions of curry-wurst,
steins of cold foamy beer, glasses of wine, cocktails, pastries and more were
fantastic though.
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| Drinking with Walter White... |
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| And his sidekick Jessie/Joschi |
I woke early the next morning and decided to take my
hangover out for a walk while Jo slept.
It was interesting to pick my way through the town, encountering blue
lines on the roads and paths, and struggling to remember having run over any of
it the previous day.
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| We're all going to the Zoo today, the Zoo today... |
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| Fire Station |
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| Natural History Museum |
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| The morning after the Folk Festival |
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| Catholic church |
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| Schloss just about visible in the distance |
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| That bloody blue ceramic line... |
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| And that narrow gauge railway... |
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| Another of those blue lines... |
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| A fine establishment, stocking up after the Scots had drunk it dry! |
In the afternoon, Anne, Stuart, Jo and I (Jennifer and Karen
having had to head home, and Frank and Joschi “otherwise engaged”) had a very
pleasant trip to the Karlsruhe Zoo – a cross between a botanical gardens and a
zoo. A tremendous place, and a real
asset to the town. That night’s meal saw
us go to an excellent tapas restaurant.
Towards the end Frank said that he was going to try to take it easy for
his final couple of days. And then said
that he was travelling up to see another cousin. With Joschi tagging along as driver. Good luck with that Frank!
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| Jo was delighted that we had our own "Poirot-style" carriage |
Summing up then. My first time in Switzerland, my first time in Germany, and my first time under 3 hours in a marathon. Not a bad old weekend. It just remains to be seen whether my first sub-3 will be my last marathon – the box having been ticked.
(* I should say that, when I use the term "failure", I simply mean my inability to achieve my own goal and the disappointment and self-loathing that resulted. I realise that you will have your own goals which may bear no relation to mine. There is certainly no slight intended if you have not, and have no desire to, run a sub-3. By the same token, there are likely to be people reading this who will regard 2:58 as positively pedestrian, and will ask what all of my fuss is about!)
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