From start to finish - 3 November 2009

Part 1

I arrived in NYC on the Thursday night before the race, headed straight to Time Square to meet the Fagans, some friends holidaying from the UK and with it; they handed me over some Galaxy chocolate bars as we ate a mountain of pasta. Friday we all descended to a bar in lower Manhattan to catch up with a couple of mates there; Paul a now resident of the city and Chris, another runner in the marathon to watch QPR.

New York Hoops celebrating another loss!

Of course, they lost and maybe that was the omen for my race, high expectations giving way to familiar problems.

They start the marathon out on Staten Island and there is a huge exercise to get you there in time. My bus time saw me arrive at 5.30am, a full five hours before the off and thus, I had to sit around getting colder which was the root of my problems on the day. I am used to being up and out running in the heat on the flat streets of Phnom Penh from 4am these days, which was the opposite of my NYC experience.

But I was at least in a special reserved area for athletes with disabilities where unbelievably another QPR fan rocked up as I sat chatting to other athletes competing with an array of physical challenges. I had bought a cold weather top in Los Angeles and at least the upper half of my body remained toasty all day but alas I just could not get the legs warm.  I was in the latest starting time of 10.20am and so I set off slowly hoping things might warm up.

Me, Nick (an amazing blind runner from Oz) and Dina his guide

A mere two miles in and it was clear that problems were beginning to surface as the right leg, started to rub against the prosthesis and so I had to take measures far earlier in proceedings then normal. I am now able to manipulate the right leg within the prosthesis whilst running to deal with minor issues and as I did not want to have to stop to change socks to early into the race, I got myself to around mile 7 when I had to call upon the boys of the NYFD as I leaned against their fire engine to make a hurried sock change.

Setting off again things slowly started to improve and I started to run more freely then before.  I set myself a target of 5 hours 30 minutes but having gone under 5 hours in Chicago and being close to it in Berlin, I decided that notwithstanding the unfamiliar elements of hills and chills I would gamble on one last bash at a sub-5 hour run.

But the cold and the elevations were requiring me to work a lot harder to keep on pace. However, I still felt fine and on a cardiovascular basis, I hardly felt stretched at all.  My training had been the best ever and I went to the start in the fittest and sharpest condition of all of the races I have entered and despite everything, I was reasonably confident that a sub-5 was possible.  I knew that I was fit enough, had plenty of miles under the bonnet this time round and if I could just keep warm, then irrespective of those hills, I was quietly confident that I might even get my fastest time.

I eased into Brooklyn and met my mate Sheila Askew and her sisters around mile 9 and felt in good nick as I left them saying that when I moved up to see her and David in Connecticut after the race, that I would be bringing a thirst with me.

Caption - Me and the Power girls at Mile 9

But despite having to work a lot harder in the conditions to keep on the sub-5 hour pace, I felt sound.  However, it was obvious that there were one or two things beginning to bubble from the waist down.  My right groin had started to go around the 5 mile mark and although initially it was merely uncomfortable, as the race wore on that gave way to painful. At the 10 mile stage the top of the right quad muscle started to go as well and that is when the fun really started to happen.

At mile 11 the first enforced pit stop of the day saw me pull in to do some more work on the prosthesis and Achilles heal, which had decided to join the gathering storm.  But though in moderate pain, nowhere near enough to stop my pace, I took comfort from the medics saying how well I looked.

I nonetheless reached the halfway stage a smidge off my 5 hour target but it was becoming abundantly clear that things were going wrong in the legs department despite not feeling out of puff at all and sensibly, I kissed goodbye to a sub-5 hour pace because there were some nasty inclines coming up and so I decided to change my race strategy and aim for 5hours 30 minutes instead.

Now to get to the halfway stage with these ‘issues’ surfacing I had to adjust my running style after the first medical pitstop by leaning forward in my stride a bit to lessen the strain on the groin and by now both quads, ever conscious of the fact that this would require the hamstrings to stretch that little bit more then their liking. I gambled on being able to alternate between leaning forward and running straight backed to trade one ailment off against the other but alas, it only served as I was soon to discover, to cause both problems to accompany me for the rest of the afternoon irrespective of whether I leant forwards, backwards or sideways.

Having got to half way and seeing an incline I decided I would have to walk it and once I got to the 14 mile mark I went in for a second pitstop and the consumption of some pain killers.  This was not turning out to be the day I had hoped for and in many respects my training deserved and the last 12.2 miles of my last marathon were clearly going to be a right nasty battle…which was always the way it was meant to be and thus, right up my street.

The battle became a personal war zone when I arrived at the Queensboro Bridge with an elevation akin to a Nazi salute and there was only way I was going to get up that bastard and that was to walk it.  If I was having problems then I was not alone because all around me were people stopping, stretching, rubbing aching muscles and applying all sorts of lotions to their bodies.  As steep as the incline was, the decline was fierce and as I started to ease down it wincing with every step, a lad standing on one of the girders brandishing a Union Jack and shouting ‘Go on Rangers ‘ will likely never know what relief he  provided.

On Manhattan for the first time of the day I went into another medical tent this time in what can only be described as excruciating pain. There I had ice applied to both hamstrings and the woman looking after me produced a home made chocolate cup cake and her hands that had produced suck a delight went to work on kneading the legs back into shape.

From there the route goes arrow straight for nearly 4 miles along First Avenue and as I resumed the race time was now irrelevant and so with a little sadness, I removed the wrist bands I wear which have my target split times attached and turned off my stop watch because with just over 10 miles to go, it was going to be about one thing and one thing only.

I describe this moment in the race as ‘Boxer 12th round’ where you come out with your body spent and you have just got to hang in there for all you are worth. Its not the wall, which I have never experienced because that is a mental issue, this was about getting my legs with whatever they had left to the other side of the goal and for me that was now about finishing the race and if there was to be any luck eventually coming my way, then it would be nice if that was in one piece as well.

First Avenue even at this somewhat late stage was still reasonably full of spectators and as is the case, with so few coming through in the late afternoon the crowd really get behind those of us for whom hanging in there is all that is left of our day. If I had a fiver for every ‘good jaaab John’  I heard then I would be a rich man.

My new strategy was run to a set of lights then walk to the next one and this certainly started to agree with the body parts as I started to make some headway in comparison to the previous few tortured miles. I accompanied a Lebanese girl for a bit and who like me, was struggling with the temperature and then an Irish guy in his 60’s as we spoke about having a beer and to be honest, if either had of suggested pulling in for a cheeky half then I am sure we would have.

There were moments when the hamstrings twanged as there were moments when it felt like someone had knifed me in the groin whereupon I developed my new race strategy of run when you can, walk when you have to. Targets aside the real target is to be done and dusted by 6 hours. For my first marathon I had realised that if I were on my feet for too long then serious fatigue would set in and irrespective of fitness, the longer you go on, the harder it is to keep moving.  I had also accepted for London before the life saver of gel lined socks for my leg were introduced that I might need to walk more but as I had clearly gone on to do more running for all my marathons then I had thought possible, if I had to walk home for my last marathon, then there would be no shame in that.

But somehow, I was just about managing to run little odd bits here and there before breaking into a walk after a hamstring, groin or quad would shout ‘STOP’.  I entered the Bronx and with it at mile 20 I again had to stop for more ice treatment and hamstring massaging from a medical student who is doing an elective in Cambodia next year to wit I replied, well my friend in lieu of your ice work here, let me reciprocate with some ice in your cocktail at the Elephant Bar in PP

Harlem when I arrived was still jumping with music decidedly more soulful and wonderful sights of African-Americans of all ages, sizes and abilities getting on the good foot, some clearly oblivious to the fact that 42,000 people had and were still perambulating past them. If I could bank the ‘Yo the man’   that the brothers and sisters were hollering, then I really would be a rich man.

I had laboured for the best part of 9 very painful miles and then as I left Harlem with around 4½ miles to go everything changed.  Sometimes you just got to do what you got to do and if I have learned one thing over the last five years it’s that if you keep plugging away when stopping would be easier then you find a way and your luck will change. Because I really was so fit, on a cardiovascular basis I actually felt marvelous despite the fact that I was clearly coving the terrain in the slowest pace ever.  Then suddenly with Central Park in sight, things returned to mere discomfort and with it I started to run more and more and uphill, just like my man Forest Gump, I was going to finish the bloody race and I was going to finish it running!

I tore into Central Park with shouts and people clapping wildly as I powered on with a little over 2½ miles left to go. The worst behind me and by that I mean over the last 5 years, I really started to be a tad overcome with it all as I recalled many wonderful memories which as I soldiered on with the crowds cheers ringing in my ears left a little lump in my throat.

Retirement 1 mile to go!

The last mile gave way to the last half mile which in turn was counted down form 800 meters to the end. As I got to the 100 meter mark I stopped looked around knowing that life would never be seen from this side of the track again and waving to the crowds still milling in the grandstands, I turned to face the big thing that has the word ‘FINISH’ emblazoned all over it.

With a big smile on my face and for one last time, I gathered myself, threw caution to the wind and made one last mad legs and arm pumping charge, not so much towards the end of the NYC marathon, but towards well earned retirement.

Cheers

JHx

(Part 2 soon)