Ill Concieved Plans Poorly executed

The Beachy Head Marathon

I'd heard a lot of good things about the Beachy Head Marathon over my short running career and had made a mental note to have a go at it sometime. After my heroic yet misguided and untrained attempt at the London Marathon this year it seemed that the omens were right for it to be the year to have a go. I even trained for it, having learnt from the London that training is actually beneficial to performance.

Milling around at the start I chatted with a few people I recognised in an attempt to ignore the steep hill that faced us within the first few hundred yards. There was absolutely no way that I was even going to attempt running up that and risk ruining the rest of the race by doing something painful and damaging to my cold muscles. Luckily most people I chatted to were of the same opinion which made me feel good. After the obligatory unintelligible waffle from the PA system we all swarmed up the hill, the fast boys at the front running whilst the mere mortals adopted the far more sensible fast walk. Once the hill had be surmounted it was time for the running to begin. As always my plan was to start slowly and get slower throughout the race. I've read lots of stuff about negative splits and pacing which is all fine in theory but somehow it's application into practice has always eluded me. As always my plan went out of the window in the first mile of so. It was replaced by my standard operational procedure of "just running". It was a nice day, the scenery from the top of the South Downs is absolutely outstanding and the company was convivial. Quite frankly I was enjoying myself and it seemed rude to intrude on that frame of mind with trivial considerations like pace, plans and times.

I was starting to see what made this marathon so special. Other runners would have a little chat as we passed. As far as I could work out, most had done the race before and were drawn back each year. Every now and then I would pass groups of walkers who had started way before the start time so as to be back at the finish at a reasonable time. Everyone was friendly and most sported broad grins.

The first check point came at just the right time, I was getting a little thirsty and the chance to have a cup of squash rather than the usual water was more than welcome. The mini chocolate bar on offer was even more welcome. Chocolate is the food of champions after all. The whole sprit of the race was summed up in the sign "you are about half way" pinned up to a gate. To me it gave the message "we want you to enjoy this and compete in the spirit of the event" no problem there!

The route took a wide arc down to the sea, and the infamous Seven Sisters, the showpiece of the race. Before we got there though there were a few more hurdles. The first was whether to go for a sausage roll, hot cross bun or chocolate bar at one of the checkpoints (sausage roll - a hill followed which meant walking, giving time to enjoy this little pastry delight) and then there were the steps. I'd been told about the steps, two hundred and some of them and a prelude to the Seven Sisters. What I was not expecting was the piper standing halfway up encouraging us on my strangling a set of bagpipes.

Soon it was time to tackle the roller coaster ride that is the Seven Sisters. I had decided before the race that there was no point even attempting to run up them, even if I had the energy of enthusiasm to do so, which I didn't. I was quite heartened that most of the others where of the same opinion. So it was a slow trundle up followed by an uncontrolled career down the other side. Have you ever tried to count the Sisters? Every time I do I get to a number that is not seven, I seriously think that on some days one or two of the sisters visit an aunt up the coast in Dover. Today however it felt like the sisters had invited a few friends round for tea. By the time I'd got to Birling gap I was getting a little fatigued, no that's wrong, I was completely done in. I know this as I was walking when the ground was flat.

For some reason I thought that Beachy Head was closer to Birling Gap than it actually was. When someone told me the distance left I was mildly disappointed to say the least. Just to add insult the Seven Sisters had given me a leaving present of a pain in my right hip, which was getting worse. I resorted to survival tactics, Run a little way, walk a little way, run a littler way, walk a longer way, until the rise up to the top of Beachy Head dictated walking and forgetting about running. Strangely though the sight of the race photographers halfway up the hill induced a small spurt of running, well you have to look good for the camera don't you. I knew things where bad when I found myself walking down the other side of Beachy Head. Luckily the slope became conducive to faking a run and it was all downhill from here. The sight of the finish line spurred me on, if there is one place you have to run it's across the line. I completed the round trip in four hours and three minutes. Initially I was I little bit resentful of those three minutes but after a massage and some proper food (baked potato, sausage and beans; none of your high tech rubbish here thank you very much) I was feeling a lot happier. The demons of the London had been put to rest.