What happened at Boston Marathon UK

My marathon didn't go to plan. But there's still a lot to be proud of.

There are a lot of reasons to run marathons and each runner has their own motivators. I’ve run marathons for fun with friends, I’ve run without even thinking about the time, I’ve run solely with the aim of completing a race, and I’ve run to try and qualify for other races. But when I signed up for Boston UK, my goal was to run it as fast as I could and set a time that I would be happy with. When I crossed the finish line on Sunday, I bust into tears because I was so disappointed with my time. It’s difficult to write about this without acknowledging that time is relative to the runner, and my disappointment with my own time is in no way a criticism of runners who are slower than that.

For the full story of this marathon cycle, we have to go back to October last year when I ran a half marathon PB. It made me question what I thought was possible for me at 42 with a much different lifestyle and lower mileage than I’d had when I had been at what I considered to be my running ‘peak’. It wasn’t long before I got curious about what this could mean for my marathon time.

I signed up for Boston because it’s a flat course and not a busy race, two things that I hoped would give me a good chance of running as well as I could. I also have family ties to Boston. While I didn’t expect to set a PB when I signed up, the goal was to run as fast as I could on a training schedule of three runs per week that was similar to how I trained for the half. It was an experiment for myself, but I also to show others that the traditional notion of training for a marathon needing either high mileage or high intensity wasn’t the only way to train, and that you can run strong if you train smart and are kind to yourself.

Race day

I woke up in my Travelodge on race morning to a view of a rainy car park. It had been raining all night, but I’d slept through it oblivious with my ear plugs in. Elsewhere in Boston my mum and aunt had been tossing and turning listening to the rain on the roof and worrying about the marathon. I’d been expecting the rain and had changed up my kit. I’d also changed my mantra to “I’m Des Linden” channeling her epic Boston Marathon (the other Boston) win in the rain in 2018. At least my training through the winter and spring of this year had prepared me for the rain.

Swerving round puddles - must have been early on.

I was happy with how my training had gone and my goal was to run 3:30 (same as my PB from 2016). Despite the rain, I was still confident I could do it when I headed to the start. I saw my parents for a hug and a photo and lined up ready to go.

The first couple of miles were a little quick, but felt good. The taper had worked well and my legs felt bouncy and strong. Once we go out of the town and into the countryside where we’d spend most of the race, it became clear that it wasn’t the rain that would be a problem but the wind.

I stopped for a quick loo stop at mile two that took less than a minute. Soon after we went past two marshalls dressed as Tinky Winky and Dipsy from the Teletubbies. I shouted out “I need a Po” but didn’t get the laugh I felt the joke deserved from them. The runner ahead of me found it amusing though. The race had started to thin out and we were being battered by a headwind so I asked him if he wanted to come with me as I tried to make it to the pack ahead. He agreed and we picked up another isolated runner on the way. We never did make it to that group ahead which itself began to split up. By half way it was a lonely stream of spread out runners looking forward to any hedges that would offer us shelter. Occasionally we’d turn and the wind would be behind us and it would be glorious for a few hundred meters.

Flooding ahead

For the first five miles of the race I copied the runners ahead of me in swerving around puddles. Nobody wants to spend 20 odd miles with soggy feet. I’d put Vaseline on my toes in advance of getting wet feet, but it’s still not a pleasant feeling. Plus my yellow running shoes were really pretty.

Eventually though, everyone gave up on keeping their toes dry. At lots of points the road was flooded and we ran through ankle-deep water. My main worry now wasn’t that my shoes were no longer yellow, but that I couldn’t see what was under the water and didn’t want to break my ankle in a pothole.

The high points of the race, though, were seeing my family cheering several times. The water stations every two miles were also manned by the cheeriest of volunteers who were stood out in weather you wouldn’t send your cat out in. But eventually it all got too much. Around mile 22 I startled the men I was about to overtake by shouting out loud at the wind and telling it where it could go.

Waving (not drowning) to my son.

Time to finish

At half way I’d been less than a minute off target, but I’d stopped looking at my watch as it got too difficult to judge anything other than effort as we went in and out of the wind. I pushed when I could and just resoled to keep moving forwards. I could see the Boston Stump four miles away in the distance and the finish began to feel close, although still a long time coming.

My family were out on the road cheering before the final turn. My partner was at the finish line and caught me as I crossed the finish line and promptly burst into tears. 22 marathons and that’s the first time I’ve cried at the end. They weren’t tears of joy or even relief, they were pure disappointment. I finished in 3 hours 37 minutes and it felt like I’d let everyone down.

I wanted that 3:30 finish as proof above everything else that it was possible - that I could run as fast on three runs per week aged 42 as I had on five runs per week aged 34. I truly believed my legs had it in them.

Struggling to smile for a post-race picture.

The positives

More than 24 hours later and I’m still disappointed that the day didn’t go as I wanted. But there are a lot of positives to take away from the race. My training block was solid and I felt fit and strong throughout, despite the conditions. My fuelling worked and I didn’t hit the wall or grind to a halt. My kit choices were the right ones for the conditions and I didn’t feel too hot or too cold during the race. In short, I did everything I could to have a good race. I also didn’t give up when and gave everything I could on the day.

Importantly, I finished in one piece with nothing more than a couple of stiff legs and one blister on a toe. I’ll be back running in a week or two. Any day you get to run a marathon is a good day.