My mum picked me and my two litre bottle of water up on the Saturday before the marathon to take me to Brighton. I mention the water, because it seems I had over-hydrated, which had my mum pulling over a couple of times on the way so I could water the bushes on the side of the road. We met my uncle, registered and then went to my auntie’s where the rest of my family were staying to load up on carbs.
My uncle, mum and I stayed in an apartment about 20 miles outside of Brighton to avoid sleeping on the floor. Despite this, I hardly slept a wink that night, such were my nerves (and some mysterious noises echoing through the apartment kept me awake – thanks mum).
In true Webster/Stephens style we got there just in time on race day. I lined up in my start area and once again found I had over-hydrated. This is definitely something to learn from next time. This time I leapt over a barrier to water the bushes metres before the start line.
The run
I set off at a brisk pace. And despite my lack of sleep, I felt great. As I reached seven miles I could see the four hour pacer in the distance who had started about eight minutes in front of me. By 11 miles, I was passed him and crossed the halfway points in about 1:52.
Before I started the marathon I had no real idea how quickly I could do it. But it was evident at halfway that I had cracked it. I was a natural. I was going to do it in about 3:45.
By mile 17, when I saw my family on the side of the road, I was still feeling strong and confident (as you will see from the picture). All the training had been worth it. I was motoring.
But at about mile 19 things changed in a matter of moments. I just felt like I couldn’t go on. I believe they call this the wall. I tried smashing through it, but my pace slowed so much that people started overtaking me at an alarming rate. My adulation went to despair. I thought I had messed it up. I went from thinking about 3:45 to 5:45. This was crazy, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought it was all over.
I struggled on for the next two-three miles, but at a much slower pace and still with lots of people overtaking me.
But at mile 23 my perspective changed again. The four hour pacer that I had passed about 12 miles ago passed me. I tried to keep up with him, but to no avail. But rather than disheartening me, this was a positive moment. I realised that I hadn’t lost loads of time. I still had the chance to finish around the four hour mark.
With an extra impetus, I struggled through the last three miles and crossed the finish line in 4:06 to my brother’s applause.
I was exhausted. Dead on my feet. And despite feeling amazing about finishing (even a little tearful), I couldn’t help feel a little disappointed about falling away so badly at the end. I felt like I was fit enough to run sub four hours, but poor race management had let me down.
Someone said once that ten percent of your life is determined by the things that happen to you and 90 percent is determined by how you react. Well I was about to react….
My uncle, mum and I stayed in an apartment about 20 miles outside of Brighton to avoid sleeping on the floor. Despite this, I hardly slept a wink that night, such were my nerves (and some mysterious noises echoing through the apartment kept me awake – thanks mum).
In true Webster/Stephens style we got there just in time on race day. I lined up in my start area and once again found I had over-hydrated. This is definitely something to learn from next time. This time I leapt over a barrier to water the bushes metres before the start line.
The run
I set off at a brisk pace. And despite my lack of sleep, I felt great. As I reached seven miles I could see the four hour pacer in the distance who had started about eight minutes in front of me. By 11 miles, I was passed him and crossed the halfway points in about 1:52.
Before I started the marathon I had no real idea how quickly I could do it. But it was evident at halfway that I had cracked it. I was a natural. I was going to do it in about 3:45.
By mile 17, when I saw my family on the side of the road, I was still feeling strong and confident (as you will see from the picture). All the training had been worth it. I was motoring.
But at about mile 19 things changed in a matter of moments. I just felt like I couldn’t go on. I believe they call this the wall. I tried smashing through it, but my pace slowed so much that people started overtaking me at an alarming rate. My adulation went to despair. I thought I had messed it up. I went from thinking about 3:45 to 5:45. This was crazy, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought it was all over.
I struggled on for the next two-three miles, but at a much slower pace and still with lots of people overtaking me.
But at mile 23 my perspective changed again. The four hour pacer that I had passed about 12 miles ago passed me. I tried to keep up with him, but to no avail. But rather than disheartening me, this was a positive moment. I realised that I hadn’t lost loads of time. I still had the chance to finish around the four hour mark.
With an extra impetus, I struggled through the last three miles and crossed the finish line in 4:06 to my brother’s applause.
I was exhausted. Dead on my feet. And despite feeling amazing about finishing (even a little tearful), I couldn’t help feel a little disappointed about falling away so badly at the end. I felt like I was fit enough to run sub four hours, but poor race management had let me down.
Someone said once that ten percent of your life is determined by the things that happen to you and 90 percent is determined by how you react. Well I was about to react….
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