Edinburgh Half Marathon

I’m not exactly sure who it was that talked me into entering this year’s Edinburgh half-marathon, part of a weekend devoted to running events in Scotland’s capital. It was either Jude, or Faye from work, or a combination of the two. Nevertheless, on the 19th January I decided to bite the bullet and sign up for a race that was twice the distance of anything I’d ever attempted before.

Of course, entering a race four months in advance allows plenty of time for things to go wrong, in a musculoskeletal sense. While my knees aren’t currently giving me the bother they had been for a while, the gremlin of shin splints always appears to be lurking. As mentioned in my last blog, a few weeks ago I decided to take up the offer of a second game of 5-a-side football in a week. Since then, my shins just haven’t felt right. They haven’t been painful as much as threatened to down tools. As such, I’ve been resting as much as I can, playing one game of football a week and doing lower impact activities such as spin.

This was my fourth running race, and fifth race overall, including last year’s cycle from Glasgow to Edinburgh. I don’t sleep well before such things anyway, and I found myself up most of the night worrying about how my shins would react. I had to get up at 4:30am in order to have breakfast and drive to Edinburgh, to make the 8am start, and as a result I only mustered four hours’ sleep at most.

The drive to Edinburgh was quiet and straight-forward, despite the haar, and before too long I had reached my starting pen on Regent Road, where I stripped out of my tracksuit and deposited my belongings on the truck that would carry them down to the finishing line in Musselburgh. I had made a loose arrangement to meet Jude at the starting line, but I couldn’t find her and I’d left my phone in the car. As I stood in the cold Edinburgh morning, wearing just a running vest, rain began to fall on the massed runners and once again I began to wonder if all this was worth it. It had just dawned on me that the truck with my gear would have already left by the time Jude appeared out of nowhere, having accidentally gone to the other starting line on London Road. Feeling a little more invigorated, and with our cohort starting much later than 8am, we finally set off on our 13.1 mile journey.

At the start: spot the marathon runner and the 10k runner…

The last distance run I’d been on, around Paisley, I’d struggled to reach 3km before my lower legs started to cramp up, but with the first half of the Half being mostly downhill, and with some raceday adrenalin to thank, we were at mile 1 before I knew it. It hadn’t occurred to me that the distance markers would be in miles and not kilometres, so this gave me a further little confidence fillip; after all, 13 is less than 21.

Falling into something of a groove, and with Jude keeping the pace, we passed Holyrood and Meadowbank Stadium, and made our way down through Leith towards the sea front at Portobello. Having just about reached halfway, Jude offered me a gel. I’d never tried one before, and was a little reluctant to introduce something new and untested, but I accepted, mainly due to memories of last year’s glycogen collapse during the cycle. It was a very odd experience, and my mouth just couldn’t get used to the texture and consistency of the gel. Still, I managed to ingest most of it, and we continued on our way. By this stage, I’d not only run the furthest I’d ever run in one go, I’d also set a new personal best for a 10k. My confidence continued to grow, but I set myself a plan, and a contingency. Plan A was to run for as long as possible. Plan B was to run until the 10 mile mark, walk a couple of miles, then run the last little segment.

New Street, Musselburgh

However, we seemed to miss the 9 mile marker, at Portobello racecourse, so by the time we hit 10 miles, I got an added boost by being further ahead than I thought I was. We carried on into what was the worst section of the course, and the worst part of the day, for me. The majority of miles 11 to 13 involved heading down one side of the road to Prestonpans, and then doubling back towards the race course on the other. I loathe running laps of this nature anyway, but as we continued down the Ravensheugh Road, with no sign of the turn, and knowing we had to cover the same distance back, I began to despair a little. The wall was coming for me. Eventually, at 12.75 miles, I paused, exhausted.

My break lasted little more than a stride before Jude politely informed me that I was not stopping there. We were nearly at the finish line. I was to pump my scrawny chicken legs, like the stuporous funker I was. So I did. I kept going, cramp and all, and within a few minutes Jude pointed out the 13 mile marker.

As we rounded the corner into Pinkie Playing Fields, I could see the finish line a few dozen yards ahead. I hurpled towards it, not so glad to see anything since the finish line of the Pedal for Scotland cycle the previous year (there must be something about Edinburgh).

Somehow (although probably 40% thanks to Jude) I had managed to run 21 kilometres in a little over 2 hours. I’d never run farther than 6km in one go before. Somehow I’d fallen into an automatic process of putting one foot in front of the other, and as soon as I stopped, various body parts rushed their damage reports to my brain and I had to have a little bit of a lie down.

I know what it looks like, but I don’t think I had enough blood left for that.

After the race we collected our belongings, made our way back into town, and ate and drank carbs while trying to work out how to get back to Straiton. The Edinburgh bus network isn’t as effective on a Sunday, I’ve learned. Eventually we made our way back to my car, and stopping off for donuts at Hermiston, headed back to Glasgow, tired but happy.

It’s been two days since the run, and my body still aches, notably the calves, quads and nipples (friction, you see). I don’t think that’s unusual, and I’m happy to take a week or so to rest before I start to worry about anything being untoward.

While the pain in my body (hopefully) recedes, I can reflect more on what an achievement Sunday was for me, and how much I’ve improved as a runner over the last couple of years. I’m also acutely aware that I have to up my game again, with a marathon booked for April of next year.

Next up: a mini-triathlon thing in four weeks, and a 10k at the end of August. Then…we shall see.