What Next?

Ok, I admit it, I completely underestimated the marathon. It was just going to be another run, another race. Who was I kidding? There's a reason why we use the word marathon to describe feats of endurance. I now know why it is regarded as such a challenge and why people looked at me as if I was slightly mad when I said I would run one. In no way is it just like any other race, the marathon is so much more than that.

During the race you are living on the edge of your capabilities, pushing your physical and mental limits. It’s a wonderfully intense, exhilarating and satisfying place to be. As the race goes on your perspective of time changes and a life time of emotions are condensed into the space of a few hours. It’s like you are existing in a hyper-reality, a world where you are completely in tune with your body. Your senses are heightened, you can feel every little change of pace, raise in heart rate, every nerve ending sending data to your brain. It’s the most alive you will ever be.

And then just like that it's over, everything you have been training for, everything you have been working towards, all that you have thought about for the last six months is gone. You've finished.

So what now!? What the hell do I do next?

Trying to get back into running again at the new Cwmbran Parkrun. Photo by Sarah Debnam

I haven't really known what to do with myself these last couple of weeks, without the marathon to aim for and a goal to work towards I've felt completely lost. There's a huge marathon shaped hole in my life and I'm not quite sure how to fill it.
People said it would be like this, the marathon blues they called it. You spend so long aiming for one thing, concentrating on one event. You become so fixated and focused that nothing else matters. Then suddenly with the end of the race it all stops leaving you with an anticlimactic empty feeling. After experiencing such a high normal life just doesn’t quite cut it.
I hadn’t wanted to believe them. This was going to be a race like any other I thought. I would run, take my usual week or two to recover and then move on, ready to try another challenge and achieve some new goals.

It hasn't quite happened like that though.

I didn’t realise just how intense the Marathon experience was going to be, how much I was going to go beyond what I thought were my limits during the race and how it would affect me both mentally and physically. These past few weeks I have struggled to come to terms with what I have done and what I should do next. What can top a marathon?

The first answer to that was to run another marathon as soon as physically possible. I could just continue on with what I've done for the last six months, one training plan could slip seamlessly into another. After all the three hour goal was still there, I just needed to find a race that would be fast, flat and perfect for having another crack at it. As early as the massage table thirty minutes after the race I was thinking about the next one, already asking fellow runners which races they recommended. The buzz of the race still had me in its grip, I could just keep on running, I'd already done one Marathon, nothing could stop me now. For the first couple of weeks this thought got me through.

A month on and physically the aches and pains have gone however exhaustion still has me in its clutches. I've been stuck in this post marathon daze of tiredness, shattered, unable to concentrate, unable to get on with life. It’s like I’ve been on a six month long adrenaline high which has suddenly worn off. I've felt disconnected from the world around me, as if someone else is operating my body by remote control.
The reality of just what a marathon is has finally hit home. It's only now that I have come to realise just how much effort I put into that run. The further I get from the race the more I realise I just can't do that all over again this year. I've gone through the process of registering my interest for races and researching fast flat courses, but in reality I think I knew that it would be a struggle to start this all over again. I was just letting myself down gently, I struggled to admit to myself that maybe I couldn't do this all over again quite yet. With this realisation I have started to feel a bit helpless. The next marathon was going to drag me out of the hole, it was going to kick start the second half of the year but without that solid goal, a race to work towards, I haven't got anything to aim for and have been struggling to find the motivation to run when I am feeling all kinds of shattered.

Friends have said that it must be nice to have a bit of downtime, a bit of a rest for a few weeks. I would nod in agreement, hiding the fact that actually all I wanted to do was run again. I had enjoyed my training and despite all the effort and time put into the race I hadn’t wanted to stop, not even for a few days. Why would I stop doing something I love? I don't want to sit still, I spent way too long doing that. I'm stuck in limbo with my three hour goal hanging over me, all I want to do is have another crack at it. Trouble is, I just haven’t got the energy to do it.

The marathon was all about finding my limits and seeing how far I could push myself, at so many points in my training I went over those limits. I use running to help my M.E but this was going to far, the training left me tired, the race itself has left me exhausted. The past few weeks I’ve been struggling to summon up the motivation and find the adrenaline not only to run but to get on with my normal life.
I found my limits and ignored them, running way past them, leaving them on the pavement at mile twenty. I desperately want to run and carry on where I left off but in all truth I just can't, I just haven’t got the energy. It’s time to listen to my body and slow down for a while. It's frustrating but it's necessary. I hadn't wanted to admit to my limitations but if I don't then I will never learn from my mistakes and improve in the future. I will only make myself ill again.

Getting out on the mountain bike at Cwmcarn, something I didn't have time for during training.

And so the marathon limbo will continue, until I find the next challenge or sign up for the next race. It may take a bit longer than I thought but I need to be patient. The next few months are going to be about the smaller goals, I'm going to enjoy the local races, run in new places, explore some new trails and maybe have a crack at my 5k and 10k times. No longer do I have to obey the all important training plan. I'm now free, I can take the time to enjoy my running. I'm aching to do the next marathon but I don't want to run the next one because I feel I have to, I need to do it because I want to. It may take a while for me to get over the first Marathon but it sure as hell isn't going to be my last.

The Marathon

It's there, it's finally there. The black banner rising high above the crowds in the distance signals the finish. In my delirious state I can't quite take it in, it's got to be a mirage in the running desert, a figment of my imagination. I can't believe I'm going to do this, I'm going to run a marathon. 

There's just one problem. That banner doesn't seem to be getting any closer. Every time I look up from the ground and away from my lumbering feet it’s stuck there on the horizon, just out of reach in the far distance, refusing to get any nearer.
I’m broken, I have been since about four miles ago. If this were a film (anyone interested in buying the rights please get in contact) now would be the montage moment. Six months of training and seventeen years of illness would be wrapped up in a three minute Rocky style moment of cinematic epicness. Real life is rarely like the movies. I have thought about this moment for a long time, about what it would be like, the emotions I may feel, but right now I can’t think of anything, I’ve got no energy left for emotion. I feel empty, shut off from the outside world, in my own marathon bubble of pain. It's just me and that damn banner. It will not defeat me.

From out of nowhere a figure runs towards me, it takes me a few seconds to register it's my wife, running in with me, guiding me home. She’s my link back into the real world after hours of running in a tunnel, thinking only of getting this far. I try to talk to her but I can hardly get the words out. After three hours with only me and my mind for company, I can't quite take in something from the real world. “Is that the line” I whisper, the voice seemingly not coming from me. “Yes” she says “Go for it you’re almost there.” I stumble forward, trying my best to look with it for the cameras. I'm here, I've made it, after all this, after everything I'm a marathon runner. I celebrate by trying not to collapse whilst chugging a much needed Lucozade. 

I've done it. At this point I was still in a bit of a daze. 

This is all I've been thinking about for the last six months, I've done it, but I can't feel a thing, I'm not sure what I expected but it's a massive anticlimax. All my concentration is now taken up with trying to stay standing. Slowly the real world is coming back into view. It's like someone has turned on the light after you have been sleeping. For a while everything is bleached out, over exposed, people are talking at me but it's not making much sense. Slowly the world starts to filter back into view. It's been hot, damn hot today. It's the one thing I was worried about before the race. Well ok, there were plenty of other things I was fretting about, but I don't get on well with heat, it’s what worried me the most.

Three hours and ten minutes ago I was stood waiting impatiently on the start line not quite sure what was ahead of me. The previous few days had been lost to a sea of nerves. It had become unbearable but I was here waiting to go, ready to do my running thing. Even then standing in the crowd it was too hot, that heat scared me but I had done all I could to prepare. I had plastered myself in three layers of sun cream and drunk as much water as I could stomach. Do your worst sunshine.

With the CDF, Dockside and GLA Runners before the start of the marathon

So we set off on that mad dash into the fist corner where it always seems like the race is a hundred meter sprint. Keep calm I kept on telling myself, stick to the plan. It’s just a run, a long training run in the sun, a tour of a city I don’t know. As we wound our way through the parks and past the football stadiums I stuck to my target pace, I felt comfortable. I enjoyed being the tourist, taking in the views, chatting to marshals on their bikes and high fiving people in the crowd. Marathons weren’t meant to be fun, they were meant to be full of pain, toil and suffering. Maybe this would be different? Maybe I could outrun the pain?

In the back of my mind the three hour goal loomed. I felt good. Despite the hills, the heat and the last minute injury niggles I felt like I might actually do it. For the first 13.1 miles the plan worked perfectly. Things were now starting to get tough but I was still on pace. I was using every bit of shade I could, running in the shadows of buildings and under the canopy of the trees. It was not enough though and despite gulping down as much water as I could at the aid stations I was starting to feel the effects of the heat. The world was closing in around me. A tunnel was forming and I was starting to blank out the sights of the city. The crowds that had once seemed so near and so loud drifted further and further away from me. I was now alone with my thoughts. My marathon had just begun.

At mile 18 on Penny Lane it all started to go wrong. I awoke from my running daze to the blaring tones of the Beetles. “You got this” A woman with a microphone yells. “Have I?” I thought. “Do you really know what it's like?” “Nearly there” she yelled at the next runner behind still eight miles from the finish. “You have no idea what you’re talking about” I think. “You have been employed because you are loud and have a super human ability to endure listening to the Beatles on a loop for seven hours.” Normally I love any kind of encouragement however the noise and loud over enthusiasm had proved too much. I realised then with these incoherent thoughts I was starting to struggle, the heat was sapping rational thought from me. More importantly it was sucking out the energy I had felt for the first half of the race. The goal of three hours was disappearing behind the shimmering heat haze that had now surrounded me.

Keep going, I must keep going.

I stumbled through the last park, and hit the seafront. Now there was no escape from the heat. No buildings to hide behind, no trees to filter it out. It was just wide open space, blazing sun and a headwind, a damn head wind. I could see the tall skyscrapers of the city centre that surrounded the finish line in the distance, never had four miles looked so far.

In a world of my own a few miles away from the finish. Thanks to Gareth Everett for the picture

At this point the run turned from a chase, into survival, the heat had got me. The stagger to the distant banner had begun. I now just had to make it to the finish, it was all I could do. The run turned had turned into a plod and then in places a walk. It was just a few paces here and there and then I would stagger on but it felt pathetic, it felt like I was on a treadmill going backwards. Apparently I ran past a friend in those last few miles, he later told me he was screaming at me, yelling encouragement as I passed within feet of him. I didn’t hear a thing, I could only think of the finish. Nothing else existed.

A week on and I still can’t quite believe I’ve done it. The pain that still sits in my legs reminds me that it did actually happen. During those last few miles I ran headfirst into the wall that runners talk about so much. They were the hardest miles I’ve ever run. 

The Finish! The point that felt so far away only a few minutes earlier

I’ve struggled with my thoughts about the race this week and I think that’s because of the conflicting emotions I feel about my run. On the one hand I’m proud to have finished a marathon on a tough hilly course. On the other I’m disappointed to have missed the time goal I had set myself.

I used to look upon the marathon as an unattainable goal. Marathons were run by people who were far fitter, stronger and tougher than I was. They were run by people who didn’t have M.E. By finishing I have done something I never thought possible a few years ago. I have proved myself wrong. Running has helped me tackle the illness and accomplish challenges I thought were out of reach.

I’ve always said though I never wanted to be defined by the M.E. I didn’t want to just get through this race. That was why I set the goal of three hours and I why was initially disappointed that I missed it. It didn’t matter about the heat and the hilly course. Club mates have since told me it was probably the toughest marathon they have done. In the coming weeks I think I will become happier with my time but I always want to run quicker and race better. As a runner I am never satisfied, it’s what pushes me on and drives me to the next challenge.

I know now why it felt like an anticlimax when I crossed the finish line. It was because I was expecting an ending, a conclusion for my story. The reality is that that it won’t end, I will keep on running, it’s what I do now. I was never going to stop after just one marathon. The three hour goal is still there looming large and I’m already thinking of what marathon to tackle next.

At the very start of this blog I introduced myself as Tom Martin, M.E sufferer. Now I am Tom Martin, Marathon runner.

With my wife Bernie showing off our race medals, at this point it was just starting to sink in what I had done.

I just want to thank you all for the support. Here is a link to my just giving page, raising money for Action for M.E, it's you last chance to donate people.

https://www.justgiving.com/M-e-myself-run