14th April

I've done it! I've bloody done it! Thank the Lord it's finally over! On 6th April I completed the Paris Marathon in a time of 3 hours, 59 minutes and 10 seconds. Forgive me for being pretty chuffed with myself. However, to counteract my elation on crossing the finish line, the weekend was not without a few other bits of excitement...

For starters, those that know me well will realise that my sense of direction is, at best, abysmal. At worst it has the powers to send me to all corners of Paris, as it did on this occasion. Confusing the RER with the Metro, at one point I was well into West Paris when our apartment sat far into the East (near Botzaris).

This madcap journey was epitomised when I got on one train only to find it was going in the wrong direction - sensibly (I thought) I got off to head to the platform on the other side of the tunnel (as with the Underground) which transpired to be heading even further in the wrong direction. Hopeless. Nearly three hours after my plane landed and bordering on tears I finally arrived at my destination. Weary, hungry and grumpy I headed to bed to hope Saturday would be better preparation.

With fourteen of us, eleven of whom were running the marathon, in one apartment, it was bound to be fun providing you ignore the inevitable nerves taking their toll on the bathroom ceramics. More on that later. For now, we piled down to the exhibition to get our numbers and register with foolish enthusiasm for the doom ahead.

My number, somewhat amusingly, was 53421. Apologies to those sharing living quarters with me for the amount of times they heard the jokette that I was renaging on Macmillan to instead run for the charity for dyslexic suicide bombers.

Sharing a room with the Worrells, we all headed to Bedfordshire embarrasingly early for a Saturday night after one final trough of pasta. Credit to Matt for putting away more food than I'd have ever dreamed humanly possible. Hope those worms clear up soon, mate.

Sunday, the morning of the race...not much sleep and a heavy realisation that I was never going to win, so why on earth was I running?! In any case, I made it to the start line via the McDonald's toilet to release some 'nervous energy' after winning the most important game of Rock, Paper, Scissors of my life in the queue with Mike.

On the start 'line' we said our goodbyes and I headed off to my own little area in the 4 hours 15 target time group to converse with a Bristolian in a pink tutu. I write 'line' in inverted commas because of the 43 extra minutes it took after the elite athletes for us to actually begin the race. The volume of runners is incredible - well over 40,000 - so waiting for nearly 30,000 people to cross the start ahead of me clearly took some time.

A quick 'final wee' and I was off, trying not to get carried away and start to quickly. Running down from the Arc de Triomphe I began to get a feeling for just how many people come to watch these events. A mile didn't pass without a friendly voice yelling their personalised encouragement to me (my name was printed on my vest - I'm sure you've read the earlier posts!) or a child not attempting to 'high five' participants.

It should be noted that the vast majority of this support is from visitors. I remember precious little accented cries (for my name at least), although there were more than enough English there to help - I even spotted three Cornish flags on the way round!

The Parisian crowd were typified by one lady I encountered on my route. Several muppets in the audience try to run across the path of the race for reasons only known to them, but one large, elderly woman decided to take this to a whole new level. Seeing her at the very last moment through the crowd of runners I was left with nowhere to go than to run headlong into her vast bulk. At the dizzy heights of 7mph that I was travelling at, she was lucky not to be thrown from her feet. Fortunately for both of us, her Rik Waller-esque frame gave her a sturdy airbag-like base and I was bounced to the side to carry on my merry way.

At 1 hour 40 I realised I could do with another wee - the liquids will do that to you. I decided to hold it in my quest to break the 4 hour mark. A minute out in the trees could prove crucial, and so it proved.

The course itself was reasonably flat, although the heat was certainly an issue and the four underpasses did nothing to help my bouyance. There was a near pitch-black disco in the tunnel where Diana died - an ill-conceived idea as there were a couple of fallers I saw.

The water stations are also a peril - fruit skins and liquid everywhere and I'm amazed there aren't more injuries as the free for all takes place with everyone piling in to replenish supplies.

Inevitably much of the run blends into one - I don't even recall seeing the Eiffel Tower - but I do remember seeing Ellias and Tom (part of our travelling support) twice each en route which I can not underestimate the power of, nor my gratitude for. The vision of a friendly face in the crowd willing you on or providing sustenance in the form of jelly babies really keeps you going and every bit of time helped. My dream was always to get under 4 hours and this really contributed to seeing this come true.

I do remember a hill at 22 miles. By this time I felt I'd been running on empty for a good 6-7 miles. Before then I thought I'd been shot in the ankle with a small dart or stung by an insect but this proved to be my only real injury of the race. I guess I can count myself lucky but, along with feeling like death, it led me to treat myself to a walk for a couple of hundred-yard intervals.

One further marathon mystery to me was that I would actually be running almost half a mile further than the course. This came from weaving in and out of a total of 12,000 runners - perhaps my own fault for not starting further forward, but we live and learn.

This issue meant it was almost impossible to tell how far I needed to run to break 4 hours. With the ankle issue I'd all but given up on this but the nagging notion that, if I didn't, there may be a tiny fibre that wanted to go through this bollocks again.

Running some rough, drained calculations I thought I had about 17 minutes to run two miles. To put this into context, at this point I'd not run a single mile in the previous 24 at a time of 8 minutes 30 seconds. Either way, keeping the inspiration I'd received from friends and family over my 8 week training regime in mind, I set off to have a go.

There is an app that tracks progress during the run - it shows in the last 2.2 kilometres I overtook 933 people as I dashed to the finish. It felt like dashing - I suspect it looked like a brisk, flailing, walk. In any case I got there with 50 seconds to spare and was absolutely elated. I can not explain the surreality of crossing the finish line and having nobody to celebrate with. It was joyous despair.

After thinking to myself on finishing that I needed to be sick out of both ends I took refuge in a park for an hour or so, failing pathetically to successfully scale a 1 foot fence and lying crampily (if that's even a word) on the grass.

Finally I met with the rest of the group, all of whom - I am extremely proud to say - finished the race inside the cut off time. We made a slow, long and painful journey home (via McDonald's...obviously) and vegetated on a variety of furniture for the evening with a well-earned beverage or three.

I would like to close this with something inspiring and profound. I'm not sure I can, but I certainly need to thank a vast amount of people for their support. Firstly, my parents for their tolerance of my tired, post-running moods, the meals, the card of support hidden in my bag - I could go on.

Thank you to Mike Worrell and Kev Matthews for their tips and guidance. In January people will testify I could hardly walk down a flight of stairs. The training regime I was set by Mike got me, quite literally, up and running.

Everyone who has donated - a massive thank you! Your money will go to help people who really need it, to support a group of people who do fantastic work to ease the pain of those directly and indirectly affected by illnesses we still do not know how to cure.

The messages of support - whether with a donation or at any point - again, thank you. I can't explain the difference it makes to know people are supporting you. To everyone in the apartment - I will gladly offer my support should any of you be silly enough to have another go!

I will close fairly simply by saying I hear a lot of people saying 'I could never do that' when I tell them of finishing. I suspect it's something self-effacing to praise the effort I put in, but truthfully, anyone can. If the time is invested and the belief is there it can be done. Not much that's worth doing is easy, and it was certainly never in my life plan to run a marathon, but with the experience I've had and outlined through this blog, I'm glad I did.

That's all, folks.

Dave

2nd April

Just three days to go now until I take on the streets of Paris. The last week has consisted of winding down the running, but upping the stretching, eating and worrying.

I've done a couple of 5 mile runs, one over the mountainous terrain of Looe in Cornwall. This involved taking on Hay Lane, which is both lengthy and steep and in places I could've used my ice picks to help me up. Besides the hills, the only other noteworthy event was three men holding hands heading down to the secluded end of the beach at Hannafore. My app which tracks speed, location and distance shows a sharp acceleration from that point.

Anyway, run done before a brief interlude for a celebration of my Grandma's 90th birthday. During the celebrations, which were attended by the whole family, she told me; "David, if I can live for 90 years, you can run 26 miles." Sound words which I'll be sure to keep in mind over the latter stages of the course! Sound advice may also have been not to get absolutely hammered over the course of the day, but nobody told me that...

So I'm back home now and undertook my final run today with Mike (Worrell). Only the second time I've run with someone over my inept 7 week training plan. There'll be plenty of people to run with on Sunday!

One point I should have made earlier is that ALL of the donations provided go to the charity. I have funded the entry fee, travel, accommodation, shoes, gels and even my gaudy fluourescent running gear myself so MacMillan will reap the full benefit of anything you'd be kind enough to give.

Fair play to MacMillan - they have sent me some letters with my name so the Parisians can chant my name and give me a hero's reception as I sail effortlessly through the streets...at least that's how it looks in my head.

That concludes my final post before the run. I hope that those that have read it enjoyed it and those that haven't read it still remember to donate generously. Thanks for reading - over, but hopefully not out.

Dave

26th March

Just 11 days to go now, not that I'm counting, and 'The Big Run' has taken place. Cautious though I am that much of the route was on trail (easier on the knees), it was very flat and I had no pungent Frenchmen to evade, I was delighted to complete 18 miles on Sunday.

Having said that, I can not for the life of me understand where the remaining 8.2 miles come from. I had nothing left to give. I am ashamed to say that on completion of the 18 miles (four times circulating Horton Park), not only did I seek refuge on a grass bank but then took 20 minutes to walk less than 200 yards. This misery was compounded when I, pathetically I acknowledge (but you don't know the pain!), got a lift home which under normally circumstances would've been less than a 10 minute walk!

Apart from obviously flagging heavily, my only problem during the run came as I managed to spill my first gel all over myself around about the 8 mile mark. I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with these things, but araldite and loctite have nothing on them. What was inspiring was, as the London Marathon date approaches too, the sense of commeraderie between 'athletes'. Everyone I passed gave a knowing nod, smile or grimace as I shuffled past in my newly acquired MacMillan vest...I'd like to think because of my look of steely determination or charitable spirit rather than the fact I was coated in orange-flavoured superglue.

A valuable lesson was learned at the end of my trek - do not stop. Once you do, it's all over. And indeed my Sunday was just that. After making my way home and soaking my loins until the bath water was grey and cloudy, all I had to look forward to were a couple of injuries I had never imagined. Blisters beaten by Compede, nipples and all other sensitive areas coated sufficiently in vaseline without so much being applied that I left a slug-like trail in my wake. However, I was not bargaining for the red raw arse cheeks that I suffered and rendered my backside something that normally requires a voiceover from Sir David Attenborough. I can only describe the liberal application of E45 that followed, perilously close to what I shall refer to as 'no man's land', as being one of the most soothing experiences I've had in my training.

The donations have continued rolling in and I'm very grateful for this. MacMillan have provided a support pack complete with running vest and a lot of useful advice. I've also been rigourously following the guidance of Coach Worrell and Kev Matthews - the latter's experience proving very interesting. Unlike Kev, this marathon will be the end of my running career, though. I just hope my walking career doesn't go with it.

Training winding down now - one final update next week before D-Day.

Ciao ciao!

Dave

19th March

Well, after the statement about everything going well last week, I can safely say that is no longer the case! With the half marathon exactly 4 weeks before the big race, I was left with two weeks to undertake two decent-size runs. The intention was to run 15-16 miles the weekend just gone by before my 'big run' two weeks before the race. For non-marathon-heads, theory claims that running a big run of about 20 miles three weeks before the race is ideal.

So perhaps it portrays my being short of match fitness when this weekend I absolutely crashed and burnt around the 10 mile mark. For this I will cite the following excuses:

1. Attacking the half marathon too hard the week before.

2. The 'searing' unseasonal March heat.

3. The undulating, unplanned route I took towards Carshalton. Hills are not my friend.

4. The prep - a Sainsbury's ready meal for dinner followed by a Shreddies breakfast may have been insufficient fuel. They may keep hunger locked up 'til lunch, but they do not help a man run 15 miles.

5. The number of other selfish people hogging the pavement. Weaving in and out sapped my energy. A feeble excuse, but I wanted five.

Having said all this I did manage to complete 13.1 miles in 2:12. but a large chunk of that was walked due to the agony broiling in the backs of my knees. Where would the second 13 miles have come from? I wouldn't know where to begin searching. I was also blessed with a blister on the instep of my right foot - following perceived medical advice I lanced it with a sterilised needle...only for it to become infected and filled with a thick pus that was rather satisfying to squeeze out. Sorry, but I'm sure there must be someone out there who's interested...?

So the 15 miler hasn't happened, and my fear at the minute is going into a 26-mile run having only ever run half that distance before. If this weekend doesn't go well, that's the prospect I'm faced with. Wish me luck - moan over and a positive update next week I hope!

Dave

 

12th March

Another update following the Surrey Half on Sunday - the furthest I'd run in my life and the first time I'd run a proper, official race without wearing my entire cricket gear. This one also had the added benefit of having some chums running too. Although I ran alone - Si, Sophie, Harriet & Rachel - thanks for providing some mental bouyancy which no doubt made the experience less torturous and, dare I say it, enjoyable!

Albeit with the limited training I've whinged about at length before, I felt this was the opportunity to try and run a time I'd be proud of. Anything inside two hours or near 1:50 I'd have been delighted with. Imagine my little face then, when I came in at a time of 1:48:21, with even enough left in the tank to sprint past a few unsuspecting sloths coming down the home straight. I do, however, have no clue where to find another 13 miles from! #wrecked

This is the problem - everything went well! What happens when something goes wrong...? I'm sure I'll find out in due course with 15 and 18 mile runs looming on the horizon in my training regime.

From this latest run, I learned a couple of valuable lessons. The first being that there will be people walking at all stages, even mile twelve and even lying on the side of the road in a heap. These people can be used as inspiration to just keep going - it could be worse!

The second lesson is not to leave half-eaten gels in one's pocket. Particularly on a hot day, they leak. In this case I have a large chunk of leg hair which has now been removed with excruciating pain as a result of the matted fur arising from the leaky gel.

So, slightly balder in the leg department, the challenge rolls on. Please donate - it's a great cause and means a lot.

Thanks,

Dave

 

3rd March 2014

There are now less than five weeks to go until the marathon and (continuing to touch wood) I remain injury free. My adventures over the last couple of weeks have included witnessing a car accident, getting hopelessly lost and generally being very cold and grumpy!

My mood was not improved on Saturday when, after starting in Richmond Park for a 4+ hour stint of not running but 'being outside' I realised I'd forgotten my headphones. As a result I had to focus on eavesdropping on the dull, inane conversations of Richmond locals who have a distinct lack of skeletons in their closets.

After seeing the devastating news of Arsenal being beaten by the Munsters in Stoke my disillusion only heightened, with my legs by this point in complete agony after a 17 mile stint with no entertainment. The only light relief came courtesy of a drunk, elderly man who congratulated me on my Plymouth shirt whilst I stopped for a gentleman's break in a Wetherspoons. Thanks go to Dan Ransom for giving me some light relief at the end of the tunnel and walking at was undoubtedly a snail's pace to the Green Man.

Given my lack of preparation I have learnt some worrying news since my last post - that the Paris Marathon has a cut off point. Anyone failing to finish within 5 hours 40 minutes is considered a DNF! No medal, no aluminium foil blanket, no congratulatory Mars Bar or whatever garlic-laden equivalent they quaff over the Channel.

Some further training clearly needed...I've been hitting the runs/gym fairly hard and will be facing a first challenge in the Surrey Half Marathon this Sunday. Wish me luck and please sponsor! :)

'Dashing' Dave Symons

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

17th February 2014

So it's come to this...let me recount the story so far...

In a moment of weakness in October 2013 I capitulated to peer pressure and signed up to run the Paris Marathon on 6th April. Initially I was excited by this prospect, embarking on some early training runs...

However, those who know me well will undoubtedly have taken amusement at some point in my life from my stupidly prominent knees (Osgood-Schlatters for fellow sufferers or anoraks) or my ridiculously small calf muscles. From the latter I have been told (by a non-medical non-expert) it's a miracle I can walk. Therefore it was probably of no surprise when, just two weeks into training, I picked up an injury.

What followed was more than 3 months of trying and failing to run due to a persistent pain in my knee (an IT band issue, anoraks). However, after several osteopath visits, some bone cracking and more than I would care to hand over in cash to a Spurs fan, I appear (massively touch wood) to be fixed and now only have to contend with being hideously unfit.

With less than 7 weeks to go until the marathon, I have run 5 times without pain this year. After one of these expeditions in the Austrian mountains I was violently ill...although this may be attributable to the celebratory gin.

I will provide a few updates about how my woefully inadequate training is progressing to try and keep you entertained, but in a nutshell I think it's safe to say that the next 7 weeks are going to hurt.

If you would be kind enough to invest in my physical turmoil then I would be hugely grateful for any donations.

It's a fantastic cause. MacMillan nurses do a lot of brilliant work for patients with cancer and also other illnesses such as dementia and Alzheimer's. One or more of these are likely to have affected someone you know in your life and the money will go to excellent use.

That's all for now! Thanks! :)

Dave