Milano Marathon Race Report
There was no official “start” to this training block; no week 1. The race was in my mind at least 6 months out. I knew about it when I crossed the finish line of Amsterdam back in October. And I was excited to train.
For me, Amsterdam was a great race, but injury meant that my process to get there was somewhat lacking in running. I was eager for more running in this block, which I received.
Through the help from Marcus and Tom, my TrainingPeaks was littered with specific sessions, often tailored towards my weaknesses, in order to try and build a stronger base. Comfort zones were stretched, fatigue sometimes became high, sessions were hit and, of course, some missed.
Racing with InnerFight is incredibly unique. It means a lot. To some looking in, they see high stress. They even flick me a DM asking how I manage the runners with us and also race myself. It’s a juggle, but I love it. Even when nerves are present, energy is high. There is the power of the pack, and seeing the sheer joy that a race can bring to client is a feeling like no other.
On race morning, I was fortunate enough to be able to leave warm-up and admin duties in the capable hands of Simon, who had flown in from InnerFight Ireland with a bunch of his runners up for a good craic! From silence to nervous chatter, it was all there; each person has their own reason for running. Personally, I find it all a good distraction.
Marathons are hard. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. In just a few hours you experience a lot. Anything can change in an instant. And for me that is exactly what happened. In an instant, it changed. I bonked!
My pace plan was quite simple. Start 4:40 for the first 5km, and gradually look to edge a little faster each 5km block. If I averaged out at 4:25 pace I would go sub 3 hours 10mins, allowing a few extra mins for a potential long course. I knew from some recent training runs and racing that 4:40 should feel more than comfortable. It did. I clocked through the first 5km in 4:38, “perfect” I thought. I upped it by what felt like 5 sec per KM for the next 5km chunk. Momentarily, I re-looked at my watch mid way through that second block. “Last Lap Time, 4:33”. Strange! It had not read 4:38 at all, it had read 4:33.
I was running easy, I was holding back, and despite there being a long way to go, I was confident in my plan. I didn’t need the watch to dictate me; I knew how I was feeling. With my watch screen flicking in and out of visibility, I made the call to essentially ditch it for feedback. RPE it was! I was content with that, running free! I did however need some cues, the time. I was taking my gels slightly earlier than planned, so would calculate on the fly when to take the next one. At 1 hour 15 mins, I told myself I would take the next at approx 1 hour 50 mins.
I carried on smiling my way around the course, waving at Jack’s parents, thanking volunteers, high-fiving kids, and occasionally talking to fellow runners. How incredible. Then, bang! Something suddenly felt off. I scanned myself. Nothing was injured. It felt familiar, I had been here before… it was hunger. Did I need to already take that gel? I glanced down…2 hour 10 mins! Damn, I forgot to fuel! (And upon reflection, despite being in carb country, my weekend fuelling had been somewhat under where it should be). Moments later, there it was. The wall. That wall that slapped me in the face in 2021 at the Abu Dhabi Marathon. It wasn’t a slap in the face though, it felt like I had playfully somersaulted straight into it. I took a moment to gather my thoughts. What a fool! Ok, damage control. The narrative in my mind became “this too shall pass”. I told myself that on repeat for 5km.
Meanwhile, I consumed said gel, slowed myself down, drank all the water in the bottle I was carrying, refilled that bottle twice at aid stations, consumed some unknown energy drink on the course, and poured a bottle of water over myself to stay cool against the ever increasing sunshine that beamed across Milan.
The 3:10 goal finish time pacers and runners passed me. The same runners that I had gradually hunted, and overtaken, in the first half of the race. Their balloons flying high over the 3 pacers as they chatted away. I watched them float past me into the distance. I was not ready to hang onto them, and attempting to would have crushed my soul. I told them they were doing a great job, and tried to not beat myself up for my fuelling mishap!
Along came the 35km marker. Nice to see you, 35km! My body scan told me that my body was holding up, I was breathing easy again. Like my goal starting pace. I smiled, I was back! As quickly as my switch had been turned off 5km beforehand, it came back. There was light. “Let’s go”, I thought.
I opened my stride, yet was under no illusion that the last 7km was going to be tough. Still no watch feedback (it’s decision and mine), I didn’t need to know what the pace had dropped to. Focusing on the horizon I looked for people to run down. And gradually they came. One by one and then all at once. I was weaving my way back through and then saw the balloons!! I was closing the 3hr 10min crew. Surely not… They must have slowed down, they are human after all. As I edged closer, I noticed there was only 1 pacer; there had previously been 3. Ahhh bad day for that guy I assumed. The cobblestones and raised tram lines kept me present and focused. I am less sure underfoot at the best of times, I needed to focus. I was looking down a lot by this point, but running on. Upon glancing up, another 3:10 balloon in the distance. Were they too getting slower? I genuinely could not tell. I ran them down.
With 5km left, I attempted to “go”, yet nothing happened. I didn’t have another gear. I tried again at 40km, I did have another gear this time! I went. Dropped the pace again and told myself I was at Track Tuesdays, I knew what 2km repeats felt like… long but doable. A man I didn’t know I was racing, saluted me and said he couldn’t keep up with the cat and mouse game, he was done, and wished me well. Thanks mate, I didn’t even know we were racing!
My form was gone, my eyes could not focus, and where the hell was this finish line!! Twist, turn, this way, that way, my poor long legs were struggling to keep me upright for sure. Finally a sea of people lined the pavements, cheering to their hearts content and the Duomo popped up on my left. I was there, the home straight. The cobbles remained and I gave it what I could. Clicked my watch, and was greeted by a paramedic who was insistent I drink. Following his hydration help, I took myself to the side and eagerly tried to make my watch screen flick on, so I could attempt to read it. 4:26 average pace. 3 hours 10 mins 13 seconds. Confusing… ah 42.9km. Bittersweet!
My hips and lower back locked, and I ever so slowly funnelled my way out of the race shoot. Obviously, right on cue, amongst thousands of runners, spectators and tourist, Marcus welcomed me. His arms opened, palms up, like a confused emoji and said “what happened?” I told him I messed up my fuelling, we both sighed. I shrugged and said “PB”, we both laughed. Him and Cathal had both just gone sub 3. I was elated for them both. How incredible and how weird are marathons, I thought.
At the moment there is no race in my calendar. There will be, my relationship with the marathon is not over. It keeps pulling me. I am not entirely sure why that is, but it does. When I stop feeling the need and desire to run city marathons I will, but for now… we go again!
