What Running and Coaching Taught Me
My first marathon began with my dad deciding he wanted to run one for his 60th birthday. Slippers would have been my preferred present to buy him, but I said yes.
We chose the Isle of Wight Marathon: local, cheap and perfectly timed. Nobody mentioned the hills.
I’d only recently started running. I’m not even sure I had a training plan. I ran three times a week, including a longer run at weekends, and hoped for the best. No GPS watch, just a stubborn streak.
We came last. Our families, the race director and St John’s Ambulance were still there at the finish.
And yet, I loved it. I felt stronger, fitter and more confident. That experience hooked me, although I’ve learned considerably more about preparing for a marathon since then.
There’s more to training than the long run
When you enter your first marathon, it’s understandable to focus on the distance. How will you possibly run 26.2 miles when your current long run already feels quite long enough?
As a runner and coach, I’ve learned to pay attention to what happens between those long runs too. Finding a routine you can manage, allowing time to recover and practising how you’ll fuel all deserve a place in your preparation.
So does learning to judge your effort. I’ve spent years asking runners to slow down, while understanding exactly why they find that difficult. When you’re working towards something important, it’s tempting to make every run a test of whether you’re improving.
An easy run can feel as though you’re not doing enough. Learning to trust its purpose takes practice.
The excitement at the start
You’ve trained for months. You’ve made it to the start line. There’s music, cheering and a sea of runners around you.
Then everyone moves, and your carefully considered plan has to compete with the excitement of finally being there.
I know how easily that excitement can carry you along. Holding back when you feel good can be surprisingly difficult, especially when other runners are passing you.
This is something worth practising in training: settling into your own effort without treating somebody else’s pace as an instruction.
Progress isn’t always a dramatic PB
One runner I coached completed two marathons five minutes apart: 5:25 at Bournemouth and 5:20 at Liverpool.
The clock suggested a small improvement. Her experience told a bigger story.
At Bournemouth, she started considerably faster than her intended pace and struggled badly towards the end. At Liverpool, she paced more cautiously and ran more evenly.
These were different races, so pacing cannot explain everything. But the contrast was useful: a finishing time alone doesn’t tell you how a marathon felt, how you managed it or what you learned.
What I’d take into a first marathon now
I’d give myself time to prepare, choose a plan that fitted my life and practise the things I’d need on race day. I’d also think about what I wanted from the experience beyond a number on the clock.
Coming last on the Isle of Wight didn’t stop me wanting to run another marathon. I’m glad I said yes to my dad.
I would, however, check the hills first.