Wet. Lonely. Painful.

If I could describe this ‘virtual’ Marathon in 3 words, that’d be it. Although I’d probably also add ‘Incredible’ into the mix.

It’s been a funny year. Just before Xmas 2019 I discovered that - due to a withdrawal - I’d been offered a place in the 40th London Marathon. A few weeks later and I was in uncharted territory: running more than 5 miles without any sort of team, ball or goals involved. Rather than playing 5-a-side football twice or thrice a week, I was having to sacrifice that to go and run round and round in circles, in the freezing cold, on my own.

Not my idea of ‘sport’.

FFWD to a couple of months later, and I was disappointed - but at the same time slightly relieved - that the Marathon was postponed due to a virus. I still went for the occasional run, but then I discovered Lockdown Drinking, and all training and physique went out the window. The Marathon was rescheduled for 4th October, but around late August it was declared it wouldn’t be going ahead, and that there would be a ‘Virtual Marathon’ instead.

“What’s a Virtual Marathon?” you might ask.

Is it ‘almost’ a Marathon?

Is it 26 miles on a treadmill?

Is it a sci-fi film featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger in which he travels 2,500 years into the past to help the Persians defeat the Greeks in the Battle of Marathon whilst being chased by clones?

No. All you have to do is complete a ‘Marathon’, anywhere in the World and track it using modern technology. Simple.

Or not. I was hesitant to sign up, as my fitness wasn’t the greatest, and at first I declined. But then I realised the date would mark almost exactly 10 years since my Mum died from Alzheimer’s, and I decided I really should.

So I bought myself one of those new-fangled Garmin watches, and some wireless earphones, and got back into training.

Let me tell you something not exactly
ground-breaking:

The mind is a powerful thing.

I returned from one early run and stated “There’s no way I’m gonna be able to do a whole Marathon”. I’d done about 1/3 of one and did not feel like going for a long run again anytime soon. Whereas my housemate was like “Naah you’re totally gonna do it, dude!”. At least someone was optimistic. I eventually worked my way up to a hilly, partly off-road 14.5 miles (23km), towards the end of which I could barely run and had to waddle the last mile or so.

A bit of a hike in the Peak District was to be the last of my training.

The week before the event, they advise you to rest and not do anything strenuous. I, of course, played a match of tennis. Mainly because I’m in a league and I had to squeeze one in. Out of nowhere, I strained my left calf. No particular reason; it just went.

I hoped it’d improve, but it didn’t get much better. So on Saturday, the day before the event, I thought I’d go for a massage. Amusing story in which a Thai lady offered to rub more than just my leg (I declined, as any prime athlete would), and thankfully the calf felt a lot better afterwards.

And then came the day. Sunday 4th October 2020. The first ever ‘Virtual Marathon’. It was rainy, and due to stay that way all day. I was so stuffed from pasta the night before that I didn’t actually feel like eating breakfast, so I didn’t leave until around Noon. After some banana and peanut butter, having smeared Vaseline on intimate areas, and having chowed on an energy gel that was like something from an Arnie sci-fi film, I hit the button on my watch and headed off.

Having been dry for the couple of hours since I got out of bed, it was of course now raining. Not big ol’ fat rain, but persistent drizzle. I started off with a particularly fast first kilometre, and then quickly reminded myself there were another 41 to go. I had opted to stay with my friend Mike near Salisbury, and the lap around the valley was almost exactly 1/4 of a Marathon, so I was doing 4 laps of that. I would’ve preferred one big lap, as that would be far more Instagrammable, but given the conditions, and the fact that there were no crowds to urge me on, it was far more sensible to break it up into chunks, allowing for the odd break.

After Lap 1 I felt okay. I always take about 4 miles to warm up, for the muscles and joints to ‘settle in’, and there was nothing unusual to report. I changed tops (even in these cold conditions favouring the Nadal-esque sleeveless tanktop), nibbled some snacks and headed back out. Within moments, my top was wet through, and it hit me just how far I had to go. A fraction under 20 miles. In the ‘proper’ Marathon I’d be at around Cutty Sark by this point; today I was trudging down a narrow country road with nobody for company except the odd sheep.

Salisbury cathedral spire appeared in the gloomy distance, and I knew I was near the half-lap marker. Not only that, but I’d stashed some goodies in the bushes - one of my motivational tricks that makes it feel like an Easter Egg Hunt.

As I reached the very end of Lap 2, the pain in my calf suddenly returned. Not ideal. I stopped at Mike’s for another change of shirt and some nutrients, and departed again.

Soon I was in unknown territory. 15 miles down, and still another 11 to go. By now, the thighs and hips were giving me grief, and I was stopping every so often to do some ‘open the gate’ stretching, which really helped. I did get a few odd looks from the local wildlife, including swans who were happily splashing in puddles and shaking their tails. At least someone was enjoying the weather. Although actually the weather really wasn’t bothering me at this stage. That was about 7th on my list of niggles. The main pain at this stage was my inside arms, just above the pit, where it was chafing on the edge of sleeveless top #3 as my limbs swung to and fro. They were red and chafed, and - whereas aches and pains elsewhere can come and go - I was aware that the arms wouldn’t get any better. I just had to deal with it, try to focus on something else.

Like putting one foot in front of the other.

My pace was slow. Pleasingly, I was barely walking at all, which I’m proud of. But my ‘Marathon pace’ is not much faster than walking, and a whole lot more effort. Whereas with sprinting my legs would be propelling me forwards, in this case I was plodding along with very little forward momentum; I could feel most of the weight of my heavy legs going straight into the ground, upon which I had to overcome inertia and lift them up again to proceed. It wasn’t very efficient, and very tedious, but if I upped the pace then I soon found I entered the aerobic zone and just didn’t have the fitness to keep it up for long. This is why it’s called ‘Marathon pace’ - it’s slow and gentle enough to be able to keep up for 6 hours.

My legs, particularly my upper thighs, were aching and cumbersome. But it was just something I had to try and ignore; like an annoying buzzing sound or an irritating light. However, I was soon buoyed by the fact that I’d passed 19 miles. When I went on a training day in January (with GB coach Nick Anderson), we were told that the halfway point is actually at around 18-19 miles. Up until then is just ‘transit’; after that it gets really hard. But this landmark gave me encouragement (the landmark in the actual event would’ve been the arse-end of Docklands), and I pushed on. I stopped at base for one more change of tops (now opting for my official Alzheimer’s T-shirt) and set out for the Final Push.

There wasn’t far to go. I could smell the finish line (which happened to be a pub). The chafed arms had been Vaselined; my thighs experienced a renewed vigour; and the roast lamb was in the oven. To quote the Starship hit: “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now”.

Amazingly, I did the second half quicker than the first. 21 miles became 22, became 23. I felt glad that I had chosen to run this. I didn’t think I’d had nearly enough training time, but I guess it just goes to show what the body can achieve if the mind is behind it.

I eventually entered the last mile. Back at the training day, Nick had told us to dedicate each of the last 5 or 6 miles to someone close to us. I thought of my Mum, and the horrible final few years she had suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease; and of my Dad, and the torrid time he had witnessing her decline. The pain in my body now seemed trivial, and I pressed on up a long, slow hill. Lonely and grey, a stark contrast to The Mall in London. I was looking at my watch, counting down the last few hundred metres, then the Top Gun anthem randomly played through my earbuds and I was lifted (appropriately), and in another couple of minutes I had reached the virtual finish line.

I’d done the Marathon. 26.2 miles - or 42.2km - in just under 6 hours.

I was elated. Euphoric. And like so many athletes say when they win a big race, it felt ‘surreal’. Not surreal in a Salvador Dali way. There were no elephants on long legs, or melting clocks. It just didn’t really felt like I’d done it.

The next day, however, it really did feel like I’d done it. My thighs felt like they’d been injected with lead, and going down stairs was agony. I found chewing gum in my hair where I’d popped some behind my ear and forgotten about it. And the sores on my arms were like I’d been gnawed at by ants.

But it was worth it. I’d do it all again tomorrow.

Well, maybe next month.

Or in a year. Hopefully…

Huge thanks to my friend Mike, who acted as my support team and cooked a banging roast.

Also, massive thanks to those who’ve sponsored me so far. I know times are hard and we’re all feeling the pinch. If it’s too much to ask this year, I’m due to do the ‘proper’ Marathon in 2021 or 2022, when things will hopefully be back to normal, so maybe you can sponsor me then.

The link for donations is here:

www.justgiving.com/vmlmcharityplace-paulwfranklin

THANK YOU!

I DID the Marathon.

Wet. Lonely. Painful.