Mental Hurdles

Despite the fact that I've been running at least twice a week for years now, I have a confession to make: my recent pushes to over fifteen miles were an absolute slog. Seriously. It was the first time in ages that I have flat-out not enjoyed running.

An overwrought yet apt image.

I started to notice this after the Bath Half. Thirteen miles is a decent distance. It only takes two-ish hours to cover that at good pace. It's comfortable enough and you can breathe and talk to a buddy at the same time. But once the number climbs higher, boy does it get tougher.

In late March, I reached the distance of 14 miles again. It didn't seem like much more beyond what I had already achieved just the week before, yet it was. Adding another mile, another ten minutes, onto the run suddenly became an arduous task.

There were a few external factors that definitely didn't help. It was still technically British Winter Time, so a two and a half hour run was taking me past seven thirty at night, long after the sun had set and temperatures had plummeted. Running in the dark is pretty grim. Running in the cold is uncomfortable. Running in both is borderline miserable.

Adding to this was the fact that my knees - my old man knees - had begun to protest after the fourteenth mile, creaking and grinding and groaning with every step. This got even worse once I headed past fourteen and into the fifteenth mile. I was now running for around two hours and forty-five minutes, most of which was after the sun had set. My knees were complaining, the temperatures were in low single-digits, sweat was cooling to my skin, and every step became harder than the last. By the time I finished, I was in a miserable state.

Thank you, stock image model, for this suitable picture.

After this, it only got worse. My first run of Hell Week was a sixteen mile jaunt that took around three hours. As before, it was harder than I ever expected. All the same woes seem to pile up and get more aggravating; knees, cold, darkness, misery. It never got easier. By the time I completed it, all I could think was, "I've done sixteen miles... and there's still ten to go." It was probably one of the lowest feelings I've ever had in all the time I've been doing this.

In fact, things were so bad that I told my wife I didn't want to do the marathon at all. I felt like it was simply too much and I couldn't make the distance. The hurdles in my mid were so tall I simply didn't see the point in jumping them.

There was even a moment when it seemed that my wish had been granted. The first draft participant list for Manchester 2025 was published and my name wasn't listed! What a relief. They weren't expecting me at all. My brother, as team leader, was listed, but not me. I actually felt some lightness in my chest. Maybe I could stop all this silliness and do something more enjoyable, like juggling porcupines.

But my brother contacted the organisers and confirmed that I would be featured on an updated list to follow. Bummer. I wasn't getting off the hook that easily.

Then something changed. It was weird and I'm not sure how to explain it. Something clicked in my mind. I stopped dreading the runs. I stopped thinking of the distance in terms of massive mile blocks and started breaking them down like I used to, many years ago. An eighteen mile run sounds incredibly daunting, but running three short 10ks sounds much, much easier.

Suddenly, just like that, I started to overcome those mental hurdles. Getting miserable about running so late into the evening? Start running earlier. Simple. By the time I finished my eighteen mile circuit, I actually felt good. Not just about myself, but what I'd achieved. The distance didn't seem so awful or insurmountable or challenging. It started to become enjoyable. I even had a pretty good experience on my mega twenty mile training run.

Since then, I haven't felt any nagging doubts or endured those negative thoughts. I know the marathon is going to be a bloody hard task, both mentally and physically, but I'm prepared for it. As prepared as I can be, anyway. All I have to do is keep overcoming those hurdles and I'll smash it.

Hell Week

There are probably technical terms for this week. Maybe professional runners have a different way of describing it or perhaps a running coach would give it a different name. But I'm not a professional, I'm just some guy who learned it all through painful experience and I like to call that seven day period, "Hell Week".

What is Hell Week, you ask? Simple. It's the final week of the big, big push before tapering can start. Again, professional runners would probably do things differently; maybe they would advise only tapering for a couple of weeks instead of four, or maybe they'd push themselves to keep racking up the distances ahead of the next marathon. For me, I'm content to set my goals well in advance and enjoy the sensation of easing back for several long, slow weeks. It feels like a lot because Hell Week is freaking exhausting.

Me too, John. Me too.

The goal of Hell Week is simple enough. It's the final week of major training. My objectives are to complete three runs across seven days and hit a specific distance target with each of them: sixteen miles, eighteen miles, and finally, twenty miles. The final run is the key. It's the last "big" run before tapering begins and has to be completed a month before the marathon date. As I learned some six years ago (six? Where did that go?) during my first attempt at running that distance, preparation is the key to ninety percent of the success in tackling a marathon.

My plans have been pretty simple for the month of March 2025. Despite my previous whining about how long it takes to do all this training (Hell Week requires over eleven hours of running!), I decided to knuckle down and push, push, push like proverbial hell to get through it. After all, the marathon was looming. April 27th was not far off. All I needed was a few short yet intense weeks of concentrated effort and it would be in the past. Then I could think about more enjoyable things, like lighting my barbecue and getting fat this summer or the upcoming Nintendo Switch 2 or even the prospect of waking up on a Saturday morning and not busting my hump getting miles under my belt.

With that in mind, I set my goals. Three runs across a week, each building in length and intensity. After completing the fantastic Bath Half in mid-March, I managed a few more decent runs in the following week, racking up another thirteen mile performance, followed by a fifteen mile run. Hell Week required me to push beyond that and take myself to the absolute limit of what the human body can train to endure.

Run #1: sixteen miles

Sixteen blooming miles.

Tuesday evening. I managed to finish work early and was out on the road by half past four, enjoying the last few rays of sunshine. One thing that made Hell Week even more uncomfortable is that British Summer Time did not begin until after this period was finished, forcing me to arrange my work days around trying to get as much daylight as possible.

The runs were made more bearable by my friend Mark, who kindly offered to join me for at least the first ten miles. Running with him was a genuine blessing. I don't believe I would have had the willpower to tackle these distances completely on my own. I'm not the same man I was six years ago; I'm not driven by a vast team of charity workers cheering me on or the thought of raising thousands to help a good cause. I'm doing this to run Manchester with my brother.

Once I crossed the half-marathon threshold and began to break into the mid-teens, this run got harder and harder. I'll drop another post soon discussing the mental difficulties, but I can safely say that the physical issues were largely in my joints. After fourteen miles, my knees were threatening to disengage completely. It wasn't helped by how suddenly the temperatures plummeted once the sun set. Seriously, it went from mild and pleasant to absolutely freezing in a matter of minutes. Good thing I tied a jacket around my waist.

Run #2: eighteen miles

That orange line is looooong...

Two days later, I repeated the process, finishing work early enough to get out even sooner. It was a real blessing to be able to move my work hours on training days like this. The only thing worse than knowing I had such a such run ahead of me was the idea that I'd be running until after eight that night. Fortunately, I was on to road ahead of four p.m. and Mark joined me once more. We chatted and joked and trundled together around a lap of Chippenham, before Mark headed home and I continue on for the last eight miles. 

It took a gargantuan effort and there were plenty of slower moments. I did my best to follow the rough plan my brother and I have agreed for the marathon: run ten, then take it a little easier. I mixed the odd cooldown walk into the run and managed to finish it in relative comfort. I even brought along a bagel to munch on for those all-important carbs during slower points.

Run #3: twenty miles

The final challenge.

I had built my entire week around this run. It was a cool, crisp, dry Saturday morning. Unfortunately, Mark wasn't able to make this one, so I laced up my shoes and planned my route and gave it my best shot. The plan was simple enough: I ran through town and back around the country lanes, following the Chippenham Half course and adding a circuit around town onto the end, even looping around a couple of local roads to make certain that I hit the target.

To my surprise, the entire run went well. Temperatures slowly climbed as the minutes turned to hours. Everything was planned. Run ten, walk one. Eat half a bagel. Run to thirteen. Eat the other half. Loop toward town. Hit up the bakery and snag a croissant and an extra drink. The only surprise was how much more water I needed to consume during this run. I had to stop by a petrol station on the last couple of miles to grab another bottle of sports water to get me over the line.

But I did it. I ran that final mile and hit the big two-oh and I have never been so pleased with myself. I am nowhere near as fit, slim, and light as I was this time six years ago, dammit, I can still put in the miles when it counts.

And that brings an end to Hell Week. It's behind me now. The worst is done. Manchester awaits.