Beforehand, I predicted that running the Edinburgh Marathon would be a very different experience from Manchester, outside of the obviously different course. This turned out to be true, both in ways that I anticipated and ways that I certainly didn’t.
Arriving in the neighbouring town of Livingston on Friday (I hadn’t been able to get a hotel in Edinburgh itself), I took the opportunity on Saturday to do a warm-up at Livingston parkrun, running at my intended marathon pace. Not only did it feel very pleasant to take my time after so many fast parkruns, but it also helped to calm my considerable nerves, as if my body was remembering, “Oh yeah, I actually feel good when I’m running.” There was, however, one thing in particular that was bothering me as I looked forward to Sunday: after predicting fine or at least overcast weather for most of the week, the weather forecast had gone, “Ha ha, gotcha!” and was now indicating heavy rain. Looking at the coming week’s forecast, Sunday’s symbol of a black cloud with droplets of water stood out mockingly in a row of white clouds and showers. Doing a short race in the rain would be bad enough, but a whole marathon?
Sure enough, when I got into Edinburgh city centre on Sunday morning, it was chucking it down, and every covered space on the street was packed with sheltering people. I reminded myself that having come all this way, no amount of bad weather was going to stop me. Once I had gotten wet enough, I was less bothered by that than by the resulting cold, which was enough to make me shiver in my T-shirt and shorts, and made me more eager than ever to get going.
Finally, get going we did. With rain being blown into my eyes, I needed more mental focus to keep going at the pace I wanted and so didn’t have much awareness of where we were in the city; the most memorable part of this section was seeing Arthur’s Seat looming out of the haze. Eventually, in the fifth mile, we got out of the city onto the coast – and, at the same time, the rain stopped. Aside from some narrow parts where congestion increased, I enjoyed the rest of the route; not having to worry about hills was a plus. As part of it was an out-and-back, we were able to see runners in the faster waves going past on the other side of the road; I was impressed to see two of them literally juggling as they went! There were also plenty of spectators to cheer us on in the more populated areas, holding such signs as:
- “Think positive – no sunburns today.”
- “Your feet must hurt from kicking so much asphalt.”
- “Toenails are overrated.”
- “Pain is just French for bread.”
I had had a slower start than I wanted, but by Miles 9-10, I was feeling at my best, in a good rhythm and still with plenty of energy. In Mile 14, things took a slight downturn when my left leg began niggling and I became worried that it would only get worse. I was able to run through it, though that leg continued to feel not quite right, on and off, for the rest of the run. My left foot was also rubbing against the shoe, probably due to being wet, which had left me with a blister by the time I was finished and managed to get my socks off.
By the time we were at the turnaround point in the wooded grounds of Gosford House, around 18 miles in, I had entered a peculiar mental state that felt beyond anything I had experienced in Manchester. I was in the zone, focussed on what I had to do, totally in the present. Even though I was definitely suffering at this point, I was strangely still enjoying myself – maybe I was just feeling pleased at how well I was doing and that I even had enough left to pick up the pace. I started talking to myself: Great job, Richard. You could walk from here and you’d still finish faster than you did in Manchester. But you don’t want to walk – you want to run! Maybe it was another coping mechanism, but I also started saying hello to all the golden retrievers I saw among the spectators; the owners presumably shook their heads at the poor runner who was clearly delirious from exhaustion.
The nearer I got to the end, the more frustrated I became that the distance between what the mile markers were indicating and what my Garmin was telling me grew ever larger. By the time I got back into Musselburgh and entered the last mile, it looked like I would have to run an extra 0.25 miles. Then my watch beeped and I saw something horrifying on the screen: Low Battery. No! Hang on! I’m almost there! How are you running out of battery now when you lasted even longer than this in Manchester?!?
With cheering spectators all around, and running as hard as I could, I turned the corner and saw the finish line, looking like it was a whole mile away. In the end, I finished the Edinburgh Marathon in 3:45:40 – while not quite the sub-3:45 that was my A-goal, it was still a sub-4, beating my first marathon time by over 40 minutes. I ran all the way, without stopping to walk, and I even managed a negative split by a minute or two. By the time I had retrieved my bag and was staggering to the train station, I was feeling mentally human again, though physically would take a little longer.
If I thought that the Manchester Marathon was a challenge, Edinburgh required me to reach even deeper into my mind to achieve what I wanted. It was undoubtedly a positive experience – I’m even glad that it rained, as I was able to prove to myself that I can push past that – and one I’m going to remember for a long time. I don’t know yet where my third marathon will be or what time I’ll be aiming for – just that there will be a third marathon, and hopefully more after that.
RJ's Blog 
Best of luck!
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