Inverness UK • October 2024 • Length of Read: 8 Minutes
My sights had been set on completing the Fort William marathon in 2013, running the race alongside my dad to raise funds for Prostate Cancer UK, the charity that had provided invaluable support during his treatment. The run would mark his recovery back to full health, something I’d kept at the forefront of my mind as I tied my shoes for yet another cold, dark, wintery training run. Unfortunately, however, I twisted my knee a month out from the race and had to withdraw. Instead of crossing the finish line side-by-side, I was side-lined to cheering from the stands as my dad soldiered round the course against the Scottish elements. A real-life action man.
A decade passed, and this item remained elusively untouched on my bucket list. I was still exercising regularly, but unable to face the daunting prospect of training again for something that I regarded as having ended in failure. It finally took some good old peer pressure to shake me from this limiting mind-set. Whilst chatting with a couple of close friends at a summer birthday party, they informed me of their intention to run the Loch Ness marathon that September. The sales pitch of a beautifully scenic route, the prospect of seeing Nessie, and the consumption of several beers begun to whet my appetite. A bunch of us started giving big statements about how we would join them, most of the chat being all fart and no poo. But priding myself as a man of my word, I signed up the very next morning.
Reality quickly set in that I had 10-weeks to train for the 26.2 mile endeavour. 42.2km across what I also quickly found out was a tough and hilly course. “You’ve chosen quite a brutal route for your first marathon,” warned a seasoned runner from my work. “Make sure you train for the really steep incline at mile 19,” cautioned the Head Trainer from my gym. Any naivety I had about the challenge ahead soon dissipated.
But I wasn’t starting from scratch. I have good base-level fitness from my CrossFit training and grew up representing my school in cross country and athletics. I have a sub 20-minute 5km, a sub 45-minute 10km, and in 2022 I completed the Isle of Skye half-marathon, the furthest distance I’d ever run. Wanting to maintain my strength objectives, I opted to follow a twice weekly running program, with shorter sessions on the Wednesday and longer runs on Sundays:
Week 1 – 10km
Week 2 – 15km
Week 3 – 18km
Week 4 – 21km (half marathon)
Week 5 – 24km
Week 6 – 28km
Week 7 – 15km
Week 8 – 32km
Week 9 – 22km
Week 10 – 13km
Training over the brighter summer months made a massive difference this time around, and I was able to hit every single run as planned. I purchased a shiny new pair of trainers, tested different methods of fuelling and hydration, played about with my pacing, and prioritised sleep and recovery. By the time race weekend rolled around I felt ready, prepared and, most importantly, injury free.
The Loch Ness Marathon and Festival of Running has been a staple in the UK running calendar for over two decades, and draws participants from all over the world. As well as the flagship marathon event, there’s also a River Ness 5km, 10km and wee Nessie races. My partner Eva had been training for the 10km race and we drove the 3 hours north from Glasgow on the eve of the event in nervous anticipation. It was also our rescue dog Billie’s first holiday away since arriving in Scotland, so a weekend full of firsts.
Pre-race nerves are something I’ve had to deal with my whole life, and I had a restless sleep as my mind wandered to the ‘what ifs’ of the run itself. I awoke at 6am to force feed myself some cereal for breakfast and machine gunned the toilet bowl 3 or 4 times before leaving the apartment. I covered my cracks and crevices in enough Vaseline that I could have gone down a slip and slide, leaving nothing to chance. The last thing I wanted was to shit myself Paula Radcliffe style halfway through the race or for my nipples to start bleeding.
The Loch Ness marathon is a point-to-point race, so all participants are transported an hour by double decker bus to the start line near Fort Augustus. From here, it’s a straight line following the southern edge of the loch back into the finish line in Inverness city centre. I met my mate Twiggy at the pick-up point and we hopped on one of the dozens of coaches standing by. There were 6,000 people taking part in the festival of running, of which 4,000 were taking on the 26.2 miles.
The heating was cranked full blast on the bus and as Twiggy stuffed down a melting peanut butter bagel I begun to get a pounding headache. Partly self-inflicted, partly from the fumes being emitted by the double decker as it struggled with the full capacity passenger weight to get up some paved hills. ‘If the bus is struggling with this,’ I thought, ‘then how am I going to manage?’ As a potential bad omen for things to come, the driver then announced that the power steering was broken and after stalling on several occasions, asked if we could make our way on foot the final kilometre to the start line.
As the countdown began, I took in the spectacular vista from our high vantage point, the hues of the surrounding hills and glens bringing out an enhanced sense of patriotism as I tried to block out the squatting runners squeezing out some last-minute nervous poos in the nearby bushes. It was both a beautiful and feral scene.
The starting gun went and we were off, the culmination of 10 hard weeks of training now being put into action. I tailgated Twiggy for the first 6km, all downhill, until I settled into a manageable pace and let him drift ahead. He was undertaking his fourth marathon that year and I was very much aware it was sensible to stick to my own game plan and race. I had 5 gel sachets with me and planned to take one every 5 miles with a spare tub of petroleum jelly in case any sensitive areas needed topping up. Until mile 10 everything was going to plan, with my pace steady and heart rate contained. Suddenly, however, on a sharp downhill that followed a gruelling ascent, my right calf started to fire and hamstring became incredibly tight.
I expected to feel pain and hit the proverbial wall at some point, but not that soon into the race. My practice runs had taken me far longer than that distance without a hitch, and I adjusted my stride to try and rid the discomfort. As I approached the halfway mark, the pain began to subside and I got some momentum back. I turned my cap backwards, picked up the pace, and tried to make up for lost ground. A second wind.
Loneliness then began to kick in. The banks of the loch were tranquil and quiet, good for the soul but at that moment I would have loved a welcome distraction. When it’s just you and your thoughts, sometimes they can be positive and spur you on but sometimes they can turn negative and become your enemy. The race regulations stated that no earphones were allowed on the course for health and safety reasons. Understandable, but apparently ignored by the majority of seasoned runners. I would have really benefited from some motivational music or distracting podcasts as I approached the final third of the race.
The nail in the coffin nearly came at mile 19. As we exited the wooded landscape into suburban streets, spectators began to appear with banners of encouragement. It was a sign tied to a lamppost, however, that caught my eye: ‘STEEP PART AHEAD.’ I lifted my head and stared at the Mount Everest of a hill that beckoned, the top hidden from sight as it banked around to the left. I grabbed a water as I passed by the aid station and my narrowing stride soon slowed to a fast march. It was almost hands on knees for the next mile as myself and all the runners around me began to move at a snail’s pace. The estimated finish time on my watch jumped from 3:50 to 4:15. Not good.
My attention turned to just completing the race, the original goal I had set myself and purpose of this bucket list item. The course followed the cordoned off main road back into the city centre, the mile markers counting down. 3 miles to go. 2 miles to go. 1 mile to go. I was cramping like hell, my energy reserves completely depleted, and a grimace across my face. 400m to go. 200m to go. I saw familiar faces in the crowd cheering me on. Eva and Billie were there. 100m to go. FINISH. 4hrs 5mins. Medal hung around my neck, goodie bag collected, and then collapsing onto the grass in utter exhaustion. No action man, but mission accomplished.
