Sunday 18th March - Discovering the wall - 20 miles - 3hrs 15mins

I'd always wondered exactly what hitting the wall meant and today I found out in spectacular style.

I had planned well and was looking forwards to a sunny yet windy Sunday afternoon run, and in glorious spring conditions, that's exactly what I got. All went well including reaching the 10mile marker on time at 88 mins, (9 minute-ish miles) before setting off for the final 10 miles, which would hopefully be completed in the same style and time.

All went well for the next 30 mins, at two hours I'd completed 13 miles, still keeping 9min 15 seconds a mile, however, then the wheels started to come off.

Unfortunately from hour 2 to hour 3 my pace dropped to 12 minute miles instead of 9 minute miles. I think over miles 14-16 I didn't feel the slow down much but it definitely happened after I'd checked my split times vs. location later. This slowdown wasn't exactly critical, as long as I'm moving its OK but it certainly doesn't bode well for chasing down Bisons time!

His time of 3hrs 56mins and 41 seconds looks a million miles away when your legs lump up which is exactly what happened at mile 18.

I turned onto the Mall feeling OKish - I'd run a slight incline (truly minor) off horseguards parade and then as the sky clouded over (dramatic but again true!) and with my blood sugar hitting nil, my glycogen stores long gone and no more carb gels to swallow, I ran out of steam, it was if I'd been tagged by a tranquiliser gun.

Mentally my head was screaming to run on but my legs were made of lead, and irrespective of any want/need/desire, I couldn't conjure any additional height out of my knees.

Over the space of a couple of meters my run deteriorated into little more than a light pensioner style amble, an ungainly hobble clad in lycra. I defined the 'all the gear and no idea' type yet didn't care a jot.

Marathon running this was most definitely not. Running per-se this most certainly wasn't either.

The sunny, breezy day turned almost as rapidly as I hit the wall and within 30 seconds I had hail, wind and no company on the mall, with legs that were running in treacle. I was plodding along, with head down into the storm, being pounded by hail.

Although it didn't look like I was going backwards, it definitely felt like it.

I know what my Dad means when he says 'that's character building!' - I still loathe that phrase and in some perverse personal hellish way I was glad that I was out there alone in the hail, not having anyone else witness my implosion, or stand there shouting at me to come on.

This personal hell wasn't for sharing and I definitely didn't want to some fresh legged bystander trying to empathise, let alone think that their high spirited cheering was going to spur me on.

Call me a marathon humbug but its my pain and I'm the only one who can do anything about it. Period. I'm thinking about disguising my run on the day in order to enjoy the anonymity whilst relishing the 100% ownership of my gut wrenching sickness that the last couple of miles of anything physically demanding brings.

Ultimately I didn't stop. Running in treacle, feeling like I'm going backwards to go forwards, fighting through the hail all added up to a feeling of pride to have cracked 3 hours. I'm also proud that I stayed on my legs for 20 miles but want to improve the last hour - I'm bloody well going to have to improve to come within a sniff of Bisons 3hrs 56:41.

His time is still motivation, however its the wall I've got to crack first. Even if this means chucking up my ring over the next 5 weeks before marathon day then so be it. I'm in the USA next week but in 2 weeks time I'm going for it again, this time with more pre-run sleep, more carb-loading the 3 days prior, more en-route carb gels and come hail or high water I'm going to funking clear the wall.