This isn’t the race report I was hoping to write but at this stage I’ve come to expect the best and worst out of running. It’s all part of what we sign up to. I arrived to Berlin in probably the best shape of my life and having put in what I think is my best and most consistent year to date. I’m running sessions and milage now I would have only dreamed of a few years back. I’ve already spoke about it in previous posts but for me the journey to Berlin this year was one of the most enjoyable to date, with a trusted trainer partner and we genuinely enjoyed the training more than ever. There were tough days, setbacks and of course mornings I didn’t want to get up and run but doesn’t that just makes me human. On the whole, there’s nothing else I’d rather spend my time doing.

The one thing worrying me the day before was my upper chest which took a hammering at the Fermoy toll booth as I leant out the window. I knew it wasn’t quite feeling right and if there was anything going to be causing me to finish early, that’s what my money was on. After a surprisingly good night of sleep, race morning arrived and I was feeling ready. At 6:15am I drank my Maurten drink, swallowed some toast with peanut butter and jam and I then managed to sneak another 30 minute sleep, waking for the last time at 7am. I donned the race gear and went to meet the two lads at 8am and we jogged the mile up to the towering Brandenburg gate. What a view it was to turn onto that finish straight and I was already visualising myself striding down there with roaring crowds flanking each side, galloping to the finish line on for a massive time. It was so exciting to be back at a major marathon, what an electric atmosphere. The morning was looking hot, very hot. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky at 8:30am and the sun was already beaming down on the helpless and unsuspecting competitors. It was no doubt going to be a tough day but nobody was really talking about it. A collective dissonance.

It was a breeze to get to the start block where I met a few friendly faces from home. There was a nervous tension in the air, a little more palpable than usual, perhaps because of the 2 year marathon sabbatical for most. Eventually it was time to line up in coral A and we were minutes from the start. I took a gel and started to focus. I was maybe 3-4 rows back from the very front and I looked up that wide Tiergarten road ahead, a glorious sight in the morning sun and I couldn’t wait to get going. The plan was to ease into 5:30 mile pace, roughly 17:10 or so through each 5k. The now familiar tense start line music blared from the loudspeakers and the countdown was on. Suddenly it’s happening, I’m back in Berlin and it’s marathon time.

5k – 17:10

I knew the GPS in Berlin can be haywire so my pace was to be guided by a pace band on my wrist today with a checkpoint every 5k. I got out with no issues, a lot of people storming out of the traps as expected. I settled into a comfortable pace and noticed John wasn’t coming with me but probably choosing to be a little more conservative. Steady was my goal of the day so I planned to just run my own first few miles and assumed a group would form on 2:24-25 pace. The first few miles were very relaxed and I was happy with how I was feeling. The chest pain? What chest pain! I think if there is any sort of discomfort in those first few miles, it can really tamper with your mindset and set you up for a difficult day but all seemed to be good in my world at this point. I was tracking a group of 3 men who were clearly pacing an African woman who sat right behind their triangular formation. I figured this would be a steady group to cling on to. I got to the first timing mat at 17:10, spot on. I took a glance back and didn’t see John but we always had that understanding that when it came to the race we’d be doing our own thing. I was certainly aware of the morning sun beaming down at this point but I wasn’t feeling affected by it. It was still very early days.

10k – 34:15

I noticed in the first 5k an uncomfortable amount of friction in my shoes. Nothing to make me panic but it did feel too early for that. After maybe 6 or 7k I was really noticing it and getting concerned, I could feel blisters forming in both feet. I say too early but in reality, it shouldn’t ever happen. It’s one of these things that no amount of training or willpower can overcome but on the other hand, blisters are so avoidable. I’d worn those socks before in the 10 mile MP effort but that was not run in the AlphaFly shoes. That never crossed my mind beforehand. Still, it felt a very odd for both feet to have blisters. The only thing I can think of I did different was just before the start when I bent down and pulled the top of my socks up really high, so it wouldn’t chafe on my ankles (as it did in a training run before). At 8k I was actually moving really well, I was alongside a guy and we were maybe 20-30 meters behind the African lady’s pacing group and in a great rhythm. The pain was really starting to get to me now, as much as I told myself I could deal with it. In reality I had 21 miles to go and it was starting to hurt. I was clearly in denial mode. I got to the 10k mat and saw the time of 34:15, the 2nd 5k in 17:05. Bang on target and feeling great (apart from the obvious). I was now solo as the guy ahead of me had made a dash for group ahead and I declined, opting to keep running the 5:30’s but also now very conscious of the feet. Running solo was the least of my worries.

11k came and suddenly it was like running on hot coals. I think the blisters had broken at this point and the writing was on the wall. Every corner I took was excruciating and I was adjusting my stride to avoid hitting the blister straight on. This wasn’t going to happen, I just knew it. I was keenly aware that there was a drink to be collected from a friend at 12k, so that was my mini target to reassess, perhaps even pull in and fix my socks but in all reality I knew I was just going to get there and pull the plug. There was some solace knowing there was someone out on the course rather than pulling in randomly and trying to find my way back. It turns out I didn’t even get that far. Just before the 12k mark, and just as I was about to reattach to the group ahead, I shook my head and waved the white flag. I couldn’t run another step. My feet were burning and every additional step I ran was prolonging my future recovery from it. Time to be smart and call it a day. It’s such a shame as apart than that, it was probably the most comfortable and confident I had felt at the start of a race. I was moving so well but writing it all down now, that’s a huge positive I can take away.

I pulled in to the side of a very crowded and raucous roundabout and I couldn’t wait to get those blasting clown shoes off me. I was aware of all of the spectators eyes on me, showering me with their sympathy but I was actually really ok with it. There was no sense of anger or injustice, just a strange resignation and acceptance that this wasn’t my day. I took a look at my shoes, a little blood-stained blotch decorated the cushion on each shoe with a matching red blob on the socks. Ow. The blisters most definitely had burst, I’ve never seen or experienced anything like that before. I can’t explain it. As I was getting up, I saw a Cork jersey jogging towards me. Strangely a comforting sight. It was Joe, the guy who was managing our drinks that day, and he was rushing his way to the U-Bahn to make his way to the 32k (20 mile) spot for the next drink drop off. His planning was militant and quite impressive to be honest. I said the best thing for me to do now is to tag along with Joe and cheer on the lads, no time for pity parties. What good would it do me to head back to an empty apartment? I limped along with Joe to the U-Bahn and I was so glad to have the company at that time. It was all a little raw and it really took my mind off my own experience and I could now at least play a small part in helping others get through what was to be a torrid day at the races. We arrived to the 32k mark just as the leaders passed and we got to see the elites in full flow. It was hitting me now just how hot it had gotten. From what I heard it got up to 24C by the end, absolutely no condition for fast times. It was also now dawning on me that perhaps I had just been pardoned from death row. It was confirmed later when I saw the finish times. Nobody ran their expected times. The heat had utterly crippled people in the 2nd half and it made for grim viewing. All of our crew passed us and none of them looked particularly comfortable but the worst seemed to come in the last 10k. John was first of the group home in 2:34 and for a fella who doesn’t run well in heat, he did really well. Most were 4-5 minutes outside their target including David Mansfield who I met at the start. He still ran an incredible 2:19 but had been shooting for 2:15. Even the winning time was the slowest in 12 years.

Today, though I still feel some disappointment, I’m a little relieved. I feel that if I didn’t have the blister issues, there was no way I was holding that 2:24 pace but I still think I could have been walking away with a PB. It’s not really worth pondering over for too long, it’s pretty much irrelevant. I don’t have a marathon to recover from and (after my upcoming week in Cyprus) I can head back and hit the races again. I have an entry for Manchester but I don’t think that would be smart right now. I’ll take my time and go again properly when the time is right. There’s something to learn from each marathon and having talked to a friend last night, I’ll be learning to tie my laces properly. Apparently there’s a method that’s foolproof for avoiding blisters.

All in all, as I hope was evident, this wasn’t about the destination but enjoying the journey. I’ve loved logging again on boards, I’m so glad I raced more than usual in the build up and despite not crossing the line, I got more out of this than I probably realise right now. The marathon is a tough nut to crack but when you do crack it, it’s all worth it. There’ll be better days ahead yet.