Left Foots Story

It wasn’t just getting to the finish that proved a challenge at Dublin 2005…it was getting to the start. Our hotel was in Ballsbridge, just south of the city centre. My original plan had been to get the DART train in, but being a bank holiday they didn’t start running until 10am and I was supposed to be at the start at 8. Since I wasn’t really sure how long it would take to walk from the hotel to the race start, the night before the race I asked the hotel to call a taxi and they wrote it in their schedule.

My husband Tim and I had quite enjoyed our Dublin taxi experiences so far. It seemed all of the drivers had a run several marathons and liked to share their wisdom on how to do it.

“Ah, so you’re running the marathon? Word of advice for you. Vaseline. On the knees. Keeps out the cold.”

Another driver seemed to be taking great delight in explaining to me where else I should put the Vaseline. But that’s not for here. Anyway, the cabbie who really had Tim and me exchanging panicky glances was the one who, after sounding completely rational up until this point, told us his marathon personal best had been 2:06. The words “Stop the car, (Mr. Lel)” came to mind.

“Never could break two hours,” he said. After an awkward silence from the back seat he corrected himself. “Sorry. I meant three. 3:06. I wondered why you went so quiet.” What a great time – in all senses.

I woke up on race day, made a cup of tea, drank a can of sugar free Red Bull and ate an energy bar. It looked cloudy outside, but thankfully no wind or rain…yet. I also took a sachet of Beecham’s Powders cold medicine. I had been suffering from a cold the last two weeks before the race, and although I was essentially over it by Monday, October 31^st, I found the caffeine/aspirin combo to be quite the performance enhancing drug and downed one anyway. That’s right -- I am a drugs cheat.

No sign of the taxi, so I called the front desk who informed me that there were no taxis available due to the Bank Holiday.

“We have a lot of people down here waiting for taxis,” they said, “There’s a backlog due to the marathon.”

“But I’m running the –”

Never mind. I started to walk and soon converged with a handful of other people in shorts and running shoes holding, or wearing, plastic bags. The walk was only about 15 minutes, and I arrived in plenty of time to get rained on at the Nassau Street start. I lined up in the wet, apparently surrounded by Americans, a couple who seemed genuinely shocked that some of the male runners were having a discreet wee outside the confines of the portaloos. (“Oh my God! Are those guys peeing?”). There were also two German men who kept looking sceptically up at the rain clouds and then turning to each other and saying in broad German accents, “Top of the morning to you”. Ah, German humour.

The race started. It was 5 minutes or so before I crossed the start and I realized I must be at least half way back in the pack. I can usually tell within the first few minutes whether I am “on” or “off” in my running. After about ten steps along the roads of Dublin I had the ecstatic feeling that I was going to be just fine.

I had printed out split times for a 3:49:59 finish in the hope that it would get me around in less than four hours. I figured that if I could keep my pace for 20 miles, I could slow a minute each mile after that and still make it. I checked my pace around mile 3 and was a couple of minutes slow, so I picked it up and was soon running 2-3 minutes faster than the split times. For a while I was behind a couple of tanned blondes from Colorado who were carrying on a lively conversation. “Did you hit the wall at any point when you did Chicago?” one asked the other. “Not really,” came the reply. OK, I thought. Run with THEM.

A guy from Battersea struck up a conversation with me in beautiful Phoenix Park and informed me we were doing 8:15 minute miles. Although it felt comfortable, I know all too well about the pitfalls of burning up too fast, and actually felt I should hold back so as not to get too far ahead of my splits. At mile 13 I even stopped for a minute to put on my I-Pod. Annoyingly, the left earpiece had gone dodgy and I had to run with my finger on the wire in a certain position for it to work. But the music, scenery, racers, endless Gatorade and crowds had me on a real high. It had also stopped raining. For a while it looked like I might even break 3:50, but whenever I thought about it I became so emotional and choked up I could hardly breathe and had to pull myself together.

About the three quarters of the way through the race came a series of small hills. I started to feel the lactic acid build up in my legs. I gave myself a walk break before running again. I had overtaken one of the Colorado blondes who was struggling a bit and I saw the other in the distance, slower, but still running. Another hill. Again, I walked it, and after that felt a tiny bit revived for the final downhill. I think it was around mile 23 that I realized I would have to start running as much as possible if I was going to achieve the sub 4:00. Around this time I saw my Runner’s World online forum friend Aces-R-Wilde run past, still looking strong. I knew I’d have to dig in or it could all slip away.

I tried to stand by my mental strategy for the home stretch. Keep going. Keep going. Don’t walk if you can run. I started to count up to 100 three times in a row. My mind was fuzzy, and sometimes I seemed to get to 20 and start counting again from there. “One Step Beyond” by Madness had come onto the I-Pod. Perfect. You can’t do anything slowly to that song. I began to look at lampposts, telling myself to run to the next one and then I could stop. But when I reached each post I realized I didn’t need to stop. I ran to the next one. Suddenly I was at mile 25. “Only a mile to go,” called the spectators. “It’s just around the next corner.” Though I was dying to walk again, with everybody watching and all the other runners around me struggling to run, I was too embarrassed not to run. I reached mile 26. Less than a quarter mile to go.

I rounded a corner and looked into the distance. Was that really the finish line? My watch said 3:57. My husband had promised he’d be right by the finish for a 3:45 - 4:30 time. I knew he must be there, but all I could see was those orange mats and the race clock and balloons in the distance. Later he told me he was screaming my name at the top of his lungs, but I was wearing my I-Pod and couldn’t hear.

“F**K” I said, as I crossed the line. It took a minute to sink in. I’d done it. And all without Vaseline on my knees! I had tears in my eyes as they cut my chip from my shoe and tears in my eyes as I bowed my head for my finisher’s medal.

I wandered around in a daze trying to phone Tim. Of course, we were in another country and I had to mess around entering the code. Eventually we found each other and headed for Kennedy’s where I met up with my Runner’s World friends for Guinness. People had achieved some amazing personal bests. The real headliner was that Skinny Jim had come in 15^th and won a bronze as the 3^rd Irish finisher in 2:23. I was so inspired.

That night we logged onto the marathon website to find my real time. I had run a perfect even split and come 68^th in my category. 3:56:39.

Obviously I am slightly surprised I didn’t place in the top 3 female finishers and perhaps create a new women’s world record for the course, because it felt like I was running quite fast. Still, good enough.

I still can’t bring myself to reset my stop watch. Think I’ll wait ’till I start my training for the next one.

Laura Left Foot

October, 2005

Home Page

Pre Dublin Weight Loss Club