Now first things first. The title and therefore the blog song.

The narcissist.

In general terms it’s not who I am (though I know others would disagree), but see when we get into this type of thing, the marathon block, it can consume us because we put so much into it. There’s over 7000 people on that starting line but you get to be selfish. For that period you get to make it all about you. Your hopes. Your dreams. The hours and hours of work YOU have put in. The early mornings, the late nights, the focus. And it happens to us all, near the end we become narcissistic, because we have invested so much, no matter your targets. So I actually am sorry to everyone, especially my wife Elaine, but just let me have one final wee go at it, because it’s my blog, it’s my tale, a 52 year olds dream, and as the lads at Tartan Running Shorts would say, the culmination of my BHAG (Big Hairy Audacious Goal).

This blog is just really going to be about the day, and how I feel immediately afterwards. Maybe I will do another one from start to finish of the block but only because it’s something I’d like to look back on. This is my online therapy. It works for me. And see you reading it, aye you, thank you. It’s just a bonus for me.

It’s Sunday morning and I wake up (and I use wake up loosely as sleep had been at a premium to be honest, checking the alarm 48 times, not getting comfy, being convinced I had forgotten to pack something important, where’s my number, where are my shorts, do I have pants!!) full of trepidation and fear but it wasn’t because of the race, it was the fear I wouldn’t be able to race. I’d followed my plan, had my nutrition sorted, my logistics sorted, had assessed my kit even making late changes to it, but as I stepped onto my left ankle it was a case of will it hold? I’d picked up an ankle niggle in the worst possible week and it was touch and go whether I would make the starting line or not but it was taking my weight. Up and down on the toes. Didn’t buckle and although I could feel it I felt it was worth a go. That last few days of doubt had really affected my head, my confidence, and my entire mojo. If I could start I was hoping everything would take over. Adrenaline, the full works, just kick in and get me through.

I come to, and I’m in Edinburgh. I feel like I have teleported (I’ve not just left my car at a park and ride and got the bus. No, no, not me, teleport it is. Not sure how you spell shzooom, a sort of teleportation noise but…) shzooom and here I am. It’s early and I am raring to go, to give it a shot. Listen I know I am no Dickens or Orwell, or even yer man Jeffrey Archer and I know my blogs tend to follow the same sort of format. I’m well aware certain people like to have a pop about it, but aye I will mention how great it was seeing people before the event.

Because it really was.

Having trained pretty much alone for 3 months it was brilliant seeing people who were in the same boat. People who I had been conversing with online. People who had been encouraging me, and hopefully I them. It wasn’t a typical race and we weren’t competing against each other which is a huge difference from the track and short stuff I had come from, we were competing against ourselves as cheesy and American drama as that sounds. I even shared my sun cream amongst fellow baldies. Did I tell you it was warm and the sun kept popping out from the clouds? I should really. It’s relevant.

We are all penned in now, like caged animals. Small fluffy ones mind you, but animals none the less. Rowff. I’m determined though. I scream “come on!” as the gun goes. Steady now Marko, just mop that brow and show some decorum. First things first. OK I have a PB of 3.11 but I had trained at 2.50 pace, though to be honest never expecting to run a 2.50. Everyone keeps telling me the race starts at 20 miles. To ensure I don’t push too much the first half etc etc. If I am straining at halfway then it just isn’t going to happen. My simple tactics were that as soon as the initial downhill stretch was out the way I would find my hard but comfortable groove. A pace I thought I could realistically maintain. I didn’t know what that pace would be but hoped it would be under 3 hours pace. I have deliberately done a negative split in all of my recent races to try train the body to kick off near the end and hoped I could today. Through the city on the downhill and folk bombing away from me.

Had a brief chat with Rolf the Wizard before he went zooming off into the distance and he was on for a right special run. I’m happy to do what I wanted to do, all good.

Down to Portobello and we are on the flat. The crowd was magic, it was really good. I knew the lonely sections were still to come so I made the most of it, still turned down a fella’s offer of a beer mind you. I was being disciplined, gel every 6k like I had planned. Sips of water at every water stop. The occasional salt tablet. And I had found my groove. I was ticking off mile after mile at around 6.34ish which was 2.52 pace so more than happy, especially since I probably had about a minute buffer from the earlier downhill too. Musselburgh was great fun, support from recently finished half marathoners and also some personal shouts from some friendly faces too which was magic, really appreciated. Look, there’s Mark from Inverclyde, Ewan from Kilbarchan, etc etc, so many of you, constant shouts, half the time I didn’t know where they were coming from, I even missed Forbesy somewhere along the line. He’s just wee mind you….

Through to Prestonpans and through halfway and although my watched beeped for the half at just under 1.25 I didn’t go through the official half marker until a couple of seconds shy of 1.26. Never trust the GPS on a marathon v the measured route. Always out.  Happy enough with that, I am not straining and moving freely. Double that for 2.52, and add a couple of minutes on for the inevitable slowdown/ adjustment for there being no downhill on the second half and a realistic target is sub 2.55. Dreamland stuff.

If I feel strong the last couple of miles then I could try and bite back into that. 2.52/ 2.53 would a right tough ask but it wasn’t an unrealistic goal. Through Cockenzie and Port Seton and in a right groove, some more friendly faces in (former club mate and insta celebrity) Alison and Emily. Wee thumbs up, all good.

But it’s on to the toughest part of the route now. A good three miles along the coast with nothing but your thoughts until the turning point, then a hideous loop on trail round Gosford House and back along again. Very little people and the field can be so spread out you can be on your own. It’s all about mental discipline, and for some it’s where the wheels can start to come off as the adrenaline fades. I’d prepared for this and thankfully my mental resolve was fine as we headed out. I was picking people off one by one as I kept my groove train rolling. Choo choo, baldy train on the move. I was genuinely sad to pass someone I know at this point who had went out really strongly. He had trained so well too, but there will be other days for him, we both know that. The marathon shows no mercy, fine margins. It was a reminder to me, discipline, discipline, discipline. We are getting near the turning point as runners are starting to come back down the road. The top guys are looking really good. Absolutely awesome. I’m sure one of the guys in the top ten says “Come on Mark” or maybe it’s someone in the crowd. But there is no crowd. Has Forbesy appeared again? Maybe he has. Maybe it the fact that the heat has come out to play now. The lovely overcast from the clouds has now gone. It’s warm. The napper is telling me it’s warm, for the rest of the race it’s some water in the mouth, the rest on the chrome dome. We turn. It’s about 18 miles I think? And the worst part of the race. Off the road and onto gravel and a bit of trail for maybe a mile but I come out of it well enough, maybe only losing 2 or 3 seconds a k. Coming out of Gosford now and it’s the long run for home. 7 miles to a sub 3. I am still shifting like I hoped, only a couple of seconds a mile off where I had been get to 5k and see where I am, how I feel. I see my baldy brother John toiling with a hamstring issue. He had been flying too but he still manages to get himself home in 2.57.

Definitely hear Forbesy this time and see his wee cheeky face as he shouts encouragement. Good wee boost. I am passing runners who are coming out the way and they are encouraging me. What a boost. I feel great, I feel ready to up the pace for the last few miles. I think get to 23 and let’s stride it out. Unless I have a disaster then 2.55 is looking good. Though again you never really know how far is to go. But the marathon owes you nothing. I know it. It knows it. It has hammered me before and I let it. I bowed down to it and let it destroy me at London in 2017. I have tried to prepare so hard for this one but less than 4 miles to go, everything feels brilliant and then I feel the calves. It’s difficult to explain but they are on the cusp of going into a full cramp. I don’t know if you have experienced it but I have before. I can’t up the pace as stretching will have me cramping. I try to maintain the pace but have to start shortening the stride. Plenty of people on the sidelines now. People I know cheering me on. I’m just trying to hold it together. Trying to find that line that will let me bring it home. One wobble, stumble, overstretch and not just the 2.55 could be gone but the sub 3. The margins really are that tight. Big Jamie from Garscube strolls past me at this stage. He likes doing that to me. He encourages me but I can’t go with him. Don’t get me wrong I tried but soon regretted it. I feel as fresh as I could after running 24 miles but the calves are killing it for me. It feels like the longest 2 miles of my life but I am managing to limit the damage both physically and time wise. I am still (just) running sub 7 minute miles, but that’ll bring me home. The crowd in Musselburgh is electric, but I have to focus, get through this Marko come on. Scared, terrified. Coming to the last turn and work out how long I have to break 2.55. It’s on.

I have enough time I know it. I am determined to savour the finish, savour my sub 3. This likely to be my last marathon, so go out on a high. I ham it up, I milk it, I confess, I applaud the crowd, I encourage them to respond and they do.

Unfortunately these exaggerated movements cause everything to consider full cramp mode so I have to calm it again. Numpty, Cost myself a few seconds but well under the 3 hours, well under the 2.55 so I didn’t care. Until I got the final result and it was 2.54.01…. oops should have been a 2.53… but not a single regret. A sub 3. A 17 minute PB. And I bloody loved it.

I am absolutely delighted. Get my t-shirt and medal and meet Rolf the Wizard at the baggage drop, He’s just done a 2.50 so gets a big sweaty hug. Brilliant. I see Ian and David from Garscube. Gav who has been a great support through my block. We are all happy enough.

Then I have to walk a mile up hill for my bus back to the car. The teleporting was just a dream. Get home. Muffins, Beer, and a hug from Elaine.

Job done and all good. She’s my rock in all this nonsense. Final thing I have to mention is the support I have had through all of this from fellow runners. I am shy in this real life malarkey. I am not good at mixing. It’s how I am, it’s my curse. But the help, advice, likes, comments and positivity that has come my way over the last few months has been a huge help. Thank you every one of you. From the bottom of my heart.

The songs : Blur’s new apt one, the Narcissist. It’s a cracker. And secondly, I am genuinely chuffed to bits with this. I didn’t think I was capable of a sub 3. And now my heart is full, So have some Moz. I did say this would be my final word on this but that may not be 100% true…. there are rumours that you could literally be hearing more about it next week…. but since they might change their mind when they realise I have no patter I won’t put them on the spot. Right next challenge, bring it on…