Review of 2009 Edinburgh Marathon

by Mark Coyle

As the sun beamed down from a cloudless sky, a healthy contingent – Meself, Ginga, Terry Daly, Paul Kenning, Lorraine “The guv’nor” Gordon, Jackie and Rob Stuart, Helen “Hells Bells” Rathbone and her other ‘arf Mat and Liz Reilly - of Sphinx guys had amassed at Birmingham Airport ready to lay siege to Scotland’s capital. Well, I say healthy, what I actually mean is there was a few of us, including Tracey who even now still has to travel incognito from Birmingham Airport where wanted posters line the terminal walls following the now infamous E45 incident. Thankfully this time she managed to navigate the stringent security checks without alerting Interpol…although Lorraine’s size of a dinner plate Ted Baker belt buckle needed an X-ray machine all of its own. The advanced guard off Lyn and Stu Banbrook and Trevor Clark and family had already left that morning for the short hop over Hadrian’s Wall. Thankfully for Tall Paul – a nervy flyer at the best of times – it was a short flight. The relief on his face when he saw the wide-bodied 737 we were flying in as compared to the usual 1930’s twin prop rubber band effort parked close-by was something to behold. The flight was very short, a quick brew, a flick through the in-flight mag and six songs on my Ipod later we were landing.

Unbelievably the sun was cracking the stones as we emerged from the departure lounge and waited in line for the airport express bus to whisk us into Scotland’s capital. (By the way if you ever visit Scotland’s capital this bus service is really useful. £6 open return from the airport right to the heart of the capital. Great value) Wavering in the heat Terry Daly was clearly becoming delirious

“Hey” he whispered “Isn’t that ‘er what wrote them kids books about wizards?”

A group of us helped him into the shade and plied him with water to cool his baking brain when sure enough J.K.Rowling – of Harry Potter fame – wafted by looking less like a million dollars and more like tens of millions of dollars. Terry Daly was in love I think, I know I was.  Tall, slim, lithe, impeccably dressed, looking every inch a star and J.K. Rowling scrubbed nicely too. Then, quicker than you can say Hermione Granger, she was gone, vanished in a puff of smoke. Us mere mugels wandered whether she was heading for boarding gate nine and three-quarters. We’ll never know. Sad to report we saw no other stars en route to the digs, although Rob and Jackie saw Ronnie Corbett on the way home. We did notice that Edinburgh –surely one of the worlds great cities – looked resplendent bathing as it was in the early evening sun as we arrived at Waverley Station took a quick stroll up Cockburn St across the Royal Mile and we’d arrived at our digs.

Initially I had to admit first impressions gave cause for concern. Across the road were three night clubs - no bad thing – but plonked directly outside the digs was a dirty great yellow sea container some temporary fencing and some scaffolding, against which several days rubbish had piled up. Once inside however they weren’t bad at all. Spacious, clean, Sky TV, all the amenities you could wish for and £70 each for four nights at the heart of Scotland’s capital, it was very good value, location they say is everything and our apartments certainly had that. A stones throw from the Royal Mile where traditional boozers mixed cheek by jowl with trendy wine bars, coffee shops, gift shops, boutiques and restaurants. The castle - perched high at the top of the mile - was being tarted up ready for the tattoo while at the other end of the High St sat Scotland’s parliament – Holyrood Palace – where the great and the good sit and pontificate for hours on end. It looked strangely quiet and I suspect like our MP’s the Scottish equivalent were all probably out cleaning their moats or waxing their drawbridges or some such – all on taxpayers money though…..obviously.

We quickly unpacked and hit the town for a spot of…ahem… carbo-loading, well we are athletes after all. The place was rammed with a mixture of the usual Friday night types, liberally sprinkled with foreign tourists, rugby supporters (Murrayfield was hosting a 7’s tournament) plus hen and stag nights a plenty We found a big old boozer flogging traditional pub grub from its second floor restaurant and plonked ourselves down. This of course wasn’t good enough for Helen Rathbone and her other half Matt. Oh no, muttering something about a special occasion or some such they swaned off to some Michelin starred gaff. You know the type snails in garlic, three nicely placed peas, a slither of celery and a strategically placed carrot all “drizzled” in blackcurrant jus. For which they charge you the equivalent of the annual gross domestic product of a small African country. We figured Matt must have really been in Helen’s bad books.

Saturday morning found us at our favourite internet café on Cockburn St where they sell the full Scottish plus a pot of tea for £7. Most of us were still in shock after being woken by Scotland’s most conscientious window cleaner. Ten past six on a Saturday morning he was dragging his ladders across the cobbles. TEN PAST SIX!  As this is a family periodical I couldn’t possibly repeat what one lady shouted at the top of her voice from the window of one of the apartments above. Suffice it to say he would have been a magician to make the ladders do what she’d suggested. But the sentiments were heartily echoed by the rest of us.  After breakfast we took the short walk to find the race start and expo on Waterloo Place and bumped into Lyn and Stuart who informed us that it was rammed and the queue was at least 30 minutes long so we gave that a miss. We heard that Garry Barnes would be arriving soon to complete the full Sphinx compliment.  Some of us decided to relax in one of Edinburgh’s parks, while others went shopping and sight seeing, we killed a peaceful afternoon in the shade of a tree sitting on the grass hydrating with water (yes, really!) and watching the world go by. Saturday evening found us trying to find a restaurant that would accommodate ten and failing miserably. Everywhere was rammed. We split into smaller groups instead but after a week of carbo-loading we were all struggling. So by ten o clock we’d all retired to watch TV…….. with a cup of tea and a digestive. Party animals or what? Meanwhile, outside, the real party animals were just getting going, some of them were still going at four in the morning. Jackie and Rob can vouch for that.

Race day dawned with the real highlight of the weekend upon us….watching Lorraine Gordon eat porridge. Hilarious. With all pre-race prep and rituals completed we took the short stroll to the start as the sun warmed exposed necks, limbs and heads on yet another glorious morning. Out came the factor 15 and 25. Tracey took a handful of both hoping to mix it together and get factor 40! On went the caps, bandanas, visors to protect heads, necks and shoulders and it was off to the starting pens via a last minute toilet break to flush out some last minute……erm…..nerves.

The excruciatingly embarrassing local radio DJ employed no doubt to stoke up the atmosphere was clearly not a runner, some would say he wasn’t much of a DJ either. His repeated efforts increasingly grated on the nerves of the assembled throng judging by the muted response to his wild exhortations of “Lets hear it for runners from Edinburgh, Scotland, England, Canada, Spain etc”…. He then surpassed himself by screaming”Let’s hear it for the sun.” Antagonising the 13 000 increasingly guarded runners casting a weary eye to the cloudless, early morning sky quietly fearing the impact the increasing temperatures might have on our efforts out on the open roads that hugged the East Lothian shoreline along the Firth of Forth…. or the fourth of fifth as Tracey kept calling it. With pronunciation skills like that she could make a name for herself reading out the Scottish footy results. You can just imagine how many attempts she would need to read out - East Fife 4 Forfar 5. Last minute good luck messages, handshakes etc were given then it was off. To be honest the organisers should rename this event the East Lothian Marathon because although the event starts in Scotland’s capital its participants spend barely 4 miles of the 26.2 mile route within its city limits. The course meanders downhill past Arthur’s Seat (thankfully not up it as it used to do) across Holyrood Park through some bland urban sprawl to the former shipyards and docks of Leith on the shores of the Firth of Forth before turning right and heading out past Musselburgh race course past the towering twin chimneys of a power station (very scenic) then on through several villages before turning at the 18 mile point – at Gosford House - and returning to the race course for a finish in front of the old grandstand.

Initially all was well, yes it was warming up but the downhill start and the seas breeze took the edge of the heat. Water stations – if you needed them - were regular and plentiful, the course was flat and despite the lack of markers, the miles seemed to roll by in relative comfort. Rob Stuart had already appeared at several points of the course snapping away with his camera and shouting encouragement. Ahead of me I knew Garry, Trevor, Stu, Terry and Paul were all going well.

A lack of obvious mile markers made it a little difficult to gauge where we were but I found the half way point and noted I was well inside of my target time of 1:50 for the first half. By the time I reached mile 16/17 the race leaders were at mile 21/22 and a trickled of leading runners were already passing by on the other side of the road heading back to the finish. By this time I’d found the big man and Terry and we spotted Gaz,(who was really flying), then Trevor then Stu all heading back at around mile 19/20 ish We all looked comfortable. My target time was still definitely still on. Around mile 20/21 I saw Tracey and Jackie pass heading for the turn at 18 they looked strong and very comfortable. I was till well on course for sub 3:45 when suddenly at 23 miles I got a dose of cramp and had to pull to the side and spend a few minutes massaging my leg.

Many people around me were walking now one or two were getting medical help at the side of the road. The cramp eased so I limped on as best I could toward the finish as the crowds lined the road. It was here that I spotted Helen, Liz and Matt – outside a pub, of course – waving the Sphinx banner and yelling there heads off. To my horror – not my surprise however - they were sinking cold, crisp, refreshing, clean filtered, pints of chilled continental premium strength lager from long frosted glasses. A sparkling golden liquid alive with tiny bubbles topped with a thick white foaming head……………………………………NOT THAT I WAS DYING OF THIRST OR ANYTHING! I cursed them for all eternity as I hobbled on toward Musselburgh race course my swollen tongue lolling in my mouth like a great beached whale.

In all seriousness though the support was really appreciated. A friendly face or shout of encouragement in the crowd really gives you a lift. I know that the three guys at the pub had to spend £25 on a taxi because the public transport system had collapsed under the strain of getting people out to the finish. I don’t know how Rob Stuart managed to get to so many places on the route either. I’m sure Lynn and Trevor’s family experienced problems too. I know I speak for everyone who ran when I say thanks for making the effort, it’s really appreciated.

Reaching the race course was a blessed relief as we switched from 26 miles of pounding the road to the grass of the track only to find that the organisers had covered the course in what looked like big grey Lego blocks. It felt like running on a kids bouncing castle but by that stage I didn’t care I’d have run on hot coals to get to the line. To be honest the way me feet were barking it felt like I was doing that anyway. Due to the cramp I missed my target time by four minutes. Unbeknown to me Stu Banbrook had the same problem and the pair of us limped home about 40 seconds apart squeezing in at around 3:48 . Garry and Trevor had maintained their pace and had superb races. Trevor broke 3:30 in his first marathon and Garry just missed a sub 3:15 and an automatic entry for London by 63 seconds. Galling when you think that many, many runners posted on the Runners World forum in the following days that there sat nav/Garmin watches had the route measured at 26.4 and not 26.2.

I collected my medal and bag and collapsed along side the others on the grass as we gathered ourselves. Lynn had promised to be standing at the finish line with a wee dram for all of us. I was praying she’d got some ice with her. Terry pitched up looking as white as a sheet and decidedly rough having run a sub 4 (18th in his category). He found some shade and got some water and food down his neck and the promise of a pint bought some colour to his cheeks soon enough. Paul Kenning pitched up muttering “that’s it, that’s definitely the last one.” Before flopping down beside us, his ears pricked up when I mentioned the Prague Marathon though later that evening. In no time at all Tracey and Jackie wandered passed clutching medals and wearing big smiles having both broken 4:30. Tracey set a PB of 4:27 while Jackie - running her first marathon - was equally happy with her time of 4:28. It was then that I spotted a bloke who looked uncannily like recent new member Barry Burrows, that’s because strangely enough, it was. Barry had crossed the line in 4:40 and was very happy to flop down beside us too.

It was now that Jackie and Tracey informed us of the problems at the water stations. Tracey recounted that every water station between 13 and 22 miles had run dry. Runners were picking up half empty bottles previously discarded by those who had gone through earlier, or worse fighting over bottles. Concern grew for Lorraine – who despite carrying a painful foot injury which had severely limited her training - had made the decision to start knowing that the run would take her at least a half an hour longer than it normally would. Thankfully she completed her second Marathon in just over six months tired, thirsty, sunburnt and emotional but in tact after five hours toiling under the sun, a mammoth effort given the conditions and her condition too. Later the authorities claimed water had been stolen in the night from water stations along the route, which doesn’t explain why the DJ at the start of the race was exalting everyone to drink as much as they wanted on route. Ultimately – due to the weather - they decided to cut the race short and many of the runners only completed 23 miles. Sensible move I suppose but deeply upsetting for those competing in there first and possibly only marathon as well as others running for charity. With all the Sphinx bods safely accounted for there was clearly only one sensible thing to do and the afternoon was spent replenishing lost body fluids. A quick train ride back to Edinburgh – where we met Julian another runner from Coventry and now our latest member - was followed by a shower and quick change and the whole crowd of us got together for a few celebratory beers and a meal on the Royal Mile before we said our goodbyes and limped off into the cool of the Edinburgh night.

Monday morning was spent lazing over breakfast and collecting yesterdays results from an internet café. The afternoon was spent with a relaxing stroll around the city which once again was bathed in glorious sunshine. An open top bus tour, a lazy pub lunch and a coffee at Starbucks followed as we people watched, picked other stiff legged running brethren wandering the streets. The evening however was a slow descent into madness. It started well enough with an enjoyable meal at a Mexican restaurant followed by what can only be described as “happy hour” at a pub called The Bank. Where, somehow, £15 managed to keep five of us in drink from 9 until well after 1 o’clock in the morning. It was a miracle akin to the loaves and the fishes. The barmaid was a young French thing and frankly the maths of the “two for one” promotion had completely escaped her. Bless. But, who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Vive la France” Our bar receipt somehow had become akin to Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket. Suffice it to say, by midnight the conversation had degenerated into utter farce. Terry Daly had lost the capacity for speech and couldn’t remember anyone’s name. We all took it in turns to go to the bar convinced that the French barmaid would rumble us, but time and again Willy Wonka’s ticket kept coming up trumps. It was the “perfick” end to a great four days.

I’d strongly recommend Edinburgh Marathon for first time marathon runners and more experienced runners alike. It’s less crowded that London but still retains a big city feel. The course is flat, fast, (with real PB potential) traffic free and reasonably well supported by the locals. The organisation leaves a little to be desired though and supporters may have to plan ahead and synchronise watches in order to get out on the route.  Edinburgh is a fantastic city with an abundance of bars, pubs, places to eat that suit all pockets and tastes. The whole weekend including return flights, four nights’ accommodation, race entry and spending money was less than £300. I am sure many Sphinx bods will return.