How do you solve a problem like Tottenham Hotspur?

I try to keep my blog football-free these days but something is beginning to bug me and it needs to be addressed.

How do you solve a problem like Tottenham Hotspur?

I've supported Spurs now for the best part of three decades.  In that 30 years, never have I felt so unmotivated about my Spurs.  I've blogged before that my relationship with Spurs is like a loveless marriage.  Been there, done that for real of course but it really feels like it, I dont love Spurs, Spurs dont love me yet we're stuck with each other.

I wont beat around the bush.  The football of the last two-to-three seasons has been beyond dire.  It really has.  The stunning form of Gareth Bale in the second half of the 2012/13 season kept us interested and papered over a lot of cracks which have existed since the days of Redknapp.  Teams would come to White Hart Lane, sit ten men behind the ball and play on the break and would allow Spurs the time and space to try and break them down.  Most will agree that Spurs look good on the eye at times but for all the possession, there was no cutting edge (Bale aside of course!)

To this day, Spurs have had this problem for the best part of four seasons now.  Plenty of posession but more and more teams would come to the Lane and shut up shop.  They know that if they can keep it tight for the first twenty minutes, then they'll be in with a real shout as the once vocal support goes very quiet.

The days of the deafening vocal support has long gone.  My last visit to the lane, a 1-0 victory over Cardiff last season was a real eye-opener and so typical of what I have described.  A tight affair and next to little support from the crowd.

Various Spurs forums and message boards have picked up on these issues and questioned who is to blame.

Spurs have been through three managers since Redknapp left by mutual consent at the end of the 2011/12 campaign.  First AVB, then Tim 'nice but dim' Sherwood and now the latest man at the helm, Pochettino.

With all three managers, there are three common denominators to consider:

• The playing squad
• Daniel Levy, the Chairman of THFC since 2001
• Franco Baldini, the Sporting Director

While the likes of Liverpool, Man Utd, Man City and Chelsea have been heavily investing in their playing squad, with massive net spends over the last three-to-four seasons, take a look at the performance of Spurs in the transfer market:

THFC Transfers 1991/1992 - 2014/2015 (data compiled by John Driscoll)

Despite Spurs being listed as the 13th richest football club on the planet (as per Deloitte's 2013/14 data), the net spend is a significant indicator.

Since qualifying for the Champions League in May 2010, Spurs have not made a net spend over the next nine transfer windows, making a net profit of £4.3m.  You have to look back as far as the start of the 2009/10 campaign to see Spurs registering a net spend of £3.2m.

At the start of the 2009 campaign, Spurs opened their new state-of-the-art £30m training centre in Enfield.  Meanwhile, Spurs had been acquiring the land (and businesses) required to clear the way for the new stadium to be built as part of the Northumberland Development Project (NDP).

Have these two key infrastructure developments restricted Spurs' actions in the transfer market?  Possibly.

After Glenn Hoddle was sacked in 2003 and David Pleat was kept in a caretaker manager role while Levy performed a back-to-basics investigation as to the performance of Spurs on and off the pitch, Daniel Levy concluded that there was only one way to run Spurs with a pretty simplistic business model.  Buy unproven young players as opposed to proven Premier League performers, develop them and then sell them on for a profit.  At the same time, he saw it essential that there was stability in the club.  This would come from a Director of Football/Sport who would work with both the Manager/First Team Coach and the Chairman to identify targets and build a stable squad.

In terms of making a profit, Levy cannot be faulted.  We have seen the likes of Carrick and Berbatov move on for significant profit and more recently, Modric and Bale have headed to sunnier climes.

However, from a footballing point of view, seeing the likes of Modric and Bale leave White Hart Lane has been pretty galling but even the most ardent supporter would accept that both went on to play for teams worthy of their talents.  Its part of the modern game.  Unless you have a hugely wealthy Arab or Russian owner, you cant compete with the upper echelons.

Wait a minute.  But Spurs do have a rich owner.  Joe Lewis.  Lewis' total wealth is estimated at $4.2 billion, and he is listed as the 308th richest person on Forbes’ List of billionaires (2013). Forbes reports that Lewis is the ninth wealthiest person in the UK.  Let's not forget, Spurs did compete with the upper echelons.  Qualified for the Champions League twice under Redknapp (albeit second time around, Chelsea winning the trophy put paid to a second campaign in Europe's Premier competition).  Spurs played Inter Milan off the park at White Hart Lane on a memorable run to the quarter-finals, taking down AC Milan in the San Siro in the process before being brought down to earth and being taught a lesson by Real Madrid.

The taste of finishing fourth and qualifying for the Champions League has given the supporters a taste of the big time.  We want to be playing with the big boys of Europe on a regular basis.  We want a team capable of competing with the top clubs in England.

That taste has made the current state of Tottenham Hotspur all the more unpalatable in the last few years.

The team is dire and shows no desire.  The players dont play for the club.  They play for themselves.  If they have a bad game, they dont care.  They just go home and share a picture of their new Ferrari on Instagram or of them taking another selfie in a restaurant where most of us wouldnt be able to afford to eat the starter let alone have dinner.

You only have to listen to the sound bites of Pochettino coming out of White Hart Lane.  Firstly he needed time to instill a winning mentality (now come on, these guys are footballers.  Surely they have some pride?  How hard is it not to have a winning mentality?)  Next, we see he's blaming the pitch (see the Guardian article here).  I kid you not. 

Have we heard the same from Ronald Koeman at Southampton?  No.  Despite having the heart and soul ripped out of St Mary's in the summer, the Saints are absolutely flying.  West Ham are too, despite integrating a large number of recruits in the summer.

Pochettino in AVB pose...

This week I heard Pochettino described as the Argentinian George Graham.  Yes, thats just about how exciting Spurs are to watch these days.  Plenty of no cutting-edge possession, no attacking thrust and guile and absolutely hopeless at the back.

To me, Pochettino is out of his depth.  The similarities to AVB before him are striking.  We're nearing the middle of November and despite being in post since June, he still doesnt know his best starting XI.  Granted the two Kyle's (Walker and Naughton have been injured and Dier has been found out at right back), but Pochettino has yet to settle on his first choice centre-back pairing.  Despite Kaboul and Vertonghen looking assured aside each other in the Arsenal and Southampton games, what on earth was he thinking in giving Fazio his Premier League debut against Man City?  There is absolutely no logical sense to that decision whatsoever.

Kane scoring a hat-trick in the Europa League and then not starting the next game?  The Lamela-Eriksen-Chadli axis not firing on any cylinder in the league, let alone all cylinders.  Surely something has to change.

Questions certainly have to be asked of Baldini & Levy.

Look at the signings Spurs made in the summer.  Vorm, Davies, Dier, Fazio, Yedlin and Stambouli.  Not one of them has made any real impression on the Premier League.  Not one.

Lets go back to the 2011/12 season, when Spurs were 10 points clear of Ars*nal in 3rd place in the league.  Perfect time to go out and get some reinforcements?  Surely we could rely on Levy to invest some money and common sense?  No.  We got Louis Saha and Ryan friggin' Nelsen.  

Yet again, the Spurs fans are facing yet another transitional season.  Excuse after excuse.

There are rumblings in the background.  The customer base is disgruntled and the natives are restless.  Of course, it would be absolutely ridiculous to sack Pochettino after only 11 games but the fact it is even being discussed in the forums as a possibility just goes to show how dysfunctional Tottenham Hotspur as a football club has become.

Enough is enough.  Its about managing expectations.

As much as I would like to see it, I will never see Spurs win the league in my lifetime.  Its highly unlikely I will see Spurs qualify for the Champions League in the foreseeable future.  Spurs cannot compete with the top 4.  The way things are going, if the new stadium doesnt get built, we're in severe danger of being overtaken by West Ham.  

Let's be very clear about one thing.  If Spurs keep their current form, then we'll be looking down the barrel of a relegation dog fight.

Levy and ENIC saved us from Lord Sugar but perhaps they really have taken the club as far as they can now.  Levy personally should be held to account for not backing his managers in the transfer market.  Redknapp, AVB and now Pochettino.  Back at the start of last season Garth Crooks described Spurs selling Bale and buying 7 players as "selling Elvis and buying The Beatles".  It hasnt quite worked out like that, has it?  AVB didnt get the players he wanted and nor now has Pochettino.  He wanted Morgan Schneiderlin and ended up getting Benjamin Stambouli.  Not one of the players bought in the last transfer window has made any impression on the first team.  Having said that, thats being quite unfair on Fazio.  He's quickly challenging Ramon Vega as the worst centre-half ever to have played for Spurs.

Daniel Levy should be held accountable...

I'd take winning a trophy, whether it be the League Cup, the FA Cup or even the Europa League over 4th place in the PL.  

Football should be about glory, not profit.

Seriously, how the hell do you solve a problem like Tottenham Hotspur???  I dont think you can.

My story so far...

Let me take you back to a cold and dark Monday morning back in early December 2010.  I was sitting in a room on my own.  It was a small room, the walls painted dusty pink and there were a dozen chairs lined up against the walls with a coffee table in the middle, magazines scattered across it with a few leafets.

As I waited, the chairs filled up.  All women.  Everyone looked up when the door handle clicked.  “erm Mr Driscoll…”  Now picture one of them moments where everyone thinks exactly the same thing at the same time and they all turn to look the same way in surprise.  Yes, here I was waiting in the Breast Screening Unit at Queen Mary’s at Sidcup waiting for a mammogram as my GP was most concerned about a lump I had in my chest.

The next hour or so was the longest I can ever remember.  I was terrified.  The radiographer done her best to put me at ease, telling me “oh its my lucky day, I’ve been doing this job nearly 20 years and this is the first time I get to touch a man!” which raised a laugh but my mind was elsewhere.

Now you female readers will know about the mammograms so let me fill in the male readers here.  Basically, the radiographer will squeeze the breast between 2 metal plates to take the xray.  For the ladies, its not the nicest experience in the world as you can probably imagine but for a man, it’s a little difficult even with the dreaded overweight moobs.  I was mortified.  After the mammogram, they were convinced with was nothing to worry about but I had an ultrasound to make sure, cue more giggling from the radiographer who really couldn’t believe her luck.

The radiographer then gave me the all clear.  She suggested the lump was likely to be a fatty deposit in the chest wall and perhaps I should start to look after myself a little bit better.  That conversation proved to be the biggest kick up the backside I’ve ever received.

  

Later that day, I made the decision that from 1st January 2011, I’d take my fitness a little more seriously and I’d make a real conscious effort to look after myself.

During my years of secondary education at Bexley Grammar, I was active but never the fittest.  With the regular activity at school and then later at University, the metabolism was high and my weight was never really an issue.  After graduation, I was working 60 hours a week between two jobs just to make ends meet.  The issues began as soon as I got my first ever office job.  Trainee Management Accountant at Queen Mary’s NHS Trust at Sidcup.  On the plus side, Professional Qualifications were on offer…on the other side, being sat at a desk behind a computer for the best part of 7-8 hours a day was a recipe for cake, biscuits and constant nibbling on whatever was knocking around the office at the time.

I was still playing Sunday football on and off and 5-a-side once a week but it was not enough to control my weight.  I was still consuming more calories than I was burning off.

Two jobs later, I was in my mid-to-late 20s when I was to meet someone.  In a whirlwind, our daughter Izzy arrived on the scene.  It felt surreal how things were moving so quickly.  In the meantime, we were selling one house, buying another, trying to plan a wedding and I’d just started another job.  All while trying to care for a 6 month-old.  Just one of those events would be enough to deal with but I had my hands full.

I couldn’t cope.  I had what I can only describe as a mini-breakdown.  Anxiety, panic attacks.  I could feel my blood physically pulsing through my veins.  Now imagine the scenario.  Phoning your boss to explain you can’t come in to work because you can’t physically get on the train without having a panic attack.  Can you imagine the reaction?

I’m fortunate that I’ve got a very good boss.  I eventually got into work and they packed me off to Occupational Health and they booked me in to see a Counsellor.  My GP has dosed me up on anti-depressants but they were making me worse, not better.  I was suicidal.   I told the Counsellor how I felt.  I had everything I could ever wish for around me but I didn’t want to be me anymore.  Its was horrible.  The Counsellor told me to stop taking the medication immediately and packed me back to the GP but the conversation I had with the Counsellor on that dismal afternoon put me back in the right direction.

I went back to work, battled the panic attacks on the train by forcing myself to do Suduko and anything else to keep my mind off the train and got back into normal life again.  Finally got married as planned and it took me almost a year to feel reasonably confident again.  It was a slow process.

Then came the bombshell that turned my world upside down.  The wife wanted out.  In her words, “I don’t love you anymore”.  Of course, I wanted answers but none were forthcoming.  The thing that hit me hardest was not being able to see Izzy every day.  I’d gone from being the most active hands-on Dad you could imagine to one that saw his daughter only at weekends.

The depression came back.  With a vengeance.  I cried enough tears to fill an ocean.  Just looking at a picture of my daughter could set me off.  Even now, 6 years later, the sound of kids playing in nearby gardens and the tunes belted out by Ice Cream vans in the summer months get me in the pit of my stomach.

That was the beginning of a huge downward spiral for me.  I had no choice but to move back in with my parents.  If I was ever going to get back on the housing ladder again, I had to save and save hard, even if it meant sleeping on my parent’s sofa.  I slept on that sofa for the best part of two years.  That was a character-building experience I can assure you.  I no longer had a family to come home to.  It became far too easy to stay out drinking with work colleagues and friends after work.  I reasoned that coming home almost unconscious would dull the pain and stress of my divorce and I’d pass out as I hit the sofa.  The weight piled on to the point I was tipping the scales at 18st.  I just couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror.  I lost respect for myself.

Tipping the scales at 18st.

Almost two years to the day my ex-wife told me my marriage was over, I finally moved into my own 2-bed flat in Welling.  Six months later, I discovered the lump in my chest which the GP referred me to the Breast Screening Unit at Queen Mary.  Full circle complete.  I just had to get fit.  If I continued down the same line, I could easily have been dead by 40.  I wouldn’t see my daughter grow up.  Enough was enough…

So how did I get into running?  Well first things first, I had to lose some weight.  I started with cycling. I’d purchased a mountain bike not long after moving in with my parents to spend some time with my old mates doing some off-road rides but I soon picked up the cycling bug again.  I soon bought a road bike and now compulsory lycra and started munching up the miles on the road.  I joined a local cycling club where I was to meet a great friend in Richard, who had found himself in a similar state of fitness.

I soon racked up my first 50 mile ride, my first sportive and my first century ride in the first year with Rich at my side for the best part.  18st became 15st.  In 2012, I rode London to Paris over 3 days.  One icy Sunday morning before Paris, I’d decided that cycling wasn’t the best idea in them conditions and I pulled out my old trainers from the cupboard and went for a 5 mile run instead, off the cuff.  I was destroyed…but felt awesome all at the same time.  15st became 13st 8lbs.

I ran a little bit here and there through the spring and summer but it wasn’t until a near miss on the bike in September that I started to run more regularly and that’s when I properly got the bug.  I just felt I could get so much more out of running than I could get from cycling.  I could burn the same amount of calories in running 10k in around 60 mins rather than spending 2.5 hours on the bike to do the same thing.

So 2013 was my first proper year of running but I was still cycling a great deal.  I set myself a target of a sub 2hr half marathon in the spring.  I ran the East London half in 1:56 in April, smashing my previous PB of 2:45, set on a one off half I ran in 2008 when I was extremely overweight.  I cycled London to Brussels via Amsterdam in May and pretty much ran my way through the rest of 2013, clocking up just over 1,000 miles in the year.  2013 was also the year I properly discovered the Gym and found I had the makings of some abs under my belly.

What a difference 5 years makes...

2014 was the year I discovered marathons.  Just the four of them.  I went tee-total in the build up to my first marathon, Paris.  It helped me drop another stone down to 12st 8lbs but lack of experience in the latter stages saw me clock 4:24.  I’ve since ran the Ranscombe Challenge, the Kent Coastal and most recently, Amsterdam, which I finished in a disappointing 4:34 but then again I was suffering with an upset stomach less than 12 hours before the start, so it was a miracle I actually started, let alone finished it!

So here I am, coming up to the end of my fourth year of looking after myself.  I sit here typing looking at the picture showing me sitting with my daughter Izzy, taken exactly 5 years apart.  I don’t recognise the person on the left.

The guy on the right I do recognise.  That’s me.  Self-respect and pride restored with a smile on my face, knowing I can look forward to a great future of seeing my daughter grow up.  Its never too late to make changes in your life.  You only live once and you need to grab life with both hands, not waste it.  Most importantly, I'm happy.  The depression seems to be a thing of the past.  I'll occasionally get the odd down day but I'm in a great place.  I remember a phrase used by one of my fellow Plumstead Runners.  Running is the greatest mental ironing board going.  I cant disagree.

I really do need to thank two people especially for helping to get me here.  Chandra, best mate from University and my personal trainer.  Many sessions done and many pints drunk too. Words of wisdom and encouragement when I’ve needed it as well as the right old-fashioned proper b*llocking when I've needed reigning in.  Then there’s Rich.  Cycling can be a lonely sport at times.  We’ve spent hundreds of miles together on the open roads of Kent and beyond and it would never have been the same without him.  Then of course, there's my daughter Izzy.  There is no greater inspiration to get out of bed every day.  I hope when she grows up she realises I've done my best by her and have always put her needs before mine.  Hopefully, she'll be very proud of her old man.

Somewhere on the Paris Marathon course with a smile on my face...

 

The timeline

Jan 2011 – First day of taking my fitness seriously.

Jan 2011 – First ever cycle club ride

Feb 2011 – First 50 mile road ride

Apr 2011 – First cyclesportive (the Wiggle New Forest) – 85 miles

May 2011 – First 100 mile road ride

Dec 2011 – First ever Christmas Day training session (now a tradition)

Mar 2012 – First 5 mile run

Mar 2012 – First time I’d managed to ride up Brasted Hill in Kent without stopping

Jun 2012 – London to Paris by bike

Jan 2013 – Joined Plumstead Runners

Apr 2013 – First sub 2hr Half Marathon
May 2013 - London to Brussels via Amsterdam by bike

Nov 2013 – First cross country run since school

Dec 2013 – Start of Marathon training

Apr 2014 – Paris Marathon

Jul 2014 – Ranscombe Challenge Marathon

Sep 2014 – Kent Coastal Marathon

Oct 2014 – Amsterdam Marathon
Apr 2015 - Brighton Marathon

Marathon #4 - TCS Amsterdam Marathon

"Honey, are you ok?"

No, I wasnt.  It was Wednesday morning.  I'd just got out of bed, walked to the bathroom, turned the shower on and while it was taking the few seconds to warm up, I'd turned to look at my face in the mirror and for whatever reason, I decided to give myself a very big stretch.  Ooooh, it felt great.  A little bit more, raise them arms above my head and aaaarrrrgggghhhh, it felt as though someone had stuck a red hot soldering iron into the base of my neck, where the neck meets the shoulder blade.

Within a nanosecond, I was almost screaming in discomfort and my girlfriend Alison came rushing in to see what was wrong.  Putting a brave face on it, I said I'd be ok but my thoughts were already turning to Sunday's marathon.  I'd put a lot of training in, it would be just typical of my luck if something so insignificant would stop me now.

Off I went to work on a cocktail of Ibuprofen and Deep Heat but I was struggling.  Sitting at my desk in the office was torture.  My boss offered me a hot water bottle and it seemed to do the trick for a while, until I realised that if you put in boiling water, you'll end up with first-degree burns.  What a cockwomble.*

Thankfully, within 48 hours and on to Friday morning, the discomfort became less and I got a lot more movement back in my neck, so I was feeling fairly confident that I would be running.

The excitement kicked in at 4pm on Friday when I left my office in Whitechapel and headed to Canary Wharf to meet Alison where we took the short trip on the DLR to City Airport.  A reasonably quick check in, sat down with a drink for half an hour then boarded the plane.  Just over an hour later, we were in Schiphol airport, Amsterdam.  All fairly straightforward, jumped in a taxi from the airport and took about ten minutes to get to our hotel, which was just south of Amsterdam's Vondelpark, which was around the 40km mark on the marathon route so was ideally situated.

First thing I done on the Saturday was go on a very slow leisurely jog down to the start at the Olympic Stadium and to locate the Marathon Expo where we would later go to collect my race number.  The Olympic Stadium was originally built for the summer Olympics in 1928, so its one of them proper old-fashioned stadiums, nothing like those you would see in the Premiership or Football League in England.  I felt reasonably ok, the shoulder felt as best it had done and I headed back to the hotel quitely content and looking forward to the race on Sunday.

1 day to go...

Alison and I headed down to the Expo, collected the race number and had a quick look around.  Now Alison isnt a runner so this was a first for her.  She was taken aback by the scale of the operation involved.  I guess until you come to an Expo, it just doesnt hit you.

Outside the Expo

We didnt hang about too long and made our way outside.  The plan was to go into Amsterdam Central and by pure chance, a tram came along heading for Amsterdam Central Station so we jumped on board and tried to get our bearings.

The main plan of action was to get some pasta somewhere, followed by some window shopping (no, not to be confused with that kind of window shopping in Amsterdam!) then back to the hotel before going out for dinner.

All went to plan.  We found a nice little Italian place and we were served with the biggest plate of pasta you have ever seen.  Then we went shopping.  Before we went, Alison's friend had told her of a shop that sold second-hand vintage designer handbags and she was keen to have a look, so we headed off to "L'Étoile de Saint Honoré" (in Oude Spiegelstraat 1 if any of you ladies are interested!) to take a look.  Thankfully, Alison came out empty handed.  My eyes watered at the price of a second-hand Hermès handbag (you could actually buy a reasonably decent second-hand Ford Fiesta for the same price!)

After a walk through the vintage clothes and antique shops, we made our way back into the town centre.  We took a quick drinks break in the Irish pub (convenient as Spurs just happened to be the early kick off and the second half was just starting) and then done some more shopping before heading back to the hotel.

Near 'Dam Square

We'd found a nice looking restaurant near our hotel in the Museum quarter of the City called Van Dam (no, not a relation to the actor, he was Belgian remember!) and we'd booked a table for 7:30.  The food was fabulous.  Back to the hotel for a reasonably early night and to catch up with X Factor (yes, I kid you not, I'm a big fan).  Thanks to the 1 hour time difference, we were back at the hotel for 9pm, just as X Factor was starting in the UK.

All ready the night before disaster struck...

The plan was to put the feet up, make sure I was well hydrated and get that early night.  Unfortunately, it didnt quite work out like that.  Within ten minutes of laying on the bed, I felt beyond awful.  I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach.  I was really uncomfortable.  I had to make a run for the bathroom...

The next couple of hours was a complete write off.  Bathroom, back out feeling reasonably better but ten minutes later, I was back in the bathroom again.  Oh well, so much for carb loading.  I had nothing left.  I felt exhausted.  I knew I needed to eat something but I just couldnt.  I needed to make sure the stomach was settled before doing that.

I didnt get much sleep that night.  Its impossible in that condition.  The alarm went off at 6:30am and I jumped out of bed to turn the alarm off as to not wake Alison as well but it seemed as though she was as worried as I was and had been awake most of the night.  I felt sick but I forced myself to eat some porridge.  It wasnt going down well.  I felt so rough I was almost gagging on it.  It was turning my stomach.

If the truth be told, I knew deep down that I really shouldnt have started the marathon.  It was idiotic given the state I was in but I'd be damned if I was giving in and being the stubborn type, I geed myself up.

At 8:30am, we took a slow walk down to the start at the Olympic Stadium.  By the time I got in the fresh air, I was feeling much better.  My stomach was settled but I felt empty.  I knew I didnt have a full marathon in me and I'd probably end up run/walking at some point but the plan was to battle on as much as I could and then when the time came, walk if I really had to.

When we got to the stadium, it was chaotic to say the least.  The organisers has said that all runners had to be inside the stadium at 9:15am when they would shut the doors, ahead of a 9:30am start.  I left Alison to get in the throng of runners trying to get into the stadium and by the time she said she was at the 10km point, I had moved about 200 yards, still outside the stadium.

Eventually we got into the stadium just as the Elite runners started.  I couldnt get in the orange starting pen and nor could hundreds of others.  It didnt really matter as the pen was released pretty soon but chaos ensued again as it appeared they'd opened up two slower pens at the same time, meaning that it would be a case of running around slower runners for the first few miles until the crowds started dispersing.

The start at the Olympic Stadium

I'd been training for sub 4 hour marathon time and it was a realistic achievement.  However, I knew pretty quickly that I had next to nothing in my legs.  The first three mile splits were 9:21, 9:20 and 9:24.  I felt reasonably comfortable but I knew I then had to run the next three at 9min/mile pace.  Usually easy.  This time, not so.  Fourth mile split 9:00 absolutely spot on, perfect rhythm, the breathing was good and relax.  The legs didnt feel right at all.  bleep...looked down at the Garmin and it read 9:24.  My average heart rate was much higher than normal for the pace too.  I was having to work so much harder than usual to try and keep to pace.  Next mile 9:20.

As I came through 10k, I saw Alison at the side of the road, shouting on some encouragement.  I blew her a kiss and she shouted that she'd see me at 25...erm 25km?  25 miles?  Well I'll just have to keep an eye out for both...

It was around mile 7-8 I'd reasoned with myself that I'd be well happy with around 4hr 10min, it would still be a PB so I'll revise my average pace down to around 9:30min/mile and I'd still be ok.  Miles 9, 10 and 11 felt comfortable at pretty much bang on the revised pace but I could literally feel the energy draining from my legs.  From mile 9 onwards, the course follows the Amstel River out of town then the route loops back on a 7 mile detour and it is mentally draining.

I remembered I'd cycled this road on day 3 of London to Brussels in 2013 and the good memories came flooding back but it also reminded me that I was in peak physical condition that time, the same couldnt be said this time around.

The Amstel River section pretty much broke me.  As some point between mile 11 and 12, I walked.  For me its like the walk of shame because you're admitting defeat but I had no choice.  My right hamstring was tight behind my knee, I felt drained, I just felt horrible.  It was only like 10-20 yards or something but it was enough to be staring defeat in the face.  Once you've walked, there's no coming back from that.  From mile 12 onwards, I run/walked the second half of the marathon for the most part.  I was physically and mentally drained.

I did remember to look out for Alison at 25km but I didnt see her (although she was there apparently!)  The second half of the Amsterdam marathon is not something I'll look back at with fondness.  I've never hurt so bad at any point in my life.  My neck and shoulder was giving me grief, my hamstrings were so tight you could play them like guitar strings, my feet hurt, my calves were throbbing.

The crowd support in the last couple of miles through the Vondelpark was brilliant.  Thats what I can imagine running London must be like.  The final 2km was hell on earth.  By then, both hamstrings were riddled with cramp and I could hardly move.  The marathon finished by running back into the Olympic Stadium and around the running track for the last 300m.

300m to go...back at the Olympic Stadium

Into the last 25m and in pain...

It was a relief to get over the line.  Bearing the state I was in, it was a minor miracle I finished in a marathon I had no right to start.  My Garmin time 4:34:00, official chip time 4:34:02.  No PB but my fourth marathon finish.

Obligatory Medal and FInishers T Shirt shot...

Then Apple Inc. have a lot to answer for.  I pulled out my iPhone from its arm pouch and tried to call Alison.  Totally non-responsive.  Brilliant.  It only came back to life 30 minutes later when I was 200 yards away from the hotel.  You just couldnt make it up.

After a shower (yes, why the hell did our room not have a bath?), we headed back out into town for some food.  Typically, the restaurant we chose had three floors and we had to walk up two flights of stairs which really wasn't the best thing for a marathon runner.

Post-Marathon Protein Overload

Alison bartered with one of the locals to persuade him to take us back to the hotel on his rickshaw.  Job done.  Back to the hotel for beer and champagne while we watched Chloe get voted off X Factor in the sing off (who the hell keeps voting for Stevi btw?!)

Lovely weekend, shame about the marathon :) 

*Cockwomble (coq-womm-bull) noun. Person possessing properties of striking idiocy. (Example: That bloke is a f*cking cockwomble)

Just when you thought it was safe to get in the shower...

As usual, in the run up to a marathon, maranoia kicks in.  I moved seats on the 89 bus home the other day as someone was coughing a little too violently for my liking and all I could think about was "has that man got Ebola?".  Ha, maranoia indeed.

Anyhow, everything had been going so well.  Really well.  Too well.  The new positive JB was just going with the flow and bang...

Fell out of bed, went to hit the shower, decided to give myself one almighty stretch with my arms up in the air above my head and pop...

Cue agony.  Seering pain through my neck and shoulder blade.  I was in all sorts of trouble.  Muscle pull?  Trapped nerve?  It pretty much all feels he same!  I managed to shower, get dressed and do the commute to work but I was struggling big time.

Sitting at my desk in the office was agony.  I lasted until 4pm when I sloped out early after letting my boss know I was heading home.

Hot water bottle, ice pack, hot water bottle again...no relief.  Into the chemist I went. 

"Small tube of Voltarol and a packet of 400mg Ibuprofen please". 

"Is it for you, sir?"

"Yes"

"You know you cant take them at the same time, dont you?"

"I have done before"

"Well I cant sell them to you together, I recommend strong paracetomol instead!"

"Ok, ok"

So 24 hours later, I'm still in pain.  The training schedule said to run an easy 30 mins.  I have but it was hell.  My neck is so sore now, I'm not sure I can face 26.2 miles in that discomfort.

Here's hoping that my body performs some kind of a miracle in the next 3 days!

A quick update

It has been exactly a month since my last post.  Life has been very pretty full-on recently for various reasons so my blogging has taken a back seat.

Let me quickly fill you in with what I've been up to.

As usual, I have been running.  After the struggles of May and June, I seem to be firing on all cylinders ago and feel in reasonably good shape, although I admit I'm carrying a little extra weight.  Its not a problem, I look ok and I'm still running ok.

Garmin Connect data correct at at 09/10/2014

As you can see from my Garmin Connect data, my mileage for July, August and September has been reasonably good and I can be more than happy with that.

As you would have seen from my previous post, I completed marathon #3 in September.

However, I completed a sub 4 marathon pace 18 miler at the end of August running with the Plums which gave me a huge buzz and a massive boost of confidence.

I cant begin to tell you how happy I was with that run. Running with Plums Chairman Richard Vero and Russell Buchanan was a huge help. Richard is one of those experienced runners who can stick at the same pace all day, just like you would expect from a metronome. You only have to check my mile splits to see how consistent it was.

Now of course, a sub 4 marathon is my dream goal right now.  Is it realistic?  I dont know.  With a bit of extra work, with a little less weight, maybe yes.  My build up has been good.  I've had a little hamstring niggle but nothing to really worry about.  So I'm going to go into Amsterdam and see what happens.  I'm going to relax and enjoy the weekend.

Who knows what I'm capable of?  Most of my runs around South East London involve hills.  From those that have run Amsterdam before, they've told me that Amsterdam is pan flat.  So maybe I might just spring a surprise if I feel good on the day.  I'm not going to pressure myself.  I'm going to enjoy running marathon #4.

I learn a very valuable lesson last Sunday, my last scheduled long run before Amsterdam.  I was supposed to do 20 miles but I abandonned at 17.  Dont ever drink half a bottle of red wine and three bottles of beer the night before, particularly between 9-11pm like I had done.  I cant begin to explain how dehydrated I felt at the 5k mark, let alone after 10 miles.  I still managed a respectably easy-paced 9:20min/mile though so cant be to disappointed (despite having to stop at least 4 times in the last 6 miles to stretch my calves and hamstrings ahem cough!)

I've also ran into work for the first time which made a real change from getting the train...

Now getting into work having already run 10 miles was a great feeling. Left just before 7am, arrived at the office just after 8:30am (after an essential comfort stop at McDonald's in Greenwich!) then fully showered and sitting at my desk by 8:45am. Cant beat that. I will be trying to do this run during the winter months quite regularly to ensure I get to train in some daylight.

Anyhow, roll on Amsterdam!

Marathon #3 - Kent Coastal Marathon (and celebrating Gina's 500th marathon with the Plums)

Whoever thought it would be a good idea to run marathons first thing in the morning, eh?  Surely a nice afternoon start would be a better idea?

Alarm set for 5am.  I was out of bed before the iPhone had bleeped for the second time.

Toilet.

Porridge.

Pack ruck sack.

Toilet.

Cup of tea.

Toilet again...

Maybe the nerves had set in already?  I've blogged in the past about my issues with long distance running and the effects it has on my stomach.  I need to feel comfortable otherwise I could be in trouble.  I didnt feel comfortable in the slightest.  As usual for any long distance run, I opted to take Imodium to avoid any Paula Radcliffe-esque moments later in the day.  However, given this was my first ever marathon which involved a long journey to get to the start line, I made the mistake of taking the Imodium before I left the house.  In reflection, 5 mins before the start would have been a much better idea...

Thanks to the TFL webpage bookmarked on my iPhone, I got to the end of my driveway and I could already see the 486 bus about 400 yards down the road, so knew I'd be on time at the club.  Already sitting down on the bus was Ian, Felicity and Carl.  So strange bumping into people you know at 6:40am on a Sunday morning.

Got to Bexleyheath Sports Club and the Plums were already gathering.  Considering it was so early, everyone was in a cheerful mood.

Now let me take a moment to set the scene as to why 50 odd hardy souls were climbing aboard a coach to get to the Kent Coast so early on a Sunday morning.  The Plums were heading to the Thanet Roadrunners-hosted Kent Coastal Marathon (and Half Marathon for those not wanting to run the full distance) to celebrate the amazing feat of our fellow club mate, Gina Little, who would run her 500th marathon on the day, becoming the first UK woman to do so.  Pretty amazing, I'm sure you'll agree.

The coach turned up a little late but we all climbed aboard and after a chat with the two Lee's and Chris, we arrived at Palm Bay, in Cliftonville, on the NE Kent Coast between Margate and Broadstairs.

Off the coach, into the Race HQ, quickly picked up our race numbers and then it was into the queue for the portaloos.  I knew I was in trouble but the dose of Imodium had put paid to any chance I had of feeling comfortable before the race started.

Once everyone was ready, we took a stroll over to the start, where we lined up on the start line for some photos, to mark Gina's milestone.

Gina, the Plums and Friends...

As you can see, we were all wearing rather fetching yellow t-shirts and vests, where as Gina was resplendent in pink.

Following loads more photos, some stretching and the official announcer telling us that Gina would be first over the line with her entourage, we were off.

Now, beforehand, we had been warned several times that this course was hilly.  Some how, that didnt really register beforehand but the first half of the marathon was brutal.  Hilly and hot.  I dont think you could wish for a worse combination.

However, today was not going to be a race for most of us.  For me, the plan was to run along with Gina and the guys, not run for a particular time and just treat it as an enjoyable long and slow training run, with a view to trying to run a decent time in Amsterdam in mid-October.

Now I learnt a valuable lesson.  You can never underestimate a marathon.  It is a huge physical undertaking and you just cant wing it.  Its not possible.  I certainly underestimated the effects this marathon would have on my body.

For any endurance athlete, you need to keep fully fueled throughout the event.  That means sipping a drink every mile and taking supplements where necessary...the one last thing you want to do when you feel you need the nearest bathroom, so this was going to be a challenge of a different kind.  I had to try and drink enough to stay hydrated but not so much as it upset my stomach.  I can tell you now, I was in all sorts of trouble by mile 10.  I'd had cramps from mile 2 but by 10 I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach and I had no choice but to walk for a bit.  Christ, when I ran Paris back in April, I ran the whole way and didnt even have to break into a walk but I was walking.  This wasnt good.  I managed to walk/run for a bit and caught up with the group again but my legs were pretty much gone by then.

From mile 10 thru to half marathon distance, I contemplated stopping and pulling out.  I was seriously considering it.  I didnt really know what to do.  Had I not told anyone I was running a marathon, I likely would have stopped but being the stubborn git I am and without wanting to lose face, I battled on.

I managed to keep with Gina's group up until mile 14 but then it became too much.  I carried on plodding away but my pace was dropping.  I was force-feeding myself gels by then and trying to drink as much water as I could but I felt sick as a dog.  I wanted to curl up and die pretty much by then.  Although the second half of the marathon was flatter than the first half, running along the sea wall became monotonous and the miles seem to drag longer and longer.  My pace was continually dropping but I dug deep and found some energy from somewhere.

Struggling big time at half way and about 200 yards behind Gina's group...

By mile 21, I managed to catch Graham and Keith who had dropped off Gina's group.  Graham was struggling with tight hamstrings...and Keith, the poor sod, was more in need of finding the Gents than I was and didnt dare run any further.  See, its not only me it happens to!

Graham and I ran (for ran read shuffled as its probably the best description of our style given our discomfort) together for the last 5 miles and kept each others spirits up, pretty much talking about anything but running, just to keep our minds away from the pain.

Crossing the finishing line with Graham

Although I seem to be smiling in the photo where I'm crossing the line, my legs were screaming.  Of the three marathons I've done, this was most definitely the hardest!

After picking up my medal, finishers t-shirt and goody bag, I collected my bag and headed straight for the massage tent.  Knowing I still had at least an hours coach journey to look forward to back down the A2, I thought I'd give myself the best chance of a decent recovery.  The smiles in the selfie didnt last long.  The masseur inflicted serious pain on my legs.

Massage selfie...

Twenty minutes later, I had some feeling back in my legs and I headed back to the throng of the Plums, who had made camp under a marquee where we were treated to a fabulous spread and lashings of alcohol, the perfect post-marathon recovery aid ;)

Gina was the centre of attention as the Plums presented her with a lovely gift and we listened intently to Graham and then Richard, followed by Gina being presented with a lovely trophy by the 100 marathon club for her achievement.  All that was left to do was for Gina to cut her celebratory cake.

Gina cutting her celebratory cake...

Given how well my preparation for Amsterdam has been going (an 18.5 miler at sub 4 pace only 2 weeks ago, see here for the evidence!), I'm surprised that I found the marathon such a struggle but I'm fairly certain that was down to my pre-race preparation this time around.

When in Amsterdam, my hotel is only a 10 min walk from the start/finish line so I'm sure I'll be lining up on the start line much more relaxed, comfortable and focused on the job in hand.  I wont be rushing about to catch a bus to catch a coach etc.

However, there are four things I can take from this:

• Never underestimate a marathon...
• I've now chalked up marathon #3...
• Gina Little is one of the most inspirational women I've ever met...
• The Plums are an awesome bunch of people...

What a fabulous day.

Last word for Gina though.  Awesome.  It was an honour to run with you on your special day :)

Back of my running vest and marathon medal #3

Official race photographs are here

The "Wife Zone"

I really wish I'd seen this years ago. Absolutely brilliant...