My first trail marathon was completely made up by myself and consisted of one athlete (myself). I named it The Great Lawrence Weston Council Estate Marathon, in honour the housing estate through which it passed, although the majority of it meandered along the River avon - Bristol. It was a completely spontanoeous act born out of sheer fury one cold and sleepless morning during Christmas 2007. I admit I have occassional sleeping problems since shelving the chemical sledgehammer as a nightcap option. I have found that ovaltine does not work - extreme physical exhaustion sometimes does. The furthest I had ever run previously was 17 miles around Hampstead Heath, a feat which left me shivering from only the waist down, a most disconcerting effect which I dubbed "cold legs", only later did I discover that this is what they meant by "hitting the wall".
I got up at 6am disgusted through lack of sleep and deliberately ran along the river Avon downstream for 14 miles knowing that I would then be forced to return and thus complete 28 miles, smashing the impregnable barrier of the 26.2 mile marathon in my mind. Whether this was an act of penance, self-flagellation or more akin to actual self -harm is still beyond me but I do know that it had a powerful cathartic effect. I did it in 4 hours 10 mins. which was not bad although clearly I am not going to become a world leader in this sport.
It was a curious trail, very urban and beat up, and like me it wandered on a dejected odyssey through industrial zones and housing estates, which were particularly uninspiring when viewed through the watery peel of sleeplessness.
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