This Mum Runs

by Jo Pavey

  Travelling the world with kids in tow has been chaotic at times but always entertaining. Before I became a mum, going to a race was calm and straightforward. I’d be picked up from my front door, driven to the airport, and then met by another car at the other end and taken to the athletes’ hotel. The door-to-door service had been arranged by my sports management company and the race organiser. When Gav took on the role of my manager in 2007, he would drive me or arrange a car. I had previously considered calm and hassle-free travel a necessity in order for me to race. But the three trips to New York were great fun. The New York Road Runners, who arrange the events in the city, are a great bunch, very family oriented, and they were only too happy for us to bring Jacob along.

  Taking a long flight with an active toddler presents its challenges, as any parent knows. At the airport we did everything we could to burn off as much of Jacob’s energy as possible. Once through security, we were set on allowing him to walk up and down, backwards and forwards, pushing his wheelie suitcase from one end of the terminal to the other, though we’re not sure it had much impact! Once on board, we brought out one thing after another from our hand luggage – little toys, stickers, books – trying to make each object provide amusement for as long as possible. Unfortunately, Jacob was not interested in watching a film to pass the time, although we could occupy a few minutes with an episode of Peppa Pig or Tree Fu Tom.

  On arrival, there was inevitably the challenge of dealing with the temptation of the baggage collection carousel to a young child . . . We were sure that once in the taxi heading to the hotel, Jacob would finally fall asleep, but no. Instead it was rather embarrassing as, although only eighteen months old, he cheekily repeated back everything the driver from New York Road Runners said, undermining our attempts to make a good first impression.

  Travelling to events as a family makes it so much more special, as well as busier. Jacob being a very active little boy, we had to ensure he was never more than an arm’s length away as he had a tendency to suddenly leg it. We spent a lot of time in Central Park so that he could run free or scuttle about on a little red fold-up bike we had taken with us. On the June trip we had fun taking him to the outdoor water play area. We went to the zoo and to the huge Toys Я Us on Broadway where Gav bought a ridiculous amount of track for the Thomas the Tank Engine set because he reckoned it was cheaper than in the UK.

  Of course, I had the task of getting ready for an important race. I was grateful we had an extra room so that I could get some sleep while Gav chased a jet-lagged Jacob around the room at 3 a.m. On our final trip that year when I was competing in the marathon, the NYRRs kindly provided travel and accommodation for my mum and dad too so that Gav could focus on his coaching role with me. From our lovely hotel suite, we had the most amazing view of Times Square. Having three trips to the same city in the same year created lovely strong memories of the milestones Jacob was reaching, and it also was notable how each trip presented different challenges as he developed.

  The New York Marathon was an experience I’ll never forget, but unfortunately the build-up for my second marathon was again hampered. I was still struggling with the stress fractures in my foot. The New York Marathon was the first week of November and in mid-July I was diagnosed with a new stress fracture on the same foot, this time in the navicular – one of the bones at the top of the foot, near the ankle. Dr Paul Dijkstra – an extremely good doctor and friend – told me that I needed to be ‘non-weight-bearing’ in one of those clumpy orthopaedic boots for six weeks. I thanked him for his advice, and agreed it was correct, but explained that I had to keep going. I am always honest with the team doctors. I had a good relationship with Dr Dijkstra in that he accepted the way I work, which I appreciated, and we had a good banter about the scenario. He was definitely of the opinion that I should be in an orthopaedic boot, not putting any weight on my damaged foot at all. I’m sure he was right.

  But with the marathon a few months away, stopping for six weeks followed by a tentative build-up was just not realistic, so for weeks I was in agony with every step. However, I kept going – because really, I just thought, ‘What’s the point in not?’ It was 2011. I was nearly thirty-eight. However optimistic I was, I had to think that there wasn’t likely to be much of my career left. I’d been pregnant, out of the sport, come back and not done very much. Frustratingly I’d missed out on the World Championships in Daegu in July that year because of the injury. So if I’d missed out on doing the New York Marathon – which was such a big target as well – then what was left? So here I was running and training for a marathon when I should have been resting and wearing a boot. I concentrated on building my volume and intensity. I also made important changes like reducing road mileage, keeping to softer trails and adding in the odd aqua-jogging session. The foot was painful for weeks and weeks, but I’d feel thrilled when I had a run and managed a correct foot plant. I’d get hugely frustrated when I couldn’t get my foot ‘down’ on the ground properly because of pain. If I wasn’t running smoothly, I wasn’t running with good economy. Everything I did required more energy, and that in turn meant I’d run out of energy sooner. I might be able to run at my desired pace for a while, but I’d hit the wall sooner.

  Gradually I regained more natural function in my foot and the pain started to reduce. I certainly could have done with a few more longer runs and sessions in the build-up, but I felt it was realistic to give New York a go, especially as long term I felt I needed more marathon experience. And the New York Marathon, like the London Marathon, was an event I dearly wanted to do.

  When I talk to young athletes, I’m always mindful of giving the correct advice, and also talk of ways to reduce the risk of injury. But I was reacting to circumstances, too. If I had been twenty-three at that time, I wouldn’t have carried on training for a marathon. It would have been stupid to risk a much greater injury early on in my career. When you are in your late thirties, every season – every big race, in fact – becomes a question of ‘How much longer am I going to be able to keep doing this? Is this my last shot?’

  The New York Marathon – one of six ‘world marathon majors’ – was a very special event in which to participate. By the time we arrived, excitement had taken hold. Okay, my preparation was less than ideal, I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to do myself justice in the race, but I was on the start line, standing, jangling with nerves, determined to do my best. It’s an amazing course, New York, crossing through all five boroughs, each very different in feel. It begins on Staten Island, in Fort Wadsworth, near the approach to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, a double-decker road bridge. Running across this bridge is such a spectacular way to start off the marathon. The course then winds through Brooklyn for about 11 miles – running through neighbourhoods such as Bay Ridge, Sunset Park, Park Slope, Bedford-Stuyvesant, Williamsburg and Greenpoint, each with its own personality, crowds cheering and holding up inspirational signs. We then cross the Pulaski Bridge, which marks the halfway point of the race and the entrance into Long Island City, Queens. After a further couple of miles, we cross the East River via the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan.

  The race is deceptively hilly, but the bridges form a lot of the inclines so the gradients are manmade. As I approached the Pulaski Bridge, I had become separated from the group I’d been running with. It’s very long, so you run above the water of the East River for a fair while. I remember it being deathly quiet – there were no spectators on the bridges – and as I went across it all I could hear was my own feet hitting the tarmac. There was not another living soul in sight. It was really quite eerie, as if I was the last person left alive in New York, like I was the character in the post-apocalyptic film I Am Legend where one person is left alive after a virus has wiped out mankind. Alone with my surreal thoughts, I ran off the bridge back into that wall of sound that so lifts the spirits. The climb up towards Queensboro Bridge at about mile 16 is considered one of the most challenging points and many runners begin to tire. I was pleased to grad
ually catch a few runners.

  I put a lot of effort into my pacing strategy and made sure I ran a relatively conservative race so that this time I could finish without blowing up. I tried not to get too carried away by the incredible support willing us all on. It felt too slow at first, but that pace paid off in the later stages. The final section through Central Park – which throws a few more hills at you – was extremely tough, but the atmosphere spurred me on. I was pleased enough to finish in ninth in a time of 2 hours 28 minutes and 42 seconds. Though pretty much identical to my London time, this signalled a big improvement because New York is significantly hillier and I had felt much more in control throughout every stage of the race.

  The day after the race we enjoyed some sightseeing, taking the ferry to view the Statue of Liberty, and so on – despite me hardly being able to walk. All in all, it was a great trip. I left New York feeling I had run an encouraging time, even though I would like to have run a little quicker. I understood that the stress fractures had undermined my preparations for both London and New York, so I felt like I’d love to do another marathon one day in an attempt to improve. Seasoned marathon experts say it takes a year or two to develop in the event, but I simply didn’t have a year or two to spare as London 2012 was the following year.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Lure of London 2012

  After New York, Gav and I made the decision to switch our attentions back to the track. I didn’t feel confident opting to go for a championship marathon with only two (unspectacular) marathons under my belt. I felt I probably wasn’t ready or experienced enough, yet I had so much experience on the track. In December 2011, we planned my preparations for the Olympics in August. The London Marathon in April would be a trial race for the Olympics but I didn’t enter. The timing would only allow twelve weeks to be in peak condition for the Olympic marathon, which for me personally I knew might be problematic. One illness, or even a minor injury, and I would be up against it. I didn’t want to simply take part in London; I wanted to be competitive. Gav often says that you must aim to be in the best possible shape on the day of your championship final and that all your planning should be with this in mind.

  My dream was also to run in an Olympic Stadium in front of a home crowd and to do this I would have to run a track event. To do a marathon in April would make the subsequent switch to the specific type of training for the track and to adapt to wearing spikes (running in spikes is very different to running in racing flats) very difficult. But imagine if I got injured and struggled to do the necessary speed work on the track, but I was still able to put in the miles. If I’d ruled out the marathon early on, that would be my Olympic dream over. It was most sensible to keep my options open. My primary aim was to focus on 5,000m and 10,000m in training, hoping to qualify and earn the chance to run in the Olympic Stadium, but I would take marathon selection if offered it – though only after discussion with the selectors about whether I could have a little bit of time to consider which would be my best event. I would have then made a decision long before the track trials in order to give the next runner the required time to prepare. I am always adamant that my decisions should never adversely affect other athletes.

  I watched the London Marathon on TV and saw Claire Hallissey and Freya Murray beat my time from the previous year and take the Olympic marathon spots. I was pleased for them – they’re nice girls – and I felt enormous relief that my mind was now free to go for it on the track, no longer weighing up a complicated situation. What was frustrating was reading the newspapers the next day, reporting the strange claim that I was hoping to run the Olympic marathon and had gambled crazily on sticking with the time I’d got the previous year and not run the trial race. I mean, who would seriously do that? It would be ridiculous and embarrassing to think I had sat back in my armchair and arrogantly thought I’d definitely be selected. That would have been very disrespectful to the great girls who were competing. No one had picked up the phone and asked me why I wasn’t running the London Marathon so they’d got the wrong end of the stick. Gav and I were merely using our experience to try to make sensible decisions.

  While it was a little dismaying reading some of the newspaper stories, I got on with the task at hand and was finishing my warm-up at the track when UK Athletics phoned Gav to confirm I wasn’t in the marathon team. I was preparing to start a session of 10 x 1,000m repetitions when Gav shouted across, ‘You haven’t been selected’ and I shouted back, ‘Okay!’ I actually felt liberated by the news. It gave me huge motivation to do the session well. I was so matter-of-fact about it, Gav cracked up laughing. But it was a relief. I now knew it was track or nothing, and as my training was on target, I was reasonably confident about running well.

  My first qualification race was in May, less than a month away. I was hungry to compete in London. I relish doing fast workouts on the track. It’s tough at times, but it’s something I’ve enjoyed since I joined Tony White’s group back in the eighties. There is nothing like the feeling of walking off the track after a good session. The marathon would have to wait . . .

  I was as surprised as anyone when my training in the first few months of 2012 went well – better than it had for years, in fact. I put much of this down to how happy I was. Coming home from a run to cuddles from Jacob put everything in perspective. I would find myself thinking about him as I ran, putting a smile on my face and an extra bounce in my stride. We had also relocated back to Devon, living in a nice little house in Tiverton while we got our Teddington house ready to put on the market. Jacob started going to pre-school two mornings a week in Chevithorne, near Tiverton. It was a big step for him and for us as he had never been away from a family member before, but he soon settled in with the help of the friendly staff. We were happy with our new set-up: Tiverton provided the perfect location for training. Our prime reason to base ourselves in that part of Devon was to access the Grand Western Canal, around 12 miles of off-road cinder trail along beautiful scenery and so perfectly maintained that there is no hindrance to running at pace. It is quiet, too. I train there to this day – meeting the same dogwalkers day after day with whom I always exchange a hello, and very occasionally another runner. I also use the superb Exeter Arena where the staff obligingly put up with our continuous phone calls to check when the track is available. I was also kindly given permission to use Exe Valley Leisure Centre. Another attraction of being back in Devon was that we could see our families more often. Our parents were now meeting up with us to play with Jacob during track sessions so that Gav was sometimes able to resume his pacemaking role which helped to lift my times.

  Working up to the trials I had to make each track session count, but at this stage of my life I was taking such pleasure in watching Jacob develop before my eyes, changing all the time, always coming out with a cute new saying. People often remarked on how chatty he was. He had a great time whizzing around the estate on his scooter or balance bike going to the various play parks, and Gav enjoyed accompanying him on his skateboard. It put my running targets firmly into perspective as I prepared to attempt the qualifying time in the 5,000m and 10,000m.

  As spring turned into summer, everything came together. In the course of just over a fortnight I ran the 5,000m qualifying time twice – in Manchester and then in Rome – and secured the 10,000m qualifying time in finishing second in the European Cup in Bilbao two days after the Rome race. I had to finish in the top two in either the 5,000m or 10,000m at the British Championships in Birmingham, which were doubling as the Olympic trials, and my London dream was on. I decided to run the 5,000m and after a steady, controlled race, I managed to sprint away to take the win. I’d done it. Qualified for my fourth Olympics! I was so excited. This Olympics would be extra special, not only because it was on home soil, but also because this time I knew that little Jacob would be there in the crowd. He wouldn’t understand what an amazing experience that would be until he was much older, but it would be magical for me to know he’d watched me race at London 2012.
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  After the second stress fracture, Gav and I had decided we needed to make some dramatic changes – and now we could see they were paying dividends. Sensing we needed to take action in order to break the injury cycle and avoid the stress fracture setbacks recurring, we analysed what we thought was going on and came to some big decisions. First, we took my running back to basics. I stopped using my orthotics. I’d worked with some great podiatrists over the years who helped me get through some of my earlier injury problems, but each injury is specific. Now that pregnancy had changed my foot mechanics, the orthotics I had were no longer suitable. I also started running in more neutral running shoes rather than supportive ones. It became easier for me to be attuned to the way my foot hit the ground, and have greater awareness of when it felt correct and sense when it felt a bit ‘off’. We reduced my strength and conditioning sessions from around 60 minutes to 15–20 minutes of essential work. We recognised that strength and conditioning is important but not if I was taking sore tired muscles to the track. We made sure the conditioning sessions were now very specifically tailored to help my running, comprising only functional exercises using my own body weight or occasionally very light dumbbells. Trying to achieve too much in these sessions for me personally could risk compromising my running sessions. Almost immediately, the changes paid off. I felt that I was able to run more freely. Running felt natural again. It reminded me of when I was a child, finding pure joy in the sensation of running. I could use my foot more freely and my body felt readier to run. We’d also fit my training in around whatever was going on that day with Jacob. Our training routine became more flexible. We wanted to put Jacob’s needs first, so we became more adaptable – training could be earlier or later than planned to ensure we could attend a toddler group with Jacob or have a friend round to play. Over the years, I’d always had to be good at listening to my body, but now I found I had to do this all the more in order to fit round the needs of a child. I needed to have the energy to encompass so much more in life than just my running. This also resulted in me making better decisions like when to modify my training that actually helped to make it more consistent.