Ian’s Marcothon Experience

“It’s only running for 5k or 25mins everyday in December – surely it can’t be that hard?”

I genuinely thought these words, because I am a naïve idiot. To be fair, my rationale was based not on my running ability, but on the fact that lockdown would prevent the Christmas nights out (and the alcohol that goes with them) from hampering me.

This proved to be incorrect.

Week 1 started well. The Fitforit Marcothon Facebook group was full of eager newbies and experienced Marcothoners giving advice on how to approach a month of running every day. Whilst speaking to one runner (who has taken part in the challenge for 3 years) I was told:

“Just aim to run every day, don’t over complicate it.”

After hearing that, I decided that I would do every day’s run in under 25 minutes.

This also proved to be incorrect.

In the second week, I discovered that running late at night was not for me. I would spend most of the day thinking about it, debating with myself about when it would be best to try. The cold, dark, wet nights made these runs a little more difficult, so I made a note of trying to get them done during the light hours. As a side note, there are not many light hours in a Glaswegian December. Psychologically I felt that my wild and unruly hair (a result of the lockdown’s closure of barbers) was adding unnecessary wind-drag to my frame. I took the decision to cut it myself. Surely this would improve my running time.

This – and you may notice a pattern here – also proved to be incorrect. Also it looked shit.

Week 3 was when the casualties began to mount up. On the Facebook group, a few runners had to bail out due to injury, or being forced to self-isolate. Sad to see, especially as most seemed to be enjoying the challenge, but injury and illness is an honourable way to bow out. If nothing else, seeing how much it pained others to stop gave me good reason to get out, even when the hangovers were fairly intense. My pain, at least, was self-inflicted. A combination of cider, cocktails and copious amounts of whisky was enough to change a 25-minute run into 25 minutes of hell. Every single step felt like someone punching my head from the inside out. At least I had my friend to run with, who I assumed would encourage me to push through the fog of my hangover.

This proved to be incorrect, strangely enough. Actually, I feel that he ran faster than he normally would that day, fuelled by my suffering.

Week 4 – the home stretch. At this point the internal struggle really began – trying to find the motivation to get out and run became difficult. This moan was shared by many a runner on the Facebook group, but with enough motivational posts (and a fair dose of guilt) the line held. This was also the week that I decided I would keep Emma company on her midnight run. This seemed like a sensible idea. Run for the 25 mins leading up to midnight, stop for 5 mins, start again at midnight. Go home. Go to sleep. Feel like you are having a rest day as you have completed the next days run. Easy.

This proved to be incorrect. I ate a curry at 7pm prior to the run. This lay heavy for the course of both runs. I also forgot about the endorphin hit post run. After completing the run with Emma (Davie joined too last minute) we all had a wee sense of pride and achievement considering we had stayed up and ran about the Southside like a bunch of eejits at midnight on a Wednesday night, sober. The endorphins hit as my head hit the pillow.

“Rest day” was a sleepy day.

The last few days of Marcothon were pretty enjoyable (in particular my Christmas day PB and Hogmanay, knowing it was the last one) but due to the ice/snow, a few of these runs were a tad more challenging than I had hoped for. Sometimes you have to skate the 5k.

Overall, the 31 days of running was a hoot. It was definitely harder than I expected and I managed to get a few runs in with friends and clients, which made the days when you couldn’t be arsed a bit more enjoyable.

Roll on next years.