Sub-3 lessons from a lifetime in club running

I broke the three-hour barrier on my third attempt and then ran 2:46 and faster until my last one. That set the tone for more than thirty years of racing – track, cross country and road – at a time when club running standards were very high. Some people refer to me as "legend", I'm not. I’ve always said I’m just a fair-class club runner, one of the club’s foot soldiers. But over those years I learned a lot about training, racing and staying the right side of injury, and most of it still applies to anyone chasing sub-3 today.

It all started in Essex, with a race in Danbury on what was known as a proper cross-country course - that was the one that set things in motion.

I also recall two neighbours asking if I fancied having a go at a fun run around Orsett Hospital. It was a 5K event over mixed terrain, the equivalent of parkruns today. I got round in under 21 minutes and was hooked. The local athletic club, Thurrock Harriers, approached me. On my first visit to a Southern Men’s League match, they were short for the B-string 800 metres, and I was suddenly told I’d be running. Who turns up to watch a track meeting wearing running shoes? The first lap felt fine, but at the bell I didn’t have enough energy left to spit. However, I hung on and finished in 2:17. That remains my 800-metre best to this day, and it got the club some points.

From there I became a regular on the track, the road and in cross country. I ran for Thurrock Harriers for seven years, mostly 1,500 and 5,000 metres on the track, as well as league races, County Championships from 10K to half marathon and all sorts of local road events. In the late eighties and through the nineties there was strong inter-club rivalry in cross country and the county championships, and within Thurrock itself there was always a good competitive spirit. If you turned up to training, you were expected to work.

In my peak years I was running on most days of the week, sometimes twice. My weekly mileage was around 60 at first, then later more than 80. We did three interval sessions a week, cross country on Saturdays through the winter and a Sunday long run. In the summer it switched to track races on Saturdays – often 5,000 or 1,500 – and probably a road race on Sunday. During the week there were short hills on Monday, the track again on Wednesday and, on Saturday morning, ten times one minute. In the summer that still came to about 60 miles per week. It wasn’t complicated, but it was demanding.

Balancing all this with the rest of life was not my strongest point. I describe it as a touchy subject. I was very selfish as a runner. Everything revolved around running, keeping up mileage-wise with my contemporaries, working in London, running at lunchtime and then probably in the evening too. It was all about the mileage numbers. My coach, the late David Staines, would always make me take a few days off in late February so I could recover. He saw a glimmer of potential and stopped me from breaking myself completely.

There were a lot of races across 30 years, too many to list, but a couple of moments stand out. My personal best at Bath was 71:32, and I finished 72nd, which shows the quality of that event at the time. In training I remember one session in particular: six times 1,000 metres, and I managed all but two of them under three minutes. That gives you an idea of the standard in the training group. There was also a day when I ran five kilometres in just over 16 minutes and then jumped in the car to drive to Oswestry on the Welsh borders to race a 10-miler. That race still stands as my personal best at the distance. Running a 10-mile personal best the week after a marathon isn’t something I’d recommend, but back then I didn’t always do things by the book.

Nutrition was basic. We weren’t privy to the advances that runners enjoy today. It was the old three-day carbohydrate loading routine that dated back to Ron Hill. There were no gels or special recovery drinks, and it wasn’t always easy to try the marathon drink of choice before the day itself. Some of them were frankly bad. You made do and got on with it.

In 1997 we moved to flat Norfolk, where I took over The Runners Centre from Nigel Arnold, a creditable road runner and triathlete. I gave myself a break from marathon running for a few years and focused on shorter distances on the track, 3,000 and 1,500 metres, and on the Runners Centre Grand Prix series, which I later went on to administer for 17 years. In the winter of 2022, I picked up a hamstring injury that proved persistent, and although there is always five per cent of me that says go out and race again, the sensible 95 per cent says I have done enough.

Over the years I’ve had my share of good times and bad. One post I wrote summed it up: there are memorable moments and there are races you’d rather forget. Injuries do not just happen. They will show up quietly and then, if you ignore them, they will gradually get worse. I once had an adductor strain after three 5,000 metre races in eight days. I had to hobble backwards round the track. That finally taught me to listen more carefully to what my body was telling me.

On the positive side, there were seasons when everything clicked – a series of strong marathons, county medals, and even a season of sub-sixteen-minute 5,000 metre races on the track.

As for the modern era, I have joked that I wouldn’t change much about those days except perhaps having carbon shoes, and that with them I might have had a realistic chance of cracking 2:30. These days I sometimes post a picture of my favourite race shoe and point out that it is non-carbon. That is the world I raced in.

What can a runner chasing sub-3 today take from all this? The first word is consistency. That means regular mileage, week in and week out. It also means accepting that you cannot do everything; you have to recover as well as train. I have also said that you should keep running and listen to your body. If something hurts in a way that is new, address it rather than pretending it is not there.

Another lesson is that variety matters. My best years included track, cross country and road, not just endless steady runs. Hills, intervals, races over shorter distances and tough cross country courses all contributed to marathon strength. Running different kinds of races also taught me how to compete: to move through a field, to hold my nerve when it hurt, and to finish strongly.

What I’ve learned is that the mental side matters just as much as the miles. On race day I was always focused on the job in hand and the smallest thing could throw me off, which is why I would never have turned up at a parkrun the day before “just because I hadn’t done that one”. A marathon deserves proper preparation, a clear head and a decent taper, so your body and mind can recover from the weeks of work. After all, it wants to be a memorable occasion for the right reasons. And when the day finally comes, enjoy it.

I can remember so many races in my sleep – the corners, the hills, the battles and the good times – and those memories have stayed with me far longer than the stopwatch ever did. Now I find myself supporting those who are racing and talking to newer faces who are just starting this journey, and I always say the same thing: you’ve done the hard work, so go and have the run of your life.

I’ve shared many more memories, reflections and advice on my Facebook page, Running Around with Pete Johnson.