Das Marathonen / 2 (also known as the Half-Marathon)

During one of my many internet adventures, I came across the blog (or some sort of post) of a girl who was writing about her first marathon. I thought I'd follow suit.

I came to the conclusion at the end of my race today that running a marathon is like reading a story. It has intro, building action, climax, denoument, with various trials along the way to help develop the main character, which is me in this case. So, without further ado...

Commencement

Woke up at 5:30
Had a quick shower
Ate a bowl of Vector. I must say there is something about the fact that it is "officially" a "meal replacement" that makes me want to eat it when I have a race or intense physical activity of any sort. Then again maybe it's the fact that it has crazy carbs and protein. In any case, I've had it for brekky for all three of my races this year and I've done well, so maybe it does work.

I read, on Friday conveniently, that caffeine has been found to increase carb absorption in athletes by something like 26%. I tend to run better with some coffee in me, so this kinda sold me even more. I had a smallish cup after my cereal, and half a banana since those are my magic "wow, I don't feel tired anymore" food for runs. I got changed into tank top and shorts, new running socks (which are AWESOME), put on my shoes, grabbed my race belt (for number only, no liquid things), and rolled out like Optimus Prime on a mission.

I jogged to the bus stop and felt GREAT, considering I've been down for a week with some weak cold thing that was just bad enough to mess my lungs up for running. I coasted, for lack of a better term to the bus stop, and was surprised at how good I felt.

EVERYONE on the bus was dressed and had numbers pinned to their shirts. I felt sorry for anyone who got on and wondered what the hell was going on with these people.

Arrived at the start line at about 7, with 30 minutes to kill before start time. I felt no anxiety or trepidation at all, which was a first I think. After my friend Erin told me that I have a great running pace, I realized that running was something that I could do really well, and a little more practice showed that she was right. I have a gimpy leg of sorts, but it appears not to affect my ability to run or overall fatigue, which is surprising after about a decade of being unable to run due to a shitty ankle on the same leg.

Anyways, after a quick bathroom stop, I returned to hop in the crowd for the starting gun. I had been wanting to place in the top third of everyone since I felt that that was where my skills would place me, so I moved up towards the front. My starting position was more like where the top 10% would be, since there were so many people I couldn't see very far behind me. I actually thought I was at about 1/3 of the way to the front...no no no, foolish me.

Rising Action

While hopping around warming up, a loud horn went off. I guess the race was starting. I started my leisurely pace while a LOT of people were running past me, or trying to go fast in general. "Have they ever even run this distance?" I thought to myself. I knew that there was a considerable amount of distance to cover, and dying in the first kilometer would be completely foolish. Sure enough, after about 5 whole minutes, I heard a lot of heavy wheezing around me and suddenly I was beginning to pass people, still running the pace I had started on.

Things picked up on the left turn on 16th Ave. Here we were to run to Blanca (or so I thought), then turn around and head back to Southwest Marine Dr. After the turn, all those people who though gunning it was a good idea were beginning to fall back, and I started to pick up my pace. What followed was about 10 minutes of my passing people by the 10s, and gloating over my obvious awesomeness. Well, maybe not much of the last part, but I was passing a lot of people.

Blanca came and went.

"um...."

Oh, the turn around was just beyond Blanca, over a little hill. Before the turnaround, people were pretty spaced out and running in a giant mess. After, the line became more of a line as everyone started falling into regular pace.

5k in 22 minutes, a new personal (recorded anyway) record for me.

I was in a good headspace turning north onto Marine Drive. I passed the second water station without getting anything. I figured that since I can usually run for 1.5 hours without water, I shouldn't have to here.

Conflict

After a while, SW Marine starts going downhill and we turned to go down an even steeper hill, a hill renouned for its general steepyness among hill lovers. It was hard to slow down on this hill, so I let the legs do what they wanted for the kilometer or so. Then I felt it, a disturbance in the force of my legs. Actually, a disturbance in two part of the same leg at once, one in the hamstring, another up where the leg connects to the torso (I don't know the exact name for the muscle anymore...maybe the hip flexor?). So, I had pulled something. With every step I could feel the pain building, miniscule at first, but slowly growing. I knew this was it. I was done. This would grow and grow and grow until I was forced to stop and quit. Then the pain suddenly stopped. I don't know a what point it occurred, just that it was gone and I was happy. At the upcoming water station I decided to grab some Gatorade since the quick jaunt down the hill had taken some energy out of me.

Now, trying to drink from an open cup while running is no small feat, and one that I'd never even tried before this race. So, as was bound to happen, I got some Gatorade in my mouth and the rest on my chin and shirt. Sweet. I was going to smell Gatorade for the rest of the run.

At this point I was starting to tire. I had passed KM 14, which was just over half way, but I was starting to feel fatigued. Also, because I'm a complete idiot and thought I would tighten a shoe lace before the race, I was beginning to feel the pain of having a too-tight lace digging into the top of my foot, causing some ferocious owie-time pain. My ankle, for the first time in, oh, I don't know, 10 MONTHS, decided it was time to start hurting again (same foot), so pain was now on my mind and my concentration was shot as I began a shitty slow uphill climb to 4th Ave.

At this point, while my pace was remaining pretty constant, the fast people who started further back in the pack began to pass me, one at a time, just slowly enough that I would hear their footsteps becoming progressively louder as they approached from behind. I had never experienced this before in a run, and it is disheartening to say the least. I took some solace in the fact that I was not passed by anyone that I had passed earlier, but it still sucked to have people effectively whizzing by you. If my foot pain wasn't enough to hurt my concentration, this certainly didn't help my spirits any.

The next water stop was approaching and I still had a pooey taste of Gatorade in my mouth from the last stop, so I thought I'd grab some water to rinse my mouth out. Bad idea. I took the tiniest gulp of water, KNOWING FULL WELL THAT IT MIGHT CAUSE ME CRAMPS, and instantly felt a little revived. Old Gatorade stuck in your dry mouth is not nice, and the water was a godsend.

Then I was knifed by a homeless man, and while lying on the ground that homeless man's friends ganged up on my and kicked me in the abdomen repeatedly...

Maybe not, but I did get a cramp.

I wasn't a "stop racing and breathe" cramp, but more of a "everything hurts, I should really stop racing and breathe" cramp.

So, now I had a pain-ridden foot, people passing me regularly, and evil breath-taking cramps that seemed to find pleasure in moving from the right side to the left side of my body and back.

Passing MacDonald St. was a relief, since I was now in MY run territory, the path I take almost every time I go running. Now I knew what to expect all the way to the finish and could begin to regain some psychological composure. The cramps were still there, but I picked up the pace and felt better getting to the Burrard St. Bridge. Passing the gross smell of bacon at the local White Spot didn't help though, nor did that evil bridge, glaring at me, knowing how much I hate it. It's a long, slow, painful incline, and while I would normally be running on the sidewalk where I could look out on the bay to distract my mind, I instead had to look at concrete and cars. Yay.

A left off the bridge and we were on the home stretch. The passing of yours truly became less frequent, which was nice. I had my running mindset back, but my legs were starting to become useless from too much wear and tear. The run went down to the seawall off Beach Ave (I think that's it), but I was tired and was just trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other in a regular fashion.

Climax

As I passed the sign denoting the entrance to Stanley Park, some guy around my age slowly caught up to me. I looked at him to see where he was going to pass and he nodded at me. For some reason, for the first time in the hour and a half race so far, I decided to talk to this guy, with about 1 kilometer to go. He told me that he was normally a trail runner but this was his first road race. Cool, I thought, a newb like me. I told him this was my first running race as well (too much breath needed to talk about Triathlons at this point). He conceded that he was "out of gas" just like me. I felt some strange affinity for this guy who I had just met and decided to keep up to him as we ran towards the finish, only a 100 or so metres away now. Then I decided that I wasn't done, that I had just enough to sprint the finish and make it count. Just as I was about to jump into a sprint, dude next to me speaks my thoughts: "All right, lets do this." We gunned it, running full out through the crowds and across the line, a private two-man race in the midst of this great event of 4500 competitors. I passed the line and felt more dead than ever before. No Triathlon finish left me feeling as tired and fulfilled as I was at the end of this race. I looked around for my race buddy, saw him keeled over behind me, breathing heavily. We shook hands and congratulated eachother. I thanked him for the motivation, but I think it came out more like "wheeeeze...wheeeeeze...goood motivation.....wheeeeeze...thanks...." If I ever see him again I'll buy him a beer.

Denoument

After about a minute, my breathing and heartrate returned to normal. I'm absolutely fucking amazed at my ability to just "turn off" race mode when I'm done and walk around feeling perfectly relaxed, if a bit sore. I got gatorade, gatorade, water, water, water, gatorade, water, banana, power bar protein drink thing, banana, propel fitness water bottle, water to wash the shitty propel fitness water taste out of my mouth because it SUCKS. I also had an orange...and more water.

I went to watch the other finishers during this, clapping and cheering them on. Some of the girls I saw finishing were crying, and I was myself almost moved to tears. I pictured these girls as having overcome some great obstacles, like cancer or something, to do these races. Feeling as tired as I was, even finishing something like this is a victory in itself, and to all those who fought the odds to complete this Half-Marathon, I thank you for showing the rest of us what true courage is.

I was about to leave the race area when I saw an old man jogging up at about the 2 hour 50 minute mark. I heard the announcer say that this man was in the 80+ age category. I stopped instantly and started clapping for this man, telling him that he was done and way to go. To do this event again when I'm 80-something and finish it...I couldn't imagine the balls it would take to do something like that. If I get to be that man when I'm 80, crossing the finish line for a Half-Marathon, I'll feel like I did something right in life.