Spring fever

The young deer had got caught up in the wire fence, hapless. Its eyes were elsewhere, in the land of beyond, its breathing shallow and quick. I had its head on my lap, its fate in my hands - I should end the nightmare, put it beyond pain. The dogs had felt the full force of my fury, and shame, for they had only been doing what is inbred. Natasha and I were out for a run, the dogs off lead. Tasky had been the first to spot the bobbing white tail and screamed after it, Bonny hot on his heels. Normally I tend not to worry too much about deer chasing. It happens infrequently and I have always assumed the dogs are no match for the athletic deer. But on this occasion fate had got the better of life and it was up to me to do what was right. But what to do? I am no hunter, no keeper of animals. Yank the head back and twist? Hesitation, tears well. Cant do it.

Crestfallen, I leave the deer to the fate of the resident coyotes that would soon smell its incapacity. I was beaten – was my heart too big or just cowardly? I have still not yet discovered how to quickly kill a deer. It was my fault the deer was dying and yet I could not take the full responsibility of my dogs actions by doing what was undoubtedly right. It was days to get over the feeling of cowardice. The carcass had gone within 48hrs but bad memories take time to fade.

So spring is definitely here now, the bees are zapping all over. Warmth has finally melted white, to be replaced with green, nature going crazy trying to make up for lost time. Our newly purchased BBQ not only means that we are finally fully Canadian, but we can enjoy burnt food on the deck. Enthusiasm has meant that our planted runner beans have been severely weakened by night frost, the words from our locals of not to put anything out till after the full moon ignored. 

I’m painting the suite siding, but easily distracted by the sound and sight of hummingbirds. Lots of them, never seen so many. If I get too close to their feed, they bomb me. Sadly, one flew into the sliding glass door and died on impact. Death is never far away, life is so precious. A former student at Natasha’s school was recently killed whilst driving over the nearby Monashee pass. A huge out of control chip truck coming the other way wiped his truck out, the chip truck driver left physically intact. But what of all the bad memories?

Our two wwoofer helpers, Brigid and Sarina, have moved their adventures onwards, leaving a slight vacuum behind at Smiling Hills. We look forward to the next visitor, hopefully in July. Meanwhile, Natasha continues to work incredibly hard at Lucerne, but buoyed from the prospect of holidays not far away. We have both booked our journey to Victoria in October, so the stage is set for our next running challenge. My running legs have returned, but are acutely aware of the psychological journey ahead, as my June 1^st training start looms ever closer.

Paid work is still scarce, my truck soaking up any spare cash we collectively have. A conundrum indeed. Repair bills are undoubtedly still cheaper than a payment for a new one, but it’s the uncertainty and immediacy of breakdowns that throws us. It’s getting old, poor thing, but it will have to hang on a bit longer. We aim to go away this long Mayday weekend - the weather looks ok, the small generator packed away in the truck nestling alongside the battery charger, for the glowplugs are not working and the starter motor tired. But to get away is important, even for just a couple of days. I might even be spotted supping a beer! Our dogs have the right approach – live for the moment. It has consequences, but they don’t have to deal with them. Like it but simply cant do it.

Tim

A new beginning

What part of BC are you guys from? I asked, just to spark a conversation. “BC maaaan” was the drawled reply from one of the bearded objects slouched in the car. “Hey, this is our home maaan” the other blurted. “We are just moving into another room, maaan”. (throaty laugh all round). And so the conversation ceased. I was thus duly introduced to the official world of ‘Couch Surfing’; another day in the Slocan Valley, giving two modern day Romany’s a ride nearer to their chosen destination. I love giving rides to the ‘thumbers’ of the world, and even Natasha has been known to open the passenger door to a stranger. This is despite my attempt at hitch hiking the other week proved completely unsuccessful, resulting in a hurt pride retiring home till a lift could be secured the following day to retrieve a newly repaired truck.

Spring has sprung, the bees are getting fitter, the daffodils poking their yellow heads up through the sodden soil. The swamp land below us is slowly drying up as the trees produce their pollen laden catkins in preparation for their green display. For the last 10 days, post Vancouver marathon running has been on hold as we entertain and keep busy two wonderful WWOOFers, young and energetic at 19 years of age, who have opted to grace us with their presence lending us their muscle and charm in exchange for board and lodging. In reality, in addition to the welcome social company, they have ensured much needed progress in that messy post winter / pre summer phase, where trees are cleared, wood split and stacked, exterior painting undertaken and vege plots prepared for planting. Sarina stayed for a week, and her friend Brigid one extra - a win / win scenario if ever there was one.

So, where does my running fit in to all this? It took me till this sunday to look into my post marathon goody bag  - my medal ended up in the recycling bin but the crowning turd in the trifle was my 'technical running shirt' - the right sleeve some 20cm shorter than the left! I also realised with horror that I still have a plastic bag full of ‘near end of date bargain bin’ SIS energy gels sent to me by some Ottawa bicycle shop.  What to do with them? Peter recommended a bargain bin store donation, but that would be contrary to the challenge laid down by my 3.37 marathon. On the return flight home last week, my ‘never again, what’s the point?’ changed to ‘maybe, sometime someday, somewhere’. Slowly my head and heart realised that I need a sub 3.30. Natasha needs me to do it as well, for her peace sake. So, the date has been set – October 7^th, venue Victoria. Marathon day. Natasha has also jumped into the canyon by entering the half marathon with a pledge to bear her previous time set in Sheffield, that of 1.41. So, Tim sub 3.30, Natasha sub 1.40. A big party for sure if success is secured.

Last Sunday saw us both run the local 5km fun run. My legs did not find any of it fun, nor did Natasha find any amusement in the solitary hill. But she finished a credible third in her category of being female and I had my success by complaining that males did not get a finishing flower at the end. Flowers were soon handed out to all finishers, and there was much rejoicing! My local vet, Mr. ‘100 dollar’ Bill surged ahead of us, with 2km to go and was pleased as punch with his run. He was clearly worried at the start of the run when he declared a concern as the advertised event wording had changed from ‘run’ to ‘race’. Local events – you can’t equal them.

So, my official Victoria marathon training starts on June 1^st, and I now have something regular to write about. There will, hopefully, be much rejoicing later on. After the inevitable pain.

The perfect race

It was strange being at a mass participation event, where families and friends were all together, supporting each other – and me on my own. It was fun being an onlooker, watching the occasional like minded stray wander, a bit lost in the organised mayhem and buzz of the Vancouver marathon. On the other hand, I found it had less of an attachment to me – maybe a good thing. I was there to run as hard as I could – no smiling for the cameras, no keeping an eye out to see if I recognized anyone I knew on the course. It was me and 26.2 miles.

The lead up to the race was perfect. I found the two weeks wind down very odd – it was like having your legs taken away from you. From full on commitment to virtually nothing. But I stuck to my training programme, religiously, like I have all along. The journey down to Vancouver was excellent as the weather was clearing, the sun was shining and snow adorned the peaks. I drove the 2hrs 15 mins to Trail airport – a wonderful outfit where you sit only metres away from the aircraft you fly in. On the return journey, I noticed with amusement that the waiting room was the field itself, with passengers sitting in sun chairs, waiting the order to board. So small, so informal. I love it. I dozed for most of the hours flight to big city.

Vancouver was as vibrant as ever. So cosmopolitan. Cyclists, skaterboarders, roller blades, runners, joggers, walkers, dog owners, the compulsory party of Japanese tourists and the pack of beautified young women out in their pack pouncing on poor unsuspecting seemingly single men… I escaped, but I thought of you Bryan! The weather was set to be sunny, if a little warm for the big event on the Sunday. I felt good, confident even, but not overly so. Just focused. The Sunday sun broke the cloudless sky, and I was out of the flat I was staying in (thanks Missy and Mitch) by 0630. I had downed my meager breakfast – the same as it has been for the past 3 months, and very relieved that I had performed on the toilet (three times no less). So all was set, all toilet queuing potentially avoided. Focused. The stage was set for the perfect race, unless you were a leader as the course is too windy for ultra fast times. But for us mere mortals at the back of the good pack, a few extra turns would do us no harm at all. Perfect preparation, no injuries, great weather and confident. What could go wrong?

At the start, I failed to spot my 3.30 ‘bunny’ pacemaker. One minute before the start I noticed a pair of 3.30 ears way back, milling around with the 3.45 ears. I decided there and then to run my own race, and tag on if they joined me. I paced myself well, if a little quick but not overly so, over the first 30km. I felt somewhat claustrophobic in amongst the high-rise buildings, but the sun and the light cool breeze took my mind off it. I marveled at the shapes, sizes and techniques of all the runners around me, taking an instant dislike to all the loud mouth braggers who I seem to be forever tagged to in these events. Stanley Park arrived, the half way point. Up to now I had been having a bit of a problem spotting the km signs – they had been placed too low and were blocked by spectators. My gps Garmin was playing up as it could not locate the satellites in amongst the tall buildings, so I was having to work hard at maintaining the correct pace. The water stations were not perfect either – well intentioned water providers were simply standing too close to each other, so if you missed one or the station was too crowded, you were stuffed. I missed two, but no real biggies, as it was not that hot and I was well hydrated. The other annoying thing was that we were getting a bit confused between the half marathon and full marathon distance markers – not a big issue in itself, but when you are working hard and concentrating, small distraction like that do not do you any good. Half way came and watches read. And then it arrived again, to our surprise – another half/full marathon marker confusion. Oh well. What did I left in the bank?  I was really enjoying the run by now, happy with my pacing. But at the arrival of 30km, I did think to myself a big cautionary ‘uh-oh’. By 32 km I knew that 3.30 was off the cards, and I just wanted to get home. The last 10km were long and hard, trying to stave off cramp. The well intentioned cries of 'You're looking good' prompted the silent response 'but feeling crap'. But I was determined not to walk, which I didn’t. I finished in a lackluster 3.37. The perfect race had been set for me, but I had failed in my attempt to run sub 3.30. I did not even look at the medal given to me by some smiley girl. I collected my food, picked up my bag, , got changed, alone, and wandered off to the nightmare of the train station steps. My legs were not happy, but I was strangely not too tired. My body had not been pushed, my head fitter than my capacity to run, my determination to finish carried my pride, but barriers had not been broken.

Too fast too soon? Maybe, but nothing too untoward. Should I have stuck with the 3.30 race bunny? Maybe. I was only up on my 3.30 time by 2 mins at the half way point, hardly a mass uncontrolled sprint. The simple truth of the matter was not enough long miles in my legs for a 3.30 time. Pacing myself slower would have been a 3.30-3.35 run, as opposed to an ugly 3.37. Will I attempt another one? Don’t know. Undecided.

I had a fantastic weekend however, the travel was exciting and it was great to be part of a mass event with lots of razzmatazz. I really enjoyed my winter training and its great being fit again. Ill keep the running going, but maybe concentrate on a good half marathon time. Three and a half hours is just too long to pound a tarmac road. A mountain trail would be different, however.

Thanks to Buff for the entry sponsorship and Natasha for race weekend cash. Till next time. But what shall I write about now?