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?