posted Jun 2, 2009 11:27 AM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
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updated Jun 5, 2009 12:47 PM
]
Okay, so here's the breakdown (literally, ha ha ha!) of my very first marathon!
The night before:
Feeling incredibly anxious. I've laid out everything I need to bring with me - clothes, shoes, sunscreen, snacks, everything. I'm sure at this point that I'm forgetting something, but as I discover later, I've actually brought too much stuff. I try to relax, and I'm in bed by 10pm. Wanted to sleep earlier, but sleep would not come.
4:00am: The alarm goes off. It's time. I make my breakfast - steel cut oats. Tasty and they stick to the ribs, but damn, do they take a long time! Shower? Nah, had a bath the night before, and seriously, I'm going to stink soon anyway. I gear up, triple check my bag, and head for the car. I stop for coffee (Timmy's is open, thankfully), a bottle of water, and some cash to shove down my pants (in case of an emergency mid-race). Yes, there's a tiny mesh pocket in my run pants that holds the money, so there's no risk of cash-chafing.
5:40am: I'm driving up Deerfoot, and I have one decision left to make. Where to park? C-Train service doesn't start until 6am, and it's sure to be crowded. I decide to park at the Zoo instead, and hoof it over to the start line. Zoo lot is surprisingly empty. Walk to the line only takes about 10 minutes - much better than waiting around for a train! I take a look around once I arrive on site, sit for a bit with my coffee, then check my gigantic bag of after-race stuff.
6:30am: I'm cold, tired, and nervous as hell. I find a place to sit in the grass, with the sun shining on me, and close my eyes for a few minutes of quiet introspection. It's too late to back out now, or to do anything more to prepare, I tell myself. You're here, and you're as ready as you'll ever be. Go do it.
6:55am: I move around in the starting gate, trying to figure out where I should start. I've run a consistent one hour 10k, so I figure that starting near the 4:30 pacer might be an okay place to start. I doubt I'll be able to stick with them, but I have no clue what I'm doing, really.
7:00am: In the legendary words of Joe Carbury, "AAAAAAAND THEY'RE OFF!" No, Joe wasn't there.
7:05am: The people around me start to move forward. Just like rush hour on the Deerfoot.
7:07am: Around this time, I cross the start line, and the chip on my shoe notes that I've officially begun my first marathon. Technically, the chip doesn't care - but it's doing the timing for me...
7:08am: Oh, right! Timing! I forgot to hit the "start" button on my watch as I crossed the line! I hit it now, about a minute in. Guess I was too excited about starting! I won't know what my time is like until I see the official results, but I figure, this is better than nothing in the mean time.
The first part of the race is a bit of a blur. Coming out of Bridgeland, up and over Memorial, in behind the Zoo... it was all pretty easy at that point. I didn't notice the running - I was just moving with the pack. My breathing felt good, my body felt ready, and my heart rate was nice and low (well, for me anyway). Around the back of the Zoo, I saw people begin to shed outer layers, throwing them off into the roadside bushes. Maybe I'm just frugal (or cheap), but why not just be a little chilly at the start, and not have to discard a perfectly good item of clothing less than 2km into a race?
As we come around and into Inglewood, I feel a bit of a rush. The crowds are a bit bigger here, and a friend of mine said she'd be here to give me an early boost. Most of the people I know don't seem to care much about my running (exception being my family, especially my ultra-supportive sister!) and this friend is the only one who even bothered to suggest coming out to cheer me on. It bugs me more than it should, but hey, all you need is one good friend, right? I near the spot she says she'll be - heck, it's about 20 feet from her apartment - and there's no one there. My heart absolutely drops. The one person - the only one - who was going to be there to give me a little cheer couldn't be bothered to walk twenty fucking feet for me.
Looking back, there were plenty of low points for me in this run, what with the pain and all, but that was definitely the lowest moment I had all day. I felt completely alone.
I didn't even notice the next couple of kilometers - I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. Not one friend who could spare a few minutes out of their busy day to cheer me on. So much for friends.
When next I bothered to look up, I'd already blown by the first hill that I had thought might be a concern - didn't even notice it -and was working my way up to Spiller Road. Another incline, but I was managing it quite well. Funny how these things work when you're busy worrying about other things, eh?
Again, the mileage spun by, and soon I was down towards Stampede Park. My 4:30 pace guy was a distant yellow dot, but I wasn't too worried about it. I was running a comfortable pace, so I didn't push it. Just as long as I don't get passed by the five-hour guy, I thought to myself. That would be embarrassing.
The next thing I know, we're coming off McLeod and onto 17th Avenue. It's the first water stop - so it's been 3km already? I grab a water, and keep running. 17th Ave blows by in the blink of an eye. I don't remember running it. I don't recall if there were lots of people cheering. I don't recall much at all, actually.
I seem to remember the intersections more than anything, the course turns. The straightaways melt into the memory. By the corner of 17th and 14th, I'd found my pace bum, and was doing well.
Now, let me explain something here. This probably sounds incredibly pervy, but I've found that the best way to run is to find a cute gal who has been running nearby for at least a kilometer, and try to pace yourself off of her. Best way to do that? Let her go ahead of you, and watch her bum.
Now, I don't mean that you run two feet behind her making crude and lewd comments. I run a respectable distance back, I don't stare, and I always have my shades on, so no one's the wiser. Perhaps that DOES make me a pervert, at least a little bit. Oh well.
My pace bum served me well all the way down 17th Ave, and all the way up 14th Street. But when we got to the underpass onto Memorial, she picked up the pace, and I was left to try to pace myself. I don't know who she was, but thanks for the help, Pace Bum!
People lined Memorial, shouting encouragement, making noise. There were even a few banks about, playing music to groove to as we ran. After all, headphones were illegal on this run, and anyone caught with their own music would be disqualified. That's what they said in the program, and what they said at the starting line.
But, I'm guessing that was just a bluff, as over 50% of the runners had music with them. Oh well. In preparation for this marathon, I'd been running sans music, and I've found it to be... well, different, but not in a bad way.
Memorial also flew by. Everything felt good, strong. No pain yet. Not sucking wind. Huh, this might not be so bad...
Turning off Memorial, I'm staring at the steady 2km incline of Shaganappi Trail. Gulp. I remember struggling to get up this in CARS, let alone on foot... but, I run on.
In the past (you can call this stupid machismo bullshit if you want, as that's likely what it is), I would try to power up hills, passing people left and right, thrilling myself with this little feat. The problem before me, however, was not little. A merry pair of experienced runners trotted past me at the base of the hill, and like a damned fool, I tucked in behind them, pushing a pace I had no business moving at. I lasted for almost a third of the hill before I faded off quite quickly, and for the first time, found myself slowed to a walk. My lungs were screaming, but more so, my legs. I crested the hill, doing a minute of running for every minute of walking. Not a great pace. At to top it all off, my foot was starting to make itself known.
Now, I've had foot problems before. My left foot, due to repeated abuse in too-tight skates, had developed a real sore spot on the top of the foot. At times, it felt like a stress fracture, but I've been assured it's just an aggravated nerve. But lately, it's given me no problems.
Until that point in the race, that is. We were about 16 km in, and my foot was starting to smart. Nothing I could do but keep going. It kept getting more and more tender with every footfall, though.
As we made the turn towards the University, I still thought I'd do all right in this marathon. I was keeping up a decent pace, and while it was slowing considerably, I didn't quite comprehend what lay ahead.
The area around the U of C offered a bit of shade, but a surprising lack of crowds. I had expected more people to be watching from here, a nice vantage point near the half-way marker. But only runners were on the roads.
The small ups and downs along behind the University were hurting me, and I watched as the 4:45 pacer pushed by me with relatively little effort. Uh oh. We weren't even half way through the course, and I was quickly being left behind.
We rounded the corner and headed back, when one of the volunteers shouted out "Way to go, Trevor!" I damn near fell down in shock. Someone I know! I felt a momentary surge of joy, which melted as I passed and heard her cheering every runner by name. Oh right, our race numbers have our names above them. Damn.
But I will say this - it's a great idea, because even though I didn't know them, and they didn't know me, it was a lift every time someone cheered my name. Thank you.
The route wove through the campus grounds, and I managed to keep a pathetic pace going - just above a fast walk. But at least I was still moving forward. Several times during this race, I lost focus. I thought about how much it hurt, or how poorly I was doing in the times. And it was demoralizing.
It's very easy to forget that your goal is to finish. That the only person you're racing against is yourself. That victory comes when you finish, no matter the time.
I crossed the halfway check point in a respectable 2:23:51, and it dawned on me that I was only halfway there. I had never run this much, this hard. This was going to be difficult. Soon after, I was passed by a refreshed looking 5:00 pace pack. I let them go by me without a protest.
The race route wove around behind Market Mall, and up into Varsity. And for most of it, I limped along, sometimes walking, sometimes jogging. My foot had burst forth in full-blown pain, so that every footfall felt like the foot itself would snap in half. I began favouring that leg heavily, which resulted in pain in the tendons on the other leg, which meant more favouring, which meant that other muscles and tendons, unaccustomed to picking up the slack, tightened painfully.
I couldn't concentrate on anything but the pain.
I think the only thing that kept me going, at some points, were shame and ignorance. I didn't know how to quit, and I was too ashamed to ask. So, my only option was to keep going.
It was somewhere along the tops of Varsity that I came to grips with just how poorly I was going to fare. The course would close after six and a half hours. My new goal was to finish before that time. I knew I could make it.
I limped and gimped my way out of Varsity and back towards the downhill portion of Shaganappi. At the crest of the long decline, a medic on his bike asked me how I was feeling, concern written plainly across his face.
"It hurts," I admitted.
"Yeah," he said, scrunching his face in a mixture of concern and annoyance. "I can tell."
I knew what he was thinking. I should stop. I was obviously in pain. This race wasn't worth it. I wasn't going to win, so why cripple myself?
Because, as my father pointed out to me recently, I don't set realistic goals. I set sky-high, nigh unacchievable goals. I go too big. Sure, I often fail to reach them, but I try, and I find more good in the effort than in the product.
So, I run on. I'm sure the medic was shaking his head as I wobbled by.
The downhill of Shaganappi, surprisingly, hurt a hell of a lot, and I ended up walking most of it. The extra reach for my foot to find the ground sent swells of pain pulsing up from my foot. As I limped, slowly, down the hill, more medics on bikes came by to check on me. Yes, it hurts. No, I'm not stopping. Thanks for the concern.
At the bottom of the hill, I did something I didn't expect to do in a marathon. I sat down on a ledge for one whole minute, and took the weight off my feet. It was a humbling experience. But at the one minute point, I pulled myself back up, and continued to shamble down the road. I made the turn off of Shaganappi and onto Memorial, feeling incredibly guilty for holding up so much traffic. I hobbled as fast as I could through the intersection.
Memorial was pretty lonely. There were relatively few runners left, and I alternated between limping, running strides and hobbled walking. I ran every time I reached an aid station, not wanting to show weakness in front of the kind volunteers who had waited so long for the stragglers like me to pass by.
Memorial seemed to stretch endlessly before me. Cyclists shouted encouragement from the paths. Motorists whizzed by, uncaring. And ever so slowly, but somewhat surely, I pushed along.
At just before the 10th Avenue bridge, and with relatively few runners left on the road, the race organizers asked us last few runners to move up onto the pathways, so that they could re-open Memorial. I would have been demoralized by that, if I had anything left to be humbled by.
As I moved along, there were four other people within my line of sight: a little Asian guy, probably about my age, who seemed rather at ease; a stout, short gal who was obviously labouring as hard as I was; and a couple who seemed to know the other gal, but routinely left her in their dust.
We all managed to finally complete the Memorial leg, and turned for home onto Edmonton Trail. By now, the traffic had been opened up, and I was running on the sidewalk, slowly moving around other runners, already finished, wandering away for the day. They shouted encouragement as we moved towards the end.
As I rounded the second to last bend, I began to push as hard as I could. My foot screamed in agony, but I was going to leave nothing in the tank at the end. I wanted to cross the line as strongly as I could.
But damned if the other two ladies didn't also have something left for the finish, and as I pushed the last straightaway, they turned on what afterjets they had, and began to pull past me.
Again, call it macho bullshit, but those broads were NOT going to beat me. I'm not sure if I yelled or not, but I'm pretty sure that I did as I kicked out my injured foot, and broke into a sprint that probably looked like a mashup of Forrest Gump and Terry Fox, with a generous helping of broken pogo stick. I sped past them, and with every muscle and tendon screaming, pulled myself across the finish line, a solid pace ahead of them.
Stopping was a different story altogether. Putting down my injured foot to decelerate hurt like the dickens, and I hopped and skipped in an effort to slow down. Two medics immediately ran out to meet me, grabbing me by the shoulders and helping me stay upright. Someone put the medal - a belt buckle, actually - around my neck on a white ribbon, and I hobbled off towards the medical tent to get checked out.
Everything after that? A blur. I put on a fresh shirt, hobbled veeeeery slowly back to my distantly-parked car, and drove off to my dad's house for a victory cigar. It was done.
5:52:00. |
posted Jun 2, 2009 10:11 AM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
5:52:00.
But who cares? I finished it! |
posted May 25, 2009 11:39 AM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
" In 2005, the average marathon time in the U.S. was 4 hours 32 minutes 8 seconds for men..." - Wikipedia.
I think I'm going to be slower than that, but it's nice to have a goal to shoot for, right? |
posted May 19, 2009 1:53 PM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
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updated May 25, 2009 10:44 AM
]
Whoo, what a weekend! Flew into Newark via Chicago on Friday, and partied quite hardy with my little sister on Friday night, drinking heavily and seeing the nighttime sights of NYC. What time did we call it a night? Beats me - I don't remember.
But we were up ridiculously early on Saturday morning to catch a confusing series of trains down to Central Park for the run. I won't lie - I was not in good shape. But the coffee from the Starbucks mere feet from my sister's apartment helped greatly.
It was what my Calgarian weather senses would call "balmy" out - that is, right up until race time. But till then, it was quite nice. I was in shorts, and felt no cold. By the time we got to Central Park, almost all of the pedestrian traffic were runners. According to reports, there were about 7,000 runners there. We got there a little later than planned, thanks to my dragging ass on the way out of bed in the morning. We scurried over to get our numbers and shirts, drop off our stuff at the bag check, and hustle over to the starting line. Sadly, we got there too late to be allowed to join our proper "starting corrals" which were based on our expected "per mile" times. Lisa, on the basis of her previous NYC runs, had a race number in the 6000's - mine was above 10,000. She had graciously agreed to run with me, though - but it mattered not, for we had to start towards the very back of the pack.
As the gun fired for the start of the race, the "balmy" weather became, well, a bit wet. The rain was just a spatter at first, then a drizzle. Then a shower, then light rain. Finally, full on rain. No pouring, but it was certainly coming down, for about 10 minutes. But thankfully, it was warm rain - not like what we get in Calgary. It was almost refreshing, to be honest!
We finally crossed the start line at just past the 13 minute mark. Thank goodness for those tracking chips they get you to tie to your shoes - it means you get an accurate time from when you started to when you hit the finish line - not counting how long you spent waiting for everyone else to get moving!
Most of the race, I'll admit, was a blur to me. The numbers weren't as big as the Mother's Day run, so congestion was less of a problem. That didn't stop people from running pretty wide, though, and forcing my sister and I out to the far left edge of the running area. We were constantly shoo'ed back to the right by volunteers. The scenery? Amazing. Running in Central Park is like something out of a fairy tale. The trees are huge! And the weather was great for running. The quick shower at the start kept us cool, but the warm air quickly dried me off as I ran. The water stations were well placed, and I took every opportunity to "drink" a cup of water. By that I mean, I would manage to get a few sips down my throat, and the rest went down my front. Still need to work on this whole "running and drinking" thing.
Big electric timers were placed at the kilometer markers, so we were able to see our pace and adjust. We kept a pretty consistent 10 minute mile going, which I was happy with. I'm sure my sister coulda gone faster, but she kindly stayed by my side.
I did have to take two walk breaks, totaling 1:30. Again, I feel like those walking spells kept me from a sub-hour time, but they were needed.
Why? Hills.
You'd never know it to look, or perhaps even to walk it, but the slow rolling inclines of Central Park HURT after a few clicks! I was told to be thankful that we were going clockwise around the park - a counter clockwise run would mean steeper "ups" and more gradual "downs".
We agreed to up the pace at the 400m mark, but I didn't have much left for an increase. But with only 100m to go, we broke into a sprint. What can I say, sibling rivalry never dies. And with a hard push, I somehow managed to finish one second ahead of my sister. Seems that I managed to kick my sensored foot across the line first - totally not intensional. I'd actually forgotten about it completely, and almost walked by the area to return them. Whoops! That woulda been a $40 mistake!
I managed - just barely - not to puke (my stomach wasn't feeling great at the end, and I could smell someone else's vomit nearby, which almost made me lose it!), and we stumbled over for photos, skipping the line for apples and bagels in favour of a speedy exit. After all, we had a Yankee game to catch!
In all, a great run. Much thanks to my sister for sticking with me and not leaving me in her dust! |
posted May 13, 2009 8:59 AM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
Yes, I leave Friday morning for the Big Apple. Going to visit my sister, and while I'm there, take in a Yankees game, run a 10K, and get shown her fave restaurants - oh, and apparently, there's a great cigar shop I just HAVE to go to!
Yay! I need the vacation!
|
posted May 11, 2009 7:58 AM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
So yes, I managed to run the 10K and survive to tell about it :)
After a relatively sleepless night, I woke up at 5:30 on Sunday morning. A quick shower, a breakfast of toast with peanut butter and a banana (and a few glasses of water), and I was out the door. Dropped off the dog and cat at my mom's place (showing the house that day, didn't need them in there, stinking things up!). And no, I didn't wake her up - just left the animals in their kennels in the garage, left a potted mum for my Mom (hahah) and the extra race shirt I'd grabbed for her.
And so, into town I go. I wanted to get there early enough to grab space in the parkade that the city had opened up specifically for runners, but funny enough, there was free street parking in a much more convenient place (easier to pull out afterwards - no lines to get out!) I pulled into my parking spot at just before 8am.
Now, what to bring with me? The chill was still in the air, so I kept the jacket on, and filled the pockets with trail mix, a bottle of Electrifire, jerky, and a few bucks. I had my gloves on already - didn't take 'em off until after the race. My chip was on the shoe, my number was pinned to the shirt, and I was ready to go.
So, I plugged in my little MP3 player with Dean Karnazes' book loaded on, and walked over to the starting area. Nothing shaking, runner wise, but the place was abuzz with activity. I wandered about a little bit, listening to my book on tape, keeping warm by moving. I wandered down towards the end zone, and again, few runners, but a lot of workers getting things ready. Hundreds of crates of water and fruit were being unloaded by the finish line.
By this time, the numbers were growing by the starting line. I wandered back, and picked a spot on the roadway near the back of the 7 min/k section. Better to have to pass people than to be in the way, I figured. I stretched a bit, and the road grew more and more crowded. At the front, some health group was on stage, trying to get people to warm up with some silly aerobic routine. No one back in my area played along.
Now, it was still 20 minutes to the start. I was getting antsy - so was everyone. We were stretched, we were in place, we were ready to go. Most people seemed to be running in groups, so they chatted the time away. I decided to relax a little, so I plunked myself down, cross legged on the roadway, shut my eyes, and tried to drown out the sounds around me.
It worked - my heart rate dropped back down to a resting rate and 15 minutes later, I popped back up, ready to run.
The start at nine, was of course, not when I started running. First went the elite group, then the 5 min/k group, the 6 min/k, and so on, followed by the walkers and the stroller walkers. I know the wheelchair division was in there somewhere, but I don't know where.
All I know is, by 9:04, we were slowly shuffling forward. By 9:08, I actually reached the line, and was able to break into a slow jog. And at this point, I learned something about human nature. No one is honest. I started at the back of the 7 min/k group, because I thought I'd be finishing in around 65 to 70 minutes. I was hoping I could push myself to do it in under 60, but I was honest with myself. But the people in front of me? There were walkers galore who could barely keep up a decent walking pace by the end of the first 100 meters. There were gaggles of walking strollers barring half the road. There were people who were obviously in poor shape, horribly hobbling along. These people thought they should start in the 5 or 6 min/k group? Seriously?
And while I'm ranting, lemme say this. I know it's the Mother's Day race, so very family oriented. But they really ought to either make people prove that they can control a running stroller, or just ban the damn things altogether. I was nearly run over serveral times by maniacs who, if they operated their cars in a similar way, would have died long ago in fiery crashes. Shoulder check? No need. Swerving around? Lots of fun! On a hill? Just hang on and let the stroller clear a path! And you know, it was mostly men pushing these strollers who were the menaces. The women who pushed their youngins around were, on average, more courteous and in control. The guys handled these things like they were Tonka trucks that could run over anything in their path.
I spend the first kilometer weaving back and forth among the jetsam of the faster group, before finally finding some space to start going at my own pace. I was feeling good - legs were warm and loose, arms were moving smoothly, heart rate was elevated comfortably. The jacket was off by this point, tied around my waist. The only annoyance was the bumping of the jacket pockets against my legs as I ran, but it was pretty easy to ignore.
The weather? Couldn't ask for better. It warmed up nicely, and most of the run kept us in the sunshine. And it wasn't too warm either, so the heat of the day didn't drag me down.
The distance seemed to fly by. Before I knew it, we were past 17th Ave, and the 5K runners were peeling off. That gave us some more room to work with.
Along Elbow, some people came out to watch, to cheer, and for a few kids, offer high fives. The volunteers (bless their hearts) were cheering too, which was a nice little boost. And a few houses along the way had their stereos blasting to give us a little music to run to. Again. much appreciated.
As we turned the corner off Elbow, I was surprised to learn that we were already at the 4K mark. I don't recall the time, but it was close to 25 minutes. Not a bad pace, I decided. But the hills were coming. I kind of surprised myself by being able not only to keep my pace on the inclines, but to push a little harder and pass people as we ran upwards. It shot my heart rate up dramatically, but it was a good, strong feeling. At 5K, I grarbbed a cup of water, but only managed to get about two mouthfuls down my throat - the rest ended up on my front. Guess I'm not very good at drinking on the run yet. My time at the halfway point was around 35 minutes. I knew a sub-60 minutes finish wasn't very likely at this point, but a negative split time could bring me close.
Unfortunately, at about 5.5K - right after another hill - I decided to take my only walk break of the course, to pop open my energy drink. I put it back as quickly as I could, but it was two minutes of walking. I regretted the stop immensely. But I put it out of my mind, and started running again. So what if I didn't make it in under 60 minutes? My best time in training on a 10K had been 1:15, so expecting to drop that much was probably unreasonable.
The next hill was the last - a double-back to add a little distance to the course. So, you got to come right back down the same long incline you'd just finished pushing up. I managed to pass people going up, and stayed with the group on the way down. We swung tightly onto 4th after that, and the home stretch seemed to be within reach.
My body still felt pretty good here. My heart rate was back down to a good level after the hill (it's not speed that judges fitness, it's recovery), and my legs didn't feel burned out. My chest was clear, and I felt good. The runner's high was definitely present.
I started trying to pace myself off the other runners around me, but found that a moment's lack of attention would usually lead me to move past them. The pack I was in at this point was mostly young women... and I've got to tell you, for my money, running gals have the nicest butts in all the free world. To hell with Wrangler girls!
As we moved into the shopping area of 4th, the 5K group rejoined us. I groaned inwardly. These slow pokes were going to clog my route for sure - I'd be lucky to finish in 1:30! But thankfully, the organizers had split 4th into two lanes - the left was for the 5Kers, and the right was for the 10K crowd. Running past the 5K group made you feel like you were flying!
The original route called for us to turn off on 10th, but the route was changed at the last minute due to sink holes. Only in Calgary. So instead, we turned off on 12th. Just before the turn, at around the 8K mark, I looked down at my watch and was shocked to see the time. 50 minutes! Could I do just over 2K in less than 10 minutes? I didn't think so, but I decided to try. I picked up my pace, and started the drive home.
By just past the 9K mark, I knew I was sunk. 56 minutes. No way. But what the hell, keep going. The higher pace was pushing my heart rate, and my legs were starting to burn, but I didn't slow down. And finally, the last corner came into sight. I was just over an hour now, but I didn't want to stop pushing. As we rounded the corner onto MacLeod, I pushed myself into a new gear - as close to a sprint as I could get. I burned under the train overpass, keeping to the right, passing runner after runner. I was sucking wind hard, arms pumping, and pushing as hard as I could. I was going to leave nothing after that finish line.
The rest was a blur. Seriously. It was like watching Star Wars, when a ship jumps to light speed. Everything went streaky, which was likely due more to oxygen depletion than my speed. I pushed that last little bit, those final few steps, and threw my foot over the line. DONE!
I stumbled down to a walk, making sure to keep moving to stay out of the way of other finishers. I heard the announcers reading off names of some of the finishers... and then... I heard my name! I couldn't make out the time, but my watch told me it was 1:01:45 (The official time turned out to be 1:01:41) It wasn't a sub-60 time, but it was a personal best for me - and 13 minutes under my previous best! Not too bad!
I shuffled fowards, collecting the free water, banana, orange juice and yogurt. I dragged myself to the steps at the Plaza, and sat down to force the food on myself. I was seriously not hungry - in fact, my stomach was seriously angry about the idea of eating - but I put it all down, along with a handful of my trail mix, and a stick of jerky. And a lesson learned for next time: Jerky, good. Trail mix, good. Energy gel? Just couldn't bring myself to eat it. Next time, bring less food.
But after eating and drinking, I stopped to notice... I wasn't breathing hard anymore. My heart rate was a satisfactory 110. My arms and legs didn't hurt, my core wasn't in pain. I was okay.
I grabbed a cup of coffee, had my post-race photo done, and headed back to the car. I had beaten the 10K, and survived to tell the tale. In fact, I felt so good - and still do today - that I'm not fearing the Kidney 10K in NY this Saturday. I know I can do it!
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posted May 8, 2009 10:13 AM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
I wish I had someone to cheer me on when I run. Someone to eat a good pre-run dinner with. Someone to nervously load a pre-run breakfast with. Someone to chatter at before the run starts. Someone that I know, at some point along the raceway, is going to be standing and cheering for me - unless they were running, too. Someone to take a few photos. Someone to meet me at the end. Someone to walk away with. Someone to drive me home so I can relax in the passenger seat.
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posted May 7, 2009 2:52 PM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
Found this site today: http://www.scientificpsychic.com/fitness/diet.htmlIt calculates all sorts of body numbers. Here are mine: Height: 6'1" (uhm, unchanged for several years now) Weight: 193 lbs (down from a high of 235 lbs) Waist: 34" (way down lately - at one point, it was 40") Neck: 16" (ditto the downward spiral - was 17.5") Some of these measurements may be off, as they were done sitting at my desk, with a ruler... But they're pretty close, which means... "Body Mass Index: 25.5kg/m2 Waist-to-Height ration: 0.47 Percent Body Fat: 14.2% Lean Body Mass: 165.5 lb Your BMI is greater than normal, but your waist-to-height ratio is normal.
You may be overweight or have unusual mass distribution.
Your diet should contain at least 94 grams of protein per day."What does that mean? According to the site, I'm still a touch overweight at 193 lbs. However, with that PBF rating, my W2H and BMI put me in a "muscular" range, even though a BMI of over 25 is usually indicative of being overweight (BMI apparently doesn't differentiate between fat and muscle very well). The W2H shows a less-than-average amount of intra-abdominal fat, which is new for me. And the PBF is almost in the "Athlete" category, but still in the "Fitness" area now. Whoo! So, what's my goal to be a good, fit, thin runner? These may be unrealistic, and they may take years to achieve, but hey, it's good to shoot for the stars... Weight: 175 (that's 18 more pounds) Waist: 30" (just four more inches) Which would equal: Body Mass Index: 23.1kg/m2
Waist-to-Height ration: 0.41
Percent Body Fat: 5.3%
Lean Body Mass: 165.6 lb More than anything, for me, would be the lesser weight, which would be a boon to my knees. I'm already carrying a lot less weight, and it's made running so much easier! But the key to this is not to lose muscle weight. Becoming a stick man is not in the plans. I want to be a healthy 175, a ripped 175, a good running physique. In the meantime, I'll work with my 193 lb body, which is a joy to run in, compared to lumbering down the road at 235! It's sick to look at the numbers, because that's 42 pounds that's disappeared! And if I get to 175, that would be a loss of SIXTY POUNDS! That's like losing a big dog, or a small child! My secret? No more cola. 99% less sugar. 75% less fast food. Loads more "healthy" food. Less late night snacking. Less television watching (re lazing about). More coffee. A ton of exercise. Barrels of water. 1000% increase in greens and veggies. More sleep (okay, that one still needs work). In short, no shortcuts. And if I want to get to 175 lbs, there won't be shortcuts. It'll be a long, hard road. But it will be so worth it - not so much for the numbers, but for how much better I'll feel for it. "Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible" - Julius Caesar, Act II (Shakespeare) |
posted May 7, 2009 8:37 AM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
So, I've been to three running stores in the last week... here's the ranking in order of how much I like 'em:
3. RUNNING ROOM (EAU CLAIRE):
Besides the "free" clinic fiasco, I just wasn't impressed with their service. When I was in the store, I was either summarily ignored, or coldly greeted and quickly forgotten. Not to mention, their selection of men's apparel was a bit lacking - but that seems to be the usual way of running stores, at least from my experience.
2. RUNNING ROOM (KENSINGTON):
Much friendlier service. Much. Much much. The store's also a little bigger, a little better laid out. Staff were happy to answer my questions, and had some pretty good knowledge about shoes. Bad things? Parking sucks. Location is a little out of the way for me. Otherwise, not half bad.
1. GORD'S RUNNING STORE:
Best of the best so far. I did have to wait a few minutes for help, as the two staffers were already with customers when I got there. But they were friendly, the store was full of running goodies, and the fella I spoke with (off to Seattle this weekend for a 10K run) was more than happy to help me out. Analyzed my feet, watched my gait in a few different types of shoes, and steered me towards a pair that will likely really work for me. Can't really afford 'em right now (a $150 pair of Mizunos), but when I scrape together the pennies, I'll go back to Gord's to get 'em. Another perk? Starbucks next door. Once I move, I may try to move to that neighbourhood!
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posted May 6, 2009 11:45 AM by Deadmonton@ Gmail.com
So, after a 3.6k run at lunch today (and a nearly 3k run last night), I've noticed a bit of, shall we say, gastrointestinal distress as I sit here at work? My stomach is doing slow, gassy flips. What did I eat? Last night, post run, was cod, broccoli and spinach, with strawberries and balsamic vinegar for dessert. Today, it's a bowl of cereal for breakfast, coffee, and a turkey wrap for lunch. My guess? Damn broccoli, damn coffee and damn milk with my cereal. Gotta go get me some ginger tonight, to chew on when my gut does this. And it will do this again. I'd kind of forgotten about this side effect of running - it's one I sure didn't miss!
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