Thoughts on my 2nd Marathon; 40th BMO Vancouver

This post is one in a series about my personal running; training and racing. For other posts like this, click here.

This turned out to be a day I will never forget. Ever.

It was a picture perfect day, and after 5 months of training I was ready to try and tackle my ambitious goal of shaving 45 minutes off my marathon time from last year (which was my first and only marathon, finishing in 4:15). The only problem was that I’d been fighting a head cold for the week leading up the race. I was admittedly having some doubts as to whether I could do a sub-3:30 marathon with a stuffy nose and less-than-full energy levels, or if I could even do it on a good day.

Either way I was primed. I got there 45 minutes before race start wanting to leave myself plenty of time to get to the start line and find the 3:30 pace bunny. Problem was that after checking my bag I spent 25 minutes in the damn port-o-pottie lineup. I was taking my pre-race whiz when I heard the gun go off to start the race. D’oh! I ran to the start line and joined in at the very tail of the whole crowd. I did my best to pass the mass of people at the end of the pack and after about 5km I managed to catch the 3:40 pace bunny. I was amazed. Last year I finished just ahead of the 4:15 bunny, so I thought maybe 3:30 isn’t so crazy after all.

The 3:30 bunny was far more elusive though.

I settled into a groove and by the half-way mark my legs were already feeling sore. Hamstrings especially. Not good. But I found the 3:30 pace bunny on Pipeline road (half-way mark) and inched up to him. ‘I just gotta hang with this bozo for an hour and 40 minutes and I’m golden!’ I thought to myself. But it wouldn’t be so easy. My right knee started to hurt. A pain I haven’t had before, and a clear sign my road shoes with almost 700km on them were out for their last race.

As I pulled even with the 3:30 bunny there was a big crowd cheering and I may have got a bit ambitious. ‘Rather than just hang with this bozo, I can pass him!’ was my brilliant idea. So rather than pull in behind the dude I decided to keep my own pace going and inched past him. This would turn out to be a huge mistake.

I made my way over the Burrard Bridge into Kits and I was HURTING. Bad. I wasn’t wearing a hat or sunscreen and I could feel the full sun sapping away my energy. My legs were getting heavier and heavier, and I was getting discouraged. No amount of Gatoraide, water or Gu seemed to provide me with more energy.

As I approached the top of the ‘out-and-back’ section to Locarno beach area, I was drained. And there was still about 10km to go. Also, I dropped one of my fuel belt bottles trying to put it back into the belt. ‘Oops a $5 mistake’ I thought and kept running. Then as I hit the turnaround I saw it by the sidewalk in the other lane so I decided to go grab it. Another big mistake. As I leaned down to grab it both my hamstrings seized bad. I could hardly hobble on them for a few minutes. Then, to make things worse, yet again I dropped the f***ing bottle trying to tuck into the back of my fuel belt! As I looked back to see it land behind me on the pavement I saw the 3:30 pace bunny had caught up to me, looking strong and steady. I was spent. Completely spent.

‘Hey, you’re not supposed to pass me!’ I said to him (half-jokingly).

’45 minutes to go bud, you can do anything in 45 minutes’ he replied back. Ok, so he’s no bozo I decide, and I’m quite happy to get any encouragement I can as I struggle to get my hamstrings working for me again. The pace bunny (hence-forth to be called Keith which was his name) pulled about 75 meters ahead of me. I was crushed and I was angry with myself.

‘I’m done’ I thought. ‘Still 8km to go and I’m utterly spent. F***!’

Luckily, I caught some wind on the downhill stretch heading back to downtown and pulled even with Keith again. He gave me some more encouragement as we chatted for a few seconds. “I’m just going to hang with you” I had mumbled. But I wouldn’t be able to. 5km to go and Keith was gone again. I was in pain like I’ve never experienced before.

In the port-o-pottie lineup I had spoken with a lady who has done 15 marathons. ‘Ohh the second one is the toughest’ she had said to me. ‘You have expectations’. How right she was. I had expected to finish in 3:30, when I’d never run that fast for that far before in my life. Or anything even close to it for that matter. My body had paid a price, and now both groins were even tightening on me. I felt like I was lumbering along on stilts, rather than legs, trying to keep them as straight as possible for bending them just caused cramping. At some points I had to hobble on one leg, trying to keep any kind of decent pace as my hamstrings would interchangeably seize.

Spectators could see I was in pain and just hobbling along. They were shouting words of encouragement. “Keep going 627, almost there! Home stretch!”. I wanted SO BAD to keep going. The problem is my body said no. I had to walk. ‘F***! F***! F***!’ F***ING F***!’

The start of the Burrard Bridge on the way into downtown seized both my hammies to the point of physically being unable to run. I looked up and Keith was completely gone from my sight. F***!

I was devastated and furious with myself that I couldn’t muster something to finish strong. So close to the finish and I had hit the proverbial wall in a big way. I walked for a good minute massaging my hammies and then tried running again. It worked, but I was going painfully slow. Over the bridge, and more seizing, and even more walking, hopping, grunting and swearing. Anything to keep moving forward and get this over with.

I started looking behind me for the 3:40 pace bunny. I’ll be damned if that bozo was going to beat me.

But he was no where to be seen so I kept going best I could. Then I saw the finish line. I took teeny-tiny steps as fast as my stupid legs would move. I knew I started at a least a few minutes behind the 3:30 pace bunny, so I thought I still had a shot at being close to 3:30 on my chip time. As I approached the final stretch, I saw the clock.

3:32 and something seconds.

‘Whoa – maybe I have a hope in hell!’

I ran hard the last 100 meters and ‘sprinted’ the final 10m with every single ounce of whatever was left in me.

I crossed the line, tore my fuel belt off, hobbled to the side and threw myself on the pavement. I tried sitting in a ball but my legs began to seize hard so I just laid on my back. A volunteer came and asked if I was ok. ‘Yes, thanks’ I replied, feeling incredibly dizzy and wondering if I was about to pass out. I tried to roll onto my side but it was too much effort.

After a few minutes, I got to my feet and assured the volunteer I was ok. ‘I just need some water’.

And then something bizarre happened. My eyes welled up with water. ‘What the hell? Am I crying? (Or as Seinfield would have said – ‘What is this salty discharge coming from my eyes?’) Were the handing out estrogen at the aid stations or what? Why the hell am fighting back tears?!’

I can’t remember the last time I cried, and I sure as heck have never cried from joy, exhaustion, and/or relief before in my life, but damn that was weird. I think I was just so completely physically and mentally drained it happened. I couldn’t control it. It was one of the weirdest moments of my life.

Anyways, I told myself to ‘stop being such a pussy, its just a race, and its not like you won the damn thing’, and hobbled over to get my medal and about 20 cups of liquids.

I sought out Keith and shook his hand. ‘Thanks!’ I said. Without him pushing me I would not have come close to 3:30, I’m sure. He asked me how I did, if I met my goals, and all I could say was ‘my goal was 3:30. It’s gonna be close, within a minute over or under I’m sure’.

I got my bag, slowly walked around trying to recoup, eating and drinking as much as I could. I enjoyed the feeling of finishing and knowing I had given myself a shot at 3:30, and was walking around super happy with my result and most of all my effort. ‘Even if I didn’t get 3:30, I’ll be happy’ I thought.

Then, as I was walking to catch the bus home, I got the text from my sister – “Official time is 3:29:56!”

I could not believe it. 5 months of training, all that pain on race day, and I beat my goal by a miniscule 4 seconds! If I hadn’t pushed as hard as I could that final 100m I would have been over time by a few seconds. It was truly an incredible feeling to have reached my goal.

Finally, some things I learned today:

1. Wear a freakin’ hat or sunscreen if its sunny out!
2. The week leading up to an important event, take some Immunity FX or drink tons of OJ or do anything to Not. Get. Sick.
3. Bring $25 cash for a post-race massage.
4. Hard work pays off sometimes.