tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53997235722046572852024-03-05T02:47:39.950-08:00The Road Back to RunningRachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.comBlogger97125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-68571643608396878572021-04-23T05:22:00.001-07:002021-04-23T05:22:11.469-07:0036 months and a lifetimeIt has been a long time since I last posted.<br />
<br />
The reasons are numerous, and in fact, in December 2018 I spent quite a bit of time writing a recap of everything that had happened since the infamous Canberra 50K in April. But that post was somehow swallowed by the internet, which was extremely annoying, and then 2019 was consumed by some major upheavals in my personal life (more about that soon), and of course we all know what 2020 did to the planet, most of which wasn't good at all.<br /><br />So what have I actually been up to then?<br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Back to Canberra</u></b></h3><div><br /></div>To start to explain we need to go back, way back, to my very first Australian marathon. The Canberra Marathon (aka The Australian Running Festival) is held every year in April, and I ran it for the first time in 2011, finishing in 3:12. In 2012 I chose to run Boston, which of course is held every April as well, so it was some years until I made it back to run Canberra again.<div><br /></div><div>Finally in 2019 I was back, running with fellow Wagga speedster Neil, and we paced each other very nicely to finish in 2:55:47 (him) and 2:56:24 (me). My time was good enough for 2nd female and a nice paycheck, resulting in an extremely yummy brunch afterwards for our whole Wagga entourage. It was a very pleasant outcome after the disaster of the previous year's 50K.<div><br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpM9O2dS-By2Xwguk_UxP9lEt7RMzVvB_sj5MZyY-_ZV2zx77OILMB1YiWmF3CjJZjdVgXiD5BDmnlsQcBBjQo7NgICV24yTkSrVqWQeQBwJ1oF-R3EvDqHgrD4SDDCQmUn0jqHENv5Eh-/s2048/ARF19_cheeeeze.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1361" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpM9O2dS-By2Xwguk_UxP9lEt7RMzVvB_sj5MZyY-_ZV2zx77OILMB1YiWmF3CjJZjdVgXiD5BDmnlsQcBBjQo7NgICV24yTkSrVqWQeQBwJ1oF-R3EvDqHgrD4SDDCQmUn0jqHENv5Eh-/w426-h640/ARF19_cheeeeze.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me grinning, Neil eating</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />Then after the Wagga Trail Marathon in August 2019 - probably in no small part due to the new course which eliminated ALL the flat bits and turned it into a ridiculously taxing combination of hills and technical trails - I got injured. I'd been dealing with (mostly by ignoring) high hamstring tendonitis in my left leg for many years, but it got dramatically worse after the Trail. An MRI led to a steroid injection and a very gradual recovery that meant several months of minimal running, which I handled surprisingly well, all things considered.</div><div><br />In early 2020 I was ready to start back at proper marathon training, but a few major things had changed.<br /><br />The simplest part to explain is that I've just gotten older. My twin brother and I celebrated our 50th birthday in grand style in early 2020 by going heliskiing together in Canada, arriving back just as COVID-19 exploded into our lives. I had never really thought that "getting old" would slow me down, but it's not by chance that you generally don't see runners in their fifties on the podium at major races. This is a fact that, as it turns out, seems to apply to me just as much as it does to the general population. Unfortunately.</div><div><br /></div><div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAW5XtU91-zm8ggFKd0ua3W2EG7YJdOMngIESm6jWxENaJgS6Vpq1yhnQJZkkP9bJxRaGeEMDKV2k3FjVMuhR3YoLp68tUV4aUGe3kRGMTqh1GKWy9oBBrMefF8yN0z8Jo_Q3hZXDzEiZE/s2048/R%2526R.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAW5XtU91-zm8ggFKd0ua3W2EG7YJdOMngIESm6jWxENaJgS6Vpq1yhnQJZkkP9bJxRaGeEMDKV2k3FjVMuhR3YoLp68tUV4aUGe3kRGMTqh1GKWy9oBBrMefF8yN0z8Jo_Q3hZXDzEiZE/w640-h480/R%2526R.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was definitely worth getting older for, though.</td></tr></tbody></table><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></h3><div>Nevertheless, I had paid for my entry to Canberra 2020, printed out a Pfitzinger training plan and was well into it (with a planned break for skiing, of course) when the event was cancelled by the pandemic. Actually, it wasn't cancelled, just postponed, but we all know how that turned out. Like every other semi-competitive marathon runner on the planet I was suddenly adrift, without an upcoming goal race (or three) for the first time in a decade. </div><div><br /></div><div>When an email landed in my inbox on the 9th of February, 2021, informing me that my entry to Canberra's rebooted marathon festival in early April had been approved, I was mildly surprised. This gave me exactly 8 weeks to train and I hadn't done a long run over 15 miles (24km) in probably 9 months. And I didn't even remember agreeing to roll my entry over for the 2021 race! I used to be perpetually race-ready, but thanks to the COVID racing hiatus, those days were (and are) now long gone. I was left wondering how much my new age group might affect my running and ultimately my ability to race again after such a long time.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Running and ageing</u></b></h3><div><br /></div>
Running has been shown to actually slow down the ageing process. But the ageing process also slows down running, in more than one way:<br />
<br />
* decreased maximal heart rate<br />
* lower stroke volume (meaning less cardiac output for a given heart rate)<br />
* decreased VO2 max (oxygen uptake, and therefore delivery to muscles)<br />
* smaller and fewer mitochondria in muscle tissue (less energy production)<br />
* decreased muscle mass<br />
* various hormonal changes that don't help at all<br />
<br /><br />
In my experience, things started to feel different after I turned 47. </div><div><br /></div><div>In 2016, aged 46, I ran two races that were close to my all-time PRs: the <a href="https://runnerrachel.blogspot.com/2016/05/smh-half-marathon-may-2016.html" target="_blank">SMH half in May</a> and the Gold Coast marathon in July. I was quite surprised to find myself finishing the half just seconds off my best, on a much more difficult course.</div><div><br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1:21:43 half marathon at age 46?<br />
I can't believe it either</td></tr>
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<div><br /></div><div><br />The result at Gold Coast was actually a course record for me, even more amazing given that my first run there was in 2012 at the age of 42. I finished just before Aussie running legend Steve Moneghetti, who bopped me on the head in congratulations as I stood there in shock at my finish time. I think as 2017 began I had the idea that I would go on like this forever. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2:49:13 deserves a hug from Mona!</td></tr>
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</div><div><br /></div><div>I was, of course, very wrong.<br />
<br />At the start, 2017 was going pretty well - <a href="https://runnerrachel.blogspot.com/2017/05/boston-marathon-april-2017.html" target="_blank">I won my age group in Boston</a>! - but towards the end it became apparent that I wasn't getting the same results from doing the same training that I'd always done.</div><br /><div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwZ2XJpbUhfvZQNh5_-4_2vxgbEozyZnDIh0ZS3hw9vefx3l5Wtj0I3R0IaP7BIG4qJWClR1zosc5WTfo3Lc6_4q-iWa6fOkv2n89UXmox0bM4pPTs3ek543bFE65BL_XtV_rh0vtNtrx/s960/All+Photos+-+1+of+1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwZ2XJpbUhfvZQNh5_-4_2vxgbEozyZnDIh0ZS3hw9vefx3l5Wtj0I3R0IaP7BIG4qJWClR1zosc5WTfo3Lc6_4q-iWa6fOkv2n89UXmox0bM4pPTs3ek543bFE65BL_XtV_rh0vtNtrx/w480-h640/All+Photos+-+1+of+1.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boston 2017 with my Canadian friend Paula, who I ran with in NYC 2014</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />
2018 started with the Cadbury marathon, where I was a bit surprised not to be able to run faster than the 2:57:20 that got me 3rd place overall. In late February <a href="https://runnerrachel.blogspot.com/2018/04/tokyo-marathon-february-2018.html" target="_blank">I ran Tokyo</a> - one of the world's flattest and fastest marathons, or so everyone says - but struggled both mentally and physically, still managing a fairly evenly-split performance but some 6 minutes slower than my personal best time. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8W0zZWtKAtI6FFwJiDXPQEcmN3Wudjg14Dpn2JaoJz3go7jcKekhjmWwzac9ehBo5oNp-UGn8jaEC4o-Dri9SXu4wqK8O2gQV4j1N94xXqLLEQ_IBLtDgXGc1WRoZXQpZka8KQvnMQu-h/s2613/TokyofinishCollage.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="2613" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8W0zZWtKAtI6FFwJiDXPQEcmN3Wudjg14Dpn2JaoJz3go7jcKekhjmWwzac9ehBo5oNp-UGn8jaEC4o-Dri9SXu4wqK8O2gQV4j1N94xXqLLEQ_IBLtDgXGc1WRoZXQpZka8KQvnMQu-h/w640-h294/TokyofinishCollage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suffering through it and very happy to be done</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://nerrachel.blogspot.com/2018/04/when-it-all-goes-terribly-wrong.html" target="_blank">The total debacle that followed in April in Canberra</a>, where the most monumental stuff-up of my running career took place, probably contributed to the malaise that set in during the rest of the year: I was still running, but the motivation to write and post about it definitely just wasn't there anymore. And on a mental health note, a lot of other stuff was also going on, which meant that running had become less of a pleasure and more a tool for managing the overwhelming anxiety and stress that had found its way into my life.<br />
<br /><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>Running and the brain</u></h3><div><br /></div>I have no doubt whatsoever that a large part of success in running - indeed, racing - marathons is a mental thing. Articles will tell you that "running is <a href="https://www.realbuzz.com/articles-interests/running/article/the-psychology-of-running/" target="_blank">90% mental, 10% physical</a>", but I tend to think that if you've only done 10% of the training for a marathon, no amount of positive thinking is going to get you across the finish line in one piece. But without quibbling about numbers, assuming a certain level of training, the mental percentage is definitely an extremely important one. Especially at the 35km/22 mile mark of a marathon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mental toughness is what saves you when your body taps your brain politely on the shoulder and says "I think we should stop now." It's what keeps you going when all you can think of are very compelling reasons to slow down, preferably now. And it will save your bacon when your legs abandon good manners and start screaming at your brain to "Stop now, stop now, stop JUST BLOODY STOP RIGHT BLOODY NOW!!!" </div><div><br /></div><div>I ran my personal best marathon time in Boston in 2014, the year after the bombings, when everyone in the entire city was massively pumped up in the way only Americans can get pumped up after a tragedy. I was averaging just under 4 minutes per km, which is 6:26 min/mile pace. Around mile 16 I started thinking that I really wasn't enjoying this much, and I rather wanted to stop running. But I'd been passing amputee runners who brought to mind the 17 people who had lost limbs the previous year, not to mention the 3 who had died, and a voice said firmly in my head "This is Boston. You are Boston Strong and you do NOT give up in Boston" so I kept running.</div><div><br /></div><div>Somewhat further on I really REALLY wanted to stop, so I played the "two more miles then you can just jog" game until there was only one mile to go. Ultimately, every single second of my 66 second improvement on the previous year was due to not slowing down in the second half - and to ignoring the increasing desire of my body to stop. I might have trained a bit harder and been a tiny bit fitter, but the major difference was my mental fortitude.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqkiUScAQUi6t9MRmRX-OtO-uBgEChxeWPPZXlIRX9VahdhU6F9aFddrUcMyqdGFYelZPoWGD52obI83bke0hQV2nsrTuhb5UcJY1qHDGU89wNOhc6TCn5iuFBndBwpiBXf_dF_ghE25G/s2048/761561-1187-0028s.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1353" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqkiUScAQUi6t9MRmRX-OtO-uBgEChxeWPPZXlIRX9VahdhU6F9aFddrUcMyqdGFYelZPoWGD52obI83bke0hQV2nsrTuhb5UcJY1qHDGU89wNOhc6TCn5iuFBndBwpiBXf_dF_ghE25G/w422-h640/761561-1187-0028s.jpg" width="422" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please make it stop</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But in the same way that positive thinking, colonic irrigation and kale juice don't stack up against chemotherapy as effective treatments for cancer, mental strength is no match for Father Time.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b><u>When the End is Beginning</u></b></h3><div><br /></div><div>For all competitive runners, a time comes when your best is behind you. PRs are no longer breakable. Times that were once almost easy are now out of reach. The drive to achieve and better previous results....it just evaporates. So what is the motivation to keep going?<br /><br />For me, running has always been about two main things: competition, and sanity.</div><div><br /></div><div>I started running in my final year of medical school, wanting to get fitter and lose the "I'm bored/I must be hungry" weight that had crept on during years of study. I kept running because I found, somewhat to my surprise, that I was pretty good at it, and because I'm a competitive sort of person who wants to be the best at things.</div><div><br /></div><div>I kept running for my sanity through the crazy-busy years I was working as a junior doctor, then the exhausting, sleepless years of baby-wrangling, and then for the sake of competition from 2012, when I started to realise my potential and enjoy some success with it. Running was an invaluable stress-release: a piece of time that was mine each day, no matter the demands of work/children/life.</div><div><br /></div><div>It became more important in difficult times, of course. Running brought many new friends and people into my life, and it held me together when, during the second half of 2018, I came to realise that the marriage I hoped would be my fairytale had somehow become a nightmare. As long as I kept running I could feel that I was succeeding at least at something, while despite all my efforts it seemed I was failing at my relationship.</div><div><br /></div><div>My injury in late 2019 brought a sudden clarity (well, that and some other stuff that finally helped me see my now ex-partner for the abusive alcoholic that he actually was, and would always be) and even without running I was able to find the courage to make the changes I had to make.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Things can be different. What a revelation...</u></b></h3><div><br /></div><div>In 2020, I found that I no longer had to obsessively count the miles I had run each week. Without a goal race to put the pressure on me, I happily kept running every day but no longer felt compelled to complete a long run every weekend. Emerging from the emotional war zone I'd unwittingly inhabited for so long, my stress levels were dramatically lower and I was even able to - gasp - take a day off here and there, without my brain imploding from anxiety. </div><div><br /></div><div>No longer spending my life constantly on edge, I found that I could enjoy other pursuits and fill in spare time in ways that didn't involve logging miles upon miles. This had a visible effect on my weekly mileage, of course - for a long time I had almost never dropped below 80 miles (128km) per week, but now I was doing it regularly - and what's more, I found myself not even really caring. It was like I'd been holding my breath for years and had suddenly found the space to exhale.</div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't get interested in virtual racing (a contradiction in terms if ever there was one) so the whole of 2020 passed by with only a handful of runs longer than 2 hours. I just wasn't that motivated, and there was really no need. I had come to realise that I had been using running to manage the severe and constant anxiety that comes from living in an abusive relationship, and with that relationship over, I just didn't need to keep running so much.</div><div>
<br />Don't get me wrong, it was beyond strange to suddenly have no races at all on the horizon - and slightly annoying, given that I'd only just aged into a whole new age group - but it was also sort of nice. I've been very fortunate to have achieved more than I ever dreamed would be possible in my competitive running career, but it didn't come without a lot of dedication and effort, logging up to 12 hours per week of running, week after week for months and years on end. The pandemic racing shutdown gave me a convenient excuse, a reason to allow myself to slow down and enjoy life in a way that I hadn't for a long time. It was definitely sort of nice.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Canberra Marathon 2021</u></b></h3></div><div><br /></div><div>As I said above, through all my years of active marathoning from 2011 until 2019 (other than during rare times of injury) I was pretty much ready to race a marathon most of the time. All it took usually was about 4-6 weeks of sharpening - some marathon-pace miles in the midst of a long run, maybe a few higher mileage weeks - and a short taper and I could quite easily run a sub-3 hour marathon. </div><div><br /></div><div>Of my 34 marathons finishing with Canberra 2019, 20 of them were sub-3, and I suppose my thought process upon reading the email informing me I'd be running in Canberra so soon went something like "Well, 8 weeks has been enough to get ready before, so it should be ok this time, right?" Right!</div><div><br /></div><div>A small voice in the more rational part of my consciousness had its doubts, of course, and piped up mentioning the crucial 2 years of age I'd added to my tally since my last road marathon. Not to mention my radically more relaxed approach to pandemic running. But really, sub-3 had never seemed unreachable in the past, so what could possibly go wrong?<br /><br />Plenty, it seems. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wasn't encouraged by my only attempt at marathon pace during the abbreviated training cycle I completed in February and March. 3-hour pace felt way too hard, and definitely not something I could envisage maintaining for that long. And my Saturday morning ParkRun efforts were similarly underwhelming - the effort level that would have guaranteed a sub-20 minute 5km now reliably got me something around a minute slower.</div><div><br /></div><div>But hope springs eternal, and dragging out my magic Zoomfly 4% Nike shoes a week before race day had me feeling like maybe there was some spring left in the old legs yet. I set off for Canberra with the whole gang in tow and feeling that I had maybe a 50/50 chance of sub-3.</div><div><br /></div><div>How wrong I was!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzI_Vb8EKFNkXS_NFtIKprXRYTUzHTm6sNR_WBhHJd2yfPozGZrMdeODddfPP0TVJ9CN8E38ycZzcs7UNSWAQ3WuFIZ4mSw9chQTjmo_oPsRdsw3H89uPZAbW1BFgSWz0H_z-FRssCdXd/s2048/CTMA0298-original.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzI_Vb8EKFNkXS_NFtIKprXRYTUzHTm6sNR_WBhHJd2yfPozGZrMdeODddfPP0TVJ9CN8E38ycZzcs7UNSWAQ3WuFIZ4mSw9chQTjmo_oPsRdsw3H89uPZAbW1BFgSWz0H_z-FRssCdXd/w426-h640/CTMA0298-original.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">watching the 3-hour pace group disappear ahead of me</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Within 5 minutes after the gun went off, I knew sub-3 was not happening today. I was running close to goal pace but it didn't feel sustainable, and in any case there were already 10 women (possibly more) ahead of me by the 2km mark, so I had no reason to really push myself anyway. Then, a largeish group of runners approached from behind, two of them discussing their pace in a way that made me certain they were leading a group with the goal of breaking 3 hours. </div><div><br /></div><div>I watched as they eased past me and steadily opened up a gap. I could have given chase - later I spotted my British expat running friend Jo (of <a href="https://runnerrachel.blogspot.com/2017/10/fuxian-lake-highland-50k-china.html" target="_blank">Fuxian Lake</a> fame, 3rd in the 100km there) at the front of the group, so I would have had familiar company too - but I didn't even bother trying to keep up. My brain had made its decision that sub-3 was a no-go, and my body was more than happy to comply.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've written before about how mental self-talk plays a role in marathoning, and how, as soon as you start telling yourself "I can't do this", it can start to become reality. My doubts about my age and lack of proper training had been whispers before; now they were chanting loudly in my ear and I wasn't ignoring them anymore. By the time I hit the notorious headwind during the undulating out-and-back section of the race from 28-35km, I had no arguments left as to why I shouldn't slow down now, and so I did.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtqfa8XF86o7CIPqaf4tBM0RUl9ssz29hNuAGaCPLhh61LikMkwaNzJby-Y_jE3DnAIH8WxadQfSa7p1ALo-QHM9yWqsiUVEAGzj5f7FFhQCeI8iZjIRrVSpJbJQA2p4uKTP57N5YXUCM/s1936/Screen+Shot+2021-04-17+at+8.32.27+pm.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1048" data-original-width="1936" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtqfa8XF86o7CIPqaf4tBM0RUl9ssz29hNuAGaCPLhh61LikMkwaNzJby-Y_jE3DnAIH8WxadQfSa7p1ALo-QHM9yWqsiUVEAGzj5f7FFhQCeI8iZjIRrVSpJbJQA2p4uKTP57N5YXUCM/w640-h346/Screen+Shot+2021-04-17+at+8.32.27+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behold the graceful slide</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>In the end I did beat my 2011 time, although not by much: I managed to finish in 3:08:04, which looks respectable until you consider that I went through halfway in about 1:31:30 and therefore ran a 5 minute positive split, my worst in a road marathon for quite some time.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYvrqqbtY3Yls4gu8hlMpt9yjfAmLyDKGcwtDVF-EFbRoaWzTejJxQv3JqcdTOAJmK4YViTbdXsVsCs57bUCHh0cpmhdyd5565rONulUL3OFPaduvFu0AHY1o-CiqWM4Old4kra2TN5Q9/s2048/CTAC3916-original.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYvrqqbtY3Yls4gu8hlMpt9yjfAmLyDKGcwtDVF-EFbRoaWzTejJxQv3JqcdTOAJmK4YViTbdXsVsCs57bUCHh0cpmhdyd5565rONulUL3OFPaduvFu0AHY1o-CiqWM4Old4kra2TN5Q9/w426-h640/CTAC3916-original.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Done, like a dinner</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Ok, what on earth was that?</u></b></h3></div><div><br /></div><div>It would be hard to say what exactly was the main factor behind what is probably best described as an epic FAIL for me. </div><div><br /></div><div>The COVID shutdown, coming on the back of an injury layoff, was no doubt a huge contributor. My significantly reduced training mileage, plus being on the wrong side of 50 now, also definitely played a part. But how much of it was mental? How much was because, maybe deep down and even on an only partially-conscious level, I just knew it wasn't possible after all? </div><div><br /></div><div>Or was it because I really don't care that much anymore? Perhaps because I no longer need to prove myself? Maybe I've become less obsessive and more relaxed in my old age! Was that a pig I just saw flying past the window?</div><div><br /></div><div>Undoubtedly it is disappointing to be facing the reality that my best running years are now behind me. Podiums and paycheques are things of the past that are probably not going to be coming my way often, if at all any more. On the other hand, I'm definitely not dead yet!</div><div><br /></div><div>And the best bit is that now I can enjoy my family. I can enjoy my work and my holidays and not walk around on eggshells all the time, waiting for the next tantrum to happen for no reason at all. And I have a wonderful new partner who is supportive and understanding, caring and kind, the sort of person I've always wanted by my side in life.</div><div><br />So maybe I'll retire from racing now, and find another motivation to keep me interested, or maybe I'll start training my butt off again and surprise even myself! Who knows? </div><div>The possibilities, as they say, are endless.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XX_q3Z8hh3a4Nw206CVtc4NAAB9IdbBf_gifKDnIsSsBq5jLoKwILpyuyNSkinRGqG6tyz_Umd7rAmT96bpBq5OjMlkI5GAV66xHDuVC8a1oy4KVJqUK_7gwqvdiYrN37ZFFm3H37-sR/s300/download.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XX_q3Z8hh3a4Nw206CVtc4NAAB9IdbBf_gifKDnIsSsBq5jLoKwILpyuyNSkinRGqG6tyz_Umd7rAmT96bpBq5OjMlkI5GAV66xHDuVC8a1oy4KVJqUK_7gwqvdiYrN37ZFFm3H37-sR/w640-h358/download.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-76102065062071671032018-04-29T03:24:00.003-07:002018-04-29T04:30:11.365-07:00When It All Goes Terribly Wrong - Canberra 50K, April 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqBhg7rIofksAOrdzQOmfzRE2gPIAwg2dwRhJggWzrMkxi-R391k455-gVh5OawrqwOuPvJaxAGpLAVv2T1UrVSy2mebPFglC9ap9DvQQLe1iQfVOTmYRunA7sn0j055J7WyiftSFWa11/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="138" data-original-width="364" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqBhg7rIofksAOrdzQOmfzRE2gPIAwg2dwRhJggWzrMkxi-R391k455-gVh5OawrqwOuPvJaxAGpLAVv2T1UrVSy2mebPFglC9ap9DvQQLe1iQfVOTmYRunA7sn0j055J7WyiftSFWa11/s400/download.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Canberra is our national capital and a very confusing city indeed. When I was a child we used to drive through it on our way to the snowfields every year, usually becoming lost as a result, and the tradition continued when I started driving there myself as a young adult. It was only after spending 6 months living and working in Canberra in 2005 that I managed to develop enough of a feel for the city that I wasn't constantly finding myself going in circles or hopelessly lost. And considering my excellent sense of direction, that's really significant.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2011/04/canberra-marathon-april-2011.html" target="_blank">In 2011 I ran the Canberra marathon</a> for my second attempt at the distance, but since it is generally held on the same weekend as Boston, I haven't been back since. This year, having decided to take a break from Beantown, it made sense to return to Canberra. Back 7 years ago they already had the 50K event but it wasn't terribly popular: you had to run the marathon, cross the finish line and then continue for another 8 kilometers.<br />
<br />
At the time all I could think was, seriously? Who would make the decision to keep going after they'd just finished?? It's bad enough in races like Gold Coast where you have to go past the finish chute with another 10km to run, I couldn't imagine how psychologically tough it would be run to that far and cross a finish line but not be done.<br />
<br />
Clearly the organisers figured this out at some point, and changed the arrangements so the 50K would start before and then merge with the marathon. Even though the announcement was made prior to race day that there would not be a World Championship event for the 50K distance in 2018, I figured I'd still run the longer event; my main motivation was the chance of winning the National Championship title, although if I'd bothered to look at the prize money for the marathon I probably would have dropped down.<br />
<br />
In any case, I hadn't done a lot of running since Tokyo but I figured my endurance would still be pretty good, so I wasn't worried about major mishaps when I set off after working Saturday morning in Wagga. I managed to arrive in time to pick up my bib (amidst a squally, rainy Canberra afternoon), had a lovely catch-up for coffee with my friend Catherine, and then settled in to my very reasonable Queanbeyan accommodation for pizza and an early night. I didn't bother studying the rather-complicated course map in detail, because why would I? In a major city road race, a National Championship race no less, what could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBwdPDcGGdX-aDWgzrsCbKMxMRmpf7hvQlJfr931SW5dkyLVdxSDb5-IqpTppNuOxeIRgWzBprUqpFA3N2BdlcOqtiKhlPrYsNFglwNO70tkSplS53Ny1LGela6ndHfkbNLXvD1eMmRMo/s1600/7861_ARF-2018_-UltraMarathon_V5_AltCol_RGB%252B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1500" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBwdPDcGGdX-aDWgzrsCbKMxMRmpf7hvQlJfr931SW5dkyLVdxSDb5-IqpTppNuOxeIRgWzBprUqpFA3N2BdlcOqtiKhlPrYsNFglwNO70tkSplS53Ny1LGela6ndHfkbNLXvD1eMmRMo/s640/7861_ARF-2018_-UltraMarathon_V5_AltCol_RGB%252B%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">There are a lot of numbers on there and the order appears somewhat random, but I'm sure it will make sense on the day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Day</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
4am isn't the most pleasant of times to wake up, and it's probably closer to 4:30 when I make it out of bed to get dressed, but it's a short, easy 10-15 minute drive to the start area and I sort of know already where I'm going to park. The rain has stopped but wind is still howling outside - this is a potential problem, although at least it's not going to be in my face the whole way as in Boston 2015 or New York 2014 - and it's chilly enough that I decide to wear a t-shirt rather than my usual singlet for racing.<br />
<br />
I make it to the Elite tent shortly after 5:15am and time flies by, to the extent that suddenly there are only 5 minutes to go and I have to rush out in a panic to the start line. I realise halfway there that I've forgotten one of my gels, and in any case I only had enough for a marathon rather than a 50K (I have no idea why), but whatever: I need to get to the start! There's time enough there to wave to a few friends who are waiting to start the marathon, shed my jacket into the hands of a helpful volunteer, bounce up and down for a bit and then wheeee! Off I go on my 5th attempt at the 50K distance.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The First Part, aka Ignorance is Bliss.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It's still sort of a bit dark as we zoom off around the corner and pretty much directly up the only major hill and around the back of Parliament House. The lead pack of 3 (Vlad Shatrov, Brendan Davies and Barry Keem) quickly gaps the rest of us and by the second mile they and their bike escort are out of sight. I still have about 4-5 male runners visible ahead of me at this point, and am settling into a steady pace that is right around my goal of maybe-just-a-bit-slower-than-3-hour-marathon-pace, roughly 6:55 min/mile or 4:18 min/km. It feels comfortable and perhaps I'm going just a bit faster as we come down the hill again, but I know I'll find my sweet spot soon and so I'm not too worried.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">About 1 mile in, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In fact, my brain is more occupied trying to figure out if the person 2 places ahead of me is a man (which I suspect) or a woman (doubtful but it's keeping my mind busy) - I'm just churning my legs and paying precious little attention to what's happening around me. We're following the usual circuitous path that road races seem to take in Canberra; it's familiar territory from all the times I've run in this area and I'm just happy to be out in what has turned out to be decent (if very windy) running weather today.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhY9NJFw3F25M3sMT2fvBYG4-U1hi5awxgvXbUcg2WuL_ThGMfFlBGLeEBPiahTOQ2SN-5Wbq3_zCB1_t2UdEWmQGTHScrn6byRUZH-rYvUPU6S2fCSug1-873m_LfwN9uMrmzkBeoeH-/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-04-21+at+8.43.41+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="508" height="566" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhY9NJFw3F25M3sMT2fvBYG4-U1hi5awxgvXbUcg2WuL_ThGMfFlBGLeEBPiahTOQ2SN-5Wbq3_zCB1_t2UdEWmQGTHScrn6byRUZH-rYvUPU6S2fCSug1-873m_LfwN9uMrmzkBeoeH-/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-04-21+at+8.43.41+pm.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The Strava map above shows mile 3 in blue; we curl around under the bridge, the guys ahead of me peel one by one off to the left and I follow like the lemming that I am. Up and around we go towards the bridge across Lake Burley-Griffin. There's a red 5K banner right at the correct spot - I check my watch and it reads 21:30, which is reasonable I suppose. Heading across the bridge there are traffic guys putting out orange cones, which seems a bit late, and my friend Kelly jogging across in the opposite direction. We wave and greet each other enthusiastically, then she's gone. I refocus on the boys ahead and we zip down past a few race officials off the bridge and through the tunnel on Parkes Way.<br />
<br />
I remember this part from late in the marathon when I ran it in 2011, and also from late in the half when <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2016/04/canberra-half-marathon-april-2016.html" target="_blank">I ran it in 2016 (foolishly)</a>, and it seems weird that we're headed out this way already but I know they've changed the course so whatever, it must be right. The guys ahead of me are still going so I just keep running, but after another 5 minutes, what's this? Men are running back the other way and they're not the lead pack: they're the chase pack. Huh?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>It All Goes Horribly Wrong</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Suddenly a car appears, driving at speed past me on the other side of the road, with lights flashing and people waving out the windows. The guys who were heading back have passed me, the rest who were out in front of me have turned around; someone yells "Turn! We're going the wrong way!"<br />
<br />
Every brain cell I possess jumps to attention and screams "WHAT??" This cannot be happening! The wrong way?? But it is. I turn on my heel and give chase to the guys who are now only just ahead of me: one of them is wearing a strange red singlet with holes in it (purpose: ventilation? or perhaps to avoid chafing?) and stripey tights, another has a bright blue shirt.<br />
<br />
"But I was in the lead!" I yell at the driver of the car, which has just done a U-turn and come up behind us. I was, but clearly I won't be by the time I make it back to wherever we have gone wrong.<br />
<br />
Back we go across the bridge, fuming and complaining and trying to figure out how on earth this could possibly be put right; one of the people who turned us around was insisting that it would be corrected later somehow, but realistically I know how unlikely this is. By the time Stripey Holey Guy and I have made it back to where we diverged from the correct course, my watch reads over 6 miles, or 10km. Checking with him confirms it: we seem to have added at least 5-6km to the course.<br />
<br />
Comically, at this point there's a red flag that says "10km" and I have a moment of disbelieving hope: perhaps this really is going to be fixed somehow? But as we run onwards, runners are now appearing, heading in the other direction on the other side of the road and I watch the two women who were behind me at the start make their way onwards, well ahead of me.<br />
<br />
In fact, I'm now at the VERY BACK of the 50K field, it seems. As the course turns I am passing the slowest runners - all of whom are very encouraging, which is lovely but does little to settle my churning mind. Here I am at the very tail end of the pack when I SHOULD BE IN THE LEAD! Grrrrrr. The guy in the blue shirt pats me on the back and says "Calm down, just run your race", and of course I know he's right. Freaking out won't help, but come on, how could this have happened? In a national championship race!?<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Making my feelings quite clear</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>It has happened before</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
So what happens when runners go off-course in a race? It has all happened before, of course, and what I remember from those instances doesn't give me much reassurance.<br />
<br />
In the Venice marathon last October, <a href="https://nypost.com/2017/10/24/runner-wins-marathon-because-top-competitors-took-wrong-turn/" target="_blank">a relative unknown won the entire thing</a> after the course leaders were taken off-course by one of the motorcycle guides. Not long before that, the top 5 runners in the Kassel marathon in <a href="https://www.thelocal.de/20171005/accidental-detour-means-disqualification-for-top-five-marathon-runners" target="_blank">Germany were led astray by the timing car</a>, which resulted in their disqualification from the race. And way back in 1994 at the New York marathon, a Mexican runner in contention for the win <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epUC3aN6ouw" target="_blank">took a wrong turn in Central Park</a> and looked sure to have lost the race, only to claw his way back to victory in a thrilling sprint finish.<br />
<br />
So what does this all mean for me? I'm fairly certain that no matter what happens, the overall win is out of reach. I could - and do intend to - make an official protest about the lack of signage and direction that led to this debacle. Several of the guys who were ahead of me have now more or less given up and I've caught them, and we've chatted a bit as we've run together. All of them say they'll support me and testify to the fact that I ran all of the extra distance that they did.<br />
<br />
These thoughts give me a degree of comfort, but nothing will change the fact that, barring something bizarre happening, another woman is going to be breaking the finish line tape today instead of me. Disbelief is giving way to dismay: I need to stop thinking about yelling at race officials at the finish and consider what on earth I'm going to do RIGHT NOW.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Options</b><br />
<br />
<i>1. Give up and jog.</i><br />
Yeah, that's not going to happen. I didn't come all this way just for an extra-extra-long training run, and I'm not interested in spending any more time running today than I actually have to.<br />
<br />
<i>2. Run hard to the 50km mark then stop.</i><br />
Tempting, but no. I will end up with my first DNF if I fail to cross the actual finish line, no matter what my justification.<br />
<br />
<i>3. Cut the course to make it correct, or as near as I can manage.</i><br />
Wow, also tempting, but again, against the rules. I hadn't even thought about timing mats or whether there will be any out here today (yes there will) but being caught cutting the course will mean an automatic DQ. And people will probably see me, and that will be really bad because they'll think I am cheating - nobody other than me, the guys I ran off-course with and a few people I have yelled at about it, knows that I have run so much further than I should have; they'll just think I'm cheating - so this option is also a definite NO.<br />
<br />
<i>4. Suck it up and just run the 56km already.</i><br />
Sigh. Ok, I guess I really don't have a choice in the matter now.<br />
<br />
What's more, my best chance of convincing the officials that I really *should* have won will be to run the entire way just as fast as I possibly can. I could run hard to 50K and then jog, but that will just look like a massive late-race bonk, so I guess that's not going to happen either.<br />
<br />
My challenge now is to pick a pace that I think I can sustain not just to the 50km mark, but 6km beyond it. Actually, that's the easy part; the bigger challenge is what's going on inside my head.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Change your thinking</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Anyone who reads this blog knows that I'm a GP and possibly also that I do a lot of work in mental health. I spend a significant amount of time every week trying to teach patients to calm down and learn to manage their negative emotions when these (inevitably) occur. That may sound boring and trite, but the big positive benefit for me has been that I've pretty much had to learn to practice what I preach.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2018/04/tokyo-marathon-february-2018.html" target="_blank">In Tokyo recently I</a> struggled the whole way through the marathon with an inexplicably negative mindset, and today goodness knows I've got an excellent excuse for feeling really, really PISSED OFF, but somehow it doesn't matter. I want to enjoy my run today - even if I'm not going to win - and I want to prove to myself that I can cope in difficult circumstances, so I set about doing so in no uncertain terms. I'm still really annoyed at what has happened, but I'm able to put that feeling to the side and focus on holding my pace. Negative thoughts are swirling around in my head but I pay no attention and eventually they evaporate, and it feels really, really good to be able to do this.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Might as well enjoy myself a bit</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>A Very Long Race</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I spend the next 3+ hours basically overtaking people.<br />
<br />
First there's the tail end of the 50K field, then I realise that I'm coming up on the back of the marathon field. I catch the 5:30 pace group, then the 5:00, the 4:45 and the 4:30 groups. It becomes an incentive, drawing me forwards - how many will I catch? Can I figure out which one I should be finishing closest to? (Short answer: no, my mental arithmetic sucks during races, so I can't. But I think it might be the 3:45 pace group. Maybe.)<br />
<br />
There are quite a few Wagga runners in the marathon and I get to greet a number of them as I plough past at a decent clip. I hit what my Garmin tells me is the half marathon mark: <i>1:30:34. </i>That's a bit faster than I should be going, although not at all far off what I had hoped for.<br />
<br />
Eventually I'm back on the infamous part of the course where it all came unstuck before; this time I've run almost 24 miles, not just 3. My legs are not very happy. The wind is howling from the left hand side and the long out-and-back where I got turned around earlier is going to be hideous; it's a full-on gale headwind that almost stops me in my tracks.<br />
<br />
The marathon mark comes as I'm having <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2014/11/new-york-city-marathon-november-2014.html" target="_blank">flashbacks to NYC 2014</a>: <i>3:03:15. </i><br />
Ok, I'm slowing down, and what's more, I really don't care. Not in an angry, screw-this-crap sort of a way, it just doesn't bother me. So much has already gone wrong with this race that I'm not about to let a mere headwind upset me, although I'm certainly not about to enjoy it either.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Whose idea was this anyway? Mine? I hate myself.</td></tr>
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<br />
The wind is ridiculous and miles 26-29 are my slowest of the race so far. I'm sort of trying to figure out in my head how far the marathoners have run already - I've just seen Luke, who is running his first marathon and seems to be ahead of the 3:30 pace group - while also trying not to think of anything at all. Finally the turn comes and at least there's a decent tailwind now; it pushes me along and I manage to pick up a bit of speed again.<br />
<br />
Trudging back along towards the Kings Avenue bridge, I'd sort of like to be done now, thanks, but I know I still have quite a long way to run. I'm surprisingly not too upset about this - perhaps my entire brain has just gone numb, who knows? - so I put my head down and keep going. Eventually we're back over the bridge and heading out on yet another long out-and-back. As I circle back and pass beneath the bridge my Garmin hits 50km, or 31 miles, and I note the time: <i>3:39:45</i>. That's about what I was expecting and aiming for, so that's great! Next challenge: not hitting the wall somewhere in the next 6km. Game on.<br />
<br />
Another out and back affords me the opportunity to see Larissa, whom I know vaguely from other races and who is in the lead, which is sort of what I expected. It's sort of depressing to see her sailing along and know that things have gone so horribly wrong for me, but it's close enough to the finish now that I just want to be done. And finally I am: the finish line appears and, amidst a throng of marathoners and slower half marathoners, I cross the line to very little fanfare.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Wait, where's the tape? <grimaces></td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>4:09:09<br />
<br />
<b>Distance on watch: </b>34.99 miles / 56.31km<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>3rd female, 12th overall.<br />
<br />
<br />
Someone comes up to put a lanyard and medal around my neck - I've still managed to place, but 3rd instead of 1st - and I urgently blurt out "We went off-course! I should have won!"<br />
<br />
The official person knows about this and reassures me it is being looked into, and someone will come to the elite tent to talk to me soon. So I head back there and find Larissa and Karen, the two women who were behind and then in front of me. It turns out they went across the bridge too, but were corrected much sooner than I was: they only ran an extra 3km to my extra 6.3km. Lucky them!<br />
<br />
They're both very generous and kind about it all, and the officials from ARF and AURA are both in agreement that I should have won, but nothing can be decided right now. Therefore, the unpleasant result for the three of us is that the presentation has to be cancelled while the whole thing is reviewed. So I head off for a delicious, very late breakfast in a bit of a grumpy mood, wondering why I don't seem to be able to get race distances right in the ACT (<a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2018/01/stromlo-lightning-strike-50k-november.html" target="_blank">see also Stromlo, 2017</a>).<br />
<br />
The unofficial results on the ARF app show splits from the timing mats, and they prove what I already know: although it took me just on an hour to reach the first one, after I finally got back on course, I ran from that one to the finish line faster than any other woman in the race. I took 3 hours and 4 minutes to cover the distance; Larissa took 3:08 and Karen took 3:12. I definitely showed that I was capable of winning, but rules are rules, and I'm fairly certain I won't be judged the winner once all is said and done.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Final Outcome</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The Australian Running Festival and AURA both contacted me on Thursday after the race, and I have to say I was impressed with their responsiveness and desire to help. Although I was undoubtedly one of the worst-affected (none of the men who went off course were in a position to place overall but I certainly was), many others had been hoping to use the race as a qualifier - particular for Comrades - and so a great deal of effort was put into making sure these runners were not adversely impacted.<br />
<br />
For myself, there's no 50K Worlds this year so I don't really need a qualifier, but I was humbled and gratified that both organisations chose to recognise my effort appropriately, and Larissa and I were co-awarded the title of 50km National Champion.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Looking at the results, there is a gap of just under 36 minutes between the 3rd and 4th finishers, in contrast to previous years when it would have been more like maybe 8-10 minutes. The pointy end of the field in this race got decimated by the unfortunate lack of clear course markings. One of the positive things to come out of all this is that next year's female leader in the ultramarathon will have her own bike escort - I'm just not sure yet if I'll be trying to be that person again.<br />
<br />
Later, when I get to look at my data from the race, it's actually pretty gratifying. Rather than giving up, I ran fairly consistently, slowing down a bit in the second half but by no means crashing into the wall. Considering that I knew so early on - around 10km - that I was going to have to run at least 5km more than I had bargained for, this made me feel really good about the way that I handled the situation, both physically and mentally.<br />
<br />
Breaking it down into quarters (roughly 14km each);<br />
First: 1:01:05, pace 6:59 min/mile, 4:20 min/km<br />
Second: 1:01:21, pace 7:00/4:21<br />
Third: 1:03:15, pace 7:14/4:29<br />
Fourth: 1:03:30, pace 7:15/4:30<br />
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<br />
Predictably, I'm now being told by all sorts of people (including the current 100km female World Champion!) that I should try the 100km distance. In much the same way that I once said a marathon was twice as far as I wanted to run, I pooh-poohed that notion to start with. But now that I've had time to think about it......well, still no. I think.<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-61999479206998340972018-04-10T18:51:00.003-07:002021-04-12T04:32:57.966-07:00Tokyo Marathon, February 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3YMMYEdGh9oNseT5jNOHBJl41koH74Jb8QZEa1P2oORTpt0cz1d4RO5WE7ctzDVkwxNIw2-3a5vPkU3EOEAcFV8yRxycDBViPZvnBg_LGcm6YFLCv_a05KqX35YLVAzIq8no9IXyvG_7/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-02-27+at+9.07.26+pm.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="680" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3YMMYEdGh9oNseT5jNOHBJl41koH74Jb8QZEa1P2oORTpt0cz1d4RO5WE7ctzDVkwxNIw2-3a5vPkU3EOEAcFV8yRxycDBViPZvnBg_LGcm6YFLCv_a05KqX35YLVAzIq8no9IXyvG_7/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-02-27+at+9.07.26+pm.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
Despite several years of high school spent studying Japanese, I have never really had much interest in visiting Japan. It was a difficult language and all I can remember amounts to pretty much "Hello, my name is Rachel, I'm going to the beach". Tofu might have been what put me off, or perhaps sushi (for which I didn't develop a taste until well into my thirties), but that's just how it was, at least until very recently.<br />
<br />
Tokyo marathon has a reputation as a fast and flat one, and it was added to the World Marathon Majors list a few years back, still I wasn't really interested until I finally visited Tokyo on the way to the ski fields of Hokkaido last year and fell immediately in love with the city. Suddenly it made perfect sense to find a way to enter the marathon - behold the <a href="http://www.marathon.tokyo/en/runner/run-as-one/" target="_blank">'Run As One' semi-elite program</a>, for which I had qualified in Boston - and I was all set for my first running trip to Japan.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodHoJI5keq4K8WBPcAfyHYpyrBalNZUp1Iq4cG9er8SrCtqAGS3cJC5eX0s4UOdzusa-QwMvcZl5d73RHIqtI5oGOU1b595mYeZ6nAhMdYeoPu1OiqLgSiPmX0Z2PTDUbgUozooqu2_Sx/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-02-28+at+9.42.28+pm.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="658" data-original-width="802" height="524" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodHoJI5keq4K8WBPcAfyHYpyrBalNZUp1Iq4cG9er8SrCtqAGS3cJC5eX0s4UOdzusa-QwMvcZl5d73RHIqtI5oGOU1b595mYeZ6nAhMdYeoPu1OiqLgSiPmX0Z2PTDUbgUozooqu2_Sx/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-02-28+at+9.42.28+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">A nice little walking tour of Tokyo, anyone?</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>The Training</b><br />
<br />
Yeah, ok, I guess I did train for this, although it was far from a conventional marathon training cycle. Speedwork came only in the form of semi-regular Saturday morning Parkruns (a free, timed 5K that started in Wagga last September but is held in many locations every weekend all over Australia, the UK and various other countries) and perhaps one or two attempts at marathon pace during a long run. On that score, Hobart marathon in January was planned as a training run but predictably became something slightly faster - when chocolate is involved, all bets are off - and thus I found myself needing to recover, peak and then taper again, all within the space of 6 weeks. Right.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Considerably less than my usual training for a major marathon</td></tr>
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These days I can legitimately claim advancing age as a reason for keeping the mileage lower, I suppose, but I know that overall mileage is still one of the most important parts of marathon preparation. So, not hitting my usual totals should have made me fairly cautious about my chances in Tokyo - but on the other hand, optimism (and a dash of denial) probably helped me set off for Japan with fairly high expectations. What could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Tokyo!</b><br />
<br />
To save my legs before race day, we take the daytime flight and arrive on Friday evening. This means I don't have to drag my sleep-deprived self around Tokyo all day after the overnight flight, but it's still a long train ride from Narita and almost 10pm (midnight Sydney time) when we finally make it to our Airbnb apartment near Shinjuku. Yawn.<br />
<br />
The next day my jet lag happily wakes me at my normal time, which is very frustrating because here it's only 4:30am. By 5am I've given up trying to fall back asleep and clearly it's going to be a very long day. Our only goals are to get to the expo to pick up my bib, which turns out to be a massive expedition that takes almost 5 hours to complete, and eat. More about that later.<br />
<br />
The expo is strangely underwhelming, being split into 3 parts, but being unaware of this we are amazed to find absolutely NO merchandise of any sort in the booths through which we pass once I've gotten my security wristband, had my photo taken, my timing chip checked and everything but a DNA test to make sure the race will be as bandit-proof and secure as possible. All there seems to be, in fact, is towels and cookies and the odd keyring. What on earth??<br />
<br />
Downstairs, however, there are two areas with clothing and shoes and - to my delight - I find a whole stand of ASICS Tarther shoes, my former favourite racing flats that have been extinct (other than in Japan) for at least the past 3 years. And there's an INKnBURN stand too!<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Usually on the day before a big race I'll try to get as many carbs in as possible, but nothing much is very familiar and I've forgotten to bring along the powdered Gatorade I so efficiently packed. Oh well, I'll just have to settle for a massive bowl of ramen noodles, with extra noodles and rice, instead. What could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Day</b><br />
<b><br /></b>For once the jet lag works in my favour, as does the late start (9:10am!) and the fact that we're staying a mere 650m from the starting line. Awake by 6:30am, I have plenty of time to choke down my customary iced coffee and a strange Japanese pastry or two - sourced from the local 7-11 last night - as well as relax and use our own bathroom facilities (with heated seat, no less) rather than queueing for some nasty porta-potty. This is very excellent.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Ready to rumble, or at least shuffle</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
Shortly before 8am I decide it's really time to head off and, with my throwaway tracksuit top and hat in place, venture out into the chilly 5C/42F weather to make my way towards Gate 2, block A. This takes surprisingly longer than I was expecting - there doesn't seem to be such a thing as shortcuts in Japan, not to mention I have to get my wristband scanned and pass through a metal detector as part of my journey.<br />
<br />
I've got my phone in a velcro armband that I picked up at the expo; this is new for me but totally essential if I ever want to find my way home again after the finish, and predictably enough it seems to set off the detector but nobody pulls me over so I just keep walking. And walking, and walking. Eventually with the help of an English-speaking volunteer I find the right spot, and take up a position about 6 rows back from the front. The start is still 45 minutes away so I park myself on the roadway - women on the left side of the median strip, men to the right - curl into as tight a ball as I can manage and focus on conserving warmth. Brrr.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OnP5DsYrzpWnh60-s8ZuLQl3ZiePM5Cwley9heAU5yLX6vEPEKuVOlKnbsp12fyfjln6f1r30mNxlIsWbreAqrHQeZHoLBkGJmCO6q-6JCfgFGw8GdAUgGcY8tc9uWEIVxBclz8Y3Ybn/s1600/collage_startline.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="1600" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OnP5DsYrzpWnh60-s8ZuLQl3ZiePM5Cwley9heAU5yLX6vEPEKuVOlKnbsp12fyfjln6f1r30mNxlIsWbreAqrHQeZHoLBkGJmCO6q-6JCfgFGw8GdAUgGcY8tc9uWEIVxBclz8Y3Ybn/s640/collage_startline.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Not too far back at all, and at least I look marginally more fashionable than the person in the yellow garbage bag</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>Various celebratory events take place in front of me, including a choir of kids (very cute) and a bunch of men wearing "SuperDry" hoodies (strange - I don't recall exactly what they did), then finally the wheelchairs are started and the elites parade out to take their place right by the line.<br />
<br />
Everyone around me is stripping off and throwing their clothes to the side so I do the same with my purple jacket, but I'll keep the hat until I feel warm enough to do without it. I've still got my gloves on - they're my favourite NYC ones and I don't anticipate ever needing to chuck them, nor would I want to - when the countdown timer hits zero: the announcer yells out "Ready, set, GO!" and the Tokyo marathon is underway. Wheee!<br />
<b><br /></b><b><br /></b><b>Start - 5km: </b>20:25 (6:34 min/mile, 4:05 min/km)<br />
<br />
In practical terms it's a mega-stampede, the likes of which I have never seen before. I'm running as fast as I can but people are clawing their way past and almost over me pretty much constantly for the first 1km. So many that I'm almost annoyed - I have to remind myself this is Tokyo, not some country NSW race - because wow, I'm being elbowed from all sides and pretty much left in the dust.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YD4oUKKOu68AtG3WPO5Ne5YaRzJ6ebXnfnHzCu-W2WX6pQGWdauiwiV79r991L-_2wGOWprx63Ru0LKG35zvgVorduXarOIkZ49tdnUtLrEW3zqq4-mrHM1Fl7ouGO5krYpngposU0JO/s1600/Tokyo-Marathon-2018-Japan-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YD4oUKKOu68AtG3WPO5Ne5YaRzJ6ebXnfnHzCu-W2WX6pQGWdauiwiV79r991L-_2wGOWprx63Ru0LKG35zvgVorduXarOIkZ49tdnUtLrEW3zqq4-mrHM1Fl7ouGO5krYpngposU0JO/s640/Tokyo-Marathon-2018-Japan-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Ready, set, run right over the person in front of you</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QSvGIdZLLRA8HCpwqIZuR-4yTVMTpRlJ-59VMwgxxrvYbjAiVMNJLHkEFeCqV5b0ss4L2LanBmxXpBnx2-rN1bbBKHk8mRHcErrRV8kOF_hiA8wVf-iQN2RJxNIHUzPW7Fhb8H3GSGSj/s1600/1635-912018_full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6QSvGIdZLLRA8HCpwqIZuR-4yTVMTpRlJ-59VMwgxxrvYbjAiVMNJLHkEFeCqV5b0ss4L2LanBmxXpBnx2-rN1bbBKHk8mRHcErrRV8kOF_hiA8wVf-iQN2RJxNIHUzPW7Fhb8H3GSGSj/s640/1635-912018_full.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">I swear I'm in there somewhere, but so are 35,000 others and they're all running on top of me right now</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
My Garmin split for the first mile looks spot-on, which makes it even more surprising that I'm still being passed by so many runners and not only that, so many WOMEN. In retrospect my Garmin is probably not very accurate at this stage, on account of buildings and general Garmin city-weirdness, but I know for sure I'm running a pace that will bring me in well under 3:00.<br />
<br />
My legs feel great, what's strange is that I've looked at last year's results and of the 700+ runners who broke 3 hours, less than 100 were female. The obvious conclusion is that a lot of these runners - both male and female - are going out WAY too fast. I guess maybe it's the do-or-die philosophy that drove the kamikaze pilots in World War II, translated into running?<br />
<br />
In fact, I read a story just yesterday about <a href="http://www.letsrun.com/news/2017/09/craziest-guy-berlin-japans-yuta-shitara-will-race-berlin-marathon-8-days-running-6017-half-marathon-likely-go-leaders/" target="_blank">Japanese runner Yuta Shitara</a>, who made his marathon debut here last year and drew attention by going through halfway <b>on world record pace</b>, before fading to a still-honourable 2:09 finish. Fearless? You bet, and it's clear that plenty of his countrymen (and women) are running today in the same style: go hard and hope for the best. Not a strategy I can embrace, myself, but still very interesting to behold.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>5 - 10km: </b>20:28 (6:35, 4:05)<br />
<br />
Ooh, it looks like there are timing mats every 5km and a clock proclaiming the elapsed time since the race began. I haven't been organised enough to figure out how fast each split needs to be for something under 2:55 (which is my rough goal for today, other than my usual one of "as fast as possible on this particular day") but something around 20:30-21:00 seems about right.<br />
<br />
It's incredible how many people are still zipping by; it's difficult resisting the temptation to accelerate and stay with them. One of them is a guy dressed as some sort of anime character, complete with long green hair. Well, that's a new one. My Garmin beeps a couple of ridiculously fast miles (6:07, which is 3:48 min/km, also known as Rachel's 5K race pace) but I'm pretty sure about my own ability to run to pace, so I ignore the watch and focus on taking in my surroundings.<br />
<br />
We're heading directly east across from Shinjuku towards Tokyo station, where the finish precinct awaits my presence in hopefully just over 2 hours or so. The crowd is reasonably big and in parts quite vocal - I don't know what they're yelling, but the occasional "Jai-yo!" is a welcome sound and one that reminds me fondly of that horrific race experience that was <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2017/10/fuxian-lake-highland-50k-china.html" target="_blank">the Fuxian Lake 50K</a> last year - and there are amusing stretches where everyone is dressed the same and waving the same inflatable batons. Leave it to the Japanese to take marathon spectating to another level of organisation and harmony!<br />
<br />
The volunteers are another part of this race that is unique: there's one every 20 meters or so, holding a garbage bin liner and part of their job is clearly to clean up anything we runners might drop. Japanese streets are remarkably clean (something I also noticed in China last year) and it feels very impolite to even think of littering, so I'm glad to have someone to throw my hat and empty GU packets at, even though that sounds fairly rude also. It occurs to me that I'm totally overthinking this race. Sigh.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpaWOAE_EELh3jhM09BB8xycw6r0jdlmP2hOD6NMl78JtUwgxeIKRycDQBcmQGbbyXm1JW-7cdQX5Zp0yMvlgHEDdIwAa_TWMGmAh3fy51fwQUrnDfXISvnyO5UjmvXfF9p5bvaTPEaKgJ/s1600/early_1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpaWOAE_EELh3jhM09BB8xycw6r0jdlmP2hOD6NMl78JtUwgxeIKRycDQBcmQGbbyXm1JW-7cdQX5Zp0yMvlgHEDdIwAa_TWMGmAh3fy51fwQUrnDfXISvnyO5UjmvXfF9p5bvaTPEaKgJ/s640/early_1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Thought bubble: Are we there yet?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>10 - 15km: </b>20:40 (6:39, 4:08)<br />
<br />
Ok, this pace seems about right, although I don't really want to go any slower. The early-race springiness of my legs is starting to fade a bit, and it seems I've picked the right pace because cardio-wise I'm completely fine - unlike some of the people who are still huffing past, sounding for all the world like they're in the final stretch of their local Parkrun. Seriously?<br />
<br />
The water stations are happening in earnest now and they are epic. Even though I'm not remotely thirsty (it's still only about 6C and I have barely cracked a sweat yet), I've figured out that the cups with "Pockari Sweat" on them really ARE full of Pockari Sweat - a disgusting-sounding Japanese electrolyte drink that is best avoided - and have been taking water as per usual.<br />
<br />
The water is in plain paper cups, the kind that are perfect to squeeze into a spout and drink from without ending up either inhaling or wearing most of the contents, but I've discovered another drawback: my left glove keeps getting wet. I briefly experiment with taking the gloves off altogether, but quickly discover that makes my hands way too cold, so the damp one goes back on and I'll just have to be more careful.<br />
<br />
What's remarkable is just how long these water stations are - they go on and on for at least 100m each. There's enough time to tear open and eat a GU, then wash it down with one or even two cups of waters, all without even slowing down. It's very impressive.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0AibBGSq8zwz-coFTSlrCp7gaLOdNhkRTBilhHqvt2WVlLJbE_ZW2__fQJpy1iMvPfl2uDVAJPkFOa1p4VsrFYn-myjDplBfqPfEhl5YCLwEk_MzCpJo6BtcklVBiVv1hBwfla8owb63g/s1600/Asakusa.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0AibBGSq8zwz-coFTSlrCp7gaLOdNhkRTBilhHqvt2WVlLJbE_ZW2__fQJpy1iMvPfl2uDVAJPkFOa1p4VsrFYn-myjDplBfqPfEhl5YCLwEk_MzCpJo6BtcklVBiVv1hBwfla8owb63g/s640/Asakusa.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Cornering hard in Asakusa, with fancy scenery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>15 - 20km: </b>20:32 (6:36, 4:06)<br />
<br />
I look up just before the 15km mats to see an impressively Japanese-looking gateway: it's the entrance to a major shrine called Senso-ji that we're planning to visit over the next few days. It's there and then it's gone within seconds and the course turns towards the Skytree, another popular tourist spot that will make a nice backdrop for race photos. There are in fact large flags bearing camera icons at each official photography site, which makes it easy to pose and wave but also easy to be caught grimacing like a gargoyle. But more about that later.<br />
<br />
This 5km split is pleasingly spot-on but what's less encouraging is that I'm not feeling that great right now, for reasons unknown. My legs and hips are a bit achey, more so than they really should be, and my brain just can't find that state of watchful peace - I think it's also know as "flow" - that is so helpful in the marathon. It's flipping between worrying about the state of my legs, calculating how far is left to run (never a good idea until the final 10km, and even then not really) and fretting over whether or not I can hold this pace all the way to the end.<br />
<br />
I think part of the problem is that in the past few weeks, when asked, I've somewhat over-confidently stated my goal time as "low 2:50s". In reality I know my days of being close to 2:50 are over; I just didn't want to admit it to myself, but now there's no avoiding it. I'm on pace for 2:53-2:54 and there's no way I'll be any faster than that. And that knowledge is not sitting right with me.<br />
<br />
Around 18km, however, there's a random Australian voice yelling out "Go Rachel!!" - much later I'll figure out that this was Georgie, one of the Aussies with whom I raced in China - and this gives me enough of a boost to get to the 20km mark with more positive thoughts than negative. Almost halfway; maybe I can ignore my brain for another 90 minutes after all.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9sD242aU4jZge0h4nEla_YYzUMFHbvWQyNYqcHGkH2GCrILKrXK52mcm7kCWWE9Oc6R5-s3xPr2ll2hdngT5z6iqMOP87eVcPLVdt9cBpbiRXiZsm5jhj0j5y4eT6ueWHPA-E24sXp8jG/s1600/skytree.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9sD242aU4jZge0h4nEla_YYzUMFHbvWQyNYqcHGkH2GCrILKrXK52mcm7kCWWE9Oc6R5-s3xPr2ll2hdngT5z6iqMOP87eVcPLVdt9cBpbiRXiZsm5jhj0j5y4eT6ueWHPA-E24sXp8jG/s640/skytree.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Not entirely hating it right now</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>20 - 25km: </b>20:38 (6:38, 4:07)<br />
<br />
There's a U-turn and a timing mat that my Garmin - inaccurate by a greater margin than I had anticipated - is convinced should be the halfway point, but it's not. That's about another 400m up the road and I glance at my watch as I pass it: <i>1:26:39</i>.<br />
<br />
Ok, well, that's 2:53, probably 2:54 more likely, and even if I really hit the "fade" button at the end, there's still a reasonably good chance that I'll make it under 3 hours. All these thoughts zip through my mind and are promptly filed away so I can focus on the task at hand: keeping my legs turning over.<br />
<br />
The long out-and-back sections mean I've had a couple of glimpses of the race leaders: the men in a large, all-African pack, the women bunched in behind a phalanx of pacers. I've seen a couple of speedy Aussies, too: David Criniti - he's shooting for 2:17 or faster and I've seen him a few times at Manly doing punishingly fast long runs on Sundays - and Alex Rogers, whom I met at RunCamp in 2014. Hopefully both of them are on target for their goal times; now I need to make sure I still try to hit mine.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmPVgXI6hXFv0RXPNf9t3gzSeSQArJl3yyaMDGoAP8wrsTn6Ni-KalzL97RlwlfbgE29Ei4QgH5r9yxO2VZ4_BOfBP3KaBwL2uzC1gDQJMBA0lWBEBJk3EVerB26K-080Fn3YkBiK4Cro/s1600/traffic+cones.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmPVgXI6hXFv0RXPNf9t3gzSeSQArJl3yyaMDGoAP8wrsTn6Ni-KalzL97RlwlfbgE29Ei4QgH5r9yxO2VZ4_BOfBP3KaBwL2uzC1gDQJMBA0lWBEBJk3EVerB26K-080Fn3YkBiK4Cro/s640/traffic+cones.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Focused. And my shoes match the traffic cones</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>25 - 30km: </b>20:41 (6:39, 4:08)<br />
<br />
There's another long stretch with plenty of runners coming back the other way, and somewhat frustratingly we are headed yet again back to Tokyo station, although my sketchy grasp of the local topography means I'm not uncomfortably aware of the proximity of the finish line.<br />
<br />
The negativity in my brain has quietened down somewhat now, to my relief, although I'm still more acutely aware of how far I have left to run than I'd prefer. What's helped to some extent is the fact that I'm now passing runners, a few of whom are clearly in big trouble. One is stretching and trying to walk; another is clearly in a rictus of agonising cramps.<br />
<br />
What did I say about going out too fast, hmmm, class? Seriously, though, I've been guilty of it enough times myself. It just amazes me how many people never want to try doing something different. And with that thought, I find myself suddenly passing a female wearing an elite bib. Wait, what?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3RqZ1iNUA-rBhYqr5Dpn6Wrj_aUOXgQ0-wM-5nuMjugLkPix4bT9VhNXxjE7ZKgBq7aw0-ERfkLx7aIeTQgNEttEmx0xwpVF_mWuIZDiI5UPJfB_BLzsBrW-eFCsbnYCzGjzjv-6N8T2/s1600/determined_2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3RqZ1iNUA-rBhYqr5Dpn6Wrj_aUOXgQ0-wM-5nuMjugLkPix4bT9VhNXxjE7ZKgBq7aw0-ERfkLx7aIeTQgNEttEmx0xwpVF_mWuIZDiI5UPJfB_BLzsBrW-eFCsbnYCzGjzjv-6N8T2/s640/determined_2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Nobody looks very impressed here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Being almost exclusively focused on the process of running, I don't have many brain cells left to use on memorising the runners near me like I might normally do during a long race, but the appearance of another female inspires me to look around a bit. There's a (presumably) German one with a singlet that reads "Ick gloob det nich!" and something about a 100 mile race in Berlin, there's more than one with a bib on their back indicating this is their 6th (and final) Major, and now there's a Japanese woman in pink who looks like she should be in my age group. I cruise past but nope, she surges and disappears ahead of me again. Seriously?!<br />
<br />
That's more than enough for now; I close off that part of my brain and busy myself looking awful for the photographers.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>30 - 35km: </b>20:51 (6:43, 4:10)<br />
<br />
Uh, oh. I'm not good at mental arithmetic at the best of times but the clock at the 35km timing mats looks suspiciously like almost 21 minutes has elapsed when I cross. I need to hold it together now, really I do, because the wheels - while not yet falling off entirely - have definitely begun to wobble.<br />
<br />
This stretch provides another opportunity to watch runners who are a whole lot closer to the finish than me, but I'm too far gone to notice anyone I know. Instead I focus on the fact that I'm actually passing quite a lot of people now - runners who are no longer running.<br />
<br />
They are walking, or standing and stretching, or hobbling painfully towards a sympathetic volunteer. Some are lying on the ground wearing space blankets and one vomits, projectile-fashion, into the bushes as I pass by. How picturesque. I guess these are the people who stampeded past me in the early miles of the race; I bet they really regret going out at 10K race pace now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFK16M7jG0gvnf5ugasuTMJHY6nOO3-ePGzHhBoKKTcjmcC13-uq8dDSuakDUg10hlErQdnoBgeKI3xGHdRUUJC8zTODmoEuMnbXaodGR-7McSQsFlDqOV5p7Qu7NpL6H83pqV5Dv8AAax/s1600/tokyotower.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFK16M7jG0gvnf5ugasuTMJHY6nOO3-ePGzHhBoKKTcjmcC13-uq8dDSuakDUg10hlErQdnoBgeKI3xGHdRUUJC8zTODmoEuMnbXaodGR-7McSQsFlDqOV5p7Qu7NpL6H83pqV5Dv8AAax/s640/tokyotower.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Tokyo Tower, wheee!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The carnage all around me is quite distracting and I find myself almost enjoying the race again, despite the protests of my legs. Passing people in the dying (ha) stages of a race is always sort of gratifying and there's nothing like a game of Assassin Mode to pass the time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>35 - 40km: </b>20:54 (6:44, 4:11)<br />
<br />
Shortly after the 35K mats there's a hairpin turn and finally we are on the way back towards Tokyo Station and the finish line. There's some very interesting scenery to my left, some sort of temple thing that I was vaguely aware of about 4km ago when I went past on the other side of the road, and I'd love to stop and look at it but I've reached the point of things where I just want to be done.<br />
<div>
<br />
Again I'm able to somewhat distract myself from the increasing fatigue and discomfort in my legs by looking at all the late-race blow-ups that are occurring around me, and telling myself there's only x miles left to run, and when this doesn't work I resort to counting mindlessly in my head: one-and-two-and-three-and-four etc. in time with my steps.<br />
<br />
It seems to be working - the mile splits are still ticking over more or less consistently and I'm not slowing down very much, all things considered - but oh boy, I want to stop running soon.<br />
<br />
I'm still passing people hand over fist and it does occur to me that I'd like to look some of them up later, just to see how badly they are tanking right now. At the 40K timing mats there's a guy I've tried to pass a few times already but he kept fighting me off; he's totally done now and I won't find this out til the photos come online, but he shoots me a look of pure anguish as I finally pass him once and for all:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIddCTuPdFs7seonWYOjWamFmaDPMM9-OEIyegkWOpM2ksAWbjUHA7W4Kzi2FkRlIfvI1QX4V2Hh8ezKaBocTZLD12jgie3MuaD8tyQB7vIbJKKAoZ-_O_5shd0VOWBhvNpSB8EZka0AW/s1600/side-eye.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIddCTuPdFs7seonWYOjWamFmaDPMM9-OEIyegkWOpM2ksAWbjUHA7W4Kzi2FkRlIfvI1QX4V2Hh8ezKaBocTZLD12jgie3MuaD8tyQB7vIbJKKAoZ-_O_5shd0VOWBhvNpSB8EZka0AW/s640/side-eye.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Some serious side-eye </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When I look him up later in the results, it all becomes clear: he ran the first half in 1:20 (over 6 minutes faster than me) and yet in the end I beat him by almost 2 minutes. Even worse - but also not surprising - he's half my age! No wonder he was pissed when I sauntered past....<br />
<br />
At any rate, the end is nigh. Finally.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>40 - 42.2km: </b>9:14 (6:45, 4:12)<br />
<br />
The final couple of kilometres take me in a fairly straight line towards the Imperial Palace and the finish line. The crowd is larger again and quite vocal, but I'm way past being able to pay attention. I just want to stop - it's taking everything I have to keep my legs turning over now. I'm part of a small group that is struggling to stay together: one Marathon Major Sixer, a small Japanese woman and a tall British guy wearing a Comrades shirt. I passed the Majors guy a while back but he comes pounding by again as I'm grinding my way down the final mile. This is unacceptable! yells my brain, and I abandon my plans to stop right now in favour of giving chase.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-Ud_wu6q4zTkeH_InOYQ4UXuG4hhIIuHr_r1JNlr7rtpNcsgmI_N3cJrJLORnkNvJK4XnrbzImEYcMCFDO_wpekrwHsqMqYsdRi0h5TkD8QirO4rSRHgW3-kJpm5Ce5m1tokJiEoT53u/s1600/finish+street.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-Ud_wu6q4zTkeH_InOYQ4UXuG4hhIIuHr_r1JNlr7rtpNcsgmI_N3cJrJLORnkNvJK4XnrbzImEYcMCFDO_wpekrwHsqMqYsdRi0h5TkD8QirO4rSRHgW3-kJpm5Ce5m1tokJiEoT53u/s640/finish+street.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Suffer Street, aka the rather uninspiring scenery of the final mile</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At last there's a sharp left hand turn and I'm in the finish chute. A glance up at the clock, which is showing 2:53:xx, tells me what I expected: I'm heading for mid-2:50s rather than low-2:50s, but whatever. I'm almost there, at last!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvryugeo4XXEksCMMABS93XI4_lMg7Y3bcsJmP3jgRpdlTQNNVCU3BQLbuZPAlQNK6HKN7bl7zM3vQVINTfqoq5jpIHfiNvz5WnHCf85otUsXrs2QFHt1zelPSoU9JJ56m75RMZsTD_gPa/s1600/TokyofinishCollage.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="737" data-original-width="1600" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvryugeo4XXEksCMMABS93XI4_lMg7Y3bcsJmP3jgRpdlTQNNVCU3BQLbuZPAlQNK6HKN7bl7zM3vQVINTfqoq5jpIHfiNvz5WnHCf85otUsXrs2QFHt1zelPSoU9JJ56m75RMZsTD_gPa/s640/TokyofinishCollage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Ugh, urrgghh, ahh! The many faces of the marathon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>2:54:16 (6:37 min/mile, 4:06 min/km)<br />
<br />
<i>Half splits: 1:26:39, 1:27:44 (+ 1:05)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Placement: </b>57th female, 2nd AG (F 45-49)<br />
<br />
<br />
It's freezing but I didn't drop any clothes, figuring I could just make my way to the Family Meeting Area. But that would mean a left turn after the finish area and because my bib is blue, I have to go right. I try everything I can to indicate that I want to go left - English (but nobody speaks it), increasingly vehement/begging sign language (ineffective), my very rudimentary Japanese (laughable) - but nope, I have to go right. Bloody Japan and their inflexible rules!<br />
<br />
This means a detour of what seems like 10km as I make my way around the finish area, along the fenced-off course and eventually down into a subway station, wearing just my race outfit with a towel and space blanket on top. It's still seriously cold, probably around 9-10C at best, and I'm moderately hypothermic by the time I make it back.<br />
<br />
But I survived! And a look at the Strava data later confirms what I already knew: I was red-lining it all the way so really I couldn't have gone any faster.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_5Y-11MLDQwjScxNMscDEZzusK_vpi2XW05KgQhQnWfUXxd8QqYe-CO_PtoD7POl5HovJq9_K3eQ8y0ITSr5n5MZt3C_dobnP09_RXMcEi-89Ci8gb2icVc5ks-R_w60ADRHGozyja1D/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-04-09+at+1.16.18+pm.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="1053" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_5Y-11MLDQwjScxNMscDEZzusK_vpi2XW05KgQhQnWfUXxd8QqYe-CO_PtoD7POl5HovJq9_K3eQ8y0ITSr5n5MZt3C_dobnP09_RXMcEi-89Ci8gb2icVc5ks-R_w60ADRHGozyja1D/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-04-09+at+1.16.18+pm.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
A small positive split means a race well-executed, and so despite the overall time being a little slower than I'd have liked, I'm satisifed. And even more so after a long afternoon at the most awesome sushi restaurant ever! I love Japan but in future I'll stick to tourism, food<br />
and skiing - this marathon thing is getting a bit tough.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNii6MEjCzKGHGXfR5jckvf9NFBXJ3RTSPe598iy-TwNbLOOeCUZ3icTSGHiPvOY5Artx_hnaXpI5Wsa-1srQ9OyH-xDS_zEG8yvYsWiJR0Cifqr-fuFJ6Zoom6GX7qoPFEsLYfDiDrXR/s1600/IMG_0164.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNii6MEjCzKGHGXfR5jckvf9NFBXJ3RTSPe598iy-TwNbLOOeCUZ3icTSGHiPvOY5Artx_hnaXpI5Wsa-1srQ9OyH-xDS_zEG8yvYsWiJR0Cifqr-fuFJ6Zoom6GX7qoPFEsLYfDiDrXR/s640/IMG_0164.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Refuelling, Tokyo-style.</td></tr>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-74797267242916864232018-02-18T03:41:00.000-08:002018-02-18T03:51:04.920-08:00Sun Run 10K, February 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggezbvIbm_sgFCQEXtrsJVN0muMQ1_KYleQMseaTwD0izISKuiE8zMp2lzCfgXOhx9_JgGAmNDuNErr_FGc6ABD0CT9e_KuKl67e2k5c7uKybIzEgm2M75SP4qRzfOM8d7nlStT8wZErgL/s1600/images.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="145" data-original-width="346" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggezbvIbm_sgFCQEXtrsJVN0muMQ1_KYleQMseaTwD0izISKuiE8zMp2lzCfgXOhx9_JgGAmNDuNErr_FGc6ABD0CT9e_KuKl67e2k5c7uKybIzEgm2M75SP4qRzfOM8d7nlStT8wZErgL/s400/images.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I really don't like shorter races. I have no idea why I signed up for this one, really, other than that I've been spending quite a bit of time in Manly (where it finishes) lately, and have gotten to know the area a bit from running to and taking part in Curl Curl Parkfun a fair few times. And I guess I sort of thought it might be fun. But while I've never run this particular race before, I knew in advance that it would be hilly and definitely not a fast course. And it made no sense in terms of my preparation for Tokyo marathon - I really don't know why I signed up.<br />
<br />
But anyway, sign up I did, with no real idea of actually racing the course, and only vague expectations of a time possibly close to 40 minutes. All the ingredients for an interesting experience, at any rate.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Manly, race morning</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The forecast rain hasn't showed up when I set off from Manly; my plan is to drive to Harbord and leave the car in the carpark adjacent to the finish of Curl Curl Parkrun. It will be about 3km from there to the start in Dee Why, the perfect warm-up distance, and when I'm parking in fact there are already people jogging past wearing bibs. I'm not the only one who had this idea, then.<br />
<br />
I know how to get to Dee Why but I end up following a pair of guys anyway, and 15 minutes later we're part of a fairly large crowd that is making its way towards the beach. I peel off and head up a side street just to get out of the congestion, then at the beach I do a few loops around the surf club and along the road where the starting arch is set up. I've made it to 2.5 miles when suddenly the heavens open and BOOM, within seconds it's teeming with rain.<br />
<br />
I dive for shelter beneath a shop awning and - with the exception of one very determined bloke who stays in the starting corral - everyone else does something similar. For the next 5 minutes the rain intensifies and the announcer who has been chatting happily over the loudspeaker grows steadily more alarmed. Five minutes to the start; wow, it's still coming down. The gutters are torrents of water and my goodness, it looks like we'll all be doing the aquathon option today!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDJH1Du5RwH8mqRqUhOd7FMEMeGybk0L6dTQq7WVlfdoUUdhIm2Wy7MUiOZeuJYPLqsEjArfQQrfn-ftpfgunpljJE8wHyL4p4yrf5vr5hOmM3qedpRR6cotOmhViZNvYkr7Ln6Lb32IBR/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDJH1Du5RwH8mqRqUhOd7FMEMeGybk0L6dTQq7WVlfdoUUdhIm2Wy7MUiOZeuJYPLqsEjArfQQrfn-ftpfgunpljJE8wHyL4p4yrf5vr5hOmM3qedpRR6cotOmhViZNvYkr7Ln6Lb32IBR/s400/images-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That is definitely not me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But, miraculously ,the rain stops abruptly with about 3 minutes left - everyone charges out to line up and I end up about 20 meters back, which is fine - and we're good to go! To my surprise there's a pair of 40 minute pacers in front of me, one of whom is female (this is rare); I can't decide if this is a good or bad thing.<br />
<br />
Good, because I might be inspired to stay ahead of them (and sneak under 40:00, which I am totally not expecting), or bad, because I might find myself behind them and use this as an excuse to give up. I'm reminded of one such incident in Melbourne in 2013, where I was going for 2:49 only to have the 2:50 pacers catch me with about 3km to go; I stayed with them for a while but was mentally doomed by this turn of events and allowed myself to fall behind. I ended up missing my goal by only seconds and have had a bit of a fear of pacers ever since, but whatever, I need to stop thinking and start running now.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 1 & 2: </b>6:35, 6:23 min/mile (4:05, 3:58 min/km)<br />
<b><br /></b>
Bang goes the gun and off we all rush, up the hill that Nigel has already warned me about. It's really not too bad and the pacer pair are not that far ahead of me when I crest the hill and see another, much larger, one ahead. As usual at the start of a shorter race, people are flying past me like there's no tomorrow. There would have to be at least 20 women further up the road than me already; it's all a bit disheartening and a voice inside my head is telling me to give up now and just jog.<br />
<br />
But coming down the hill is much more fun - I'm catching back up to people again - and I hear my cousin Ruth yelling "Go Rachel!" as I speed past her house. Whee! The course turns right and we're on familiar ground now, it's part of where Curl Curl Parkrun goes and I have great memories of this area, not to mention the respectable times I've managed to run there. The rain is holding off and so really, why not just enjoy it?<br />
<br />
The course narrows as we follow the Curly Parkrun route around the lagoon; I take the opportunity to speed my way past a couple of female runners. Yes!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 3 & 4: </b>6:29, 6:25 (4:02, 3:59)<br />
<br />
The third mile takes me out of the lagoon parklands and back onto the road near Curl Curl beach. The lagoon area is flat but this bit is most definitely NOT; it winds and dips and finally summits a decent-sized hill where there is a photographer taking pictures with the beach as a backdrop. This promises an excellent photo opportunity but unfortunately the heavens choose this moment to open again and suddenly the rain is pouring briefly down. So, no beachside photo for me from this event. Insert grumpy face here.<br />
<br />
My 5km split is around 20:25 and I'm sort of amazed at this because the 40 minute pacers are certainly nowhere to be seen up ahead. When the road straightens out far enough for me to see them, they're at least a minute in front and I'm trying to figure out how I could have that split but still be so far back? It's too much for my brain cells to process and the hills are rolling at me thick and fast, so I shut this train of thought down and just focus on not losing too much time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 5 & 6: </b>6:41, 6:11 (4:09, 3:50)<br />
<br />
OOF! The whole of mile 5 is one big, long uphill slog and there's a lovely little out-and-back along a side street in there as well. I hate U turns: having to slow down, turn (on a slippery wet road, no less) and speed up again is an unpleasant process that costs both time and momentum. This mile takes a bit of a mental toll that is only slightly alleviated by passing several people (one of them a woman) who are clearly having even less fun than me just now.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzV8G9b5pn_lreokFHZN2Xk4VX1LoS_AiCUVO2c7t_BtKASFiAX_uGvVv2g3kj1CtTdDlD2YrAitllBcpv_Rs6qS9u22uYFiUcyw594tDKzh5MrXGJldleYtswYjYW6s-zXMQFAvg85x8/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-02-18+at+9.40.07+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="926" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzV8G9b5pn_lreokFHZN2Xk4VX1LoS_AiCUVO2c7t_BtKASFiAX_uGvVv2g3kj1CtTdDlD2YrAitllBcpv_Rs6qS9u22uYFiUcyw594tDKzh5MrXGJldleYtswYjYW6s-zXMQFAvg85x8/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-02-18+at+9.40.07+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 5 shaded darker, like my frame of mind at that point</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The pacers are gone and after that mile split, I'm thinking anything under 42 minutes will be a miracle. Mental arithmetic isn't my strong suit even when my brain isn't being fried by the experience of running over large hills in the rain (which is trying valiantly to stop but somehow unable), but they're so far ahead of me that I can't see how I won't be running a PW this morning. Grrr.</div>
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The final mile starts with a very welcome downhill stretch and I know that beyond this it will be all dead flat from North Steyne to the finish line at the other end of the beach. There's a person with a red shirt and ponytail about 50 metres ahead of me; could it be another chick for me to catch? In this era of hipsters with manbuns it can be hard to tell, and nope, it's a guy. At least the rain has stopped, so I might try to catch him anyway.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsc4A6PrntFNqqN2OkdKoDZ6a0LEKap0h1KZUL-WIQV3MarlTzAKSbfu6ykcCqc7yqFLktUVAwJ_JnjRbzz6jtZbBdUxF7tU2i_hIDf5M1C-F9qWrgKgEmH_8cjEyHfUgjX0Koic-hWiH/s1600/20x30-SRFA0077.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsc4A6PrntFNqqN2OkdKoDZ6a0LEKap0h1KZUL-WIQV3MarlTzAKSbfu6ykcCqc7yqFLktUVAwJ_JnjRbzz6jtZbBdUxF7tU2i_hIDf5M1C-F9qWrgKgEmH_8cjEyHfUgjX0Koic-hWiH/s640/20x30-SRFA0077.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No more hills is definitely a reason to smile</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
To my enormous surprise, almost as soon as I make it to the flat part I can suddenly see one, no, both of the 40 minute pacers. One is actually stopped and is waving another runner ahead of them; could it be possible that they went out too fast?? This would not be the first time such a thing has happened - for me it's a bit of a final boost to morale and enough to get me sprinting towards the finish line with every bit of energy I have left.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
<b>Final 0.2: </b>5:55 (3:40)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The effort I manage to put in for this final stretch is rewarded with a race photo in which I actually look like I'm running! I have almost no back leg kick in most of my photos, but then it's very rare for me to be actually sprinting, which I'm definitely doing now. </div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizPJqPjK-4TYVoogEr8z06zhX6BftBLdtUk0A9pPSUNOvcd-2IDIDvLP1xxlVesUX5UAbbc1kIBRK2dRDCskRRoU2DbXeGgvTKVWlS17INVee64yNLANOEoBYtaIdtyZ3MsewkrL6-zEA7/s1600/20x30-SRCA0158.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizPJqPjK-4TYVoogEr8z06zhX6BftBLdtUk0A9pPSUNOvcd-2IDIDvLP1xxlVesUX5UAbbc1kIBRK2dRDCskRRoU2DbXeGgvTKVWlS17INVee64yNLANOEoBYtaIdtyZ3MsewkrL6-zEA7/s640/20x30-SRCA0158.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Booking it past the Corso</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As I pass the Corso I can hear the announcer yelling at people to get under 40 minutes - I look up to see the clock approaching 40, which is an utter surprise - I'm fairly sure I'm not going to make it but I'm also not going to miss by much. I hear my friend Nigel yelling from the sidelines as I throw myself at the finish (and Red Manbun Hipster Person, who is highly unimpressed somehow) and finally it's over. Did I make it??</div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKYUgcSSVl37wNlI-DAmKLOrVtDVl_v_unG0cGfc33wxFsPwOxpOLviAZQlYvCpPk1QGfa0_8Qyq-u-cD9O2JyJnu6lnd3zViKfedYiCBpK16ofU8wRyScnbUJ9Uw3DR6V7EoL4_T-mQd/s1600/20x30-SRYB0031.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKYUgcSSVl37wNlI-DAmKLOrVtDVl_v_unG0cGfc33wxFsPwOxpOLviAZQlYvCpPk1QGfa0_8Qyq-u-cD9O2JyJnu6lnd3zViKfedYiCBpK16ofU8wRyScnbUJ9Uw3DR6V7EoL4_T-mQd/s640/20x30-SRYB0031.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to casually slip in under 40; Nigel in yellow behind and Distraught Red Person in front</td></tr>
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<b>Finish time: </b>40:03 (6:26 = 4:00)</div>
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<b>Placement: </b>11th female, 2nd in AG (F40-49)</div>
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No. </div>
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No, I did not make it under 40 minutes. But I came a whole lot closer than I thought I would, and on a course like this (with a mindset like mine today) that's something to be pleased about. The placement reflects a fast field - last year only 3 women ran faster than 40:00 - and we all know my feelings about 10 year age groups, so yeah. A solid day's running at any rate.</div>
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Nigel joins me for the jog back to the car - we pass and wave wildly at my friend Keith, who is also running Tokyo marathon and has wisely taken on the role of bike marshal today, instead of running like my silly self - and I reward myself once back in Manly with a scrumptious breakfast. Tokyo is only 3 weeks away; I've got some serious tapering to do. Watch this space.<br />
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-56954810533350952012018-01-27T16:01:00.000-08:002019-12-07T20:09:26.680-08:00Cadbury Marathon Hobart, January 2018<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWw8ND9emvL9unlS-ad2gTwDyXrZW7HIUxT5YeZadblLNgSf0SBcCXtrUvgFJtHHwfTeiwF4qvb_tFVhE8rMvPjpG3E4kRBCrOJFWOXYHKltBOnufbCexo9TWYkO3TCTxZ41qndm77SaHT/s1600/Cadbury_Marathon_Logo_2018.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="241" data-original-width="500" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWw8ND9emvL9unlS-ad2gTwDyXrZW7HIUxT5YeZadblLNgSf0SBcCXtrUvgFJtHHwfTeiwF4qvb_tFVhE8rMvPjpG3E4kRBCrOJFWOXYHKltBOnufbCexo9TWYkO3TCTxZ41qndm77SaHT/s640/Cadbury_Marathon_Logo_2018.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Summer is usually a quiet season for me; there are precious few races held in the heat, so it usually means a relative down-time and a rare chance to rest. The exception is Tasmania, the southern-most state of Australia, where the Cadbury Marathon (and associated shorter races) is held in Hobart in the middle of January. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/01/cadbury-hobart-half-marathon-january.html" target="_blank">ran the half there in 2015 </a>and came away with a large haul of chocolate, and although I’m not sure if that was my only motivation for signing myself up for the marathon in 2018, sign us up I did. We all know how much I love a bit of running tourism, so there you go.</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Training</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b>Right, well. My intentions for the early part of 2018 were initially to train exclusively for Tokyo marathon, which I’ll be running at the end of February. A January marathon could therefore really only be justified as a training run, which would usually mean running it all at an easy pace, or at best perhaps running up to half at goal marathon pace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But it’s REALLY HARD to intentionally slow down during a marathon, or at least for me it is. And while I'm not as fast as I was, say, 4 years ago - I'm still in reasonably good shape to run a fast marathon. Looking through past years' results it was clear that a time below 3:10 would have sometimes even been enough to win - definitely to place - and a place means a box of chocolate, so running to place became my definite goal. If you need to understand better, here's a picture of what I got for placing in the half in 2015, and winning the Australian Masters half marathon title in the process:</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><drool></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Hobart, race weekend</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The advent in my life of Parkrun means I'm able to continue the tradition of running a 5K the day before a marathon! I’ve become something of a Parkrun tourist this summer and waste no time in locating one (the only one, in fact) in Hobart. It starts at the very civilised time of 9am so it’s no trouble to be out there in plenty of time, and while I'm standing around waiting I am quite amazed to see a person I recognise – it’s one of the British team of ultra runners I met in Fuxian Lake last September. What a bizarre place to meet again!</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYX0qEzFWEk9efOr0zFvjILAlrsWv0plls0vb1CufS97nLjlsILd2WM_a0bjm3zr1ri35drzOwMJMBTi-q3SppZ97DUlNa2ge7mJm8xMeaGjCL65f8udr7Cogp5WfcQfFMdd_a0UP8IlrL/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-01-23+at+9.35.03+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="863" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYX0qEzFWEk9efOr0zFvjILAlrsWv0plls0vb1CufS97nLjlsILd2WM_a0bjm3zr1ri35drzOwMJMBTi-q3SppZ97DUlNa2ge7mJm8xMeaGjCL65f8udr7Cogp5WfcQfFMdd_a0UP8IlrL/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-01-23+at+9.35.03+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A cosmopolitan Hobart Parkrun, with Scotland........ then America........and a plain old Aussie bringing up the rear</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We have a nice chat before the run starts and while she’s out of my league it seems she has been injured the past couple of months; still I’m unsurprised to see her streak past me shortly after the gun goes off. The course turns out to be devilishly hilly and it's an out-and-back which means I get to enjoy it twice - fabulous - and the result is probably a Parkrun PW (personal worst) but whatever. It's time to carb load and try to get off our feet, and we succeed moderately well for the rest of the day, although it's extremely boring. Then an early bedtime and the joys of another 4:30am alarm are upon us, and already it's time to head out to the chocolate factory for the race.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The weather is remarkably perfect for marathoning: about 12C/54F and lightly overcast with almost no wind at all. This is quite a departure from recent temperatures (it was 26C the day we arrived) but whatever, we'll take it! If I had more time to think about it I'd probably be complaining about the cold, but there's no time for that so we just suck it up and line up at the start. Here goes nothing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Miles 1-5: </b>6:57, 6:37, 6:26, 6:33, 6:44 (pace in min/mile)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The gun goes off and there’s the usual civilised stampede over the timing mats; as in previous years the first few kilometres of the course wind through the streets adjacent to the chocolate factory, so I’m surprised to see that the traffic cones marking the course seem to indicate we should go straight on down the hill. And in fact that’s exactly what the leaders – including Dion Finocchiaro, a very fast runner whom I’ve met a quite a few races in the past– do, before being hastily called back onto the correct path. Oops!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’m not sure of my pace when the first split beeps and wow, it's WAY too slow and in fact there are FAR too many females ahead of me (at least 6, one of them my British friend Jo, of course) right now. The competitive part of my brain pouts and promptly stamps its foot on the accelerator, and before I really know what's happening, BOOM I'm gone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By the time I’ve descended the hill and started to make my way out along the road towards Hobart I’ve caught all but 3 of the women ahead, which is gratifying. The leading woman is called Gemma and I’ve heard enough about her from various quarters that I know she’s way faster than me, then not far behind her is Jo, so the only way I’m definitely going to place (and win chocolate) today is if I can put the third one behind me now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She has a long brown ponytail and is wearing a blue singlet, and wow, she looks lean and seriously fit. “Probably young too” says a voice in my head, helpfully. “Everyone is these days,” I snap back, and go to make my move to pass her anyway.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Trying hard to get into 3rd place</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm rather surprised then, to find that as I surge past she accelerates and stays right with me. The mile split is now really way too fast (6:26 = 4:00min/km and is the right pace for a sub-2:50, which I certainly won't be running today) so I slow down and she opens a small gap on me. Wow, this isn't going to be as easy as I thought!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've got an idea about 2:55 as a goal finishing time - faster than I was expecting to run, but whatever - and in most of the past 5 years this most definitely would have been fast enough to win. But today I'm in 4th and from what I know (or can surmise) about the women ahead of me, it may be the best I can hope for. This seems utterly unfair! But there's nothing to do about it other than settle in for the chase, so I stick to my pace and try not to think to much about the injustice of it all. La la la la laaaaaaa.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Miles 6-10: </b>6:37, 6:42, 6:46, 6:37, 6:38</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I remember the course from 2015 when I ran the half, and this part is fairly boring really as we head along the highway and then out around some parkland by the river. We're heading towards a middling size bridge which we'll cross and then the turnaround will be not too far beyond that. I can still see Jo ahead in 2nd and Gemma about a minute ahead of her in the lead; both seem out of reach, and this person in the blue singlet just isn't slowing down, but I guess there's still quite a long way to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As we head up onto the bridge, to my surprise the overall leader is already on his way back from the turn. Wow, he's MILES ahead of the chase pack - which consists of Dion and a guy in a red singlet, both looking very relaxed - it looks like he might win easily. The bridge is rather unpleasantly uphill somehow, I don't quite remember this part from last time, but at least there's not a lot of wind at this stage. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I hit the turn, the gradient turns downward at last and finally I am able to put in a bit of speed that sees me pull level with my blue-singleted nemesis again. "Right!" says my brain, "time to show her who's boss!" One of my favourite things to do in a race is to throw in a few bursts of speed - generally during the earlier parts, because in the final stages of a marathon, or even a half for that matter, it can be pretty tough to do anything more than just put one foot in front of the other and not fall over - and my legs feel good enough right now to do it, so here goes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once back on the bridge I start whizzing past but nope, she speeds up and stays right with me. I slow down very briefly then it's RoadRunner impersonation time again: I pump my arms and do the speed-shuffle with all of my might, but nope, again she accelerates and it's clear I'm not going to win this particular battle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />You've got to hand it to a worthy opponent like this - she's just not going to give up - so I burst out laughing and remark "Ok, let's slow down again, I won't mind!" She laughs too and pretty soon we've having a lovely mid-race chat. Her name is Mel and she's been injured for a really long time; this is her comeback race and - this always surprises the heck out of me - she knows who I am from reading this blog! Well, there goes the element of surprise, I guess.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The quest for chocolate continues</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I enquire as casually as I can about her time goal and she replies "Sub-3", to which I can only answer "Wow" because we are quite a long way ahead of that right now. And showing no sign of slowing down either, but I feel fine so I guess we'll just keep running and see what happens.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Miles 11-15: </b>6:33, 6:50, 6:46, 6:40</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Before too long I've told her how I met Jo in China (and that she took 2nd in the brutal 100K race that day, displaying truly formidable speed and endurance) and now I'm having a bit of a whinge about how unfair it is that we're running so fast yet coming 3rd/4th but Mel's not having a bar of it. "We'll just work together and maybe we'll both get chocolate" she tells me firmly - and perhaps Jo is just the tiniest bit closer to us than she was before? - so I nod my agreement and we press ahead.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Half split: 1:27:30 approx (on pace for 2:55)</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />I'm worried about having to run up the hill to the chocolate factory again but Mel is better-informed than me (did I mention that she's younger, too?) and says we'll be turning before the hill, which is a great relief. Here comes the leader again, still a reasonable way ahead, although Dion and his mate are closer than they were before. "Catch him!" I yell at Dion and laugh as we pass in opposite directions.</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_M11xff-pvf5kH6wKfY3uWY_RSLu0OZgAk5jmyEdIGkaYdTFJnxwkChtUqqztGMN1Q9NXGxzgEb0keQTRT2rb_oriIOzE1UkcgTSgGbxFiStnRJAZ4p69yqQSrLfz-NzVRdGJl3gI1TrR/s1600/27049058_10156203884913982_158486777_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_M11xff-pvf5kH6wKfY3uWY_RSLu0OZgAk5jmyEdIGkaYdTFJnxwkChtUqqztGMN1Q9NXGxzgEb0keQTRT2rb_oriIOzE1UkcgTSgGbxFiStnRJAZ4p69yqQSrLfz-NzVRdGJl3gI1TrR/s640/27049058_10156203884913982_158486777_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dion (in black) and his chase pack, including Dane (red singlet)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I take care to note the time on my watch as Gemma and then Jo both pass us before we make the second U-turn ourselves, and it seems Gemma is about 4 and Jo about 2 minutes ahead of us at this point. Hmm, this could be about to get interesting. Joel appears and yells "3:15!" with a wave and a large grin; I have no clue what this might mean, is that how far we are behind the leaders or is it the time he thinks he's going to run? Or perhaps bingo numbers? Keno?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We debate this briefly before another shout comes from the side of the road, something about second place: a couple of minutes ago someone told us </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(wrongly)</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">we're coming 2nd, so I snort and exclaim "No we are not!" but whoops, it's actually Mel's husband and he's letting us know that we're reeling in Jo at last. Wait, what? Really??</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sure enough, look at that: suddenly she's a lot closer as we head along the big road again for our second lap. Obviously she's pretty much jogging now and a flash of worry goes through my head - hopefully her healing injury hasn't flared up again? Uh oh, this might be bad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Miles 16-20: </b>6:36, 6:35, 6:39, 6:55, 6:49</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But thankfully she seems okay and waves cheerily as we finally put on a burst of renewed speed to catch her during mile 16. I have absolutely no doubt that injury-free Jo would be miles ahead of us all at this point, but her injury misfortune has had a silver lining for Mel and myself: we've just moved into podium, and therefore chocolate, positions. Hooray!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Heading back out on the boring part of the second lap, this turn of events gives us a burst of speed, or at least we don't slow down much, not until we're on our way past the racecourse again and approaching the bridge.</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ji4Z9Javcxj3CnQdw6Rj_mmziLgnF9f_BELU1IvNoVhojBQ61kWZ4boHynNkUqDWlklZpM2xrKr2TovVV24x7VvoR4LZq-uQ9RaZLhSSw-Q8PZ5EioDnUGonqxO8nxiVTwAL9V1Rt_IT/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-01-23+at+9.17.38+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="527" height="564" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ji4Z9Javcxj3CnQdw6Rj_mmziLgnF9f_BELU1IvNoVhojBQ61kWZ4boHynNkUqDWlklZpM2xrKr2TovVV24x7VvoR4LZq-uQ9RaZLhSSw-Q8PZ5EioDnUGonqxO8nxiVTwAL9V1Rt_IT/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-01-23+at+9.17.38+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mile 19 in blue: the beginning of the end?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At this point I become aware of a strange discomfort under the ball of my left foot, and to my dismay realise that I seem to be developing a blister in that crucial spot, the part of my foot on which my whole gait relies for push-off. I guess I didn't pay enough attention to which socks I was putting on this morning and they are my cheap & nasty general training sort rather than the cushy, $25-a-pair kind that I packed and really should be wearing right now. Ugh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It hurts with every step and I know that trying to alter my foot strike to protect it is just going to cause issues elsewhere, so really there's nothing to do but keep running. I wonder briefly about complaining about it to Mel, then decide that although I'm already pretty sure she is going to out-sprint me at the end of the race (and I'm fine with that, mainly because I still get chocolate for 3rd, but also because she's younger than me - like everyone - and fitter of course as well), I don't want to be seen to be making excuses. Suck it up, Princess, I tell myself, and just run.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mile 20, the official point of a marathon where it gets serious, sees us cross the bridge again and I'm moderately annoyed to realise that there's now something of a cross-wind blowing, one that will be in our faces in the final miles on the way back to the finish line. Bugger! I'm almost allergic to headwinds after surviving NYC 2014 and Boston 2015, and Mel certainly isn't big enough to draft behind, although neither am I. We'll just have to cope with it and try to hold on. Dion and Dane rocket past on the other side of the road, in hot pursuit of the leader whose lead is now in fact a LOT smaller than it was. Go guys!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Miles 21-25: </b>6:44, 6:45, 6:49, 6:58, 6:59</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The inevitable late-race slow-down seems to have arrived. All Mel wants to know is if we are still on pace for sub-3, and I'm certain that we are, with enough of a buffer that a few miles slower than sub-3 pace won't make any difference. There are lots of people coming the other way shouting encouragement at us now, which is awesome, and she's much better at responding to them that I am, which is an excellent spin-off too. Having company has been a life-saver for this race: I've run enough races utterly alone to know that it's neither fun nor easy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So together Mel and I make our way back to the chocolate factory, secure in the knowledge that there's quite a lot of chocolate waiting for us when we finally get there, and trying our best to hold onto the pace despite the ongoing undulations that are now really REALLY making me want to slow down.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDsiuXsusG4g5voQe6NOszP1n7Uunc3zE4t5Z-wWGNus17mDv70WcuXtfhj4fXLcmJ3dUHW0Hle0s2KsdDwrujwINx1ORYKnfCLHd54ZVuO6SpIT6rgsEczCG4-_3tPsYN2jeWtwKr7eAD/s1600/20x30-CDTA0058.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDsiuXsusG4g5voQe6NOszP1n7Uunc3zE4t5Z-wWGNus17mDv70WcuXtfhj4fXLcmJ3dUHW0Hle0s2KsdDwrujwINx1ORYKnfCLHd54ZVuO6SpIT6rgsEczCG4-_3tPsYN2jeWtwKr7eAD/s640/20x30-CDTA0058.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Late-race chicken-wing action from my left arm = I'm TIRED</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Mile 26 and 0.1: </b>6:46, 6:36 pace to finish</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Right as the final mile starts I hear loud footsteps pounding up behind me, along with breathing that sounds distinctly masculine - it's a bloke in a bright blue shirt. He moves ahead of us and, somewhat to my surprise, Mel moves with him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I haven't put any thought into making a move to secure 2nd place as opposed to 3rd; I guess I've just assumed all along that she'd take 2nd and so now it barely crosses my mind to give chase. At the bottom of the dreaded hill that leads back up to the chocolate factory, a spectator is yelling at me "Catch her! She's not far ahead, catch her!" but my mind is entirely devoted to getting up this hill without losing too much time, and I really don't care that Mel and Blue Shirt guy have disappeared ahead of me around the bend.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wsKPxOZ7jvohyphenhyphenM57Vcebd4qEwmDCGE9w2WCdHjGh4siO_qK0mRAp5ep3VWfl7_Zjp_SMbe9HuRaT5Ap4Rfq9xjAIASsWQ4xOs9Jw3tuXERbcxoYuA2Soa7k7uMXYrSGyqn9jMPPGdW5v/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-01-24+at+9.24.44+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="565" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wsKPxOZ7jvohyphenhyphenM57Vcebd4qEwmDCGE9w2WCdHjGh4siO_qK0mRAp5ep3VWfl7_Zjp_SMbe9HuRaT5Ap4Rfq9xjAIASsWQ4xOs9Jw3tuXERbcxoYuA2Soa7k7uMXYrSGyqn9jMPPGdW5v/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-01-24+at+9.24.44+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Why is there always a photographer right at the top of that bloody hill? WHY?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally, thank god, the hill is over and there's just the finish chute to deal with. I'm trying to dredge up any speed I might have left but nope, I've got nothing - a good sign that I've given today's race all that I had to give.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Finish time: </b>2:57:20 (4:12 min/km, 6:44 min/mile)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Placement: </b>3rd female, 11th overall, 1st in AG (F45-49)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mel has gotten me by around 15 seconds and she's stoked; we give each other a sweaty congratulatory hug and chat a bit to Gemma who has won with a handy 2:51. Dion and his red-singleted companion have caught the early leader, Sammy, as it turns out - and in an echo of my race with Mel, Dane (2:24:54) has gapped Dion (2:25:02) on the final hill to take the win by just 8 seconds. Amazing! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's chocolate all round when the presentations finally take place, and then off to the hotel for a much-needed shower and perhaps just a tiny bit of chocolate. Mmmm.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9qrYOZMIM1l-Dq4lAzsq5a6xM1SSTQwi3egyx11hlKL2xhfnyn2cTJ6x1BE1mVvsUdHkuPT5vmSZj7nUdRmnJxqVON2dJbJKBhL8kAKAMeKvj5lid6NM0I2bTNZ3LV2VGtl0QGNCBW5q_/s1600/20x30-CDAA2675.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9qrYOZMIM1l-Dq4lAzsq5a6xM1SSTQwi3egyx11hlKL2xhfnyn2cTJ6x1BE1mVvsUdHkuPT5vmSZj7nUdRmnJxqVON2dJbJKBhL8kAKAMeKvj5lid6NM0I2bTNZ3LV2VGtl0QGNCBW5q_/s640/20x30-CDAA2675.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Not only am I older, I'm also shorter. Did I mention that?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Analysis</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I could be disappointed with 2:57 - it's far from my own personal best and yet I felt that I gave the race the best effort I could - but on the other hand, chocolate. And Hobart isn't the easiest course so in any case there will hopefully be a training benefit looking forwards to Tokyo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And when I looked at the Strava data, I realised that we actually ran a pretty solid race. The 5K splits tell the tale: we only lost just under 2 minutes in the final 12km of the race but were otherwise very consistently around 20:45 per 5km.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfVy6bBDW5pTSZD_JYeVqevFsTGygHK9kBEGdiEBUiIvwOMUWfghoTDgsaZKh-Zd3pTWWrbNDGu1Npx8cIqZqO7IRYImxnfbaLlNy_e5GW5kElSaWQ9ZlVAqU57k3wEAgyoygpqyohbcD/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-01-24+at+9.28.43+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="948" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfVy6bBDW5pTSZD_JYeVqevFsTGygHK9kBEGdiEBUiIvwOMUWfghoTDgsaZKh-Zd3pTWWrbNDGu1Npx8cIqZqO7IRYImxnfbaLlNy_e5GW5kElSaWQ9ZlVAqU57k3wEAgyoygpqyohbcD/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-01-24+at+9.28.43+pm.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We end the day drinking beer in a pub with a random South African couple who have also run the marathon today; they're adamant that we must run Comrades someday (the legendary race that seems more like a religion, turning its participants into evangelical devotees the world over) and it's a lot of fun chatting about all the places we've run and all the races we have yet to do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So even considering the less-than-stellar finish time, any race that leads to chocolate and new running friends is one to be celebrated, indeed!</span><br />
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-31829914342030013502018-01-12T23:47:00.000-08:002019-12-07T20:15:52.366-08:00Stromlo Lightning Strike 50K, November 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEsdIE6k_SazjkBbwSnXVnRcNXsqJdYjj6ucHpi52MKml1DDJkt5lsXC3Pv33tQ0WdcX3yhbLZf_ialt5g6b4svqGUi2zHaDlF6nvhqp1ryX3eRdfDQ3aFzZa9MbRnRdrYOlNIRSMHXVK8/s1600/header-2017-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="191" data-original-width="1151" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEsdIE6k_SazjkBbwSnXVnRcNXsqJdYjj6ucHpi52MKml1DDJkt5lsXC3Pv33tQ0WdcX3yhbLZf_ialt5g6b4svqGUi2zHaDlF6nvhqp1ryX3eRdfDQ3aFzZa9MbRnRdrYOlNIRSMHXVK8/s640/header-2017-1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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The story of Stromlo Running Festival has its roots in the devastating bushfires that struck Canberra back in 2003, claiming 4 lives, destroying over 500 homes and razing hundreds of acres of native forest. One of the people who lost their house and everything in it was Australia's fastest-ever marathon runner, Rob de Castella. In the 80s and 90s Deek and many of Australia's other top runners had done much of their training around Mount Stromlo ,and so in 2009 he was instrumental in the development of the new Stromlo Forest Park, which has become Australia's best off-road running and cycling venue.<br />
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So Deek remains an important part of the Stromlo Running Festival; you can read more about it h<a href="http://www.stromlo.com.au/background/" target="_blank">ere</a>. My own connection to Stromlo began in 2015 when I signed up for the 50K but (for reasons I can no longer recall) was not able to actually run it. This year I seem to have developed a bit of an appetite for sadomasochistic running feats - see my post about the <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2017/10/fuxian-lake-highland-50k-china.html" target="_blank">Fuxian Lake 50K</a> as a reference - and so Stromlo made perfect sense. I signed myself up for the 30K because I knew the course would be super-hilly and honestly, I'm not THAT much of a masochist.<br />
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<b>The Lead-Up</b><br />
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After China I ran Melbourne marathon and then attempted to take some downtime, which for me means running 70-80 miles per week (around 120km) without speedwork or particularly long runs. But since I was only planning to do the 30K option at Stromlo, I didn't bother with any sort of taper; 30K isn't even a particularly long long run when marathon training. In fact, the three weeks before looked more like a peak than a taper:<br />
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So it was off I went to Canberra without a second thought, really, for a nice long run and (just in the back of my mind, really) the idea that I might be able to place or even - dare I say it? - win. No big deal.<br />
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<b>Stromlo </b><br />
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We find our way to Stromlo Forest Park and only get lost once on the way (for Canberra this is a big achievement), and we've got the new tent that came with the new Jeep as well as all the sorts of things that make camping bearable: air mattresses, a machine to blow them up (no more hyperventilating), a big quilt and many pillows, plus comfy chairs on which to sit under the awning. It's only $10 to camp onsite the night before the race and it will save a lot of pre-dawn driving too.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Should camping be this comfortable?</td></tr>
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In the process of picking up our bibs, however, an unexpected glitch appears - in the form of an extremely young, fit-looking female who is chatting with the race director. He's been told, by one of Australia's fastest distance runners in fact, that she's going to win tomorrow. Uh oh! I strike up a conversation with her as we check out the dinner options and yep, she's doing the 30K.<br />
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Suddenly I'm filled with an inexplicable desire to switch distances.<br />
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I'm not exactly trained for 50K, but on the other hand I'd rather do a longer run if I'm not going to win. 30km is not exactly long in terms of weekly long runs - although the elevation profile will more than make up for that - so a longer run would be preferable, and yeah, knowing that the best I can do is second place is definitely a factor in my decision.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original course profile - we'll be doing the middle part twice - the hills are so big they have their own names</td></tr>
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Joel is immediately on board with the decision to almost double the distance (now you know why I married him) and it seems we'll need to come back to effect the official transfer at 5am because the 50K starts at 6am. Another early morning, sigh, but at least we'll hopefully sleep well on our comfy air mattresses! Deek comes around for a chat (awesome) and we happily settle in early in anticipation of the big run ahead.<br />
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<b>Race Day</b><br />
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The weather is significantly improved on last night's tempest and I head over to change our bibs and pick up a coffee just after 5am. The wind has dropped but there's still a bit of cloud cover - this will be useful later on if things start to warm up - and all in all, I'm sort of inappropriately excited to take on what is undoubtedly going to be a tough day's running. Perhaps there's a touch of denial there as well, who knows, but in any case we're feeling ready.<br />
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Milling around at the start we are a little concerned to note that we're almost the only runners NOT wearing complicated-looking hydration vests; this speaks volumes about our general lack of experience with this sort of mad trail ultrarunning. Joel informs me that we're supposed to be carrying a minimum of 600ml of fluid with us - this is per the race guidelines which I seem to have neglected to read - so we decide he'll refill and bring the Gatorade bottle he's holding.<br />
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There are *supposed* to be water tables at least every 5km so I'm sure I'll be ok, but extra water won't hurt either of us. Due to the late change I only have 4 gels with me - everyone around me has significantly more, of course - but whatever, I'll be fine! Denial: not just a river in Egypt, it's a lovely place to hang out before a murderously tough trail race.<br />
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<b>Loop 1: 10K</b><br />
<i>50:16 - pace 8:05 min/mile, 5:01 min/km (hmm)</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9aBIenp2GFvqj4Neg_HGKXME3qzuK1yeAhLizKx8CiCKeS3Vrbpb1w70hHQ0_kZo8EKqWtCi9Hedxrky1etyourN0xHyX54S0EP2O1fvJ0zSiEhluilwp10Vbz0BGiTQJ4cM0umq0up9/s1600/Stromlo_start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="911" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9aBIenp2GFvqj4Neg_HGKXME3qzuK1yeAhLizKx8CiCKeS3Vrbpb1w70hHQ0_kZo8EKqWtCi9Hedxrky1etyourN0xHyX54S0EP2O1fvJ0zSiEhluilwp10Vbz0BGiTQJ4cM0umq0up9/s640/Stromlo_start.jpg" width="606" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look resigned, Kelly looks determined and Joel has disappeared altogether</td></tr>
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Off we go, directly into the rising sun. The first loop takes us at first around the flat asphalt of the cycling track where we've all been camped overnight, before heading off onto the fire trails around the side of Mt Stromlo. It undulates quite a bit but all in all, I spend the first few miles thinking this isn't really too bad. In retrospect this is probably due to my legs being still fairly fresh - let's see how I feel about it all in a couple of hours, hmm?<br />
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The field has strung out fairly fast and I'm pretty certain I'm the female leader already. Joel and I are running comfortably together, occasionally chatting with other runners but mostly just pacing along together at a conversational pace. The second lap is going to have some unpleasantly large hills and due to the late course change we'll be doing them TWICE, so there's no need to exhaust ourselves now.<br />
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A few kms in there's a guy running close with us and so we strike up a conversation; it turns out he's planning to run Boston next year and so we of course have LOTS to say about that, being veteran participants and everything. The conversation is slightly interrupted by the onset of some rather nasty steep uphills - and the first water station, near the top of the hill - but as we turn left and head back down towards the start precinct, he catches us up again and we resume our reminiscences about Beantown.<br />
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Pace-wise we're ranging between 7:10 - 8:04 minutes per mile depending on the up/down, and that's perfectly fine by me. But by the time the end of the first loop is approaching it has become clear that it's longer than 10km; this does not bode well for the rest of the race, but perhaps it's Garmin error or something? The water stations have been, well, almost non-existent, so we stop right after the finish/start/end of lap archway to get a drink.<br />
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Joel is still carrying our water bottle and our Boston-bound friend (whose name it will turn out is Warwick) is still right with us as we set out on lap number 2, and as we exit the criterium track there's Kelly-Ann with her entourage, about 3 minutes behind. Here goes loop 2!<br />
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<b>Loop 2: 10-30K</b><br />
<i>20km in 1:52:57 - 9:05 min/mile, 5:39 min/km (slowing down hmmm)</i><br />
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The first part of this loop is the same ground we've already covered and we plough onwards with Warwick towards the 5km water station, where this time we turn right instead off left and head off into the hills. The incline up to the water table was a little more unpleasant this time but overall, things aren't so bad for me right now. Joel, though, is moaning faintly about how he's feeling and at one point tells me he'll see me later before falling about 50m behind. Hmm - it's very early still in a looooong race - who knows what will happen? And I'd much rather have company that not, so I keep trundling along and am very pleased when he suddenly catches up again before too long.<br />
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At the half-marathon mark things still aren't too bad really - a few sharp hills so far but nothing prolonged - and we're still holding a pace around 8:00 min/mile (5:00 min/km). But mile 14 is a massive reality-check; Warwick has disappeared behind us and for the first time our mile split is over 9 minutes. "That had to be the Mother, right?" asks Joel - that's the name of the biggest hill we'll have to face today - but no, I'm pretty sure it's not. There's another water stop which is also offering lollies, Coke and sports drink, so we stop briefly to refill the water bottle and off we go again.<br />
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A long uphill begins at the start of mile 16, and it just keeps on going...and going. It's still not the Mother, though! When she finally does arrive during mile 17, the incline is enough to almost stop us dead in our tracks: ranging from 12-18%, it's a battle not to walk, because honestly it probably would not be much slower. The mile split beeps 10:41 (6:27 min/km) and I just want to laugh - that's probably the slowest mile I've "run" in my life! Joel is ahead but I catch him at the top; together again we struggle through the Kicker (ugh) and then the extremely welcome downhill that follows.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi012kHP4orDWjhyphenhyphenhtl3e3irJYPFytBBsha_WoCKQTFCj8J9YILxS6FyoKJbJgsC-rru0UIhSDTLRVppbqLJLAMk_C2ETHf44LpgRTvj44bkUpHHoMrhAWtLmlSNo-OlCaSt1P7j7eZ3nvG/s1600/Stromlo_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="657" data-original-width="986" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi012kHP4orDWjhyphenhyphenhtl3e3irJYPFytBBsha_WoCKQTFCj8J9YILxS6FyoKJbJgsC-rru0UIhSDTLRVppbqLJLAMk_C2ETHf44LpgRTvj44bkUpHHoMrhAWtLmlSNo-OlCaSt1P7j7eZ3nvG/s640/Stromlo_01.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're still alive! Major thumbs-up</td></tr>
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There's one more significant uphill to conquer on our way back to the start but there are 10K runners all over the place and this keeps us moving nicely (pace back around 8:00/5:00) - we pass our friend Ewen, who bellows encouragement - until finally, FINALLY, we are closing on the 30K mark.<br />
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Except that we're now closer to 32km by my Garmin, and Joel's Garmin agrees. In fact, 20 miles (32km) has come and gone by the time we turn back into the cycling track and make our way once again to the water stop just past the finish line. Uh, I don't want to think about how far this 50K race might turn out to be in the end. It's looking more like 54km, which is just ridiculous! I'd rather believe that there will be some sort of miraculous short-cut that will bring us in right on 50km, so with this delusional thought off we go on lap 3. Wheee?<br />
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<b>Loop 3: 30-50K</b><br />
<i>20km in 2:00:49 - 9:43 min/mile, 6:02 min/km </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The small undulations that seemed so insignificant on lap 1 are now serious obstacles. It's hard to think about the fact that we have to summit the Mother again this lap, and in fact I really would rather not think about anything just now. We trudge onwards to the first water stop and hang a right turn once more. This time it's my turn to whinge and fall behind - my legs are NOT HAPPY - but Joel (still carrying his magic water bottle) very kindly slows down and so pretty soon I'm able to toughen up and stick with him. Phew!<br />
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The thought of the massive hills still ahead is daunting and the only time our pace is faster than 8:00 min/km (in my mind this is the threshold between running and jogging, somehow) is when there's a considerable elevation loss going on. Every incline gets us around 9:00 or slower (5:35 min/km) and it's just a slog, period. Thankfully the sun has gone behind the clouds, but it's getting pretty warm - the Gatorade bottle is doing double duty as a source of water to dump on our heads - and I'm out of gels. Ugh, I might have to pick something up at the next aid station, if it ever comes along.<br />
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Finally we're approaching the one that we know heralds the start of the Mother; when we stop I take the opportunity to grab a cup of Coke and to my surprise it goes down very well! I don't feel thirsty but the extra sugar will hopefully help me deal with what lies ahead, even if only from a mental perspective.<br />
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The second lap up the Mother (and that a-hole hill the Kicker) somehow isn't quite as bad as I was expecting: the two miles of torture record splits of 9:00 and 10:38, with no walking (ok maybe just a few paces) and only minimal profanity running through my head, along the lines of "Why the bleep am I doing this, again?" Finally we're done with the major hills and are heading steeply downwards; at this point with quads that feel like jelly, going down is just as dicey as going up and not a lot faster.<br />
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31 miles comes and goes, and we're not at the start/finish area, not even close. The much-desired shortcut has failed to materialise! My watch reads 4:20 and that's a personal worst for the distance, but what's really worst is that I'm still running. There are quite a lot of 30K runners on the course and as we pass I hear some of them moaning about the distance, too; it's clearly not a Garmin malfunction, the course really is significantly long. SIGH.<br />
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32 miles, then 33 and STILL we're not near the finish line. I'm starting to get really pissed off about this situation: I was mentally prepared to run 50 difficult kilometers but this extension was not in the contract! Even on the flat and downhill stretches it's a struggle to do more than shuffle/jog sullenly along. Joel is still running quite strongly in the final, mercifully flat mile (7:55 pace, which right now feels ridiculously fast) and I deeply resent having to keep up. "Can we please stop SPRINTING??" I snap, and he wisely has nothing to say in reply.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCD8bmq9Lm_pKvZ1HXJKc_uAtdxqN-vStCe9hl3JJ-wz84QZPWyUI4g18pMnvwqkmT7iHbuM73Z3FkdwUG5-4JWPbZt-O69ZhNOcpH-A9i38LqyGNwY0_CAQ0kIQuBcojXMhWODMRG7fo9/s1600/IMG_9646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="960" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCD8bmq9Lm_pKvZ1HXJKc_uAtdxqN-vStCe9hl3JJ-wz84QZPWyUI4g18pMnvwqkmT7iHbuM73Z3FkdwUG5-4JWPbZt-O69ZhNOcpH-A9i38LqyGNwY0_CAQ0kIQuBcojXMhWODMRG7fo9/s640/IMG_9646.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me: <incoherent yelling><br />
Him: 😂</td></tr>
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At last! We're on the criterium track and the finishing arch is in sight. There are a few people yelling my name - this will turn out to be runners I know from our post-Melbourne celebrations - but I'm too hosed to respond properly, I just want to stop running. Sorry!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-MWu42WcFP6pONHoedp7oj1ibe3KVWnoK1nMubW8gkkeIOr1W9egIEd7QXL94cR6pZJnltEU2jbZSFWMOmhHC7FYG503snC1Gg6swnD8pVWOQb2yhaDkFfF8SeirzIoCMD7Y-IG-4EHM/s1600/Stromlo_finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="647" data-original-width="960" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-MWu42WcFP6pONHoedp7oj1ibe3KVWnoK1nMubW8gkkeIOr1W9egIEd7QXL94cR6pZJnltEU2jbZSFWMOmhHC7FYG503snC1Gg6swnD8pVWOQb2yhaDkFfF8SeirzIoCMD7Y-IG-4EHM/s640/Stromlo_finish.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">YAY!!<br />
photo credit: Cath Tompos</td></tr>
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<b>Finish time: </b>4:44:02 (9:08 min/mile or 5:40 min/km but for the actual distance, more like 8:23/5:12)<br />
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<b>Placement: </b>1st woman, tied with Joel for 5th overall<br />
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The total distance run adds up to 33.8 miles or 54.5km, a error that is quite astonishing to contemplate. Fit fast young chick has indeed won the 30K and she's in the shower room complaining that it was more like 32km when I head in there to clean up: I'm caked in salt as well as a liberal helping of dust and dirt up both legs. Ok, so loop 1 was over by just under 1km and the loop 2 that we ran twice was probably over by about 1.5km. Amazing!<br />
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It's an exquisite relief to be finished, although my legs don't feel nearly as beaten-up as I would have expected - perhaps that's due to how much slower the pace was than in the other 50K races I've run before this. Back at the tent my companions are enjoying a beer, so I stagger around a bit gathering food and then it's time for the presentations; I've won both overall female and my age group! Deek's on the microphone and he apologises for the length of the course, promising it will be fixed for next year - "Good," I tell him "because otherwise I don't think I'd like to come back!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkVIoeJgp53fd1cnNIzq70NyPAPvw-G1WvSXwNlnQeX9FRa4B22uCkMuq5vNz-8ohBgR9TuoHh4JpYUDauuahnZ2U0DmXfWWWarxru01mdiGgaLieHM_p615fgdoJ2EmetH6xha7wcFhH/s1600/IMG_9644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="530" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkVIoeJgp53fd1cnNIzq70NyPAPvw-G1WvSXwNlnQeX9FRa4B22uCkMuq5vNz-8ohBgR9TuoHh4JpYUDauuahnZ2U0DmXfWWWarxru01mdiGgaLieHM_p615fgdoJ2EmetH6xha7wcFhH/s640/IMG_9644.jpg" width="468" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<b>Analysis</b><br />
<br />
So this was a personal worst by almost an hour (after Fuxian Lake's 3:55:04), although if you allow for the extra distance it was only 25 minutes slower, or thereabouts. The elevation profile is frankly hideous and explains the whole disaster - but further analysis over breakfast and on the ride home shows that we only lost around 8 minutes on the final loop, compared to our first trip up and over the Mother. Almost all the other runners lost a fair bit more; this is proof of our endurance and something to be pleased about for sure!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7SkHHbIXehz5n7-Zc1VvBMR0c_gU_mTIqWQA4kGjsN2qxWiZv10HDllPtNYuLqyfKnU-zSeSCMvHSK3Sa_hIijKcSByfQDQiHvTIh0zWNy2n7boLW711Ggtq1TmYAOiezfdDHrtQqmlpH/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-01-11+at+9.10.28+am.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="931" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7SkHHbIXehz5n7-Zc1VvBMR0c_gU_mTIqWQA4kGjsN2qxWiZv10HDllPtNYuLqyfKnU-zSeSCMvHSK3Sa_hIijKcSByfQDQiHvTIh0zWNy2n7boLW711Ggtq1TmYAOiezfdDHrtQqmlpH/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-01-11+at+9.10.28+am.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If this was an ECG I'd be applying the defibrillator paddles, stat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In retrospect this was a pretty fun thing to do, despite the over-the-top difficulty rating. The last-minute switch plus the extra distance made this my longest run ever, as well as my first major trail race, the camping was awesome...so perhaps I will be back next year after all.<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-59584966585687623622017-10-17T03:45:00.004-07:002019-12-07T20:12:10.157-08:00Fuxian Lake Highland 50K, China, September 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6PRVDjGk9WgbWAVOlBuszeSUVW2mRfNxULeKnE2Qr-BmOw06Hbvp3MX0f9q_xj4fp48axD5u-CZTLQfeA-wVGs8jUV0-mlmVuqDM2yRbHEX_bp5cBLiPxgHI9v7XvAZCpN13NvxaX3a21/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-10-09+at+8.20.11+am.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="1196" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6PRVDjGk9WgbWAVOlBuszeSUVW2mRfNxULeKnE2Qr-BmOw06Hbvp3MX0f9q_xj4fp48axD5u-CZTLQfeA-wVGs8jUV0-mlmVuqDM2yRbHEX_bp5cBLiPxgHI9v7XvAZCpN13NvxaX3a21/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-10-09+at+8.20.11+am.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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I might as well come clean right now; I only really started
doing 50K events in order to qualify to represent Australia at the World
Championships, hoping to do so in 2017. My 3:35 at Ned Kelly in October last
year was a solid ‘B’ qualifier but due to various issues, the planned 2017
event<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- scheduled to take place in
November in Dohar, Qatar – was cancelled during the first half of the year.</div>
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“Right, that’s me done with ultras” I thought at the time.
But of course, when the opportunity arose in July to apply for selection to run
a 50K in China in late September, I jumped right on it. I was pretty excited
when I was chosen to run in what would be a trial World Championships event,
and it seemed fateful that this year I wasn’t able to compete at the Gold Coast
marathon, because that meant my last marathon was way back in April – so at
least I’d be very well-rested. And hopefully well-trained! </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Training</b></div>
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<br />
Ah, well, yes. I did manage to put together a decent sort of a build-up,
eventually: my training mileage topped out at
104 miles per week (162km) but in terms of average miles I was somewhat
derailed, first by a week of skiing and then by a small hamstring niggle that surfaced
after I raced the City2Surf in Sydney directly after the ski trip. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Stupid, yes, running 14 hilly kilometres at top speed after
a week of using different muscles, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I
also had foolish intentions of doing the Wagga Trail marathon as a training
run, but the niggle made me temporarily sane enough to realise that this would
be a supremely bad idea, so I sat it out and spent the weekend volunteering
instead. </div>
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<br /></div>
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As it happened, the race was won in 3:14 by a local runner
whom I beat in 2015; I’m certain I would have absolutely thrashed myself trying
to keep up with her (and likely failed anyway) so my threatened injury was
indeed a blessing in disguise. And a short consult during that day with my
superhero physio Marcus meant that the niggle was history just a few days
later, so I was able to resume training with gusto. Hooray!</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Travel<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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It’s much further to China than you’d think, given that the
time difference is fairly minimal (they're only 2 hours behind), but the trip goes
smoothly and without much fanfare Joel and I find ourselves on the official
shuttle to the Hilton Fuxian Lake, the official race hotel/resort. On the bus
also is Jodie, our Aussie team captain who is the vice-president of AURA. The
trip is around 90 minutes and it passes quickly as we chat about running and
rubberneck at the scenery, which is stunning. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiqSFbgYuEyaAizjmaq4FGJM0dSWk-8m1Hvb3RATzrCNz3QIb9p2XefZyrEVITeIHbMGf_RWEahkX1DnhiMlfmeiIo5w-kvJay48zHFCWO2Oo0Jjhnye0FqKyXOpWbFrfsmKiAyWjKJNI/s1600/FL_collage1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="736" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiqSFbgYuEyaAizjmaq4FGJM0dSWk-8m1Hvb3RATzrCNz3QIb9p2XefZyrEVITeIHbMGf_RWEahkX1DnhiMlfmeiIo5w-kvJay48zHFCWO2Oo0Jjhnye0FqKyXOpWbFrfsmKiAyWjKJNI/s640/FL_collage1.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view approaching the Hilton; the actual hotel itself. Massive!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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And very mountainous, which could be a problem. The word
“highland” in the title of the event is a bit of a clue: the whole event is
going to take place at over 1700m of elevation, maxing at out 1911m at around
the half-way point. I live at sea level and surprisingly enough I haven’t had
any opportunity to do any altitude training, although plenty of people have
asked me whether I have. Am I the only one who can’t just quit their job and
abandon their family to move to Colorado for a few months for the sake of
running? Really?</div>
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<br /></div>
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But whatever, I’ll worry about that later. The Hilton is palatial,
the food a never-ending buffet of delicious, different and sometimes utterly
bizarre Asian cuisine, the pool is stunning and our room spacious with an
amazing view. There’s nothing much to do, however, other than rest and eat,
which at this point in time is perfect. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPhhm6qOZtyOiv0jvQC1xtXeJ5ua7XCceQASfbY1sHOzcPDgMNVrj5FdCl4fL1ElkXZCwq_bcWtuCPTtCQhhGxa6653f0dnR9E9k4qS74HxgFlJa2jxuUTiCnekbpd5CosoAcmNvFF0a1/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-10-14+at+5.13.23+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="464" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPhhm6qOZtyOiv0jvQC1xtXeJ5ua7XCceQASfbY1sHOzcPDgMNVrj5FdCl4fL1ElkXZCwq_bcWtuCPTtCQhhGxa6653f0dnR9E9k4qS74HxgFlJa2jxuUTiCnekbpd5CosoAcmNvFF0a1/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-10-14+at+5.13.23+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meat floss buns? Chicken gizzards???<br />
I'm fine sticking with cute piggie dumplings and my usual all-carb favourites, truly I am.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7shJaN-jdVLX2IbJ2Hdm0oBy-WD3hOmtDDSK8vkU4cVqxvkFh8yC3SIxeE9OdmkrJ2zAQPrcLQ-TaqeKGI_1K_3J3shPJrkGq5jftiaRQ2UiUIagM4X2pDIutGVGIg-1jv3TTYKEVzi8/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-10-14+at+7.00.54+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="663" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7shJaN-jdVLX2IbJ2Hdm0oBy-WD3hOmtDDSK8vkU4cVqxvkFh8yC3SIxeE9OdmkrJ2zAQPrcLQ-TaqeKGI_1K_3J3shPJrkGq5jftiaRQ2UiUIagM4X2pDIutGVGIg-1jv3TTYKEVzi8/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-10-14+at+7.00.54+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eat, rest, sleep, repeat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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And it’s super-cool to have the opportunity to hang out for a few days in the company of a large group of world-class ultra-runners. However, everyone looks way fitter (“and younger” adds my
helpful husband) than me and I’m pretty much completely intimidated, even
though we have met a lot of new people and all of them seem really nice. Joel
returns from running on the treadmill in the basement gym to report that “a
fast young-looking Polish chick" is in there pounding out intervals at a
seriously fast pace. I’ve seen her walking around and heard that she’s a 2:38
marathoner who is running the 50K; ok, well, there’s our winner right there.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There's a rather large contingent of Aussies and Jodie of course knows EVERYBODY so pretty soon we have assembled a fantastic group of friendly people to talk to while we eat and rest, with lots of countries represented. And what's even better is that I can wear sandals without having to worry about the state of my toenails, because everyone is in the same situation. How awesome!<br />
<br />
In our time-honoured tradition of not resting enough on the day before a big race, Joel and I somehow decide to rent a tandem bike on Friday and cycle into the nearby town in search of a store to buy strange unknown Chinese foodstuffs. The road is populated with speeding trucks, ridiculously overloaded 3-wheeled utes and a lot of vehicles that look like eggbeaters on wheels - what could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3pbSHCFQigWfhDN6KELhLrFqVrGll_UUJ4ua4tL8laA45GLB3RytagVFVrrAxxw4Ghi9_WwXwUvRMAJGYMYMDPjum5x2YpKQGGJ0PDM5pC68Q56wliDTw2Cjd_YwRbIFhzzKk9rcDl_dr/s1600/B03FBF82-EBD2-4901-9A34-87D758628DB5+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3pbSHCFQigWfhDN6KELhLrFqVrGll_UUJ4ua4tL8laA45GLB3RytagVFVrrAxxw4Ghi9_WwXwUvRMAJGYMYMDPjum5x2YpKQGGJ0PDM5pC68Q56wliDTw2Cjd_YwRbIFhzzKk9rcDl_dr/s640/B03FBF82-EBD2-4901-9A34-87D758628DB5+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'm not sure what this is that I'm drinking, but it tastes pretty good!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Thankfully we survive the trip and although pedalling back up the hill to the hotel is much harder than it should be - this really should make me think more carefully about tomorrow's course, but it doesn't - I head off to bed that evening in a state of blissful denial, ready to attempt my 3rd-ever 50K race.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Race Day<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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The time difference means I’m easily awake at 5:45am; I
dress quickly in the clothes laid out the night before and head down to the
breakfast buffet. After all the food I’ve eaten over the past couple of days,
I’m really not at all hungry but for the sake of fuelling (not to mention the
need to stimulate some pre-race bathroom activity) I grab a coffee and half a
waffle, and sit at a table to pick unenthusiastically at it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FGDthw138fdThSfgzqaUcKgLEEQZmYJ3e7Fn8J_NWU60eE6mxE4eLSe0uyoOoRy6HuAAwhCaRJaHiotM3QHzs3gBgchMghp_uNGXLdFs4ADfThnFSM0yNFqG-kmeXNhYzV10pEZjmw68/s1600/8D53835D-3ABB-456E-B074-08C135A7BE87.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FGDthw138fdThSfgzqaUcKgLEEQZmYJ3e7Fn8J_NWU60eE6mxE4eLSe0uyoOoRy6HuAAwhCaRJaHiotM3QHzs3gBgchMghp_uNGXLdFs4ADfThnFSM0yNFqG-kmeXNhYzV10pEZjmw68/s640/8D53835D-3ABB-456E-B074-08C135A7BE87.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've even remembered to put on sunscreen for once</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By 6:30am I’m up in the lobby again where I easily find
Jodie and Tia. Jodie has an Australian flag and to my surprise a steady stream
of Chinese runners starts finding its way over to take a photo of, or selfie
with, one or all of us. We’re celebrities! Then suddenly I realise I don’t have
my timing chip – it’s the old-school sort that you have to thread your laces
through – and this inspires a short warm-up panic and sprint back to the room
to get it. Phew, that was close! </div>
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<br /></div>
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The bus ride to the start line is a short and easy one, but
once there the facilities are somewhat lacking. There’s no elite area and the
race doesn’t start for more than an hour – we’ve been bussed in early especially for the
starting ceremony – so we end up perched on a kerb just killing time. More
selfies and photos ensue: my image is now stored on an impressive number of
Chinese mobile phones, although why anyone would want it is still beyond my
understanding. It’s a fun way to pass the time, though, so I guess I can’t
complain too much.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNb2TuFQG1rcB2tFfTYj0xvPzP6ofim3TURjFuaBsNecFWLpaKbkI877uDNzM4JwO7Oi2LFyyCkUt13FkvWacBA5eb0TZt5gGgNUxbIrRGw91W2MOv_VhMu-g9_k2GUs-KRYSFpeBeG5HU/s1600/FL50K_sittingaround.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNb2TuFQG1rcB2tFfTYj0xvPzP6ofim3TURjFuaBsNecFWLpaKbkI877uDNzM4JwO7Oi2LFyyCkUt13FkvWacBA5eb0TZt5gGgNUxbIrRGw91W2MOv_VhMu-g9_k2GUs-KRYSFpeBeG5HU/s640/FL50K_sittingaround.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Aussie contingent: Tia (behind the flag), Michelle, Georgie and Gary<br />
On the left: a person I'll get a closer look at in about 30km (British runner Jo Meek) and our adopted American, Meghan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a while the invited runners are herded onto the road
behind the starting archway, pretty soon we’re all sprawled on the asphalt and
I’m actually sort of cold, although that’s not likely to last for long. There
are elaborately-dressed drummers and dancers performing on the other side of
the line, as well as cheerleaders doing cheering and someone making a long and
earnest speech in Chinese, but the line of volunteers between them and us (not
to mention the large start/finish arcade) means I can’t really see what they
are doing. I’m just sitting here getting impressions from the road surface in
my skin. Bring on race time!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSmtGZh033SvMqj9S0BmOxIYai5XtfK52kgPGKFxzY17Js1Nfk7oFsBxcZL4hPrBFmVL7k8xL25nLE25DGpqvk3QzgEz6Lc9wLvEbbEgmPFnXyjOVJRuSXN7IShibkf6B_9NMz7fbFZ8d/s1600/FL50K_startarch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSmtGZh033SvMqj9S0BmOxIYai5XtfK52kgPGKFxzY17Js1Nfk7oFsBxcZL4hPrBFmVL7k8xL25nLE25DGpqvk3QzgEz6Lc9wLvEbbEgmPFnXyjOVJRuSXN7IShibkf6B_9NMz7fbFZ8d/s640/FL50K_startarch.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really wish I could see past all those people and that big arch thingy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jb0dWII0gWaaZI2NeGntnDO2n1_wvij-YZX2GNFbU9eC83sBrNa626haL98HQqdsBPX-Vf_qbHzB5mhehVYGus9V_uzNurFf6Kg8NqOciCbEbqCkfmdteJAbZWKW9KT9RqNNMjyTOl-R/s1600/FL50K_prestart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jb0dWII0gWaaZI2NeGntnDO2n1_wvij-YZX2GNFbU9eC83sBrNa626haL98HQqdsBPX-Vf_qbHzB5mhehVYGus9V_uzNurFf6Kg8NqOciCbEbqCkfmdteJAbZWKW9KT9RqNNMjyTOl-R/s640/FL50K_prestart.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team AU with bonus speedy American!<br />
photo credit: some Chinese person with Gary's camera</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p><br /> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Start - 5km: </b>21:35
(6:55 min/mile, 4:18 min/km)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Off we go! I’m expecting the 5K runners to tear past me at
top speed – there are over 3000 of them, after all – but nothing much happens,
really, as everyone starts running at an appropriately sedate ultra-style pace.
Eventually one sort of jogs past at about the 2km mark, followed by another who
is wearing a full tracksuit and appears to be mostly running backwards while
taking selfies. Evidently the winning time is not going to be particularly fast
and I now regret 1. Not knowing about it sooner and 2. Not entering Joel, as he
would most definitely have been able to win easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Choosing my own pace now is a slightly interesting exercise;
I know it’s going to be hot<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>today
(although the clouds are doing an impressive job so far of keeping the
temperature down) and it’s already extremely humid, but the unknown variable is
how much the altitude is going to affect me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, for the moment my body has decided to attempt an
approximation of my usual 50K race pace, which is around 7 min/mile. It feels
okay, well, actually in fact it feels a bit too difficult. But I’m going to
ignore that for now and just see what happens. There’s much more of a crowd
that I expected, spectating and clapping and yelling out a phrase that I will
come to know well during the next 50km. Lots of them are very excited but more appear slightly bemused, like they can't figure out what all these mad people are doing, but are too polite to look away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8iihiSfui8-3eCIP5yCQQwl6DaQXxmcDa-w51Mf6fGl0C6bz0masrxRDdr_sCisgGc7lSA3qd6Jr5vBnanh9NAJ0aOILLKfFb6iG3jqd6WnVJwiYiS_QBG4UVk5PEb4Gw_92MdE7QJTfJ/s1600/chinesegirlsbyedit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8iihiSfui8-3eCIP5yCQQwl6DaQXxmcDa-w51Mf6fGl0C6bz0masrxRDdr_sCisgGc7lSA3qd6Jr5vBnanh9NAJ0aOILLKfFb6iG3jqd6WnVJwiYiS_QBG4UVk5PEb4Gw_92MdE7QJTfJ/s640/chinesegirlsbyedit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A representative mix of Chinese spectators: fairly puzzled, vaguely interested, SUPER excited<br />
photo credit: Edit Berces</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lake is to my left and now the course turns right: there’s
an out-and-back that eventually will give me my only chance to see how far
ahead/behind the other women in the race are. I don’t know how relevant that’s
going to be, since I have absolutely no expectation of placing in this race (ok
well maybe only a tiny one, cough cough). Yeah, right. Anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">5 – 10km: </b>22:17
(7:10, 4:27)<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been able to figure out that I’m in 4<sup>th</sup>
place, with Dominika the Polish speedster way out in front, a tiny Chinese woman in 2<sup>nd</sup> and a Czech in 3<sup>rd</sup>
(running with a German bloke with a long ponytail). This isn’t a bad
situation, but after the turn I can see that there are many others – including
Michelle and Ella of the Aussie contingent – not at all far behind me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The key is going to be holding on to a decent pace; I’m
acutely aware that there’s a massive hill coming up, starting around the 23km
mark, so who knows what might happen? For now it’s enough to be running and
enjoying the experience, so I focus on trying to do just that. I’ve slowed down
a tiny bit but the effort level feels the same, so whatever.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">10-15km:</b> 22:24
(7:12, 4:28)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So far, so good, well almost. The crowd is still out in
force and I’m surprised – not in a negative way – about how stringent the crowd
control seems to be. There’s barely been a minute when I haven’t been able to
see at least one volunteer, vigilantly watching the road for runners, and in
many areas the road is taped off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At one point a couple of kids dash out onto the road as I
approach around a sweeping turn: an angry policeman instantly materialises and
rushes at them, waving his arm and shouting loudly. They scurry back under the
tape and I whizz by unmolested. Better than I can say for even major marathons – a
friend of Joel’s was clotheslined by a child at Chicago, of
all places – so that in itself is impressive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m still hearing this repeated phrase that in fact will
continue for the entire race: “Jai-yo!” and it’s being yelled at me by everyone
from small kids to grown men to groups of giggling teenagers. It must mean
“let’s go!” although might possibly also translate as “you’re mad!” I spend a
minute trying to memorise it so I can ask someone later on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">15-20km: </b>22:48
(7:20/4:33)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The course moves away from the lake now and I figure we must
be approaching the start of the hills soon, but nothing much happens. The aid
stations have so far been pretty decent – every 5km there’s a series of tables
with anything and everything a runner could want, including white bread, bananas
and gels (even on the very first one) – and my decision not to bother with
personal drinks has been vindicated, as I’ve been able to grab at least one cup
and a water bottle at each. At one, the volunteers were practically falling over the tables trying to hand me stuff, and when I went to unscrew the lid of my water bottle it was already off! The splat of water I got in my face was quite nice, really, although a bit unexpected.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Bvnj5YeQWJjB8h5cJuIn0o2Shpz84ecLTt01oLs_v4el6W1kjl-LFPgx8oRV_ejZlrlL6PtEkGcFaxJN17o28WCRIliqGEDov69pRhmVfAmvhznS0U7WiuDNvuv1SvSW4xeBoZujPIPD/s1600/FL_aidstation_EditBerces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Bvnj5YeQWJjB8h5cJuIn0o2Shpz84ecLTt01oLs_v4el6W1kjl-LFPgx8oRV_ejZlrlL6PtEkGcFaxJN17o28WCRIliqGEDov69pRhmVfAmvhznS0U7WiuDNvuv1SvSW4xeBoZujPIPD/s640/FL_aidstation_EditBerces.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An aid station, complete with enthusiastic volunteers<br />
photo credit: Edit Berces</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The weather so far is not too bad; it’s warm and humid (and
I’m definitely sweating considerably more than I usually do in races) but the
sun is behind the clouds still and really, it could be much worse. It hasn’t
escaped my notice that my overall pace is starting to slide just the tiniest
bit, which I suppose might be due to the altitude. And the small incline that
has just begun….so far it’s not too bad. As they say in the classics, “famous
last words”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">20 – 25km: </b>23:54
(7:42, 4:47)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What’s coming up is foreshadowed by the fact that as I pass
the medical tent at 20km, a male Chinese runner is flat out on his back in
there with a nurse in a snappy uniform fussing over him. How can he be in
such bad shape so early in the race? Then I look up to see not one, but two,
more runners suddenly in my sights. Wait, where did they come from? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The road is suddenly going upwards at an alarming rate; I catch and pass the
men rather quickly. Is this the big hill? It’s steep but short – I pump my
arms, keep my legs turning over – and already I’m heading back down again. For
about half a mile I feel smugly confident, but I’m counting my chickens before
they’ve hatched: at almost exactly the 24km mark, things change again, and much
for the worse. We’re going up again, the sun has just come out, and the biggest
challenge of the race is upon me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHR54bj4KS9-Pg3WHol0X3gwbkdxeFLRdpNa2O79IaWEzXrC43LZR2tJnHFBgWUtlCJqirS7HRRuL_IuempAL8-M3fZPLT-GtxG9c9J-qpcOX_TW2jTOWszwiffRE8eUmn3qD7vtvphj1g/s1600/FL50K_elevationprofile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="310" data-original-width="929" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHR54bj4KS9-Pg3WHol0X3gwbkdxeFLRdpNa2O79IaWEzXrC43LZR2tJnHFBgWUtlCJqirS7HRRuL_IuempAL8-M3fZPLT-GtxG9c9J-qpcOX_TW2jTOWszwiffRE8eUmn3qD7vtvphj1g/s640/FL50K_elevationprofile.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously, look at that hill.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">25 – 30km: </b>23:35
(7:35, 4:43)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next 2 miles/3km are a relentless upward slog to the
course’s maximal elevation of 1911m above sea level (just under 6400ft), at a
gradient that I will later find is around 4-7%, but at the time feels like
about twice that. And I seriously cannot breathe; it's the altitude and it's come to get me NOW.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My pace slows to a crawl; Gary (who is running the 100km,
for goodness’ sake) appears over my right shoulder and passes me rapidly by. I
gasp out “Survival mode”, to which he responds grimly “Yep” and then he’s gone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are more male runners ahead and both Gary and I catch another 2 of
them in short order; I feel like I’m dying, honestly, but they are going even
more slowly than me. A mile split beeps so I stupidly look at my Garmin and see
the slowest mile I have ever run in any race anywhere: 8:43 min/mile, which is
the pace I usually jog half-asleep down my street in the mornings. Wow, that
went bad pretty quickly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decide to start trying to run the tangents, but that
promptly takes me out into the middle of the road. The sun’s beating down, the
humidity is still awful, and out on the concrete road surface it’s sort of like
being in an oven. Better to stay in the shadows on the shoulder and just wear
the extra mileage that might bring.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally around 27km I crest the hill and an equally steep
downhill 3km stretch ensues. Gary is still within sight but he gaps me now
quite quickly. I’m having to brake with my quads to control my descent – it’s
too steep to just let go – and I sort of suck at downhill running anyway with
my short, shuffly gait. But at least I don’t have to keep going upwards. At
least there’s that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now a female runner in black and yellow - it's the unidentified British runner who was talking to Meghan at the start! - comes whizzing past
like I’m standing still. Ok, I sort of wasn’t expecting that, and now I’m in 5<sup>th</sup>
place. I need to pick it up again, but my legs aren’t interested. The best I
can hope for now is not to tank completely; time goals flash through my head
and I decide that under 4 hours is probably still achievable. Just get this
thing over with, please.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">30-35km:</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>24:43 (7:57, 4:56)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the hills aren’t done with me yet. The woman in yellow
and black disappears over the horizon (ok, maybe not quite that far, but at
least from my sight), the road bottoms out and almost immediately we’re
climbing again. Oh god, this is totally unfair. It’s way too early in the race
to give up – although I’d really, really like to at this point – and also way
too early to be feeling as trashed as I do. But there’s nothing to be done
other than dig in and keep going.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
We’re back down close to the lake now and spectators are once again out in
force and yelling “JAI –YO!” Later I will learn that it means, literally, “add
petrol!” and right now some rocket fuel would sure be nice. At least I’ve been
able to take my gels and swallow enough water to wash them down without gagging
or upsetting my stomach – that’s got to count for something. That and the
10,000 grams of carbohydrate I ate yesterday. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1-Grd57EnalLAb4yJ6jHtA4hAjmpgkb8IjPKj3d02sXitHSnNIas3VsCCWU488ikV9-PQtcL00GfmfubJnkQa2HNNe8VhFcI5DWIXTr41icIS6b8Kpp7aW4XpP_1sOwD8KbbQjcndqg3/s1600/FL_locals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1-Grd57EnalLAb4yJ6jHtA4hAjmpgkb8IjPKj3d02sXitHSnNIas3VsCCWU488ikV9-PQtcL00GfmfubJnkQa2HNNe8VhFcI5DWIXTr41icIS6b8Kpp7aW4XpP_1sOwD8KbbQjcndqg3/s640/FL_locals.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sane locals, watching crazy people run<br />
photo credit: Edit Berces</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">35 – 40km:</b> 24:17
(7:48, 4:52)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This 5km stretch is mostly memorable for the fact that it’s
where another female runner passes me; she’s a tall woman wearing that
intimidating briefs/bra combination favoured by the super-elites. Now I’m 6<sup>th</sup>
and not happy about it – she pulls ahead far slower than the other woman did though
(they will turn out to be teammates from Great Britain, and both very
distinguished runners indeed) so I can still see her for a long, long time –
I’m waiting to feel inspired to give some sort of chase but it never happens. I just keep running.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">40 – 45km: </b>24:22
(7:50, 4:53)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At 40km the course veers onto a smaller road to the
left and things quieten down considerably. I grab a water bottle from the aid
tables and decide to keep it with me for a while. During the pre-race briefing we were warned not to litter - in fact, the absence of litter of any sort by the side of the road has been quite remarkable - so I don't want to just pitch it anywhere. I've got my empty gel packets shoved down the side of my bra but there's not enough room in there for a water bottle, ha ha.<br />
<br />
The next interesting thing that happens is suddenly I can see another female runner ahead - it's the Chinese woman whom I saw in 2nd place so long ago - and wow, she's pretty much walking! Back into 5th position I go, and past a sign that marks 42.2km; my watch says 3:16, wow, that's awful.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The scenery, however, is amazing. The road passes by a proper summer resort called "Sunshine Coast" and there are paddleboats and umbrellas on a tidy little beach. I catch a glimpse of an island off the coast; it looks amazing but I can't look for long, for fear of tripping and landing on my face. At least I seem to be holding my current pace, like being stuck in 2nd gear really, but it could be worse. Right?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq5XuicoKsyNkPF2VQyTmNSWHN87_KAG2vJbyuj_rJ8II7hXcJB1q8K9Vva7DFmzWEQgtuT6iIzF67su30N-TPw-hYHyiXlVU-_Qxz6c9TUwttS0KvMojF4XEa6tV-jGxS08nYy7-H45le/s1600/00215a70c91c0faf231b0c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="450" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq5XuicoKsyNkPF2VQyTmNSWHN87_KAG2vJbyuj_rJ8II7hXcJB1q8K9Vva7DFmzWEQgtuT6iIzF67su30N-TPw-hYHyiXlVU-_Qxz6c9TUwttS0KvMojF4XEa6tV-jGxS08nYy7-H45le/s400/00215a70c91c0faf231b0c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Solitary Island, so picturesque</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">45 – 50km: </b>25:03
(8:03, 5:00)</div>
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<br />
Finally it's the last 5km of the toughest race of my life. I just want to be done, but the race organisers seem to have decided to torture me by putting enormous markers every kilometre from 45 onwards. I try all the tricks I can come up with to distract myself, but all I can think about is how many kilometres I have left to go. I can still see 4th place ahead of me but during this section she pulls gradually away as I struggle to keep my pace steady.<br />
<br />
I can feel a couple of my toenails now and they're not impressed with me; I can only imagine how they'd feel if I still had over 50km to run. I've passed quite a few male 100K runners by now - many of them walking - and I can't imagine that many of those will finish.<br />
<br />
Finally the end is in sight, but I can't even dredge up much of a kick to get there. My Garmin beeps mile 31: 7:48 min/mile, which has been pretty much my average pace since the big downhill ended. Oh well, at least I didn't end up walking. I round the final corner and gratefully break a finish tape that is being held up for me, then a volunteer grabs me, wraps me in a towel and asks "You need lie down?" No, thanks, I just need to stop running, that's all!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>3:55:04 (7:32 min/mile, 4:41 min/km) - a personal worst by 13 minutes!!<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>5th female<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAzjifrvZIm3YGDn6ft0dS2L-eKKlYirYCiH70zYbcxjSImI-zHVtlv2im3a7sWwTHTmWAEhQ1n6_ARE6iQaQk2VkdJYg-UzEvIqoToMTYZcR_QoJD76Fc16QzG9Y4mTOunNq542-JEvpg/s1600/FL50K_finishme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1205" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAzjifrvZIm3YGDn6ft0dS2L-eKKlYirYCiH70zYbcxjSImI-zHVtlv2im3a7sWwTHTmWAEhQ1n6_ARE6iQaQk2VkdJYg-UzEvIqoToMTYZcR_QoJD76Fc16QzG9Y4mTOunNq542-JEvpg/s640/FL50K_finishme.jpg" width="482" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't give up!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The finish area is perched on the side of quite a narrow road - the tents hang over the side of a small cliff, actually - and there's precious little room to do much of anything. I'm soaking wet so after I've sat down for a bit and had some water, I set off in search of my gear bag and a place to change clothes. This takes a lot more effort than I was expecting, in no small part because many of the lovely volunteers have absolutely no English and can't understand my attempts at sign language.<br />
<br />
Finally they get it, find my bag and then empty out one of the minibuses so I can contort myself painfully out of my sodden race gear and into my clothes. Wow, that feels better! By the time I get back to the finish area, all the Aussies bar Jodie are there, and there's really nowhere to sit. And the only appealing food on offer is bananas, although if I wanted a cheese stick or a whole cucumber I'd totally be in luck right now.<br />
<br />
So we take the opportunity to get the first bus back to the hotel, even though the process involves an unpleasantly long walk, a terrifying trip on the wrong side of the road with ONCOMING TRAFFIC (our driver seems completely unconcerned; every single non-Chinese passenger, however, is freaking out) and then a bus change at the start/finish area.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9sd48xZi8ugyGtAKCo8fppMpMsspWxtetXKs7NkL6u3ecrbv-W4gJ0-E0IlMpKcO-RvxxzN9B727qSzwcmwADs9S-71gRUzApnMmnbbU42KOX9YDSNsD2rystTUwT2h9c34ajvrrsOrgK/s1600/FL50K_Tripback.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="739" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9sd48xZi8ugyGtAKCo8fppMpMsspWxtetXKs7NkL6u3ecrbv-W4gJ0-E0IlMpKcO-RvxxzN9B727qSzwcmwADs9S-71gRUzApnMmnbbU42KOX9YDSNsD2rystTUwT2h9c34ajvrrsOrgK/s640/FL50K_Tripback.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The finish line tents, partially in the lake; most of team AU post-50K on the way home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The general consensus back at the hotel - many hours later, after everyone has returned, some have graced the medical tent with their presence, some have placed (Tia 4th woman in the 100K!) and all are utterly exhausted - is that this was THE TOUGHEST RACE EVER. Every single person is saying the same thing, albeit in different languages; most memorably, loudly in Swedish, from the 3rd placed woman in the 100K, as we sit in the lobby bar chatting to another Swedish runner whom we've just met.<br />
<br />
The combination of heat, humidity, sun (in the second half particularly), concrete and altitude has done a major number on many of us; most of the 50K runners have finished around 30 minutes slower than their PR times and for the 100K people it's more like an hour. Like me, our new friend Meghan found she just couldn't pick her pace up again after that monster hill - unlike me, she still had 70km left at that point. Gary tells of collapsing at 75km, but with nobody coming past for 15 minutes as he lay by the road, eventually he just got up and kept going, finally passing out over the finish line and getting carted off for oxygen and several litres of IV fluids.<br />
<br />
So I don't feel too bad about my result, actually I feel pretty good, although I am reconsidering my goal of running in next year's World Championships if they are going to be in Fuxian Lake! All in all it was a fantastic experience, however, and so much fun to make new running friends from all around the globe. And by next year I'll probably have forgotten all the bad parts so maybe I'll be back after all. You just never know.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-54012899405272695392017-09-28T19:50:00.002-07:002017-09-28T19:50:59.115-07:00Bay to Bay HM, June 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsnqj0vW8Py4mQD3CwRBwN8Ryc6fjU3HEj-hAPRsyn9gANOinFuu_SGV9hYkAu9Y0yyrrkDeRNV6OvZ1Uev1tGqQXyP9U2O0x4DTcvXrXaJig0qz5hIlz-FkQRAUpkFpIOamF5bPd_xma/s1600/logo_bay_to_bay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="100" data-original-width="150" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsnqj0vW8Py4mQD3CwRBwN8Ryc6fjU3HEj-hAPRsyn9gANOinFuu_SGV9hYkAu9Y0yyrrkDeRNV6OvZ1Uev1tGqQXyP9U2O0x4DTcvXrXaJig0qz5hIlz-FkQRAUpkFpIOamF5bPd_xma/s320/logo_bay_to_bay.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It was a very sad day for our family when my daughter's best friend (since preschool!) moved 6 hours' drive away to the Central Coast at the end of last year. Amelia had been pining for her friend Amara and pestering me to take her to visit ever since, until I finally caved in at the start of June. There was only one weekend that it would work for us to travel up there so I started looking for things to keep the rest of us amused while she was hanging out with her BFF.<br />
<br />
To my amazement I found the <a href="http://baytobay.org.au/" target="_blank">Bay to Bay Running Festival</a>, with a half marathon for me and a kids' 3K run for Jack on that very Sunday morning! So I signed us up, found accommodation right near the finish area (inside the Central Coast stadium, a fact that had sports-mad Jack very enthused) and told Amelia the happy news.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until after I had that all arranged that I bothered to check the website about prize money and past results - only to find that the female winner in 2016 had run 1:23:xx and that she had won no less than $1000 for her trouble. Wow! So a win would actually set me up to make a profit on the weekend, even after petrol, food, accommodation and entertainment costs? Mind = blown.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Training</b><br />
<br />
Since Boston I haven't really been running as much as I used to, but I've found myself surprisingly Zen about this fact. After my 1:23:07 in Sydney in May I knew I was fit enough to run something similar - or hopefully faster - on a flatter course. But of course it only takes one fast young chick to turn up on race day and my hopes of winning could all be dashed.<br />
<br />
So I settled for the goal of placing in the top 3, and since there wasn't actually any time left to train, really, did no specific preparation at all other than the week preceding race week itself (see below)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPDGwta-2-Jfs26X3WAADMfMZZ3WgBlxsXIC3VQ5Ys5qQmI2iHPm2hTei2Ye8k8UkNp8HX7DX33jjQ4sTEBaP7L-BtVrQI_1NbylZ750BWTK6lKm89ophu7Bf2mHh3B_EANiLipvOZmkd/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-06-27+at+7.50.13+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="861" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPDGwta-2-Jfs26X3WAADMfMZZ3WgBlxsXIC3VQ5Ys5qQmI2iHPm2hTei2Ye8k8UkNp8HX7DX33jjQ4sTEBaP7L-BtVrQI_1NbylZ750BWTK6lKm89ophu7Bf2mHh3B_EANiLipvOZmkd/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-06-27+at+7.50.13+pm.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
That week I managed to bang out a single interval workout (that was only slightly hampered by my Garmin conking out with one interval left to run) consisting of 8 x 0.5 miles averaging 6:21 pace (3:57 min/km) and then an unexpectedly long and hilly long run on Saturday. This is by no means standard HM prep; I probably should have run less and the intervals were of questionable benefit - being run not even at goal half marathon pace.<br />
<br />
Still, I did sort of manage to taper a bit in the days before the actual race, so I suppose that counts for something.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Weekend</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The trip up to Gosford is a smooth one; we arrive in good time and everyone settles in for a nice sleep. All except me, that is: I have to share a bed with Amelia and she manages to whack me over the head or knee me in the back every hour or so and it all makes for a far-from-optimal sleep. She makes up for it, however, by turning to me when she wakes on Saturday with a blissful smile and saying "I love you so much, Mumma, you are the best Mummy in the world, thank you for bringing me to see Amara!"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09GsOR5p7SMxx_uE0HjbKrtseR0mMFQSWvyPAGLYHQAAgTa_wXWTpmFjqzyG-ifvFsRbq4yrkONYQPoKrKPIBLXnJ2hz6MWNjudCMDJG7g6b6l2H7WT4UxcMZdKcsc2Z_45cuDlqWoexN/s1600/IMG_7636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09GsOR5p7SMxx_uE0HjbKrtseR0mMFQSWvyPAGLYHQAAgTa_wXWTpmFjqzyG-ifvFsRbq4yrkONYQPoKrKPIBLXnJ2hz6MWNjudCMDJG7g6b6l2H7WT4UxcMZdKcsc2Z_45cuDlqWoexN/s640/IMG_7636.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best Friends Forever</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Once she is happily deposited with BFF and BFF's family, I have the rare pleasure of enjoying the company of just one child for the whole day. Bliss! And I have the bed to myself tonight, so in theory I should sleep wonderfully well - especially seeing how exhausted I am.<br />
<br />
But it's not to be: after a unexpected, midnight "I'm homesick, come and get me" phone call (I don't go, is she serious??) I toss and turn and wake every hour on the hour until 5:45am, when somehow all of us in the room are suddenly awake at once.<br />
<br />
I need to take the 6:11am train to Woy Woy, where the course will take us on a short out-and-back before heading all the way back to Gosford and the finish line inside the stadium, so I'm dressed and out the door running to the station just before 6am. Jack will head off to his own start line (in the stadium, he is very excited) a bit later in the company of his grandmother, and we agree that they will then wait the 40 or so minutes until I finish.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKAjyU2NgLZZEsGlFQNSs8l5IAT12mvaZftCRDKDvDIfEgb8Fx0WwPPtPY-2xWUOmQpQmVwlWpuPOWsfvgI6GC39HALEXeSd9rzit2NG7KEvLntOUYj9rVqOZSf8R5YoDYVD7I3HLvWY31/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-06-27+at+9.38.17+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="734" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKAjyU2NgLZZEsGlFQNSs8l5IAT12mvaZftCRDKDvDIfEgb8Fx0WwPPtPY-2xWUOmQpQmVwlWpuPOWsfvgI6GC39HALEXeSd9rzit2NG7KEvLntOUYj9rVqOZSf8R5YoDYVD7I3HLvWY31/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-06-27+at+9.38.17+pm.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
It's an easy ride with many other runners, and I have time to jog an easy mile before it's time to line up underneath the inflatable arch that marks the start line. The weather is promising: cold with very little wind and light cloud cover. To Gosford from here is only about 12km so we're heading south first for an out-and-back stretch to cover the additional distance required, and will be passing back through the start area on our way up to Gosford. There are plenty of 12km runners around also - they'll just be running straight to the stadium.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure how I feel, not particularly zippy is probably the honest truth, so as we're waiting for the starter's gun I'm sizing up the the women close to me quite carefully. A couple look like contenders but there's noone I recognise, so I'll have to wait and see what happens when the starting gun goes off. Any second now!<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmo_F7mKjrGMFqwCQiLObt0Eh86bfaOY58aW_yoQ6FYKm0dsetLFBLEI9n-OA6Gn6O29Z102rYuKp9I2Vo6sxGBTMsb0GzKCgwQDGBFGLAuDbhaZXe2O8_cCIdVs2g_PmOcI0vYDbtykl/s1600/IMG_8671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmo_F7mKjrGMFqwCQiLObt0Eh86bfaOY58aW_yoQ6FYKm0dsetLFBLEI9n-OA6Gn6O29Z102rYuKp9I2Vo6sxGBTMsb0GzKCgwQDGBFGLAuDbhaZXe2O8_cCIdVs2g_PmOcI0vYDbtykl/s640/IMG_8671.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start line going up, lights along the coast line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Miles 1-3: </b>6:09, 6:27, 6:23 (pace in min/mile)<br />
<br />
Whoosh! Off we all sprint like mad things. The course is initially nice and wide, so there's plenty of room for many runners to zip out in front of me in no time at all. Mostly they are blokes, of course, but among them are several women; well, this is an interesting start to the morning. I'm always bemused at how people seem to want to run the first 5km of a half marathon at their top 5km race pace; don't they realise it's a fair bit further than that to the finish?<br />
<br />
We zig and zag a bit and then head straight along a narrow path right next to the water. The closest of the females ahead of me is spent fairly quickly and I can pull past her without any problem. Mile 3 takes us all out over some grass and a quick U-turn sees the course head back towards the start; it also gives me an opportunity to estimate that the leading female is about a minute ahead of me and between us there are still 2 others, both of whom are much closer.<br />
<br />
I know better than to kill myself trying to catch any of them at this point, though. All I need to do is keep things steady, not give up, and wait to see if they fall back.<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 4-6: </b>6:11, 6:21, 6:21<br />
<br />
As I was suspecting, after the turn the 2 females closer to me both start to slow down. Given a target to chase I pull off another significantly faster mile and by the time we are pass back through the start area (filled now with runners waiting to start the 12K) there's only one woman ahead of me. The sky is starting to fill with light and it's really a beautiful area - as well as perfect weather for running. Ahh. Time to chase!<br />
<br />
The next 2 miles pass in a steady fashion; the girl ahead of me has long blonde hair, looks to be about 20 years younger than me (isn't everyone these days) and she's running quite strongly. I'm fairly sure I've gained a little on her by the time the 10km mark is approaching, but not a whole lot, and if things continue in this vein then I'll be placing 2nd today for sure.<br />
<br />
But hang on, what's this? The path along the bay ducks and winds back and forth a bit in places, but suddenly I see her darting off to the left. I'm expecting just another turn in the course, but no, it goes straight ahead - there are several male runners between her and me, and none of them have veered left either. A thought strikes me, I look left again and yes, she's ducked into a toilet block. And I've just taken the lead!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 7-9: </b>6:25, 6:21, 6:17<br />
<br />
This unexpected event gives me something of a rocket boost that lasts for the next few miles. The course is decidedly less flat through this section but I manage to maintain and even quicken my pace; I have no idea if she's about to come tearing up behind me or not, so I need to put as much daylight between us now as I possibly can. My pace wasn't any slower than hers before the bathroom pitstop, so if I can speed up just a fraction, there's a chance I may yet be victorious today! But there's no need to count my chickens quite at this point, of course. Just keep running....<br />
<br />
In the process of speeding up a touch I now catch two other male runners who have been ahead of me until now. My usual strategy of even pacing is paying off in spades - I seem to be the only one who isn't starting to fade, actually.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 10-12: </b>6:19, 6:13, 6:24<br />
<br />
Finally we seem to be approaching civilisation again, or at least the outskirts of Gosford, which I suppose is the same thing. More male runners are struggling ahead of me, I can count at least 3, and what's more exciting is that I still haven't been passed by my rival, she of the toilet break. The sun is out in force now and I'm actually a bit warm, but there's not that far to go so I just have to suck it up and keep running.<br />
<br />
Mile 11 and wait, I know this part from my run yesterday morning! We're much closer to the finish area than we should be at this point - but it looks like we're taking the scenic route, as I find myself zooming off through a carpark and around 3 sides of a playing field. To my great surprise I am catching the blokes ahead of me quite quickly now; in rapid succession I pass one and then another. I've no real idea of how many runners are ahead of me still, but all that matters is that none of them are females, and a nice payday awaits me in around 3km if I can just hold onto a decent pace.<br />
<br />
The course goes up and over the bridge by our hotel; the stadium is in sight but ugh, there's a final out-and-back by the water still to be conquered. And at this point there are a fair few people out for a nice morning stroll by the water, so that means it's more of an obstacle course than I'd prefer at this stage. Better speed up and just get it over with!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 13 and finish: </b>6:09, 5:29<br />
<br />
Even though I thought I was running as fast as possible for most of this race, somehow I have more in the tank and can dredge up my fastest mile as the final one; now that the stadium is in sight I have far more inspiration to put in the effort. In retrospect, running pretty much alone for the majority of the race meant I didn't give it everything I had, but that's not an unusual outcome and I was never running for a particular time - just the win, insert cheeky grin here.<br />
<br />
I pop up in the stadium and the final stretch is on lovely cushy grass. I can see Jack over the other side, right by the fence, and he sees me too and starts yelling "Mum!!" Without thinking about it I put my head down and SPRINT for the finish line.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>1:22:24 (6:19 min/mile, 3:54 min/km)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>1st female, 13th overall finisher<br />
<br />
<br />
The finish time surprises me - I really thought I was running quite a bit slower than that - but whatever, I'm happy! The second woman, she of the toilet break, is 3 minutes behind; without the pitstop she might well have held the lead, but I guess we'll never know.<br />
<br />
Jack has completed his run and is proudly wearing his medal; we grab reward icecreams and pose happily for a picture together.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheeeeese!<br />photo credit: Keith Hong</td></tr>
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There's a nice payday and a surprise hamper of MasterFoods goods for me at the presentation (during which the heavens open and the temperature plummets, meaning it finishes in quite a hurry), then it's off to enjoy the rest of the weekend before the long drive back to Wagga. A long trip, but most definitely worth the trouble!<br />
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<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-77890511557761142232017-06-03T04:54:00.003-07:002017-06-03T04:55:11.773-07:00SMH half marathon, May 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOoolyjbmNiIcmHHQmumW88UF5wuNsudHWt7vuCJ6jdKv7jxp7N6wjPX-ZOr1bLHsJTO4NqLwYnq1Tybb0hEyh5mYtBijdkW85JdiGHHydZooYY0EeKXfd-Iqg-F5pQhLJa3isQfXSwqE/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOoolyjbmNiIcmHHQmumW88UF5wuNsudHWt7vuCJ6jdKv7jxp7N6wjPX-ZOr1bLHsJTO4NqLwYnq1Tybb0hEyh5mYtBijdkW85JdiGHHydZooYY0EeKXfd-Iqg-F5pQhLJa3isQfXSwqE/s400/images-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Of all the races I've run in my life, this one is the one I've kept returning to year after year. It was my first half - way back in 2001 - and despite being a horribly hilly and difficult course, there's something about this race that I really enjoy. </div>
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I'm not sure what that is, though. The course? Nope - it's full of twists, turns and short, steep hills: almost 400m of vertical elevation gain over 21.1km (for the unaware, that's quite a lot). The field? Not really - it's extremely competitive and the best I've ever managed is 9th overall (in 2014) and 2nd in my age group.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Whoever designed this course deserves a slow and painful death</td></tr>
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It must be the location, then. Because there's no doubt that Sydney is my favourite city in the world, any excuse to be there for a weekend is a excellent one as far as I'm concerned, and a weekend of running is even better. The timing is good - enough time after Boston to recover but not so long that the benefit of all that marathon training is lost - and this means in general I don't have to do any special preparation for this race. So naturally I keep signing up, getting a seeded bib, and therefore having to try my best to conquer it once again.</div>
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Last year I ran a very surprising course PR of 1:21:43, just 19 seconds off my all-time PR (from a much flatter course in Bathurst in May 2013), but this year I'm not so sure what to expect. Boston was a tough day and I ran a far slower time there this year than last; I haven't done any speedwork whatsoever for longer than I care to admit. But whatever! It's Sydney and it's May - the details will have to figure themselves out.<br />
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<b>The Training</b><br />
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Ah, no, not really. See above.<br />
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In fact, I did manage to ramp up my weekly mileage fairly quickly again after Boston. All of it was easy running and a lot through shorter daily doubles rather than single longer runs - but it was enough to top 80 miles (124 km) per week for the 2 weeks preceding race week. I can't recall (and am too lazy to look up) how much I ran last year before this half, but something tells me it wasn't this much.<br />
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<b>Race Day</b><br />
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Fortified by a delicious dinner of ramen noodles the night before - in the company of our running buddy Nigel and his sister Michelle, who tomorrow will be running her 2nd-ever half - we are up bright and early on race morning. In fact, courtesy of some very hot chicken ramen that he consumed at lunch in Chinatown on Saturday, Joel has been up most of the night. He's still lying in bed moaning when I'm fully dressed and ready to rumble, but gallantly decides to come with me despite the very real possibility of significant GI distress during the race.<br />
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We head off, therefore, for Hyde Park right on 6am with some trepidation about what lies ahead. The weather at least seems right on target, the rain that was forecast has stayed well away and it's perfect running weather, really: about 12C with light cloud cover and no wind at all.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The start</td></tr>
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There's an elite tent this year again (hooray!) and an enthusiastic Keith Hong in charge of it (double hooray!) so we have no problems depositing our stuff and then heading our separate ways: me to warm up a bit and him, predictably, to find a bathroom. I jog my 2 miles and return to stow my jacket in the tent; somehow there's no time left for strides or anything so I head for the elite corral at the front and hang around randomly chatting to people I know. Fiona from last year is there, so there goes an AG win for sure (bloody 10 year age groups are so unfair), but I'm not terribly fussed really. Honest, I'm not.<br />
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<a href="http://www.patcarroll.com.au/about-pat/pats-profile/" target="_blank">Pat Carroll</a> - the very enthusiastic race MC - is bellowing out all kinds of announcements as usual and one of them is about how the new start procedure is guaranteed to reduce congestion. There definitely seems to be less people in the elite/preferred corral today than in previous years, so that bodes well I suppose. In no time at all there's a 10 second countdown and then BOOM! The usual manic stampede towards Circular Quay takes off.<br />
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<b>Miles 1-4: </b>6:12, 6:17, 6:04, 6:03 (pace in min/mile)<br />
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Almost immediately the "less congestion" claim is thoroughly quashed as a runner from behind literally climbs over the top of my right shoulder in his fervour to get ahead. At the first corner onto Macquarie St there's a guy on the ground already; he picks himself up and starts running again but man, that had to hurt. Less congestion? I'm totally not convinced.<br />
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The pace is predictably wild for the first half mile but then things settle as we turn left and back up away from Circular Quay. I'm expecting to turn right again back down towards the Rocks but instead we continue on Bridge St and I find myself facing a sizeable incline that definitely wasn't there last year. My brain is in shock: THEY ADDED ANOTHER HILL? To what is likely already the world's hilliest road half marathon?! It's unbelievable.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">That's an awful lot of hills to fit into a 21.1km course</td></tr>
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Threading my way along Harrington St there's finally the turn I was expecting, right and back towards the water, but another close encounter of a blokey kind hits me from the left and once again the claim of reduced congestion seems laughable. "Sorry!" he exclaims as I flail my arms to stay upright. As if this race wasn't hard enough already...and off we go on the more familiar part of the course around under the bridge.<br />
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The 5K mark comes and goes in around 19:40, which is not that fast but will have to do for today. Turning onto the Eastern Distributor there's a guy ahead of me with shorts that read "Triathlon Attitude". I'm amusing myself wondering exactly what that might mean when I realise suddenly that right now it means "Running too slow in front of others." I accelerate to pull past him and wonder idly if I'll see him again today at all.<br />
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<b>Miles 5-8: </b>6:05, 6:05, 6:24, 6:26<br />
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I'm managing to hold things together through the flatter parts of Pyrmont but when the hills start I'm really starting to wonder why I keep on doing this bloody race. The male leader has gone past WAY ahead of the chase pack and I've seen Cassie Fien go past well ahead of the next female as I make my way to the turnaround point. On the way back I spot - and wave enthusiastically to - first Nigel and then, surprisingly close behind him, Joel. I know Nigel is gunning for sub-1:30 and it seems amazing but very possible that despite lack of sleep and (more importantly) serious training, Joel will be right on his heels. Hooray!<br />
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Heading back towards the city I find myself going through the halfway point in 40:47, which means I'm on track for a similar time to last year. Well, I am if I can avoid a significant second-half fade, but that's an awfully big IF. I'd rather not think about what is coming up, because the second half of this race is even hillier than the first. Sigh.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpIE6B6RjCnqS01gmvSVGbfFdolZX2kR-HJfzEQ68Pyt42uA7vKbA-pHfbEpsNvG9s8f8xSByd6A15f7jTp_8ZYccX8VjFNxLIFhFxiH7ByBZj1sDb7szShMvifj7RdhBOvKgXV731_Si/s1600/SMH17_early.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpIE6B6RjCnqS01gmvSVGbfFdolZX2kR-HJfzEQ68Pyt42uA7vKbA-pHfbEpsNvG9s8f8xSByd6A15f7jTp_8ZYccX8VjFNxLIFhFxiH7ByBZj1sDb7szShMvifj7RdhBOvKgXV731_Si/s640/SMH17_early.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Gritting my teeth just a little bit</td></tr>
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Adding further to my woes, Triathlon Attitude chooses this moment to sail past. Wait, what? I'm inspired somewhat to pick up the pace and stay with him, of course, and that keeps me going as we head into the concrete jungle and my Garmin - predictably - loses its mind and starts recording bizarre splits that make no sense. 5:26 minutes for a mile? I don't think so. Not even downhill with a tailwind, and neither of those elements are in attendance today, unfortunately.<br />
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<b>Miles 9-12: </b>6:26, 6:34, 6:13, 5:59<br />
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The course zigs and zags its way through Observatory Point and the uphill towards the Harbour Bridge is, as ever, enough to make me think about stopping. When finally I find myself spat out onto the Cahill Expressway that runs above the ferry and train terminals at Circular Quay, I'm definitely starting to feel fatigued. Triathlon Attitude is opening a gap on me and it's giving me a fair dose of Annoyed Runner Attitude, but my legs couldn't give a toss.<br />
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Just keep running, don't think about the two massive hills that lie still ahead, goes the refrain in my head. The incline back up past the Conservatorium onto Macquarie Street isn't all that bad, in actual fact, or perhaps I just feel that way because I've let myself slow down considerably. Bah.<br />
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I haven't seen or passed any females for a long time but there's suddenly one up ahead; she looks to be barely jogging so SURELY I can get her, can't I? That thought is enough to inspire a faster mile 11 and then a blisteringly fast mile 12, courtesy of a dash past the finish line (Liam Adams has just won by over 2 minutes) and the long downhill past the Art Gallery.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><glares menacingly at opponent ahead></td></tr>
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As always I'm trying my best not to consider what lies ahead - the final, mostly uphill mile of torture - and, as I go around the turn at Mrs Macquarie's Chair, I'm trying my best to look photogenic for the photographers who inevitably lie in wait there. But it's not much good: I know what I'm about to have to do, and I just can't find any way of looking forward to it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVUs6EEAn_gipUsxEoMVmO4v-7I_-cv5le00_SMVyFsJuY2zm-E6-FBoJJ1ly_0kxD9MuzVfckG0NWfdkbNLxIvVgwBdeAs2fzt1LYoaGyL9UuxGF7jZ58spEcIicM0Xl22yyECCP4NbrP/s1600/SMH17_collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="1600" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVUs6EEAn_gipUsxEoMVmO4v-7I_-cv5le00_SMVyFsJuY2zm-E6-FBoJJ1ly_0kxD9MuzVfckG0NWfdkbNLxIvVgwBdeAs2fzt1LYoaGyL9UuxGF7jZ58spEcIicM0Xl22yyECCP4NbrP/s640/SMH17_collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">wait for it, wait for it................................. ugh, NOPE</td></tr>
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<b>Mile 13, 0.1: </b>6:26, 6:42 pace to finish<br />
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I round the turn and there she is, completely unsuspecting. Right! I pounce on the chance and blaze past her, although a glance tells me clearly that she's definitely not in my age group and really, says the part of my brain that is still getting enough oxygen, there's no need to take on the young chicks as well as the old ones, is there? But whatever, I'm ahead of her now and I have bigger fish to fry, namely the final hill that is coming right up.<br />
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It hits me like a ton of bricks and I completely forget my ambitions of staying ahead of Young Chick; it's all I can do to keep my legs going now. It feels like I'm crawling as I make my way up, up, up back towards Hyde Park. And of course towards the top of the hill she appears suddenly beside me before powering ahead again, and even this isn't enough to really get me going. Automatically I give chase, but in a half-hearted fashion without any real hope of passing her again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidqcXBlFrhoOKXzeQ71SLs9v9-RXNYuHfGqe8W3asQn83ieR4idK_NPrERtNPogU12x5uiJWGPkCM1_EGH_QP-0uh2q-hDs0wz2MxsB69uH1U0YCym_v9eGnu_Ed9r4TKMC_VhGUxT-fBr/s1600/SMH17_collage2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1039" data-original-width="1600" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidqcXBlFrhoOKXzeQ71SLs9v9-RXNYuHfGqe8W3asQn83ieR4idK_NPrERtNPogU12x5uiJWGPkCM1_EGH_QP-0uh2q-hDs0wz2MxsB69uH1U0YCym_v9eGnu_Ed9r4TKMC_VhGUxT-fBr/s640/SMH17_collage2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I see her, but can I be bothered catching her? Yes, maybe I can after all --- wait, nope.</td></tr>
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The final stretch of this race is always very enjoyable - probably mostly because the rest of it is so awful - and I'm almost smiling as I charge across the intersection towards the finish inside the park. Young Chick is not having a bar of being caught again and as I make the sharp left into the finish chute right behind her, I look up and see the clock reading 1:22 already. Bugger, slower than last year!<br />
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<b>Finish time: </b>1:23:07 (6:20 min/mile, 3:56 min/km)<br />
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<b>Placement: </b>13th overall female, 2nd in AG (F40-49)<br />
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Young Chick has beaten me by only one second - easily accounted for by the at-least-20-year age gap, really - and I don't have long to wait until Nigel appears (having crushed his goal with a 1:29:42) and shortly afterwards so does Joel. Excellent results all round!<br />
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There's not a lot more to say about this race; my time is probably an accurate reflection of my current fitness, and I'm still not sure why I keep coming back. It's a trial by fire and I've only once really come through relatively unscathed: last year, and for reasons that remain unclear. But no doubt I'll be fronting up to the starting line again next year for another dose of punishment, so I guess I'll report back then!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylRhFreuaeeD80hO1NkWJs38tvyql4xtoAK76xwAKI22BOd6OUOFu5mu7G6UeSdLOfBu-owCtACJgvgp2HaCrdEqzVxQ5H3gq9Endb6aVcvZqOvomC2NCjT49yXBSUTTmSWLeds86v-de/s1600/20x30-AUTA0427.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylRhFreuaeeD80hO1NkWJs38tvyql4xtoAK76xwAKI22BOd6OUOFu5mu7G6UeSdLOfBu-owCtACJgvgp2HaCrdEqzVxQ5H3gq9Endb6aVcvZqOvomC2NCjT49yXBSUTTmSWLeds86v-de/s640/20x30-AUTA0427.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So relieved to be done that I'm actually asleep</td></tr>
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<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-4999994204977409862017-05-09T05:04:00.001-07:002017-05-10T04:59:42.994-07:00Boston Marathon, April 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZxjtaSCBwG4yUQpKyX1urys2YvfRr2AB0NApjS-k5fx5aKJzD-XD_Y2lolBY1WCNcHMw_kGjCF01Pmf6m80qDWBCLzFsnJqSSkRRObuzREQmoB8lEZ2REnEaLMQjUmdx08umrV6EJ36lt/s1600/baamarathon_2017_blast-header_725x355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZxjtaSCBwG4yUQpKyX1urys2YvfRr2AB0NApjS-k5fx5aKJzD-XD_Y2lolBY1WCNcHMw_kGjCF01Pmf6m80qDWBCLzFsnJqSSkRRObuzREQmoB8lEZ2REnEaLMQjUmdx08umrV6EJ36lt/s640/baamarathon_2017_blast-header_725x355.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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What can I say to introduce the Boston marathon? I wasn't even aware of its existence until somewhere around 2011, but since then I've run it 6 times and every single one has been memorable in its own way. 2013 was the scene of great tragedy, 2014 one of triumph (and my own personal best of 2:47:57), 2015 a freezing weather disaster that provided a counterpoint to <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com/2012/04/boston-marathon-april-2012.html" target="_blank">2012's freakish heatwave.</a><br />
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In 2016 I found myself placed second in my age group with a 2:51 that I knew was going to be close to getting me back in to the Elite Women's Start - a privilege I had in 2013-2015 but missed the subsequent year.<br />
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I should explain that the elite start is a somewhat surreal experience that manages to be at once both utterly fantastic and completely intimidating. For a sub-elite sort of runner like me, the pressure that comes with it can be overwhelming - and in particular the desire to NOT be the slowest of the 40-something women that start together at 9:32am precisely - and can lead one to do silly things. Like going out way too fast, for example.<br />
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Not that I've never done that myself of course (cough cough), but Boston is a dangerous place to take risks. And sometimes, being all alone (or at best in a small pack) can be a distinct disadvantage: witness the debacles of <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2014/11/new-york-city-marathon-november-2014.html" target="_blank">NYC 2014</a> and <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/05/boston-to-big-sur-april-2015-part-1.html" target="_blank">Boston 2015</a>, where I battled alone into a savage headwind for virutally the entire race. But all in all it's a privilege and an honour to start with some of the world's best runners, so when I managed to run 2:49 last July in the Gold Coast, I knew I was going to accept the offer to run in the EWS (if it came) for what would most likely be my final Boston.<br />
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<br />
<b><u>The Training</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>12 weeks<br />
Average mileage: 83 mi/ 133km per week<br />
Speedwork: no, not really<br />
Races: 1 marathon, 1 half-hearted half<br />
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After taking some time off in January, I thought I'd be back into the swing of marathon training with gusto. The truth, however, was something less enthusiastic. I knew what I needed to do but lacked the motivation to do it with precision, and my good intentions ended up somewhat hit-and-miss in their execution. Point in case: in late February I planned to run <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2017/03/orange-running-festival-marathon.html" target="_blank">the marathon in Orange</a> as a supported long run, yet ended up racing it for the win (2:59:04 with a nice finishing kick) and probably wearing myself out more than I should have at that point. Oops.<br />
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Two weeks later I ran a strange 20 miler in Melbourne that ended with a somewhat baffling slow-down in the final miles, and left me with worse DOMS than I've had after many marathons. And then with 2 weeks left until race week, my left ankle decided to scare me half to death by swelling up and developing a distinct crunchiness to its Achilles tendon. Ready, set, PANIC!<br />
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I was very relieved that it seemed to be under control fairly quickly with eccentric heel drops and reduced mileage, but the combination of all of the above meant I headed off to Boston feeling slightly under-trained and ever-so-slightly over-optimistic. My usual approach of "do your best on the day" means exactly that and no more, but I usually have a much better idea of what that might actually be than I did this year when I set off on the long journey to Beantown.<br />
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<b><u>Pre-race: Boston</u></b><br />
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I arrive a day later than usual; I had been looking forward to staying at a fairly new hotel just a stone's throw from Boston Common, but for reasons that make me too angry to elaborate, we have been rebooked to stay at The Charles out in Cambridge. In some ways it's sort of cool to see a new part of Boston - the Charles is a very swanky hotel and it sits right on Harvard Square, with easy access to the T - but having to commute everywhere is a distinct pain. There's nothing to do but suck it up, though, and hopefully we're going to be too busy most of the time to notice.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FxN2iYOgUKtBBV96htesx6ruUP6xpUsWzoFaqnfi1Jxu37k-Rys5-_K36GCiPwU6iJhKjX5SJSwc3IP-orc5bE0isZel3_e1MVM0XLMSzBSGhWSN_iBiTK4hk4LHLwsXp_584A9mfcqQ/s1600/Harvard+Square.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FxN2iYOgUKtBBV96htesx6ruUP6xpUsWzoFaqnfi1Jxu37k-Rys5-_K36GCiPwU6iJhKjX5SJSwc3IP-orc5bE0isZel3_e1MVM0XLMSzBSGhWSN_iBiTK4hk4LHLwsXp_584A9mfcqQ/s640/Harvard+Square.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Peaceful Harvard Square: "Marathon, what marathon?"</td></tr>
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The BAA 5K is a Saturday morning tradition now for Joel and me, so we head out to run it without a second thought. Despite the Common being packed with thousands of runners we manage to bump into our friend Chris with her family - what a great way to start the morning! In the past I've run this race WAY too fast (in particular in 2015) so I joke about pace for a bit but really, I'm planning to run as sensibly as I can. These days it takes me a few miles to warm up, anyway, so I'll barely be hitting my stride and the race will be over already. Did I just call it a race? Oops.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Definitely not racing, nope.</td></tr>
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For once I follow through on my stated intentions and we tick the miles off in 7:59, 7:31, 6:54 minutes and then sprint down Charles St to the finish at 6:10 pace (3:49 min/km). Wheeee! Time to seek out carbs and then the expo. Although first we have to spend 2 hours getting to and from the hotel to get showered and changed, grrrr.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf716LNRal0C5enLGnd_357M7H_pYye0GyliUpQAcQ6IJJcvKX8DGcK1jnZ4OKYkkg5-Q8_OaU5wA2bqN2meRIwFzR9e_EBF8PEwIQ59AYHxVJpmK2400liwKkP2E0IdMibfhDLyHqSjv6/s1600/bibpickup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf716LNRal0C5enLGnd_357M7H_pYye0GyliUpQAcQ6IJJcvKX8DGcK1jnZ4OKYkkg5-Q8_OaU5wA2bqN2meRIwFzR9e_EBF8PEwIQ59AYHxVJpmK2400liwKkP2E0IdMibfhDLyHqSjv6/s640/bibpickup.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Just stood in the world's biggest queue to get these</td></tr>
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The queues to get into the expo are ridiculous - the lines stretch out the doors and all the way down the block. Once we navigate all of that and pick up bibs, it's time to get crazy! Or at least spend way too much money on running gear we don't really need, but really really want.<br />
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Mindful of the toe problems I have had over the past few marathons, I've brought with me an almost-new pair of ASICS Hyperspeed 7 racing shoes that are half a size bigger than the ones that took out <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com/2016/07/gold-coast-marathon-july-2016.html" target="_blank">both my big toes at Gold Coast last year</a>, but what I really want is a new pair of Adidas adizero adios. So when I see them on sale at the expo, the idea of wearing brand new shoes for a major marathon seems like a really good one. What could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br />
The weather, that's what: on Sunday morning we wake to a forecast high temperature of 87F/30C - a major contrast to the usual average high of 55F/13C! I have to go out and buy some casual shorts from the local Gap store; it doesn't look like the long tights and warm jackets that I packed are going to make it out of my suitcase at all. At least the forecast for Monday is slightly less alarming, but it's definitely going to be another warm one. I've said - rather smugly - many times how heat doesn't bother me as much as it does most other runners, but I'd really prefer not to have to test that out once again on Patriots' Day. Sigh.<br />
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The rest of the weekend passes in a blur of socialising, carbs (both solid and liquid) and sleep, and before my body clock really knows what to make of it all, it's time to set out my outfit and get ready to wake at 4:30am for my 6th Boston marathon. For once jetlag comes in handy and we are both awake before our alarms have even thought about going off: plenty of time to saddle up and get to our respective buses. The one nice payoff from our hotel overbooking debacle is that we both get personally chauffeured directly to these locations, a service which will do nicely today thank you.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfN6zz25HAKIgY3xHTdasgr-ihjiagXA1HvODvb6M6gtJdf04R5U18agipe09zzPbOfc5GPVXD6S5WFnoksfxkqm9BWDAsOrMZfaVRqwpD1r5Hye09opK1JACDwLlLvPNQeWoR6DecAfBJ/s1600/Boston17_outfit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfN6zz25HAKIgY3xHTdasgr-ihjiagXA1HvODvb6M6gtJdf04R5U18agipe09zzPbOfc5GPVXD6S5WFnoksfxkqm9BWDAsOrMZfaVRqwpD1r5Hye09opK1JACDwLlLvPNQeWoR6DecAfBJ/s640/Boston17_outfit.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Lucky green INKnBURN singlet to counter the lunacy of brand-new orange shoes</td></tr>
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<br />
I know a fair few others in the elite start now, so the bus ride out to Hopkinton and the ensuing wait in the Korean church by the starting line pass relatively quickly with lots of running talk and laughter. Outside the weather is a mixed bag: for the first time since 2011 there's a strong tailwind blowing, which is great, but already it's feeling warm and the lack of cloud cover is rather worrying.<br />
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I spend most of my time in the church in a small room upstairs with a bunch of other women, many of whom seem to also be in the Masters category. Apart from my Canadian triathlete friend Lisa, there's one more who is in my age group and then to my amazement I learn that my main AG rival has been sick with pneumonia and then shingles - she isn't even here today. Ooh! My main goal for the day is to place in my age group, and the chances of that actually happening just rose considerably.<br />
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Another nice thing is that I'm definitely not nervous this year: knowing that the chances of being back here again are slim at best, I'm focusing on taking it all in and just enjoying myself. Once up at the start line I take care to start my Garmin early (for a change) before doing a few strides and again just soaking in the atmosphere. <a href="http://www.kathrineswitzer.com/" target="_blank">Kathrine Switzer</a> appears up on the gantry and is announced as our official starter - we all wave enthusiastically to her and I'm grinning like crazy as the final preparations are made for the race to start.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhsOXzKDTC1RjyfShtSef4xynJtK0uiwJRfH-LOdL7WXCfRa-n64Pdhj1WfTItEGDL1WfgAfymtzqDpJHuhsDpjdVuTNoUvrZSjXHFjjNY3g3cVcuf5AmuIiB7cq0CHU4cRpBRxK6SBKVx/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhsOXzKDTC1RjyfShtSef4xynJtK0uiwJRfH-LOdL7WXCfRa-n64Pdhj1WfTItEGDL1WfgAfymtzqDpJHuhsDpjdVuTNoUvrZSjXHFjjNY3g3cVcuf5AmuIiB7cq0CHU4cRpBRxK6SBKVx/s640/PicMonkey+Collage2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Waiting to start our race; I met her in New York in 2014</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDM_oNSKrD1zOI29XueDhxuqdNagIUN4yUFNsLC7JN-8hShmFGvbwqdWMUXiDpueDX9r9Ccz1XTJIJgF2G3LwH4uRJBfNuglOZPdysuCUCCwxSX3BCu3aXHBDVwtPvUM0_TNUQbejP5ZXu/s1600/Boston17_EWS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDM_oNSKrD1zOI29XueDhxuqdNagIUN4yUFNsLC7JN-8hShmFGvbwqdWMUXiDpueDX9r9Ccz1XTJIJgF2G3LwH4uRJBfNuglOZPdysuCUCCwxSX3BCu3aXHBDVwtPvUM0_TNUQbejP5ZXu/s640/Boston17_EWS.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Grinning like a lurking maniac</span></td></tr>
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<b>Miles 1-4: </b>6:19, 6:22, 6:23, 6:20 (pace in min/mile)</div>
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Off we go! To my surprise the pace is relatively sedate to start with and I remain at the tail end of the pack for at least half a mile. The combination of fresh legs and the downhill start mean it all feels way too easy and of course I don't want to be dead last, but at some point I'm going to have to put on the brakes or risk nasty things happening later in the race. </div>
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There doesn't seem to be any wind at all, but a quick look at the many flags lining the route confirms that in fact there is a strong breeze blowing at our backs; as a result there's no cooling effect and the temperatures are more uncomfortable than I remember from last year. By mile 2 already I'm thirsty and eagerly looking for the first water stop - this is not a good sign. At mile 3 I come up behind and then pass Lisa - a positive step for my age group ambitions, but there's a long race ahead of us still of course.</div>
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<i>5K split: 19:42</i></div>
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<b>Miles 5-8: </b>6:35, 6:30, 6:29, 6:36</div>
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By mile 5 it's clear today isn't going to be a fast race; I've already stopped checking the mile splits and am focusing on staying comfortable and also on dumping water on my head at every opportunity. I've been running pretty much all on my own ever since I fell off the back of the pack late in the first mile, but the lack of headwind means I'm not too bothered by being alone. The lack of shade in this stretch is more of a worry; with the air not really moving around me, already I'm uncomfortably hot. The water I've been throwing on myself at every water station since they started is not helping much at all: it's making my singlet very wet but the tailwind is just sticking it to my back and I'm not feeling any cooler as a result. Ugh.</div>
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<i>10K split: 39:50</i><br />
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Just as I pass through the 10K mark, I become aware of a siren behind me and then a bicycle spotter appears on my left: "You've got about a minute, so stay right, the men are coming through" he says. Wait, WHAT?<br />
<br />
"Really??" I reply - I mean, I heard and saw the jets doing the flyover that marks the start of the general race, but that was only 10 minutes ago! Are the men riding Segways or something? Because that's what it would take for them to catch me up already - I've done this a few times before, after all, and I know the men won't catch me for at least another 10 miles - but this bike dude seems pretty convinced. Not wanting to waste breath arguing, I let it go and just stay to the right.<br />
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Pretty soon a police bike and then a single vehicle pass on my left, and then -- nothing, followed by more nothing. And no men, of course. Just an overexcited bike spotter without enough to do.</div>
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<b>Miles 9-12: </b>6:31, 6:38, 6:35, 6:31</div>
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I'm trundling along at a fairly steady pace - as comfortable as I can be in this stifling heat - when mile 10 heralds the approach of another enthusiastic bike spotter. This one has grey hair and it appears that he wants to give me running advice. Lovely!<br />
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"Keep to the tangents, don't just follow the road" he tells me sagely; I glance in his direction and nod "Yep", but refrain from further comment. A mile or so later he approaches again from the other direction, executes a U-turn and informs me that the tailwind is "really blowing - it should give you at least a minute or two" before riding off again to places unknown.</div>
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<br />
This is sort of puzzling, I mean I have never really had much input from the bike spotters in the past other than during mile 18-19 when the lead cars and then eventually the elite men have been coming up behind me. Perhaps this year they have been instructed to randomly hand out advice and encouragement during the entire race? Or have I just been lucky enough to encounter 2 rogue running coaches on bikes already? The race isn't even half over yet.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Looking overheated and rather confused at all the attention from dudes on bikes<br />
photo credit: K. Kelley</td></tr>
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<b>Miles 13-16: </b>6:38, 6;35, 6:46, 6:37<br />
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The Wellesley scream tunnel hasn't left me deaf in my right ear (hooray) and I'm not feeling too bad actually as I approach the left-hand turn and the final stretch to the halfway mats. I'm far too hot and I'm definitely running slower than I'd like, but my thoughts are surprisingly Zen: it is what it is, and I'm going to make the most of today since this might be my final time running here.<br />
<br />
My Zen lasts as I veer over to the left side of the road, cutting the tangents (as I've been instructed), but is then abruptly destroyed as I glance down and suddenly realise there's a bike wheel about to slam into the back of my left ankle. WTF?!? Oh my god, it's my nemesis the bicycle coach again. In his fervour to get close and give me helpful advice he has almost ridden straight into me.<br />
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I gasp, straighten up and am astounded to hear him repeat his advice about running the tangents. I've had more than I can take of this stupidity: I bark out in reply "I am...now LEAVE ME ALONE!!"<br />
<i><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Halfway split: 1:25:27</i><br />
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<i><br /></i></div>
My rudeness has the desired effect: thankfully that's the last I will see of this particular gentleman, and pretty soon afterwards I cross the mats in a half split that is on the slower side of what I had anticipated. In this weather the second half of this race is going to be positively dangerous; I need to run smart now. As for AG placement, I'm not really sure where the other woman from the church is, and of course there may be a speedy interloper starting from the general start, as I myself did last year in fact. But hopefully I'll be able to hang in there well enough to earn another nice crystal vase - we will see what happens.<br />
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The first of the hills goes by with far less fanfare than it has in past years - and only a slight slowing of pace - but the worst lie still ahead. Gulp.<br />
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<b>Miles 17-20: </b>6:55, 6:58, 6:41, 6:59<br />
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I don't remember checking my splits during this part of the race; all I know is that I'm slowing down but at least I'm still moving. During mile 18 the usual procession of lead vehicles is preceded by another bicycle spotter, who briefly advises me to keep right and then (to my relief) rides off without another word. The cars that pass have the usual assortment of police, photographers and officials peering backwards out of them and then, just as I'm approaching a corner, the men catch me.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOU3SVtu6yGCeiotdqIb94wy-Fe3CNmOrMnjftSuB3u_iPpLASSickmlsBRbQUuorC4LR-XFqs2hSK-on2eNKkhOhQlbUuTnLnzBUwB4wRh15Qy1LvD-JUgbVivvPawrXAx_sTPsKbIH18/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-05-07+at+8.01.39+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOU3SVtu6yGCeiotdqIb94wy-Fe3CNmOrMnjftSuB3u_iPpLASSickmlsBRbQUuorC4LR-XFqs2hSK-on2eNKkhOhQlbUuTnLnzBUwB4wRh15Qy1LvD-JUgbVivvPawrXAx_sTPsKbIH18/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-05-07+at+8.01.39+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">A grainy screengrab but you can identify me from the weird thing I'm doing with my left hand<br />
(as well as the fact that both feet are on the ground - shuffle shuffle)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
This year there's a big group of them and I'm looking ahead at the corner, wondering if I should slow down or move over more, when the group briefly envelops me - passing on both left and right - before closing ranks again in front of me and moving on. There are about 10 of them and I see Galen Rupp (the American favourite) in the mix as well as another non-African dude with a moustache. Meb is nowhere to be seen - it's quite a while til he finally grinds past as we both make our way up the first part of Heartbreak Hill. I'm too focused this year to do any fangirling but I did get most of that out of the way before the race, anyway (see below).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wlJLjYhnr6wy4orF_Q_pr95fNYpzAw2tQuldILgKhviuWUD_0gAtTltX7cPuSxXWuHWWFxF49fuiW4eBy0YyW-rd1y30gkMgOhqnwRvgE9KjyvLcYUWHpU2G-9UiJS2w53yUk9IMB0lM/s1600/SuperstarCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wlJLjYhnr6wy4orF_Q_pr95fNYpzAw2tQuldILgKhviuWUD_0gAtTltX7cPuSxXWuHWWFxF49fuiW4eBy0YyW-rd1y30gkMgOhqnwRvgE9KjyvLcYUWHpU2G-9UiJS2w53yUk9IMB0lM/s640/SuperstarCollage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">American running royalty, L-R: Meb, Jared (after race) and Galen. Oh, and me and Joel of course.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Miles 21-24: </b>7:23, 659, 6:51, 6:54<br />
<br />
The final part of Heartbreak Hill is an absolute shocker this year - my slowest-ever mile in the Boston marathon. Thankfully I won't realise this until much later, and in fact right now I'm actually surprised that I don't feel worse as I crest the hill and start the long downhill towards Highline and eventually Boylston Street. In retrospect my body went into survival mode at some point quite early in this race, and it simply wouldn't let me run any faster. The exertion level seems appropriate: tough, yet manageable, and to my surprise also I haven't really had any negative thoughts at all today.<br />
<br />
Usually at some point I start thinking things along the lines of "I hate this" or "I want to stop now" or the classic "Why the bleep do I do this sort of thing anyway?", but today I'm fine with whatever's happening. Maybe it's the knowledge that I probably won't be back - or maybe it's the appropriately slower pace I'm running - but in any case, I'm having fun despite the uncomfortable conditions. Now I just need to step it up as much as I can and get to the finish without collapsing. I can do that, right?<br />
<br />
A few unseeded male runners have passed me already but to my glee I've also caught a few more female elites; one, although I won't realise it until later, is my AG rival F108. I'm in that brain space now where I'm seeing things but not really taking them in, and the crowd is awesome but I can't really hear them; all I can do is run. There's a thick blue line on the road just begging me to follow it - and so I put my head down and that's exactly what I do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aLR4R7p7I4j-GnJLiT9EVSINKFJKnzCJRR-PBX3c93XqybPldwxw5-JYjhtdS7WxiPHWxJgJ-6pi5G9SD1pbX6oBsecul3-RYcZa30H7lTQ8gMa_HQ2gehlq2OcUSlSVHwAlUUD1K0iy/s1600/Boston17_notfrowning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aLR4R7p7I4j-GnJLiT9EVSINKFJKnzCJRR-PBX3c93XqybPldwxw5-JYjhtdS7WxiPHWxJgJ-6pi5G9SD1pbX6oBsecul3-RYcZa30H7lTQ8gMa_HQ2gehlq2OcUSlSVHwAlUUD1K0iy/s640/Boston17_notfrowning.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Ignore the pain, follow the blue line, just keep going</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b><b><br /></b><b>Miles 25, 26, 0.2: </b>6:57, 7:06, 6:30 pace to finish<br />
<br />
The Citgo sign appears after what seems like an eternity; the overpass right before it seems to stretch up almost to the sky. I'm surviving from mile marker to mile marker, thinking of no more than the fact that I'm almost there, almost there, almost there. Dragging myself along towards Cannoli Corner at mile 25.5 (where my spectating RunnersWorld friends congregate to hand out pastries and scream encouragement to members of the group), once again I hear my name being called but am too far gone to respond. The sun has gone behind some clouds now but the humidity is just as bad as it ever was and I'm way too hot, period.<br />
<br />
But then something awesome happens: the lanky figure of Michael Wardian appears beside me and before I know it he's loping past, waving cheerily as he goes. If you don't know who Mike is, <a href="http://mikewardian.com/about/" target="_blank">click here</a> to find out more, but in short he is one of America's most prolific and successful marathoner and ultramarathoners. I spent much of the weekend of Big Sur marathon in 2015 hanging out with him (he and I were the winners of the Boston2BigSur Challenge that year) and much of the morning before today's race also in his company at the Fairmont Copley Hotel while waiting for our bus, and he's one awesome, humble, friendly guy.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShP_g6txLJgoIY5Bp7TvxBpmrQmYZQjEeayjCZRJX1cgWX38jdY0WFX15QwLGrTg_Oj8KEDswnau4jMBaAtsxYaKCl71X2JbC4xfYjfpRpddA78DhgFx9JjZbTzxIEyz8P0z6cQxXlkOZ/s1600/WardianCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShP_g6txLJgoIY5Bp7TvxBpmrQmYZQjEeayjCZRJX1cgWX38jdY0WFX15QwLGrTg_Oj8KEDswnau4jMBaAtsxYaKCl71X2JbC4xfYjfpRpddA78DhgFx9JjZbTzxIEyz8P0z6cQxXlkOZ/s640/WardianCollage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">This morning and back in 2015 - always smiling</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Seeing Mike pass by makes me happy because we don't have far to go and so that means he must be on track to run under 2:30 (since I'm pretty sure that I'll still break 3 hours today) which is an AWESOME time. I'm impressed actually also that my brain has enough composure left to make those calculations - I'm clearly not as fried as I thought I was - and that I'm now about to make the famous turns: right on Hereford, left on Boylston. The race is almost over! Thank goodness for that.<br />
<br />
Turning onto Boylston St I'm trying to remember to smile - there is always a photographer right at the corner and I have some awesome shots from over the years at this point - but it doesn't really work all that well. Despite the surprising ongoing absence of frank negativity, my face is betraying how tough today's race really has been and it just does NOT want to look happy.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIgYuhOjHST3MbCff0d-4YMCVJdmhysoVLqE4az3A2PzhuVpJmlRM4c9ZCXtgGpZ6cRETHhT0DU2KAiCxBXKTXfsUIBRAfxhBCe9XC4LKOX9wA927PS-AhPVCbQREuRPeZhdHCmA-eLgm/s1600/BoylstonCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIgYuhOjHST3MbCff0d-4YMCVJdmhysoVLqE4az3A2PzhuVpJmlRM4c9ZCXtgGpZ6cRETHhT0DU2KAiCxBXKTXfsUIBRAfxhBCe9XC4LKOX9wA927PS-AhPVCbQREuRPeZhdHCmA-eLgm/s640/BoylstonCollage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">2013, very nice -- 2014, looking fast-- 2016, looking determined -- 2017....NOPE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But somehow I dredge up the ability to pump up the pace again as I run down Boylston; somehow the finish doesn't look as far away as it usually does, and I even have the presence of mind to stay left so I can get a decent finish line picture (although my addled brain then decides to hit stop on my watch while crossing, despite knowing how dorky that always looks). But oh what sweet relief! I can stop now!</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Finish time: </b>2:56:32 (6:44 min/mile, 4:11 min/km)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Placement: </b>59th overall female, 1st in AG (F45-49), 7th masters female (40+)</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLq25kqGm1jl88NnBQz1i2g_ahJV39JgdIzb0B3Wu_UKEfr6s7RcWyFsmxkQNxiS22Cbm6_9FzGcYl9WjFZKiXBtIKwGBgKTpRlcP-XvS853tcoIje-v7selWffXL8JAJM0jigCwJX6djm/s1600/642878_252735266_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLq25kqGm1jl88NnBQz1i2g_ahJV39JgdIzb0B3Wu_UKEfr6s7RcWyFsmxkQNxiS22Cbm6_9FzGcYl9WjFZKiXBtIKwGBgKTpRlcP-XvS853tcoIje-v7selWffXL8JAJM0jigCwJX6djm/s640/642878_252735266_XLarge.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">YESSSSSS</td></tr>
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I've done it: 6 Boston marathon finishes, all of them sub-3!</div>
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My time isn't as fast as I'd hoped, but I've hit my ultimate goal of running once again under 3 hours, and within an hour or so I'll know where that puts me in my age group. For now I can enjoy the luxury of wandering straight over to the elite tent to change, get a massage, chat to my friends and wait for Joel. Also I get to eat Cheez Doodles (my son will die when he finds out these actually exist outside of his Big Nate books) and drink as much iced tea and Gatorade as I can handle. Bliss!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHEIDL0MYyzRyyej_UuMi4iF0zt_HxeQwoPhMa8c0da2tXc8aEyxtmg7hHAg95irc4bTVxbq9ltTNG_Ivx3aOXff4PXUh8wWPR0tk4h9wjxVxOINMiWAvJiK_EerklfRfYNpcYnXupyAlj/s1600/FinishCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHEIDL0MYyzRyyej_UuMi4iF0zt_HxeQwoPhMa8c0da2tXc8aEyxtmg7hHAg95irc4bTVxbq9ltTNG_Ivx3aOXff4PXUh8wWPR0tk4h9wjxVxOINMiWAvJiK_EerklfRfYNpcYnXupyAlj/s640/FinishCollage.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></div>
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So happy to be done!</div>
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Shortly after Joel arrives - having run a fantastic 3:22 on spotty training and lots of sandbagging - we have a dilemma on our hands: I've managed to win my age group and have just received an email inviting me to the official presentation at 5pm! But right now, normally we'd head to the downstairs bar at Loew's, a nearby hotel, to rehydrate (aka drink beer) with all our RunnersWorld friends. And there's no way we can fit that in plus the long commute to and from our blasted hotel. But I'm not going up on stage in my current sweaty, messy state, that's for sure. So off we go trekking to the hotel to shower and change, in lieu of beers with mates. Such is life when your hotel overbooks itself and bumps those with the cheapest rates, I guess. Grrrr.</div>
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The presentation is thrilling and fun, just like last year, with added bonus of my own cheer squad (courtesy of our friends Alice and Steve who meet us in the bar beforehand and sneak in to the ceremony with Joel) and my friend Paula - with whom I ran NYC in 2014 and Boston in 2015 in the elite starts as well - who has, not surprisingly, placed in her AG too. Seeing her again, even briefly, is awesome and I think I can say that this year's Boston will go down in history as my favourite one ever. Apart from the hotel, grrr.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnnbAVJwJjNgtT8azbLCb5xooGZfMhBj-RmsLkg2zMmhcYs4t9mQPaBWhIsKQd2LlqVu2vbZP9rnCl5k1NjnMZzEZyKOo_Tey29PzVVBUl3fso1hsrQrDRGaHEbE_R_8L1sf_RpPZqCph/s1600/Boston17_withPaula.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnnbAVJwJjNgtT8azbLCb5xooGZfMhBj-RmsLkg2zMmhcYs4t9mQPaBWhIsKQd2LlqVu2vbZP9rnCl5k1NjnMZzEZyKOo_Tey29PzVVBUl3fso1hsrQrDRGaHEbE_R_8L1sf_RpPZqCph/s640/Boston17_withPaula.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin: 0px;">
Fast doctor runners, unite!</div>
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<b><u>Summing it all up</u></b></div>
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<b><u><br /></u></b>Looking purely at the numbers, this was a pretty crappy performance from me. It was my second slowest finish time, my slowest from the EWS by almost a minute and my worst ever second-half fade. Crunching the data, it simply doesn't look good at all:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__Em4Q4I9xc6PMB_UzIjhcUWaxaNmf6H3AFFtnQwzPMpey8w_GG8kxrsEdRVwddHs4WQRltVplTOslvr1YqHiA3dL4rgNyXa2L7xlhS8YVF0-cFmDqLwZglRdcM089p8oeCXdpisi10is/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-05-07+at+8.55.20+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__Em4Q4I9xc6PMB_UzIjhcUWaxaNmf6H3AFFtnQwzPMpey8w_GG8kxrsEdRVwddHs4WQRltVplTOslvr1YqHiA3dL4rgNyXa2L7xlhS8YVF0-cFmDqLwZglRdcM089p8oeCXdpisi10is/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-05-07+at+8.55.20+pm.png" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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But given the circumstances it seems my body and some deep, instinctive part of my brain colluded to once again bring me the best possible result for the day: an age group win and a solid race without need of the medical tent (always a bonus) and, as it turns out, not even a blister or single destroyed toe. In sports physiology there's a lot of talk about a "central governor" that ultimately controls how we perceive fatigue, and it looks like mine sized up the conditions and decided that running for place would be a wise choice rather than allowing me to develop hyperthermia trying to hit an ambitious time goal.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And looking at the rest of the weekend, I'd have to say that 2017 was my absolute favourite of all years in Boston. Because although it's one of the biggest running events in the world, the Boston marathon, for me, is all about friends. Through running I have been so fortunate to make many good friends from all around the globe, friends who share my passion for our sport and spending time with them in Boston is always one of the highlights of my year.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfBnAHmrDJ1nHGEisAJfs4K6UzyrScPgkP0rVwEJ34_MbGi6TkVINsaZ86VZdQkmfH8F_TSNr7VelyZnatLpGjzYOj41c2EpVr_6b34m521_ZV8ruAjrSoc-gFG6WnB3wKw037YW23RK_/s1600/FriendsCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfBnAHmrDJ1nHGEisAJfs4K6UzyrScPgkP0rVwEJ34_MbGi6TkVINsaZ86VZdQkmfH8F_TSNr7VelyZnatLpGjzYOj41c2EpVr_6b34m521_ZV8ruAjrSoc-gFG6WnB3wKw037YW23RK_/s640/FriendsCollage.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">The whole marathon thing is just an excuse for runners to get together and party</td></tr>
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That said, I'm ready to take a break from Boston - for once I'd like to spend the April school holidays in Australia with my kids and perhaps run a different marathon in the first part of the year - at least until I have a new age group to conquer. Then, like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nellie_Melba" target="_blank">Nellie Melba</a> I might be back for yet another farewell, you just never know.</div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-61121788008374675682017-03-03T20:11:00.002-08:002017-03-03T20:12:07.770-08:00Orange Running Festival Marathon, February 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDHjs8A8-QC90ga235-S_dMOWFI_Wtk6EYiUoXfzvef4mNVgCv_B_tf8SrRUVxFGKoqm8RlAhD4TtN9MU4rGR3q9Y-vF1j1oMth5UXBn1WgwRgnwfOl4GVqwsil7ElBYSRnQEJ7R2JXCs/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-02-28+at+10.00.31+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDHjs8A8-QC90ga235-S_dMOWFI_Wtk6EYiUoXfzvef4mNVgCv_B_tf8SrRUVxFGKoqm8RlAhD4TtN9MU4rGR3q9Y-vF1j1oMth5UXBn1WgwRgnwfOl4GVqwsil7ElBYSRnQEJ7R2JXCs/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-02-28+at+10.00.31+pm.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
I ran the Orange Running Festival half marathon in 2013 and it remains, to this day, one of only two races I never got around to writing about on this blog. I'm not sure why; I actually quite like Orange, after spending the first 6 months of 2005 living and working there, but for some reason my write-up of that experience stalled.<br />
<br />
It might have had something to do with the cold, rainy 2K that I jogged the day before with my then-small son. It might have been my expectation of a fast, flat HM course, which was appropriately crushed by the hilly dirt roads up which I found myself running, or at least trying to run. It might have been a relatively sub-par time: 1:26 for a third place finish and my slowest half for a few years at least.<br />
<br />
Whatever the reason, and in spite of the memory of many hills, I decided to venture back to Orange this year to try my hand at the full marathon. A friend had put me in touch with a babysitter to mind the kids while I was running and I was pleasantly surprised to see that there was rather more prize money on offer this year than I remembered from 2013 - plus of course a good solid run would be beneficial for both fitness and confidence in the lead-up to Boston - so off we went on Saturday afternoon to the Colour City for another go.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Training</b><br />
<br />
For the past year or three I've been pretty much in a perpetual state of marathon training, but since October 2016 (when I ran the Ned Kelly 50K) things have been a little different. In January I took a break to go skiing in Japan and found myself feeling uncharacteristically serene about not running for several days in a row - this is not normal behaviour for me, not at all. I skiied all day and jogged up to 5 miles most afternoons on the treadmill but had no desire to do anything more.<br />
<br />
Towards the end of January I started to think that maybe I should start training for Boston, perhaps? So I put together a few higher-volume weeks and threw in a bit of speedwork, but it was all still pretty much whatever I could manage on the day. With Boston still 6 weeks off the marathon in Orange would be a solid long run, not a full-on race: an endurance-building effort both mental and physical. I never had any ideas really about having to race it, nor any intention.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Day</b><br />
<br />
I'm easily awake at 5am and have put most of my things out in preparation for a stealthy departure, but somehow it turns out I've mislaid my Garmin. I fumble around trying to locate it by the light of my phone and in the process wake Amelia. Bugger! Any plans for a relaxing pre-race lead-up are trashed at this point anyway; the babysitter is coming at 6am, the race starts at 6:30am and I haven't picked up my bib yet.<br />
<br />
It's a short drive to the starting area, thankfully, but I'm sort of freaking out about how fine I'm cutting things this morning. I run from the parking lot to the hall where I remember picking up my bib last time, and with about 10 minutes to spare I'm outside ready to go. There are plenty of people I know around and I'm kept busy enough chatting with all of them that I don't have much chance to get nervous - not that I really would, because rather arrogantly I'm expecting to win quite easily today.<br />
<br />
This is because the female winners over the past few years have run 3:17, 3:26, 3:14 - times that I am reasonably confident of being able to beat. Sub-3 would be nice, but if I don't feel great then I'm expecting to run around 3:05-3:10 and win without any problems. They say pride comes before a fall, but I've already had my fall this week (and taken most of the skin off both palms and my left knee) and a bit of pride doesn't seem unreasonable at this point. So I head to the starting line quite unconcerned, feeling both relaxed and confident.<br />
<br />
A woman dressed in triathlon gear loiters around close to me - I'm in the very first row because why not, right? - and she's clearly the most likely contender for today's title; I will later discover that she won in 2016. There's nobody else around that looks particularly keen, so when the start gun goes off I set off feeling assured of a pleasant, not-too-taxing morning's work.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 1-5: </b>6:41, 6:51, 6:59, 6:56, 6:39 (pace in min/mile)<br />
<br />
I'm running comfortably and feeling great really when the first mile split beeps; there are a pair of guys not far ahead of me and I can sense another one just over my right shoulder too. I look at my watch, think "that's a touch too fast" and consider asking the runner right behind me what his goal time is - if he says "sub-3" then we might be running together for a while - but when I look over to the right I am both amazed and slightly horrified to discover that my companion is female. Wait, what?!?<br />
<br />
The course veers abruptly out onto a road and my companion is momentarily confused, almost bumping into me as she figures out which direction to take: I say "no, the road, we go down the road" because I remember this course actually from 2013, and if I remember correctly the rolling hills are about to start any second now. She's profusely apologetic, we run side-by-side for a minute or two, and then to my further amazement she starts to pull ahead of me.<br />
<br />
Well, this is not what I was expecting! I need to decide fairly quickly what to do about this - should I smash myself trying to keep up, or hold back and hope that she will fade? So many runners do, but this one has the look of a hard-core ultrarunner: brown hair in a French plait down her back and legs that are tanned and very muscular. Uh oh.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg509WGf-NJPwaoLxiSKe1tdeExIrY_PFFdwRpmFqWLqu7ZwKjQFbCwPUuinsPI2gO-SfYKHXQnfzH1zGHOez79_huVAbhbPw7l13H2lxCd7S-71YVsJsC_IH-JuP96jTSNPWc9cdzZINq9/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-03-02+at+10.12.53+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg509WGf-NJPwaoLxiSKe1tdeExIrY_PFFdwRpmFqWLqu7ZwKjQFbCwPUuinsPI2gO-SfYKHXQnfzH1zGHOez79_huVAbhbPw7l13H2lxCd7S-71YVsJsC_IH-JuP96jTSNPWc9cdzZINq9/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-03-02+at+10.12.53+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To your average ultrarunner, these mountains are mere molehills</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I decide to hang back and watch for a couple of miles - the course is as hilly as I remember it, and we both slow down a touch - but she's running strongly and consistently at a pace that will lead to a sub-3 if she keeps it up. I look at my watch as she passes a sign by the road and estimate that she's about 15-20 seconds ahead. That's still catchable in a race as long as this one, so there's no need to panic just yet.<br />
<br />
Then during mile 6 she gradually catches a male runner who has clearly gone out way too fast, but in doing so also slows down enough that - ever so gradually - I pass him too and shortly afterwards pull up alongside her. Ooh, how is she going to react to this??<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 6-10: </b>6:47, 6:46, 6:35, 6:54, 6:45<br />
<br />
Not well, as it turns out! Immediately she speeds up again and I'm tempted to try to stay with her. A couple of faster miles ensue (during which I see, much to my amusement, a strange-looking brown mound in the paddock by the road which turns out to be a camel, of all things) but then we make a sharpish left-hand turn onto a gravel road which is strewn with threateningly big chunks of rock. Oh, no.<br />
<br />
This surface is an ankle-turning nightmare and after Wednesday's close encounter with the asphalt I'm immediately intimidated into slowing down some more. Brown Plait is made of stronger stuff and continues steadily like a mountain goat up the gravelly road into what I have now noticed is a fresh headwind.<br />
<br />
Pretty soon she's at least 45 seconds ahead and I am rehearsing second-place acceptance speeches in my head: "Yeah, second place, I know...she was just too strong and I wasn't expecting to have to run sub-3...." I'm imagining myself telling Joel (who has stayed behind in Wagga) "I lost!" in dramatic tones, demanding sympathy that someone faster dared to show up. But another voice in the back of my brain reminds me that I have caught plenty of chicks in the later stages of marathons, so perhaps all is not lost quite yet, and that's enough motivation to keep me plugging away because really, what other choice do I have?<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out and up to the top of Spring Hill and then allll the way back again</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 11-15: </b>6:55, 7:03, 6:45, 6:49, 6:52<br />
<br />
Well, I could just jog the rest, that's what I could do. A short stretch of ridiculously steep and rocky hill almost does me in - the wind is firmly in my face and I really don't like this at all, thanks - but then mercifully it turns into a sealed road for the final, rather protracted out-and-back stretch. It's long enough that I find out I'm in 6th place overall, as 3 blokes I hadn't seen before appear well out in front of the rest of us. They're on their way back as Brown Plait and another guy are ahead of me towards the turn-around. Let's see how things stand, shall we?<br />
<br />
I check my watch as she turns and then resist the temptation to look at it before I get there myself. When I do, the difference is 50 seconds - so she's 1:40 ahead of me and showing no signs of slowing down yet either. God, I hate ultrarunners! Even though technically I'm sort of one myself now.<br />
<br />
<i>Half split: 1:29:30</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
On the way back down there are increasing numbers of runners coming the other way and plenty of them say encouraging things to me as we pass each other by. I'm trying to reply to them all but I'm also trying to stay focused, and that 1 minute 40 second gap is annoying me greatly. Thankfully the wind is now at my back and the gradient more down than up; even the rocky surface of the road doesn't seem quite as bad this time around. And could it be that Brown Plait is slightly closer than she was before? Hmmm.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 16-20: </b>6:53, 7:12, 6:53, 6:54, 6:47<br />
<br />
What goes down must eventually go up again, and any time I've gained on the downhill-with-a-tailwind part is lost during mile 17, which is more up than down and will be my slowest mile of the entire day. But surprisingly enough the gap between myself and Brown Plait looks about the same. Up ahead she is slowly catching another male marathoner, and, believe it or not, I seem to be inching ever-so-gradually closer to them both.<br />
<br />
So I don't give up, and I don't slow down - not yet, anyway, and hopefully not at any point in the near future. I know I can run sub-3, so it all comes down to this: can my competitor? It sure looks that way for now, but I've heard it said that in a marathon the race doesn't start until mile 20, and today at least I'm feeling ready to race.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 21-25: </b>6:51, 6:56, 6:42, 6:49, 6:25<br />
<br />
The final 6 miles of a marathon can conveniently be broken down into segments of 2, I've discovered, and it's a strange sort of mental arithmetic that I always find comforting in the final stages of a race. I tell myself "Only 2 miles to go", whether it's 2 miles til I have 2 miles left, or 2 miles til I have 2 lots of 2 miles to go, or what. It's difficult to explain coherently now but when my brain has been addled by long hours of effortful racing and concentration, somehow it makes perfect sense.<br />
<br />
So right now I'm thinking in terms of 2s. Because the woman I've been chasing all race is still ahead of me, but at mile 22 the gap is noticeably smaller. Should I go nuts now, or should I wait? The course turns back onto gravel roads towards Bloomfield Hospital where it all began and I crank up the pace a notch or so. Let's see what the next 2 miles bring.<br />
<br />
Mile 23 has some nasty undulations that definitely weren't there on the way out, although of course I know that they were. I feel like I'm struggling and slowing down but I'm still gaining on her, and as mile 24 beeps the moment of truth has arrived: I'm RIGHT ON HER TAIL. There are only 2 miles to go! Oh my gosh, what to do??<br />
<br />
I could hang here for another mile or even until the last hundred meters, then throw it all down in a wild sprint to the finish -- but we all know what sort of sprinter I am, and if you don't, then the best word for my sprinting skills is "non-existent". My daughter can out-sprint me and she is only 8, so that probably won't work.<br />
<br />
If I'm going to pass her now, I'll need to run the final 2 miles as fast as I can. What if she surges again and crushes me? What if I panic, what if I hit the wall?? So much anxiety and so many things that could go wrong! I realise in an instant that my best chance is going to be to not only pass her, but to do it emphatically: to crush her mental defences by steaming past to glorious victory.<br />
<br />
So without even really thinking twice about it, as the mile 24 beep sounds I slam on the accelerator and sprint past as fast as I can. I don't bother checking my pace or looking at my watch; every fibre of my being is focused on running as hard as I can manage. Speeding up significantly in the late stages of a marathon is extremely difficult and I'm not sure how long this will last, so I need to just go and hope that it works.<br />
<br />
As I tear along the road I can hear a flapping noise that I'm fairly sure is coming from my own bib, but it could also be footsteps behind me, and a couple of times I'm tempted to panic. "She's right behind you!" I tell myself. But maybe she's not - either way it makes no difference. I just need to keep running.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Mile 26, 0.2 to finish: </b>6:38, 6:34 pace<br />
<br />
We are back very close to the hospital now and approaching it from the opposite side to where we left. I *think* I know where to go but there's no-one ahead within sight and any wrong turn at this stage will be fatal. I end up yelling "Which way??" a couple of times at the volunteers who are watching calmly from the sidelines - they have no idea that I'm in a state of near-panic, or why - and thankfully they're able to point me in the right direction.<br />
<br />
Mile 26 beeps, I think I can almost see the finish area now.....just need to keep my legs turning over. Reflexively I start counting in my head.....one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand...and then the finish arch is finally in sight. I've won this race after all!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time:</b> 2:59:04 (6:49 min/mile, 4:14 min/km)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b> 1st female, 4th overall.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-YDiy-M2joCPKLpd_MeYmUzt6aOollqgatWsVnSmBgZdJ422S6jngxocyqrtNcZjjOMwklN2FdAXN1o4cU3mysay6vub9d7ZLquM2S5BmBmulD4_e4B8LKs9D8OzOJ5SCkVy7CbSqdrj/s1600/r909_589_4736_3840_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-YDiy-M2joCPKLpd_MeYmUzt6aOollqgatWsVnSmBgZdJ422S6jngxocyqrtNcZjjOMwklN2FdAXN1o4cU3mysay6vub9d7ZLquM2S5BmBmulD4_e4B8LKs9D8OzOJ5SCkVy7CbSqdrj/s640/r909_589_4736_3840_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my 2 biggest fans</td></tr>
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<br />
In retrospect, today's race was not only a great physical workout, it was a really important mental one too. It turns out I won by just over 2 minutes, all of which I gained in the final 2.2 miles. My tactic worked - or she was just plain done at that point, who knows - and I'm very surprised (and pleased) to realise that a sprint finish isn't impossible after all. My endurance hasn't suffered too much from the summer hiatus - I've got 6 weeks to pull my act together for what will almost certainly be my final Elite start at Boston - and today was quite an inspiring way to start!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-68713120780490304952016-12-06T03:01:00.000-08:002016-12-06T03:01:01.526-08:00Pub2Pub Albury 9.1km, November 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I'm currently in a sort of hiatus from training, which means I'm not really doing long runs at all, which in turn means that this is the perfect opportunity to run some shorter races. Um, well it makes perfect sense to me, at least.<br />
<br />
My top end speed is fairly hopeless but it's slightly less hopeless when my legs aren't dead from pumping out 90 miles a week, and Albury is just over an hour's drive from our house so when I heard about this run, it seemed like a good excuse for a road trip. There was also the somewhat unexpected lure of significant prize money for the top 3 finishers; as we all know, it only takes one speedy young thing to ruin my day, but sometimes they just don't show up. In any case, this is a brand new race and I did think that it might not attract an enormous crowd, so perhaps I might get lucky. And who could turn down a chance to run from one pub to another (even first thing in the morning)?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Training</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
In keeping with my current casual attitude, I did absolutely nothing particular in the way of training for this race, other than a short easy run the day beforehand. This includes speed work (nope), long runs (none) and specific race-pace training (nada). Just 10 or so miles per day, whatever I could fit in, at whatever pace I felt like running at the time. The Whatever Training Plan - you read about it here first.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Day</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It's a perfect day but alarmingly warm already when we set out from home for the easy, back-roads drive to Lavington where the race begins. Pulling up in the carpark behind the Springdale Tavern I am slightly dismayed to see a small red car pulling out and no other than my fast young friend Claire waving cheerfully at me from the front seat. Well, there goes first place, not that I seriously though I could win this race anyway. Sigh.<br />
<br />
We jog a 3 mile warm-up and arrive back to the carpark where quite a lot of people are now milling around and taking shelter from the sun under the awning of the building next door (a discount chemist). Joel is busy freaking me out by pointing out fit-looking 20-somethings who might be capable of beating me: what about her? Or her? Or her?? Oooh, she looks fast! We count at least 4 of them and yep, it's official: I'm screwed.<br />
<br />
The course is point-to-point (or pub-to-pub more accurately) so in theory we could just treat it as a Sunday long run: jog there and then back to the start once we're done. I raise this as a possibility and Joel falls over laughing - ok, scratch that idea. I'm too lazy right now and in any case by that time the temperature will be around 35C, and neither of us feels like melting to death today.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />
Before long we're called out and lining up on the road in front of the tavern - there's no actual starting mat so getting up the front is going to be important - I end up in the second row just behind Claire and with all the other fast-looking young things close by. The sun is beating down and it's time to do this: I'll just think of it as a tempo run and hope it doesn't suck too much.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 1-3: </b>6:07, 6:05, 6:09 (pace in min/mile)<br />
<br />
Immediately all 4 of the women I figure are likely to beat me go streaking out in front. I expected this so I focus on my own effort level and try not to worry about pace just yet. I'm assisted in this endeavour by a distracting bloke in a red singlet bearing the words "Riverina Podiatry" who is somehow managing to goof around while running seriously fast; he's taking photos and running backwards, all the time chatting happily with at least 3 others around us (or at least talking at them - none are doing much in the way of replying) who are wearing the same top. That's him closest to the curb below, with his fast-chick teammate beside him:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The female lead pack about 500m into the race</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
Fairly quickly I leave the girl in pink behind me, but Claire is well ahead with the two others - numbers 80 and 87, henceforth to be known as the one in Black and the one in Red. As the first mile progresses a gap opens, with Claire and Red at the front and the other girl closer to me. I'm feeling reasonably good and maintaining what for me is a pretty decent pace as well. I won't speed up - mostly because I can't, but also because I know that most people in these shorter races do tend to go out too fast - and patience pays off as we pass through a large intersection right at the end of mile 1 and head up a long, slight uphill stretch. The One in Black slows down markedly and I catch her (as well as another male runner just near her) with ease. Excellent, 3rd place is now mine!<br />
<br />
Her boyfriend is by the road in at least 2 spots over the next mile, though, waiting to cheer her on and take photos, and I'm trying to gauge from his reactions how far back she is. Probably not too close - in any case I need to forget her and focus on what's ahead. We pass under the highway via a couple of short tunnels; I'm checking my Garmin to make sure it hasn't freaked out yet again and then I pop out onto a long, straight bike path. I can see far enough ahead to figure out that I'm in 7th spot overall and the One in Red is, quite incredibly, only just behind the male leader. Wow, she's way out of my league. Perhaps 3rd is really the best I can hope for in terms of placement, but at least I'll still be in the money, and that's good enough for me.<br />
<br />
During mile 3, however, I'm surprised to find myself gradually inching closer and closer to Claire. She has been injured this year and although she definitely has more natural speed than me, I'm not at all certain how fit she is right now or how much she has been training. I've caught her in the past couple of races we have both been in, despite having trailed for at least the first 5km - endurance has always been my strong suit and today it's my only hope.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 4, 5 and 0.7 to finish: </b>6:13, 6:08, 6:35<br />
<br />
Pounding along this open, exposed bike track next to the Hume highway is starting to get rather uncomfortable; it's seriously hot now and I hate running this fast, really I do. In mile 4 I lose focus and a few seconds but even so, I'm closing on Claire for sure now. Finally as mile 4 ends I find myself within striking distance, so I surge forward and officially move into second place. Hooray!<br />
<br />
I'm inspired by this turn of events to turn up the effort level ever so slightly, and there's a young guy not far ahead who becomes my next target.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5M8t2X33syl_AF4b_ATpsUiyLqOSLji9n05I879D0b7zuZ1vDz2T5zreW-dBVZ1hyphenhyphenzqG4lcn1of8dsoZbXvuwCUR3xluj5WUY-fnJ_GEuYYAEgZVwyfGbt_06ihKTbnzqic-JLaKQlzoF/s1600/Pbu2Pub+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5M8t2X33syl_AF4b_ATpsUiyLqOSLji9n05I879D0b7zuZ1vDz2T5zreW-dBVZ1hyphenhyphenzqG4lcn1of8dsoZbXvuwCUR3xluj5WUY-fnJ_GEuYYAEgZVwyfGbt_06ihKTbnzqic-JLaKQlzoF/s640/Pbu2Pub+collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If there was a prize for worst facial expression I'd probably win it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I reel him in gradually during mile 5 and manage to pass him just as we go by a sign that is directing "disabled and people with strollers" to the right. I'm vaguely wondering why this is necessary when Young Guy - clearly miffed at being passed by a chick, not to mention an old one - powers past me again.<br />
<br />
And then I see why: we're directed now to the right as well, and rather than going under the highway as we did earlier in the race, this time we are going OVER it. Yes, over. I find myself gazing at two steep flights of stairs that lead to a bridge like this:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrsOyasEzM-zLmUmJ-eplENxs7ifJl8xU6UsqP4CPEYwUXIa8nf0-WMPGjdBlLjVePZ1NXcFuuxzP7KeTIC7VVFXwhijx4Ai37BguAgf-YjTDdcbWNeiy5_Gg5rA-60Tq1bB6VWs8FhKOx/s1600/Hume_Freeway_at_Albury_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrsOyasEzM-zLmUmJ-eplENxs7ifJl8xU6UsqP4CPEYwUXIa8nf0-WMPGjdBlLjVePZ1NXcFuuxzP7KeTIC7VVFXwhijx4Ai37BguAgf-YjTDdcbWNeiy5_Gg5rA-60Tq1bB6VWs8FhKOx/s400/Hume_Freeway_at_Albury_1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Up, up and over</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This was not in the course description! I'm not keen but I guess I have no choice - up and over I go. Mental images of tripping on the way down and breaking multiple teeth or perhaps bones flash through my head as I cross the bridge; as a result I slow down significantly on the descent and my final mile split definitely reflects it.<br />
<br />
As I complete the final, slightly convoluted part of the course I'm counting mindlessly in my head because I'm seriously overheating - I've been running at top speed for over half an hour in full sun now - and completely ready to stop. Crossing under the finish arch is such a relief! I remember now why I hate short races so much, but at least the pain doesn't last as long.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>35:07 (6:12 min/mile, 3:54 min/km)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>2nd female, 6th overall.<br />
<br />
<br />I grab a cup of water from a helpful volunteer and take shelter in the shade of the drive through bottle shop where the male winner and 3rd place are also standing. We chat briefly and then Joel appears -- he has finished 10th overall and definitely fastest in his age group!<br /><br />Later at the "presentations" it's a bit disappointing to find that other than a cash prize I get nothing, but cash is more than enough and there is beer and chips to go with it, so who can complain, really?<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rxJTH15PUTooBYXLeCmXeWt6TIlFWlxQbwbfqu5MxxGS6tyGb-w3Sgcp1o4YSudIwFyHxrcF9R4PdrEgWzse3-2knHyHUWEcmbmDm4lab5o56nF50gqQeylY2CguSyjAzJUa9hdbcsi5/s1600/pub-2-pub-173.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rxJTH15PUTooBYXLeCmXeWt6TIlFWlxQbwbfqu5MxxGS6tyGb-w3Sgcp1o4YSudIwFyHxrcF9R4PdrEgWzse3-2knHyHUWEcmbmDm4lab5o56nF50gqQeylY2CguSyjAzJUa9hdbcsi5/s640/pub-2-pub-173.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
There's not much more to say about this race; I still don't like shorter races and although I seem to perform well in the heat, there's nothing much fun about running fast when you feel like you're about to melt. There's nothing else on the racing calendar for me in the immediate future, and for once that's just the way I like it. Aahhhh.<br />
<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-58584444303863640002016-11-18T03:29:00.000-08:002017-04-09T03:17:35.166-07:00Ned Kelly Chase 50K, October 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnicGFt9fUmWUJwsG5UFZ_VGngPfqpWyF7DizsdaCmwvBxfYXF7APjsso5VZDCwNbBLKr6LVVux_kE8JYIImufTSxe00dRu5l79m02WUjm9IqyCdhc7wSmNv5f-ARic-ZkN3yDxD6lXYtx/s1600/nkcbanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnicGFt9fUmWUJwsG5UFZ_VGngPfqpWyF7DizsdaCmwvBxfYXF7APjsso5VZDCwNbBLKr6LVVux_kE8JYIImufTSxe00dRu5l79m02WUjm9IqyCdhc7wSmNv5f-ARic-ZkN3yDxD6lXYtx/s640/nkcbanner.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's not unexpected that after my sub-par performance at the Centennial Park Ultra in August, I'd eventually find an excuse to have another go at the 50K distance (despite having long vowed I'd never be interested in running further than a marathon). An ad for the Ned Kelly Chase popped up somewhere - possibly Facebook or an email in my inbox - fairly soon after the CP Ultra and I quickly realised it would be the ideal candidate for my second attempt: a flat, paved course on a rail trail near Wangaratta in Victoria, far enough removed from my recent racing insanity to allow proper recovery, and timed just right to make the most of crisp spring mornings without needing to freeze half to death in the process.<br />
<br />
There are a few other things about the event that piqued my interest - the start is staggered in order to have everyone finishing as close to 12 noon as possible, and bicycle "troopers" are dispatched at some point with wristbands matching each runner, aiming to catch up to and "arrest" the runners in the manner that the infamous bushranger Ned Kelly so long ago was chased through northwest Victoria. There are options for all distances from 100km down to 10km and since I know the area from having raced there a few times now (most notably when <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2016/03/wangaratta-marathon-february-2016.html" target="_blank">I won the Wangaratta marathon</a> earlier this year) it seemed like the perfect opportunity to better my time from August.<br />
<br />
<b>The Training</b><br />
<b><br /></b>After I decided to race at Ned Kelly, Benita and I hatched a plan whereby I would do back-to-back long runs on the weekend and in my own head I had the notion that a few weeks of 90-100mpw (145-160km) would ideally fill up September and early October before my now-standard 2 week taper. I'm FB friends with <a href="http://www.camilleherron.com/" target="_blank">Camille Herron</a>, who is the current 100km AND 50km World Champion, and I saw her post recently about running 40-50 miles in a weekend, so a scaled-down version of that certainly seemed like a great idea to me.<br />
<br />
Life, however, had other ideas. In the end I did average 86 miles (138km) per week over the 6 weeks leading up to the taper, but only managed to complete the double properly on one occasion:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaX3H4LwiDIO6rowVrpuOtOvJGWMhuG1w-DE5JX4Fju3jR7jvnTFdFnSsLSKklKGS8TghQ3sGYIHjZcNCMysi0wjfv38M2q4uJ7VEiv3XCE7yG5O6HKthjBWTwndBaJ6rV4ptA07nxHr_7/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-10-27+at+12.43.26+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaX3H4LwiDIO6rowVrpuOtOvJGWMhuG1w-DE5JX4Fju3jR7jvnTFdFnSsLSKklKGS8TghQ3sGYIHjZcNCMysi0wjfv38M2q4uJ7VEiv3XCE7yG5O6HKthjBWTwndBaJ6rV4ptA07nxHr_7/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-10-27+at+12.43.26+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Lots of double digits but only one double long run</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Perhaps the main improvement of this mini-cycle over my preparation for the Centennial Park race took place in the final week, when I finally managed to restrain myself from running too much (being pretty much sick of running after that single 40-mile weekend) and from spending too much time on my feet in the 48 hours preceding the actual race. The mantra "less is more" is a useful one when taper madness threatens; that and the memory of my dead legs in the early stages of CP combined to make this the most effective taper I can remember.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Weekend</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It's an easy drive to Wangaratta, just over 2 hours in fact, and we arrive in plenty of time to pick up Joel's bib (he's running the half marathon) and spend the rest of the day lounging about and eating. Carb-loading is sort of fun but by the afternoon (as usual) I'm thoroughly sick of food, eager to stop stuffing my face and focus on getting a good night's sleep. We're both starting fairly late - 8am for me and 10am for him - so Sunday morning is a relaxed one although I'm awake at 6am to choke down a Clif bar and some iced coffee.<br />
<br />
The weather is absolutely perfect: the howling wind of last evening has died down completely (although it is forecast to return, slightly diminished, later) and the air is crisp enough that I'm shivering a bit waiting around for the pre-start briefing. The group starting with me is fairly small - and most seem to have half bibs on - but there are a couple of 50Kers in there to keep me company, perhaps.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5F1QGm1AdOR2dGEgfXsNQ79BeGljMdG3foe3DmSqz5A0hHP-LKd91mY_gRKx0o_9drW8D7zWhYAA10Aye1khwmT6OMexeAELZ9BxY-7npJqGFYh7vAU2FekpgOFYT03YbZGkssqqKr-2a/s1600/23102016+039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5F1QGm1AdOR2dGEgfXsNQ79BeGljMdG3foe3DmSqz5A0hHP-LKd91mY_gRKx0o_9drW8D7zWhYAA10Aye1khwmT6OMexeAELZ9BxY-7npJqGFYh7vAU2FekpgOFYT03YbZGkssqqKr-2a/s640/23102016+039.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">"We are all about to run for hours! Wheee!"</span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div>
<b>Miles 1-5: </b>6:42, 6:55, 6:43, 6:58, ?? (pace in min/mile)</div>
<div>
<br />
First over the starting mat, I take the lead as we zig and zag and weave our way under the main road and up onto a sort of levee bank that leads out of town in the direction from whence Joel and I came yesterday. The Ovens River runs through Wangaratta and it has been in flood lately (like every other river in this part of Australia) so there are puddles of mud and water on both sides but thankfully none on the actual path.<br />
<br />
I'm trying to find the right gear in which to spend the next 3 hours and 35 minutes (or thereabouts, if all goes to plan) so I'm gratified to see the first mile split slightly too fast - this means I can back off a bit and relax. Phew. A bloke on an elliptigo-type machine goes whizzing past wearing a race number, which is slightly bizarre, and then suddenly I realise I have company.<br />
<br />
It's the bloke in the red singlet in the photo above, also running the 50K, so I ask him his goal finish time and he replies "Four hours". Wait, what? The second mile split has just appeared on my watch and it's still right on target for me, but means he's going WAY too fast at this point. I inform him of this fact as pleasantly as I can manage, but he sticks with me for the next mile as well and in fact manages to save me from making a wrong turn. How helpful! I'm sort of disappointed when he pulls over at the first aid station and I have to continue on all alone, but it's undoubtedly better for him at this point to choose a more suitable and less suicidal pace.<br />
<br />
Thankfully the course isn't too complex from here out - there's a short tunnel to negotiate and then a sharp turn onto the rail trail - and from there it's going to be straight and flat the whole way to the turn-around. I make it there without any issues other than that I suddenly realise my Garmin hasn't beeped for a while: one look tells me that yes, it has once again frozen up in the middle of a long race. Grrr! I hit stop and start and it immediately comes back to life and starts recording distance again - now all I have to do is figure out how much distance I've missed. On a course this sparsely marked, that is going to be something of a challenge.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Miles 6-10: </b>??, 6:58, 6:58, 6:53, 6:48<br />
<br />
Once my Garmin is cooperating again I'm pleased to note that I'm still right on target pace. I've brought a hand-held water bottle which is just as well, because the water stations aren't all that frequent. And at the one where I did want a cup of water there were people standing right in front the table, blocking me from helping myself but inexplicably not handing out water themselves. This seems rather unhelpful, to be honest, but I won't dwell on it because I'm feeling way too good really. The contrast to how my legs felt back in August is remarkable; I can only hope it lasts.<br />
<br />
The half marathon turning point is marked by a bloke sitting in a car and a chalk arrow on the ground - he calls out encouragement as I pass and I note the time on my watch: 45 minutes, meaning I'm on track or even slightly ahead of where I want to be at this point. Excellent!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2Dudron1nbTIAR7d0YEcpZRRQBdQvThUHpE3d9Re15VQ5kmvT70eVA25HYW1kHoDuzImQ59VR3-q-gPPF2y4IKA527Kq85PLYm7D-Eg5fgnsJeXdyDkayWHSXda_Clm0NJ8jw9-X4qPn/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-10+at+9.51.00+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2Dudron1nbTIAR7d0YEcpZRRQBdQvThUHpE3d9Re15VQ5kmvT70eVA25HYW1kHoDuzImQ59VR3-q-gPPF2y4IKA527Kq85PLYm7D-Eg5fgnsJeXdyDkayWHSXda_Clm0NJ8jw9-X4qPn/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-11-10+at+9.51.00+pm.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2 x 25km out-and-back legs - we are on the top one</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
From here on out things start to get fairly boring; due to flooding all of the 100K, 50K, marathon and half entrants are on this half of the course rather than being strung out over two segments, so there are many more people around than there otherwise would be, but still it's pretty lonely. The rail trail is smooth, flat and straight, so essentially perfect to run on but about as interesting as watching paint dry. I do get to overtake people every now and then - mostly they gasp in amazement at my pace as I zoom past - but for the majority of the time I'm on my own. Snooore. My friend Amelia from last year's<a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/12/canberra-summer-marathon-december-2015.html" target="_blank"> Canberra Summer Marathon </a>goes by on her way to the finish of the 100K - the excitement of waving to and greeting her wakes me up for a bit - then it's back to the grindstone, alas.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 11-15: </b>6:57, 6:52, 6:51, 6:59, 6:57<br />
<br />
There's a slight but perceptible uphill component now to the course and it slows me down a little, but I'm too busy waiting for the marathon turning point to worry or even notice too much. When I finally arrive at the marathon turn it's at a water station and a glance at my watch shows 1:30:30. Right on target pace, still! And I feel pretty good. My small hand-held water bottle is almost empty now but the clouds are keeping things cool and I'm not sweating much at all.<br />
<br />
Best of all, the 50K turn is not far away now! There's a bit of a downhill to a major sort of a road - a volunteer is standing guard but I manage to arrive at exactly the right moment to cross between cars - and then a segment that slopes upward to what appears to be a bunch of people standing in the way. Surely that's the turning point?<br />
<br />
But there's no official signage and I'm coming up behind a runner who has her own bike escort: that's nice for her, but he's weaving erratically all over the path and I'm worried I'm about to be flattened. I open my mouth to remark casually on my imminent arrival, but suddenly he zigs towards me. I gasp and bark out "COMING THROUGH!!" in an embarrassingly loud, abrupt and somewhat snappy tone. Oops! Better keep going just to put some space between us, I think.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 16-20: </b>6:49, 6:42, 6:52, 6:53, 6:55<br />
<br />
I charge up looking for a traffic cone or something to turn around but there's nothing visible. I yell at a random woman "Where do I turn??" She replies "Here!" so I turn on my heel, grab a cup from the water table and tear off back down the hill. My watch reads 1:47:13. Wheeee! I'm over halfway home and still on track for my goal.<br />
<br />
I'm enjoying this downhill much more than I should be when I realise there's a bicycle trooper pulled over just ahead of me and it looks like she's pulling a wristband off her handlebars in preparation to arrest me. Wait, what?? I've got to be 20 minutes ahead of the nearest 50K runner; I haven't seen anyone from my starting group and we were the last ones to depart. As I approach I make eye contact and call out "Seriously??" The cycle trooper checks my bib number and grins sheepishly: she's looking for 218, not 213. I've evaded arrest!<br />
<br />
At mile 20 things are still going well; I'm catching a fair few slower runners again and a few of my fellow 50Kers have gone past on their way out to the turn. My legs are starting to feel the mileage, though, and this is when I know I really need to focus. I can't afford to let my mind wander or even think about anything in particular at this point - just focus on keeping the effort level going and suppressing the thoughts of slowing down, which are starting to creep up.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 21-25: </b>6:58, 7:02, 7:00, 7:00, 7:04<br />
<br />
Yep, things are starting to get tough. The last 6 miles of any marathon are always the biggest challenge, and I'm trying hard not to think about the 5 more that I will still have to run after that point. For a while I go with the "counting in my head" trick that works quite well as a sort of mental white noise - it blocks out any other thoughts and also helps me keep my feet turning over at the proper-but-ridiculous Roadrunner sort of cadence that works best for me.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyVCiSR3i0qGjOcwhXQag33INqSk8GnyG9C2VihWJPQThBkCjHNUSUCB0Cb7Rwet-Z4ZFtDxD0HcvnYmOXOTEiQeHpeL8NS3jBe3kVTKVeBGJVdjNmGeIBXOdbLSttNtVSmUjT4LP44fQ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyVCiSR3i0qGjOcwhXQag33INqSk8GnyG9C2VihWJPQThBkCjHNUSUCB0Cb7Rwet-Z4ZFtDxD0HcvnYmOXOTEiQeHpeL8NS3jBe3kVTKVeBGJVdjNmGeIBXOdbLSttNtVSmUjT4LP44fQ/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is basically me in any kind of road race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6D0h0zzK3Vz4-_yhXRclFMsh_odcHBrNXnHWYGVZu0eNAjNK8akba53iFfF3N9gdALuaXq3iaK3_AQ3FQcrgJpVGUUyurViBtqvcDhOmzCsk0v6y8CX_QpPfTC3vwTqFzRLCAkWxxVNa/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6D0h0zzK3Vz4-_yhXRclFMsh_odcHBrNXnHWYGVZu0eNAjNK8akba53iFfF3N9gdALuaXq3iaK3_AQ3FQcrgJpVGUUyurViBtqvcDhOmzCsk0v6y8CX_QpPfTC3vwTqFzRLCAkWxxVNa/s400/images-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is me at the finish</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Around mile 23 something crazy happens as I pull up behind another runner who is wearing a bandanna and a bright yellow Comrades shirt. I've got my name on both front and back bibs, as do all the 50K and 100K entrants, but he doesn't have a back bib so he must be doing the marathon or perhaps even the half. I go to pass him and he does a huge double-take, exclaiming "Rachel? Wow, you're doing great!"<br />
<br />
Um, do I know you? At this point even if I'd had lunch with him yesterday I probably wouldn't recognise him; my brain is in that late-marathon-scrambled state where figuring stuff out is just not within its capabilities, so I grunt back "Hi" and go to pass him by. But he surges and accelerates out in front of me, so I guess I have company - for as long as it lasts.<br />
<br />
Sven (his bib bears the name "Svengali" but I won't see this until after the race) is in the mood to chat and what's more he also seems to be in the mood to run 7:00 pace, which is great as far as I'm concerned. The pacing, I mean, not the chatting - I don't really have breath to spare just now and in any case I'm struggling to understand his accent. He's asking something about my time and I can't figure out if it's how long have I been running or what time am I expecting to run. I mumble something about 3:35 and he tells me he is running the marathon distance, then when I fail to respond he surges ahead again and drags me with him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 26-30: </b>6:54, 7:00, 7:10, 7:13, 7:22<br />
<br />
Sven is acting like a tow rope - he's the only thing keeping me going at this pace and although I'm extremely grateful, I'm having difficulty expressing this right now. He drops back to chat some more and asks me where I am from, and I know that if I talk I'll slow down so I shake my head and mutter "Can't talk", hoping that he knows the feeling and won't hold it against me.<br />
<br />
On we plough in silence for another 2 miles and we reach the point where the rail trail ends, once again running through the tunnel underpass where my Garmin lost its mind on the way out. I'm hurting now, my legs feel like jelly and I really want to stop. I'm even more tempted when, inexplicably, Sven abruptly slows down. In fact he doesn't just do that, he pulls right off to the side and cheerfully tells me I'm on my own for the final 5km. Wait, what???<br />
<br />
Well this just sucks. Immediately my pace falls off the edge of a cliff, or perhaps only a small ledge really, but in any case I haven't got it in my legs to keep 7:00 pace anymore. Thankfully there's not far to go, because the wind has come up now to the point that it's noticeable and guess what, it's blowing directly into my face. How lovely!<br />
<br />
I struggle along in this fashion, counting in my head and telling myself to just keep it together, hold on, hold on, the end is coming. There's a golden opportunity to get lost when the course veers left despite a clear path straight ahead - thankfully there's another runner ahead who makes the turn and prevents what would be a major disaster for me at this point.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The final mile: </b>7:26<br />
<br />
I'm ready to be done now, thank you very much. I'm trying to keep the effort level up there but mentally I've had it and I just want to get to the finish. Everything looks different coming in the opposite direction and so it's a bit of a surprise when I realise I'm not far at all from the underpass that will spit me out right by the finish line. A photographer is lying in wait but I don't have the presence of mind to smile, wave, or even get the frown of determination off my face. Oh well, another grumpy race photo to add to the collection.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnHPqr__4SZLapgQqvgW06NCIiuRvd_M36mwsj_opm58KeBbWicbFYDqIIwzOcZzptvC8Ov93M96xmGf05jEB0uSQqycMx9xWbyEas9HxlWL7UJyijUSzlcPSfkMD8vmOhdlhhyBkZnbH/s1600/IMG_7523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnHPqr__4SZLapgQqvgW06NCIiuRvd_M36mwsj_opm58KeBbWicbFYDqIIwzOcZzptvC8Ov93M96xmGf05jEB0uSQqycMx9xWbyEas9HxlWL7UJyijUSzlcPSfkMD8vmOhdlhhyBkZnbH/s640/IMG_7523.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><incoherent angry noise></td></tr>
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Under the bridge, zig and then zag - I'm concentrating quite hard on not falling over here, but I do have the brains to look up and see the finish clock ticking fast towards 3:36:00. OMG, so close! I accelerate as much as my legs will allow and can only hope it's enough....<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>3:35:58 (pace 6:57 min/mile, 4:19 min/km)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>1st overall and 1st female<br />
<br />
<br />
Only runners will understand how important those 2 seconds really are. My Garmin reads 3:36:00 but my official time is 2 seconds faster and it's the one I'll be reporting. I said I wanted to get as close as I could to 3:35 and I did it - a PR of 7 minutes and an unofficial Australian AG record to boot!<br />
<br />
I throw myself at Joel (who has placed 2nd in the half marathon!) and he holds me up as I catch my breath: my legs have gone to jelly. But it was worth it - I'm so happy to have run the race I planned to run and to have limited the late-race fade to just the final few miles. My nemesis Sven arrives and - as I expected - apologises profusely for "annoying" me in the later stages of the race. I explain myself and in return thank him profusely for dragging me along like he did; he played a major role in keeping me from slowing down a lot sooner than I otherwise would have.<br />
<br />
Turns out he is a marathonaholic who is planning to run several marathons in the next few weeks, including New York! Staying with me would have made those races more difficult and now I understand completely why he chose to back off.<br />
<br />
Amelia is also there and has come 2nd in her race; it's congratulations all around and off for a much-deserved shower and rest before dinner and presentations later on.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqsJtIk0Khs3o5_Fh8qJ5dKA4gEHc8NRuHYI8ceno_C5riXW6ozvnBb7c4feqgskviKd-34uXbeFLjfDIxYKS5zEbPgWeb0kUwAk3S5ikR6adLq3mL5gh5_vYZB_L1IW_GZNZx90Dv3qn/s1600/IMG_7514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqsJtIk0Khs3o5_Fh8qJ5dKA4gEHc8NRuHYI8ceno_C5riXW6ozvnBb7c4feqgskviKd-34uXbeFLjfDIxYKS5zEbPgWeb0kUwAk3S5ikR6adLq3mL5gh5_vYZB_L1IW_GZNZx90Dv3qn/s640/IMG_7514.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks like Ned caught us all!</td></tr>
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<br />
I've nothing much more to say about this race other than it was HARD and I think I really respect the distance now more than ever before. I'm not sure how much further I can improve on my time - more double long run weekends would no doubt be useful, but life is not always conducive to that sort of thing - but given the opportunity I'll be sure to have a try. And, come to think of it, an Australian AG record is probably my best achievement to date - so perhaps the 50K is a good distance for me after all!<br />
<br />
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-34537805767228564862016-10-01T04:41:00.003-07:002016-10-01T04:51:45.915-07:00Wagga Lake 10K, September 2016<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GLBeqQz8pFtuKl24G45NACJbgrRUNamcQSpVfFQ4DEF1yR56G8PuhiSRvbouC4hoYKRuoDbpM-EetvxpCVQ5XkTwPqplznyW8cu2lJlJpSWKmjyRRS17Ee5gbkCoGp2_uEHeMDkgWK7e/s1600/Lake2Lagoon_collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GLBeqQz8pFtuKl24G45NACJbgrRUNamcQSpVfFQ4DEF1yR56G8PuhiSRvbouC4hoYKRuoDbpM-EetvxpCVQ5XkTwPqplznyW8cu2lJlJpSWKmjyRRS17Ee5gbkCoGp2_uEHeMDkgWK7e/s640/Lake2Lagoon_collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Clockwise from top left: 2012, 2014, 2015 and 2013</td></tr>
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<br />
The reborn Lake to Lagoon! One of my favourite races - I've run it every year since 2011 and won it 3 of those times - it's a bit of a nasty course with a rather long hill in the first half, but I love it just the same. Originally when I moved to Wagga it started at Lake Albert and finished in the centre of town by the Lagoon (hence the name, very original) but a couple of years ago it was rerouted and now finishes back by the lake at Apex Park. For me this is extremely convenient - I can jog to the start as part of my warm-up, and then home again afterwards (more of a crawl really) if I have to.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Training</b><br />
<br />
I will freely admit that the only reason I am including this sub-heading in this particular post is because I have put it in every other post on the blog, not because I did any actual 10K-type training in the lead-up to this race. As I had done the previous week, in the 7 days preceding this race I ran my long run on Friday (this time mercifully without any faceplants into the asphalt) and due to a combination of laziness and an Act of God (see below) I ended up running a paltry 5km on Saturday. Because on Saturday morning when I finally made it out of bed, my plans to hit the treadmill were derailed by the sight of this in our street:<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPBcqHpRKw57HgPBcbfLh3eP-2oSnashjdFXuo2Xu3pARwNnvIlbbafITFDV_yQTLk9Y4j6rWWbpk08F4nNdIQfF50CwGLlvcl0C3GmsD-R5aond6VRE0ZsBrFN2TUGYZ7qN2EG-2gdXSx/s1600/IMG_7258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPBcqHpRKw57HgPBcbfLh3eP-2oSnashjdFXuo2Xu3pARwNnvIlbbafITFDV_yQTLk9Y4j6rWWbpk08F4nNdIQfF50CwGLlvcl0C3GmsD-R5aond6VRE0ZsBrFN2TUGYZ7qN2EG-2gdXSx/s640/IMG_7258.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">I'd still go for my run but I can't find my snorkel</td></tr>
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<br />
I was far too busy figuring out what was going to potentially float away (mercifully, nothing much) to worry about running, and in this way the flash flood actually came in sort of handy as a mini-taper. It would have other implications for the race itself, however.<br />
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<br />
<b>Race Day</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The late start (10:30am for the runners) means I'm able to spend a lazy morning getting ready and at 9:30am I set off with Jack - who is participating in the event as a bike rider - to jog to the start line. The sun is out and it's a gorgeous day; you'd never know that just 24 hours ago most of the suburb was underwater. Jack sets off and I go for my warm-up towards the northern end of the lake; before long it's already time to line up.<br />
<br />
Remembering previous years and the usual horde of sprinters who will fade within minutes, I make sure to secure myself a spot right in the first row - and looking around on the starting line there are a few coltish young girls who will surely be in that group; otherwise there doesn't seem to be much in the way of competition around. Yet. Hmmm.<br />
<br />
I'm reminding myself not to count my chickens before they're hatched - I see Amanda, who was 2nd behind me in Canberra last weekend, and go over to say hi - and sure enough at the last minute I look to my right and hmm, there's a woman there who looks like she might be a contender. This is about to get interesting! I spent the dorky warm-up routine sneakily trying to size her up and decide that my only hope is that she doesn't have endurance because I'm fairly sure she's going to have speed.<br />
<br />
My assumption about her abilities comes mostly from the fact that she has the powerful, strong-looking build of your typical shorter distance (5K, 10K) speedster whereas by contrast (and partly also due to my gait) I am very much built for endurance, not speed. My natural build is somewhere between mesomorph and ectomorph but unless I start lifting weights - which I haven't done for at least 3 years now - I tend to sit more on the endomorph side of the spectrum.<br />
<br />
This is great for marathons (and ultras) but also means my 8 year old daughter can already beat me at a 100m sprint, meaning I have zero short-distance speed. So if this chick is as fast as she looks, my only hope is my endurance - and that she can't match it - because there's no other way I'll be winning again today.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGUe2A8UdsrgdMi-Hk7JLglt2lBLNS3zxxMQs7ONYNnrFpPWvylTiV4lXcOp4PkYOPMJGKKK0Ksk6tkyC9W6KiuDzHh3jvb1gfTDJRbam22yem9346iAyNaM5WCAs0U2srNRDDMlyohrS/s1600/Lake10K_start2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGUe2A8UdsrgdMi-Hk7JLglt2lBLNS3zxxMQs7ONYNnrFpPWvylTiV4lXcOp4PkYOPMJGKKK0Ksk6tkyC9W6KiuDzHh3jvb1gfTDJRbam22yem9346iAyNaM5WCAs0U2srNRDDMlyohrS/s640/Lake10K_start2016.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most casual start line ever</td></tr>
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<b>Miles 1-3: </b>6:08, 6:36, 6:14<br />
<b><br /></b>
Zoom! Off we all go in a mad rush and at least 3 of the teenage girls are instantly ahead of me - I can wait for them to tire but what's this to my right? Sure enough the chick in the white singlet (later I will discover that her name is Erin) is already pulling out in front and looks very comfortable when you consider the pace we're running.<br />
<br />
Already by the end of the first mile the teens and tweens are all slowing right down but Erin is maintaining a gap of around 10-15 seconds ahead of me; a couple of times I think she's slowing down too but nope, even as we start the long uphill section on Lake Albert Road she just keeps on going.<br />
<br />
Part of me is rather annoyed - I really wasn't planning on having to try this hard! But finally during th,e final part of the climb my persistance starts paying off: I realise that I'm slowly reeling her in, and as she reaches the top I'm probably only 10 seconds behind. At the turn of course she sees me and, of course takes off down the hill back towards the lake at top speed.<br />
<br />
I'm not done yet, though, and there's a steady stream of runners yelling my name from the other side of the road which is having two effects: it's pumping me up (although I'm a bit too focused to reply much) and I'm fairly sure it's intimidating the heck out of Erin. If this is my home-town advantage than why not use it? Heh heh.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbrxmY2VHVmxshwyqDN_fAivpNJ9j46f4Bx917vwxZeJxsJpNz92kKM2tZSx2rNdM3gcC-fQjEnbbP1G649DL_MLMuUC4SSgC4DymsNRTXBB4PMrDs5qNsTUF07B-6Gw1FjPXaq9HXXCuf/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-10-01+at+9.29.14+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbrxmY2VHVmxshwyqDN_fAivpNJ9j46f4Bx917vwxZeJxsJpNz92kKM2tZSx2rNdM3gcC-fQjEnbbP1G649DL_MLMuUC4SSgC4DymsNRTXBB4PMrDs5qNsTUF07B-6Gw1FjPXaq9HXXCuf/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-10-01+at+9.29.14+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This year's course, pretty much an out-and-back one with the usual unpleasant hill in the middle</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Miles 4-6.2: </b>5:56, 6;14, 6:20, then 6:16 pace to the finish<br />
<br />
It's not often that you see a mile as fast as this from me in a race - 5:56 min/mile is 3:41 min/km and a LOT faster than my usual top speed - but it's downhill and I'm trying to win, so there we go. Erin is ahead for the first part of mile 4 but then there's a water station and to my surprise she slows down to grab a drink; I see my opening and jump right through it, into the lead. Wheeee!<br />
<br />
The course plummets back down towards the lake and I'm basically giving it all I've got right now; as I approach the roundabout where things level out I'm therefore horrified to hear footsteps pounding up behind me. Crap! If this is Erin coming to get me then I'm toast - there's no way I can speed up beyond what I'm doing right now, or at least not without risking total meltdown sometime in the 2 miles that remain.<br />
<br />
But no! It's a guy in a green singlet! I've never been so happy to be overtaken in all my life. I let him drag me along a bit faster as we head now to the path beside the lake - the opposite side to the usual course, which at this point is partially underwater due to the recent floods - and back towards Apex Park. This side of the lake is shorter so there will be a short out-and-back around the southern end; this will let me see exactly how close behind me Erin is, and hopefully that won't freak me out too badly.<br />
<br />
There are more people shouting encouragement at me as I speed past the park, and at least they're not saying "Go girls!" which would suggest she's breathing down my neck. The 1km out part seems to take forever but finally I'm on the way back and by my estimate she's at least 40 seconds adrift. Phew! I'd like to relax now but there's no point tempting fate, so I just keep plugging until at last I'm in the finish area and yay! I cross the line for my 4th win in this event. James Davy has won overall and this is the 3rd time he and I have been victorious together: that's him in the top two photos of the collage at the top of this post.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Wi9OSUYErv2dwTbf96RWDj82pltex42bCJ75KR3EeNKXQ0TaCj8jNuMm1pYUgce2egacFUD91lNMwwW4sgnLWJ4ZjCURjwFv9uv4D-MVzppTmO90KsRNccP1TGNbewQ-Z3Pg3KqLEfmO/s1600/r0_0_3100_2301_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Wi9OSUYErv2dwTbf96RWDj82pltex42bCJ75KR3EeNKXQ0TaCj8jNuMm1pYUgce2egacFUD91lNMwwW4sgnLWJ4ZjCURjwFv9uv4D-MVzppTmO90KsRNccP1TGNbewQ-Z3Pg3KqLEfmO/s640/r0_0_3100_2301_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>Finish time: </b>38:40 (6:14 min/mile, 3:52 min/km)</div>
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<b>Placement: </b>1st female, 8th overall</div>
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My son Jack is there to greet me - I told him I'd most likely finish around 38-39 minutes and so he's pretty impressed that I hit my target exactly - he rushes up to hug me and since he's mostly too cool to give me big hugs these days, I make the most of it and hang onto him long enough that the moment gets captured forever by a nearby photographer. Excellent!</div>
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Soon afterwards it's time for a surprisingly unorganised presentation - the medals are missing, there doesn't seem to be any sort of take-home trophy anymore and I have to leave before the AG presentations (at least I'm apparently not missing out on a medal since there are none) - but I do get to hold that mother of a trophy one more time and will have the satisfaction of seeing my name on there for another year. Not bad for a morning's work!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzJJfpfpMDGNbtNnB5qukvIWhWqUu0PIqpzAQ42yaAqIgP5V-LIJZKyLa-uwfU1hIelpSCYyFzsBb91Kwysa0Ek09cYiCXQCesd7fvcKlPqEGU129gztmnsa7LvDgm88jVWoZbKtYTpYZ/s1600/Lake10K_finishcollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzJJfpfpMDGNbtNnB5qukvIWhWqUu0PIqpzAQ42yaAqIgP5V-LIJZKyLa-uwfU1hIelpSCYyFzsBb91Kwysa0Ek09cYiCXQCesd7fvcKlPqEGU129gztmnsa7LvDgm88jVWoZbKtYTpYZ/s640/Lake10K_finishcollage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cutest post-race photo EVER; This is one heavy trophy, believe me</td></tr>
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All in all, although today's time wasn't my best it certainly was a good effort and I'm proud of myself for persevering and outlasting yet another fit young chick. 10K is not at all my favourite distance so it's gratifying to see that I can still run one a fair bit faster than I could 10 years ago, too. Next up? How about some rest? It's been a long, long couple of months, after all. </div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-20467859906190201912016-09-14T03:50:00.000-07:002016-09-14T03:50:08.121-07:00Canberra Times Fun Run 14K, September 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIp9FivMF-Zyi0omhqWWe6wys9FbKiyXwshAFjBwqW9tQsABanULv7YRebSOP55e5vJnEReObSyGOschRyVlp8YE2GYmP0aVQ7pfgwRIBKomHevSbQiY2xjIMmN6-WleYM_QLjiLafefsC/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-08-29+at+9.58.05+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIp9FivMF-Zyi0omhqWWe6wys9FbKiyXwshAFjBwqW9tQsABanULv7YRebSOP55e5vJnEReObSyGOschRyVlp8YE2GYmP0aVQ7pfgwRIBKomHevSbQiY2xjIMmN6-WleYM_QLjiLafefsC/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-08-29+at+9.58.05+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It seems like Fairfax Events have now set up the City Run Series: a whole set of races in the major cities of Australia, although the first (and still by far the most popular) was the City2Surf in Sydney - my very first race, in fact, after taking up regular running at age 29.<br />
<br />
14km/8.7 miles is an odd distance, and in fact there are 10K and 5K options as well on the day, but as we all know I do much better with longer races, so there's never any question as to which race I will enter. Plus, I won a free entry by finishing 3rd last year! Who cares that it's only 2 weeks removed from the notoriously vicious Wagga Trail marathon? What could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Training? Please?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
In classic Rachel-raceaholic style, I've also managed to schedule this race for the end of my first week of official training for the Ned Kelly 50K in October. There has been so much tapering and recovering going on lately that I'm thoroughly sick of it and determined to just train right through. I'm sure this will mean a less-than-satisfactory result in the 14K but whatever, I don't care.<br />
<br />
Last year I ran 8 miles (12km) as a warm-up because I was doing the race as part of my long run, but this year I'm trying a different approach: I'm doing my weekly long run on Friday morning instead. That will give me a full 48 hours to recover before the race in Canberra and hopefully that will be enough.<br />
<br />
Friday comes and it's all going perfectly well until mile 11 of my planned 21, when apropos of nothing I catch my left toe on the asphalt and BAM - a millisecond later I'm on the ground with blood pouring from both palms and several fingertips which have been suddenly stripped of their skin. Oh, god, this is just what I need. I stand gasping by the side of the road for a few minutes, trying without success to stem the bleeding, deciding what to do.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdhN1SIBMQFeAVP8zgW3nO71UtSNI4_3xvH6ivImid4BIZ3uzGuPTdJooo9BD51S5RHuHMGnTYw_8G5E3b_YGK5YjTW2qnRlZpPe4jpF-9uiM138a249rNpDT2oXn3jaIM702ivy3-xkPJ/s1600/IMG_7206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdhN1SIBMQFeAVP8zgW3nO71UtSNI4_3xvH6ivImid4BIZ3uzGuPTdJooo9BD51S5RHuHMGnTYw_8G5E3b_YGK5YjTW2qnRlZpPe4jpF-9uiM138a249rNpDT2oXn3jaIM702ivy3-xkPJ/s640/IMG_7206.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><horrified></td></tr>
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It's only my hands - if my knees were the main areas of injury then the effect on Sunday's race would probably be far greater - but the shock and dismay, not to mention the time that it will take to clean up and bandage all these abrasions, is considerable. I'm supposed to run a few miles around 50K pace during this long run, but I'm too shaken to do that just now; on the other hand I'm determined to get something out of this run so I jog/bleed my way onwards to a total of 20 miles (32km) for the morning. What a debacle.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Weekend</b><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsYntkZpM1UNGMkls7O35E6auVZNafXHKCJarnOyvPY36e-LHr_FtuEKRgD5196v55xZVulQXG3hn52SwV-KNH0-JBZsizOeGXO3OABan3CaUnQPJX6tig5dob0_ko3JZ_gCrxsVkFFKkG/s1600/IMG_7213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsYntkZpM1UNGMkls7O35E6auVZNafXHKCJarnOyvPY36e-LHr_FtuEKRgD5196v55xZVulQXG3hn52SwV-KNH0-JBZsizOeGXO3OABan3CaUnQPJX6tig5dob0_ko3JZ_gCrxsVkFFKkG/s640/IMG_7213.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
The weather is perfect - yesterday's wind and rain has completely disappeared - when I arrive at the start area with my friends Scotty and Claire; Claire and her friend Madi are running in costume today and raising funds for the Butterfly Foundation, which is pretty darn cool.<br />
<br />
This year there's an elite tent to which we all have access, but it's barely set up, the water for coffee etc is not even warm and the space heater they have at the entrance isn't working. Initially I feel fine and not too cold, but after a few minutes in the tent I'm freezing so I decide to set off for a warm-up jog - wearing basically all the clothing I've brought with me, including my puffy jacket. After 2 miles I'm by no means overheated, but I've worked up enough warmth to see me through to the start, thank goodness.<br />
<br />
I spot Nigel in the starting corral and wander over to say hi; he has a modest goal of sub-60 minutes which I am fairly certain he will crush. For myself I'm really not sure - not too much slower than last year is probably the best I can hope for. Pretty soon it's time to get in position and I clown around with Claire and the others, posing for the cameras and generally trying to top last year's starting line photo (see top of this post), although that's a pretty big ask since it's one of my all-time favourites.<br />
<br />
Right there when at last the announcer is counting down from 15 seconds, the inflatable arch chooses this moment to lose interest and abruptly starts to sag right above my head! I reach up and prop it up with my finger; somehow someone saves it from complete collapse but it does make for a funny scene as we all dash away from the drooping arch:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFECiwO8RG42ZbFzKIV_UJ7FhOPtFd7Os5lJIU9dROBuFoscbNfBf98LGAj6d6KZTleUFzPPN1JaPmN_4cFKNX45pRqL1RMgIcyLhxfJXjb7-Ok4ZNNIBP7q2yL5qnwu8Z8Xnw-1CpYSl/s1600/CT14K_start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFECiwO8RG42ZbFzKIV_UJ7FhOPtFd7Os5lJIU9dROBuFoscbNfBf98LGAj6d6KZTleUFzPPN1JaPmN_4cFKNX45pRqL1RMgIcyLhxfJXjb7-Ok4ZNNIBP7q2yL5qnwu8Z8Xnw-1CpYSl/s640/CT14K_start.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The arch is collapsing! Run for your lives!!</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Miles 1-3: </b>6:17, 6:27, 6:38<br />
<br />
We streak out of the starting corral like a bunch of maniacs and Claire, in full Superwoman regalia, is very quickly in front of me. Another girl wearing black and pink is between us and okay, so it looks like today might not be quite the slam-dunk I imagined it might. The first mile is flat but then the gradual rise towards the city and, eventually, Parliament House starts to bite.<br />
<br />
My legs are not yet fully recovered from the Trail marathon and whoops, I ran 20 miles just 48 hours ago. Did I mention that? So although I'm trying my best, my legs just don't have the power to maintain the same pace on any sort of incline, and as a result I've lost my usual uphill advantage. Although I've managed to catch the pink/black-wearing chick by the start of mile 2, Claire is still ahead and despite having been injured a lot this year (poor thing) in fact she's looking strong. Well, maybe it's partly the outfit. But she's still up there and I need to keep pushing to make sure I stay in touch.<br />
<br />
Finally just around the 5K mark the events of the year start catching up to her and I ease up alongside her, then past. Okay, I'm in the lead now, but my chickens are not even close to being counted yet - there's still quite a way to go. And how embarrassing would it be to win in a pathetic time? No matter how much I'd like to cruise this race, I'm not going to. Onward.<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 4-6: </b>6:23, 6:29, 6:47<br />
<br />
Mile 4 sees the crest of the hill finally reached and the course swings left and on a swooping downhill around the side of Capital Hill. Wheee! Without the upward gradient I feel much better and soon my legs are spinning comfortably and I've caught up to a group of blokes, some of whom seem to be struggling a bit. I'm vaguely considering this for a while but then one of them does something rather inexcusable: just a few meters ahead of me and slightly to my right, he turns his head to the left and blows out a massive snot rocket. Ugh!<br />
<br />
The actual rocket doesn't hit me but the fine mist of nasal secretions that accompanies it does - it spreads itself disgustingly over my bare knees and I let out an involuntary yelp "HEY!" He better not do that again while I am still within range. Perhaps he's mortified (I hope so) because he accelerates now and I never catch up again.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOrhBlb1xIcgxmBJuHL6wbvvZopEnzL_kpb6se6Hq2TZ30W-cPVW8nD2A0BgBhpWyoOQMtti5gK75eTtPRbyB6lXINq4TeuVMhfKFV-jaiHra1Dh2Gr2Lda3yi3JpkNX-zn32YpOonMnB/s1600/2800023900_7b92571072_b-1024x675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOrhBlb1xIcgxmBJuHL6wbvvZopEnzL_kpb6se6Hq2TZ30W-cPVW8nD2A0BgBhpWyoOQMtti5gK75eTtPRbyB6lXINq4TeuVMhfKFV-jaiHra1Dh2Gr2Lda3yi3JpkNX-zn32YpOonMnB/s640/2800023900_7b92571072_b-1024x675.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">That hill, seen from the opposite direction</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Mile 6 is the nasty one I've been waiting for - it takes me up to and around the perimeter of Parliament House. I've run this loop so many times but it never seems easy, and this time with my beaten-up legs it's even worse than usual. I'm trying to figure out the geometry of how it can be uphill the entire way around (certainly that should not be possible) and this mental exercise at least keeps me occupied until I'm almost all the way around. I glance at my watch as I pass the 10K banner at the final corner of the building - 39:xx, which is not as fast as it should be but whatever, I'm winning so who cares.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 7-8.6: </b>6:22, 6:19, 6:28 pace to finish<br />
<br />
It's lovely to finally be heading downhill again! What's even better is that the finish line is not that far away now - the beauty of these shorter races, although they do hurt marginally more than the longer ones - and I've run this particular course back to the lake so often now that it's comfortingly familiar. As I make my way across the Kings Avenue bridge and onwards around the north side of Lake Burley Griffin it really does seem like I'm about to win this thing; proving once again that it's all about who shows up on the day!<br />
<br />
I'd like to be able to say that I speed along the lake in a blaze of glory but in fact I slow down a bit, not out of complacency but more because my legs are insisting on it; still it's enough and in stark contrast to the minimalist finishes I'm used to enduring in this location, I see as I approach that a pair of volunteers are holding up a finishing tape that I am going to take great pleasure in breaking. Hooray, finally a bit of recognition!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieWt_SKrCSl4YrMq_HQnVe_S9JQ1oMRu4cpzmT_WrLsOPJCG2FSAMm2cAoqxjMpRhgYPWIkrIiwAxF5YnvrgS3EbOwMrs2jNC8QcDXsSzPDOJQoRVJEEEUifa2MovKDvsYJM8bGfrHm7Im/s1600/CT14K_finishtape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieWt_SKrCSl4YrMq_HQnVe_S9JQ1oMRu4cpzmT_WrLsOPJCG2FSAMm2cAoqxjMpRhgYPWIkrIiwAxF5YnvrgS3EbOwMrs2jNC8QcDXsSzPDOJQoRVJEEEUifa2MovKDvsYJM8bGfrHm7Im/s640/CT14K_finishtape.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not about to keel over sideways, truly I'm not, it's the angle, I swear it is<br />Note cunningly inconspicuous bandages on both hands</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>55:50 (6:27 min/mile, 3:59 min/km)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>1st female, 14th overall<br />
<br />
<br />
The excitement of breaking the tape and subsequently being interviewed on camera has completely made up for the discomfort of racing 14km on rather tired legs; the sun is shining on the lake, the sky is blue and very soon I'm feeling very pleased with how this day is turning out. Claire takes 3rd female and then I spot Nigel, who has smashed out a 58:04 to completely crush his goal - all very impressive!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguo33DD12jh2Sm8CgbhB1dFXoE6ImA6G6CiOOyKJGXd0cYeaCY6p6dJHi6EhKO2e1cuABuBr63tmvxndczf55JHDFax4uK0OHhZI9gOPHIfy7fkjFuC2LvNp4AGU5QDx5f2vl_AomBB2sR/s1600/CT14K_podium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguo33DD12jh2Sm8CgbhB1dFXoE6ImA6G6CiOOyKJGXd0cYeaCY6p6dJHi6EhKO2e1cuABuBr63tmvxndczf55JHDFax4uK0OHhZI9gOPHIfy7fkjFuC2LvNp4AGU5QDx5f2vl_AomBB2sR/s640/CT14K_podium.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First and only time I'll ever beat Superwoman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Well, that was sort of fun, in a masochistic sort of a way. If training for ultras means getting used to running fast on tired legs, then today was an excellent training session. I'm not entirely impressed with my time but in light of Friday's mileage and events, it will certainly do. And just in case you thought I was going to give my legs a chance to catch up, I've got another short race planned next weekend. Let's call it ultra training and leave it at that!<br />
<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-6744420163394960042016-09-05T05:07:00.004-07:002016-09-05T05:09:18.094-07:00Wagga Trail Marathon, August 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCGK5dUggkXhvKE2xcH_UaZ8C97zR8-jgVkGE1qAZoycZzG_lz2rAqAesTONGTNVZbVJ2hqVXU5WEwqKgHj63-PAZnYIf7trZ37gsj0pxYe1iUiMUM09g-8fFt8CV87Fl2mZAjUoxrEg7/s1600/3958%25252fFE21DBD4-C395-711A-7ED9-9633263575BC.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCGK5dUggkXhvKE2xcH_UaZ8C97zR8-jgVkGE1qAZoycZzG_lz2rAqAesTONGTNVZbVJ2hqVXU5WEwqKgHj63-PAZnYIf7trZ37gsj0pxYe1iUiMUM09g-8fFt8CV87Fl2mZAjUoxrEg7/s640/3958%25252fFE21DBD4-C395-711A-7ED9-9633263575BC.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
In the 9 years I've lived in Wagga I've run every event in this running festival - the 10K in 2009, the half in 2010, and the marathon finally for the first time in 2012 - until last year of course, when I stepped things up to do the 5K/marathon double. It made sense to do the same this year (well, as much sense as anything does when it comes to me and my running) so after once again surviving the annual family ski trip without injury I signed myself up, and Jack for the 5K.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Training? What?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Nothing to speak of, actually. I seem to have spent most of the past 7 weeks tapering or recovering from one thing or another, so to call it "training" would be a misnomer. It was more like a reverse taper, to be honest. I followed up the CP 50K with a week of light jogging and then 4 days of skiing that I told myself would be enough cross-training (aka enforced rest) to let the legs recover properly, but it seems I was kidding myself completely. And rest of any sort tends to make me itchy, of course, so I couldn't resist compensating with a little too much running in the few days I was back in town before race weekend. Ooops.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Weekend</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The forecast is - unfortunately - entirely in keeping with the general tone of this winter: rain, rain, and possibly a bit more rain. The wet stuff continues to fall from the sky all of Thursday and Friday, until I'm seriously wondering if the river will be so high that the final 10km of the marathon will have to be a swim leg instead. Not so long ago I was down at Wagga Beach - the start and finish area of the marathon - and noticed that the water was up to the grass, which is not a great sign.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicwOmCwpyjdOLnH4CcaEgVYX7euFapXixrGgzgNaaAFdj6MFDDXrsg1GbEAlzRiAmKiDq56tr5X_hpp4siQLqeNDPu1LjNCheCHYracXaFijgxZBTaN02F_nWO4dWpSG5IIl93-YoRL5EL/s1600/42662049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicwOmCwpyjdOLnH4CcaEgVYX7euFapXixrGgzgNaaAFdj6MFDDXrsg1GbEAlzRiAmKiDq56tr5X_hpp4siQLqeNDPu1LjNCheCHYracXaFijgxZBTaN02F_nWO4dWpSG5IIl93-YoRL5EL/s640/42662049.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An image from the 2012 Wagga floods. Ok, so maybe it's not quite that bad just now</td></tr>
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<br />
Even if the riverside trail isn't actually underwater it is very likely to be muddy, and if other parts of the course are as affected (particularly the treacherous trails of Pomingalarna) then it's going to turn an already-tough marathon course into a seriously dangerous endeavour. I certainly haven't forgotten the lovely mouthful of dirt - not to mention the skin off my nose and chin - from last year when I tripped over at mile 16, and I have no intentions of repeating that particular experience. So it really doesn't matter that much if I'm not in peak shape for Sunday: it's not like I'm going to be able to run a super-fast time anyway.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Saturday: the 5K</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/08/wagga-trail-marathon-weekend-august.html" target="_blank">ran (and won) this race last year </a>but there was a fast young girl there who made me work for it; this year, somewhat to my relief, she is nowhere to be seen. The gun goes and my legs are not very happy about the first half a mile but then they somehow relax and I can start to enjoy myself. This path along the river levee bank is very familiar from my afternoon doubles during Amelia's ballet class and the first mile goes by quickly in 6:32 which is a little slower than maybe I'm capable of running today, but still reasonably fast.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBtOYG7Cqd7QbVJvm4-O7rW5Qg5j0uFB0TfKdQ0-hkdATMH_zfRHOXoyksYV5BNtn_XgAnaCKMkHtHXHY2Xid8fRudX2a30dSyFBmYqb3bv3T7KSSunZzMfvQRod15Co9f8hwIXmPwTXD/s1600/WWTM5K_collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBtOYG7Cqd7QbVJvm4-O7rW5Qg5j0uFB0TfKdQ0-hkdATMH_zfRHOXoyksYV5BNtn_XgAnaCKMkHtHXHY2Xid8fRudX2a30dSyFBmYqb3bv3T7KSSunZzMfvQRod15Co9f8hwIXmPwTXD/s640/WWTM5K_collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just before the turn, not sure why I look so unimpressed but Jack looks about the same</td></tr>
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<br />
Heading back to the start area I see Jack and then Ewen in quick succession, but first there are a couple of females who in fact are not too far behind me. This knowledge speeds me up somewhat and mile 2 goes by in 6:22. The final mile is going to be slower, I know this already; it's half along the levee and half down by the water. The turn down to the river happens at a different spot this year, though, which makes no sense - I've just overtaken two of the blokes ahead of me and it's sort of annoying that I have to slow down and in fact ask a volunteer where I'm supposed to turn - but then finally I'm down on the narrow path and on my way back to the beach.<br />
<br />
It's muddy in places and there are some unpleasantly spiky weeds that prompt me to decide I'm wearing long socks tomorrow - I don't particularly fancy getting my legs scratched up in the final miles, thanks - but overall it's not too bad really. I pick my way steadily along the bank and mile 3 beeps as I'm approaching the finish line: 6:39.<br />
<br />
Both the guys just behind me choose this moment to charge past me again and I really should rise to the challenge but sadly I can't be bothered. Instead of chasing them I just run steadily to the finish line and that's enough to finish as the first woman, which is certainly good enough for me today!<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>21:03 (a minute slower than last year, probably due to that inexplicable add-on)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>1st female, 6th overall<br />
<br />
<br />
Jack rolls in a little under 8 minutes later (29:00), which is a very impressive time given the terrain! We grab our medals and this year I remember to stay around for the presentation - another cool crow trophy to add to the collection.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkhlD1S-uHnTOr6VpEHGyUz-i5YoPW30jbZ74VGeF_CF9NSsgQQEPhN8fhcvAOtnFIbYOO3PepDTwcnI-ugbipqjvAjGuHhzCs4YjOKnsq3mRlfv_1Oc5okIRgLmQ9qaobZFX_cwQqNXi/s1600/IMG_7209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkhlD1S-uHnTOr6VpEHGyUz-i5YoPW30jbZ74VGeF_CF9NSsgQQEPhN8fhcvAOtnFIbYOO3PepDTwcnI-ugbipqjvAjGuHhzCs4YjOKnsq3mRlfv_1Oc5okIRgLmQ9qaobZFX_cwQqNXi/s640/IMG_7209.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Sunday: the Marathon</b><br />
<br />
It's perfect running weather when I arrive back at the Beach on Sunday morning: around 10C and slightly cloudy, although this is predicted to clear during the day. The mountain bikers are preparing to start their race - once again it's a hilarious Le Mans start where they all have to hobble/run on their cleats to reach their bikes - and it's great to see that numbers are well up on last year.<br />
<br />
My Sydney friends Elkie and Tony show up, along with the usual cast of Wagga runners, but it seems there are no fast young things raring to beat me today. Well, as far as I can tell. I'm certainly not making any assumptions and also not feeling like running fast either; we will see how things play out over the next few hours.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZk2tHEyiR-pquQXEURhQobEWmwFRiy3Uyx-aSR6g6UzUm2SFoPvX_jT3thB5QfOV10f39-yuP9UV56adTdFfzuVHi7b8XJivFBG2kihohjOgLhDir7KBq_mkxDa8fiTwkAbd-w-CCTdn/s1600/IMG_7127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZk2tHEyiR-pquQXEURhQobEWmwFRiy3Uyx-aSR6g6UzUm2SFoPvX_jT3thB5QfOV10f39-yuP9UV56adTdFfzuVHi7b8XJivFBG2kihohjOgLhDir7KBq_mkxDa8fiTwkAbd-w-CCTdn/s640/IMG_7127.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I actually look happy about the 3+ hours of pain coming right up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Before I know it it's time to line up, and Tony - who I am expecting to run a similar time to me - inexplicably is hanging out way in back. I stomp over and drag him up closer to the front with me, and then boom it's time to go!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 1-5: </b>6:54, 6:46, 6:54, 6:47, 6:56<br />
<br />
Off we go along the levee bank, and to my slight surprise Tony is almost immediately well ahead of me and soon he's out of sight. Ok then! Perhaps I'll catch him when the hills start, but my legs don't feel amazing, in fact they feel pretty awful considering how early it is in the race.<br />
<br />
I usually run the first 10km of this course a little faster than goal pace (although having said this, I haven't actually bothered to figure out a goal pace and all I can really say is that I'd like to keep most miles under 8 minutes) because it's flat and familiar, but today it's a bit of a struggle. As far as females go I'm in the lead, but I don't really know who is lurking behind...<br />
<br />
Heading towards the start of the hills - aptly this happens on Red Hill Road - there's an opportunity to look back and see who is within a few hundred metres, so I take it and oh boy, there's someone with long blonde hair about 100m back. That's closer than I would like - and for all I know they may be a relay runner - but hopefully it doesn't matter: the horrible hills are about to start and there's a good chance I won't slow down as much as they will in the next 20km. I hope.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PPNzq0lMo898tKql4xdd2HZnB-a-x9LpQlyfwC1TcLmd4g9HEjGXRPNIcnl_ufKz6Cd5bQ2nZK5ww2doRhk2LqzLl9GDZF4BA_Kj1kGmQIwcFcgalNUva8_Xr9hICGVgx8CEWHV2bQV2/s1600/IMG_7153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PPNzq0lMo898tKql4xdd2HZnB-a-x9LpQlyfwC1TcLmd4g9HEjGXRPNIcnl_ufKz6Cd5bQ2nZK5ww2doRhk2LqzLl9GDZF4BA_Kj1kGmQIwcFcgalNUva8_Xr9hICGVgx8CEWHV2bQV2/s640/IMG_7153.jpg" width="624" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Absolutely evil elevation map</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 6-10: </b>7:29, 7:43, 7:20, 7:28, 8:04<br />
<br />
Up, up, up I go - this hill never seems to end and the infuriating sign that I noticed last year is still there, right near the top (it reads "It's a hill. Get over it" and you can imagine how furious that makes me as I'm climbing the first incline in the graphic above) - but finally I'm there. I'd quite like a drink but the person handing out cups is too busy looking at other runners to notice me, and my grab for a cup of water misses altogether. Too late, and I'm not about to stop (I might never get moving again) so I'll just have to suck it up and keep going. Grrrr.<br />
<br />
I'm running pretty much alone and have been for the majority of the race so far; I don't really mind of course, although it would be nice to have company. There are quite a lot of people at the 15km mark, for no apparent reason, and this time I grab a cup of water from the table and slow right down to drink it. As a result I feel pretty good as I set off again into the hills.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2uIEynntKG2eFjimCUr2WgIBF9UOkiZlbIb-mkkOQJBHUhlNBPlB0eWME27XzCjubJREOpyNItVBD4RKZDyxEoTRye9ASi9iz_CLGiVAh0oG_uuZC740WZ8hbVqub9IgTfjAox5XQZS2J/s1600/WWTM_collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2uIEynntKG2eFjimCUr2WgIBF9UOkiZlbIb-mkkOQJBHUhlNBPlB0eWME27XzCjubJREOpyNItVBD4RKZDyxEoTRye9ASi9iz_CLGiVAh0oG_uuZC740WZ8hbVqub9IgTfjAox5XQZS2J/s640/WWTM_collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For every agonising up, thank goodness there's also a thrilling down</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm managing to keep a decent pace going, somehow, and of course I've started catching some of the early starters. The climbs are increasingly agonising - my legs haven't lost that "dead wood" feeling they always have in the aftermath of a race - so even though I can keep a decent pace on the flat or downhill stretches, I'm dying on the uphill stretches. Mile 10 is one I remember from past years and this time it gets me - my first mile slower than 8 minutes. Oh well - at least it's mostly downhill to the halfway point now. Isn't it?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 11-15: </b>7:29, 7:04, 7:23, 7:46, ??<br />
<br />
The downhill turns into a pleasant flat stretch and I'm making my way mindlessly through the bush on my way to the Silvalite reserve when suddenly I hear a voice behind me yelling something that sounds strangely like "WRONG WAY!!" What, really?? So far the course has been reasonably well-marked with a combination of chalk arrows and small pink flags, but the past mile or so they have been far less obvious. In fact, I was just reminiscing about the year another runner popped out in front of me in this area and complained how he kept getting lost, and then of course there's the memory of how <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2011/03/running-in-wagga.html" target="_blank">getting lost cost me a victory in the trail half marathon of 2010.</a> Could I be about to suffer the same fate today?<br />
<br />
There's a group of runners up ahead - more early starters? - and they greet me by name as I zoom past, but then suddenly there's a fork in the trail, no markers and I have no clue which way to go. I could easily squander whatever lead I have over the next female marathoner if I get myself properly lost, and the thought makes me momentarily quite cross. I'll just have to keep heading in what I hope is the right general direction and hope for the best; I usually have an uncanny sense of direction (Joel refers to it as my internal GPS) and right now that's all I have going for me.<br />
<br />
Sure enough, eventually I find myself in sight of the halfway point and I'm on the wrong side of the fence. There's a gate though, so I pop through onto the correct path and help myself to a cup or two of water before trudging off to tackle the gnarly hills of Pomingalarna Reserve. Ooh, I can't wait.<br />
<br />
<i>Halfway split: 1:35</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I'm making my way as enthusiastically as I can manage (read: not very) along the steep and muddy trails of Pomi when I become aware of two small issues: firstly, this course seems sort of different to the last few years, and secondly, my blasted Garmin watch has once again seized up. I stop it and start it again but I've missed around 2 miles (I think) and I'm rather annoyed that this has now messed up two races in a row. Grrr, Garmin are going to be hearing from me rather soon.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 16-20: </b>??, ??, 9:00?, 9:29?, 8:08<br />
<br />
Even when it starts up again, the pace seems off and it seems I really can't trust the Garmin now. When it beeps a 9:00 and then a 9:29 mile, I give up and decide to just concentrate on running. I'm passing a fair few half marathoners and one cyclist (who looks well and truly fed-up); it's taking all my concentration to get past them without falling. I'm also wondering where I fell last year and trying to spot the spot, so to speak, but before I know it I'm coming to the top of the hill already. Time to grab some water and start bombing the long downhill to the golf course!<br />
<br />
Except somehow my legs aren't all that into bombing. Or anything much at all, really; I've suddenly realised that my left iliotibial band and the outside point of my knee where it inserts are both seriously unhappy. It is hurting to plant my left foot on the ground and that's happening in spades just now because of the descent - ouch, ouch, ouch. When this day is done I'm going to need to reacquaint myself with my foam roller and the world of pain it loves to inflict. Oh, what fun.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNapcdiHsVB2kR-RGXwjH56N2q1bdt-C22LFMFtWKkNOjc3We0pi3aluaDR1OBe3cISOm5fM60_VjFO5EIj4JHZJPPhbUFLXDVdJEX9P5_b9g5BSnJpAevMkhFzYPyY1kxigteHR2yY-X/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-09-04+at+10.04.17+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="389" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNapcdiHsVB2kR-RGXwjH56N2q1bdt-C22LFMFtWKkNOjc3We0pi3aluaDR1OBe3cISOm5fM60_VjFO5EIj4JHZJPPhbUFLXDVdJEX9P5_b9g5BSnJpAevMkhFzYPyY1kxigteHR2yY-X/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-09-04+at+10.04.17+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many ways to torture, so little time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The final part of the golf course is pure mud but I'm too tired to bother detouring around the small shed where it's the deepest: I plow/splash straight through, stop at the gate for a cup of water and then pop out onto the road to face the final 10km of the race with thoroughly wet and filthy shoes. How pleasant!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 21-25: </b>7:51, 7:30, 7:37, 7:37, 7:59<br />
<br />
My Garmin appears to have gotten over its latest brain-fart and is once again showing acceptable paces, although they're probably a fair bit slower than I managed over this stretch last year. My legs are toast, the muscles an unimpressed mass of jelly, and all I want to do is stop. Of course I won't, but it would be so nice.<br />
<br />
I occupy myself instead by considering the marvellous fact that this year I won't have to spend my evening looking at sore throats and funny rashes at the after-hours GP clinic (which was my unfortunate fate last year) and instead will be able to stay on at the after-party at the Thirsty Crow. Chips (French Fries to the rest of you) and beer are my two favourite refuelling choices after a marathon and both should be available in abundance there. Mmm, yum. Just keep running.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibuSRWmO1QJi4V-UTs_YUH-XQpW7KQyB1Qixb-oiGEB53avfXc2Ik1N_wGzAjtjJ3IoCooe3WKqT_4N61c58Q1UaQM3r-mgAHoBRi6_oXEECM0dkVfxSi0GFnERgYZfp_QT4rTYOrziX3N/s1600/IMG_7148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibuSRWmO1QJi4V-UTs_YUH-XQpW7KQyB1Qixb-oiGEB53avfXc2Ik1N_wGzAjtjJ3IoCooe3WKqT_4N61c58Q1UaQM3r-mgAHoBRi6_oXEECM0dkVfxSi0GFnERgYZfp_QT4rTYOrziX3N/s640/IMG_7148.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical late-race frown; internal mantra: "Chips. Beer. Chips. Beer"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The stiles begin and in my exhausted state it's even less enjoyable than usual to have to haul myself over them, but I manage it and despite the mud also manage to stay on my feet, which is a miracle. The sun has been out for a while and I'm sort of warm - I could probably take off my arm warmers if I had the energy to do so, but I don't - then again I'm close enough to the finish that I should just keep going like I am.<br />
<br />
I'm passing a steady stream of half marathoners now, all of whom are very courteous and conscientious about stepping aside to let me through, and finally with only a few kms to go I catch Elkie who is running the half. I remark on how Tony has left me in the dust long ago, she agrees that he's doing an amazing job of showing me up today, and onwards I plod. It's a beautiful day to be out running and even though I'm not doing nearly as well as last year time-wise, it's great to just be here. Or so I keep telling myself.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 26 and 0.2: </b>7:47, 7:23<br />
<br />
I'm just waiting to be done, at this point. There are half marathoners all over the place and as I finally approach the finish line I'm right behind a guy; part of my brain wants to speed up and charge past him like a glorious victor but my legs are not having it. I arrive in his wake to the finish in a personal worst time, but gladder than ever before to finally be done.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>3:19:42 (7:37 min/mile, 4:43 min/km)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement:</b> 1st female, 9th overall<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4bxszncJbYOj86embfNTSyDadJLKkCGyWc_1d8RcN4h-3FPg9e0UTUZrTtkotdiHJ2_LmJ-1dgB7U3dbDRJDt2iACFO2EHUq0A1T1n8cFN8mXt-2cHf6QMP54qp8_rb3cGPBNwwaK39AC/s1600/WWTM16_collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4bxszncJbYOj86embfNTSyDadJLKkCGyWc_1d8RcN4h-3FPg9e0UTUZrTtkotdiHJ2_LmJ-1dgB7U3dbDRJDt2iACFO2EHUq0A1T1n8cFN8mXt-2cHf6QMP54qp8_rb3cGPBNwwaK39AC/s640/WWTM16_collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've trashed my favourite shoes but have the most awesome trophy in the world to make up for it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm muddy and exhausted, although thankfully not bloodied as well like I was last year; I chat briefly to a couple of people, confirm that I've finished this race slower than even <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/wagga-wagga-trail-marathon-2012.html" target="_blank">my debut race here in 2012</a>, and then flop onto the grass next to Tony. He has run a sensational 3:07 to finish 3rd and is very pleased with himself indeed. And of course I'm extremely, extremely impressed!<br />
<br />
Elkie appears not long after I've finished and it seems everyone (well, other than me) has done a great job today. I've managed to win but the fatigue of the Centennial Park Ultra just 2 weeks ago has done a number on my legs - I guess I never should have expected anything different, but somehow I sort of did. Will I ever learn?<br />
<br />
After a sausage sandwich and the presentations it's a great pleasure to spend the afternoon and evening relaxing at the Crow with so many other crazy runners, and perhaps because they never really let me work them too hard, my legs aren't even all that sore. My opinion of the Wagga Trail Marathon as one of the toughest, gnarliest courses on the planet has not changed, but I seem to love it nonetheless. Will I be returning next year to defend my title - of course I will!<br />
<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-31394411315680132032016-08-19T06:18:00.002-07:002016-08-19T06:18:41.715-07:00Centennial Park 50K, August 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4d-Uvz8Cx5p6l6LfyA92dv8XxD40_puzY_LCk-JXGicvWo8keFPahZlkq-RgpPLhyphenhyphenNjVU_d0mQIzeI5Tz8WHqkyY9yqMhpdKa3kb2skl0i3EW-gk7Ua7YEjoq0MgprtEQxp8R8oF8hsUc/s1600/static1.squarespace.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4d-Uvz8Cx5p6l6LfyA92dv8XxD40_puzY_LCk-JXGicvWo8keFPahZlkq-RgpPLhyphenhyphenNjVU_d0mQIzeI5Tz8WHqkyY9yqMhpdKa3kb2skl0i3EW-gk7Ua7YEjoq0MgprtEQxp8R8oF8hsUc/s320/static1.squarespace.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I never thought the day would come that I'd think it a great idea to run further than 42.2km/26.2 miles, but that day arrived surreptitiously last month while I was on the Gold Coast, getting all excited about the marathon and talking to the very persuasive Keith Hong. He is also coached by Benita, knows everyone who is anyone in running and happens to be the organiser of the CP Ultra. Before I could say "I don't do ultras" he very kindly extended an invitation to come and run the 50K event, and somehow I enthusiastically agreed to do so. And I wasn't even drunk!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvPqqU8DPHwp9DqaGr8NklxCFvXMZQb-4ehpJdP_0C92_ikOcz0Dve7QZGlMgmy90au1Bs8Nl7CvqqnWGYwDOT2uvPZzZz3pPFSwkPM2DAlpBYjF5dki0gfkAkQhiC-PlzxlYegAAYyhqP/s1600/GC16_lunch.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvPqqU8DPHwp9DqaGr8NklxCFvXMZQb-4ehpJdP_0C92_ikOcz0Dve7QZGlMgmy90au1Bs8Nl7CvqqnWGYwDOT2uvPZzZz3pPFSwkPM2DAlpBYjF5dki0gfkAkQhiC-PlzxlYegAAYyhqP/s640/GC16_lunch.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">In my defence, I was under the influence of multiple running legends at the Legends Lunch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This sort of thing always seems like a good idea at the time, when you're all enthused about running and the actual pain of racing the marathon (or further) is the last thing on your mind - it was in this manner that I ended up entering the <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com/2015/05/boston-to-big-sur-april-2015-part-2.html" target="_blank">Boston 2 Big Sur Challenge</a> in 2015, after all - and it keeps seeming like that until reality sets in, usually about 5km into the actual event, but sometimes sooner.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Pre-race laissez-faire, aka "The Training"</b><br />
<br />
In the lead-up to this race I find myself overwhelmingly casual and unconcerned, despite a glaring problem that I will only recognise far too late: the circumstances under which I had already planned to be in Sydney for the weekend of the race, namely to spend a lot of time decluttering a junk-filled first-floor apartment and a garage.<br />
<br />
It will become clear later why this is such a big deal, but for the time being I am utterly unworried, and in fact am spending a lot of time considering some rather lofty goals for the distance. I'm not bothered about how little I have run since Gold Coast - only one week above 60 miles and nothing further than 16 miles for a long run - and I'm in blissful denial about the fact that I will have to run for at least 35 minutes more (and possibly quite a bit more) than I'm used to doing.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzli-czNbLs6nyzL-o09Upir9zrKBTyMayLlEoDnvzIVp9kVp7XGm00Z2jkqPkta84Mo_Ika2KQ8VOFILtX1_5d9GYYxzul4ji7ORlUhdpc1849W6bYbtpk1GbiNU7u2a52zzN9M5rePy/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-08-12+at+10.19.05+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzli-czNbLs6nyzL-o09Upir9zrKBTyMayLlEoDnvzIVp9kVp7XGm00Z2jkqPkta84Mo_Ika2KQ8VOFILtX1_5d9GYYxzul4ji7ORlUhdpc1849W6bYbtpk1GbiNU7u2a52zzN9M5rePy/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-08-12+at+10.19.05+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The "reverse taper" tends to have a rather different effect on race performance, compared with a traditional taper</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Weekend</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
As mentioned above, I'm in Sydney with a gargantuan task to perform, and I realise quite belatedly that there's no way I'm going to be doing what I should be doing on Saturday, namely resting and eating. It begins with the arrival of a large rubbish skip at 8am, and I forgo my run - as well as the Aussie carb load that usually follows it - in favour of throwing junk madly into said skip. My brother arrives to help and the rest of the day proceeds in this fashion, with not nearly enough carbohydrates and far too many trips up and down stairs carrying boxes of stuff.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlc6IFOF-IhSFBcItrfyPpA1A7vc3korYFw81TBeDQqTJE4DMCWdWxPfOaa7gVqMcI3stfWFjiveAIgeE9MNgu8_UMhRSqdiXtqSZ0B5QbFsy4TVJllBMxlIAvZRsFV-Y-BLVgY0MWYrR/s1600/IMG_6995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlc6IFOF-IhSFBcItrfyPpA1A7vc3korYFw81TBeDQqTJE4DMCWdWxPfOaa7gVqMcI3stfWFjiveAIgeE9MNgu8_UMhRSqdiXtqSZ0B5QbFsy4TVJllBMxlIAvZRsFV-Y-BLVgY0MWYrR/s400/IMG_6995.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Merely the tip of the iceberg</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When I finally finish at 8:30pm I've been on my feet for more than 12 hours and in fact they sort of hurt. This is NOT a good sign. As for carb loading, I probably haven't done a very good job of that either. Tomorrow is going to be very interesting.<br />
<br />
On Sunday morning I'm awake around 6am and don't bother trying to eat (another potential mistake), I just gulp down some Powerade and head out to Centennial Park. I've never run on the track inside the horse fence before (a huge mistake, as I will soon find out) despite having logged hundreds of miles in the Park itself; pretty soon I am realising that it *might* be a bit more "trail" than I was assuming.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6RmcHcNl65dwVoJobOYhyWIBC1IqXi27_P8ePLxe-w9eKEr-3a3qIwGQ2L1__PQeRxzQmVlIPlGY16XY0rewboIM0aV_ZN0EB6OVIO4keAglVz0qeC0x2xzptb7socYcVseJPIrn6XDZ/s1600/IMG_6409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6RmcHcNl65dwVoJobOYhyWIBC1IqXi27_P8ePLxe-w9eKEr-3a3qIwGQ2L1__PQeRxzQmVlIPlGY16XY0rewboIM0aV_ZN0EB6OVIO4keAglVz0qeC0x2xzptb7socYcVseJPIrn6XDZ/s640/IMG_6409.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The start line. No I'm not kidding</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Suddenly my goal pace of 7:00 min/mile (4:20 min/km) doesn't seem nearly as conservative and easy as I imagined it would be. There's no time to worry about this because we have to walk 400m down the path for the start - this addition will make up the 50km that will be otherwise covered in 14 laps of the dirt track - and I'm busy chatting to Nigel (whom I met at Gold Coast) and his wife Angela, who have very kindly offered to be my pit crew. We settle on a vague plan involving water and gels (just one extra on top of what I usually use for a marathon), then off I head with the rest of the runners to shiver under a tree awaiting the official start.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU85SCQH7NNDjd-aVrIksu2DWPT1yvcy-63tFgNRDsYpCCkLCKrdqPJJR-K5dOGslSAzzlDFONGcCe_wlyik8w-lsW-s8q2V5Rwm5aMMSVp56e10wyWmGQqs3q5N0651lNaBm3BTVhXKHi/s1600/IMG_6399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU85SCQH7NNDjd-aVrIksu2DWPT1yvcy-63tFgNRDsYpCCkLCKrdqPJJR-K5dOGslSAzzlDFONGcCe_wlyik8w-lsW-s8q2V5Rwm5aMMSVp56e10wyWmGQqs3q5N0651lNaBm3BTVhXKHi/s640/IMG_6399.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The facial expressions are due mostly to the fact that Keith is briefing us from halfway up a tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Miles 1-6: </b>6:58, 6:57, 6:57, 7:00, 6:57, 6:54 (pace in min/mile)<br />
<br />
Off we go on the first of many laps to come; almost immediately I know that I won't be able to hold this pace the whole way. It feels much too hard for so early in the piece - I'm having to put in a lot more effort than I expected - and this is in large part due to the terrain. We're 2/3 of the way through the wettest winter I've ever known in Wagga, and Sydney has had similar rainfall in recent weeks. As a result the dirt path is covered in mud and even water in many spots, in others it's uneven and partially washed-away, and on top of that there are rocks, tree roots and so many other trip hazards that all my brain wants to do is apply the brakes, hard.<br />
<br />
Clearly, the challenge today is going to be keeping up the pace for as long as I can before the inevitable slow-down starts. So far it's going okay - let's see how long this lasts. Each lap is roughly 3.5km or just over 2 miles, and the first goes by fairly easily. During the second, however, I start catching people and I become aware of another issue that is not going away anytime soon: the narrow dirt path is way more congested than I was expecting.<br />
<br />
Detouring around slower runners is normally not such a big problem, but when those detours potentially involve running through ankle-deep water and mud, well that's another story. As well as other runners there are also random pedestrians, runners going in the other direction and even the occasional horse crossing to content with. Energy wasted dodging left and right over uneven ground is energy that won't be left for the finish; with my wretchedly inadequate prep for this race, this is another factor I don't need. But there's nothing to be done, really, other than to suck it up and run. So I do just that.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbRE93yz5OogxI0QvgtmBlqtEFRBydhtEVfiMb9bgXE2AF8TrZ24oJeqRehkNkRrRXg_NqziJ15TdR6mR2uWHOjnRwf5e4ZwN6-T3Vyv4nbKxSou9fCtcxN6YNAg-9uE80iYwaKa1tcOl/s1600/IMG_1255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbRE93yz5OogxI0QvgtmBlqtEFRBydhtEVfiMb9bgXE2AF8TrZ24oJeqRehkNkRrRXg_NqziJ15TdR6mR2uWHOjnRwf5e4ZwN6-T3Vyv4nbKxSou9fCtcxN6YNAg-9uE80iYwaKa1tcOl/s640/IMG_1255.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Thought bubble: "I can't believe I actually agreed to do this"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 7-12: </b>6:58, 6:58, 6:53, 7:03, 6:56, 6:58<br />
<br />
So far things are going pretty darn well, if I do say so myself. I'm exactly on pace and my pit crew is doing an awesome job of offering me things that for the most part I'm taking, although I usually don't need too much water during a marathon and the weather is cool enough that I'm not even thirsty, really. There are more than a few random runners in the park whom I know, many of them from RunLab in fact, and they all shout encouragement as I run by, which is pretty awesome! I'm trying to respond but I'm also hyperaware of the need to keep my eyes on my feet as much as possible: the last thing I need on top of the mounting challenges of the day is a face-plant into the mud.<br />
<br />
At this point I know I'm not likely to hit most of the goals I had going into today, and negative thoughts are definitely circling my brain but so far I'm not indulging them. So round and round I go, face mostly in a frown of concentration, focusing on keeping the pace. I probably don't look like I'm having fun, but I'm definitely not hating anything about today: it's a new adventure and a less-than-stellar time today will just give me more incentive to do better next time. Did I just say "next time"? God, I must be delirious. Anyway - onward.<br />
<br />
Approaching the end of the 6th lap I'm astonished to see a familiar figure popping under the fence to my left: it's Tony, who mumbled something earlier in the week about coming over to run with me a bit, but we hadn't made any sort of plans around this and I'd sort of forgotten about it almost. He is a very welcome sight, although I'm by no means struggling yet - and I've already checked with Keith who confirms that it's fine for others to run a few laps with me - so I briefly explain the situation ("I'm screwed") and the goal pace, and we set off together for the 7th lap.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2F2Bm8KQ1YkudxHa-1mbiNzyY5nLDgcm1JrSKP5DvHgOY3Ty8g2RwwhoBOQQdS5bHzFzkW24Z3_h4Wi7g8zhtsPF5muQa4pnvcjeP6vriOG8GZHVvRF5wzBNGEH_XdYCAwyn4p0g9ZmFf/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-08-19+at+2.42.48+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2F2Bm8KQ1YkudxHa-1mbiNzyY5nLDgcm1JrSKP5DvHgOY3Ty8g2RwwhoBOQQdS5bHzFzkW24Z3_h4Wi7g8zhtsPF5muQa4pnvcjeP6vriOG8GZHVvRF5wzBNGEH_XdYCAwyn4p0g9ZmFf/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-08-19+at+2.42.48+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My water-bottle-passing skills vs Angela's catching skills; Tony is in awe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 13-18: </b>7:03, 7:01, 7:00, 7:02, 7:04, 7:06<br />
<br />
Having Tony with me is actually bloody awesome. I spend a lot of time running - and racing, for that matter - alone and although I'm cool with that, I realise suddenly that I'd totally forgotten how nice it is to run with a mate. We don't talk all that much but he keeps me on pace and clears the path of slower runners a few times so that I don't have to dodge off into the mud and grass. I've made it to halfway on pace but I'm acutely aware of the fact that it's not going to last; having Tony along for the ride makes it easier to keep hanging on, and I'm very thankful for his presence.<br />
<br />
On our first time running through the start/finish area I have enough presence of mind to introduce him to Nigel - who looks a little concerned to see this bandit belting along next to me - and then on the second pass something truly hilarious happens. Nigel and Angela are deep in conversation and they don't notice me approaching; this would be fine except I need a gel and I need it before the end of the next lap. "NIGEL!!!" I bellow, "GEL! RUN!!!!"<br />
<br />
Nigel bounces to his feet and chases us as we whiz by, managing to hand me my gel easily, and Tony takes the opportunity to tease us both by yelling "NOT GOOD ENOUGH NIGEL!!!" I do feel awful for raising my voice and probably I could have been much less direct, but I guess I'm a stickler for routine and I really didn't want to mess up my usual fueling schedule. Anyway, we are all laughing about it as Tony and I head up yet again through the leaves and grass to start lap # 9, which will be his last with me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 19-25: </b>7:10, 7:16, 7:22, 7:35, ???, ???, ???<br />
<br />
After Tony peels off and heads out of the park, my pace immediately starts to slide. I've known for a long time now that this slow-down was coming, and the only issue now is, how bad will it get? Lap 9 isn't too bad, but during lap 10 things get nasty. I *feel* like I'm putting in the same amount of effort but the numbers on the watch aren't agreeing: I've slowed down considerably.<br />
<br />
I'm reminded of the final part of <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com/2011/04/canberra-marathon-april-2011.html" target="_blank">Canberra marathon </a>back in 2011, when I was desperately trying to make my legs go faster and they were flat-out refusing. Or the final miles of the <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/wagga-wagga-trail-marathon-2012.html" target="_blank">Wagga Trail marathon in 2012 </a>- both times I later concluded this was due to running out of glycogen, and it would make absolute sense for this to be the case today as well.<br />
<br />
Thankfully as I come through to start the 11th lap, Nigel is standing ready in running gear: he's going to run a couple of laps with me, and I'm extremely thankful for the company at this stage in the race. The sudden slow-down is not making me very happy and I need distraction badly.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0_s0DI3PTJXe4a3iQUdHi47jIUo8M5-ScoUjZqv6T6NVOafOzpPcTMUy-60Y4bSbGVjIQS3DardostdwwW4Cl6SqMdJs7o2AAal_vhJ2cJR-eHNsbJCsnaHsx4HXv5E9MOj2V6wtXDao/s1600/13920320_10153624961790163_7303624500525631362_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0_s0DI3PTJXe4a3iQUdHi47jIUo8M5-ScoUjZqv6T6NVOafOzpPcTMUy-60Y4bSbGVjIQS3DardostdwwW4Cl6SqMdJs7o2AAal_vhJ2cJR-eHNsbJCsnaHsx4HXv5E9MOj2V6wtXDao/s640/13920320_10153624961790163_7303624500525631362_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't talk, focusing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />At first Nigel's full of beans and keen to drag me along at my stated goal pace, but I quickly explain the destroyed state of my legs (and hence the absolute impossibility of that task) and he relents. Together we decide to aim for 4:30 min/km, which is considerably slower than my goal and yet probably still fairly unlikely.<br />
<br />
During miles 20 and 21 we're doing reasonably well but then gradually it dawns on me that my watch is not beeping splits anymore. In fact the stupid thing has evidently been stuck at 22.99 miles for quite a while now - ironic, since Nigel has just been telling the tale of his own Garmin doing funky things lately - and I have no actual clue what my pace has been like these past few miles. On his advice I press the stop/start button twice and it immediately goes back to normal, but I'm now actually past the point of caring about pace - it's time to just get this torture over with.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpQyo4fTVV04ZUHksL94u4iO_y9GqDeaGzxg-0tfJSIb_2VBQ9PZuu8UfYYJ3Ow1_NwxRXPQkNCmGsqXnPXu8WVZy9mFdR01eq6mJVubdNgOuZ6CQqMABilI3NqcGCwPgxhzOQFY0VLfY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-08-19+at+2.20.19+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpQyo4fTVV04ZUHksL94u4iO_y9GqDeaGzxg-0tfJSIb_2VBQ9PZuu8UfYYJ3Ow1_NwxRXPQkNCmGsqXnPXu8WVZy9mFdR01eq6mJVubdNgOuZ6CQqMABilI3NqcGCwPgxhzOQFY0VLfY/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-08-19+at+2.20.19+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Garmin weirdness adds a surreal touch to this map, with water crossings aplenty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Miles 26-31: </b>7:37, 7:36, 7:48, 7:31, 7:51, 7:32<br />
<br />
But it's not actually torture: with Nigel's company my mood stays good and I'm able to enjoy just running rather than fret over how badly I've fallen off-pace. The numbers on the Garmin aren't great but they aren't a complete disaster either; and I'm far from walking so that at least is a plus. And now that my legs refuse to run faster than 7:30 pace, I actually have plenty of breath spare and can make conversation! Not a lot of it, but I'm definitely chattier now than at any other point in the race.<br />
<br />
We trudge doggedly through the miles and laps; I had it in my mind that I'd run the final lap or two solo but instead I decide I'd much rather not have to suffer alone unless I have to. So Nigel valiantly agrees to stick with me through the final lap, and we approach the finish at long, long last.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>3:42:04, 7:09 min/mile (4:27 min/km)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>1st female, 3rd overall<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyeQmoaFpQgDfMz4osIpYIiXN-gowxc6pzzq8wzVY2F_dUUa7QWexmnMjpkyHEH0iOc1pt9XCxTxaczc4tqshUS2w5nHZhWAebqL5-_JvW21REmDqLWbjN458nxeKmvNcKpj7XL-IX74b/s1600/CP50_winner.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyeQmoaFpQgDfMz4osIpYIiXN-gowxc6pzzq8wzVY2F_dUUa7QWexmnMjpkyHEH0iOc1pt9XCxTxaczc4tqshUS2w5nHZhWAebqL5-_JvW21REmDqLWbjN458nxeKmvNcKpj7XL-IX74b/s640/CP50_winner.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In retrospect it's absolutely crystal-clear what the problem was: lack of rest, lack of fuel, end of story. I was probably lucky to hang on as long as I did, and to not blow up much worse. My endurance has always been my strong suit, and it saved my skin today but wasn't enough to get me to the line in the style I had hoped for. I've learned a valuable lesson about what not to do on the day before a big race, although given the circumstances I really had no choice. And I've also confirmed my slight aversion to trail racing, although the next race on my calendar is going to be far worse and still a lot of fun.<br />
<br />The final result is far from pleasing, but at least it's a C qualifier for the Australian 50K team - this was the only part of my goals that I met, actually. The rest will have to wait for another time; in fact I already have the next race in my sights. Me, hooked on ultras? I think I just saw a pig go flying by.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYiWMVf-iOzVsFDchCyXuElWl2ltSMltzll1cwE0z7_no1MBcSbkWfPvM4bhDVJDxIEgE1OXqLl7-Rayg5u46Z8A2YxCtah3_pKeYhi6UEWfvnOnTiAKdmAsMli-tx-1ZXD2l8OsKWLf97/s1600/IMG_7039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYiWMVf-iOzVsFDchCyXuElWl2ltSMltzll1cwE0z7_no1MBcSbkWfPvM4bhDVJDxIEgE1OXqLl7-Rayg5u46Z8A2YxCtah3_pKeYhi6UEWfvnOnTiAKdmAsMli-tx-1ZXD2l8OsKWLf97/s640/IMG_7039.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the best parts of the day: my amazing support team.<br />THANK YOU!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-53112375176981118532016-07-21T22:16:00.002-07:002016-08-02T20:37:14.084-07:00Facebook and the Art of Getting Yourself Disqualified** This post has been amended at the request of one of the runners mentioned in the original post**<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKl2YDXXFhZTEOMjYvsUGs_XYPhxrw3jUWsCmP2VzjQAOJ90-6Bj52pacFO3NfBhnDO_jKRsEdXQbLamtvtxU0v5yxuCMqyoiI6oBU4iLulNUKzRS82Td8W_S0pOcdQL8kjWvr3uBSRfx/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-22+at+3.11.38+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKl2YDXXFhZTEOMjYvsUGs_XYPhxrw3jUWsCmP2VzjQAOJ90-6Bj52pacFO3NfBhnDO_jKRsEdXQbLamtvtxU0v5yxuCMqyoiI6oBU4iLulNUKzRS82Td8W_S0pOcdQL8kjWvr3uBSRfx/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-07-22+at+3.11.38+PM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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A funny thing happened to me in the immediate aftermath of posting the link to my latest race report (from Gold Coast 2016) on Facebook. As I mentioned in the report, I've gradually gotten to know quite a few people in the Australian marathoning scene now - my first marathon friends were almost exclusively American, thanks to my connection to the US Runners World online forums, but now I have quite a few Aussie running friends as well, which is nice - and so it seems my race reports are getting a wider audience in my homeland then ever before.<br />
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I should also mention that I tagged a whole bunch of people in that post - probably the most I've ever tagged, actually - and given the way Facebook posts spread like a virus whenever given the opportunity (see below), it's not surprising that it reached a bigger audience than ever before.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJPZq0QfFiOkEN4byYhGAJDBcQA8GTQiV2hbuLI9K5YPPvt-G95WswV5vOZlTPi00A797wsYQay8wQSSiR-yfYOY90e30YVchqtLyhrzC9AzHhPLdL1BmddAP10A5BmxFzcYa8sOb_AdD/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-16+at+7.38.47+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJPZq0QfFiOkEN4byYhGAJDBcQA8GTQiV2hbuLI9K5YPPvt-G95WswV5vOZlTPi00A797wsYQay8wQSSiR-yfYOY90e30YVchqtLyhrzC9AzHhPLdL1BmddAP10A5BmxFzcYa8sOb_AdD/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-07-16+at+7.38.47+AM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">108K shares and comments from all around the world</td></tr>
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The report included a couple of photos kindly taken by a friend which she then posted to my Facebook. I downloaded and popped them in there, thinking nothing of it really, and so my interest was piqued when a friend of a friend - someone I've met once IRL and with whom I have 7 mutual FB friends - read the blog post and commented regarding one of the other runners in the photo Prue took at 23km. The comment (which is discussed in detail below) set me thinking about something that has been on my mind for a long time - it is one of the key elements to racing a marathon to the best of one's ability - namely, how best to pace yourself during a 42.2km/26.2 mile race.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqmAwrrx3gfKH-2IBcNzPyZzZ8ygmmYNS4oE4QMECMKoMdOgaDHSajGyNH1SwHSmPDR0Yc-ct2y2bYDsElSAA94yoWwDjqdpLPcgvtulRtkpCG5JsG67MGYSMEbykhF4weS7M9eIOu2Iw/s1600/GC16_23km.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqmAwrrx3gfKH-2IBcNzPyZzZ8ygmmYNS4oE4QMECMKoMdOgaDHSajGyNH1SwHSmPDR0Yc-ct2y2bYDsElSAA94yoWwDjqdpLPcgvtulRtkpCG5JsG67MGYSMEbykhF4weS7M9eIOu2Iw/s640/GC16_23km.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The infamous picture</td></tr>
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<b><br /></b><b>The Delicate Art of Race Pacing</b><br />
<br />
It's well-known that a lot of runners go out way too fast in races, even marathons. By way of contrast, my own pacing approach is to go out precisely on target pace (ok, perhaps a tiny smidge faster) and then hang on as long as possible. When it works, I get all the way to perhaps 35km or so before I start slowing down; when it doesn't, well, the slow-down starts sooner. The worst positive split (second half slower than the first) that I've run remains around 5 minutes, so clearly this approach works for me.<br />
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It also works nicely for most professional runners. If you look at the splits of the mega-elites who win major marathons - like <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/elite-runners/yuki-kawauchi-the-marathon-rock-star" target="_blank">Yuki Kawauchi</a>, who took second in a thrilling sprint finish at Gold Coast this year - they tend to run exactly even splits, fading at most by maybe a minute or less over the second half. If you look at the splits of many amateur marathoners - even the competitive ones - it's not quite the same story. Most slow down by a fair amount in the late stages of the race; some hit the wall; some don't so much hit the wall as slam into it head-on and wind up smeared all over it. So, the end result of my own personal pacing strategy is that I tend to pass a LOT of people in the second half of large races.<br />
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I'm still sort of baffled as to why anyone would employ the crash-and-burn sort of strategy - basically set out at top speed and see how long it lasts - because it can't be a nice experience to end up destroyed and walking, surely. On the other hand, it takes a lot of training and racing to be able to gauge exactly how to walk the fine line between an appropriately ambitious pace and one that's frankly suicidal; so perhaps most of the people I see running in this manner just don't have the experience to do anything different. Who knows?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUNHc19jEBg5N5VYIzCIslmaGKn_wnCRtBqTrJn6JBVnzT9GJnN6uUc7KWcgD3IRnGghSTnlqIl51ZhEDVqX1JXWCJhGfRCWV4jf0ZEMvHifoj0p5juvOPR8E1zCUyh_lIi_-86KvZyj9l/s1600/GC16_Splits.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUNHc19jEBg5N5VYIzCIslmaGKn_wnCRtBqTrJn6JBVnzT9GJnN6uUc7KWcgD3IRnGghSTnlqIl51ZhEDVqX1JXWCJhGfRCWV4jf0ZEMvHifoj0p5juvOPR8E1zCUyh_lIi_-86KvZyj9l/s640/GC16_Splits.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">My splits from GCAM 2016; note that I passed 72 people between the 5K mark and the finish, most between 30-40K</td></tr>
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So, back to that photo taken at 23km. The Facebook commentator - who shall remain nameless - identified by name one of my companions in the photo, namely the bloke to my right wearing a "Newcastle Flyers" singlet. The comment indicated that this guy had blown up spectacularly in the second half and finished over 10 minutes behind me, which implied he had barely managed to run sub-3. I was therefore interested (in a Schadenfreude sort of a way) to see exactly how bad it had gotten for this poor soul, who clearly has a rather limited understanding of marathon pacing.<br />
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I looked up his name in the live results but the finish time didn't make sense; also, he had run the first few 5K splits in around 21:30 so would not have been anywhere near me at 23km. I zoomed in on his bib number and looked it up - this looked more like the right splits but to my surprise the name was completely different. Now I was really confused. What on earth had I stumbled upon here?<br />
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<b>Facebook to the Rescue</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Dodgy goings-on during running races are more common than you'd think. Lately I've been following the story of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_HP_Young" target="_blank">Rob Young, aka MarathonManUK</a>, who claims to have run daily marathons for over a year and recently attempted to break the World Record for fastest Transcontinental crossing of the USA on foot. He is, however, <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2016/jun/22/robert-young-marathon-record-attempt-cheating-rumors" target="_blank">suspected of cheating</a> - the story is far too long to repeat here, suffice it to say that an official investigation is underway at present - and I learned quite a lot about how to gather evidence from following the <a href="http://www.letsrun.com/forum/flat_read.php?thread=7355147&page=480" target="_blank">extremely long thread on LetsRun</a> where his cheating was exposed.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlt2EmqT7ccN0c5JVSqRBJiQxNh0c43jMu_uFxvlI2zkXOGvszo5xSIqZTEIVJENXYxD48bXjsvyjJLk2BsgveHDnHtCvQoskDa5DMdv1XWSVfFdELjGehrcr6Om_PGAGtMW9rKcGDKs7y/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-19+at+10.53.48+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlt2EmqT7ccN0c5JVSqRBJiQxNh0c43jMu_uFxvlI2zkXOGvszo5xSIqZTEIVJENXYxD48bXjsvyjJLk2BsgveHDnHtCvQoskDa5DMdv1XWSVfFdELjGehrcr6Om_PGAGtMW9rKcGDKs7y/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-07-19+at+10.53.48+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">This "run" takes place at 8,500 feet of elevation, at paces close to 3:30 min/km for over 2 hours<br />
After 3 weeks of running 70-80 miles per day, every day (120-140km)<br />
Yeah, right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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At one point, and after many weeks of strident demands to see his GPS watch data from the Transcon attempt, Rob Young did finally upload some of his running data to Strava - only to swiftly delete large portions of it again without explanation. The wily sleuths at Letsrun.com, however, downloaded and took screenshots of most of it before he could erase his tracks, and the evidence has not only been preserved for posterity, it has also been forwarded to the investigators looking into his claims.<br />
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So now the original commenter on my blog post was telling me he was going to delete his comment, not wanting to stir up suspicion. Thinking on this I quickly took screenshots of the two results - for the identified runner's bib number and also the official (rather different) result under his name - before doing some more digging. And what I turned up was interesting indeed.<br />
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It wasn't too hard to look up the two names - the one from my photo and the one whose bib he appeared to be wearing - among the commentor's FB friends and a very interesting story started to emerge.<br />
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The person from my photo has asked me to remove his Facebook profile pic from this blog post (well, he asked but also sent me a slightly threatening legal-style letter about it) so I have complied, but since he has subsequently changed his profile, the original is here:<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/goog_1960269020"><br /></a><a href="http://imgur.com/a/NC4Xu">http://imgur.com/a/NC4Xu</a><br />
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This is the FB profile of the person who was identified in my photo at 23km, and unless he's changed the photo today, he's helpfully wearing the same kit as he did at Gold Coast! Nice shirt, by the way.</div>
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Since he doesn't like having his photos on here, here is the link to the race photos of this person - well, the bib #6020 who is the person running near me at 23km - from Gold Coast. </div>
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<a href="http://www.marathon-photos.com/scripts/photo.py?template=MPX2&event=Sports/2016/Gold%20Coast%20Airport%20Marathon&bib=M6020&photo=GCBN0456">http://www.marathon-photos.com/scripts/photo.py?template=MPX2&event=Sports/2016/Gold%20Coast%20Airport%20Marathon&bib=M6020&photo=GCBN0456</a></div>
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You might notice that the name associated with these photos is not his. It's the same one as on this result below (which is publicly searchable and not his private property.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabrCvr7ZLzA0vQROeptVQcGBDTFNC3c4b6c_Sdgayp4xsRkEQj5Dkkl_pkdRL2Ow-KIJbG8_bapNji23BsFwdp5mCVQhB4UUne1uU3U0egM2GgJups_rDF6fdTIapTvLQQMYauPV4ImEC/s1600/IMG_6602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabrCvr7ZLzA0vQROeptVQcGBDTFNC3c4b6c_Sdgayp4xsRkEQj5Dkkl_pkdRL2Ow-KIJbG8_bapNji23BsFwdp5mCVQhB4UUne1uU3U0egM2GgJups_rDF6fdTIapTvLQQMYauPV4ImEC/s640/IMG_6602.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yes, this is the race result associated with that bib number. The half split was similar to mine - slightly faster, in fact - so this is definitely the person who was running near me at 23km. But the name is wrong; so who exactly is Richard?</div>
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You have to love Facebook because I found him quite easily on there; in the interests of keeping his public Facebook profile picture private (*removes tongue from cheek*) here is the photo via Imgur:</div>
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<a href="http://imgur.com/a/DLteW">http://imgur.com/a/DLteW</a></div>
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Looks like he is a runner - the chick in the photo is apparently known as Marathon Barbie - we have a lot of mutual FB friends and he's friends with the bloke who rumbled this whole gig too. The plot thickens. Let's check whose bib he is wearing in the marathon.</div>
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<a href="http://www.marathon-photos.com/scripts/photo.py?template=MPX2&event=Sports/2016/Gold%20Coast%20Airport%20Marathon&bib=M5509&photo=GCCK3646">http://www.marathon-photos.com/scripts/photo.py?template=MPX2&event=Sports/2016/Gold%20Coast%20Airport%20Marathon&bib=M5509&photo=GCCK3646</a></div>
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Yep, that's him in the race photos too. Looks like he's having fun - doesn't seem like he blew up at all - unless that's a grimace of pain and despair rather than a smile, of course. Let's check the public results for that bib number shall we?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTzMaMxczZb5PnojmxRjJDS97iNXGxt6fr-yJzeVYCggWT-y9V7M67m1kZtq55iMFPS-adbR1xEjGCMRmO3FW4I6INOrVni_qO3kafNypqBSoYLZf53pWE4bptHomWVsnMsJaOdVe0WuG6/s1600/IMG_6605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTzMaMxczZb5PnojmxRjJDS97iNXGxt6fr-yJzeVYCggWT-y9V7M67m1kZtq55iMFPS-adbR1xEjGCMRmO3FW4I6INOrVni_qO3kafNypqBSoYLZf53pWE4bptHomWVsnMsJaOdVe0WuG6/s640/IMG_6605.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm not sure he's going to be happy with that time though.<br />
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In summary: John and Richard swapped bibs and ran as each other. Elementary, my dear Watson!<br />
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But the million dollar question is, why? I'm sure people are reading this and thinking, "So what if they swapped bibs? What's the big deal?" Some are likely thinking it was probably just a silly mistake, and no harm was done so why even bother caring?<br />
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Well, this year at Gold Coast everybody had their name printed on their bib. If you zoom in close to 6020 (John)'s bib, it says "Richard"! right above the number. So, not a simple mix-up. These dudes did this on purpose. You may still be wondering why this is any sort of problem for anyone (except them), but there's another hidden reason that explains why bib swapping - unless done officially with the approval of race organisers - is just not on.<br />
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<i>Before I proceed I will add a disclaimer that I was contacted by one of these fellows (via FB - oh, the irony) and he is adamant that no cheating or deception was intended; it was a spur-of-the-moment decision and meant in large part as a joke on another runner. Seems that person would not want to see one of their names ahead of his in the results, so they swapped to make sure this would be the case. He claims neither of them - not his mate who is an experienced runner and marathoner, nor any of their running club who knew about the swap - knew it was against race rules to swap bibs. They did not mean to cheat and it was not premeditated. Make of this what you will......and please keep reading.</i><br />
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<b>Bib swapping - why it's a NO NO</b><br />
<b><br /></b>It's a scenario you can easily imagine: your friend is injured, they can't run a race they have already entered, so they offer you their bib. If you don't think too much about it, it seems simple - just run the race, record a time and there you go. It might show up on their stats but unless they're a seriously competitive racer, they probably don't care, right?<br />
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The problems start when the ring-in runner turns in a performance that is quite unlikely or even impossible for the original runner. Like the (short-lived) winner of the F55-59 year age group this year at Gold Coast, who turned out to be a guy running with a bib belonging to someone called Judy. Whoops. That sort of thing isn't very fair to the rest of the F55-59 AG, who just got beaten by a 30-something bloke. Understandably, that guy got himself disqualified pretty quickly.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3S7lglyjgmUR1o9gFPh8kQt5ErOxS5WmgD8bnmCe6B3y35U59ch-b6AFH23W51gSheeHFHYP-TlCvM8rEsLxLURW4eeQSDnhqixwN8k6pQYwLuoDz9Lzdf7QJfZ_5K8N79dVBMJOAVM3/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-20+at+7.15.11+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3S7lglyjgmUR1o9gFPh8kQt5ErOxS5WmgD8bnmCe6B3y35U59ch-b6AFH23W51gSheeHFHYP-TlCvM8rEsLxLURW4eeQSDnhqixwN8k6pQYwLuoDz9Lzdf7QJfZ_5K8N79dVBMJOAVM3/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-07-20+at+7.15.11+PM.png" width="351" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">"Judy Bell" F55-59</td></tr>
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Then there's the bigger question of qualifying times for larger races. In Australia this doesn't really apply - we have no marathons for which there is a qualifying standard - but in the USA it's quite a big deal. New York is one example (there is a lottery but you can circumvent that by running a qualifying time for a guaranteed entry) but the biggest fish of all is Boston. Unless you're willing to sell your soul raising money for a charity bib, you can't really get in to run Boston marathon unless you qualify by running a marathon under a certain time. For some runners this is no big problem; for others it is a struggle and one that can become a mild obsession.<br />
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Chasing a "BQ" (Boston Qualifier) is a pursuit that drives many marathoners and in fact one of my American friends spent so much energy and time on it that she ended up <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Boston-Bound-Overcome-Barriers-Marathon/dp/1530680581" target="_blank">writing a book about her experience</a>. I met her this year in Boston and it was awesome seeing how happy and proud she was to be there, wearing her jacket and taking in the experience. Another of my good friends was there for her second time after spending a number of years narrowly missing out on a qualifying time, so it is not lost on me how lucky I am to be able to qualify easily.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqS0iQWuYwrdVFLvgORRbsQ9hmWjdsVr20lDoQMcmLauKkvCJrh-wK6w6F42jkavqU3de9NuteO-RtuvoIMce-ic8SwRV3buO3qxLnE5uomjKl17NatuhKed89yse1Rf_TC3i82HlC5zLf/s1600/Boston16_ladies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqS0iQWuYwrdVFLvgORRbsQ9hmWjdsVr20lDoQMcmLauKkvCJrh-wK6w6F42jkavqU3de9NuteO-RtuvoIMce-ic8SwRV3buO3qxLnE5uomjKl17NatuhKed89yse1Rf_TC3i82HlC5zLf/s640/Boston16_ladies.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">All these awesome ladies worked hard to get to Boston; that's Elizabeth in the middle, next to me</td></tr>
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Of course not every runner who aspires to run Boston has the grit and determination to put in the hard yards and actually run a qualifying time, or putting it better we might say that not everyone who runs Boston has the honesty to qualify legitimately. In the era of the Internet - where everyone's race results and pictures and Facebook profile are right there for anyone to see - it is becoming increasingly clear that quite a few people who run Boston have cheated on their qualifying race, <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">either by cutting the course or getting someone else to run a qualifier for them. There's even a guy who devotes considerable time to exposing this sort of thing - he has a blog that you can find <a href="http://www.marathoninvestigation.com/" target="_blank">here</a> - and every year he finds cases <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">where runners have done something shady in order to get to Boston.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Perhaps the most infamous example lately was the so-called <a href="http://www.phillymag.com/news/2015/07/20/letsrun-mike-rossi-cheat-boston-marathon/" target="_blank">"Marathon Dad" Mike Rossi</a>, who took his kids out of school to watch him run Boston in 2015. When he subsequently received a letter from their school principal chiding him for the "unexcused absence" of his children that week, Rossi's response went viral and he was hailed a hero for his defence that by taking that trip "they learned about dedication, commitment, love, </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">perseverance,</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> overcoming adversity, civic pride, patriotism, American history, culinary arts and physical education."</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />He left out the part where they learned that cheating is okay: it was subsequently discovered - once again by the LetsRun sleuths - that Rossi had without a doubt cheated in his qualifying race for Boston! I'm willing to bet that Mike regrets his moment of Internet fame, which unfortunately led to a far more durable infamy in the general running community.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJBlzU9rBcob0bA-J_nWqos_UGY8jNsHFDMEps3DByUgbfRA0E0fkQVLoTP-iHo8xRSILz138EVJw_qGTMWWvLHrCPpNH64j6GzVr4JNAYtO1Px7x4IuQo052Vvlr6tLncp6NYUWlYmMO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-20+at+9.46.59+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJBlzU9rBcob0bA-J_nWqos_UGY8jNsHFDMEps3DByUgbfRA0E0fkQVLoTP-iHo8xRSILz138EVJw_qGTMWWvLHrCPpNH64j6GzVr4JNAYtO1Px7x4IuQo052Vvlr6tLncp6NYUWlYmMO/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-07-20+at+9.46.59+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">photo credit: www.phillymag.com</td></tr>
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<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<b>So what about NotJohn and NotRich</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
I still haven't gotten to the part where this becomes relevant to our two bib-swappers from Gold Coast, but I'm trying. It comes down to the WHY - for what possible reason would two runners swap bibs when they are both running the same event and there is no tangible advantage to doing so? There are no official corrals at GCAM; you self-seed and line up when you're ready, although the earlier the better in most cases. A different bib number won't get you closer to the front. So why would Rich want a faster time (run by John) although by rights it should have been at least 10 minutes faster than it was in the end?</div>
<div>
<br />
<i>John claims it was just a joke and that the faster time was meant for a bet or something . That is what he has told me and he says he is being honest, so I'll believe him (although some might not). What follows below is the only other scenario I could think of, as a competitive runner who runs marathons for themselves and not to play jokes on others. </i><br />
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<div>
There's only one reason I can think of, and it is this: <u>Rich needed a faster time to use as a qualifier somewhere else.</u> 3:33 is not fast enough for a 35 year old male to enter Boston, but 2:59 is. Similar situation for New York, and although I don't have a clue whether Rich aspires to enter either of those marathons (and it's entirely possible that he doesn't) there's no other plausible explanation.<br />
<br />
Or there wasn't until John clarified it for me - and I still don't understand why he would be fine with his own result being credited to another person. It clearly wasn't the sort of time he *should* be running; he should be a lot faster. I'm in possession of - but will not publish here - a photo of him running at a half marathon elsewhere in Australia and he recorded a very fast time, I think he came 3rd overall. So for him, 2:59 is not very impressive - yet he was happy to go on record with a 3:33? Right, okay.</div>
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<div>
For clarity, what I initially suspected of these two runners is a practice known as using a "bib mule" - someone faster wears your bib, runs you your BQ and off you go to run Boston (believing you got away with it, or perhaps that it's not that big of a deal) - and it's more common than you think. Our mate on Marathoninvestigation.com uncovered a running club where a single runner was found to have run BQs for 3 other club members (all of whom ran Boston in 2016): you can read about that fascinating story <a href="http://www.marathoninvestigation.com/2016/04/wild-mountain-runners-club-in-boston.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFRWx33mmREMboYob1h22f_6Z_Bwl8BVxSunrA_W9ycm5Mf80h4fY4K4pa17qx0CrLHFIySbCu25Pr4ozcLYOq1jQQeDbDcQ0h4KuuGIyC-rCSb8gFK4BuGh4mGGl6Jhmew-JaEpaEmXA/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFRWx33mmREMboYob1h22f_6Z_Bwl8BVxSunrA_W9ycm5Mf80h4fY4K4pa17qx0CrLHFIySbCu25Pr4ozcLYOq1jQQeDbDcQ0h4KuuGIyC-rCSb8gFK4BuGh4mGGl6Jhmew-JaEpaEmXA/s640/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">above are 3 of Wild Mountain Running club's members at Boston<br />
below is the guy running their qualifiers for them</td></tr>
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<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's not hard to figure out who might have cheated in order to qualify for Boston: you look for people who ran Boston significantly slower than their qualifying race. Maybe they were injured, or they ran for fun, or blew up at mile 20. But the Wild Mountain dudes all ran so much slower - from 2 hours to over 3 hours slower - that they were flagged for review and their deception was uncovered. I wonder how proudly or fondly they will remember their day in Hopkinton now that they've been banned from the Boston marathon forever?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>In conclusion</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
It turns out that John and Richard did not intend to cheat, or so they say. Indeed, running with your friend's bib might seem like a silly or funny or crazy thing to do. If you run identical times then there's probably no harm done. But the consequences can be far worse than you'd imagine - so if you're planning to use someone else's bib, get it transferred to yourself officially. Or, all jokes aside, you may end up with a result that nobody can be proud of.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1tkcTFWmVMoUfQI2GNcpthbCH_FU6sBIx-y55rVXhYr9M7NYQ_IPFZOtzerXANDXM9x0zm8At2cegLn5pMBYVSF1kgP2w2ktluetPBUrCNCrfk3UKEcTIXdM8LYfrmE6MEQbKKwffuyL/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1tkcTFWmVMoUfQI2GNcpthbCH_FU6sBIx-y55rVXhYr9M7NYQ_IPFZOtzerXANDXM9x0zm8At2cegLn5pMBYVSF1kgP2w2ktluetPBUrCNCrfk3UKEcTIXdM8LYfrmE6MEQbKKwffuyL/s640/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-25050442191565041892016-07-21T00:23:00.001-07:002016-07-21T22:12:26.096-07:00Facebook and the Art of Getting Yourself Disqualified** This post has been amended at the request of one of the runners mentioned in the original post**<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKl2YDXXFhZTEOMjYvsUGs_XYPhxrw3jUWsCmP2VzjQAOJ90-6Bj52pacFO3NfBhnDO_jKRsEdXQbLamtvtxU0v5yxuCMqyoiI6oBU4iLulNUKzRS82Td8W_S0pOcdQL8kjWvr3uBSRfx/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-22+at+3.11.38+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKl2YDXXFhZTEOMjYvsUGs_XYPhxrw3jUWsCmP2VzjQAOJ90-6Bj52pacFO3NfBhnDO_jKRsEdXQbLamtvtxU0v5yxuCMqyoiI6oBU4iLulNUKzRS82Td8W_S0pOcdQL8kjWvr3uBSRfx/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-07-22+at+3.11.38+PM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
A funny thing happened to me in the immediate aftermath of posting the link to my latest race report (from Gold Coast 2016) on Facebook. As I mentioned in the report, I've gradually gotten to know quite a few people in the Australian marathoning scene now - my first marathon friends were almost exclusively American, thanks to my connection to the US Runners World online forums, but now I have quite a few Aussie running friends as well, which is nice - and so it seems my race reports are getting a wider audience in my homeland then ever before.<br />
<br />
I should also mention that I tagged a whole bunch of people in that post - probably the most I've ever tagged, actually - and given the way Facebook posts spread like a virus whenever given the opportunity (see below), it's not surprising that it reached a bigger audience than ever before.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJPZq0QfFiOkEN4byYhGAJDBcQA8GTQiV2hbuLI9K5YPPvt-G95WswV5vOZlTPi00A797wsYQay8wQSSiR-yfYOY90e30YVchqtLyhrzC9AzHhPLdL1BmddAP10A5BmxFzcYa8sOb_AdD/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-16+at+7.38.47+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJPZq0QfFiOkEN4byYhGAJDBcQA8GTQiV2hbuLI9K5YPPvt-G95WswV5vOZlTPi00A797wsYQay8wQSSiR-yfYOY90e30YVchqtLyhrzC9AzHhPLdL1BmddAP10A5BmxFzcYa8sOb_AdD/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-07-16+at+7.38.47+AM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">108K shares and comments from all around the world</td></tr>
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<br />
The report included a couple of photos kindly taken by a friend which she then posted to my Facebook. I downloaded and popped them in there, thinking nothing of it really, and so my interest was piqued when a friend of a friend - someone I've met once IRL and with whom I have 7 mutual FB friends - read the blog post and commented regarding one of the other runners in the photo Prue took at 23km. The comment (which is discussed in detail below) set me thinking about something that has been on my mind for a long time - it is one of the key elements to racing a marathon to the best of one's ability - namely, how best to pace yourself during a 42.2km/26.2 mile race.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqmAwrrx3gfKH-2IBcNzPyZzZ8ygmmYNS4oE4QMECMKoMdOgaDHSajGyNH1SwHSmPDR0Yc-ct2y2bYDsElSAA94yoWwDjqdpLPcgvtulRtkpCG5JsG67MGYSMEbykhF4weS7M9eIOu2Iw/s1600/GC16_23km.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqmAwrrx3gfKH-2IBcNzPyZzZ8ygmmYNS4oE4QMECMKoMdOgaDHSajGyNH1SwHSmPDR0Yc-ct2y2bYDsElSAA94yoWwDjqdpLPcgvtulRtkpCG5JsG67MGYSMEbykhF4weS7M9eIOu2Iw/s640/GC16_23km.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The infamous picture</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>The Delicate Art of Race Pacing</b><br />
<br />
It's well-known that a lot of runners go out way too fast in races, even marathons. By way of contrast, my own pacing approach is to go out precisely on target pace (ok, perhaps a tiny smidge faster) and then hang on as long as possible. When it works, I get all the way to perhaps 35km or so before I start slowing down; when it doesn't, well, the slow-down starts sooner. The worst positive split (second half slower than the first) that I've run remains around 5 minutes, so clearly this approach works for me.<br />
<br />
It also works nicely for most professional runners. If you look at the splits of the mega-elites who win major marathons - like <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/elite-runners/yuki-kawauchi-the-marathon-rock-star" target="_blank">Yuki Kawauchi</a>, who took second in a thrilling sprint finish at Gold Coast this year - they tend to run exactly even splits, fading at most by maybe a minute or less over the second half. If you look at the splits of many amateur marathoners - even the competitive ones - it's not quite the same story. Most slow down by a fair amount in the late stages of the race; some hit the wall; some don't so much hit the wall as slam into it head-on and wind up smeared all over it. So, the end result of my own personal pacing strategy is that I tend to pass a LOT of people in the second half of large races.<br />
<br />
I'm still sort of baffled as to why anyone would employ the crash-and-burn sort of strategy - basically set out at top speed and see how long it lasts - because it can't be a nice experience to end up destroyed and walking, surely. On the other hand, it takes a lot of training and racing to be able to gauge exactly how to walk the fine line between an appropriately ambitious pace and one that's frankly suicidal; so perhaps most of the people I see running in this manner just don't have the experience to do anything different. Who knows?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUNHc19jEBg5N5VYIzCIslmaGKn_wnCRtBqTrJn6JBVnzT9GJnN6uUc7KWcgD3IRnGghSTnlqIl51ZhEDVqX1JXWCJhGfRCWV4jf0ZEMvHifoj0p5juvOPR8E1zCUyh_lIi_-86KvZyj9l/s1600/GC16_Splits.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUNHc19jEBg5N5VYIzCIslmaGKn_wnCRtBqTrJn6JBVnzT9GJnN6uUc7KWcgD3IRnGghSTnlqIl51ZhEDVqX1JXWCJhGfRCWV4jf0ZEMvHifoj0p5juvOPR8E1zCUyh_lIi_-86KvZyj9l/s640/GC16_Splits.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">My splits from GCAM 2016; note that I passed 72 people between the 5K mark and the finish, most between 30-40K</td></tr>
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<br />
So, back to that photo taken at 23km. The Facebook commentator - who shall remain nameless - identified by name one of my companions in the photo, namely the bloke to my right wearing a "Newcastle Flyers" singlet. The comment indicated that this guy had blown up spectacularly in the second half and finished over 10 minutes behind me, which implied he had barely managed to run sub-3. I was therefore interested (in a Schadenfreude sort of a way) to see exactly how bad it had gotten for this poor soul, who clearly has a rather limited understanding of marathon pacing.<br />
<br />
I looked up his name in the live results but the finish time didn't make sense; also, he had run the first few 5K splits in around 21:30 so would not have been anywhere near me at 23km. I zoomed in on his bib number and looked it up - this looked more like the right splits but to my surprise the name was completely different. Now I was really confused. What on earth had I stumbled upon here?<br />
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<br />
<b>Facebook to the Rescue</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Dodgy goings-on during running races are more common than you'd think. Lately I've been following the story of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_HP_Young" target="_blank">Rob Young, aka MarathonManUK</a>, who claims to have run daily marathons for over a year and recently attempted to break the World Record for fastest Transcontinental crossing of the USA on foot. He is, however, <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2016/jun/22/robert-young-marathon-record-attempt-cheating-rumors" target="_blank">suspected of cheating</a> - the story is far too long to repeat here, suffice it to say that an official investigation is underway at present - and I learned quite a lot about how to gather evidence from following the <a href="http://www.letsrun.com/forum/flat_read.php?thread=7355147&page=480" target="_blank">extremely long thread on LetsRun</a> where his cheating was exposed.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlt2EmqT7ccN0c5JVSqRBJiQxNh0c43jMu_uFxvlI2zkXOGvszo5xSIqZTEIVJENXYxD48bXjsvyjJLk2BsgveHDnHtCvQoskDa5DMdv1XWSVfFdELjGehrcr6Om_PGAGtMW9rKcGDKs7y/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-19+at+10.53.48+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlt2EmqT7ccN0c5JVSqRBJiQxNh0c43jMu_uFxvlI2zkXOGvszo5xSIqZTEIVJENXYxD48bXjsvyjJLk2BsgveHDnHtCvQoskDa5DMdv1XWSVfFdELjGehrcr6Om_PGAGtMW9rKcGDKs7y/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-07-19+at+10.53.48+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This "run" takes place at 8,500 feet of elevation, at paces close to 3:30 min/km for over 2 hours<br />
After 3 weeks of running 70-80 miles per day, every day (120-140km)<br />
Yeah, right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At one point, and after many weeks of strident demands to see his GPS watch data from the Transcon attempt, Rob Young did finally upload some of his running data to Strava - only to swiftly delete large portions of it again without explanation. The wily sleuths at Letsrun.com, however, downloaded and took screenshots of most of it before he could erase his tracks, and the evidence has not only been preserved for posterity, it has also been forwarded to the investigators looking into his claims.<br />
<br />
So now the original commenter on my blog post was telling me he was going to delete his comment, not wanting to stir up suspicion. Thinking on this I quickly took screenshots of the two results - for the identified runner's bib number and also the official (rather different) result under his name - before doing some more digging. And what I turned up was interesting indeed.<br />
<br />
It wasn't too hard to look up the two names - the one from my photo and the one whose bib he appeared to be wearing - among the commentor's FB friends and a very interesting story started to emerge.<br />
<br />
The person from my photo has asked me to remove his Facebook profile pic from this blog post (well, he asked but also sent me a slightly threatening legal-style letter about it) so I have complied, but the link is here:<br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/John.Doyle101?fref=ts">https://www.facebook.com/John.Doyle101?fref=ts</a><br />
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This is the FB profile of the person who was identified in my photo at 23km, and unless he's changed the photo today, he's helpfully wearing the same kit as he did at Gold Coast! Nice shirt, by the way.</div>
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Since he doesn't like having his photos on here, here is the link to the race photos of this person - well, the bib #6020 who is the person running near me at 23km - from Gold Coast. </div>
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<a href="http://www.marathon-photos.com/scripts/photo.py?template=MPX2&event=Sports/2016/Gold%20Coast%20Airport%20Marathon&bib=M6020&photo=GCBN0456">http://www.marathon-photos.com/scripts/photo.py?template=MPX2&event=Sports/2016/Gold%20Coast%20Airport%20Marathon&bib=M6020&photo=GCBN0456</a></div>
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You might notice that the name associated with these photos is not his. It's the same one as on this result below (which is publicly searchable and not his private property.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabrCvr7ZLzA0vQROeptVQcGBDTFNC3c4b6c_Sdgayp4xsRkEQj5Dkkl_pkdRL2Ow-KIJbG8_bapNji23BsFwdp5mCVQhB4UUne1uU3U0egM2GgJups_rDF6fdTIapTvLQQMYauPV4ImEC/s1600/IMG_6602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabrCvr7ZLzA0vQROeptVQcGBDTFNC3c4b6c_Sdgayp4xsRkEQj5Dkkl_pkdRL2Ow-KIJbG8_bapNji23BsFwdp5mCVQhB4UUne1uU3U0egM2GgJups_rDF6fdTIapTvLQQMYauPV4ImEC/s640/IMG_6602.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yes, this is the race result associated with that bib number. The half split was similar to mine - slightly faster, in fact - so this is definitely the person who was running near me at 23km. But the name is wrong; so who exactly is Richard?</div>
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You have to love Facebook because I found him quite easily on there; in the interests of keeping his public Facebook profile picture private (*removes tongue from cheek*) here is the link:</div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/richard.munro.56?fref=ts">https://www.facebook.com/richard.munro.56?fref=ts</a></div>
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Looks like he is a runner - the chick in the photo is apparently known as Marathon Barbie - we have a lot of mutual FB friends and he's friends with the bloke who rumbled this whole gig too. The plot thickens. Let's check whose bib he is wearing in the marathon.</div>
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<a href="http://www.marathon-photos.com/scripts/photo.py?template=MPX2&event=Sports/2016/Gold%20Coast%20Airport%20Marathon&bib=M5509&photo=GCCK3646">http://www.marathon-photos.com/scripts/photo.py?template=MPX2&event=Sports/2016/Gold%20Coast%20Airport%20Marathon&bib=M5509&photo=GCCK3646</a></div>
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Yep, that's him in the race photos too. Looks like he's having fun - doesn't seem like he blew up at all - unless that's a grimace of pain and despair rather than a smile, of course. Let's check the public results for that bib number shall we?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTzMaMxczZb5PnojmxRjJDS97iNXGxt6fr-yJzeVYCggWT-y9V7M67m1kZtq55iMFPS-adbR1xEjGCMRmO3FW4I6INOrVni_qO3kafNypqBSoYLZf53pWE4bptHomWVsnMsJaOdVe0WuG6/s1600/IMG_6605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTzMaMxczZb5PnojmxRjJDS97iNXGxt6fr-yJzeVYCggWT-y9V7M67m1kZtq55iMFPS-adbR1xEjGCMRmO3FW4I6INOrVni_qO3kafNypqBSoYLZf53pWE4bptHomWVsnMsJaOdVe0WuG6/s640/IMG_6605.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm not sure he's going to be happy with that time though.<br />
<br />
In summary: John and Richard swapped bibs and ran as each other. Elementary, my dear Watson!<br />
<br />
But the million dollar question is, why? I'm sure people are reading this and thinking, "So what if they swapped bibs? What's the big deal?" Some are likely thinking it was probably just a silly mistake, and no harm was done so why even bother caring?<br />
<br />
Well, this year at Gold Coast everybody had their name printed on their bib. If you zoom in close to 6020 (John)'s bib, it says "Richard"! right above the number. So, not a simple mix-up. These dudes did this on purpose. You may still be wondering why this is any sort of problem for anyone (except them), but there's another hidden reason that explains why bib swapping - unless done officially with the approval of race organisers - is just not on.<br />
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<i>Before I proceed I will add a disclaimer that I was contacted by one of these fellows (via FB - oh, the irony) and he is adamant that no cheating or deception was intended; it was a spur-of-the-moment decision and meant in large part as a joke on another runner. Seems that person would not want to see one of their names ahead of his in the results, so they swapped to make sure this would be the case. He claims neither of them - not his mate who is an experienced running/tri coach and marathoner, nor any of their running club who knew about the swap - knew it was against race rules to swap bibs. They did not mean to cheat and it was not premeditated. Make of this what you will......and please keep reading.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Bib swapping - why it's a NO NO</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It's a scenario you can easily imagine: your friend is injured, they can't run a race they have already entered, so they offer you their bib. If you don't think too much about it, it seems simple - just run the race, record a time and there you go. It might show up on their stats but unless they're a seriously competitive racer, they probably don't care, right?<br />
<br />
The problems start when the ring-in runner turns in a performance that is quite unlikely or even impossible for the original runner. Like the (short-lived) winner of the F55-59 year age group this year at Gold Coast, who turned out to be a guy running with a bib belonging to someone called Judy. Whoops. That sort of thing isn't very fair to the rest of the F55-59 AG, who just got beaten by a 30-something bloke. Understandably, that guy got himself disqualified pretty quickly.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3S7lglyjgmUR1o9gFPh8kQt5ErOxS5WmgD8bnmCe6B3y35U59ch-b6AFH23W51gSheeHFHYP-TlCvM8rEsLxLURW4eeQSDnhqixwN8k6pQYwLuoDz9Lzdf7QJfZ_5K8N79dVBMJOAVM3/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-20+at+7.15.11+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3S7lglyjgmUR1o9gFPh8kQt5ErOxS5WmgD8bnmCe6B3y35U59ch-b6AFH23W51gSheeHFHYP-TlCvM8rEsLxLURW4eeQSDnhqixwN8k6pQYwLuoDz9Lzdf7QJfZ_5K8N79dVBMJOAVM3/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-07-20+at+7.15.11+PM.png" width="351" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Judy Bell" F55-59</td></tr>
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<br />
Then there's the bigger question of qualifying times for larger races. In Australia this doesn't really apply - we have no marathons for which there is a qualifying standard - but in the USA it's quite a big deal. New York is one example (there is a lottery but you can circumvent that by running a qualifying time for a guaranteed entry) but the biggest fish of all is Boston. Unless you're willing to sell your soul raising money for a charity bib, you can't really get in to run Boston marathon unless you qualify by running a marathon under a certain time. For some runners this is no big problem; for others it is a struggle and one that can become a mild obsession.<br />
<br />
Chasing a "BQ" (Boston Qualifier) is a pursuit that drives many marathoners and in fact one of my American friends spent so much energy and time on it that she ended up <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Boston-Bound-Overcome-Barriers-Marathon/dp/1530680581" target="_blank">writing a book about her experience</a>. I met her this year in Boston and it was awesome seeing how happy and proud she was to be there, wearing her jacket and taking in the experience. Another of my good friends was there for her second time after spending a number of years narrowly missing out on a qualifying time, so it is not lost on me how lucky I am to be able to qualify easily.<br />
<b><br /></b>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqS0iQWuYwrdVFLvgORRbsQ9hmWjdsVr20lDoQMcmLauKkvCJrh-wK6w6F42jkavqU3de9NuteO-RtuvoIMce-ic8SwRV3buO3qxLnE5uomjKl17NatuhKed89yse1Rf_TC3i82HlC5zLf/s1600/Boston16_ladies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqS0iQWuYwrdVFLvgORRbsQ9hmWjdsVr20lDoQMcmLauKkvCJrh-wK6w6F42jkavqU3de9NuteO-RtuvoIMce-ic8SwRV3buO3qxLnE5uomjKl17NatuhKed89yse1Rf_TC3i82HlC5zLf/s640/Boston16_ladies.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All these awesome ladies worked hard to get to Boston; that's Elizabeth in the middle, next to me</td></tr>
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<br />
Of course not every runner who aspires to run Boston has the grit and determination to put in the hard yards and actually run a qualifying time. In the era of the Internet - where everyone's race results and pictures and Facebook profile are right there for anyone to see - it is becoming increasingly clear that quite a few people who run Boston have cheated on their qualifying race, either by cutting the course or getting someone else to run a qualifier for them. There's even a guy who devotes considerable time to exposing this sort of thing - he has a blog that you can find <a href="http://www.marathoninvestigation.com/" target="_blank">here</a> - and every year he finds cases <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">where runners have done something shady in order to get to Boston.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Perhaps the most infamous example lately was the so-called <a href="http://www.phillymag.com/news/2015/07/20/letsrun-mike-rossi-cheat-boston-marathon/" target="_blank">"Marathon Dad" Mike Rossi</a>, who took his kids out of school to watch him run Boston in 2015. When he subsequently received a letter from their school principal chiding him for the "unexcused absence" of his children that week, Rossi's response went viral and he was hailed a hero for his defence that by taking that trip "they learned about dedication, commitment, love, </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">perseverance,</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> overcoming adversity, civic pride, patriotism, American history, culinary arts and physical education."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />He left out the part where they learned that cheating is okay: it was subsequently discovered - once again by the LetsRun sleuths - that Rossi had without a doubt cheated in his qualifying race for Boston! I'm willing to bet that Mike regrets his moment of Internet fame, which unfortunately led to a far more durable infamy in the general running community.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJBlzU9rBcob0bA-J_nWqos_UGY8jNsHFDMEps3DByUgbfRA0E0fkQVLoTP-iHo8xRSILz138EVJw_qGTMWWvLHrCPpNH64j6GzVr4JNAYtO1Px7x4IuQo052Vvlr6tLncp6NYUWlYmMO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-20+at+9.46.59+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJBlzU9rBcob0bA-J_nWqos_UGY8jNsHFDMEps3DByUgbfRA0E0fkQVLoTP-iHo8xRSILz138EVJw_qGTMWWvLHrCPpNH64j6GzVr4JNAYtO1Px7x4IuQo052Vvlr6tLncp6NYUWlYmMO/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-07-20+at+9.46.59+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: www.phillymag.com</td></tr>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<b>So what about NotJohn and NotRich</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
I still haven't gotten to the part where this becomes relevant to our two bib-swappers from Gold Coast, but I'm trying. It comes down to the WHY - for what possible reason would two runners swap bibs when they are both running the same event and there is no tangible advantage to doing so? There are no official corrals at GCAM; you self-seed and line up when you're ready, although the earlier the better in most cases. A different bib number won't get you closer to the front. So why would Rich want a faster time (run by John) although by rights it should have been at least 10 minutes faster than it was in the end?</div>
<div>
<br />
<i>John claims it was just a joke and that the faster time was meant for a bet or something . That is what he has told me and he says he is being honest, so I'll believe him (although some might not). What follows below is the only other scenario I could think of, as a competitive runner who runs marathons for themselves and not to play jokes on others. </i><br />
<br /></div>
<div>
There's only one reason I can think of, and it is this: <u>Rich needed a faster time to use as a qualifier somewhere else.</u> 3:33 is not fast enough for a 35 year old male to enter Boston, but 2:59 is. Similar situation for New York, and although I don't have a clue whether Rich aspires to enter either of those marathons (and it's entirely possible that he doesn't) there's no other plausible explanation.<br />
<br />
Or there wasn't until John clarified it for me - and I still don't understand why he would be fine with his own result being credited to another person. It clearly wasn't the sort of time he *should* be running; he should be a lot faster. I'm in possession of - but will not publish here - a photo of him running at a half marathon elsewhere in Australia and he recorded a very fast time, I think he came 3rd overall. So for him, 2:59 is not very impressive - yet he was happy to go on record with a 3:33? Right, okay.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For clarity, what I initially suspected of these two runners is a practice known as using a "bib mule" - someone faster wears your bib, runs you your BQ and off you go to run Boston (believing you got away with it, or perhaps that it's not that big of a deal) - and it's more common than you think. Our mate on Marathoninvestigation.com uncovered a running club where a single runner was found to have run BQs for 3 other club members (all of whom ran Boston in 2016): you can read about that fascinating story <a href="http://www.marathoninvestigation.com/2016/04/wild-mountain-runners-club-in-boston.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFRWx33mmREMboYob1h22f_6Z_Bwl8BVxSunrA_W9ycm5Mf80h4fY4K4pa17qx0CrLHFIySbCu25Pr4ozcLYOq1jQQeDbDcQ0h4KuuGIyC-rCSb8gFK4BuGh4mGGl6Jhmew-JaEpaEmXA/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFRWx33mmREMboYob1h22f_6Z_Bwl8BVxSunrA_W9ycm5Mf80h4fY4K4pa17qx0CrLHFIySbCu25Pr4ozcLYOq1jQQeDbDcQ0h4KuuGIyC-rCSb8gFK4BuGh4mGGl6Jhmew-JaEpaEmXA/s640/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">above are 3 of Wild Mountain Running club's members at Boston<br />
below is the guy running their qualifiers for them</td></tr>
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<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's not hard to figure out who might have cheated in order to qualify for Boston: you look for people who ran Boston significantly slower than their qualifying race. Maybe they were injured, or they ran for run, or blew up at mile 20. But the Wild Mountain dudes all ran so much slower - from 2 hours to over 3 hours slower - that they were flagged for review and their deception was uncovered. I wonder how proudly or fondly they will remember their day in Hopkinton now that they've been banned from the Boston marathon forever?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>In conclusion</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
It turns out that John and Richard did not intend to cheat. Indeed, running with your friend's bib might seem like a silly or funny or crazy thing to do. If you run identical times then there's probably no harm done. But the consequences can be far worse than you'd imagine - so if you're planning to use someone else's bib, get it transferred to yourself officially. Or, all jokes aside, you may end up with a result that nobody can be proud of.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1tkcTFWmVMoUfQI2GNcpthbCH_FU6sBIx-y55rVXhYr9M7NYQ_IPFZOtzerXANDXM9x0zm8At2cegLn5pMBYVSF1kgP2w2ktluetPBUrCNCrfk3UKEcTIXdM8LYfrmE6MEQbKKwffuyL/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1tkcTFWmVMoUfQI2GNcpthbCH_FU6sBIx-y55rVXhYr9M7NYQ_IPFZOtzerXANDXM9x0zm8At2cegLn5pMBYVSF1kgP2w2ktluetPBUrCNCrfk3UKEcTIXdM8LYfrmE6MEQbKKwffuyL/s640/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-44688959095484061062016-07-07T04:33:00.001-07:002016-07-08T04:48:34.581-07:00Gold Coast Marathon, July 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsd424XDNgsltQ1JXuLO_7pIwzzOqoG4gwEkrPmkWQyOmWmoQx9IIQZMHlBy64D2GOOOj5LMr1ySl6Fyb3Woo_XdbVdEMui3SHjB_fYadazrfUlcnaZlPWq40hSwI2rmXaXXYyeQFMPfgT/s1600/gcam-logo-date.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsd424XDNgsltQ1JXuLO_7pIwzzOqoG4gwEkrPmkWQyOmWmoQx9IIQZMHlBy64D2GOOOj5LMr1ySl6Fyb3Woo_XdbVdEMui3SHjB_fYadazrfUlcnaZlPWq40hSwI2rmXaXXYyeQFMPfgT/s640/gcam-logo-date.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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If you ever want to run a truly fast, flat marathon in perfect conditions (not to mention one of the most beautiful parts of the planet), Gold Coast is the one for you. I've run it twice before, in 2012 and 2013, and can vouch for its flatness. As for fast - absolutely, it is. The course does have two small issues, though: a small but badly-placed hill at mile 20 and right after that a factor that will test your mental fortitude to the limit. Because during mile 20-21 you will run right past the turn-off to the finish chute, but on the other side of the road.<br />
<br />
It's the ultimate teaser - you can see the finish area RIGHT THERE (and likely some faster runners already on their way to the finish line), but you're not allowed to turn because you still have 6 miles left to run. I remember <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2012/07/gold-coast-marathon-july-2012.html" target="_blank">going past it in 2012 </a>and wanting nothing more than to just jump the median strip and be allowed to stop running (I didn't) and i<a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2013/07/gold-coast-marathon-july-2013.html" target="_blank">n 2013 I made it all the way to the turn</a> at 35km/23 miles before losing my mind when the course turned directly into a strong headwind. Man, the memory of that moment still really smarts.<br />
<br />
Anyway, my better-than-expected result at this year's Boston marathon, coupled with the other stuff that I've managed to achieve this year, prompted me to email the elite coordinator of Gold Coast and talk him into giving me an elite bib for this year. I'm no longer fast enough to qualify for all the bells and whistles, but a free entry and a bib with my name on it is good enough for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzGxa-60fRKG6PIDZkxd37Eir4lsROeGAs2ZaCC-dx2oY6onN3EpWQPsQuT7ycPm-bH4NfGu0fIN8S8GaqSnkMHzQ0sJ6b77XzPA3Cs3TUIKkdnrZ6pIp8wIUKAGBQsr9x-x2nwRa7B2CZ/s1600/GCbeach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzGxa-60fRKG6PIDZkxd37Eir4lsROeGAs2ZaCC-dx2oY6onN3EpWQPsQuT7ycPm-bH4NfGu0fIN8S8GaqSnkMHzQ0sJ6b77XzPA3Cs3TUIKkdnrZ6pIp8wIUKAGBQsr9x-x2nwRa7B2CZ/s400/GCbeach.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beaches like this don't hurt either</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>The Training</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Somehow this year I seem to have hit my sweet spot as far as training goes. Looking back on 2015 there was something slightly amiss - whether I was not running enough (doubtful) or whether I was actually slightly overtrained (entirely likely) - somehow it just didn't come together in the way that it all has this year. I'm at a stage now where my coach Benita and I have a really good, relaxed working relationship; quite often I need to adjust my schedule to fit in with work and the demands of family life, but she lets me figure it out and supplies me with a steady stream of workout suggestions without getting too bothered if I change things around.<br />
<br />
So we agreed upon a plan of at least 2-3 weeks of peak training for Gold Coast that would allow enough time for <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2016/04/boston-marathon-april-2016.html" target="_blank">recovery from Boston</a>, some room for a few races and a sensible taper (this time definitely without the craziness of <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2016/04/canberra-half-marathon-april-2016.html" target="_blank">a fast half marathon the week before the big race</a>, ha ha).<br />
<br />
I've already posted the details of the 3 big weeks, which in fact culminated in an unexpectedly strong 10K race at the <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2016/06/mini-mosmarathon-10k-june-2016.html" target="_blank">Mini Mosmarathon</a> (not a marathon at all), but to recap briefly they were fairly high mileage - 88 miles (141km), 90 miles (145km) and 104 miles (167km) - and included some speed work, generally mid-week intervals and some tempo/MP running within a long run. After all that I dropped back to 77 miles per week for 2 weeks (123km) before a proper taper leading up to race weekend.<br />
<br />
In the past I've struggled with tapering - as do many runners, so much so that the phrase "taper madness" and irritable Facebook posts including photos of strange animals (see below) are extremely common in both spring and autumn if you have as many running friends as me.<br />
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<br />
But this time around something was different. I was barely bothered by the fact that I was running less than half of my usual daily mileage. For once I seemed to be content with the justification that "less is more" during race week - could it be that I'm finally mastering the mental side of this racing thing? Perhaps I'm just getting better at existing in a state of denial, perhaps I'm getting lazier and actually like running less (gasp!) or perhaps I have been spending so much time acting calm and collected for the benefit of my anxious patients that I have actually become calm and collected myself? Whatever the reason, taper week was no biggie this time around. I found myself heading up to the Gold Coast in a state of happy anticipation, which is probably the best state to be in (other than Queensland).<br />
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<br />
<b>Race Weekend</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Gold Coast has become my Australian version of Boston - gradually I've collected a growing number of running friends over here and so my social calendar is rather full for the entire weekend. I spend the early hours of Saturday morning freezing half to death while watching the 10K race, before taking a gentle 5km jog with Steve and his running partner Shiloh - during which I demonstrate my marathon shuffle and they both die laughing - and then heading to the expo and finally lunch.<br />
<br />
Saturday's highlight is the Legends Lunch, a gorge-on-pasta carb loading sort of event that features a very funny Steve Moneghetti as MC along with Pat Carroll, Rob de Castella and of course my coach (and arguably Australia's greatest ever long distance runner) Benita Willis.<br />
<br />
It turns out to be one of the most enjoyable events I've ever been to on a marathon weekend; there are plenty of friendly runners with whom I can talk endlessly about running, Benita and Steve tell some awesome stories about racing at world-class level, Deek wants us all to "embrace the pain" of the marathon and explains the psychology of doing so in such a convincing manner that it actually sounds perfectly reasonable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GoEWpm3nlHjUpMe8w2jiRvWqiTvKwUU85ysOTsuTk8TGwMY-TOVxVJSqHVb0gl_3g0PQUAyswHO3q6dwe2SnqtEPwuaS3Qk-Tv9VI5LR35cGDOTVr3NTKoajzYDF-9LZFqkmTb9B8mnZ/s1600/GCAM16_lunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GoEWpm3nlHjUpMe8w2jiRvWqiTvKwUU85ysOTsuTk8TGwMY-TOVxVJSqHVb0gl_3g0PQUAyswHO3q6dwe2SnqtEPwuaS3Qk-Tv9VI5LR35cGDOTVr3NTKoajzYDF-9LZFqkmTb9B8mnZ/s640/GCAM16_lunch.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Yeah I'm going to eat this!"<br />
Robbo, me, my carbs and Keith</td></tr>
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<br />
I'm also having a great time sitting next to the inimitable Keith Hong, who seems to know everybody who is anybody, and who also somehow talks me into signing myself up for the Centennial Park Ultra in August. Umm, what?? And finally Steve starts dancing with the Commonwealth Games 2018 Mascot - a rather strange blue, surfing koala by the name of Borobi - and my day is officially made.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxKv3PE17gdnSkxDpdAc1bZCkDBZCp73sGzVhDRZwUhOAdIdqkyD09FSLfLq1Q6DYgr5KWV_053Cgy5CqEX1CUrGiA72t0ghfcI6Y_4DN0PQq1K9XYflvQvV3ZVX1tz0P23jK-6GgMpdHm/s1600/13600203_1184828711555385_5705458566860579359_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxKv3PE17gdnSkxDpdAc1bZCkDBZCp73sGzVhDRZwUhOAdIdqkyD09FSLfLq1Q6DYgr5KWV_053Cgy5CqEX1CUrGiA72t0ghfcI6Y_4DN0PQq1K9XYflvQvV3ZVX1tz0P23jK-6GgMpdHm/s640/13600203_1184828711555385_5705458566860579359_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enough said.</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Race Day</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I'm staying in Surfers Paradise with my friend Laurence who is running the half - she has a bad habit of still being in line for the portaloos when the gun goes off - so, since her race starts at 6am we are already on our way at 5am in high hopes of avoiding another such incident. It's cold but not as bad as yesterday when I walk into the Aquatic Centre where the elite athlete area is set up; I'm reminded of Boston as I spread my stuff out and slowly get ready for the race.<br />
<br />
There are African and Japanese super-elites lying with their legs up against the wall, but a good few familiar faces as well. I chat to Kirsten about New York marathon, Clare and I head out to run a few warm-up laps around the pool, and eventually we all get herded up to the start area. Lined up at the front of the crowd I'm maybe 5 rows back - there's no time to get nervous, or even really get cold - it's time to do this!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAs5x-k2Ztwbq4RlwHGsbnR6sU_FFXDEodfi5JheJZLea7038vFtjeVAAvy60DRKNb73-aR89xwDZ75Kq0Xhw4ArGsZFie0KApc7S2_aAk0d4z1x_eZ0OsLLkAU8lZjrHjtz1ZjnWXwjf0/s1600/GC16_start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAs5x-k2Ztwbq4RlwHGsbnR6sU_FFXDEodfi5JheJZLea7038vFtjeVAAvy60DRKNb73-aR89xwDZ75Kq0Xhw4ArGsZFie0KApc7S2_aAk0d4z1x_eZ0OsLLkAU8lZjrHjtz1ZjnWXwjf0/s640/GC16_start.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you spot me?</td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Miles 1-4: </b>6:22, 6:31, 6:17, 6:20 (pace in min/mile)<br />
<br />
I'm over the line in seconds after the gun goes off and am pleased to find that the crowding is nowhere near as bad as I expected, and the pace doesn't feel too bad either. Usually it takes me a few miles to warm up properly but even during mile 1 I feel okay today; thinking back, this is probably due to having been more sensible than usual in the taper. Go me!<br />
<br />
I have a few friends who are chasing 2:45 or faster today; one of them (Clare) has already disappeared in front of me as I'm approaching the Southport Bridge, and now one of the others - the amazing John Shaw whom I beat 18 months ago in <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/01/cadbury-hobart-half-marathon-january.html" target="_blank">the Cadbury Hobart HM </a>(he's in 2 photos running behind me) - eases past and greets me as he goes. Did I mention that John is 63 years old and has just run a sub-1:20 half?? Before long and as expected he has disappeared ahead.<br />
<br />
The first 5K pass fairly uneventfully; I'm a bit surprised to see mile 2 come in rather slower than expected, and predictably overcompensate in the other direction for mile 3, but I know better than to stress about this now. I'll find my groove soon and for now it's just great to be running again after a week of not enough miles and way too many carbs (although I never thought there was such a thing as too many carbs). The 5K mark passes in 19:40 and I'm more than happy with the pace just now.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 5-8: </b>6:12, 6:22, 6:27, 6:21<br />
<br />
We go whizzing down through Surfers Paradise and although it's still cold, the sun is shining off the water and there's barely a breath of wind. What a beautiful day, and perfect running weather! There's a small but vocal crowd yelling support - and it's early enough in the race that I can recognise and greet people I know - the result being what will turn out to be one of the happiest race photos of the whole day, thanks to the fan club of a fellow Wagga runner, Troy:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qWXWXXY8jjmNdocKpVYEgtGU00On6i7wKI21js004lL2doeR4vQOF-p9LVnwAA_9N6_dUJjPno8BZCyTUvF3UwFwmEBRfS-UCAt2dIFkiq7m0chhbU6kxW3EICRz_ozRu-RwNQ9rCpuj/s1600/GC16_8km.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qWXWXXY8jjmNdocKpVYEgtGU00On6i7wKI21js004lL2doeR4vQOF-p9LVnwAA_9N6_dUJjPno8BZCyTUvF3UwFwmEBRfS-UCAt2dIFkiq7m0chhbU6kxW3EICRz_ozRu-RwNQ9rCpuj/s640/GC16_8km.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">at 8km - hi Prue, Todd and Alex!</td></tr>
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<br />
It's not just people who know me, though. It's so cool having my first name on my bib: spectators all over are calling out "Go Rachel! Go Rach!" and at least I don't have to wonder who they are and how they know my name - I just wave or give them the thumbs-up and it's all good!<br />
<br />
Through 10K in another perfect split, I notice a guy running just ahead of me wearing all black and a backwards baseball cap. He's been looking around a few times when people have yelled my name, and now there's a kid by the road holding a sign with a mushroom drawn on it that says "Tap Here to Power Up."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0CdnQwDSgpmhWHTq2den5bm9RWgY_UmLCLxOvblKzw5XMEEtDjvMhOSOtLhC0HItYOXDZqzd0DecZ1jCauMZMUoiWHt43MgA00cGchpuel57Ibo3cpp0KIZLs6zJW-qL4rifyHuBm0juQ/s1600/d9ff700565a5021fd291ac0cb7fb2a97.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0CdnQwDSgpmhWHTq2den5bm9RWgY_UmLCLxOvblKzw5XMEEtDjvMhOSOtLhC0HItYOXDZqzd0DecZ1jCauMZMUoiWHt43MgA00cGchpuel57Ibo3cpp0KIZLs6zJW-qL4rifyHuBm0juQ/s320/d9ff700565a5021fd291ac0cb7fb2a97.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now I know where that kid got the idea</td></tr>
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<br />
I'm suddenly feeling a bit wiped out - I have no idea why - so I dart over to tap the sign. I'd like to suddenly and effortlessly zoom off into the distance like Mario would, but of course it doesn't happen. The guy behind me asks "Did it work?" - "Not really" I reply - we all laugh and the guy in black takes this moment to turn and say "Hi Rachel!" It's Xavier, the guy who won the <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/12/canberra-summer-marathon-december-2015.html" target="_blank">strange, underwhelming Canberra Summer Marathon</a> ahead of me last year!<br />
<br />
He ran 2:45 there and on a much tougher course, but he's not been training much lately and that explains why he's not miles ahead of me at this point. We chat a bit and decide we might as well run together for as long as it lasts; I'm hoping that will be a while because this pace is definitely ambitious and I'll need all the help and support I can get.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 9-12: </b>6:18, 6:23, 6:15, 6:19<br />
<br />
With Xavier next to me suddenly I feel better and we make a little bit of small talk while simultaneously speeding up a touch. We hit the 15K mats and it's another perfectly paced split, which is extremely encouraging, and there's another boost when we see the lead pack come past in the other direction. Yuki is up there with all the Africans! I know they are all chasing the course record (2:08:42) and it's going to be very exciting to find out what happens - but for now I have my own fish to fry.<br />
<br />
Up ahead I can see a girl wearing a yellow singlet and pink shorts; it's Liz whom I met at RunCamp. I had no idea she was shooting for such a fast time - we are on pace for 2:47 at the moment - and she unwittingly provides me with an incentive to keep pushing on. Because even though she must be 20 years younger than me I cannot suppress my competitive self that is somehow insisting "You're faster than her!" So I keep going even though I know this pace is quite a risk and that there's a good chance things may come badly unstuck before the end.<br />
<br />
During mile 11 we make the turn to head back towards Surfers and eventually the start/finish area in Southport. There's a long way to go still and Xavier keeps surging, dragging me with him and making me nervous, because really I should probably slow down now and yet I know that I actually won't. But we are making ground on Liz, slowly but surely, and that's enough reason not to back down.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 13-16: </b>6:22, 6:23, 6:20, 6:26<br />
<br />
The 20K split is right on target as we head back up the coast - in fact it's a little faster than the previous few, which is very pleasing - but as we pass by my hotel I daydream briefly about stopping off for a rest. Running marathons at top speed is not necessarily fun and requires constant vigilance; let your mind drift and you'll lose precious seconds that will be hard to gain back later. I'd love to just go and sit on the balcony right now in the sun, but that will have to wait.<br />
<br />
Halfway hits <i>(split: 1:23:38)</i> right as I finally pull alongside Liz - I've got enough breath left to say hi and remark that I didn't realise she was going for sub-2:50! - she greets me in return and says she's just hoping to hang on. As I gradually pull ahead I can still hear people calling encouragement to her for quite some time; hopefully she will do exactly that.<br />
<br />
For some reason this next 5km/ 3 miles I start feeling like it's all too hard, and I'd like to stop running now please. Rather than panic about this negative turn of events, I think back to lunch yesterday and what Benita, Steve and Deek were all saying about the ups and downs of the marathon. For sure you won't feel great all race - it's like a rollercoaster really - and Deek's words about embracing the pain echo now inside my head. Time to embrace it and ride the coaster, waiting for the next upswing which hopefully isn't too far away. We pass by Prue and the Wagga cheer squad again at 23km; I hear them yelling but I'm far too focused on keeping my legs going to wave or smile this time. Ugh, that was rude, please let me feel better soon.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGDy5VhNHmmX_SaV3xnVvfauvJIavL2D8Squ7oS5nOJVJEHXfzRpR5WLx1Tt20kO3JyYGvS9MdQcFMLzBkFICsHPHRu1iBnDG_m5Nx5x9PlMKGgdAz6ZI0hE_sBdtsOeGvN7S7ETNeHvg/s1600/GC16_23km.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGDy5VhNHmmX_SaV3xnVvfauvJIavL2D8Squ7oS5nOJVJEHXfzRpR5WLx1Tt20kO3JyYGvS9MdQcFMLzBkFICsHPHRu1iBnDG_m5Nx5x9PlMKGgdAz6ZI0hE_sBdtsOeGvN7S7ETNeHvg/s640/GC16_23km.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still with a gaggle of blokes but looking far less pleased about it all</td></tr>
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While I've been deep in my own personal struggles, Xavier has gradually fallen behind and I come out of my funk as I approach the 25km mats and realise he's not with me anymore. That's too bad, but on the other hand I'm not terribly entertaining company right now and that aspect of things is only going to get worse from here. No spare breath to talk and no spare brain cells to think of anything to talk about: from here on every ounce of energy is going into the process of keeping my legs turning over. The 25K split once again is right on target and I'm trying very hard not to dwell on the fact that there are 3.5 more of these 5K segments left to run.<br />
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<br />
<b>Miles 17-20: </b>6:27, 6:27, 6:25, 6:33<br />
<br />
Back up to the end of the coastal path I go, and it hasn't escaped my notice that I am now overtaking people quite steadily. The occasional one is a woman and suddenly I realise I feel pretty good! I have no idea what position I am in and honestly I don't really care; all that matters is getting to the next 5K split.<br />
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The next bit is going to be tricky: the course veers sharply left and then right onto the highway where we will climb back over the Southport Bridge and head up towards the start/finish area. This is where things are going to start to get hairy, but the 30K split is reassuring and somehow I am still on pace. It strikes me that if I can keep this up I may yet run an all-time PR (by only a narrow margin, but still) - but I know that is not particularly likely. Put the thought aside and just keep running!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTMiUx39CcvpcxJQoUkaExPN189sT7HM3pZVVDQCRgYZcV-B95rmu-aNNCqnNSl7oolQzvB4t2AiIaSq1ZDu-6aBgwzLORW0kVD7JVYbZYYo28Wj9ns7s_G_7_xZSNenR_ABvXIJ5u7Qz_/s1600/GC26_bridge30K.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTMiUx39CcvpcxJQoUkaExPN189sT7HM3pZVVDQCRgYZcV-B95rmu-aNNCqnNSl7oolQzvB4t2AiIaSq1ZDu-6aBgwzLORW0kVD7JVYbZYYo28Wj9ns7s_G_7_xZSNenR_ABvXIJ5u7Qz_/s640/GC26_bridge30K.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speed and photogenicity do not mix, at least not for me</td></tr>
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I get an unexpected boost heading up the hill - it's a small hill but at this point in the race anything larger than a speed hump might as well be a mountain - in the form of some extremely loud yelling from the left side of the road. Later I will find out that this was my new running friend Nigel (who has also taken a video, see below); his enthusiasm is contagious and it carries me up and over the hill. And as I run past the infamous finish chute on my right, I'm pleased to realise I don't feel quite as bad as I thought I would at this point. But I still have 10km left to run.....<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzIOzZN2R0zJh7VZYNyYl5HTCOv36KUsRn4QxKLKxsQOFzt99sI2b6rqQKVS0-bM5u6pm9Xq_wSWeYlbUbyKw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br />
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<b>Miles 21-24: </b>6:32, 6:36, 6:38, 6:36<br />
<br />
The 35K split comes and yep, it's my first over 20 minutes. A pang of dread goes through me - what if I'm about to hit the wall? But then something awesome happens that distracts me nicely from this negativity: I see the lead cars on the other side of the road. And running close together, perhaps a second or two apart, are two runners, one African and one Japanese - it's Yuki!<br />
<br />
Immediately all I can think about is how exciting the live stream must be for Joel who I know is watching at home in the USA - we met Yuki 18 months ago in New York and he won Melbourne the first year I ran it. I need to get to the finish so I can find out who won! Only 7km to go - I can do this.<br />
<br />
For some ridiculous reason the majority of official race photos seem to be taken in the final 10km of this race. As a result, 90% of my photos will turn out to show me in various states of distress: grimacing, eyes closed in pain, looking like I want to punch someone, throw up or perhaps burst into hysterical tears. These final 10km are the true test of the marathon, and it's taking every ounce of willpower that I have not to just pack it in and give up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CwyfA7red4RGhSaH6FtzUvQeQkHgYcaZbUNrEvjvKK1gbVPhmPSkxyUF2wrSQaNzkpSMMsT7fUmQIdPGlLeTb3fkV_Po31faH4E5TJ_m8yMkVSx9T1AU0CoKVu8vqdCSrnn5ZKb4Jklj/s1600/GC16_paincollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CwyfA7red4RGhSaH6FtzUvQeQkHgYcaZbUNrEvjvKK1gbVPhmPSkxyUF2wrSQaNzkpSMMsT7fUmQIdPGlLeTb3fkV_Po31faH4E5TJ_m8yMkVSx9T1AU0CoKVu8vqdCSrnn5ZKb4Jklj/s640/GC16_paincollage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ohhhhh the pain</td></tr>
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The final turn comes and I'm bracing myself for the headwind, but remarkably enough it just isn't there today. Usually in the final stages of a marathon I'll stop checking my mile splits, not wanting to be dismayed or discouraged by seeing them deteriorate, but this time I've been glancing at them much more than normal and so far I'm pleasantly surprised that they haven't been too offensive. I've slowed down some but I'm hanging in there a lot better than I expected to. Sub-2:50 is still within reach!</div>
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<b>Miles 25- 26.2: </b>6:37, 6:37, 6:24 final approach</div>
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I don't remember very much of these final 2 miles, other than wishing them to be over as soon as possible. I pass a female runner just as I turn onto the highway towards the finish area - Steve, Shiloh and I jogged back along this route yesterday morning and it's comfortingly familiar as a result - I still have no idea what overall place I'm in and I don't waste any time thinking about it now. The crowd is large and vocal; they're cheering as I head for the finish chute but I can't hear them because I have resorted to counting in my head - the final refuge of the mind that wants to block out the several million pain receptors that are all bellowing at it to STOP DOING THIS! NOW!!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPYf-5oPxzy0-DogR6RVKOKTdV09iwTjA6vP5XM9CT9e2c8UeUtxWiqBBiKuVENQN8n6x0DsueLdfqoM35yD0n83LcaDo81QPRMmLk-RmOoxIplGuJaAOPwAp9a3AlTtiPwyPydfC3rT9/s1600/GC16_finishgrimace.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPYf-5oPxzy0-DogR6RVKOKTdV09iwTjA6vP5XM9CT9e2c8UeUtxWiqBBiKuVENQN8n6x0DsueLdfqoM35yD0n83LcaDo81QPRMmLk-RmOoxIplGuJaAOPwAp9a3AlTtiPwyPydfC3rT9/s640/GC16_finishgrimace.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">la la la la I can't hear you</td></tr>
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The final 250m snakes left and right and I'm working the tangents like a Formula 1 driver, trying to shorten the distance between myself and the finish line. Finally it appears and I hear my name being announced - I look up to the clock and see the final seconds of 2:48 ticking away. Darn it!! I throw myself at the line in the most ungainly fashion possible, ensuring more hideous images that Marathon-Photo will subsequently sell to me at exorbitant prices, and finally I am there.</div>
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<b>Finish time: </b>2:49:13 (6:27 min/mile, 4:00 min/km)</div>
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<b>Placement: </b>14th female, 93rd overall, 1st in AG (F45-49)</div>
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<b>Half splits: </b>1:23:38, 1:25:35 (1:57 positive split)</div>
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I weave my way slightly unsteadily through the volunteers holding barf bags and suddenly am aware of a strange, painful floating sensation in both big toes - it feels like my toenails are lifting up and I'm quite surprised I never noticed this before now. There's no visible blood on my shoes but a throbbing pain intensifies in the next few seconds and I'm starting to get worried about what I'll find when I take my shoes off. I look up in surprise to see Steve Moneghetti crossing the finish line not too far behind me - wasn't he pacing sub-3?? - he comes over, gives me an approving pat on the head and we stagger off together to talk to Clare.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdXQSz7Cq5KBFNOVwT7yoakAJxKxHmfvqkKjBoHUbeh4FrXO3hcmXriFyoQ8SSFbw6PlgrDqemi53X_whzPrXlAAN9bn-IlIaKLyArj9NxHiIgvzb1vimwOlK8IA8vGBZatfEsTLzduje/s1600/IMG_6580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdXQSz7Cq5KBFNOVwT7yoakAJxKxHmfvqkKjBoHUbeh4FrXO3hcmXriFyoQ8SSFbw6PlgrDqemi53X_whzPrXlAAN9bn-IlIaKLyArj9NxHiIgvzb1vimwOlK8IA8vGBZatfEsTLzduje/s640/IMG_6580.jpg" width="358" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running legends!<br />
photo credit: Dave Robertson</td></tr>
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She has run a PR of 2:46 and is beaming from ear to ear, but it turns out her feet are also in bad shape. Eventually we try to head for the elite room but halfway there have to stop to take off our shoes - holding each other steady so we don't fall over in the process - and I'm greeted by a sock full of blood. Awesome! Not. Underneath my socks both big toenails are blistered and looking dreadful; it strikes me that this exact same thing happened in 2013 at this race, and still I have no idea why. But running 26.3 miles at suicide pace is probably to blame.</div>
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<b>Post-Race Shenanigans</b></div>
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It's often hard to eat after a tough, long race, but most of the rest of the day will be spent in pursuit of food and beverages, and I find myself lucky enough to have some awesome company in which to do this. First it's coffee with Laurence and her friend Sonia, both of whom have run nice PRs in the half and are kind enough to wait patiently for me to hobble around and get cleaned up after my race.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4MDjiIxRrMJejaGt49ebhP33lnHkAW9qZtBV_wiE6KXt8SjCo9ebXuW62fFuW9iem4_nVD7PA2c3N9DJlbUozLOZEn6d7WSISNnxeT8GT98uQX6AY57gXbyOvFebXcE7erW6Z6dbDbb-b/s1600/13439173_10153550265495163_6195147204893747767_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4MDjiIxRrMJejaGt49ebhP33lnHkAW9qZtBV_wiE6KXt8SjCo9ebXuW62fFuW9iem4_nVD7PA2c3N9DJlbUozLOZEn6d7WSISNnxeT8GT98uQX6AY57gXbyOvFebXcE7erW6Z6dbDbb-b/s640/13439173_10153550265495163_6195147204893747767_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CHEESE!</td></tr>
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Then eventually I make my way to Surfer's Paradise to meet up with the group I have affectionately nicknamed "The Old Blokes": Steve (whom we met in Boston), John (who has run a single-age world record of 2:45, which age-graded is 96% i.e. world class) and the rest of their running group as well as Nigel, whose ear I am happy to talk off about all things running. Beer and deep fried food are two of my favourite food groups directly after a marathon, and both are procured in abundance as we all sit and enjoy the late afternoon sun. What an awesome way to spend a weekend!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliblRpAGdAwOBmdFLrTD72DVICv1k8-6h2wrYhgWMuqntUwwyZIZHqW0OQ5fxTOsvQPAJ-zZ0vvBEjgoK1iNQU0w6qVCIl7SIPmrB2XGYHrioqz_sEIPw6WTRZuZEQYWV_o5pqTWcuDO8/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliblRpAGdAwOBmdFLrTD72DVICv1k8-6h2wrYhgWMuqntUwwyZIZHqW0OQ5fxTOsvQPAJ-zZ0vvBEjgoK1iNQU0w6qVCIl7SIPmrB2XGYHrioqz_sEIPw6WTRZuZEQYWV_o5pqTWcuDO8/s640/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proving age is just a number....Team Geezer</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>The Analysis</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I'm still not really sure what single factor is responsible for my great form this year, but long may it last! Going into this race I was a little apprehensive - although I know I trained well and that I have been racing well, it was a little daunting to be admitting to my goal of sub-2:50 - and a crash-and-burn sort of scenario would have been soul-crushing, to say the least. But thankfully it all fell into place and the result was a fantastic weekend of all things running.<br />
<br />
Next up... there's always something coming next. And after that foolhardy lunchtime conversation I do believe it's my very first ultra! Gulp.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-13975047051220445572016-06-22T05:21:00.002-07:002016-06-23T05:33:20.968-07:00Mini-Mosmarathon 10K, June 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2_FYUPBPavlLo6pN4TQcqmMIQhyphenhyphen0uSI50CV_VAjx2AUIZrlkugbYAaTqjj3eqU-AiY8-I-PRntwlTar6B-2Jg6_-vYPEElVygAeZZmBjPzkYLmJYnW9TjVQ2f4rQzRn8XrEqddKVej3I/s1600/2bf93b_2da02866eff8472ba553f6e15f1b13c3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2_FYUPBPavlLo6pN4TQcqmMIQhyphenhyphen0uSI50CV_VAjx2AUIZrlkugbYAaTqjj3eqU-AiY8-I-PRntwlTar6B-2Jg6_-vYPEElVygAeZZmBjPzkYLmJYnW9TjVQ2f4rQzRn8XrEqddKVej3I/s400/2bf93b_2da02866eff8472ba553f6e15f1b13c3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Not that I have run every 10K race in Australia, but I'm fairly certain this course - eclipsed perhaps only by the <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/10/run-with-wind-5k10k-october-2015.html" target="_blank">Run with the Wind 10K</a> that I had the pleasure of experiencing last year - is one of the toughest 10K races on offer in the country. Masquerading as a fundraiser for my alma mater, Mosman Primary School, it is a type of torture that makes a mockery of the typical "fast and flat" 10K that one sees advertised so often.<br />
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I've run the Mini Mos twice before, in the two years that have been the best so far of my running career, and recorded times that reflect the difficulty of this particular race and the inexplicably strong field it usually attracts:<br />
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2013 - 40:13, 10th female, 3rd AG (F40-49)<br />
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2014 - 41:03, 6th female, 3rd AG again (sigh)<br />
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The course is - putting it mildly - relentlessly hilly, and the worst part of this is the fact that the second half is most definitely worse than the first. And to top it all off, most of the final 2km is straight uphill. It's really rather horrible, but I have my reasons for enjoying this race, even though it truly sucks in many ways.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLz6l_LEKl3qHp_hNcuSaF0ixEC9ctSCEz3cw6QC03tESlUuzGzVtXs3mp7R3ff0lk1hhZtrYhyV9hy_KehlC094XTKvAWBz8ie7XfFWU2uDP1pefI5bVl4CwTEEZwm5b_oU_TQtJkaem/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-06-20+at+3.50.23+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLz6l_LEKl3qHp_hNcuSaF0ixEC9ctSCEz3cw6QC03tESlUuzGzVtXs3mp7R3ff0lk1hhZtrYhyV9hy_KehlC094XTKvAWBz8ie7XfFWU2uDP1pefI5bVl4CwTEEZwm5b_oU_TQtJkaem/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-06-20+at+3.50.23+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a LOT of up and down for just 6 miles</td></tr>
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Mainly it's because I grew up in Mosman, although I rarely visit there these days. Part of the course in fact covers the street where we lived, so my brother and I do like running this race together, which <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/10/run-with-wind-5k10k-october-2015.html" target="_blank">we previously did in 2014 </a>and thoroughly enjoyed. That year both kids ran the 2K and this time I had Jack entered for the 5K (which thankfully is far less hilly than the 10K) but he was quite sick in the preceding few days and that, plus the unpleasant weather forecast (which called for rain virtually non-stop from 8am onwards) meant that I decided not to let him run. He had absolutely no objections to this change of plan, somewhat to my disappointment.<br />
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<b>The Training</b><br />
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It goes without saying that I've never actually trained specifically for a 10K race, and with my trademark marathon shuffle and total lack of top-end speed, it's pretty obvious why not. The marathon is by far my best distance and I'm more or less in a constant state of marathon training these days, so a 10K race is really more of a tempo run in my eyes. And I tend to approach them as such, meaning I don't necessarily taper or do anything specific beforehand.<br />
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Being at the peak of my rather-short preparation cycle for Gold Coast marathon, the 3 weeks prior to this race were fairly mileage heavy, as follows:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_vWgvp20em66F3kiPzheofts6Di7h7oWGlHuSnmHB9Xuh-FexkJSmFLTWgA4U2GmmVhfv6Fu0ZwkzrYgslAmBgj2T45f7yTfvTKql7d18uFerm9f8pt7Mu2DebF5I3pDpK6O95AyhAHV/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-06-20+at+9.00.24+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_vWgvp20em66F3kiPzheofts6Di7h7oWGlHuSnmHB9Xuh-FexkJSmFLTWgA4U2GmmVhfv6Fu0ZwkzrYgslAmBgj2T45f7yTfvTKql7d18uFerm9f8pt7Mu2DebF5I3pDpK6O95AyhAHV/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-06-20+at+9.00.24+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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3 weeks out: 88 mi - including some half mile intervals and a very long LR of 23 miles (oops)<br />
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2 weeks out: 90 mi - nothing special, just trying to keep going through a nasty bout of bronchitis<br />
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1 week out: 103 mi - 20 mile long run including 10 miles @ MP (average 6:33 min/mile, 4:04 min/km)<br />
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<br />
The week of the Mini Mos I wasn't intending on tapering too much but a sick child and sleepless Thursday night meant that I simply couldn't be bothered running the 16 miles I had originally planned for Friday morning. I did appease the mileage-obsessed lunatic part of my brain that was pawing forlornly at its abacus and cursing me for skipping my weekly long run by jogging 13 miles on Saturday morning in Sydney, figuring that this wouldn't tired me out too much for Sunday, but otherwise I suppose a taper of sorts happened despite my best intentions.<br />
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<b>Race Day</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Robbie and I arrive with plenty of time to spare and I'm about to set off for a decent warm-up when I go to pull my bib from my handbag and realise that in a fit of stupidity I took all the papers out (in a fruitless attempt to make it lighter - leaving in however my computer charger, a bottle of water, throat pastilles, a hairbrush, miniature bottles of soy sauce, etc) and put them in my suitcase which is back at the hotel. I'll have to go get a new one, which isn't too difficult but there goes my warm-up. Oh well. At least we have insider knowledge of the school - from our years of attending, although this was 40 years ago now - that means we can find our way onto the grounds and to the hall very quickly, meaning we are able to get the bibs and drop our warm clothes back at the car without running out of time.<br />
<br />
We arrive to the starting area to find the organisers having a bit of trouble inflating the arch that last year marked the start; it lies limp on the ground and it's all a bit disorganised, really. There's a woman talking earnestly but inaudibly into a microphone - it's possible she is telling us what to do but everyone is (understandably) ignoring her and just milling around aimlessly. Some blokes drag the sad sagging arch into the gutter and we will have to make do with an imaginary line instead.<br />
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We line up near the front (Robert doesn't try to make me move back this time), I spot Julia up ahead and go to chat briefly with her, she points out a few other fast chicks and I retreat to contemplate whether I have a chance of placing today or not. Absent Husband (aka Joel, who is in Michigan preparing to come back with his kids in tow for the full Brady Bunch scenario in July) has made various wild predictions of a top 5 finish (hmm) or even an overall win (dude, seriously?) but I've been very non-committal all along.<br />
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In fact I haven't thought at all closely about what is about to unfold today; in keeping with <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2016/06/the-mental-side-of-marathoning.html" target="_blank">my recent post about mental trickery and running</a>, I'm pretty much just winging it, pressure-free. I know the course is very tough, I know it's a competitive race, and yet I do know I've been in great form this year - which perhaps explains my calm confidence. I'm just going to do my best today and see what happens, which is without a doubt the best strategy for my particular personality and running abilities.<br />
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<b>Miles 1-3: </b>6:20, 6:23, 6:05 (pace in min/mile)<br />
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The lack of arch makes the starting line hard to figure out; there's a countdown and a gun goes BLAM and I reflexively start my watch, but don't actually cross the timing mats til a good few seconds later. Whatever - I have no time to ponder this because I'm boxed in by slower runners and am feeling highly frustrated at having to zig and zag as well as run uphill on legs that haven't quite figured out what's going on yet. I pour on the effort and take off up the hill like my shoes are on fire; Rob I assume is behind me somewhere but I'm too busy sprinting to look.<br />
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As usual a massive number of women have zoomed off in front of me and I quickly realise that the next 40 minutes (or possibly slightly less) is going to be a protracted game of Assassin Mode. Oh well, bring it on! I love having a target to chase and there are plenty of them ahead, that's for sure.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Rvh7p27pX-m5XYDzEW6jHFUNVsOLJK-W6hLtegjm94udX6Qs9Xs1FL3Jo3QSnBFoS4dUkWamAFFVOQLcz92BCRFmKbcALNVQGnLCkypbTITv7euYEy1it4lbUpVv6YZYsDjUTAl2jvHu/s1600/road-runner-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Rvh7p27pX-m5XYDzEW6jHFUNVsOLJK-W6hLtegjm94udX6Qs9Xs1FL3Jo3QSnBFoS4dUkWamAFFVOQLcz92BCRFmKbcALNVQGnLCkypbTITv7euYEy1it4lbUpVv6YZYsDjUTAl2jvHu/s400/road-runner-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my only race photo, sadly</td></tr>
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<br />
Before the first mile is up I'm amused to hear a voice behind me saying "Meep Meep" and I look around to see my friend Tony easing past. This is the bloke who responded to my "40-41 minutes" predicted finish time with "Oh I won't be running as fast as that"! I'd love to be able to think of something witty to say here but all I can come up with is "Not running fast, eh?!?" and he's already pulling way ahead. Wait, was that rude? My brain doesn't have enough spare oxygen to process any of this really - I'm sure he'll understand.<br />
<br />
The second mile starts and the ups and downs start too; I'd forgotten just how sharp some of these little downhills are, actually. They're so steep that I'm actively braking with my quads and I find myself slowing down, which is super annoying. The first out-and-back section provides the perfect opportunity to count the women ahead of me and there are no less than 8 of them - Julia is well ahead in 3rd place, which is great - and also great: at least 3 or maybe 4 of the others are within striking distance. Assassin Mode, activate! And here we go.<br />
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Mile 3 turns out to be my fastest, spurred on by the thrill of catching a few female (and plenty of male) runners, and without too much trouble I have soon overtaken no less than 4 chicks. And there's another ahead who is clearly tiring; I actually thought there was another girl to catch but by the end of mile 3 as I am working my way along the second out-and-back of the course, it seems I'm in 4th place. FOURTH? Fourth! That's way ahead of where I expected to be, and it hasn't escaped my attention that so far I'm on pace to break 40 minutes, which I've never done in this race. Can I keep it going?<br />
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<br />
<b>Miles 4-6: </b>6:23, 6:20, 6:50<br />
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I'm concentrating way too hard to look on the other side of the road for Robert, but as mile 4 progresses it does strike me that I can suddenly see Tony up ahead. I draw gradually closer and by the start of mile 5, to my extreme surprise, I can also see Julia. There's no way at all that I can catch her though - unless she suffers some sort of major engine failure - so I do my best to focus on staying on pace. One thing that strikes me here is that there seems to be a LOT of traffic on the roads, despite the supposed "closures"; every minute there seems to be a luxury car cruising past a barrier or traffic warden. I guess that's what happens in a suburb full of multi-million dollar houses: the residents think they own the place. Because, of course, they do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBXBE0XvVE7x1ffTx-IoTMGDeUb0-AqY60Z1d0iW3Ku5TN5uGjA1hA4BcXyg_LMpItldop5vLfekOFxP7RRA4Uy4Zer1W88LepFAhTPa_BSmSt4etKCaE1IUO1-QlZfwogLjqbeQJxrHP/s1600/slide4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBXBE0XvVE7x1ffTx-IoTMGDeUb0-AqY60Z1d0iW3Ku5TN5uGjA1hA4BcXyg_LMpItldop5vLfekOFxP7RRA4Uy4Zer1W88LepFAhTPa_BSmSt4etKCaE1IUO1-QlZfwogLjqbeQJxrHP/s640/slide4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">your average Federation cottage in Mosman - this one is actually on the race route</td></tr>
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The most horrible part of this race is the steep hills that make up miles 5 and 6; a huge downhill to Cowles Rd is followed by a nasty, sharp uphill that goes on and on until there's another, final downhill before the slog to the finish. I plod my way up an inexcusably steep street that is 2 blocks down from Glover St where we grew up - on the way over we discussed this exact street but neither of us can remember what it is called - really I should look at the sign I suppose but all I can think is, bloody hell, I hate this race. (Holt Avenue. It's called Holt Avenue)<br />
<br />
Tony has caught a couple of blokes who have been in front of him since I first spied him again, and I'm gaining on the lot of them until we hit the downhills and I'm forced to brake hard and slow down. Gah, this is torture, but the knowledge of what is still to come is worse. A short, flat section gives way to the final uphill that will last until the very end of mile 6 - I've slowed down way more than I'd like but at this point I really don't care. One foot in front of the other, up past the school and the now-inflated start arch....just keep going. Ugh.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Final 0.2: </b>5:51 pace<br />
<b><br /></b>
Mile 6 beeps to announce its demise and the split time is pretty horrific: 6:50, meaning I've lost almost 30 seconds. If I really want that sub-40 I'm going to need to start caring a LOT, and in fact suddenly I do, so I put my head down and SPRINT! Tony is ahead but I'm gaining on him; I see Julia heading to the finish as I'm still approaching the final short out-and-back; as I turn it's clear that 4th place indeed will be mine. But what of my finish time??<br />
<br />
The clock is still too far away to make out clearly - but it looks like 39:xx and it's getting easier to see by the second - boy oh boy, this is going to be close. Summoning up every fast-twitch fibre in my body (there aren't that many) I hurl myself helter-skelter at the finish line and with just meters to go it reads 39:56...57...58...59... oh my god, I'm done.<br />
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<b>Garmin time: </b>39:59.5 (6:21 min/mile, 3:59 min/km)<br />
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<b>Official time: </b>39:54 (thank you, distant starting mats)<br />
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<b>Placement: </b>4th female, 1st in AG (F40-49)<br />
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Wow, that was intense! I'm thrilled though - another course PR and I've squeaked out a sub-40 for the first time in this notoriously tough race. Tony has beaten me by 4 seconds (damn it); I sit chatting to him and the other fast chicks (Julia and Reegan) until Rob appears having run 44:10. That's great for someone who runs about 7km perhaps twice a week, but he seems a bit disappointed. As for me, once again it seems I'm just out of the money, as prizes are only on offer for places 1-3, but given my expectations of the day that's no biggie.<br />
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<b>The Analysis</b><br />
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Another course PR, making it my 3rd for the year - could it be that I'm improving at the shorter distances now? Wonders will never cease! What this might mean for my next marathon adventure remains to be seen, but it's not that far away now - so stay tuned.<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-70583081573122470092016-06-12T04:37:00.001-07:002016-06-12T05:45:22.307-07:00The Mental Side of Marathoning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97P046XfDP5oU2n5t0HkKFoLw8CNNIGsdfYPxxQq9n731hUnUjOaef0-4LQZq9eyrJdlqAlaZQ-9eXpYLAfele4yv6A4u7O06E_D_r5Cf75US9zDMxyT2AXgklEfj2q1_BILKrZrQxqmm/s1600/nike-running-is-mental-weiss-rot-31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97P046XfDP5oU2n5t0HkKFoLw8CNNIGsdfYPxxQq9n731hUnUjOaef0-4LQZq9eyrJdlqAlaZQ-9eXpYLAfele4yv6A4u7O06E_D_r5Cf75US9zDMxyT2AXgklEfj2q1_BILKrZrQxqmm/s320/nike-running-is-mental-weiss-rot-31.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So far 2016 has been an unexpectedly good year for me in terms of racing - I've run two pretty decent marathons (Wangaratta, 2:56, and Boston, 2:51), a rather good 10K and two really VERY surprising half marathons where I recorded my fastest results in quite a long time. Finishing the May SMH half in Sydney in 1:21:43 put me just 18 seconds off my personal best and on a much hillier, tougher course than the <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2013/05/may-madness-2013.html" target="_blank">Bathurst half marathon </a>where I ran that in 2013.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As you can imagine, these events have filled me with confidence and prompted me to think that perhaps I'm not quite entirely over the hill yet, in contrast to what I believed in 2015. I've gone ahead and badgered the Elite Coordinator of the Gold Coast marathon into giving me an elite entry and am busily trying to prepare for another shot at sub-2:50 - something I thought was well out of my reach at age 46. And perhaps it still is, but a stubborn part of me absolutely believes I have a solid chance.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All this has inspired me to start wondering: how is it that last year I thought I was all washed-up, but this year I'm somehow suddenly in great form? My training honestly hasn't been that different -- so is there a chance it might be mental? Or is all the time I spend working in mental health just making me like an orthopaedic surgeon: when the only tool you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail? It bears some consideration. And I've heard it said that marathon training is as much a mental as a physical undertaking, so could my brain really be driving these improved results?</span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHLqWvZ0HbeahmAo4dWUb8CqQhUrL_Q4Is7qexqkvR4LyEqEQMNoLD0S8WUor6pShSzYA-Y7GnlE9cgj8WGu3LVDUMT98UfZk5i7vwmQw7YyDR5jBSN_DeB0KfNnskkKa5t9XIP8GPLLg/s1600/Power-of-positive-thinking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHLqWvZ0HbeahmAo4dWUb8CqQhUrL_Q4Is7qexqkvR4LyEqEQMNoLD0S8WUor6pShSzYA-Y7GnlE9cgj8WGu3LVDUMT98UfZk5i7vwmQw7YyDR5jBSN_DeB0KfNnskkKa5t9XIP8GPLLg/s640/Power-of-positive-thinking.jpg" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Truth About Positive Thinking</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There's absolutely no doubt that I'm tough - coach B has remarked on it many times - and that mental toughness has played an enormous part in the success I have had thus far in my running exploits. In most of my race reports I touch on the mental trickery that gets me to the finish line of each marathon, or at least the thought process that is going on while I'm convincing myself to keep running despite mounting discomfort. There's no doubt that my own personality style plays a big part but I've also seen a big change in my thinking and learned a great deal from my years of racing experience. So, is mental fortitude something we are born with, or can it be learned? That's a very tough question; instead, let's consider what attributes make a person mentally tough.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Is it how they think?</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Check out this article about <a href="https://www.verywell.com/things-mentally-strong-runners-do-2910914">"mentally strong runners"</a> and the stuff that they do. To me they sound like completely insufferable human beings - they <i>"change the conversation if someone starts spouting negative comments. They start talking about something other than running, or talk about some positive aspects of the sport. They also do their best to avoid interactions with negative people in the first place."</i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Right, so there are no Negative Nellies allowed. In pursuit of faster marathon times we will relentlessly see the bright side of every single situation and we absolutely refuse to talk to anyone who rains on our parade! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This kind of person is exactly the kind that makes me want to poke my own (or, better, their) eyes out with a stick, and I'd sooner eat a box of broken glass than run a marathon - or even a 5K - in the company of someone who approaches running in this manner. Relentless positivity is certainly not my own style, and it's not the secret as far as I am concerned.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But the psychology of positive thinking - and the notion that it can bring about positive outcomes - has been around since <a href="http://www.positivityblog.com/index.php/2008/05/30/norman-vincent-peales-top-10-positive-pearls-of-wisdom/">Norman Peale published his famous book in 1952</a> and is still extremely popular, at least if the number of inspirational positive thinking internet memes out there is any indication. So, does it really work? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Think away your cancer!" Umm, nope. Research has proven that although optimism might decrease your risk of heart attack (or at least keep you happy until you have your second one), surviving cancer has nothing to do with your attitude. Unfortunately</span>. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5dYroVaeBaf3xVMvl3NBkJQJeAgaRKwASleoBxqRr4lX3dboQcKLA2bLX9d63JDanq10qFV49TQyIqmOgkt_emp-75j_798W9Eu8tTMmAX5DyCfyq_A46fFL585O0d8vw7ohwZpkNFVCl/s1600/900-184668680-success-quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5dYroVaeBaf3xVMvl3NBkJQJeAgaRKwASleoBxqRr4lX3dboQcKLA2bLX9d63JDanq10qFV49TQyIqmOgkt_emp-75j_798W9Eu8tTMmAX5DyCfyq_A46fFL585O0d8vw7ohwZpkNFVCl/s400/900-184668680-success-quote.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"You are what you think you are!" Umm, also nope. Can you make yourself into a success simply by thinking of yourself as a success? Well, in part it probably depends on how you define "success" - if it's "a person who unrealistically believes they are a success despite any and all evidence to the contrary" then perhaps your chances are good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> So, thinking positive all the time is not the answer. The act of thinking positive constantly doesn't get you to your goals - it just makes you really stressed and probably exhausted because you're putting so much effort into thinking positive - and there's even a chance it might be sabotaging you. One study that had participants visualise themselves getting high marks on an exam actually resulted in lower marks because the students involved presumably became so convinced they would do well that they neglected to study! A bit like photocopying the course notes and then assuming you don't need to also read them.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Is it how they act?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For some years prior to becoming a GP I managed a private medical practice and in the course of that work I spent a lot of time on the phone to insurance companies, trying to find out why they had not paid various, usually extremely overdue, claims. My default emotional setting while doing this was, as a direct result, grumpy and frustrated. I'm sure I was frowning most of the time I was on the phone and my stress levels were through the roof. You can assume that quite often I got absolutely nowhere with these calls, and my attitude was probably in major part to blame. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">These days when I have to ring up someone's office staff and I need them to do something for me, I deliberately smile as I identify myself and greet the person on the other end of the phone. I'm happy to talk to them! I'm confident and friendly and I just know they will help me! The decision to put a big smile on my dial while on the phone was a conscious, deliberate one and at first it felt very forced - I mean they can't even see me, so it also feels silly - but now it's second nature and to be honest, by simply acting happy I really have become a much nicer, happier person on the phone. Receptionists go out of their way to help me; booking staff squeeze my patient in despite there being no appointments available five minutes ago; most of the time I get off the phone having succeeded in getting what I want or need.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are studies to back this up: it's known as the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/science/2012/jun/30/self-help-positive-thinking" target="_blank">"As If" principle</a>. Acting like a confident person - adopting for instance a "power pose": sitting at a desk with feet up, hands interlocked behind the head - makes you become more confident. Your body's hormones reflect this pose and feeling of power, too; it is an emotional change driven by physical changes, not the other way round.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So maybe the key is taking positive ACTION rather than just practicing positive thinking. But strutting around like a peacock and posing like a megalomaniac sounds utterly pretentious and it is tough to see how this sort of behaviour could make a person feel like anything other than an idiot. Exactly what do we do about the persistent little voice in the back of our head that keeps mumbling "This is just a load of hippie BS"?</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Is it what they DON'T do?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It has been suggested that successful people (the article mentions Donald Trump, but I don't think we want to go there right now at all) are successful not because they think positive more than others but<a href="http://www.abugfreemind.com/self-confidence/the-truth-about-positive-thinking/"> because they don't make room for negative thinking</a>, or pay it any special attention. They simply focus on what they need to do to bring about their positive outcome, and don't spend too much time fretting about the negatives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm strongly reminded here of an ancient Eastern philosophical practice known as <a href="http://au.reachout.com/what-is-mindfulness" target="_blank">Mindfulness,</a> which is essentially a way of paying attention to the present moment - with all its thoughts and feelings and emotions - in an observant, non-judgemental manner. Whereas positive thinking implies that all other types of thought, in particular negative ones, must be pushed to the side or repressed, Mindfulness takes a different approach. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Negative thoughts are tolerated but not necessarily embraced; they're just there. And once a person learns that it's possible to just tolerate negative thoughts - without having to necessarily engage with them or try to actively suppress them - those thoughts have less impact on emotions and subsequently on actions. I teach patients to recognise negative thought patterns (which are very common in both anxiety and depression) and to then try to replace them with "something more helpful" (not always something "more positive"). Mindfulness is enjoying great popularity at the moment in Western philosophical circles, although it has been around for much longer than most people suspect.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So how does all this apply to running?</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm going to put it to you that there are 4 aspects of training your brain to race marathons, and note that I use the word "race" because it assumes that you're out there with a goal and aiming to run to the best of your ability. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>1. Motivation</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here's your positive action part. There's no way to skimp on marathon training: you have to do the work. There may be a million good excuses why you never managed to do that 20 mile long run, but they won't help you at mile 19 of the marathon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I wake up in the morning and think "Ugh, no, I don't want to run today" (which happens a lot more often than you'd imagine) I get up anyway and just go. I know I'll feel good when I finish and that if I don't run I will feel like a pathetic pointless slug and be irritated with myself for the rest of the day - and that's more than enough motivation to get me out and running most of the time</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCJBA6kghi4IYuojqbK5dqUlJnMPFd2GtjCOfwZqA_OuHS_vAxCCjq8njKHBFYbPIsd-YzZj1-uIFDIlFa6UVHuO2N1-frssxnTIQMb1TtKTeau6lzbtBSC9ubWbLjwLfVjn0zZUxb-jX/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCJBA6kghi4IYuojqbK5dqUlJnMPFd2GtjCOfwZqA_OuHS_vAxCCjq8njKHBFYbPIsd-YzZj1-uIFDIlFa6UVHuO2N1-frssxnTIQMb1TtKTeau6lzbtBSC9ubWbLjwLfVjn0zZUxb-jX/s320/images.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What do you mean, I look like I didn't run today?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>2. Specific, realistic goals</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here's your positive thinking. Setting an achievable (read = realistic) goal time for your race is very important and not terribly hard: if you know what your current fitness is and what your recent race times predict for your goal race (there are useful calculators <a href="https://www.mcmillanrunning.com/" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/4/4_1/96.shtml" target="_blank">here</a>) then there's very little that should go wrong. The problems start happening when people have finish times in mind that bear very little relationship to their actual abilities or training.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I once knew a bloke who was a regular on the RWOL Marathoners forum and he would constantly post in the sub-3 thread about how he was training to someday run a 2:30 marathon, and to this day I don't know if he was serious, trying to amp himself up or just trying to rile us up. Either way, it worked: his posts were greeted with howls of disbelief and derision. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Why? All his training and race paces pointed to a small chance of sub-3 and literally no chance at all of anything close to 2:30. I'm not sure if he was even capable of running a single mile at the sort of pace a 2:30 marathon would require (for the whole duration of the race). It's not hard to imagine what would happen if he actually tried this, either. To the best of my knowledge he still has not run a sub-3 marathon, although he's gone out on pace for one a few times and blown up. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5yT_4b7Mwb9nmsfLH0axEUhXBCqF4ycMq0yEOsH-krCbNv8Sk5IYeNa-4UA5q4psYofhcUeJkwDwcElJH99vndIriyxvg1ABtpc0gt1vZ2Ruj4DPVX9VH1BJSxc3llniM39EkjbF53y17/s1600/159a86f931a0de5941d4b3f264a8974f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5yT_4b7Mwb9nmsfLH0axEUhXBCqF4ycMq0yEOsH-krCbNv8Sk5IYeNa-4UA5q4psYofhcUeJkwDwcElJH99vndIriyxvg1ABtpc0gt1vZ2Ruj4DPVX9VH1BJSxc3llniM39EkjbF53y17/s400/159a86f931a0de5941d4b3f264a8974f.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mile 20....here he comes again</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It seems pretty obvious that knowing what your goal is and having the confidence that you're capable of achieving it (or at least that it is within reach, or failing that, not entirely impossible) is essential for a positive mental approach to the race. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>3. Having a plan, and sticking to it</u></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Knowing your own capabilities and limitations is important, but l</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">earning to listen to your body and pace yourself is probably the single most useful thing you can do in training. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Most of my running life I've spent running by feel, and as a result I know quite well what different paces (5K vs HM vs marathon pace) feel like in terms of effort level and feedback from my body. This is something I practice in training - in particular running at marathon pace - until it becomes second-nature.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On race, day, however, it's easy to get carried away with the excitement and the crowd, and end up throwing caution to the wind. In so many races I see people dashing out from the start line at paces that are utterly inappropriate, and I always wonder, how is it that they don't realise they are running way too fast? I'm talking 5K race pace for the first 5K of a half marathon - so what are they planning to do for the other 16.1km they still have to run? </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the marathon this </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">becomes even more crucial. <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/10/melbourne-marathon-october-2015.html" target="_blank">Last year in Melbourne</a> at the 10K mark I was ahead of the 2:50 pacer and chatting to a bloke running beside me who told me his goal was "oh, just sub-3." I told him he needed to SLOW DOWN NOW and he replied "But I feel great!" Um, sure you do, that's because you've only run 10K! I should have memorised his bib number to check later but I'm pretty sure he didn't feel nearly as good at the 30K or 40K marks.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqL3yhoJPWMJxvQk1lPzMsTehKPqFLen99rbfuU7xEKA84NrNEJpJSYzj-SzKAQWZnPrJNCIJsbuC__VLimbELvhyphenhyphenXTfY28iEFmn80PzlrHmzOUADFoUPRA8uzmTwbDoU6cEuBsNy6nt78/s1600/20x30-MMCE2823.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqL3yhoJPWMJxvQk1lPzMsTehKPqFLen99rbfuU7xEKA84NrNEJpJSYzj-SzKAQWZnPrJNCIJsbuC__VLimbELvhyphenhyphenXTfY28iEFmn80PzlrHmzOUADFoUPRA8uzmTwbDoU6cEuBsNy6nt78/s640/20x30-MMCE2823.jpeg" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">whereas I save my suffering up for the final few miles and most of the photos</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>4. Dealing with the tough stuff</u></b></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Turning up to the start line is usually not so hard, but bringing the right and best attitude can often be a challenge. I can't count the number of times I've showed up to a race and lined up right at the front then told someone nearby "I'm just going to take it easy today and run for fun" - then gone hell-for-leather as soon as the gun has fired. For me at least it's about pressure: the more pressure I put on myself to perform, the less I actually want to race. So I fool myself into thinking that it's no big deal, which works for me but might not for others I suppose.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOze9d1c_hj84mft-_e6mxMw-dOho_5UuunxSBLfuKEsUwV8Uemv6c9hbFRIIThp7txnyV7siKhA2p3TBTKmNPche_Ss39WqX398yosbny0-FCYMs8l6o2-cPKn5forEIAFipzAQ-s7pFp/s1600/CT_start1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOze9d1c_hj84mft-_e6mxMw-dOho_5UuunxSBLfuKEsUwV8Uemv6c9hbFRIIThp7txnyV7siKhA2p3TBTKmNPche_Ss39WqX398yosbny0-FCYMs8l6o2-cPKn5forEIAFipzAQ-s7pFp/s640/CT_start1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">la dee dah, we're just here to have fun....with our names on our bibs....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now let's talk about mental trickery during the actual race, when it really matters. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Depending on your experience and how ambitious your goal is, the first half of a marathon might feel too easy (in which case you are well-placed to speed up a little in the second half for a nice negative split) or it might feel a bit too hard, in which case the temptation is to freak out/panic/give up. The key to getting the best out of yourself is to tread the fine line between "This is a cakewalk and I'm definitely not trying hard enough" and "OHMYGOD this is a disaster I feel awful and I'm gonna die" - something that is far easier said than done. When it works, it's fantastic, and when it doesn't....it doesn't.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So, should you check your watch obsessively? At the start, and particularly if you're not experienced with pacing, that's probably not a bad idea. It helps you stay on pace and, if you're feeling good and the numbers are what you want, it's a nice positive boost for the confidence. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The problems start when the numbers aren't quite right, or when it feels harder than it should - then the voice of doubt starts up, saying "Oh no, this isn't going to end well", and it's all too easy to listen - because the next couple of thoughts that are just around the corner are likely "This really sucks" and "I hate this, I'm going to give up now before it kills me." This is where ignoring or just tolerating but not engaging with the negativity train comes in handy: it's there, but I'm not paying it any attention.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Not paying attention to the inevitable doubts and negative thoughts means that in general I almost never check my watch anymore in the final miles of a race. If I'm failing to hit the paces then I'd rather just not know about that now, thanks; I'll just keep running as hard as I can and not worry about the fact that it might not be as fast as I'd like. Because it will be very tempting to just give up if I know exactly how much I'm slowing down, and giving up unfortunately is not an option.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>When you're in the Hurt Locker</b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In every single race there will come a point when it hurts, you're over it, you just want to stop. The part of your brain that is in charge of self-preservation will be literally screaming at you to quit running, NOW; your legs will feel like jelly; all you will want to do is give up. This usually makes for a slight mental dilemma and some very ugly race photos.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfEEmLIcIamKFnF-OfxF41JqsrYZDlkKo_smoaD30-FLKU8qq1EnwCMYJ3w_dQJ0i7Qv77RpCHP_Q4DKCHEylClHKAxdtbe6kXvux51VK4yhyphenhyphenEwJXhD4bw1xU1FCXsBHXtT1soSN6EJx96/s1600/ughughughugh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfEEmLIcIamKFnF-OfxF41JqsrYZDlkKo_smoaD30-FLKU8qq1EnwCMYJ3w_dQJ0i7Qv77RpCHP_Q4DKCHEylClHKAxdtbe6kXvux51VK4yhyphenhyphenEwJXhD4bw1xU1FCXsBHXtT1soSN6EJx96/s640/ughughughugh.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"huurrrghhhhghMAKEITSTOPgahhurgghhh"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Probably the most effective method I have ever employed to make myself keep going is the "one more mile" trick: I'll let myself give up and jog, but not until I've run one more mile as fast as I can. Rinse and repeat until the end is close enough that I might as well just keep running......Or, I break down the distance still left into segments of 2; at 20 miles it's just 2 miles to go until there will only be 4 miles to go! I almost never think about the real distance still to be covered - it's too overwhelming - rather, I think of it in smaller segments.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A slightly less effective method is to bully yourself into keeping on going. Running <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2014/04/boston-marathon-april-2014.html" target="_blank">Boston 2014</a> I really wanted to slow down already at about mile 16, but thinking of the devastating injuries so many people had suffered in the bombings of the previous year I told myself to stop being so bloody soft, suck it up and keep going. "This is Boston. You do NOT give up" became my mental mantra - and it took me to an all-time PR.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And finally, even though I basically said before that it's BS, some positive thinking. Anyone who has raced a few marathons knows the truth by now: the last 6 miles really hurt. People dread those miles; they are the true test of the marathon and the place where dreams very often turn to dust. I learned early to think of that pain as a good sign, one that told me I'd given the race everything I had, and to tell myself that it's MEANT to hurt at this point. Pain is good! It's expected! It's almost over - so ignore it as best you can and just run. If you can manage to hang on then it will be worth all the suffering; you'll know you did the absolute best you could on the day.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Summing It All Up</b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There's no single trick for running your best race every time - it's a matter of experience and tenacity and, much of the time, relentless optimism. And clearly I don't have a monopoly on all the right answers, rather I've tried here to list and reflect on some of the methods I've used to make the most of the running ability that I have and the opportunities that I've been lucky enough to have as a runner.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So Rachel's recipe for a well-trained brain when it comes to the marathon would seem to boil down to this:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Have a positive outlook: even pain is good, sometimes.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Take positive action, but be realistic.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Acknowledge the negativity, but don't give it enough room to grow</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">NEVER. EVER. GIVE. UP.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihYlE338foFrxjzRH7uhdCWWV5cHKyYTkKKW7vEFLkPWiGgd8I-thgKO2ryBYXaiSpaENrReXPmRbRFqSfbmrqtZu9E6C3yr4NNZ8jhyCWkUjddjS-hJNJ7GJqkt2VqszpDt4wj4x5tnof/s1600/Boston16_awards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihYlE338foFrxjzRH7uhdCWWV5cHKyYTkKKW7vEFLkPWiGgd8I-thgKO2ryBYXaiSpaENrReXPmRbRFqSfbmrqtZu9E6C3yr4NNZ8jhyCWkUjddjS-hJNJ7GJqkt2VqszpDt4wj4x5tnof/s640/Boston16_awards.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The spoils of persistence</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-51771714495046816252016-05-20T05:04:00.002-07:002016-05-20T05:04:38.845-07:00SMH half marathon, May 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTQ0uNRNCixoDHdNMA9nFR7zl_kHJIl3WBaOXAb4JAMm6Ga38OoCbniqyVf2ik58lx9A-l90Thq0v5Nv0qj1L5JaFrGO-xHzy9XWIcmT3kGQbnmyRLW6fTT6OQq8f5qHP_zT4IbJe9U-f/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-05-18+at+1.21.10+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTQ0uNRNCixoDHdNMA9nFR7zl_kHJIl3WBaOXAb4JAMm6Ga38OoCbniqyVf2ik58lx9A-l90Thq0v5Nv0qj1L5JaFrGO-xHzy9XWIcmT3kGQbnmyRLW6fTT6OQq8f5qHP_zT4IbJe9U-f/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-05-18+at+1.21.10+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Ah, gorgeous Sydney. There's nothing quite like running the world's most beautiful city, where the almost-complete lack of straight or flat terrain is made up for (sort of) by the wonderful scenic views. I have always loved running this particular race but was quite surprised to realise that 2016 would be my 7th time - I guess I'm getting to the stage where I really have been around for a while. Long enough to know that the Sydney Morning Herald HM is most definitely NOT a fast or flat course, but long enough also to not really care. It's a great race despite its difficulty, and one that I will definitely continue to run as long as I am able.<br />
<br />
It also happens to be held around 4 weeks after the Boston marathon, which is the perfect time frame in which to recover properly while still retaining the fitness benefit from intense marathon training. Case in point: <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2013/05/may-madness-2013.html" target="_blank">my all-time PR from Bathurst in 2013.</a> Plus of course, any reason to visit Sydney is a good one, and reasons that involve running are generally excellent. The course, naturally, is anything but.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZI-rUlKAJa7I1Y7I1LWgd8VAvrGB_SFlDEq2BPPOJfI7BCgi_KpLeeVW6ud_7AmVIz_Yxh5c_W6TuXNYNs6a2JsqhxeFKYSqHAz8fHHzB45sj2ZUtaa5uxSAlu22_VMjZVYuXSIvi0oSn/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-05-18+at+9.49.41+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZI-rUlKAJa7I1Y7I1LWgd8VAvrGB_SFlDEq2BPPOJfI7BCgi_KpLeeVW6ud_7AmVIz_Yxh5c_W6TuXNYNs6a2JsqhxeFKYSqHAz8fHHzB45sj2ZUtaa5uxSAlu22_VMjZVYuXSIvi0oSn/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-05-18+at+9.49.41+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Demented doodle aka course map</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
To recap my previous results:<br />
<br />
2001 - 1:26:24, debut HM and 16th overall female<br />
<br />
2010 - 1:29:48, first time back under 1:30 after the damage wrought by major injury and two babies (you guess which was worse)<br />
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2012 - 1:23:29, 14th female<br />
<br />
2013 - 1:22:16, 12th female<br />
<br />
2014 - 1:22:25, 9th female<br />
<br />
2015 - 1:23:19, 14th female<br />
<br />
Again it's obvious that I peaked in 2013/2014, in both years having just run a sub-2:50 marathon at Boston a few weeks earlier. Last year I had the incentive of <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/06/smh-half-marathon-may-2015.html" target="_blank">chasing Joel</a>, but for 2016 I had no major expectations other than to do my best on the day and see what happened.<br />
<br />
That's a race strategy that is deliberately in equal parts undemanding and perfectionist; it allows me to stay casual ("I'm just going for a nice run, no expectations, la la laaaa") and yet focused, with no pressure to perform other than to do my best on the day, whatever that turns out to be. This sort of mental trickery keeps me calm - I'm not obsessing over hitting a particular time goal or pace - and intense all at once, and it has worked very well for me in the past few years of racing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Training</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I think I might possibly be getting better at recovery - more sensible, or perhaps just older and lazier - because this year I certainly was much more able than I usually am to back things off and let my body bounce back from Boston. I took the day after the race entirely off (apart from a moderate amount of walking and rather too much backwards-stair-descending) and baulked at running in the rain on my final morning in New York (yeah, I'm getting soft too), which meant that with the travel home I had almost 72 solid hours off running: the longest I can remember since the last time I was injured.<br />
<br />
As a result I found myself enjoying my return to the roads once home in Australia, but I deliberately kept my mileage lower than normal. My legs had more spring in them than usual - the 10K in Canberra certainly proved that - but still I took things easier than usual in the lead-up to our trip to Sydney. This would prove to be a decidedly sensible strategy and one I probably should use more.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Race Day</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The weather in Sydney is nothing short of perfect when we arrive on Saturday, and it's going to be similar on Sunday morning: cool but not cold, no wind and maybe a bit of light cloud to block the sun's lingering heat. Rising at 5:15am is a bit much though for Joel - who will turn out to be brewing a nasty head cold - he declares he's staying in bed and I'm up, dressed and have decided to skip breakfast well before he has moved at all. We set off on our 2 mile warm-up shortly after 6am and are at the start line with plenty of time to spare.<br />
<br />
Looking around at the elite and preferred runners warming up in front of the start, I realise suddenly I'm looking at a sizeable part of our Olympic distance running team: Lisa Weightman and Michael Shelley jog past looking very relaxed, Eloise Wellings dashes up at the last minute (she's pacing someone, or so I hear) and just about every other fast chick that I know of seems to be there as well. It's going to be a speedy race! I'd like to place in my AG (or even win it for once, dammit) but next to me as we wait at the start is a woman whom I'm sure I've seen at other races and yep, she's in my unfair 10-year age group for sure. We chat a bit about how everyone who is anyone in running is here today; turns out we have similar time goals (1:23, 1:22 if all goes well) but she warns me she always goes out too fast so I tell her "See you at 10K then" and we wait nervously for the gun to finally go off. Why is this taking so long??<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 1-4: </b>5:54, 6:29, 6:02, 6:14 (pace in min/mile)<br />
<br />
The first mile of this race is like a red flag at a bull that loves to go out waaaaaay too fast: it's downhill all the way to Circular Quay and with the race day excitement and nerves it's impossible not to charge madly down Macquarie Street like it's Pamplona and the bulls are after us. Some of my fastest race splits ever have been in this mile and that used to inspire a mild panic, but I've done this enough times now to know that it's fine - things will flatten out (briefly) and even out soon enough.<br />
<br />
Everyone around me is still flooring it and I'm getting passed a lot during mile 2, but I'm not worried. That is, until a pacer appears at my right shoulder - it's Brendan Davies and I have a minor freak-out that he's pacing 1:25 and I'm in serious trouble already. But no, he is wearing a flag declaring "1:20" so it's the opposite scenario: there's no way I should be here and going this fast! I slow down deliberately then the uphill starts up Sussex St and I begin passing people back.<br />
<br />
<i>5K split: 18:58</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm going too fast and I know it...<sheepish grin></td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Miles 5-8: </b>6:02, 6:17, 6:10, 6:04<br />
<br />
Onward into Pyrmont! The first nasty hill doesn't slow me down too much, thankfully, and I'm still feeling good despite knowing I'm probably going a bit too fast. I'm also passing quite a few people who have been creamed by that hill - one of them is a bloke in a white shirt who was standing just in front of me at the start. He's about 2 feet out from the kerb and I'm plotting my trajectory past him and around the upcoming corner when it happens: he decides to cut over onto the pavement and veers sharply to the left. I've got nowhere to go and he slams hard into my right side. Oooof!<br />
<br />
It's all I can do to stay upright and my shock quickly turns to fury. "You can't f$%^ing do that!" I snap, and he shoots back "Don't tell me what I can't do!" Oh, great, now he's probably going to trip me or something lovely like that. I consciously pick up the pace and push harder than I want to, just to get away from this twit, and thankfully he's fading badly already so I get away without further incident. Phew!<br />
<br />
I should probably be rattled and put-off by this little altercation, but in fact I quickly forget all about it and focus instead on how I'm running. Pretty soon the lead cars appear on the other side of the road and there's Michael Shelley, all alone and miles ahead of the next bloke. I'm watching for the first woman as I round the corner and there's Lisa looking strong - but now the sharp hills demand my attention. Heading back I spot Joel on the other side, waving and looking fine, and soon I'm on my way back into town.<br />
<br />
<i>10K split: 37:</i><i>48</i><br />
<br />
At the halfway mark I check my watch and realise wow, that's a bit fast. But for whatever reason I'm not too worried - I know how to judge my pace fairly well now and I still feel okay. "Reasonably hard" is how it should feel at this stage, and it does. Back past Darling Harbour and into the concrete spaghetti jungle I run, just waiting for my Garmin to start freaking out.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Miles 9-12: </b>5:59, 6:39, 6:12, 6:02<br />
<br />
But it never does, although the next mile split seems suspiciously quick and the one after unexpectedly slow. Mile 10 is mostly uphill, really, including the long rugged stretch up onto the Harbour Bridge and into the Cahill expressway, so it make sense that it has been one of the slowest miles every single time I've run this race.<br />
<br />
<i>15K split: 57:50</i><br />
<br />
I happen to glance at my watch as I pass a flag marking 15km and my mental arithmetic is not great at times like this but wow, isn't that a bit fast? Warning bells start quietly chiming in my brain - I'm starting to feel like I'd rather not be doing this anymore, thank you - and the feeling intensifies as I contemplate what lies ahead. Hills, hills, and a final mile that is probably the most unpleasant final mile of any race I've ever run. My face is a study in grim anticipation as I approach Hyde Park again at last:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKqBkfukZO8IMW39gEn0VzWLfbuhRhyphenhyphendRHFYPgFLdlpljx17UZ7vJseoSpxtesMPJ3Sa6_eGklZfERv5-TkgP5Ol38LQ1zdVfcRg6gWFwHBB3tg0W3ko_alrTGgBkbGZQLGNqn3UISbCq/s1600/SMH16_gaze.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKqBkfukZO8IMW39gEn0VzWLfbuhRhyphenhyphendRHFYPgFLdlpljx17UZ7vJseoSpxtesMPJ3Sa6_eGklZfERv5-TkgP5Ol38LQ1zdVfcRg6gWFwHBB3tg0W3ko_alrTGgBkbGZQLGNqn3UISbCq/s640/SMH16_gaze.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">no no no no no I want to stop nooooowww</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The only good thing about knowing that the final mile is all uphill, is that the second last mile is mostly downhill. I'm frankly amazed that I can still manage to pick up the pace the way I do for mile 12, but catching Julia (who beat me in Canberra last month) after probably 2-3 miles of chasing her is probably what does it. I've also been looking for Fiona - my sandbagging friend from the start line - for a really long time and it's only just now that I can finally see her ahead; I won't be able to catch her, so there goes the AG win. Oh well.<br />
<br />
It crosses my mind now that I could glance at the total time on my Garmin and have a reasonable idea of what I'm likely to finish with, but the thought is gone as quickly as it came. All I can think of is the uphill that is coming next. That, and trying to look good for the cameras that are always present at the final turn, but I'm almost too far gone for that (alas).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">gasping for air like a dying fish but at least I look really tan </td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Mile 13.1: </b> 6:29, 5:50 pace to finish<br />
<br />
This. Hill. It's not really all that steep (except in one part) and it's not really all that long (although it seems to go for miles) but it's just plain wrong to have this as the final stretch of a race. Lisa Weightman was on her way back up - for the win - as I was coming down and her face looked every bit as agonised as I now feel. This fact gives me a small measure of comfort but by the time I reach the Art Gallery I've given up on thinking and instead am counting my steps in the manner I use for speed work: one/and/two/and/three/and etc. The cadence seems way too slow, I feel like I'm crawling instead of running, but at least it keeps me going and I'm still inching my way closer to the finish line.<br />
<br />
I pop out the top of Art Gallery Road and once again feel enormous gratitude that the race directors took out that awful, tortuous out-and-back on College St right before the finish. It means I can head straight for Hyde Park and the final turn to the line - and it also means I get at least one photo where I actually look happy, even if it's only because I get to stop running very soon.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz289e56M9HaPf3mKlJg9u4LVTuvWXB0mvO7yB6z3ST4UvQsp9l1bSATH_BPru5FUQpC_O72kNt7AHTRYPjR7vOzZzpGKq7w40qJimmPSFFwvC3MuYvhUnqf5gW9-KDGOTCJqoPqUMa-mX/s1600/20x30-SMHT0881.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz289e56M9HaPf3mKlJg9u4LVTuvWXB0mvO7yB6z3ST4UvQsp9l1bSATH_BPru5FUQpC_O72kNt7AHTRYPjR7vOzZzpGKq7w40qJimmPSFFwvC3MuYvhUnqf5gW9-KDGOTCJqoPqUMa-mX/s640/20x30-SMHT0881.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nearly done, in more ways than one</td></tr>
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I can see Fiona really really close now and this inspires me to put on a pointless burst of speed that carries me along the final 0.1 mile stretch and as I make the turn I have seriously no idea at all of how much time has elapsed since the gun went off. I look up to see the clock above the finish line: it reads....what???<br />
<br />
1:21:30 has just turned over as I skid around the 90 degree turn and lift my eyes to the clock - that's just 6 seconds slower than my all-time HM PR - my brain springs into life and yells at my legs "GO!!!" And go is what I do: I throw myself at the line with all the energy I can muster. This will make for some very unattractive finish chute photos, but I'm totally past caring and even thinking now; and then, finally, I'm done.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>1:21:43 (6:14 min/mile, 3:52 min/km)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>10th woman, 2nd in AG (F40-49)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, really, this is my "I'm thrilled" face</td></tr>
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<br />
Wow, my 3rd fastest half marathon of all time! And on this course? The other two were much, much flatter and were 2 and 3 years ago respectively; I'm in some serious shock here. Another piece of evidence to add to the "I'm not done yet" pile that is mounting up fast, and another reason to think seriously about giving Gold Coast a serious shot this year.<br />
<br />
I loiter a while to talk to some of the fast chicks who have finished around me, and congratulate Fiona on what turns out to be a shiny new PR for her, then it's time to head back to the hotel via the Elite tent where my stuff and, after some searching, my tired husband await me.<br />
<br />
Who would have thought I'd come away from today with my 3rd sub-1:22 half in the books? I wasn't expecting it but it seems like further proof that I'm rather fit at the moment, and it seems like a good idea to take advantage of that while it lasts. So...watch this space.<br />
<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-75705852003472584432016-05-17T04:17:00.002-07:002016-05-17T04:17:33.658-07:00Mother's Day 10K, Canberra 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
This race has become a tradition for me now and one that I felt bound to uphold, even with legs that were still not too impressed with what happened in Boston and toenails mostly now no longer with us. I have a nice array of trophies from the past 4 years of competition and a race PR from 2014 that I'm probably never going to beat, but that won't stop me from trying. To recap:<br />
<br />
2012 - ran the 5K in 19:17 for 3rd female<br />
<br />
2013 - ran the 10K in 39:19 for 3rd female<br />
<br />
2014 - ran the 10K in 38:36 for 2nd female (course PR)<br />
<br />
2015 - ran the 10K in 40:15 for 3rd female (in a hurricane)<br />
<br />
In the days leading up to Mother's Day the weather forecast was far from exciting - almost 100% chance of rain and decidedly cool temps - although the lack of wind made a pleasant potential change from previous years. Nevertheless, to Canberra we headed just under 3 weeks after Boston marathon, with Joel and myself signed up for the 10K and everybody (well, not Mum) doing the 5K. Wheee?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Training</b><br />
<br />
For reasons that are mostly unclear, I came out of <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2016/04/boston-marathon-april-2016.html" target="_blank">the Boston marathon this year</a> with feet and legs more trashed than I remember them being after any marathon I've ever run. This may be in part due to my notoriously spotty memory around this sort of thing - although it's pretty much photographic for most other things, to the extent that my husband calls me "Rain Man" when I am able to recite things like obscure passwords and usernames after seeing them only once - but from the lost toenail count alone, Boston was an outlier in terms of the physical damage it did to me this year.<br />
<br />
So I pretty much begged Benita to give me at least a couple of weeks to recover, and only started back into any sort of training other than random jogging the same week as this race. I did some short intervals on Wednesday and was a bit surprised at the paces I managed to hit (they were faster than usual); B had suggested a tempo for Saturday and I had every intention of emailing her to discuss this but somehow never got around to it. I did figure that a 10K race would be the equivalent of a tempo run (or something) and thankfully she pretty much lets me do what I want these days, so there we go.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Weekend in Canberra</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Pre-race Mexican food seemed to work well for me <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2015/12/canberra-summer-marathon-december-2015.html" target="_blank">back in December</a>, so we head back to Guzman and Gomez when we arrive in Canberra and scoff burritos and nachos like there's no tomorrow.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ginger beer faces</td></tr>
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<br />
Both the kids seem enthused to run; after the whinge-fest we endured in April, there's no way I'm going to force Amelia to run and even less so if it's raining. I've warned them about the weather already but they insist they're up for it, so everyone retires early to rest up for the race.<br />
<br />
At about 5am our day begins - inexplicably, because both children (in particular Amelia) are great at sleeping until at least 8am on a school day - and around an hour later I've given up on the idea of anybody going back to sleep so I get up and make raisin toast for all. It's drizzling rain already at 7am when Joel and I head outside to jog to the start line; this is going to be wet and potentially quite miserable.<br />
<br />
I've at least got a hat on, though, and I don't actually mind rain too much as long as it's not getting in my eyes. It's not as cold as I was expecting and there's barely a breath of wind, so perhaps this might be perfect running weather after all? Last night Joel and I were debating whether or not this course is a PR course, with my opinion firmly against (those bridges! two laps! the wind around the lake!), but I might need to reconsider this now.<br />
<br />
We finish our 3 mile warm-up, spend an alarming amount of time lining up to drop off our stuff, and make it to the start line with just seconds to spare. The rain has picked up a bit and I'm deliberately not even thinking about whether or not I feel like running fast today; but then the gun goes off and I suppose I should give it a try.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sort of looks like a Space Invader maybe</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Lap 1: miles 1-3.1: </b>6:11, 6:17, 6:18 (pace in min/mile)<br />
<br />
It always happens but every time I'm still surprised at how so many people charge off at top speed; there are instantly at least 10 females ahead of me. Perhaps this is a super-fast field? But nobody looked particularly threatening before the start......I guess I'll find out soon enough. A couple of them are already behind me by the time we head up towards the Kings Ave bridge - right around the 1K mark (only 9 to go! run faster!) - and then the short uphill does most of the work for me: suddenly a group of no less than FIVE female runners is right ahead. I zig, I zag, and then I saunter right past the lot of them without breaking stride. Yes!<br />
<br />
And as I head across the bridge, not even a mile into the race, the last two women ahead of me are also within reach. The dismount from the bridge used to be a debacle involving fences, 90 degree turns and a road crossing but now (after probably 2 years of construction work) it's a lovely smooth curving path that leads straight onto the lakeside path again, and by the time I'm zooming along it I'm in the lead. Quite randomly there's a person playing bagpipes in the shelter of one of the 2 bridges, and despite the ongoing dampness I'm now having quite a lot of fun! The lack of wind makes the trip along the lake much more bearable than last year and in no time I'm already tearing along towards the finish area to start my second lap.<br />
<br />
<i>5K split: 18:50 (probably a PR)</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i><br /></i>
<b>Lap 2: miles 4-6.2: </b>6:22, 6:14, 6:14 and 6:04 pace to finish<br />
<br />
There are only 4 blokes ahead of me and I could probably start jogging now I guess and possibly still win - but that's not my style and besides, I have no clue how far back those last 2 chicks are. And I'm having quite a lot of mental success with the strategy Benita has unwittingly planted in my mind, which is that this is just a 6 mile tempo run, so I really should keep going, and I do.<br />
<br />
Not having anybody to chase is usually a predictor of slower race times, but it probably helps that I'm now lapping people and getting a lot of positive feedback as I pass. Also - I could have mentioned this a while ago I suppose - since the end of the first mile I've had my own bike spotter, and when I slow down during mile 4 she pulls a bit ahead, which makes me realise I'm slacking off and need to pay attention.<br />
<br />
Catching up and then staying with the bike spotter provides the push I need to keep on going, plus she is actually doing a fair bit of work on this more-congested second lap, constantly ringing her bell and moving people to the side so as to vastly reduce the number of times I have to yell in order to get past. When we finally reach the narrow path that leads up to the finish precinct she nimbly clears the path forwards for me and then peels off to the side; I look up to see a tape stretched across the finish line and it's an extreme pleasure to run through it with arms aloft - well how about that, my first Canberra win!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Finish time: </b>38:21 (6:10 min/mile, 3:50 min/km)<br />
<br />
<b>Placement: </b>5th OA, 1st female and 1st AG<br />
<br />
<br />
The kids subsequently run the 5K and both set fantastic new PRs (27:33 for Jack and 31:44 for Amelia) despite the ongoing light rain - I'm so proud of them both and everyone is impressed with themselves really now. The weather hasn't been an issue at all, although it does mean there is literally NO crowd at all (other than the small one I've brought with myself) when I get my trophy for finishing in first place. Maybe we are all tougher than we realise?<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Y7La4tJ3Ld-Aw1fTaM9hFBg8Gy27Q3j8_ZW3mZXgvoX2v1XCQjgVkqwo7gb-xMsVo4jM5nVl49ADbPSJ8hOSz_Z_bNrkd9ZoMzwlf_Cb56ofMGR7yz4hOfRQH-NncEf-XVMoeudCDL__/s1600/IMG_6319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Y7La4tJ3Ld-Aw1fTaM9hFBg8Gy27Q3j8_ZW3mZXgvoX2v1XCQjgVkqwo7gb-xMsVo4jM5nVl49ADbPSJ8hOSz_Z_bNrkd9ZoMzwlf_Cb56ofMGR7yz4hOfRQH-NncEf-XVMoeudCDL__/s640/IMG_6319.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delighted to have another one to add to the collection</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>The Analysis</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Good grief, that's one of my fastest 10K efforts ever and in fact a course PR! I'm surprised and pleased all at once - it's great to be able to take advantage of recent marathon training - and it's also a good sign that perhaps I'm not so far over the hill as I thought. What's even better is that I never felt too stretched during the run, although perhaps I could have focused a little better and not lost as much time on the second lap. But overall it was a satisfying run and a pleasant wind-free race experience! And a good mental boost for the busy racing season that lies ahead.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5399723572204657285.post-654512902492911782016-04-30T05:10:00.001-07:002016-04-30T05:16:29.152-07:00Some thoughts about trainingA fair few people have asked me recently about my training - I guess I have been saying less and less about it in my usual race reports, or perhaps more accurately I have just been enjoying letting coach Benita tell me what to do (even though I often don't) without my having to think too much about it - so in response I thought I would try to write a post about how I have trained over the past 7 years since I started training for and running marathons.<br />
<br />
But first, something of a disclaimer. Every runner is different and what works well for me, may not work at all for you. There is undoubtedly a ceiling limit on mileage for each individual runner before they get injured, burned out or both; mine happens to be quite high. Also, there is a great deal of scientific knowledge underpinning the physiological principles of aerobic conditioning and training. I am not an expert in this field and make no claim to be one. I don't monitor my heart rate, I don't track my VO2max and I do what has brought me success in the past. It may not be terribly scientific but it works for me! Even if I can't really explain this with precision or even coherence.<br />
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<br />
<b>"A Proper Plan"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Thinking back to my earliest days of running and racing, my training was absolutely random. I ran as far as I wanted (or had time for) every day, rarely did any sort of speed work and almost never ran more than around 10-13km in a day. I raced a few decent half marathons on this sort of training regime - 1:26 in my debut at the distance and 1:25 in my second attempt - but in both instances I slowed down considerably in the final 5km of the race.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until early 2010, aged 40 and approximately 18 months after the birth of my second child, that I felt the inclination to follow a formal training plan of any sort. I had friends who swore by their training plans, and after having Amelia I was struggling to get my half time back down under 1:30.<br />
<br />
This was my primary motivation for starting to train "properly" - by which I mean that I located, printed out and followed a formal plan that had been formulated by one of the greats of running, <a href="http://halhigdon.com/" target="_blank">Hal Higdon.</a> This saw me extend my weekend long runs and start doing speed work for the first time; I was rewarded with <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2011/03/smh-half-marathon-may-2010.html" target="_blank">1:29:48 at the SMH half </a>that year and was officially converted! No more random running for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueXuutEUu2ymFdr5k3k94V08Zl8zm1uAyZz2rvC8sR6QS1hGlg8I8AreiMKkU2g1gfdTgRz5RuNGFk1xMQYjFJxwWQslnopTX0lCvdOksGmYk-SbyM5I0qRnqrUhq-f8BkDrW-qI0DqEr/s1600/SunHerald1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueXuutEUu2ymFdr5k3k94V08Zl8zm1uAyZz2rvC8sR6QS1hGlg8I8AreiMKkU2g1gfdTgRz5RuNGFk1xMQYjFJxwWQslnopTX0lCvdOksGmYk-SbyM5I0qRnqrUhq-f8BkDrW-qI0DqEr/s640/SunHerald1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo is entirely unrelated but I'm just going to put it in here anyway</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Going all Pfitz</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I first heard of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Advanced-Marathoning-2nd-Pete-Pfitzinger/dp/0736074600" target="_blank">Pete Pfitzinger and his marathon training book </a> in late 2010 when I started frequenting the marathon forum on Runners World Online (RWOL). It seemed that all the serious dudes (and there are a lot of those on RWOL) were Pfitz devotees, variously discussing the merits of 12/55 vs 18/55 vs 12/75-80 at some length. The first number (12 or 18) refers to the number of weeks in the plan and the second to the peak mileage reached; at the time I started looking at Pfitz plans I was running around 50mpw maximum (and somehow thought that was a lot, LOL) so the idea of adding a further 30 miles (50km) to that was almost incomprehensible. The most intense plans topped 85 miles a week -- running that much and doing speed work at the same time? Wow.<br />
<br />
The rationale for more mileage is to increase aerobic endurance; given that in my previous half marathons and my first marathon (NYC 2010) I had run significant positive splits (whereby I had slowed down a LOT in the latter stages of the race), it made sense that I should start to increase my mileage. So that is what I did, and the results were staggering.<br />
<br />
Pfitz plans - and over time I went from 18/55 all the way up to 12/85+ - include a midweek medium long run (MLR) that for me was the key to improvement. This was characteristically done on a Thursday and initially for me the MLR was 10-12 miles (16-19km), although as I intensified my training it would eventually reach 15 miles (24km). To this day I know that a midweek MLR is one of the most important parts of my training, and rarely a week goes by that I don't include one.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Quantity vs Quality vs both at once, aka running suicide</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
After the success of my first outing with Pfitz - the <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2011/04/canberra-marathon-april-2011.html" target="_blank">2011 Canberra Marathon</a>, for which I trained using 18/55 and where I took 5 minutes off my NYC debut time, despite significantly underfueling and therefore again slowing down more than I should have towards the end of the race - I was raring to go with the next step forwards.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdhg_ecoFZTlyoj0T9IQfLVYqcP1IHa7lFGsuKXIX0uNH6mpF_51bHhQor1onYgYaWWGUOR9C6qqCZljrw6p-XYW0BFn9YMcQJPHp9FJE-Hcy3EhZx97E-LJvw7cwhDEvwXJ_lgWIdLPv/s1600/CM+photos+silly+one.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdhg_ecoFZTlyoj0T9IQfLVYqcP1IHa7lFGsuKXIX0uNH6mpF_51bHhQor1onYgYaWWGUOR9C6qqCZljrw6p-XYW0BFn9YMcQJPHp9FJE-Hcy3EhZx97E-LJvw7cwhDEvwXJ_lgWIdLPv/s640/CM+photos+silly+one.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canberra 2011.<br />
I have no fashion sense but it's raining madly and somehow I'm having fun!</td></tr>
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<br />
So it made sense (to me at least) to intensify my training significantly, and in my enthusiasm I decided to not only run more, but also run harder at the same time. Yes! The result? My only major running-related injury of the past 8 years: a stress reaction in my left femur and a nasty case of runner's knee that kept me out for the middle few months of 2011.<br />
<br />
The lesson is clear, folks: don't bite off more than you can chew. Increase your mileage and intensity all at the same time, and you'll very likely regret it soon. Which leads to what came next: pure quantity.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Run All The Miles!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Coming back from injury, I was focused with laser-like intensity on my next marathon: CIM in Sacramento, California. But at the same time I was petrified of re-injuring myself, so while I eventually found myself once again following a Pfitzinger plan, I left out ALL the speed and just ran the prescribed daily mileage at a comfortable pace.<br />
<br />
The effect was astounding. I took another 7 minutes off my Canberra time, and repeated the feat using pure easy mileage in April 2012 for <a href="http://runnerrachel.blogspot.com.au/2012/04/boston-marathon-april-2012.html" target="_blank">my first sub-3 result</a>. Even in a 90F/32C sauna. There's a reason why most elite/world class marathoners run up to 200km per week in peak training: it really does work.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyHumg4VyUVMs5oH7cGc0hhtVhZRslw6CjxUNIa9v2LAOTyhPPPQ_7OPtFhKKmOwyd8YLkE6Uu7rz0nzjYRrjo-0iOrByHJlIawrlMhbklkr_NtKLnYpiQlsB2-aczloh7YFJYnR1N6qR/s1600/719330-3014-0033s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyHumg4VyUVMs5oH7cGc0hhtVhZRslw6CjxUNIa9v2LAOTyhPPPQ_7OPtFhKKmOwyd8YLkE6Uu7rz0nzjYRrjo-0iOrByHJlIawrlMhbklkr_NtKLnYpiQlsB2-aczloh7YFJYnR1N6qR/s640/719330-3014-0033s.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boston 2012. <br />
Not waving, drowning.</td></tr>
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<div>
<br />
Over the second half of 2012 and the whole of 2013 I would go on to exploit this discovery and it became part of my normal running routine to cover at least 80 miles (124km) a week and up to 100 miles as part of each training cycle. Yes, you read that right. Routine evening doubles of just 4-5 miles meant I was able to maximise mileage without having to slog through 20km+ every morning, and my home treadmill got a good workout, as did my Netflix account.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
For those of us without much top-end speed, working solely on endurance by increasing average mileage is a great, albeit somewhat lazy, strategy for the marathon. I have never particularly liked smashing out intervals or enduring lung-busting tempo runs, so I was content for a long time with running lots of miles and confining my speed work to running portions of my long runs - sometimes up to 12 miles - at my goal marathon pace (MP).<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As I got closer and closer to what I consider my ultimate marathon potential, MP got tougher and tougher. After several cycles during 2013 when I found myself stuck around 2:50 (2:49:03, 2:49:21, 2:50:19) I made an important decision: I would get myself a coach.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Putting it all together</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The addition of knowledgeable guidance from <a href="http://www.bplusfitness.com.au/" target="_blank">Benita</a> - who has been my coach ever since November 2013 - took me to my personal record in the marathon: the 2:47:57 I pulled off on Patriot's Day in 2014. We kept the mileage high while adding a judicious amount of real, actual speed work, and the difference it made was dramatic.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
An average week became something like this (in miles):</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
MON: 8 easy am, 4-5 easy pm</div>
<div>
TUES: 9 easy am, 4-5 easy pm</div>
<div>
WED: 12 miles incorporating 4-5 miles of intervals or tempo running, 4-5 easy pm</div>
<div>
THURS: 13-14 miles easy</div>
<div>
FRI: 8 easy am, 5 easy pm</div>
<div>
SAT: 10-12 easy</div>
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SUN: 18-20 miles with 10-12 miles around MP</div>
<div>
<br />
Working with Benita I have been fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to run as an elite at Boston and New York marathons, and despite encroaching age and infirmity still managed to put in a rather decent showing at Boston just a couple of weeks ago. It has been a wild ride, one that would not have taken place had I not printed out that first training plan and stuck it to my fridge 7 years ago, and I'm so glad I took that step.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OMG OMG OMG</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
<div>
So I leave you with this: for me, high mileage is the key for endurance. Managing to mix in some speed work without getting injured is quite the feat, but worth the effort. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You need to find your own optimal mileage - if you are a marathoner, the higher the better - and work out how much stress your body can take without getting injured. All of this takes a LOT of time, and inevitably all of us will have to deal with injury, ennui and sometimes just getting sick of running. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I think we can all agree that the rewards of running and of making it a part of your everyday life far outweigh the inconvenience of having to get up early to get your miles in at the start of another busy day.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You might even find yourself one day getting chased by a pack of Africans.</td></tr>
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<div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00929990667909031544noreply@blogger.com8