36 months and a lifetime

It has been a long time since I last posted.

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.

So what have I actually been up to then?

Back to Canberra

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.

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.

Me grinning, Neil eating

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.

In early 2020 I was ready to start back at proper marathon training, but a few major things had changed.

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.

This was definitely worth getting older for, though.

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. 

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.

 

Running and ageing

Running has been shown to actually slow down the ageing process. But the ageing process also slows down running, in more than one way:

* decreased maximal heart rate
* lower stroke volume (meaning less cardiac output for a given heart rate)
* decreased VO2 max (oxygen uptake, and therefore delivery to muscles)
* smaller and fewer mitochondria in muscle tissue (less energy production)
* decreased muscle mass
* various hormonal changes that don't help at all


In my experience, things started to feel different after I turned 47. 

In 2016, aged 46, I ran two races that were close to my all-time PRs: the SMH half in May 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.

1:21:43 half marathon at age 46?
I can't believe it either

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. 

2:49:13 deserves a hug from Mona!

I was, of course, very wrong.

At the start, 2017 was going pretty well - I won my age group in Boston! - 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.

Boston 2017 with my Canadian friend Paula, who I ran with in NYC 2014

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 I ran Tokyo - 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. 

Suffering through it and very happy to be done

The total debacle that followed in April in Canberra, 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.

Running and the brain

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 90% mental, 10% physical", 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.

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!!!" 

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.

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.

Please make it stop

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.

When the End is Beginning

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?

For me, running has always been about two main things: competition, and sanity.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Things can be different. What a revelation...

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. 

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.

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.

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.

Canberra Marathon 2021

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. 

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!

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?

Plenty, it seems. 

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.

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.

How wrong I was!

watching the 3-hour pace group disappear ahead of me

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. 

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 Fuxian Lake 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.

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.

Behold the graceful slide

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.

Done, like a dinner

Ok, what on earth was that?

It would be hard to say what exactly was the main factor behind what is probably best described as an epic FAIL for me. 

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? 

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?

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!

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.

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? 

The possibilities, as they say, are endless.

Tokyo Marathon, February 2018

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.

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 'Run As One' semi-elite program, for which I had qualified in Boston - and I was all set for my first running trip to Japan.

A nice little walking tour of Tokyo, anyone?

The Training

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.

Considerably less than my usual training for a major marathon

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?


Tokyo!

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.

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.

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??

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!

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?


Race Day

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.

Ready to rumble, or at least shuffle

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.

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.

Not too far back at all, and at least I look marginally more fashionable than the person in the yellow garbage bag

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.

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!


Start - 5km: 20:25 (6:34 min/mile, 4:05 min/km)

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.

Ready, set, run right over the person in front of you

I swear I'm in there somewhere, but so are 35,000 others and they're all running on top of me right now

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.

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?

In fact, I read a story just yesterday about Japanese runner Yuta Shitara, who made his marathon debut here last year and drew attention by going through halfway on world record pace, 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.


5 - 10km: 20:28 (6:35, 4:05)

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.

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.

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 the Fuxian Lake 50K 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!

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.

Thought bubble: Are we there yet?

10 - 15km: 20:40 (6:39, 4:08)

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?

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.

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.

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.

Cornering hard in Asakusa, with fancy scenery

15 - 20km: 20:32 (6:36, 4:06)

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.

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.

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.

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.

Not entirely hating it right now

20 - 25km: 20:38 (6:38, 4:07)

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: 1:26:39.

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.

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.

Focused. And my shoes match the traffic cones

25 - 30km: 20:41 (6:39, 4:08)

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.

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.

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?

Nobody looks very impressed here.

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?!

That's more than enough for now; I close off that part of my brain and busy myself looking awful for the photographers.


30 - 35km: 20:51 (6:43, 4:10)

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.

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.

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.

Tokyo Tower, wheee!

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.


35 - 40km: 20:54 (6:44, 4:11)

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.

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.

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.

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:

Some serious side-eye 

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....

At any rate, the end is nigh. Finally.


40 - 42.2km: 9:14 (6:45, 4:12)

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.

Suffer Street, aka the rather uninspiring scenery of the final mile

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!

Ugh, urrgghh, ahh! The many faces of the marathon

Finish time: 2:54:16  (6:37 min/mile, 4:06 min/km)

Half splits: 1:26:39, 1:27:44 (+ 1:05)

Placement: 57th female, 2nd AG (F 45-49)


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!

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.

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.

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
and skiing - this marathon thing is getting a bit tough.

Refuelling, Tokyo-style.

Cadbury Marathon Hobart, January 2018

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. 

I ran the half there in 2015 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.

The Training

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.

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:

<drool>

Hobart, race weekend

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!

A cosmopolitan Hobart Parkrun, with Scotland........ then America........and a plain old Aussie bringing up the rear

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.

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.

Miles 1-5: 6:57, 6:37, 6:26, 6:33, 6:44 (pace in min/mile)

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!

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.

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.

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.

Trying hard to get into 3rd place

 

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!

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.

Miles 6-10: 6:37, 6:42, 6:46, 6:37, 6:38

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

The quest for chocolate continues

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.

Miles 11-15: 6:33, 6:50, 6:46, 6:40

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.

Half split: 1:27:30 approx (on pace for 2:55)

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.

Dion (in black) and his chase pack, including Dane (red singlet)

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?

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 (wrongly) 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??

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.

Miles 16-20: 6:36, 6:35, 6:39, 6:55, 6:49

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!

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.

Mile 19 in blue: the beginning of the end?

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.

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.

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!

Miles 21-25: 6:44, 6:45, 6:49, 6:58, 6:59

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.

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.

Late-race chicken-wing action from my left arm = I'm TIRED

Mile 26 and 0.1: 6:46, 6:36 pace to finish

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.

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.

Why is there always a photographer right at the top of that bloody hill? WHY?

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.

Finish time: 2:57:20 (4:12 min/km, 6:44 min/mile)

Placement: 3rd female, 11th overall, 1st in AG (F45-49)

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! 

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.

Not only am I older, I'm also shorter. Did I mention that?

Analysis

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.

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.

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.

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!