Blackmores Sydney HM, Sept 2013

I was moderately surprised to look back through this blog and discover that whilst I have run this race 5 times in the past, my course PR was in fact the 1:27:48 that I ran on my very first attempt, in 2007. It's a tough and twisty course but also very beautiful - taking in many of the tourist highlights of central Sydney - and for that reason alone I was keen to run it again in 2013. Also, I figured that I could quite easily run a course PR - if not an absolute PR - and be done in time for breakfast: the hideously early start time of 6:15am was a little off-putting (I do NOT remember it starting so early in the past!) but then again I get up stupidly early most of the time anyway.

Look at all those hairpin bends! Ugh.

The Training
After Gold Coast, somewhat to my surprise, I found myself thoroughly sick of training plans. Normally after a goal marathon I can't wait to stick the next plan to the spot on my fridge reserved for this purpose, but this time something was different. I kept thinking "I should print something out, or write something up", but then somehow I kept forgetting to actually do so. Even after I had secured an elite start for the Melbourne marathon in October, my brain stubbornly and inexplicably refused to get into gear.

In the meantime I was mostly just going out every day (or hitting the treadmill) and running by feel. Occasionally I sprinkled in some miles at marathon pace (6:25 min/mile, or approximately 3:59 min/km) when things got too boring, but otherwise it was just a bunch of fairly aimless jogging. The Wagga trail marathon in August became my first real long run of this "cycle", if the term can even be applied to such a haphazard state of affairs.

Thereafter I developed a degree of paranoia about my lack of structure, which I addressed by stringing together a row of weeks running 90+ miles, two of which culminated in a 20 mile long run. On a whim I decided that the second of these should include 12 miles at marathon pace, and I was very pleasantly surprised to find that I was able to hit and hold MP with much less difficulty than in my last couple of training cycles: I averaged 6:24 for the whole MP segment and felt like I could have kept going. Slightly bemused but also pleased, the next weekend I headed off to Sydney for the Blackmores race.


Race Day
It's not as hard as I expected to get up at 4:30am, and pretty soon afterwards I'm jogging down the hill from my dad's place towards the city, where I'm intending to get the train over to Milsons Point where the race begins. I'm planning on running just 2 miles, but I get to Wynyard Station and my Garmin only shows 1.5 - I might as well keep going. By my estimate it's probably around 3 miles total if I jog most of the way across the Harbour Bridge, so I head through the Rocks and up onto the Bridge.

I've left my phone at home - I've decided to travel very light and am even planning to discard the old jacket I'm wearing at the starting line, so I'll put nothing on the baggage trucks - and I realise now that this is a dreadful pity, because the early dawn view out across the harbour is nothing short of breathtaking and I wish I could take a photo to post here. As ever, I am reminded of what a beautiful city Sydney is, and how much I miss living there.

Dawn over Sydney Harbour - only it looked better than this

My watch beeps 3 miles as I approach the steps down to Milson's Point, so I slow down and take the vanilla GU I've been carrying in my pocket. Vanilla GU is still my lucky racing charm, and this morning also my substitute breakfast. It goes down nicely and pretty soon I'm walking across the grass towards the starting area. There is exactly an hour to go until the race begins.

It's weird being without my phone, but in a good way: normally I'd be scrolling through Facebook, commenting, texting, snapping photos, or mindlessly playing Candy Crush Saga - oblivious to my surroundings, just wasting time. Instead, I stand quietly in the shadows of the Bridge above me, staring across the Harbour and watching the sun rise. It's somehow very Zen, and it strikes me that this is probably a much better way to prepare mentally for a race than distracting myself with my phone.

Around me, people are carrying out all sorts of strange pre-race rituals: many of them are stretching, one appears to be jogging on the spot (I wonder how long he'll keep that up?) and a group of Japanese runners behind me are eating sushi and taking selfies. All I care about is when will they let us into the corrals? I'm utterly FREEZING now, despite the jacket, and I desperately want to be wedged in amongst all the other runners in the corral, purely for the warmth that this will provide. Finally, with 15 minutes to go, they let us in. I have just heard people talking about the elite and preferred runners -  I didn't realise there was such a thing for this race, and I'm annoyed because I would definitely have applied had I known - so I make up for that omission by positioning myself in the very front row. Excellent.

Finally it's time - we inch forward, then inch forward again until we're hard up against the small group (maybe 20) of preferred/elite runners. Bang goes the gun and off we all sprint up the hill. Here goes nothing!


Miles 1-3: 6:41, 6:11, 6:03 (pace in min/mile)
The first mile of this race is a horrible one - it's inevitably crowded, uphill, and narrow. My Garmin beeps the first mile after we've made the first big turn under the expressway and onto the bridge, and when I look down I'm horrified to see it read 6:41. That's WAY too slow for the effort level I'm feeling - momentary panic overtakes me: if 6:41 feels this tough, there's no way I'm running a decent time today. But I quickly push this fear aside and try to focus on enjoying the run.

I'm halfway across the bridge now and I'm reminded of the first time I walked across the bridge proper - was it 1982? It must have been the 50th anniversary of its construction, but was that 1932, or maybe later? My brain is still happily occupied puzzling over this question when the second mile beeps 6:11. Ahhh, much better. I relax into the pace now, and with mile 3 mostly a gentle downhill, it's all good.

The obligatory peace sign, with bemused onlooker

Miles 4-6: 6:09, 6:15, 6:25
The course continues its undulations as we head across the expressway above Circular Quay and up Macquarie Street towards the Domain. This is the final stretch of the half-marathon I ran in May, but this race is only just getting started. As we turn down towards the harbour to start mile 5, at this point I realise there is a group of women not far ahead ahead of me. There weren't that many females in the elite/preferred group, only one of whom looked likely to be of my vintage - and that's her right there, running in step with 2 others.

She has this weird posture or running stance, leaning right forward like she's almost about to fall. I wonder idly if her name might be Eileen (totally unfunny), then tell myself to focus and JUST CATCH HER ALREADY. I manage this during the unpleasant uphill that takes us back past the Art Gallery, and just as I pull past her, one of her companions stops to tie her shoelace. Voila, two positions up in the field without trying too hard! The other woman, who is wearing pink Lululemon shorts, has pulled ahead by about 50 metres now and I'm not going to be catching her anytime soon. There's a challenge for the rest of the race, perhaps.


Miles 7-9: 6:31, 6:15, 6:23
With the first significant uphill finally behind me, I concentrate on keeping my footing as things get a bit technical heading through Circular Quay and the historic Rocks precinct. I realise I forgot to take my  second vanilla GU at mile 6, so I fish it out of my bra and suck it down. Things flatten out at last for real as the course takes us under the bridge - scene of my best running photo ever, taken in this race 2 years ago - but there's no photographer there this time, unfortunately. So I'll have to be content with the original:

September 2011 - best.photo.ever.

Heading around the corner, Pink Shorts is still about 50 metres in front of me and she stays there as the next mile ticks over and we head out towards Pyrmont. The rollers continue and I decide not to worry too much about pace - I seem to be keeping it around 6:25 without too much difficulty, and that's good enough for me. A guy now passes me and I note with interest that he has the same shuffly gait as I do. It occupies me nicely for a while to watch his cadence and compare it with mine (we're pretty much the same), then compare us both to the few runners around us. We are both out-shuffling everyone else at a rate of at least 3 steps to 2. At least I'm not the only person who does this!

The male leaders pass on their way back towards the finish, and there's a Japanese man way out in front of a familiar African runner, both looking strong. I wait for the ladies to appear behind them, but the course branches before any females are visible. Oh well - I know I'm probably in the top 15, maybe even top 10, but it doesn't really matter anyway at this point. I just want the race to be over!


Miles 10-12: 6:29, 6:24, 6:04
There's a horror turn-around to start mile 10, with a sharp hill where we run up, over, around and back. Ugh,  it's really steep, and I almost catch Pink Shorts. But she's a gazelle to my glider shuffle, and she out-strides me easily on the ensuing downhill. Then up we go again and onto the expressway for the last few miles of the race. She's maybe 75m ahead now.

I know that most of the rest of the course ahead is pretty flat, but of course it's easy to lose focus at this stage and slow down unintentionally. I'm not doing that yet, but neither am I speeding up. Then, as mile 12 starts I suddenly realise Pink Shorts is definitely slowing down - I seem to be catching up without really trying. A familiar dilemma starts in my head: should I exert myself to pass her, and risk then not having enough left in the tank to hold a lead right to the finish? Or should I hang where I am and pass her closer to the line? I debate this for at least half a mile as I gradually creep up behind her....

Then when I get within striking distance suddenly my subconscious takes over, and before I realise what's happening, I'm accelerating and burning past her (and the guy who is lumbering along beside her). I hear a muttered expletive that makes me inappropriately gleeful, and I know the chase is ON. Let's go!

Finally in front of her - can I stay there?

Mile 13, 0.1 to finish: 6:23, 5:09
The final mile of the race takes us back under the bridge and along the boardwalk right on the edge of the harbour.  Not only can I hear and almost feel Pink Shorts behind me, people are now calling out "Go ladies!!" in a way that reminds me I have NOT lost her yet. I'm speeding up as much as I can within the constraints of the course, but it's tough. Suddenly a guy in red absolutely blazes past us both - wow, what a finishing kick! - and then, as we approach the end of mile 13, someone yells out "6th lady, 7th lady!"

Oh.My.God. If there was need for motivation, there isn't anymore: I put my head down and SPRINT. This is going to make for some very, very ugly finish photos, but I just don't care. Sixth! It's a lot better than I had guessed, and I'm darned if I'm going to be pushed back into 7th at this point.

"She's right behind you!!" - bonus points for obviousness to the smartypants who yelled that at me here

I speed down the finish chute just as fast as my little Roadrunner legs will take me, and cross the line still in front of Pink Shorts just as the clock hits 1:23:08. Hooray, a course PR by almost 5 minutes!

Finish time: 1:23:08, 6:19 pace.

Placement: 6th female, 59th OA, 1st AG (40-44)

I grab a bottle of water, shake Pink Shorts by the hand and congratulate her on the race (she's fairly monosyllabic in response, and I can't say I blame her) before wandering around to sit on the Opera House steps. I spot the red shirted bloke who tore past me earlier, so I sit down next to him and remark "Some finishing kick you got there!" It turns out this was his first ever half marathon and he had no idea how to pace it - so we talk for a while about training and mileage, I encourage him to run more and check out the RunnersWorld forums, and then I go to claim my medal and start the cool-down jog home.


The Analysis
Well, that was kind of fun! I knew going into it that a fast time was going to be difficult, but around 1:23 seemed possible and I'm glad I got that part right. And 6th female is a great placement for such a big race - there were 3806 female finishers - how could I be anything other than happy with that?! Maybe the more unstructured training I've been engaging in lately is not such a bad idea after all. And maybe I'm actually in pretty darn good shape heading into Melbourne. I guess we'll find out in 3 weeks' time!

Lake to Lagoon Fun Run, September 2013

Wagga's premier (and only) annual road race is the Lake to Lagoon. It started in 1972 as the City to Lake (9km) and then reversed direction to become the Lake to Lagoon (9.5km) in 2005.

I moved to Wagga in 2007 and first ran it in 2009, finishing as 4th female in an unimpressive time that I won't immortalise here. In fact, that result was one of a few less-than-inspiring race times I posted in late 2009, and the combination was what set me on the course I have pursued since -- finally getting serious about training and about running to the best of my potential.

In 2010 I was training for NYC marathon and so I chose not to run that year. In 2011 I ran it almost completely untrained and managed to win, despite ending up in the medical tent immediately after crossing the line. And in 2012 I finally set that right by winning and not only remaining upright afterwards, but also setting a new female race record for the 9.5km Lake to Lagoon course. Yay me!

Looking across the lake to Apex Park, where the fun begins

For reasons unknown, in 2013 the route was again changed and slightly lengthened to become a proper 10K - in effect the Lake to Lake, as it would now start and finish at Lake Albert. Since I live almost exactly one mile from the lake, this was a bonus for me and removed the need to figure out a way home from the Wiradjuri Lagoon in the middle of town where the race usually ends. Excellent!


The Training
I never had any doubt that I'd run again this year, unless injured of course, but I never gave much thought to how I'd fit it into my training schedule. In fact, in the weeks leading up to the race I was pretty much "off-plan" for the first time in a very, very long while - after running Gold Coast and then the Wagga Trail marathon, I found myself completely sick of formal training schedules. A few times I fully intended to write something up or work something out....but I simply never did.

To make matters worse I then signed up to run Melbourne marathon in mid-October as an elite, still without a training plan in place, and promptly began stressing out about my lack of proper long runs with only 5 weeks til the race. And so it came to pass that the very day before the Lake to Whatever, I set out to do 15 miles and ended up running 20 (that's 32.2km for the metric-minded) instead. Whoops, that might not have been the best idea I ever had! I spent the rest of the day resting (and refuelling) as much as I could, but I knew my legs would still be fatigued come Sunday morning.


Race Day
I take full advantage of the otherwise stupidly late start time of 10:30am to sleep late. Finally, at 7:30am I roll out of bed, make myself a light breakfast of raisin toast and coffee, and then I pretty much laze about the house until it's finally time to leave. At 9:45am I set out for a 2 mile warm-up jog that takes me through the local neighbourhood and eventually all the way down to the lake, where crowds are massing already. It's a beautiful morning with barely a cloud in the sky, and my guess is it's at least 65F/18C already. At least there's no wind.

Near the start I start bumping into the usual suspects: the fast guys including the winners of the past 2 years, and my trail marathon buddy Rob, who to my extreme surprise is standing behind a jogging stroller. "You're not pushing that are you??" I ask in amazement, but yes, he is, and there's a sturdy-looking preschooler comfortably ensconced in there as well. I wish him luck and tell him I hope he wins the stroller division, and head off to lurk near the starting line.

That's me in the groovy INKnBURN gear, squinting because I don' t like to run in sunnies.

As usual there are a bunch of young boys lined up right in front, but this year I'm not hanging back - I haven't forgotten how tough it is getting past the kids when they take off like rockets and then die rapidly around the 200m mark. And Tony Abbott isn't there this year to slow me down, either: last night he was elected Prime Minister of the country, so I'm sure he's otherwise occupied. I make small talk with the guy next to me (he's wearing a Camelbak hydration pack! Is this overkill or is he really slow, and in that case what's he doing in the front row?) and try to ignore the dorky aerobics instructors trying to get me to warm up with them, and finally there is a very very slow countdown from 5........4..........3......2,1 and it's time to run.

Miles 1-2: 6:12, 6:25

As usual, all the kids sprint ahead like maniacs and then slow down dramatically. This year I'm ready for them and only have to bark out "Watch it!" to one boy as he goes past me in reverse. I glance at my watch about 1km in and the pace is sub-6:00, which is definitely way ambitious for me. Oops, slow it down - but then a chick with a long blonde ponytail shoots past and opens a lead of about 20m on me. I'm fine with this until Rob appears on my right, stroller and all, and does the same. This is not okay! I'm running sub-4:00min/km and he's pushing probably 60lbs of kid and stroller? No way.

The first mile split is a bit slower than I thought it would be, as we head along Lake Albert Rd and start the climb up towards the turn-around point. I was ready for this but it still sucks, and I know there won't be any relief until the 4km (2.5 mile) mark. I'm overtaking bunches of guys now but Blonde Ponytail is around 50m ahead and she's holding that lead despite the uphill. Damn it, I'm going to finish second in another local race! Nothing I can do about it though, and I doubt if I can catch her.

Miles 3-4: 6:15, 6:07

Into the downhill, by my calculations Blondie is about 30 seconds ahead. Between me and her are a couple of guys and Rob with his stroller, and the situation stays the same as we click off mile 3 at a more acceptable pace, then mile 4 as we hit the lakeside path and its minor undulations. I know this path so well - I run it at least 4 times a week - and I know there are some small inclines and technical parts coming up ahead. I've formed the ambition to at least catch Rob, even if Blondie remains out of my reach, and with that thought I manage to keep myself going at an appropriate speed, even if the thought to just give up and jog it in for 2nd place does keep popping into my mind.

Miles 5-6: 6:19, 6:19

We skirt along past the Golf Course and I'm noticeably gaining on Rob now, although Blondie is still well ahead. As the path goes steeply uphill behind the Boat Club, finally I get past him (and another guy) and now all I have to do is not get caught! Just over a mile left....

The sun is out in full force now and I'm reminded of last year's 11km race that followed this exact same course, but in temperatures probably 20F hotter - the last part was very uncomfortable, and today I feel similar. As we approach the final corner towards the park and finish line, I can see that Blondie is surging and the gap is noticeably bigger than it has been all race. I put on my best finishing kick - hearing the cheers of friends and spectators helps greatly - as I approach the finish at 5:57 pace.

Finish time: 38:48 (6:16 pace)

Placement: 2nd female, 1st in AG (F40-49)

Delighted to be able to stop running now!

As usual it's very pleasant to be able to stop running, and I've only just caught my breath and straightened up when Rob and his little passenger come charging across the line. Sub-40:00 with a stroller - now that's impressive! I thank him for motivating me to run my best, then spend the next half hour chatting to various running acquaintances whilst waiting for the presentation. Turns out none of last year's winners - or the year before - have triumphed today: Blonde Ponytail (whose name is Julia) is part of a posse of fast runners who have swept in and put us all to shame. I accept my medals for my AG and overall 2nd place, then jog gently home, mainly because I'm far too impatient to walk.

The Analysis

I could feel that 20 miler in my legs from about the start of mile 2 - if not for that, I probably would have been able to run a faster time. How much faster? Anybody's guess is as good as mine, but I'm fairly sure I still would have been the bridesmaid and not the bride. That's shaping up to be my theme for 2013, but at least I'm still out there trying! And once again the next female behind me was several minutes adrift, so I can take some consolation in that fact.

Next up: Melbourne marathon, brought to you by the WTF training plan. Can it get me a sub-2:50? It's going to be rather interesting finding out the answer to that question.....

Swag!

Wagga Wagga Trail Marathon 2013

As the defending champion of 2012, of course I felt it necessary to enter the Wagga Trail marathon when the opportunity arose again. It is an extremely hilly and tough course - the perfect thing for the day after you return from a week of skiing/no running, in fact - but given that Wagga has all of 3 running events per annum, it's hard to justify not participating.

The Training
I did manage to squeeze in a single 20-miler in the weeks following Gold Coast, but otherwise it was just a bunch of running around aimlessly, really. Actually running some hilly traily-type of courses might well have helped in preparing for this race, but oh well, I never managed to fit it in. In fact, after twice running the Pomigalana hills-of-death with the Wagga Road Runners and twice coming off second-best, I was probably suffering from trail-induced post-traumatic stress disorder.

Course elevation profile, more food for nightmares

Race Day
Having returned from a very active week of skiing just the evening before the marathon, I continue my holiday habit of lying motionless in bed for some time after waking. As a result I eventually get up a whole hour after I was intending to, and then I decide to eat a piece of toast and drink coffee even though the race is only 1.5 hours away. Good idea or suicidal? Only time will tell.

It's a beautiful, slightly cloudy winter morning and the perfect temperature (around 5C/41F)  as I drive to the start at the lovely "Wagga Beach", a stretch of sand on the banks of the Murrumbidgee River near the centre of town. The route of the marathon will take us in a full loop around Wagga to end back here, and I know from experience it is a punishingly tough course.

Miles 6-20 are a constant procession of hills, with some seriously narrow, technical mountain bike trails and a sprinkling of fences just to keep it interesting. The last 6 miles are flat, but there are multiple stiles to climb and stretches of soft sand to contend with - it's going to be a difficult morning no matter what.

Wagga Beach

I'm hanging out with last year's male winner, Rob, chatting and checking out the competition when he points out a group of people not far away. One is a woman, about my height but obviously a good deal younger. She has thigh muscles like I've never seen before on a runner, and he informs me her name is Hanny Allston. All he tells me at this point is that she was an orienteering World Champion, but it's enough for me - I know instantly that the best I can hope for today is 2nd place. Oh well, at least I'll still aim for a course PR, but some of the shine has gone off the day already. Sigh.

The start is predictably casual - I'm right in the front row, of course - and before I know it we're off. Wheee!

Miles 1-3: 7:07, 7:00, 7:07
Hanny takes off at sub-3 pace, Rob in lock-step with her (he's told me already his goal is sub-3, and I know he has the speed to achieve this although it would be an 8 minute PR over his time from last year) and I hold back the desire to go with them. This isn't hard to do, as there are steps and a few slippery gravel parts to the first mile along the river levee bank. I can't quite believe the pace at which the runners ahead of me are taking these obstacles, in fact. Am I the only person who wants to wimp out when confronted with a slippery obstacle course? I'm such a pathetic devotee of the asphalt.

Miles 4-6: 6:58, 6:58, 7:20
I'm going rather too fast for a couple of miles here, but I know I can afford to bank a little time because of what's coming up. And sure enough, in mile 6 begins the painful climb up Red Hill - the first but definitely not the last of the big hills. In contrast to last year, by the time I reach the base of Red Hill I'm pretty much running all on my own. This is not good for my mental state - combine that with the knowledge of what lies ahead, and I am not enjoying this as much as I thought I would. Oh well, onward and upward....

Miles 7-9: 7:24, 7:07, 7:31
I realise now that pace-wise I'm holding my own rather well through the first few hills, and this is a pleasant surprise. The sun has come out and it's warmer than I was expecting, but on the whole the weather is really cooperating extremely well. At the first drink station I ended up wearing most of the water I grabbed - the cups are plastic and impossible to pinch into a spout, like you can with paper cups - so I have now adopted a new policy of stopping at the water tables and making sure I get a good mouthful in before I run on. I usually hate to stop whilst running, but I don't have a good option here and in fact so far it's working out fine.

The trail marathon circumnavigates the town of Wagga - the squiggly bit top left is through Pomigalana Reserve.

Miles 10-12: 7:58, 7:12, 7:06
The steepest incline of the race comes during mile 10, but it's tempered for me by the pleasant experience of running past an early starter - she's tiptoeing daintily along and wearing an iPod - I can't imagine she hears me coming but as I pass she calls out to me "I love your blog!" and that's so nice to hear that I almost forget that I'm practically dying up this horrible hill. I wanted to keep my pace under 8:00 min/mile for the whole of this race, but mile 10 gets awfully close. The downhills that eventually follow allow me to make up a bit of time, but I'm painfully aware that the worst is yet to come.

Miles 13-15: 7:13, 7:35, 7:59
Shortly before half-way, something weird happens. There's this guy that I've been gradually catching over the past 4-5 miles, eventually passing him around mile 12. About half a mile later he suddenly emerges in front of me as I make my way across the flat stretch of trail leading into the half-way relay changeover point. How did he get ahead without me seeing him?? I give him a dirty look - clearly he's cut a corner somehow - and he sheepishly calls out "I keep getting lost...." Good thing for him he's not a chick - I would have been much more annoyed.

Through the half in around 1:34, I'm hoping that will still set me up for a time around 3:10-3:12. But under the highway and up towards Pomigalana, those hopes start to fade. The hills there are bad enough when you're running them fresh - after 14 miles already? Forget it.

The worst part is that this year I don't have anybody to chase. I'm passing a few early starters here and there, but last year was so different. It was a battle to catch and then pass the one female ahead of me - I'm about to realise how helpful that battle was in keeping me going through the treacherous trails of Pomigalana.

Miles 16-19: 7:48, 8:10, 8:25
Wow, there goes my pace. The first mile north of 8:00 pace of the entire race, followed by my slowest mile EVER in this race - worse that mile 24 through the sand last year - that number does a total number on me mentally. The thought goes through my head "Just pull back and jog it in comfortably, it's not like you're going to win it anyway" and I must admit that the idea of saving myself some pain and suffering is extremely appealing. I've had a side stitch since just before mile 13 (the revenge of the toast? probably) and it's getting worse by the minute; it appears to be alternating with a weird pain in my left hip flexors, and putting it simply, I'm just NOT having fun today. Why kill myself into the bargain? But I do still want to beat last year's time....and that's about the extent of my ambition at this point. Sigh.

Miles 20-22: 7:29, 7:23, 7:43
The long downhill beside the City Golf Course is a welcome relief. Last year this is where I caught Singlet Girl, then two blokes - this year there's almost nobody in sight. I pause for a cup of water, then shoot through the turnstile and head left down the road. Are we there yet? Mum? ARE WE THERE YET??

Beautiful river, even after 24 miles of hell to get there...

Miles 23-25: 7:28, 7:41, 7:51
The finishing miles along the Murrumbidgee River (above) are somehow not as bad as I'm expecting. Serendipity, or perhaps random vandalism, has turned several of the stiles into non-events, as the fence beside at least 3 of them appears to have vanished. Nice! And the stretch of sand at mile 24 is not nearly as long as I remember it - I'm keeping the pace under 8:00! Small things like that please me greatly at this point.

Around mile 25 I see two blokes jogging along ahead of me, and one of them is in fact my supervisor at work - he doesn't run much but announced to me a few weeks ago that he'd be running the half and expected to finish just ahead of me. Since both half and full marathons started at the same time, I assumed he was being funny - but no, that's definitely him up ahead. As I approach he turns and starts jogging backwards. Does he have a cramp?? I start to worry that maybe he's in trouble, but no, he greets me cheerily and steps easily aside to let me past. Wow, very bizarre.

Mile 26, finish: 7:46, 6:28 pace to finish.
I really don't feel nearly as bad as I did last year at this point, but I just can't be bothered even trying to stay near my stated goal pace of 7:30 for the final few miles. I have a small kick left as I get into the final stretch of the race, and actually crossing the line is fabulous for the simple fact that now I get to stop running at last - does it show on my face??

Finish line, OMG finally!

Finish time: 3:16:09 (7:31 min/mile)

Placement: 2nd female, 9th OA. 1st in AG (F40-44)

I soon hear that Hanny Allston won but was only 7 minutes ahead of me - a quick Google search on my phone leads me to the page linked at the top of this entry, describing her talents and also her age (27) - it's some consolation that she is 16 years younger than me and technically I could actually be her MOTHER, oh my god. I devise a quick handicap system in my head - a minute per year of age difference - and decide that based on this I have just won by nine minutes, then I accept my $25 gift card for winning my AG, and go home to get my kids. We spend the next couple of hours by the river, which means they get to get thoroughly wet and cover their clothes with sand/mud, and I get to lie on the grass in the shade and watch. The perfect win-win situation!

The Analysis:

It's all about who shows up on the day, really. I'm happy to have bettered last year's time by 3 minutes, and relieved that nothing fell apart after my slothful week at the snow. Not winning again is disappointing, but them's the breaks. Next up? Capitalising on my current ability to get elite status at major marathons. That one is most definitely not going to last - so I need to make the most of it while I can.

Gold Coast Marathon, July 2013

In early April an email popped up in my inbox inviting me to run the Gold Coast as a seeded runner, based on my result from last year when I finished 14th. At the time I was in two minds - probably mostly because Boston was looming large in my mind and I always have trouble thinking more than one marathon ahead - but in May things crystallised in my mind and I decided to give it another go after all. The fact that my Boston 2:49 qualified me for Elite Assistance (free hotel, entry etc) put me over the line, actually, although of course it also added a whole new dimension of fear....and ambition.


The Training

After accepting the offer of Elite status, I somehow conceived of the notion that I might be able to better my Boston PR, and trained with the goal of a marathon pace slightly faster than the 6:26/4:00 pace I ran there. I can’t say it went very well – I found MP disturbingly difficult this time around – but it was hard to say whether that was due to fatigue from high mileage or to running in the dark and cold, or some other random factor. 

I had 11 weeks to both recover and prepare for Gold Coast, and in contrast to last year I pretty much made it up as I went along. I ran 11 whole miles in the rest of the week that followed Boston (which is run on a Monday), recovered for another week (67 miles) and then bounced back and forth between high 60s and low 80s (miles, which equates to 95-120 km/week) whilst running a bunch of shorter races. After getting that out of my system I managed to log 4 good weeks (100, 101, 100 and 91 miles) before being forced into a crash-taper by a weird pain in my left hamstring just 10 days out.

The hamstring thing settled very quickly, but I was left feeling totally paranoid and without any time to make up for the loss of confidence that a near-injury necessarily brings. And so I headed into the taper, my mysterious hamstring niggle adding to the negative energy that my MP struggles in training had produced. All I could hope for was that the taper and race day pixie dust might do the trick. Marathon pace or suicide pace? Hard to tell the two apart sometimes....

The Lead-up

The kids and I head up to the Gold Coast a few days early, to take advantage of the 3 free nights’ accommodation that the marathon organisers have generously given me. We are all seasoned travellers by this point, so the 2 flights go by with little fanfare and in no time we’re checked in and enjoying the beach near our hotel.

Friday is the day of the Elite athlete briefing and media conference, at which I chat again to Steve Moneghetti (he remembers me! Or pretends convincingly that he does, at any rate) and am presented – on stage – with my race bib by Lisa Ondieki, another Australian marathon legend. It is all pretty surreal, and it’s not lost on me that my PR is a good 8 minutes slower than the slowest of the 9 other women up there, but hey, I’m there!! 

That's me in pink, second from right

The kids are fantastic about hanging around in the hotel gym each morning as I run my final pre-race workouts (a measly 4 and 3 miles) on the very nice treadmill there, and then Saturday is the morning of the 2K Junior Dash, in which they are both entered. Amelia insists that a tulle skirt is essential running garb, Jack announces that he won’t be running with us this year as we are too slow for him, and he more than proves himself right by crossing the line in 10:41, a 41 second PR over last year! Amelia and I cross a couple of minutes later – a princess cannot be rushed, apparently – but at least she ran the whole way, and they are two very proud little runners as they pose for their equally proud Mama.

Junior Dashers!

Race Day

I’m easily awake at 4:30am and get up around 5am to dress and wash down a granola bar with some chocolate milk. The toughest part of the morning is waking the kids and hustling them out the door at 6am – there’s a good reason why small children and early morning marathons don’t mix well! – but we manage to get on our way only a little bit late. I drive a circuitous route to Southport, where we happily find a dream parking spot just a couple of minutes’ walk from the starting line. A good omen!

We meet up with the babysitter who is going to stay with the kids while I run, and off I go to the Elite tent to get a few moments of mental peace. There I meet one of my imaginary running buddies from the Runners World forums – very cool as always to meet someone in the real world – we chat briefly and off he goes again, but our paths will cross a good few more times during the day.

As I get ready I’m not too impressed with the Australian uniform I’m supposed to be wearing to compete in the Oceania Marathon Championships, and even less so when I find out from another girl that she competed in Oceania last year and didn’t wear it – so I decide to dispense with the horrible shorts: they are sure to chafe and I’m wearing my standard racing ones anyway.

Australian uniform, pity it's so fugly

I keep the singlet on – it’s kinda cool to be representing my country – but my sense of color coordination is deeply offended by the fact that I am now wearing green, gold, white, black, blue, pink and purple all in the one outfit. It’s a good thing I don’t have much time to dwell on it, because the race is about to start! It’s perfect running conditions – around 14C/57F, sunny but with some cloud and no wind – I couldn’t have asked for better, really. Everyone lines up, I’m about 5 rows back this year and boom, the gun goes and we spring into action.

Miles 1-3: 6:29, 6:18, 6:24 (pace in min/mile)

Heading out I’m trying to squish any negative thoughts and focus on settling into a pace that feels sustainable. The first mile comes in slightly slower than I expected from my effort level, but at this point I always feel like I’m working too hard, so I ignore the voice that says quietly “Uh oh…” and speed things up a touch.

Mile 2 is  a bit fast, mile 3 more like what I’m aiming for, and the guys around me are helping me settle in – one is a shirtless blond surfer type, who pants out “You aiming for 4 minute kilometers?” I pant back “Yep, or thereabouts...”, he grunts in affirmation and onward we press. In sharp contrast to former years, he will not fade into the distance and in fact ends up beating me by at least a minute!

The best thing right now is that I’m on pace with no discomfort whatsoever from my hamstring. In fact I’m very happy with the first 5K split of 19:41, and by now I feel quite comfortable, so maybe today will go my way.

Miles 4-6: 6:21, 6:15, 6:21

The course is quite familiar from last year, which is both good and bad. I’m really not looking forward to going past the finish area yet still having 6 miles to run – that’s just mental torture – but on the other hand, my brain is quite happily occupied remembering stuff that happened last year. I pass the point where I pulled ahead of Steve Moneghetti and his sub-3 hour pacing group (more like a horde), and then we’re turning onto the back streets where that silly triathlete told me he’d be sticking with me for the whole race. Or maybe the next 400 meters, who knows.

Coming up to mile 6 there’s a guy ahead of me in a red singlet who looks weirdly familiar. As I pull alongside him I see he’s wearing a distinctive necklace and OMG, it’s my RWOL buddy Bernie! I gasp out “Oh! It’s you!” and we discuss how we’re both feeling. He’s running by heart rate – his training hasn’t been optimal due to an injury – and I’m running by feel; both of us conclude that we are feeling okay at this point! Phew.

But shortly after this conclusion, a weird feeling appears in my left calf. Uh oh, is this the hamstring thing again, just lower down? It’s not bad at all so I choose to ignore it and, mercifully, it goes away after about 10 minutes. Double phew!

Miles 7-9: 6:19, 6;17, 6:18

The 10K split is right on target at 39:28. It’s nice to have company, although obviously neither of us has extra breath to chat. The pace is still right where I want it, but of course that small voice in the back of my head refuses to be 100% convinced that I’m going to be able to sustain this for the full 26.2 miles. But I’ve never yet turned down a challenge during a marathon, and today will not be the day that I start. Slowly I start to pull ahead of Bernie, and we head further towards the turnaround.

My singlet is getting me quite a lot of cheers from the spectators, which is nice – “Go Australia!”, “Aussie Aussie Aussie!” and such – but it’s quite a surprise when someone yells “Go Rach!”. I turn to look but I have no idea who that was, and soon afterwards there are a few calls of “Go Wagga!”, which is even more surprising.

A few miles later I will realize that duh, there was a piece about me on television last week in Wagga, these must be the families or friends of the other Wagga runners who are taking part in today’s race. But for now it’s a mystery that my brain doesn’t have enough unoccupied cells to solve.

The obligatory peace sign, maybe I'm having fun after all....

 Miles 10-12: 6:13, 6:18, 6:15

There’s a sharp right hand corner as we turn away from the beach and onto the highway – this is where I saw the leaders last year, already on their way back towards Surfers Paradise. But I’m quite a long way ahead of last year, pace-wise, so I don’t see them until I’m halfway along the stretch of highway. There are 9 of them, every single one African or Japanese! One poor lone bloke trails them by about 400m, I briefly feel sorry for him, and then I’m turning back towards the beach.

I count a few women on this stretch – two Africans are in the lead, New Zealand masters legend Sally Gibbs is 4^th – but I don’t bother trying to figure out my own placing. I don’t need to know, or so goes my reasoning. The 15K split is reassuring: 59:05. At mile 11 comes the turn and I find myself looking forward to the half-way mark already, which isn’t a confidence-inspiring turn of events. This pace is starting to feel ambitious, but I’m not backing down.

Miles 13-15: 6:19, 6:23, 6:20

Wow, the half seems to be taking forever to come. My 20K split is again very consistent, 1:18:49, and I pass through the halfway point in 1:23:09. Ooops, faster than Boston?? Am I really trying to run 2:46 today? It’s too late to give up – my balls are well and truly on the table, as per the famous RWOL quote. Might as well just give it everything I’ve got. A quote from my Boston race report flashes through my head “Today I’m running the race of my life” – wow, seems like maybe I’m doing it again already. How did THAT happen?

Miles 16-18: 6:20, 6:22, 6:22

Through the 25K mark in 1:38:46 – slowing a tad but still on pace for 2:47 or so. Gulp. This stretch passes back along the beach, the sun has come out and it’s quite warm now, although not uncomfortably so. I’m remembering the bloke in the white-and-blue singlet last year who gave me a pep talk at this point (I could use one now too) when suddenly we come up to a water stop. I haven’t taken advantage of the elite water tables this year – I don’t sweat too much so I don’t need a ton of fluid in a race, and they weren’t that essential for me last year – plus I would have had to drop them off on Saturday to the expo, and I was busy riding rollercoasters with my kids that day.

So anyway, there are both cups and bottles (for anyone, not just elites) at this table. I’m debating whether to bother with getting water or not when a guy in a blue and black singlet unexpectedly hands me a whole bottle. Wow, what a nice gesture! We will go on to run much of the race close together before I finally pull ahead and finish a minute or so ahead of him – and I make sure to thank him for the water when I shake his hand after the finish.

Starting to feel the pain, heading towards mile 20

Miles 19-21: 6:22, 6:29, 6:32

I pass a girl – but oh no, she’s an African elite – I look around at her bib and she’s Tesema, the winner (who also set a course record) in 2011. How awful for her - but on the bright side, I just moved up a spot. And another, as I catch and pass a girl in black. Go me!

Finally we’re getting back closer to the start/finish area, and going across the bridge to Southport I’m idly thinking that this is where a good photo was taken of me in last year’s race, when WTF?? There’s an idiot on a skateboard, zigging and zagging down the bridge right towards me! Any potential photo op is probably ruined by the scowl this stupid behaviour puts on my face – but whatever, I need to brush it off and face on the upcoming obstacle: the only hill of the race. It’s small but for anyone who has just run 20 miles, that’s still a problem.

The 30K mark provides a reality check: 1:58:40, so I’m still pretty much on suicide pace. As I head up the hill and past the turnoff to the finish chute (mental torture) I can feel myself slowing down – is this the negative thoughts coming in to bite me? No, not entirely; I’m just tired and ready for this to be over! The next 6 miles are going to be tough.

As I head past the start area though, there are the kids and babysitter on the side of the road! They all wave and scream at me, and it’s just the boost I needed at this point. Of note I now pass another female in a loud triathlete-type outfit: it's the debut elite, Cassie Fien. She looks to be finding out the meaning of the saying “Respect the Distance” and when I examine her race splits later, yep, she went out even faster than me! At least I already learned that lesson, or did I?

The 35K split – 2:19:10 – confirms what I know already: I’m slowing down. I’ve just run my first split over 20 minutes, and at this point I know it won’t be my last. Time to hang in there and just get it done.

Miles 22-24: 6:28, 6:36, 6:43

It’s all going reasonably okay as I approach the final turn-around point at mile 23.  There’s even another girl not that far ahead! I wasn’t actually aware of a tailwind, but boom, after the turn suddenly a moderately strong headwind is blowing right in my face. Turning out to head along the coast again just makes things worse, and there’s NOBODY around to draft behind – until I manage to haul in a bloke who is a decent size and I tuck right in behind him. Ugh, he’s sweating on me, this is totally gross, but I have no choice! Until I glance at my Garmin and realize he’s going too bloody slow. Just like Honolulu, when I had the same exact problem, I pull out and forge ahead alone.

My pace has taken a hit – this is survival mode, for sure – and I make a snap decision just to keep it under 7:00 min/mile. I’ve passed that chick, so at least I’m not the only one tanking at this point. The 40K split would be discouraging if I still had the mental faculties to actually do the maths and figure it out: 2:40:08, which means my average pace is now roughly the same as Boston, and there will be no PR for me today. But I’m too far gone – all I can think is to just keep running.

Miles 25, 26 and 0.2: 6:50, 6:47, 6:29

Tank, tank, tank – I’m dying as I struggle towards the finish line. There’s yet another girl not too far ahead, but I just can’t summon the kick to catch her. I make it into the finish chute with absolutely nothing left in the tank, and hear the announcer rabbiting on about 2:48 something blah blah blah, then he’s saying my name and wondering if I’m from South Australia, blah blah blah, I’m wondering doesn’t it say the state I’m from on my entry you idiot?, and then FINALLY I’m over the line and I get to stop running now. Hooray!

Finish time: 2:49:21, 6:27 pace.

Placement: 10^th female, 66^th OA, 1^st AG (F40-44)

The Analysis

I can’t regret having gone for the pace that I did in this race. I knew it was risky, and even without the headwind over the final 3 miles I was always going to fade; but without the wind I honestly think I could have run a PR on Sunday. Still, to be only 18 seconds off is not the end of the world, and given my expectations for the race it’s probably pretty amazing that I came so close to 2:48 or even high 2:47s.

I’ve stated before that I think I’m fast approaching my absolute potential as a marathon runner, and I do believe that’s true – but maybe there’s still a tiny little bit more I can improve. Just maybe.

Local moment of fame, July 2013

I guess one rather good thing about living in a rural town of just 60,000 people is that it means in running terms, I'm something of a big fish in a small pond. I'm very well known around Wagga Wagga as a marathon runner, and as a result I constantly have people telling me "Oh I saw you out running the other morning!", which is pretty nice, really.

At least 50% of the time, however,  there is NO way it could have been me (I may be fast but I've never managed to be in two different places at the one time, not yet at least!) so until recently I was baffled by how many people seemed to be misidentifying me. But it turns out that I have a running doppelgänger!

Her name is Danielle, she's a local massage therapist and equestrian, and she's also out most mornings running many miles before dawn. The crazy part is that she is not only the exact same height and build as me, she also has the same distinctive shuffling, low-to-the-ground gait that I am known for. It makes us both relatively injury-resistant (other than that we've both tripped over the same small obstacle on the lakeside path in the past 6 months, it's tiny but we shufflers don't get much air), extremely efficient over distance, and clearly extremely easy to confuse. 

Whenever our paths cross, we usually run a couple of miles together and it's really fun to chat about life and running in general. The other day the conversation finally turned to how often people seem to mistake us for each other - I had been greeted by a cyclist the day before with a cheery "Hi Dani!" as he passed no more than 2 feet away from me in broad daylight - and she told me that her own MOTHER had given her the "I saw you out running this morning" comment with reference to a road where Danielle had not run in over a week: obviously it was ME her mother had seen and mistaken for her own daughter!

She also mentioned in the course of that conversation that she knows a local journalist who was keen to do a piece about me in the aftermath of Boston this April, but that nobody had been able to pass on my contact details. Through Facebook we were able to connect and I gave Dani my phone number, and not long afterwards I was contacted by Sarah, who works for a local news network and is also a runner. We arranged to meet in my lunch hour during my final day of work before leaving for the Gold Coast, and below is the result. I think it turned out really well! What do you think?