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.

When It All Goes Terribly Wrong - Canberra 50K, April 2018

Canberra is our national capital and a very confusing city indeed. When I was a child we used to drive through it on our way to the snowfields every year, usually becoming lost as a result, and the tradition continued when I started driving there myself as a young adult. It was only after spending 6 months living and working in Canberra in 2005 that I managed to develop enough of a feel for the city that I wasn't constantly finding myself going in circles or hopelessly lost. And considering my excellent sense of direction, that's really significant.

In 2011 I ran the Canberra marathon for my second attempt at the distance, but since it is generally held on the same weekend as Boston, I haven't been back since. This year, having decided to take a break from Beantown, it made sense to return to Canberra. Back 7 years ago they already had the 50K event but it wasn't terribly popular: you had to run the marathon, cross the finish line and then continue for another 8 kilometers.

At the time all I could think was, seriously? Who would make the decision to keep going after they'd just finished?? It's bad enough in races like Gold Coast where you have to go past the finish chute with another 10km to run, I couldn't imagine how psychologically tough it would be run to that far and cross a finish line but not be done.

Clearly the organisers figured this out at some point, and changed the arrangements so the 50K would start before and then merge with the marathon. Even though the announcement was made prior to race day that there would not be a World Championship event for the 50K distance in 2018, I figured I'd still run the longer event; my main motivation was the chance of winning the National Championship title, although if I'd bothered to look at the prize money for the marathon I probably would have dropped down.

In any case, I hadn't done a lot of running since Tokyo but I figured my endurance would still be pretty good, so I wasn't worried about major mishaps when I set off after working Saturday morning in Wagga. I managed to arrive in time to pick up my bib (amidst a squally, rainy Canberra afternoon), had a lovely catch-up for coffee with my friend Catherine, and then settled in to my very reasonable Queanbeyan accommodation for pizza and an early night. I didn't bother studying the rather-complicated course map in detail, because why would I? In a major city road race, a National Championship race no less, what could possibly go wrong?

There are a lot of numbers on there and the order appears somewhat random, but I'm sure it will make sense on the day

Race Day

4am isn't the most pleasant of times to wake up, and it's probably closer to 4:30 when I make it out of bed to get dressed, but it's a short, easy 10-15 minute drive to the start area and I sort of know already where I'm going to park. The rain has stopped but wind is still howling outside - this is a potential problem, although at least it's not going to be in my face the whole way as in Boston 2015 or New York 2014 - and it's chilly enough that I decide to wear a t-shirt rather than my usual singlet for racing.

I make it to the Elite tent shortly after 5:15am and time flies by, to the extent that suddenly there are only 5 minutes to go and I have to rush out in a panic to the start line. I realise halfway there that I've forgotten one of my gels, and in any case I only had enough for a marathon rather than a 50K (I have no idea why), but whatever: I need to get to the start! There's time enough there to wave to a few friends who are waiting to start the marathon, shed my jacket into the hands of a helpful volunteer, bounce up and down for a bit and then wheeee! Off I go on my 5th attempt at the 50K distance.


The First Part, aka Ignorance is Bliss.

It's still sort of a bit dark as we zoom off around the corner and pretty much directly up the only major hill and around the back of Parliament House. The lead pack of 3 (Vlad Shatrov, Brendan Davies and Barry Keem) quickly gaps the rest of us and by the second mile they and their bike escort are out of sight. I still have about 4-5 male runners visible ahead of me at this point, and am settling into a steady pace that is right around my goal of maybe-just-a-bit-slower-than-3-hour-marathon-pace, roughly 6:55 min/mile or 4:18 min/km. It feels comfortable and perhaps I'm going just a bit faster as we come down the hill again, but I know I'll find my sweet spot soon and so I'm not too worried.

About 1 mile in, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen

In fact, my brain is more occupied trying to figure out if the person 2 places ahead of me is a man (which I suspect) or a woman (doubtful but it's keeping my mind busy) - I'm just churning my legs and paying precious little attention to what's happening around me. We're following the usual circuitous path that road races seem to take in Canberra; it's familiar territory from all the times I've run in this area and I'm just happy to be out in what has turned out to be decent (if very windy) running weather today.

The Strava map above shows mile 3 in blue; we curl around under the bridge, the guys ahead of me peel one by one off to the left and I follow like the lemming that I am. Up and around we go towards the bridge across Lake Burley-Griffin. There's a red 5K banner right at the correct spot - I check my watch and it reads 21:30, which is reasonable I suppose. Heading across the bridge there are traffic guys putting out orange cones, which seems a bit late, and my friend Kelly jogging across in the opposite direction. We wave and greet each other enthusiastically, then she's gone. I refocus on the boys ahead and we zip down past a few race officials off the bridge and through the tunnel on Parkes Way.

I remember this part from late in the marathon when I ran it in 2011, and also from late in the half when I ran it in 2016 (foolishly), and it seems weird that we're headed out this way already but I know they've changed the course so whatever, it must be right. The guys ahead of me are still going so I just keep running, but after another 5 minutes, what's this? Men are running back the other way and they're not the lead pack: they're the chase pack. Huh?


It All Goes Horribly Wrong

Suddenly a car appears, driving at speed past me on the other side of the road, with lights flashing and people waving out the windows. The guys who were heading back have passed me, the rest who were out in front of me have turned around; someone yells "Turn! We're going the wrong way!"

Every brain cell I possess jumps to attention and screams "WHAT??" This cannot be happening! The wrong way?? But it is. I turn on my heel and give chase to the guys who are now only just ahead of me: one of them is wearing a strange red singlet with holes in it (purpose: ventilation? or perhaps to avoid chafing?) and stripey tights, another has a bright blue shirt.

"But I was in the lead!" I yell at the driver of the car, which has just done a U-turn and come up behind us. I was, but clearly I won't be by the time I make it back to wherever we have gone wrong.

Back we go across the bridge, fuming and complaining and trying to figure out how on earth this could possibly be put right; one of the people who turned us around was insisting that it would be corrected later somehow, but realistically I know how unlikely this is. By the time Stripey Holey Guy and I have made it back to where we diverged from the correct course, my watch reads over 6 miles, or 10km. Checking with him confirms it: we seem to have added at least 5-6km to the course.

Comically, at this point there's a red flag that says "10km" and I have a moment of disbelieving hope: perhaps this really is going to be fixed somehow? But as we run onwards, runners are now appearing, heading in the other direction on the other side of the road and I watch the two women who were behind me at the start make their way onwards, well ahead of me.

In fact, I'm now at the VERY BACK of the 50K field, it seems. As the course turns I am passing the slowest runners - all of whom are very encouraging, which is lovely but does little to settle my churning mind. Here I am at the very tail end of the pack when I SHOULD BE IN THE LEAD! Grrrrrr. The guy in the blue shirt pats me on the back and says "Calm down, just run your race", and of course I know he's right. Freaking out won't help, but come on, how could this have happened? In a national championship race!?

Making my feelings quite clear

It has happened before

So what happens when runners go off-course in a race? It has all happened before, of course, and what I remember from those instances doesn't give me much reassurance.

In the Venice marathon last October, a relative unknown won the entire thing after the course leaders were taken off-course by one of the motorcycle guides. Not long before that, the top 5 runners in the Kassel marathon in Germany were led astray by the timing car, which resulted in their disqualification from the race. And way back in 1994 at the New York marathon, a Mexican runner in contention for the win took a wrong turn in Central Park and looked sure to have lost the race, only to claw his way back to victory in a thrilling sprint finish.

So what does this all mean for me? I'm fairly certain that no matter what happens, the overall win is out of reach. I could - and do intend to - make an official protest about the lack of signage and direction that led to this debacle. Several of the guys who were ahead of me have now more or less given up and I've caught them, and we've chatted a bit as we've run together. All of them say they'll support me and testify to the fact that I ran all of the extra distance that they did.

These thoughts give me a degree of comfort, but nothing will change the fact that, barring something bizarre happening, another woman is going to be breaking the finish line tape today instead of me. Disbelief is giving way to dismay: I need to stop thinking about yelling at race officials at the finish and consider what on earth I'm going to do RIGHT NOW.


The Options

1. Give up and jog.
Yeah, that's not going to happen. I didn't come all this way just for an extra-extra-long training run, and I'm not interested in spending any more time running today than I actually have to.

2. Run hard to the 50km mark then stop.
Tempting, but no. I will end up with my first DNF if I fail to cross the actual finish line, no matter what my justification.

3. Cut the course to make it correct, or as near as I can manage.
Wow, also tempting, but again, against the rules. I hadn't even thought about timing mats or whether there will be any out here today (yes there will) but being caught cutting the course will mean an automatic DQ. And people will probably see me, and that will be really bad because they'll think I am cheating - nobody other than me, the guys I ran off-course with and a few people I have yelled at about it, knows that I have run so much further than I should have; they'll just think I'm cheating - so this option is also a definite NO.

4. Suck it up and just run the 56km already.
Sigh. Ok, I guess I really don't have a choice in the matter now.

What's more, my best chance of convincing the officials that I really *should* have won will be to run the entire way just as fast as I possibly can. I could run hard to 50K and then jog, but that will just look like a massive late-race bonk, so I guess that's not going to happen either.

My challenge now is to pick a pace that I think I can sustain not just to the 50km mark, but 6km beyond it. Actually, that's the easy part; the bigger challenge is what's going on inside my head.


Change your thinking

Anyone who reads this blog knows that I'm a GP and possibly also that I do a lot of work in mental health. I spend a significant amount of time every week trying to teach patients to calm down and learn to manage their negative emotions when these (inevitably) occur. That may sound boring and trite, but the big positive benefit for me has been that I've pretty much had to learn to practice what I preach.

In Tokyo recently I struggled the whole way through the marathon with an inexplicably negative mindset, and today goodness knows I've got an excellent excuse for feeling really, really PISSED OFF, but somehow it doesn't matter. I want to enjoy my run today - even if I'm not going to win - and I want to prove to myself that I can cope in difficult circumstances, so I set about doing so in no uncertain terms. I'm still really annoyed at what has happened, but I'm able to put that feeling to the side and focus on holding my pace. Negative thoughts are swirling around in my head but I pay no attention and eventually they evaporate, and it feels really, really good to be able to do this.

Might as well enjoy myself a bit

A Very Long Race

I spend the next 3+ hours basically overtaking people.

First there's the tail end of the 50K field, then I realise that I'm coming up on the back of the marathon field. I catch the 5:30 pace group, then the 5:00, the 4:45 and the 4:30 groups. It becomes an incentive, drawing me forwards - how many will I catch? Can I figure out which one I should be finishing closest to? (Short answer: no, my mental arithmetic sucks during races, so I can't. But I think it might be the 3:45 pace group. Maybe.)

There are quite a few Wagga runners in the marathon and I get to greet a number of them as I plough past at a decent clip. I hit what my Garmin tells me is the half marathon mark: 1:30:34. That's a bit faster than I should be going, although not at all far off what I had hoped for.

Eventually I'm back on the infamous part of the course where it all came unstuck before; this time I've run almost 24 miles, not just 3. My legs are not very happy. The wind is howling from the left hand side and the long out-and-back where I got turned around earlier is going to be hideous; it's a full-on gale headwind that almost stops me in my tracks.

The marathon mark comes as I'm having flashbacks to NYC 2014: 3:03:15. 
Ok, I'm slowing down, and what's more, I really don't care. Not in an angry, screw-this-crap sort of a way, it just doesn't bother me. So much has already gone wrong with this race that I'm not about to let a mere headwind upset me, although I'm certainly not about to enjoy it either.

Whose idea was this anyway? Mine?  I hate myself.

The wind is ridiculous and miles 26-29 are my slowest of the race so far. I'm sort of trying to figure out in my head how far the marathoners have run already - I've just seen Luke, who is running his first marathon and seems to be ahead of the 3:30 pace group - while also trying not to think of anything at all. Finally the turn comes and at least there's a decent tailwind now; it pushes me along and I manage to pick up a bit of speed again.

Trudging back along towards the Kings Avenue bridge, I'd sort of like to be done now, thanks, but I know I still have quite a long way to run. I'm surprisingly not too upset about this - perhaps my entire brain has just gone numb, who knows? - so I put my head down and keep going. Eventually we're back over the bridge and heading out on yet another long out-and-back. As I circle back and pass beneath the bridge my Garmin hits 50km, or 31 miles, and I note the time: 3:39:45. That's about what I was expecting and aiming for, so that's great! Next challenge: not hitting the wall somewhere in the next 6km. Game on.

Another out and back affords me the opportunity to see Larissa, whom I know vaguely from other races and who is in the lead, which is sort of what I expected. It's sort of depressing to see her sailing along and know that things have gone so horribly wrong for me, but it's close enough to the finish now that I just want to be done. And finally I am: the finish line appears and, amidst a throng of marathoners and slower half marathoners, I cross the line to very little fanfare.

Wait, where's the tape? <grimaces>

Finish time: 4:09:09

Distance on watch: 34.99 miles / 56.31km

Placement: 3rd female, 12th overall.


Someone comes up to put a lanyard and medal around my neck - I've still managed to place, but 3rd instead of 1st - and I urgently blurt out "We went off-course! I should have won!"

The official person knows about this and reassures me it is being looked into, and someone will come to the elite tent to talk to me soon. So I head back there and find Larissa and Karen, the two women who were behind and then in front of me. It turns out they went across the bridge too, but were corrected much sooner than I was: they only ran an extra 3km to my extra 6.3km. Lucky them!

They're both very generous and kind about it all, and the officials from ARF and AURA are both in agreement that I should have won, but nothing can be decided right now. Therefore, the unpleasant result for the three of us is that the presentation has to be cancelled while the whole thing is reviewed. So I head off for a delicious, very late breakfast in a bit of a grumpy mood, wondering why I don't seem to be able to get race distances right in the ACT (see also Stromlo, 2017).

The unofficial results on the ARF app show splits from the timing mats, and they prove what I already know: although it took me just on an hour to reach the first one, after I finally got back on course, I ran from that one to the finish line faster than any other woman in the race. I took 3 hours and 4 minutes to cover the distance; Larissa took 3:08 and Karen took 3:12. I definitely showed that I was capable of winning, but rules are rules, and I'm fairly certain I won't be judged the winner once all is said and done.


The Final Outcome

The Australian Running Festival and AURA both contacted me on Thursday after the race, and I have to say I was impressed with their responsiveness and desire to help. Although I was undoubtedly one of the worst-affected (none of the men who went off course were in a position to place overall but I certainly was), many others had been hoping to use the race as a qualifier - particular for Comrades - and so a great deal of effort was put into making sure these runners were not adversely impacted.

For myself, there's no 50K Worlds this year so I don't really need a qualifier, but I was humbled and gratified that both organisations chose to recognise my effort appropriately, and Larissa and I were co-awarded the title of 50km National Champion.

Looking at the results, there is a gap of just under 36 minutes between the 3rd and 4th finishers, in contrast to previous years when it would have been more like maybe 8-10 minutes. The pointy end of the field in this race got decimated by the unfortunate lack of clear course markings. One of the positive things to come out of all this is that next year's female leader in the ultramarathon will have her own bike escort - I'm just not sure yet if I'll be trying to be that person again.

Later, when I get to look at my data from the race, it's actually pretty gratifying. Rather than giving up, I ran fairly consistently, slowing down a bit in the second half but by no means crashing into the wall. Considering that I knew so early on - around 10km - that I was going to have to run at least 5km more than I had bargained for, this made me feel really good about the way that I handled the situation, both physically and mentally.

Breaking it down into quarters (roughly 14km each);
First: 1:01:05, pace 6:59 min/mile, 4:20 min/km
Second: 1:01:21, pace 7:00/4:21
Third: 1:03:15, pace 7:14/4:29
Fourth: 1:03:30, pace 7:15/4:30

Predictably, I'm now being told by all sorts of people (including the current 100km female World Champion!) that I should try the 100km distance. In much the same way that I once said a marathon was twice as far as I wanted to run, I pooh-poohed that notion to start with. But now that I've had time to think about it......well, still no. I think.

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.