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.

Stromlo Lightning Strike 50K, November 2017

The story of Stromlo Running Festival has its roots in the devastating bushfires that struck Canberra back in 2003, claiming 4 lives, destroying over 500 homes and razing hundreds of acres of native forest. One of the people who lost their house and everything in it was Australia's fastest-ever marathon runner, Rob de Castella. In the 80s and 90s Deek and many of Australia's other top runners had done much of their training around Mount Stromlo ,and so in 2009 he was instrumental in the development of the new Stromlo Forest Park, which has become Australia's best off-road running and cycling venue.

So Deek remains an important part of the Stromlo Running Festival; you can read more about it here. My own connection to Stromlo began in 2015 when I signed up for the 50K but (for reasons I can no longer recall) was not able to actually run it. This year I seem to have developed a bit of an appetite for sadomasochistic running feats - see my post about the Fuxian Lake 50K as a reference - and so Stromlo made perfect sense. I signed myself up for the 30K because I knew the course would be super-hilly and honestly, I'm not THAT much of a masochist.


The Lead-Up

After China I ran Melbourne marathon and then attempted to take some downtime, which for me means running 70-80 miles per week (around 120km) without speedwork or particularly long runs. But since I was only planning to do the 30K option at Stromlo, I didn't bother with any sort of taper; 30K isn't even a particularly long long run when marathon training. In fact, the three weeks before looked more like a peak than a taper:

So it was off I went to Canberra without a second thought, really, for a nice long run and (just in the back of my mind, really) the idea that I might be able to place or even - dare I say it? - win. No big deal.


Stromlo 

We find our way to Stromlo Forest Park and only get lost once on the way (for Canberra this is a big achievement), and we've got the new tent that came with the new Jeep as well as all the sorts of things that make camping bearable: air mattresses, a machine to blow them up (no more hyperventilating), a big quilt and many pillows, plus comfy chairs on which to sit under the awning. It's only $10 to camp onsite the night before the race and it will save a lot of pre-dawn driving too.

Should camping be this comfortable?

In the process of picking up our bibs, however, an unexpected glitch appears - in the form of an extremely young, fit-looking female who is chatting with the race director. He's been told, by one of Australia's fastest distance runners in fact, that she's going to win tomorrow. Uh oh! I strike up a conversation with her as we check out the dinner options and yep, she's doing the 30K.

Suddenly I'm filled with an inexplicable desire to switch distances.

I'm not exactly trained for 50K, but on the other hand I'd rather do a longer run if I'm not going to win. 30km is not exactly long in terms of weekly long runs - although the elevation profile will more than make up for that - so a longer run would be preferable, and yeah, knowing that the best I can do is second place is definitely a factor in my decision.

Original course profile - we'll be doing the middle part twice - the hills are so big they have their own names

Joel is immediately on board with the decision to almost double the distance (now you know why I married him) and it seems we'll need to come back to effect the official transfer at 5am because the 50K starts at 6am. Another early morning, sigh, but at least we'll hopefully sleep well on our comfy air mattresses! Deek comes around for a chat (awesome) and we happily settle in early in anticipation of the big run ahead.


Race Day

The weather is significantly improved on last night's tempest and I head over to change our bibs and pick up a coffee just after 5am. The wind has dropped but there's still a bit of cloud cover - this will be useful later on if things start to warm up - and all in all, I'm sort of inappropriately excited to take on what is undoubtedly going to be a tough day's running. Perhaps there's a touch of denial there as well, who knows, but in any case we're feeling ready.

Milling around at the start we are a little concerned to note that we're almost the only runners NOT wearing complicated-looking hydration vests; this speaks volumes about our general lack of experience with this sort of mad trail ultrarunning. Joel informs me that we're supposed to be carrying a minimum of 600ml of fluid with us - this is per the race guidelines which I seem to have neglected to read - so we decide he'll refill and bring the Gatorade bottle he's holding.

There are *supposed* to be water tables at least every 5km so I'm sure I'll be ok, but extra water won't hurt either of us. Due to the late change I only have 4 gels with me - everyone around me has significantly more, of course - but whatever, I'll be fine! Denial: not just a river in Egypt, it's a lovely place to hang out before a murderously tough trail race.


Loop 1: 10K
50:16 - pace 8:05 min/mile, 5:01 min/km (hmm)

I look resigned, Kelly looks determined and Joel has disappeared altogether

Off we go, directly into the rising sun. The first loop takes us at first around the flat asphalt of the cycling track where we've all been camped overnight, before heading off onto the fire trails around the side of Mt Stromlo. It undulates quite a bit but all in all, I spend the first few miles thinking this isn't really too bad. In retrospect this is probably due to my legs being still fairly fresh - let's see how I feel about it all in a couple of hours, hmm?

The field has strung out fairly fast and I'm pretty certain I'm the female leader already. Joel and I are running comfortably together, occasionally chatting with other runners but mostly just pacing along together at a conversational pace. The second lap is going to have some unpleasantly large hills and due to the late course change we'll be doing them TWICE, so there's no need to exhaust ourselves now.

A few kms in there's a guy running close with us and so we strike up a conversation; it turns out he's planning to run Boston next year and so we of course have LOTS to say about that, being veteran participants and everything. The conversation is slightly interrupted by the onset of some rather nasty steep uphills - and the first water station, near the top of the hill - but as we turn left and head back down towards the start precinct, he catches us up again and we resume our reminiscences about Beantown.

Pace-wise we're ranging between 7:10 - 8:04 minutes per mile depending on the up/down, and that's perfectly fine by me. But by the time the end of the first loop is approaching it has become clear that it's longer than 10km; this does not bode well for the rest of the race, but perhaps it's Garmin error or something? The water stations have been, well, almost non-existent, so we stop right after the finish/start/end of lap archway to get a drink.

Joel is still carrying our water bottle and our Boston-bound friend (whose name it will turn out is Warwick) is still right with us as we set out on lap number 2, and as we exit the criterium track there's Kelly-Ann with her entourage, about 3 minutes behind. Here goes loop 2!


Loop 2: 10-30K
20km in 1:52:57 - 9:05 min/mile, 5:39 min/km (slowing down hmmm)

The first part of this loop is the same ground we've already covered and we plough onwards with Warwick towards the 5km water station, where this time we turn right instead off left and head off into the hills. The incline up to the water table was a little more unpleasant this time but overall, things aren't so bad for me right now. Joel, though, is moaning faintly about how he's feeling and at one point tells me he'll see me later before falling about 50m behind. Hmm - it's very early still in a looooong race - who knows what will happen? And I'd much rather have company that not, so I keep trundling along and am very pleased when he suddenly catches up again before too long.

At the half-marathon mark things still aren't too bad really - a few sharp hills so far but nothing prolonged - and we're still holding a pace around 8:00 min/mile (5:00 min/km). But mile 14 is a massive reality-check; Warwick has disappeared behind us and for the first time our mile split is over 9 minutes. "That had to be the Mother, right?" asks Joel - that's the name of the biggest hill we'll have to face today - but no, I'm pretty sure it's not. There's another water stop which is also offering lollies, Coke and sports drink, so we stop briefly to refill the water bottle and off we go again.

A long uphill begins at the start of mile 16, and it just keeps on going...and going. It's still not the Mother, though! When she finally does arrive during mile 17, the incline is enough to almost stop us dead in our tracks: ranging from 12-18%, it's a battle not to walk, because honestly it probably would not be much slower. The mile split beeps 10:41 (6:27 min/km) and I just want to laugh - that's probably the slowest mile I've "run" in my life! Joel is ahead but I catch him at the top; together again we struggle through the Kicker (ugh) and then the extremely welcome downhill that follows.

We're still alive! Major thumbs-up

There's one more significant uphill to conquer on our way back to the start but there are 10K runners all over the place and this keeps us moving nicely (pace back around 8:00/5:00) - we pass our friend Ewen, who bellows encouragement - until finally, FINALLY, we are closing on the 30K mark.

Except that we're now closer to 32km by my Garmin, and Joel's Garmin agrees. In fact, 20 miles (32km) has come and gone by the time we turn back into the cycling track and make our way once again to the water stop just past the finish line. Uh, I don't want to think about how far this 50K race might turn out to be in the end. It's looking more like 54km, which is just ridiculous! I'd rather believe that there will be some sort of miraculous short-cut that will bring us in right on 50km, so with this delusional thought off we go on lap 3. Wheee?


Loop 3: 30-50K
20km in 2:00:49 - 9:43 min/mile, 6:02 min/km 

The small undulations that seemed so insignificant on lap 1 are now serious obstacles. It's hard to think about the fact that we have to summit the Mother again this lap, and in fact I really would rather not think about anything just now. We trudge onwards to the first water stop and hang a right turn once more. This time it's my turn to whinge and fall behind - my legs are NOT HAPPY - but Joel (still carrying his magic water bottle) very kindly slows down and so pretty soon I'm able to toughen up and stick with him. Phew!

The thought of the massive hills still ahead is daunting and the only time our pace is faster than 8:00 min/km (in my mind this is the threshold between running and jogging, somehow) is when there's a considerable elevation loss going on. Every incline gets us around 9:00 or slower (5:35 min/km) and it's just a slog, period. Thankfully the sun has gone behind the clouds, but it's getting pretty warm - the Gatorade bottle is doing double duty as a source of water to dump on our heads - and I'm out of gels. Ugh, I might have to pick something up at the next aid station, if it ever comes along.

Finally we're approaching the one that we know heralds the start of the Mother; when we stop I take the opportunity to grab a cup of Coke and to my surprise it goes down very well!  I don't feel thirsty but the extra sugar will hopefully help me deal with what lies ahead, even if only from a mental perspective.

The second lap up the Mother (and that a-hole hill the Kicker) somehow isn't quite as bad as I was expecting: the two miles of torture record splits of 9:00 and 10:38, with no walking (ok maybe just a few paces) and only minimal profanity running through my head, along the lines of "Why the bleep am I doing this, again?" Finally we're done with the major hills and are heading steeply downwards; at this point with quads that feel like jelly, going down is just as dicey as going up and not a lot faster.

31 miles comes and goes, and we're not at the start/finish area, not even close. The much-desired shortcut has failed to materialise! My watch reads 4:20 and that's a personal worst for the distance, but what's really worst is that I'm still running. There are quite a lot of 30K runners on the course and as we pass I hear some of them moaning about the distance, too; it's clearly not a Garmin malfunction, the course really is significantly long. SIGH.

32 miles, then 33 and STILL we're not near the finish line. I'm starting to get really pissed off about this situation: I was mentally prepared to run 50 difficult kilometers but this extension was not in the contract! Even on the flat and downhill stretches it's a struggle to do more than shuffle/jog sullenly along. Joel is still running quite strongly in the final, mercifully flat mile (7:55 pace, which right now feels ridiculously fast) and I deeply resent having to keep up. "Can we please stop SPRINTING??" I snap, and he wisely has nothing to say in reply.

Me: <incoherent yelling>
Him: 😂

At last! We're on the criterium track and the finishing arch is in sight. There are a few people yelling my name - this will turn out to be runners I know from our post-Melbourne celebrations - but I'm too hosed to respond properly, I just want to stop running. Sorry!

YAY!!
photo credit: Cath Tompos

Finish time: 4:44:02 (9:08 min/mile or 5:40 min/km but for the actual distance, more like 8:23/5:12)

Placement: 1st woman, tied with Joel for 5th overall


The total distance run adds up to 33.8 miles or 54.5km, a error that is quite astonishing to contemplate. Fit fast young chick has indeed won the 30K and she's in the shower room complaining that it was more like 32km when I head in there to clean up: I'm caked in salt as well as a liberal helping of dust and dirt up both legs. Ok, so loop 1 was over by just under 1km and the loop 2 that we ran twice was probably over by about 1.5km. Amazing!

It's an exquisite relief to be finished, although my legs don't feel nearly as beaten-up as I would have expected - perhaps that's due to how much slower the pace was than in the other 50K races I've run before this. Back at the tent my companions are enjoying a beer, so I stagger around a bit gathering food and then it's time for the presentations; I've won both overall female and my age group!  Deek's on the microphone and he apologises for the length of the course, promising it will be fixed for next year - "Good," I tell him "because otherwise I don't think I'd like to come back!"

Analysis

So this was a personal worst by almost an hour (after Fuxian Lake's 3:55:04), although if you allow for the extra distance it was only 25 minutes slower, or thereabouts. The elevation profile is frankly hideous and explains the whole disaster - but further analysis over breakfast and on the ride home shows that we only lost around 8 minutes on the final loop, compared to our first trip up and over the Mother. Almost all the other runners lost a fair bit more; this is proof of our endurance and something to be pleased about for sure!

If this was an ECG I'd be applying the defibrillator paddles, stat

In retrospect this was a pretty fun thing to do, despite the over-the-top difficulty rating. The last-minute switch plus the extra distance made this my longest run ever, as well as my first major trail race, the camping was awesome...so perhaps I will be back next year after all.

Mother's Day 10K, Canberra 2016

This race has become a tradition for me now and one that I felt bound to uphold, even with legs that were still not too impressed with what happened in Boston and toenails mostly now no longer with us. I have a nice array of trophies from the past 4 years of competition and a race PR from 2014 that I'm probably never going to beat, but that won't stop me from trying. To recap:

2012 - ran the 5K in 19:17 for 3rd female

2013 - ran the 10K in 39:19 for 3rd female

2014 - ran the 10K in 38:36 for 2nd female (course PR)

2015 - ran the 10K in 40:15 for 3rd female (in a hurricane)

In the days leading up to Mother's Day the weather forecast was far from exciting - almost 100% chance of rain and decidedly cool temps - although the lack of wind made a pleasant potential change from previous years. Nevertheless, to Canberra we headed just under 3 weeks after Boston marathon, with Joel and myself signed up for the 10K and everybody (well, not Mum) doing the 5K. Wheee?


The Training

For reasons that are mostly unclear, I came out of the Boston marathon this year with feet and legs more trashed than I remember them being after any marathon I've ever run. This may be in part due to my notoriously spotty memory around this sort of thing - although it's pretty much photographic for most other things, to the extent that my husband calls me "Rain Man" when I am able to recite things like obscure passwords and usernames after seeing them only once - but from the lost toenail count alone, Boston was an outlier in terms of the physical damage it did to me this year.

So I pretty much begged Benita to give me at least a couple of weeks to recover, and only started back into any sort of training other than random jogging the same week as this race. I did some short intervals on Wednesday and was a bit surprised at the paces I managed to hit (they were faster than usual); B had suggested a tempo for Saturday and I had every intention of emailing her to discuss this but somehow never got around to it. I did figure that a 10K race would be the equivalent of a tempo run (or something) and thankfully she pretty much lets me do what I want these days, so there we go.


Weekend in Canberra

Pre-race Mexican food seemed to work well for me back in December, so we head back to Guzman and Gomez when we arrive in Canberra and scoff burritos and nachos like there's no tomorrow.

Ginger beer faces

Both the kids seem enthused to run; after the whinge-fest we endured in April, there's no way I'm going to force Amelia to run and even less so if it's raining. I've warned them about the weather already but they insist they're up for it, so everyone retires early to rest up for the race.

At about 5am our day begins - inexplicably, because both children (in particular Amelia) are great at sleeping until at least 8am on  a school day - and around an hour later I've given up on the idea of anybody going back to sleep so I get up and make raisin toast for all. It's drizzling rain already at 7am when Joel and I head outside to jog to the start line; this is going to be wet and potentially quite miserable.

I've at least got a hat on, though, and I don't actually mind rain too much as long as it's not getting in my eyes. It's not as cold as I was expecting and there's barely a breath of wind, so perhaps this might be perfect running weather after all? Last night Joel and I were debating whether or not this course is a PR course, with my opinion firmly against (those bridges! two laps! the wind around the lake!), but I might need to reconsider this now.

We finish our 3 mile warm-up, spend an alarming amount of time lining up to drop off our stuff, and make it to the start line with just seconds to spare. The rain has picked up a bit and I'm deliberately not even thinking about whether or not I feel like running fast today; but then the gun goes off and I suppose I should give it a try.

Sort of looks like a Space Invader maybe

Lap 1: miles 1-3.1: 6:11, 6:17, 6:18 (pace in min/mile)

It always happens but every time I'm still surprised at how so many people charge off at top speed; there are instantly at least 10 females ahead of me. Perhaps this is a super-fast field? But nobody looked particularly threatening before the start......I guess I'll find out soon enough. A couple of them are already behind me by the time we head up towards the Kings Ave bridge - right around the 1K mark (only 9 to go! run faster!) - and then the short uphill does most of the work for me: suddenly a group of no less than FIVE female runners is right ahead. I zig, I zag, and then I saunter right past the lot of them without breaking stride. Yes!

And as I head across the bridge, not even a mile into the race, the last two women ahead of me are also within reach. The dismount from the bridge used to be a debacle involving fences, 90 degree turns and a road crossing but now (after probably 2 years of construction work) it's a lovely smooth curving path that leads straight onto the lakeside path again, and by the time I'm zooming along it I'm in the lead. Quite randomly there's a person playing bagpipes in the shelter of one of the 2 bridges, and despite the ongoing dampness I'm now having quite a lot of fun! The lack of wind makes the trip along the lake much more bearable than last year and in no time I'm already tearing along towards the finish area to start my second lap.

5K split: 18:50 (probably a PR)


Lap 2: miles 4-6.2: 6:22, 6:14, 6:14 and 6:04 pace to finish

There are only 4 blokes ahead of me and I could probably start jogging now I guess and possibly still win - but that's not my style and besides, I have no clue how far back those last 2 chicks are. And I'm having quite a lot of mental success with the strategy Benita has unwittingly planted in my mind, which is that this is just a 6 mile tempo run, so I really should keep going, and I do.

Not having anybody to chase is usually a predictor of slower race times, but it probably helps that I'm now lapping people and getting a lot of positive feedback as I pass. Also - I could have mentioned this a while ago I suppose - since the end of the first mile I've had my own bike spotter, and when I slow down during mile 4 she pulls a bit ahead, which makes me realise I'm slacking off and need to pay attention.

Catching up and then staying with the bike spotter provides the push I need to keep on going, plus she is actually doing a fair bit of work on this more-congested second lap, constantly ringing her bell and moving people to the side so as to vastly reduce the number of times I have to yell in order to get past. When we finally reach the narrow path that leads up to the finish precinct she nimbly clears the path forwards for me and then peels off to the side; I look up to see a tape stretched across the finish line and it's an extreme pleasure to run through it with arms aloft - well how about that, my first Canberra win!


Finish time: 38:21 (6:10 min/mile, 3:50 min/km)

Placement: 5th OA, 1st female and 1st AG


The kids subsequently run the 5K and both set fantastic new PRs (27:33 for Jack and 31:44 for Amelia) despite the ongoing light rain - I'm so proud of them both and everyone is impressed with themselves really now. The weather hasn't been an issue at all, although it does mean there is literally NO crowd at all (other than the small one I've brought with myself) when I get my trophy for finishing in first place. Maybe we are all tougher than we realise?

Delighted to have another one to add to the collection

The Analysis

Good grief, that's one of my fastest 10K efforts ever and in fact a course PR! I'm surprised and pleased all at once - it's great to be able to take advantage of recent marathon training - and it's also a good sign that perhaps I'm not so far over the hill as I thought. What's even better is that I never felt too stretched during the run, although perhaps I could have focused a little better and not lost as much time on the second lap. But overall it was a satisfying run and a pleasant wind-free race experience! And a good mental boost for the busy racing season that lies ahead.

Canberra Times Fun Run 14K, September 2015

I'm not entirely sure how this race got onto my radar, perhaps it was via the other Fairfax events in which I have participated, but somehow it came to pass in July that I signed myself up and not only that, I also secured myself a seeded/elite bib for the 14K race.

14km (8.7 miles) is a somewhat strange distance for a race, but it makes more sense when you consider that the famous City to Surf race in Sydney is 14km and it has become an iconic fun run that is in fact the biggest in the Southern Hemisphere. There are now various races in cities around Australia that imitate the City2Surf, and with the same sponsors coming on board in 2015 for the Canberra Times Fun Run (Fairfax and Westpac), it seems this is now our national capital's version.

Whatever the history or reasons behind the distance, we all know that when it comes to my racing style, longer is always better. My focus just now is on Melbourne marathon so again, I'm not sure how I ended up entering this race, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm sure I've said that before, though.


The Training

Despite having run the infamous Wagga Trail Marathon only 2 weeks earlier, I had managed to ramp things up again over 80 miles (125km) the week prior to the Canberra race and between us Benita and I decided on a fairly minimal taper that ended up being only one day. Often circumstances dictate that I switch days around in the training schedule she sets for me, and since Fridays are often a day when I have more time, I ended up running 12 miles (18km) in the morning and another 5 (8km) in the evening for an impressive 17 miles less than 48 hours out from the race. Whoops, don't tell B about that.


Race Day

The course starts quite close to Canberra Hospital, where I spent 6 months living and working in 2005. It's sort of nostalgic being back here, although I was still dealing with my broken leg and so not running much when I was last spending time in the area. On reflection perhaps I hate this place, but at least I know my way around.

I park behind the hospital at around 6:15am and set out for what is going to be my longest-ever pre-race warm up: 8 miles. Yes, you read that right. Coach B has suggested a long cool-down to get in the miles that I'd normally do on for a weekend long run, but I know I won't want to run that much after the race so I have made a calculated decision to get most of it in beforehand. Arriving to a start line with 8 miles already in my legs is probably not an ideal race strategy but then again, I have no idea what the field is going to be like today and am not really expecting to place very high.

I manage not to get lost (this is a big deal in Canberra) and 8 miles clicks over just as I get back to the car. I drop off my warm clothes for after the race and make my way to the start line where I find my fast friend Kelly; it seems there are only 7 or 8 of us with seeded bibs on, so we all line up right at the front and stand around joking and sandbagging until it's time to get serious.

Rachel: "I'm just fun-running this. You?"
Kelly: "Oh, it's part of my long run today. No big deal."
Gun: *BLAM*
<both take off sprinting like there's no tomorrow>

Miles 1-3: 6:17, 6:28, 6:31 (pace in min/mile)

The gun sounds and all the people around me tear off at high speed; despite my intentions it's impossible not to go with them. Kelly and Claire (in red shorts above, last year's winner) shoot out way ahead of me and by the 1km mark there are 2 other women also in front. 5th place? I could live with that - given how far I've already run today, it would probably be a great result - and since I've already had ideas about running this race at marathon pace, I settle back after the rather-too-fast first mile and clock off the next two right on target pace.

But during mile 3 something unexpected starts happening before my eyes: the two women ahead of me - one tall in a pink singlet, the other stocky and wearing a seeded bib - are visibly slowing down. I hold my pace and watch as they gradually fall back, wondering what to do. Then the stocky one drops right off the back of the other girl and before I know it, she's within overtaking range. Ooh, should I??


Miles 4-6: 6:08, 6:10, 6:32

What a silly question, of course I should. I surge up alongside her and then sail right on by, inwardly cackling gleefully at having moved into 4th place. Miles 4 and 5 take us up Adelaide Avenue towards Parliament House - it's a great view as we approach and even better, a slight downhill that turns into a full-on one - it's not difficult to keep the faster pace going and wheeeee, now I've passed Pink Singlet as well! 3rd place? Yes please!

Mile 6, however, is not much fun at all. We make a couple of sharp turns and then it's uphill as the course takes us closer than I've ever been to Parliament House before. Everyone around me is clearly suffering and my own pace takes a nasty hit. Mile 6 beeps as I'm most of the way through the lap around the base of the building, and it's not good news: my slowest of the entire race. Oh well, there's the flag marking the 10K point so I look at my watch: 38:40, which is actually not bad!  And the best bit? There's only 4km to go.




















Miles 7 & 8: 6:17, 6:10

Back down from Parliament House I go zooming like a maniac and pretty soon we are heading towards Kings Avenue bridge. To my surprise I can see what appears to be the finish line just beside the lake - but isn't that too close? It's really quite strange, there's this enormous inflatable archway and a multitude of flags beside it, but it's clearly too soon to be the finish line and in any case there appears to be nobody around.

I resign myself to the fact that I'm not done yet, and am at least pleased to see that I've managed to speed back up again after that unpleasant mile around Parliament. Also it seems 3rd place really is going to be mine - this thought provides the motivation I need to get me over the bridge, through the deceptive archway and heading finally for the real finish. Hooray!


Final stretch 0.7 miles: 6:13 pace

Ordinarily I quite like running around Lake Burley-Griffin - other than when the wind is blowing at 50mph directly in my face, of course - but right now I'd rather be elsewhere. More specifically, at the finish, which I can now see up ahead in the same area where the Mother's Day races start and end. I'd really quite like to just jog it in from here but then again I don't know how far behind me Pink Singlet and Stocky Girl are - they could be right on my tail but I'm not inclined to look around to check - so there's no option other than to grit my teeth and power onwards. And so it goes until I'm sprinting down the finish chute - there's a huge grin on my face, not just because I get to stop running now, but also because I've just earned a very unexpected appearance on the podium. What a thrill!

A mixture of disbelief and delight results in this exact facial expression

Finish time: 54:47 (6:19 pace, 3:54 min/km)

Placement: 3rd female OA, 1st in AG F40-49.


I look around for Kelly and am thrilled to find out that she has WON the whole race, and in fact was 4 whole minutes ahead of me. The days of my beating her (which I'm sure I did at the Mother's Day 10K a couple of years ago) are clearly well behind us! We set off for a cool-down jog together and I add on a little more afterwards to bring me up to a total of 20 miles for the day - even though it was fairly piecemeal, this will therefore count as the weekend's long run, which will satisfy my own OCD tendencies on this score.

It's a fairly long wait until the presentation gets underway - I am very glad of my warm jacket and also the large coffee that Kelly's husband kindly buys me while we stand around in the cold. Finally we are up there and I come away marginally richer and with a nice acrylic trophy to add to the cabinet. Cool!

Sorry, sponsors, my jacket is staying ON.

Afterwards my friend Sonia picks me up and we head out to a much-needed brunch; I'm still quite amazed that I achieved the result I did and hopefully it bodes well for Melbourne - coming up quite soon - that I could run as fast as I did with 8 miles already on the legs.

And here's a gratuitous picture of the pancakes and peanut butter smoothie that made the whole adventure worthwhile - because refuelling is sometimes the best part of a race.

Annie, me, and THAT breakfast. Yum.