Mind, Motion & Matter

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Mile 13.1 to 25.2 miles

It occurs to me that like doing “minutes” writing about a race experience is a lot easier when done right away.

My state of mind at the halfway point was very good. I tried to focus on each mile and I felt hopeful that I might be able to go under 3:40 which was my dream goal. I found myself looking forward to hitting the 20 mile point and proving to myself that I would NOT hit the proverbial wall.  I wish I could give a blow by blow account of my splits but my inability to read the fine print on tattooed on my wrists created a bit of confusion.  In spite of running well within my heart rate comfort zone for the first half of the race, my pace slowed through the race.

Before the 20 mile mark I realized that the race bib pinned to my shorts was a bit askew.  I was worried that this might result in no race photos as they used the bib number as the identifier.  So, for the second time I had to undo the four safety pins and attach the race bib to my sports bra.

My average pace for the first 5.9 miles was 8:08 and I slowed to 8:16 between 5.9 and 13.1 miles.  From 13.1 to 20 miles my pace was 8:23  and then the most dramatic slowdown was between mile 20 to the finish where my pace averaged 8:55.  It didn’t feel like I had slowed that much because I passed 277 runners and was only passed by two runners between mile 20 to the finish. One of the two runners that passed me was a guy who was pacing a young woman, the other runner that passed me.

So at some point after 20 miles I realized that I was not going to go under 3:40. I worried that I might not go under 3:45 but although I was getting slower, I pushed harder. My heartrate monitor had gone on the blink around mile 20.

Around mile 22 I passed a woman with grey hair who I thought might be in my category and indeed that was the case. She ended up finishing a couple of minutes behind me. I dye my hair so it might not be so easy for another 55-59er to spot me from the rear.   The fact that unlike the open men or women, age-groupers can’t tell who their competition is fairly odd. In triathlons, age-groupers have their age-group written on their legs.

Around mile 24 I passed by a water station where every single marathoner was walking. It was in fact, a little hard to get through that section. I find it surprising that so many people, slowed more than I did. I guess I’m used to running with a faster, more experienced crowd and relative to my time, I have far more experience with the distance, than the 3:40+ marathoners I was running with.

I wish I could have something dramatic or funny to say about the race, like the author of What I Talk About When I Talk About Running who found himself counting the dead cats and dogs when he ran the original marathon route in Greece. I suppose the lack of drama in my account is partly to do with this being a “getting-back-in-the-game” effort rather than a full out race. Nonetheless the final mile is always something special but I’ll save that for the final installment.

Thanks for your interest!


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The first half

And we are off – sort of.  Although I was only 20 meters from the start line where the transponder chip attached to my running shoe registers my start time, it took me 37 seconds to get there, more than the 23 seconds it took me to cross the mats at the Chicago marathon.  So there you have it, the distinction between “gun” time and “chip time”.

Transponder chip, tied to running shoe

Concerns going into the race; would my heart rate watch behave, would the hitherto unknown sports drink Ultima throw off my usual routine of marathon beverage consumption, would I be able to read my pace tattoos with my rapidly deteriorating middle-aged vision and would I experience foot cramps which I’ve had bouts of recently.

Pace tattoos in place

Following the advice of the three, 27 time-CIM-runners I took the significant downhill in the first mile very easy.  I was relieved to see my heart rate register on my watch as the night before I realized that I had brought the more complicated watch of the two I own, the one that I don’t really know how to operate.  I had frantically downloaded the manual and spent much time pressing this button and that, each press triggering a high-pitched beep, to my husband’s dismay as he quietly read.  Together we were able to get the watch into a mode that would display both the heart rate and elapsed time.

I missed the one mile marker but was running around 8:25 pace at the two mile mark and it felt quite easy.  I noticed some runners stop at porta potties and realized that I too, had to pee.  Canadian masters legend Diane Palmason suggests that you should drink continually up until an hour before a marathon.  And then, have another drink 10 minutes before the marathon.  I had forgotten this and so I spent the next 8 miles in search of a porta potty with no line-up or a some sort of private spot a little forest or such.  In spite of this slight discomfort the pace was very comfortable as I ran with my heart rate from 140-145.  At this point I had no trouble keeping my heart rate under 145.  What was interesting is that a few times my heart rate went down to 135 a lapse of concentration perhaps.

The weather was turning out to be perfect.  I had tossed my hat at the one mile point and knew that it would not be long until I would feel the need to take off my vest.  That would be a complicated maneuver as my race number was pinned to the front.  But, first I had to find a pit stop.  Shortly after mile ten we went by an industrial park which had a freestanding brick wall as part of the landscaping.  I had no choice but to quickly and discreetly duck behind this makeshift porta potty.  Ahem, well on the subject of  TMI my husband overheard the following conversation on marathon day.  A woman was explaining to her male companion how she had made a pit stop but that her muscles were very tight and she could only pee very slowly.  The lack of modesty shown by long distance runners in discussing these matters has something in common with the intense physical rigours of childbirth and the willingness of participants to discuss the details thereof.

Race bib

The logistics of removing my vest while running loomed.  I relaxed into the race for a couple of miles and then tackled undoing the four safety pins holding the race bib in place and redoing these same pins to attach the race bib to my shorts.  Then I removed the vest and tried unsuccessfully to tie it around my waist.  There was not enough length to do this.  So I put placed the vest around my waist and fastened the lower part of the zipper so it encircled me.  Then I twisted and twirled the vest so that it fit snugly around my waist.  You may ask would it not have been easier to just stop.  Well, as I write this I wonder too.

I ran the rest of the race in my short,shorts and sports bra, a racing outfit that my son used to refer to as a bathing suit.  Consider the embarrassment of teenager who has a mother who has raced down Yonge street in her bathing suit.  Now that I’m closer to 60 than 50, I do not feel inclined to expose so much of my body and avoid this “bathing suit” look when at all possible.  However, such were the weather conditions on this day and with all that training on the line, the seconds gained by cooler body temperature won out over vanity and dignity.

As for the race tattoos.  I should have given more thought to their placement as they were virtually unreadable in spite of pulling my skin this way and that.  Bottom line, print too small for middle-aged eyes.  I should have stuck to my old method.

So the first half passed with much distraction.  My time for those 13.1 miles / 21.1 km was 1:48:19.  It felt great to be able to finally focus on the race.  And as they say for the marathon, the race really begins at mile 20.


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Photo finish

Taking photos of runners is not easy.  One of my favourite photos was taken by a friend who had his wife positioned 50 meters ahead to alert him that I was about to run by.  The wisdom of this method is illustrated by this photo from the Sacramento marathon taken by my husband of where I was seconds before. He made up for the photo-less-ness with some very exuberant cheerleading.

Where I was . . .

Fortunately, there are always professionals along the course and at the finish ready to record our moments of glory, for a price. In this case, I purchased three of the digital images taken of me during the race. While $49.99 seems pricey the logistics of taking all those photos and sorting them by race number must be onerous, not the easiest way to make a buck.   Here is one of the shots of my finish.



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Marathon morning

False start, awake at 2 a.m. Head to the washroom in the dark to the sound of heavy rain and run into the end of the partially opened bathroom door, smack on the bridge of my nose. Why, why, did I ever decide to run this marathon, why!?

I was able to fall back to sleep for nearly two hours. Rising just before the planned 4 a.m. I go down to the lobby and step outside to a light drizzle and warmish temperature. I have never run a marathon in the rain. Will this marathon my 20th, be the first?

Folsom to Sacramento

The tedious but important decision of what to wear looms. I decide on the short shorts, lighter vest and tank top over sports bra and lightweight microfiber cap. Then I bundle up with tights, warm up pants and t-shirt, arm warmers and jacket. Since rising I have been constantly drinking Gatorade.

There is a bus to the start line that stops at the hotel. I head downstairs and am the last runner to trundle on. My seatmate is eager to converse. All very well, since I discover that she is a pacer and only running about half the course. She is assisting a blind female runner who is hoping to run 3 hours and 30 minutes. We chat briefly about the Achilles Track Club, which I correctly gathered was the source of her involvement.  Any other time I would have liked to converse more fully but I am feeling quite apprehensive, especially when I find out that the race starts at 7:00 a.m. not 7:30 a.m. as I had thought. D’oh!

My friendly seatmate offers to lend me her cellphone to text my husband this news. I confess that I’m not really sure how to send a text message. I start to think about how disappointed he will feel if he misses the finish but force myself to FOCUS on the task at hand. The 26 mile drive takes nearly an hour so by the time we get to the start area, it is nearly 6:30 a.m. and I am feeling quite tense. There is a long, line-up at the porta potty so while waiting I strip down to race gear. The day is dawning with no rain and I decide to forgo the singlet, wear the vest, which can be worn around my waist should conditions warm up markedly.

Ya gotta go

Liberated from the need to pee, I dash to the baggage truck and toss my bag. Having read the runner comments about this race from marathonguide.com was helpful in giving me confidence in the bag check process. Generally, I never leave anything I would mind losing, with baggage check.

My competitive hope is to place in the top three so having noticed that age-groups prizes are awarded on gun time, not chip time, I make my way close to the front, near the 3:10 marathon aspirants, recalling the thrill of being the oldest woman in the 3:10 corral at the Chicago marathon in 2006.

Daylight is upon us with a mainly blue sky defying the predicted steady rain. I feel ready so let the party begin.  Three, two, one and we are off . . . Hallelujah!

Listen to KD Lang sing Leonard Cohen’s HALLELUJAH at the opening ceremony for Olympics.  Stunning!


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California International Marathon – Sunday, December 5, 2010

Arrival, San Francisco Airport, 9:30 a.m. Pacific Time

Arrival, San Francisco Airport, 9:30 a.m. Pacific Time

 

CLICK HERE for LINK to ATHLETE TRACKING

My race number 3771

CLICK HERE for LINK to RACE WEBSITE

Race starts at 7:00 a.m.Pacific Time

My goal is to run under 3 hours and 45 minutes.

CLICK here for Course Map and Elevation Profile

More later!


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Another kind of adventure

Just over three weeks ago, I made a post about an outing with two friends, well Friend 2, the expectant mom gave birth to the adorable Henry 2 1/2 weeks ago.  She has a blog which you can click on here, called Frugal and Fit and no surprise, the pace of her posts has slowed a lot.

One rule of thumb for getting things done with a newborn is to expect that anything that used to take one day, will now take a week.  The meaning of busy and tired are dramatically redefined.  Best wishes to the happy but tired parents!  And welcome to the world, Henry.

The beautiful, and sometimes inconsolable Henry!

In our household, the 2  1/2 week mark was when my husband began to panic, thinking that I might never get back to running.  Or perhaps, thinking that a nice run was all I needed to perk up a bit.  He insisted that I go for a run with the stern directive that he was kicking me out of the house and locking the door for 45 minutes.  That would have been early January and I can still remember the weird spacey sensation of running in the cold, weighed down by an otherworldly fatigue.

I ran erratically after that, until week six.  I was elated to discover that the Central YMCA had a childcare service, not too common at that time, and those places with childcare generally did not accept infants until at least 6 months.

So I was there on my son’s 6 week  birthday, ready to produce his birth certificate.  I was there every weekday, arriving dressed to run and skipping a shower as I only felt comfortable leaving him for 30 minutes.  These 30 minute runs took place on the tiny indoor track as parents were not allowed to leave the building and there were no treadmills at the YMCA back then.

I had my son a couple of months after turning 32.  The age at which my mom had the youngest in our family of six kids.  When I have the time to give justice to the story, I’d like to write about how my mom passed along her love of sports to all her kids.

Thank you mom!

My mom at age 32 with the last of her six children, my baby sister


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First stop Sacramento

For someone who is used to running high-mileage in marathon training.  Running 50 miles a week hardly takes a thought.  I run about an hour a day with a 2 hour plus run on the weekend – this is the default.   However, with 15 weeks until my pre-Boston, marathon outing in Sacramento, the moment has come to either train seriously, forget about it or suffer in the final miles of the race.

2007, Sacramento 30K

So, I’m formulating my plan and the mileage build will go like this 57 miles this week, 61 miles next week and 57 miles the following week (including a rare day off for travel).  I like to do 2-3 solid weeks of building miles and then take an easier week.  Fortunately, this easy week will coincide with a trip to Germany.  My long run will increase from 12-15 miles to 17, 18 and up to 22 miles.

In addition to the increased mileage I have to start speedwork.  I’ve committed to hitting the track with a group.  For the past two years I’ve been taking evening courses, this year I will go to track school.  I’m excited about running on the new Varsity stadium track.  The very scene of my first marathon finish.  The coach, Paul Osland is a former Olympian who is now whipping a group of motivated masters into tip top shape.  I’m apprehensive about the return to the intensity of speed work.  My fast running for the past two years has gone something like this . . . run fast when I feel like it for 30 – 120 seconds.  Take as much rest as I need.

From what I can tell, the plan for Thursday is to run 150 meters at a very fast pace, 18 times and the do it again for a total of 36 fast repeats.  Then we are to bound up stairs, 2 steps at a time, 5 times and then repeat.  I’ve never done circuit training, of which we are to do 4 laps.  Hmm . . .

This could be painful.  Given that most of these runners will be peaking in the early fall, and my timing of a December marathon is unusual, I hope to get some sort of just-starting-out dispensation. I’m reminded of how once, when in top form I remarked to another runner as we readied ourselves for a grueling session a la Zeba Crook that his workouts were effective because they helped us to increase our pain threshold.  The runner turned to me and said, “but that is not what I signed up for”. No doubt . . . I’ll soon have a tale to tell.

Gulp . . .