Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series: Gower Marathon

One of the highlights of the Autumn was scheduled to be Endurancelife's Gower Marathon.  I had planned to run it last year, but had a calf injury and down-graded to the half.  It was difficult, but in the way that makes one think it's worth trying again.  The full distance takes in a vast array of coastal views, so I really wanted to get the total experience.

By taking the Friday off, we were able to arrive at the Wyndgarth House B&B at around 3:30 - having learned previously that it's better to drive through the winding roads in the Gower peninsular during daylight hours.  As it happened, daylight was dark grey, as opposed to the black of night, but it was still better than the driving rain on a moonless night that we had for last year's trip.  As ever, Lynda and John's warm welcome was an immediate tonic to the dreary drive.  We made our way to The King Arthur Hotel for an early dinner.  I had chicken, rice, and peas while Nic enjoyed a perfect steak.  It was just the sort of light and lean meal I wanted. Later on, I realized this is pretty much the ingredients list of the dried cat nibbles - maybe I should just keep it easy and have cat food!  After dinner, we drove out to Rhossili to register and get race number, chip, etc. to allow more time in the morning - thank goodness for that!  We headed to bed early, hopeful that the forecasters would be right and the wind and rain would blow through by dawn.

Getting ready the night before - it paid off!

Indeed, the day dawned with clear blue skies and little wind.  We were set fair for a warmish run, bathed in sunshine.  After the experience of the last two marathons, I had been eating double portions for the past few days, to avoid completely cracking.  So, first breakfast was porridge and isotonic drink at 6am.  Second breakfast of more porridge, toast, and juice came at 7:45 with Nic.  We headed to the race HQ, ready for the race briefing and the 9:30 start.  We parked in the soon-to-be muddy field, hoped we would be able to get out again, and wandered in to find the briefing underway.  It soon became obvious that something wasn't quite as expected, so I checked with the registration desk that the marathon would start at 9:30, which they confirmed.  About 10 minutes later, it was even more obvious that the person I asked was as clueless as me - leaving me about 5 minutes to get my shoes on, my warm clothes off, and be on my way!  At some point in the run up to the event, the start time had been moved 30 minutes earlier.  Still, I was given the opportunity to learn a few valuable lessons.  First, read the e-mail carefully - it clearly shows the schedule (which had probably changed a good 2 months ago...).  Second, if I'm not expecting to run at 90% heart rate, I can eat quite near to the start of a race.  Finally, if you ever have a choice between getting everything ready the night before a race and the morning of, choose the night before!  I arrived with very little left to do, and that saved me a lot of panic given the lack of learning for the first lesson.  In the end, I set off in 91st position - out of 104 runners.

The sun enjoyed a day at the beach!

We set off through a field of cars and into a field of cattle - the cattle make for a much more hazardous footing.  Not wanting to start my day ankle deep in muck, I kept a beady eye out as we made our way onto the coastal trail.  The first real hill of the day was up, along, and down Rhossili Down.  After a couple of gentle miles to warm up, we re-entered Rhossili to be cheered by a few onlookers.  Nic was there to take my picture and give me a shout.

Worms Head in the distance as we head into Rhossili Village

Feeling great - but then we hadn't hit a hill yet.

Then, we hit the 1:4 climb. The path we take is great for hiking.  Running it requires a level of strength and fitness I have yet to achieve.  It's only half a mile worth of climbing, but the gradient in the first half ranges from 1:5 to 1:2.  So, I climbed at a walk like everyone else near me.  Long steep hills are at least sociable.  I exchanged pleasantries with a few people and enjoyed the sound of a non-stop chat from a group of friends who had obviously not had a chance to catch up for a while.  I also noticed that one of the group was wearing road shoes, or possibly light-traction trail shoes.  At this, I made a mental note to keep away from her on the equally steep descent.

Heading up Rhossili Down

 Last year, the grassy hillside had been quite slippery as the previous night's rain left an inch of water working its way down in a slow-moving puddle.  Sure enough, as I quickly skipped through the bracken and among the rocks, I heard squeals of "oh my God!" from those who ignored my shout to avoid the middle section.  Once you're into the slippery grass, it's very difficult to get out except by sliding or stopping and gingerly picking your way down.  I was long gone by the time they made it down, so I assume that I was the only one of my pace group who took the hill at a run.  I only saw 2 of them again during the race.

Rhossili Bay & Beach

 The fifth mile took in the beautiful Rhossili Beach, part behind the sand dunes in the soft sand, and part along the beach on firm, wet sand.  We took a gentle climb off the beach and along a boardwalk generally used by the local surfers to move around the worst of the dunes.  Our next climb, not much better than a muddy sheep track, was a lonely slip-slide up Llanmadoc Hill.  The sun was warm and I shed my buff, gloves, and windproof.  Happily, I had chosen a top with a zipper, so I could unzip in the sun and zip when the clouds came through. There were a few runners in the distance fore and aft, but none close enough to share the dark humour of hiking ankle deep in mud and peat.  It was a bit of fun, followed by a slightly more sure-footed descent to around 11.5 miles.  At this stage, I consoled myself with the knowledge that there was only one more big hill, and then a fairly flat second half.

For races like these, I take the view that ignorance is bliss.  I know roughly where we're going, approximately how many hills there are, and generally have a good idea of how long it should take.  But, I avoid knowing precisely how long each hill will be, or how many minutes before the next steep drop.  The main reason for this is that I can't keep it all in my head, and I get confused when I try.  The other reason is that it's often best to just look ahead and keep plugging away - thinking too far ahead can make it harder to deal with the task at hand.  Consequently, I hadn't really noticed that this "last big hill" would be two miles long.

As I ran/hiked/shuffled up the hill, I noted that the hill was actually pretty runnable - if one wasn't already suffering from the previous 12 miles of silliness.  It turns out that most of the ascent is at less than 10% gradient, so my feeling was correct.  Towards the top, the path was littered with large "puddles" of varying sizes.  Being rather peaty, the water was rather dark, making it difficult to judge how deep they were until it was too late.  Still, by the time I'd passed half way, I was happy to dip into these convenient "foot spas" for some refreshment.  After all, my feet had already been wet for over 2 hours, so keeping dry wasn't a priority.  Finally, at approximately 15 miles we topped out and headed back for the beaches.

The run down through the moorland was a good chance to stretch out and properly run for the first time in miles. We hit a short stretch on the road, which helped to knock some mud off the shoes, and gave a chance for some supporters to join the course.  I came on Richard Baker as his family surprised him by joining in for a few hundred yards, racing ahead to take a picture, then racing ahead again.  It was great to see his grandaughter chasing after him and cheering.  Finally, we left the road for the beach - and then turned onto a steep staircase strewn with soggy leaves.  The Autumn colours looked amazing, but having them wet and underfoot presented a serious hazard for a tired runner with a bit of a reputation for nose-diving.  So, I swore profusely as I concentrated hard to get off the stairs in good order.  Honestly, I don't know which hurt more, my quads or my head!

At the bottom, it was another trip into the loose footing of the sand dunes.  Whatever energy I had left was quickly ebbing away.  Three hours into the run, with an expected 2-2.5 hours left, and I felt just as bad as I had at Amsterdam.  My hip flexors weren't flexing, and various muscles whined at the continued effort.  After what felt like ages, but was only a little over a mile, the course took me back onto firm sand at Oxwich Beach.  The sun was low, and the beach long.  I gave in and took a short walking break on the premise that it couldn't possibly be much slower than the shuffle I was adopting.  The rest worked, and when I finally got off the beach, I was able to drag myself up through the woods and back onto the cliff paths at Oxwich Point.

Oxwich Beach - the footprints heading for some firmer sand

A couple of gently rolling miles of cliff path ended abruptly at Horton and our last water stop.  At Horton, we headed back to the beach for the last time.  The beach was only about half a mile, but I'd finally had enough of sand!  I shuffled along, thankful that I had sunglasses to help against the now very low sun.  As I neared the end of the beach, one of the very chatty group I'd left behind 17 miles previously passed by like I was standing still (I wasn't far from it, to be fair).  She had obviously grown tired of waiting for her ill-shod friend and was running quite easily among the mossy rocks.

Finally, with around 6 miles to go, I climbed up back onto the cliff paths.  One small sign said "Rhossili, 7 mi".  I saw this and said something akin to "7 miles?!  It had better not *#@#*& be!!"  For the next mile or two, I shuffled along narrow cliff tracks, encountering more runners than I had seen in miles.  Some I passed, some passed me back as we each struggled through the sharply varying terrain as best we could.   I spent some time running with Noel Cheseldine, who is training for a second attempt at the Marathon des Sables.  It was, for me, the most sociable part of the event - and we all kept looking at our watches with a confused look.  I even started to check the map screen on my Garmin, to make sure I hadn't passed the turn off and accidentally taken the Ultra course.  No, still on course, 26 miles long past, and still at least a mile from the finish!  I am sure the organizers' ears were red, because the coastal air was starting to turn blue as we vented our frustration at not having finished yet.

Are we there yet?

 Finally, the sign pointing to the finish arrived, and we knew it was less than a mile to go.  The cattle, bored with the wait, had not lingered to wait for the end of the race.  I continued to shuffle up the hill to the finish, turned the corner, and was greeted by Nic cheering and shouting at me to run.  I smiled, raised my arms for the picture, and tried to move less slowly towards the flags.  In the end, my Garmin says the course was roughly 28.5 miles long with a time of 5:55:48.  I'd managed the expected 27 miles in just over 5:30, which was near expectation.  The extra mile and a half were tough, but by that stage I was actually moving fairly smoothly (if very slowly!).  I politely thanked the organizers for the extra distance (no really, I did - I hope the sarcasm wasn't lost on them...), collected my goodies and headed for the car to get changed.  There was no way that anything I was wearing was going into the B&B - Lynda and John are far too nice for me to bring such filth into the house!

Yippee!  Here comes the finish line!

 

Looking fresh as a daisy but smelling like a camel

Of the marathons I've done, this was by far the toughest.  It was the furthest I've ever run, and the longest time I've ever been running (walking/trudging/shuffling).  Strangely, it is also the one that has caused the least pain.  I finished feeling OK, if very tired and stiff.  My traditional recovery meal of fish and chips with 2 pints of real ale felt great (especially the beer - the King Arthur knows how to treat its ale!).  So, although I am a bit trepidatious about the Portland stage of the series in less than 3 weeks, I am pretty sure I'll survive it.

What can you learn from your resting heart rate?

One's resting heart rate can be a great friend. It tells us how fit we are, whether there's an illness on the way (or maybe just a bit too much red wine), when to push the exercise, and when to hold back.  Many athletes track their resting heart rate each day to keep a close eye on how their bodies are coping with life.  I've managed to learn that much and more!

So, how can you make best use of this fabulous tool?  Well, it's simple, really.  Take your heart rate every morning when you wake up, say all the books, articles, etc.  Track the line.  Gradual changes relate to fitness (up=bad, down=good, zero=dead).  Sudden jumps relate to condition on the day (up=body working hard to fight off illness / yesterday's training / night out, down=can't count).  It's all just so easy!  Or, is it?

For those 90% of us who don't naturally wake up, it can be quite difficult to assess heart rate first thing in the morning.  I expect I'm not the only person who is woken by an alarm (radio, in my case), swears at the interruption, and then quickly jumps up to turn the thing off before incurring the wrath of a woman awoken.  It's not as scary as that of a woman scorned, but it's not nice for either of us.  So, to make a short story long, I am very rarely in a state of rest by the time I can see a watch or count past 3.

I've tried to grab a RHR at weekends, when I do have a chance now and then to leave the alarm off.  But, it turns out that I generally wake up from some active dream or another, with my HR at around 65 - quite elevated for first thing in the morning.

How am I supposed to make use of this great tool, if I'm never both at rest and awake enough to count? Well, apparently I am sometimes quite chilled when I'm driving.  I know this by checking my HRM when I drive somewhere for a run.  Because the HRM isn't all sweaty, I double check with a pulse count at the odd stoplight.  According to my heart rate, I generally drive around half asleep.  The other night, I noticed the HRM showed 47 - I've never actually seen it that low, even though that's roughly what I estimate given when I can measure it.  I pulled over to a) check it was true and b) give myself a bit of a slap.  I was driving, after all, so I didn't need to be quite that chilled! 

So, by loosely tracking my RHR over the past few months, I've discovered:

• I am getting fitter
• I managed to shake off the worst of my cold (but not entirely recovered from it) in time for a race
• I have really weird dreams in the hours between my normal alarm and my weekend wake-up time
• I drive in something ranging between relaxed ambivalence and a coma...

So, get your watch, take your pulse, and see what kind of deep insights into your life you can find!

Amsterdam Marathon - 1 down, 7 to go!

Every race has a purpose.  Some are a trial of body and mind, some a tune up for a special event, some a bit of a jolly somewhere fun, and some exist solely to provide a personal best.  After this year's quest at the Three Forts Challenge, I decided to use my new-found fitness to grab a PB and a new club age-group record.  The record was a pretty soft 3:30, since all the club's quicks are 40+.  Shortly after I entered, my friend Steve kindly dropped his objection to running a marathon and dropped in a 3:22 just before his 40th birthday.  I figured that 3:20 was possible, if difficult.  Then, I went a little mad - I've wanted to put in a sub 3:15 for a few years, and was finally fit enough to try.  So, I put together my training plan for a 3:15, mentally switched the race goal from a PB to a (fast) trial of body and mind, and got to work.

The build-up wasn't the best.  You'll have seen in the previous installment, I'd managed to put in very little running in the final weeks before my taper.  In the end, my weekend runs eased correctly, but I was only getting in one other run each week due to other commitments.  But, the forecast was for perfect conditions (10C, light breeze, mostly sunny), and Amsterdam is incredibly flat, so I decided to lay it all on the line and stick to the 3:15 target.

Nic and I arrived in Amsterdam early on Saturday, dropped our bags at the hotel (too early for check-in), and headed for lunch (Italian).  After lunch we headed to the Expo to get our numbers and hunt for bargains.

Olympic finish - Wow! (pictures courtesy of Nic)

It was just a little exciting to get to the Olympic stadium.  I've been in bigger stadia, but never an Olympic one!  The marathon starts inside and finishes on the track finish line, and the half starts outside and finishes inside.  I was already over-excited, but actually being there had me smiling from ear to ear.  We had a peek in on our way to sign in.  I just couldn't see how thousands of runners would fit on the track!

The number pick-up was easy, as was the t-shirt collection.  Everything seemed busy but well-controlled.  The Expo was small, and had a few items worth buying.  But, I was a little disappointed to see so many new-season products - I was really hoping to pick up some end-of-line shoes to replace the ones I would race in.  We did find Ice Power, which eased Nic's sore calf as we walked about during the day. (Aside: it felt great on the legs during Monday's sight-seeing as well).  Not finding any great bargains, we headed back to the hotel for a nap before heading for dinner.

Sunday morning was clear and fine.  Breakfast was a bit of a disaster - I struggled to make myself eat more than a bit of muesli and a banana.

No time like the present!

Even in the walk to the stadium, my body wasn't keen on the energy bar I was stuffing in.  Pre-race excitement was obviously getting the better of me.  When we arrived, I kept an eye out for club-mates Ned and Sheila, who would be finishing a few minutes either side of my target 3:15.  We had agreed to meet at a statue that was barricaded off, so I expected we wouldn't see each other until we got into our start pen (3:00-3:30).  That's when the "Olympic inspiration" jumped up and bit me for real.  I hadn't really noticed the torch tower on Saturday, but the early-morning sun was playing on it and the goose-bumps ran down my spine.

Is that a torch I see before me?!

I planned to set out at better than 8-minute mile pace (crowd-willing), so I did a slightly shorter version of my usual pre-race warm-up.  Everything was moving well after the 20 minute walk from the hotel, so I peeled off the insulation, checked my baggage, and headed for the starting pens.  Somehow, 7000+ runners did fit into the space!  But, because of the well-organized start pens, it was easy to get in the right place and also to meet up with Ned and Sheila for a last-minute "Good luck!".

I'm in there somewhere!

Seven thousand runners squeezed into two hundred metres.

As we got closer to the starting time, the organizers cranked up the "Chariots of Fire" theme tune.  The pulse quickened and adrenalyn started to pump.  I had to close my eyes and do some deep breathing to re-focus and keep from getting totally caught up - after all, I had a plan to follow.  Finally, the gun fired and I watched as the elites rounded the bend and headed out through the tunnel.

The first mile was an easy 7:40, gently easing into race-pace.  The crowds were loud and fantastic, cheering on the runners in a variety of languages.  I settled quickly into a pace that was comfortable, but constantly found myself having to ease back.  My mind was saying "keep it at 7:27", but my body kept aiming for 7:10.  In the end, I compromised at around 7:20 - it required concentration to keep from going faster, but I felt quite relaxed and at ease.

Along the first few miles, there were a steel band and a brass band (I only noticed on the walk back...).  The crowds in Vondel park cheered and then occasionally looked confused as runners darted off the course (the call of the bushes).  Through the first 10k, I was concentrating so much on keeping my pace back and avoiding the tram tracks and other runners, that I have to admit I didn't take in much of the surroundings at all.

I was keeping such a tight focus on slowing the pace that I didn't really notice the distance.  I'd accidentally slipped up and let in a 7:13, so I was now keeping a beady eye on the pace section of my watch.  I did, being a bit of a magpie, notice an increase in foil packets on the road.  I thought, "it's a bit early for all of these gels!"  So, I had a check of my watch and was surprised to see 5.8 miles had already passed.  I untaped my 10k gel from my water bottle and squeezed it in just in time to chase it with some water from the 10k water stop.  Then I drained my 250ml bottle and disposed of it.  At that point, I was 10k down, feeling good, and everything was on target for a 3:15 finish.  I knew it was the second easiest section of the race done, so just tried to stay relaxed and enjoy the easiest bit - 10k-20k.

The second 10k is, I think, the best part of a marathon.  You're in your rhythm, still have (hopefully) the energy for 32k worth of running, and haven't hit the serious pain yet.  The race headed out onto a long canal section, which was very pretty.  It was also just a bit more breezy than it had been in town.  There were only a few bystanders by their houses, clapping us on.  About a mile down the canal, a VW bus was hooked up to some big speakers and belted out some tunes to cheer us up after a quiet section of the course.  As I approached, a pumped-up version of the overture to Aida was playing.  I smiled widely as we passed, enjoyed the music, and accidentally knocked out half a mile at sub-7 pace. 

The course took a short turn away from the canal at this point, seemingly just to make the correct distance.  As we neared the turn-around to go back to the canal, I kept an eye out for Ned, who should have been about a minute in front of me at that stage.  I gave him a shout as we passed, but missed Sheila, who was about 45 seconds behind me.  Coming back to the VW, I again got carried to a short section of exuberance, but checked it before it got out of hand, hitting 10 miles at 73:30.  It was a little faster than I'd planned (about 5 seconds per mile), and I started to wonder when payback time would come around.

The long drag up the canal kept going, with a band (and comically bad singer) on a barge keeping everyones' spirits up.  Finally, we crossed over and headed back to town.  Unfortunately, I hadn't noticed that the breeze was becoming a slight wind, since it had been at my back.  Now, there was a headwind with only the shelter of the few runners nearby.  I now had no problem at all staying back to a 7:25, and hit half-way at 1:37:27 - dead on target.  We smiled at the camera and kept plugging away and towards the soulless part of the course, where only empty highway awaited. 

As we left the canals, Sponge Bob Squarepants passed me.  I wished him well, and bemoaned getting beaten by a cartoon character.  He advised me that he normally runs a 2:40, so I shouldn't feel bad.  Which is worse, getting beaten by a cartoon sponge, or getting beaten by a cartoon sponge that's taking it all really easily?!  Sponge Bob got a lot of cheers at an underpass, and we left the support behind for a while.  Why is it that 15-18 miles in a city marathon seems to be in the emptiest part of town?  By the time we got out of the wind I knew for certain that payback for the early pace was not too far away.  I popped my final gel a kilometre early (29k), figuring it wouldn't hurt and that I was going to hit trouble in 15-20 minutes. 

The little rises on the road started to feel like hills, and I started to experience a few breaks in pace for the first time.  By 18 miles, my calves and hamstrings were a little hot, so I eased back a bit further.  It's funny how keeping back to a 7:25 early on was almost impossible, but slowing to a 7:33 after 17 miles is really quite easy.  I took the opportunity at around 18.5 to stop and admire the folliage of a hedge, hoping that the nagging in my bladder would go away to be replaced by a feeling of renewed energy.  I was sadly disappointed.  It just turned out to be a waste of 30 seconds.  I kept my pace below 8-minute miling as my back and piriformis muscles started to complain that I hadn't finished this run yet.  I pushed on, reminding myself that 8-minute miles from here would still get me that club record.  I played all the mind games I could, remembering all the hard, cold hill runs and how I could manage to keep moving on this flat, easy course. 

Inexorably, I slowed further.  Any obstruction cracked my shaky rhythm further.  Sheila passed by, encouraging me to keep going.  I stayed with her for about 100 feet before I realized that I just couldn't keep moving.  My legs were seizing up and it was a struggle to get one foot in front of the other.  From 21 miles, I was doing short walks of 50-100m every kilometre or so, hoping to get through the bad patch, but never really finding the end of it.  I kept the pace at 9-9:30 pace until around the 39k marker, where the wheels finally fell completely off.  By this point, I was working hard to stay on the right side of 3:30, but I could feel that slipping away as well.

At the 40k mark, I confirmed on my watch that 3:30 would require a miracle.  As we re-entered Vondel Park, the crowds cheered us on, encouraging me with kind words like "You can do it, only 2 kilometres left! Keep running!"  Oh, to still be running, instead of shuffling!  Unbidden, the reality of the situation finally broke through all of the positive thinking: "Marathons are really quite tough!  What the **** was I thinking when I signed up for 8?!?!?!"  I half-chuckled to myself at that thought and walked/shuffled/jogged to the end thinking, "Don't do something stupid for the sake of 15 seconds, you've got a marathon in 4 weeks!".  I entered the stadium and watched the continuing stream of people that had been steadily overtaking me since around 21 miles.  It was like watching the first 15 miles of my race in reverse, as people I hadn't seen for 3 hours came by. 

I crossed the line, relieved to be finished, and headed for the exit. I came across Ned and Sheila, who were waiting to see how I did.  Ned had posted yet another 3:14:xx, and was a little disappointed by that.  Sheila had run an absolute cracker to finish in 3:22.  We made our way to the medals and refreshments, and went our separate ways.  I walked back to the hotel, showered, started to eat all of the post-race food I had waiting, and then made my way back to the stadium for Nic's finish of the half.

The happy half marathoner!

Boringly, as runners do, we spent the rest of the day (and the next) talking about our runs.  I enjoyed lasagne followed by a beautiful steak as an accompaniment to the celebratory beer. Nic again chose red wine as her evening recovery drink. 

Following our extended analysis, I am pretty happy with the time, if not the way the last 12k went.  The final 5 weeks of training wasn't great, so aiming for the 3:15 was always a risky strategy.  I'm also pretty sure I didn't take on nearly enough carb in the few days before the race.  That, at least, is something I can put right before the next one!  Bring on the Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series!

Medals all round!

Kenilworth Half Marathon - or "Go Maureen!"

September 26th was the day.  When I entered this race several months ago, I knew I would be in for a PB.  I've been in great shape, have trained well, and knew the course from a few years ago when it knocked me on my metaphorical backside.  With good weather, I was on target to finally break 1:30.

Then, I suffered some calf issues due to a little too much time in flip-flops during my beach holiday in September.  I know, the sympathy violins are all being uncased now - sore leg caused by being a lazy article on the beach!  Sad, but true.  The only other possible cause was the increase in running and hiking during the first 4 days of my vacation, since I had so much free time and sleep.  But, it can't be more exercise!  It must be the flip-flops!  Anyway, the result was 5 days with no running, much to my annoyance.

Then, after only 1 run, I caught a cold upon my return to frozen England.  From 30 degrees (C) to 6 was a bit of a shock!  I have a rather nasty habit of turning sinus congestion into a chest infection, so I was pretty annoyed.  For once, though, I listened to the best practice of the entire running community and stopped running as soon as the cold symptoms moved below my larynx.  The good news was that this was enforced rest to allow the full benefits of my fabulous massage from Sara.  The bad news is that I was fit to run on Friday (very cold and rainy) before Sunday's race.  So, I decided to take the rest of the week off and waited until the race for my first return to running.

Given the poor preparation, I changed goals to:  finishing the race without re-introducing illness, run at my goal marathon pace or better, feel OK after the run since I was flying to Japan that night for a business trip.  On Sunday morning, I practiced as much of my pre-marathon prep as I could.  Breakfast of oatmeal at around 2 hours before the start.  I missed my energy bar at T-1 hour, since I was running a little late and was still driving.  Then, 1 Torq caffeinated gel at T-20 minutes followed by my warm-up.

The warm-up was a bit scary.  Within about 2 minutes I was up to 90% heart rate.  I normally have to push quite hard to get there in early warm-up.  So, I eased back a little and focused on getting all the muscles moving for a few minutes before ramping back up.  The unexpected jump in HR gave me a revised race plan of maintaining 80% heart rate for a few miles before re-assessing.

Then, the gun fired and we were off.  I kept an easy pace for the first mile (mostly up-hill anyway) and eased into the race.  Even with the gentle undulations, it was a struggle to stay at marathon pace, so I let my legs have free reign for a bit to see how things went.  As long as I kept below roughly 90% HR, I was able to keep a comfortable pace (with a bit more work down the hills where I could pick up time).  By 10 miles, I knew I was on for a pleasing time (no PB, but pretty good given the prep).  The run in for the last 5k is roughly 2 miles up hill, 1 mile down.  So, I kept pace as much as possible and aimed for around 1:33-1:34.  Since I've only beaten that once, I was in a good mood entering the last 5k.

At 11.5 miles, my knees started to complain about all the activity after a week off.  I pushed on, hoping to recover a bit of form and speed on the down hill.  It was, rather unfortunately, against a very strong wind.  So, my form remained ragged and my pace was still slowing.  I looked into the distance to see the guys I'd hoped to catch stretching away from me.  I'm pretty sure one of them (Ranjit Samrai) did the same thing to me a few years previously.  He'd obviously improved just as much as I had!  Then, we hit the flat, turned out of the wind, and everyone seemed to be shouting "Come on, Maureen!" or "Go, Maureen!".  I thought to myself, "I don't know who she is, but this Maureen is running strong and I feel like death warmed up, so I guess she'll pass me."

Then, my friend Dave, who had finished some 6 minutes earlier, started shouting some encouragement from the sidelines, including "Don't let her catch you on the line!"  That woke me up.  I usually have a pretty strong finish, and I reminded myself that I wasn't going to get caught on the line.  That's what I do, not what's done to me!!

Still, the shouts of "Go Maureen!" and "You can catch him, Maureen" were ringing in my ears.  Obviously, this Maureen was pretty popular.

Now, my aunt and godmother's name is Maureen (well, it's one of her many names, and one that she has been known to use fairly regularly).  So, I had a fleeting image of a venerable, six-foot tall, generously proportioned nun bearing down on me.  There was absolutely, positively, no way I was going to let a big old lady in a habit catch me in the finishing straight - no matter how much I love my aunt.  When we turned on to the grass for the final 0.1 miles around a field, I reminded myself that I am an off-road runner, and this was my territory. Some unknown roady wasn't going to pass me on a lumpy, difficult surface!

Cue the internal feeling of winding up a dirty great hulk of a machine to make it move slightly less slowly, and I pushed forward with what must have actually been a pretty imperceptible increase in speed.  In the end, I held off "Maureen" by a second (it turns out her name is Mallory - so my ears were obviously not recovered from the cold!).  Turned around, and noticed a young woman who had the look of one who had been using me as a target for quite a while.  I congratulated her on a good run and carried on towards the massage table hoping not to cough up a lung once I'd slowed down and they realized what I'd been doing to them for the last hour and a half.

In all, it was a good and challenging race.  The result was much better than I expected given my preparation (just under 1:35), so I'm hopeful that once I get over the Japanese food (yum!) I will be able to get into a good state for Amsterdam in a couple of weeks.  And to Mallory:  thank you for pushing me as much as I'm sure I pulled you towards the finish.