WE WERE ON A BREAK!

Now is the time for guts and guile, or else just an executive decision on running the marathon in three weeks.

I'm not ready, physically or mentally. I haven't been training for the past month--there were mitigating circumstances (new job, new schedule, new boyfriend, too much dining out and drinking wine), sure, but I'm disappointed in myself. But it reiterates how much I still live my life for others--I can get over not running RVM because I know I'll run a marathon at some point, but there's something that bothers me about having to tell other people I'm not doing it.

Or more specifically, telling people I know that I'm not doing it.

I was at the bank the other day and the teller asked me if I run at the Running Room. I didn't really recognize him, but I said I used to, but that I'd started running alone. He said he'd been training for the same marathon I am, but he'd been sidelined with an IT band injury.

I was surprised at how comfortable I felt telling him that I'd burned out on training. I mentioned that I'd probably would try training with a clinic again, although I explained I wasn't sure I could recreate the "magic" of my first clinic. He said he'd the exact same feeling and that it's true, the first clinic is something special.

It was nice to be able to talk to someone who was going through something sort of similar--even though his reasons are medical, mine are also legitimate. It reminded me that I'm a human, not a running machine, and this doesn't speak to my worth, dedication or discipline.

Still, this morning, I wasn't even an hour into my long run before I gave into my lethargy, boredom, and migraine headache. I felt like a failure, especially being on the Seawall, surrounded by super-fit runners.

I sat on a bench at English Bay and thought about why I'd lost motivation for running. When it comes down to it, it's because I'm tired of the same routines and routes. There isn't a whole lot I can do about that (the city is only so big and routines are developed for a reason), but I thought that maybe running and I need to see other people for awhile. I need to find something else to do that I'm excited about right now because it doesn't make sense to force myself to do something that doesn't excite me and then beat myself up for not being excited about it.

I know I'll go back to running at some point--because I've been in this place before and I always go back to it. I'm a runner for life, and not running this particular long run or even this particular marathon doesn't change that.

So, to be clear: RVM is still up in the air. It's probably best not to do it, but I may just go for the experience and to say I gave it a shot. There's going to be a next time, anyway.

I'm McLovin' it

I did something during my long run on Sunday that I haven't done for oh, five years: I ate a McDonald's breakfast.

It started out innocently enough. It was supposed to be 29K, and 2K in, I knew it wasn't going to be an easy run. It was only a little after 8:00 AM, but already very hot and humid, and I was drenched in sweat. I couldn't seem to run slowly enough. It didn't help that I'd chosen a different route than usual, through Kits, along the beaches, out to UBC. I've done the same route before, but always in the other direction; I'd never run up the steep hill along NW Marine from Spanish Banks to Chancellor Blvd. That was a mistake. I did my best, God bless me, but frequent walk breaks became my good friend.

When I finally made it up to the Museum of Anthopology, I was feeling dizzy and fatigued. Although I was only 15K in, I was ready to pack it in and take the B-Line home, when I remembered the five-dollar bill in my Fuel Belt. After a little tour to see what's changed at UBC (answer: a lot), I decided to get something to eat. I found myself in the McDonald's at University Village, and glancing at my Garmin, I realized it was 10:57 AM and I still had three minutes to partake of a McDonald's breakfast. I hadn't had one in years, but it seemed as though I'd wandered in to some sort of eerie cosmic destiny that it was best to take advantage of.

The decision process was actually very difficult. Did I want a McMuffin of some sort? Hashbrowns were a given, of course. Fajitas? Sausage or bacon? Maybe hotcakes? With 11:00 closing in, I decided on a Sausage McMuffin. Might as well get all your daily recommended protein intake in one go.

After totally enjoying my meal and relaxing for a bit with my coffee, I was ready to hop on the B-Line. But then I realized I felt rejuvenated and despite all the processed, saturated goodness rolling around in my digestive system, capable of running the rest of the way home.

And so it came to pass that I ran 26 KM fueled by a McMuffin instead of gels. It wasn't a great run by any means: I didn't complete the scheduled distance and there were still plenty of unscheduled walk breaks along the way. But I did learn that having actual food in the middle of my run drastically improves my mental state. If I could only find a way to attach a feedbag to my Fuel Belt, I'd be set.

Tourist season

Now that I run almost exclusively downtown on the weekends, it's impossible to ignore that we are at the height of tourist season. Today on the Seawall there were seemingly more people out on rented bikes than there were walkers or runners. Everyone has a folded map in hand or in pocket. Sightseeing buses are are more ubiquitous than public buses, and the public buses seem to run more slowly because the driver is constantly assisting people with the ticket reader, helping them figure out their Canadian coins, asking them to move their luggage from the handicapped seating, and letting them know when their stop is approaching. But overall, it adds an interesting dynamic to the city. I know I feel a little prouder of where I live when I see so many people enjoying it.

I got stopped today during my run by a very touristy-looking family who wanted directions to Robson Street from their hotel. A mistake on their part, because I'm no good at giving directions. I navigate using landmarks and an internal compass. I suppose people see a runner and assume I know where I'm going. I hope this poor family eventually found their way to Pacific Centre Mall and are not currently roaming the Downtown Eastside.

As for the run: It was hot. I ran slowly. Eventually, I stopped. I only got up to 14K today. Honestly, I'm not too pleased with how my marathon training is going. I need to book my accommodations for RVM, but now I'm wondering if I'll be ready for it. I've been feeling sluggish and unmotivated for the past few weeks, though I suspect this is because my iron levels are low.

Then again, I'm excited about the prospect of running a race in a different city. Running tourism is a lifestyle I could get used to.

Hot child in the city

18K LSD this morning. I set out just before 9:00 a.m., which was actually too late. It was already hot--around 20 degrees Celsius. I put on sunscreen, which ran into my eyes several times, causing (literally) BLINDING pain. However, my back got burned and the outline of my tank top is seared into my skin. Must look into sunscreen spray or find someone to rub lotion on my back. (The second option sounds more intriguing.)

I don't usually do long runs on Saturdays--I figured since I have a four-day weekend, I should get at least one run out of the way so I don't feel guilty when I see everyone else out. And really, Vancouver is a city where it seems that everybody is out running at all hours of the day. I asked a friend visiting from Toronto whether it's just Vancouver, and she said it definitely feels like people are a lot more hardcore about it here.

This got me thinking during today's run about competition. Unconsciously, I think every runner competes, even in a non-race situation. You pass someone and feel a small sense of triumph. You are passed and pick up the pace. Maybe you size up runners approaching in the opposite direction, sizing up their gear (Garmin? Fuel Belt? Tech shirt? Nice shoes?) as a measure of how devoted they are to the sport.

I try to stay focused on my own training goals, but sometimes my brain needs something more immediate, and so I start picking people off. Or if I'm passed, sometimes I'll start internally defending myself: "I'm doing a LSD run! I ran a half-marathon last weekend!" Pretty neurotic, but it's one way to pass the time.

Scotiabank Half-Marathon

I'm not what you would call a cocky individual. Self-doubt and self-deprecation are a part of my day-to-day life.

However, when it comes to running, I can get a little cocky. I'm not super fast, but I'm tough and willing to push myself even when it might be better to back off. This is how I arrived at the Scotiabank Half-Marathon confident that it would be a walk (well, a run/walk) in the park (well, several parks). I'd run a half already, I had net downhill working in my favour, and I had my Garmin to keep me on pace. I regularly do runs (albeit LSD runs) of 26 km+. Easy.

Well, no, not quite. But let's back-track a bit.

I'm pleased to say I have pre-race prep down to a science. Last night I set out everything I'd need to make breakfast. I pre-measured the oatmeal and set out all the dishes and utensils I'd need. I filled all my water bottles, packed my bag, laid out three possible outfits for different weather conditions. I called to reserve a cab. I made it to bed by 9:30 p.m. (not having slept well the previous week helped, in a way), and was up at 4:30 a.m.

A bit of a digression here: I understand that it's difficult for race organizers to coordinate road closures. But a 7:00 a.m. race start is tricky for someone without a car, as buses to UBC don't run early enough on Sundays to allow for one to make it to the starting line with enough time to psych oneself up mentally, stretch, psych oneself out mentally, pee, check bags, and psych oneself up again. And so it came to pass that I spent $25 + tip on cab fare--a hidden cost of racing.

The first 3 km were uneventful. I was feeling pretty good and my muscles were nice and warm. The elites were already on the way back from the out-and-back. It was neat to actually see them, for once, and observe how they kept turning around to check their positioning.

Kilometres 4 and 5 were slightly more painful because they were uphill and I'd decided to start pushing myself harder, as I was aiming for a finishing time of 2:05. My heart rate was near 180, which I can't sustain for long. I backed off a bit and settled into a steady pace, but I was still painfully aware of every stride and the effort involved.

The large downhill section was fun. I was flying, having taken a one-minute walking break, and was going around 4:20/km. My heart rate monitor still read 178, but I didn't feel like I was overexerting myself, so I viewed it as an opportunity to make up as much time as possible.

A woman pushing her son in a wheelchair flew by. Everyone cheered.

I got frustrated with the poorly paved roadways at Jericho Beach; running over potholes and cracks seems to require more energy expenditure. Then there was some uphill, but mostly, the course was flat, straight and dull. A boring residential street. Past Trevor Linden's house (I think) on the Point Grey Road stretch I'd done so many times in my first clinic. I was sort of over it all at this point, but buoyed by the volunteers who took it upon themselves to shout out each racer's name (on our bibs) as we passed.

Finally, the Burrard Street Bridge. I run this all the time in training and in the Sun Run, and I'd never really understood why people complained about it. It doesn't seem particularly steep...that is, when you haven't already run 18 km. My legs were heavy and it took everything I had to keep picking them up. I'd already taken gel twice, but I was irreparably fatigued. I took an early walk break to prevent myself from walking the entire uphill portion of the bridge. I was still tempted to do it, but realized running this section of the race was, for me, more of an accomplishment than getting a faster overall time, and I made it to the crest--slowly.

Once I was over the bridge, I heard a volunteer promise, "You're almost there! Only 2 km more! And the rest is downhill!", and sped up. At most, I was 12 minutes away from finishing. I thought of it as a 12-minute tempo run and said my mantra ("Be mentally tough") under my breath a few times.

Of course, when you expect to be almost done, the remaining distance seems endless: the running equivalent of the watched-pot effect. I was still enthusiastic, but badly wanted it to be over. I thought a friend of mine who lives in the West End, and imagined how awesome it would be to suddenly hear him call my name and see him on the sidelines. I knew he wouldn't be there, for logistical reasons, but just the thought that he might be watching was enough to keep me going. A strange mental tactic, but one I may use again.

Finally, FINALLY, I hit the mat. I was going at a clip and passing people, but not sprinting all out like I usually do at the end of a race. I viewed this as a sign I'd given the entire race my all. Though there were times I probably could have sped up, I didn't feel as though I'd held back, as I had at some points in the Fall Classic.

My chip time was 2:07:18, two minutes off my goal time of 2:05, but three minutes faster than the Fall Classic, and that was good enough for me, considering I hadn't been consistent with my training over the last couple of months. This taught me I definitely need to be more disciplined in my training for the Royal Victoria Marathon (i.e., run more than 2-3 times a week).

I like the finisher medal (I'm wearing it right now), but I'm not sure why it depicts the Lions Gate Bridge when we didn't go anywhere near it. It looks impressive, I guess.

I stood near the finish line for a bit and watched racers come in, which always gets me feeling all emotionally charged, especially when I see someone who looks especially determined or surprised at his or her accomplishment. And I saw a couple of women from my old Running Room clinic, and we chatted for awhile. Having trained alone and raced alone, it was nice to reconnect with the running community.

I grabbed three cinnamon-raisin mini bagels, a cup of Gatorade, and for the first time ever, a space blanket. I really dislike being conspicuous, as one is when wearing a shiny foil cape emblazoned with a corporate logo, but I dislike being cold even more. I had a bit of a walk and a bus ride home, and I kept it on the whole time, eliciting a lot of stares. I tried to ensure my finisher medal was prominently displayed so I didn't look like a self-imagined superhero.

Waiting for the bus at Main & Keefer (in Chinatown), I felt especially self-conscious among the group of older, shorter Chinese men and women doing their Sunday grocery shopping. A few of them were looking at me quizzically. Finally, one gentleman came up and said, "Excuse me, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Do those [space blankets] really work? I've seen them on TV and I always wonder."

"They do! But you have to be relatively warm to begin with, I think."

"Me, I prefer these." He pulled out a pair of gloves and smiled. "Are you a runner?"

"Yes, I just finished a race."

"Good for you. Congratulations."

That nice little exchange was the topper to a good race. Vancouver is a good city in which to be a runner.

The bitch is back

23 K LSD today in 2:30, after a two-week long-run hiatus. I'm pretty pleased with that, because it means I still have hope of a 2:00-2:05 finish at the Scotiabank Half-Marathon in two weeks. But I'm not going to be hard on myself if I don't make that goal, because the last month has been hellish. Training fell by the wayside, and that's how life goes.

I did my usual route around the Seawall in reverse, and rather than running the same portion between the Cambie Street Bridge and the Second Beach Pool twice, I went down West Georgia through the downtown core. I don't normally run there (and was reminded why when I had to stop for lights at nearly every corner), but I got to see the Jeff Ladouceur sculpture intertwining the pillars of the Vancouver Art Gallery, and the yellow-and-blue-striped tents Cirque du Soleil set up for the Corteo production.

Running the route in reverse made it feel like a completely different route. I had only a vague concept of where I was in relation to my usual route, except for a few unmistakable landmarks (the Lions Gate bridge). I thought my plans would be foiled at some point by the goings-on at the Vancouver Triathlon World Championships, but surprisingly, I only had to maneuver around a crowd for a minute or so around English Bay.

Winding my way around False Creek, I saw a dragon boat race about to start. There was a judge in a motorboat who was ensuring the boats were correctly aligned at the starting lined. She had a bullhorn and for about ten minutes, all you could hear was, "BOAT FIVE, ONE PADDLE FORWARD. THANK YOU. BOAT TWO, HOLD. THANK YOU. BOAT SIX, ONE PADDLE FORWARD. THANK YOU."

Finally, when they were all set up, the horn sounded and they all started shouting and paddling. Pretty exciting to watch. However, Boat Seven appeared to be having trouble, and nearly crashed into Boat Six. So they restarted the race, which involved ten minutes of turning around to get back to their original positions (all the while accompanied by "BOAT SEVEN, STOP PADDLING BACKWARDS. STOP, NOW. NOW. WAIT FOR BOAT FIVE. TURN.") It was pretty painstaking. I can't imagine putting all my energy into that for a minute or two and then having to start over. I might have been convinced to steer the boat directly into Boat Seven, just for that. I guess that's what it's like when Olympic sprinters have a faulty start, though the difference between me and Olympic sprinters (the only difference) is that they probably adopt a more professional attitude about it.

Making do

Yikes, I haven't posted for awhile. Running has been less of a priority for the past couple of weeks, as I've been busy working on a school project, reconnecting with an old friend, and preparing for our AGM at work. I've been trying to do faster, higher-intensity runs to make the most of my time.

Yesterday I did two one-mile repeats. Since I don't live anywhere near a track, I found a crescent in a ritzy, relatively quiet neighbourhood that is exactly 500 m around. So I do three laps plus 100 m. I should really just set up my Garmin so it will auto-lap at a mile, but that would mean changing to imperial units and that's annoying.

Anyway, I hit my target of 5:10/km (see, then I'd have to convert that to min/mi, and I know it's 8-something, but...annoying), and actually was a little quicker on the first repeat. It still kicked my ass, though--so much so that I seriously contemplated changing it to 400 m repeats. But then I saw some presumably wealthy resident running farther out around the crescent, and I was determined to beat her. Ah, my competitive streak.

I'm hoping to do a 18 km LSD on Sunday. I've decreased my long-run distances over the last month, mostly because of a lack of time, but also because I'm running out of places to go to increase my distance. Vancouver is only so big, it seems.

I'm still trying to decide if I should join a Running Room clinic for the marathon. The goal race for the one I'm looking at is the Okanagan International Marathon, which is the same weekend as Victoria. I'm hoping at least a few other people in the group will be training for RVM, because it would kind of suck to train with them for five months and then race alone. Kind of REALLY suck. Training alone is really tempting, but I haven't been as disclipined, training for the Scotiabank Half alone, as I was training with the clinic for the Fall Classic Half last year. So, camaraderie versus the bliss of running alone: where do you stand?