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?

Commitment

I just registered for the full Royal Victoria Marathon. The reason I always register early for these things is that I need that financial commitment as a training incentive. But I also rationalize that it's only $80, so I could still flake out without too much lost.

I'm scared, though. Hold me!

The power of crap

I am something of a perfectionist. Or rather, a recovering perfectionist. This manifests itself in various ways, but we are gathered here today to to talk about running.

I used to get really down on myself when I had a bad run. A "bad run" usually translated as not going far enough or long enough or fast enough, having to stop and/or walk, feeling tired or hungry, being passed by the elderly, attracting unwanted comments or looks, having to run into the wind for too long--basically, every run I ever went on. The certainty of having what I deemed a "good run" felt far beyond my control.

I'd return from such a run feeling defeated and might even let it deter me from trying again for a few days. I had this concept of a perfect runner--the Platonic ideal of a runner, if you will--who was out there seven days a week, doing endless hill repeats solely on willpower and a bowl of Cheerios eaten 10 hours ago. I'm not even sure these runners actually exist. But in my mind, everyone else in the world was one of them and because I wasn't able to complete that day's run the way I'd wanted to, I'd failed in some way.

Lately, I've begun to embrace crappy runs. I have a pet theory--yes, I've graduated from running neophyte to one of those pretentious runners who cultivates philosophies--that you need the bad runs to really appreciate the good ones.

Take yesterday: I was feeling pretty good at work. My energy level was steady. I'd eaten enough and I was well hydrated. The weather was decent--warm, dry, mild wind. I practically ran home from work so I could change into my running gear and run some more.

I started my usual 10K route in reverse, along the False Creek Seawall. About 10 minutes in, I noticed I was breathing harder than I normally do for the amount of effort I was exerting. I didn't think my fitness could have declined that much over the past few weeks (I haven't been running as regularly as I should be, with a half-marathon coming up next month), and so I decided just to take it down a notch: steady instead of tempo pace.

Then, at 25 minutes, I took a one-minute walk break. Then, a few minutes later, another. Finally, a few minutes away from Granville Island, I sat down on a bench and hit stop on my Garmin. I watched a few runners I'd been pacing go by. I listened to the shouts of the dragon boat teams practising in the creek. I felt the sweat running down the back of my neck.

Newly determined, told myself I was going to continue. I went a few hundred metres and just stopped dead. I'd run out of gas. Maybe I'd misjudged and hadn't eaten enough. Maybe I was more tired than I thought . Maybe my heart just wasn't in it. Maybe I had indeed lost some of my endurance and needed to redouble my training efforts. All I knew was, I wasn't going to finish this run.

Luckily, I'd brought my bus pass for just such an event. As I mentioned in my last post, I didn't used to do this. And I felt a little guilty for bringing it this time, because it made it almost too easy to walk up and catch the #50 South False Creek a block away. But it was cooling off and I couldn't fathom walking the 5K home, into the wind, uphill. Plus, Ugly Betty was on in 40 minutes.

So I wrote yesterday's run off as a 5K that was better than nothing. It was actually sort of funny to me that I couldn't do 5K after doing five times that much on Sunday--it almost doesn't seem logical, and I guess that's the nature of the beast. You can train diligently for months but run a terrible race, and it sucks, but the latter doesn't negate the former. A bad run today means the possibility of a better run tomorrow.

And when I hear myself say things like that, I feel like a less-toothy Tony Robbins.

Running my own race

This morning was the 37th annual BMO Vancouver Marathon, which I was not running in. But Vancouver is only so big, and so of course my long run intersected the route several times.

Watching the participants going in the opposite direction certainly helped the time go by faster, and I did 25K in just under three hours, which is pretty much right where my long slow distance pace should be. I'm relieved that my endurance hasn't diminished too much in the past few weeks, during which I hadn't run over two hours at a time.

My hamstrings were screaming louder than the race spectators toward the end, though, so than rather negotiate the 15-block gradual incline back to my apartment, I hopped on a bus. I never used to do this, but now I make a point of carrying my bus pass with me when I go for my long runs. I just feel better knowing I have an "out" if I bonk or get injured.

So maybe next year I'll do the BMO. My excuses for not doing it this year were that I didn't want to train in the snow (valid) and I don't want to run 200 feet up Prospect Point (very valid). But it would be neat to run a full marathon right here in Vancouver. I'll think on it.

Other running things of note:

I am not so impressed with the Fuel Belt. It was bouncing around a LOT at first--so much that after two blocks I was going to go back and get my usual water carrier. Then I guess I started sweating or whatever, and it more or less stayed in place. But the sloshing noises were distracting, and I KNEW I should have gotten the small size instead of medium, even though the small barely fit around my hips. The minute you fill the bottles up with water and gel, the whole thing is heavier and you need to make it tighter and I can tell it's going to stretch some more with time and GRR. That's $50 not so well spent. Do you think I can sweet talk the Running Room manager into letting me exchange it, even though it's used?

I watched Spirit of the Marathon yesterday. I'm pretty sure 90% of the audience was running BMO today--it was probably the fittest movie audience ever. I really enjoyed how they followed different types of runners: elites like Deena Kastor and Daniel Njenga, first-timers (or "26.2 virgins," as someone's shirt declares), and veteran marathoners trying to improve their time.

There are also some interesting anecdotes about the history of the marathon. My favourite came from Katherine Switzer, the first woman to enter the Boston Marathon. Women weren't allowed to enter at this time (1967!), so she registered as "K. Switzer," and when race official Jock Semple saw her, he tried to grab her and pull her out of the race. Switzer debated whether she should leave the course; she clearly wasn't welcome, but finally she decided that leaving would only prove those who didn't believe women could race right. Switzer's boyfriend, Tom Miller, knocked Semple away with his shoulder, and Switzer ran off. Awesome.

A line from the film that will stick with me is "People run marathons to prove to themselves that there is still triumph and possibility in their lives." I started sobbing when I heard that, because I've never heard it put quite that way, and it's so accurate for me. I think it's the "still" that gets me. I tell people I run because it's the only form of exercise I actually enjoy, which is true, and I started running mainly to lose weight, but as for why I keep doing it? I've known a lot of disappointment in my life, and there are times even now when I feel like I'll never know true fulfillment or happiness. But whether it's a 3K run around the block or a half-marathon, I get a sense of achievement, if only for a moment, and it makes me hopeful that there is more. Just more.

Back in the saddle

After a week of no running (although I did my runners' yoga class and felt slightly fraudulent), I went for a 10K along the False Creek side of the Seawall last night, including a lap around Granville Island. Time: 56:50, which is quicker than my Sun Run time, although I wasn't trying to beat it. I probably went a bit faster than I should have, but my muscles wanted to move.

It was warm enough to wear short sleeves for the first time this year, and bright enough that I didn't trip over the uneven rocks that "pave" the pathway. (Seriously, I'll have to get a photo of it, because it's so spectacularly ill conceived. Here's someone else's photo in the meantime. People are actually supposed to rollerblade on that.)

Last night, a cyclist missed a curve and went over the edge of the Seawall, and there was footage all over the news this morning of his dramatic emergency rescue. They couldn't get the ambulances in there because the Seawall is still unstable in places. Apparently, he was intoxicated and riding in the dark with his friends, which I guess seemed like a good idea at the time.

I've had my share of run-ins with cyclists in Stanley Park. I really make an effort to stay in the pedestrian lane and shoulder-check before I cross the bike lane. So imagine my surprise early one Sunday morning when a cyclist came barrelling toward me, not only in the wrong lane, but going in the wrong direction (the cyclist lane is one way only).

He looked like he'd lost control, but he wasn't making any effort to stop or get out of the way. I was only about 8K into my long run and still half asleep , but I dodged him at the last minute. He mumbled some sort of apology as he continued to straddle the lanes unsteadily. Now that I think about it, maybe he was drunk, too. Perhaps one Sunday morning I will carry beer in my Fuel Belt and see how far I get.

Spirit of the Marathon

I bought tickets to see a special showing of the documentary Spirit of the Marathon this Saturday. (Well, one ticket, but doesn't it sound weird to say "a ticket"? No? Just me, then.)



Goosebumps, I tell you!

For what it's worth, I like the working title, Land of the Gods: Legend of the Marathon, better, but the final one probably has more mass appeal.

There goes the neighbourhood...and there it goes again...and again

Yesterday was my first run since the Sun Run. I did a steady 5K in about 32 minutes, including some long, gradual inclines. It felt good to get back out there, and it was especially gratifying after my yoga class the previous day.

It was pretty windy out, so I wound my way up and down the streets around the neighbourhood, which are pretty well sheltered by the trees. It was actually fun to check out all the brightly painted heritage houses and get a good feel for the history of Mount Pleasant. I've only lived in the area for three months, but I've already formed a deep attachment to it.

I never thought when I moved into the city from the suburbs that I'd ever feel as safe running around the neighbourhood, particularly at night. I had vastly underestimated the number of hipster cyclists and dog-walking couples populating the streets at any given time.

I also wasn't sure I'd be able to find routes as running friendly as the dyke trails in Richmond. And though most of my running is now done on the pavement, I'm more keen to explore. Plus, the Seawall is so close and so scenic that it's become a reward to be able to run it each Sunday.

Speaking of rewards, I bought a few new running goodies this week:

A kelly green Fool-u-lemon yoga tank yesterday from J76, for my runners' yoga class. Sort of like this one, except fake.


A big thing of Body Glide so my so-called no-chafe sports bra doesn't create any more permanent indentations on my shoulders.

A Helium Fuel Belt, though I'm not yet sure about it. I find water/gel-carrying mechanisms to be such a finicky thing, in that you never really know whether the physics are going to work in your favour until you're out there with the full bottles on your sweaty back. I'll swing by MEC and get a bottle of apple-cinnamon Carb-BOOM! tomorrow, and we shall see how it goes this Sunday.

Personal best (of the non-Sapphic variety)

I posted a personal best 10K time of 57:35 at yesterday's Vancouver Sun Run. I did a 1:00:10 at the Turkey Trot last October and a 1:11:52 at the 2007 Sun Run, down from 1:17:20 in 2006, so I'm pretty thrilled, even though I've probably now done as much Dramatic!Improvement as I can. (I credit almost all of this, by the way, to joining the half-marathon clinic last year and doing all my running outside.)

This despite the fact that so many of the 59,000+ participants seemed to have underestimated their finishing times and had seeded themselves in sections far beyond their abilities. I was running in the group that expected to finish in 59 to 69 minutes, and I estimate that 75% of this group was walking after the second kilometre--which is fine, except you won't finish in that time frame when you're walking. Meaning you're blocking the way of everyone else who wants to run and meet that goal time, especially when you don't keep to the right, as almost none of the walkers did. Don't even get me on started on the ones walking at the extreme left--eight abreast like the cast of Melrose Place--talking on their cell phones, drinking coffee, and getting annoyed with anyone who tried to go in between them.

Next year I'll sign up for the 50 to 58 minute group. Although I'm not sure it will make a difference in terms of avoiding annoying walkers who LIE, at least I'll get to start sooner. Under ideal conditions (which I don't consider the Sun Run to be), I think I could do 10K in 55:00 or even better. The distance actually felt really easy, even the uphill portions; it was over sooner than I wanted, which affirms for me that I'm more of a long-distance runner. I'm really looking forward to doing my next half-marathon in June and setting a new personal best for that distance.

I'm also enjoying my runners' yoga class. It's not as intense as a regular hatha yoga class, but we do some challenging poses and I sweat (a lot). I don't think I'm any more flexible yet; however, I have become better at breathing (as opposed to holding my breath) and being present. Last week, my instructor said, "Focus--don't think about what you're going to have for dinner tonight," at the exact moment I was in downward-facing dog and thinking about whether I should have defrosted a chicken breast that morning. So he had my number.

Flex time

I did a pretty good 24K run yesterday. It was better than last week; I didn't bonk, at least. My legs still get heavy after about 20K, but I think that's partly because I haven't been doing enough speed work or hills during the week. I also need to buy new shoes.I'm also thinking of doing a yoga class designed for runners. I am probably the least flexible person I know--I can barely touch my toes--but I have so little patience for the weight-lifting kind of strength training that I figure I should give it a try. I guess I'll drop in to the class this Thursday (but only because Lost isn't on right now) and see how it goes.

Bonkalicious

So this morning I had a run of about 27K planned. I did my usual Seawall route, but I think I need to find a less-populated place to run on Sunday mornings, because there are just way too many clinic groups running there now that spring is nigh. I know I was all YAY CLINIC when I was training for my last half-marathon, and I still maintain that it was a very positive experience for me and changed the way I think about running, but...clinic groups are annoying if you're not part of them. I encountered about 20 clinic groups this morning, each consisting of about 20 to 30 people. And a lot of them didn't make any real effort to keep to running two or three abreast, as is the general etiquette. No, instead they were walking in horizontal lines like the cast of Melrose Place.

Somehow I found myself in the middle of a clinic group. I really did not like that, because I hate the sound of someone running a few feet behind me. I feel claustrophobic and pressured to speed up. So I sprinted probably the fastest I have ever run in order to bypass the lot of them and get some distance between us. But most clinics use the 10s & 1s method on long runs (10 minutes running, 1 minute walking) and since I do this as well, they would catch up to me while I was on my walking break and then I'd pass them while they were on theirs, and I should have just paid the $69.95 to be part of the clinic. At least then I'd have a matching shirt.

Anyway, the groups sort of disappear by the time you get past the "nice" part of the Seawall that runs along English Bay and Second Beach. From there on, it's cold and windy and best of all, deserted. (Although, never far from my mind is the young Korean student who was jogging in Stanley Park and was nearly choked to death by a sick fuck who has now been released, while she has permanent brain damage and can't talk. God.)

I looped Lost Lagoon and headed back to Second Beach, where I literally ran into my half-marathon clinic leader and another woman from the clinic. So we ran together for a bit and talked about our training. It's kind of funny how often I see people from the clinic now that I'm not doing one, and not just out on the Seawall: I saw one woman at a pizza place yesterday and another at Starbucks a few times. So yes, clinics are not all evil, and it's sort of nice to feel as though I am well-known in the Vancouver running circuit (even if I am not really).

Then, at about 25K, I bonked, aka hit the wall, aka ran out of glycogen stores. This was particularly annoying because I was only a few blocks away from the end of my run and my apartment. There was also a steep hill to contend with. I began running up the hill, but I found myself feeling light-headed and extremely fatigued, like I could not even take one more step. I would have crawled if the ground had been a little drier. I was actually a little concerned I might pass out, so I sat on a bench outside a church for a few minutes, which did not really help. I actually contemplated going inside the church to partake in the free welcome luncheon for new members they were advertising, but decided it would be in poor taste, considering my running gear and agnosticism and all. I was a little perplexed by the bonking because I use sports gels on my long runs, but now that I think about it and look back at my nutrition notes from the clinic (OKAY DAMNIT ALL HAIL THE CLINIC), I probably need to have more of them.

I also watched this PBS documentary this weekend called NOVA's Marathon Challenge. (On another note, I also watched Helvetica, and yes, it's about the typeface, but also about graphic design, cultural hegemony, and the creative process and yes, I am a geek.) It's about a group of 12 sedentary people who train and complete the Boston Marathon. I was bawling. Some of the challenges these people were up against--there was this one woman who had gained 70 pounds after surgery and initially, it looked like she might be unable to participate at all because her fitness level was so poor. She went from the slowest to the fastest female runner on the team and from having a poor VO2 Max to a superior one. Then she ran the freaking Boston Marathon with a urinary tract infection and yeah, it took her six hours and some of her teammates were still running when they had reopened the route to traffic, but they all did it. Completely inspiring.

The loneliness of the mid-distance runner

I haven't really told anyone about this besides my sister, but I guess I can make my intentions known to people who don't see me on a daily basis. I'm going to do a full marathon this year, I've decided. This came about after last weekend, when I sort of accidentally ran the longest distance I'd ever run (24.5 km, exceeding my half-marathon distance). I was having a good time, so I thought I'd see how far I could go.

I did the same today to see if it was a one-off thing, but I got up to 26 km, including a momentary entry into the Harry's 8K Spring Run-Off for Prostate Cancer. I was happily going along at my leisurely Sunday running pace when a guy on a bike came up alongside me (which was odd in and of itself because there's a separate bike path in Stanley Park and the division is VERY STRICTLY adhered to).

"Hey Turkey Trotter," he called out (referring to the race shirt I was wearing), "the racers are coming."

So I kept to the right and then this pack of elite runners in tiny shorts came barreling past me. Then I came upon a group of spectators, who weren't quite sure whether they should be cheering for me because I was clearly not in the same league as the Kenyan runner in front of me. I thought I was doing a fairly good job of staying out of the way until suddenly the finish line was 100 metres ahead of me. I actually had to go out of my way to avoid crossing it--I thought it would be in poor taste to do so--and nearly took out some hapless spectators. According to the race clock, I had completed the 8K in 25 minutes. You know, if I had actually started with the rest of them. Awesome!

It's actually pretty common to inadvertently become a part of one race or another along the Seawall. It's happened to me before, but I've never literally had an entire race blow past me within a few minutes.

Anyway, I'm thinking of doing the Royal Victoria Marathon this October. There's also the Okanagan International Marathon that same weekend, and while it would be awesome to run through wine country, I was in Kelowna this summer and don't really want to be cramped in the car for several hours the day before a race, so capital-city Victoria it is.

I'm sort of trying not to make a big deal about the full marathon thing, though, in hopes of avoiding psyching myself out and remaining modest. I was at MEC yesterday buying some gels and the snowboarderish cashier was all, "So how long is a long run for you?" and when I replied, "Oh, about 25K," not thinking it would be particularly impressive to someone who works in a store full of extreme-sport enthusiasts, but he sort of just stared at me wide-eyed for a few seconds.

That is exactly the sort of reaction I want to avoid, and so I will probably not speak too much of it again to people until I've fully committed and it's difficult to hide that all I do in my free time is train. I'll probably do a clinic for the extra support. I passed two of my former clinic buddies on the Seawall today and it did make me miss the camaraderie a little, but I'm really rediscovering the joy of running alone right now.