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?

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.

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.