30kms: Race Report

Joy here...Well, I woke up bright and early on Sunday morning in the industrial city of Hamilton Ontario.  The sun wasn't up yet, and I ate my breakfast in the dark, hoping to fuel myself for a 3 hour running effort. It was -10 C and there was a cold wind creeping under doors and sneaking through bare tree branches.

I hopped into my car and drove downtown so that I could find a parking spot and be there before things got hectic.  With 11,000 participants in the various races - 30km walk, 30km run, 30km relay - I wasn't sure what to expect.  As I sat in my car, with my heat seater warming me up, driving through the sleeping town as the sun began to rise into a bright, clear blue sky, I was questioning whether or not I should really be doing this run.  I hadn't fully prepared.  Since January, I was lucky to get two runs per week in instead of my planned three or four.  And I hadn't run any distance longer than around 20kms.  How the heck would I pull another 10kms out of thin air?

Those were the thoughts plaguing me as I pinned on my number, and locked up my car, heading over to the start line to try to warm up in the frigid weather alongside people who really knew what they were doing.  I could overhear the chatter of fit athletes comparing this race to the Boston Marathon, or those who talked about this race as one step in their spring marathon plans, or triathletes using this race as just another training run in their Iron Man glory plans, and even others who bemoaned the hilly course and complained that even though it's only 30kms it's as tough as a flat marathon.

My heart began to sink.

Who would know if I just didn't do the race?  I was running alone.  The Man was a 5 hour drive away, just waking up with his cup of coffee.  Nomi was a 25 hour flight away on the opposite end of the world.  No one was going to be cheering me from the sidelines.  No one would be waiting for me at the finish line.  In short, no one would know if I just decided to pull out and go and get a donut.

No one that is, except for me.

I would know.  I would always know.  Even if I never told a soul and pretended I did the race, I would always know that I came so close to the starting line and chickened out.  And to be frank, I knew that I just couldn't live with that knowledge.  It would sit in my belly like a little stone of failure growing and weighing me down with every successive race.

So I jostled among the thousands at the start line.  I lined up to use the port-a-potty only to never make it to the front of the line before the race began.  I would run the first 5kms with an over-full bladder until I finally found the port-a-potties out on the race course.  While I stood in line for these ones, I saw the 3:00hr pace bunny run by, and there was nothing I could do.  I was still standing in line when the 3:15hr pace bunny ran by.  I had hoped to run this race as an easy long race in around 3:00hrs, but as I stood there waiting to pee, those plans vanished at the 5km mark, and I knew I'd just be running my own little run, without worrying about pace or timing at all for another 25kms.

And that's what I did.  It was cold, but bright and clear, and I just got my breathing steady and off I went, now with an empty bladder.  I tried to clear my mind and get in the zone, but I kept on thinking about everything around me - the sights of the ugly early morning city with the grit and grime of winter still cluttering what may be nice lawns in the summer, the sounds and chatter of the runners around me having their conversations and voicing their own goals, the feel of the chill air on my nostrils and the cold of my sweat between my shoulder blades - and I never really zoned out of that physical reality.  It was there with me every step step step of the way.

And some of those steps were pretty hard to pull off.  I ran pretty comfortably and consistently for about the first 20kms.  At that point, things began to hurt.  I began to tell myself that I couldn't keep on going, because I was under prepared, and my feet and hips began to ache.  By the 23km mark, I made a deal with myself and was letting myself walk in 30 and 45 second intervals between 3 to 5 minute running intervals.  And it was as I was hobbling along like this - run, walk, run, walk, run, walk - that I turned a corner after going over a bridge and looked ahead of me to a steep incline reaching right up into the cold blue sky.  I had been going for about 25.5kms.

I almost cried at the sight of that hill.

And then I began walking up it.  My arms were swinging, and I was hoping that I'd be able to at least walk up at a decent pace, but running up that incline was more than I could do.  And I wasn't alone.  There were more walkers than runners around me at that point.  I guess those with the fitness to run up that incline were long gone, maybe even across the finish line by that point.

(Note:  Page A1 of The Hamilton Spectator ran a story on March 26th about this hill, calling it the "Achilles Hill," and Drew Edwards, the article's author writes:  "The climb starts gently, just enough to lull the mostly exhausted runners into a false sense of this-isn't-so-bad security before taking a hard left turn. And then it begins. The road turns straight up, a vertical piece of pavement stretching into infinity. It's a muscle-shredding, soul-destroying climb, sapping whatever strength remains in their legs and whatever fight lingers in their now rapidly-beating hearts. They arrive at the top wanting more than anything to curl up in a ball and go home.")

For me, as I felt demoralized and had almost convinced myself that I'd be walking the rest of the way, I saw a former schoolmate of mine cheering from the sidelines.  I took a second glance to make sure it was him, and then I launched myself at him in a huge hug, and said "It's killing me!" or something like that.  Bless him, he (who is a triathlete) walked me up that hill, encouraging me all the way, and at the top, he just looked at me, pointed to the stadium where the finish line awaited me and said:  "Look, you can see it from here, it's just about 4kms all downhill.  You can do it!  Pump those legs and go!"  And you know what?  I did.  There was no pathetic walk, run, walk, run for me.  I just ran my little heart out to that finish line, and I even had enough in me to sprint the final 100m to cross in less than 3:15!

My official race stats are:
Ran for a total of 30.26kms in 3:10:39 with an average pace of 6:18min/km.

All things considered, that's not too bad...and if I hadn't wasted time on my pee break, then I would have made it even closer to 3 hours.  But no matter what - pee break, walking, or cold weather aside - I am proud and happy.

Last year Nomi and I signed up for our first 10km race ever, and here I am, a mere 10 months later running a 30km race.  I never thought I could do it.

The card AK gave me to congratulate me on finishing the race
as she, her husband, and I all compared notes over wine and dinner!

Thank you to my friend on the hill, to Nomi and Lulu in Malaysia, to all my friends and family who supported me along the way (including my nearly 90 year old grandma who let me stay at her place in Hamilton and made me post-run soup for lunch and AK my running inspiration), and thanks to The Man.

Now...I guess I've got to set my sights on a full marathon, don't I?

Over and out,

Joy