6 races in 12 months is a good record by anyone's standard. For me, who only took up running 4 years ago and was convinced I would die if I ran for more than 10 minutes consecutively, it is an achievement that staggers me.
I write that I am staggered by the achievement of learning to run and race not because I want to be full of myself and be a braggart. I write that not because I want to toot my own horn. I write that not because I want to impress you. I write that not to overblow my meagre achievements in comparison to true and real athletes. I write that not to expose my swelled-head and monster-ego. I write that as a way to softly and gently pat myself on my own back. I follow another blog, Hook & Eye, that is co-authored by one of my colleagues at the university where I am a professor, and she wrote an interesting entry about how difficult we as women find it to boast about ourselves. Now I don't know if this is a gendered trait or not, but I definitely find it hard to both take a compliment and certainly to give one to myself. So by starting out today's race report about my second-ever half marathon, I wanted to start in a way that unabashedly pinned my pride to my shoulder. It's hard work this boasting. Really it is.
But you know what's even harder?
Running a damn half marathon in the tropics!!!
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| The starting line...and...we're off! |
All along the plan was for Nomi, our friend Lulu, me, and The Man to head to Singapore to run this half marathon event. At the last minute, The Man was sick and opted to be "support crew" for the three ladies, and not run the event himself. And in all honesty, that was fine by us. It was much easier for us to have someone there to hold our bags for us while we ran.
Here's our little race report from my perspective, and I'll get Nomi and Lulu to post their viewpoints as well, because every race is different for every single runner in the race!
The four of us piled into a taxi from our hotel in central Singapore and with nerves starting to take hold, even though each of us felt woefully under-prepared for this race, we arrived at the race site and went to get our race kit (our numbers etc.). There were over 26,000 racers at this whole event - which included a 10km race, a 21km half marathon, and a 42km full marathon (with the 100km ultra marathon being held on a different weekend) - and the atmosphere at the start was pumped and lively. There was a band playing on the main stage, and the smell of cotton candy hung sickly sweet in the humid air, giving the racing village the feel of a fair ground. Everywhere around us we saw sweaty finishers of the 10km race with their finisher's medals around their necks, and we saw other runners gearing up for their own events. We tried on our race shirts, and Nomi was too shy to wear the size small (although it looked really good on her). Lulu wouldn't even wear any size of the race shirt as given, and preferred her tried and true pink T-Shirt. Under the setting sun amidst the scent of popcorn and sweat, I stripped down to my sports bra to change into my new race singlet and pin my number to my stomach so that I could get ready.
Then we took some photos, drank some gatorade, and made a few jokes and some small talk as we could feel ourselves getting a bit nervous. As the sky changed from a bright shade of pink to a deep indigo and then darker grey we were corralled over to the starting line. While Lulu and Nomi waited and stood with those runners who thought they'd take more than 2 hours to finish the race, I couldn't contain my growing race excitement and I went up to the start to stand amidst those who figured that they'd be done in 2 hours or less.
Crammed in there, close to the starting line with all the other eager runners, we began to heat up. The air was still and humid, and with all those bodies crammed in there, we began to sweat. I could feel it running down my back between my shoulder blades, and already I wished that I was holding a bottle of water rather than gatorade so that I could drench myself, but it wasn't to be.
Sweating and hot, we danced and we jiggled our nervous run energy until the announcers called us to close in on the start line. I was about 4 rows from the front, jammed in with the rest of the smiling runners, and Lulu and Nomi were somewhere behind me in the crowd. I looked up at the dark sky one last time before the gun went off and wished my friends well in their own race, and then BANG the gun sounded and we were off!
But as I started running, with my eyes scanning the asphalt ahead keenly watching for the first hydration station at kilometre #2, I looked at my Garmin to realize that I was running a 5:30min/km pace. And while that felt good and felt as though I could keep that pace for the whole time, I knew that such a feeling so early on in the race could be really illusory, and halfway through I would be regretting not reining myself in. So rein myself in I did. I kept my pace at around 5:45min/km thinking that wasn't too much quicker than my 6:00min/km plan, and if I could pull of 5:45min/km then finishing this half marathon in under 2 hours would be within my grasp.
That started to be my plan: finish in under 2 hours. So as I made it to the first hydration station - one cup of water over my head and one down my gullet - I began to hear that mantra in my head, under two hours, under two hours, under two hours...
And overlaid atop that mantra running through my body with the rhythm of my feet against the hot asphalt of the road were my more conscious thoughts: thoughts about feeling lucky that I've found running in my thirties; thoughts about what is meaningful in my life; thoughts about where I'm going professionally; thoughts about what I'd like materially out of life; thoughts about my family (um, both the good thoughts and the bad ones about that topic); and generally the things that I like to think about when out for a long run.
So I kept on going...under two hours, under two hours, under two hours...drinking water at every 2kms and dumping another cup over my head each time. I was drenched. I could feel sweat and water making my shirt stick to me like a second layer of skin, and my shoes squelched with each step. But still I was H-O-T. But then, before I knew it, I had been running for nearly an hour and I was already at the turn around point!
I looked at my Garmin and realized that I had run 10kms in the same amount of time this year as I had run it last year. Only last year after 10kms I was done and over the finish line, but this year I still had 11kms to go! But I could do it! I was feeling good, hot, but good. Surprisingly good...under two hours, under two hours, under two hours...
And then I reached kilometre 16 and things started to feel a little less okay. My feet started aching. My knees started aching. My hips started aching. And then...worst of all, my dreaded running demons showed up. Those running demons are the thoughts that go through my head that have no business being there, those pesky, little negative voices that undermine me when things start getting tough. They never fail to show up, those voices in my head. I hear them with their insistent suggestions undermining my confidence: "you haven't run enough long training runs, you can't finish;" "you're not used to the heat;" "you're straining your internal organs;" "your pancreas will explode;" "you're giving yourself liver disease;" "you've probably broken your toe;" "your patella has come unattached;" "you're having an apendicitis attack" etc. with each crazy thought more nuts than the first, but nonetheless negative and insistent. By kilometre 18 I was just concentrating on my breathing and tuning out those negative voices threatening to undermine me. I knew that I could run 3 more kilometres, I just knew it. But could I run those 3 more kilometres in just over 15 minutes so that I could finish in under 2 hours?
...now I'm at kilometre 19....only 2 more to go...1:49...in October I was finished at this point...only 10 minutes and I can make it in under 2 hours...
Dammit.
I just couldn't will my body to go any faster without hurting myself over those final two kilometres. I hung onto my 5:45min/km pace and just couldn't finish within 2 hours.
My final race stats were:
Ran a total of 2:01:45 for a distance of 21kms with an average pace of 5:45min/km.
And here's how those finishing stats place me overall:
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In the end, I didn't make it under 2 hours, but one of the important things that I've learned about running races is that most of the time, the goals are important both before and during the event, but afterwards, the accomplishment of finishing and keeping those running demons at bay is more important than any timing, any placing, or any medal.
It's not when you finish the race that counts...it's simply finishing that counts!
Over and out,
Joy
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