Anyway, at about 6:00 am, I decided to not bring the drop bag I'd packed the night before because I was worried about finding the drop station. At about 6:20 am, I jogged over to the start area, and the first thing I came across was the drop station. Regrets weren't really had until later, however.
My bathroom break perhaps cost me a place in my corral, but no worries: chip timing :) Meaning, my time getting to the start line doesn't count: timing starts when I cross the line. What's an extra minute or a few getting there? However, some people around me weren't as phlegmatic, and I felt myself absorbing their stress. We were standing on the wrong side of fencing, and I briefly wondered if I'd get pushed into it, so I stepped back. The gun went off, and eventually the crowd on the other side started to move. I waited until most of the people around me went over the fencing, and then I followed them to the start.
My goal? Under 4 hrs--I still wasn't sure that this was reasonable, but I did not want to run for more than 4 hrs. The temps actually felt nice at the start, but I knew that the clouds would dissipate and the mercury would rise. I had to keep things tight, but I could take the first five or ten K to loosen up.
How did I feel? Meh. I should have worn compression socks and better shoes while walking to-from and in the race expo the day before, and during the evening before that (I went to a bio-luminescent museum thingy and didn't dance much but was on my feet for 4+ hrs). My legs and feet were sore. However, my guts felt fine then, apart from some residual bloating from the rupture. This wasn't sore, though, and I hoped that it would actually strengthen my core in a quasi-pneumatic fashion. It may have, but volume displacement was likely more injurious later on.
I was in between the 3:55 and 4 hr bunnies, but the 4 hr bunny caught me after about a mile. She's a good friend of mine and we chatted a bit. The crowd was still very thick, though, and it was hard to stick together, plus I was beginning to feel like I needed to stretch out a bit more. Not push, just stretch. I didn't plan on pushing until 35 K--I just had to get round most of the Rockcliffe loop, and then I was good to push over the bridge and incline en route to the Market, and then I would be pretty much home.
Anyway, I drifted ahead of the 4 hr bunny, and this made me somewhat nervous, but my breathing was still dead easy and my first 5K was just under 29 minutes, which seemed suitably conservative. The crowd was still thick and I tried to stay in my own zone--I skipped the first water station because there was no way I could get to it; fortunately, I had anticipated this and brought a plastic bottle of water which I ditched later on.
I headed towards Wellington and the river in a daze. I was already experiencing difficulties with math (ex: was 3 km really just 1 mile? uh, NO) but I felt mostly ok. Running on Wellington was a big emotional boost thanks to the enthusiastic spectators! I did some more math, more successfully, and I figured out that I should take a gel every 7 km. And then we went through Tunney's Pasture and up and down the river a bit--I saw the next bunny ahead and decided that I would try to catch him or her by 20 km. At this point, I was mostly passing people, slowly but surely. I was picking interesting people ahead and gradually drifting to and past them. My breathing was still calm, even on the "hills"...nothing compared to the hills I deal with where I live now.
It was still overcast and slightly misty, which was lovely, and I got an added boost by seeing another friend. However, the sun came out, prompting me to start drinking Gatorade and eating oranges, neither of which I train with, although I know they're both gluten-free. I was drinking Gatorade and water at every station; in retrospect, I may have drunk a little too much. And as for the oranges--I don't even like oranges, but I've drunk orange juice before runs without issues before, and the orange slices held out by eager volunteers looked so bright and cheerful and refreshing...I took a slice every time.
When the sun came out, maybe around 15 km, my legs felt quite sore, and this was disheartening. Already? Boo-hoo, this isn't going to go down nicely. And then I gave myself a massive mental slap.
See, the thing is, I'm hung up on this ideal. That once-or-twice per month perfect effortless run, that feeling of weightlessness, of transcendence--I figure that I should feel that during a good race, at least for the first while. I should show up to the start line with sparkling fresh legs, while stiffness or discomfort, on the other
But fresh legs are so rare, and probably endangered by the added couple of pounds or so of carb-loading and accompanying increased water retention prior to a long race. In fact, I should expect to feel kind of logey during a marathon. Ok, my legs were probably mostly sore from the museum dance-party on Friday, but they didn't feel terribly bad, and I had just 2.5 hrs to go.
The ultras earlier this year may or may not have improved my endurance, but they have definitely given me a new chronological perspective: what's a couple of hours or so? Just get this over with!
And that, and not Meb's mid-race existentialist question/inspiration WHY AM I HERE?, which I meant to remember but forgot, kept me going. Just get this over with. Thank the volunteers, be nice to other runners, don't be a total tool, but keep going.
I caught the 3:55 continuous bunny just a bit past 20 km, yay, in Hull.
Ah, Hull. My least favourite part. Hull's downtown is like a sandwich--a mostly pleasing bottom portion by the river, rue Eddy aside, then a scuzzy carcinogenic faux-Spam interior, and then the fluffy delicious upper crust, the Gats. Unfortunately, the race route goes past the bottom bread into the undesirable middle--admittedly, I have no interest in running into the Gats, so would prefer that the route just stayed on Laurier: look at the pretty museum, ooo, we're in Hull, two provinces, yo, ok, let's go. This year, however, the race route had an expanded loop in Hull, and I wasn't looking forward to it. I'm ok with urban scuzz, but it's kind of a downer dodging a grey-pallor zombie or two in the midst of an athletic endeavour. One year, I locked eyes with one unfortunate individual who looked like a thirty year old who looked like a sixty year old, and he frowned because I made him look up and stop before staggering further into the street. He wasn't moving fast but was in a hurry even though I'm sure his bar wasn't open yet, but what do I know? I never did the Hull scene, and I think he was actually on his way home.
However, the added portion of Hull was nicer than I'd expected, up into the upper-crust, and the crowds were great there too. Kudos, Hull! I had planned to take off my tank top upon crossing into Hull because of the propriety--taking one's clothes off is part of the local economy, after all--but out of gratitude and respect, I kept my tank top on until I was past the families cheering. There were still some dingy streets, but at least their effect was diluted. As for the hills, I barely felt them. I still pushed through Hull a bit, though! I was anxious to get back into my own province.
I had decided to pass the 3:55 continuous bunny by 25 km, but I just couldn't get there. I even apparently missed the 25 km mat, but I see from the results that others also did, also without suspiciously speeding up by the next split, so there may have been a glitch. I don't remember the mat, though, just the bunny, and a vague brewing discontent in my abdominal region. I don't remember when that started creeping up, but I noticed in Hull. At that point, it wasn't much of a concern. "Maybe I should lay off all this Gatorade." But the colours taste so nice!
On Alexandr(i)a Bridge (I've met other locals who grew up saying the extra inexplicable "i"), I realized that the bunny was in fact the 3:50 continuous bunny. There was no 3:55 10 and 1 bunny, not to mention that it was a bit irrational to assume that the 10 and 1 bunnies would be ahead of the continuous ones. However, my discovery was very inspiring for a few reasons. Could I actually catch the 3:45 bunny? If not, the 10 and 1 3:50 bunny, whom I knew? If not, could I get under 3:50? If not, could I still PB?
My marathon PB, admittedly soft, is 3:50:59. I've also run at least two 3:51:xx races, and one or two more in the low 3:50s. That is my plateau.
Last time I ran the Ottawa marathon, I caught up to the 3:50 bunny past 30 km and foolishly pushed past, and was caught umpteen km later, and wilted to a 3:53 finish. Not this time! I was determined to stick with him until 30 km or more likely 35 km, just to be sure.
However, I couldn't even catch that bunny! People were starting to drop pace and I kept getting boxed in. Whenever I got close to the bunny, I'd cruise up to people wilting ahead and beside me, without anywhere else to go until gaps opened up again. It was frustrating, but I reminded myself that I could use a break. My breathing was still super easy, and I'd gotten used to ignoring my legs, but my guts were getting worse.
Finally, I got to the bunny--and past him. It was on a hill, one which I wasn't really feeling, but I guess everyone else was. Whooops. Oh, well, I saw the 3:50 10 and 1 bunny, and ran with him for about a half minute before he had to take a mandated walk break. He passed me soon after that minute, but I trailed not too badly.
The Rockcliffe loop was honestly a blur. I was tired and hot, but I was mainly worried about the GI issue. It wasn't at the point of stopping for a porta potty, but it was increasingly irksome. 30-34 km were a mild wall of sorts, and then the douleur lifted, everything felt better, and I caught the 3:50 10 and 1 bunny and passed him. Yay, I was picking up the pace, I would finish strong--I still had to be careful, but there was the 35 km marker--I was past the way with just 7 km to go!
I guess I had a good km or two before my problems returned, redoubled. I managed to hang onto a decent cadence, I think, but my stomach soured and I almost skipped my last gel at 36-37 km (I'd intentionally postponed it earlier, not expecting to not want it at all). At this point, I started feeling the inclines, particularly the long up to the Market.
The crowds were so thick in the Market! It was amazing noise and I got the tinglies, but I was also distracted by intestinal ferment. It was progressing from annoying to horrible to nasty words and nastier propositions. I needed a bathroom, definitely, but once I passed the 38 km mark, I figured that I should try to hold it in. Just clench. I ran for years with supposed IBS without bingo-dabbing once--I haven't crapped my pants in over three decades--surely, just less than 4 km more wouldn't seal the deal. I should mention that I hadn't stopped running once during the race, not even to grab water--I was concerned that, if I stopped, I would find it very difficult to resume running. No, I had to keep going.
Plus, the 3:50 bunny passed me. dammit! I was so out of it, I thought it was the 10 and 1 bunny, my friend; I couldn't see much except for the signs. I was dealing with ferocious cramps and burning by this point, but I didn't want to drop off the pace too much--I had to keep that sign in my sights. Clench, clench, and that goes for cadence too. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, get this over with. Use the spasms as propulsion. Just end it. But not too quickly, just in case...it was a delicate balance.
39 - 41 km were exceedingly grim. I was so soaked with sweat and water, I couldn't tell exactly what was happening. I was not attuned to the final, critical sphincter, either: the spasms were so distracting. I even worried that the backs of my legs were splattered. I've seen and cringed at the race photos of other unfortunates. However, once I saw 41 km, my mood brightened. Almost done! The 3:50 bunny was closer, but I couldn't catch him, but at least I would be within a minute or so--considering my delayed start, I had a good chance of getting under 3:50.
Another friend took a photo of me in the final stretch. I am so bloated that I look like I'm edging into the second trimester, and I'm drenched, but I'm smiling. Just a few minutes left, that's all, that's nothing!
However, there was no sprint to the finish. I still had hopes, and so I reined myself and coasted into what felt like the world's longest finishing chute. Seriously, there was a lot of walking after the end. I got my medal and a space blanket, and then I got stronger doubts because the volunteer draped the short end around my shoulders, leaving the long end hanging down my back to my ankles. Was she helping me cover up something spectacular? I couldn't smell anything, not even the runners pressed around me. It was packed. Hey, at least nobody would be able to pinpoint me.
I wanted to grab a bottle of water and head to the closest porta potty. Since I had no drop bag, and didn't know of a nearby full toilet with private sink, that was my best option in case. However, admirably, the race organizers had decided to cut back on waste by using paper cups and refill stations. I filled two cups and rinsed out a miserable soul-crushing but fortunately very very minor incident*, released the rest of the kraken, and then I refilled the cups and found an even better porta potty with more room and a hand-sanitizer dispenser--pro quality, there! That fixed me up nicely for an hour or two hanging out in the sun, listening to music, drinking a free protein shake. The race organizers did well with the post-race area, apart from letting family members into Confederation Park. There is just not enough room for them there, and the mass of people trying to find their runners impedes the flow. Hopefully they fix this and set up numbers or other identifiable stations spread further out to aid reunions. However, adding live music to the finish area is a brilliant idea.
There was also a nice collection of snacks for sale too, but I couldn't stomach anything that wasn't liquid, nor the $7 price for fresh lemonade (I may have misread that). I didn't even eat much that evening.
Unfortunately, I didn't break 3:50, but I busted my six-year old PB. I was irked, though--had I more info, I would've pushed more, but maybe that would've been disastrous. Self-pride aside, I got off really really lightly after all. But, man, I gotta be proud at how deeply I dug. I've never been that determined before during a race. My mind was rock-solid, even though I didn't have tunes. I just accepted discomfort. Even during my worst, my darkest race experience to date, my pace didn't drop much--my worst split was actually the first 5K, and my second worst, 35-40 km, was still under 28 minutes.
What caused my issues? Probably too much Gatorade and oranges, coupled with the warmth, humidity, and with fluid retention from before--there probably just wasn't enough space to begin with, never mind once things started to sour. Plus there may have been some gluten in the museum sushi after all, even though there was no soy sauce or imitation crab.
Anyway, huge thanks to the race organizers and volunteers for another super race weekend!!!
Oh, and I can walk down stairs now!
* However, this particular issue is essentially binary (akin to being just a teeny little bit pregnant...nope, doesn't compute), and I debated not mentioning it at all. Maybe I'll regret this if I run for office, unless it gives me the human touch. However, I figure that it'll put all my subsequent bad gut days into perspective, and maybe my divulgence will also confer second-hand benefits: fair readers, sometimes you can push more than you realize, but sometimes the line is thinner than you think. I really am not this dedicated or ambitious. Be careful out there, kids!
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