Marathon running hurts, it hurts badly and hurts during and after the 42.2 km slog. It is a physical test of epic proportions as well as a smorgasbord of hitting walls, waging war against a mind in crisis and dealing with whatever tricks the grey bouncing cells will throw at the exhausted straggler. Most people only ever run one and for good reason. I am in awe of anyone that has ever hobbled to the finish line, gave up three quarters of the way in or experienced the unthinkable - cruise to victory. Here is a raw report of a marathon attempt by friend and guest blogger David Ong.
So, everyone playing at home knows that this
particular running nutter came back from NZ feeling a bit out of sorts. A month
of eating out and sampling more than my fair share of NZ - specifically the
delicious boutique beers - had me feeling like I had more love than when I left
(especially so if love can be measured in kg). Though I'd been for a few runs
while away, I certainly hadn't done the km I'd thought I might cover, and
given some tensions on the work front, and having been away from the family for
so long, my mental balance was well out of whack. As I didn't feel happy feeling like
that, I decided to get things under control, so started work on building the
kilometres and reducing the baggage.
My 30ish km in the first week back quickly
expanded over the coming weeks - through the mid 40s and into the late 60s. At
the same time I started extending the long runs - stretching out to a peak of
38ish towards the end of May. I was running the long ones on Saturday mornings,
as the kids' sport meant that Sundays were out, but the early starts and
glorious sunrises helped me think things through, focus on the good things, and
realise that life really is what we make it.
At this stage I was feeling ready to commit to
a long run, and after reading a bit of yibber-yabber on the (unofficial)
parkrun FB page, I got excited after a few gin and tonics and signed up for the
Perth Marathon.
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| The course of the Perth Marathon. Map courtesy of the WAMC |
As per the last two marathons (my average has
been one a year for the past couple of years), my race plan was simple - get to
the end. However, having run a few times with Mr Scott Bunny and absorbing some
of his experience and expertise in long runs, I had a bit of a look at the pace
that I'd been holding over my longer runs and decided on a number - 5:30mins
per km. This is about 10 seconds or so slower than my natural pace, and given
the additional distance I was going to cover, seemed like a good number. Also,
according to an online pace calculator, a 5:29 pace would see me at a 3:51
finish, almost 10 minutes shy of my last marathon finish time. What's more, the
Perth course was flat, so I should be able to hold that pace, right?
The next few weeks were hard - knowing there
was an 'end' in sight, and the reducing of distance for me meant that I was
starting to struggle with keeping the motivation up. What was more worrying was
that my right knee was staring to cause me grief (probably due to the speedy
increase in distance covered - something I don't recommend). I guess as well I
was just ready to finish with training and get my Saturday mornings back.
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| Looking at West Perth in the early morning. Photo courtesy of Taj Kempe |
Though the running was going well, the rest of my planning was, erm, crap. A couple of days before the race, I realised that I was out of gels*, and as they were only available online, I wouldn't be able to get any before the weekend. As time was not on my side, I meandered down to the local bike shop and bought a bunch of over-priced Shotz gels, which I'd never tried, but were the only option available. For those who have done big events before, this was breaking
In addition to the nutritional challenge, I'd
bought myself a new running watch, and though I had done a few runs with the
new toy, I was in no way familiar with all the new (fancy) functions and
display. I managed to exacerbate this by installing a new 'run face' on the
watch just days before the marathon - this turned out to be a display chocked full
of important and useful race information... that I just didn't need, couldn't
read at a glance, nor make sense of with a fuzzy head.
Even with these challenges looming, I went
into the day with some confidence, especially as Scott had told me a few days before
that he was coming along for a lap, and would 'tag along' at my pace (I guess
when you've done almost 20 marathons and ultras, you *can* come for 'a lap'
without training - I'm certainly not there yet). What this meant for me was
that I could rely in part on someone to keep me in check.The race day started early - I'd woken up at 1:30am for a wee, then again for another at 3:30am before 'properly' getting up at 5:30am. The long-suffering and dear wife (Rebecca) was kind enough to play Uber, at an ungodly hour, for Mr Bunny and I and dropped us off at Burswood with half an hour to spare.
In between another couple of nervous wees (at
this stage I wondered if I needed to see a Doctor), I was struck with how open
and welcoming the running community can be. I was able to chat with a few other
runners, and the fact that we all were running our own race, had our own goals
and as we bumped into each other at the port-a-loos more than once, made me
realise that we really were all in this together. Apart from the runners inching
their way to the front of the line that is... but they're a different breed.
I had had half a plan to catch Melanie for a
quick warm up km or two, but after having to wait in a snaking queue for a
cubicle meant that when I called her, she was already at the start line, so I
did a quick lap by myself to warm up (more good advice from Scott). After the
warm up, I scurried over to the Start, as I could hear the announcement that
the race was about to begin. As I made my way to the crowd, there seemed to be
an extraordinary amount of people, and I had a moment of panic trying to work
out how I'd find Scott amongst all this lycra. Luckily for me, Scott was
wearing his lucky (bright red) hat which stood out in the crowd, so I wriggled
my way through the crowd and was by his side just in time for the starting gun.
The first km went by in a rush, so much so
that I only remembered part way through that I hadn't started the run timer on
my watch! I had to smile as I realised that this would not affect the readings,
which I couldn't decipher anyway, and the timing chip on my bib would tell
'true time' at the end anyway.
From the start Scott and I wormed our way
through the crowd, which started to thin at around the fifth km, and with each
time Scott reported our pace (too fast!), we popped a few seconds in the bank.
A few of those seconds were spent at a wee stop at the Maylands Yacht Club (yup
- still had more to give), but we took off again with a handful of seconds to
spare. We had credit! Leading up to the stop, Scott had suggested I up the pace
to get ahead of the clock if I needed to stop, so I shot off ahead. I had a
huge grin as I heard a "Not *that* fast Dave!" ringing in my ears.
Scott obviously hadn't realised how over-hydrated (and nervous) I was.
Coming back past the start/finish saw a rise
in pace - we covered that section at a 4:32 pace, which tells you a lot about the
excitement of running past a crowd, and the danger of the red mist coming down,
something that I'm sure has led the odd runner astray. Leading up to the
start/finish was when I thought it was time to fuel up, so I opened the first
gel and had my first taste.
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| Dave tonking along |
It was much worse than I was prepared for.
Now, gels are normally sweet, but the foul
treacle that they'd bagged in a plastic sock as 'energy' was awful. It was so
thick that I felt that it was something that I needed to chew, while at the
same time wanting to spit it out into the verge. The goo coated my mouth and
throat and made breathing difficult, as every time I took a breath it was like
inhaling a handful of pavlova crumbs. I'd never been so glad to run into a
water station, which let me wash down the foul gunge that was coating the
inside of my mouth. I knew though, that I needed the buzz that it would give,
and without it I'd run out of energy post haste.
The next 15km was a settling in period, and
though we were traveling at a 5:20s average, I was feeling good. It was early
on in this stage - somewhere around Sir James Mitchell Park (km 17) that Scott
announced that my natural pace was 5:17, which, if I had a mathematical bone in
my body, and the brainpower to calculate, I would realise was faster than the
planned 5:30. He told me that if I wanted to up the pace, I was welcome to, but
counseled that though the faster pace would result in a faster time, it might
also result in more pain at the end, and given the distance, would only result
in a few minutes difference at the end. I totally agreed that the 5:30 plan was
'The Plan', and so we should stick to that, as it was silly to change tact mid
race. Around 10 minutes later, I promptly forgot that decision as we settled
back into 5:17s. Scott, being a much stronger runner, and possibly just
slightly interested in seeing me cry, let me go on at this pace.
It wasn't much longer after this point that I
choked down another gel, instantly regretting my lack of planning, and
promising myself to be better organised next time.
We tonked along holding pace and passing the
odd runner until the 32km marker came into sight. It was at this point that
Scott announced that we would start catching and passing people in earnest.
We'd not long gone past Didi and Renee, cheering from an interchange station.
These two did wonders for my spirit by letting us know how good we looked, and
that we were cruising along like we'd just started out. I think that was a
4:47km. It turns out that Scott was right, and from this point we slowly reeled
in runners ahead of us. Whenever we passed someone who looked like they were
suffering, Scott would say a word or two of encouragement, further cementing
him as a 'Good Guy' in my books. When the odd runner would pass us, Scott would
cheerily announce that they were part of a relay group, so were comparatively
fresh. In this section of the race I'd started to puff hard, and Scott had already
nagged me about my form a couple of times, so I was relegated to silent Dave -
no talking, just running. Mentally I was feeling OK, though did have to rein in
the pace on a couple of occasions, as I was starting to hurt.
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| Elizabeth Key. Photo courtesy of Taj Kempe |
Anyone who has pushed themselves physically knows pain. In my case, I was feeling the lead in my legs increasing with each step, and a twinge in my second toe on my right foot getting increasingly annoying (I'll lose that nail, but promise to spare you the pictures). With only a few km to go, I was running out of energy, so gagged down another gel and prayed to the running gods that my timing was right, and that the water stop was just around the corner - it was! Thankfully for me, though there were other body parts that were complaining, my right knee was holding up just fine.
We soldiered on through km 36-38, and the
scattered crowd and applause kept me smiling. I took great joy in someone
else's 'Go Dave!!!' sign, especially as Scott had let the card holders know that a
Dave was coming, and they bolstered me with a great cheer.
The last few km of the race were a solid mix of agony and impatience. I really just wanted this to end. The fartlek training I'd done (pain box building), seemed like a waste of time, and had I had more breath I would have yelled and cursed. As it was, and luckily for me, all I could manage was a sad mumble, but as Scott has great hearing, he would pick up on this and encourage me to push through for the last few metres every time he heard some pain leak out of the box. I was working overtime trying to keep focus on the good things in life; things that had made me smile recently, but they seemed to fade fast. Towards the end, Scott kept a well timed commentary on distance to the finish, counting down every hundred metres or so, which made the difference between me stopping for a walk and running through to the end.
Being the gentleman that Scott is, he let me
pull ahead for the last few hundred metres, and gave me the lead to sprint
through the finish. I was hardly able to believe my eyes as I rounded the corner
and saw the race clock counting up to 3:49 - and it wasn't there yet! There was
a photographer set up at the finish line, and though I'm interested to see if
he took a shot of me, there's a kind of fear that I don't want to see what kind
of face I was pulling.
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| Dave and Scott feeling the pinch at the finish line |
And with that, the race was done.
Looking back, sprinting through the finish was
easy. Pulling up before running into the volunteers handing out bling was less
so (sorry ladies), and I'm very glad that our brains can't recall pain - just
the vague acknowledgement of it. I finished the run with a big, sweaty hug and
thanks to Scott, to whom I am indebted to for reminding me that pain is
temporary, and the hard times will end. The mandatory post-race beers and catch
up with other runners was, as always, great. Recalling kilometres with like-
minded running nutters is a special thing, and I'm already looking forward to
the next session.
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| How much effort went into this smile I wonder? |
* I like the Hi5 gels, which are runny rather than goopy, so easier to get (and hold) down. In hindsight, I probably should have asked around if anyone knew of a local stock, but had resigned myself to disappointment, so in this instance created my own reality.
Congrats to Dave and Scott for an amazing achievement!!!
If you, somehow, are now tempted to put yourself through the Perth Marathon, and in Dave's words, become a bit of a nutter here is the West Australian Marathon Club website with all dates and info. www.wamc.org.au
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