5k around the Olympic Stadium

So after my Boston high, I took some time to rest the legs. But I was still itching to run. And a 10k around Montreal's Olympic Stadium sounded ideal.

But as race day approached, I could feel my legs were still tired from the marathon. And my goal for my next 10k is a sub-39...nevermind I haven't even done a sub-40 yet! And I knew it wasn't going to happen on this 10k. So at the last minute, I switched to the 5k that was running on the same day. I figured I could probably manage a PB and maybe...just maybe a sub-19.

My last 5k was 19:36 so sub-19 felt possible. The weather was good for the race and I took off fast off the gun. It was a small field so I thought it'd be great to hit the top 3. At the very least win my age group.

It was only seconds before I realized top 3 wasn't going to happen. 3 guys jetted out of sight fast. Elite runners using this for some training. Dang! Okay so now i'd focus on 1st in my age group.

Quickly I settled into 6th position and was determined to hold this. But I'd gone out a bit hard and wondered if I'd have anything left to kick at the end. One guy was soon running with me and I could tell that he and I would be driving each other through the rest of the race. We were vacillating between 6th and 7th place, always within short steps of each other.

He held the lead for a long while and I drafted him a bit. Then he suddenly dropped back wanting to draft off me. We weren't really helping each other - hell, I was racing him! - but we took advantage of each other when we could...but after the half point, things changed. No more drafting, we were strategizing on when to make a move.

I was in the lead right now and decided to push it up just a notch to see how he responded. And he held on with me. There was a big downhill coming up and I knew I could drive hard down the hill. After my Boston training, I was well-prepped for downhills. It sounds easy but in fact downhills can be much harder than uphills, especially if you try to race fast down them. That's alot of pounding on the legs.

We were approaching the 4k mark and rounded a sharp corner leading to the downhill. That's when he made his move. He cruised past me pretty fast but there was no way I was letting him go. He got several meters ahead of me - the furthest apart we'd been all race.

But then we were on the steep downhill. And I gunned it hard. I charged down that thing just short of letting my legs fly out of control. And my plan worked as I expected. I drew even and then passed him. But goddamn if the guy didn't hold on. We were neck in neck at the base of the hill. So now I threw in everything I had. I needed to pull away from him now and try to catch the guy I could see 20 meters ahead.

And sure enough, I could tell he'd spent himself on the downhill. I started pulling away and he had nothing left. In another 15 seconds, I wasn't even thinking of him anymore. I had my eye on the guy in front.

He was going to be a lot tougher. The finish was approaching quickly and I wasn't sure I had the distance remaining to catch him. If I had another kilometer, i'd pass him. But there was now less than 1/2 a kilometer.

But I kicked it with everything I had left. We rounded the corner with the finish in sight. He was finished, I could tell. He was taking a weird angled approach to the finish. Was he delirious with exhaustion? I made a bee-line for the finish while he made his lazy arch. And I was gaining fast. But goddamn, there wasn't enough tarmac. He crossed the finish 2 seconds ahead of me.

I finished 6th overall, 1st in my division. 19:13.
Not a sub-19, but a new PB.

Dick Beardsley and me

A few weeks back, I wrote about how inspired I was by a short story recounting the 'Duel in the Sun', the famous Boston Marathon of 1982. Well not long ago, I had read about a new book recounting that long battle between Alberto Salazar and Dick Beardsley.

Not a big seller among non-runners, it was hard to find in Vancouver. But I knew they'd be selling it at the Boston Marathon Expo.

Jen and I arrived at the Expo a few minutes after it opened Saturday morning. We wanted to get in and get out. For one, we wanted to wander Boston, not hang out at an Expo. For another, the crowds were going to get ugly in a few hours.

I picked up my race pack easily and we were able to tour the booths fairly freely. So to speak. Unlike most expos I've been to, nothing is free at Boston. At most expos, everyone is trying to shovel some new jazzy product into your hand. I usually walk away with all kinds of Tylenol, new fluid replacement mixture, running cap or socks. At Boston...nada. I think they know that everyone's coming with money. They know that everyone is prepared to spend to immortalize their Boston experience. And the organizers exploit that to the max.

And being one of those runners who came with money, I didn't really care that much. I just bought whatever I wanted. Put it on credit, then forget it!

One thing I wanted was a copy of 'Duel in the Sun'. And sure enough, I found it. At the New Balance booth, there was a tiny podium set up with a stack of books. While I was flipping through the book, I noticed 2 guys beside me getting their picture taken.

I sorta recognized the one guy. And then I realized. It's Dick Beardsley. Standing right next to me. For a moment I was stunned. This couldn't be him. There was no crowd. There was no lineup. But then, this was the perk of arriving early I guess. And oddly, I don't think many of the runners around realized who he was.

I introduced myself straight away. I was shocked by just how engaging and modest he was. I told him how inspired I was by the story of his '82 race and how much I was looking forward to my own run on Monday. "Oh wow, Kevin" he said. "That is a tough course. But I love it."

He's a wonderfully affable man. Casual and relaxed. Above all, he seems genuine. Like he really wants to connect with you. Like he feels a kinship with you, a fellow runner.

But see, Dick Beardsley and I are on different planets when it comes to running. He is still one of the 4 fastest American marathoners ever. I'm hoping to crack sub-3 some day. It's like comparing a cheetah to a sloth. Oh sure, they're both mammals.

I, however, was quite content to be one with the cheetah if only for another 2 minutes. Dick wanted to know where I qualified. When I mentioned Victoria, he beamed. "Oh that's a great course. I'm good friends with Rob Reid, the race director." We kept chatting for a little while longer. He reminded me the 25th anniversary of his and Salazar's duel was next year. He was hoping the organizers bring them both out for the race.

All the while, I'd had my camera slung over my shoulder. I'd have to get a picture before I left. As if on cue he says "Hey, should we get a picture?"

Jennifer snapped a shot of the 2 of us, me looking like I'm meeting a Beatle. I bought the book and Dick signed it. We shook hands and he wished me luck on Monday. I left beaming for the rest of the day. I can't believe I met Dick Beardsley.

Boston race report

"The course will humble you."

These were words of 'encouragement' I got from a Boston veteran. I'd told him I was aiming for a Personal Record. He thought me crazy.

In fact, so many Boston veterans passed on similar advice: just enjoy the race, don't try for a personal best, the hills will get you, don't go out too fast. Not a single person suggested running hard. No one said this is the race to give it your all. Not one person.

But to me, that's what Boston is about. It's the Mecca of marathons. Where else do you give everything you've got but in the one race that is more famous than all others put together? I was going to Boston with big goals.

• First and foremost, I was running for a personal best time. I wanted to beat my qualifying time of 3:13:48.
• I wanted to run sub-3:10.
• If conditions were right, I secretly planned a goal of 3:06.

I didn't bother adding "completion" to my priority list. In my head, that was just a given. It didn't need to be on any list of accomplishments. My 3 goals were ambitious. But hell, I was in Boston. And you don't go half-assed in Boston. Am I sounding cocky? I wasn't feeling cocky. I just felt ready. Very ready for this race.

Race Day
I slept surprisingly well the night before. Usually I can't sleep before a big race, but last night I was out. I wake at 5:45 and get ready. This race is different from most races as it starts at 12 Noon. So you're running in peak temperatures. Not really ideal. But that's what it is. I had a light breakfast and one full bottle of gatorade. After a small glass of water, I stop. I'm not drinking anymore until the race starts. Every race seems to find me rushing off for bushes and Boston being Boston, it's wall to wall people. Not many bushes. I'll come to regret this decision.

After a 45 minute bus shuttle (where I nap again), I arrive at our holding pen; home for the next 2 1/2 hours. I find a plot of grass and settle in to some bad karaoke on the main stage.

I talk with 2 runners from Canada. This is their first Boston and they're here just to enjoy the race. I tell them I'm going for a personal record, but that doesn't go over so well. Now they stare at me as if they can already envision me crashed out on Heartbreak Hill with a First Aid team slapping paddles to my chest. This doesn't shake my confidence. But I do stop sharing my goal with people.

Finally, we're called from the school yard to make our way to the start. I get set, lose my track pants, check my gels and jog my way to the start. Helicopters are flying overhead, several planes trailing ads behind them. And then I turn onto the main start road and it's instant pandemonium.

I've never seen such a crowd out for a marathon! There are people everywhere. They line every free speck of sidewalk, lawn, window, deck. They're everywhere. I try to make my way to the actual start line just to get a look at it before the gun. But I physically cannot make it through the crowd.

At Boston, you're organized according to your qualifying time, the fastest runners at the front. I'm bib number 5766 in corral number 5. There are 5765 faster runners in front of me. I have to wait for them to pass the start line before I get there.

I don't chat much in the corrals. I'm getting myself race ready. Not so much thinking about my plan as I am just trying to relax. I've been training so long for this I can hardly believe the moment is here. And it's here in the 5th corral that I have my first glimmer of doubt. Anything could go wrong. These things are so unpredictable. At this distance, a dropped gel could kill your race. Someone stepping on your toe. Anything.

Just then I hear the roar of 2 fighter jets. I look up and catch them soaring past us. A guy beside me says they're gonna reach the finish line in 4 minutes.

The Starter's Gun
A few minutes later, I hear a little 'pop' that seems to excite the crowd. I guess that was the gun. Even though corral 5 is close to the start, I still can't see or hear it.

And we wait.

Then we start shuffling.

Then we start jogging lightly....okay now we're moving. And I see the start line approaching...and cameras! Cameras, cameras, cameras! There's a giant crane dipping overhead into the crowd, about 4 or 5 television cameras, all trained on us, everyone enthusiastically waving.

And we're off.

In an instant we start a steep downhill. The runners are bunched so tightly together that we all do a slow shuffle. If you trip in this, you're gonna be trampled. The guy in front of me (200 meters into the race) loses one of his big fluid bottles. It bounces to the ground and is lost in the crowd. Ouch. New race plan for him.

After the first mile, I realize I'm a minute behind my anticipated pace. I had hoped to take advantage of the downhills but it's way too congested.

Second mile, I'm still a minute behind. The same on the 3rd. I adjust my race goals. I'm not gonna try and make up a minute on this course. 3:06 is out. I focus on a sub 3:10.

Before the race, someone had told me to write my name on my shirt. The crowds love to call out names and it's much better than hearing "Go 2338!" Or worse, "Go Bobby!", the guy beside you who DID write his name.

So the night before, I drew a Canadian maple leaf on my shirt with my name. And it was paying big dividends. "Go Canada! Go Kevin!" At one point I pass a group of drunk frat guys who are picking out names from the crowd. "Kevin, Kevin, Kevin, Kevin!" They keep chanting long after I've passed them.

After about the 20th "Go Canada!", one of the runners near me asks, "Who the hell's from Canada?"

At the 5k mark, I pass my first check point. 22:21. This is good. I've managed to make up a bit of time, but I'm still sticking to my sub-3:10 goal.

The field's opening up and I'm able to get into a groove. I'm maintaining a good 7:10/mile pace. It feels easy. I could go faster and still be comfortable but I don't. I decide to keep it all easy now until after the Newton Hills.

I can't get over the crowds. They line almost every inch of the route several people deep. If you need extra support, a runner needs to just drift to the sides and run near them. The crowd responds.

10km
At 10k, I'm 44:00 on the dot. This is perfect. I'm keeping my pace even. Because of the qualifying times, you run with runners of similar abilities. As a result, it's somewhat easy to find a groove with the crowd. You can just go with the flow and keep a good pace. I use my pace band less than I have for any other race. In fact, later after mile 16 I stop referring to it completely.

The course has flattened out a bit. It will just roll gently over the next few miles until the Hills.

There's no reason to get thirsty in Boston. Besides the water stations at every mile, the crowd is handing out anything a runner could want...water, orange slices, bananas, ice cubes. I grab my share of bottled water and ice cubes.

I may have started too late on the gatorade, though. I haven't had to make any pit stops, but I'm getting a serious stitch in my right side. I just ignore it and keep running. But it doesn't leave. And it's getting worse. In fact, it's hitting that point where it starts bothering my run.

And there's really not much to do. Just run tall and grit yer teeth. After a mile it starts subsiding slightly. But I can tell it's not going to go away.

As I approach the halfway mark, I start to hear a dull rumble. It's the Wellesley College girls a full mile away from me. Famous for their race enthusiasm, they've been cheering runners since the first run 110 years ago. One runner warned me before the race, "They're truly a siren's call. You can't help but run faster when you start hearing them. But that extra speed is going to kill you later in the race."

And he's right. It's tempting to pick it up. But I stick to my pace. And when I do finally come upon them, they are so loud and enthusiastic that their high-pitched cheers (screams really) actually turn into a low dull buzz in my ear. They hold up all sorts of signs that all say, "Kiss me!" or some novel variation. But really, I swear they're all screaming for themselves. A little sanctioned primal scream therapy at the Boston Marathon.

Half-Marathon
Soon after passing the girls, I cross the half-marathon mark: 1:33:15. I realize that's the 2nd fastest time I've ever run for a 1/2 marathon. Not bad in the middle of a full. I get a slight glimmer of fear that I'm not conserving enough.

Soon I'll be on the infamous Newton Hills, but before that my stitch reappears. And again I spend the next mile wincing and trying to keep my pace. I run close to the sidelines to draw energy from the crowd. "Go Kevin! Go Canada!! You can do it, Kevin!"

The Newton Hills
Finally, I round the corner past the fire hall, famous for being the last big landmark before the hills. I'd read from some Boston champions the best approach is even effort. Don't try and charge up them, don't slow down, just maintain the same effort you do on the flats.

The first hill is pretty straightforward though I can see I'm running slower than I had hoped. I'm starting to feel the miles. I'm not exhausted. I'll be strong through the whole race, but I can also tell I'm significantly slower than I'd hoped.

I'm passing several runners but I'm also being passed alot. For some reason, I've got it in my head that there are 3 hills. And I'm counting them 1, 2... As I hit number 3, I am also aware that I'm still in mile 19. I should be at the top, at mile 21. Unless of course...

..there's a fourth hill. As soon as I realize this, I shake my head. There's always been 4. I've known that. I've studied these hills. But still it feels like an extra hill has suddenly been thrown in.

Even effort and I finally crest the hill, my last mile at 7:56. This is significantly slower than I'd hoped, but after a 100 meters of quick recovery, I start picking it up. Now there's a sharp downhill and I take advantage of it.

I glide down the next 2 miles in a blur. The crowds are even thicker now (is it possible?) and I round a turn and see the Citgo sign off in the distance, the famous marker for the last mile. But it's still a good 2 miles or so from me.

As I'm running along, I get a funny thought: I'm bored. I've run enough for today. I just want my medal now. I figure it's my mind doing Jedi tricks on me. It wants me to stop running and is taking a passive approach. It knows I don't respond to pain. But maybe boredom.

But I don't fall for it. I keep running. I can still do 3:10. It's still in my sights. But I need to go faster.

The Citgo sign
I pick up my pace but my legs are really hurting now. As I approach the Citgo sign, I know Jennifer is here watching for me. She's been at every marathon I've run. She's been my biggest cheer leader and has spurred me on when I'm spent. But I have absolutely no idea how she will see me or I will see her. The crowds are only getting bigger and bigger. They look at least 10 people deep. It's absolutely insane to see this many people gathered for a road race. The crowd is a loud constant roar. I can't even hear my name or anyone else's. And of course, with everyone chanting my name, I wouldn't even know if it was Jennifer or not. (Amazingly, Jen did spot me in the crowd.)

I run through and am down to my last 1.2 miles. Checking my watch, I realize I'm having trouble keeping the pace I wanted. I needed to run 7:00/miles these last 2. But I'm at 7:10. That's not gonna do 3:10. It's too close.

I approach a new hill that's been added to the route. This was big news leading up to Boston...another hill? How could they? The hill is a road that dips under a bridge and then back up on the other side. As we run through it, it's briefly quiet. The crowds aren't allowed in the underpass. Just the runners footsteps echoing. I come up the other side and continue on. The hill is insignificant. Completely. If anyone complains about that, they don't belong in the marathon.

The Final Stretch
And suddenly the finish is upon me. I turn a corner and realize this is it. I make that last turn and it's straight to the finish line. I check my watch. If I charge, I just might be able to do it. I gun it up the last hill. I can make a 6:45 mile and that may be enough. I round the last corner and I see it. Way off in the distance is the finish line. Waaaaay off in the distance. Way more than I remembered. For a moment I start charging, I start gunning it. And then I stop myself. I realize I'm not going to hit 3:10 no matter what. But I am going to get a personal best time. So I decide to just enjoy the last 300 meters of the race. I cruise in letting the crowds pull me.

I cross the finish at 3:11:42. Over 2 minutes faster than my previous record. And at Boston, no less. I stop running and the first thing I spot is a Red Cross volunteer manning an empty wheelchair. I suddenly feel my whole head spin. I could faint right here. Holy shit, I'm really going to faint. I want to flop in the chair. But I keep myself moving and eventually it passes. I work my way through the network of volunteers, receive my medal and go search for Jennifer.


3:11:42 That's my number now. It's the stat all marathoners want to get out of you at some point in a conversation. And it's a good number. Now on to a sub-3:00...

Uh-oh

I foolishly ran my 3-hour run with a strained groin. And I paid for it. Monday and Tuesday I was hurting. After seeing my physiotherapist, the amazing Tracey, I started a heavy regime of exercises determined to keep this from getting worse.

It's always nerve-wracking as you get close to an important race (a la Boston) and get struck with injury. But I was lucky. This was a warning shot...across the groin so to speak.

So today, after 2 days of no running and a day on the bike, I took off for a test run. An easy run that went far better than I expected. 10 miles later and I was feeling really good. I can still sense it, but it's healing.

I'm gonna take it easy for the next 2 days before my next long run on Sunday. The last thing I need is to mess my up my training in the final 5 weeks before Boston.

Duel in the Rain

It's still pouring outside.

And it was pouring 2 hours ago when I was due for my 75 minutes of hills training.

I stood at the window dressed in my warm run gear and watched the rain bullet to the ground at a 45 degree angle. This was going to be one of those runs I'll remember. Not in a good way. And I'll admit it, I might very well have taken a pass on the run tonight if it weren't for my bedtime reading last night.

After searching everywhere for the story, I finally discovered Hal Higdon's "Duel in the Sun" online. The entire short story. If you haven't read it, check it out. It's a rivetting true account of the 1982 Boston Marathon duel between Alberto Salazar and Dick Beardsley.

There's a moment in the story where Beardsley has arrived in Boston a few weeks early. He heads out to Heartbreak Hill to do several hill repeats. But the weather is miserable. The snow is so bad that his car can't even get him there. So bad that he can't run the actual road but has to do an adjacent hill. Nevertheless, he does it. He goes out in this weather that no runner is running. And of course, this feeds him. He relishes the thought that he is the ONLY runner who could be out in this god-forsaken weather. It builds him up. Fortifies his mental state for Boston.

And here I am, the night after reading the story, staring out the window at thick, cold Vancouver rain. I almost feel pathetic for even considering skipping. I'm serious. The rain was torrential.

But like Beardsley, I too want to head out there and draw strength from being among the very few. I won't see any runners tonight.

So out I go and in a matter of seconds the rain has soaked through every layers. Yep, this is going to be an ugly one.

After a 20 minute warm-up, I start my hill repeats, important training for Boston in particular. Things are going well. Every time I get a chill or feel gross, I keep reminding myself, "You're alone tonight. All the other runners took one look and made for the couch."

Sure, I might see one runner, but if I do, we'll share a wave, comforted by the thought that another strong soul has braved the biting cold.

Then, as I turn back downhill for my next repeat, there I see it...there off in the distance. Making its way towards me. A steady flutter of limbs.

At least 25 runners in a huddled mass. Their matted hair, shivering, soaked gloves, some in shorts - they trot at an ungodly slow pace. And yet there they are, shuffling through the puddles. I can tell by the run leaders' ugly running bibs that they're all part of the training program for the Vancouver Sun Run.

And suddenly I feel pathetic.

Not because they're the Sun Run group. Rather because I let myself even fantasize about not running as I prepare for Boston and here are beginner runners who might very well be doing their first 10k ever. And with every possible excuse at their disposal, they chose to run.

Just as I'm trying to shake my depression, feeling the rain soaking deep into my socks, another Sun Run group appears...this one even bigger! They must have been at least 30. All marching past full force, chatting up a storm.

I turn around looking back up at my giant hill. Okay, so I was no Beardsley. I couldn't savour any superiority complex. But god-damn, I was going to conquer those Boston hills.

And I march up, steady and strong.

How many miles are enough?

I find myself haunted by the number of hours people are putting in as they prepare for their various marathons, notably Boston. I've been putting in around 40-45 miles a week. But whenever I read other blogs, I see astounding numbers of 54, 55...per week! And we're over a full month from Boston. So their mileage must be going up still.

Am I not putting in the time? Should I be running longer? I have a hard enough time fitting the mileage in as it is. I hardly want to compound the problem. But I worry that I won't be as ready as I could.

And I'm aiming for a PB so I need to be ready. But how much is too ready? My coach is telling me to stick with the mileage. That it's enough. I trust her. She helped me to my last PB...an improvement of over 19 minutes off my last PB. But I still have this worry nipping at my ear.

Add to all this that I think I pulled a groin muscle. It's just a nuisance at the moment but I'm worried it could become something bigger. I've booked a physio appointment but I can't get in to see her till Friday. I'll just have to take things cautiously this week...

Which means I won't be adding extra miles this week. Which means I'm going to stress some more about that. Ugh.

Vancouver's "First Half" Half-Marathon

At the 8-mile mark of the race, I was feeling good. Even pace, legs strong. Then this short stocky guy burned past me like he was in a 100 meter sprint. And he just kept going!

I knew he'd burn out eventually, but I decided I'd chase him. Let him get a bit ahead and then go after him...

Sunday was the "First Half" Half-Marathon, so named as it's the first official Half-Marathon of the year in Vancouver. The morning started icy cold, at least by Vancouver standards. It was -3C so i decided to wear a thin long sleeved shirt. I usually hate running races in long sleeves or tights cuz it gets so damn hot. But this morning was damn cold. Nevertheless, I stuck to my shorts. Of course, the cold weather also gave me a great excuse to break out my brand new Boston Marathon jacket. I'd ordered it a few weeks back fearing they'd be sold out when I arrived. It came just last week and I haven't had many opportunities to wear it. Of course, a race event is the perfect place...as I could see from the number of jackets worn from previous Boston Marathons.

I arrived late for the race and had to scramble to fit in a short warm-up. Then off to the start. After a terrible rendition of the Canadian national anthem (at least it was heartfelt), the horn went and we took off.

I was aiming for something under 1:30. My PB in half marathons was 1:39 but I knew that wasn't a true indicator of my abilities. I'd run this course last year but wasn't at all ready for the race. I was tired, undertrained and a little sick. This year, I'm in the midst of my Boston training. So I felt I'd do well. In the back of my head, I'd decided on 1:25 as my goal. The logic being if i can hit 1:25, then I'd likely have a sub 3-hour marathon within grasp.

At the first mile I was running 6:34. Faster than I'd planned, but it got me away from some congestion. I slowed it back to a 6:47 pace and kept that consistent for the next 7 miles. It was easy locking on a pace as most of the course was very flat along Vancouver's sea wall. I quickly realized at this pace I'd never hit 1:25, but I felt solid and wanted to finish strong.

So at the 8-mile mark, the little running gnome burned past me. I took a mental picture and let him go. About 15 seconds later, another guy burns past me. A short black guy...It's always the short guys. At this point, I'd had enough. When I was running Victoria, I'd discovered the utter thrill of flying past people towards the finish. It was intoxicating to pass people without a single runner able to catch you. But having them run past you? Not so fun.

So that was it. I made my move and picked up the pace. I started passing runners. The short black guy was making good time, but i was patiently gaining on him. Eventually I pulled even for a very brief while, felt his look to me, then continued on...the stocky gnome now in my sights.

He took a bit longer to catch, but eventually he was staring at my back. And I carried on, locking on runners up ahead and quietly cruising past them. Man, it's a sweet feeling. The best is when you pull up along someone who absolutley does not want to let you run past them. They speed up and hold pace with you...side by side you run for several meters. I just stick to my plan. I don't speed up or slow down. I just keep running what i'm running. And then...at first so gradually...they start to slip off pace, unable to maintain the speed I've set. And then they suddenly drop away and I'm on to the next one.

I think those people are my favourites. They make me feel stronger. They're trying to keep with me but they just can't do it. I'd continue to the end of the race without a single runner passing me by.

I'd been running the last bit of the race at a comfortable 6:34 pace and cranked it a notch at the 12-mile mark. Now into the home stretch, I realized I'd run the entire race with an eye to my splits rather than my overall time. In fact, it was only coming up to mile 13 that I even started considering what my final time would be.

I'd decided at the start of the race that I wouldn't run with a pace band. I'd run according to how I felt, always pushing myself a bit faster than what was comfortable. And I couldn't complain about the results. I was rounding the final bend, the clock in view, trying to jettison everything left. I wasn't quite spent and i need to find a way to cross that line in pain, barely able to move at the end. I'm guessing I could have done a bit better. Nevertheless, i'm very happy with a new PB of 1:27:50.

A good indicator for Boston.

When the rain comes...

29 days of rain during the 31 days of January. And 3 days into February with straight rain. This is Vancouver. And I'll admit it. It's getting to me. It's really getting to me.

I ride a Vespa to work everyday. And everyday I get into my rain pants and rain jacket. And I ride in the cold and wet. I ride home in the cold and wet. Then I get into my run gear and I run in the cold and wet. I get home and toss all my clothes into the wash so I can start the routine all over again tomorrow.

And it's getting to me.

I never thought I'd crack in the rain. It never bothered me in the past. Rain would appear for a few days but there were always decent breaks of sunlight (and no snow) to make it all worthwhile. But then last Tuesday, I had a heavy run day. Because of scheduling, I needed to do 2 runs that day. I woke up early for my first run and heard the steady drumming on the roof. It was pouring.

I steeled myself for the run and ventured out. 50 minutes later I was back. Soaked and shivering. 1 down. I tossed the clothes in the wash then headed to work. Of course, as soon as I headed out to work, the rain had stopped. A small consolation for the Vespa though I wished I could have run in this.

8 1/2 hours later and I'm making my way to my Tuesday run clinic. And it's pouring. Really pouring. The kind of pouring I'd bail on any day if I weren't a run leader at this group.

I arrive and am surprised to see just how many runners have shown up. I put on my best "let's go team" face and ready for the run.

And it's wet. And gross, and cold, and every awful thing I can think of. I commit to puddles so that i can just get the soaker over with rather than run with half and half shoes. I have to admit, I'm impressed with the people I'm running with. I can see they're all miserable, but they're committed to the run. They're doing it.

When my group finishes, we congratulate ourselves on finishing in such horrendous conditions. Everyone agrees this is the worst rain we've all ever run in. And we take some small pride in having ventured out in it.

But the next day (Thursday - hence the 2 runs on Tuesday), it's raining again. And I can feel something snap in me. When it was raining today as well, I didn't know what to think. I just ran it thinking of Boston every step I took. But honestly, I just wanted to toss my shoes in the dumpster and crawl into a warm bath.

Tomorrow's Saturday. At least I'll be able to choose my time to run...when it'll be raining the least.

My Past Marathons

Before I began my first marathon, I had illusions that I'd qualify for Boston straight away. Just like that. After a humbling first race, I re-evaluated my goals. I'd still do Boston. But maybe not as quickly. Nevertheless, I was very happy that after my 4th marathon, I was able to find my stride and do it.

3:37:51----Vancouver Marathon 2004 (on my 40th birthday)
3:41:26----Okanagan Marathon 2004
3:32:00----Vancouver Marathon 2005
3:13:48----Victoria Marathon 2005
3:11:42----Boston Marathon 2006 (PB)
3:20:46---Mohawk River Marathon 2007
3:16:25---Boston Marathon 2008
3:21:40---Picton Marathon 2008 (ugh!)
3:26:31---New York City Marathon 2009

My Personal Best Times

These are my PB times. Expect revisions...

18:02-----5k
32:37-----8k
39:02----10k
1:27:50---1/2 marathon
3:11:42----Marathon