Category Archives: My Amazing Races

It is commonly said that the difference between a runner and a jogger is a race entry. I am a runner.

Morning broke out the backside of a truck-stop

I am extremely aware of my triceps. I am aware that they have not been called into action in quite a long time. Perhaps as long as never.

It doesn't look like much*, but this truck is 16 feet deep and filled with the sturdiest (i.e. heaviest) gear ever produced. And we need to move fast - I'm convinced we interrupt a drug deal every time we visit the locker.

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Off down the distance

Yesterday was The Yonge St. 10K, the first of what is now two 10Ks running down the central artery of the city. The 10Ks are popular because they are fast – a net downhill (a couple of small uphills) with only a few turns. I wanted to test my 10K fitness on a certified course, but not necessarily on an aided course that would * my time and generate a PB that I would never be able to replicate, thus setting myself up for future disappoint. I have a tendency to over think races. I ran, but only because I won a free entry at another race.

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I cross the ocean for a heart of gold

Well, that went better than expected. Way better than expected. By that I mean Around the Bay 30K, edition 118. This was my 5th time running the race, so I knew what to expect. Except I wasn’t expecting a humidex reading (it is March, where’s the windchill?), or the plague (again!), or another tendonitis flare-up (back on prescription strength anti-inflammatories) … so I also wasn’t expecting a great run. Which I said, publicly.

I wasn’t sandbagging. Really. Really!

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You’re gonna bring yourself down

I kicked off my spring running season last weekend with a 5K run to a pub. Chili and beer at the finish line. Not a bad enticement for my first* 5K race.

*I suppose that’s not entirely true; I have paid to run the distance three times before, one with friends in a Santa costume, one the day before the Boston Marathon as a leg-loosener and one of those obstacle course mud runs. But I’ve never raced the distance.  Also true, I was a little intimidated to race the distance. I do not fancy myself to be a fast twitch short distance runner.

So I did what I always do. Continue reading

Racing with the wind

I secretly ran the Charleston Marathon last weekend. I said I wasn’t running a race until spring. This was not a last-minute decision. It was a 12 weeks before decision. I lied to everyone*. Continue reading

My head is like a football, I think I’m gonna die

A week ago I ran another beer mile.  I’ve finally sobered up enough to write about it. Continue reading

Trust in me, I’m the pied piper

A couple of weeks ago I paced for the fabulous Niagara Falls Half Marathon*. This was just my second time donning the famed ears. I like pace bunnying. It’s a nice way to get in a sold training run, without the effort or pressure of racing. I like the challenge of running perfect kilometre splits and the fun of offering up motivation without being too annoying. I think I succeeded;

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I think you’ll get with this, for this is where it’s at

Now that The Ex is in town I know it means that summer is nearly over. Hallelujah.  It also means I should make some sort of race decision.  21.1K or 42.2K?  Which one?  With about 8 weeks left, my training to date could easily branch into either distance. 

Fork in the Road, Photo Credit: JK York (http://www.redbubble.com/people/jkyork)

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Someday I’ll be 18 goin on 55

Another 5 Peaks trail race under my shoes. This time in Terra Cotta.

Naturally I fancied myself a Terracotta Warrior and channeled that energy into my race.

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You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost

Ahh, the famed Boston Marathon. This is not a super fantastic I’m awesome and I PRed in Boston yay tailwind and sunny skies post. This is an I failed miserably and didn’t run my A, B, or C goal post. I came in somewhere between Z and DNF. And I’m feeling tremendously sorry for myself. Continue reading

totally confused all the passing piranhas, she’s lump

For the Annals of Stupid Things I Do to Food/Drink During Races, I have not yet exhausted my supply of stories from Around the Bay. 

I packed my race kit the evening before the race (I’m organized!) in the dark because it was Earth Hour and I’m awesome in a turn the lights out way (I’m not organized enough to finish before Earth Hour!) and thus my gel selection was touch based.  I quickly discovered that my gel selection was limited to two choices: lumpy or really lumpy. 

I opted for Lumpy.  Lumpy, I later discovered by candlelight, was over a year expired.  Really Lumpy was nearly two years expired and intelligently went right to the garbage bin.  You may recall my recent brush with expired products.  I lost.   Sweaty Kid reminded me of a recent tangle with gels during a race.  I lost.  Someone with more foresight than me could have easily avoid certain tragedy.

But Lumpy seemed fine except for the bottom lumpy bits.  I reasoned I could eat around the lumpy bits, which would helpfully stay put at the bottom of packet.  I estimated 5/6 of the packet was edible.  The odds were in my favour.

I saved my gel for 21K, a sugar kick for the final push.  In my race haze I greedily consumed the entire packet, lumpy bits and all, then immediately freaked as the disgusting and no longer vanilla flavoured lumps bumped down my throat.  

I do not know the physical side effects of expired gels, but the psychological side effects are an urgent need to go and to go is code for two not one, obsessive worrying about the side effects of ingesting expired chemicals, and the constant feeling of not vanilla regurgitation. 

 Not one to let a near poisoning throw me off my game, as you well know, I stoically soldiered on.

Title: Presidents of the United States of America - Lump.  1995.

I’m hot, sticky sweet from my head to my feet

I have an Around the Bay FuelBelt curse.  I do not know what I did to deserve a cursing, but I can only imagine that the transgression was particularly bad.  There is no other explanation.  See evidence from 2009

Yesterday I broke the cardinal rule of racing: do not try anything new on race day.  I tried three new FuelBelt brand water bottles.  I carry my own liquid during Around the Bay because the aid stations are ”approximately every five kilometres”.  This is neither accurate nor frequent enough for my compulsion liking.  

At 6 am I filled the three new bottles with lemon-lime Gatorade, packed my FuelBelt, and drove to the bay.  As I got ready for the race the bottles felt strangely sticky and I assumed – wrongly, I’ve since learned- that I spilled some Gatorade in my sleep-deprived state of bottle filling.  I am very apt to spill Gatorade or get distracted and overfill bottles, so this was not a conclusion without precedence.  Also, I was worried about race day attire and did not give my FuelBelt the attention it needed.  At least I got the what to wear part right.  I cluelessly strapped on the belt and lined up behind the start banner. 

At 3K (every 3K is to my liking) I grab Bottle 1 from its house on the front left for my first refreshing drink.  Mysteriously, the bottle is empty.  What happened to my lemon-lime Gatorade?  I looked around, confused, as though I might find the precious neon electrolytes somewhere on the road.  As the sticky liquid quickly seeped through my wicking layers I found the Gatorade.  In my increasing damp shirt and tights.  The entire contents drained all over me.  Not only was I sticky mess, but I looked like I lemon-lime peed my pants.  No, I am not that hardcore.  To my relief Bottles 2 and 3 seemed reasonably intact, in that they still contained some (but not all) fluid.  At 6K I attempted to drink from Bottle 2.  Half went in my mouth, half dribbled down my shirt into my welcoming bra.  Of course.  Repeat at 9K with Bottle 3.  As though I was drinking from a childish joke cup.  Half in, half down my shirt, leaving an attractive lemon-lime bib around my neck.  

Not one to let a lemon-lime leak throw me off my game, I stoically soldiered on.  Upon successful completion of the race I hugged a friend and promptly adhered to him, my Gatorade forming some sort of superglue.  That last part is a lie, but he did smell faintly of lime after.  Before contaminating anyone else I dashed to the stadium washroom for a quick hooker bath to scrub away the remaining substance.  And so ended my fourth run around the bay. 

Title: Def Leppard – Pour Some Sugar On Me.  1987.

Don’t let your feet get cold in the winter

In an effort to coax my reluctant body into running faster than a snail’s pace I signed up for a couple of pre-Boston race-runs.  This weekend was the Chilly 1/2 marathon.   Although it was not so much chilly as it was snowy and slushy (and windy).  The 35-40km/hr winds were not as bothersome as expected, just a little tough on the few short northbound portions.  It could have been much worse.  ATB, coming up in three weeks, is always much worse.

Now that I’m in Monster Month 21.1k isn’t enough mileage, so I also ran an easy 10k before the race, ran the 1/2, then finished with a 3k cool-down.  A little choppy, but I got in the distance.  The aim was to run the 21.1k at marathon race pace or a bit faster and Mission Accomplished.  The road this year was a slushy foot-soaking mess (near record rainfall followed by an overnight blast of snow), so I think my miles are worth an extra 10% in effort. 

This popular event is worthy of a few words.  It’s the only local (local = within 90 minutes) 1/2 marathon in the early spring, but given the location (the ‘burbs) I’ve never run this race.  I would definitely go back to run it again.   It wasn’t the stereotypical suburbs of identical houses and expensive sounding street names, but a quaint waterfront village.   The organizers are lovely (the same group puts on the Santa Shuffle – you may recall my one and only foray into costumed running) and have a reputation for well-run races.  The start line corrals were a bit broad (e.g. 1.30 to 2.00 hours) but for the most part people did an okay job of self-sorting and there were lots of pace bunnies around for folks looking for company (including this guy).  I wasn’t blockaded before kilometre three, as is the case when there is rampant over-optimisim in the starting corrals.  The aid stations were reliably spaced every 3K and the volunteers eager and at the ready.  They even had a gel station and an orange/banana station, which is rare for this distance.  The course is scenic, running almost entirely along the shores of Lake Ontario, and traffic free.  It’s also relatively flat, which I know is appealing to some.  There were some slight elevation changes to relieve the repetitive stress of flat running.  So all in all, a decent event/course and well worth the drive out of the city.  My one recommendation is same day kit pick-up for out-of-towners … it is a long drive to get the kit and then return the next day to run.  If it helps my cause, same day pick-up would be better for the environment and not just my lazy ways.

My own run was uneventful.  It usually is.  I ran like a metronome, without varying from my pace even when briefly chatting with friends on the course.  I’ve never been one for k by k breakdowns, mostly because I forget things almost as they are happening.   A few notable exceptions: I kept my record intact and finished ahead of the costumed runner (a red hot chilly pepper, of course), I narrowly missed a direct hit by a giant spit ball (the man apologized multiple times as his phlegm grazed my eyelashes), I felt sorry for one poor lady who never learned the ‘do not wear yoga pants in soggy weather because they will grow to three times their length’ lesson and by 2K she was already struggling to keep her pants up, a hyper-competitive woman with no control over her flailing arms and legs raced passed me then slowed three times -tripped me once- before falling behind never to be seen again around the 10K mark, and I sped ate a powdered doughnut at the finish line before my cooldown and ran the next 3K with bright white lips. 

Title: the Eagles – Desperado.  1973.

I think I might lie here a little longer

How to not to prepare for a marathon:

  • Run hill repeats the Saturday AND Tuesday leading into race weekend because you’ve been kind of lazy following the No Training Marathon Training Program but you heard it was a hilly course. 
  • Don’t taper.  Tapering causes Marathonia.
  • Run your first ever one mile race two days before the marathon.  (Editor’s note: second ever – if you count the beer mile.  Which you should not count.).
  • Run a hilly 10K race the day before marathon.
  • Eat new foods, drink strange drinks, and be overly merry the four days leading into the marathon.  It probably goes without saying, but definitely do not get enough sleep.
  • Walk from one end of the host country to the other country during the four days leading into the marathon.  This works best if the country is only 31K by 2K in size; for bigger countries extend the timeframe accordingly.   
  • Program Garmin to crash the evening before the marathon, but don’t notice that Garmin is dead until you are walking to the start line.  Panic accordingly.
  • “Train” in -20C and race in +20C.
  • When in doubt, follow the No Training Marathon Training Program.

Title: The Decemberists – This Sporting Life.  2005.

Set my eyes on a blistering sight of a vicar in tutu

I said I would do it and I did it.  Wearing a tutu, wings, and carrying a wand.  The entire 30K.  I didn’t toss my costume at an unsuspecting volunteer 3K in as I had imagined.  And I did it with almost perfect pacing.  The race was great.  Even in the stifling 100% humidity that was our Midsummer Evening.  I’m so glad I was pacing and not racing.  I gulped about 18 cups of water and various colours of Gatorade at every station and still felt dehydrated.  I am endlessly impressed by the resolve of everyone who all-out raced in that weather.  As evidence that my body will never ever adapt to hot and/or humid weather running, I ran at a take it easy pace and still threw up twice later that evening.  And then I pitifully crawled out of the bathroom leaving Husband to flush the regurgitated remains of my post-race apple, beer, and banana.  That after nearly fainting on the bus ride back to the parking lot.  And complaining the entire car ride home.  I am a gem of a wife.  All this due to heat illness.  Or water poisoning.  The google symptoms are surprisingly similar.  I may also have a brain tumour. 

Back to fairy-ing.  I told my band of merry runners we would come in within a minute under the goal time.  Well, half the pack took off at 29K for a sprint finish, as my expert pacing left them with lots of fuel in the tank at the end.   A good fairy, I resisted the finish line surge and held steady, coming in 30 seconds under the goal time.  Dave was within 10 seconds of his Pace Fairy time, but he is a very experienced bunny fairy.  This was my first time in the ears wings.  I passed the pace bunny test.  Earned my golden carrot (or, in this case, my fairy wand).  Not that I have any evidence of this achievement.  Except the sworn testimony of my followers.  My chip timer did not work and my Garmin attempted suicide during the post race flood, taking my entire run history down with it.  The truth is out there.

p.s. For those who run for the t-shirt, the swag was excellent – a zippy jacket, moon medal, and a Planet Forward stainess steel water bottle waiting at the end. 

Title: The Smiths – Vicar in a Tutu.  1986.