Another Season Passed

Last Sunday (October 11th) marked the end of yet another "race season"; quotes are important here because I use the term rather loosely, since my race season only consisted of three races spread out over about four months.

The final race in my season was the Royal Victoria Marathon a race I have done several times before and like my other big race this year - a race I was rather under prepared for. I had the best of intentions - but unlike some people who get awarded Peace Prizes for having the best of intentions - I will win no prizes for my intentions and my actual effort fell short of my goal of expert training - quite possibly proving why people should not be awarded prizes for their intentions but rather the summation of their actions (but enough wailing and gnashing of teeth over Peace Prizes and how they are awarded).

Having disappointed myself with my less than stellar effort to train for my first main race in July, I thought I might have redeemed myself by re-doubling my efforts for my last main race - eat better, exercise properly, don't miss workouts, train smart. Alas, ultimately, I accomplished none of these goals. So race day found me unnaturally resigned to my fate of a lack-lustre performance knowing that the extra ten pounds I was carrying around was going to translate into a slower time and the sore muscles I were feeling five kilometres into the race would only get worse as the race progressed.

On the bright side, the day could not have been better for the race. Sunshine (once the sun came up), no wind and about 6 degrees at the start and 12 degrees at the finish - perfect weather! The route itself is spectacular - winding its way though Victoria, along the waterfront with the Olympic Mountains off in the hazy distance - though the upscale parts of town before turning back on itself to lead the runners back to where they began in the heart of Victoria, nestled between the inner harbour and the Legislature.

It's a shame that I expend so much willpower and brain power to running that I don't have an opportunity to enjoy my surroundings (I'm sure there is a life-lesson in there somewhere).

Amazingly, as I stood at the start with about 2000 other lucky individuals, I wasn't very nervous. Unlike last year, when I secretly told myslef I was running for my Mum beacuse she couldn't run at all that year due to a recent surgery to have a pace maker implanted. This year, I was just here to run, to do as well as I could do given all the things I felt were against me this year (mostly self-induced). I was just out for a very long run with a lot of other people.

The gun went off and the racers surged and stopped, surged and stopped as they sorted themselves out, crossed the start line and found enough space to run properly.

"How do you mentally prepare to run 42 kilometres?" my friend M had asked me the day before the race. "I try not to think about it," was my response. And I do try not to think about it; I try not to think about the long four (if I’m lucky) hours in front of me, the number of steps I have to take, the number of volunteers I encounter, the number of spectators I pass (which included my friend P about 4 times), the signs announcing each passing kilometre, but most of all I try not to think about all the aches and pains I feel as the race progresses.

Unfortunately, this last item for ignorance is not, despite my best intentions, able to be ignored: left shin between k-one and k-5 (as expected, it fades); the right hip - which starts about k-4 and continues for the remainder of the race; left knee and lower back which began somewhere near the turn-around and steadily worsened as the distance to finish diminished.

Despite my best efforts, which included ample doses of Ibuprofen, the knee, hip and back all conspired to slow me down and while I was 1:56 at the half and was on track to break four hours (my secret goal) as the distance to finished, so did my speed.

And then there was that damn pink bunny!

No, I was not hallucinating due to exhaustion and ibuprofen overdose, most of the longer distance races I have partaken in recently have participants called “pace bunnies”. The job of the pace bunny (besides crushing the hopes and dreams of the runners they pass in the later kilometres of the race) is to run the entire race, at a constant pace, running for ten minutes and walking for one with the aim of finishing the race at a specific time – i.e. four hours. To distinguish them from the rest of the mere mortals (and race wreckage) on the race route they wear tall pink bunny ears with their race target time written on them for all to see.

And see him I did. The route itself is more or less an out-and-back with a loop through downtown to begin with before heading out along the “sea wall” on Dallas Road, wiggling its way into Oak Bay and Uplands before doubling back on itself and finishing outside the Legislature Buildings next to Victoria’s inner harbour. It was just after the turn-around that I first saw the evil four hour pace bunny.

As a rule, I don’t look at my watch as I run, I don’t want to know. Knowing leads to extrapolating, extrapolating leads to one of two things, having a time I’m happy with, or (more likely) having a time I’m not happy with. One year, I kept track of my time and ended up extrapolating myself into what I think must have been a panic attack (or a giant ego attack) and drop out of the race with less than ten kilometres left.

So seeing the pace bunny about five minutes behind me at the turnaround point (about 23.5k into the race) made me realize that I was on pace to have a sub four hour marathon, provided I could keep the bunny behind me. So, when I saw him for the second time, with about 6 kilometres left in the race I was less than impressed.

Glancing right, I saw the ears and swore – he laughed. “Did I say that out loud?” I wheezed. “Yup,” he chirped. I swore again and continued to slog along; trying to keep pace with the springing spry and completely annoying pace bunny from hell.

My weakened but still hopeful mind reasoned that since he was walking and running, if I could keep pace almost keep pace with him as he bounced along, I could catch up when he stopped to walk and then I might be able to complete the race in less than four hours. My feeble brain attempted to work out, based on the number of kilometres left and the time it takes to run each kilometre, just how many times he’d be walking for and just how far away I reckoned I could let him get. What my foolish and exhaustion addled brain failed to realize was that it wasn’t in charge. Math would not be of any use to me, my body was ruled by the Triad of Pain (knee, hip and lower back) and they weren’t interested in the math.

Soon after the blasted bunny passed me, he stopped and did his walk, at which point I passed him, only to have him bound past a couple of minutes later. Brain told legs to stay with him; legs complied at first, then decided it was too much work. I watched as the blasted bunny complete with large white pompon tail (like the ears were not enough taunting) bounced off towards the finish line leaving the crushed souls of slower runners in his wake.

As the pink ears bobbed away in front of me getting smaller and smaller as they until they disappeared, so did my faint hope of a sub four hour marathon, but why did it matter. Why, after I had reasoned thought out my training that a sub four hour marathon was not attainable this year did it matter that the blasted bunny had been there at all? Because, if it wasn’t for the bunny, my brain wouldn’t have done the math and my spirit wouldn’t had had hope - Hope that was squashed by a blasted bunny. So I spent the last five kilometres cursing pink bunnies and forcing legs that didn’t want to run anymore to keep going.

I finished the race, 4:02:40. A very respectable time. A time, all things considered, I am quite happy with. Was it my best time ever? No, not at all; but it was the best that my body could do and even though the basted bunny squashed my spirit as he bounded past, I kept going, kept telling my legs to run, kept telling myself that I was going to finish. If I just kept pushing myself, I’d get there, in my best (albeit only) time this year.

I just had to keep running. And so I did.