Times Colonist 10k

As co-captain, I signed up months ago to run the Times Colonist 10k without giving much thought to the exact date. Not the recommended post-marathon recovery plan, I promised myself that I’d take it easy then when I toed the line yesterday morning to partake in the event.

Although I enjoyed the luxury of starting just off the front, within seconds of the gun sounding I was encircled by what felt like thousands of participants all vying for the inside track (not again). I jogged along not entirely sure of the pace I should hold when I came up on the heels of a friend who I knew was trying for a PB, or at least a solid race… I’d found my tempo. I sidled up beside Chris, and then with his encouragement took the lead hoping to help assist him along the way. It was great fun being able to enjoy the race through the eyes of someone else, occasionally turning around to see Chris smoothly clipping along looking solid and relaxed.

1-2k (3:42, 3:41) swarmed by the masses… the masses slowly fade to hordes

3-4k (3:33, 3:45) downhill as we descend toward Ross Bay Cemetery the turnaround

5-7k (3:59, 4:05, 4:03) a slugfest into the wind as we run the long uphill along Dallas and toward Beacon Hill Park

8-10k (3:38, 3:27, 3:27) I leave Chris and decide to run in at what feels comfortably fast… but not hard. The man with the stones award though goes out to Lawrence who recorded another PB for the year, well done!

Training: 1:04:35 with the TC 10k at 37:20 (full results)
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Over the last week, I've been doing some post-race analysis and for giggles I've tried to attach some quantitative values to what I realize is anything but. I still don’t have a definitive idea of what happened, and probably never will, but think it’s save to say it was an accumulation of many things:

Heat (31%): the temperature was around 23C, the ambient temperature off the street closer to 28C, not ideal racing conditions for someone who doesn't like hot weather. I do think this played a factor, given that on race day the temperature was close to double what I’d been training in for the last five months.

Pace (8%): I know I went out too fast from miles 2-5, although 2 of those miles are down hill

Training (26%): I had really wanted to feel what it was like to train as an elite; I loved the experience but wonder if I went into the race fatigued? After having done many endurance events before, I know how precarious walking that fine “training” line can be.

Nutrition/hydration (5%): I think I drank too much early on and knowingly not enough in the latter stages

The Day (28%): I think a lot had to do with just having an off day, unfortunately when least needed

Stopping to talk with my uncle and cousin with 200m to go (3%): worth every minute

The future then; well that fire that was missing/smoldering on race day is once again lit and burning, the next week will speak volumes. Okay, Time will Tell, As Will Appropriate recovery.

My Shoe Tree

I love traveling west, the jet lag is nearly worthwhile. After listening to the first two periods of the game (Canucks won in the second OT period, there is no way I could've managed that) my eyelids grew terribly heavy and I was in bed just after 9:00. However, after tossing the cat out at 12:00, I was wide-awake at 1:30, then again at 4:00, 4:30 and finally was out of bed just after 5:00; nothing like getting an early start to the day.

Following a lazy morning, several cups of Twining Earl Grey tea and some spring-cleaning, Ally and I drove out to Thetis Lake on morning bursting with sunshine. It seems I brought the good weather back from England, who would’ve thought?

I hadn’t been out on the trails in months and was looking forward to a favorite route of mine. After a quick goodbye, I was off bearing east looping around Seymour Hill, the legs cursing the rude awakening (a series of three steep hills). Off the hills and onto Highland Road for a short segment before turning left at McKenzie Creek Trail, looping around Prior Lake and toward… my shoe tree (not as shown in photo).

For over a decade, I’ve had this burning desire to locate a piece of Americana folklore, the shoe tree. Unfortunately, my searching has been in vain and about seven years ago I decided to cut to the case and instead make my own shoe tree. Since then, I’ve gone out on there on numerous occasions (old worn out trainers in hand) either by myself or with MD, RC or MT throwing a disproportionate amount of the Asics 2000 series into the tree (I think I started with the 2040s). Today, I managed to secure the shoes on my second hurl and after committing the view to memory (for those dark rainy days) I continued with the jaunt, joining the Upper Thetis Lake Trail and following them back to the barking lot.

Training: an easy 51:16, legs felt okay, I think the run was 6' too long

Home Sweet Home

The last couple weeks in England was enjoyable, full of laughs and more then I ever could have hoped for, it really was a trip of a lifetime and although I didn’t run the race I sought, the journey more them compensated. On Monday, Carter and I spent the afternoon leisurely exploring the city on foot. We caught the tube down to Parliament Square and then proceeded to saunter up Whitehall and the Strand and finally into Soho. It was a day preoccupied with diving in and out of old pubs (our favorites the Coal Hole and the Lamb & Flag, what used to be the Bucket of Blood), grazing in extremely pungent cheese shops and soaking up as much atmosphere (and soot) as possible.

We spent Wednesday with Ben Saunders, a down to earth, first-class chap with a good sense of humor. He’s a bit of an adventurer, and we spent most of our time trading stories, laughing at ourselves and discussing future plans (currently he’s the youngest person to ski solo to the North Pole and holds the record for the longest solo Arctic journey by a Brit). He graciously put us up in his flat and that night we feasted on a delicious dinner at an organic curry house, absolutely splendid (now that I’m back home I think I’m going to have to start my own Curry Club). The next morning, we managed to fit in a relaxing jog along the banks of the Thames before making the mad dash to Heathrow and back to our loved ones. Thanks again for everyone’s support, encouragement and kind words, they have been much appreciated!
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Today, after a good afternoon/night sleep, I went out for a wet, West Coast welcome home… looped along the waterfront, through BHP and back (it couldn’t have been better). I made sure to keep it light and easy, trying to run as much as possible on the grass but was surprised by how good (relatively speaking) my legs felt. I haven’t decided on any next steps largely because I want to see how the following two weeks unfold. I’m also meeting with Bruce next week to review the race and discuss lessons learned…

Training:
Monday: day off
Tuesday: 2x 25’ with an English pub lunch as the rest interval, quads feel sore
Wednesday: day off
Thursday: an easy 30’ along the banks of the Thames
Friday: an easy 35:50, legs felt all right, stride almost back to normal

200m to go...

My uncle took this photo of the Flora London Marathon men's finish with about 200m to go. Can you imagine running 26+ miles to have to win with a sprint finish, that would be absolutely epic (I'd love it)!

London Marathon

Since arriving back at the hotel post-race, I’ve been giving some thought to what happened out on the course and possible explanations; I’ve yet to discover a satisfactory answer. In an attempt then to help place the pieces together (and it’s a long one), here is my chronological account of what transpired on race day. I still haven’t come to a conclusion as to “why” events unfolded the way the did, that will require much more time, but for now… the good, the bad and the lovely.

The Start My pre-race routine was nothing special, and as such perfect. Rumon and I were up early for an easy 10′ jaunt, taking us over Tower Bridge and back, with a few “easy” strides. At 5:00 the city was absolutly buzzing, I remember asking Rumon whether anyone really slept around here. After a light breakfast, I opted for some cereal (out of the norm), I had a shower, stretched a tad and then we made our way down to the coach. Due to the traffic, 40,000+ trying to reach the same place on a select road, the journey to Backheath left me, and I think it’s safe to say the entire coach load of athletes, fretful and anxious. Finally though, arriving at the heath was magical and left me flabbergasted. We were perched atop an enormous hill; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the air was still and the sun already warm. The only analogy I can think of was used in a recent Harry Potter book, where Rowling described the scene at the World Quidditch Championship. The stimulation, anticipation and excitement was both contagious and frightening. Rumon & I were drawn toward a collection of five massive hot-air balloons that were positioned over the start. We checked in at the Competitive corral and then relaxed inside a tent before making our final preparations. At about 9:35 we lined up and were slowly ushered toward the start, less then six feet behind the greatest men’s field ever assembled for a marathon. After a few introductions and listening to the climax of Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana (which did wonders for the nerves thanks) we were off…

Miles 1-4 (5:57, 5:49, 5:48, 5:48) I’ve never run a race before and been surrounded by so many people; the gamut was diverse, world class athletes and youngster wanting to open in a 1600m PB. I concentrated on keeping me footing and settleing into a comfortable pace (I decided to aim for a 5:57-6:02 mi/pace, a 2h36 to 2h38 marathon). I was happy then to see the first mile slip by in 5:57 but remember thinking the effort level was higher then I would’ve imagined. I tried to recall some race pace efforts I’d done with Jim and what they had felt like in an attempt to reassure myself. My pace picked up through miles 2-4 but I wasn’t surprised as coming off Blackheath we had to descend down a significant but steady hill. Bruce had mentioned beforehand that the start would be quick and not to get too alarmed. The conditions were already frighteningly reminiscent of last year’s Ottawa Marathon and I wanted to make sure I hydrated early on, not digging myself a hole. The first aid station was at 3k where I grabbed some water, drinking a fair portion of the bottle (I could already feel the sun on my back). At miles 1 & 3 our blue stream was joined by the red and green runners but whether because I was further ahead or focused on my own race I don’t recall noticing anything.

Miles 5-8 (5:49, 6:08, 5:59, 6:00) Heading down Woolwich Road we ran along a veritable wall of noise that was utterly deafening. It seemed every spectator had either a whistle, noise maker or were just content to scream. Both children and adults stuck there hands out hoping to slap palms as you passed. Between miles four and five I remember my stomach feeling unsettled, particularly after having some Lucozade at mile five. I was concerned that I’d taken too much liquid, the last thing I wanted was a bloated stomach and so decided to forego aid stations for the next few miles until my stomach calmed. I was surprised and angered to see mile five as quick as it was and made a concerted effort to shift gears, by mile six settling into a comfortable rhythm. I split 10k in 36:37 which was about 20″ faster then my goal time but again, given the hill I wasn’t too concerned. Had my first Gu at mile 7, with a small amount of water. My stomach still hadn’t fully settled but I was more concerned about not having enough energy to see me through the day…

Miles 9-12 (6:06, 6:08, 6:11, 6:17) Just before mile nine we arrived at the London Docklands area with no let up in the crowds. With the sun on my back and the overwhelming encouragement from the crowds to atmosphere was carnival-like. Unfortunately for me, it was during these miles that I realized the day wasn’t going according to plan, it was here that my pace times started to slip and my reality shifted a sideways. Thinking back I can’t recall any defining moment, but as I split 20k in 1:14:51 I decided to ignore the splits from here on in and rather concentrate on running within myself, hoping to find a pace that would see me through the day with minimal harm. I was on damage control.

Miles 13-16 (6:27, 6:49, 6:30, 7:12) Running over Tower Bridge I recalled the race directors words at the Elite/International Athlete Meeting, he has suggested that should we want/have to drop out, here would be a good place as we ran right alongside our hotel. I looked over at the hotel, searching for our room window and trying to decide whether I had the strength and conviction to carry on. This wasn’t fun anymore, but I thought of the countless miles I’d put in, the dark rainy nights, friends following the race back home and the support I’d received from loved ones… no, as much as I wanted to stop, to end the pain, dropping out wasn’t an option. I “walked” through the half in 1:19:11 and opened my second Gu; I was going to see this one through to the finish. I was dropping backwards through the crowds as we turned right off the bridge and skirted the edge of the Isle of Dog’s, an area known as Mudchute (the home of the biggest inner-city farm in Europe). I was oblivious to this though, at this point I’d broken down what was left into 12x 1 mile races, rewarding myself with a walk break at each aid station. It was hot.

Miles 17-20 (6:55, 6:55, 8:23, 8:40) By mile 18 my shin muscles were beginning to hurt and the idea of stopping every mile to walk through the aid stations wasn’t enough to keep me going; I therefore rewarded myself with walking through every mile marker “and” aid station. It was during these latter miles that I experienced for the first time the power of encouragement. I would make my destination and enjoy my reward, walking for only a few strides before someone would yell out, “you can go it 991“. There neighbour would join in and soon an entire section was hurling encouragement my way, “you can do it, come on, it’s not much further now“. this would build until over 100 people had singled you out in the crowd and bellowed support. I would inevitably shake my fist in the air, and then start running. The first time I did this I was almost subsequently knocked over by the roar that went up, by this point over 150+ people would clap and scream which I found very humbling and embarrassing (bringing a small tear to my eye). Why me, I’m only running, it’s not that difficult. Kids would cheer as if I was their favourite football player getting up after a hard tackle, it was really moving.

Miles 21-24 (8:25, 9:17, 9:47, 11:51) Reaching St Katharine’s Dock, the site of our hotel at mile 22, provided a glimpse of Tower Bridge again. Only this time, although even moving slower, I was sure I would finish despite the persistent left foot cramp that plagued me when I walked (it was one of those days, I was damned if I did, or I didn’t). I continued running past Billingsgate Market and into the City of London, continuing along the Embankment and past Cleopatra’s Needle. My last reprieve was passing the 24 mile marker at Upper Thames Street and running through a tunnel, here, I was in the shade and… could walk without guilt, it was a little piece of heaven.

Miles 25-Finish (11:37, 13:23, total 3:14:11) The sight of Parliament Square and Big Ben was an indication that the finish wasn’t far off. Still, as I mentioned in an earlier post, at this point I resigned myself to soaking up as much of the atmosphere I could. I recall wobbling, gobsmacked at the size and architecture of the clock tower… it’s HUGE. Anyhow, from the peanut gallery a lady yells, “Come on lovely, it says 1:10 now get going“, all I could do was smile! As I ran down Birdcage Walk the crowds went 5 deep and the noise was thunderous. It was hear that I felt a comforting hand on my back and turned to see Rumon look at me with a massive smile on his face, epic! It’s ironic that after 84 days of training, 26 miles of racing (and I use that term loosely) and three distinct roads, that two of those paths crossed in the final minutes of our journey. I wouldn’t have had it any other way given the circumstances, it was a picture perfect ending to a phenomenal journey. We continued onward laughing, in hysterics at some points as we recounted the days events. We reached Spur Rd at 26miles and hit London’s ceremonial avenue, The Mall, where we jogged toward the finishing line right in front of the royal residence of Buckingham Palace. With less then 200m to go I heard a yell from the crowd and turned to see a familiar face, like a freighter turning I curved around toward my uncle Paul, my cousin Ellena (Tweety) and her friend Jess… it was such a sight for sore eyes. After exchanging a few words, Rumon and I turned around and again made our way towards the end of an epic journey.

Success

“Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other one thing”

For the next ten days, as our respective roads converge on London, I will be posting my running updates here (as will Rumon and Jim). Once back from England, I will resume posting here. The address to the site is also: http://threeroadstolondon.wordpress.com

I hope that those racing over the next two weeks find their own success, all the best!

The smell of possibility

“The impossible is often the untried” - Jim Goodwin


I enjoyed what was one of the most satisfying morning runs this year, perhaps in a few years… everything clicked. I looped around the waterfront on the edge of the harbour, catching a glint of the sunrise between the taller buildings, the air heavy with the smell of salt. From there I made my way to the park, running through the dew covered grass leaving a discernible trail, I loved it.

Prior to stepping out the door I was uncertain how my pins would respond given yesterday’s session, I needn’t have been. My legs were a machine, a system unto themselves today; as I rolled through the first few intervals, I realized I couldn’t feel them, it was fantastic. When I split a slightly inclined kilometer on the first 4’ segment in 3:21 I just smiled.

Training: I had to cut this one a tad short, 56:18 with 1,2,3,4,4,3,2,1 at 10k effort, 75” recovery, 3:20 km/pace (5:22 mi)

Eeyore

Who in their right mind would portray a good friend, a friend who has inspired and encouraged them to train with a hint of madness in their eye, a friend who on more then one occasion you’ve shared a pint with… who would portray a good friend as eeyore? Needless to say, I did, and for longer then I already care to remember I’m not going to forget it. Today, the CBC piece aired on the radio… tomorrow I’m going to take the back stairs into work and labor feverishly with my head low.

Lying on my stomach, unaware of what was about to occur, my life seemed calm. It was calm, then, in a matter of nanoseconds my pain-o-meter shot from zero to threshold and proceeded to redline. I tried to breath, hoping the pain would subside, surely it would subside? The second time was only worse, I knew what was coming; without realizing I’d pushed myself up into an arch, the perfect cobra. And, I was paying for this. I received my second ART session today. D’Arcy laid into my calves, as if she was a starving child trying to squeeze the last morsel of chocolate icing from a tube. I’m not sure how long the sitting was, but it seemed an eternity. The first time she manipulated me was days before the Comox Half-marathon and since then I don’t remember having the twinge in my hamstring… I guess I’ll take the good with the bad.

My run this afternoon felt liberating, although I’d gone 12 rounds in a title fight, at least I won; my stride length seemed elongated, even a fraction of an inch over 26 miles would make a difference. I ran a variation of Thursday’s route, building into it after 25’. I felt smooth, relaxed, not quite as good as last time but good nonetheless.

P.s. Jim, I owe you yet another pint…

Training: a progressive run, 1:04:16

Flora London Marathon Week #10 (14 days and counting)

Had yesterday’s run come about ten weeks ago, I would’ve been ecstatic, but with London less then two weeks away I was unmoved. It was probably a combination of delayed onset fatigue from Friday’s w/o, hilly terrain and a reduction in overall volume (the taper) but I felt blasé. We were up visiting my ma over Easter and I used the opportunity to retrace some footsteps not done in years. The scenery was a welcome change and the topography, unrelenting, but gratifying all the same. My back started to tighten up towards the end of the run and is stiff this morning (I think I have a massage scheduled for tomorrow, which is fortunate); total time on the feet last week was 7h32, approx. 108km (68 miles).

Monday: day off
Tuesday: easy 41:04
Wednesday: A.M. easy 29:25, P.M. 45:41 with 6x 100m
Thursday: a solid 1:03:20
Friday: 1:38:57 w/ 3x (3x1k with 60” rest)
Saturday: easy 1:00:19
Sunday: 1:53:03

Kicking around the house this morning I’ve gradually, little by little, started to pack; nothing profound but I laid out my passport, decided on my race shoes and I’ve put aside both a book and my marathon confirmation. I can feel the excitement beginning to rise but realize race day is still around a few more corners. On one hand, it seems like I started training only yesterday, but the soles of my shoes will tell you otherwise:

Training: 12 week marathon build (10 weeks completed)

Cumulative distance (with a few yet to come): 1248km/780 miles (1428km/893 miles)

Number of runs 32km (20 miles) or more: 6

Highest weekly volume: 10h30, 150km (94 miles)

Number of weeks over 130km (80 miles): 6

Number of PRs: 1, Comox Half-Marathon 1:15:29

Injuries: one, left achilles

This is good, this is real good!

Lastly, for those still curious, our CBC piece is wrapped up and should air on All Points West tomorrow (Tuesday)... shortly after the 4:30 news (90.5 FM). It’s also going to be posted online here. And, last but not least, the same version will air on The Inside Track on April 15th.

The Greatest

“The final lap. Sweat lines Haile Gebrselassie’s face, his forehead shines under the strain. At the top of the backstretch the Kenyan Paul Tergat leads. His elegant stride extends into the night; the ground rushes beneath him in a torrent.

Over each passing kilometer, from the 1st through to the 10th, time has moved fast and had moved slow. The pace fluctuated like a nervous day on Wall Street – 62 seconds for one lap, 72 for another, 56 for another still. Such is the effect of earnest confrontation – and at an Olympic Games in particular, where unknown possibilities are so often reconfigured into a new order.”

The above it part of the prologue in The Greatest: The Haile Gebrselassie Story, by Jim Denison. With departure to London looming, last week I ordered three books to a) inspire me and b) keep me entertained on the plane ride and in the days preceding the race. I’ve read the first 19 pages of this story and I haven’t been disappointed, the hard part is going to be not completing the book prior to leaving.

This afternoon, RC led me through yet even more new trails in Victoria; this city is just littered with paths, alleyways and trails I wish I’d only known about years earlier. After yesterday, I was nervous going into the run, fully expecting my legs to revolt with every tentative footstep. But, perhaps because of the mixture of soft ground, good company and humid weather (despite the recent rainfall) the pins held up their end of the bargain. Tomorrow is my last long run, 2 hours, and then…

Happy Easter!

Training: an energizing 1:00:19, pace: sociable

Exhausted!

I could feel the unseen umbilical cord beginning to stretch; the two guys in front were starting to pull away and I was torn between running with them and running within myself… I’m still not sure what I decided. The legs felt smooth but I’m sure my shoulders were up around my ears (they had to be).

Relax, chin down.

Just know that I’m spent. I was supposed to do 20x400, alternating 1:20/1:40, but rather then run alone, I was coerced into joining the big boys … I’m weeks away from London and as fit as I’ve ever been, I can handle it right? Bruce you’re a bastard… I loved every minute of it!

The big boys run fast, very fast! We found an abandoned stretch on the Lochside Trail and then the fireworks began, as did me getting spat out the back.

3:10, 3:10, 3:15
3:08, 3:14, 3:20
3:13, 3:15, 3:25 (last one was uphill)

After the workout, I drove straight down to the ocean, made like a popsicle, and stood in the icy Pacific. I knew I had to look strange, but didn’t care, my legs were starting to go numb which meant that the fatigue and pain was too.

Leaving I had someone ask me if it was cold? I replied, “Glacial”, but could sense he wanted more. “I’ve just finished a hard run and it’s supposed to aid with recovery”. He gave me a quizzical look and I smiled. One home I was in the tub for another epsom salt bath, and now, now I’m off to join some friends for a dinner, Bangers & Mash. Life is good!

Training: 1:38:57 w/ 3x (3x1k with 60” rest)

A desperately needed catharsis

It was like gazing at one of those 3D pictures popular in the early 90s, the more concerted your efforts the less you were rewarded. After a frustrating day, on the heal of a handful of easier, short jaunts, I was delighted to have left the world behind, heading out along Brighton and the Centennial Trail for a longer run.

After slowly building, I was surprised at how smooth and effortless my stride was. I could hear the methodic clip of my feet, a steady metronome.

Click, click, click, click…

Passing the Oak Bay Marina I pushed the pace, the heart working with more force, the blood circulating with purpose. My shoulders were relaxed, the elbows low and just like that I saw the image within the picture. For the next 40’ I was acutely unaware of how great I felt, not wanting to ruin the moment, because once realized I was fearful it would fade. And so I continued, occasionally sneaking a peak out the corner of a blurred eye, enjoying every step and delighted to feel alive.

Training: a steady/strong and thoroughly invigorating 1:03:20

De Double

I just completed this week’s one, and thankfully, only double. I used to like doing doubles; it made me feel “more” like a runner. As if by dragging my beleaguered body through the darkness, I somehow gained access to an elite club, achieving a sense of belonging. Now, I just feel tired. I’m sure if I enjoyed the luxury of scheduling the first run later in the day, my attitude would be different… but alas I don’t, and hence, it’s not.

It could be my new JVC earbuds, they do a phenomenal job at drowning out any ambient noise to the point where it becomes dangerous. Tonight, while running through the backwater boulevards of Oak Bay the racket in my head echoed of a long forgotten Cult concert. I used to like the Cult but today, today they seemed to samey.

Whether it was the Cult or the start of my taper (I’m hesitant to blame it on that just yet) my running felt disengaged. With just over two weeks until race day, I think it’s time to focus and leave the tunes at home; it’s time to listen to the rhythm in my body from here on in. After a casual 15’ my heels relaxed and I felt smooth. I jogged around Windsor Park, and back to a lane to fulfill yesterday’s promise. You see, I used to own this street, and tonight I was taking names, beginning with Mr. I’ve-run-100%-more-then-you!

Training:
A.M. a chilly 29:25, I miss my gloves
P.M. 45:41 with 6x 100m strides

I can hold me head high for another week...

Well, after all the excitement and unavoidable anxiety, there has been a change in plans. Kirstie says it best...

"Hi,

You're going to kill me...we have to hold the piece until next Tuesday, April 10th at 4:30 (right after the news). The joy of working in news...there's a lot of stuff breaking today and I'm hosting the show for the rest of the week...so we can't run a piece with my voice in it. Sorry about that!

I hope you're all doing well and that you're enjoying the taper:) Have a great day...and thanks for your patience!

Kirstie”

This means I can go to work tomorrow morning and still look coworkers in the eye. It too means I can head out for a run shortly, without having to wait my impending doom (accompanied by my new headphones, and a Shuffle chockablock full of the Pogues).

Today, for the second morning in a row (and the second time this year) I had some Chai. I know it’s not the sole reason the Kenyans run fast, but the frequency with which the drink it has me wondering? Surely it can’t harm me, and the potential benefits, worth the pennies. So, with my Chai firmly settled, I headed out the door into a chilly spring evening, my run uneventful, and entirely what I expected… and wanted. I voyaged up and over Moss rock, around the cemetery and back along the waterfront searching for soft surfaces like a thief for the shadows. Tonight, I was the prey, watching the runners trace the waterfront path with the determination of a hunter… tomorrow, it’s my turn (and I won’t be taking prisoners).

Training: a very easy 41:04, the body felt good; maybe it’s all the milk?

Flora London Marathon Week #9 (21 days and counting)

Three Roads to London hits the airwaves! We received an email from Kirstie today, the CBC piece is wrapped up and it looks like it will air on All Points West tomorrow (Tuesday the 3rd)...somewhere between 4pm and 6pm on 90.5 FM. It’s also going to be posted online here. Last, but not least, the same version will air again on the Inside Track on April 15th. As happy as I am to share this news with you, I’m also humbled and terrified. We’re just three guys, following a dream, who happened to have the luck & determination to follow through with it… and, on one rare evening, were intoxicated enough to share it. Additionally, there is a good chance that I’ll be making my signing debut, and, if that occurs, will likely take me several days to gather enough nerve to show myself. Yeowza!

That said, I’m pumped to have the weekend’s double workout behind me, and I’ve begun this week in fine fashion, with a massage & no running. I woke up this morning with a tight back and neck (probably from the accident). But, with some time remaining after having the legs flushed, Janet was kind enough to work my neck & it feels much better; total time on the feet last week was 8h44’, approx. 126km (79 miles)… taper, where are you?

Monday: day off

Tuesday: A.M. easy 30:55, P.M. a leisurely but unsettled 42:29

Wednesday: A.M. easy 31:28 with strides, P.M. 1:05:27 w/ 6x (3’ H, 90” E)

Thursday: easy 42:47 w/ 4x30” H

Friday: A.M. a pedestrian 29:51, P.M. a moderately easy 44:50

Saturday: A.M. 1:14:27, w/ 45’at MP + 10’ at HMP, P.M. easy 43:27

Sunday: 1:58:43, with 60’ at MP (average 3:41/km)

Never Surrender

“With a little perseverance you can get things down, without the blind adherence that has conquered some”

With Corey Hart’s Never Surrender playing in my ears, I leaned into the cold wind, chin down, and tried to relax. I hadn’t bargained on a headwind for the return journey. The perceived effort level was more then I would’ve liked, and I kept slipping in and out of my rhythm. This was training wasn’t it? Cory’s words only reaffirmed what I already knew, the workout was non-negotiable, as was the pace… I gave myself a little talking to, ignoring the 3:51 I’d just posted, refocused, and slipped back into my measured tempo.

I had driven out to the start of the Lochside Trail, behind the Monkey Tree Pub, and after a casual warm-up began the workout, 60’ at MP (5:55-7 mi/pace, or 3:41/km). Unlike yesterday, where I began conservatively, I returned to my fleet footed ways and opened the first two kilometers in 3:36 (146, 153) & 3:33 (156, 157), not quite what I had intended. I eased up a bit, relaxed my shoulders and found my pace letting the next four clicks pass by effortlessly, 3:41 (155, 157), 3:42 (153, 155), 3:43 (154, 156), 3:43 (158, 163). I blame the next kilometer on the Apex Runners, as although I didn’t intend on picking things up, my subconscious apparently was more concerned with looking good for the girls, and so with a quick “hello”, and a wave of the hand and continued on down the trail 3:36 (153, 156).

Nearing Sidney, I was off the trail and onto the road, losing the kilometer markings but not fussing as I soon reached my turnaround point 8:34 (153, 155). The next seven kilometers weren’t without trouble-free as I had the unwelcome pleasure of a glacial wind on the return trip:

3:42 (151, 152)
3:43 (151, 157)
3:51 (152, 159)
3:40 (151, 155)
3:41 (151, 153)
3:44 (151, 153)
3:41 (152, 154)

Although happy to be finished, I was surprised at my indifference regarding the effort, happier instead to have this weekend’s runs behind me. Come race day, I’m going to have to pay particular attention NOT to go out to hard as it’ll be my undoing. The rest of the day has been a bit of a whirlwind, leaving me hot, dehydrated, and grouchy (my epsom salt bath is waiting). As Ally and I were on the drive out to meet with the minister for our upcoming wedding, we were rear ended while at a stoplight… if this was a test of patience, I afraid I failed miserably. That said, the minister was fantastic and we left there really chuffed.

Training: 1:58:43, AHR 141, MAX 166, with 60’ at MP (average 3:41/km)