Ill-Advised Half Marathon

The following is a warning of What Not to Do:

Back in... oh, let's call it April, my friend asked if I would do a half-marathon with her. Beaming with pride, excitement, and a little alcohol, I said yes.

And then proceeded to not even half-ass my way through the training.  I was signed up, and that's about it. Long runs? What are those. Speed? Hills? I know not of these concepts.

Except I do. It's my fourth half, and I really know better. For weeks, I agonized how to tell my friend that I wouldn't be able to run it with her, that I would be unable to keep that promise.

And then two days before, I said fuck that, I'm going to run/walk/limp my ass through this half marathon and as long as I don't actually die, it will be okay.

My friend and I met at the startline of the race one cool August morning. We chatted on how unprepared we felt, how we were throwing expected times out the window. And sooner or later, we were off.

She actually left me within about two or three kilometers. I didn't mind so much. The cracked and patched road of Jasper Ave. was only exciting in trying to not trip and twist a joint. At first, my body wanted to die. And then it was okay with this. By the fifth kilometer, I thought, "Shit, this is going to suck," and by the eight, my knees joined in. But right around there,  people started coming out with the signs:

'Ryan Gosling's at the finish line.'

'I wish my boyfriend was as committed as you.'

A picture of Grumpy Cat, advising us the finish was no where close. I loved that last one best. 

One of the nice things of this run was that it varied more than the first year I ran this race, two years ago. We also ran through some beautiful (rich) neighbourhoods in Edmonton. One man wore a shirt on The Blerch. I saw Superwoman run past me. Around 9 km, I saw a woman from my youth, who I've yet to find in the results - she was faster than me.

The turn-around point was downhill, so you had to go right back uphill after. I didn't mind, though - the one problem with 'flat and fast' is there's no variety in the terrain. At that point, the marathoners were hitting us, already having run 30km first. I had little pride to keep, except that one foot kept going in front of the other, and dammit, I was going to finish this race running.

I also got in my traditional high-fiving of a cop along the way, though this time, I high-fived FOUR cops to keep myself amused. And hopefully them too.

I did get to talking with one woman, who talked about her IT bands. We commiserated over aching body parts, until I pulled ahead of her for a while. The usual game of leap-frog ensued with her, myself, and a woman twice my age looking awesome in black spandex. I kid you not.

Closing in on the finish line, I crossed paths with my friend who had finished the race in just over two hours. I still feel slightly out of my league but today, I am okay with this. Finally, the end loomed, across the cracked and pitted surface of Jasper Avenue (better than last time's start at Northlands Park, but there are nicer surfaces). Miss IT Band caught up with me and said let's finish this running, and how can I say no to that? We crossed it at a run, possibly the fastest pace I've managed all race, but we were running and if we weren't smiling, we were soon after when the medal was draped over my neck.

And of course, my REAL prize for finishing the race? A beer and short-rib Eggs Benedict at Brewsters. Now THAT is worth running a race for.

Why Even an Awful Run is a Good Run

Yesterday marked the first day of my two week vacation from work. A little 'holiday from reason', as Terry Pratchett might say through his characters. It's strange for me to take more than a week at a time, because I suffer from the sincere belief that my office will fall apart without me. Or they'll find all the crap I've been putting off.

I have Plans for all this free time I've got: yoga; running; biking (and purchasing said bicycle on Sunday); chilling out; doing nothing in particular. But this morning, I had a plan to run. A plan that seemed like a really damn good idea... at first...

Waking up a mere hour before we were scheduled to go out, I wavered between 'go' and 'no go' but eventually told myself 'this is it. All systems go'. Lurching to my feet, I dressed and set the coffee so it would be ready when I got home. I started my watch just outside to catch the satellite connection and heard a pair of cats hissing and snarling. Beep beep; it was time to start running.

Except I couldn't run for more than two minutes without my lower body saying, "This sucks beyond all reasoning." It was like my lower body was trying to run in water, while my brain was confused: we had just done this a week ago, right? We loved that run. Why didn't we love this one as much? My knees weren't complaining or anything; my legs just did not want to have anything to do with this.

Through 3.5 grueling kilometers of fighting my lower half, I walked and ran, slowly realizing that my body was not interested in doing more than that. Even if I distracted myself with planning or thinking random thoughts, my body would just slow to a walk if it felt like it.

I had hoped it would be cool in the morning, but it was already at least 24C. First thing in the morning, before food or even coffee, 24C is ridiculous. I also hadn't remembered the numerous forest fires that were leaching their hazardous breathing conditions into my fair city. To be fair, 9:30 or so was probably the best time to go because it just got steadily worse throughout the day.

(borrowed from Google and CBC.ca)

In the midst of frustration, I realized a few things:

• I lack mental discipline.
• I am out of shape.
• Running in Air Quality Warnings weather is not a good start for any run.
• Sometimes, I just hate running.

When I got home, I moaned about my awful run to Ragnar, who tsked and then I went to take a shower.

It was then that I saw myself in the mirror and realized why even the worst of runs is a good run: I saw myself and thought, "Damn, girl. You're looking good."

There's no possible way that I could have lost ten pounds in a 30 minute run, or that my physiology had changed to look more athletic. Regardless, I saw myself and I appreciated each curve, like the chemistry of my brain had decided to interpret curves differently. The slight dimple of abs around my stomach wasn't a depressing admission of how much fat I wanted to lose, it was a figure with hints of steel underneath. My butt wasn't depressingly large, it was perfect and as Beyoncé says, 'bootylicious' (or whoever says that).

The point is, the runner's high came in late, and gave me a wonderful self-esteem boost as I looked in that mirror. I was fine.

Sinister 7 2014

What's this, you ask. A post? Surely not. Surely a woman who hasn't posted in a year won't come back just to regale you on her triumphs at her second year at Sinister 7?

Ahah, you don't know the depths of my own ego, or the exciting weekend I had.

It is true I went back to Crowsnest Pass for a second stab at the Sinister 7 race course - but the journey there wasn't a cakewalk. And neither was the race.

The weather was beautiful when Ragnar and I set out south for Sinister 7, and that weather continued all weekend. Unfortunately, the traffic was a little worse for wear: 8.7km short of our turn onto another highway, all traffic was stopped for an accident (we later found out an SUV with four kids had rolled. Take all the time you need, first responders. Seriously). Ragnar deftly carried us into a retreat to another highway that added about 15 minutes to our time: no worry, we'll just be a smidge later than expected.

Alberta Prairie

We stopped briefly in High River for gas. Wherein there's a brief side-story. Last year, Alberta suffered devastating floods, and one of the towns hardest hit was High River. The name is not ironic. In fact, it's still a town under recovery, and will likely never be the same. Unlike last year, though, I couldn't see the water that inundated so many homes.

Well, I say we stopped in High River. We were looking for gas, but found Dairy Queen instead. DQ acquired, we headed back onto that second highway... and right into a second accident. The moral of this story is, don't travel with Ragnar and I, you'll never get there.

Except we did, just in time for the PSA about cougars and bears. That was reassuring. Not.

It seems almost like the drive down was the most eventful part of the trip, but there are more exciting details of the day!

Like, remembering to take your ID out of your boyfriend's car because in small towns, they will check for your age and if you don't have it, you can't buy your own beer.

Crowsnest Mountain

Like, discovering that your plans for breakfast are thrown off because the town has suffered a power-outage, so you find a little corner place that's run by a caterer so you can have a hot breakfast.

Like, seeing your boss and meeting his girlfriend who's doing the whole race by herself - that's awesome.

Like, finding out that waiting all day for your race leg to start is horrifyingly dull. you don't dare drink overly, you have to schedule your sleep around getting up at an obscene hour to get ready, get to the transition site, get mentally ready, wind down from too much getting ready, and the several trips to the porta-potties.

Yes. Over this too.

And so there I was, at 3:30 a.m. ready to head out. Well, nearly ready. My nerves were starting to take over and I just wanted to get it done and over with. I was a bit tired, but more keyed up, thinking about the fact that I was running in wilderness before dawn - I wasn't so worried of bears, but  cougars were another matter.

My teammate came in at about 4:30, finally, and she strapped the timing chip to us, so I was off. the first 100 meters were very pleasant, in fact. A little stumbly with loose rocks, but nothing worrying. And then we went up. And up. And further up. Now this up, in the grand scheme of things, was not that big an 'up', but it sure felt like it. I had planned already to walk this mountainous 'up' to save energy for the home push, but while I was in the middle of it, the option of running was a non-starter. I would have had nothing around half-way (yes, I know it's a training problem, shut up).

I think the worst part of the hill was looking back and not seeing a bobbing headlamp down the hill behind me. It would have been easy to spot it in the dark of early morning, but there was nothing. Instead, I concentrated on finding the little glowsticks that lit my way, accompanied by fluorescent-painted rocks and long ties. At one point, I worried I'd taken the wrong trail, but those glowsticks at night were powerful beacons.

After the big hill push came the up on shale. Not just the bald mountain-face shale, but loose, foot-stumbling, ankle-breaking shale. And I was in plain running shoes without much grip for that environment. Running was impossible at that point, and I was only three kilometers in. By now, I was already thinking my calves would start cramping, but nothing ever came. As frustrating as the up-and-down was, it was the flat straight-aways that was the most annoying. Running was risky and I didn't want to end up the DNF (Did Not Finish) for a team that had worked so hard.

By this time, the sun was slowly starting brighten the sky. Bit by bit, my headlamp became less necessary, though I kept it in case. The wind was warming up, and I got a couple of lovely shots of the mountains in pre-dawn, as well as of the shale I was clambering over.

After one final steep descent that had me surfing down on one foot, I came to an open track, and I walked that too. At the end of that, the half-way point. I was already running late according to the time I wanted, so I grabbed a red twizzler and continued (really, I never honestly considered going back - not even 500 meters in when I wanted to die on that first hill). That's when the run became fun.

First came the mid-calf stream that was totally unavoidable. Again, risk walking across the more shallow stones that water burbled over, or go right through the middle and enjoy each icy, slogging step after? You bet I chose the latter. And then, the trails became more solid and even, so without even thinking about it, I was running. The soreness in my thighs and glutes from the first half was hardly a bother, my knees didn't hurt, and I just wanted to run.

That's when I came across a big cement... cylinder. Just right on the mountain side, unapologetic, and inexplicable (so far). I am clueless of what it is, or contains, so I took a photo of it and continued.

It was a bit disappointing to break out of the trees and onto a road. I waved to the houses I passed, in case anyone was watching, but was more desperately hoping for more trail to run on - my legs were displeased by this change of surface, 8km into a race. And the course delivered, putting me back on softer ground until it came to the final kilometer of running. By now, my mantra was, "Under two hours. I just want under two hours."

That last kilometer was the worst in that, I had a kilometer to run in 10 minutes. That's the easy part. The hard part is doing it on pavement. I wasn't winded at all, but my knees were starting to protest. Typical. Drag them over a mountain and they're happy. Put 'em on pavement and they whine like a puppy.

But there was the finish line, with its cheering sections, and Ragnar alongside. I couldn't even look at him or I would have stopped before the finish line.

And then, I was done. In one hour and 58 minutes, I had finished. I wasn't even as wobbly as I had expected to be, though I let my mouth run a little overly. I let Ragnar take me back to the tent and we slept for about three hours before getting up to break camp. I took a dip in the nearby creek to cool off my calves and they haven't hurt since.

Since most of us were present, we sat down for a quick team meeting, to sort out leg assignments for next year. I had told Ragnar that maybe I wouldn't race next year, but my hand was the first up to say I wanted to run leg two, which has even MORE up than Leg 7.

Sorry for the resolution. I didn't take this photo (I'm on the left, with the 7)

So, lessons learned this year?

1. Stay near a creek or somewhere you can put your sore body parts into after the race. Better than Vitamin I.
2. You're in the mountains; shale is gonna happen, and there's a good chance it will be loose. Buy trail shoes!
3. It might be nice to be the last person in on the team, but waiting all day for your turn to run sucks. 
4. Face it. At least one teammate doing a new leg will get lost, and the only thing to do is be thankful they made it in safely.
5. Bring toilet paper with you instead of raiding the porta-potties' supplies. You don't know where it's been.
6. Bring your athletic tape with you - we visited three spots before finding a pharmacy with the tape my friend needed.
7. Volunteering will get you a nearly automatic re-registration for the next year. It's also fun, educational and free food.
8. Get as much sleep as you can, whenever. A leftover point from last year.

 

See you later, Frank Slide

I may develop this a bit further, and photos are forthcoming. But so far, that is my Sinister 7 2014 experience!