Marathon Training Interruptus & my Great Wall adventure

     Most sane people don't deliberately insert a two-week break in their marathon training programs; certainly not without expecting some tears come race day. But if this hiatus comes early enough in the plan perhaps it is not the end of the world - especially if it takes you to the ends of your world.

     I needed to be in Beijing for a couple of weeks over July and August to supervise an animated co-production with a partner university. Our generous hosts ensured we were ushered around to some classic city sites and our small crew of student interns had the times of our lives. But Beijing's notorious smog meant that my running gear remained stowed for the most part, the Air Quality Index seemingly always hovering between 180-300. Besides a brief blue-sky window of opportunity one day when I snuck in a few short kilometers around the campus, the sum total of my workouts was confined to elbowing aside elders gumming up the stairs to the emperors' Summer Palace, pedaling around Kunming Lake aboard a paddle-boat that felt tethered to the dock, and wandering the endless hallways in the capital city's warren of subway lines.

Beijing - time to lay low

Meanwhile, back at the ranch in lucky old Canada...

      I was, in the words of a desperate billiards player, due for a run (pun not intended, but apt).

     As if someone heard me, the following day we were shuttled 120 kms NE of Beijing to Gubei – a picturesque town that developers term 'The Water City' but displaced residents know better as 'The Site Where Graft and Secret Consortiums Uprooted Our Families.' This is a gateway to Simatai, one of the more rugged segments of China's Great Wall. We arrived at the outskirts of the village mid-morning expecting the usual throngs of tourists and instead found ourselves in a ghost town; a beautiful, newly-built replica of Ming dynasty architecture that was largely uninhabited. Store fronts were still being cleared of building debris, wire pigtails sprouted from the walls of freshly-hewn stone. Vines obediently wound their way up to the first of many looms waiting to train their paths, while everywhere signs were still being screwed onto posts. Our accidental timing put us in a trough ahead of the waves of humanity that soon would crest this village's meandering walkways. For now, though, we had this amazing, silent space all to ourselves.

     Always in the distance, through the day's hot haze, we could see the Great Wall's iconic watchtowers taking form as we walked closer. The ragged path they traced along the ridge top seemed to get steeper and more unlikely by the minute. One could not help but think, How? Even more to the point: Why?! In deference to those in our party who were disinclined to inclines, we took the cable car that rose halfway up the massive ridge to the north. Once there, an empty trail snaked its way up to the eighth of a dozen or so watchtowers. As a group we weren't fast, but I mentally checked off hill work on my list of overdue workouts.

     The wall itself was, of course, amazing – something everyone should experience if they ever get the chance. This region's vistas, clouded by Beijing's residual smog, were layered with rugged edges like dragon's teeth. The wall's undulations made California's Marin County fire roads look like a kiddie ride; were I part of a Mongolian horde looking up at these sheer man-made cliffs, I would definitely throw in the towel and head back for a home-cooked meal. 

        Pillage and plunder was the last thing on my mind as I doffed my hiking clothes (run shorts underneath!) and with a quick salute to my students I launched myself eastward, rising further still into the hazy sky. As soon as I passed through the first watchtower I was suddenly, absolutely alone, not a soul in sight anywhere... so of course I kept running! The centuries-old cobbles kept my attention for the most part, but as I slowed on some of the steeper sections (onto all fours on one set of stairs) I could look out at the vistas and marvel at their natural beauty and at the sheer audacity behind this ribbon of rocks and bricks I was using. 

 

      Here I was stretching my legs on one of the most stunning. iconic pathways the world has ever known, and for this brief time I had it all to myself. Or so I thought. 
Just as I came to the 12^th watchtower, I saw that the far doorway was barricaded, signs up warning of dangers ahead. I had reached the end of the line, beyond which the famous Heavenly Ladder, Sky Bridge, and Fairy Tower snaked their way precipitously higher. 

Hikers more intrepid than me have perished beyond here, so the gummint said No more!

Just as I reached the barricade, thinking I would rest a minute in my solitude, taking in this profound communion between nature and human history, a man's voice not more than a metre behind me called for me to stop. I wheeled around, my spiritual reverie shattered, and saw a soldier squatting behind an archway. He apparently was stationed here to prevent people like me from going further - if we had plans to do so. Which I didn't.

Judging by both of our reactions, neither expected the other – him because I ran up, on silent shoes, likely not panting quite as much as some of the tourists he so rarely sees, and me because, well, I thought I was having a Private Bloody Moment To Myself. Skipping anything intelligent, I blurted out in my finest King's English, Oh... hi!, turned on my heels, and headed back to the rest of the world. On the plus side, I see it as good that I surprised him – he had no chance to pick up the Kalashnikov that apparently more than one trekker has seen soldiers brandishing at this lofty cul de sac. That would be something: Sorry sir, I am obliged to shoot you if you insist on going further. We do not want you to risk hurting yourself.

Good Return to Running: Windchill's Below 20 Below...

... and not a dog walker in sight!

The neighbourhood pooches must be making do (and doo, no doubt) closer to home these days now that the temps and the snow are both dropping faster than a face-down slice of buttered toast. For all of the cabin fever they must be feeling, I've got to take a moment & give thanks to the shut-ins, two-legged & four-, for giving me a clear run at testing out my legs after my 58 day run hiatus*. I stumbled my way in frosty solitude, clumsily sussing out the greasy "paths" while wearing my trusty Yaktrax. Regardless, it felt great to be out running again - all systems a 'go' by the looks of it. Move along... no complaints here. 

With any luck these unseasonably cold & blustery days will subside soon & we can all resume our usual routine of jump leash & dodge dog and all will be as it should in the world. Bring it on!

---
* Oh yes, the running vis-a-vis the hernia: finally met with the surgeon and he's taking the wait & see/feel approach - until something's externally obvious, he's loathe to go cutting and poking around regardless of how accurate the MRI may seem to be. Bottom line: the lay-off waiting for his appointment allowed the pain to subside enough that I didn't need him to tell me twice to resume running and cycling. Huzzah!

IM Training Update #4

TODAY'S THEME:
Head to the woods to get out of the woods

Since overdoing it on my hot HIM run in early June (stoopid competitiveness > 2/35 AG and injured because of it), I'd been haunted by a relatively minor - but sore - ball of foot issue that I was worried might devolve into metatarsalgia, especially in this final peak training block. I've tried to be sensible since then, putting in just the right types of runs/week to keep the fitness, and baby the foot wherever possible, give a few extra days off here & there, keep swapping out shoes types, and so on. It seemed to be trending positively, but there was still the question of how the final few long runs would be (let alone the IM run itself).

Had a 2:45 run on the schedule for last Sunday, and I was determined to approach it as carefully as possible, so I wrapped the dog with old-school moleskin and this time drove myself to my favourite trails rather than run there as I usually do (which would have entailed running on pavement for 6 of the 32kms). I think it may have made all the difference to stay on dirt all the way: I sit here typing 3 days later with two intact feet! The moleskin came loose in the 1st hour so I stopped & removed it... the lion's share of the run was just "me and my shoes." I really focussed on mid-foot landings (which was counter-intuitive, perhaps, but I reckoned that using my full arch/instep skeletal suspension would cushion the ball of the foot better than landing further back and rolling onto the balls.)

Fingers crossed this sticks; I feel really lucky to be getting away with it - so far. For me this reinforces how we need to make our own reality checks and not rigidly adhere to routines when some common sense dictates otherwise.

My Welland Half Iron - getting faster, and stupider

05:07:26
111/403 OA
7/35 AG

Bottom line: Really happy to have not over-cooked the 90k bike portion, allowing my 1:40:XX run time to come in just over 6% slower than my stand-alone half-marathon PB - 2nd out of 35 in my AG!

Overall I enjoyed myself quite a bit on Sunday in spite of my struggles with a passive-aggressive semi-conscious ambivalence for the swim that saw me forget yet again to pack my goggles. I usually rotate between a few pairs of ordinary, unremarkable goggs that are well broken in, straps just right, etc etc. You know the types:
This time around, as I scoured the expo for a quick fix, I decided I'll live life on the edge and spice up my growing collection of emergency acquisitions. I'd heard good things about the Aqua Sphere line, and when one merchant passed me his Vista model to try, I shoved it against my face and immediately heard a comforting farting sound as air whooshed out (not what you're thinking)(that was later, on the run) et voila! they stuck firm. I was sold - they stayed put without even their straps, plus the wide contact perimeter promised less vivid raccoon eyes, how could I go wrong?! I quickly donned my wetsuit and dove into the lake minutes before the start to see about setting the strap tension and getting in a brief warmup. The Vistas worked wonderfully... until I took a few strokes.

It would seem my cadaver-like lack of cheek meat meant these impostors just perched against my face in perfect conditions. Once I added in head rotations and sideways leans, the enchanting suction washed away in a flood of water.
A little (masochistic?) thrill of panic ensued. The shoreline of the canal was fairly steep, rocky and slimy underfoot, so I could hardly remain steady as the Race Director held up his tiny air horn like an executioner's axe and called out "Two minutes!" Each time I feverishly rammed the now-soaked Vistas against my face that same farting sound occurred but it was amplified by the wetness - as any self-respecting 11 year-old boy with a wet palm and open armpit would know - resulting in all sorts of offended looks from those treading water near me. They mostly swam closer to the start line, no doubt to avoid the risk of following me, just in case.
The horn blew. With a final shove-n-seal I gingerly took off, hoping against hope that "this time," if I was really clever about it and careful with not changing the shape of my face, and promised to do more volunteer work during holidays, things would hold together. That lasted all of about three strokes. I tried to convince myself it wasn't that bad, but the water sloshing against my eyeball told me otherwise. I instinctively closed my left eye and carried on stroking, evaluating my situation on the fly (as if I had a choice). It appeared that if I gave up bilateral breathing and continued to only roll to the right, my right eye might just stand a chance by remaining above the water surface the entire time. So Popeye the Sailor Man it was: I resigned myself to an overly-exaggerated roll, to one side only, for the entire 2000m. Once again, a whack of swim training sort of goes out the window, though I am sure if it weren't for the base fitness of all those laps I would have been in quite the dire straits. * To be fair to Aqua Sphere, I am certain that taking a reasonable amount of time to set these up right they'll be a fine pair of goggs.

Otherwise things went well enough. Lots of pelotons formed on the bike portion, helped in part by the flat course and the mass start, but at least the officials were doling out time penalties left & right (maybe next time they can be for > 2 mins. because the benefits could be seen as outweighing the drawbacks) The run was mercifully shaded along the canal, and when coupled with some overcast spells I think we collectively dodged a big hazard; nevertheless many many folks were walking by the time their second loop came around.

Great event, the volunteers bent over backwards for us, traffic control was tops - kudos to Multisport Canada, the organizers for this. But a note to them: Next year, please time it or route it differently from the Welland Rose Festival Parade. After queuing up for more than a half hour watching Shriners peeling around in their little go karts, and hearing the approaching thumps and tinkles from yet another marching band, I found myself wanting to tackle the next crowd-flashing clown blocking my exit from the parking lot.

Had I known, I might have climbed out from the start, tightened up my Vistas for a dry-eyed swim, and finished 10 minutes later.

What a Difference a Year Makes...

Ran the 20th Anniversary edition of the Sulphur Springs 10k Trail Run on Saturday with my 17 year old son, Graham. It was our second time there, and this was a far cry from last year's cool, damp conditions. Between another year of base-building, hitting a few more hill workouts, the dry conditions, and seeding ourselves closer to the front we really set ourselves up for success.

And what a success it turned out to be: 14th & 15th out of over 300 entrants. Not bad for a father/son team - but fully nine minutes faster than last year?! After the finish I even had to confirm with Joe Hewitt, the RD, that we took the right route at the foot of the final, killer, climb (we had.) The confusion stemmed from one runner just ahead of us who disappeared like a deer when she abruptly turned left at a ribbon we'd followed at the beginning of the run (it was a loop course.) A group of about six of us stopped in our tracks, second-guessing our judgment. We swivelled around, looking for a volunteer, an arrow pointing somewhere, a stack of rocks, anything but a ribbon from the start of the race when we were now just a kilometre from the finish! Standing still at a race: nope, never done that before...
Like a half dozen sweaty adventure tourists waiting at the wrong site for a helicopter rendezvous, we shared a few smiles and sentence fragments, "Aren't we supposed to... ?" "Do you think we should... ?" then we collectively shrugged and bolted for the hill home. This just added to the sense of the event's relative quaintness. The glorious weather, beautiful trails, and relaxed atmosphere made for a sublime running experience, one that I am looking forward to repeating next year (and perhaps at one of the longer distances, if I can just figure out how to convince Graham that extending our training runs is a really cool idea.)

a very neat participants' perk: New Balance sandals with a map of the course embossed on the soles! My son's pair is the bigger one...

Solving my #firstworldproblems One Pair of Shoes at a Time

In the whole scheme of things, I'll admit this is so trivial as to be practically embarrassing, and the day will surely come when I pray this was the greatest of my concerns. But this ain't that day - I am chuffed beyond belief, and no doubt anyone who has ever loved the feel of a pair of running shoes will be able to relate. After months of (casual! honestly!) searching I had given up hope of ever finding, anywhere in N. America, a pair of Mizuno Wave Precision 12s to replace the now-worn-out work horses that coddled my feet through their first marathon. The official word was that they were discontinued in anticipation of the June 2012 release of the Precision 13s.

Fine. I had clearly missed the boat for replacement and was doomed to train for Mont Tremblant in some other footwear; still, I hadn't felt emptiness like that since I was seven years old, when my teacher - who I had a crush on - moved away and her replacement turned out to be an old guy with stinky breath and boogers up his nostrils. My "flow" had been interrupted, and I've spent the past five months staggering through my longer runs with a variety of old shoes, rotating through them on mere whims because, really, what did it matter any more, when my favourites had gone AWOL?

Then, as luck would have it, I casually explained my ennui to Patty (my new best friend in the world, who works at my favourite LRS) and her eyes lit up, What size did you say you need? I told her, she made a beeline for the shelves, and produced what could well have been the only new pair of Precision 12s on the continent. Their Mizuno rep had swapped a batch of odds and ends with the store to balance out inventory, and I came out a winner this time, proving we should never give up hope, even if the "facts" seem to suggest otherwise.

Scheduled for a two hour run tomorrow, and can already feel the miles floating past...

Around the Bay 30k & My Post-Race Appointment to the Ministry of Silly Walks

2:21:09 chip time
74/517 AG
631/6119 OA

Happily, quite uneventful! The race was well-managed, as always, and began on an overcast, relatively warm (7C), fairly windless morning. Surrounded by the collective warmth of over 6,000 runners, I felt I could have managed with just a t-shirt, but as soon as we made it to the lakeside and the hills of Burlington's North Shore Blvd. I could just see my breath - the perfect day for an event like this.

With a few split times noted down on a wrist band, I was aiming for a 4:45/km pace based on best estimates from the recent Chilly Half Marathon and my 2011 marathon, which would give a 2:22:30 finish - a solid 10 minutes faster than last year. At first I worried this might be too ambitious a step in one year. Then I thought of the alternatives, and when the images came around to one of me in diapers at an old folks' home in a few more decades - I said screw it: go for the gusto and rein it in later if necessary. There'd be lots of time for crokinole in the years to come...

By the first 10k I was even a full minute up on where I needed to be, and from then on did my best to pull back a tad to just maintain it with my goal pace. I expected that the notorious hills found in the mid-20kms would yank that minute - and perhaps much more - back from me. Instead, my winter training runs through the area with the TCoB and Pace Performance seem to have paid off; the hills didn't really phase me and it appears I was able to maintain that cushion of time right through the end.

On the Side

- I was happy to see that my 2:30 pace bunny from last year was back in the saddle again. Quite the thing to recognize individuals in such a large crowd. Mind you, the foot-tall pink ears don't hurt.

- Unfortunately, for a spell I was pacing not too far off a barker. She was one of those types who perhaps fancies herself to have more experience and speed than those around her (so why's she running with us?), giving her the right to vocalize all of the thoughts that many of us think but are either too polite or too laid back to speak. I slowed at one point to grasp a drink at an aid station late in the race, with a plan to carry it forward to drink in the cup toss zone beyond. I wasn't fast about it, my coordination at 25kms in wasn't meeting any country's Olympic cup-sweep qualifier standard, but I was by no means parking myself in the way. Instead, I heard Nostoppinghere! over my shoulder as she padded past. Right, duly noted, coach. Then a few kilometres further on we were negotiating a 90 deg. turn, and, as always, I was running the tangents, being deliberate to always leave a "lane" to the inside should anyone faster than me wish to pass. I always try to do this as a courtesy, not sure if it is even an unwritten rule (though it sounds like a nice gesture). Sure enough, Mrs. Hustlebark announces her presence as she tucks in for a pass with something along the lines of Shouldn'tcuttheinsidelikethat! For Pete's sake, lady, just stuff a gel in it. I started to wonder if I was being tested for a runner's license I didn't know about and if I now blew the parallel park I'd fail altogether. Funnily enough, I noted that she was cutting the corners where pylons were set up in mid-street. When I made my subsequent pass on her (which happily "stuck") I thought of barking out that her number was on backwards (she had a triathlon race belt that slipped around) but instead thought I'd take the high road and just silently went past... trying all the while to keep my gasping in check to make it seem like a piece of cake.

- Speaking of passing, one fellow who seemed to be in my AG must have blown by me at least five times over the course of the event. Sure, there's normally an ebb and flow between participants that sees them trading the edge back and forth, but what was remarkable was our speed differential - it was like a Maserati constantly ripping by only to need to stop for gas every 10 minutes. One time it was ostensibly to tie a shoelace, another time I think he was stretching out his muscles, etc etc. I don't know if he managed to catch up, or even continue, to the end, but it is easy to imagine him telling friends how he really likes running but is always battling one injury or another. I just wanted to reach out and say Hey pal, take a little off it and you'll make it to the end!

But that might have just come across as barking.


Ah Yes, Post-Race

Given how uneventful this race played out for me, still, there always seems to be a story. In this case: I find it funny how I can somehow manage run a hilly 30km race, finish intact with a new PB, feeling on top of the world, only to scotch it all by stretching my legs too far too soon and winding up doing the Dance of the Cramps - by the roadside, no less.

Being part of a single-car household, I needed to get out of Dodge ASAP after the event to pick up family members at another event, so I made a beeline for the parking lot. It was packed with others arriving for the myriad festivities on, so I did a quick baby-wipes/shirt change and vacated the space before it got more hectic, telling myself that I felt so good I could wait until I got near the expressway to go through my stretching ritual. What's 15 minutes, right? After hydrating and noshing to my heart's content as I drove, I pulled over on a nice wide gravel verge of the onramp I came to. I got out of the car, strolled to the right front fender, and luxuriously elongated my calves with a gastroc stretch. Then it was time for the quads, so I bent down to grab my right foot, planning on hucking my leg up behind me so I could feel that nice pull up the hip flexors. Suddenly I found myself splayed on my Corolla's hood in a painful cramped pretzel, as if I was being busted by the Highway Patrol for dangerous driving. I slid down, pretending I could stand on my legs, and proceeded to stagger around the car like John Cleese doing his Minister of Silly Walks routine, looking for that one illusive pose, that single gesture, that would tell my muscles it was okay to let go now, because daddy's here and everything will be okay. Holy mackerel.

Not only that, but as I was only just starting to be able inhale again, a car pulled over and backed up to me. Great. Just what I needed - a stinking Good Samaritan to complete my humiliation. It turned out the guy was from out of town - just like me - and he was lost, but unlike me at that moment, he was able to walk and talk like a human. He approached me and then quickly slowed when he saw my plight, asking Are you all right? Good, I thought, he wasn't sure... perhaps it wasn't obvious from a distance that I was in distress. Yes, I snorted, just working out a little tightness after my run. I hoped he wouldn't ask for details and, to his credit, he just launched straight into his plight, opening up the rumpled hand-drawn map that had led him astray. While I was in considerable discomfort, I couldn't shake my innate desire to help out a fellow traveller and dutifully pulled out a regional map we had, setting it on the trunk. With my lower lip quivering and eyes welling up, we leafed through the patchwork pages until he found his miscue and I finally found a ridiculous pose that relieved the tension. With a handshake of gratitude he was on his way, and we were both the wiser. He knew what any visitor to Hamilton learns eventually: there are some places you really can't get to from "here", and I learned that even if I execute a great race, I can't keep taking my dismal muscle strength for granted and will need to address that before going longer or faster.

Banner Day: Half Marathon PB & a Lick of Paint

Burlington's Chilly Half Marathon
1:34:33 - 26/237 AG, 244/3294 OA

Had a blast today competing for the second time at this event. Compared to last year's ice-pocked surfaces, this edition had dry roads going for it, although the 40+ km/hr headwind gusts along the final 8kms made me want to shift to a lower gear at times. A group of about eight of us seemed to bunch closer together as we approached Burlington's downtown for the finish across from city hall. The pace steadily picked up in the final 2 kms or so, different people taking turns surging ahead. It stirred up some long-forgotten race craft memories for me, and I quite enjoyed it; as we turned right and headed up from the lakeshore to the finish line we all let it rip with the crowd's yells and cowbells ringing in our ears. I thought, This must be what it is like in one of those campy heist movies when the getaway car breaks down and all the crooks try to outrun the police and no one wants to be last, in case they're caught. Good fun - and no doubt we all had better times than we might have otherwise. I don't recall a finish quite like that, and hope there are more racers like this surrounding me in the future. Too often I think everyone is in their own world (of pain, preoccupation, fatigue, whatever) as a race runs down - especially the longer ones, perhaps, which can devolve more into being just about completion than competition - and we all just seem to slog across the finish, maybe breaking into a valiant hustle for the last few dozen strides. But this was a good barnstormer with competitive adversaries.

The organizers did a solid job putting on this show. Loads of volunteers, lines of (not lines for, lines of) shuttle buses at both ends of the morning, a wonderful venue for remaining warm (the newly-opened Performing Arts Centre... how often can you sit back in a plush theatre seat to await the call to the start corrals?) lots of easily-accessed refreshments at the finish - including chilli & beer! - not to mention the coolest "twist" to a finisher's medal I've seen!

The little chilli pepper guy in the middle of the medal not only has a "rhinestone" inset but he also spins like a top!

The GPS Inside Us

Like most everyone, I was hoping to improve my time at this distance. Doing so would set up my Ironman Mont Tremblant training in the best possible way, motivation-wise. In keeping with my low-key (read: cheapskate) training methods, I continue to not own a GPS pace watch, in favour of RPE (Rate of Perceived Exertion) to set my tempo. I rationalize this as a great way to remain in touch with how I am feeling at all points of an event. In this case, I wanted first & foremost to improve my 1:39:xx personal best time, but my A goal was to get as close to 1:35 as possible, assuming all systems felt good throughout. It would stretch me to near the limit I thought I could hope for at this point in the season (and in my life!) This meant a goal of under 23:00 mins. for every 5kms covered, ideally closer to 22:30. I knew I had a chance to nail it as I kept hitting my Split button on my watch at the 5/10/15/20 km intervals and got back readings of 22:33, 22:21, 22:23, 22:31! Between my adrenaline of seeing the consistent numbers, and the clot of like-minded runners surrounding me in the last 15 minutes, I had no choice but to come out with a new personal best!

The Honey-Do List Gets Trimmed

After the usual post-race shower & self-congratulatory food fest I found myself dressed in old clothes, so I took the opportunity to apply a second coat of Benjamin Moore eggshell acrylic to our entire upstairs, including the two story staircase. Lots of up-and-down on the ladder, with nary a cramp or tweak of knee pain. In hindsight, it was probably a good way to remain limber in the hours following an event like that. Can't help but wonder now if I could have sprinted even harder at the finish...

My First Marathon: Qualified for Boston... 23 Days Too Late!

3:34:15

61/293 AG, 699/3951 OA

23 days?! This is not to say I needed over three weeks to finish my run, just that I did so after Sept. 24th, 2011, the date when the BQ time for my 50-54 age group was dropped from 3:35:00 to 3:30:00. C'est la vie! It was a great experience to finally find out what is behind the curtain of all of the 32km training runs I put in and am happy to report that I came through the 42.2 virtually unscathed, especially if one ignores that I walked like a cowboy for the first couple of hours afterwards. Most everything went according to plan (including my pace through about 35kms!) and outside of the nasty westerly winds I can't really point to any downsides to the day. Temps were on the cool side - just nosing above 10C. - the threatened rain held off, the water and gatorade were flowing from the well-staffed & friendly aid stations, and the helicopters tracking my progress remained aloft in spite of the gale-force gusts.

The corrals that wound up and down University Avenue were well organized and packed. At the start our 3:30 pacer left 'hot', seemingly about 30 sec/km faster than necessary. I was hardly committed to him, and this just reinforced my choice to fly solo. Nevertheless, I kept tabs on the group for a large part of the race, as they settled in to the right timing after several kilometres. We hustled south onto Lakeshore Boulevard and turned west into the full effects of the day's weather. "That wind was standing people up," said Dave Scott-Thomas, head coach of the Speed River Track and Field club and its third and fourth place finishers - and Olympic qualifiers - Reid Coolsaet and Eric Gillis. Luckily it was still early in the race, and by the 12k turnaround I was spot-on for pace. From here it just a matter of running across the metropolis to the far east side with what was now a lusty tailwind. Along the way a couple of out-and-back detours to the edge of the lake piled on the mileage, often accompanied by live music of every genre coming from intrepid bands on temporary stages. Great crowd support throughout, though through the docklands it predictably dwindled to a few close-huddled souls clapping their hands more for warmth than cheer. At those times I tried my best to re-assemble my form into something graceful enough that I could muster a wave and smile of appreciation for them.

We eventually turned onto Queen Street and continued east; the road began to rise and fall in gentle rolling hills (at least, I think they were rolling, unless I was hallucinating by this point) as we headed to our far turnaround. And now the race began. We were just past the 20 mile point, now facing square into this wind, and rising up what we had just come down. It was very sobering, and it really broke many remaining clusters of runners apart - folks were dropping like flies left and right. There was very little respite from the winds; at points it seemed like 100m of open road between me and the next runner ahead. Perhaps it was the novelty of being in my first marathon: although I progressively slowed in the final 7kms I wouldn't exactly call it a bonk - it was maybe The Wall but without the despair, suffering, nausea, and fabled "dark places" that so many others speak of. All that stymied me were the twinges from my calves and hamstrings that told me I couldn't claw my way back to the 3:30 pace group that was tantalizingly close at the east-west turnaround. If I was to push any faster I knew I would cramp up (which, in fact, happened once when I abruptly changed my plans at the final aid station @ 40k. With no intention to stop, the fetching siren calls of Water?! and Gatorade?! made me self-evaluate, and as if on cue my legs tightened up. I veered over, grabbed a gulp, touched my toes to stretch it out, and continued my feeble pursuit of the 3:30s)

It's really funny how our constitutions fade in the final phases of endurance tests, often with such little warning. As the office buildings and CN Tower loomed larger, and the crowds became thicker, and the cheers got louder, and the gusts became stronger, the streetcar tracks criss-crossing the final intersections devolved into a cruel test. They were like a barbed wire fortifying the finish area, as if only those souls tough enough to navigate across these scars in the cement without tripping themselves up were worthy of finishing. My feet were gimbaling around between strides with a mind of their own. It must have looked like I staggered out of an all-night office party and right into a marathon finish.

No longer was I hoping for my C goal (sub-4:00), nor my B goal (sub-3:40), I had now replaced my A goal of sub-3:30 with Don't Fall on Your face in the Chute in Front of Your Family and Thousands of Strangers.

Mission Accomplished. And, I am happy to say, with a smile on (although my wife insists it was a grimace. I just say she was on the wrong side of the road)

Lessons learned:

1) It's not worth engaging another runner in one-upmanship when said competitor is dressed up like a large green lunch bag, or pepper, or cushion, or something similarly stupid interesting. This green "thing" (I was frankly afraid to turn & look closely) almost matched me step for step through the midway point in the race, and I was worried that as time went on it increased my chances of being caught up in some race photos with the guy. So I wondered, do I let this (admittedly fast) green pepper go and have to look at him for hours, or should I bury him now and hope to rest up a bit once he was in my mirrors? Of course I hit the afterburners and left him standing, but I may have burned more matches in my book than was wise. Silly male pride.

EDIT: Good grief. I was in the midst of greatness and didn't know it... ran neck and neck with a bottle that ended up in the Guinness Book of records.

Yes, son, I may not have BQed, but I still finished ahead of a record-setting bottle.

2) Members of the general public - even tubbies - can walk really, really fast when one doesn't want to be in a hurry, like the minutes following the end of a marathon. I crossed the finish line, ambled along with the dream-like flow towards the food/medals area, walking like I'd just completed a week-long cattle drive, and once I merged onto the public sidewalk to find my family it was like being thrust into some cartoon, with humans scurrying about everywhere. Old ladies cutting across my bow, even. What a hilarious sensation.

3) It is possible to run a marathon on shoes (Mizuno Wave Precision 12s) that have over 200kms on them and still walk away on uninjured feet, with skin as smooth as a baby's bottom. Thank you, Mizuno, and John & Paula at Foot Tools for the advice.

4) Continue to practice drinking from aid stations without slowing down, but do so with water until it's perfected. Gatorade splashed in the eyes can sting like the dickens. Must be the electrolytes.

POSTSCRIPT: My sister called me later that afternoon, with what I thought might be congratulations, she being the running pioneer in our family. Instead, she had the task of informing me our 85 year old father had died that very morning. He had a good life, and had, in fact, successfully cheated death on an ongoing basis this past 3.5 years, since he was in a huge car accident that no one could be expected to survive. Long story short: at the visitation on Tuesday, my three sisters and I popped in early with a cordless drill and an old, favourite vanity license plate of his, and hot-rodded his coffin for him.

Having been born & raised in Cairo before moving to England, he'd become skilled in five languages, and chose to have IMSHI on this plate, which loosely translated from Arabic means Vamoose! I can only hope he's tearing around now in a red TransAm or Corvette, with my Mom riding shotgun...

Race Report: Burlington's Chilly Half Marathon & Frosty 5K

Chip Time: 1:39:20
30/189 AG, 255/2278 OA

I beat the pepper!

It's funny how one has time to obsess about competitors during races, especially longer events. In any contest of speed, from running to motorcycle racing, competitors live in parallel worlds of relative velocities - one beheld by the spectator watching them, and another one interacting with their fellow competitors. In effect, two events are unfolding at once: the faster race as seen by the stationary observers on the sidelines, and the slower one where we gain and lose ground on our competitors. In an earlier life, when racing cars, I found it remarkable how, while we may have been hurtling along over 220 kph, my competitors and I were, in fact, engaged in a low-speed tussle for position. Once the race settled into its rhythm, those around me would be so closely matched that we could likely pass a tray of eggs between us at any moment and never crack a shell. It is a calm in the eye of a storm blowing past the spectators.

From this placid vantage point one can study one's opponents, size up their strengths and weaknesses, then calmly hatch a plan to vanquish them. Curiously, I found out in early March of this year that this strategy is really no different even when we find ourselves pitted against two and a half metre tall vegetables.

In my case, during Burlington's Chilly Half Marathon, I resolved no two-legged garden-variety opponent is going to beat me without a fight, even if it had to be across rutted ice tracks in places. Which it was. I've got to hand it to Mark Sullivan, he was in much better condition at 18 kms than I could ever hope to be if I was similarly swaddled in what must surely have been an itchy, sweltering get-up. For a few moments as I hobbled up nearly alongside him, I basked in the peripheral celebrity I'd imagine the Prime Minister's Secret Service agents must experience when their boss is caught in the spotlight. Spectators and volunteers vigorously clapped and cheered him/(us), and it soon became apparent that unless I moved on I would look like a Clingon*. And the last thing I needed was to be caught up in the finishing chute near him: photos of me edging out a giant pepper, or trailing just behind it, would surely be equally humiliating either way, especially if my teenaged sons got hold of them.

I threw another log on my fire and proceeded to pull away from him as best I could. In taking my leave I wish I had mustered something wittier than "Looking hot, man!" but at this point there was only lactic acid coursing through my brain.

So don't take it personally, Mark, but I just had to do it. The way I see it, it was win-win: you still took first in the Produce Category, and I avoided permanent ego scarring.

Kaz Novak — Metroland West Media Group
From the Burlington Post: "Mark Sullivan, in his red chili pepper outfit, was one of close to 4,000 participants in the annual Chilly Half-Marathon and Frosty 5K that was held throughout Burlington during miserable weather on Sunday morning."

*someone who actually thrives on this overspray of attention, and lingers around to receive it.

Trifuel's Great Gobbler Challenge - Let the Tradition Begin!

Our intrepid little group of online friends logged runs over 16 consecutive days to see who could tally up the greatest distance, and I managed to squeak in 94.7 miles. This, it turns out, was enough to snag the inaugural trophy, so kindly shipped up by AT from North Carolina.

The proud bird now has a place of honour on our family trophy shelf. As it tied in with American Thanksgiving (and helped burn calories acquired then) I thought it fitting to include photos with some delightful homemade pumpkin pie top-dressed with organic whipped creme.

A slice of that would have given me enough fuel to top 100 miles in one go. Maybe next year!

Much to be thankful for, indeed. Not least of which - beside the fitness to even partake - is the spirit of friendship and encouragement on the Trifuel website.

Thanks, AT, for starting up what I hope becomes an annual event.

It's great to extend the season by a few more weeks with some friendly rivalry!

There for the Taking - a run route I love

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When we settled into this region west of Toronto, it was primarily to serve one of our son's special education needs. The farthest thing on my mind was running trails and it would be over three years after moving here before I'd take up triathlon. I began with prowling around our suburban streets as most city slickers are wont to do, but I quickly turned restless as my mileage demands increased. This entailed a lot of sideways glances down pathways and park lanes, but there was not much reprieve from traffic until I ventured into a provincial park only four kms from where we live.

What follows is a photo essay of one of the myriad runs possible there. I shot the pics while I ran, to see about giving a sense of movement, just to see how it came out...

Three minutes of gentle, street-side jogging will get one to the "trailhead"


A look left reveals the valley cut by Bronte Creek...
The crushed limestone path briefly dwindles into a more rugged single-track trail
At one point it leads downhill, one of the few spots you need to watch your footing on very carefully.


Within perhaps 100m it levels off again, and the surface is a cushy stretch of ultra padded packed dirt. 1km


What goes down must come up - a mirror of the previous slope takes us back up to "poolside" elevation


Trouble in paradise: the municipality has decided the quaintness must go, so sewers and paving it is for the outliers. No matter, this will continue for only another few moments...


The road veers right, we bear left and pick up the resumption of what has evolved into a formal MUP (Multi-Use Path), which now runs for more than another km behind a school and more homes. Keep an eye out for dogs & their owners seemingly wanting to start a game of jump rope with you & their leash.


Now it gets interesting. At the verge of civilization, where the park takes over, the march of progress stumbles at the end of the MUP, where the final new curbs and paving delineate the beginning of the real meat-and-potatoes stage of the run.
It's either turn left now or keep running straight into the lake.


The previous left turn at Albuquerque was near 3kms into the run. After passing through a very uninspiring service vehicle yard on this perimeter of the park, one winds up on the compressed gravel ring road loop used only by park vehicles. A few minutes on this brings us to a significant bend in the road...... the rounding of which reveals a small side path. This should be taken. The road less travelled and all that...


We are now in the Very Good Place. 4km in. Forest canopy, quiet, fewer yappy dogs, soft padded trail underfoot, no traffic lights, the chipmunks yield our right of way... it's delightful. Just don't veer too far to the left or it's lights out.


At the clearing ahead is a lookout platform...

View from the lookout platform. The darkness of the creek can be seen down below. Heart rate's up, though, no time to dilly-dally...


Every glance to the side provides a nice view of the valley...


Beautiful day for a run. But don't stop to watch the wheels go 'round...


Just ahead, a clearing. Approaching 5kms.


It may be tempting to veer left on the smaller path, but twisted ankles lurk behind every foot fall. It's best to head straight for the cornfield.

Cornfield?! This far into suburbia? Believe it. Hang a sharp left just before you strike cobs.This is the Five K Kurve... halfway along this arc is exactly five kms from the start. A u-turn here gives a nice pre-work morning run. But, this being the weekend...

... we carry on.


A few small rolling segments add some variation to the route...
About 5.5km along, another 90 deg. right turn...

Looking to the right, a hay bale storage building...

A sharp left-hander takes one behind the "Maple Toffee House", a converted Victorian farm house used as a museum. In the backyard in March, staff dressed in period clothing roll heated maple syrup around Popsicle sticks over snow, creating heavenly, albeit jaw-binding, treats for visitors...


A rightward glance finds some of the museum's outbuildings and Norman Rockwell's idle thresher...

Now approaching the most distant point on the circuit, as we embark on an enclosed 1km loop...


The sacred and profane: just over that berm in the distance is the Queen Elizabeth Way ('way?), all eight lanes of it...

... all thunder, all the time. (traffic camera image; luckily we don't see this)
In a few hundred metres we can put it all behind us again.


A squirrel's eye view of the trail. Luckily, it is largely smooth, no worries about twisted ankles through here.


Passing lane, handy for sprinting by trios of walkers bogged down by their Fuelbelts and labradors.


Beyond the slope is a sheer drop; best to watch one's footing through here.


The 1km loop being completed, you are spit back out to begin the return leg. But wait... a sign ahead points to more options...Hang a sharp right at the sign for some invigorating hill workouts.

A steep path to the left is masked by leaves, so stairs it is. This is where we begin the descent to creek level.



Stop at the bottom of this first flight, and turn around to admire the depths you're sinking to...

Enough staring. Turn back around and keep going down the slope.With the right mix of weather & timing, you may be graced with some "god rays", easily worth 10 secs/km.
Another staircase brings one down further (seen on the right, from creek level) The arrow shows an alternative slope when the time comes to return. For now, though, we head toward the creek...Hang a right at the fork ("you never go wrong when you go right") and right again to enter the longest loop available. Suddenly the sound changes underfoot, and there's a spring in your step...The boardwalk indicates we can't get much lower than this. Luckily traction's not bad, at least on dry days...
After the boardwalk ends, we continue along what, in MTB parlance, is referred to as single track...This eventually widens out at a 't' intersection. Hang a right to get to the water's edge...hmmmmm... come to think of it, what was that plant I pushed out of the way back there??


If you had misplaced a salmon-choked creek, your search is over...

Back into the forest...
A staircase is to the right; we can bypass this Rocky Route by taking a ramp a bit further on
about 40% of the way up would be the horizon line
As you gasp for breath, tilt the head back and admire the foliage

Another lookout looms in the distanceJudging by the dodgy railing in the centre of the pic, we may have stumbled upon a veritable Lovers' Leap. How quaint.

Already rising high up from the creek
Before the final ascent to "ground level" we pass the "Grizzly Tree"
Local legend has it that a group of skinny-dipping college students were caught with their pants down by a passing grizzly high on salmon. Authorities thought the massacre was foul play, given the largest wildlife found in this region was typically overfed raccoons. Yet this tree stripped bare of bark stands as a testimony to one eye witness account from that night: "...[it was] like some huge furry creature running along the trail... I knew it wasn't a runner because it didn't have a heart rate monitor..."
If the little hairs on the back of your neck begin to rise, use this opportunity to squeeze in some intervals up the remaining slope, trying to not imagine a grizzly running after you, reminding yourself that the panting you hear is really your own hyperventilation...

If you stumble or fall or anything Darwinian like that get the hell up fast because... theremaybeagrizzlychasingyou! Ha. Made ya look. (If you come upon any hikers or dog walkers who inquire about having heard a little girl's scream, tell them that yes, you heard it too and are running to the park ranger's office to report it.)

Emerging from the forested creek loop is signalled by a brilliant sumac bush in full autumn fire, situated at a 't' intersection... Turning right will start the journey home...
The Five K Kurve again. Depending on what kind of day it's been - and how well breakfast went down - we're either just over 20 minutes or just under 30 from home!The sun has risen more fully now, bringing everything into greater relief...The final forested leg begins :(

Signs of civilization! A couple of runners round the bend of the five kilometre "ring road" during one of many fundraising runs hosted by the park... The arrow indicates an abandoned silo. The runners will turn left here to continue raising funds, while we veer right on the journey to pancakes and espresso.

On longer runs it's a treat being able to stop at one of the washrooms encircling the park, just steps off the road, for a quick splash-n-dashVerdict: good flow, cool but not cold, and neutral-tasting. A delightful pit stop. Easy to overdo it, especially compared to drinking from a cup at an aid station.

To avoid the madding crowds on this day: a handy Plan B escape route to the border of the park:
This spits us out on the final stretch of ring road heading into the maintenance yard, the gateway to this whole shebang...The hydro towers in the distance confirm the party is nearly over...


With less than three km. to go we're on the last stretch of paved MUP behind houses and the school, still tracking the edge of the ravine to the creek...One last short but sweet slope about 1km. from home. Must keep all but the most desperate of bodily sounds in check here, as you never know who is just on the other side of the fences. Just sayin'...

An access path between houses on the left will bring us back onto the city streets, minutes from the end. By now, highway sounds from the north end of this route - the four lane Dundas Speedway, er, Street, seen on the bridge over the creek to the right - are loud enough to mask most of those pent up bodily sounds.

Suddenly that's it. We covered about 14½ kms/9 miles. Had we run a fund-raising bandit lap of the ring road: another 5km - not a bad way to start the day! I thank my lucky stars every time I run this, knowing what we have to endure in other times and places just to get our mileage in.