In a previous blog post I mentioned that in recreational running you race yourself, or the clock, rarely do you ever race against someone else.
Well this past weekend I did just that.
Never having done it before, the execution was far different than I had imagined. I made a number of tactical errors and they cost me dearly.
But even before race day I knew it would be tough. Much like Mark, the gentleman I was racing against, I only started training at the end of January, and ramped up my long runs rather quickly. I missed a large number of my scheduled mid-week long runs and had a hard time on many of my interval sessions. The week leading up to the race I had heel/Achilles issues and ran only once during my last week of taper and that was only 15 minutes. I didn't have enough mileage under my belt and too few runs.
More mistakes: I really should've brought my Garmin. I only had a watch and could figure out how I was doing at markers but never knew what my pace was at any given time. I should've brought gels instead of dates, which are much harder to chew at race effort than long run effort.
The race itself was great fun, well at least the first 21km were. Decked out in my Crossfit t-shirt and knee-high compression socks, while Mark donned his IM 70.3 Syracuse t-shirt and speed laces, we took off about 20 seconds back from mats and I immediately let Mark take the lead and set the pace. I knew I could let him get a bit ahead, as long as I kept him in sight. But I couldn't do it, I found myself continuously on his heels. I was scared that I'd lose him if I let him get to far ahead. He wasn't pushing the pace, which I was thankful for, because I did no warm up before the race and was starting cold.
Somewhere after the 9km marker I made my first mistake. I let my honour trump the goal of the race. I began to feel guilty for sitting back behind Mark for the whole race just to pounce at the last minute, so when I was feeling strong I decided to take the lead and set the pace. I blew past him and tried to shake his confidence, but I really hadn't thought far enough ahead.
Now what? I didn't know how far behind me he was, or what impact if any my burst had. Suddenly I was scare of the attack that was sure to come. But when? Would I be ready? I slowed to a pace I felt comfortable (too slow, having a Garmin would've helped here), and braced myself for an attack that never came. At one point a British accent right behind me thanked a spectator and I though: how stupid of Mark to give himself away like that, now I know he's right behind me. Well it wasn't him, but he was right behind me! So some bloke unknowingly blew his cover for me.
Around 15km I moved to the side to clear my nose and looked over my should and there he was, so he knew I knew, and I knew he knew I knew, and he knew I knew he knew I knew, so the game was up and he took the lead again. What a relief. He was finding his stride I tucked in behind him and got ready for the hills.
But at this point I was feeling weak, and needed some food, so at 18km I made my fatal mistake, I stopped running to eat some dates, I was sure I'd make up the time having given my legs a little break and some fresh calories to fuel them. But they took forever to chew and swallow at race effort (compared to long run effort). By the time I got running again I had lost sight of him and began to panic. I hammered the next 2km in the rollers and really trashed my legs.
You have no idea how many white shirt bald guys are on that race course until you need to find one in particular. I never saw him again. I passed the 20km mats 50 seconds behind him. But I was already hurting. By 22km I knew the race was over, but the spectre of my possible attack chased Mark right to the finish line, which was the whole point anyway.
I hit the 24km marker at 2:00 and realized I likely wouldn't even be under 2:30. I stopped a couple of times after that, to refill my water bottle and regroup after the big hill but vowed to run the last 3km no matter what, and I did. My legs have never hurt so much after a race, not even Ironman.
This was the most exhilarating and nerve wracking race I've ever run. I thank you Mark for seeing it the same way I saw it, and making so much fun. We played the trash talk and bravado leading up to the race really well, the whole experience was a blast. My hats off to you, you were the faster man that day. Congratulations. Enjoy your spud trophy, it was well earned.
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| Me (right) congratulating Mark and handing over the spud trophy (it's long story). |
I certainly learned a lot and to do it again would do a number of things differently, but I don't think it'll ever be quite as much fun as this one, being the first and all.
Although a rematch is definitely not out of question, maybe a half marathon or a 10km instead. Or maybe a beer mile... hmm...
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