Before I get into my usual self-absorbed race report, I want to congratulate my brother on a brave and excellent Natal Day performance. He set out to run the course in under 45 minutes, and that’s exactly what he did – he crossed the line in 44:48. He also brought a solid cheering section with him, including three amazing boys, aged 5, 3, and 1. They were super awesome on race day. Big props to the entire clan who showed up to watch me and my brother struggle through another Natal Day!
So. Here’s the report. This was the last t-shirt race until October. Ah, the coveted shirt. I had it, but then I lost it. And I deserved to lose it. I ran a lacklustre, uninspired Natal Day – as usual.
The Dartmouth Natal Day 6 miler has been my bane for years. It’s a great race, though. It’s something like the 3rd oldest road race in North America, and it’s one of the most competitive races on the Nova Scotia circuit. These days, runners complete a two-mile loop around downtown Dartmouth three times, which is both good and bad. It’s good because spectators get to see the runners three times, which makes it less boring for them and gives runners a bit of a boost each time they go around. But it’s bad because you have to run the same damn long inclines three times – and it’s difficult to mentally prepare for the same stupid hills three freakin’ times!
And the thing is that I should be good at this race – the start/finish is on my street, only a block from my place. This is my home court. But every year I get nervous about the hurt the hills are going to put on me, so every year I run way too conservatively.
This year, I screwed the race up right from the start. When I got to the starting line, I seeded myself behind the first row of runners. But as the start time drew nearer, a bunch of people crowded in front, and I ended up three or four deep behind slower runners. My two shirt nemeses, N and D, played it smart and got themselves into the front row. When the gun went, I had to start slow and weave around people to find some open space. Stupid. 500m in, N and D were running together, and they already had a 10s gap on me. Stupid.
I thought about surging in order to catch up with them, but I knew I had to save something for the hills, so I decided simply to hang back and bridge the gap slowly. I think that was a smart decision, but I didn’t pace myself aggressively enough to do much damage on their lead. Through one lap, the gap was pretty much the same as the start – we were running the same pace; the difference was the start. Stupid.
Through a lap and a half (half the race), I was working with H. I was a little surprised that H was running with me given that, this season, he’s normally finished 10-30s behind. But he’d decided to run aggressively and courageously, and I didn’t mind the company. During the fourth mile, D started losing ground on N. H and I saw our opportunity, and we started to reel D in. On the stretch down Alderney road, we caught her and passed her. It felt good. One T-shirt competitor down – one to go.
On the brutal hill up Ochterloney, though, H turned to me and said he was done – he’d spent his legs and there was still one two-mile loop to go. I tried to encourage him to keep his legs moving and to relax and to follow me up the hill, but to no avail. He dropped back and D ate him up. I was alone, so I set my sights on N.
N meanwhile had set his sights on two guys in front of him. He caught one beside Sullivan’s Pond, and I soon caught the same guy too. It’s a great feeling to run down a guy so late in the race. I was still feeling okay, but I convinced myself not to step it up to try to catch N. Stupid. I should’ve just accepted the hurt and gone for broke, but I played it safe. N, though, had a guy to chase, and up the final stretch on Ochterloney, he ran the guy down to finish sixth. I just kept steady up the hill and finished 8th in 34:39.
So I lost the shirt and I may have lost my second-place standing in the Timex series. With this last result for N and me, we are now tied for points. Considering we’ve beaten each other 3 times this season (over 6 races), it seems fitting to end in a tie. Our final showdown will be at the Zoo run in October at the National Timex Championships.
Although I practically mailed in my 6 miler, I still crushed my Natal Day PB by almost 2 minutes – that’s pretty good. And it was the first time I’ve finished in the top 10 of this race. That’s not a bad result all in all. But I need to find a way to be more aggressive and to trust my body more. I should’ve been able to run a 34 flat. Oh well, there’s always next year. I’ll also do better at the Zoo run. I’ve got plenty of time to train, and I’ll be representing my province, so I’d better step it up!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Sheila Poole 10k
I’ve only ever met two people who have admitted to being from Yarmouth – neither of them had many positive things to say about the place. I guess that’s to be expected from folks who prefer a larger urban experience and assume that I do as well. But Yarmouth seemed pretty cool to me for the 16 or so hours we were there. The evening before the race, the streets seemed quite lively – perhaps that was just the fact that there was a festival going on this weekend. Even so, there are some beautiful old homes in town and the main drag is populated mostly with independent businesses, so it’s got a nice feel.
We stayed at a hotel right across from the now-closed CAT Ferry terminal. Until last season, the ferry ran from Bar Harbor to Yarmouth. It was sad to see everything all fenced in and gated and abandoned – losing that ferry hurt the town deeply. And the fact that everything was shrouded in fog made the scene somewhat melancholy.
One neat thing, though – about 10k outside of town on the drive in, we saw a black bear lumber across the highway and disappear into the bush. It was the first bear I’ve ever seen outside of captivity! Pretty cool. It’s strange I’ve never seen one in the wild – I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the woods (for a city guy, that is).
I’d been warned before this year’s Sheila Poole 10k that the course is a challenging one. There’s one very steep but fairly short hill after the 4k mark and a bunch of rolling hills from there. However, there’s a long, straight, flat finish along the waterfront. I was happy for the warning – it’s nice to know what’s coming – but this kind of course is exactly what I love. I do all my easy and long runs on a rolling course, so I find that my legs are most at home with the continuous up and down. I also find that other runners tend not to do as well on rolling courses – and this race was no exception.
My game plan for this one was to go out comfortably and to stay comfortable for at least 5k. The reason I was looking to be less aggressive was because my training has not gone well over the past three weeks, and it’s shot my confidence to hell. I’ve been working hard, but I just haven’t been hitting the paces I should be. I’m wondering if I’ve let myself over train a bit. In any case, when the gun went off, I let N (my frenemy) do his thing. Instead of matching him, I just hung back and ran with D.
D and I worked together for the first 4k, alternating the lead from time to time to give the other a mental break – it’s much easier to follow than to set the pace. We stayed easy and relaxed, but we didn’t let N and another guy (DH) get too far ahead. In fact, it looked like they were battling with each other a little bit.
At some point after 4k we hit the first (and the steepest) hill. I stayed relaxed, but I found myself pulling away from D. On the downhill, I thought about slowing down to let D catch up so we could work together, but I noticed that I’d gained some real estate on N and DH ahead, so I decided that I would set my sights on them instead. If D wanted back in, she’d have to do the work to catch up. I could hear her not too far back, but it was the last time I saw her in the race.
At 5k, I was still feeling good. I was comfortable and felt like I had a gear or two left. I locked in my pace, focused on keeping my form, and set my sights on the backs of DH and N. Slowly but surely, I was gaining on them. At some point after 6k, DH started pulling away from N and N didn’t respond. That was enough for me to take a chance. A bit before 7k, I caught and passed N. I hate to say it, but it felt great.
N was tough as nails, though. He hung on to me. And as we approached the 8k mark, I made a huge error. Normally in road races, you’re supposed to run on the left side of the road, facing traffic. And this race was no different. For the first 8k, we were running on the left. At about 8k, though, all of a sudden there was a water stop on the right side of the road. Very strange. Not only that, the water stop was on the inside curve of a pretty big turn. DH ran over to get some water, but I didn’t want water, so I stayed left, on the outside of the curve. Meanwhile, N behind me also went over – those two guys were running the inside of the rail and I was left hanging on the outside, running further. When I finally realized that the race had inconceivably switched sides, there were cars coming, which prevented me from getting over and making use of the inside of the curve. As a result, N was in front of me by the time I got to the other side of the road.
I was pretty pissed, but I didn’t let the emotion lead to something stupid like a spurt to regain my lead. Instead, I stayed relaxed and focused and in a few hundred metres, I’d passed N again down the long final stretch. DH, however, had gained too much on me.
Coming down the stretch, I could hear N right behind me. He was labouring a bit, but he was hanging on strong and trying to make moves on me. I held him off and held him off. We’d passed the 9k mark, but I couldn’t tell where the finish was – it was too foggy. Ah, running in Nova Scotia. At some point, though, I could hear the announcer through the mist. It gave me enough heart to step up the pace right into that crazy race finishing pain that makes you want to scream. All I could say over and over in my head was – “give up N, just give up!” – but I could hear him right behind me. At the same time, I could see that I was making up time on DH, but I didn’t know if there was enough real estate left to catch him.
With 200m to go, I gave it everything. Incredibly, I no longer heard N behind me. I ran and ran, trying to reel in DH, but in the end, he crossed the line 4 seconds ahead. It turned out that with about 200m to go, N had tried to match my kick and cramped up so badly that he doubled over with the pain. He was able to hobble in ahead of D, but he wasn’t able to get me this time.
My finishing time (35:54) wasn’t great, and my finishing place (4th) was a bit heartbreaking, but I picked up lots of Timex points, so it looks like I’ve secured my spot on the team going to the national Timex race in T.O. at the end of September. Yay!
The other great thing is that I won the cheesy shirt back! I’ll post a pic soon.
No matter what people say of poor old Yarmouth, my first time there was great.
We stayed at a hotel right across from the now-closed CAT Ferry terminal. Until last season, the ferry ran from Bar Harbor to Yarmouth. It was sad to see everything all fenced in and gated and abandoned – losing that ferry hurt the town deeply. And the fact that everything was shrouded in fog made the scene somewhat melancholy.
One neat thing, though – about 10k outside of town on the drive in, we saw a black bear lumber across the highway and disappear into the bush. It was the first bear I’ve ever seen outside of captivity! Pretty cool. It’s strange I’ve never seen one in the wild – I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the woods (for a city guy, that is).
I’d been warned before this year’s Sheila Poole 10k that the course is a challenging one. There’s one very steep but fairly short hill after the 4k mark and a bunch of rolling hills from there. However, there’s a long, straight, flat finish along the waterfront. I was happy for the warning – it’s nice to know what’s coming – but this kind of course is exactly what I love. I do all my easy and long runs on a rolling course, so I find that my legs are most at home with the continuous up and down. I also find that other runners tend not to do as well on rolling courses – and this race was no exception.
My game plan for this one was to go out comfortably and to stay comfortable for at least 5k. The reason I was looking to be less aggressive was because my training has not gone well over the past three weeks, and it’s shot my confidence to hell. I’ve been working hard, but I just haven’t been hitting the paces I should be. I’m wondering if I’ve let myself over train a bit. In any case, when the gun went off, I let N (my frenemy) do his thing. Instead of matching him, I just hung back and ran with D.
D and I worked together for the first 4k, alternating the lead from time to time to give the other a mental break – it’s much easier to follow than to set the pace. We stayed easy and relaxed, but we didn’t let N and another guy (DH) get too far ahead. In fact, it looked like they were battling with each other a little bit.
At some point after 4k we hit the first (and the steepest) hill. I stayed relaxed, but I found myself pulling away from D. On the downhill, I thought about slowing down to let D catch up so we could work together, but I noticed that I’d gained some real estate on N and DH ahead, so I decided that I would set my sights on them instead. If D wanted back in, she’d have to do the work to catch up. I could hear her not too far back, but it was the last time I saw her in the race.
At 5k, I was still feeling good. I was comfortable and felt like I had a gear or two left. I locked in my pace, focused on keeping my form, and set my sights on the backs of DH and N. Slowly but surely, I was gaining on them. At some point after 6k, DH started pulling away from N and N didn’t respond. That was enough for me to take a chance. A bit before 7k, I caught and passed N. I hate to say it, but it felt great.
N was tough as nails, though. He hung on to me. And as we approached the 8k mark, I made a huge error. Normally in road races, you’re supposed to run on the left side of the road, facing traffic. And this race was no different. For the first 8k, we were running on the left. At about 8k, though, all of a sudden there was a water stop on the right side of the road. Very strange. Not only that, the water stop was on the inside curve of a pretty big turn. DH ran over to get some water, but I didn’t want water, so I stayed left, on the outside of the curve. Meanwhile, N behind me also went over – those two guys were running the inside of the rail and I was left hanging on the outside, running further. When I finally realized that the race had inconceivably switched sides, there were cars coming, which prevented me from getting over and making use of the inside of the curve. As a result, N was in front of me by the time I got to the other side of the road.
I was pretty pissed, but I didn’t let the emotion lead to something stupid like a spurt to regain my lead. Instead, I stayed relaxed and focused and in a few hundred metres, I’d passed N again down the long final stretch. DH, however, had gained too much on me.
Coming down the stretch, I could hear N right behind me. He was labouring a bit, but he was hanging on strong and trying to make moves on me. I held him off and held him off. We’d passed the 9k mark, but I couldn’t tell where the finish was – it was too foggy. Ah, running in Nova Scotia. At some point, though, I could hear the announcer through the mist. It gave me enough heart to step up the pace right into that crazy race finishing pain that makes you want to scream. All I could say over and over in my head was – “give up N, just give up!” – but I could hear him right behind me. At the same time, I could see that I was making up time on DH, but I didn’t know if there was enough real estate left to catch him.
With 200m to go, I gave it everything. Incredibly, I no longer heard N behind me. I ran and ran, trying to reel in DH, but in the end, he crossed the line 4 seconds ahead. It turned out that with about 200m to go, N had tried to match my kick and cramped up so badly that he doubled over with the pain. He was able to hobble in ahead of D, but he wasn’t able to get me this time.
My finishing time (35:54) wasn’t great, and my finishing place (4th) was a bit heartbreaking, but I picked up lots of Timex points, so it looks like I’ve secured my spot on the team going to the national Timex race in T.O. at the end of September. Yay!
The other great thing is that I won the cheesy shirt back! I’ll post a pic soon.
No matter what people say of poor old Yarmouth, my first time there was great.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Liverpool 5 Miler: Boo(ish)
We pulled into Liverpool about 8:00 am, an hour before the start of the 5 miler (8k). It was already too hot. All the Timex hopefuls were there – we’re a bit like a traveling circus, showing up to small towns to do our thing but never staying long enough to get a real sense of any of these places. It’s a shame, really: none of us knows how these races started and what they represent to the towns hosting them. We just look at the schedule, show up, and run. It’s the same whether the race is in Liverpool or Timbuktu.
This year’s edition of the Liverpool 5 miler was supposed to be somewhat unusual: a bunch of British sailors were scheduled to run. Right now in Halifax there are something like 17 war ships from around the world in port to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Canadian Navy. Even the Queen is stopping in for a visit (and screwing up traffic all over the place!). Anyway, someone from the British navy thought this race would be a good thing for a bunch of sailors to do on a Sunday morning – perhaps a little optimistic?
9:00am rolls around and by now things are really hot. The sun has pushed away all the clouds and is beating down on the asphalt. All the runners are huddled under any shade they can find, waiting until the last possible minute to line up. The call to line up goes out, but there are no sailors in sight. As a result, the race director decides to delay the start. We all groan and scatter for the shade again. We just want to get this thing over with, and delaying the start will only make things hotter. As it turns out, the sailors never showed – hardly surprising for a bunch of young guys turned loose on the streets of Halifax for a Saturday night. I’m sure running was the last thing any of them wanted to do the morning after.
We line up for a second time and wait for the gun to go off. For this race, they’ve got three guys in 18th-century British military garb with muskets as the starters – pretty awesome. The muskets go off and we plunge forward into the heat. After the first k, I realize this race is going to be a bit of shit show – I’m feeling terrible, and there are 7k left. For the first 3k, I run shoulder-to-shoulder with N, my training buddy. There are three guys ahead of us, two of whom should be – but the third is a guy we know goes out too quick every race and tries to hang on – he’s somebody to chase. At the same time, I can hear a couple of runners sticking with us: D, the top female, and T, one of the top two 50+ year old runners.
Between 3k and 4k, everything changes. I can hear the folks behind dropping back further and further until I can’t hear them anymore – they’ve gone out too quick and can’t hold the pace. At some point, though, N puts on a little surge and opens up a gap of a few metres on me. I feel like I’m running at capacity, so I don’t respond. However, after the surge, the gap doesn’t widen over the next 3k. All the while, we are cutting the space between us and the guy in third, who’s obviously hurting but holding on. I’m hurting too.
With a k to go, N makes his move. He steps up the pace and starts making up ground on the other guy – and the gap between us gets wider and wider. I want to go with him, but I let him go. In fact, I don’t even go for the other guy – with my mind and body screaming about how much this hurts, I convince myself that it doesn’t matter. I convince myself that my position is good enough, that my Timex points will be good enough, that there’s no reason to hurt more. So I don’t even try to pick up the pace – I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and cross the line in 5th.
It only takes 3 minutes before I start beating myself up for not running courageously. I don’t mind losing to a runner who’s had a better race (like N), but I’m certain I could’ve caught the other guy before the line if I’d just been willing to hurt more – but I wasn’t. Oh well. No big deal. I’m still learning how to race – and being aggressive doesn't come naturally to me. It’s something to work on for the next race in Yarmouth 3 weeks from now.
All in all, it wasn’t a terrible race – I did snag a PB by about 10 seconds on a very hot day on a course that many said was longer than the advertised 5 miles. I’ll take it. And my chances for making the Timex team still look pretty good. But I would’ve liked to poke around Liverpool more – when am I going to make the time to come out this way again? In fact, it’s only now that I’m remembering that the river we were running along (the Mersey) was part of a very old canoe route that cuts right across the province from the Annapolis Royal area in the north to Liverpool in the south. This river that I hardly noticed as I was running along it (I notice very little when I’m in pain) has witnessed thousands of years of human life from First Nations like the Mi’kmaw through Acadians and all the rest. All I saw was the asphalt and the back of the singlet of the guy in front. Sad.
Oh yeah, and I lost the special shirt.
This year’s edition of the Liverpool 5 miler was supposed to be somewhat unusual: a bunch of British sailors were scheduled to run. Right now in Halifax there are something like 17 war ships from around the world in port to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Canadian Navy. Even the Queen is stopping in for a visit (and screwing up traffic all over the place!). Anyway, someone from the British navy thought this race would be a good thing for a bunch of sailors to do on a Sunday morning – perhaps a little optimistic?
9:00am rolls around and by now things are really hot. The sun has pushed away all the clouds and is beating down on the asphalt. All the runners are huddled under any shade they can find, waiting until the last possible minute to line up. The call to line up goes out, but there are no sailors in sight. As a result, the race director decides to delay the start. We all groan and scatter for the shade again. We just want to get this thing over with, and delaying the start will only make things hotter. As it turns out, the sailors never showed – hardly surprising for a bunch of young guys turned loose on the streets of Halifax for a Saturday night. I’m sure running was the last thing any of them wanted to do the morning after.
We line up for a second time and wait for the gun to go off. For this race, they’ve got three guys in 18th-century British military garb with muskets as the starters – pretty awesome. The muskets go off and we plunge forward into the heat. After the first k, I realize this race is going to be a bit of shit show – I’m feeling terrible, and there are 7k left. For the first 3k, I run shoulder-to-shoulder with N, my training buddy. There are three guys ahead of us, two of whom should be – but the third is a guy we know goes out too quick every race and tries to hang on – he’s somebody to chase. At the same time, I can hear a couple of runners sticking with us: D, the top female, and T, one of the top two 50+ year old runners.
Between 3k and 4k, everything changes. I can hear the folks behind dropping back further and further until I can’t hear them anymore – they’ve gone out too quick and can’t hold the pace. At some point, though, N puts on a little surge and opens up a gap of a few metres on me. I feel like I’m running at capacity, so I don’t respond. However, after the surge, the gap doesn’t widen over the next 3k. All the while, we are cutting the space between us and the guy in third, who’s obviously hurting but holding on. I’m hurting too.
With a k to go, N makes his move. He steps up the pace and starts making up ground on the other guy – and the gap between us gets wider and wider. I want to go with him, but I let him go. In fact, I don’t even go for the other guy – with my mind and body screaming about how much this hurts, I convince myself that it doesn’t matter. I convince myself that my position is good enough, that my Timex points will be good enough, that there’s no reason to hurt more. So I don’t even try to pick up the pace – I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and cross the line in 5th.
It only takes 3 minutes before I start beating myself up for not running courageously. I don’t mind losing to a runner who’s had a better race (like N), but I’m certain I could’ve caught the other guy before the line if I’d just been willing to hurt more – but I wasn’t. Oh well. No big deal. I’m still learning how to race – and being aggressive doesn't come naturally to me. It’s something to work on for the next race in Yarmouth 3 weeks from now.
All in all, it wasn’t a terrible race – I did snag a PB by about 10 seconds on a very hot day on a course that many said was longer than the advertised 5 miles. I’ll take it. And my chances for making the Timex team still look pretty good. But I would’ve liked to poke around Liverpool more – when am I going to make the time to come out this way again? In fact, it’s only now that I’m remembering that the river we were running along (the Mersey) was part of a very old canoe route that cuts right across the province from the Annapolis Royal area in the north to Liverpool in the south. This river that I hardly noticed as I was running along it (I notice very little when I’m in pain) has witnessed thousands of years of human life from First Nations like the Mi’kmaw through Acadians and all the rest. All I saw was the asphalt and the back of the singlet of the guy in front. Sad.
Oh yeah, and I lost the special shirt.
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