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.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
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.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Lunenburg 5k: Ya Hoo!
I’m so proud of J-A! We both ran the Lunenburg 5k race on Sunday (13th), and we both had great races. Admittedly, she’s a little bit disappointed with her time: she wanted to run under 35 minutes but got a 35:10 – however, according to her Garmin, the course was a bit long and she crossed the actual 5k mark at about 34:40. So, really, she not only crushed her previous PB by close to 2 minutes but she also achieved a very ambitious goal. Now, a Garmin record is not as satisfying as an official time, and I get that – but what makes me happy is that the whole thing has made her hungry for the 5k in Digby in August. And the funny thing is that she still says she doesn’t like running. I don’t really believe her anymore, though.
I felt great about my race. We lined up under sunny skies. There was some heat – close to 20, I think – but it wasn’t enough to seriously affect the race. The start was neat this year because they had a local girl sing the national anthem. Normally, I never get a chance to really focus while in the starting pack. Usually, I’m listening to the race directions or chatting with the folks around me. But during the anthem, I was able to go inside and focus on what I needed to do in the race – plus, it’s a neat feeling to listen to the anthem before the event – like the pros.
Anyway, when the horn went off, the front line of folks (me among them) rushed out to get a good position. Unfortunately, this meant a bunch of us went out a little too quickly, but that was my game plan – to be aggressive. I’ve learned this year that I haven’t yet developed the ability to surge or to switch gears in a race – or, at least, I haven’t learned to switch to a higher gear mid-race – I’m quite skilled at going slower! Once I’ve established a peak pace, my body doesn’t like to go beyond it – so I figured I’d establish a good pace early and then hang on for dear life.
I also made another tactical change this race to improve on my mistakes from the last one: I left my Garmin watch at home. In fact, I wore no watch at all – so I had to run without knowing what my splits were. It turned out that this was great – it meant I focussed entirely on what my body was telling me and on what was going on around me. I was racing – not just doing a timed workout. It sounds small, but that was a huge change for me.
So through 1k I had seeded myself in 4th or 5th place. I had passed N, who had burst out of the gate a little quick and was trying to rein it in, and I was ahead of my other training buddy A, which surprised me a little because he is definitely faster than I am (actually, N and A are both former varsity runners – N is a former AUS champion on the track and A is a former CIS champion – at their best, they are both a world faster than I am). I was running stride for stride with a young guy – and I was amused to see that someone had gone out with R, the eventually winner of the race.
Around the mile mark, the course starts climbing up a fairly nasty and long hill. This is where the race is decided every year: guys either go way too quick on the hill and spill their guts before reaching the top or folks fear the hill and climb too conservatively. This year, I went at the hill aggressively, and everyone behind me took it too easy. As I climbed, the young guy I was with fell back and A (who loves to climb) finally passed me. By the top of the hill, I was in 5th, and I couldn’t hear anyone right behind me.
Flying down the hill, I was tired, but I knew I hadn’t spent it all – I had run well – a rare thing for me. After the downhill, there’s a long flat stretch, and I tried to relax and open up my stride. I watched as the 3rd and 4th place guys chewed up the distance between them and the guy who’d gone out with R. I think that guy learned a little too late that you’d better be prepared if you go out with R – and now he was struggling. It was great having him there, though – it gave me something to focus on as my mind was screaming at me (as it always does) that I was going too fast and that I should stop. Instead, I kept wheeling and felt the distance between me and that guy close.
As we turned the corner back towards town just before the 4k mark, I finally passed the guy who was struggling. It felt great. I was a bit panicked, though, because I felt that some guys were close behind me – but I didn’t want to look. Some racers benefit from knowing how close behind them people are – but I’m not there yet. I tense up if I feel I’m being chased – and the only way to keep speed is to stay relaxed. So I just focussed on my own stride and climbed the really crappy hill in the last k. From there, I coasted downhill towards the finish.
The finish in Lunenburg is around a corner, so you don’t get to see the clock until less than 100m to go. When I rounded that corner, though, I saw that I was right on the bubble for getting in under 17 minutes. As the seconds ticked away, I gave everything I had to put on a final burst. I went to face and was grunting like a pig trying my utmost to cross the finishing mat before the clock turned – and I did it – with only two seconds to spare! I was 4th and I was sub-17 – I was elated.
This result was also good because I got a bunch of Timex points – and with 3 out of the 7 races on the series done, it’s looking really positive for me to make the team that will represent Nova Scotia at the national Timex race in Toronto. The series is far from over and anything can happen – but my point average currently puts me in third spot overall – and second in the open category (the top guy is in his 40s so will go as the top Master runner, which leaves 3 spots in the open category).
On top of this, I won the honour of wearing “the shirt” during cool down – an honour bestowed on the runner who wins among a few of us who train together. The shirt is one of those cocky novelty shirts: on the front is a reproduction of one of those “Hello my name is” stickers, but it says “Hello, Nice to Beat You.” And on the back it says, “We should do this again sometime. Call me!” But not only is the shirt obnoxious, it is also was originally D’s (who is a world-class female marathoner), so it is a ladies small slim fit shirt – I’m not a ladies small slim fit guy – so the shirt looks absurd on me. Regardless, I wore it with pride! Really, it looks best on D, but she’s going to have to beat me to get it back!
Anyway, I was able to recover from my run in time to watch a bunch of friends have PB finishes and to watch J-A come across the line in her big PB time. It was a great run – a really great run. And the homemade muffins afterward were great too – they somehow managed to make 8500 muffins for close to 600 runners!! All in all, a great day in a great town at a great race.
I felt great about my race. We lined up under sunny skies. There was some heat – close to 20, I think – but it wasn’t enough to seriously affect the race. The start was neat this year because they had a local girl sing the national anthem. Normally, I never get a chance to really focus while in the starting pack. Usually, I’m listening to the race directions or chatting with the folks around me. But during the anthem, I was able to go inside and focus on what I needed to do in the race – plus, it’s a neat feeling to listen to the anthem before the event – like the pros.
Anyway, when the horn went off, the front line of folks (me among them) rushed out to get a good position. Unfortunately, this meant a bunch of us went out a little too quickly, but that was my game plan – to be aggressive. I’ve learned this year that I haven’t yet developed the ability to surge or to switch gears in a race – or, at least, I haven’t learned to switch to a higher gear mid-race – I’m quite skilled at going slower! Once I’ve established a peak pace, my body doesn’t like to go beyond it – so I figured I’d establish a good pace early and then hang on for dear life.
I also made another tactical change this race to improve on my mistakes from the last one: I left my Garmin watch at home. In fact, I wore no watch at all – so I had to run without knowing what my splits were. It turned out that this was great – it meant I focussed entirely on what my body was telling me and on what was going on around me. I was racing – not just doing a timed workout. It sounds small, but that was a huge change for me.
So through 1k I had seeded myself in 4th or 5th place. I had passed N, who had burst out of the gate a little quick and was trying to rein it in, and I was ahead of my other training buddy A, which surprised me a little because he is definitely faster than I am (actually, N and A are both former varsity runners – N is a former AUS champion on the track and A is a former CIS champion – at their best, they are both a world faster than I am). I was running stride for stride with a young guy – and I was amused to see that someone had gone out with R, the eventually winner of the race.
Around the mile mark, the course starts climbing up a fairly nasty and long hill. This is where the race is decided every year: guys either go way too quick on the hill and spill their guts before reaching the top or folks fear the hill and climb too conservatively. This year, I went at the hill aggressively, and everyone behind me took it too easy. As I climbed, the young guy I was with fell back and A (who loves to climb) finally passed me. By the top of the hill, I was in 5th, and I couldn’t hear anyone right behind me.
Flying down the hill, I was tired, but I knew I hadn’t spent it all – I had run well – a rare thing for me. After the downhill, there’s a long flat stretch, and I tried to relax and open up my stride. I watched as the 3rd and 4th place guys chewed up the distance between them and the guy who’d gone out with R. I think that guy learned a little too late that you’d better be prepared if you go out with R – and now he was struggling. It was great having him there, though – it gave me something to focus on as my mind was screaming at me (as it always does) that I was going too fast and that I should stop. Instead, I kept wheeling and felt the distance between me and that guy close.
As we turned the corner back towards town just before the 4k mark, I finally passed the guy who was struggling. It felt great. I was a bit panicked, though, because I felt that some guys were close behind me – but I didn’t want to look. Some racers benefit from knowing how close behind them people are – but I’m not there yet. I tense up if I feel I’m being chased – and the only way to keep speed is to stay relaxed. So I just focussed on my own stride and climbed the really crappy hill in the last k. From there, I coasted downhill towards the finish.
The finish in Lunenburg is around a corner, so you don’t get to see the clock until less than 100m to go. When I rounded that corner, though, I saw that I was right on the bubble for getting in under 17 minutes. As the seconds ticked away, I gave everything I had to put on a final burst. I went to face and was grunting like a pig trying my utmost to cross the finishing mat before the clock turned – and I did it – with only two seconds to spare! I was 4th and I was sub-17 – I was elated.
This result was also good because I got a bunch of Timex points – and with 3 out of the 7 races on the series done, it’s looking really positive for me to make the team that will represent Nova Scotia at the national Timex race in Toronto. The series is far from over and anything can happen – but my point average currently puts me in third spot overall – and second in the open category (the top guy is in his 40s so will go as the top Master runner, which leaves 3 spots in the open category).
On top of this, I won the honour of wearing “the shirt” during cool down – an honour bestowed on the runner who wins among a few of us who train together. The shirt is one of those cocky novelty shirts: on the front is a reproduction of one of those “Hello my name is” stickers, but it says “Hello, Nice to Beat You.” And on the back it says, “We should do this again sometime. Call me!” But not only is the shirt obnoxious, it is also was originally D’s (who is a world-class female marathoner), so it is a ladies small slim fit shirt – I’m not a ladies small slim fit guy – so the shirt looks absurd on me. Regardless, I wore it with pride! Really, it looks best on D, but she’s going to have to beat me to get it back!
Anyway, I was able to recover from my run in time to watch a bunch of friends have PB finishes and to watch J-A come across the line in her big PB time. It was a great run – a really great run. And the homemade muffins afterward were great too – they somehow managed to make 8500 muffins for close to 600 runners!! All in all, a great day in a great town at a great race.
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