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Send in the Clowns - BAC 10K Challenge
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Krusty_Clown wrote: »Well, I went for it! Everything went to plan until mile 15, when the wheels started to come off. Very tough time from mile 15-26.2 in tough conditions, but glad that I managed to plug away, despite slowing badly and never walked (VR!). Official time: 2:48:10 which is a one second PB, so the PB's continue.
Happy enough that I battled on, given the conditions, and bodes well for Boston in April. I just need to train better and smarter. Emer_911 suffered equally, but managed a far more impressive PB (40 times better!). Will write a more complete post-mortem tomorrow, if I can remember anything after the beer I'm about to drink.
Well done krusty - heat is a killer. Pretty impressive to be still able to PB well under 2:50 when the wheels come off!0 -
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Krusty_Clown wrote: »Official time: 2:48:10 which is a one second PB, so the PB's continue.
That's my PBing style!
Well done Sir Krustopher.0 -
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The Plan
I'm not thick. Really I'm not! I always knew that 2:42 was a pretty significant stretch goal. Everyone (but one (and thanks, I do appreciate it!)) was too polite to say it, but I knew it. Since Berlin last year, I've taken most of the time since very easy. I've clocked up loads of miles, but most of it has been run at slower pace than last year. My races went well, but they didn't point at the kind of time I was hoping for. But I never pushed myself too hard in any of the races. Frank Duffy? Played it safe. National Half? Took it easy. The two 10ks were for real, but were only 36 minute affairs, so you can push yourself hard and hang on until the end. So it's been a lazy year. So I said 'screw it', I'm going for it anyway. if I blow up, so be it. I'll run on my own terms and fail on my own terms. I could've played it safe and gone for a soft target, but in my mind, I knew that'd be the end of my running. I'd never push hard again.
So where did it go wrong? I could so easily blame the weather, but it wasn't the heat. Sure it cost me a few minutes, but on a cooler day I think I would have pushed out the slow-down for a few more miles and taken a few minutes off of the PB. I knew in my heart that despite the extra miles, the quality of this training season just hasn't been there. I missed out on some quality long runs, instead opting to do some soft PB races. I just didn't feel good about the whole program (it's very easy to hide quality behind a lot of easy paced miles). So, this race presented me with an opportunity to be honest with myself. Blowing up wouldn't be such a bad thing.....As long as I still managed a PB.
The pre-race:
Headed off for breakfast at 4:30am and was back in the hotel by 5:30. Sounds awful, but in my case, my body clock hadn't adjusted, and I'd been wide awake and refreshed since 3am, so it was no biggy. Emer and I strolled up to the start with all of the other runners, but because of seeding had to say our good-byes as we headed off in different directions. This wasn't like New York. I headed straight for the bag-drop, and then onwards to the A corral. No queues, nothing. With 15 minutes to go, I walked right up to the front of the corral, and settled in right beside the elite chute. Martin Fagan was doing strides up and down, obviously struggling with some last minute demons. Ryan Hall ran by and gave those of us who noticed him some words of encouragement and a wave. 10 minutes later the elites were back out again to line up at the front of the race. Fagan looked a little like I felt. A hand grenade with no pin, waiting for the explosion. Ryan Hall made everyone wait for two or three minutes before emerging, high on 'jesus-juice', pumped to the hilt, high-fiving everyone (we touched pinkies!) and screaming to go. One star spangled banner later, and we were off.
The race:
We started. We ran under a tunnel. I had no idea what speed I was running at. I had my pace band, and the first mile was a little slow. I picked it up a little. By mile three, I was on track, based on the 6:15 miles. My achilles was damn sore, which was a cause for concern, but I'd had no warm-up. After a couple of miles either it stopped hurting, or I stopped paying attention. It was warm, but we were mostly in the shade (occasional breaks in the sky-scrapers offering a hint of what the second half of the course would be like). I had no plan other than to run within myself, and if that happened to be around what the pace band showed, then all would be well in my world.
I was wearing my favourite black Adidas singlet (pacing gear from the half last year), but had pinned my race number to my shorts, knowing that I was going to run bear-chested to combat the rising heat. By mile 6 I was soaked. Whipped off the singlet and threw it away (don't check out the photos. Neanderthal hairy man with massive anguish on face). Why didn't I just tuck it into my shorts? Early frustration perhaps? In any case, it had run it's last race. Immediately I cooled down, and all was well again. I had no heart rate monitor, but all systems were ok.
I was running comfortably, and mile by mile I was beginning to gather seconds ahead of my pace band. I might have run closer to my pace band target had the Garmin produced any meaningful information (I could've slowed down), but Garmins are close to useless in this race and running by feel alone is your best bet and for the first 10 miles, I felt great! I haven't seen my official splits, but by the half-way point, I wasn't feeling quite as good. I think I was around 30 seconds ahead of pace, but effort levels were rising too. The plan was to speed up at mile 15, but I knew at this stage it just wasn't going to happen. 2:42 was out the window. Didn't bother me, as it had always been a pipe-dream. Sticking to the pace band was the new target.
By around mile 16 or 17, life was getting really tough. I was in a bad mental place. The distance to the 20 mile marker seemed massive, and I have never had a problem with distance before. I was taking 2 or 3 cups of water at every water station, but half of it was poured down the back of my neck to try and cool-down. I had some salt sticks (capsules of salt) in a dispenser, but the first one I reached for broke in half spilling salt everywhere and blocking the dispenser. I was now one big salty sweaty mess. I wanted to grind that salt stick dispenser under my heel. Emer took some capsules with her, and reckoned they worked great for her. I'd love to know if they would have made any difference to my race.
Things really started to hit rock bottom, as those around me started to slow, and I too slowed alongside them. I was hitting the lap button on my watch at every mile marker, and watched as my pace slipped from 6:15 to 6:30/miles. The slow-down was progressive. Gradually I hit seven minute miles and I knew that sub 2:45 was gone. Before the start of the race, I would've been very happy with sub 2:45. I was in really bad mental shape. I needed something to re-ignite the fire. I called on the gods, but given that I'm not a big believer, there was no solace there. I roused the crowd, flapping my arms like an eejit and they responded admirably. I encourage the other runners who were in lower levels of hell than my own, but nothing worked. I was slowing. I'd been dying for a pee since the start of the race, and figured that a 30 second time-out might help me get my head together. I'd tried to go on the run, but like telekinesis, it's just not a skill in my repertoire.
Thankfully, this is a race that looks after the bladder-challenged, with toilets approximately every mile. The pee was wonderful, but felt like it took 30 minutes, instead of thirty seconds. The timeout did me good. I was running well again, but it was only temporary. As soon as the shade disappeared, I wilted like a flower. A hairy sweaty anguished flower. Possibly some form of cactus.
I passed one of those building temperature gauges that read 86' Fahrenheit (30' Celsius). That killed me off completely. I lost the will to live. I don't think the temperature ever actually got that hot, but to see it presented in front of your face like that, it was like defying me to continue. But continue I did, in some kind of horrible mess that loosely resembled running.
Paying it forward:
Despite my horrific nightmare, the pacer in me couldn't help but encourage other runners when I saw them in trouble, giving them a holler and a shaking fist when I saw them slowing to a walk (many of whom went on to pass me). It was payed back in spades at mile 24, when a middle aged blonde women with a lot more cojones than me told me to follow her to the finish line. It was the kick up the arse I needed. I stuck with her for around 400m, until we hit another sunny patch, and once again, I suffered. I dropped off her pace, but managed to maintain a slightly quicker pace. Eventually, I hit mile 25 and then a mile marker that read 1 mile to go. A look at the watch. Screwed. Even the PB is gone. Despite the bad news, the pace picked up a little.
The Finish:
800 meters to go. Feck. Two laps of as track. How long does that take? Too long. 400 metres to go. One lap of a track. Too much. I want to lift up a manhole, and climb into the sewers, never to be seen again. Last hill (the only hill?!) - it's hard work, but the legs are still pushing. Finishing straight. Keep going. I see the clock. 2:48:01. A PB is still possible. With every step, the clock seems to be getting further away. I'm running fast again. It feels good, but it's really hurting. I pass under the clock in around 2:48:17. the PB is gone. I don't care. I'm just glad to be finished. I hate running. Running is stupid. I will never run again.
The aftermath:
I weave my way forward, and am stopped by every single spotter (medical folk who look for potential fainters) for the next 500m. I haven't been accosted by this many medical folks since Feile 1992. I get all the crap they hand out after marathons in the US but can eat and drink nothing. They hand me a beer. I sip it and throw it away. Some crimes should never go un-punished.
I made my way to the 27th mile, stopping briefly at the result tent to get a print-out of my finish time. It's 2:48:10. I'm pretty sure that it's a one second PB. I'm happy. I went with the original strategy, fell to pieces, but still managed a decent time. I know I could've run far more strategic (intelligent) races, but every once in a while, it's ok to fail. Particularly if you fail one second faster than you did the previous time. When I finished Berlin, I couldn't fathom the idea of following a training program or doing a session for six months. Now I want to start again as soon as possible and the hunger is back. There will be a next time.
Summary: 26.2 miles in 2:48:101 -
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Thanks. This log is my creative writing outlet.Great running. Well done for hanging in there.
I'm actually more impressed though with the race report. Very very well written and entertaining. Do you do much writing?
If you're looking for a one second PB with a horrible second half, then go for it!SucCes09 wrote:Fair play! Inspiring stuff!!! Will use this for Dublin in a few weeks!!!
Yep, I was well covered (P20 on head and torso), but still managed to get a decent sun-tan. Without going bear-chested, I reckon I would have overheated and struggled from much earlier in the race. While less than ideal, in the circumstances it was definitely the right option. Some kind of light-coloured ultra-light singlet might be a good alternative option, but I didn't have one. P20 is definitely a great race option as you don't have to worry about it washing off, or getting in your eyes with sweat etc.Gringo wrote:Did you have suncream on?
Like the race, drinking plans went a little awry! I picked up a six-pack of my favourite beer (that you can't buy in Ireland) and enjoyed a couple of beers while writing up the report, while the OH slept (she sleeps a lotpekham wrote:Also, judging by time differences you should have been very drunk writing that. Seems very coherent!). We did manage to get out to a local pub for a couple of brews after that, but nothing too hectic.
Greg Byrne (Rathfanham AC and sometime pacer) managed to spot me sitting on the grass post-race, so we got to enjoy a couple of beers with him and his other half, shooting the breeze and generally being a little disgusted about our respective races. 0 -
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