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Send in the Clowns - BAC 10K Challenge
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Race Report - Barcelona
Previous PB: 3:00:50
New PB: 2:55:15
Barcelona is no Berlin. There are 30,000 less people. There are hills. There are long avenues which double back on themselves, so you see those who are a long way ahead of you, and those who are a long way behind. There are avenues with roads lined with stone slabs. There is 12'C less heat. There is great spirit. There is water in bottles.
I am amazed by just how different Barcelona Marathon is to Berlin. While Berlin has the razzamatazz of a giant circus, Barcelona is quietly efficient and seems to be more concerned with looking after the runner, than looking after the show.
After reading page after page of well-wishes (thanks again everyone!), I started to get a little nervous. Not because I'd be worried about dissapointing anyone, something more akin to a bout of stage fright. Kind of like standing at a urinal, with 30 or 40 people facing you, waiting for you to perform. As we've seen time and time again, you can hit every mile, every race and every session on the button, but on the day, all it takes is the smallest twist of fate to ruin your chances and destroy 12 weeks and 580+ miles of training. In fact, to hit all your goals, you need everything to line up correctly and a certain amount of luck. So it went today.
I got out of bed at 6:10am (5:10am in real numbers!) bagel, banana, shower, gone. As always, I was a little distracted and distressed, but had the wise one with me to make sure I made it to the start line relatively stress free. Said our good-byes, as she faced her own challenges with running 10 miles in Barcelona without getting lost, while I got ready for what lay ahead. Into the expo, which had been cleared out for the day, for a change of clothes, and last minute application of anti-inflamatory cream for the shins and achilles. After dropping the bag off I headed out to the designated warm-up area, for a few laps and a bit of stretching. Barcelona is quote a built up area, with tall buildings and not a great view of the sky so it took a fairly long time to get a GPS lock, and the acurracy was never great throughout (judging by the tracklog). Took a look at the watch, and realized I had only 8 minutes to get into the pen. Stuck behind a metal railing, I worked my way in behind the 3:15 pacers.
The race:
The plan was to stick to around 6:40/mile on the watch. I wasn't really bothered about breaking 2:55. The real plan was to duck well under the three hour mark and I'd take whatever else was on offer. I was quietly optimistic about this goal, as I had reaped the benefits of this training plan before, and run 22 miles at a solid pace, just three weeks previously. I was delighted with the previous IMRA race placing (11th), my 10k slightly-downhill time trial (36:45), and the mile intervals which all helped to confirm my goal pace.
So the gun fired, we got covered in streamers and confetti (nice touch) and I managed to wedge my way onto the course, crossing the start line 15 seconds later, at a slow walk. The start was very busy, so I knew the first couple of miles would be slow, but I had been here before. The plan was to ease myself into the right pace gradually. After about two miles, I was a little alarmed that my legs which had felt pretty tired since getting up didn't really feel any better, but thankfully this never proved to be an issue.
Over the course of the first two miles I managed to reel in first the 3:15 pacers (thank fick!) and then after another couple of miles, the 3 hour pacers (some questionable pacing going on there!). Started glancing at the watch, and realized my average pace for the first 4 or 5 miles was now down to 6:33/mile. This gave me some cause for alarm, as I was weary of over-exerting myself early on, and struggling to the finish. I tried and tried again to slow down, but I just couldn't do it. My old trick of taking a rest but filing in behind someone on a slower pace just didn't work as I would take an involuntary detour, and push on. So 6:36 it was to stay for the first 17 miles.
Wind levels weren't too bad (around 12km/hour) but you could feel the additional effort required along some of the long open avenues. In these conditions I followed P&D's sage advice and tucked in behind groups running at similar pace, before breaking free and moving onto the next group. I never saw these groupings in Berlin. Berlin never seemed to have like-minded athletes working off of each other for a common goal, but Barcelona had them in abundance. When we passed an aid station, it didn't really matter if you managed to get a drink or not, as someone would hand a bottle of water or a bottle of Powerade back through the group. A real spirit of co-operation. The food stations are first class, with water, sports drinks, sponges, fruit every 3 miles (I think!). I really wasn't watching the mileage (or the watch) at all. I endeavored to enjoy the race, so spent my time enjoying Barcelona's crowds of supporters and architecture, recognising some of the sites, and enjoying some of the locations I hadn't seen before.
Around mile 14, I tucked in with a group of around 15 runners, all aiming for a similar type goal. One female who was obviously being chaperoned and corraled into a good time by her 6 spanish minders, and some other nationalities along for the ride. I enjoyed running with them for a few miles. They had good support around the course, and there was a very positive vibe, so I endeavoured to stay with them until nature saw fit to seperate us. I had a bladder that was slowly filling with every drop of liquid I was taking on. By mile 15 it had started to get uncomfortable. By mile 17, I knew I had to do something about it. Worried by tales of €100 fines, I was trying to find some alternative to having to stop and pee on the side of the road (not a single toilet did I see on the route). I tried my hardest. I pushed, I cajoled, I squeezed. Not a drop could I pass on the run (I'm going to have to practise this one in training!). Nada. It was time to wish my new Spanish friends adios, and take the time hit. I spied some dumpsters, and left my steaming puddle and fist-waving granny behind after a thirty second leak. Unfortunately, during the stop-off, both of my calf muscles went into mini-spasm, but it didn't bother me unduly and I was able to live with the small amount of cramp for the rest of the race. My average pace had dropped to 6:40, but this didn't bother me in the least. Though ill-advised, what I wanted to do was rejoin the group I had been running with. This was my new goal. So over the next mile and a half I started working my way through the field again, until we were reunited. But something was wrong, something was different. something had changed.
Looking at my watch, I could see that their pace had dropped. They were now running at 6:38/mile. I should have guessed. I shouldn't have caught them so easily. The love story was over. I felt cheated. By mile 19, their spirit was broken, so with a heavy heart, I pushed on past them, at once feeling slightly dirty, and immoral. It's not you, it's me. I've changed. We don't want the same things any more.
*cough* Back to the race. Something strange was happening. I had hit mile 20, and it didn't feel like mile 20. It felt like mile 14. I felt really strong, and with 6 miles to go, I decided it was time to pick up the pace. I started to pass runners again and again. Those who had gone out too fast, or those who struggled after the 20 mile mark. Over the remaining 6 miles of the race I passed around 40% of the field that lay between me and the finish line. As the final miles ticked off, I felt stronger and stronger. A wise one once had this piece of advice for me: 'anticipate the pain, and embrace it when it comes'. The pain never really came, so I kept adjusting the pace upwards by a small degree. My pace for the last 4.5 miles (despite the hill) was 6:23/mile, finishing at just below 10k pace (5:59/mile), in a time of 2:55:15. After the sprint over the finish line, I was bent over, dry heaving for a few minutes. Sadly no nochalant side of the mouth vomit, like the Kenyans, but there'll be other races. Was I upset about the 15 seconds? No.. Not until later that night, after a couple of beers, when my wife reminded me that I had just missed out on a good for age qualification for New York marathon by 15 seconds. But there'll be other races.
Apologies for the over-dramatic self-important race report. Much of it is in the spirit of telling the tale. I know my place in the running world and am constantly reminded of the gap betwen me and the real runners (like the two Irish guys who finished before me at 2:39 each). The third Irish guy home has a French name, and looks Polish, so I'm promoting myself to third place instead of him. Obviously a clerical error.
Interesting facts:
Number of training miles: 580
Hours of training: 76
Finishing position: 346 / 12446 (2.78%)
Race half marathon splits: 1:28:06 / 1:27:09
5K Splits: 00:21:08 / 00:20:29 / 00:20:51 / 00:21:04 / 00:20:57 / 00:21:25 / 00:20:42 / 00:20:24
Race average Heart rate: 152
Race distance covered: 26.57 (got to improve this in future).
Summary: Marathon (and a bit) in 2:55:15, pace: 6:35/mile (pace based on finish time: 6:42/mile).1 -
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