Anatomy of a Race - Part 3 (The Race)

Feeling Good

As we headed off the crowd surged to fill the gaps just prior to the start and then paused in a wave back through the competitors as we all stopped for the actual start. I remembered this from last year and was alert to any potential collision with runners in front of me.

Safely over the start line some 34 seconds after the start, I started the Garmin GPS that I had borrowed while I await the arrival of my new one and headed off on my 13th half marathon. Unlike last year the flow of runners was pretty good and there weren't too many slow runners or walkers to negotiate. I had feared a start like last year, where there were dozens (if not hundreds) of people to make my way around in the first one or two kilometres. This had cost me at least a minute or two and that, combined with my watch failing before the 5k mark, had meant a race that was well below par. Last year's race was definitely in my head for that first kilometre, but I unlike last year, I set a cracking pace (for me that is) of 4:47. That was about 10 seconds ahead of target pace to complete my first sub-1 hour 45 half.

I feel into a nice rhythm really quickly and I wasn't distracted by any of the runners around me. I was running my own race, not trying to keep up with anyone nor too perturbed by people passing me. My legs were feeling fresh and my breathing was well under control. I peeled off a 4:43 kilometre, then 4:45, 4:48 and 4:46 so that by the time I got to the 5km mark and the first drinks station I was still well on target for a 1:45:00 finish.

I slowed for a drink at the 5k station, but didn't manage to get much down. Drinking out of a half filled 200ml plastic cup while you are running is a skill I am yet to master. You feel like a toddler learning to drink from a cup for the first time, gulping down water and gasping for air all at once and spilling 50mls for every 10 you manage to get down. I don't know why they haven't invented a Tommy Tippee for marathon drink stops, surely if you drink like a toddler then a toddler's cup would be most apt.

As I left the drinks station I thought to myself that I couldn't believe how good I was feeling and how smooth the race had been so far. Five kilometres in 23:49 was my 3rd fastest 5k split for a half and it was still well within what I needed to be for a 1:45:00 finish. About two kilometres down the road, though, the lactic acid started to build and my pace began to slow.

Mind Games
At first I didn't really notice my pace slowing too much, but I was getting instant feedback from my Garmin in the form of my live pace on screen all the time and my 1km splits flashing up as I passed each kilometre mark. I had thought that this would be great as I would be able to adjust my pace so that I could achieve my target time. As it turned out the constant feedback just started to do my head in. I looked at the watch every 20 or 30 seconds, sometimes I would be doing 5:15 pace and at other times I was doing 4:30. In response I would either speed up of low down, usually over compensating one way or the other.

This part of the course also had several points where competitors would bunch up and have to negotiate narrower parts of the course, so I became more conscious of, and even concerned about, what others were doing around me. 'Get out of the way', I'd think. 'Why did you just pass me and slow down?' 'I should be able to keep up with that one.'

Just after the bridge at the 8.6km mark one particular fellow competitor really got the better of me. We had just got off the bridge where I had remained on the footpath and I had to merge on to the road into a line of runners coming from behind that were still on the road. I kept my line and pace and merged in without any problem. About 10 metres down the road though a really tall guy passed me and leaned over to a woman running with him and said: "Now that the training run over and the race is about to start, better find somewhere else to run, eh." She nodded and said "Yeah." I was convinced that the comment was aimed at me and it pissed me off no end! I was angry, bloody angry. I had as much right to be there as he did and I thought 'I'll show you, you bastard. I'm going to beat you' and I attempted to stay on his heels. Dumb move! This just threw my rhythm out even more and now it was starting to impact on my legs big time.

By the time I reached the 10km drink station I was had averaged just over 5 minutes per kilometre since the last drink station and I was starting to feel the effects. This time I stopped and grabbed two cups of water and a Lepin energy drink and gulped them down as best I could. Little more than a kilometre on my stomach started to ache and I began to regret taking the Lepin. I'd been using the gels in training and they were playing havoc with my gut so I had stopped using them. I am sure I didn't have enough to effect me at that drink stop and not so quickly, but my headspace was so screwed up that I convinced myself that it was costing me a PB.

Two more kilometres and for the first time ever in a race I was contemplating pulling out and I was asking myself: 'What the hell and I doing here?'. 'This is not good', I thought, 'just get on with it'. So I did, but It wasn't for another kilometre or so that my the mind games stopped and I just concentrated on finishing.

I had slowed again after the second drink stop, averaging about 5:13 pace. So, by the 15km split, I was just behind 1:45:00 and a new game started. Do I speed up and try to claw back to target pace or do slow down so that I can finish? I think I ended up doing about 500 metres of each in every until the 17.5 km mark, when things changed.

Exhaution and Fatigue
Bang! It hit me quickly and it hit me hard. I felt a surge of exhaution start at the top of my head and make its way all the way to the tip of my toes. My head started to spin and my vision was blurred. I had no choice but to slow down, A LOT!

I think this is what they call the wall, but it doesn't usually happen in a race this short. It usually happens when you reach about the three hour mark or perhaps the 35km mark of a marathon. This shouldn't have been happening to me.

I was now in the 5:20s and 5:30s and I could do nothing about it. It was a matter of just making it to the end now, no chance of a sub 1:45:00 and no chance of a PB. Nothing moved properly and I was down to little more than a fast shuffle.

At the 19.5km mark there was a band and I thought to myself as the their tent came into view" 'That oughta lift the spirits'. But, when I got there they were playing a very slow depressing march and, along with the grey day and persistent rain, I felt like I was running across a swamp on the Russian Front not on a sealed path in Hagley Park. Despite this I knew the finish was close and I tried picking up the pace a little, but to little effect.

The Finish
I rounded the corner with about 500 metres to go and the finish line loomed large. I knew this was too far out for a sprint finish, but a big guy who looked a bit older than me went past and I recalled a passage from Dean Kanazes book about a close finih in one of his races, so I thought 'What the hell, I'll take him on!'.

I passed him and he picked up the pass, he went passed me and then we went shoulder to shoulder. I dug deep and powered away, but not far. I could hear his footsteps pounding the wet road and with 100 metres to go he ran past me again. This time I had nothing left and I was starting to feel like I would throw up before reaching the finish. So I slowed to a more managable pace and a flood of about 10 people passed me, but I had nothing left and I didn't care anymore, I just wanted to finish.

In the end it was my second fastest time: 1:47:39, just 59 seconds slower than the Southern Lakes Half in March (which actually drops 200 metres from start to finish). I had also finished in the top 34.5% of all finishes, up from 53% last year, and I had taken more than 7 minutes off last years Christchurch time.

So, while I felt that it was one of my worst races ever, I had actually done pretty well and, if the next few days were anything to go by I had run pretty hard. I spent the next two days walking down stairs sideways and reversing on to the toilet was an almost impossible task. Someone once told me that, you know when you've run your hardest when you can't get on and off the toilet the next day, so I must have done something right.