May As Well

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Hell yeah!

It was most encouraging to see CharlieCat5 and that beloved rascal and linguaphile RC freak Tom Roper hit May off for an athletic six with their long jaunt in the Downs yesterday or thereabouts. My month also started well with a strong, 'feeling great' 12km uphill slog on the second day of the month. Tomorrow sees a mightier effort scheduled, with a full uphill half marathon on the cards.

But wait, there's more! Well, no, actually, there isn't more, as such. A trip to the doctor this afternoon confirmed what I feared - a bacterial infection which requires the application of a 'specific' course of antibiotics taken every six hours (no more, no less) with demanding periods of fasting either side of said antibiotic intake. In short, a pain in the arse, or at least, as big a pain in the arse as an oral medication can be. Well OK, in the greater scheme of things it's not too much to ask I suppose, but it was a bit unexpected and therefore a little frustrating.

But anyway, having previously learned my lesson on such topics, I didn't mention to the doc the small matter of my running 20km (entirely uphill) tomorrow, and so he didn't forbid it. So I'm doing it.

Woot!

I'll report back after ... looking forward to it, too, I am.

Whoa, did I really say that?

I must be sick.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

It's all uphill from here.

I may have overdone things just a little. Today's 20km long run was completed at a gentle climb, but given the distance it was still quite a demanding slope. In all I ascended 400 metres over the 20km run, which is just about a third of the climb required for the Point 2 Pinnacle, but as I discovered, it's still a testing work out at this stage of my training.

That it was tough work was abundantly clear after just a few kilometres, and it took a grim determination and multitudinous visits to the memory bank of why I'm doing this to stick at it. But stick at it I did, and it puts me in a confident mood for the Sydney half marathon ten days hence. My legs however are silently screaming at me, telling me to calm the heck down and not try anything quite so silly again. Well, that remains to be seen, but for now the compression skins are doing their recovery job and all should be well within a day or two. Overall, I feel fine, but the legs are tired and I am tired and I have to question whether that was just a tad too tough at this stage of the game.

Never mind, it feels great to have completed another hard 20k-er. If I am to run the P2P again this year, then it's not a bad position to be in still six months out from race day. But race plans will have to wait until after the Sydney Half. I'm not making any decisions until after then.

So there.

This girl is not a reasonable facsimile of how I looked (duh) or felt on today's run.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

A full race report will appear soon, but I just popped in to say I completed the Sydney half marathon this morning. My race tactics were terrible, in fact, non-existent, and so my time was similarly unimpressive. However I finished the event and have a shiny Sydney half marathon medal (my fourth Sydney half) to prove it. I am not therefore, unhappy.

Stay tuned for the full shebang.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

2016 Sydney Half Marathon Race Report

The days are so much shorter now and winter can't be far away. Technically, it's but two short weeks to the official start of the winter season, and by now we ought to be seeing scarves and beanies in the streets and would normally have dusted off the heaters and ordered a ton or two of firewood. And yet summer refuses to leave. Sunny days with temperatures in the mid 20s persist, and even the ocean temperature remains warm enough that the beaches remain packed, while the 'icebergs', those weird winter swimmers who swim every day, all year round, consider moving further south to escape the crowds.

In short, the weather is unseasonably warm.

For this race then, the late surge of summer warmth is good news. This was my fourth running of the event, and normally I associate it with a frigid start to the day. Like most  Aussie races, this one starts at an unreasonable hour, in this instance 6:45 a.m. and in past years I have resorted to sheltering in the relative warmth of a nearby office block, or fighting the crowds to stand in the warm air from the underground train station air vents near to the race start. There was none of that today. I was up at 5:15 a.m. to snaffle a piece of toast and a banana before catching the 5:44 into the city, and it was sufficiently warm that I happily wandered across the road to the train station in only my running kit of shorts and T-shirt, race number already attached, and with nothing but my train ticket card in my pocket.

The train journey was uneventful, with half the passengers being runners, the other half being slightly bemused commuters who, as in every other time I've made this journey, clearly wondering if they've somehow caught the same train as a party of lunatic asylum day trippers. A family of seven sat near me, all of them apparently running today, and their conversation consisted of the usual pot pourri of race strategies, discussion about the course and where they would all meet up again after the event.

On alighting at Town Hall station we emerged into the early gloom of dawn and into the midst of yet another group of bemused all night revellers wondering what on earth was happening as a small army of lycra-clad athletes over-ran the early morning city streets. One of them, emerging surprisingly sober and alone from an all-night venue asked me which bar we were all going to. 'Whatever is still open' I lamely replied, caught out by the unexpected question and pondering just how preferable that option sounded to the other actual one of pounding out 21.1 kilometres of pain and suffering around the streets of Sydney.

I arrived at the Hyde Park starting area in plenty of time to find a sea of people struggling to find where they needed to be. The queues for the toilets were astonishing (don't these people go before they leave home?); the army of volunteer guides and marshals good-natured and doing a wonderful job and the atmosphere buoyant and cheerful. It made me happy to be here once again, despite the early hour, but also very glad I wasn't in any desperate need for toilet facilities. The people at the wrong end of the queue seemingly had the double anxiety of not being able to hold on, and also missing the start of the race.

With no bag to 'drop', no need for the 'facilities' and little to no chance of finding the other people that I knew to also be racing among the crowd, I headed for the starting area. I was self-seeded into the 1h45m to 2h00m red group. A little worryingly, I found myself to be very close to the start of the whole group. Yes, there were the elite runners and 'blue group' of sub-1h45m runners ahead of me, but in comparison to those behind me, they were very few. Alarm bells were ringing just ever so slightly, but it was at least interesting for once to actually be able to see the celebrities at the start line doing their usual revving of the crowd. Master of ceremonies was Pat Carroll, holder of the half marathon record on Australian soil of 61m11s, recorded in 1994 at this very event, which is quite surprising, because it is a nasty twisting, tight and hilly course not generally noted for fast times. Even the elite Kenyans have failed to seriously challenge his record here, so it's quite something for it to have remained intact for so long.

These days however, he is relegated to cheesy MC duties. 'I want to see everyone's hands in the air!'  he yells in a desperate attempt to engage our enthusiasm. He introduces the warm up 'artist', someone from London with such a broad cockney accent that no-one can understand his instructions. Much flailing of arms and dodgy dance moves descends merely into a fit of ungainly hysterics , but no-one much seems to mind.

Pretty soon we're off, by which time I'm genuinely alarmed to discover I'm probably in the first tenth of the field. This is never for me a good place to be, as the constant sea of faster runners passing me does little for my rhythm or my confidence, but there is little to be done about it now except to keep moving forward and seeing if I can find a decent pace and rhythm.

My race tactics are a little unusual, in that I have none. Being the consummate keeper of a detailed running log with its myriad, mathematical analyses of all my runs, I always have a plan, usually worked out to the tiniest of detail. This time however, life, as they say, has rather got in the way of things, and whilst I am confident of finishing this race, I have little to no idea of what I can realistically expect in terms of times, pacing and so on. I have therefore gone into this race in the unfamiliar position of 'just seeing what happens'. 

This almost immediately proves itself to be a very bad plan, with the first kilometre being very much faster than it ought. This is doubly disturbing when you consider much of that first few minutes is really about just keeping your feet and fighting your way through the crowd still trying to get itself organised. That the second kilometre is then faster again is all the more disturbing.

However, as is typically the case in these type of events, I am travelling quite well and feeling comfortable with the pace so just hang on to see 'what might happen'. Again, not a particularly sound race tactic, but in lieu of anything else, it seemed reasonable at the time.

I had by this stage been well and truly passed by the 120 minute pacer man, who zoomed past me at what seemed an insane pace, and certainly well ahead of two hour timing. It soon transpired that he was only one of two, two-hour pacers, the second one drawing alongside soon after, wondering aloud what the other thought he was doing. 'He seems to be on some kind of 2 hour PB pace' he said, his own pace whilst still a little fast, far more reasonable. I decided to tack along for a while, and enjoyed handing responsibility for some sensible pacing to someone else. He said he was actually working on 1h58m pace to 'give people a little leeway'. At the first water station however I lost him and I ran on ahead, still way ahead of what I thought was a sensible pace, but feeling good enough to not seriously question what I was doing.

The truth of the matter was that deep down I knew this pace was a killer. True, I had run well at the Canberra half marathon just a few weeks before, and while I had kept up a reasonable training program since then, it was not one geared toward a half marathon PB, at which pace I was now travelling. Even so, despite the alarm bells going off in my head, and my watch telling me I was running far faster than I had for a very long time, I kept  on going.

To run a half marathon in two hours, you need to maintain a pace of 5:41 per kilometre, and I was way ahead of that by perhaps 15 seconds or so per kilometre, despite my training in recent weeks having nothing like that goal in mind. Any sane, sensible person would just simply slow down and not risk blowing up in the latter stages of the race. It's not like I had anything to prove. This was just another training run, seeing how i went in order to properly set my other goals for the rest of the year. But do I listen to myself? No, apparently not. On I went, smashing it kilometre after kilometre. The two hour pacers were well behind me, and I was stupid enough to start looking for the 1h55m pacer. Oh my!

I passed the half way point in 58 minutes. Whilst I knew through the heaviness of my legs that a PB was not possible, I was still naive enough to consider sub-2 hours a definite chance. Indeed, the 13th kilometre was my fastest at 5:13; well and truly inside PB pace. By my standards I was flying!

But of course inevitably this was also my downfall. The wall was hit, and the next two kilometres saw me reduced to near training pace, the next one even a little below. With gut-wrenching inevitability, the two-hour pacers then caught me and passed by. I at least lifted a little and managed to claw my way back to a decent pace for the 17th kilometre, but that was my last gasp. The last four kilometres were a sea of pain and heartache. Water stations became excuses for walk breaks, and the hills saw my running speed reduced to below that of many of the people now walking. It was ugly. I felt bad, looked bad and was running as slowly as I ever had in any race anywhere.

All races come to an end however, and of course I hung on and finished the damned thing. My time was 2h06m, pretty poor considering my 58m first half, but at the end of the day it was still a race run and finished, which is always the primary goal. It was my own fault. Had I started in an appropriate point in the field further back, and paced myself more carefully I am sure the two hour mark could well have been broken. At the end of the day it doesn't matter at all. The whole point of running is to maintain a decent semblance of health and fitness to prolong life so that I can drink more booze.

Did I really say that?

Oh. I guess the truth just kind of popped out there.

Well, to be a little less flippant, it is all about prolonging life and making the most of it. Too many people don't have that privilege, and the fact that I hit the wall in a race matters not at all. That I was there is what matters. I had a go.

Life's good. Go run a race!

[Sweder]

Yeah baby! They can't all be world-beaters. Sometimes getting there is simply not as much fun as the journey, including the training and planning. Hats Off mate, another one in the bag. Raising a bottle of Jakehead IPA in your honour ...

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Soul searching, baby. 

The runner's spreadsheet running log is a fascinating thing. It can tell you a lot about the runner and his or her habits, and its harsh sodium-glare spotlight of truth often reveals things the hardened or perhaps not-so-hardened runner would rather not know, much less reveal to a wider audience.

For instance, a casual glance at my running log reveals that my performance yesterday followed three months of respectable training. An honest effort it was, to be sure, and with no short cuts taken. It was a worthy and respectable effort and almost a carbon copy of the three months training that led to my participation in the 2014 Sydney Half. And yet the results were radically different. Yesterday I crossed the line in 2h06m, nearly twelve whole minutes worse than my PB for the self same race. Two years earlier, following a very similar three months of training, I completed the event in 1h57m, nearly ten whole minutes quicker. 

My immediate response when I saw this was to blame circumstance, or perhaps age, but pretty clearly none of that is true. When I dig a little deeper, the truth is rather more self-evident. Prior to 2014, I had two years of solid running, pounding out a more than respectable weekly average for pretty much the entire two year period. After that however, things went somewhat backwards. 2014 and 2015 were not, it must be said, good running years, with only modest distances covered, and the theme of that brace of years would have to be called 'inconsistency'. 

No, it seems clear to me now that if I want to turn out some respectable performances - and by that I mean in my own modest terms of course - then I really do have to diligently turn up and crank out the miles week after week. That base mileage is quite simply the fundamental key. A 12 or 16 week training programme doesn't cut it any more unless built on genuine base mileage, and regular, routine running simply has to become part and parcel of daily life if I don't want my running to spiral ever downwards until it implodes in a sea of futility somewhere up my own arse.

It seems a harsh revelation, but that is the nature of the beast at this stage of life. I can no longer expect to 'get back' to a previously enjoyed level of fitness after just a few weeks of effort. It does now genuinely have to become lifestyle. You would think after nearly 13 years of running .. well hang on, with the help of the spreadsheet and the running log I can be more specific than that... yes, after 4,773 days of running you'd think I had this running business well and truly sorted out. But no, it still requires a determined effort of will to maintain the habit. Given the benefits of regular running it's an odd thing to admit, but persisting with running still presents difficulties which sometimes sees me fall into a stupor of non-running for weeks and sometimes months at a time. This depressing torpor of indifference and pessimism is the real danger, and sometimes a result like yesterday's slow half marathon with its pain and genuine 'is this really worth it?' over-arching question mark can be a dangerous turning point, too often leading me to take the easier path of booze and fried foods instead of salads and pre-dawn interval training. And we all know where that inevitably leads.

So, as I'm in a point of genuine turmoil at the moment, with extremely boring work and general life issues threatening to overshadow the value of running, it's all the more vital that I remain focussed and get on with it again. To that end I'm modifying my running goals somewhat. I'm removing the pressure of another marathon for now, at least for the remainder of this year as the effort required is simply too great. I will focus instead on regaining that lost half marathon form, to see if I can once again run sub-two hours without taxing myself too much. There are at least two more half marathon races I can participate in this year, as well as the Point to Pinnacle in November, so suitable goals are not a problem.

As with everything, choices abound. As Neo attested in Matrix Reloaded, the problem with everything is always choice. If there's no choice, there's no problem. Freedom, for all its blessings, always gives one a crisis of conscience. It's a funny thing, but we can choose to either become depressed about it, or to get active and tackle it head on. Stupor or action, pessimism or optimism. Not such a difficult choice really if you're thinking clearly.

I'll see you out there. Sorry for all the pretentiousness.

[Charliecat5]

Soul searching, baby. 

As with everything, choices abound. As Neo attested in Matrix Reloaded, the problem with everything is always choice. If there's no choice, there's no problem. Freedom, for all its blessings, always gives one a crisis of conscience. It's a funny thing, but we can choose to either become depressed about it, or to get active and tackle it head on. Stupor or action, pessimism or optimism. Not such a difficult choice really if you're thinking clearly.

You're worse than me for questioning the essence of running - or should I say I'm worse than you... given your 4,773 days and my slightly less than that.

I had a bad run on Sunday - far from the idyllic run I had in mind - you know the one - leaping like a spring lamb over hills and fields without a care in the world - it was beset with demons and stoppages and questions about the whole meaning of life - with an answer that was falling somewhat short of 42.

However, I have come to realise that running drives running.  The more I do, the more often I take that step out of the door, the more I want to do.  If I take time off, for whatever reason, the more difficult it is to get going again.

Why do I run?  Because I love being out in the hills.  I love being able to get there under my own steam (there is plenty of steam).  I like running with others... even listening to the goat grunt and mutter away about all and sundry is comforting, in its own peculiar way.

I am obsessed with my stats... I'm always looking at my pace... but actually I've realised that the stats don't make me happy.  Stopping at the top and spending five minutes soaking in the view is what makes me happy.  That and the run back down again.

Keep at it my friend.   Every time you go out the door... you remind me that I also need to strap on the shoes and head out.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Intrigued by that statistic of yours MLCM, 4773 days of running. How many kms would that translate to? you know, I think we're all running geeks at heart...
Well done for that Sydney half marathon, for keeping going and for writing about it. And for reminding me that it's nearly 10 years since I last ran one of those things...

[Antonio247]

Congratulations, MLCMM! It's difficult to start from less to more since we usually let us go faster than we should but you've managed to finish two half marathons recently after many months without much training. I'm sure you'll be able to do another half marathon under two hours this year if you're lucky with injuries.


Saludos desde Almería

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Thanks for all the comments, my friends. May we all continue running just as long as we can, in whatever form that might be!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Intrigued by that statistic of yours MLCM, 4773 days of running. How many kms would that translate to?

Actually it's impossible to answer, BB, because for a couple of years in there I did in fact 'run free'  and recorded none of my runs. There's also a handful of years missing from my data... doubtless the result of a failed backup somewhere and a change of PC. You know how it is... Funnily enough, I'm not so upset about the missing logs. It's all just part of the adventure, and to be honest, I could hang up the spreadsheet and run log-less again if the mood took me.

Run on my friend, that's the main thing.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Book review - 'Scared Weird Frozen Guy', by Rusty Berther

When Rusty's two-man comedy band, The Scared Weird Little Guys, broke up after many years of success on the Australian and overseas comedy circuit, he was left with a burning desire to do something else significant but very different from comedy. Already a keen, albeit modest runner with two marathons under his belt, Rusty looked further afield and opted for, of all places, Antarctica, specifically the annual Antarctic Ice Marathon.

I should warn you that the first half of this book is more to do with his rise to stardom as a comedic musician, and if you aren't familiar with their work, you might want to acquaint yourself with some of their material before diving into the book (there's plenty of it on YouTube et al). It's worth the effort; the book is well written, and as you'd expect from a comedian, it's entertaining, fascinating and easy to read.

His training methods (which included running in a giant industrial freezer) and the journey to Antarctica for the race are of course the key parts of the work, and despite the horrendous expense, paperwork and logistical nightmares associated with such an adventure, Rusty's story will leave you at the very least wondering if you too shouldn't entertain the thought of such an undertaking.

Rusty's descriptions of the frozen continent and the caricatures he writes of his fellow runners and organisers make a thoroughly enjoyable read. From the grim Igor, the solitary cabin crew aboard the Soviet-era Ilyushin IL-76 jet that ferried the runners to the Antarctic base where the event was held, to the astonishing Richard Donovan, an Irish ultra marathoner who, not content with a mere 42 kilometres instead ran an Antarctic record 160 kilometres, the author fills the book with a great feeling of camaraderie that all runners will have experienced but which is clearly intensified in the frozen wastes of the Antarctic.

As for the race itself, this extract beautifully portrays the stunning isolation of the event:

I stopped here for a little look around at the scenery again and continued to be amazed, but I also felt very alone. There was a tiny speck of a runner way behind me, and in front of me I could see another speck approaching the aid station. The closest other humans to us here at Union Glacier were at the South pole, 800 kilometres away.

Complete with several pages of exquisite colour photographs, this book is a real treat for anyone wanting to experience what happens when an 'ordinary' runner (his PB for a 'regular' marathon is a touch over 4 hours) goes on to do something truly spectacular. The trials and tribulations he suffers on his way to and during the Antarctic event will resonate with anyone who has battled their own demons and genuine crises of illness and injury prior to a major race.

This is a great read, even if you have never heard of Scared Weird Little Guys. Give it a shot!

[Bierzo Baggie]

Intrigued by that statistic of yours MLCM, 4773 days of running. How many kms would that translate to?

Actually it's impossible to answer, BB, because for a couple of years in there I did in fact 'run free'  and recorded none of my runs. There's also a handful of years missing from my data... doubtless the result of a failed backup somewhere and a change of PC. You know how it is... Funnily enough, I'm not so upset about the missing logs. It's all just part of the adventure, and to be honest, I could hang up the spreadsheet and run log-less again if the mood took me.

Run on my friend, that's the main thing.

Well I've scribbled down every single run since my mid-20s in a variety of different exercise books. I'm only sure of the location of the most recent one ... the others are hidden away in old shoe-boxes somewhere...  After each run I'll note down the date, where I went, the time and an approximate distance. 
All very old school I know...  
I may also make random comments about weather, flora, fauna and any other distractions on the way.
Must dig them all out some time [running geek alert] it would make fascinating reading.
 
I should be able to calculate distance run since 1996 in an approximate, low-tec sort of way..  
This feels a bit like a confession.. Yep, I've finally come out of the wardrobe..
Or the shoe box! 

[Sweder]

I'm coming round to the view that, whilst all these histories are great fun to dig about in, the one truly important tun in your life is the next one. I suppose if you want to get all Pink Floyd about it, we've almost certainly banked more miles than we have left to run. Best make the most of them. Ha!

Yours,
The Grim Reaper

[marathondan]

I'm coming round to the view that, whilst all these histories are great fun to dig about in, the one truly important tun in your life is the next one.

Well said!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Autumn? Where the bloody hell did Autumn go?

May comes to an end, and what an end! Up until just a few days ago, the 27th to be exact, the month had been not only the hottest ever recorded since record keeping began here, but was a staggering 5 degrees Celsius above average for the month. Even the Climate Council, with their dire warnings about hell on earth as the last final nail in the 400ppm CO2 coffin was firmly hammered home were gob smacked at how high the temperatures have been here in Sydney in particular.

Meanwhile, we poor innocent victims of global warming had been taking advantage of late autumnal temperatures in the mid to high twenties, enjoying what was effectively a very late and very long summer with days at the beach and al fresco evenings of gins and tonic and seafood canapés. If this is global warming, I have no quarrel with it.

That however all came to a sudden and freezing end three days ago when summer suddenly realised that she was likely to miss the last train if she didn't leave immediately, grabbing her salad bowl and the unfinished bottle of chilled Riesling and rushing out the door without as much as a 'by your leave'. Winter, seeing its opportunity, rushed holus bolus in to take summer's place. And so the sudden plummet to freezing temperatures with none of the usual moderating autumnal acclimatisation has made life miserably cold, and running doubly so.

As a result this morning my early morning 5 a.m. jog saw me hit the streets wearing a second, long-sleeved top and my Point 2 Pinnacle beanie to make the run bearable. Readers more used to a colder clime will doubtless be chuckling when I say that the temperature was a mere 8 degrees C, perhaps even considered 'mild' by some, but after such a long and warm summer, the sudden loss of ten degrees to our overnight lows and daytime maximums has come as something of a shock to the system.

The first two kilometres of my run were utterly miserable, but I at least by then had warmed a little and was able to dispense with the long-sleeved top. Conveniently for the dispensing of layers I was running the local streets and it was no problem to run past my house where I could drop the top, so to speak. The beanie however stayed firmly over my ears for the entire run. I added just a kilometre at a time to the outing, having no real desire to be out there, but wanting to get my five kilometres completed just to prove to myself that the colder weather was not going to hinder my training. Had I not needed to head home and get ready for work, I could have stayed out longer, but I covered 5.2km and felt happy with that given the appalling Antarctic conditions... ahem.

OK, so May was a mixed bag, but let's see what June now brings.

[marathondan]

Proper running weather! Go for it!