Reflections on the Vancouver Marathon

This post is one in a series about my personal running; training and racing. For other posts like this, click here.

My nipples are going to bleed. That’s all I can think to myself as I scan the crowd for my uncle. Its 7 am and we were supposed to meet near the gear check, but I can’t find him in the mass of people. He was supposed to give me some nifty nipple protectors to prevent chaffing. Oh well, Plan B is the Band-Aids I have. The same ones that have fallen off and failed me on every one of my long training runs.

It’s now 5 minutes until the race begins, I’ve been drinking water since I woke up and I need to use the port-o-pottie but the lineups are worse than an outdoor concert. Do I risk missing race start? Yeah. I get it over with and make it to the end of the start line just in time for the 15 second count-down. 15…14… Ok, I’m ready for this, I’ve trained. No sweat…. 5….4… No biggie, I got this… BANG!

We’re off, it’s drizzling, and I’m about to run the furthest distance of my life, 42.2km. I’m near the back and stuck behind mass of people, but I’m happy to start at a slow pace because its going to be a long day.

Whoa that guy is flying. 3km mark: The race leader has doubled back on the opening stretch and is already at roughly the 8km mark. We’ve just started and he’s already gone more than double my distance. How is it humanly possible to keep that pace for 42km? All I can do is applaud as he passes by on the other side of the street.

We are all Kenyan. 6km mark: I see my favorite sign of the day. Then in small print: “But some of us are just more Kenyan than others”. Tell me about it.

“Hey Rudy!” 7km mark: I spot my uncle as I turn back on the opening part of the course. He sees me and laughs, “Hey KJ!” before vanishing around the corner.

Cool, that’s Martin Parnell! 8km mark: I spot Martin, the ultra-inspiring figure behind Marathon Quest 250, who is single-handedly attempting to run 250 marathons this year in a bid to raise $250k for Right to Play.

“Good work Martin, keep it up!”
“Cheers buddy, thank you!” he shouts back as he flashes me a smile and gives the thumbs-up.

Grumble, grumble. 10km mark: My stomach starts to grumble. Why did I eat that ‘healthy baked cookie bar’ this morning. Or is it the yogurt? This might not end well. Thankfully, the pain quickly goes away and doesn’t return.

Damn, my nipple is bleeding! 12km mark: I look down at my shirt after a sharp tweak of pain. Blood is running down my shirt from my left nipple. Band-Aid brand is definitely not stuck on me.

Rain, rain go away. 14km mark: The drizzle is now a full Vancouver rain. Not good, but not much I can do about it, just keep running.

Sweet, home-field advantage. 18km mark: The course enters Stanley Park, where I did every one of my long training runs. I feel like I know the seawall around the park like the back of my hand. Every nook, cranny and corner is expected and I get a bonus shot of confidence.

“How you doing buddy?” 19km mark: I ask a guy who looks like he’s hurting as I slowly pull even. “Great….but I could use one of those Canadians” he says referring to my Molson toque. “I think those are at the finish line“, I say. “Really? I better hurry” he replies before dashing ahead of me. 5-10 minutes later I catch back up. “I’ll meet you at the pub” I say as I pass. “I’m gonna beat you there!” is the response I get before he kicks it into high gear again, zooming ahead. Not a great use of energy I think to myself. 5 minutes later he’s walking and I pass by. The turtle wins again.

Halfway there. 21.1km mark: My cardio is fine, but my legs are getting heavy. ‘But it doesn’t matter‘ I tell myself, following what my training book advised. This race is as much mental as physical, and there’s no room for negativity here. As any negative thoughts creep into my head, I finish the sentence off with “…but it doesn’t matter”. It’s raining, I’m tired… but it doesn’t matter.

WTF, a pace bunny!? 23km mark: I’ve actually caught up to a pace bunny. I don’t have a time goal. I didn’t want to set one, miss it by a minute and feel like a failure. My goal is to finish. Pure and simple. But I’ve just caught up with the 4:15 pace bunny! Holy cow I’m actually pulling a decent pace.Is it possible I could I keep this up? I try to push the thought aside. My goal is to finish, that’s all! …. But, 4:15 would be pretty sweet.

I dislike this bridge. 27km mark: The Burrard Bridge. I used to like it. A true Vancouver landmark perched over False Creek. But now it’s just a huge mound of pavement that I have to make my way up and over.

G’ah, my other nipple is bleeding. 28km mark: Now my right nipple has opened like a leaky faucet. At least my left has scabbed over and stopped… but it doesn’t matter anyway.

Karl, meet wall. 32km mark: The wall. I’ve read about it. I was ready for it. It sucks.

Uncle Rudy Part II. 34km mark. I’ve made my way out to Jericho beach and am on my way back downtown. The final 8km!! No problemo! Easy-peasy! I increasingly say these things to myself, but man I’m in pain. Then I spot my uncle on his way out to Jericho. We pass by, a quick high five, and an extra boost of energy.

Cramping. 38km mark: My right quad is starting to go. I’ve slowed to what feels like snails pace, but I’m still passing people who are walking so at least that’s something. I refuse to walk.

I hate this bridge. 40km mark: Back over the Burrard. I used to dislike this bridge, now I hate it.

The final push. 42km mark: This is it, any reserves are in full gear. Run. Run. Run! I push my hardest the last 200m. Now my quads, hamstrings, groin and muscles I didn’t know existed feel like they are about to seize, but after 4 months of training I’ll fight for every second!

Finish. 42.2km mark: That’s it! A huge rush of relief. I hobble to the side and try to stretch, but can hardly bend my legs before they start to seize on me. I get my medal, some water and limp into the sports expo to grab my bag. Mission accomplished, scratch it off the bucket list.

But this feels better than other bucket list items I’ve accomplished. This one wasn’t bought with money, but with sweat and (nipple) blood. I couldn’t just pay the bucks and jump off a bridge, for example, like I did for previous things on my list, I had to fight for this one. It feels great.

Oh, and my final time: 4:14:25 and 1215/1879 males. I’ll take it.