...and it's name is marathon. Oh yes, dudes and dudettes, this past weekend I ran yet another marathon. Well, ran really isn't the proper word. Attempted to run would categorize it better. But we'll get to that later. Last weekend's choice of torture was the Victoria Marathon. Formerly known as the Royal Victoria Marathon. I've no idea why they changed the name, 'cause I kinda liked the "Royal" bit, but whatever floats your boat, I guess (or in this case, whoever pays the sponsorship dues, as it were). It was yet another full marathon, which meant 42.2 km of sheer, unadulterated masochism. Or 26.2 miles for those of you yet to give up the antiquated imperial system. That's really far, kids. Really, really far. Don't believe me? Get on your pedal bike and simply see if you can actually pedal 42.2 km (this doesn't apply if your name is Rob Belanger). Yeah, that's what I thought.
This year was a bit different, because my loving and normally running-resistant husband actually agreed to participate in the 8 km road race held the same day as the marathon. There are usually shorter races held along with the marathon so more people can participate and feel the excitement that is a running event. I've been nagging Glen for years to run something, anything with me, and I finally wore him down. I was pushing for the half marathon, but he would only agree to the 8 km race. But it's a start. After the race he was talking about potentially running a 15 km race to see how that went, and you know what that means. A full marathon is mere years away. Soon, young grasshopper will run the marathon. Soon.
So we headed over on the ferry bright and early Saturday morning, because we anticipated a long wait a the ferry terminal due to it being Thanksgiving weekend. We didn't end up having to wait, either going or coming back, which if you ask me is nothing short of miraculous considering how long those lines have gotten in the past. We stayed at the Fairmont Empress, which if you've ever seen pictures of Victoria or gotten a postcard from someone who's been there, is the ivy-covered old looking building. Yes, that one. Fancy-doodle, my friends. Why did we stay there? It was cheaper than the Marriott. Seriously. I didn't want to stay at one of the cheaper hotels because the beds aren't usually that great, and I really liked the Marriott last time we stayed there, but this time it was actually cheaper to stay at the Empress. So we did. As expected it wasn't the largest hotel room we've ever been in-well, actually it was the smallest hotel room we've ever been in-but it was clean and had all the necessities. We forgave them for the small room owing to the fact that the hotel was built over a hundred years ago before gigantic hotel rooms were the norm. Plus it had windows that actually opened more than 2 inches. You could've crawled out the window if you wanted to. It's a hotel with a lot of history, so it was really just a novelty to stay there once to say we've done it.
Onto the race, then. Glen's race started at 7:15 am, which meant that he would be finished before the marathon started at 9 am. 9 am is a really late start for a marathon, for those of you uninitiated in the art of running races. Normally they start before 8 am, so that you don't end up spending your entire day running. Not sure why they made the start so late this year, but maybe the early time was lost amid the dropping of "Royal" in the title of the race. But I digress. Glen got up and was out the door with a mere 15 minutes to spare before his race actually started. I managed to get to the finish line for when I thought he would be finish, but I missed him by a few minutes because he was faster than he thought he was going to be. He ran it in under 55 minutes, which I think is fairly impressive for someone I would consider a couch potato. I can write that here because he never reads my blog. Honestly, he doesn't. He said he had a good race, and he was happy with his results. That's really all I managed to get out of him.
Now for my race. It was disastrous. Sortof. But I did get to see the inside of the medical tent at the finish line. How do I best explain this? Well, I finished. I crossed the finish line and received my medal, completely under the power of my own body. So I completed another marathon. Yay for me. That's the good news. The bad news? I am so disappointed and embarrassed by the horrifying time that I posted that refuse to repeat it here. If you want to know what it was, you're going to have to look it up yourselves. That's how bad it was. But let me start at the beginning, when there was still hope and happiness in this young girl's eyes.
The race started all right. I was maintaining my pace well, and feeling pretty good all around. It had looked like it was going to pour rain that morning, but things were looking up as the day progressed, because the sun eventually came out and it turned out to be a beautiful day. That's fortunate because I wasn't relishing the thought of running in the rain and dealing with the giant amount of chafing that always results from that. I made it through the half way point all right. I saw my cousin Leah, but didn't manage to say Hi as she whipped by me headed the other direction. I did see Lori, and managed a thumbs-up which she may or may not have thought was going to be a high five, 'cause somehow the thumbs up came out a little garbled. How does one garble a thumbs up, you ask? Well, run about 23 km, then recognize someone as they're passing you in the other direction, and try to figure out through that haze if you're going to high-five or simply stick your thumb in the air. That's how.
As I was coming up to the turnaround point one of the water station volunteers got in my way and I nearly took him out. It wouldn't have been a pretty sight. Take this as a lesson, readers. If you're gonna volunteer at a marathon or any other running event, keep your head up. 'Cause we'll run you over. We're crazy like that. All was well for a few more km's, and then the head games started. I wasn't going to finish. It was too far and I couldn't make it. Oh, if only I could walk, just for a few minutes. No, dammit, I will not walk! Stop it! You can do this, Sara. You've done it before. You're over half way done, the rest is easy. Oh, crap, this is a hill. So tired...want to stop...No! There will be no walking! That's what it's like to be inside a marathon runner's head somewhere between 29 and 35 km. It ain't pretty. It's going from complete awe and happiness with the fact that you're actually doing it, to total despair and hopelessness that you can't finish all within seconds of each other. I've done that 6 times so far. Bring on the insanity comments.
This brings us up to the 35 km mark. At this point I was on pace. I was on pace and I was poised to set a personal best. A personal best I've been chasing since I last ran the Victoria marathon in 2008. And I was gonna do it! After 2 years of fighting myself I was gonna do it! Then disaster struck. My stomach turned. Over the course of maybe half a kilometer, I went from just being tired and sore to wanting to throw up. It was so bad I had to walk. For shame! For shame!
I walked for a few minutes, glancing at my GPS. If I started running again I could still salvage the race. I wouldn't set a personal best, but it would still be a time I was satisfied with. I tried running again. I made it maybe 500 m and had to stop. Curses! So I walked. I walked with the hope that perhaps in a few more minutes I would feel better and perhaps be able to run again to finish the race. And with each passing minute the nausea got worse. Then, at around 40 km, 2 km from the finish line, I finally tossed my cookies. Right there on the side of the race course, I wretched up the contents of my stomach. To this day I still can't figure out why they came out green, because nothing I had eaten that day was green. But there you go.
A very, very kind man walking on the sidewalk stopped to see if I was all right. I was done puking my guts out at this point and declined his very generous offer to get me help. He did have a kleenex on him, which was a lifesaver if you've ever had to walk 2 km to a finish line after just having barfed. That taste won't leave your nostrils on it's own, kids. If I had to compare that feeling, it was like when you've had too much to drink and throw up. That feeling of nausea and your stomach churning, and then you upchuck and you feel better. Really, it felt just like drinking too much. Minus the subsequent hangover, of course.
I walked the final 2 km to the finish line. Right near the line a woman asked if I'd like to run over the finish line with her, but I declined owing to the fact that I didn't want to be the woman who barfed just on the other side of the finish line. So I walked across, with my head hung in shame, hunched over like a 90 year-old woman. Not a pretty sight, apparently, as one of the lovely medical team asked if I was all right. In a strangely intelligent move, I said no, I was not all right. She quickly grasped my arm and asked me if I'd like to lie down. I'd just forced my body to cover 42.2 km of asphalt. Of course I'd like to lie down! That's when I got to see the inside of the medical tent. She took my blood pressure, my pulse and I explained what happened. She offered water and gatorade, and I took the water. She figured that I had dehydrated myself to the point that my body would no longer absorb plain water without some kind of salt in it. And then she brought me the most wonderful elixir. Chicken noodle soup. But not just any chicken noodle soup. Super, ultra-concentrated, ultra-salty chicken noodle soup. It was like feel good in a cup. Half a cup later the nausea was gone and I was out the door of the medical tent to collect my medal. Not a medal that I'll display very proudly, but one I earned nonetheless.
So I can only attribute my failure to a catastrophic loss of electrolytes, salt in particular. Which if you'd seen my face at the finish line you'd understand. It looked like I'd been attacked by Jimmy Buffet's mysterious missing salt shaker. So I'll know better for next time. I wonder if putting some OXO powder in a fuel belt bottle would work...
Now, onto the little tidbits that I didn't put anywhere else.
The volunteers and spectators. As always, I have to give huge props to the volunteers and spectators who were out along the entire marathon course. Victoria is a wonderful place to run which is simply made better by the incredible enthusiasm of these people. And yes, even that kid that got in my way near the turn-around. He was only trying to clear used cups off the street, after all. The spectators in Victoria are amazing. Some of them don't even have anyone running in the race, and yet they sit there for hours cheering and helping us along. It's fantastic! And again, I have to say a huge thank-you to that random man on the street who sacrificed his kleenex so I could blow my nose. You shall always have a special place in my heart, sir. You and your crazy beard.
The chafing. What would a marathon be without some chafing. I really don't have much to report this time, as the body glide was out in full force the morning of the race. Though I do have some wounds just to the inside of my shoulder blades where my backpack was rubbing. I didn't actually notice those spots until I took the backpack off in the hotel room, and then again when I went to have a shower. Sometimes it's hard to tell exactly where all the chafing is until you get in the shower. And then you hear the "aaaargh!", and the sting of salt in your wounds lets you know exactly where every little spot is. I think the ones on my back are gonna scar a little. More war wounds, I guess.
I did manage to have a good chat with Coach Mark at the pub after the race, and he gave me some advice concerning my disastrous showing, so sometime in the future I plan to take that into account in my training. I'm not sure when that will be, but be assured that I will not rest until I have achieved my goal time. I'm crazy, remember?
Well, that's about all the fun and games I have for you right now, kiddies. Stay tuned for more insanity, as Glen and I are currently engaged in taking a SCUBA diving course which I'm certain will lead to more shenanigans. Until then!
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