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Race Report: Angus Glen Ten-Miler

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I had a tough choice for  today’s blog post. On the one hand, today’s prompt for the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge calls for poetry. On the other hand, I have not yet written a race report for last weekend’s race.

My attempts at writing poetry are painful. So was last weekend’s race.

See? Tough choice.

In the end, I decided that in writing poetry, I’d be inflicting pain on those who I expect to read it. Whereas, if I write the race report, others can simply laugh at my pain without actually experiencing it.

There were a lot of challenges going into last weekend’s race, not the least of which was the fact that I was undertrained. There were other factors counting against me as well, like the weather, the fact that this race was on a golf course riddled with hills, and the fact that I was expecting myself to run 16km on my least favourite day of the month. I’ll spare you the details, but on certain days, some women experience what I will euphemistically call “discomfort” while running.

I was determined to do it, though. For one thing, I already had to blow off a race not long ago because of an injury. And for another thing, the Angus Glen Ten-Miler is one of the more expensive races. If I was going to pay a lofty registration fee, I might as well have the pain to show for it at the end.

And so I stood at the start line with absolutely no goal other than to finish. I placed myself in the last corral, because let’s face it, I wasn’t going to be a speed demon. As I waited for race to start, I did what I often do at start lines: I looked around trying to spot people who looked like they might be in worse shape than me. Not very sportsmanlike, I know, but some days, we all take what we can get to make ourselves feel less bad.

The race started, and the first couple of kilometres came and went without incident. I set out at a reasonable pace and loosened up nicely. Fortunately, the rain abated, and I was able to enjoy about ten minutes of quite nice running conditions before the wind showed up and kept me company for the rest of the run.

Along with the wind came the hills. I had known that there would be hills on this course, and I had done what I thought was adequate hill training, but nothing could have prepared me for that elevation profile. The uphills and downhills alike were brutal, and by the time I reached the halfway point, my quads were absolutely shredded.

Just as I started to question whether I would be able to finish this race, I encountered a line of Porta-potties. I never ever make pitstops during races. They are races, after all, and the whole point of racing is to get the finish line as fast as possible. This time, though, I knew that I was not going to come close to a personal best. There seemed little point in adding the discomfort of a full bladder to my already long list of woes. So I went in, did what I had to, and resumed the run feeling just as sore, but at least a little more comfortable.

The second half of the race was just plain ugly, but strangely enough I felt that I was accomplishing something really fantastic. This feeling came from the fact that I was going purely on mental strength. This was unquestionably a case of mind over matter, and come hell or high water, my mind was going to win.

After what felt like an eternity, I found myself with 500m to go. I had long since resigned myself to the fact that the finishing kick I pride myself on would not happen, but I had been wrong! As my body started to pick up on the finish line excitement ahead of me, I felt that familiar surge of energy that always happens at the end of a race. Lord alone knows where that energy came from, but it coursed through my legs, and I sprinted across the finish line.

Technically, this was my worst-ever ten-miler. But I still feel that this was one of my greatest races. If I can run ten miles without adequate training on an exceptionally hilly course with high winds, while not feeling well, then I can do anything. I have this strange sense that this race has set me up for a phenomenal season, more so than a personal best time would have. Because this race was a true test of mental endurance, and in crossing the finish line, I passed the test.

At the end of the day, the race was well worth the high registration fee. The swag was really good. The race kit included some very nice things, and instead of getting yet another ill-fitting technical T-shirt, I got a very nice fleece-lined running jacket. I also like the finisher’s medal a lot (and this one will count as one of my favourites because of how hard I worked for it), and a full sit-down lunch was provided at the end.

I might run this race again. In fact, I’m pretty sure I will. I have a new nemesis, and I am determined to conquer it.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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Race Report: Tannenbaum 10K

Rain at the start-line!

It did not look like a good day for a race. Truth be told, it did not even look like a good day for getting to the race. It was raining, the start-line was a good 12K or so from my house, and the wipers in my car were broken. Public transit does not run early enough on Sunday mornings, so I had no option but to cab it to the race. An expensive proposition with Toronto cab fares being what they are.

Good thing the race registration fee was so low.

By the time the cabbie dropped me off, it was raining harder. This was not the gentle, drizzly kind of rain that I actually enjoy running in. It was real rain, the kind that gets into your shoes and soaks your socks before the race has even started.

Fortunately, shelter near the start-line was plentiful. The race started on the Martin Goodman Trail beside the lake, and there is a big gazebo-thingie that seemed to have room for everyone. I stood there drinking my water, looking out at the weather and thinking I must be mad to be voluntarily running in this.

But that’s runners for you. I’d have shown up to the race in a blizzard.

The race was a small event with a strong community feel to it. There were about 500 runners braving the elements, and because of the reluctance of runners to emerge from the shelter, I thought the race would start late. But with two minutes to go before the start, we all lined up, and right on schedule, the starting siren went.

I expected this race to be a bit rough. I had not run in a while, and for about a week I had been staving off a bug. In addition, this was the day after my birthday and I had a birthday-related hangover. That plus the foul weather would surely make this one of my most dismal performances ever.

Sometimes, though, an enforced rest can work wonders. I did a great deal of running this season. I ran a lot of races and clocked up a whole new set of personal bests. After my half-marathon in October, I was tired. The break from running was just what I needed.

As soon as this race started, I felt great. There was none of the stiffness I was expecting, none of the discomfort that sometimes takes a mile or so to ease off. I got into my rhythm right away. I wasn’t going fast, you understand. I was never going to achieve a personal best on this particular day. But I maintained a respectable enough pace while jumping over puddles. After 3K or so I realized that the rain had let up, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

I ran the first half nice and steady – not fast, but not slow either. I was staying more or less with the middle of the pack. Somewhere between 4K and 5K there was a giant puddle pond going right across the road. There was no way around it. The only course of action was to go through it.

Or perhaps over it?

I approached this body of water thinking that I really didn’t want to soak my feet. I kicked up my speed a notch, and while runners all around me were splashing through the water, I made myself airborne and took a balletic leap over the puddle. By some miracle I managed to clear the water.

Shortly after that I reached the 5K turnaround point. The aid station there was a welcome surprise – the race website had advised runners that they should bring their own water. I gratefully accepted a cup, chugged it down, and started my return journey.

By this point I was starting to feel a little tired, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to repeat my impressive leap over the big puddle. But I only had about 4K to go, so I just ran through the section that seemed to have the least water.

I ran on, maintaining a reasonably steady pace, and all of a sudden I found myself with just 1K to go. I pride myself on my finishing kick, and so I decided to belt out that last kilometre as hard as I could.

After running most of the race at an average pace of about 6:40 minutes per kilometre, I ran the last kilometre in 5:23. Seems like my recent break from running hadn’t adversely affected my ability to sprint to the finish. I crossed the line with a time of 1:06:03. Not my best time, but definitely not my worst.

Small races are sometimes surprisingly well-organized, and this was definitely one of those. The marshalling was fantastic, and the course was accurate and well-marked. The volunteers manning the aid station were cheerful and friendly even though they had probably been there in the pouring rain getting set up. For a very reasonable registration fee, I got a warm winter hat and a finisher’s medal that ranks among my favourites. I was even lucky enough to win a draw prize, which was presented to me by none other than Santa Claus himself.

I have been searching for a late fall/early winter race to round out my running season, and with this one, I think I have found a gem.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)