"The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." That classic Robert Burns line summed up my ING Ottawa Half Marathon pretty well. There were many contributing factors to my 1:34:30 half-marathon time, which was about five minutes off my goal time, that I fear this could rival my longest race reports. My half-marathon really started around 4:30 a.m. when I awoke on Gary's couch and was completely incapable of falling back to sleep in any meaningful way. Tossing and turning, I tried counting sheep but each time my mind manoeuvred to math I ended up calculating split times. That was counterproductive to trying to have my eye lids close. It wasn't long until Gary awoke for his 7 a.m. marathon start. Once he departed, I considered taking another crack at sleep but realized it would ultimately fail but I remained on the couch trying to rest my ailing hip. For reasons passing understanding, I developed a bizarre hip problem a few days ago that I just could not shake. One person diagnosed my ailment as a hip flexor injury but all I know is it is painful, hardly a clinical diagnosis. Every so often I glanced out the window and the sun was increasing in its intensity, a clear sign that I was going to have my work cut out for me. By 8:30, I just couldn't take the suspense so I called a cab and ventured to the Rideau Centre, so at least I was not in the apartment or in the hot, humid pre-race area. I rested for about 30 minutes in the empty, but air-conditioned food court. I decided I couldn't prolong the inevitable and started toward the race course. As I stepped outside, the humidity smacked me like ill-tempered child. For the next 45 minutes, I watched some marathoners begin their second half of the race, stood in line way too long at the porta-potty and started warming up my legs. The corral system was a bit confusing to this rookie. I'm typically pretty good at self-seeding but they closed off about 500 metres so the elites could warm up, which included the 1:30:00 corral so I had to line up in this massive sea of runners as we waited for the rope to be removed. With a minute to go before the gun sounded, we were finally allowed to make our way forward but I quickly discovered I had past my goal corral but I wasn't the only one. Unfortunately this would only be the start of my troubles.
When the gun sounded there was a tremendous amount of excitement. It didn't take long for me to cross the start line, mainly because I was stuck in the middle of a pack that really moving. Slowing down wasn't an option, this is the closest feeling I'll ever get to running with the bulls in Pamplona. I had to dodge runners who were more poorly seeded than I was and try to lock myself into my goal pace. So as you can imagine, the start was quick but what makes it even more amazing is it is on one of the steepest inclines on the course, Elgin Street by the War Memorial and then it descends into the most significant decline of the course. Before I knew it, my opening kilometre split was 3:55. When I looked down at my Garmin to check my first split, I gasped. I knew this was the wrong way to start such an important race. My options were limited though, I was trying to settle into my pre-planned race pace but there were too many people that I had to weave around to get comfortable. The race crowd never really thinned but thankfully I was able to find my stride around the 3K mark at the first water station around the Pretoria Bridge. At this stage, I was able to bring down my splits to where I had planned and then came a colossal turning point, I had a major Garmin error. Passing Dunton Tower on Carleton's campus my split hit 3:33 min/k. I know 3:33 kilometres and that wasn't one. So now my kilometres were about 200 to 400 metres off of the official markers, so gauging my distance was now a complete crapshoot. I also had no idea what my splits were because eventually it would have to synch up again. At 9K I was around 38 minutes and I pulled off a 41:38-minute 10K. So far so good but soon my racing world was about to crash and burn or perhaps more appropriately burn then crash.
If only the sun gradually came out but no, instead the mercury started soaring. And it wasn't as if the heat was only hitting me from the top, it was radiating off the street so even my shoes felt sticky. There was no escaping the heat, I was trapped running 21.1K in a furnace. When I glanced down at my 11K split, I realized the heat was finally getting to me when my Garmin told me my split was significantly over 4:15 for the first time. I was still about 300 metres ahead of goal pace so I had built up a decent cushion that I was praying I could desperately cling to for the next 10 kilometres. This was a unique race because of the dizzying number of people. I'm not sure if I passed more people or if I was being passed, but there was a constant stream of people. Everywhere I turned there were spectators cheering us on, which would have been rejuvenating if it wasn't so hot, instead I felt as if they were the heroes. Think about it, I paid a significant amount of money to travel to Ottawa and register for the race, so there was no backing out for me, but these wonderful bystanders were standing on the side, ringing cowbells, holding up signs and clapping for everyone of us wayward souls. They didn't have to be there, they could have went to the beach but they came out for us. I was thoroughly humbled.
As each kilometre passed, my ability to push weakened. We were looping through some scenic parks and gardens out around Baseline and I couldn't even take in the scenery, I had to focus every last piece of energy on putting one foot in front of the other. There was no doubt about it, at this point there was no expectation of picking up the pace, I was simply fighting for survival. I don't think I have ever run in such heat, well minus that summer in the Okanagan, but I didn't have the double-whammy of extreme humidity. Running through the water stations also became a bit of a chore. I have the utmost respect for anyone who signs up for a marathon, either to run or walk. But these marathon walkers and some of the slower runners, were clogging up the aid stations. I had to dodge several runners/walkers who stopped right in front of me and a few times I actually ran into people. There was the potential for disaster a few times and thankfully I was able to sidestep those in front of me. These massive events also do lend themselves to providing some humour, Ottawa was no different. Somewhere around 16K, I was minding my own business running my little half-marathon and all of a sudden some guy from a Montreal track club (I had a lot of time to read the back of jerseys) pulled off to the shoulder, about three feet away from me, whipped down his shorts and started urinating on the side of the road. It was an unbelievably brazen move considering he didn't even seek some privacy but when you have to go … well, I guess nothing else matters. He ended up passing me again, so perhaps I should take some pointers.
Coming down Prince of Wales, I knew how close I was to finishing. When I was in university I ran this stretch of the canal more times than I care to remember. Mentally I knew that the end was near, but physically I honestly could do nothing to hasten an end to this pain. It was quickly becoming unbearable. I had set my Garmin to bring me in at 1:29:00, that concept had gone out the window around 17K and I felt a PB was fading with each passing kilometre. By 20K I was doing the mental math and I knew that barring a miracle I was going to barely miss my PB.
Any additional step was unwelcome so I became increasingly agitated when groups of four marathon walkers were walking arm-and-arm and blocking the route. At one point, I called out "runner up!" to try and get them to step to the side and they just glared at me. When I received those stares I realized that I had no choice but to finish this race quickly before I said something I would regret to a recreational runner.
I wish I could report that I barrelled down the home stretch. But when the signs marking 1K to go started popping up and the spectators were growing louder I could not pick up my pace one iota. When the 750 metres to go sign appeared, I tried to go faster, I couldn't. I was still in survival mode. Once I saw 500 metres I knew this was my shot, so started at least holding my pace and gradually increased it. By 300 metres I was finally in a pseudo-sprint. For the first time in three kilometres or so, I was passing boat loads of people, this finally felt right again.
As I crossed the finishing mat, my gun time was 1:34:44 and my chip time was 1:34:30. I punched my arms to the heavens but I missed my PB. I took some solace in the fact that I didn't set a PW. For what it's worth, I finished 183 overall, 156 in my gender and 22 in my age group. From my quick scan of the finishers' list, I was also the top New Brunswicker in the half marathon.
For purely academic reasons, I'll post my Garmin splits. But they should be taken with a boulder of salt considering how far off they were thanks to that ill-timed error at 6K.
3:55, 4:09, 4:11, 4:16, 4:10, 4:10, 4:15, 4:16. 3:34, 4:18, 4:17, 4:02, 4:29, 4:28, 4:28, 4:42, 4:23, 4:38, 4:44, 4:18, 4:49, 4:48, 3:37 (this was for 773 metres, not 200 metres).
I'm going to post my lessons learned from this half-marathon later.
