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Send in the Clowns - BAC 10K Challenge
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BeepBeep67 wrote: »Looking strong on Belfield Bridge:
Maybe Im going blind in my old age but this isnt KC (or is it ?! )... Where are his sunglasses
Great running today man...Well done
Edit : I am going blind, can I borrow ur glasses :eek:0 -
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Congrats Krusty. Another great run. You're in very good form and lots more to come.
Looking forward to the race report. They are usually fairly box office, though it will take a monumental effort to PB on that front. That 400 report will take serious beating, from anybody.
Jokes aside, well done. Won't be long before you are pushing the likes of TRR I think.
Hope the post race beers went down well.0 -
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I've been waiting for your race report to lather you in flattery and congratulations, but the race was over 3 days ago and now I feel rude for not having said "job well done!" So, job well done! Now where's the f-ing race report??!!
He's following the Jack Daniels race report recovery plan: requires a full day's recovery for every 3k raced and at least 3 sessions (of the beer variety) 0 -
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Dublin Marathon 2012
No, I haven't been writing an epic saga for the last four days. Quite the opposite in fact. I haven't been thinking about my race at all. Like Brian, I've been a very naughty boy. I have drank too much, partied too much, enjoyed myself too much (Dory Dory: Jack White was amazing!). If I wasn't wrecked after completing the marathon, I'm wrecked now. That's not the only reason that I haven't given much thought to my marathon. I have also been unwilling to sit down and really think about it, to try and figure out whether or not I am satisfied with the result. I've been unwilling to dissect it. Worried that once I start looking at my original goal, analyzing my splits and comparing my run to other who finished around me, I won't like what I'll see. I'll be disappointed with my performance. Well, I can't hide from the real world forever. I really believed I was in 2:41 shape. I ran 16 miles at pmp four weeks before Dublin and it felt comfortable. However the time on the finishing gantry indicates that I wasn’t in the right shape and my goal wasn’t achievable. I'm not disappointed, but I am slightly dissatisfied. Here's why:
At 9am, I was settled in just behind the elite runners. Just before the starting pistol sounded (which I could see clearly from my vantage point), there was a swell of people, and I found myself 300-400 people back from the start. It took a half a mile before I could get into my stride. I passed cwgatling in a group and there was Barbara Sanchez just ahead. I had marginally beaten her in the National Half Marathon, but heard before the race that she had recently run 75 minutes for the half so she was in better shape than me, so while I passed her briefly, when she later pushed on, I didn’t try to chase her (she ran 1:18 for the first half which would have killed me off). By the time we hit the end of O'Connell Street, we were all strung out. A nice chap by the name of Barry introduced himself and we chatted briefly, but his goal was 2:45 which didn't match up with my goal, so we separated. Heading around the streets in the North of the city, I was largely on my own, occasionally pressing forward to join a group before pushing onwards. Heading into Pheonix Park, I couldn't believe it. 4 miles into the race and there was nobody to run with. Perhaps 2:41:08 isn't a time that many people target?
Running past the zoo was comical. The monkeys, sensing that there was something unusual happening just outside their fenced enclosures were going nuts, which briefly raised a smile. After 5 miles, my splits were bang on target, but the pace felt a little harder than it had during my 16 mile PMP race. Running up Chesterfield Avenue I got a rousing cheer from Wideball, which raised the spirits momentarily, but I couldn't get over the feeling that the effort required to stay on target was greater than it should have been. As I passed a long line of portaloos, a portly runner emerged, blinking in the daylight. There wasn't a hope in hell that he had run the first 5 miles in 30 minutes, as he didn't have a bead of sweat and couldn't manage the pace required to get to that point in the race for even a few seconds. As I passed him, I made the point of turning back and glaring at his number, and he looked deservedly sheepish. Heading down the Upper Glen Road, I was caught by a lad from Cork and we chatted as best we could at 6 minute/mile pace. His goal was 2:50, so either he was having a great day, or he was in for a world of punishment. We ran together for a bit and then I heard footfalls behind me. Looking back I was surprised to see ThirstyWork2 bearing down on me and moving at an impressive canter. We chatted on our journey downhill, and I was amused to find that within our little group of three, our respective targets were 2:41, 2:50 and 3:00. I was even more amused when the two lads pushed on, and the runner with the most aggressive target was left for dust! Out through Chapelizod and I hit the climb that had always felt like little more than a speed-bump previously, as I had been pacing rather than racing. The hill was short, but still tough at marathon pace. Thankfully I was distracted from the effort, by a mad lunatic jumping and screaming. A veritable one woman cheer-leading team in the form of RacoonQueen, making the noise of many! I think you scared the crap out of the nearby runners, who must have feared that Neil Horan (the crazy Irish priest) had recruited another disciple.
Miles 6 and 7 were a little slow (6:14s), but I had recouped any lost time on the flatter miles of 8 and 9 (both 6:02s). A buddy of mine and his family lay in wait outside their house on South Circular Road, and handed me a bottle of blue Powerade. It was like nectar from the gods. Two runners had caught me (a Mayo man who I think I may have worked with in years gone by, and another lad from Raheny AC), so I gladly shared my bounty with them. For a short time we were a group of three and I took the opportunity to take some shelter on the challenging roads around Rialto and Crumlin. Crumlin Road was tough, as we seemed to be running into a head-wind and I dropped a few more seconds heading to the half-way mark. I was checking my splits occasionally against a pace-band and I was a little dismayed to see I was down by 40 seconds by the half-way point. Upping the tempo at this early stage would have been a bad idea, but truth be told, I didn’t know if I could increase my pace to get back on target, so focussed on just running as best I could.
The Mayo runner was very strong at this stage and kept pushing on and I couldn’t go with him, so it was myself and the Raheny lad, who at this stage was running a couple of feet behind me. Every 100m or so there were shouts of ‘C’mon Raheny’ or ‘Go on the Shamrocks’ and eventually the constant stream of support got a little annoying. The crowds were magnificent though and incredibly supportive. So many Boards posters, Bray and Sli Culalann runners and friends dotted around the course that as soon as my head dropped, I’d hear my name called out again, I’d look around and get another smile and wave of support. It was magnificent. No race has ever come close in terms of the level of support. Dublin may not have the sheer force of numbers of the marathon majors, but punches above it’s weight in terms of feeling and emotional engagement. I felt like every spectator (stranger or friend) was literally willing me forward; urging me onwards. and it was needed. The miles were ticking off, but they weren’t easy.
The choruses of ‘Go Raheny’ died down and were replaced by the catchier ‘Go on the frog’ and ‘go Fiachra’ as we made our way around Milltown. I got talking to Fiacra, who was having a blinder, having set off on his quest with 2:50 in mind. Eventually the calls for ‘The Frog’ got annoying too, but it was good to have the company, particularly as we hit the hills. Note to self: Never write your name on your bib! It was at this stage that I really took my eye off the ball and over miles 19, 20 and 21 (which included the hill at Clonskeagh), I leaked vital seconds, with splits of 6:22, 6:24 and 6:23. This is where the damage to my time was really done. I’m not sure if I was just tired at that point or just fell into a bit of a death march, but at that stage, with average pace slowing on my watch, my spirits were low. Shouts from ecoli, Keith, my neighbour and some others lifted the spirits momentarily, but out of sight, my head dropped again. I took a caffeinated gel. I poured cold water down my back. I knew I had to do something to get my focus back.
The downhill on Foster’s avenue provided the rest I needed to recover from the earlier climb, and with the N11 in sight ahead, I suddenly felt sharper. Pace was back up to 6:05 and i felt like I was cruising again. My legs were really hurting at this stage (still not quite used to running long distances in the minimalist shoes) and I knew the last few miles were going to be hard work. But I was on familiar territory now, and every landmark brought me one step closer to my goal. Got some rousing shouts from some of my Sli Cualann club-mates on the UCD flyover, before Beepbeep jumped into the middle of the road in a Raccoon Queen-like rousing motivational fist-pumping adrenaline inducing roar of encouragement. Duly pumped-up, I raced towards RTE, with a single-minded purpose; work hard and finish strong. I was passing the occasional runner, but there were so few of us at this stage of the race that there was little comfort or shelter to be shared. Merrion Road and Shelbourne Road were tough as we faced once again into the slight head wind. Coupled with the tiredness and pain in the legs, it was only the proximity to the finish line that kept me running strong.
Running alongside the RDS, I matched pace with an Italian runner, who seemed to be in a world of pain and exchanged a couple of words, before I realized another runner had arrived and was keeping pace on the other side of the running lane. He seemed very strong and had the eagle eye of a hunter trying to pick off a few places in the final standings. We ran shoulder to shoulder for a stretch but I was winding up the pace as we got nearer to the finish line and at some point I realized he wasn’t with me any more. Heading towards the canal bridge I spotted Peckham up ahead. I tried to share a joke with him, but he was having none of it. He too was of the rousing adrenaline-pumping variety of cheer-leader and sent me off on my way with a little rebuke for not taking my race seriously enough!
Fenian Street to Westland Row was just an incredible experience. The crowds grew and the noise levels rose to an incredible crescendo. Even at 6:14/mile I could pick out friendly familiar faces urging me onwards. Pearse Street to the front of Trinity I allowed myself an opportunity to enjoy the moment and soak up the noise and enthusiasm of the crowds. As I hit Nassau Street there was even some arm-waving and fist-pumping as the finish line drew-ever closer. The last half-mile was as quick as any I had run that day and the sight of the finishing mat brought up a wave of energy and emotion. I crossed the line with 2:43:27 showing on the clock (2:43:21 chip time) and after the now familiar wave of nausea, breathed deeply and sighed with relief. I had not run the time I wanted, but I had run a marathon on my own terms. This time, there was no extreme temperatures. No beating sunshine. Any mistakes were my own and that was a great reward for the training investment. I was the owner of my own fate.
So.. Disappointed? No. I ran well, with a handful of bad miles and was strong to the finish. Dissatisfied? If I’m being honest, then yes, I’m a little dissatisfied. I thought I could have performed better on the day. A little more nutrition. A little more focus. A little more mental strength and I could potentially have been in the low 2:42s. So certainly some things to work on, but some encouraging signs too. The fact that I'm not entirely happy with my own performance brings a certain amount of relief. There is still an a feeling of unfinished business and an urgency to get back out there. Tomorrow..
My most sincere thanks to everyone who hopped on a bike, waved a teddy, handed me a drink, clapped, shouted encouragement, jumped up and down like a maniac, ran with me for a stretch, took a photograph or looked surprised to see me at the urgent end of a race. It never ceases to amaze me, just how much living you can fit into two hours, fourty three minutes and twenty-one seconds.
Summary: 26.2 miles in 2:43:21, @6:14/mile, 73rd place overall.1
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