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Cool runnings
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Saturday 28th
20-odd minute jog.
2.68 @9.52
HR 131
Sunday 29th
Dublin City Marathon. Went into this with high hopes of a first decent outing since 2012 (!) , when I broke 3:20 for the first time. That was a memorable day, and I still remember the feeling of exultation crossing that line, with 3:19:xx showing on the big race clock. You would endure many a bad day for that feeling every once in a while. 5 years is pushing it though.
Sad to say, unfortunately, it was not to be, yet again. At 14.5 miles I stepped off the course in Walkinstown village. That's where the OH is from, and I knew the local roads well enough. I could plot a route back to town without coming too close to the race. I didn't want to see or speak to anyone connected with this damn event. I just wanted to go home, climb into bed and pull the covers over my head for a long time. A combination of a chill wind (conditions were bloody perfect for running, dammit, let's face it) and the knowledge that every minute that passed brought an increased likelihood of encountering clubmates fresh off marathon pb's had me jogging back to town after only a short while. Got back just before 12 noon, and promptly ran into Krusty, followed by two clubmates. They had both pb'd with 2:49 - 'A' target achieved.
At this stage, my mood had mellowed enough that I was willing to countenance a few brain-numbing pints in McGrattan's. Unlikely to meet any TAC heads in there anyway. After a while I found myself being advised to A) run another marathon very soon because I "hadn't flogged myself" by Krusty's OH ("she's not very tactful", sighed he) and then
being recruited for Krusty's Big 2018 Rotterdam Adventure ("we're all training for 2:27!!!"). All of which just goes to illustrate yet again the triumph of hope over experience. But first, I needed to understand what had just happened. If such was possible.
For the first 10 miles, despite being unable to bridge the gap to the 3.10 pacing balloons up ahead, I was bang-on pace at an average of 7.15 per mile. From what I can tell, furthermore, there was only 2 balloons - either the third balloon or its owner had disappeared - and for a while I laboured under the misapprehension that the third one might be behind me, and I was therefore still in the pacing 'box'. As the gap lengthened, though, I realised my error.
The 10 mile point is just after Chapelizod bridge, where the road starts to climb, and signals the beginning of the drags that last until the Walkinstown roundabout. Very quickly my pace slowed, even though my half-time was 1:36:xx, until mile 13 took me 8 minutes 52 seconds to negotiate. I struggled up Crumlin road, unable to comprehend what was happening to me. I had prepared so well. 12 miles @MP - no problem. Here it was, Race Day, and I was in big, big trouble. Unwelcome thoughts invaded my consciousness all of a sudden, and like an earworm, they are very hard to dislodge. There was 12 MILES left to go. Could I contemplate the suffering that was going to involve. The A, B AND C goals were all out the window, quite evidently. I reckon I would have ended up running about 3:30, had I kept going.
Then, just ahead of me, a guy stopped running, and it seemed to enable me. I stopped running too. I did say that everything had been going well, and that all the signs - weather. etc - were propitious. But there was one odd thing. My hamstrings and glutes had been really giving me gyp all race, and this was unusual. It wasn't painful or crippling enough to prevent me running, but it didn't help. Anyway, it gave me an 'excuse' to stop and try and do something about it, so after a bit of desultory stretching I got going again.
It didn't last long. As previously mentioned, the demons were in my head, and busily plotting how to get me back to town as quickly as possible. I started looking for suitable places to decamp. Barriers all the way past the Children's hospital. Feck that. The village. No way was I going up that drag to the roundabout. The race streamed up Walkinstown Road. I took the first left up Balfe Rd. instead.
My race was over.
PS: One other thing. The day before the race I realised that I was coming down with a cold. It's not an excuse. I believe it had no effect on my performance, but the sniffles persisted for a day or two after, before going away again. Odd. By sheer coincidence, though, I was due in the doctor's yesterday for check-up and bloods, so, possibly, they may reveal something that might account for what happened on Sunday. We shall see.
Week's mileage 360 -
Do you have HRM data? Last year when I made a vey similar b0ll0x of DCM, afterwards I discovered that my heart-rate was through the roof for the race (way higher than a much faster HM a month prior) which in retrospect was probably down to a very inconveniently timed cold.
Best of luck with Rotterdam
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Do you have HRM data? Last year when I made a vey similar b0ll0x of DCM, afterwards I discovered that my heart-rate was through the roof for the race (way higher than a much faster HM a month prior) which in retrospect was probably down to a very inconveniently timed cold.
Best of luck with Rotterdam
Nah, seems to be disappointingly normal.0 -
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Monday 30th
Easy recovery run.
6 @8.45
HR 120/140
Tuesday 1st
Session. 800, 3x300, 600, 3x300, 800 @6.15 - 2/1 mins recovery.
800 6.09
3x300 5.54, 5.51, 6.17
600 6.11
3x300 6.00, 6.20, 6.10
800 6.06
HR 128/153
Wednesday 2nd
Easy run, incorporating track-test of Saucony Endorphins: some strides, and then a road mile on the race course.
7 @9.06
HR 113/136
Thursday 3rd
Easy run. In and around Bushy park, on the way home from work. The hills probably account for the HR. The park was full of runners, including one group of deludeds with what looked like a paid-for trainer, some sort of boot camp job. You can always tell, because the guy had a gym-bunny physique, not a runner's. They're always a walking advertisement for their own superior training technique. He had them running, then doing what they used to call calisthenics, and he was making with the counting down and the exhortation. I ran past for free.
5.33 @8.49
HR 123/145
Friday 4th
No running.
Saturday 5th
Short shakeout with a few strides thrown in.
3.81 @8.44
HR 119/146
Sunday 6th
Tallaght 5k.
One of my early-season targets, along with the Bob Heffernan, before Berlin training kicks in. Knew from early in the week that it would be hot, and so it proved, with the mercury tipping 20℃ by the 12 noon start. I usually run the course for a warmup, but that didn't seem like a good idea in the heat, so took a shortcut back to the club after less than two miles. A few strides beforehand, and then we were counted down by the starter.
It's a classic, three-cornered road route, all left-handers, with the sections roughly categorised in turn as: 1st downhill, 2nd flat and 3rd uphill. But first there is the short section past the club entrance and into Tallaght village for the first left turn, and it's here that some bright spark of a Garda decided to park his car last year, jutting right out into the road at an angle and forcing everyone to take evasive action. Thankfully it was free of such holdups this time though, and my main concern here was keeping the pace up, but not overdoing it. It was very warm, and there seemed to be little breeze to cool anyone off. The first mile, and the second left turn, onto Castletymon road, conveniently coincide, and at 6.09 it's pretty much on the money. I'm feeling ok, and not minding the heat too much. I had hemmed and hawed, but finally decided to keep the baseball cap on, and it helps a little. On the way down main street, I found myself running with two clubmates, and together they constituted a conundrum which made me ask myself if I was running A) too fast, or too slow. One guy was setting a pace that his current form didn't justify, as far as I knew anyway, and I reminded myself that it was his habit to go out fast, then fade somewhat. The other chap had come from behind me, I thought, and that was his habit too, but the difference was that he was a low 18 minute man, and this gave me pause, until I remembered that he had been injured, and more than likely hadn't raced a lot.
So we ran along together for a bit, until I started getting a feeling that our speed was, ever so slightly, dropping a little. I concentrated on maintaining the pace, rather than staying in step with the other two, and sure enough, I began to draw ahead a little. I wasn't to know it, because I never looked back once (noticed in hindsight, and probably a good sign) but the injuree (is that even a word?) stayed right there with me, and finished only seconds behind. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The second mile is on the flat on Castletymon road, and it's here that concentration can waver, legs start to give out, and spirits flag as people overtake and draw away. I had little to focus on, no clubmates in the immediate vicinity and no red rags (such as a Bros Pearse singlet!) to get the dander up. I concentrated on keeping my pace up, and although a chap who had been alongside me pulled away a bit, we were both catching other runners, so I was reasonably happy. Mile 2 was a 6.24 but at the time I was completely unaware of that. Along here I overtook a clubmate and fellow age-bracketer. The gutsiest of runners, he came into the race on the back of no form and little training. He didn't look that well, in fact, but here he was ploughing along but fighting a losing battle with his own body. I drew ahead but there was no mental box-ticking or scalp-counting.
But here, what was this? Is it Andy, stopped up ahead??? Yes, the very same. I had thought for sure that these days were over, after his pyrotechnics in Manchester (1.26 Half PB and 3.02 PB IN THE SAME RACE!) and elsewhere. Only last week his RLF (Run Like F*ck - no joke, that's what he does) technique of doing ALL his runs at sub-7.20 pace had yielded an 18.18 3 mile run in training. But, when you then go out and run a 5.40 mile in 20+ degree heat, these things can and will happen. One of our stewards was dousing his head with water, and he looked in bits. I was going to say something encouraging, then thought: "Nah, f*ck him" and carried on. In truth, it was so unexpected that I didn't really process it. I had expected him to run under 18.30, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he now came sprinting past me again. So I didn't let it bother me one way or the other.
Mile 2 becomes mile 3 just before the next turn (did I say it was a classic course? More of you lot need to sign up next time. Not that many club singlets visible bar our own highly-supportive neighbours Bros Pearse and Rathfarnham) and this is a part of the course that can drag on body and spirits - but a lifeline presented itself. Young Sean from Tallaght appeared from behind me and started chivvying me along "C'mon Dave, 19.30 pace. Follow me" and so on. Often these sort of words fall on deaf ears during races, but on this occasion it was just what I needed. I asked the question, and the body responded. Strava shows my pace briefly hitting sub-6 minute pace along here, where I had been bumping along at 6.40-plus. Without his intervention I would not have lifted my pace, and that's a fact.
Mile 3 is a drag. Literally. It's a long gradual climb that saps the strength just when you need it. Frequently it is accompanied by a mean headwind that comes straight off the 'mountains'. Today, little wind, although in this heat that probably counts as a negative as well. Sean is still dragging me along, but all of a sudden he's waving me through. Looks like his goose is cooked. I've got something left though, and with about three quarters of a mile to go I can hack it from here I reckon. The course mercifully flattens out a bit after the Kilnamanagh turn and when you see the big Topaz sign you know it's nearly done.
The track finish is both exhilarating and physically daunting. 350 metres that can seem like 3,500. From a hundred metres out I punch it, and then punch it again with 30 to go (or so I imagine, until I see my son's video - dear God, I look like I'M a hundred) I haven't looked at the watch, nor checked the race clock. I don't know why. In the end it came down to that last surge to get me under, and certainly without Sean's cameo I wouldn't have got near 19.30, but the watch shows 19:28.8, and after myself and Ultraman pose for some flattering face-down-on-the-track post-race photos I recover, and find I am quite pleased with that performance. My quote beforehand had been "sub 19.30 will be a good run today". Next up, Terenure. Oh, and I nearly forgot the shoes. Quite literally. If the test of good tech gear is that you forget all about it during the experience, then these babies are outstanding. I can not think of a single thing to say about them, and that is the highest compliment I can come up with, if that makes any sense at all. I did not think about them once. They were unobtrusive to the point of invisibility. They will be employed again next weekend.
3.1 miles @6.17
6.09, 6.24, 6.22, (5.19)
HR 158/169
Week's mileage 350 -
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