Marathon in Locarno
My report on the maratona Ticino in Locarno, Switzerland – Sunday, 11th November 2007.
Since my last (and first) race – the Lausanne (Quarter-) Marathon in Lausanne (funny, that), Switzerland three weeks beforehand, I’d been anxiously awaiting, and training for, my first half-marathon in Locarno, southern Switzerland on 11th November. The quarter in Lausanne was a good test for me – not only had I never raced before, but I had actually trained very un-seriously, not understanding, until recently, the science/art of training properly. In fact, although I have been running since about May 2007, I’ve only really had my heart in it since about the middle of September this year. I managed Lausanne far better than I had ever expected (46 minutes), so was highly motivated for the half-mara in Locarno this last weekend, knowing full well, however, that it would be double as far to propel myself forward. I also started training far more seriously, and, thanks to the advice from my brother-in-law in South Africa (Gavin), and two very experienced runners from Fetcheveryone.com (SarahL and eL Bee!), I began to apply some sense to my training, albeit only a week before my big race. I started having dreams about the maratona Ticino about the time I started training better – I guess the normal pre-race jitter kind of dreams – missing the start, forgetting to take my carbohydrate gels, and so on. Nevertheless, it went off so well – for my newcomer standards.
Let’s take a step back, and start at the beginning of the build-up to Locarno (the maratona Ticino). First of all, I live in Chur, Switzerland, in the south-east (and largest) canton of Graubünden (in English, known by the French term Grisons). My partner and I have a holiday house in the Italian-speaking south of Switzerland in the canton Ticino, near the town of Lugano on the lake of the same name. About a marathon distance from Lugano, heading NNW is the town of Locarno on the lake Lago Maggiore; more famous in international circles than Locarno is the lakeside resort of Ascona, not far from Locarno. Bear in mind, that as this canton lies on the south side of the Swiss Alps, the weather there is very different to that in the north of the country. As it was this last weekend, the north had snow, snow and more snow, whilst on race day in Locarno, the weather was characterised by sunshine and temperatures of up to 18°C!!!!! Quite unbelievable – our home town of Chur in the Grisons had 40 cm of snow at the weekend. Thus endeth the geography lesson!!! Big Smile.
Maratona Ticino – Part the first. The Preamble.
On Friday, around midday, Kurt (my partner) and I set off from Chur, heading through the mountains to the south. The weather was wild – snow in Chur itself, and blizzards en route, up to and just beyond the San Bernardino Tunnel. I’m not a great fan of travelling by car in the snow, but if I wanted to run my first half-mara, there was no other choice, and, anyway, a weekend in our holiday house (in the village of Carona above Lugano) could not be spoilt by a few stupid snowflakes!!!! Once through the San Bernardino Tunnel, the Autobahn drops rapidly down towards the canton Ticino, and the so-called Nordföhn (adiabatic north wind – here we go again with the geography!!!!) takes over from the north wind in the north, dries out, warms up, and causes beautiful weather in the south. By two in the afternoon, we were in our house, settled, and ready to take on the weekend, complete with race in Locarno. I’ll try to skip the mundane details of shopping, feeding the fish in the pond in our garden, dusting the wine bottles in the cellar, pruning the triffids, burying dead hedgehogs, and that sort of thing – suffice to say, by evening, we were settled upstairs (it’s a four-story house, with the original parts of it being about 700 years old!!!! – full of history and character), a roaring fire burning in the fireplace, good, red Italian wine flowing, and a hearty meal being eaten. I knew, that my pre-race night would be fitful, so I was determined, that the penultimate one would be as restful as possible, and I managed an almost solid 10 hours of rest that night, something I seldom achieve.
Saturday was another brilliant, Nordföhn day, and the skies were as clear as crystal, and as warm as could be. Around early afternoon, we set off by car for Locarno where the maratona Ticino was to be held the following day. I’d been alone in Carona for a few days the week before, and had already had a quick look at the course, and it looked great!!! This time, of course, things were starting to happen, and the pre-race sale of running equipment, collection of number bibs and bags of goodies, and so on, were the order of the afternoon. The marathon was to start and finish in the village of Tenero, just next to Locarno. There is a large, and very impressive centro sportivo (sports centre – clever, huh?) there, with amazing facilities. I picked up my bib (number 3027, starting group C – who knows how they allocate one to a group, but then again, who cares), bought a new runner’s vest and belt for gels, etc., and then Kurt and I motored as far as possible over the route of the following day’s race. The maratona Ticino offers a full- and half-marathon. The whole distance and Group A of the semi, were to start at 9:15 the next morning, Group B at 9:25, and my group at 9:35.
The jaunt over the route proved interesting, and also revealed a rather nasty little hill around the 13-km mark. Some things are best left un-thought of, and this hill was one of those. The rest was mainly flat, and would be a breeze. That hill!!!! Strike it from my thoughts, have a glass of wine, and relax – so off we went into Locarno itself, did a little shopping and had a glass of Italian white!!!! OK, I know wine on the day preceding a race is said to make one sluggish during the event, but one cannot be in Ticino sans wine. About that hill!!!!! What hill??
Back in Carona, the fire was lit again, and Kurt set about cooking an amazing meal (he is a qualified Swiss chef, but we have a completely different business of our own, now – nothing to do with cooking). Friends of ours, Rolf and Brigitte, were due to arrive from Chur around 7:30-ish that evening. Together with Kurt, they have become my official support and fan club at races – although I cannot expect them to come to every race, because none of them is a runner by any means, and it must be very boring for non-runners to constantly have to follow some bipedal fool around the country, while he tries to achieve weird and wonderful things like PBs, do things like intervals, and constantly refer to his HRM and talk about VO2max and the like.
My fan club arrived on time, and we were soon indulging in an amazing meal, albeit mine was quite different to that of the normal folk – I had a large plate of organic, whole-meal pasta, while the masses ate an incredible culinary delight, as put together by the ex-chef. I did indulge myself in a few more glasses of red wine, but finally decided it was time to excuse myself, and head for bed, leaving the others to imbibe and indulge as they wished, but reminding them, that the next morning, we were due up bright and early. Lots of muttering, throwing of empty wine bottles at me, setting fire to my running clothes, and sabotaging my iPod resulted, but I escaped, and went downstairs to make sure my running gear was in order (as if I hadn’t already done that a thousand times in the previous hour, anyway!!!), before hitting the pillow.
My self-fulfilling prophesy manifested itself around 4 o’clock the next morning, when I woke up with a start, and could not return to sleep. My mind was already in Locarno, even though my body was in a nice, warm, comfortable bed, under a deep, soft, friendly duvet. Tell me again why we run????? By six o’clock, I was up, eating a light breakfast of whole-wheat bread and peanut butter (GROSS, at that time of the morning), a banana, a glass of orange juice, and my normal cup of coffee. My mind was racing already, trying to put together all the advice SarahL, eL Bee! and Gavin had given me, and all the stuff I had been reading in my collection of books on marathoning. It became a little overwhelming, and eventually I decided to just relax, and do what I felt was best for me, but bearing in mind the most important aspects of the advice given – take it easy, and enjoy it!!!!! I’m 51 years old; I’m hardly going to win a marathon, so why the stress and tension – enjoy it, yes; take it easy and don’t go at it like the proverbial bull in a china shop, yes!!!! What, me panic???? Yes!!!!!
Nevertheless, by the time the others were up and ready to go, I was a bundle of nerves, checking and re-checking everything, almost wearing out the zip on my new kit bag through opening it so often, standing at the door to the house about fifteen minutes before we had agreed to set off, tapping my foot, looking anxiously at my Polar HRM and quite certain I’d miss my race, and so on, ad nauseum.
We finally set off for Locarno at 7:45 a.m. Would we have an accident on the way? Would there by a traffic jam? Had a meteorite crashed onto the motorway and cut off all access to Locarno? There was no mental rest for me, and I am sure, I nearly drove my fellow passengers crazy with constant talk of gels, enough water, glycogen, min/km pacing, my Achilles tendon support. By the time we arrived at the centro sportivo in Tenero, they were ready to throw me out of the car – but, as I pointed out to them, in case they ever decided to start running, they would have a lot of theoretical knowledge from me. Ouch, the bottle of Gatorade that hit my head left a nasty bump!!
Kurt and I had arranged, the day before, where the three of them would be standing at the halfway mark to hand me some Gatorade, so that was all settled. The course resembles a figure-8, which meant, that the start, finish, and halfway (for the half-mara) were all in about the same place – the centro sportivo. At the restaurant in the centre, the others had coffee and croissants, and I had a glass of water and a sachet of gel, but was so nervous and needed to be alone for a while to take it all in, calm myself down, and do my warm-ups.
Being only my second race, I somehow regarded everyone else as an expert, and tried to emulate a lot of the pre-race training that was taking place around me. It didn’t take long for me to decide upon what seemed the right things for me, and was soon exuding a suitable amount of sweat, and starting to feel good about myself, and, above all, a lot calmer than before. Around 9:10, I made my way back to my little group of supporters, and we had a last-minute wishing-me-well session, with lots of hugs and words of encouragement. There seemed like thousands of people around, whereas the number was certainly nothing like the amazing atmosphere three weeks prior to Locarno in Lausanne. The exact number of participants I will include in the next part of my blog.
At exactly 9:15 a.m. on Sunday, 11th November 2007, the pistol shot reverberated around the centro sportivo, several sparrows fell out of the air and hit the ground near the starting line, and the group of full mara-runners and half-mara Group A, hurtled off on the start of a wonderful run. Ten minutes later, the procedure was repeated, and I felt the emotion rising in me as my time approached. That welling-up, as in Lausanne, hit me again, and it took all I could to suppress the tears of amazement and delight that I was taking part in such an event. At this stage, Kurt, Rolf and Brigitte set off with the digital video and photo cameras to the gate of the centre, from where they would have a better view of me as I set off on my semi-marathonal adventure.
I was then on my own, despite being surrounded by hundreds of people, all with the same goal in mind. Nervously, still testing all my gadgets (iPod and Nike+ sensor, Polar HRM, pulse-maker, catheter, colostomy bag (well, not really the last three)), I made my way to the starting line, positioning myself about five rows of people back from the front. What was that feeling in my groin – did I need the toilet again????? That strange tension in my left ankle – it wasn’t there before, so is my formerly recalcitrant Achilles tendon, despite the elastic support, about to play up again??? Will my glasses fall off when I run???? Be still, oh mind!!!! If only.
9:33, and the tension was beyond belief. I felt like my brain was going to explode. “What’s wrong with me?”, I asked. “Runners do this every weekend all over the world.”. I wonder how many others have the kind of thoughts that go through my over-active mind.
9:34. Maybe I could get a note from my mother to excuse me from games. Where are SarahL, eL Bee! and Gavin when I need them?????? My legs will never make 20,0795 km – funny that, as I did 20,83 km only two weeks before. Damn, what was that speed again at which I should run to achieve 1h50m??? Why is my brain numb???? Why are my legs numb???? Shoot that damned pistol, and let’s get out of here before I explode with anticipation and anxiety. Run, Forrest, run!!!!!!
Part the second will follow once I have had some sleep – if I ever get any, as I am so excited again, just having written all this down. If this is what all races will be doing to me – and I plan to run many – then I will be a nervous wreck by the time I am much older. More tomorrow. Thanks for reading this far, if you got this far!!!!!
Cheers for now, and good health, good running, loads of happiness,
Craig
Maratona Ticino – Part the second.
A light run through farming areas and along the lake.
9:34:30 (and we change to present tense reporting). Tension is now at fever pitch. There is not much more talking, as everyone waits anxiously for the starter’s pistol. All around, the mountains tower up above the plain, much of which is covered by the beautiful Lago Maggiore, into which flows the swift Maggia River, after it winds its way down from the lofty source, nestled amongst the peaks of Ticino, carving out deep gorges and valleys, before emptying itself into the lake between Locarno and Ascona. The temperature is around 15°C, the air dry, the sky bright and sunny, the wind negligible. My knees move back and forth, as I stand, clad in my new yellow-ish runner’s vest and my skimpy runner’s shorts, my Nike runner’s shoes hardly keeping still thanks to the constant movement of my feet. My heart rate is already 91 bpm, and my whole being has become focussed on one goal – getting back to the same position I am in now, but about an hour and three-quarters later!!!! I’ve set my sights on completing the half-marathon in 1h50”, and will be more than happy with anything quicker, this being my first such race. The guy next to me picks his nose in nervous trepidation (PLEASE don’t eat it!!!!); the one in front of me scratches his left shoulder blade so hard, that blood starts flowing down his back; a kid among the spectators screams out for her father who is about to run away from her and achieve a personal best; I have a finger on the button of my HRM, ready to push it as soon as the pistol shoots a few more sparrows out of the sky. I cast a hasty glance upwards towards the deep blue Swiss heavens, and notice a flange (or is it a “gaggle”?) of vultures circling menacingly overhead, their beady eyes concentrated upon me. My mind is starting to hallucinate during these longest 30 seconds of my life.
9:35 A massive explosion rips through the centro sportivo, and all the energy I possess pushes the button on my Polar HRM and then rapidly moves up to the centre button of my iPod to begun my “Running Music List” and start the reception of signals from a sensor, deep within the sole of my Nike shoes. This is it – the moment of truth. My knees almost burst with energy as I wait for the first rows to rush off ahead. In Lausanne, I was about one third of the way back; here in lovely Locarno, I am near the front, and it’s a great feeling, surging forward only a second or so after the pistol fires. Clapping and roars of encouragement from the sidelines raise my motivation markedly, and I smile broadly, as I try not to trip over the runner in front of me. As one, we run off past the buildings of the centre, which were designed by the famous Swiss architect, Mario Botta, down towards the entrance and out onto the road. My eyes scan the pavements until I finally see Kurt, Rolf and Brigitte with the cameras focussing on me. A smile covers my entire face as I raise a hand and wave to my fans. It’ll be another ten kilometres before I see them again.
Suitably photographically recorded, I now concentrate on the task at hand – surviving 21,0975 km of hard running (I see in the first part, I noted the distance of the half-marathon as 20,0795 km – wrong distance!!!). The first kilometre sees us swarm over a bridge and onto a tertiary, yet still tarred, road through pleasant agricultural areas. There are some people standing along the route, and they clap and I see their mouths moving, as they ostensibly cheer, but my hearing is dominated by Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” from my iPod. The group of us runners starts to spread out as each finds his rhythm and pace. Across the fields, I can see the stragglers from Group B, and sense I will soon be overtaking them, which gives me hope that I am not that slow after all.
First split – 1 km – 5’06”.
I’m not sure anymore what I have planned as a race pace, but feel that this is too slow. Or is it too fast? My mind is blank, and all those figures and notes I mentally made, have vanished. In former days, I used to teach mathematics – surely I can calculate a correct pace. Finally clarity rises from the dead, and I simply multiply 21,1 by 5 to get 105 approximately 105 minutes, or 1h45m. That’ll be a good time, but take it slowly – the first five kilometres are easy; those last five will be the big leveller. Don’t push it in the beginning.
There follows a long stretch of road through fields of some kind of agricultural products, probably on their last legs (who said that????? My legs are fine!!!!) as winter nears rapidly. I run smoothly and confidently, feeling great, looking around from time to time to enjoy the scenery. My heart rate is steady at around 159 bpm, which feels comfortable, and I can breathe easily. It all feels just as it should do. We are heading due east, with a sharp turn to the north-west at about the 3,2 km mark. What’s this I see before me? Two ladies in yellow shirts, with matching shorts, socks, shoes and hair, from the athletics club in Bergamo, Italia – walking!!!!!!!!! They must be from Group B. OK, maybe they are taking it easy. I’m sure 12 min/km is a wonderful, injury-free pace. Good luck, I think, as I roar past them, now enjoying “Radar Love” from the ‘70s – those were the days when music was music.
Splits:2 km – 4’46” – ah, faster, but feeling good.
3 km – 4’50” – snail pace again. Makes mental note to self: no more wine before a race!!!! Maybe.
Now heading due west, back towards Tenero, through farmlands; past livestock, lazily grazing in the warm sunshine; at 5 km is the first watering hole, but I am feeling fine, and run straight past it. Still going well, and feel strong and fit. The nagging ache I’d been having at the top of my right leg, seems to be quiet at the moment, thanks to the three Aspirin I took before we started – hope it doesn’t rear its ugly head after the race!!!! The irritated hip bursa is behaving itself, too.
Onwards we run. I’ve sort-of formed a silent camaraderie with a fellow runner as we head westwards, at one stage over a new, and spectacular pedestrian bridge which crosses a river. He’s a youngish guy, and we seem to be pacing each other, keeping together, both blocked out of conversation by iPods, but aware of each other’s presence. For several kilometres, our pace keeps us next to each other, and I wonder who he is, how long he has been running, why he runs, what his goals are.
4 km – 4’54” – ever slower. Have I hit “the wall”????
5 km – 4’56” – why don’t I just walk?
6 km – 4’48” – that’s better.
7 km – 4’47” – make way for a possible new winner!!!!
8 km – 4’54” – hmmm? It must be because of my shoes!!!
9 km – 4’51” – I can see the buildings of the centro sportivo looming up ahead.
There are more people now, lining the route, as we approach the halfway mark in Tenero. I am feeling wonderful, especially as I know I am about to see my supporters and will get my Gatorade. I clumsily take out a vanilla gel from my new belt, and hungrily devour the thick substance. That should keep me going for a while. I was advised, that such gels are not really required for a half-mara, but what the heck, one can’t hurt, and I did so want to try out my new belt!!!!!!
Buildings loom up now – the route passes between two, and there, about 100 metres ahead of me, stands Brigitte, arms high above her head, holding in one hand a large Gatorade (why wasn’t it a bottle of wine?????), and in the other a packet of tissues (just in case). I hardly stop, and feel like a member of a relay team as I take the bottle from Brigitte, beam a thanks to her, and continue on my quest for success. I don’t see Kurt and Rolf, but, as I find out later, they are on the other side of the road, recording my progress.
The Gatorade tastes great, but I cannot run and drink simultaneously – I guess I need to buy a book on that, too, or perhaps there’s a DVD out on the art of drinking while on the run!!! I spill some of it, manage to consume a quarter of the liquid, and start worrying about what I should do with the rest, when, out of the blue, it’s the 10-km mark, and a refreshments station offers the solution – instead of taking a cup of liquid from one of the many young helpers, I give one my Gatorade bottle, and yell out “Salute” (cheers) to her. She smiles, as I hurtle past, and accepts the partially empty bottle. I am now well hydrated and nourished – I hope – and continue forward toward Locarno.
10 km – 4’47” – that Gatorade was motivating, or was it Brigitte’s big smile?
We’re now running through a more built-up area – suburbia Locarno. There are a lot more people around, and that’s very motivating and encouraging. My spirits are high; my energy level is constant; I am enjoying myself to the max. My heart rate is now slightly higher – averaging around 160 bpm – perhaps it’s the excitement of all this inspiration from the spectators, and knowing, that my goal is coming ever closer. My running comrade is still with me, and I cast him the odd friendly grin, which is reciprocated.
11 km – 4’38” – going strongly and feel great.
12 km – 4’38” – ditto and no change. My fastest split thus far for the last two kilometres.
Remember yesterday’s blog and the mention of the hill – not to be thought about? Well, “the wall” is a doddle in comparison. I see this feature looming ominously ahead of me, bestrewn with runners, paces reduced. I feel like I’m carrying a 100-kg rucksack up Kilimanjaro. Admittedly, this is a slight exaggeration, as the hill was not that steep, but, after a nice, long, flat route, it feels like hell. Surprisingly enough, whilst my pace slows, my heart rate remains at around 161 to 162 bpm, and, accompanied by my silent companion, I reach the top unscathed. As they say, what goes up must come down, and that road surely had to descend at some stage back down to lake level.
13 km – 5’18” – that hill.
Ah, the bliss of a downwards run. It is like the feelings associated with the cessation of banging one’s head against a wall for half an hour. It actually descends in stages, and it’s on the descent, through some beautiful residential areas, that my non-vocal running mate decides it’s time to leave me in the dust, and he thunders on ahead, putting untold pressure onto his quads, while his aged colleague takes it easy, and enjoys the run down to the lake.
14 km – 5’06” – I’ve broken that hill, and almost my back, too.
The final descent brings me right into the middle of Locarno, next to the lake. It’s a beautiful area, full of grand hotels, tourists, boulevard coffee lounges, bars and restaurants, elegant people, and, today’s runners!!!! I know the route, and it’s not simply the turning point back to Tenero. Oh, no, those sneaky race organisers have added a little loop through the town centre and out to the motorway entrance, just to annoy us – I know how they think, those slave-drivers. So, it’s westwards I run again, before the 180° turn, back eastwards, and the trundle through the built-up area of central Locarno. Very few are there to cheer us on, so it’s a trifle boring, but it’s gratifying to see, that the streets have all been blocked off just for us runners.
Almost at the lake, and it’s the 15-km mark, characterised by a large refreshment station. That Gatorade seems like a year ago, so I set my sights on an outstretched hand bearing a cup of something, relieve the bearer of her load, and try to elegantly consume some of the content, only to discover, that it’s hot tea!!!!!!! What a strange thing to offer a runner who refuses to stop. I don’t even like tea at 8 o’clock in the morning, let along on a 21,1 km run!!!! Lips and tongue scalded, I hurl the unwelcome receptacle to the ground, and head, disgruntled, towards the last leg of the run.
15 km – 5’04” – the sight of the refreshment station must have caused the pace increase.
Now there are many people lining the streets, as the route winds its way along the smart banks of Lago Maggiore, past refined people, sipping cocktails and champagne in posh hotels. There is much applauding, and one can almost hear their thoughts: “What fools are they, who rush about scantily dressed on a Sunday?”.
It’s a beautiful, level route right next to the lake, which invites me back to the centro sportivo and my goal, but I’m tiring. It’s definitely a case of positive splits now, and my pace tells the unhappy tale. Nevertheless, I still feel strong and determined, and the thought of quitting doesn’t once enter my mind. With several kilometres having been run under 5 min/km, I could just make 1h45m on this, my first half-marathon. Time, and my legs, will tell.
16 km – 5’09” – not far now.
Despite my reduction in pace, I am overtaking many people now, and it’s encouraging. Every so often, I give a short burst of speed, and am soon overtaking a large, powerful, burly man who is sweating profusely. I resume my normal pace shortly thereafter, and we are soon running next to each other –another anonymous, silent running partner. His legs are hefty, and I am astonished, that he has run so far – he’s by no means fat, but a BIG, powerful guy. Makes me glad I am somewhat on the thin side. We run in step, and enjoy the company of each other.
17 km – 5’10” – slowly slowing down – damn, I had wanted a negative spilt – ah, well, first half-mara and all that, so I can learn from it.
We’re getting close to the finishing line now, and I can feel the excitement mounting with me. Across the lake, I can see the rowing club of the sports centre, and I rapidly calculate, that it’s only about 20 minutes or so, before I get to eat a banana again!!!!!
Wow, these last few kilometres are long – I’m sure the measurements are inaccurate. I run next to Big Guy, and we edge towards “Arrivo” in Tenero. I’m trying to keep a constant pace until just before the end, and then give it all I’ve got – we’ll see if I have the capacity to do that.
18 km – 5’12” – slower again, but only slightly.
19 km – 5’11” – wow, what an increase, although I hardly notice it. I feel good and strong.
20 km – 5’10” – my running buddy and I are still together.
It’s not far, now. Just over a kilometre to go, and lots of people are cheering us on. The route enters the borders of the sport centre, through an area which is heavily under construction and involves a few deft foot movements, then past the tennis courts, change rooms, a 90° turn to the left, and the last 200 metres!!!!!! This is it. There are crowds of people along the last stretch of the route. Lots of clapping and encouraging, but I can hardly hear it, as I have “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen filling me head (how fitting – The Boss at the beginning and end of my race!!!).
I forget to push the HRM button for a split at 21 km, but don’t care – it’s the home run now, and I’m going to make it. This is amazing. I fill up with pride and happiness, and start putting on that final spurt. Big Guy does the same, but I see he is going to beat me by about two metres. My heart rate gets up to 166, and, metre by metre, I come closer to the end of my first half-marathon. I still feel great – better than I have ever felt in my life. Fifty metres, 49 metres, 48 metres, a little faster than a few metres before. The arch looms ever nearer. I want to scream with joy – I have almost made it. Big Guy overtakes a lady runner, and is now three metres ahead of me.
And then, with a final burst of energy, I am over the line!!!!!!!!!! I HAVE DONE IT – I HAVE COMPLETED MY FIRST HALF-MARATHON, and in this beautiful region. I am the proudest person on the face of the earth – and yet, strangely enough, as a woman official scans my number bib for my official result, my thoughts stray into the future and my first full-marathon, which will be either in Paris or Zürich in spring.
21,0975 Km – 5’47” – the finishing line!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am elated; I am ecstatic; I am on top of the world. I look at my Polar HRM to find that my time is 1h45m07s (I later learn, that my official time is 1h45m14s). I just cannot believe it. It’s the most amazing thing I have ever done, and I want to do it again and again and again. Tears rush into my eyes, but I don’t care. I see Big Guy, and go over to high-five him – he’s a German, and is as overwhelmed as I am. We hug, a big sweaty marathoner’s hug, and wish each other well, expressing the hope that we will see each other again at another meet.
I have made it. I had expected 1h50m; hoped for 1h40m but am wildly happy with 1h45m – and all that, with not all that much proper training. My next planned major race is the Semi-Marathon de Paris on 2nd March, 2008 – I have plenty of time, ‘til then, to get in proper and scientific training. But right now, I need a drink and I need to find Kurt, Rolf and Brigitte. It seems like half an hour since I achieved my success, but could not have been more than two minutes, before they are with me. Despite all my sweat, there are big hugs and embraces, congratulatory words, queries as to how I feel, and finally a large drink!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It’s been a long race for me, but a good one. I felt strong all the way. I never once doubted my ability to complete the distance. I was in top form, and could have gone on, if I were in a longer race.
I drink my juice, and eat my banana, and then get down to some stretching and warm-downs. My legs feel tired, but fine – no aches or pains, no injuries evident. Within 5 minutes, my heart rate is down to 100, and still falling when I turn off the HRM. I want to scream from the roofs that I have made it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I have run a half-marathon. And I’m not even a spring chicken, but 51 years old. Damn it, I feel amazing.
We hang around for a while, and watch the first full-marathoners come in. I’m too happy with my own success to worry about their details, but I still watch in awe as the first three or four cross the finishing line, and I can’t help wondering what position I will be in when I cross that point in Paris or and/or Zürich next year.
There is one big disappointment, and that is, that no medals will be given out. Somehow I feel they belong to any race of this standing, and I feel let down. At least I have a T-shirt and my number bib, and I know, that Kurt and Rolf have taken lots of photos and videos of me en route, so I will have lots of memories of the race, but I still would like a medal.
We leave about an hour later, and drive back to Carona. My mind is still on the race, and I re-live many aspects of it for the rest of the day. It’s still the most magnificent weather, and I cannot believe the luck I had in that respect. Back home, I rush off a few e-mails and fmails, and then collapse into a deep, hot bubble bath, with a large glass of fine white wine at hand, and stay there for half an hour. It is the most beautiful bath in the whole world, and I never want to get out of it – at least, it until the next race.
I finally do emerge, and make my way upstairs to the others for another celebratory drink. That evening, we go out to a fine restaurant for dinner. What do I have????? PASTA!!!!!!! I must be more hooked on running than I thought. I am – I just love running, and cannot get enough of it. This long wait for my next race at the beginning of March in Paris is going to drive me crazy, but I need the time to train well, because I know, I will not be happy with 1h45m in Paris!!!!!!!!
I didn’t sleep very well that night, even though we were in Carona. My mind was working overtime, and I think I re-ran the race a dozen times before I finally found some rest. We left for Chur the next morning, back to everyday life. I had a day’s rest, but yestereve was back running – a recovery 7.13 km.
So, that’s it. I now have a quarter- and a half-marathon under my belt, and I go forward with great excitement towards intense, but sensible, training, and hopefully plenty more successful and great races.
Thanks for reading all this, and may you all have a great run today, and lots of success and joy from running in the future. No doubt, there will be more blogs from me after my next races – maybe not all as long as these!!!!!
Yours in running,
Craig
My report on the maratona Ticino in Locarno, Switzerland – Sunday, 11th November 2007.
Since my last (and first) race – the Lausanne (Quarter-) Marathon in Lausanne (funny, that), Switzerland three weeks beforehand, I’d been anxiously awaiting, and training for, my first half-marathon in Locarno, southern Switzerland on 11th November. The quarter in Lausanne was a good test for me – not only had I never raced before, but I had actually trained very un-seriously, not understanding, until recently, the science/art of training properly. In fact, although I have been running since about May 2007, I’ve only really had my heart in it since about the middle of September this year. I managed Lausanne far better than I had ever expected (46 minutes), so was highly motivated for the half-mara in Locarno this last weekend, knowing full well, however, that it would be double as far to propel myself forward. I also started training far more seriously, and, thanks to the advice from my brother-in-law in South Africa (Gavin), and two very experienced runners from Fetcheveryone.com (SarahL and eL Bee!), I began to apply some sense to my training, albeit only a week before my big race. I started having dreams about the maratona Ticino about the time I started training better – I guess the normal pre-race jitter kind of dreams – missing the start, forgetting to take my carbohydrate gels, and so on. Nevertheless, it went off so well – for my newcomer standards.
Let’s take a step back, and start at the beginning of the build-up to Locarno (the maratona Ticino). First of all, I live in Chur, Switzerland, in the south-east (and largest) canton of Graubünden (in English, known by the French term Grisons). My partner and I have a holiday house in the Italian-speaking south of Switzerland in the canton Ticino, near the town of Lugano on the lake of the same name. About a marathon distance from Lugano, heading NNW is the town of Locarno on the lake Lago Maggiore; more famous in international circles than Locarno is the lakeside resort of Ascona, not far from Locarno. Bear in mind, that as this canton lies on the south side of the Swiss Alps, the weather there is very different to that in the north of the country. As it was this last weekend, the north had snow, snow and more snow, whilst on race day in Locarno, the weather was characterised by sunshine and temperatures of up to 18°C!!!!! Quite unbelievable – our home town of Chur in the Grisons had 40 cm of snow at the weekend. Thus endeth the geography lesson!!! Big Smile.
Maratona Ticino – Part the first. The Preamble.
On Friday, around midday, Kurt (my partner) and I set off from Chur, heading through the mountains to the south. The weather was wild – snow in Chur itself, and blizzards en route, up to and just beyond the San Bernardino Tunnel. I’m not a great fan of travelling by car in the snow, but if I wanted to run my first half-mara, there was no other choice, and, anyway, a weekend in our holiday house (in the village of Carona above Lugano) could not be spoilt by a few stupid snowflakes!!!! Once through the San Bernardino Tunnel, the Autobahn drops rapidly down towards the canton Ticino, and the so-called Nordföhn (adiabatic north wind – here we go again with the geography!!!!) takes over from the north wind in the north, dries out, warms up, and causes beautiful weather in the south. By two in the afternoon, we were in our house, settled, and ready to take on the weekend, complete with race in Locarno. I’ll try to skip the mundane details of shopping, feeding the fish in the pond in our garden, dusting the wine bottles in the cellar, pruning the triffids, burying dead hedgehogs, and that sort of thing – suffice to say, by evening, we were settled upstairs (it’s a four-story house, with the original parts of it being about 700 years old!!!! – full of history and character), a roaring fire burning in the fireplace, good, red Italian wine flowing, and a hearty meal being eaten. I knew, that my pre-race night would be fitful, so I was determined, that the penultimate one would be as restful as possible, and I managed an almost solid 10 hours of rest that night, something I seldom achieve.
Saturday was another brilliant, Nordföhn day, and the skies were as clear as crystal, and as warm as could be. Around early afternoon, we set off by car for Locarno where the maratona Ticino was to be held the following day. I’d been alone in Carona for a few days the week before, and had already had a quick look at the course, and it looked great!!! This time, of course, things were starting to happen, and the pre-race sale of running equipment, collection of number bibs and bags of goodies, and so on, were the order of the afternoon. The marathon was to start and finish in the village of Tenero, just next to Locarno. There is a large, and very impressive centro sportivo (sports centre – clever, huh?) there, with amazing facilities. I picked up my bib (number 3027, starting group C – who knows how they allocate one to a group, but then again, who cares), bought a new runner’s vest and belt for gels, etc., and then Kurt and I motored as far as possible over the route of the following day’s race. The maratona Ticino offers a full- and half-marathon. The whole distance and Group A of the semi, were to start at 9:15 the next morning, Group B at 9:25, and my group at 9:35.
The jaunt over the route proved interesting, and also revealed a rather nasty little hill around the 13-km mark. Some things are best left un-thought of, and this hill was one of those. The rest was mainly flat, and would be a breeze. That hill!!!! Strike it from my thoughts, have a glass of wine, and relax – so off we went into Locarno itself, did a little shopping and had a glass of Italian white!!!! OK, I know wine on the day preceding a race is said to make one sluggish during the event, but one cannot be in Ticino sans wine. About that hill!!!!! What hill??
Back in Carona, the fire was lit again, and Kurt set about cooking an amazing meal (he is a qualified Swiss chef, but we have a completely different business of our own, now – nothing to do with cooking). Friends of ours, Rolf and Brigitte, were due to arrive from Chur around 7:30-ish that evening. Together with Kurt, they have become my official support and fan club at races – although I cannot expect them to come to every race, because none of them is a runner by any means, and it must be very boring for non-runners to constantly have to follow some bipedal fool around the country, while he tries to achieve weird and wonderful things like PBs, do things like intervals, and constantly refer to his HRM and talk about VO2max and the like.
My fan club arrived on time, and we were soon indulging in an amazing meal, albeit mine was quite different to that of the normal folk – I had a large plate of organic, whole-meal pasta, while the masses ate an incredible culinary delight, as put together by the ex-chef. I did indulge myself in a few more glasses of red wine, but finally decided it was time to excuse myself, and head for bed, leaving the others to imbibe and indulge as they wished, but reminding them, that the next morning, we were due up bright and early. Lots of muttering, throwing of empty wine bottles at me, setting fire to my running clothes, and sabotaging my iPod resulted, but I escaped, and went downstairs to make sure my running gear was in order (as if I hadn’t already done that a thousand times in the previous hour, anyway!!!), before hitting the pillow.
My self-fulfilling prophesy manifested itself around 4 o’clock the next morning, when I woke up with a start, and could not return to sleep. My mind was already in Locarno, even though my body was in a nice, warm, comfortable bed, under a deep, soft, friendly duvet. Tell me again why we run????? By six o’clock, I was up, eating a light breakfast of whole-wheat bread and peanut butter (GROSS, at that time of the morning), a banana, a glass of orange juice, and my normal cup of coffee. My mind was racing already, trying to put together all the advice SarahL, eL Bee! and Gavin had given me, and all the stuff I had been reading in my collection of books on marathoning. It became a little overwhelming, and eventually I decided to just relax, and do what I felt was best for me, but bearing in mind the most important aspects of the advice given – take it easy, and enjoy it!!!!! I’m 51 years old; I’m hardly going to win a marathon, so why the stress and tension – enjoy it, yes; take it easy and don’t go at it like the proverbial bull in a china shop, yes!!!! What, me panic???? Yes!!!!!
Nevertheless, by the time the others were up and ready to go, I was a bundle of nerves, checking and re-checking everything, almost wearing out the zip on my new kit bag through opening it so often, standing at the door to the house about fifteen minutes before we had agreed to set off, tapping my foot, looking anxiously at my Polar HRM and quite certain I’d miss my race, and so on, ad nauseum.
We finally set off for Locarno at 7:45 a.m. Would we have an accident on the way? Would there by a traffic jam? Had a meteorite crashed onto the motorway and cut off all access to Locarno? There was no mental rest for me, and I am sure, I nearly drove my fellow passengers crazy with constant talk of gels, enough water, glycogen, min/km pacing, my Achilles tendon support. By the time we arrived at the centro sportivo in Tenero, they were ready to throw me out of the car – but, as I pointed out to them, in case they ever decided to start running, they would have a lot of theoretical knowledge from me. Ouch, the bottle of Gatorade that hit my head left a nasty bump!!
Kurt and I had arranged, the day before, where the three of them would be standing at the halfway mark to hand me some Gatorade, so that was all settled. The course resembles a figure-8, which meant, that the start, finish, and halfway (for the half-mara) were all in about the same place – the centro sportivo. At the restaurant in the centre, the others had coffee and croissants, and I had a glass of water and a sachet of gel, but was so nervous and needed to be alone for a while to take it all in, calm myself down, and do my warm-ups.
Being only my second race, I somehow regarded everyone else as an expert, and tried to emulate a lot of the pre-race training that was taking place around me. It didn’t take long for me to decide upon what seemed the right things for me, and was soon exuding a suitable amount of sweat, and starting to feel good about myself, and, above all, a lot calmer than before. Around 9:10, I made my way back to my little group of supporters, and we had a last-minute wishing-me-well session, with lots of hugs and words of encouragement. There seemed like thousands of people around, whereas the number was certainly nothing like the amazing atmosphere three weeks prior to Locarno in Lausanne. The exact number of participants I will include in the next part of my blog.
At exactly 9:15 a.m. on Sunday, 11th November 2007, the pistol shot reverberated around the centro sportivo, several sparrows fell out of the air and hit the ground near the starting line, and the group of full mara-runners and half-mara Group A, hurtled off on the start of a wonderful run. Ten minutes later, the procedure was repeated, and I felt the emotion rising in me as my time approached. That welling-up, as in Lausanne, hit me again, and it took all I could to suppress the tears of amazement and delight that I was taking part in such an event. At this stage, Kurt, Rolf and Brigitte set off with the digital video and photo cameras to the gate of the centre, from where they would have a better view of me as I set off on my semi-marathonal adventure.
I was then on my own, despite being surrounded by hundreds of people, all with the same goal in mind. Nervously, still testing all my gadgets (iPod and Nike+ sensor, Polar HRM, pulse-maker, catheter, colostomy bag (well, not really the last three)), I made my way to the starting line, positioning myself about five rows of people back from the front. What was that feeling in my groin – did I need the toilet again????? That strange tension in my left ankle – it wasn’t there before, so is my formerly recalcitrant Achilles tendon, despite the elastic support, about to play up again??? Will my glasses fall off when I run???? Be still, oh mind!!!! If only.
9:33, and the tension was beyond belief. I felt like my brain was going to explode. “What’s wrong with me?”, I asked. “Runners do this every weekend all over the world.”. I wonder how many others have the kind of thoughts that go through my over-active mind.
9:34. Maybe I could get a note from my mother to excuse me from games. Where are SarahL, eL Bee! and Gavin when I need them?????? My legs will never make 20,0795 km – funny that, as I did 20,83 km only two weeks before. Damn, what was that speed again at which I should run to achieve 1h50m??? Why is my brain numb???? Why are my legs numb???? Shoot that damned pistol, and let’s get out of here before I explode with anticipation and anxiety. Run, Forrest, run!!!!!!
Part the second will follow once I have had some sleep – if I ever get any, as I am so excited again, just having written all this down. If this is what all races will be doing to me – and I plan to run many – then I will be a nervous wreck by the time I am much older. More tomorrow. Thanks for reading this far, if you got this far!!!!!
Cheers for now, and good health, good running, loads of happiness,
Craig
Maratona Ticino – Part the second.
A light run through farming areas and along the lake.
9:34:30 (and we change to present tense reporting). Tension is now at fever pitch. There is not much more talking, as everyone waits anxiously for the starter’s pistol. All around, the mountains tower up above the plain, much of which is covered by the beautiful Lago Maggiore, into which flows the swift Maggia River, after it winds its way down from the lofty source, nestled amongst the peaks of Ticino, carving out deep gorges and valleys, before emptying itself into the lake between Locarno and Ascona. The temperature is around 15°C, the air dry, the sky bright and sunny, the wind negligible. My knees move back and forth, as I stand, clad in my new yellow-ish runner’s vest and my skimpy runner’s shorts, my Nike runner’s shoes hardly keeping still thanks to the constant movement of my feet. My heart rate is already 91 bpm, and my whole being has become focussed on one goal – getting back to the same position I am in now, but about an hour and three-quarters later!!!! I’ve set my sights on completing the half-marathon in 1h50”, and will be more than happy with anything quicker, this being my first such race. The guy next to me picks his nose in nervous trepidation (PLEASE don’t eat it!!!!); the one in front of me scratches his left shoulder blade so hard, that blood starts flowing down his back; a kid among the spectators screams out for her father who is about to run away from her and achieve a personal best; I have a finger on the button of my HRM, ready to push it as soon as the pistol shoots a few more sparrows out of the sky. I cast a hasty glance upwards towards the deep blue Swiss heavens, and notice a flange (or is it a “gaggle”?) of vultures circling menacingly overhead, their beady eyes concentrated upon me. My mind is starting to hallucinate during these longest 30 seconds of my life.
9:35 A massive explosion rips through the centro sportivo, and all the energy I possess pushes the button on my Polar HRM and then rapidly moves up to the centre button of my iPod to begun my “Running Music List” and start the reception of signals from a sensor, deep within the sole of my Nike shoes. This is it – the moment of truth. My knees almost burst with energy as I wait for the first rows to rush off ahead. In Lausanne, I was about one third of the way back; here in lovely Locarno, I am near the front, and it’s a great feeling, surging forward only a second or so after the pistol fires. Clapping and roars of encouragement from the sidelines raise my motivation markedly, and I smile broadly, as I try not to trip over the runner in front of me. As one, we run off past the buildings of the centre, which were designed by the famous Swiss architect, Mario Botta, down towards the entrance and out onto the road. My eyes scan the pavements until I finally see Kurt, Rolf and Brigitte with the cameras focussing on me. A smile covers my entire face as I raise a hand and wave to my fans. It’ll be another ten kilometres before I see them again.
Suitably photographically recorded, I now concentrate on the task at hand – surviving 21,0975 km of hard running (I see in the first part, I noted the distance of the half-marathon as 20,0795 km – wrong distance!!!). The first kilometre sees us swarm over a bridge and onto a tertiary, yet still tarred, road through pleasant agricultural areas. There are some people standing along the route, and they clap and I see their mouths moving, as they ostensibly cheer, but my hearing is dominated by Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” from my iPod. The group of us runners starts to spread out as each finds his rhythm and pace. Across the fields, I can see the stragglers from Group B, and sense I will soon be overtaking them, which gives me hope that I am not that slow after all.
First split – 1 km – 5’06”.
I’m not sure anymore what I have planned as a race pace, but feel that this is too slow. Or is it too fast? My mind is blank, and all those figures and notes I mentally made, have vanished. In former days, I used to teach mathematics – surely I can calculate a correct pace. Finally clarity rises from the dead, and I simply multiply 21,1 by 5 to get 105 approximately 105 minutes, or 1h45m. That’ll be a good time, but take it slowly – the first five kilometres are easy; those last five will be the big leveller. Don’t push it in the beginning.
There follows a long stretch of road through fields of some kind of agricultural products, probably on their last legs (who said that????? My legs are fine!!!!) as winter nears rapidly. I run smoothly and confidently, feeling great, looking around from time to time to enjoy the scenery. My heart rate is steady at around 159 bpm, which feels comfortable, and I can breathe easily. It all feels just as it should do. We are heading due east, with a sharp turn to the north-west at about the 3,2 km mark. What’s this I see before me? Two ladies in yellow shirts, with matching shorts, socks, shoes and hair, from the athletics club in Bergamo, Italia – walking!!!!!!!!! They must be from Group B. OK, maybe they are taking it easy. I’m sure 12 min/km is a wonderful, injury-free pace. Good luck, I think, as I roar past them, now enjoying “Radar Love” from the ‘70s – those were the days when music was music.
Splits:2 km – 4’46” – ah, faster, but feeling good.
3 km – 4’50” – snail pace again. Makes mental note to self: no more wine before a race!!!! Maybe.
Now heading due west, back towards Tenero, through farmlands; past livestock, lazily grazing in the warm sunshine; at 5 km is the first watering hole, but I am feeling fine, and run straight past it. Still going well, and feel strong and fit. The nagging ache I’d been having at the top of my right leg, seems to be quiet at the moment, thanks to the three Aspirin I took before we started – hope it doesn’t rear its ugly head after the race!!!! The irritated hip bursa is behaving itself, too.
Onwards we run. I’ve sort-of formed a silent camaraderie with a fellow runner as we head westwards, at one stage over a new, and spectacular pedestrian bridge which crosses a river. He’s a youngish guy, and we seem to be pacing each other, keeping together, both blocked out of conversation by iPods, but aware of each other’s presence. For several kilometres, our pace keeps us next to each other, and I wonder who he is, how long he has been running, why he runs, what his goals are.
4 km – 4’54” – ever slower. Have I hit “the wall”????
5 km – 4’56” – why don’t I just walk?
6 km – 4’48” – that’s better.
7 km – 4’47” – make way for a possible new winner!!!!
8 km – 4’54” – hmmm? It must be because of my shoes!!!
9 km – 4’51” – I can see the buildings of the centro sportivo looming up ahead.
There are more people now, lining the route, as we approach the halfway mark in Tenero. I am feeling wonderful, especially as I know I am about to see my supporters and will get my Gatorade. I clumsily take out a vanilla gel from my new belt, and hungrily devour the thick substance. That should keep me going for a while. I was advised, that such gels are not really required for a half-mara, but what the heck, one can’t hurt, and I did so want to try out my new belt!!!!!!
Buildings loom up now – the route passes between two, and there, about 100 metres ahead of me, stands Brigitte, arms high above her head, holding in one hand a large Gatorade (why wasn’t it a bottle of wine?????), and in the other a packet of tissues (just in case). I hardly stop, and feel like a member of a relay team as I take the bottle from Brigitte, beam a thanks to her, and continue on my quest for success. I don’t see Kurt and Rolf, but, as I find out later, they are on the other side of the road, recording my progress.
The Gatorade tastes great, but I cannot run and drink simultaneously – I guess I need to buy a book on that, too, or perhaps there’s a DVD out on the art of drinking while on the run!!! I spill some of it, manage to consume a quarter of the liquid, and start worrying about what I should do with the rest, when, out of the blue, it’s the 10-km mark, and a refreshments station offers the solution – instead of taking a cup of liquid from one of the many young helpers, I give one my Gatorade bottle, and yell out “Salute” (cheers) to her. She smiles, as I hurtle past, and accepts the partially empty bottle. I am now well hydrated and nourished – I hope – and continue forward toward Locarno.
10 km – 4’47” – that Gatorade was motivating, or was it Brigitte’s big smile?
We’re now running through a more built-up area – suburbia Locarno. There are a lot more people around, and that’s very motivating and encouraging. My spirits are high; my energy level is constant; I am enjoying myself to the max. My heart rate is now slightly higher – averaging around 160 bpm – perhaps it’s the excitement of all this inspiration from the spectators, and knowing, that my goal is coming ever closer. My running comrade is still with me, and I cast him the odd friendly grin, which is reciprocated.
11 km – 4’38” – going strongly and feel great.
12 km – 4’38” – ditto and no change. My fastest split thus far for the last two kilometres.
Remember yesterday’s blog and the mention of the hill – not to be thought about? Well, “the wall” is a doddle in comparison. I see this feature looming ominously ahead of me, bestrewn with runners, paces reduced. I feel like I’m carrying a 100-kg rucksack up Kilimanjaro. Admittedly, this is a slight exaggeration, as the hill was not that steep, but, after a nice, long, flat route, it feels like hell. Surprisingly enough, whilst my pace slows, my heart rate remains at around 161 to 162 bpm, and, accompanied by my silent companion, I reach the top unscathed. As they say, what goes up must come down, and that road surely had to descend at some stage back down to lake level.
13 km – 5’18” – that hill.
Ah, the bliss of a downwards run. It is like the feelings associated with the cessation of banging one’s head against a wall for half an hour. It actually descends in stages, and it’s on the descent, through some beautiful residential areas, that my non-vocal running mate decides it’s time to leave me in the dust, and he thunders on ahead, putting untold pressure onto his quads, while his aged colleague takes it easy, and enjoys the run down to the lake.
14 km – 5’06” – I’ve broken that hill, and almost my back, too.
The final descent brings me right into the middle of Locarno, next to the lake. It’s a beautiful area, full of grand hotels, tourists, boulevard coffee lounges, bars and restaurants, elegant people, and, today’s runners!!!! I know the route, and it’s not simply the turning point back to Tenero. Oh, no, those sneaky race organisers have added a little loop through the town centre and out to the motorway entrance, just to annoy us – I know how they think, those slave-drivers. So, it’s westwards I run again, before the 180° turn, back eastwards, and the trundle through the built-up area of central Locarno. Very few are there to cheer us on, so it’s a trifle boring, but it’s gratifying to see, that the streets have all been blocked off just for us runners.
Almost at the lake, and it’s the 15-km mark, characterised by a large refreshment station. That Gatorade seems like a year ago, so I set my sights on an outstretched hand bearing a cup of something, relieve the bearer of her load, and try to elegantly consume some of the content, only to discover, that it’s hot tea!!!!!!! What a strange thing to offer a runner who refuses to stop. I don’t even like tea at 8 o’clock in the morning, let along on a 21,1 km run!!!! Lips and tongue scalded, I hurl the unwelcome receptacle to the ground, and head, disgruntled, towards the last leg of the run.
15 km – 5’04” – the sight of the refreshment station must have caused the pace increase.
Now there are many people lining the streets, as the route winds its way along the smart banks of Lago Maggiore, past refined people, sipping cocktails and champagne in posh hotels. There is much applauding, and one can almost hear their thoughts: “What fools are they, who rush about scantily dressed on a Sunday?”.
It’s a beautiful, level route right next to the lake, which invites me back to the centro sportivo and my goal, but I’m tiring. It’s definitely a case of positive splits now, and my pace tells the unhappy tale. Nevertheless, I still feel strong and determined, and the thought of quitting doesn’t once enter my mind. With several kilometres having been run under 5 min/km, I could just make 1h45m on this, my first half-marathon. Time, and my legs, will tell.
16 km – 5’09” – not far now.
Despite my reduction in pace, I am overtaking many people now, and it’s encouraging. Every so often, I give a short burst of speed, and am soon overtaking a large, powerful, burly man who is sweating profusely. I resume my normal pace shortly thereafter, and we are soon running next to each other –another anonymous, silent running partner. His legs are hefty, and I am astonished, that he has run so far – he’s by no means fat, but a BIG, powerful guy. Makes me glad I am somewhat on the thin side. We run in step, and enjoy the company of each other.
17 km – 5’10” – slowly slowing down – damn, I had wanted a negative spilt – ah, well, first half-mara and all that, so I can learn from it.
We’re getting close to the finishing line now, and I can feel the excitement mounting with me. Across the lake, I can see the rowing club of the sports centre, and I rapidly calculate, that it’s only about 20 minutes or so, before I get to eat a banana again!!!!!
Wow, these last few kilometres are long – I’m sure the measurements are inaccurate. I run next to Big Guy, and we edge towards “Arrivo” in Tenero. I’m trying to keep a constant pace until just before the end, and then give it all I’ve got – we’ll see if I have the capacity to do that.
18 km – 5’12” – slower again, but only slightly.
19 km – 5’11” – wow, what an increase, although I hardly notice it. I feel good and strong.
20 km – 5’10” – my running buddy and I are still together.
It’s not far, now. Just over a kilometre to go, and lots of people are cheering us on. The route enters the borders of the sport centre, through an area which is heavily under construction and involves a few deft foot movements, then past the tennis courts, change rooms, a 90° turn to the left, and the last 200 metres!!!!!! This is it. There are crowds of people along the last stretch of the route. Lots of clapping and encouraging, but I can hardly hear it, as I have “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen filling me head (how fitting – The Boss at the beginning and end of my race!!!).
I forget to push the HRM button for a split at 21 km, but don’t care – it’s the home run now, and I’m going to make it. This is amazing. I fill up with pride and happiness, and start putting on that final spurt. Big Guy does the same, but I see he is going to beat me by about two metres. My heart rate gets up to 166, and, metre by metre, I come closer to the end of my first half-marathon. I still feel great – better than I have ever felt in my life. Fifty metres, 49 metres, 48 metres, a little faster than a few metres before. The arch looms ever nearer. I want to scream with joy – I have almost made it. Big Guy overtakes a lady runner, and is now three metres ahead of me.
And then, with a final burst of energy, I am over the line!!!!!!!!!! I HAVE DONE IT – I HAVE COMPLETED MY FIRST HALF-MARATHON, and in this beautiful region. I am the proudest person on the face of the earth – and yet, strangely enough, as a woman official scans my number bib for my official result, my thoughts stray into the future and my first full-marathon, which will be either in Paris or Zürich in spring.
21,0975 Km – 5’47” – the finishing line!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am elated; I am ecstatic; I am on top of the world. I look at my Polar HRM to find that my time is 1h45m07s (I later learn, that my official time is 1h45m14s). I just cannot believe it. It’s the most amazing thing I have ever done, and I want to do it again and again and again. Tears rush into my eyes, but I don’t care. I see Big Guy, and go over to high-five him – he’s a German, and is as overwhelmed as I am. We hug, a big sweaty marathoner’s hug, and wish each other well, expressing the hope that we will see each other again at another meet.
I have made it. I had expected 1h50m; hoped for 1h40m but am wildly happy with 1h45m – and all that, with not all that much proper training. My next planned major race is the Semi-Marathon de Paris on 2nd March, 2008 – I have plenty of time, ‘til then, to get in proper and scientific training. But right now, I need a drink and I need to find Kurt, Rolf and Brigitte. It seems like half an hour since I achieved my success, but could not have been more than two minutes, before they are with me. Despite all my sweat, there are big hugs and embraces, congratulatory words, queries as to how I feel, and finally a large drink!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It’s been a long race for me, but a good one. I felt strong all the way. I never once doubted my ability to complete the distance. I was in top form, and could have gone on, if I were in a longer race.
I drink my juice, and eat my banana, and then get down to some stretching and warm-downs. My legs feel tired, but fine – no aches or pains, no injuries evident. Within 5 minutes, my heart rate is down to 100, and still falling when I turn off the HRM. I want to scream from the roofs that I have made it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I have run a half-marathon. And I’m not even a spring chicken, but 51 years old. Damn it, I feel amazing.
We hang around for a while, and watch the first full-marathoners come in. I’m too happy with my own success to worry about their details, but I still watch in awe as the first three or four cross the finishing line, and I can’t help wondering what position I will be in when I cross that point in Paris or and/or Zürich next year.
There is one big disappointment, and that is, that no medals will be given out. Somehow I feel they belong to any race of this standing, and I feel let down. At least I have a T-shirt and my number bib, and I know, that Kurt and Rolf have taken lots of photos and videos of me en route, so I will have lots of memories of the race, but I still would like a medal.
We leave about an hour later, and drive back to Carona. My mind is still on the race, and I re-live many aspects of it for the rest of the day. It’s still the most magnificent weather, and I cannot believe the luck I had in that respect. Back home, I rush off a few e-mails and fmails, and then collapse into a deep, hot bubble bath, with a large glass of fine white wine at hand, and stay there for half an hour. It is the most beautiful bath in the whole world, and I never want to get out of it – at least, it until the next race.
I finally do emerge, and make my way upstairs to the others for another celebratory drink. That evening, we go out to a fine restaurant for dinner. What do I have????? PASTA!!!!!!! I must be more hooked on running than I thought. I am – I just love running, and cannot get enough of it. This long wait for my next race at the beginning of March in Paris is going to drive me crazy, but I need the time to train well, because I know, I will not be happy with 1h45m in Paris!!!!!!!!
I didn’t sleep very well that night, even though we were in Carona. My mind was working overtime, and I think I re-ran the race a dozen times before I finally found some rest. We left for Chur the next morning, back to everyday life. I had a day’s rest, but yestereve was back running – a recovery 7.13 km.
So, that’s it. I now have a quarter- and a half-marathon under my belt, and I go forward with great excitement towards intense, but sensible, training, and hopefully plenty more successful and great races.
Thanks for reading all this, and may you all have a great run today, and lots of success and joy from running in the future. No doubt, there will be more blogs from me after my next races – maybe not all as long as these!!!!!
Yours in running,
Craig
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