On Saturday, 26th April, 2008, the so-called Bündner-Frühlingslauf took place. By way of explanation, Bündner is the adjective pertaining to the canton in which I live, Graubünden (in English, the Grisons); Frühlingslauf in English, means "spring run". This is a race which takes place between the town of Thusis, to the south of Chur, and ends 25 kilometres later in the sports centre of Chur. The route leads through spectacular mountain areas, through forests, along the Rhein (the Rhine River), across beautiful fields with snow-covered mountains soaring above all, not to mention the odd medieval castle or two.
Having not been able to run for nearly three months because of the Iliopsaos Tendon problem, I really had little hope for myself of being able to take part on this race. However, three weeks ago, when I realised, that my injury was actually improving markedly, and I could run again, I decided I would take part, and registered for the race. My training over the last few weeks, whilst not bad in terms of kilometres, was a bit of a worry, as it was somewhat sporadic due to the inclement weather and death duties, so I looked forward to this last Saturday with a certain amount of trepidation. My training runs, however, have been increasing in terms of distance, and I managed a good 26,3-km run about ten days before the race, which proved to me, that I would be capable of completing it, despite the inadequate training. Working out times, paces, etc., I decided on a time for the 25 kilometres of around 2:30:00 (i.e. two and a half hours), and yet hoped for around 2:20-ish.
I've also been enormously motivated by my decision to run, and acceptance on, the Marathon des Sables (MdS) in Morocco in March/April 2009. I had orginally planned to run this 250-km, seven-day, self-sufficiency race through the Moroccan Sahara only in 2010, but, due to various factors (mostly coercion and blackmail from fellow members of the MdS forum on the Internet (if you're interested, see: http://www.themds.co.uk/forums/index.php, and take a look at the pseudonym injasuti for all my alleged lunatic ramblings, to see what I have written there)), I decided I would enter for the 2009 version (probably as well as 2010, on the condition, that I survive 2009!!!).
On the Friday evening before the race, Kurt and I went down to the sport centre in Chur so I could fetch my number bib for the next day, and I was quite surprised to see, that my number was 11 - yes, eleven!!!! It certainly wasn't based upon performance, that's for sure, and I imagine the numbers were assigned randomly, as even the guy who came first (and has done so for nine years in a row), had the number 188. I was surprised to see, that the finishing line (in German: Ziel) was actually inside the ice hockey arena, which is somewhat unusual.
Anyway, that evening, I had been invited out to dinner by my MdS friend, Thomas, from Liechtenstein, here in Chur. His lovely wife, Lissi, came along, too, and we had a most amazing (for me, anyway) evening, with lots of laughs and discussions about the MdS, which Thomas had recently completed for the first time. What a lovely couple they are, and we're going to have them to dinner at our home sometime in the next few weeks. I learnt a huge amount about the race from Thomas, and he's agreed to show me his kit some time, so I can get a better idea of what is required. I must say, especially after having spoken so much to him about it, I can wait even less for March 2009. Of course, this all inspired me even more for the 25-km race the next day. Regretably, though, I had a very bad night's sleep, so was still very tired on the day of the race.
I had my kit and provisions all ready and laid out in the ironing room before I went out to dinner, but checked them all again at least four times, before I finally went to bed on Friday evening. On Saturday morning, an early rise was a must, and I was pacing the floor by 8:30 a.m., waiting for Kurt to get ready to drive me to Thusis. After a week of totally grotty weather, the skies had cleared to a deep blue, and the temperature was a comfortable 15°C, even at that time of the day (it later rose to around 21°C). Before we got to Thusis, though, we had to stop off in neighbouring Domat/Ems to drop off an urn at the cemetary - I must be the only runner who has undertaking work to do before a running race.
Finally we arrived in Thusis, and I was more than a bundle of nerves. I just could not keep still, and I even made the camel spiders nervous. We decided it would be best to go and have a cup of coffee first, but I was like a child sitting in front of a present-surrounded Christmas tree. The little town of Thusis was swarming with runners in various types of running apparel - some disgustingly erotic (like my shorts - although I was wearing the semi-erotic ones!!!!), and others that looked like pyjamas for the elderly. We made our way up to the school area where warming-up was taking place. While Kurt video-ed the surrounds, I took off on a series of short runs, did stretching, and consumed my power gel, before we finally made our way down to the start, which took place on the main road through this provincial townlet. I was quite conservative in my choice of electronic gadgets this time, and only took with me, my Garmin 305 and my iPod. However, I did decide to wear, for the first time, my Camelbak pouch which is worn on the lower back, with a strap around the front, with additional pouches for a camera, power gels, mobile 'phone, wine glass, etc. The main pouch is filled with liquid (mine, with a diluted quantity of Gatorade - it takes 800 ml), and has a tube with a special mouthpiece, from which one can suck liquid whilst en route. It turned out to be very useful, if somewhat unsightly to the eye; although some of the contraptions that people wore, were a sight for sore eyes for sure!!!!
Having not raced since the Zürcher Sylvesterlauf in mid-December, I really was in quite a state by the time the 414 of us were amassed, ready for the pistol. In an effort to contain myself, I started to focus upon what others were wearing and doing, and became quite alarmed, for example, when I saw a woman in front of me with her hair tied up with something, that looked not unlike a viper skin; or the man to my right, whose underwear (why wear underwear under running shorts???) was obviously causing him a certain amount of genitalic distress, and whose hands inside his shorts made him look like a dirty old pervert; not to mention the young lady behind me, who was wearing iPod earphones, and singing out loudly, oblivious to the stares she was attracting. It was a comedy of nervousness, and yet I was very glad and proud to be part of it all. I had one iPod earphone in my ear, stirring myself up with my favourite running song, "Major Tom", by the German singer Peter Schilling; with the other ear, I half-listened to all the announcements being made by the race organiser, warning us of narrow gaps in certain parts of the race, but to which hardly anyone listened. The start buttons on my iPod/Nike and Garmin 305 contraptions were ready for pushing, as soon as the pistol went off, thereby connecting me to signals from a sensor deep in my shoe, and to satellites high overhead, respectively.
Finally, the countdown began, and I felt the traditional welling-up of emotions within me, as I realised, that what has become my greatest passion in life (running, not wine, although.......), was once again coming to fruition.
Fünf, vier, drei, zwei ...... EINS ...... EXPLOSION and we're off...... with Major Tom blaring, now, in both ears!!!!! The start of the 22nd Bündner Frühlingslauf, and, this year, I was part of it!!!!!! One tenth the distance of the MdS, but what a good way to train for my greatest goal in my running life.
And thus, we switch to the present tense, as I am wont to do, when I compose a race report.
Ahead of me, lie 25 kilometres of absolutely beautiful country and mountain scenery. First of all, though, there is a run along the main road of Thusis, and the crowd of 414 sets off at quite a cracking pace, because it's all downhill at the beginning. I am about a third of the way back from the front, and can start within seconds of the pistol shot, although at what could only be described at first as a Sahara Shuffle. As the elite rush off into the distance, the rest of we mortals run on to set our pace, and achieve a sense of stability in our run. I had set an aim for my pace of around 5:05 to 5:10 minutes per kilometre, which is not bad for a post-injury run, if not a tad too fast, perhaps.
The first kilometre split: average pace: 4:42; average speed: 12,7 kph; highest speed: 18,9 kph; average heart rate: 166 beats per minute. All along tar, and downhill, with some vicious turns every so often. The start altitude is some 700 metres above sea level, but it feels like we have dropped 200 metres within the first kilometre - although hardly!!! The finish in Chur is at an altitude of 560 metres, but there are some criminal ascents in between - they are looming in the distance!!!!
The crowd of runners is starting to spread out as the elite and semi-elite charge ahead. At one stage, I look forward in horror, as I see runners far in front of me; however, a quick glance behind me, calms my fears when I realise, that there are an equal number of fellow runners behind me. I know, I keep saying, that I run for the joy of it, but there is most definitely a competitive streak within me, which, despite everything and all that is said, does like to do its best and compete with others.
On we run, and I start pacing myself with a guy of about 30 years old in front of me. He has what I and Major Tom consider to be a comfortable pace, and I keep behind him, glancing, from time to time, at the beautiful pastoral and mounatin scenery around me. It really is spectacular. At one stage, I am forced to jump over a huge splotch of blood right in the middle of what has now become a rural track. Who knows where that came from, or, indeed, if my undertaking expertise will shortly be required.
The next kilometre splits, which reveal, that my planned pace is not working, and perhaps I am going too fast, although it feels good:
Measured at km 2 - 4:56 min/km; 12,1 kph; 14,8 kph; 165 bpm
Km 3 - 4:56 min/km; 12,3 kph; 14,4 kph; 164 bpm
Km 4 - 4:55 min/km; 12,2 kph; 15,8 kph; 164 bpm
Km 5 - 4:55 min/km; 12,2 kph; 16,0 kph; 162 bpm
Km 5 sees the first watering hole, but I have my Camelbak with me, and need no extra fluid at that stage. I smile widely, as I try to non-vocally express my thanks to the helpers. Those people really are wonderful, and I reckon, they receive the least thanks from the runners. My running companion, whom we shall call Mervin, is still slightly ahead of me, but is starting to cough up blood, and I realise, it's just a matter of time, before I overtake him (and probably have to undertake him, too), and seek another pacer.
By this time, we are running steadily through beautiful green fields, then meadows upon which cows are grazing peacefully, waving wheat which, sure smells sweet, as the wind comes right behind the rain, Oklahoma..... methinks, we may be in the wrong musical here!!!!
To my left, the mighty Posterior Rhine (the Rhine, at this stage, is divided into two parts - Posterior and Anterior) carries the snow-melt rapidly northwards to lower areas, flooding Germany, and ultimately flowing into the North Sea at Rotterdam. But I digress....
Km 6 - 4:53 min/km; 12,3 kph; 18,5 kph; 162 bpm
I realise, that my pace is somewhat erratic within each kilometre, as the altitude of the route starts to undulate. I tend to thunder downhill, and then progress sedately up the next undulation. I realise, already, that my current average pace of below 5 min/km is not going to be maintained, so it'll end up a positive split, but what the hell, as it's my first race since four months, and I'll use it as a learning experience.
Km 7 - 5:10 min/km; 11,6 kph; 14,6 kph; 161 bpm - there are some nasty hills in this split, but the numerous kids along the way, high-fiving me like crazy, spur me on. A kindly farmer's wife offers my a glass of home-made red wine which causes a slight increase in pace towards the top of a particularly beastly incline.
Km 8 - 5:08 min/km; 11,8 kph; 15,3 kph; 163 bpm - these hills have to go. I have cycled this area many times, and don't remember them being so steep - beautiful, but not steep. Oh, well, ever onwards and upwards, and may Hillary beat Barack.
Km 9 - 5:50 min/km; 10,2 kph; 14,8 kph; 164 bpm - more vicious ascents, and steep declines, and then up again. For a while, I am completely alone in a deep, green valley. There are trees and cows, and I see a deer pounce off into the woods. I am all alone with Mike Batt singing "Run Like the Wind". This song was suggested to me by my MdS forum mate, Alan Crawford, and Al, for that, I thank you. It's a very inspiring song, and I had it playing at least five times on the Bündner-Frühlingslauf!!!!
Km 10 - 5:18 min/km; 11,4 kph; 17,4 kph; 162 bpm - again, some erratic paces - slow uphill, perhaps too fast downhill, but nice. I keep thinking about advice given to me by various mara runners - constant, steady pace; yet somehow on this race, with the undulations, it's not possible. Another watering hole (oh, for a swift pint!!!) and medication station ("Sorry, we do not give out Xanax!"), and I am soon at a major road intersection where are standing many people, high-fiving, spitting, cheering, releasing the dogs, and generally giving we runners a lot of encouragement. Suddenly, I spot Kurt with the video camera, and up go my arms in a gesture of cheer and happiness. Above the roar of Mary Throat-Boggler singing "Death to Runners" on my iPod, I call out to Kurt: "See you in Chur!". On I run........
Km 11 - 5:02 min/km; 11,9 kph; 14,0 kph; 162 bpm - with Barcaly James Harvest singing "Hymn", it's into the village of Rothenbrunnen, with the streets lined with little men and women from the village, dressed in traditional robes, bearing flamed torches, chanting weird hymns of a nationalistic nature, and spurring us on, as if our lives depended on it - and, in that village, they did!!!! I think, they were actually driving us out of the place!!!!
Shortly after Rothenbrunnen, the route starts to ascend dramatically onto what is know as the Polenweg - from what I understand, a track through the forest, which was constructed by Polish refugees during some little European skirmish, or other, around 1943. As mentioned before, I have cycled this route several times, but on foot, it's a different kettle of proverbial fish. It's up, up, up, up - and more up. Small steps, constant pace. Since Thusis, I have not stopped once to walk, and I am not stopping now. I feel strong, vibrant, erotic (or, at least, semi-erotic thanks to my shorts), and am strong-willed. In 11 months, I shall be running the MdS - this is no time to wimp out.
Km 12 - 5:05 min/km; 11,9 kph; 18,0 kph; 161 bpm - the sudden increase in maxium speed due to a challenge from a new pacing partner who suddenly decides he can run fast uphill; if he can, so can I!!!! The forests are beautiful and thick, as I pass the speedy competitor, and I gasp for breath at one stage, as a deer jumps out in front of me, and disappears into the trees ahead of me. Suddenly, I am aware of an aquatic tart hurling a scimitar at me, proclaiming me king of all the land, and I realise Major Tom is still above in his capsule, and is encouraging me to take a power gel, or I shall be floating weightless, drifting, falling.....
The halfway mark is well signposted - This is the Halfway Mark, says the signpost. Beneath it, someone has written: If you're not yet dead, you soon will be. I love honesty, and thunder past, reaching back for my power gel to give me nourishment for the second half of my race. I love the forests, the strong trees, the occassional small animal, my camel spiders who are my constant companions, and follow at my heels every step of the way. The field of running humanity has really spread out a lot, and I am now quite alone in the forest with my pacing companion, who has overtaken me again, his calves covered in mud as he speeds along the bepuddled route. I am also aware of my legs being bespeckled with mud, but it's a nice, athletic feeling.
Km 13 - 5:05 min/km; 11,6 kph; 16,7 kph; 162 bpm - there's a slight downhill, at the end of which is a beautiful clearing, right in the middle of the forest. Somehow, Mike Batt's "Ride to Agadir" seems somewhat incongruous in this amazingly silvan area. Fortunately, Mike's song ends, and Yazoo come long, singing "Happy People".
And up we go again to Km 14 - 5:43 min/km; 10,6 kph; 14,9 kph; 161 bpm - the steepest part of the race, and it shows!!!!!! There's a lot of mud, and also several doors in the sides of the cliffs, which indicate the myriad hidden warrens of the subterranean Swiss Armed Forces - I haven't said a word!!!!!!!!!
Deep in the forest is Km 15 - 5:00 min/km; 12,0 kph; 16,7 kph; 155 bpm - we're starting to go downhill again, and it feels good on the mind, but hard on the wooden legs. There's another watering hole and funeral director, and I whisk a carboard mug of some liquid from the hand of a smiling teenaged lass, as I thunder past, splashing her with mud, and down it quickly (the liquid, not the mud), but do not like the taste, so complement it with the diluted Gatorade from my Camelbak!!!!
Km 16 - 4:47 min/km; 12,4 kph; 15,9 kph; 162 bpm - this is THE big downhill, and is scary. A gym friend of mine was tragically killed here a few years ago, when he cycled down this decline, and went over the edge to his horribly premature death. We, as undertakers, had his body to deal with, and his wife and family were devastated, which is hardly surprisingly. I think of Jürg, as I run this decline, and hope he is happy and at peace, wherever he is. It's a sad few moments for me - such a terrible waste of human life.
Km 17 - 5:15 min/km; 11,6 kph; 13,8 kph; 163 bpm - just to show us, it's not all a walk in the park, another incline appears - not a whole one, but enough to annoy - and it's up we go again, behind the golf course of the town of Domat/Ems. I know, that from now on, it's mostly flat or downhill to Chur, so feel invigorated. My muddy buddy I have left far behind me - his knees broke on the sharp decline, and he collapsed into a ditch, with a scream of terror, soon after my wine glass hit his left temple. C'est la vie.
It's the home run, now. 18 km - 5:07 min/km; 11,7 kph; 14,0 kph; 162 bpm. It's flat now, and the sun is shining brilliantly. Since the demise of my previous pacing mate, I have latched on to another, and he runs in trepidation next to me, realising his eventual fate at the hands of a competitively-streaked undertaker. I remove my iPod earphones, and ask him, quite casually, if he has seen the movie Black Sheep, knowing quite well, what horror that would instill within him. The ensuing scene is horrible, but I have one less competitor.
Km 19 - and we're in Domat/Ems - perhaps one of the most boring places on the face of the earth. 5:19 min/km; 11,3 kph; 12,7 kph; 162 bpm. The reduction in pace is certainly due to having to wipe off the blood from my face. On, and on. I can see Chur in the distance. Bonnie Tyler's "Tyre Tracks, and Broken Hearts" floods my brain as I pace forwards, wondering if Kurt is somewhere in the vicinity, ready to video me.
Km 20 - 5:22 min/km; 11,1,kph; 12,4 kph; 162 bpm. It's getting hot, and I am starting to sweat profusely, but I tell myself, that on the MdS, this will be normal at 50°C, so shift that butt, and get going towards Chur. Shortly afterwards, a copse of trees, and a watering hole. I have been sipping my diluted Gatorade religiously, but need something else now - ah, lack of wine is starting to make itself felt!!!!! My mind turns to psychological warfare and secret societies, as I thunder in to the refreshment station. With esoteric thoughts, I grab an outheld cup of something, and down it - it's Coca Cola - how absolutely gross. I have not drunk that stuff since George's father thought of becoming president of the USA. Sugar is what I need, so down the stuff, and keep moving. A few seconds later, I look up, and there is Kurt, with that wretched video camera again, filming my every move. (I shall upload these hideous videos to YouTube one day soon, and inform the reader of their link - be afraid, be very afraid!!!). I swear appropriately, and thunder on.
Oh, my goodness - ahead of me, is a LONG, FLAT stretch of ground, filled with runners, all heading for Chur and a hot bath. I'll never make it!!!! WIMP. Head down, and run. And off I go, on a perfectly ordinary day..... Isn't life strange...?
Halfway across that long flat, it's Km 21 - 5:15 min/km; 11,4 kph; 12,4 kph; 162 bpm.
It is a positive split, but I don't care anymore - I am doing well, after only three weeks of training, although things will improve!!!!!
Oh, crikey, it's a downhill, followed by a vicious uphill again as we approach the village of Felsberg. I'd forgotten about this little nuisance.
Km 22 - 5:14 min/km; 11,5 kph; 13,1 kph; 163 bpm. I've run this route so often, and could do it in my sleep. But, my mind tells me, that we are nearly there, so I give a quick spurt past my pacing buddy, and head off. We're next to the Rhine, now, and this is my area!!! My training area.
Km 23/25 - not too sure what happened here, but the satellite thingy got all mixed up and I had two splits in one - buggery technology. Anyway, here are the average results for 2 km: 5:13 min/km; 11,4 kph; 17,2 kph; 165 bpm. Very excited now. Nearly there, and it's all almost over, although I have the feeling, that I wish it could go on for ages. I don't want to finish. I am enjoying it so much. I feel strong, pain-free, happy, ecstatic......
Finally, the end. I see Kurt standing there, just in front of the ice hockey stadium, video camera aiming at me. I am invincible. I feel incredible. I am almost there. I can hardly wait for the Berlin Marathon in September, and the MdS next year. I LOVE RUNNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The last few hundred metres: I run like the blazes, enter the ice hockey stadium, and cross the ZIEL, probably the most happy man on the face of the earth. I have achieved the Bündner-Frühlingslauf in 2:09:02, placed 34 out of 65 in my age group, 179 out of 414 over all.
A walk in the park; a step in the dark. HAIL, Major Tom. There is more .... to follow.....
Having not been able to run for nearly three months because of the Iliopsaos Tendon problem, I really had little hope for myself of being able to take part on this race. However, three weeks ago, when I realised, that my injury was actually improving markedly, and I could run again, I decided I would take part, and registered for the race. My training over the last few weeks, whilst not bad in terms of kilometres, was a bit of a worry, as it was somewhat sporadic due to the inclement weather and death duties, so I looked forward to this last Saturday with a certain amount of trepidation. My training runs, however, have been increasing in terms of distance, and I managed a good 26,3-km run about ten days before the race, which proved to me, that I would be capable of completing it, despite the inadequate training. Working out times, paces, etc., I decided on a time for the 25 kilometres of around 2:30:00 (i.e. two and a half hours), and yet hoped for around 2:20-ish.
I've also been enormously motivated by my decision to run, and acceptance on, the Marathon des Sables (MdS) in Morocco in March/April 2009. I had orginally planned to run this 250-km, seven-day, self-sufficiency race through the Moroccan Sahara only in 2010, but, due to various factors (mostly coercion and blackmail from fellow members of the MdS forum on the Internet (if you're interested, see: http://www.themds.co.uk/forums/index.php, and take a look at the pseudonym injasuti for all my alleged lunatic ramblings, to see what I have written there)), I decided I would enter for the 2009 version (probably as well as 2010, on the condition, that I survive 2009!!!).
On the Friday evening before the race, Kurt and I went down to the sport centre in Chur so I could fetch my number bib for the next day, and I was quite surprised to see, that my number was 11 - yes, eleven!!!! It certainly wasn't based upon performance, that's for sure, and I imagine the numbers were assigned randomly, as even the guy who came first (and has done so for nine years in a row), had the number 188. I was surprised to see, that the finishing line (in German: Ziel) was actually inside the ice hockey arena, which is somewhat unusual.
Anyway, that evening, I had been invited out to dinner by my MdS friend, Thomas, from Liechtenstein, here in Chur. His lovely wife, Lissi, came along, too, and we had a most amazing (for me, anyway) evening, with lots of laughs and discussions about the MdS, which Thomas had recently completed for the first time. What a lovely couple they are, and we're going to have them to dinner at our home sometime in the next few weeks. I learnt a huge amount about the race from Thomas, and he's agreed to show me his kit some time, so I can get a better idea of what is required. I must say, especially after having spoken so much to him about it, I can wait even less for March 2009. Of course, this all inspired me even more for the 25-km race the next day. Regretably, though, I had a very bad night's sleep, so was still very tired on the day of the race.
I had my kit and provisions all ready and laid out in the ironing room before I went out to dinner, but checked them all again at least four times, before I finally went to bed on Friday evening. On Saturday morning, an early rise was a must, and I was pacing the floor by 8:30 a.m., waiting for Kurt to get ready to drive me to Thusis. After a week of totally grotty weather, the skies had cleared to a deep blue, and the temperature was a comfortable 15°C, even at that time of the day (it later rose to around 21°C). Before we got to Thusis, though, we had to stop off in neighbouring Domat/Ems to drop off an urn at the cemetary - I must be the only runner who has undertaking work to do before a running race.
Finally we arrived in Thusis, and I was more than a bundle of nerves. I just could not keep still, and I even made the camel spiders nervous. We decided it would be best to go and have a cup of coffee first, but I was like a child sitting in front of a present-surrounded Christmas tree. The little town of Thusis was swarming with runners in various types of running apparel - some disgustingly erotic (like my shorts - although I was wearing the semi-erotic ones!!!!), and others that looked like pyjamas for the elderly. We made our way up to the school area where warming-up was taking place. While Kurt video-ed the surrounds, I took off on a series of short runs, did stretching, and consumed my power gel, before we finally made our way down to the start, which took place on the main road through this provincial townlet. I was quite conservative in my choice of electronic gadgets this time, and only took with me, my Garmin 305 and my iPod. However, I did decide to wear, for the first time, my Camelbak pouch which is worn on the lower back, with a strap around the front, with additional pouches for a camera, power gels, mobile 'phone, wine glass, etc. The main pouch is filled with liquid (mine, with a diluted quantity of Gatorade - it takes 800 ml), and has a tube with a special mouthpiece, from which one can suck liquid whilst en route. It turned out to be very useful, if somewhat unsightly to the eye; although some of the contraptions that people wore, were a sight for sore eyes for sure!!!!
Having not raced since the Zürcher Sylvesterlauf in mid-December, I really was in quite a state by the time the 414 of us were amassed, ready for the pistol. In an effort to contain myself, I started to focus upon what others were wearing and doing, and became quite alarmed, for example, when I saw a woman in front of me with her hair tied up with something, that looked not unlike a viper skin; or the man to my right, whose underwear (why wear underwear under running shorts???) was obviously causing him a certain amount of genitalic distress, and whose hands inside his shorts made him look like a dirty old pervert; not to mention the young lady behind me, who was wearing iPod earphones, and singing out loudly, oblivious to the stares she was attracting. It was a comedy of nervousness, and yet I was very glad and proud to be part of it all. I had one iPod earphone in my ear, stirring myself up with my favourite running song, "Major Tom", by the German singer Peter Schilling; with the other ear, I half-listened to all the announcements being made by the race organiser, warning us of narrow gaps in certain parts of the race, but to which hardly anyone listened. The start buttons on my iPod/Nike and Garmin 305 contraptions were ready for pushing, as soon as the pistol went off, thereby connecting me to signals from a sensor deep in my shoe, and to satellites high overhead, respectively.
Finally, the countdown began, and I felt the traditional welling-up of emotions within me, as I realised, that what has become my greatest passion in life (running, not wine, although.......), was once again coming to fruition.
Fünf, vier, drei, zwei ...... EINS ...... EXPLOSION and we're off...... with Major Tom blaring, now, in both ears!!!!! The start of the 22nd Bündner Frühlingslauf, and, this year, I was part of it!!!!!! One tenth the distance of the MdS, but what a good way to train for my greatest goal in my running life.
And thus, we switch to the present tense, as I am wont to do, when I compose a race report.
Ahead of me, lie 25 kilometres of absolutely beautiful country and mountain scenery. First of all, though, there is a run along the main road of Thusis, and the crowd of 414 sets off at quite a cracking pace, because it's all downhill at the beginning. I am about a third of the way back from the front, and can start within seconds of the pistol shot, although at what could only be described at first as a Sahara Shuffle. As the elite rush off into the distance, the rest of we mortals run on to set our pace, and achieve a sense of stability in our run. I had set an aim for my pace of around 5:05 to 5:10 minutes per kilometre, which is not bad for a post-injury run, if not a tad too fast, perhaps.
The first kilometre split: average pace: 4:42; average speed: 12,7 kph; highest speed: 18,9 kph; average heart rate: 166 beats per minute. All along tar, and downhill, with some vicious turns every so often. The start altitude is some 700 metres above sea level, but it feels like we have dropped 200 metres within the first kilometre - although hardly!!! The finish in Chur is at an altitude of 560 metres, but there are some criminal ascents in between - they are looming in the distance!!!!
The crowd of runners is starting to spread out as the elite and semi-elite charge ahead. At one stage, I look forward in horror, as I see runners far in front of me; however, a quick glance behind me, calms my fears when I realise, that there are an equal number of fellow runners behind me. I know, I keep saying, that I run for the joy of it, but there is most definitely a competitive streak within me, which, despite everything and all that is said, does like to do its best and compete with others.
On we run, and I start pacing myself with a guy of about 30 years old in front of me. He has what I and Major Tom consider to be a comfortable pace, and I keep behind him, glancing, from time to time, at the beautiful pastoral and mounatin scenery around me. It really is spectacular. At one stage, I am forced to jump over a huge splotch of blood right in the middle of what has now become a rural track. Who knows where that came from, or, indeed, if my undertaking expertise will shortly be required.
The next kilometre splits, which reveal, that my planned pace is not working, and perhaps I am going too fast, although it feels good:
Measured at km 2 - 4:56 min/km; 12,1 kph; 14,8 kph; 165 bpm
Km 3 - 4:56 min/km; 12,3 kph; 14,4 kph; 164 bpm
Km 4 - 4:55 min/km; 12,2 kph; 15,8 kph; 164 bpm
Km 5 - 4:55 min/km; 12,2 kph; 16,0 kph; 162 bpm
Km 5 sees the first watering hole, but I have my Camelbak with me, and need no extra fluid at that stage. I smile widely, as I try to non-vocally express my thanks to the helpers. Those people really are wonderful, and I reckon, they receive the least thanks from the runners. My running companion, whom we shall call Mervin, is still slightly ahead of me, but is starting to cough up blood, and I realise, it's just a matter of time, before I overtake him (and probably have to undertake him, too), and seek another pacer.
By this time, we are running steadily through beautiful green fields, then meadows upon which cows are grazing peacefully, waving wheat which, sure smells sweet, as the wind comes right behind the rain, Oklahoma..... methinks, we may be in the wrong musical here!!!!
To my left, the mighty Posterior Rhine (the Rhine, at this stage, is divided into two parts - Posterior and Anterior) carries the snow-melt rapidly northwards to lower areas, flooding Germany, and ultimately flowing into the North Sea at Rotterdam. But I digress....
Km 6 - 4:53 min/km; 12,3 kph; 18,5 kph; 162 bpm
I realise, that my pace is somewhat erratic within each kilometre, as the altitude of the route starts to undulate. I tend to thunder downhill, and then progress sedately up the next undulation. I realise, already, that my current average pace of below 5 min/km is not going to be maintained, so it'll end up a positive split, but what the hell, as it's my first race since four months, and I'll use it as a learning experience.
Km 7 - 5:10 min/km; 11,6 kph; 14,6 kph; 161 bpm - there are some nasty hills in this split, but the numerous kids along the way, high-fiving me like crazy, spur me on. A kindly farmer's wife offers my a glass of home-made red wine which causes a slight increase in pace towards the top of a particularly beastly incline.
Km 8 - 5:08 min/km; 11,8 kph; 15,3 kph; 163 bpm - these hills have to go. I have cycled this area many times, and don't remember them being so steep - beautiful, but not steep. Oh, well, ever onwards and upwards, and may Hillary beat Barack.
Km 9 - 5:50 min/km; 10,2 kph; 14,8 kph; 164 bpm - more vicious ascents, and steep declines, and then up again. For a while, I am completely alone in a deep, green valley. There are trees and cows, and I see a deer pounce off into the woods. I am all alone with Mike Batt singing "Run Like the Wind". This song was suggested to me by my MdS forum mate, Alan Crawford, and Al, for that, I thank you. It's a very inspiring song, and I had it playing at least five times on the Bündner-Frühlingslauf!!!!
Km 10 - 5:18 min/km; 11,4 kph; 17,4 kph; 162 bpm - again, some erratic paces - slow uphill, perhaps too fast downhill, but nice. I keep thinking about advice given to me by various mara runners - constant, steady pace; yet somehow on this race, with the undulations, it's not possible. Another watering hole (oh, for a swift pint!!!) and medication station ("Sorry, we do not give out Xanax!"), and I am soon at a major road intersection where are standing many people, high-fiving, spitting, cheering, releasing the dogs, and generally giving we runners a lot of encouragement. Suddenly, I spot Kurt with the video camera, and up go my arms in a gesture of cheer and happiness. Above the roar of Mary Throat-Boggler singing "Death to Runners" on my iPod, I call out to Kurt: "See you in Chur!". On I run........
Km 11 - 5:02 min/km; 11,9 kph; 14,0 kph; 162 bpm - with Barcaly James Harvest singing "Hymn", it's into the village of Rothenbrunnen, with the streets lined with little men and women from the village, dressed in traditional robes, bearing flamed torches, chanting weird hymns of a nationalistic nature, and spurring us on, as if our lives depended on it - and, in that village, they did!!!! I think, they were actually driving us out of the place!!!!
Shortly after Rothenbrunnen, the route starts to ascend dramatically onto what is know as the Polenweg - from what I understand, a track through the forest, which was constructed by Polish refugees during some little European skirmish, or other, around 1943. As mentioned before, I have cycled this route several times, but on foot, it's a different kettle of proverbial fish. It's up, up, up, up - and more up. Small steps, constant pace. Since Thusis, I have not stopped once to walk, and I am not stopping now. I feel strong, vibrant, erotic (or, at least, semi-erotic thanks to my shorts), and am strong-willed. In 11 months, I shall be running the MdS - this is no time to wimp out.
Km 12 - 5:05 min/km; 11,9 kph; 18,0 kph; 161 bpm - the sudden increase in maxium speed due to a challenge from a new pacing partner who suddenly decides he can run fast uphill; if he can, so can I!!!! The forests are beautiful and thick, as I pass the speedy competitor, and I gasp for breath at one stage, as a deer jumps out in front of me, and disappears into the trees ahead of me. Suddenly, I am aware of an aquatic tart hurling a scimitar at me, proclaiming me king of all the land, and I realise Major Tom is still above in his capsule, and is encouraging me to take a power gel, or I shall be floating weightless, drifting, falling.....
The halfway mark is well signposted - This is the Halfway Mark, says the signpost. Beneath it, someone has written: If you're not yet dead, you soon will be. I love honesty, and thunder past, reaching back for my power gel to give me nourishment for the second half of my race. I love the forests, the strong trees, the occassional small animal, my camel spiders who are my constant companions, and follow at my heels every step of the way. The field of running humanity has really spread out a lot, and I am now quite alone in the forest with my pacing companion, who has overtaken me again, his calves covered in mud as he speeds along the bepuddled route. I am also aware of my legs being bespeckled with mud, but it's a nice, athletic feeling.
Km 13 - 5:05 min/km; 11,6 kph; 16,7 kph; 162 bpm - there's a slight downhill, at the end of which is a beautiful clearing, right in the middle of the forest. Somehow, Mike Batt's "Ride to Agadir" seems somewhat incongruous in this amazingly silvan area. Fortunately, Mike's song ends, and Yazoo come long, singing "Happy People".
And up we go again to Km 14 - 5:43 min/km; 10,6 kph; 14,9 kph; 161 bpm - the steepest part of the race, and it shows!!!!!! There's a lot of mud, and also several doors in the sides of the cliffs, which indicate the myriad hidden warrens of the subterranean Swiss Armed Forces - I haven't said a word!!!!!!!!!
Deep in the forest is Km 15 - 5:00 min/km; 12,0 kph; 16,7 kph; 155 bpm - we're starting to go downhill again, and it feels good on the mind, but hard on the wooden legs. There's another watering hole and funeral director, and I whisk a carboard mug of some liquid from the hand of a smiling teenaged lass, as I thunder past, splashing her with mud, and down it quickly (the liquid, not the mud), but do not like the taste, so complement it with the diluted Gatorade from my Camelbak!!!!
Km 16 - 4:47 min/km; 12,4 kph; 15,9 kph; 162 bpm - this is THE big downhill, and is scary. A gym friend of mine was tragically killed here a few years ago, when he cycled down this decline, and went over the edge to his horribly premature death. We, as undertakers, had his body to deal with, and his wife and family were devastated, which is hardly surprisingly. I think of Jürg, as I run this decline, and hope he is happy and at peace, wherever he is. It's a sad few moments for me - such a terrible waste of human life.
Km 17 - 5:15 min/km; 11,6 kph; 13,8 kph; 163 bpm - just to show us, it's not all a walk in the park, another incline appears - not a whole one, but enough to annoy - and it's up we go again, behind the golf course of the town of Domat/Ems. I know, that from now on, it's mostly flat or downhill to Chur, so feel invigorated. My muddy buddy I have left far behind me - his knees broke on the sharp decline, and he collapsed into a ditch, with a scream of terror, soon after my wine glass hit his left temple. C'est la vie.
It's the home run, now. 18 km - 5:07 min/km; 11,7 kph; 14,0 kph; 162 bpm. It's flat now, and the sun is shining brilliantly. Since the demise of my previous pacing mate, I have latched on to another, and he runs in trepidation next to me, realising his eventual fate at the hands of a competitively-streaked undertaker. I remove my iPod earphones, and ask him, quite casually, if he has seen the movie Black Sheep, knowing quite well, what horror that would instill within him. The ensuing scene is horrible, but I have one less competitor.
Km 19 - and we're in Domat/Ems - perhaps one of the most boring places on the face of the earth. 5:19 min/km; 11,3 kph; 12,7 kph; 162 bpm. The reduction in pace is certainly due to having to wipe off the blood from my face. On, and on. I can see Chur in the distance. Bonnie Tyler's "Tyre Tracks, and Broken Hearts" floods my brain as I pace forwards, wondering if Kurt is somewhere in the vicinity, ready to video me.
Km 20 - 5:22 min/km; 11,1,kph; 12,4 kph; 162 bpm. It's getting hot, and I am starting to sweat profusely, but I tell myself, that on the MdS, this will be normal at 50°C, so shift that butt, and get going towards Chur. Shortly afterwards, a copse of trees, and a watering hole. I have been sipping my diluted Gatorade religiously, but need something else now - ah, lack of wine is starting to make itself felt!!!!! My mind turns to psychological warfare and secret societies, as I thunder in to the refreshment station. With esoteric thoughts, I grab an outheld cup of something, and down it - it's Coca Cola - how absolutely gross. I have not drunk that stuff since George's father thought of becoming president of the USA. Sugar is what I need, so down the stuff, and keep moving. A few seconds later, I look up, and there is Kurt, with that wretched video camera again, filming my every move. (I shall upload these hideous videos to YouTube one day soon, and inform the reader of their link - be afraid, be very afraid!!!). I swear appropriately, and thunder on.
Oh, my goodness - ahead of me, is a LONG, FLAT stretch of ground, filled with runners, all heading for Chur and a hot bath. I'll never make it!!!! WIMP. Head down, and run. And off I go, on a perfectly ordinary day..... Isn't life strange...?
Halfway across that long flat, it's Km 21 - 5:15 min/km; 11,4 kph; 12,4 kph; 162 bpm.
It is a positive split, but I don't care anymore - I am doing well, after only three weeks of training, although things will improve!!!!!
Oh, crikey, it's a downhill, followed by a vicious uphill again as we approach the village of Felsberg. I'd forgotten about this little nuisance.
Km 22 - 5:14 min/km; 11,5 kph; 13,1 kph; 163 bpm. I've run this route so often, and could do it in my sleep. But, my mind tells me, that we are nearly there, so I give a quick spurt past my pacing buddy, and head off. We're next to the Rhine, now, and this is my area!!! My training area.
Km 23/25 - not too sure what happened here, but the satellite thingy got all mixed up and I had two splits in one - buggery technology. Anyway, here are the average results for 2 km: 5:13 min/km; 11,4 kph; 17,2 kph; 165 bpm. Very excited now. Nearly there, and it's all almost over, although I have the feeling, that I wish it could go on for ages. I don't want to finish. I am enjoying it so much. I feel strong, pain-free, happy, ecstatic......
Finally, the end. I see Kurt standing there, just in front of the ice hockey stadium, video camera aiming at me. I am invincible. I feel incredible. I am almost there. I can hardly wait for the Berlin Marathon in September, and the MdS next year. I LOVE RUNNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The last few hundred metres: I run like the blazes, enter the ice hockey stadium, and cross the ZIEL, probably the most happy man on the face of the earth. I have achieved the Bündner-Frühlingslauf in 2:09:02, placed 34 out of 65 in my age group, 179 out of 414 over all.
A walk in the park; a step in the dark. HAIL, Major Tom. There is more .... to follow.....
