“Math Is Hard”

Report for the Victoria Goddess Run Half Marathon

The Victoria Goddess Run is a huge women-only event with distances of 5km, 10km and a half-marathon. Despite only being in its second year, it managed to attract over 3000 participants this year and has a reasonable registration fee of $55, which includes a $5 donation to one of 3 women-focused charitable organisations (women’s transition house, sexual assault response centre or women/girl’s sports organisation). The finisher prize is a tech top, a sporty silver necklace and chocolates offered out on course.

I was invited down to Victoria for a girly weekend with my new sporty friends. The focus seemed to be more on the ‘weekend away’ part, rather than the running part, but I decided to sign up for the half-marathon anyway. I have been working up both my mileage and my speed and I was keen on testing out the legs on pavement.

When we arrived in the ‘big city’ the day before, we indulged in shopping, delicious food and liquid libations (there may have been some over-indulgence in some or all of these areas, but this information has been sealed in The Vault). On race morning, we headed to our respective start lines and planned to meet up afterwards.

I approached this run with a casual confidence. Although I haven’t raced this distance in over a decade, I know that I can run well for three hours right now without too much complaint. I figured that I could apply my  ultra-running knowledge of nutrition and hydration to this distance and come out ahead. I had no concrete time goals but I figured that I would be slower than 1:44 (my PR for this distance) and faster than 2:00. At the pre-race expo, I participated in the “Guess your Time” game and ventured to say 1:54 as my pie-in-the-sky guess.

In the first few kilometres, I had a kind of flashback. There were kilometre markers at the side of the road and, as we reached each one, everyone glanced down at their watches. I had completely forgotten about the pace calculations that go on during road runs. Right away, I thought of that speaking Barbie doll that got panned in the media for saying:

Math is hard!

Well, this kind of math is hard and I am no good at figuring out how I am doing after the first kilometre goes by. I am certainly not a mathematical genius (we only need to know facts to 18 in Kindergarten) and, when my brain is slightly oxygen-depleted, I cannot make accurate calculations. My first kilometre was 5:05 and I thought:

This is too fast. I cannot maintain this for 20 more kilometres.

But when I hit the second kilometre marker, my time was 10:10.  This time, I thought

I have to maintain this pace. This is easy to calculate! I’ll be finished in 1:47.

And so, I held that pace. As each kilometre passed, I found that I was running that 5:05 pace to the ticking second, as if I were a human metronome.

Aid stations came and went but I skirted around them, relying solely on my own water bottle. I refilled it once, just past halfway and knew that my hydration was exactly where I wanted it. When only drinking from half-filled paper cups along the way, you have no idea how much you are consuming. By carrying my own bottle, I knew that I was on the 500 ml/hour plan. Besides, I was able to add my own Nuun tablets and enjoy strawberry lemonade and lemon tea flavours, rather than watery, sugary Gatorade. I also had my own gels, of which I ate two and gave one away to a new friend along the way.

With two kilometres to go, our course merged with the 10 km route and we had the obstacle of running though the walkers who were aiming for a two-hour 10 km time. Although they were all courteous and supportive, it was a challenge to keep focussed and maintain my consistent pace. As we hit the last little hill (a mere rise in the road), I felt the little mice feet in my right calf tense up and become a true cramp. I needed to give it a good stretch, but I wasn’t about to stop at this point. I willed it to stop cramping and shortened up my stride. As the finish chute came into view, I was sporting a nasty hobble and a grimace (documented on the less-than-flattering race photos). Rather than opening up and flowing through the last few hundred meters, enjoying the crowds, I withdrew and forced myself to continue running. 1:48 was the time as I crossed the line. I was so relieved to see those three handsome firemen as they handed me my finisher necklace. I was delighted that my brain wasn’t too exhausted from mileage calculations and that I was able to maintain such a quick pace for the whole route (with the exception of the last 1.5 km or so).

It is an amazing event and I really hope that my new sporty friends and I return next June.  You should come too!

Snow To Surf Comox Valley – Snowshoe Leg

The last weekend of April is marked by a huge party in the Comox Valley. The Snow To Surf Adventure Relay Race takes in the three local municipalities and all the lakes, roadways and trails between them. This year, over 180 teams participated in the relay, each team consisting of 9 team members. The 8 race legs are downhill skiing, nordic skiing, snowshoe running, trail running, mountain biking, kayaking, road biking and canoeing.

Of course, B and I were keen to be part of the action. Last year, we were unpacking boxes on race day so we didn’t even notice the big event. As well, neither of us had any idea where our runners or snow equipment was. So this year, we both made feeble attempts to find a local team who needed us, but  none of our work colleagues were putting together a team and we don’t know very many other people.

The week before the race, I heard about the website bulletin board that links racers to teams in need. Both of us posted a short profile and both of us were contacted by separate teams the following day. We were both asked to do the 6.5 km snowshoe leg. The night before the race, we headed off to meet our respective teams so that waivers could be signed and logistics could be worked out.

When my all-women team finally arrived from Victoria and Nanaimo, we had an extremely late dinner and then got to work trying  to figure out how to transport people and equipment around. With almost no useful information available on the website, it was a complete gong-show. When I left their rented house at 11:00 pm, they were still arguing. After I left, I believe they proceeded to move roof racks, bike racks, the two boats and the two bikes around to different cars. I was thankful that my equipment was simple. The unfortunate part was that I would be picked up at 7:45 am for my 10:15 am snowshoe leg. Although B was running the same leg as me on a much faster team, he arrived at our starting area an hour and half after me!

The snowshoers were corralled into a small area beside the nordic skier finish chute. We crowded together for warmth, since it was about 4 C, and waited for our race numbers to be called. When my teammate arrived, I hustled up to meet her, dropped my puffy jacket at her feet, grabbed the terrycloth wristband and ran up to the parkway.

Because of low snow levels, the snowshoe leg started off on the parkway for about 2 km. Thankfully, we were allowed to carry our snowshoes! The route started with quite a steep incline which, fuelled with race adrenaline, I sprinted up. Once it levelled off and sloped downwards, I was able to open up, catch my breath and think about the pacing skills I have been working on at our track speed workouts. Soon enough, I was passing people. It was fun to focus on someone’s back and mentally reel them in. The race organizers sent us back and forth across the parkway and I found my rhythm was lost each time as I dodged between cars. It was probably the most unsafe road running I have ever witnessed in a race. Each time someone instructed us to cross the parkway, no one was there to stop the cars.  Thankfully, the drivers were almost all associated with the relay and patiently yielded to our zig-zag route.

We were directed onto a snowy forest service road and stopped to put on our snowshoes. I imagined the focus required by biathletes as I fumbled with my snowshoe straps, gasping for breath. Soon enough I began running again and was instantly treated to another steep incline, but this time it was covered in well-tracked, slushy spring snow. Each step seemed to move me forward only a few inches while sucking all the power from my legs. For a race that has a downhill profile, there sure was a lot of uphill in the snowshoe leg!  The course was undulating, with short, steep inclines and long, steep descents. It was a hoot to scream past racers who were pussy-footing their way downhill. From my chit-chat at the start area, I found that many racers had never worn snowshoes before. That was obvious many times over as some racers walked both up and down the hills and some even removed their snowshoes.

In no time at all, the 3.5 km of snow running ended and we were directed to remove our snowshoes and continue down on the trail. The trail was soggy, with a stream flowing down the centre. This section was supposed to be 1.5 km, but it was probably less than 1 km. I pushed really hard on this familiar terrain, focussing on following the fall-line of the trail. The course soon put us back onto the parkway and towards the runner transition. My trail runner teammate was waiting for me and our transition was smooth.

After a few moments of catching my breath, the downhill skier from our team found me and we headed to the car. From there we drove along to almost every transition area, picking up our teammates as they finished their events.

In the end, we finished in 5:09.23, about mid-pack in our category, which I think is remarkable considering our throw-together team and the chaos of the night before. The information available on the event website was pathetic, with not a map or a route description available. It would have been helpful to have some sort of suggestion about how to shuttle the team and equipment around or even a blank map of the region. I think my team learned that the rules are merely guidelines and the whole point of the day is to have fun.

I’m keen on doing it all again next April.  Do you need a teammate??

Ultra Virgin

While digging around in the depths of computer folders, I came across this little gem. It is my race report from my very first ultra in 2003, long before I started blogging about such things. I haven’t touched a word – it is exactly how I wrote it 10 years ago!

I am not new to this sport.  In fact, I have been a fairly active participant for 8 or so years now.  My roles have included registering runners, manning aid stations, serving food at the finish line, removing bugs from runners’ eyes, being a crew for distances up to 100 miles, supporting racers whose names I never knew and listening to hours of ultrarunning stories.  Somehow, the sport of ultrarunning never tempted me to toe the line and become a member of the group.  I was content with distances up to 42.2 km and content to be “support crew extraordinaire”.

Perhaps I had seen too much from the outside – feet  that were rubbed to raw flesh, stomachs that rejected tiny sips of water, unseeing eyes that were bleary and vacant at 2 am, wounded bodies that were being dragged along by unbroken willpower.  Or perhaps, I did not participate because I felt I had more value as a crew than as a racer.  I have always been more satisfied with the achievements of others than my own.  My adult life has been proof of this.

An extrinsic motivator was the reason I decided to try my first 50 km.  I now have a real reason, a need, to be able to run long.  In preparation for a Peruvian running tour, I felt that I must be completely confident in my physical abilities in order to run at high altitude for two weeks.  So, I said ‘bring on the 50 km runs, as many as possible for the next 10 months’.

As I half-listened to the race briefing at the Silver Tip 50 km, I surprisingly felt none of the pre-race jitters that I have felt at marathon start lines.  I knew the satisfaction I would feel at the finish.  I never doubted reaching the finish line.  I didn’t give a thought to my finishing time.  I simply thought ‘what a great day for a run in the woods’.

And it was.  The day was bright, cheery and cloudless – the same words would describe my demeanour throughout.  The course held few surprises, since I was familiar with some of the trails and had a precise, verbal walk-through of the ups and downs I could expect.  It was hilly.  During the second half of the run, I was reduced to a walk on almost all of the inclines. There were difficult sections – such as on the second loop, when I came out of the trees and could finally see the trail ahead which continued to rise and rise and rise out of sight.  I was alone for ninety percent of the day, although never lonely.  Having many out-and-back loops on the course meant that I crossed paths with many runners all day, including three uplifting rendez-vous with Bruce.

I was very aware of the fact that I was one of the last runners on the course and spent some time deciding whether or not I was embarrassed at being this slow.  But being slow and being one of the few still on the course hit home when a quad tracker approached me to warn me of a young, fearless bear who had been hanging out on the trail ahead.  As I ran on, suddenly capable of 8-minute miles, I sang all my favourite songs aloud in an effort to frighten the bear far into the forest.

The surprises were only two fold. The first was an exhilarating stream crossing at the beginning and end of loop two.  I took my time wading through the cold water and letting it circulate around my toes.  During that whole loop, I thought about re-crossing that stream, perhaps even lying down in it!  The other surprise was the grade of the third ascent.  I have never been on a ‘road’ as steep as this one.  I was thankful to be moving under my own steam, rather than riding in a vehicle.  I was sore at this point, but the pain centre was in my lower back, due to the appalling posture I had assumed as I marched along.

My finish will be a memory which I will always hold dear.  Bruce came out to the last corner and was waiting for me.  Hand in hand, we ran to the finish line and I could feel tears welling up inside, although I had no energy left to cry.  So many of our friends and fellow runners were waiting at the finish and welcomed me in, recognizing that I had accomplished the leap into ultrarunning. It was an incredibly moving experience.

Whenever someone tries an ultra, there is a silent question of whether or not they will continue the ultra trail and become an ultrarunner.  Will this be a “been there, done that, got the t-shirt’ experience? Or will this be a life-shaping event that will be hotly pursued?  For me, I know that I will run many 50 km runs this year.  But, beyond that, it is hard to say if I will continue running ultras.  Perhaps my motivation will become intrinsic and I will find deep satisfaction in pursuing ultras.  Or perhaps I will go back to being ‘support crew extraordinaire’ and helping others search for fulfilment through running long distances.

I am uncomfortable spending a day focusing on just me and my running.  It seems too withdrawn and too philosophical.  As I spend more time running ultras, I will probably become more comfortable being on my own for long periods of time. But I wonder if I will choose to spend so much energy worrying about me.  At this point, supporting and crewing ultras holds more challenges and more value for me.  Maybe another great day of running in the woods will change that.