Montreal madness
September 12 2004 9:15am Race Day: Demi-marathon de Montreal Distance 21.1km Path:
Jacques Cartier- Ile Jean Drapeau- loop of La Ronde, loop of island. Olympic basin, F1
track Pont de la concorde. Old Montreal (Wellington) up Saint Laurent, east on Ontario up
the long hill on Berri straight to sherbrooke. left on Parc Lafontaine. right on Rachel
What I ate: banana and yogurt What I wore. new insight run tank (gun metal blue), New
Balance V notch shorts (navy blue) Wright socks (1/4 length) Asic Nimbus V
How I felt When I woke up, slightly tired but excited. I arrived the meeting place Sainte Catherine and St. Hubert to meet up with the marathon
runners. I've been training with them and as a show of solidarity, decided to meet up with
the Running Room group. Everyone was slightly concerned about the endeavour that they were
about to undertake. For a moment I felt alone, and found myself questionning my ability to
complete the half under my own power. Despite the endeavour about to be taken by them, at
least they had each other for support, like we all did during all those practice runs so
many weeks before. I was abandoning them and if I were to crash and burn, it would be my own fault.
Gosh, I get moody when it's early in the morning. There I was waxing poetic. Phbbt :þ...
Thank goodness, my game face came on. We took pictures with the group and I removed my funky Adidas run jacket to reveal the Running Room tatoos on my bicep/tricep. It would have been quite nice as it accentuated the cut if it were not for the fact that one was right side up
(left) and the other upside down (right). Yeesh, 5am wakeups are such a downer.
Finally made our way to Ile Jean Drapeau where I went for a change of clothing. I put away
my running jacket to put on a garbage bag... What they didn't know (and never saw cuz they
were to start first) was that I made a perforation down the middle of the garbage bag so
when it came to take it off, I could rip it off in a one smooth Superman like maneuver. It's
hard making perforation along one side of a garbage bag so early. :)
Samir, Jurgen, Nolain, Marie Josee, Sylvie, Annie Jeannine, Carl, Luka and Armeeney all took
their positions in the pack as officials gave their speeches thanking the sponsors. The race
next year will have a fixed route, It will start in the same place (Jacques Cartier bridge)
but the course will meander through the botanical gardens and end at the Olympic stadium.
I'm not sure if the course will end insight the stadium (like th Olympic marathon runs did)
but I do know that the course is much better than in previous years where the second half of
the course would lead runners through the industrial area beside the park.
I was perched on the security rail as I watched a group of the gun go off. The start was
actually a phalanx of medieval French soldiers firing muskets in a salute fashion. What I
found hilarious was the fact that they almost forgot to clear the spectators directly in
front of the soldiers before the salute went off. Too funny.
The salute occurred without issue and the in line skaters attacked the course with gusto
leaving behind a trail of flailing arms and legs. Once this mass of humanity when by, it
revealed the marvelous elite marathon runners. Ah.. yes, the famous Kenyans. Their stoic
appearance enhanced their image of invulnerability. For most of us this race was the
culmination of months of preparation and sacrifice. To them, it was just another day at the
office. They were not here to have a good time like yours truly; they were here to make a
statement.
At that point I bumped into Annie, her mother and father. She would run with the group
sporadically because she travels so much. Her current position as a project manager takes
her to Laos (somewhere in southeast Asia). She' s off next week. She and I made a pact to
see each other again. Hopefully in Boston. She was to run with her father today and that
really touching.
During the one hour break, took some the time to use the washroom and stretch. Following
that a bloke approached me and inquired as to why I was wearing the garbage bag and sporting
a funky watch. I explained to him that it was important to stay warm and that I did not want
to throw away a perfectly good sweatshirt. In hindsight I should have told him the reason
why I wore it was because I suffered from motion sickness. He was interested in learning how
I used the watch as a device to apply quantitative rigor to something so subject. He
accepted my testimony regarding this disciplinary functions of the watch in order to control
my pace. When I inquired about his running experiences, he informed me that he was a
reported from the Montreal Mirroir by the name of Woody and that he was going to write a
piece based on his experience. Grr. it would have been really fun to read him in his article
describing a crazy china man who run wears a garbage bag because he suffer from motion
sickness.
He headed off to line up in the pack of runners and I continued to chat with Annie and her
folks. I feigned ignorance and asked her mother for the map. I turned to Annie and in a
serious demeanour, told her, "Okay Annie, we start with a right, another right and then a
straight, to the metro. The elicited a hearty laugh from the group.
She relayed her regards to her mother as both father and daughter and myself began to make
our way into the crowd. There was 855 half marathoners who had their results posted on
sportstats.ca. It felt as if there were many more in the crowd waiting to start as our line
extended into and past the cyclists who were to start 45min after us.
The gun sound and what we experienced was nothing short of bizarre. In a ballistic movement
every (including us in the back) leaped in instinct fashion only to stop in grinding halt.
Apparently there was so much space between people in the crowd that the first stop everyone
took, served to compress the wide spread pack. We all halted as the start carpet was in
narrow corridor surrounded by the steel barriers on either side.
From that point we all walked together toward the right hand side as Annie's mother was to
take pictures of all of us. We made our way there and she snapped pictures of us. That was
the last time I saw Annie and her father.
The path turned right onto a narrow exit ramp leading off the bridge. When the flow people
narrowed, we became separated from each other. I sped up looking for them slaloming through
the crowd. When I spoke with Annie after the race she remembers having seen me- ahead of her and speeding up.
Being an orphaned runner does have it's advantages. I'm able to focus more on my breathing,
pace and the course, but most importantly, into other peoples conversations. It's
interesting listen to their idle banter. Some like myself, are nervous and their idle banter
is merely an injection of levity to lighten the mood. For myself, if I did not enjoy the
conversation on hand, I would just speed up into another persons conversaton. Oddly enough
this happened quite frequently. It was like channel surfing on tv but in this case it was,
people surfing. Thank goodness the batteries in my remote did not expire.
I did not know what pace to run at. It's strange, but true. I'm used to running 5:40s in my
long runs but with a shorter distance on the menu today, what would best pace? I wanted to
find the sweet spot where I am not underestimating my pace and end up regretting having run
too slow during the race. More importantly, I did not want to end up running too fast and
expiring before the finish line as it was a hot day and getting hotter but the moment.
I settled with 5:20s to begin with. Why that number? It just felt right. My 10km time is
about 48 min so I began working backward from there. 50min would be a 10km time so by
alotting an extra 20 sec per km should enable me to complete in a reasoanble pace and time.
Moreover, I knew the evils of starting too fast. I knew them well. My shin and ankle made
themselves known to me initially but were quiet after the 2km mark.
My psychology to passing people has changed. It used to be that when I passed some it had to
be in grandiose fashion where by I would seek to delibrately crush their will by zipping by
them in a frenetic fashion. Now it's different. it's slow, insidious but undeniable. There
was more than one occasion whereby I was drawing close to a fellow runner. The runner,
either oblivious or feigning indifference would continue on his/her pace and and I drew
closer, they would react and one of two things would happen: they would either sprint ahead
or move aside. In either case when that would happen, traditionally I would spring up to
overtake in a domineering fashion. Not so anymore. Not wanting to break my cadence, I would
continue at my normal pace which would mean that I would run along side the person for at
good 10 meters before moving onward.
The first ten kilometers passed by without incident. As I passed by the crowds of applauding
spectators, I realised that they were the ones that made this day special and different than
any regular long run Sunday. It was they who took the time out of their schedule and woke
up early to be here on this day to cheer us, the runners, people that they don't even know
run not for them but for ourselves. That epiphany made me react in the strangest way
possible. As I passed by throngs of spectators, I would blow kisses to them in
acknowledgement Two hand kisses two throngs of women obviously. To the crowds of guys, I
would pump my fist in the air to acknowledge their presence. How gave me most joy was seeing
crowds just clapping in the distance and slowing down as they did not receive
acknowledgement from runners ahead of me. When I passed by them and blew kisses, that would rejuvenate their spirit and renew their faith in why they were here. The girls will cheer
and seeing their smile made the current kilometer feel like my first. Some would deem this a
waste of energy but it loosened my up and my fatih in their belief is stronger than any
armour against fatigue and pain. Even the most stoic of spectators on the course would
begrudgingly nodd approvingly of my efforts. Now I think I know how De Lima felt as he
entered the Olympic stadium Athens despite having been accosted by that defrocked Irish
priest. Following each show of appreciation, I would look at my watch and speed up. Gosh, it
felt great pretending to be a real runner :)
It almost seemed too good to be true. I run with issue? I must have been dreaming, and I
was until reality and washed away my naivete like a hard rain. How fitting an analogy as
realilty came crashing down at the water station. I had decided earlier on that my strategy
for water breaks would be active rest. My speed would be reduce to that of a recovery jog
while I drank. I would make eye contact with the volunteer, extend my hand and maintain eye
contact right until handoff and which I would nodd my head in acknowledgement. What made
this process so difficult was after I quaffed the contents of the bottle, I had an
especially difficult time returning to race speed. It wasn't side stiches or cramps of some
unknown nature. I took really small sips, I felt horrible as they were handing out entire
bottles of Oasis water and I would only take a zip and toss out the remainder of the bottle
like refuse. It seemed as if my body was trying to reject this source of vitality. I would
slow down and despite efforts to resume it would be a struggle for what seemed to be 200
meters afterward. What made this exercise all the more perilous were all the bottle caps
strewn on the pavement. A wet road and hard plastic bottle caps make for a potentially
lethal situation. Why not just place banana peels on the road if you're going to find this.
Considering I was drinking while running, I am not exaggerating. In all fairness, it wasn't
the fault of the volunteers, the runners ahead of me did not have the sense and sensibility
to toss the caps to the side like they would the bottle when they are done. In my opinion
the caps are much more of a hazard than the bottles are as they are so small and are usually
noticed once it is too late.
Thank goodness I was using my Garmin Forerunner. At the mid teen distance, runners that I
had in my sights for a long time began to drawer nearer and nearer. My response was to slow
do as I thought I was speeding up. If I were to speed up I would be placing myself in a
peril of not fnishing. However, today that would not be the case. The reality was that I was
running the correct pace and they were slowing down! It was they, not I that were trying to
sustain a pace that proved to be unmanageable. By the time I had realised this, I had lost
about 15 seconds per person and this occurred several times. This situation would not have
manifested had I refered to my watch more often. In my defence, I find looking at the watch
disrupts my form and concentration. In total, I think I lost about 1 minute because of these
false, "pace bunnies".
Zipping over Pont de la Concorde felt great. Despite a slight head wind and a thining pack,
it felt good to run in familiar territory. I could see the big Hydro Quebec "Q" and that
warmed my heart. Ok, it wasn't the Q but the thought of Chinatown and wonderful food to be
had in that area I was coasting along zipping by people who slowed down and tracking those
ahead of me. I was really enjoying myself, my thoughts started to drift to how the
marathoners were doing? I hoped that they were fine. All my friends out there and suddenly
I recognised one from the store.
One of the runners on the bike path toward the Five Rose factory, just across the street
from the Expo 67 Habitat was a Jamaican fellow by the name of Max. He worked at the Running Room in Outremont and he and I had decided to run it together. We didn't see each other
prior to the race and I thought I wouldn't as a he told in in confidence that he was aiming
for 1:40. But there he was, demoralised, favoring his right hamstring. Broken. Upon seeing
him I slowed down and the pack I was with continued ahead of me. I called out for him
summoning all the strenth I could muster and he heard me, as I slowed down I barked orders
at him to continue. He and I entered this race together and we were going to complete it.
My pace slowed to 5:20 at that point and he was able to catch up with me. He was pulling a
slight, "Terry" favoring his right leg. He was able to resume a steay pace when a lose
shoes lace separated us from each other. He cursed and he had to stop again. There is
nothing worse than loosing momentum especially the second time around. This just
underscores the capricious nature of running and how easy it is for something to go wrong.
Something a trivial and elementary as a shoe lace and ruin a run. I wanted to stop for him
but he told me that he would meet up with me later. I ran slower for another 200 meters and
when he didn't catch up I knew that there was nothing I could do. I wanted my time and I
know he would feel rotten for having prevented me from obtaining my time so I left.
Running through old Montreal is not something that I relish. I don't know exactly why but I
believe that it has something to do with the symbolic nature of an area so rich in history.
I believe in moving forward and although I don't mind looking in the rearview mirroir
occasionally, I don't like to live there. The roads were cracked and deformed but otherwise
there was nothing really memorable there, just reminders of the past that are best left
forgotten.
Such a bleak segment of the race was confirmed when I saw a black runner prone on the
ground. It was on St. Laurent just below the Palais de la Justice. Several St. John
Ambulance volunteers were hovering over him assessing the situation. My heart sunk and a
sickening feeling began to rise. It is sad to say but it is these types of moments that
gives the sport of running the respect that it so rightly deserves. The injuries, the
sacrifice and the pain even the best of intentions are sometimes not good enough. However
for all the darkest moments, there is always one tiny bright moment. It may not be as bright
as the sun during high noon, but if you are patient enough, you may spot and if you're
extremely lucky it will happen to you.
I was happy to run the final segment of the race with a African runner. We never exchanged
names but for him to complete the full in just an hour that I completed my half is nothing
short of remarkable. He saw me pulling up and asked if I ran the half or the full. When I
responded the half, he smiled since I no longer posed a threat and allowed me to run with
him. We never spoke directly but when I was fading (yep, he runs the full and I'm the one
fading at that point), he would turn back to see where I was. It truly a selfless act. A
hallmark moment in my mind that I won't soon forget. We were running 4:50s and I could not
sustain that pace. He slowed down a bit for me. That encouragement allowed me to find summon all the reserves I had left, marshall all my effort and finish what I came here to do.
The long hill on Berri shattered me. I guess our version of Boston's Heart Break hill. Even
he slowed and had turned several times to see where the rest of the field was. I finally
made it to Sherbrooke and from that point there was no place like home.
The marathon runner took off and went into his own lane and I into mine. As the finish line
drew closer and closer, I had just enough energy within to complete what was, an excellent
run. I was on a runner's high and I was coming home. The crowd was roaring and I was
overwhelmed by their enthusiasm. Too bad it was't for me.
When I was about to cross the finish line the first woman crossed the marathon line. The
crowd went wild. Aww. shucks and I thought it was for me.
In summary this was a race that was run perfectly. I was able to push myself and learn a bit
more about what it means to be a runner. Such perspective is one that I blessed to be
endowed with.
Conncers: recovery time from drinking waterPains: quads shattered, knee slightly sore and shin.
Anything I would do if I could redo the race: Follow my watch more closely and not utilise
the pack for pacing. I need to learn to pace myself better.
Dorys was actually there at the 30km mark. I did not see him but he told me that he saw me
and was very happy for me. It feels great, this sense of pride derived from self
actualisation. I have it within me, I know and I'm not afraid to prove it.
Until the next race,
JW
Overall Time 1:49:26
414 1:51:19.0 5:17 1:49:24.4 3277 Wong, John Montreal 339/851 47/117 Hommes 25-29
http://www.sportstats.ca/res2004/festih.htm
Jacques Cartier- Ile Jean Drapeau- loop of La Ronde, loop of island. Olympic basin, F1
track Pont de la concorde. Old Montreal (Wellington) up Saint Laurent, east on Ontario up
the long hill on Berri straight to sherbrooke. left on Parc Lafontaine. right on Rachel
What I ate: banana and yogurt What I wore. new insight run tank (gun metal blue), New
Balance V notch shorts (navy blue) Wright socks (1/4 length) Asic Nimbus V
How I felt When I woke up, slightly tired but excited. I arrived the meeting place Sainte Catherine and St. Hubert to meet up with the marathon
runners. I've been training with them and as a show of solidarity, decided to meet up with
the Running Room group. Everyone was slightly concerned about the endeavour that they were
about to undertake. For a moment I felt alone, and found myself questionning my ability to
complete the half under my own power. Despite the endeavour about to be taken by them, at
least they had each other for support, like we all did during all those practice runs so
many weeks before. I was abandoning them and if I were to crash and burn, it would be my own fault.
Gosh, I get moody when it's early in the morning. There I was waxing poetic. Phbbt :þ...
Thank goodness, my game face came on. We took pictures with the group and I removed my funky Adidas run jacket to reveal the Running Room tatoos on my bicep/tricep. It would have been quite nice as it accentuated the cut if it were not for the fact that one was right side up
(left) and the other upside down (right). Yeesh, 5am wakeups are such a downer.
Finally made our way to Ile Jean Drapeau where I went for a change of clothing. I put away
my running jacket to put on a garbage bag... What they didn't know (and never saw cuz they
were to start first) was that I made a perforation down the middle of the garbage bag so
when it came to take it off, I could rip it off in a one smooth Superman like maneuver. It's
hard making perforation along one side of a garbage bag so early. :)
Samir, Jurgen, Nolain, Marie Josee, Sylvie, Annie Jeannine, Carl, Luka and Armeeney all took
their positions in the pack as officials gave their speeches thanking the sponsors. The race
next year will have a fixed route, It will start in the same place (Jacques Cartier bridge)
but the course will meander through the botanical gardens and end at the Olympic stadium.
I'm not sure if the course will end insight the stadium (like th Olympic marathon runs did)
but I do know that the course is much better than in previous years where the second half of
the course would lead runners through the industrial area beside the park.
I was perched on the security rail as I watched a group of the gun go off. The start was
actually a phalanx of medieval French soldiers firing muskets in a salute fashion. What I
found hilarious was the fact that they almost forgot to clear the spectators directly in
front of the soldiers before the salute went off. Too funny.
The salute occurred without issue and the in line skaters attacked the course with gusto
leaving behind a trail of flailing arms and legs. Once this mass of humanity when by, it
revealed the marvelous elite marathon runners. Ah.. yes, the famous Kenyans. Their stoic
appearance enhanced their image of invulnerability. For most of us this race was the
culmination of months of preparation and sacrifice. To them, it was just another day at the
office. They were not here to have a good time like yours truly; they were here to make a
statement.
At that point I bumped into Annie, her mother and father. She would run with the group
sporadically because she travels so much. Her current position as a project manager takes
her to Laos (somewhere in southeast Asia). She' s off next week. She and I made a pact to
see each other again. Hopefully in Boston. She was to run with her father today and that
really touching.
During the one hour break, took some the time to use the washroom and stretch. Following
that a bloke approached me and inquired as to why I was wearing the garbage bag and sporting
a funky watch. I explained to him that it was important to stay warm and that I did not want
to throw away a perfectly good sweatshirt. In hindsight I should have told him the reason
why I wore it was because I suffered from motion sickness. He was interested in learning how
I used the watch as a device to apply quantitative rigor to something so subject. He
accepted my testimony regarding this disciplinary functions of the watch in order to control
my pace. When I inquired about his running experiences, he informed me that he was a
reported from the Montreal Mirroir by the name of Woody and that he was going to write a
piece based on his experience. Grr. it would have been really fun to read him in his article
describing a crazy china man who run wears a garbage bag because he suffer from motion
sickness.
He headed off to line up in the pack of runners and I continued to chat with Annie and her
folks. I feigned ignorance and asked her mother for the map. I turned to Annie and in a
serious demeanour, told her, "Okay Annie, we start with a right, another right and then a
straight, to the metro. The elicited a hearty laugh from the group.
She relayed her regards to her mother as both father and daughter and myself began to make
our way into the crowd. There was 855 half marathoners who had their results posted on
sportstats.ca. It felt as if there were many more in the crowd waiting to start as our line
extended into and past the cyclists who were to start 45min after us.
The gun sound and what we experienced was nothing short of bizarre. In a ballistic movement
every (including us in the back) leaped in instinct fashion only to stop in grinding halt.
Apparently there was so much space between people in the crowd that the first stop everyone
took, served to compress the wide spread pack. We all halted as the start carpet was in
narrow corridor surrounded by the steel barriers on either side.
From that point we all walked together toward the right hand side as Annie's mother was to
take pictures of all of us. We made our way there and she snapped pictures of us. That was
the last time I saw Annie and her father.
The path turned right onto a narrow exit ramp leading off the bridge. When the flow people
narrowed, we became separated from each other. I sped up looking for them slaloming through
the crowd. When I spoke with Annie after the race she remembers having seen me- ahead of her and speeding up.
Being an orphaned runner does have it's advantages. I'm able to focus more on my breathing,
pace and the course, but most importantly, into other peoples conversations. It's
interesting listen to their idle banter. Some like myself, are nervous and their idle banter
is merely an injection of levity to lighten the mood. For myself, if I did not enjoy the
conversation on hand, I would just speed up into another persons conversaton. Oddly enough
this happened quite frequently. It was like channel surfing on tv but in this case it was,
people surfing. Thank goodness the batteries in my remote did not expire.
I did not know what pace to run at. It's strange, but true. I'm used to running 5:40s in my
long runs but with a shorter distance on the menu today, what would best pace? I wanted to
find the sweet spot where I am not underestimating my pace and end up regretting having run
too slow during the race. More importantly, I did not want to end up running too fast and
expiring before the finish line as it was a hot day and getting hotter but the moment.
I settled with 5:20s to begin with. Why that number? It just felt right. My 10km time is
about 48 min so I began working backward from there. 50min would be a 10km time so by
alotting an extra 20 sec per km should enable me to complete in a reasoanble pace and time.
Moreover, I knew the evils of starting too fast. I knew them well. My shin and ankle made
themselves known to me initially but were quiet after the 2km mark.
My psychology to passing people has changed. It used to be that when I passed some it had to
be in grandiose fashion where by I would seek to delibrately crush their will by zipping by
them in a frenetic fashion. Now it's different. it's slow, insidious but undeniable. There
was more than one occasion whereby I was drawing close to a fellow runner. The runner,
either oblivious or feigning indifference would continue on his/her pace and and I drew
closer, they would react and one of two things would happen: they would either sprint ahead
or move aside. In either case when that would happen, traditionally I would spring up to
overtake in a domineering fashion. Not so anymore. Not wanting to break my cadence, I would
continue at my normal pace which would mean that I would run along side the person for at
good 10 meters before moving onward.
The first ten kilometers passed by without incident. As I passed by the crowds of applauding
spectators, I realised that they were the ones that made this day special and different than
any regular long run Sunday. It was they who took the time out of their schedule and woke
up early to be here on this day to cheer us, the runners, people that they don't even know
run not for them but for ourselves. That epiphany made me react in the strangest way
possible. As I passed by throngs of spectators, I would blow kisses to them in
acknowledgement Two hand kisses two throngs of women obviously. To the crowds of guys, I
would pump my fist in the air to acknowledge their presence. How gave me most joy was seeing
crowds just clapping in the distance and slowing down as they did not receive
acknowledgement from runners ahead of me. When I passed by them and blew kisses, that would rejuvenate their spirit and renew their faith in why they were here. The girls will cheer
and seeing their smile made the current kilometer feel like my first. Some would deem this a
waste of energy but it loosened my up and my fatih in their belief is stronger than any
armour against fatigue and pain. Even the most stoic of spectators on the course would
begrudgingly nodd approvingly of my efforts. Now I think I know how De Lima felt as he
entered the Olympic stadium Athens despite having been accosted by that defrocked Irish
priest. Following each show of appreciation, I would look at my watch and speed up. Gosh, it
felt great pretending to be a real runner :)
It almost seemed too good to be true. I run with issue? I must have been dreaming, and I
was until reality and washed away my naivete like a hard rain. How fitting an analogy as
realilty came crashing down at the water station. I had decided earlier on that my strategy
for water breaks would be active rest. My speed would be reduce to that of a recovery jog
while I drank. I would make eye contact with the volunteer, extend my hand and maintain eye
contact right until handoff and which I would nodd my head in acknowledgement. What made
this process so difficult was after I quaffed the contents of the bottle, I had an
especially difficult time returning to race speed. It wasn't side stiches or cramps of some
unknown nature. I took really small sips, I felt horrible as they were handing out entire
bottles of Oasis water and I would only take a zip and toss out the remainder of the bottle
like refuse. It seemed as if my body was trying to reject this source of vitality. I would
slow down and despite efforts to resume it would be a struggle for what seemed to be 200
meters afterward. What made this exercise all the more perilous were all the bottle caps
strewn on the pavement. A wet road and hard plastic bottle caps make for a potentially
lethal situation. Why not just place banana peels on the road if you're going to find this.
Considering I was drinking while running, I am not exaggerating. In all fairness, it wasn't
the fault of the volunteers, the runners ahead of me did not have the sense and sensibility
to toss the caps to the side like they would the bottle when they are done. In my opinion
the caps are much more of a hazard than the bottles are as they are so small and are usually
noticed once it is too late.
Thank goodness I was using my Garmin Forerunner. At the mid teen distance, runners that I
had in my sights for a long time began to drawer nearer and nearer. My response was to slow
do as I thought I was speeding up. If I were to speed up I would be placing myself in a
peril of not fnishing. However, today that would not be the case. The reality was that I was
running the correct pace and they were slowing down! It was they, not I that were trying to
sustain a pace that proved to be unmanageable. By the time I had realised this, I had lost
about 15 seconds per person and this occurred several times. This situation would not have
manifested had I refered to my watch more often. In my defence, I find looking at the watch
disrupts my form and concentration. In total, I think I lost about 1 minute because of these
false, "pace bunnies".
Zipping over Pont de la Concorde felt great. Despite a slight head wind and a thining pack,
it felt good to run in familiar territory. I could see the big Hydro Quebec "Q" and that
warmed my heart. Ok, it wasn't the Q but the thought of Chinatown and wonderful food to be
had in that area I was coasting along zipping by people who slowed down and tracking those
ahead of me. I was really enjoying myself, my thoughts started to drift to how the
marathoners were doing? I hoped that they were fine. All my friends out there and suddenly
I recognised one from the store.
One of the runners on the bike path toward the Five Rose factory, just across the street
from the Expo 67 Habitat was a Jamaican fellow by the name of Max. He worked at the Running Room in Outremont and he and I had decided to run it together. We didn't see each other
prior to the race and I thought I wouldn't as a he told in in confidence that he was aiming
for 1:40. But there he was, demoralised, favoring his right hamstring. Broken. Upon seeing
him I slowed down and the pack I was with continued ahead of me. I called out for him
summoning all the strenth I could muster and he heard me, as I slowed down I barked orders
at him to continue. He and I entered this race together and we were going to complete it.
My pace slowed to 5:20 at that point and he was able to catch up with me. He was pulling a
slight, "Terry" favoring his right leg. He was able to resume a steay pace when a lose
shoes lace separated us from each other. He cursed and he had to stop again. There is
nothing worse than loosing momentum especially the second time around. This just
underscores the capricious nature of running and how easy it is for something to go wrong.
Something a trivial and elementary as a shoe lace and ruin a run. I wanted to stop for him
but he told me that he would meet up with me later. I ran slower for another 200 meters and
when he didn't catch up I knew that there was nothing I could do. I wanted my time and I
know he would feel rotten for having prevented me from obtaining my time so I left.
Running through old Montreal is not something that I relish. I don't know exactly why but I
believe that it has something to do with the symbolic nature of an area so rich in history.
I believe in moving forward and although I don't mind looking in the rearview mirroir
occasionally, I don't like to live there. The roads were cracked and deformed but otherwise
there was nothing really memorable there, just reminders of the past that are best left
forgotten.
Such a bleak segment of the race was confirmed when I saw a black runner prone on the
ground. It was on St. Laurent just below the Palais de la Justice. Several St. John
Ambulance volunteers were hovering over him assessing the situation. My heart sunk and a
sickening feeling began to rise. It is sad to say but it is these types of moments that
gives the sport of running the respect that it so rightly deserves. The injuries, the
sacrifice and the pain even the best of intentions are sometimes not good enough. However
for all the darkest moments, there is always one tiny bright moment. It may not be as bright
as the sun during high noon, but if you are patient enough, you may spot and if you're
extremely lucky it will happen to you.
I was happy to run the final segment of the race with a African runner. We never exchanged
names but for him to complete the full in just an hour that I completed my half is nothing
short of remarkable. He saw me pulling up and asked if I ran the half or the full. When I
responded the half, he smiled since I no longer posed a threat and allowed me to run with
him. We never spoke directly but when I was fading (yep, he runs the full and I'm the one
fading at that point), he would turn back to see where I was. It truly a selfless act. A
hallmark moment in my mind that I won't soon forget. We were running 4:50s and I could not
sustain that pace. He slowed down a bit for me. That encouragement allowed me to find summon all the reserves I had left, marshall all my effort and finish what I came here to do.
The long hill on Berri shattered me. I guess our version of Boston's Heart Break hill. Even
he slowed and had turned several times to see where the rest of the field was. I finally
made it to Sherbrooke and from that point there was no place like home.
The marathon runner took off and went into his own lane and I into mine. As the finish line
drew closer and closer, I had just enough energy within to complete what was, an excellent
run. I was on a runner's high and I was coming home. The crowd was roaring and I was
overwhelmed by their enthusiasm. Too bad it was't for me.
When I was about to cross the finish line the first woman crossed the marathon line. The
crowd went wild. Aww. shucks and I thought it was for me.
In summary this was a race that was run perfectly. I was able to push myself and learn a bit
more about what it means to be a runner. Such perspective is one that I blessed to be
endowed with.
Conncers: recovery time from drinking waterPains: quads shattered, knee slightly sore and shin.
Anything I would do if I could redo the race: Follow my watch more closely and not utilise
the pack for pacing. I need to learn to pace myself better.
Dorys was actually there at the 30km mark. I did not see him but he told me that he saw me
and was very happy for me. It feels great, this sense of pride derived from self
actualisation. I have it within me, I know and I'm not afraid to prove it.
Until the next race,
JW
Overall Time 1:49:26
414 1:51:19.0 5:17 1:49:24.4 3277 Wong, John Montreal 339/851 47/117 Hommes 25-29
http://www.sportstats.ca/res2004/festih.htm
enter no. 80078
posted by Turtleboy at 10:30 PM
1 Comments:
Merci pour le témoignage. Quelle inspiration... Je n'ai pas forcément l'endurance pour courir une vingtaine de kilomètres mais je vais en faire 5 ce soir.
Waiting for the rest of the story,
Yvonne
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