Exactly one week ago, most of my Sunday morning was spent running around Richmond for my first ever half-marathon. Why did I do this? Well, why not? After the twin 10k runs last year, 21k/13.1 miles seemed the next logical step (even though it was in fact hundreds of very painful steps). Besides, autumn is the perfect time of year for some otam (Sorry, silly Malayalam joke).
The experience was actually rather enjoyable, and despite the morning-after being every bit as painful as I had expected, overall the signs were encouraging enough for me to entertain the hitherto ridiculous possibility of doing the full 42 km at some point in the not-too-distant future.
One thing I did learn, and want to share, was the importance of pacing yourself. Since I hadn't done anywhere near a 21k run in training, I didn't really have a time-target. The only goals were to finish without stopping, and not keep my wife waiting too long at the finish line. Happily, I managed both, but not without the invaluable (and inadvertent) help of two gentlemen I came across along the way.
After the first 2 or 3 k, the challenge was to try and keep a steady pace for the remainder of the run, while saving just enough in the tank for a little surge at the end. Because I wasn't really into the split-times or anything else remotely technical, I figured the best option was to find someone running a good pace and stick with them. The first few candidates I zeroed in on were either too fast or too slow (but mostly too fast) and I eventually ended up behind two runners running in tandem.
My guess is that both these men were between 55 and 60, and each had a half-marathon finisher t-shirt on, so had done this at least once before. (One of the tees actually proclaimed '13.1 is my lucky number' which, personally, I thought was just showing off) Most importantly, they were going at what seemed like a steady, reasonable pace, and so I settled in just behind them and tagged along for the next 12-13 k.
With about 5k to go, I thought I would try and pull ahead because, I naively thought, surely I could do better than a couple of 60 year olds. Pfft. Let this be a warning to you all: Pride comes before a Wall. In running terms, the Wall is the point at which near-total depletion of glycogen stores in the liver and muscles occurs, causing sudden fatigue and loss of energy. (I call it the Wailing Wall)
I promptly slowed up, repositioned myself just behind them for the remainder of the run, and all went well until the last mile, when the two of them basically took off with the quiet confidence of runners who had been there, done this, and were wearing the t-shirts.
So for the last mile, it fell to me to drag myself towards the finish, which I did, albeit in more jellyfish fashion than human. (13.1 was definitely not my lucky number, but then neither was 12, 11, 10, 9...)
Still, I guess I made it in one piece and for this some thanks are in order. So- even though you don't have a clue who I am, and will most likely never read this, thank you, kind sirs. I couldn't have done it without you. I guess in a half-marathon, just as in life, who you're running with is just as important as what you're running for.
Onwards/
The experience was actually rather enjoyable, and despite the morning-after being every bit as painful as I had expected, overall the signs were encouraging enough for me to entertain the hitherto ridiculous possibility of doing the full 42 km at some point in the not-too-distant future.
One thing I did learn, and want to share, was the importance of pacing yourself. Since I hadn't done anywhere near a 21k run in training, I didn't really have a time-target. The only goals were to finish without stopping, and not keep my wife waiting too long at the finish line. Happily, I managed both, but not without the invaluable (and inadvertent) help of two gentlemen I came across along the way.
After the first 2 or 3 k, the challenge was to try and keep a steady pace for the remainder of the run, while saving just enough in the tank for a little surge at the end. Because I wasn't really into the split-times or anything else remotely technical, I figured the best option was to find someone running a good pace and stick with them. The first few candidates I zeroed in on were either too fast or too slow (but mostly too fast) and I eventually ended up behind two runners running in tandem.
My guess is that both these men were between 55 and 60, and each had a half-marathon finisher t-shirt on, so had done this at least once before. (One of the tees actually proclaimed '13.1 is my lucky number' which, personally, I thought was just showing off) Most importantly, they were going at what seemed like a steady, reasonable pace, and so I settled in just behind them and tagged along for the next 12-13 k.
With about 5k to go, I thought I would try and pull ahead because, I naively thought, surely I could do better than a couple of 60 year olds. Pfft. Let this be a warning to you all: Pride comes before a Wall. In running terms, the Wall is the point at which near-total depletion of glycogen stores in the liver and muscles occurs, causing sudden fatigue and loss of energy. (I call it the Wailing Wall)
I promptly slowed up, repositioned myself just behind them for the remainder of the run, and all went well until the last mile, when the two of them basically took off with the quiet confidence of runners who had been there, done this, and were wearing the t-shirts.
So for the last mile, it fell to me to drag myself towards the finish, which I did, albeit in more jellyfish fashion than human. (13.1 was definitely not my lucky number, but then neither was 12, 11, 10, 9...)
Still, I guess I made it in one piece and for this some thanks are in order. So- even though you don't have a clue who I am, and will most likely never read this, thank you, kind sirs. I couldn't have done it without you. I guess in a half-marathon, just as in life, who you're running with is just as important as what you're running for.
Onwards/
No comments:
Post a Comment