WHAT NEXT

It's time to pick up football again. My fiftieth is on a Saturday, and I would like to play a match on that day (though it will be in February, and Belgian climate being what it is games may well be cancelled). So I went training on Wednesday. It was only moderately successful, as my back and upper leg started hurting and I had to leave the pitch before we were done. Still, it was good to smell the grass again.

I don't want my running to go to waste, but am also not motivated to continue training for many hours almost daily. So I am going to focus now on trying to bring down my personal best on the 10 kilometers, from the 50:06 that I have now to something nearer 45 minutes. This will still require several training runs per week. But they'll be shorter and much more varied.

And after February I'll start building up towards a good 20k of Brussels, on the last Sunday in May. Would like to finish this time in under 1:48.

So no marathon for me in Spring 2009. A pity to some extent, as I was already getting a bit enthusiastic for running in either Rome or Barcelona, my two favorite European cities after Amsterdam. But the training regime is too heavy, and there's much work to do on our house and garden.

The 10k first, then. There's one in three weeks from now in Evere, which is close to where we live. I'll take inspiration from this schedule for preparation. The first training is on Tuesday. Until then, I'm taking it easy.

THE NIGHT AFTER THE DAY BEFORE

"I ran a marathon," I spoke to the guy sitting opposite me on the train home from work. He didn't look up from his magazine, a publication about vintage cars that from the pace of his page-turning he was not reading beyond the caption with the photos. "Hm," was all he could muster. "It was my first. I finished it. I did it." He looked up briefly, then turned to the magazine again. "I'm not into that stuff," he said. I let him be.

The conversation never happened. I made it up while sitting on the train. The guy was there, as was the magazine. But I never spoke. I only thought the conversation. Why? Because, I guess, ultimately running and completing an effort like this one is a very personal experience. To the point of being lonely. Not transferable, not shareable. Mine, only mine.

Here is a feeble attempt anyway: it was great and it was hell. The atmosphere in Amsterdam was superb, the facilities excellent, the organisation impeccable (and the hospitality of Wilfred and Saskia before and after made it even better). I ran the first 10k without checking my watch, on feeling only, and found later that I was on schedule for an end time of 4 hours flat. Continued at that pace for another 10, enjoying the ambiance tremendously, feeling very, very good. 

But at around 18k, just before crossing the bridge over the Amstel river in Ouderkerk, my left ankle started hurting. The pain increased gradually. From 22k onward I had to walk bits in between running. A bit later my left shoulder started hurting too. That was expected (I had the same problem during the longer trainings already), but it added to my woe. And then, fatigue hit me as well.

My recollection of the bit between 25k and 35k is not a happy one. Eventually, I ended up walking more than I ran, and feeling increasingly frustrated. I knew one thing for sure: I was going to finish the darn thing. But other than that, I kept adjusting the projected end time in the wrong direction. I can still do 4h15, I thought. Then, later, if I push on 4h30 will still be possible. Then I drifted to 4h40.

Does it matter? The answer, of course, is No. What matters is that I finished. I completed a marathon! I made good on the promise to myself to finish a marathon before turning 50! I need to change the title of my blog! All of that matters more than the pain, the stiffness, the hangover of being disappointed with my 4h 32m 49s. I mean, how many people can say they've done this?

The last bit was quite emotional. I needed to call upon all my powers for the final kilometers. In an effort to take my mind away from the agony, I thought about other people who had done great things. Soon, my father came to mind, and particularly how he had endured horrible pain during the final stages of his illness but never complained. There, then, coming out of the Vondelpark and turning into the direction of the Olympic Stadium, I missed him more than I had done in a long time. I got close to crying, so close that I had to stop running again as I could not breathe properly. He would have enjoyed being there and seeing me finish so so much...

I ran into the Stadium (ah, the relief!) and across the finish line. A bit further I leant over a fence to catch my breath. A woman, finishing just after me, did the same thing. After a minute or so, I heard her sobbing and when I was ready to walk again and collect my medal, I tapped her on the shoulder and walked passed her. She looked up, but in the wrong direction. I'm sure, though, that she understood what I meant to say. "You have done it! You have every reason to be very, very proud of yourself!"

 

TWO MORE DAYS, OR NOT EVEN...

Last night I started my carb-loading programme (pasta with mushrooms). At work today, the lunch menu was pasta too: tagliatelle with a rather unidentifiable sauce. Finished off with a banana.

Tomorrow I will stretch my legs for half an hour in a gentle jog, after which the girls and I go to Wilfred's place for more pasta and a good glass of red wine.

Then, on Sunday I may have a last pasta bit for breakfast before heading to Amsterdam.

The weather should be nice: sunny, about 14 degrees Celsius, a moderate breeze. Lovely for the time of year and especially pleasant for the spectators. Also, Amsterdam looks even more gorgeous than usual when the sun is out. The Vondelpark will be heaven.

The marathon starts at 10:30, so I should be there no later than 9:00 for collecting my race number, changing into my gear, and just generally walk around nervously and getting all pumped up.

Then it's go. I hope to get into The Zone quickly enough. The rest is silence. Until it starts hurting like hell, but by that time is should have done the first 30 kilometers at least, and be close enough to the finish to struggle my way home.

Wish me luck. I'll need it.

SHORT

This week I did not manage to complete any of my trainings. I fell short of my target three times in a row. Not by much, but enough to be ever so slightly discouraging.

Dress rehearsals are like that, or so I remember from doing high school drama. A good final rehearsal meant a bad opening performance, and vice versa. Can I trick my brain into thinking it's the same with my final trainings?

No more long runs to go before M-day, in a week from now. On Tuesday (early morn, considering my work schedule) I do 40 minutes. Then on Thursday 3 tempo runs of 5 minutes only, preceded and followed by 15 minutes at a leasurely pace. And on Saturday a 30 minutes jog, to prevent pre-match stiffness.

Here's my other worry: my shoes are pretty well worn to bits. It's too late to start running with a new pair, so I have no option but to use my current shoes for the marathon...

But maybe I'm just getting nervous. Receiving the confirmation letter in the mail a couple of days ago, with a poster-size map of the marathon track, certainly made it all very real...

Ready or not: Amsterdam, here I come!

STRONGER, LONGER, FASTER

The last rehearsal for the marathon went pretty well, though it was not much fun. The night before the 3pm start of the jogging in Dilbeek, I was still on a beach in northern Denmark drinking red wine with colleagues around a bonfire. Had to get up indecently early to make it in time to the airport. Slept on the plane and was home by 11:andabit thanks to Chui Hsia and Sanna who came to pick me up.

It was raining. In fact, in Dilbeek it was pouring so hard that the sheet with my number (what's the english term for that? chest number?) ripped from the safety pins less than a minute after the start. The rain never stopped and I felt increasingly sorry for the officials, volunteers who stand around for hours just pointing the runners in the right direction. The circuit - three rounds of 7 kilometers - included some nasty climbing and several kilometers of mud paths.

But I finished, and I finished well. In the first round, several runners overtook me at a speed marginally higher than mine. Three or four of them I kept in sight, only to find in the second round that I was approaching then, overtaking them in turn. Pretty soon, I was at the head of a group of five or six who were trying to keep up with me. Strange, I never ran in such a position before.

I completed the race in three rounds of 37 minutes each: very consistent. My final time, of 1:51 at some seconds, meant I ran at a pace of 5 minutes 19 seconds per kilometer. I'm real pleased with that. It means that in Amsterdam I should consider joining the pacemakers that aim for finishing in four hours flat, and trying to stick with them at least until kilometer 30.

That's less than two weeks away...