I had the honour of joining over 3000 enthusiastic and talented runners to run a 30K this weekend – my longest race yet. Come along with me on my race day experience.
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T-minus 5 minutes to start: Goodness, there are so many people here and they all look so prepared. I’m proud to be standing with them. Time for a classic start line 0.5!
Start gun goes off: I’m so far back in the corale, it’s kind of funny. The start gun has gone off, and we’re not even moving back here. Wait! My bib is inside my rain jacket, should I pin it to my jacket now?? *in a whiny voice* But I don’t wanna to make holes in it. Alright, I don’t have time anyways. We’ll reach the start line soon.
5 minutes after the start gun: Finally, we’ve reached the start line. Let’s do this! *start my FitBit tracker*
Kilometer #1: I’m going a little fast than I predicted I’d be pacing myself at, lets see how long I can keep this up for. I’ll just keep pace behind these four energetic guys in hotdog costumes. On this grey and rainy race day, I want the laugh and their energy.
Kilometer #4: We’re running on a highway! Wow, all I can see ahead of me is a sea of runners. What a great place to be on a Sunday morning.
Kilometer #5: Feeling so good! My heart is swelling with love for these strangers who are standing in the rain to support us. Passing this first water station: even though I feel like I’m swimming as opposed to running with all this rain, I should drink this water.
Kilometer #6: Getting a short break from the rain while running under this bridge. I’ve driven on this road so many times, I never thought I’d be running on it one day. This is such an out of body experience!
Kilometer #10: Wow, I’m keeping good pace. I’m so pleasantly surprised.
Kilometer #12: Darn, I grabbed water instead of the cool-looking yellow electrolyte drink. I wonder what is tastes like. And I was so focused on keeping my pace that I’ve just splashed half the water on my face. At least you can’t tell with this rain. My mom’s hat is helping to keep it out of my eyes, though. So this is why you need a buy a running hat. So those running people aren’t always tricking me into this consumerist cycle or spending money on running gear! Good to know.
Kilometer #14: Running through a residential area now. What does that man’s shirt say?
Kilometer #15: Okay, the hills are coming in a couple kilometers. I need to chew through this energy bar now. We’re half way and I’m holding my pace!! Yay!!
Kilometer #16: “Umbrella” by Rihanna and Jay-Z is playing! Perfect timing, just the energy boost I needed. See, what’s a little rain? *unce-unce-unce-unce* I’m doing it!
Kilometer #17: Slight slope? No thank you, no slopes for me please. Haha. Hmmm, so all those blog posts and press weren’t lying when they said this was a hard race.
Around kilometer #18: Why is this car trying to drive so close to us while we’re running?! Can’t they SEE how close they are to us?! Where has humanity gone, why is the world so desolate of emotion and empathy for others?? Can’t they see we are STRUGGLING over here?
Kilometer #19: We’re getting even more residential now. I know from the course map that the big hills are coming. Ouu, they are handing out that funky yellow electrolyte water. I’ll absolutely slow down to get some of this into my system. Darn, this stuff doesn’t taste sweet?? So when they say “water with salts”, they really mean “water and salts”?? That’s #disappointing. But I need all the help I can get; I need to drink this whole cup.
Kilometer #20: Oh gosh, I see my parents cheering me on. I’m going to cry. Okay, I’m choking up. No no don’t cry! I can’t lose all the water and salts I just forced myself to put into my body!
Kilometer #21: Another unpleasant hill as we run through Burlington’s LaSalle Park. The Marina is in view now. The runners just behind me are debating the size of that tanker in the water. Meanwhile I’m still perplexed at that salty electrolyte water and am now starting to feel it in my knees. But I need to appreciate that every step I take now is the longest I’ve ever run.
Kilometer #22 or 23: Is that group of cheering residents handing out…. beer?
Kilometer #24 (running through a tunnel): Just passing by man holding a sign reading “That’s a big hill!” I can only see a sharp left in the course, the pain must be behind that bend.
Kilometer #24 (after the tunnel) and #25: So this is what he meant. Come on legs, don’t give out now. Don’t stop. Just small steps. I can hear my panting now, but I also see the hill ending.
Kilometer #26: We’re leveling off now. A well-meaning man is holding a sign saying “90% done”. I don’t feel relief coursing through me, maybe because my senses are inundated with adrenaline and a dull aching. Okay, flat road now. Why does this even worse than that hill? I’ve been running for over two and a half hours now and I’m running out of things to think about.
Kilometer #26 (still): Wait, we are at Kilometer 26. That’s is less than 90%. Now I want to sue than man for misinformation causing bodily harm. Tort law?? Small claims court?? I’ll do them all.
Kilometer #26 (still): I could review my Physiology content as I’m running. Great idea! Okay, I’ll review that Potassium lecture. Okay great. Now, what was the first major concept….? Umm. Hmpf. I guess I need something else to think about.
Kilometer #27: That… was a kilometer?? That felt like an hour. How is this course still going. But you know, *a wise voice now narrates this thought* what would happen if I just walked off the course right now? Nothing. Absolutely no penalty, no nothing. (Local public bus drives by.) You could just get on that passing bus. Isn’t it crazy? Nothing is tethering me to this race course other than me. It’s just me now.
Kilometer #27 (still): Passed by some kind Hamiltonians dressed up as a crab, a unicorn and a Reaper. I’m laughing but the endorphins aren’t propelling me forward anymore. Thank goodness there aren’t any photographers nearby, I can grimace freely. I feel so slow, and I’m being passed by so many people now.
Kilometer #28: We’re hitting Downtown Hamilton now. Wow, the group I’d been keeping pace with are at least 200 meters ahead of me. But I’m still going. We’re turning into a park now. We must be close.
Kilometer #29: This is looking familiar now. Last hill and then over that bridge. Don’t stop. Just about six minutes left. I’ll be done so soon.
100 meters to the finish line: I’m tired but I should unzip my jacket so I can get a finish line picture with my bib. I really don’t care about getting this picture right now, but I know I’ll want it in 20 years.
30 meters to the finish line: I see it. Looks like I’m three minutes over my goal time, and that’s okay. Sprint sprint!
Crossed the finish line: Done. No way.
20 minutes post completion: Downing this peach juice box hasn’t rarely felt better
40 minutes post race: Smiling through the pain for a picture.
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This race pushed me to my physical and mental limits, even challenging me to the rare point of boredom. I’m grateful to have opportunities like these to practise resilience surrounded by infectiously great people. This particular experience wasn’t smooth – my training was particularly inconsistent the month leading up to this race and the distance was intimidating. Everywhere I turned on race day, I saw people who looked like “true runners” (whatever that means) while I was feet away readjusting my layman wire headphones. But we all marked this day in our calendars for months, crossed the start line with similar nerves and finished as group united by exhaustion. It was simply an honour to have experienced this day.
Cannot wait for the next race!
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