I have always said that races that start with that long bus ride out to the start are tough - who wants to fathom running all that way back to the finish? After a two-mile walk to the busses (since Venice is car-free), I boarded a bus and with no seats open, sitting with my back on the accordion section and my butt on the hard, metal floor. After an hour, we arrived and walked about 3/4 of a mile to the athlete's village and then another 3/4 of a mile to my corral. This was a lot of walking before a marathon. There would be more. Much more.
Flashback: The idea of Venice came when looking at fall marathons. I had toyed with something in Switzerland, the UK, or Dublin, but then my great running buddy Kirsten said he would join us, so we booked. Kirsten is a fantastic runner, and after hammering Comrades this year, he was injured. It was touch and go for a while before it became clear that he would not be able to run. So while we made a trip of it, I was alone for the race.
Flashforward some, but not all the way: April 1. It's no fooling, I blew out my ankle badly. A month on crutches followed by every-other-day of physical therapy for another month. I believed I may never run again, but my body healed quickly, and I was running by the start of summer. August brought intense heat and humidity to Delhi, and every run was a suffer-fest. Looking back at logs, I saw I was running more days than the year before, so more miles but less recovery from the excessive sweat loss.
Jump ahead to last week: Airtel Half-Marathon. I have come off of 4 days of no running with the worst bacterial infection of my gut ever. Missed my long run. I toe the line not really giving a crap about this race - Sarah and I were going to run together, but she has opted for a slower start due to injury. I ask around to the guys in my corral, and all want to go sub-90, so I don't care to run that. I just say, whatevs - I'll do like 7:20/mile - and go. A mile of dancing around the slowpokes (and I am in the 'A' corral)... the first mile is about 7:18 so I feel like it is good. After that, I just keep dropping the pace and think, "I am not running any harder to go faster, this is ok." Mile after mile they peel off in 6:30s and I have no stress. I catch and pass all that wanted to run faster than me and soon I am clipping off the final miles in sub-6:30s. I feel no pain, no struggle. I cross in 1:26:40, easily the best time I have run since South Africa, and could have done 1:25 if I was willing to hurt. But I am on cloud 9 and go play a softball game. I took it easy the days after the race, cycling, and jogging. On a simple 5K run on Thursday, I have a shooting pain in my butt that won't release and concern grows about being able to run Sunday, especially after an overnight flight Friday.
Jump ahead (or back, wait, where are we now? Oh, right, Venice.): My corral is #6. I see no one else with a 6. Fat people and those wearing costumes have numbers like 4 on their bib. I make my way to the back of the line. Many thousands of people are ahead of me before the race starts. I try to work my way through the crowd once the corrals release at the gun but the mass of humanity, and people taking selfies, limit progress. It takes me over 4 minutes to walk to the line, and even then, I can barely run. My first mile is just under 8 minutes, and even that is achieved only with efforts of surging in and out of people along the grass and curb-lined side of the road. If my ankle was going to go, it was now. I manage to drop 7:08 for the next two miles, a testament to how fast I am going considering the huge amount of people. It is too fast, but I want out of there. Will this cost me later? I can't say, but by 5K I am back on track for a 7:20/mile place, which should land me at about a 3:13.
I continue to negotiate place by cruising through the stream of people. I am ticking off miles around 7:15 for a long time, and by 10 miles the running becomes more reasonable. We have followed a canal (go figure) the whole way. A large overpass greets me at 12 miles, sending the first message to my legs that maybe not all will be well. I don't feel good b/c all of the surging early on to find space has made this feel like a 5K race, not a marathon. I continue to blow by huge sets of people which never lets me zone out since I can't gauge my pace off others and check out for a while. I cross the half in 1:36 flat. I begin to lose interest. What am I running for - an arbitrary sub 3:15? But I keep sticking it, content to know that the quicker I run, the faster I am done. The family is waiting at the finish. Kirsten will want beers. I'd better do this.
After wandering through Mestre, I reach the park for some pathway running. I am beginning to wane now, feeling empty and flat. I sense this will go south but I agree to stick the pace I have set through 20 miles. That is a good day done. I hit 20 after having to really work the last two miles, especially considering there is another nice, long overpass leading to this point. But then I am done, toast. With little focus, I gain about 40+ seconds in the next mile. The next is worse. By the time I hit the causeway, I decide to walk (the first time I have walked in a marathon in many, many recent runs). I chug a whole bottle of water, mostly out of the idea of a long day of drinking to come, but some is that I feel guilty these 500ml plastic bottles are being tossed to the road after one sip. Get more green, #VeniceMarathon !! I continue to hemorrhage back time on the causeway into the city, being passed by people but also, ironically, still catching some. I also remember that I started up to 4 min behind some of these people so I don't feel completely guilty about my sloth-like performance.
Finally, I reach the island and drop down to the waterfront. I would like to say the next two walk breaks were my last, but that would be like saying I had two beers post race - lying. While the views of the islands and canals were rewarding, they did not make up for the pain and suffering that was happening. Now the bridges started and the steep inclines and sharp declines ripped what was left out of my legs. There were many of these hurdles and the race really slowed for me. There is a little detour into San Marco square with crowds about 15 deep - pretty intense. By the time I met the family at about 25.5 miles, I was laughing. It was an implosion of epic proportions. But all was good - the end was near. About 7 more bridges and I was done. It hurt.
I limped clear of the line and had hot tea (I don't know why). There was another bridge right after the finish line, which I found to be a sadistic way to finish a race. Poor markings and information meant for some confusion in finding the family but I did, and we had about a 2-mile walk home. It seemed to take forever down the narrow alleyways and I was at the brink by the time we hit "home." A shower, food, and a few drinks later, normalcy resumed. We spent the evening out. For the day I ended up running (and walking) about 34 miles. I hurt for days after!
I ended up running 3:22 flat, which, considering I was on about 3:13 pace at 20 miles, is about the biggest blown tire I have had in a long, long time (Like 1:20/mile on average!). Factors: 1) No long run. One 18 miler in training, the longest since February. After 20 miles, it's unknown territory and I didn't have the miles. 2) Out to fast. Too much surging in the early mile to find open road. With no endurance, I couldn't afford to run those early miles at that pace. I usually am more cautious, but did not hold myself back this time. I paid. 3) Ran too hard the week before. The race was definitely in my legs still and I felt it. If I had been as fresh for the marathon as I was for the half, I might have even run impressively. But I was toast all week and it was deep inside come race day. I faked it for 20mi, but then it couldn't hide anymore. 4) With Kirsten out, the pollution, the humidity...I just didn't have the spark for this one. It was like something I had to do, not wanted to do. While I was on a high post-half marathon, this race was not a good reinforcer. I took 4 days off and struggled for two runs before coming back to Delhi. Now it is indoor running for a while. I have to get some motivation back.
Flashback: The idea of Venice came when looking at fall marathons. I had toyed with something in Switzerland, the UK, or Dublin, but then my great running buddy Kirsten said he would join us, so we booked. Kirsten is a fantastic runner, and after hammering Comrades this year, he was injured. It was touch and go for a while before it became clear that he would not be able to run. So while we made a trip of it, I was alone for the race.
Flashforward some, but not all the way: April 1. It's no fooling, I blew out my ankle badly. A month on crutches followed by every-other-day of physical therapy for another month. I believed I may never run again, but my body healed quickly, and I was running by the start of summer. August brought intense heat and humidity to Delhi, and every run was a suffer-fest. Looking back at logs, I saw I was running more days than the year before, so more miles but less recovery from the excessive sweat loss.
Jump ahead to last week: Airtel Half-Marathon. I have come off of 4 days of no running with the worst bacterial infection of my gut ever. Missed my long run. I toe the line not really giving a crap about this race - Sarah and I were going to run together, but she has opted for a slower start due to injury. I ask around to the guys in my corral, and all want to go sub-90, so I don't care to run that. I just say, whatevs - I'll do like 7:20/mile - and go. A mile of dancing around the slowpokes (and I am in the 'A' corral)... the first mile is about 7:18 so I feel like it is good. After that, I just keep dropping the pace and think, "I am not running any harder to go faster, this is ok." Mile after mile they peel off in 6:30s and I have no stress. I catch and pass all that wanted to run faster than me and soon I am clipping off the final miles in sub-6:30s. I feel no pain, no struggle. I cross in 1:26:40, easily the best time I have run since South Africa, and could have done 1:25 if I was willing to hurt. But I am on cloud 9 and go play a softball game. I took it easy the days after the race, cycling, and jogging. On a simple 5K run on Thursday, I have a shooting pain in my butt that won't release and concern grows about being able to run Sunday, especially after an overnight flight Friday.
Jump ahead (or back, wait, where are we now? Oh, right, Venice.): My corral is #6. I see no one else with a 6. Fat people and those wearing costumes have numbers like 4 on their bib. I make my way to the back of the line. Many thousands of people are ahead of me before the race starts. I try to work my way through the crowd once the corrals release at the gun but the mass of humanity, and people taking selfies, limit progress. It takes me over 4 minutes to walk to the line, and even then, I can barely run. My first mile is just under 8 minutes, and even that is achieved only with efforts of surging in and out of people along the grass and curb-lined side of the road. If my ankle was going to go, it was now. I manage to drop 7:08 for the next two miles, a testament to how fast I am going considering the huge amount of people. It is too fast, but I want out of there. Will this cost me later? I can't say, but by 5K I am back on track for a 7:20/mile place, which should land me at about a 3:13.
I continue to negotiate place by cruising through the stream of people. I am ticking off miles around 7:15 for a long time, and by 10 miles the running becomes more reasonable. We have followed a canal (go figure) the whole way. A large overpass greets me at 12 miles, sending the first message to my legs that maybe not all will be well. I don't feel good b/c all of the surging early on to find space has made this feel like a 5K race, not a marathon. I continue to blow by huge sets of people which never lets me zone out since I can't gauge my pace off others and check out for a while. I cross the half in 1:36 flat. I begin to lose interest. What am I running for - an arbitrary sub 3:15? But I keep sticking it, content to know that the quicker I run, the faster I am done. The family is waiting at the finish. Kirsten will want beers. I'd better do this.
After wandering through Mestre, I reach the park for some pathway running. I am beginning to wane now, feeling empty and flat. I sense this will go south but I agree to stick the pace I have set through 20 miles. That is a good day done. I hit 20 after having to really work the last two miles, especially considering there is another nice, long overpass leading to this point. But then I am done, toast. With little focus, I gain about 40+ seconds in the next mile. The next is worse. By the time I hit the causeway, I decide to walk (the first time I have walked in a marathon in many, many recent runs). I chug a whole bottle of water, mostly out of the idea of a long day of drinking to come, but some is that I feel guilty these 500ml plastic bottles are being tossed to the road after one sip. Get more green, #VeniceMarathon !! I continue to hemorrhage back time on the causeway into the city, being passed by people but also, ironically, still catching some. I also remember that I started up to 4 min behind some of these people so I don't feel completely guilty about my sloth-like performance.
 |
| The bridge across the water |
 |
| Cobbles near the finish |
 |
| a typical alley (not on the route!) |
 |
| on the temp bridge a few K from the finish. |
Finally, I reach the island and drop down to the waterfront. I would like to say the next two walk breaks were my last, but that would be like saying I had two beers post race - lying. While the views of the islands and canals were rewarding, they did not make up for the pain and suffering that was happening. Now the bridges started and the steep inclines and sharp declines ripped what was left out of my legs. There were many of these hurdles and the race really slowed for me. There is a little detour into San Marco square with crowds about 15 deep - pretty intense. By the time I met the family at about 25.5 miles, I was laughing. It was an implosion of epic proportions. But all was good - the end was near. About 7 more bridges and I was done. It hurt.
I limped clear of the line and had hot tea (I don't know why). There was another bridge right after the finish line, which I found to be a sadistic way to finish a race. Poor markings and information meant for some confusion in finding the family but I did, and we had about a 2-mile walk home. It seemed to take forever down the narrow alleyways and I was at the brink by the time we hit "home." A shower, food, and a few drinks later, normalcy resumed. We spent the evening out. For the day I ended up running (and walking) about 34 miles. I hurt for days after!
I ended up running 3:22 flat, which, considering I was on about 3:13 pace at 20 miles, is about the biggest blown tire I have had in a long, long time (Like 1:20/mile on average!). Factors: 1) No long run. One 18 miler in training, the longest since February. After 20 miles, it's unknown territory and I didn't have the miles. 2) Out to fast. Too much surging in the early mile to find open road. With no endurance, I couldn't afford to run those early miles at that pace. I usually am more cautious, but did not hold myself back this time. I paid. 3) Ran too hard the week before. The race was definitely in my legs still and I felt it. If I had been as fresh for the marathon as I was for the half, I might have even run impressively. But I was toast all week and it was deep inside come race day. I faked it for 20mi, but then it couldn't hide anymore. 4) With Kirsten out, the pollution, the humidity...I just didn't have the spark for this one. It was like something I had to do, not wanted to do. While I was on a high post-half marathon, this race was not a good reinforcer. I took 4 days off and struggled for two runs before coming back to Delhi. Now it is indoor running for a while. I have to get some motivation back.
