Running oot and aboot in Canada, eh?

In celebration of spending the last four days in Canada, I'd like to invite everyone to join me in a rousing chorus of the Canadian national anthem. It's sung to the tune of "O Christmas Tree" and goes like this:

O Canada, O Canada
How lovely are thy maple leaves!
O Canada, O Canada
How lovely are thy maple leaves!
With moose, poutine and hockey too,
Beer for me, back bacon for you,
O Canada, O Canada
How lovely are thy maple leaves!
*jazz hands*

Now some of you (especially those of you who are actually Canadian) may argue that that is not the Canadian national anthem. To that I say "Well, not yet, it's not! Geesh!" I am petitioning the Canadian government to have the anthem changed because mine is (1) easier to remember and (2) far more descriptive than the current anthem, which does not once mention maple leaves, moose, poutine, hockey, beer or bacon. Plus, I'm pretty sure it would be the only national anthem in the world that incorporates a dance move.

Now that I've started this blog post in the proper way (with the singing of a national anthem), allow me to explain what the heck I was doing in Canada. I was visiting my BFF, Shelley. You all may recall that I ran the Flying Pig races with her earlier this year, and last year as well. And we also ran the Niagara Falls International Marathon Relay last fall. It seems every time we get together, it's to run some sort of organized distance event. And while this is fun, and a great way to get motivated to train for an event, it's also kind of stressful because the entire get-together revolves around race preparation. So we decided it was high time to get together, not to run a race, but to simply hang out and do whatever and not have to worry about the pressure of a looming event.

This did not stop us, however, from running. A lot. You see, we're both in the midst of marathon training. I arrived on Saturday afternoon and we immediately began carb-loading for our Sunday morning long run.

Beer is a carb, right?

Carb-loading, Canadian-style.

I mean, come on, you can't go to Canada and not have Canadian beer (Steam Whistle, in this case). I'm pretty sure it's a law there. Anyway, I digress...

Shelley had carefully planned a route for us to run that would take us all over the city of Hamilton. It looked great on the map. If only had known she was secretly plotting my demise, one painfully steep step at a time...

A lovely tour of Hamilton on foot, eh? Just you wait...

So Sunday morning arrived and I got up early to eat some breakfast. Shortly thereafter, we headed out the door into a veritable steam bath. I had checked the weather just before we left and the humidity was 100%. We may as well have been underwater. We struggled to catch our breath for the first several miles, thankful that the skies were cloudy. The route started out as any other run, mostly flat with a few gentle slopes. Then we made our way to the Chedoke Radial Trail, which was a gradual net downhill for a couple of miles. Then we turned left and headed through the city toward the bay (home of the famous Around The Bay Road Race), which was also a gradual downhill.

It was a scenic run, with beautiful views from the trail, and charming old homes along the city streets, and paved trails right along the bay. It was early enough in the morning that there were very few other people or cars out, so the city was peaceful. As we ran, the humidity began to slowly dissipate, and the clouds stayed overhead to provide us much-needed shelter from the sun. We chatted about this and that and were having a grand old time.

A few miles into the run, on the Chedoke Trail, still looking happy. This condition wouldn't last long...

But then we began making our way back through the city from the bay and I quickly came to the realization that Shelley had just been lulling me into a false sense of security with all those gentle downhills and scenic vistas.

Let us all remember the first rule of running a loop route: S/he who runs downhill must eventually run back uphill.

And that's when the fun really started. At first, it was just a gentle climb. No big deal. But then we rounded a corner near the Chedoke golf course, and it became immediately obvious that I was going to die. The road rose up sharply ahead of us, and I could feel my breath becoming short. I struggled to reach the visible top of this mountain. I wished I had a rope so I could just pull myself up.

Then the path leveled off. Whew!

But my relief was short-lived because then we reached the bottom of the Dundurn Stairs: a nearly-vertical ascent of 350 steps up the Niagara escarpment. It wasn't even possible to see the top of the stairs from the bottom; the stairs appeared to vanish into the clouds. It was 13 miles into our run, and I was already feeling pretty beat up from the humidity and the climbing we had already done.

If you listen very carefully, you can hear the sound of my legs crying.

After guzzling approximately 3.4 gallons of water from the fountain at the bottom of the stairs, we began our ascent. At first, it wasn't so bad. Every dozen or so steps, there was a small landing that gave us a few seconds to catch our breath.

But as we continued to climb higher and higher, getting closer to outer space, the air thinned and breathing became more difficult. I could have sworn we had climbed 15,000 feet. When we finally reached the top of the stairs, I died.

But I got better!

And a mile and a half later, we were back at Shelley's house, feeling exhausted but accomplished.

Total climb: 837 feet. Ouch. Ow ow ow. Ouch!

After taking much-needed showers, we refueled with Kraft Dinner and maple syrup, and enjoyed a nice game of hockey while listening to The Barenaked Ladies. I also worked on my mastery of the Canadian language. It's really not that hard and I would be glad to teach you all how to speak Canadian. Repeat after me, kids: I'm going to leave the hoose to go oot and aboot, eh? That translates roughly to "I am going out now, ok?"

Now, you would think that after such a crazy hilly run and so many leg-torturing stairs to climb, that we would choose flatter routes for the rest of our runs together. Well, you would be wrong. Shelley, that evil Canadian wench, made me run the stairs again on Monday and Tuesday too. The runs were much shorter (5 and 7 miles, versus Sunday's nearly-15 miles), but the stairs still hurt and I swear she cackled gleefully the whole time. It is for this reason that I believe Canadians aren't nearly as friendly as they would have us believe. They're all like "Come to our great country and eat some poutine and enjoy some socialized medicine!" and then once they get you there, they torture you with hills and stairs and death.

I'm planning to return to Canada in October for the Niagara Falls International Marathon, but now that my eyes have been opened to the true motives of the Canadian people, I will be much more cautious. I am going to keep working on my Canadian accent, so I can blend in better. And I will wear my bright red maple leaf shirt, because that surely doesn't say "I'm a tourist!". If they think I'm just another Canadian, maybe they won't torture me. Maybe...

Although I might be willing to endure a little torture (in the amount of 26.2 miles) in exchange for a shiny medal, eh?

Peace. Love. Train.

The Longest 6.5 Minutes Of My Life

It's that time of the year again: the time when we all gather around Running Central on a steamy Friday night and instead of joining hands and singing Kumbaya, we run 'til we nearly puke and then drink a lot of beer. I am, of course, talking about the Main Street Mile: a screaming-fast downhill one-mile race in downtown Peoria that ends with the best post-race party in town. It sounds great in theory, but this race terrifies me to my very core.

I know what you're all thinking. A one mile race? You're a marathoner, Emily.... How hard could it be for you to run one little mile?

Ha. Hahahahahahaha!

See, that's the problem. I'm a marathoner. I excel at running LSD (long slow distance). Well, maybe "excel" isn't the right word, but it's my preferred modus operandi for running. Given the choice between a 5k and a half-marathon, I will pick the half-marathon every time. To put it bluntly, running fast sucks.

So what compelled me to register for the Main Street Mile again? Well, the price was right. That is to say, it was free. Us lucky (and I use the term "lucky" pretty loosely here) FASTies got a free entry into the race just for signing up for the Summer/Fall season of FAST.

Also, I was told there would be free beer at the finish line.

So on that hot and sunny July evening, I toed the line with my fellow FASTies and ran like hell in a very short but very painful attempt to reach the beer as quickly as possible.

Some of you may remember that I ran this same race last year, and surprised myself with a finish time of 7:10 (under the pseudonym of "Unknown Runner"). My goal this year was to run under 7:00 (under my actual name). All I wanted was to have a 6 in front of my mile time, even if it was 6:59.

This year, the race was divided up until three heats (versus last year's two heats). I was told that the first heat was for anyone planning to run slower than 8:30, the second heat was for paces from 6:00 to 8:30, and the final heat was for anyone faster than 6:00. That meant I belonged firmly in the second heat. And that meant I had plenty of time to stand around and get nauseatingly nervous while the first heat ran. It seemed to take forever for the second heat to begin.

Off goes the 2nd heat! I'm buried in the middle of that pack.

The race started and I ran as fast as I could. And then I quickly realized that I wasn't going to get very far at that pace, so I slowed down a little bit. I felt like a flailing idiot. I am not used to running that fast, and it feels very strange to do so. I probably looked like a flailing idiot too. Fortunately, there is no photographic evidence of this (at least not that I'm aware of). So when you all think of me running this race, picture me moving quickly and gracefully like a gazelle.

For reasons I cannot quite explain, although I suspect it has something to do with the space-time continuum and the general theory of relativity, a 10-minute mile feels much shorter than a 7-minute mile. I felt like I was running and running but time had stopped and I wasn't getting any closer to the finish line. The air was unusually dry for this time of year, and my throat was getting sore from breathing so hard. I just wanted to be finished.

You wouldn't think running downhill would be so difficult!

Finally, the finish line was in sight and it took every ounce of strength I had left to keep running toward it. After I crossed the finish, it took every ounce of strength I had to not throw up. Once I got over my nausea, I finally looked at my Garmin and was shocked and very pleased to see 6:35. Not only was that sub-7:00, it was way sub-7:00. It was a PR by almost 40 seconds!

According to the official results, my time was 6:33.45. Incredibly, I also somehow managed to place 2nd (out of 45!) in my age group. Not only that, but many of my fellow FASTies had amazing PR's, and there were many who placed in the top three of their age groups. And to top it all off, Team FAST was second place in both the men's and women's team competitions, getting beaten only by Team RC (who are pretty much impossible to beat). There were many FAST victories to celebrate! We headed over to the post-race party at Sully's where the music was thumpin' (thanks to local band O-Face) and the beer was flowin'. It was going to be a very good time.

Cheers!

It didn't take long before we were all dancing and singing along with the music. I'm actually fairly certain I got even more of a workout from the dancing than I did from the race.

Gettin' funky, FASTie style!

The highlight of the evening was when our very own Coach Brad was invited on stage to sing Roadhouse Blues. And for someone who claims to be completely tone deaf, he wasn't half bad. But maybe that's because we had all had a couple beers by that point, and anyone would've sounded good (kidding, Brad!).

Belting out the tunes!

I could tell a lot of fun stories about the post-race party, but I think most of them are "you had to be there" kinds of stories. So if you want to know how much fun the Main Street Mile post-race party is, you'll just have to come and find out for yourself next year. But no partying if you don't run til you nearly puke first!

Peace. Love. Train.

(all photos courtesy of Steven Blanchard)

Will suffer for hardware

Short races are very, very painful.

5k's, 3 Milers, 4 Milers, 1 Milers - they all hurt like hell. The process of quickly achieving an anaerobic state and then trying to hold onto it for several minutes makes me question my sanity every time I do it. For a 5k or 3 mile race, the thought process generally goes something like this:

Mile 1: Wheeeeee! This is fun! I feel like I'm flying!
Mile 2: OMG, I'm not even halfway through this race and I am fighting for air! Why am I doing this??? And where has all the oxygen gone???
Mile 3: I really want to puke!

So why do I continue to put myself through the torture of short races? Well, aside from the fact that they help make me a faster runner, I also have a serious trophy/medal hoarding problem. I haven't hoarded very many, mind you. But they're so shiny and pretty, I just want them all. And so I tend to carefully select races where I actually stand a chance of getting an age group award. And when I see a display like this...

Look at all the shiny trophies!!!! OOoooOOOoooo...

...it makes me run that much harder. I am willing to suffer for hardware.

In yesterday's Lincoln-Douglas 3 Mile Race, it was even more imperative that I win a trophy because last year I actually won my age group in this very race. I needed to defend my title!

I thought about all the mistakes I made in last year's race, the biggest one being the fact that I started out way too fast. This is a common problem for me in short races. I am pretty good at pacing over long distances, but when it comes to short distances, I shoot out of the gates at lightning speed... and then I die.

So after a quick 1.5-mile warm-up jog, I lined up at the start line, fully intent on reigning in my pace for the first mile.

Well, at least my intentions were good...

The race started and off I went at what felt like a pretty slow pace. I was worried that I was actually running too slow. I rarely look at my Garmin during races (which is a habit I should probably break if I want to get better at pacing) so I really didn't know what my pace actually was. I just felt slow.

But then I passed the 1 mile mark and the nice man with the stopwatch called out "7:10!"

Wait... What??? 7:10 is my Main Street Mile time! I had just ran my 1 mile PR in the first mile of a 3 mile race. This was not good. Not good at all.

After that, it was a slow and painful death all the way to the finish line. It didn't help that the race was downhill for the first half and uphill for the 2nd half. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I was actually passing other runners in the last two miles. I wanted so badly to stop and lie down in a cornfield, but as I slowly picked off other runners, I felt small bursts of energy that drove me home. And in the last tenth of a mile, I saw an angel from heaven: Kris Stash (yes, one of the Stashes for whom the Stashies are named), was cheering for me. I gave it everything I had (which wasn't much at that point) and finished strong. And without puking!

According to my not-entirely-accurate Garmin, my 2nd mile was a 7:36 pace, and my 3rd mile was 7:56. Talk about losing steam! It was pretty much a repeat of last year's race (where my splits were 7:31, 8:08 and 8:36), just at a faster pace. Apparently I'm a slow learner. But hey, at least I'm a faster runner!

And the good news is that I still managed a very nice PR. Last year, I finished in 24:43 (8:14 pace), which was somehow good enough to earn me a 1st place age group trophy. This year, I finished in 23:06 (7:42 pace). I was very happy with this time... but would it be good enough to defend my 1st place title in the 30-34 age group?

As it turns out... no.

The competition in this year's race was pretty stiff across the board. There were more runners in general, and a lot of them were fast.

For the first time ever, this race was chip-timed, which meant the results were posted very quickly. So even before the awards ceremony, I knew I had placed 2nd in my age group. Disappointing? A teeny bit.

But you know what? 2nd place gets a trophy too!

I was so far behind the 1st place woman in my age group (who ran at a 7:05 pace), that I didn't even stand a chance of winning 1st. Like I said, the competition this year was pretty stiff. So I was pretty darn happy to win a 2nd place trophy.

And what's more, my good friend and fellow FASTie/Stashie, Louisa, won 1st in her age group!

Louisa and I showing off our new hardware

So maybe I didn't run the best race in terms of even pacing, and I didn't exactly defend my title... but all things considered, this was a successful race. I ran a new PR, I still won a trophy, and most importantly, I got to celebrate victories with my runner friends. Louisa won her age group, Jim ran his best race so far this year after coming back from injury, Caleb was 3rd place overall, and Bill ran strong in the 8 Mile race. It was a very good day.

Winning a shiny trophy was just icing on the proverbial cake.

Mmmm... cake...

Peace. Love. Train.