Schoorl Half Marathon Race Report

Every great adventure starts as an idea. This was no different. Last fall, I had received an invitation to this race (that is, an advertisement), and was intrigued by the beauty of the course. Schoorl is a seaside community in northern Holland. The course runs through the town and out into the dunes and woods near the North Sea. They offer various distances: 10 km, half marathon, and 30 km. And the race has the reputation of being “spicy.”


Fresh with the enthusiasm that follows your first race, my friend Christel suggested we register for the half marathon distance. As I have been teaching Christel how to run, I set up a training plan for us, with our runs on Sundays runs getting longer and longer.


A February race is tough. A February half marathon is even tougher. The weather in January was cold and wet and unattractive. After a 10K race in Zandvoort in early January, we missed a couple of our first planned longer distance runs. Christel decided not to run the half marathon and switched her registration to the 10K. This was going to be my fifth half marathon and I wobbled whether to do the distance even though I hadn’t run long in training. I really don't like not starting once I've registered. But on Sunday mornings, I had been content to run the distances within Christel’s capacity rather than the traditional long runs that form part of training for a Half.


By the time my bib arrived in the mail, it was too late to change to the shorter race. Just as well. I did fine. I can't decide if the pain that I'm in right now for not having trained sufficiently outweighs the benefits of skipping all those long runs leading up to the start.  As it turned out, Christel decided to go skating with her family instead of race.  I enjoyed spending the day alone with my thoughts and the run.


What I could've done differently: drink more water the day before. Just like I was complacent about training, I didn’t get too worked up the day before and drink water like a fiend. As a result I felt a little dehydrated on the course.


Running in cold weather is difficult because, although my body is sweating, I generally don't feel like drinking cold water when it’s cold. I also think I relaxed a little too much on my food choices to increase my calorie and carbohydrate intake leading up to the race. Next time, I'll stay on the straight and narrow. Or not.


What worked really well: the night before the race, I gathered everything I wanted to wear and put it in a bag. Wool ski socks, my racing flats, my thermal running tights, compression underwear, compression undershirt, thermal shirt, long-sleeved running shirt, running shell, running gloves, wool neck gator, running hat, lanolin-based skin cream to protect against cold weather, lip balm, heart rate monitor strap, fully charged GPS watch with race plan installed and double-checked, identification, ATM card, train pass, cash, race bib, race strap, Gu Gel, iPod, charged and loaded with a great play list, interval timer, disposable plastic bag cut like a warm-up coat, and pink anti-cancer ribbon.

I made the pink anti-cancer ribbon to remember Lynn, a woman I “met” through an internet fitness forum, She died last week of lung cancer at the age of 44. She enjoyed running until sidelined by plantar fasciitis that never seemed to heal. That probably signaled the beginning of the end. News of her death got me thinking about her attention to her health and fitness, and her effort to maintain a healthy body weight. She was a fitness instructor who enjoyed teaching. She was also a wife and mother. 

To be stalked by lung cancer is a tragedy that reinforces my desire to enjoy every day. Although I cannot live on the edge, acting as if today is the last day, I certainly can enjoy every run in the pleasure that I can run.


That sentiment helped me through the difficult part of the race. In the last six weeks, my longest run was about six weeks ago and only 14 km. I also sat out the last 10 days fighting a virus that put me on the couch. I approached to the race as a beautiful Sunday morning run in the snow.


This year I have selected races that I have never done before, rather than simply repeating my race calendar from the year before. It has been really enjoyable to explore new places in the Netherlands. Schoorl is about two hours north of where I live, by train. I planned my trip so that I would arrive just in time for the start. I decided not to check a bag or bring extra clothes. This way I could avoid the 20 minute walk each way, to and from  the sports hall. The bus from the train station would drop me 500 m from the start. And I did not want to spend any more time than necessary outside getting cold while waiting for the start.


I enjoyed the train ride even though it was snowing heavily. The usually green fields were blanketed in white. I saw a lone wild rabbit looking over frozen ice field. I saw scores of people ice skating in the canals. And lots of silent windmills.


The town was filled with runners excited to be warming up before the race. There was a lone Porta potty at the train station where the buses were waiting to take runners to the start. No one had used that one. That's the one I chose. I was lucky. There were lots of lines at the Porta potty’s closer to the start line.


I arrived to the starting line just right - 20 minutes early - and walked and jogged before going into the starting zone. I was wearing warm-up pants that I decided to remove just before the start. Although I was tempted to throw them away, they were too expensive. So I wrapped them around my middle and tucked them into my waistband of my racing types. So what if I looked like the Michelin man.


I had also decided at the last minute not to bring my water bottles and racing belt. My favorite belt has water bottles that leak slightly. That's not a problem in the summer, but I didn't want to carry a dripping water bottle in the snow.


Unlike several previous races, this time I ran with my iPod and play list of running music that I enjoy. I queued up my favorite inspirational pieces and off we went. For quite a bit of the train ride up, I kept thinking that I should quit and go home. That I hadn't trained well enough. Every time that negative thought came up, I told myself I have really good base training and it would be fine. The negative thought persisted for the first 3 km or so as the course wound around the town before heading out into the dunes.


A cloud had settled over the town and we were running through a frozen mist. I found my pace and matched up with some other runners who seemed to be running at my pace as well. Initially I had planned a run-walk-run strategy, but when I matched up well with this other couple, I decided just to keep running with them.


I don't know if skipping the walk breaks made it harder or easier. I always have a lot of head noise about taking a walk break when everybody else is running. Jeff Galloway says that everybody walks in a race at some point, but his runners walk in the beginning. I don’t know if skipping the early walk breaks made much difference, considering my level of training. In retrospect, maybe my initial pace was a little bit too fast for me since I really had to dig deep for the last 5 km. On the other hand the first 17 kilometers flew by quite easily, and I felt terrific. The pace music from Audiofuel was fantastic. And my “designated pacer” set an incredibly even pace that was well within my ability. It was much easier mentally just to follow the person in front of me. So that's what I did: chased the hare. The kilometers ticked by.


I had also decided to go with the water and nutrition on the course. I don't worry anymore that there won't be any for me - I'm not last anymore. It was nice to enjoy hot sweetened black tea. I made sure I drank a glass of water at each aid station. I also sucked on some orange slices. I didn't eat them because I didn't want the fiber.


Then we got to the first hill. It was a long gentle incline. I told the fellow pacing me (in Dutch) that I thought hills were only in the mind. He agreed. I kept going. His partner slowed down quite a bit. I took some walk breaks at this point, and they caught up.

The middle of the race was ecstatic for me. There's a point after about 90 minutes where I get a runner's high. I love it. Colours intensify. Everything seems better, more real. And it is. The music I was listening to intensified the experience. 
And then I got to I would guess about 17 km and knew that my legs were now running on empty. That's when I connected it with Lynn and her death. I could feel my hip flexors begin to complain. I connected with the blister forming on the ball of my right foot. I felt my quadriceps. I embraced all the sensations and imagined running for Lynn. What little I know of her convinces me that she would've run joyously in the cold snow, slipping on the ice, feeling her muscles complain, without voicing a single discomfort. One more day on earth. One more run.  What would I give if I knew this was my last day, my last run? I told my busy little brain to embrace the pain. I remembered Macca's advice that you can have a terrible day and still have a  great race. I remember the “angel” on the Rotterdam marathon course who told me at the end of 41 km to go for broke, that I could put it back together afterwards.


I kept pushing. And I kept running. I started passing people. One at a one. Then the next. Then the next. And I counted down the remaining distance at each sign posting how far we'd gone. I started to choke up with happiness when I realized there was only 2 km left. That made it hard to breathe. 
I don't remember when, but at some point I left behind the couple I had been running with as her pace faded. I thought to look for them at the finish, but I couldn't find them. Another woman I had been running with at the very end congratulated me for finishing - we ran together at the end with me encouraging her to keep going. Like me, she wants to finish at 10 K. in under an hour. It was nice to have her company while we ground out the last bit.


Coming up next I have a 10 k race every month for the next three months. And some great long bike rides. I got a deep tissue massage on my legs today. Hopefully, tomorrow, I won't be leaning on the handrails while going up and down stairs quite as much. And maybe I won't be walking like an old lady. But at least I'm walking.

Antwerp Ironman 70.3 - Run to the Finish Line

I finally made it to the second transition zone.  The cyclist I was “chasing” – more like following –  disappeared ahead of me when the course took a couple turns.  Riding up, I saw so many people wrapped in silver space blankets. They had already finished and gave me big cheers of encouragement. I was excited and a tiny bit discouraged at the same time since they were done and I still faced a half-marathon run.

Then suddenly there was the entrance into T2.  A wonderful volunteer at the entrance asked me my number in order to direct me to the proper rack. I couldn’t remember, so she checked my bib and pointed.  I found my spot very quickly and was pleased to see my blue and black garbage bags –  the one from the lake with my wetsuit and backpack and the other with my running gear. I had read terrible stories about another race (one in Germany) where all the bags were mixed up and athletes had a terrible time finding their stuff.

I racked my bike and took a deep breath. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. It was surreal. I was so happy to be finished with the bike that I never had another thought of quitting. I did some quick time calculations and told myself that I had enough time to finish even if I had to walk the whole way. Well, on second thought I realized that wasn’t exactly true, since walking takes 10 minutes a kilometer and I didn’t actually have 210 minutes. But it was reassuring to know that even if I took a lot of walk breaks, I’d be able to finish before the course closed.

I have to explain this fixation I have about finishing in time. I learned to run distance only two years ago. In March 2009 I ran my first 10k race, which took something like 76 or 79 minutes.  Before then I had never run more than five kilometers – and then only because I was training for sprint triathlons. I had tried running in the past and had never progressed to the point where I enjoyed it. I found it too difficult. I took a big scary step at New Years 2009 and registered for a learn-to-run course that included a local 10k race. I loved it!  And I wanted to continue to run.

By September, I ran 16k from Paris to Versailles (10 miles) (2:22), and in October, I ran the Amsterdam Half Marathon (2:42).  I enjoyed it so much I set my sights on a marathon, selecting one in December that had a 5 hour time limit. It was quickly apparent to me that the required pace was beyond my ability so I chose instead the Rotterdam Marathon, with a 5:30 limit, the following April 2010.  I wasn’t last, but I was nearly, finishing in 5:30, which was my plan.  

The short course limits here have created a good deal of anxiety for me since I run “slowly” in comparison to others on the course.  In a half-marathon in March 2010 I got behind the sweepers early and got so upset when I was asked to leave the course at 7km that my race fell apart and I didn’t finish within the 2:30 time limit. I felt devastated even though I had cut about 10 minutes off last half-marathon time six months earlier.  Learning to finish last and validate my own finish have been some serious character-building lessons for me, a perennial over-achiever Type A personality.

So when I realized I had met my race plan for both the swim and the bike, I felt like I had already crossed the finish line. But I still had to put on fresh socks and my running shoes. My feet were numb getting off the bike. And my wool socks were wet with you-know-what. I was very glad to have a nice dry pair of running socks to put on my feet. I had planned for rain and “treated” myself to some dry socks  for the run. I was partly right.  The sun had come out. I started chatting and joking around with the race volunteer who had guided me to my spot. I had no sunscreen! But I had a hat.

When your feet are numb, it’s hard to feel whether your socks are on right. I got the right sock all twisted up in the process of putting it on my damp, numb foot, and had to straighten it out. Then I realized there was something in the toe of my left shoe.  I pulled my foot out and checked – and found the two salt capsules I had stashed in my shoe early this morning.

The capsules were part of my nutrition plan. Endurance racing is as much about fueling as it is about pacing. Pre-race planning required a lot of decisions:  how many calories an hour to eat (300), how much water to drink (about 500 ml an hour), and how to get enough electrolytes to avoid cramping (take capsules during the week leading up to the race, then two before the swim, two before the run).  All this I had practiced in earlier races and during training sessions.

I had also decided I was going to run “commando” – naked – that is, without a fuel belt.  In the past, I’ve looked like a running tourist with the amount of stuff I’ve carried (fanny back, hat, coat, camera, dual water bottles).  Once, when I was running home after a race, someone commented that I looked like I had strapped a BBQ on my backside. To be honest, I hadn’t run with that pack! It held my race kit.

The race instructions promised aid stations every two kilometers with water, Isostar (yuck), Powerbar Gel (edible), oranges and Coca Cola. I decided that I would rely on these rather than carrying my own stuff, except for a bottle of Gatorade that I would carry at the beginning of the run and then toss.  I planned to drink coca cola and water and eat gel. (Just the mention of that now makes me shudder. Seven and a half hours of eating pure sugar is gross). So the plan was to run between aid stations and walk through them as a reward.

The run course was three laps winding around the old quarter of Antwerp.  At each lap, runners pick up a wrist bracelet. When you have three, you enter the finish lane.  

When I left T2, the course did not seem clearly marked and I was a little worried I had missed a turn since I didn’t see any runners at first. Then the little road I was on fed into a stream of runners. I joined in and matched up with another woman, Liz, who was running at a similar pace. We started talking. She was running at about 6min/km (10 min/mile), which was faster than I had planned for the first lap, but I could keep up while still being able to talk.  She mistook my yellow Livestrong bracelet for a lap marker and thought that I had, like her, already run a lap. She kept telling me she thought we had already run 7km. I had just gotten onto the course, worried I had missed a part. At some point I realized she was simply a lap ahead of me.  I felt disappointed that she was going to finish sooner. She helped me to run well. I don’t think I could have pushed myself so consistently by myself. Actually, I know I could not have since I cut myself too much slack! And have a mental barrier about running faster than a 10 minute mile (6 min km).

My Garmin was giving me very strange pacing numbers, so I stopped looking at it. Talking with another runner who’s running at the same even pace makes the miles just fly by. It definitely helped me break through a mental barrier. I went from “I don’t think I can run this fast after swimming and biking” to “I’m doing it.” So we just kept going, walking through the aid stations and running to the next one.

I saw my husband and my two boys during the first lap. What a great boost that was. And besides, I could shed the hat I was carrying that ended up being too hot and unnecessary. I looked for them again throughout the rest of the race, and saw them just before the finish.

Next time I will comb my hair or something!

On my second lap, Liz’s third, we took a couple walk breaks. It’s funny how well we were motivating each other without saying a word. It’s as if we were passing silent messages of strength.  We got to the dividing point on the course where I would continue and she would finish. I teased that she should run one more lap to keep me from walking. (Silently in my head I’m thinking I can’t wait to get rid of you so I can walk).  Liz is saying to me, you better not walk or I’ll have to scream at you from the sidelines!  We gave each other a big hug and said goodbye.

I felt really strong. I had clearly reached my goal of finishing before the course closed. I just needed to keep moving, and here I was, one lap away.  I switched to cola at the aid stations and used the water to cool off. I tucked sponges on my neck, beneath my tri-suit. And squeezed water over my head. Shocking, but effective.  The aid stations, by the way, were NOT two km apart. I don’t know how they were organized, but they seemed few and far between.   

Bye Liz, hello Sue.  I continued running by myself and saw another woman, Sue. I paired up with her. She was celebrating her 50^th birthday and was eager to join her husband, who had already finished the race. She seemed a little out of gas and I asked her if she wanted to run the last lap together.  She was walking a lot and I encouraged her to run a little more and run a little faster between walk breaks.  She wasn’t quite running next to me, but just behind. I kept encouraging her. I wasn’t sure how hard to push. I didn’t want her to become discouraged or annoyed, and what do I know about racing anyway. But I thought she needed some cola and encouraged her to give it a try. She was discouraged about how tired she felt. She told me she had run a 2:10 half marathon but felt quite tired after the bike leg.  She kept telling me to go on without her and not to let her slow me down. But I had already met my goal mentally and I was enjoying running together. Helping Sue kept my mind off the blister that was forming in the usual spot on my right foot and the chafe on my inner thighs from my tri-suit that was beginning to bleed.  I liked running an easy last lap.

Me and Sue!

When we got to the finish chute I started to run as fast as I could. I put my hands in the air as I ran across the finish line and yelled as loudly as I could. 

I felt so happy to be done. Now I could sit down. My quads and my glutes were feeling pretty tired. Sue finished about five seconds after me.

 I turned to clap her across the finish line. We did it! 

Then I got my HUGE finishers medal and walked along the end of the course, clapping and cheering for the people behind me.

I met Sue’s husband and congratulated him on his finish. Then I spied my kids and husband and got some great high fives and hugs. 

Then we made the long walk back to T2 to pick up my bike. Ouch Ouch Ouch.  On the way to the bike, I met up with Liz and her husband and congratulated them. I thanked Liz a lot for helping run a good race.

After finishing the race I was suddenly really tired and hungry. I confess we stopped at McDonalds off the highway on the drive home. I liked the burger but the fries had no salt. So I didn’t eat any. Salt is what I was craving. That and coconut. I think the fatty acids in coconut attracted me.

I feel so proud of my effort and so very satisfied.  I raced without any injuries. I kept a patient pace on the bike and pushed myself harder than I thought I could – without blowing up. 

While out walking the dog the next day, I caught myself wondering how much faster could I finish next year. And wondering if there was something wrong with me since I preferred an enjoyable slower lap and running with another athlete to speeding off alone.  No. I’m just fine. My desire to push myself evaporated once I realized my goal (“just finish”) was in hand.   That was enough for this race.  I ran this half in 2:33, after swimming 1.9 km and riding 90 km.  Not so bad for an Athena! 

PS After the race, we went sailing for a couple days. This proved to be the perfect way to recover from the race.  I took a lot of naps - not much moving. Some swimming when I felt ready.  I wrote my friends:

About the half ironman,I learned the most important lesson about myself. I can do the most extraordinary things if I will only reach a little further, push a little more, and believe that it's within my capacity. Throughout the race, I had to control my negative thoughts that were telling me to quit, that the next stage would be too hard. When I focused on just what I needed to do at that moment, and kept myself moving forward, I eventually crossed the finish line. Dozens of people who started didn't finish. I FEEL SO PROUD OF MYSELF.

7 June running free

Today, I ran 45 minutes, doing speed drills on the treadmill. I don't like running indoors as much as running outdoors. But the pollen count is lower. I enjoyed a short warm up then some 100m pick-ups, then 400m intervals. I pushed through at a 5:30 min/km pace.  I can run faster than I think. I need to keep my brain out of the way.

I'm reading an inspirational book by marathoner and Ironman Matt Long about his return to sport after getting nearly killed on his bike. I've just started the book, but it inspired me to work harder when I ran today.  Matt took his experience to a new level and founded "I Will", dedicated to helping people who've been injured overcome the trauma.  I have a well-functioning health body. No excuses.

I decided not to go to swim practice tonight. I'm quite tired and have an important meeting tomorrow morning.  When I swim at 10 p.m. I often have trouble going to sleep before 1 a.m., and feel tired the next day. So, I will swim earlier in the evening tomorrow, although without coaching.